That chilled feeling you get when something is just not right begins to swell up inside of me. I begin wishing I had not left Kelly by herself. Too far away to express my unsettling thoughts to her, I decide to bring the search for the stranger to an end, slide down the sand dune, and make sure Kelly is safe.
As I turn to start my descent, some footprint impressions in the sand catch my eye. Here, only moments before, someone had walked in the sand. The stranger must have created them, I reason. These prints embossed into the sand seem peculiar, for some reason. Then it comes to me. Whoever made these footprints was barefoot. Now why in the world would anybody be way out here, in the middle of nowhere, walking barefoot?
Investigating a little bit closer, I also realize that the owner of these prints has only four toes, one big toe and three little ones. At once, I am reminded of the ancient footprints we examined back at Jeremiah’s park. With a more important life or death issue at hand, I shrug and place these possible developments in the back of my mind for later.
Instinctively, I turn around into the sandblasting wind, and search the panoramic view before me, for the possible author of these footprints. After searching in vain for a few moments, I decide to follow the path created by the footprints.
Walking in the sand is a burdensome chore. I follow the path of footprints a distance of fifty feet, until they come to an abrupt stop. I conduct a visual sweep of the entire periphery of the area. Beyond this point the landscape is vacant of any other footprints, but does reveal a curious discovery. Here, where the footprints terminate, is something I can only characterize as an impression of a gigantic bowl in the sand, about ten feet in diameter.
Just who is it that I am following? What in heaven’s name was he doing up here? Is he in need of help, or am I? I go over these questions in my mind, as I study the imprints in the sand.
Like hundreds of little switchblade knives, I feel each hair on the back of my neck shoot straight up. That once uneasy chilled feeling has now changed gears to a frostbitten panic. I turn quickly on one foot and run as fast as I can toward the edge of the dune. All I can think of is getting to Kelly and making sure she is safe. My mind races and captures all sorts of images, of the mysteries of entanglement this discovery could prove to be.
As I reach the edge of the sand dune, I jump without slowing down. Sand explodes as I hit feet first halfway down the dune, then immediately begin driving my legs into a full throttled gallop. I reach the bottom of the dune at such high velocity that I hit the ground face first.
Shaken, but still filled with adrenaline, I lift my face from the hard ground, wipe the blood from my lip and continue on to search for Kelly.
With my hands cupped around my mouth, I call out:
“Kelly, where are you?”
“Over here Matt!” She emerges from behind some shrubbery not far away.
“I’m glad to see that you’re all right Kelly. Were you hiding?”
“No, I was just answering the call of nature. What happened to your lip?”
“Oh nothing, I just stumbled a little bit. Have you seen anybody or anything while I was gone?”
“Me? I was going to ask you the same thing. Did you find the person that was calling for help?” she asks.
Being in disturbed thought about our sand dune stranger, I pay no attention to Kelly’s question.
“What’s wrong? You look like a little boy that has just seen a monster in the dark.” She tries for my attention once again.
“I guess you didn’t see that guy on the top of the sand dune, then?”
“What guy?” she questions with a puzzled look.
“I saw someone on top of that sand dune. I think he’s the one that called for help. When I reached the top though, he was nowhere to be found. I only found some footprints, but…”
“But what?” Kelly hands touch the sides of my arms. Her beautiful eyes begin to betray mounting worry.
“I followed his footprints until they stopped, in the middle of nowhere,” I explain to her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the footprints stopped in the middle of nowhere. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air, or at least wherever he went, he didn’t leave any footprints.”
“That’s impossible. The wind must have erased his footprints,” she decides.
“I suppose that is a possibility. The wind is blowing hard up there.”
As I stand there contemplating our circumstance, Kelly looks into my eyes and detects that there is possibly something further I haven’t yet divulged.
“There is something else, isn’t there?”
“Nothing really.”
“What else did you see, Matt?” she asks, not really believing me.
“Well, when I came to the end of the footprints up there, I saw something kind of, well, unusual and strange in the sand.”
“Are you going to tell me what you saw or not?” Kelly’s impatience is starting to show.
“Well, it’s probably nothing, but there was a huge impression in the sand right where the footprints come to an end.
“What do you mean, ‘an impression’?”
“Well, it looked like someone put a gigantic impression of a huge bowl in the sand.”
“A huge bowl?”
“I know it sounds strange, but it looked like the impression of a big bowl in the sand.”
“Yes, it sounds strange. What in the world is going on, Matt?”
“I haven’t got a clue. Let’s go back to the car and get out of here.”
“What about that guy? Do you think he’s okay?”
“The only way we can be of any help to that gentleman is if he shows himself. At this point it seems that he does not want to be found. Why he called for help, I do not know. I do know that my instincts are telling me that for our own good we need to leave, and leave now.”
We walk over towards the Land Cruiser intending to load our things and leave. I take note of several abandoned campsites from visitors of times gone by, as we walk back to the vehicle. As we come closer to the vehicle, we see something lying on top of the window. I lean over the car and carefully pull off the window something that looks like a very old piece of Moroccan skin parchment.
