by Cindi Myers
Good question. Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park contained the canyon that gave it its name—a deep, almost inaccessible gorge that, while breathtaking, didn’t offer any avenues of rescue. Away from the gorge lay thousands of acres of wilderness, home to everything from mountain lions to endangered birds, but very few people. The few developments in the park crowded in one corner, bordering Richard Prentice’s territory. Ranger headquarters had been there, though the buildings were slated to be decommissioned and moved.
“We have to try to reach the park ranger station,” he said. “We can get help there.”
“How long will it take us to reach?” she asked.
“A day. Maybe two. I’m not sure how far it is.”
For a moment she looked devastated, crushed by the prospect of tramping through the wilderness for two days or more. But she quickly masked the emotion and straightened her shoulders. “Then, we’d better get started.”
He squeezed her hand, and they set out. Marco faked a confidence he didn’t feel. What he hadn’t told Lauren was that, without water and food, they had little chance of reaching park headquarters. As the rattlesnake had proved, Prentice’s thugs weren’t the only dangers that could kill them in the wilderness.
Chapter Thirteen
Lauren had never been so tired in her life. She had to muster every ounce of will to take each step across the rough ground. Her legs ached, her stomach hurt and only the fear of being left behind kept her stumbling after Marco in the darkness. She was so thirsty she could have wept, but she doubted she could muster the moisture for tears. How many hours had they been walking? She probably didn’t want to know. The moon had risen some time ago, bathing the prairie in a silvery light that made every tree and boulder seem larger and more forbidding. Any other time in her life, she might have lay down and demanded someone help her. But Marco wasn’t complaining, and he had to be suffering at least as much as she was. If he could take this, so could she.
She stumbled, falling into Marco, who turned to catch her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and let out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe not so good. What time is it?”
“Almost midnight. Do you want to stop and rest?”
“I’m afraid if I stop, I might never get back up.”
“We could try to get a couple hours’ sleep.”
“It’s not falling asleep I’m worried about.”
When he didn’t answer, she looked at him, trying to judge his mood in the dim light. “Marco, if I ask you to be honest with me, you will, won’t you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. He was either a very good liar, or he meant what he said. She wanted to believe the latter.
“What are our chances out here in the middle of nowhere, with no food, no water, with Prentice’s men still looking for us?”
He compressed his lips into a grim line.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” she said.
“Right now, I’d say our chances are fifty-fifty. If we can find water in the next few hours, those odds go up.”
“I’ll admit, even mud soup is sounding good to me now.”
He put his arm around her. “One thing they taught us in Special Forces is that a lot of survival is mental. People survive incredible ordeals because they believe they can. Don’t give up on me.”
“I’m not giving up.”
“Good.” He clapped her on the back. “Now, what will it be? Rest, or keep going?”
“Keep going.”
They began walking again, staying close together, conserving energy by walking around obstacles instead of going over them. Time was difficult to gauge, but she thought they might have walked half an hour when Marco stopped, head up, shoulders tensed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Look at the horizon.”
She looked in the direction he indicated, at the pinkish-white light showing over the tops of the trees and rock outcroppings. “Is the sun coming up already?” she asked.
“Except the sun comes up in the east, and that’s north.”
She didn’t ask how he knew this, with no compass or map; Marco knew things like that. “Then, what’s making the light?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
They moved faster now, headed toward what seemed to be the source of the light. Even hiking at top speed, they seemed to draw no closer. Lauren began to wonder if it was all a mirage. But after another hour or so, Marco stopped again. “Listen,” he said softly.
She held her breath and tried to concentrate. Past the throb of her own pulse, past the rustle of the night wind in the stunted trees, she heard a low, mechanical hum, steady and even. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Generators,” he said. “You need a power source for all that light.”
“But where is it?” she asked. “We’ve been walking for hours and we aren’t getting any closer.”
“Distances are tricky out here, but we’re getting closer, I’m sure.”
