Chapter Thirteen: Desert Directions

Juliana

 

 

“You know how totally whacked this is, don’t you?” Jared asks.

“I do,” I say, and stuff another French fry in my mouth.

“And you know our set starts at eight tonight?”

“I’m planning to be there if it freaking kills me.”

By the time we hooked up the horse trailer — something I’ve never done before and it took three tries to align the trailer with the truck correctly — and pulled away from Vivi’s, it was past lunch time. Jared flashed the lights on the van and motioned me to pull over in front of a fast food restaurant.

“You have the phone with you?” Jared asks as he finishes his chicken sandwich.

“Yeah. I don’t think cell service is too dependable in the desert, but I’ll take it with me.”

I stare off in the distance toward the rez land and New Mexico beyond. My journey may get tricky as the boundary lines between reservation land, national forest, BLM, and private land aren’t always clearly marked — and outsiders aren’t always welcome, but I know where the Bull’s Horn is. I’m going to have to trust my visions won’t lead me in the wrong direction.

“I don’t know, Jules.” Jared frowns at me. “Do you think you should call the Department of Wildlife or make a report to the rez cops?”

“I already thought about that. It’s hard to report something with no evidence. I can’t say I dreamed about this.”

“Anonymous tip,” Jared adds.

“If I don’t find Chris and his dad today, I’ll call.”

“Saint Juliana. It has a good ring to it,” he teases.

“I’m not a saint. I want to be sane again.”

I wrap my arms around Jared in a fierce hug goodbye. It’s something I’ve started doing every time I have to leave him. Star and Marcus sit inside the van, letting us have a minute to ourselves. I’m still peeved at Marcus and don’t know if I’ll ever be on good terms with him again.

“Let go, sis,” Jared says, as he tries to squirm out of my hold. “I’d come with you if we weren’t playing tonight.”

“I know you would. I’m sorry I’m stalling you and keeping Caleb waiting for the van. My timing stinks today. You need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I do,” he agrees.

His feet stay rooted in place. Maybe Jared is feeling the need to stay together, too. I push my hair away from my face. Do I have to rescue horses today? What if this is Jared’s last day? Will I regret leaving? Will I regret it worse if I don’t find Chris and save a herd of horses from a fire?

“Have you seen the news lately?” I ask.

He gives me a queer look.

“Just wondering if you’ve heard about any forest fires.”

“Don’t freak me out, Jules. I’m already gutted for leaving you here with that ridiculous truck.”

“So, you haven’t heard anything?”

“Fire danger is high. The clouds today should help a lot. Any humidity in the air is better than none.”

“It’s not raining, though,” I say with a frown at the sky. “It looks like it’s clearing up to the west.”

“Yep. We’re chit-chatting over the weather,” he points out.

“Right,” I say, and stare into his endlessly charming brown eyes. “Playing for more time.”

He looks empathetic at my reluctance to leave.

I punch his arm lightly. “Have fun today,” I say with a grin and turn for the truck.

After a long and drawn out fiasco at the gas station where I one: spent an entire week’s paycheck to fill the tank, and two: was blocked in and could neither turn the enormous truck and trailer around, nor back it up without hitting something, I was left groveling my thanks at the feet of a total stranger for driving the pickup truck back onto the roadside. And three: discovered my favorite Officer Suarez had been observing my ineptitude the entire time.

As I buckle the seatbelt, Officer Suarez taps on my window and nearly makes me pee my pants from sheer surprise.

“Good day, Ms. Crowson,” he says.

My throat is suddenly dry as desert dust. I attempt a smile, but only feel my lips crack painfully.

“Did you know your tags are expired on your trailer?”

“No, Sir,” I say as my insides shrivel into a neat little dried prune.

“You have any idea how to haul livestock?”

“No, Sir,” I say again.

“What are you doing out here, Ms. Crowson?”

“Moving a trailer for a friend.” It isn’t a lie. I can’t lie, or at least not very convincingly. I’m sure my racing heartbeat and glass face will give me away in a second.

“You or your friend isn’t associated with a Trent Diaz or a Dominic Reeves, are you?”

The names aren’t familiar. I say, “No, Sir. The trailer is Vivian Costa’s. I didn’t know about the tags, Officer. I’m really sorry.”

He appraises me with a long cold look and says, “Don’t make me ticket you for obstructing traffic, Ms. Crowson. And please, get this trailer off the road as soon as possible. Next time I see you I may not be so generous.”

