Cold Winter Sun

by Forder, Tony J.

‘You boys are looking for the guided tour right? Follow the sign and we’ll show you where it all took place, that sort of thing?’ The sheriff gave a dry laugh. ‘Well, first of all, I reckon the outskirts of a place means something different out here than it does to you back home. We judge distance a little differently. The homestead where they say the crash took place is not far off thirty miles from here, so you won’t bump into it driving in and around Corona itself. And second, sorry to disappoint but the tours don’t run anymore. The signs were taken down a coupla years back. New people own that land and they don’t much like visitors trampling all over their property and someone else making money off the back of it.’

  I gave it my best shot at appearing crestfallen. ‘That’s such a shame. We only drove out here for that.’

  ‘You would,’ Crozier said, nodding. ‘Nothin’ else here to see. You boys checked out the museum in Roswell? It’s not much, but if you like that sort of thing you could visit on your way back to wherever you came from.’

  I tried reading the cop’s face. The latter part of what he’d said sounded to me as if he might be suggesting we get on our way. I smiled and nodded. ‘Thanks for the tip. Seems like we had a wasted journey.’

  The sheriff reached for the rim of his Stetson and tipped it a little. ‘You take care now. Oh, and if you decide to ignore everything I just said and go off exploring anyway, let me tell you there’s a whole lot of land out there, and you’re more likely to find a nest of rattlers than you are a scrap of spaceship. It doesn’t look like much, but it can be dangerous country for those who don’t know it.’

  ‘We weren’t looking to salvage anything,’ Terry said, leaning across slightly. It was the first time he’d engaged the sheriff. ‘We’re neither crazy, nor opportunists. We only wanted to check the place out is all. Tick something else off the old bucket list. If people offer tours to a place, you assume it’s legitimate, right?’

  ‘I guess so,’ Crozier said. The way he regarded us suggested he might be re-evaluating. ‘I didn’t mean anything by what I said. We get a lot of folks out here wanting to dig the place up looking for something seventy years’ worth of exploration and excavation hasn’t already found. It’s like it’s regarded as buried treasure, or something.’

  ‘Not our intention. But that’s okay. No harm done.’

  Crozier gave us a nod, rapped on the Jeep’s roof a couple of times with his knuckles, and walked back to his car. He climbed in and sat there.

  ‘I had to say something,’ Terry said. ‘He might’ve grown suspicious if I’d stayed silent the whole time.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ I told him. ‘He seemed to relax a little at that moment.’

  ‘He’s not in a hurry to drive off though, is he?’

  I checked the rear-view. ‘No. Let’s go. I reckon he’ll follow us a while.’

  I was right. Crozier stuck to us for about ten miles, before indicating and taking a left turn. The moment he was out of sight I pulled off the road again. My phone was still on the same web page, and even though I’d lost my signal, the page remained visible in the phone’s memory.

  ‘We need the GPS device again,’ I said to Terry. ‘I’m not sure how accurate this is going to be, but I have some latitude and longitude coordinates here.’

  Terry reached into the glove box and took out the locator. He plugged it into the cigarette holder, shaking his head and snorting. ‘Are you serious, Mike?’ he said. ‘You really think Vern came here looking for a seventy-year-old crash site?’

  I shrugged. ‘Mate, I really have no idea. What I do know is that whoever was driving Vern’s car probably left that map out to be found, and they probably also circled Corona for a reason, and from what we saw and what Sheriff Crozier just said, that crash site is the only noteworthy thing ever to have happened around here. What’s more, did you catch the bit about the tours being stopped by a new owner? I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to learn the reasons why.’

  Terry shrugged. ‘I suppose. What are you going to tell Drew and Donna?’

  ‘Nothing. Not until there’s something to tell.’

  I read out the coordinates. Terry punched them in. ‘According to this, it’s in the middle of nowhere,’ he said.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘It would be. Nowhere is what they seem to specialise in out here.’

