by Chris Pike
“Thanks, I think I’m okay.”
“You sure?” Nico asked. He was skeptical the guy could stand on his own.
The pilot’s legs buckled and Nico caught him before he fell over. “You need to sit back down.”
“Okay.”
“I’m Nico Bell. I’m with Border Patrol.”
“Nice to meet you,” the man said. He held up a hand to shake. “I’m Josh Lopez. I’m stationed at Laughlin Air Force Base.”
“I figured. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
“I was about to bank to the left and head back to base when I saw a bright flash in the sky. Then the alarm bells and whistles went off. I’ve trained for most everything, but not an instantaneous total lack of power. I lost radio contact, and I had no choice but to eject. Fortunately the ejection system was still working.”
“A miracle for you it did,” Nico said. “Hitting the canopy inside the cockpit would not have ended well.”
Josh agreed.
“So all systems stopped working at the same time?”
“They did,” Josh confirmed.
“Hmm.” Nico ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, thinking. “That’s the strangest thing. Same thing happened to my partner. We were about to make a drug bust at the Rio Grande when the chopper lost power. You’re describing exactly what happened to my partner.”
“Is your partner okay, or did he…?”
“He’s okay. The chopper isn’t. It went down in the middle of the Rio Grande. I was able to get him out before he drowned. He’s with my truck. I think he’s got broken ribs.”
“Do you mind giving me a ride back to the base?” Josh asked.
“I would if I could, but the truck won’t start.”
Another explosion ripped the countryside, and the men ducked. The frown lines on their faces deepened with anxiety.
“We’d better get out of here,” Nico said, coughing. “If the smoke doesn’t get us, the fire will. It looks like it’s gaining on us. We need to head to the truck where my partner is. I can’t leave him there.” He pointed in the direction where the truck was. “Let’s go.”
Nico helped Josh up and steadied him for a moment. When it became clear he was still lightheaded, Nico instructed Josh to put an arm around his shoulder. Nico looped an arm around Josh’s waist and let him lean into him. They clumsily jogged through the flat land of dry brush, dodging fire ant mounds, deadwood, cactus, mesquite and huisache trees.
They coughed at times, and the odor of burning jet fuel and blackened brush filled the air with a putrid smell, a cross between burning chemicals and a brushfire.
The roar of the fire came closer.
The wind changed directions, blowing embers high in the air like a sparkler from a fourth of July celebration had exploded. During a lull in the wind, embers floated to the ground, igniting clumps of dry grass.
Nico stopped, leaned over, and put his hands on his thighs, breathing hard and fast. “I’m not exactly sure I’m going in the right direction.”
Josh ran a hand across his forehead, thinking. “I’m disoriented. I’m not sure which way to go either.”
A faint yell came from somewhere in the distance. “Hey! Over here!” It was Tony. He sounded like he was in a tunnel.
When they were within yards of the truck, Tony waved them closer. He looked curiously at Josh, noticing his flight suit.
“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Josh yelled. He opened the truck door and got in.
“I told you it won’t start!” Nico yelled.
“We can’t stay here,” Josh said. “We’ll die.”
“Grab anything you can from the truck, and let’s head to the river. Hurry!”
Nico reached into the truck and heaved his backpack over his back. Josh retrieved a satchel and the thermos of water, along with a holstered Glock. Tony slung a light, low-hanging pack across his chest. He winced in pain.
“Nico, you go on,” Tony said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m not leaving you here. I’ll help you.”
“I’ll only slow you down.”
Josh stepped on the other side of Tony. “I’ll help too.”
Pinioned between Nico and Josh, Tony hooked his arms around their necks for support.
Nico and Josh held Tony by the waist, and the three hobbled toward the river, ducking under branches and weaving around impenetrable thorny brush.
The fire hissed and crackled, crimson tentacles of flames reaching out, devouring anything in its path, leaving scorched earth. It moved like a living, breathing thing intent on winning the race to the river.