Upon this yellowed and aged piece of finely tanned skin a message has been written. It looks as if the message has been written with a piece of black charcoal, possibly from a nearby abandoned campsite.
I study the message for a moment without showing it to Kelly.
“What is it?” Kelly impatiently asks, not being tall enough to look over my shoulder and see the message.
“What does it say?” she asks once again.
I continue in a daze for a second longer, before I finally read the message out loud to Kelly.
“It says, ‘The others too, would not leave our secret alone.
Now they are dead forever, instead of flesh and bone.’
“What in the world?” Kelly says, in total disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her question comes in a tone of bewilderment.
“I don’t have the slightest idea what this is supposed to mean.” Kelly begins to shake her head, looking a little scared.
Looking a little closer, I notice a small familiar mark at the bottom of the dehydrated mummified skin. I lower my brow and squint my eyes, drawing it closer into focus. The mark looks strikingly similar to a Nazi Swastika. That’s odd, very odd.
After staring at the message that has been written upon this piece of skin parchment, until I am almost visually impaired, I set it down on the hood of the car. I look up and begin to examine my surroundings once again. I make a complete circle, searching this desert world around me for an answer.
As my eyes reach the Land Cruiser again, the vehicle seems different for some reason. Its positioning seems to have changed. Then I finally see why the car is resting on the dirt road differently. All four tires have been slashed and are flat. With all the fuss over this stupid message neither of us noticed
the flat tires.
It looks as if each tire has been methodically stabbed, causing each tire to collapse, lifeless. Our Land Cruiser has now been given the sentence of immobility.
“Oh my God, what are we going to do now Matt?” Kelly is horrified and acts as if she has just witnessed a murder.
“It will be all right; we’ll think of something.”
Actually, I don’t know what we are going to do, or what we can do. I try hard not to show my vulnerability, but the situation catches us both by complete surprise. I just stand there with a blank stare, numb and totally in shock. Kelly sits down on a nearby rotten stump and begins to cry.
The cooling breeze starts to die down, making the heat feel more intense and our plight more unbearable.
Then it comes to me. I remember my cell phone I have in my backpack. I frantically open the back door and hastily rummage through my pack. I take out the cell phone and hold it up to show Kelly, as if it were a trophy I have just won.
“I’m calling room service; what do you want for dinner tonight?” I ask her confidently.
Kelly tries to wipe her eyes without me noticing. She looks up and attempts to transform her look of disaster into a face of hope.
“The cell phone; I forgot you had a cell phone. Thank goodness. I thought we would be stuck out here forever.”
I push the on button of the phone, and wait for the miniature screen to light up. As the little screen on the phone lights up, I am sickened to read the message it displays, ‘No service found.’
For a moment, I keep the news that the phone is useless, a classified secret. I glance over at Kelly. She is standing now, drying her tears, and brushing off her jeans, feeling confident of rescue. She looks so confident, like she was simply waiting to board the next train, leaving on track twenty-nine. I have to tell her the bad news, but I’d rather cut off both of my thumbs, than tell her; if I had a choice.
I slowly walk over to her, the fine powdery dirt on the ground puffing up around each foot, with each step I take. She looks up at me with those huge brown eyes of hers. Even the dirt smudge on her face is beautiful, and of course she is smiling.
“Whom should we call?” she politely asks.
Without saying a word, I lean over and show her the message displayed on the cell phone.
“You mean…”Again, she sinks her head into her hands.
I walk up and down the dirt road we have been traveling on, to see if my cell phone will pick up any signal. After walking a hundred yards or so in both directions, I give up. Not only is there no signal, but the battery is also starting to weaken. Controlling my urge to throw my phone as far as I can throw it, I walk back to the Land Cruiser.
§
EIGHT
I am somewhat old fashioned. I guess I still believe a man should be gallant and try to save the day. Not because a women is weak, but because she is more delicate. Not because she is less intelligent, but because she is more insightful. Not because she has no power, but because she is more fragile.
The problem for me is, along with bravery and ingenuity, gallantry takes a measure of charisma, of which I am in short supply. I would probably have to go deep in debt, and borrow charisma from the bank of Sir Galahad to be able to wear the semblance of gallantry.
As I walk back, I try to remember any experiences in life I’ve had, that might have taught me how to console someone whose high hopes have been dashed. Kelly definitely has had her optimism wounded from our day’s adversity.
I remember lying on the living room floor when I was a kid. I would painstakingly stack wooden blocks for hours, until I had produced the most teetering ‘Tower of Babel’ possible. The blocks were stacked so high that even breathing wrong would cause them to come toppling down.
I feel a similar anxious fear now, as I approach Kelly. I am afraid that saying or even breathing wrong may somehow make her emotions topple.
“You know if we’re going to have to hitchhike, I would prefer you wear a dress.” I begin my efforts to soothe the situation.
“What in heavens name are you talking about? What does wearing a dress have to do with anything?”
“If you were to wear a dress, you could show off your legs better. With the legs you’ve got, all you would have to do is lift your dress a little, and you would be able to stop the next car that comes by dead in its tracks. Assuming a man is driving the next car, that is. We’d be back in Great Falls by supper.” I take a stab at being amusing.
