The Librarian Her Daughter and the Man Who Lost His Head

by Sam Lee Jackson

  Several minutes later I heard another vehicle approaching. I listened as it pulled into camp and the motor was cut. I heard someone shutting the door and footsteps that receded. The two men had swiveled, looking toward the sound. As the footsteps receded, they turned back to what they were doing. In the silence that followed I could hear the muffled sounds from across the camp. Megan was crying.

  I needed a lucky break, and I needed it to get dark. Not necessarily in that order. I took deep, silent breaths and made my body relax. I began to wait. And wait. And wait some more. A year and a half later, the sun fell behind the mountains.

  The men in camp lit a fire. Dumb. You try to hide your tents from the sky but you light a fire. As the darkness grew, I quit looking out. The fire made me nightblind.

  I listened hard as the men talked softly among themselves. And now, the occasional clink of metal on metal. They were cooking. I could smell the food and my stomach rumbled. I tried hard not to keep touching my broken teeth with my tongue. Then suddenly, I heard footsteps coming toward me. I slid across the tent to the far side, and curled up, my back to the tent flap.

  The tent flap was thrown back. I didn’t move. I relaxed my entire body. He stood silently at the doorway for a long moment. I was afraid he was going to go away. But he did what I needed. He came inside. I heard the flap drop behind him, and he was alone. I was barely breathing. It seemed to take forever but he finally moved over to me. He jabbed me in the back with the toe of his boot. I groaned but didn’t move. I waited. He kicked me again. I moved.

  Black Mamba.

  I swung my entire body around and knocked his feet out from under him. With a grunt, he slammed to the ground, and I scrambled on top of him. I propelled myself into the air and landed hard with both knees on his chest. The air exploded from his lungs. I did it again. The air was out of him, and he was gasping. He tried to move and I slammed my forehead against his face. I felt the warm gush of blood as his nose broke. He was still game. He rolled to his knees and tried to push himself up. I was still on top. I spun on his back, getting his head between my thighs. I clamped down with all I had and rolled hard. His neck popped like cracking a knuckle. He went limp.

  I lay still, my mouth as open as I could get it, breathing silently, listening. At first there was no sound. Then I heard voices. None were excited. I turned my attention to the man. Yowzer, he had a K-bar strapped to his right thigh. I turned my back and pulled it from its sheath. A second later, my hands and feet were free. I frisked the body. He was wearing cargo pants. There was a wallet in the rear pocket. In one of the deep side pockets I found his phone. Hooray. It was an old i-phone. I pressed the button and it lit up. I held it to his face.

  Buddy Dwyer.

  The phone was one of those that required you to slide your finger to open it. Call Blackhawk, have him bring the cavalry. It required a numbered password.

  Damn.

  I looked through the wallet hoping he was one of those that wrote his password down. Thirty- two dollars, a credit card, driver’s license and a worn picture of a nude woman. Also, a hunting license and a slip of paper with a phone number on it. The number wasn’t the password. Time to move.

  I spit in my hand and rubbed the saliva onto my closed eye. Rinse, repeat. Now I could see. I went to the crack of light and looked out, keeping the bad eye shut. One man sitting next to the fire. I moved to the back, squeezing my eyes shut. I waited until the dot of light behind the lid of the one eye receded, and then was gone. I pushed the K-Bar knife through the canvas and silently slit the fabric. I went through the opening and was in my element. In the wild, in the dark.

  I moved silently, which meant slowly, through the brambles. Every few seconds I paused and listened. My favorite part of training was in the forest, in the dark. When I was a kid, my long-gone brother and I spent our youth in the forest, and in the dark. When asked if we were afraid, we replied, of what? We were the scariest things out there.

  I worked my way around the camp, purposely not looking toward the light. I didn’t know how much time I had, so I was caught between stealth and speed. I knew where Megan was, but I didn’t know if she was alone. It seemed to take forever to reach the back of her tent, but finally I was there. As I approached I slowed to a snail’s pace. I placed each foot with infinite care. I leaned into the back of the tent, placing my ear against it. I didn’t breathe. In the silence, I could hear her moaning softly. I listened long enough to conclude she was alone.

  No time to waste. I pressed the tip of the K-Bar into the tent wall until it punctured, then sliced downward. It made the sound of a zipper. I stepped through the opening into the darkness of the tent. As I went in, I went low and sideways, the knife ready.

  I could barely make her out. She scrambled away from me with a low, frightened animal sound.

  “It’s Jackson,” I said quietly. “Megan, it’s okay, it’s Jackson.”

  She began to cry. I moved to her and took her in my arms. I petted her. “Ssh now,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  Her hands were free and they came up around my neck and she buried her face in the hollow of my neck and began to sob.

  “Shush now,” I said, a little more forcefully. “Don’t let them hear you. Are you hurt?”

  She cut the sobbing off, but her shoulders were still shaking. She shook her head. I got my arm around her and moved her to the slit in the tent. I went out first then, holding her hand, led her out. The brambles were thick, and they tore at us.