Sweat beaded Nico’s forehead and dripped to his eyebrows, then to his eyes reddened from the smoke. He wiped it away and blinked his stinging eyes. The heat became palpable. His heart beat fast and he coughed.
“We’re almost there!”
Stumbling toward the river, the three men fell into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the searing heat and smothering smoke. They waded in until the water reached their waists, then they crouched down on their knees until only their heads were above water.
“Take your shirt and hold it to your nose,” Nico instructed.
The fire roared and lashed waves of flames at the sandy bank, searching and struggling to breach the barrier. Flames whipped the trees into submission until the limbs and leaves succumbed to the power of the fire.
For hours, the three men stayed in the river, bobbing and swaying. There were no words, only the realization they had lived, for now. Without any more fuel to satiate the fire’s appetite, it slowly withered, shrinking until only feeble smoking embers were left of the once powerful force.
Chapter 7
“I think it’s safe to get out now,” Nico said. He waded out of the river and onto the bank. He let the water drain from his clothes, briskly rubbing his arms trying to warm them. Tony and Josh followed his lead.
The warm October sun had slid beyond the horizon, letting the cold of the night creep in, causing misery. Nico shivered in the waning light, letting his eyes roam over the scorched earth. Smoldering trees lay in dying ruin, stretched across the landscape. The stately mesquite tree he had hidden behind had become a blackened skeleton. The fern-like leaves of the mesquite had curled inward in a desperate attempt to survive the inferno.
“I know this sounds dumb, but we need to get a fire going, otherwise we’re all going to get hypothermic,” Nico said.
“Do you have any coats in your truck?” Josh asked. “Most of my survival kit was lost.” He showed Nico a wide tear in his flight suit.
“I had one coat, but I’m guessing the fire probably destroyed everything. You can check if you want to. Feel free to volunteer any of the survival gear you have left.”
“You’re right,” Josh said, “Everything’s probably gone. I’ll try to find some wood for a fire.”
“I’ll look for embers, and there’s some grass over there,” Nico said, jerking his head in the direction, “we can use to start the fire. Tony, you stay here. You okay?”
Tony nodded. “I’m not good for anything right now.” His teeth clattered and he was shaking. “I need to sit down.” Tony sat down on the riverbank, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them, shivering uncontrollably.
Nico had become alarmed at the way Tony was acting. His mental state was no longer sharp, and Nico had to restrain him from getting out of the river while the wildfire raged. While they were in the river, Tony had mumbled something about putting milk in the refrigerator otherwise his wife would get mad. Nico and Josh had to keep him talking, afraid he might pass out. They took turns holding his head above the water.
“You sit here,” Nico instructed. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
Tony nodded. “I’m going to lie down if you don’t mind. I’m not feeling well.”
“That’s fine. Just stay here.” Nico noted Tony’s pale skin and labored breathing. He needed to get him to a hospital, but without
transportation or communication, they’d have to wait out the night.
Minutes later Nico and Josh returned with usable wood and grass. Tony had curled into a little ball and fallen asleep, snoring lightly. Nico carefully set some embers he found into a hollow of a piece of bark.
Working together, Nico and Josh placed the dry grass on the ground then topped it with varying sizes of twigs. Nico placed the embers on the grass and blew on them until they glowed orange and the grass caught fire, then Josh placed larger branches he had broken off from dead trees.
After a while, the campfire roared.
“Let’s move Tony closer to the fire so he can stay warm,” Nico said.
Nico held his arms, while Josh had his feet, moving him like he was a sack of potatoes. Even though he was being jostled, Tony did not stir.
In the waning light, Nico walked a hundred yards up and down the river searching for errant flotsam deposited by thunderstorms of months past. He found two shirts tangled in a tree, a Styrofoam cooler washed up on the banks, a metal pan, fishing line, one tennis shoe, and several pieces of driftwood. When he dug the Styrofoam cooler out of the mud, he removed the lid and found two beers in it, figuring it had fallen off a fishing boat. He took his bounty back to the meager campsite and asked Josh if he’d like a beer.
