by Johnny Shaw
Ricky scrambled to his feet, forgetting the pain in his side. Not conscious of what he was doing, only doing it. He ran in the direction he was facing, beyond rational thought. He tripped on the rocks as he moved up the hill and over the crest, the mountain exploding around him. Large chunks of rock showered down on him, cutting his back and head, knocking him off-balance, but he kept forward through will and terror. Even as the world exploded, Ricky had no quit. He couldn’t have explained why. He couldn’t have told you where he was going. He couldn’t have told you if he believed he would ever get home. He couldn’t tell you anything. He could only run.
For Frank, running wasn’t an option. He was at the mercy of the burro between his legs. The burro had taken off up the hill, faster than he had thought the animal capable. The burro passed Ricky in a clumsy run with Frank holding on for dear life.
Frank had no idea where he was heading. The world was never steady enough for him to get his bearings. He thought they were on the trail, but the burro was at a full gallop, stampeding solo in animal panic.
In seconds, the exploding artillery was behind him. The light and sound continued, but he was out of the range of the explosions. His shadow cast before him with every blast. The burro didn’t slow, transporting him farther from the danger. He laughed and shouted.
“That’s right, you bastards. You Army sons of bitches. Try all you want, you’ll never kill a mountain. And you’ll never kill this crazy Indian.”
He laughed and cursed the bombs and praised the burro. He threw out his doubt and retrieved his faith tenfold. He believed every word that Harry had spoken about fate and destiny and all the rest of that horseshit. Maybe it was shock, but he hadn’t ever felt happier than that moment.
That is, until the burro unexpectedly tried to make a steep rise and threw Frank.
Frank landed hard on the rocky earth. He felt the warmth of blood on the back of his head, and thought it was funny that he was sleepy with so much noise around him. He wanted to stay awake until the end of the party, but the ball would have to drop without him. Everything went fuzzy, then dark.
Unlike Frank and Ricky, Harry didn’t run. He didn’t panic. He didn’t do much of anything. He watched the show and did nothing. He didn’t even move. Harry stood on the trail and stared at the beauty of the explosions that surrounded him. The white fire of the blasts grew like flowers, etching his vision with light. When he closed his eyes, he could still see their shapes. Like dahlias, he thought. He reached into the top of his shirt and pulled out his Saint Chris pendant, gave it a kiss, and put it back.
Harry had talked big about destiny and fate when the world was quiet, but raining artillery could shake most men’s faith. The fury of an aerial assault had a way of spreading doubt along with shrapnel. Not Harry. His belief never faltered. He knew he was okay. He was more concerned about his leg as he started the painful slump up the hill.
Harry held his hands to his side like he was walking in the rain, letting the dust and gravel play on his skin. A large rock struck his good leg, but he ignored the sting. He smiled and walked peacefully up the trail. He hadn’t gone crazy. He was terrified of dying, but he knew it wasn’t his time. He sang “Singin’ in the Rain” at the top of his lungs.
And then silence. The artillery stopped. Harry stopped singing.
The darkness was abrupt. Harry couldn’t see a thing, blinded. He took short, careful steps as his eyes adjusted and the stars filled some of the shadows in his path.
He didn’t see Ricky or Frank. They had disappeared quickly when the artillery had begun, moving quickly up the trail and out of sight. Harry smelled the dirt and smoke and powder. It was sweet but burned his nostrils and made his eyes water. He wanted to sit but knew he needed to keep moving. He was tired and his leg hurt like a bastard.
He tripped on something close to the crest. Leaning down, he felt its wetness and what smelled like barbecue and singed hair. He knew immediately it was some part of the burro. He was glad it was dark. He wasn’t interested in finding out what part.
“You deserved better.”
Harry found Ricky about ten minutes later. The big kid was walking in a wide arc, stumbling over the rocky terrain, visibly dazed.
Ricky squinted through the darkness at the approaching figure. He shouted over his own ringing ears, “How’d you get out of there?”
