by Chris Eboch
I could probably say anything nicer than this guy, but I decided I’d start by not mentioning that. “Great. When can I get a shirt?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the sun. That gave me a chance to drop my gaze from his face and notice that he was wearing running shorts and trail-runner shoes, with a T-shirt tucked into his waistband. He must’ve been jogging. That explained the bare chest and the glistening sweat, now vanishing in the dry air. I wished he’d put his shirt back on. All that bare skin was really distracting. If I dressed like that, I’d be accused of acting like a slut and have to put up with whistles and stares, but men—
He turned back and I jerked my gaze to his face. “How about first thing tomorrow,” he said. “Jerry’s waiting for me and I’m already late. Come by the office a little before eight o’clock and have some coffee.”
Now that was the nicest thing he’d said yet. But before I could answer, he said, “I’ll walk you back to the campground.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll just make sure I leave no trace and move along. You go on ahead so you don’t keep Jerry waiting.”
We locked gazes. I felt like I’d gotten into some battle of wills, and I didn’t even know why. But Danesh obviously thought he owned this place and everything in it. If I didn’t stake my claim now, it would be that much harder later. I felt my heart thump five, six, seven times and refused to move anything. Not even my eyes. He’d get no placating smiles or soft feminine pleading from me.
Finally he said, “All right. Be careful. You have a couple of hours of light, but it gets dark quickly and the temperature drops fast. Snakes come out at dusk, and it’s pitch black out here after dark unless the moon is out.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ll be careful.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but he turned and jogged up the path. I watched him for a minute, admiring the way the evening sun bronzed his back as the muscles rippled. Too bad his personality was as hard and tough as his body.
I sighed. It was just as well that I didn’t like Danesh. He was probably used to giggling tourists and adoring local girls. I’d made enough of a fool of myself without getting tongue-tied over his mouthwatering good looks. He didn’t know it, but he’d given me a test—a hard one. My hand trembled only a little as I retrieved my water bottle, so I convinced myself I had passed so far. One day, I would convince my body to stop panicking at the slightest surprise. For now, I just had to promise myself it would get better. Each time I faced my fears, I got a little stronger. I might not be back to normal yet, but I could see normal from here.
I decided to finish hiking the loop, but I stayed on the main path. Much as I hated being lectured, Danesh had a point. I should set a good example for the few tourists still out.
Two middle-aged men stood at a viewpoint looking across the canyon through binoculars. I paused behind them and tried to read the sign from three feet away. It said Pueblo Storehouses and had a sketch of the far canyon wall, with the storehouses outlined in red. That was one place I’d look for seed samples. I squinted, but with the shadows in the canyon I couldn’t make out anything on the far wall.
One of the men lowered his binoculars and turned to me. “We can’t find them. Do you want to try?”
I hesitated, but the men looked harmless enough, both about fifty and wearing polo shirts, one blue and one green, with shorts. I tried to search my instincts for any sign of danger and found none, besides the usual background anxiety. The man in blue handed me the binoculars and backed away to give me room. I smiled, remembering my comment to Danesh about studying through binoculars.
I studied the diagram and then focused the binoculars on the canyon wall, below the far rim where I had already hiked on my way over.
The man said, “It looks just like the sandstone, I think.”
I scanned across the canyon wall and finally spotted formations that didn’t look natural. “I see them. The walls are rounded so they don’t stand out that well, but you can see a rectangular doorway.” I tried to focus the binoculars better. Something looked odd on one of the walls, like a large stone that wasn’t quite the right color. I couldn’t figure it out, but no doubt it would make sense when I explored more closely. Or had the storehouses been damaged? Maybe even recently, by someone leaving the path to look for treasure? If I found anything strange, I’d have to let Danesh know.
I grimaced at the thought. Maybe I’d tell Jerry instead.