“Need you ask?” he replied.
Josh pulled out an orange foil-covered block from a zipped pocket. “It’s an apple cinnamon emergency food ration bar. Not exactly the best pairing with beer, but better than nothing. We’ll save some for Tony to eat when he wakes up.”
Nico placed the shirts over Tony to cover his arms and chest. Tony had rolled over onto his back while Nico had been away. Even in the low light, he looked pale.
“How’s he doing?” Nico asked.
“Not good,” Josh said. “I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or unconscious. Were his injuries bad?”
“I’m no doctor so I don’t know for sure. His chopper went down in the river but I was able to pull him out and get him breathing again. When he woke up he said his side hurt.”
“There’s not much we can do for him at the moment. Let’s keep him warm during the night.”
The night and the chill it brought descended upon the land. The wind moaned through the reeds and cattails on the opposite side of the river and somewhere a fish jumped, and eastward the river ran a race to the mighty Gulf of Mexico. An owl hooted, then another answered from far away. Nikolai Belyakov lay awake contemplating his life, his parents, and those before him. He was a descendent of a survivor of the Trail of Tears, where Native American Indians were forced to walk from their homeland of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and other southern states to Oklahoma. The Indian Removal Act, it had been called.
Nico’s grandfather had told him stories passed down through the generations, and one day Nico would tell his children so the story would not be forgotten or relegated to a downward blip on the line graph of history.
He felt no anger over what had befallen his ancestors, or regret. It was a part of him, a legacy he would pass down. Something to be proud of because of his ancestors’ resolve to survive.
It was hardwired in his DNA.
He also thought about the woman who would become his wife, but had he even met her? There had been those who had wanted to tame him or mold him into living a life society said he should. A two-car garage in the suburbs which came with a substantial mortgage; two children; a dog, a cat; PTA meetings; soccer, baseball, football, dance, ballet practice and recitals; carpools.
Then Tony came to mind, and the home where his wife waited for him. Where she had kept his dinner warm for him, kept a bed warm. At times Nico envied the family Tony had built, a son who would go to college, a daughter, smart and at the top of her class.
The nine to five life wasn’t for him. Nico needed to be outside, he needed to fight bad guys, and he had hoped to do it from an Air Force fighter jet, but his dream had been waylaid due to family obligations and the unexpected death of his father. A heart attack the doctors had said. A healthy man who ran three times a week, watched his diet, and didn’t have a clue his heart was failing.
Nico had gone home to be with his mother, who had spent her life by her husband’s side and to wherever he had been transferred, making new friends, establishing a new home, a vagabond lifestyle, never staying in one place to settle down.
His mother never recovered and died of a broken heart within a year of burying her husband. She said it was a love that only comes once in a lifetime. If only Nico could be so lucky to find a soul mate as his parents had.
It may never happen and the lifestyle would kill him as sure as it killed his dad.
No, it wasn’t for him.
He couldn’t be tamed and he thought it was the Indian who lived on in him, the proud American Indian who conquered the land, who fought there, who died there.
He’d never be tamed.
Nico had excelled in school and sports, which led to a scholarship at the Air Force Academy, but the greatest of life’s lessons he had learned in the woods near one of his childhood homes.
He welcomed the solitary life and the peace it brought when he camped in the woods where he learned to make a fire and to eat the game he caught. He had learned to make a shelter when a sudden rainstorm appeared. He had learned which berries and plants were edible.
Yet his solitary life was missing something, and when it was quiet, his thoughts went to Kate Chandler and what she had said. “When will you be back?” When Nico met her eyes he saw a flicker of hope and hurt, a lost love, and a love she was looking for again.
He recalled what she said. “I don’t do windows. I’m a lousy cook, and I’m not fond of doing dishes.” Nico was fine with that, because when he asked what kind of girl she was, she had replied, “The kind you’ll like.”
