9
Red Falls, Utah
“WE’RE ALIVE?”
“Of course, muffin.” Dude’s arms ached from holding Shirley through the endless dark night, but as long as he had breath in his body, he’d never let her go. He had no idea what time it was. In the slot canyon, only a sliver of sky showed, and it was cloud-covered. These canyons were notorious killers. God help them if it rained and their hideout flooded.
She’d been in and out of consciousness for hours.
He needed to hike up to the ledge from which they’d fallen, but not in the dark. He couldn’t risk another fall when he was Shirley’s sole means of survival.
Dude closed his eyes, praying for a few hours’ sleep before dawn.
For once during this ordeal, his prayers were answered, for when he next woke, he and Shirley were drenched in a sliver of sun. For a moment, he fought the urge to pinch himself. Was he dreaming? Not unless he was having a nightmare. The sunshine might be pretty, but it didn’t pack near as much warmth as he would like.
As soon as possible, he’d retrace their earlier steps. At the butte’s top were bottled waters and granola and that down sleeping bag his brilliant wife had thought to grab. He’d stockpile all of it, then return to her. He’d make a splint, stabilize her ankle, then let her use him as a crutch. It might be slow going, but if they rationed supplies, they could walk out of this valley, find a road, flag down a car and be saved.
“Muffin?” He nudged Shirley. “Sweetheart, wake up for me. I need to tell you our battle plan.” His heart kicked into overdrive upon realizing she was breathing regularly but was otherwise unresponsive. What was wrong? A sprained or broken ankle wouldn’t be this serious. Was she suffering from general exhaustion? “Wake up, Shirl . . . Please, wake up.” He was a strong man. A prideful man who wasn’t prone to tears, but in this case, he was physically unable to stop himself from sobbing. If he lost the most precious gift he’d ever been given, all because of this stupid treasure hunt, he might as well die himself.
Hell, there hadn’t even been a treasure in that box. He was an old fool.
“You take it easy,” he said, fighting a fresh round of panic over her condition. “I’m going to find our supplies. By the time I get back, you’ll be nice and rested and maybe your ankle will feel good enough for you to take a walk. Remember how far we could see from on top of this butte? I’ll find our way out, and then it will be no big deal to find help.”
What about the men who are no doubt searching for the nuke?
What if they find you first?
Dude refused to go to that dark place where bad things happened. If they were going to make it out of this purgatory together, he’d have to stay positive. He’d cover the nuke so they’d never find it. Plus, since he and Shirley literally fell into their current location, there would be no tracks leading them here.
Driftwood from a past flash flood had been swirled into a pile at the slot canyon’s rear wall. He sifted through the branches and twigs for a flat piece he could use as a shovel, then worked it into the soft sand cradling the nuke to completely cover it. He then smoothed out the sand before tossing flotsam atop it.
“Muffin, I’m going to go.” Shirley was still unresponsive, but her pulse seemed strong and breathing still regular. He’d take that as a good sign, but feared she may have a concussion.
To give her added warmth, he removed his hoodie, draping it over her, tucking it around her sides.
He knelt, kissing her forehead and lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Because it hurt too much not hearing her reply, Dude set off without looking back. It was better to imagine her waving like she did from their condo’s patio when he left with his buddies for a day of metal detecting.
Setting a blistering pace, he tried scrambling up and over the rock slide remains, but it was no good. The soil was so loose that he slipped right back to where he’d started. Which meant his only solution was following the canyon out, painstakingly covering his trail along the way. It took fifteen minutes to reach the narrow mouth. He had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Once free, he found himself on a wide-open plateau dotted with scrub brush and juniper. Holding his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from bright morning sun, Dude searched the butte behind him for easy access, but found none.
His choices were sheer cliffs or boulder fields.
In the end, as he feared, he had to trudge miles around the base until finding the relatively easy slope he and Shirley had previously taken. Knowing the end of his trek was now within reach spawned new hope deep within. He pumped his legs like he hadn’t since he’d been in his forties. He had to reach those supplies. He had to get back to Shirley with food and water. He refused to let her waste away.
Up, up, up he climbed and when he finally reached their supplies, he wept for the second time that day from relief. He drank a bottled water, ate a protein bar, then made a ten-foot long X in the sand using small stones. After getting Shirley medical attention, he needed a way for authorities to find the nuke.
From this vantage, he studied the valley below. Without light from their campfire, the bad guys’ camp wasn’t visible. Or maybe, they’d packed up and moved on? What he did see rising from a distant valley was one dust plume, then another. Squinting, he could just make out sun on glass. One caravan had three, maybe four, vehicles. The other, just one. Olivia would have no doubt filed missing persons’ reports on them by now, so one of those groups could be a rescue party. The other? His stomach knotted at the realization that it was most likely the men looking for the nuke.
What happened when the two parties converged? What if Olivia had launched her own search and this very minute was unwittingly poised to rendezvous with men who weren’t just prepared to take one or two innocent lives, but potentially millions?