“I will. I promise.”

He scowls and almost, but not quite, rolls his eyes — scorn and derision ooze out of him — then he tips his hat and walks back to his SUV.

I shudder and take a very brief second to be grateful he didn’t write me a ticket. I crank the window closed and decide I should have left it open as I crane my neck to look for oncoming traffic. As I slowly pull out, the blaring of a horn lets me know I missed an oncoming vehicle. Sirens and flashing lights don’t follow the horn honking, so I have to assume dear old officer Suarez is going to let the near collision slide.

Get off the road as soon as possible. Right.

Three hours later, I’m lost in the high mountain desert. As a footnote: I’m also teaching myself how to back up and turn a truck towing a twenty-foot long trailer. Oh joy.

I’m actually not lost. I just don’t have any idea where these four-wheel drive trails go. I was headed straight toward the Bull’s Horn and ended up circling back toward the highway. I chose another dirt road and ended up heading west when I wanted to go east. So, I know the mountain I want is behind me, and I also know there hasn’t been a decent place to turn this monstrosity around in at least three miles. At last, I see a flattish section of ground. No gully, no sharp rocks, no ditch to bottom out in or cliff to drop off of, and only a few plants to smash, but no trees. Turning around takes entirely too long as I have to climb out of the truck and look at the trailer a few times to make sure I haven’t missed anything. As I’m about to climb back inside the cab, hopefully for the last time, I feel the brush of a cool hand on the back of my neck.

I immediately place my hand over the spot and spin around. No one is behind me, alive or dead. The sensation was all too real, and by now, I know not to ignore the things I really want to ignore.

“Nathaniel Evans? Now would be a great time to hang out,” I say to the vast sky and the rugged hills.

I slam the door closed, feeling a tiny bit comforted by the surrounding cab. I lean over to grab my water bottle, which had rolled clear across the bench seat. I sit back up and guzzle the tepid water. I must have had my eyes closed because when I open them again, the deep brown eye of a large bird streaks across the front of the glass. I scream and jump as the sight of the huge wing flashes by the windshield. The bottle of water empties into my lap, which makes me jump again. I right the bottle and stare after the raptor.

The hawk swoops low to the ground then flaps away, heading east. I’m seriously beginning to believe the entire universe is conspiring against me right now. The water soaks in and spreads nicely to encompass most of my groin and the seat. I dig my hoodie out of my duffle bag and spread it out beneath my butt. Not letting the pessimism take over, I continue toward the elusive Bull’s Horn Mountain. The early evening sun begins taunting me with a song. It sings, Neener-neener wiener. You’re gonna miss Jared’s show. There isn’t a clock on the dash, but I remember the cell phone in my pocket. I wiggle around on the seat, trying to dig out my phone and relish the feeling of the damp creases in my skin and my soggy bottom. My phone must be unhappy about receiving a water bath because it refuses to turn on.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I ask the wilderness as I continue to creep along over ruts and bumps in the non-serviceable road.

The truck and trailer rattle through a dry gulch and up a small hill and I see the hawk perched on the top of a cone-shaped cedar tree. My first instinct causes me to stare at the ground below the hawk. Thank goodness, I don’t see any trampled body there. Especially not my own. I groan at the reminder of my vision. Guts intact — yes, I actually do a quick self-check — I drive on until the hawk is close enough to see its unique eye color. Same hawk as the one who collided with my windshield. Same red-tailed hawk that was in my vision. As if it were watching and waiting for me, it lifts off the tree and flies in the direction I was already headed.

Let the adventure begin.

 

∞

Nathaniel

 

It’s always her. I’m a hopeless case of lustful infatuation. Stick a label on me and tag it, “Property of Juliana Crowson.” How could I not be hers? She makes me smile and laugh. And makes me crazy in every way; good and bad. But most of all, she makes me feel whole. All the pieces of life and death make perfect sense when I’m with her.

I must be stronger now. Yes, I had to recharge after Marcus’s tantrum, but the rest period was quick and now it’s over. Her pull on me is the first thing that enters my consciousness from the physical dimension of Earth. As soon as I’m able to organize my thoughts, it’s Steven who needs me more. The little twerp. His pull is stronger and so Steven is who I return to instead of Juliana.