She wouldn’t be tamed either.
Was it her heritage, or something in her past, molding her into what she had become? He needed answers to those questions, and when he got back to San Antonio, he’d keep his promise about grilling the steak.
Nico stretched out on the hard ground and clasped his hands behind his head.
Shifting embers of the fire crackled, sending sparks in the night air. Something in the darkness stirred, something unconcerning, and Nico drifted off to sleep.
He woke during the night and stoked the gray ashes of the fire to life. He added more driftwood and waited for the flames to wake. It was chilly and he cupped his hands to his mouth, blowing in them to warm them.
Chapter 8
Morning came, raw and new, the scent of charred earth permeating the air. The sun peeked over the horizon and Nico’s eyes roamed over a broad swath of land. Pockets of smoke wafted in the air from hot spots, trees blackened, grass withered to the nub, but the waters of the Rio Grande flowed uninterrupted.
Josh yawned, stretched, and rose. He still had on his flight suit and boots, and had stayed somewhat warm during the night. Whenever he had gotten cold, he flipped over so the campfire could warm him.
Josh got Nico’s attention and pointed to Tony. He whispered, “You think he’ll be able to walk?”
“I hope so,” Nico replied. “If not, we’ll have to make a stretcher for him. I found some heavy duty fishing line yesterday we could use to tie sticks together. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll get him help.”
Tony was on his side, his legs bent at the knees, his back to the fire, facing away from Nico. He was so quiet and still.
“It’s time to wake up, Tony.” Nico knelt next to him. “Tony, wake up. We need to get going.”
There was no answer.
“Tony, we need to go. Can you hear me?” When there was no response, Nico put a hand on Tony’s shoulder to wake him. He was cold, too cold.
Josh asked, “Is he okay?”
Nico didn’t answer. He said more urgently, “Tony, wake up.” Nico took him by the shoulder and turned him over. A breath escaped his lips at the sight of the mottled ski
n and unseeing eyes. Nico fell back and sat down. He dropped his chin and put his hand to his forehead, kneading the space between his eyebrows. “Oh, God, no. Tony.”
The river water lapped at the shore, a flock of sparrows flew in the distance, unaware of the tragedy unfolding. The man who lived his life to protect his fellow Americans, the man who helped Nico find his way, the man whose wife waited at home with their children, lay dead on the banks of the Rio Grande.
Josh dug the toe of his boot in the sand. “I’m sorry about your partner. His injuries must have been more serious than we thought.”
“This isn’t fair,” Nico said. “I should have been the one flying the chopper. We changed places at the last moment because his wife didn’t want him on the ground. She thought it was more dangerous facing the drug dealers than being in the air.” Nico sighed long and heavy. “What am I going to tell her? His kids are so little.”
Josh wasn’t sure what to say about telling his wife. Instead he said, “What do you want to do with him?”
“I can’t leave him here for the buzzards and wild animals to tear apart.”
“We’ll bury him, and I’ll help you,” Josh said. “We’ll place a marker at his grave so someone can come back to get him for a proper burial.”
Nico thrust his hands into the soft earth and scooped handfuls of sand, flinging it away. He dug faster, angrier, taking his frustration out on the ground. When he reached the top of the water table, he grabbed handfuls of mud and hurled it far away.
Josh stood to the side and let Nico dig only until he thought enough time had elapsed for Nico to expend his anger.
Josh came up to Nico and put a hand on him. He said softly, “Enough. You need to stop. We can’t bury him here, you know that.”
Nico sat back on his knees and hung his head.
“I have a solution, so please listen to me for a moment,” Josh said. “Let’s take him back to the truck and bury him next to it. The truck can be his marker for now, and it will be easy to find at a later date. If we bury him here this close to the river, it will be next to impossible to find him. There aren’t any landmarks, especially since the fire burned the trees. And if a flood comes this way, he’ll be washed away and never found.”