I handed the binoculars back to the man and tried to explain where the storehouses were. I realized I’d been hearing a strange sound, a low rumbling. I glanced around, unable to tell the source. Surely not thunder, as the skies remained a clear, deep blue.
“Sounds like a plane,” the man in green said. The two had lowered their binoculars and were holding hands. I felt myself relax a notch.
We all scanned the sky as the sound grew louder. He had to be right about a plane, but it was creepy to hear that sound and not be able to see any source. I guess sound traveled far with no city noise to mute it.
Finally I spotted a small, black plane, surprisingly low in the air. It seemed to be coming straight toward us.
“I wonder why they’re so low,” Green said.
“Tourists who want a close look at the canyon?” I suggested.
“There aren’t any official tour flights. We checked. Could be a private pilot seeing the sights.”
The plane veered sharply to the left, leaving a trail of white across the sky.
“But they’re heading away now,” Green said. “I hope they’re not in trouble. With all the mesas and mountains around here, I’d want a little more altitude.”
I imagined flying just a few hundred feet above the ground. Would it be comforting to have your landing so visible, or terrifying because one slip could have you slamming into the ground? “They’d call someone if they were in trouble, wouldn’t they? They must have a radio.”
“They should have a radio, but they’d have a better chance of reaching someone higher up, where the signal won’t be blocked by the peaks. This low, they’re flying under the radar. They won’t even show up on the government’s tracking system, so if they go down, searchers won’t know where.”
Funny, I knew the phrase “flying under the radar,” but I’d never thought of it quite so literally. Blue gave Green a playful shoulder bump. “It’s probably nothing. Tom’s a worrier. He likes to make up dire scenarios for random strangers.”
Tom laughed. “One of these days I’ll be right.”
I chuckled with them, then thanked the men for the use of the binoculars and moved on. But I kept glancing in the direction the plane had gone, watching for smoke or any other sign of trouble. No doubt I just had my city instincts on alert in this unfamiliar territory, but I couldn’t help imagining what would happen to the victims of a plane crash out in the desert or on one of the peaks. I saw nothing more of the plane, though, so I had to trust they were all right.
I finished the loop well before dark, cleaned up in the restroom, and sat at my picnic table to eat the second half of the sandwich I’d been keeping in a cooler since lunch. The block of dry ice would keep my yogurt and cheese sticks cool for a couple more days. Then I’d be stuck with dried and canned food until I made a trip into town, something I didn’t relish given that my compact car obviously wasn’t designed for the rough roads. Well, I hadn’t expected luxury.
I had expected quiet, though. Yet the night filled with sounds as dusk fell. Birds, insects, and rustling in the dark. I strained my ears and tried to identify the sounds. Bird calls were easy enough. That low buzz had to be some kind of insect, and I convinced myself it was only creepy because I wasn’t used to it. Rustling in the bushes was harder to dismiss. I forced myself to breathe deeply and repeated in my mind, Just animals. Just animals. You’re safe here.
A squirrel scurried up a tree nearby, proving my point, and I let out a burst of nervous laughter.
I went back to my deep breathi
ng. I didn’t want to crawl into my tent until I felt comfortable there, or I knew I’d spend the night imagining monsters sneaking around the thin protection of my nylon walls. I could sleep in my car, as I had done several times on the drive out, when I wasn’t sure of my security. But this campground would be my home for weeks. I had to get used to it, face my fears until they disappeared. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the cool air on my skin, the soft breeze.
I heard voices in the distance and a thump like something being dropped. I told myself it was good to know others were within hailing distance. I breathed, and listened, and finally felt my heart slow and my muscles relax. I thought I might be able to sleep.
A new sound drifted through the air, and my breath caught in my throat. I heard a soft sobbing, like a woman crying.
Should I check it out, see if someone needed help? But no one was calling for help, and I couldn’t target the sound.
It was probably some animal or bird, but still, I felt goosebumps prickle my skin. I went to my car for a sweater, trying to blame the drop in temperature for my chills.