He’s huddled on the ground next to Arrio when I arrive. They’re eating jerky from a bag. Candy bar wrappers lie on the ground near Steven’s backpack. They’re in an arroyo, hidden by the sandy walls of the ditch. Dominic scurries around a bend, keeping low to the ground, and squats next to them.

“Soon,” he says with a nod.

Dominic’s arm is in a makeshift sling. They’re smudged with dirt and grime, bleary-eyed and rumpled. The paint on their faces is smeared or mostly gone and only adds to the pathetic state of their appearance. Steven wears the same clothes as the last time I saw him. How much time has passed? Could they still be on the same raid?

Beyond the upper lip of the gully, the sagebrush is thick, the cholla cactus scraggly, and the cedar trees are all too familiar. The evening light is far from the breaking dawn when I left Steven behind, but this area has to be the same basic location.

The peaks rising from the arid valleys are brush covered and steep. There’s a flat-topped butte to the northeast. Rolling sage covered hills rise to a peak of rugged dark stone to the southwest.

“Let’s go now. I’m sick of waiting this shit out,” Steven says.

“Not a chance. Moving in the dark is the only way this is going to work.”

“They already know what you ugly suckers look like,” Steven adds.

I rejoin them in the bottom of the arroyo. Looking to the sky, I wonder if it will yield any rain. A good downpour would ease Juliana’s newfound fear of fire and may even shower some sense on these three.

“We always move at night. The one time we raided during the day was a disaster. It’s the reason we’re here, like this, right now. Don’t screw this up, Steven,” Dominic says.

“Who blew it last night? Not me. We should have been back to town yesterday,” Steven accuses. “This is crap. We don’t even know if Trent is alive.” His eyes are sharp pinpricks as he stares at the lit end of his cigarette instead of looking directly at his friends as he accuses them.

“We need the horses. I’m with Dominic. We wait till night and we take’em back from those assholes,” Arrio says.

“Of course, you’re on his side,” Steven mumbles.

“Shut the hell up, dude,” Arrio says and shoves Steven’s arm.

Steven reacts by lashing out with his fist. It lands squarely against Arrio’s chest. He falls back, but catches himself on an outstretched arm. Arrio is compact and quick. He launches a counter attack. Boots digging into the sandy ground, he’s like a spring as he propels his lithe body into Steven’s middle. They roll, fists flying. Dominic gives them space by edging out of the way.

The tussle ends almost as abruptly as it starts and Steven is beneath a fire-spitting Arrio. He finishes with a sharp right jab to Steven’s nose. The echoing crack of knuckles against face is cringe-worthy.

“You want more of this?” Arrio gloats.

Steven turns his face and grabs his bleeding nose with a moan.

“Get off, bro. Steven has PMS,” Dominic says. “Psychotic Mood Swings.”

Blood-boiling rage is a mask easy to recognize, but to Arrio’s credit, he settles his tense shoulders and backs off an inch. As he begins to slide to the side, Steven uses his free arm and knee to ram Arrio in the ribcage. He face-plants in the dirt with a grunt. Steven is faster this time as he rolls out of the way before Arrio can retaliate.

“Screw you both,” Steven says through his muffled and nasal voice.

Dominic grabs Arrio’s arm, holding him back as Steven retrieves his backpack and bow.

“You’re in this with us, Steven,” Dominic says. “Leave now and you don’t ever come around again.”

Head down and growling, Steven mutters something incomprehensible as he heads south out of the arroyo.

Dominic tries once more. “Never. You spoiled, weak shit!”

Steven doesn’t turn back.

Following Steven is tedious. Because it’s my job and because I have some sense of responsibility, I stay with him instead of finding my girlfriend. Another direct call from Juliana doesn’t happen, but I’d rather be with her than this guy. It would be great to join her at the venue tonight. A concert with my girlfriend would be exponentially better than wandering through rough country following a cigarette smoking, bow shooting, delinquent pyromaniac.

Trudging along behind him, I say, “You’re missing work.”

Startled, he rounds on me and pulls the knife from his belt. Once he recognizes me, he’s fast to recover and shoots a dirty look at me. “No shit.”

“Think you’re fired?” I ask.

“Probably.” He keeps walking.

His nose stopped bleeding some time ago, but the dried smears are dark and dirty. It adds to his lack of appeal.

“Does it matter to you?” I ask.

“How many times do I have to ask: what do you want?”