  I slipped the gears out of park and stepped on the accelerator.

  11

  Appearing to float over a khaki foundation of sandy dirt, the plains were a curious patchwork of grass so bone dry it had turned the colour of hay, tawny tufts thrusting through the soil having somehow found the strength to fight off the lack of nourishment, and a heavy freckling of foliage and shrubs on the darker spectrum of green. It looked for all the world as if the land was trying to camouflage itself from predators. The horizon on both flanks of the highway rose up into sweeping hillsides which seemed to kiss a low sky the colour of glaziers’ putty. Away in the distance, cattle lumbered around without a care in the world. The herds were a welcome reminder that we were not so far from civilisation as it may have appeared. As we pushed on into the desert, the colour of the terrain changed dramatically, so much so that I squinted ahead to see more clearly, scarcely believing what I was seeing.

  ‘Is that snow?’ I said, pointing out of the windscreen at the landscape ahead of us.

  ‘I’m not sure what else it would be,’ Terry responded. His lopsided grin implied familiarity with what I was thinking – that I had flown over five thousand miles looking to get away from the stuff.

  It was a fine dusting, but the low temperature suggested it would hang around for a while. Nothing was currently falling from the sky, but the thin layer of white looked so fresh and crisp my guess was that we had missed the flurry by minutes at most.

  ‘Hopefully it’ll stay ahead of us and keep the creatures in hiding beneath their rocks,’ I said. ‘I suspect we may have a bit of walking to do.’

  ‘Or it’ll cover them up just enough that we won’t see the things until we tread on them.’

  I glanced across at him. Shook my head. ‘You’re in a real negative frame of mind today, Terry. What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. I think we’re wasting time, that’s all. In my view this is a fool’s errand. I’m sitting here beside you waiting for it to be over.’

  ‘You have an equal say in this. You know that. If you felt strongly enough about it why didn’t you say so before we even set out this morning?’

  Terry took his eyes off the GPS reader. ‘When we left the airport I had no idea what Corona might offer us. The place meant nothing to me. To either of us. At that point it may have held some promise. The moment I heard about the whole UFO thing, that was when we should have cut our losses. I did say so at the time if you remember.’

  I shook my head. ‘Not quite. You poured scorn all over it, that’s for sure. But you didn’t put up much of an argument over coming out here.’

  ‘Mike,’ he said, ‘you were never going to listen to me. You see something in this whole UFO business that I don’t. I came here with you, not the other way around. This is more your thing than mine, so I’m along for the ride. I’m in the shotgun seat, I’m your backup.’

  Terry was partially right. I felt duty bound to lead, given he was here in the US at my behest. We were together right now because of my ex-wife. But he was wrong about one thing.

  ‘Try not thinking about this as having anything to do with UFOs,’ I said. ‘I think there is something going on with the whole Nevada–New Mexico UFO trail, yes. But not UFOs themselves. I’m not saying that at all. I’m not even sure that’s what Vern was up to, either. What I think may have happened is that he somehow got caught up in something connected with the whole UFO mythology. Maybe he discovered something. Maybe he was led here and stumbled onto something. Perhaps it’s the old journalistic instinct in me, mate, and maybe I see conspiracies where none exist, but my spidey-senses tell me it has something to do with whoever bought t
he land and no longer wants tourists visiting the site.’

  Terry appeared to consider that. It occurred to me that I perhaps ought to have explained myself better before we set out from Corona to locate the crash site. My head had been muddled at the time, processing the information and the suspicion that was creeping up on me. My thoughts could sometimes get away from me, but I reckoned the vicinity we were now in was somehow pivotal to Vern’s disappearance.

  ‘How about this for a suggestion,’ I offered. ‘If we turn up nothing concrete here, we split up for a day or so. You head on up to Vegas, see what you can dig out. I’ll stay here and do the same. How does that sound?’

  Terry smiled at me. ‘Sounds like you have your thinking boots back on.’