“Walked. Told you, I wasn’t up for a marathon, so I took it slow.”
Ricky’s breathless laughter filled the night. He laughed until he started coughing. Harry sat down in the middle of the trail. Ricky joined him, lying back on the rocky path.
Ricky wiped his mouth with a tattered piece of his torn shirt. “I thought we were going to die.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad we didn’t.”
“Yeah.”
“We got to find Frank. I think he made it out on the burro.”
“If we made it, he did too. As horrible as that was, the fact we’re sitting here is proof of some kind of magic. Don’t worry. We’ll find him and the burro and Constance. He was with Frank.”
“God brought us here.”
“God, juju, voodoo, I don’t really care. As long as we stay alive and get rich.”
“We’re here because he wants us to be.”
“Whatever you say. I can’t walk no more. Why don’t you pray for Frank? We’ll find him at first light.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Frank’s head rang. And his back, eyes, ribs, and ass weren’t exactly keeping quiet either. The sharp rocks that he had fallen asleep on dug into him at odd angles. He made a weak effort to sit up, not getting far before everything tilted. Frank puked in his lap. He stared at the vomit, hoping that all that red was from the Red Vines he had been eating.
The sun hadn’t yet risen, but it was light out. The rocky terrain that surrounded him looked like another planet.
He gingerly touched the back of his head. The stickiness that matted his hair reminded him of the night before. Explosions and burros and screaming. The fear and panic and looming death. The beginning came back to him better than the end. Yet here he was. The death not so looming after all. The burro was gone. But he was alive and he’d take that.
Then it occurred to him. Where were Ricky and Harry?
He tried to ignore the pain behind his eyes as he dug his heel in the dirt and rose to standing. He was twenty yards off the trail. Using the light on the horizon as his guide, he faced west toward the artillery range.
His first step was a failure. He fell on the rocks, cutting both his hands. But thinking of his friends, he quickly rose and carried his body as fast as his old legs would take him.
Following the rough trail, Frank found Ricky and Harry asleep in the middle of it about twenty minutes later. They were scraped and bloody, but their chests rose and fell, so he knew they were alive. As he awkwardly leaned down to wake them, something moved out of the corner of his eye. Something on the horizon. Something living.
He turned his head quickly, but nothing was there. Had it been a man? An animal? Had he imagined it? He was sure he had seen something. Then again, considering what his body and mind had been through, his sanity wasn’t an absolute.
With his eyes on the horizon, Frank kicked Ricky’s boot lightly. Ricky’s eyes opened, taking a moment to adjust. He smiled.
“You’re alive,” Ricky said.
“Don’t feel like it,” Frank said. “How’s he?”
“Same as us,” Ricky said. He stretched, but yelped and popped back upright when his back cramped.
Frank turned his head quickly. That movement again. This time, he caught the shadow of something up the trail. It disappeared behind a rock before he could identify it. But there was no mistaking this time, he had seen something.
“There’s something over there.”
Ricky turned. “I don’t see nothing.”
“Behind that rock.”
“That’s probably why I don’t see it. What is it?”
“Something.
I don’t know. A person. An animal.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Ricky picked up a rock and stood. He held his lower back for a moment, but shook off the pain. Ricky and Frank walked cautiously up the trail, keeping their eyes on the big rock and waiting for disaster.
Ricky whispered, “Should we holler out? If it’s a patrol, don’t want them to get trigger happy, shoot us.”
“They saw us already.”
Ricky got ahead of Frank, taking charge. He reached the big rock and looked back at Frank, who was only halfway up the trail, huffing and close to collapse. Ricky pointed and finger-mimed that he was going to look around the rock. Frank nodded.
Ricky slowly moved around the large rock and came face-to-face with a gigantic head and huge eyes that made him fall backward. He inadvertently screamed, “Monster!”
The burro made a scream-like sound and took off in the opposite direction.
Ricky turned to Frank. “It’s the burro. Our burro.”