The broken nose makes him sound congested. I should probably have more sympathy, but I don’t. Thievery is a choice, and one I have little or no tolerance for. Choices aside, Steven is about to leave this life. I’m obligated to do something for him, but that something is an endless interpretation yet to be discovered.

“What do you want?” I ask in return.

Steven ignores me and continues to stomp over the uneven ground. I can’t tell if he has a direction in mind, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. If he has any will to live and would like to turn his life around, I’d like to help him. If that means I have to hound him to the base of Mount Baldy, I’ll do it. If he doesn’t and continues his path of recklessness, I’ll take him to the other side.

“I want a smoke,” he says. The click of his metal lighter opening and closing precedes the scent of burning tobacco.

“Smoking will kill you,” I say to his back.

I hear him sniffle before he flicks the cigarette to the ground. He doesn’t bother to step on it, so I do. He reaches up to his face and carefully explores his swollen nose.

“Hurts to smoke?” I venture.

He drops his hand and tries to snarl. A grimace follows, confirming his agony. His face falls flat and he turns again and starts walking in another direction. After a long silence where Steven only turns around once to see if I’m still behind him, he finally stops trekking through the brush and turns to stare at me.

“I’m ready.”

“Ready to take some responsibility for your actions? For your life?”

“No. I’m ready to die.”

“You’ve figured out why I’m following you,” I say.

“I don’t care what you are or what you’re doing here, but I’m done.”

He walks away again. Steven trips over the twisted roots of some dessert shrub and flails, the weight of his pack increases his momentum and he lands on his hands and knees.

Gritting his teeth, he climbs to his feet and continues mindlessly slogging over the high desert plateau.

“Why?”

He ignores me, so I catch up to walk by his side.

“Why are you giving up?” I ask.

“Life gave up on me the moment I was born.”

“How do you know?” I ask calmly.

“Because my real mother didn’t want me. Because my family has hated me since I was born. Because I can’t get along with anyone. How many fucking reasons do you want? I don’t fit in this world.”

He started explaining himself to me plain, but by the time he’s finished, he’s yelling.

“That’s understandable,” I say.

I don’t think this is what he was expecting me to say. Steven narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t believe me.

“Your feelings are real. And justified. I can’t tell you they’re not valid.”

“Everyone else does. I’m a good for nothing, alcohol drinking, smoking sinner. I’m going straight to hell, so go ahead and take me.”

“Strong words, Steven.”

He shakes his head and starts hiking to his right.

“Are you lost?”

“What difference does it make? I’m not going back. Ever.”

“You’re going to let the elements take you?” I ask as the images of cold nights under silver stars, no water, no people to rescue him, and plenty of coyotes and buzzards sinks in.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know!”

“You’re not going to hell, Steven. That much I can tell you.”

He gives me the hard distrustful stare again, like I’m only saying things he wants to hear.

“I have no reason to lie to you. Hell is a story made up to keep humans afraid and subservient to ideals set by society. Let go of that nonsense and think about what you would want with the kind of life you get to choose.”

“Every time I do something for myself, it turns into a huge shit pile. I wanted to go to classes, but I couldn’t show up and I failed. I fail at everything. I set fire to the band members, remember? You can’t know what it’s like to try your hardest and still suck at everything.”

“You’re an excellent archer. And The Shy Lights thought you were doing a great job for them. You’re not failing at those two things,” I point out.

“I am! I’m supposed to be working right now and I couldn’t make it again. Archery isn’t going to pay my rent or buy me food.”

“Money isn’t why we live. It doesn’t bring happiness. If you can separate monetary gain from your self-worth, you’ll start to see who you really are. And if you can see yourself, your true self, you can start to see that life is worth the struggle.”

“You don’t know anything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

A large bird sweeps across the horizon. It’s too far away to see anything but an expanse of wings and muted colors of cream and rust. A lingering dust cloud rises into the air far to the west. Maybe we’re not the only ones out here after all. The stream of dust on the horizon is so distant I can’t see the vehicle causing the disturbance, but it’s over there. Steven doesn’t appear to notice.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Disappear and stop yakking at me. You’re starting to sound like my step-monster.”

“I’m nothing like her and you know it.”

“You’re worse,” he says.

“Could be. But I’m still not leaving.”

The dust cloud fades into the dulling colors of the evening sunset. Soon, it will only be shades of gray and then the dark of night.