  I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a sly dig, but I let it slide. After many years of friendship based on the odd telephone conversation, Terry had dropped everything the previous summer to help me out of a dangerous and life-threatening situation. In doing so he had given up his off-the-grid existence, had seen safe houses and arms caches exposed, and put himself not only in harm’s way but also back into full view of those who wished to either use him for nefarious purposes or remove him altogether. Until he was wounded in a firefight, Terry had taken charge of both the situation and me when I needed it most. I emerged from the event a different man; perhaps more the man I had once been as opposed to a new man entirely. In doing so I had regained my confidence. Knowing Terry as well as I did, I felt he would not have gone along with any of this had he been convinced that we were headed in the wrong direction. Then again, he might be simply riding it out so as not to pop the fragile bubble of my self-esteem.

  ‘Mate,’ I said, keeping my eyes firmly on the road, ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but if you see me on the wrong path, you need to let me know. Right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I mean it, Terry.’ This time I glanced across to my right. ‘Don’t let me lead us both astray.’

  ‘I won’t. Don’t worry about it.’

  I nodded. If Terry was back to his usual conversational self, then there was not much wrong. He would see this out with me, then head off up to Vegas to do his own thing. I had to have faith that he knew when and how to draw the line as far as my taking charge was concerned.

  ‘Take the next right,’ Terry said then.

  I did. We came up on it fast, and it wasn’t much of a road, but at least it had a gravel surface, albeit a narrow and uneven strip that meandered across the land, announcing our presence with every crunching turn of the wheels. The Jeep paid no attention to the many potholes, although I had a couple of fights with the steering wheel along the way. The road – such as it was – curved left for a long time. I took it slowly, all the while looking out for any indication that the site was close by.

  ‘Next right again,’ Terry said.

  This time we ran right out of road. Whatever trail there was had been created by the weight and regularity of vehicles flattening the surface across the rough terrain. I stopped for a moment, keeping my foot hard on the brake. I checked my phone but had no signal. Terry did the same, came up equally empty. This was no place to break an axle, especially with no reception for our phones. I released the brake and started taking greater care over our progress. It was slow going, but the further we could make it on four wheels the less hiking we would have to do.

  ‘There used to be a sign back on the main highway,’ I told Terry. ‘According to the website I was reading, that was taken down, and now I suspect it was the new owners who did so. There was an old shed and a gutted-out truck left close by after a festival celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the crash, plus a sign dedicating the ground as sacred, but rumour has it they are all gone as well. There may be something to look out for once we reach our destination, though. There were two red stone monoliths at the site, a bit like goalposts from hell. Could be they are still there.’

  Terry reached into the back for his bag, and came up with a set of Newcon Optik binoculars. He proceeded to scour the countryside around us. I stared ahead intently at the trail surface much closer to us, searching for any dips or crevices that might make our passage too dangerous for the vehicle. A few minutes later, Terry took the binoculars from his eyes and said, ‘Did you clock what I noticed at the highway turn off?’

  I shook my head. I had been engrossed in looking for any remnants of the sign that once pointed the way to the crash site.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was a mobile phone mast. Had its own electricity feed, tall tower with plenty of directional antennae on top.’

  That got me thinking. ‘Did it look new?’

  ‘Relatively. Didn’t look old, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Could it have been for Wi-Fi rather than phone? Cable TV, maybe?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘If it was phone, then you have to ask why we still have no bars. That would suggest it’s a private mast, perhaps installed by the new owners of the land.’

  ‘We’re still on public land as far as I can tell. I’ve not seen any signs warning us off.’

  Terry was right. The land appeared to be open to all. We were still going which meant we’d not reached the crash site, so maybe we had yet to bump up against the boundary of the farmland. ‘You have to wonder why, if they went to the trouble of installing a mast for Wi-Fi or cable TV, they didn’t extend the cell service out here at the same time.’

  ‘Might be an interesting thing to find out,’ Terry said.