“Get him. What’re you doing? Get him. It’s got all our stuff,” Frank shouted, trying to pick up his own pace but falling down instead.
Ricky nodded stupidly, got to his feet, and took off after the burro. The animal stayed in his sights. It alternated between running and walking, keeping just enough of a pace that Ricky couldn’t gain ground. It was like the animal was leading him somewhere.
The trail wound downhill, growing narrower with sharper turns. Jagged walls of rock jutted out on both sides of him. The burro dropped in and out of sight as Ricky moved as quick as he could down the snaking path. Gravity did most of the work but took away most of his control. He was falling on his feet down the side of the mountain. If he tried to stop, he would eat a mouthful of sharp rocks.
Ricky called the burro and whistled, but he didn’t know the animal’s name and was too out of breath for reasonable volume. His mouth tasted like stomach acid and his vision turned yellow, but he kept on after the stubborn bastard. He felt like he was going to pass out, but he’d keep running until he did.
Frantic, Ricky turned a corner. The trail opened into a small depression with high canyon walls. A small valley hidden within the mountains around him. There didn’t appear to be any outlet. The end of the trail.
The burro was tired, trapped, or done screwing with Ricky. It chewed at some chaparral that had struggled to survive, mostly dead and brown. The plant’s efforts at life were for nothing as the burro ate any green that remained.
Ricky walked slowly to the burro, put his hand on its side, and bent to catch his breath. He spit on the ground, laughed, and gave the animal a friendly pat. He found a canteen in the burro’s pack and downed the water until his stomach hurt.
“You’re a jerk, but I’m glad you’re alive.”
Ricky found a shallow bowl in the pack, poured some water into it, and held it for the burro to drink. The burro lapped at it viciously. When empty, Ricky refilled it and the burro drank more.
Ricky lay down on his back. He looked up at the bright blue of the morning sky. It took him five minutes to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized how out of shape he was. His body ached all over.
“Where are we?” Ricky said to the burro, not expecting an answer.
Strangely, he got one.
“We’re at the Big Maria Mine.”
Ricky turned to see Harry and Frank standing at the trailhead, the only entrance. They were taking in the walls of the mountain valley.
“I don’t believe it,” Harry shouted. “We made it.”
FORTY-EIGHT
They held out as long as they could, but the hunger pangs grew increasingly painful. The hiking and the sun had escalated their discomfort, abdominal cramps, and complete lack of energy. When they finally decided to eat, they had already given up hiking and lay prone on the ground. Mercedes, Ramón, and Bernardo consumed all of the marijuana in one sitting.
Half an hour later, they were higher than they had ever been. And for the boys, that was saying something.
“I am going to wait here for my spirit guide,” Ramón said, draped over a large rock in an awkward position, one leg on the ground, the other sticking straight out. “I hope it is an eagle, but a wolverine would be equally awesome.”
“There are no wolverines in the desert,” Bernardo said, staring intently at his own hand. He liked the swirliness of the lines. They were swirly.
“Not real wolverines. Spirit wolverines.”
“Even spirit wolverines do not travel this far south. If we were in Nevada, but not here.”
Very swirly.
“You are right. What about spirit spider monkeys?”
“Now you are speaking of awesome.”
“Quiet,” Mercedes shouted. “Be quiet.”
Bernardo and Ramón lazily turned to their mother, who was attempting to stand on her head.
She said, “Our lives have been turned upside down, so to see right side up, we must adjust our point of view.”
Over-adjusting, she landed hard on her back. Bernardo wanted to return to the magical wonder of his hand.
“Can you hear it?” she asked, ignoring any pain.
Bernardo shook his head.
Ramón nodded. “I think I do.”
“It sounds like the inside of a dishwasher. The ocean in a shell. You can hear it? I think it’s my brain sounds.” She sat up quickly, eyes wide and head darting around. “Where are we?”
Ramón shrugged. “Desert. Mountains. Papa Frank and the Army, something. Was he drafted? That cannot be right.”