When I opened the car door, the overhead light came on, shockingly bright. I jumped and glanced around, feeling oddly guilty, as if I’d insulted the night. I grabbed my sweater, closed the door quickly, and stood for a minute waiting for my eyes to readjust as the darkness pressed around me.
The crying seemed to ripple in the air, coming from nowhere and everywhere.
And then it faded, leaving only the echo of its memory in the dark, and a great sadness.
Chapter 3
I woke and stared at the bright blue nylon above me, wondering where I was. Then I remembered—away from it all. Yeah, right. I’d expected to have challenges; that was the whole point. But being in the middle of nowhere had already held a few surprises.
My face felt chilly in the cool morning air. I’d read about the possible 40-degree temperature swings between night and day, but I hadn’t quite believed it. I wriggled into a sweatshirt and jeans and bolted for the restroom. Washing my hands and face in cold water didn’t warm me up, so I decided to jog to the canyon rim and get my blood pumping.
By the time I’d done the quarter-mile, I was gasping. I’d managed the Boston Marathon less than a year earlier, but I hadn’t jogged in six months. Maybe here, at last, I could try again. If I got back into the habit in totally unfamiliar surroundings, maybe I’d be able to jog in Boston again. Or wherever I went next.
I stopped at the edge of the canyon to catch my breath. I had the place to myself, with no one in sight except the birds and squirrels. The ruins along the rim glowed golden as the sunrise spread across the desert floor. I shaded my eyes and looked down into the canyon, where vegetation grew lush and green along a small river. A great place to spend a hot afternoon, but for now I preferred to stand in the sun.
I strolled along the rim trail, admiring the view. To the southeast, the desert stretched out flat for miles and then suddenly jutted up into a mountain range at the far horizon. I couldn’t even guess at the distance, since I wasn’t used to seeing more than a few hundred feet in any direction. Even the field camps I’d joined had been in wooded areas. Maybe I should have felt exposed in the Southwest’s wide-open spaces. Yet somehow everything combined to feel cozy: the small canyon, just over a mile long; the dozen ruins along the canyon rim, most no bigger than my apartment; the friendly tourists who felt the lure of this place.
I tried to imagine living here in ancient times, knowing nothing else but this landscape and the few hundred people in my community. That abstract concept was starting to feel more real, even appealing.
I shivered as I lost the heat from my run. I turned and jogged back toward the campground, my lungs burning. At least fighting for breath and watching my footing kept my mind almost too busy for other thoughts. Though I glanced nervously at the bushes, I avoided full-fledged panic.
I heard a distant car door slam. As I reached the campground, the restroom door swung shut. I had once again entered the modern world of humans. I slowed to a walk and enjoyed the chirping of birds in the trees above, the sounds of a lazy world waking.
A man’s voice broke the peace. I couldn’t catch the words but the harsh tone stopped me in my tracks. A woman’s voice, high-pitched and anxious, struggled to compete.
And then a crack, like a branch breaking or a single clap of hands, cut off the voices.
I stood trembling, my stomach in knots. Part of my mind screamed Run! but I couldn’t turn away. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. My shallow breath rasped in my ears.
A man burst out of the trees, barreling toward me. I stumbled back, but my legs felt so shaky I couldn’t escape. I made some wordless noise as he brushed past me muttering curses, but I’m not sure he noticed me at all. I watched until he disappeared up the path.
I hugged myself, chilled again. I turned and spotted the old woman at the host site. She stood on the steps to her RV, looking after the man and shaking her head. Then she came down the steps and crossed to the path. She raised a hand briefly in greeting.
I stared at her. “Should we....”
“I’ll take care of it.” She headed further into the campground. She was heavyset, but moved quickly and quietly. She disappeared among the trees and I stood still as the seconds slipped past. I should go after the woman, see if someone needed help. I should keep an eye on the man, see where he went, find out what he was doing. I should go about my business and pretend nothing had happened. I should go for help.