Kelly looks at me a little perplexed to begin with, and then her scrunched up face slowly brightens up to a smile.
“Yes, and if the first car isn’t a man, I’ll just try the next one that comes by, since cars and trucks drive up and down this road so frequently,” she mocks. Her sarcasm is served with a smile. Breaking the melancholy barrier, she even allows herself to laugh a little out loud.
“Why don’t we take our stuff over there under the trees? We can rest while we perfect our plan of attack,” I suggest.
“How long do you think we will have to stick around?”
“Well, I don’t know. We might as well make ourselves comfortable though, while we wait. Maybe Jeremiah or someone from the Mesozoic Park will come by, on their way to Red Rock for supplies.”
“Okay, you’re right. We might as well make the best of it.”
Kelly reluctantly gets up off of the old tree stump and begins to walk with me towards our spot under the canopy of trees. Kelly now seems to have resigned herself to accept the idea of our dilemma.
It’s 1:30 in the afternoon as we sit on the blanket under the shade of a big cottonwood tree, for the second time today. The air is still and hot. The only barrier between heat exhaustion and us is the shade from the trees and the coolness that drifts from the bubbling pool underneath them.
“How much water do we have, Matt?” Kelly inquires.
“You thirsty?”
“Just a little.”
“We have this whole gallon of water over here.” I hold up the gallon of warm water and present it to her, trying to be optimistic.
“It should be plenty. Go ahead and take a drink. Its warm water, but it’s good and wet.”
It seems to me that there would be no real lady-like way to drink from a gallon jug in the desert and still retain a measure of femininity. Kelly proves me wrong again. Even with something as awkward as drinking water from a jug in the middle of the desert, she maintains the appearance and dignity of a gentle lady. As far as I’m concerned, I count on myself to attack the water jug like some ravenous beast as usual, when she is through.
“Why don’t you stretch out and rest, maybe take a nap?” I suggest to her. “I think I’m going for a walk and pick up some firewood.”
Kelly instantly springs up on her feet as if she had sat on a cactus.
“You’re not going to leave me behind again, Matthew Brooks! If you’re going somewhere, I am going with you.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You can come with me if you want,” I am a bit surprised by her reaction.
“Well, I’m going with you then. Just don’t go off and leave me by myself again, okay?”
“Okay, okay, I won’t!”
We walk from the trees across the road and down a slope towards a small patch of chaparral. There are plenty of dried pieces of wood here, so I begin to fill my arm with a load of firewood for the night. Kelly likewise fills her delicate soft arms with rough pieces of wood.
“Don’t carry too much; I don’t want you to overdo it.” I hope to sound like the gentleman.
“I can carry as much wood as you can, maybe more,” Kelly says, irritated at me.
“Sorry. I’m trying to show that stupid male quality of chivalry again. You know, like when the gentleman opens the door for the lady and saves the day. Not that I’m a gentleman or anything. I’m just practicing, hoping to be one someday.”
“Sorry. I guess I am just tired.”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’m always forget
ting how multi-talented you really are. Beautiful and can carry a night’s supply of wood. I love that quality in a woman.
“Why, in the olden days, men would come from miles around to bid on a woman that was beautiful, could chuck enough wood for the night, and had good strong teeth to chew any rawhide to soft leather.”
“You are definitely full of it, Matthew Brooks.” She smiles at me.
We carry our booty of firewood back to our little refuge for the night and drop it in a pile.
“So I guess what you are saying is we are going to have to stay the night, right?” Kelly asks, but knows the inevitable.
“Well, if no one shows up by dark, we’ll at least have a nice fire. We can eat some granola bars from our packs and sandwiches Jeremiah gave us. Just think of it as a camping trip; you know an adventure.”
“I guess I never looked at camping as an adventure.
Where do we sleep?” Her face reveals total disenchantment with the whole escapade.
“You can lie down on the blanket, watch the stars show off their beauty, and listen to the crickets lull you to sleep.” I try to make camping sound like a romantic experience.
“There’ll be crickets?”
“Don’t worry. They will be a long way away, but you can still hear them lull you to sleep,” I am not sure is if she is serious or not.
It is now about 4:30 in the afternoon, the breezy time of the day. Kelly and I sit down on the blanket and try to forget our dilemma and relax. Actually if I remember right, the breezy time of the day is the same time of day that Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden for sinning.
I look over at Kelly and renew my belief that she is beautiful as much or more than Eve ever could have been. I make a promise to myself that as far as it depends upon me, I will not become guilty of any unforgivable transgression this night. Of course, I make no such promises concerning thoughts I might engage in.
While there is still light, I decide to start building a fire. I take a newspaper that I found in the car, crumple it up and place it on the campfire site. Taking some small branches we gathered, I position them uniformly on top of the wad of paper. Protecting the lit match from any rogue breeze with my other hand, I carefully light the paper. The wood is so dry that it begins to burn like it has been doused in gasoline. After seeing how fast the fire is consuming our wood, I begin to think seriously about foraging for more firewood.
Wyatt, Richard Page 7