We follow a game trail over a gentle slope and I ask, “Where’s your car?”

“Didn’t know spirits needed wheels,” he mutters.

“I don’t. You do.”

“I’m not going back. I already told you.”

“What if you could start over? What if you could move away and start living a brand new life? Would you do it?”

“I can’t start over. My past is a part of me. Unless you’re some magic genie or some shit and can give me a new brain, it will still be me. I’m the problem. You got it yet?” he asks with a flourish of one hand. “I’m the problem.”

“I’m not accepting that. I think you may have your head screwed on too tight, but that can be adjusted. No one in the world has everything figured out. Give yourself a break.”

“You know what? You seem to have all the answers, so tell me this. What’s so damn wonderful about life? Because on my end, there isn’t anything worth staying around for.”

“My answers will be different from yours. We all get to decide for ourselves.”

Obviously, Juliana is at the forefront of my mind, but there are endless answers to what drives a person to go on.

“If you can start focusing on one good thing at a time instead of all the bad, it could change everything for you,” I say.

“There is no good. The world is a fucked up hell hole.”

“Your friends care about you. And to me, it looks like you care about them.”

“Don’t bring them into this.”

“Why not? Didn’t you risk your life to save them last night?” I ask.

“Shut up.” He turns out of the little ditch we’d wandered into and starts heading up a steep hillside.

“Why don’t you go back to your car and rest? Tomorrow we’ll start a new day after sleep and some real food.”

“Shut your mouth already,” he says, and I can see his blood pressure rising.

Bringing up his friends sparked something inside him. I can’t completely understand where his viewpoint is coming from, but feeling something, anything, is better than the total shutdown of emotion and the rising swells of depression. As negative as he is, at least he’s talking and expressing anger.

“I’m offering to stay by your side and help you start over. You can’t change your past, but people start again all the time. You can use your past experiences to help you make better decisions in the future.”

“Why can’t you just stop talking?! You’re pissing me off.”

“Like Arrio did? Want to take a swing at me? I won’t feel a thing.” I’m trying to get a rise out of him on purpose. Maybe what this kid needs is to get it all out of him. Release every pent-up emotion, every surge of frustration.

Crap, I hate my job. It’s like fumbling the ball only with a life on the line. I’m guessing my way through and hoping for the best. I haven’t fumbled yet, but I think it’s coming.

He takes me up on my offer and before I realize it, my face is full of knuckles. I take it with a grunt, swallow, and then say, “Feel better?”

“No!”

He massages his hand and turns away from me again. I fade from my physical body, but keep close to my client. Steven seems to walk in a set direction now, but I still don’t know if he’s lost or actually going somewhere.

After climbing a rounded hill and scrambling over some jagged rocks, we stare across the slope at the group of stolen horses. The night is settling over the high mesas and the moon remains hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. I can still see well enough to recognize the silver flash of the blue roan and the massive black gelding of White Wolf’s.

The two shamans are resting by a small campfire. From our vantage point, they don’t appear to be overly cautious about hiding or protecting themselves. Steven ducks behind a large boulder, turns and sits, resting against his pack. I’m tempted to check in with Chris, but Steven interrupts my thoughts before I make plans.

“What if I wanted to start my life over? Like in another state or something?”

“I could help get you settled. Stay with you until you’re doing better,” I say without showing myself.

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Why? Why do I do anything I do? My job? My acceptance to serve in the afterlife? The position was given to me and I blindly said, sure. Eternity helping others, why not?

“Life matters, Steven. Yours does. Every life matters. If I can be the step you need to find your way again, I’ll do it. It’s what we do and I have all the time in eternity to do it.”

“Did you write a fucking self-help book or something?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s called, ‘The Idiot’s Guide to Not Screwing Up Your Life’,” I say.

“Then it’s too late for me,” he says and runs his hands over his scalp.

“It’s not.” I pull my physical body into my normal attire and sit on a rock not far from him, but out of sight of Chris and White Wolf. “You don’t have to decide right now if you’re ready to take your life back. You only have to walk back to your car.”

Steven’s murky hazel eyes stare at his lap. His nose is swollen and red and he looks like he’s been beaten in ten rounds of a boxing match with a desert demon.

He inhales through an open mouth and lets it out before climbing to his feet. He doesn’t look back at the horses or Chris and White Wolf, but at me. “Let’s get out of here.”