  I placed my mouth next to her ear, “Stay right up close to me. Don’t make any noise.”

  “Where’s my mom?” she said in my ear.

  “Your mom’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ll get you to her. Don’t talk now.”

  I took her hand and pulled her gently with me. I slowly started putting some distance between us and the camp. My fear was that Dwyer would be found, and the flashlights would come out.

  Good luck, bad luck. The stars were out. Good luck, making it easier for me to work us through the underbrush, and I could see the North Star so I knew which direction we were going. Bad luck, making it easier for us to be seen. We came to the wide wash. I found a place where we could climb down into it. The bottom was sandy. Deep sand. Every step caused a sandy impression. I kept us moving, close to the bank. The ground was harder there. Megan held the belt loop on the back of my jeans. I kept us moving as fast as I could. We had been working the wash about fifteen minutes, when I heard the shout. I stopped and looked back. A quarter mile back I could see lights moving. I started moving again. Now I wasn’t so cautious. In a couple of minutes, we came to a cattle crossing. The herd had left a trail across the wide wash in the soft sand. Just what I needed. Our tracks would blend with theirs.

  A minute later we were across the wash and scrambling up the other side. I followed the cattle trail until it disappeared into the desert. I could hear distant shouts. Megan’s breath was ragged. We needed a hiding spot. We needed to go to ground.

  “My mom’s going to be really worried,” she said softly.

  I stopped and put my arms around her. She was shivering.

  “I can’t help that right now,” I said. “I’ll get you safe.”

  Pulling her behind, I began angling southeast, trying to keep Megan out of the barbed cholla. We came to a smaller wash. Not nearly as wide. Only about twelve feet across. I stood on the bank and studied it. To the right, there was a wall of brambles that filled the wash. I led Megan there.

  “Wait right here,” I said softly. I moved down into the wash, in front of the wall of brush. A moment later I was back with Megan.

  “Follow me,” I said. I went down into the wash, then turned and held my hand up. She took it, and I helped her down.

  I put my back to the brambles and turned her so she was backed up into me. I pulled her close.

  I spoke into her ear, “We are going to get a little scratched up but we’ll be safe. They won’t find us here.” The air was turning cold and she shivered
. I pulled her even closer and began to back into the brambles. I tried to shield her from the thorns. What did John Wayne say? Everything out here will bite you, stab you or stick you.

  The thorns scratched at my arms and back. I shielded Megan as much as possible. I kept pushing, deeper and deeper. Every once in a while, Megan emitted a soft cry as a thorn dug into her. As bad as they were, the thorns were what would keep others from finding us. I got us as low as I could and pushed back into the brambles, pulling Megan with me. The brambles closed in around us.

  “There are snakes in here,” she said, her body stiffening.

  “No honey, no snakes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The sand is too cold. They like rocks, and things that stay warm.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes honey, I’m sure.”

  I sat, pulling Megan down on my lap. The sand was cold against my rear, and legs. I held her, trying to share my body warmth. We were as far as we could go.

  I held her. She lay her head back on me.

  After a few long moments, she whispered, “Jackson?”

  “Yes, honey,” I whispered.

  “You smell bad.”

  I laughed.

  “Sorry, can’t be helped.”

  Another moment and she said, “I’m scared. I thought you were dead. We wrecked your car.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “They put me in their front seat. I could see you when they pulled you out. You were all blood and stuff. I thought you were dead. I started to scream and one of them slapped me.’

  “We’re okay now, sweetie. Try to sleep.”

  After a long moment, she said, “I hate those guys.”

  “So do I.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Ssh, baby. We need to stop talking. We need to sleep. Now we wait.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  I thought about that.

  “Blackhawk,” I said.

  “How is he going to find us?”

  I had no idea.

  65

  The voices never came close. After a while Megan’s breathing slowed and deepened, and she slept. Eventually I dozed.

  I awoke, and it was still dark. My legs and butt were numb. Megan’s breathing was deep and regular. I cleared my mind, and slept some more.

  When I opened my eyes again, I could see faint eastern light through the brambles. I hugged Megan to wake her. She moaned, then started.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “We have to move before it gets too light. Try to slide forward. Protect your face with your arms.”

  She struggled forward. I tried to help as well as I could. Getting out was easier than getting in. Finally, we were out. She started to climb out of the wash but I grabbed her arm and held her back.

  “Stay here,” I whispered. “I need to look around.”

  I silently climbed up the bank. I stood for a long time, listening. My jaw and my thigh throbbed. I put it out of my mind. There were no sounds. No birds, no insects. Suddenly, there was a rustling behind me. I spun around. The small, dark form of an animal scuttled into the brush. I smiled. That’s a good sign. The little guy wouldn’t be here if humans were. But to be sure, I moved away from the wash and worked around our hiding spot in a circle. I stopped every few feet and listened. By the time I was back to Megan, I was convinced there were no bad guys close.