“I am very high,” Bernardo stated. “Yet still, I wish I was higher. Because only then could I eventually become the highest. I am taking a nap.”
Bernardo woke up three hours later. It took him more than a minute to put together where he was, why, and what it all meant. He was still high, but closer to a run-of-the-mill Muppets night than an all-out Phish show. He craved tacos, but that would have to wait.
Shadows passed over his face. He looked up expecting birds but instead witnessed a dozen paratroopers gliding through the air, briefly blocking the sun. They were a considerable distance away, chutes open, moving gracefully through the air. Bernardo watched them disappear over the other side of a rocky hill.
They had traveled by the sun, but were as lost as they had ever been. Bernardo had enough rationality to evaluate the dire nature of their current situation. He gave Ramón a kick in the calf and shook Mercedes awake. “Get up. Grab your shit. The bullshit is over.”
Mercedes and Ramón looked around confused, but the expression on Bernardo’s face quickly sobered them up.
“I want to hear nothing. If we do not get serious, we will die. Or worse, get arrested.”
They did their best to head west, but a half hour into their hike, clouds filled the sky. Winding through the mountain path, they were still lost. They continued forward, but to what or where they didn’t know.
Bernardo led the way with a general’s gait, marching forward, challenging Ramón and Mercedes to keep up.
A brief celebration followed when they reached the bottom of the mountain and entered a large flat plain. If just for the change of scenery, the transition was a minor victory. If they kept the mountains behind them, the plain would lead to the river.
“We are almost out of water,” Ramón said, shaking their last bottle, half full.
“It will have to do. We cannot make water,” Bernardo said.
Mercedes gently put her hand on Bernardo’s forearm. Her voice was small, her head down. “I’m sorry.”
That stopped Bernardo and Ramón in their tracks.
“This is my fault. I’m sorry.”
Ramón looked at Bernardo. “What is happening? Are we supposed say something? I’m scared.”
“It is nobody’s fault. Although Worky has some explaining to do. Your doings were out of respect for your father. We, out of respect for our mother,” Bernardo said.
“And our burros,” Ramón added.
“It wi
ll take more than a bad nature hike to hurt this family.” Bernardo almost smiled, but his face didn’t know how.
“Do you forgive me?”
“You are forgiven,” Bernardo said.
“Yeah,” added Ramón.
Mercedes flinched from something landing on her head. She held out her hand. A fat raindrop landed in the center of her palm.
In seconds, it was pouring rain. Plump drops pounded down in sheets. They opened all their bottles and held out their hats to catch all the water they could. The containers filled up quickly. The ground turned to muddy clay. When their feet sank above their ankles, they searched for some kind of shelter.
Ramón led the way as they slogged through the mud as quickly as they could. They headed back in the direction of the mountain, hoping for a cave or at least solid ground.
“This could flood really quick,” Mercedes yelled over the torrent.
“Do you see anything?” Bernardo yelled.
“I cannot see past the rain,” Ramón said.
“What is that?” Bernardo asked. But not in time.
Ramón ran directly into a metallic wall. It made a loud gong over the drumming rain. He bounced back and onto the ground with a muddy splash. Bernardo walked to the wall and ran his hand over it, squinting at the chipped metal siding.
“It is a bus. A school bus.”
Not caring why there was an abandoned school bus parked in the middle of the desert, they ran inside. Bernardo swallowed cobwebs as he made his way down the aisle. He swept them to the side and spit them out. Water dripped from his hair and body. Ramón and Mercedes followed, shaking themselves off. Ramón shook some of the mud from his body.
“You two okay?” Mercedes asked.
Bernardo and Ramón nodded. Out of breath and out of ideas, they sat in silence, listening to the plinking of the rain on the metal roof. In other circumstances, it might have been a pleasant sound.
FORTY-NINE
“So where is the damn thing?”
Frank stood in the center of the small bowl looking up at the walls of the cliffs. “If the mine is here, if we’re there, where is it?”