  Right then was when I saw it. There was no fence, no gate, no noticeable difference between where we were and where we were heading. Apart from one thing. A sign. So new that no one had yet taken a pot-shot at it. It stood face-on, mounted on two sturdy metal posts buried deep into the ground. Black lettering on a white metal board.

  PRIVATE PROPERTY

  KEEP OUT

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT

  Apparently they didn’t mess around with trivial matters such as arrest, trial, and prosecution out here. Shoot on sight appeared to be the way they addressed unwanted tourists. This again suggested to me that the new landowners were doing more than protecting their land from a few UFO nutjobs. I understood that it might be a major irritant having people traipsing all over your property making holes and maybe creating a garbage nuisance, but I also could not see why anyone would visit this area if it weren’t for the UFO mythology.

  Terry brought the binos back up to his face. Focussed beyond the sign, out across the prairie, where the vegetation was more lush. A couple of quiet minutes went by before he said, ‘Got them. Two red standing stones.’ He flicked a switch in the centre of the binos to activate the laser rangefinder and was now drawing a bead on one of the monoliths. The rangefinder was good for up to 4,000 yards.

  ‘Just over two miles,’ he said.

  On this rough terrain, lugging our Bergen rucksacks and weapons, maybe an hour of solid hiking. A walk in the park compared to many a yomp we had taken part in, much of it in either sweltering daytime heat capable of sapping the fittest man’s reservoir of energy, or the bitter cold of night that gnawed deep into your bones. Plenty of deadly creatures out there, too.

  I took the binos from him and surveyed the plot. I saw no sign of habitation, nor the slightest movement or errant shadows. We are on our own out here, I thought. Or at least that was how it looked. I narrowed my gaze as I swept the view slowly from side to side, verifying my initial impressions.

  ‘It’s almost too quiet,’ I said.

  Terry grunted and threw open his door. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can find some golden eggs at the end of this wild goose chase.’

  ‘You think someone could be out there waiting for us?’ I asked.

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘You think Vern is out there?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘Are we about to walk into trouble?’

  Terry looked at me as if I had asked the dumbest question ever. ‘I think there’s eve
ry chance of that,’ he said, and started walking.

  I took a breath and moved off with him.

  12

  Fifty minutes later and we were wondering what all the fuss was about. Our march across the prairie had been uneventful. While Terry scouted the way ahead searching for any sign of life, my eyes were focussed on the ground about a dozen yards in front of us, looking for cracks or crevices that could possibly turn an ankle, or early-rising creatures that might react angrily to our presence. We made our way across country as a team, and it felt good to be doing it again.

  The layer of snow had been much thinner here, and was pretty much gone now. The temperature had climbed a little since we’d set out from Corona, but the wind that ripped across the plains in staccato bursts carried with it a chill factor and minute grains of desert dust you could feel stinging your flesh. Our direct passage diverted here and there around impassably dense shrubs or outcroppings of boulders and rocks that looked too risky to climb, but Terry kept us on course with the aid of the binoculars, zeroing in on the twin towers of red stone. We reached our target without so much as a pause, and once there I felt a sense of anticlimax.

  Other than the twin monoliths there was nothing different about this patch of land to any other we had traversed since leaving the Jeep. In places it looked recently disturbed, but that was it. I stood between the stone pillars and turned a full circle, surveying the undulant hillsides all around us. Nothing stirred that was not prompted by the breeze. I saw no structures, no fenced-off corrals, no mechanical objects of any description, nothing man-made whatsoever. Thousands of acres of land stretched out before us, yet not a single scrap of it gave any clue as to why this supposed crash site had been secreted away from the public.

  I let go a long sigh of frustration. ‘Sorry,’ I said to Terry. I shook my head and spat onto the dirt at my feet. I took a bottle of water from my backpack and unscrewed the lid. ‘You were right to question me on this. I just wasted an entire morning. A day, if you consider we still have to go all the way back again.’