  I helped Megan up and out of the wash. I started east, toward where the sun would rise. If they were behind us, which they probably were, the sun would be in their eyes.

  I moved as quickly as I could, but it was tough for Megan. She was a city girl. We made our way through, around and sometimes in the creosote, mesquite and sage. I wasn’t sure where I was headed. I remembered my trip with Eddie and Joe Whitney and knew there was a hundred miles of desert, and it all looked the same.

  As the sun rose slowly in front of us, the wildlife came out. We startled a jackrabbit as big as a small dog. It went bounding away from us. After a while I realized that we were moving up a gradual knoll. I didn’t want to do that. If we were above Atef, our movements would be easy to spot. I changed direction and began working around the knoll.

  The sun was now fully up and the warmth felt good. Megan was game but eventually she begged to stop.

  “My foot is hurting,” she said. “I think I’m getting a blister.”

  “Let me see,” I said.

  She plopped down on the ground and pulled her shoe off without untying it. She rubbed her foot and held it up for me to see. She was right. Her little toe was taking a beating. I took the knife and forced a slit in the side of the shoe.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Trying to make it easier for you to walk.”

  “Mom just bought those. She’s going to kill me.”

  I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Then she started to laugh and we laughed together. It was good.

  I handed her the shoe. She slid it on and stood. She tested it.

  “Better?”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I said.

  As we moved, I kept checking our back trail. I didn’t see anyone, but I had no doubt they were there. Atef didn’t strike me as the type that gave up easily. We circled the knoll and kept moving east. My hope was I would cross a ranch road eventually. The cattle track had told me that this was grazing land. I had read that it took several acres of desert to sustain a single cow. There were lots of acres to spare out here, but where there are cattle, there is water. And where there is water, there are ranchers.

  We came to another knoll. This one higher. It would give me a really good point of view. Off to our right was a small grove of palo verdes. I led Megan to it.

  “I want you to get in under these trees,” I said. “I’m going up to the top here, and scout around.”

  “You are going to leave me?”

  “No, I’m not leaving, but I need to see where those guys are.”

  She looked frightened, but she didn’t protest. I moved away and began working my way up to the top of the knoll. As I neared the top I became more cautious. I kept behind any cover there was. I finally dropped to the ground and began crawling until I reached the top. I could see for miles. I had been trained to gauge distance. The trainers would point something out, then ask how far it was. We would guess, then we were handed a range finder. We did this over and over until we became pretty good at knowing the distance. At least a mile away and down below, I could see the wide wash. Back as far as I could see, I could see a man-made color. Something there that wasn’t desert. Something red. Like a truck.

  I started to back away from the crest when something caught my eye. I looked to my left. There were saguaros dotting the slope. The one at the top had caught my eye. I worked my way around it, and there he was. My old friend. The large saguaro, bowing from the waist with one arm sweeping in front. And now I knew where I was.

  I worked my way back to Megan. She had been a good girl, and had stayed where I had left her.

  “Did you see them?”

  “I saw something, but it was a long way away. I saw nothing close.”

  I pulled Dwyer’s phone from my pocket. I pushed the button and it lit up. I slid my finger and got the keyboard.

  “Where’d you get that?” Megan asked.

  “Took off a guy in camp. I wish I knew the password.”

  “Can I see it?” she asked.

  I handed it to her. She typed four numbers in. It buzzed at her, rejecting her effort. She did it again, again it rejected. She did it a third time. This time it didn’t buzz. She grinned and handed it to me. It was open.

  “How’d you do that?”

  She was pleased with herself.

  “People are idiots with their passcodes. The most common passcode is 1234. This one was 2222.”

  “This have a camera on it?”

  She moved up beside me and touched the screen. The camera app activated.


  “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  I made my way to the top and took a picture of the saguaro. I attached it to a text and sent it to Blackhawk. It failed. I tried again. Same result. Discouraged, I went back down.

  “What’s the matter,” Megan said.

  I handed her the phone. “It won’t send a message.”

  “It’s an iPhone,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “iPhones work through the internet.” She continued, fiddling with the phone. “We don’t have service here, so it won’t send.”

  I looked around. Where the hell was service?

  She fiddled some more, then, “You want to send a message to this number you just tried?”

  “Yeah, but we have no service.”

  “Not all phones need broadband. What do you want to say?”

  “Attach the picture of the cactus, and say show this to Eddie. Put my name on it.”

  She fiddled some more, then handed me the phone.

  “There you go.”

  “It went?”

  “Seems so.”

  I was looking at the blank screen. “So I could have called someone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “You said you wanted to send a text. Lots of people don’t call now. They just text.”

  I pushed the button on the phone. Nothing happened. I tried again.

  “The battery’s dead,” she said.

  “Did the text go?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. I think so.

  66

  “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.”

  “For Blackhawk?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does he know where we are?”

  “If the text went through he’ll see the cactus in the picture. Eddie and Joe Whitney and I were here before. This is where they found Frankie Wambaugh. Eddie and I noticed the cactus because it looked funny. Let’s get under cover.”