For the life of me, I couldn’t decide.
I took a deep breath and blew it out. I wasn’t here to hide from trouble. I had to know what happened. I would find out and then decide what to do next. I took a step in the direction the old woman had gone.
A voice called out behind me. I spun with a hand to my thudding chest.
The sun streamed into my eyes, half blinding me. I could only make out a dark figure striding toward me. I stepped back and stumbled over some rock or stick. I struggled for balance.
The figure closed the distance between us in a heartbeat. I gasped as hands grabbed my arms with bruising force.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
At least now I recognized the dark, frowning face. I couldn’t speak, could only struggle for breath and try to fight back the panic.
“You’re white as a ghost,” Danesh said. “Are you sick?”
I shook my head. He slipped an arm around me and held me tight against his side. “You’d better sit down.” I couldn’t have broken his grip, so I had no choice but to let him lead me to my campsite. He had to feel my trembling. I hated that he had seen me like that. I hated the panic that could freeze me in an instant, shatter my peace of mind, and turn me into someone I barely recognized. I hated losing control of my own body, feeling—no, knowing—that I was helpless and weak.
By the time we reached my picnic table, the anger had steadied me. I tried to shrug off his arm and grumbled, “I’m all right.”
He let go of me but hovered close until I sat. I clenched my hands in my lap and willed myself to stop shaking.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
I thought about what I’d witnessed. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but if my guess was right, the women wouldn’t want a man interrupting now. “It’s nothing. I just got a little lightheaded. Too much exercise on an empty stomach.”
He crouched beside me and looked into my face. I managed a smile.
He looked very serious. “I should have brought the doughnuts.”
“What?” I gaped at him.
He grinned, a sudden flash that transformed his face and vanished so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d really seen it. “I was looking for you to invite you in for coffee and doughnuts. But you’d better not wait. You have some food here, right? Tell me where and I’ll get it.”
No doubt he meant well, but I had to take control. “I’ll get it.” I tore my gaze away from his face and stood. I even managed
not to jump when he shot to his feet beside me and put a hand on my elbow. I pulled away from the steadying hand and strode to my car. I really felt too queasy to want food, but I’d made the excuse and I had to stick with it. I found a granola bar and choked down a few bites. I smiled at him. “Much better.”
He studied my face like he could read my whole history in it. I withstood it for a few seconds, then turned back to my car and found a water bottle. I took a drink and another bite of the granola bar without looking at him.
“Maybe you should drive over to the visitors center.”
“I’m not an invalid,” I snapped. “It’s not even half a mile.”
His lips twitched. “I guess you are feeling better. All right, ready to go?”
I nodded. I wasn’t, but I was too drained to think of a good excuse. Besides, sitting at my campsite brooding over my cowardly display would not get the day off to a better start. I prayed he wouldn’t insist on holding my arm the whole way.
He stayed close but did not touch me again.
At the visitors center, Danesh unlocked the door and swung it wide. The door creaked, and Jerry, standing behind the counter, jumped. His hand hit the phone, the handset clattered onto the counter, and he fumbled to replace it, his face going red above his beard.
Danesh crossed the room without a glance in Jerry’s direction. He called over his shoulder to me, “We’re not open yet. Come into the back.”
I ignored his command and smiled at Jerry. “Good morning Jerry! How are you?” He gave me one swift glance then looked down as he stammered a reply. I realized my greeting had been excessively warm, more for Danesh’s sake than Jerry’s. No doubt everyone ignored chubby, stuttering Jerry when the hot young warrior was around. And no doubt Danesh bossed Jerry like he bossed everyone else. I’d let Danesh see he wasn’t everyone’s favorite.
Jerry’s gaze jerked around the small office, avoiding my eyes. I realized I was making him uncomfortable, so I gave him another smile he probably didn’t see and went into the back room. Jerry came in behind me. Danesh handed him a mug and asked me, “Anything in it?”