He’d said he wouldn’t lie to her, but still she doubted, until she realized after more walking that the sound of the generators was getting louder. Soon they heard not just engine noises but the clank of metal and muffled voices, like a crowd of people talking.
Still, there was no sign of anyone or anything on the flat, featureless prairie, just the soft glow of light that seemed to emanate from the ground. “Are they underground?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Marco said. “I think they’re in a canyon. The Black Canyon isn’t the only one around here, just the largest.”
“I didn’t pay much attention to the map the park service gave me the first time I visited,” she said. “I’m not really much of an outdoors person.” And after today, she didn’t care if she never saw a hiking trail or a campsite again.
“Let’s keep going,” he said. “Stay behind me.”
They moved more cautiously as they approached the lights and noises, keeping to the deeper shadows as much as possible. Lauren tried not to think about snakes. They weren’t nocturnal, were they?
Marco led the way up a small rise, then stopped. She moved in behind him and looked down on a scene out of a dream. People—dozens of them, all men, milled around a well-lit compound. One group stood in orderly rows in front of another man, who seemed to be instructing them. Another group raced through an obstacle course of stacked tires and ropes. Still others zipped around the compound on all-terrain vehicles or lounged among the rows of tan canvas tents, smoking.
Most of the men wore a kind of uniform—dull brown fatigues and heavy black boots. Many of them had rifles slung over their shoulders. She blinked, trying to make sense of the images. “Are they making a movie?” she asked. She’d seen filming in downtown Denver once, and the scene below had that same sense of busyness, everything brightly lit and everyone bustling about. The action had the same feeling of unreality to it, as if everything they looked at was staged.
Marco shook his head. “I don’t think so. The Rangers would have heard about it, since we’re on park land.”
Her gaze came to rest on something that made her sure this was all a bizarre dream. “Is that—is that a Nazi flag?” She pointed to a flagpole near the center of the compound, from which flew the familiar swastika.
“Looks like it.”
“But that’s crazy!”
“Some white supremacist groups have adopted it as their symbol.”
“That’s horrible.” She shuddered and leaned forward for a closer look. “What are they doing down there?”
“I think it’s a training camp,” Marco said.
“A training camp?”
“Like the ones the Taliban set up in remote mountain regions to train their followers to be terrorists. But I think this one is to train domestic terrorists.”
“Who would do that? And why here—in a national park?”
“They probably enjoy the idea of thumbing their noses at the federal go
vernment—a government some of these groups refuse to even recognize. Plus, though it’s only a few dozen miles from a city, the land is roadless and remote. In a year’s time probably a single person doesn’t come here accidentally. There have been cases of whole communities of people squatting on public land for months, even years, building cabins, growing crops—legal and illegal. Our task force was one attempt to stop some trespassing, but it’s impossible with so few team members and so much land.”
“But someone would have seen them coming and going.”
“They probably perform most of their activities at night, and only leave the compound one or two at a time. They dress like tourists and use the ATVs, so they look like recreational riders. And they’ve done a good job of camouflaging the camp. Check out the netting over one end of the canyon. With that and the dun-colored canvas tents, they’d be almost invisible to anyone flying overhead.”
“Do you think Richard knows about this?”
“I’d bet he’s financing it.” Marco turned away from the scene below to look at her. “The man has made no secret of the fact that he has nothing but disdain for the government, or that some of his most vocal supporters are white supremacists and domestic militia groups. He has the money to finance this kind of operation. It would also explain his constant supply of burly bodyguards.”
“Who are always young and white and perfect physical specimens.” She shuddered again, remembering the men who had watched over her while Prentice had held her captive. She glanced back into the canyon, then around them. “We have to remember where this is, so that we can report it when we get to safety.”
“We’re not just going to remember,” Marco said. “We’re going to go down there.”
She stared, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”
“We have to go down there,” he said. “We need food, water and a phone. They have all of that.”
“But it’s too dangerous.”
“If we leave without at least the food and water, we’ll die anyway.”
“How are we going to stand up against all those men with guns?”
“We have the element of surprise on our side—they’re not expecting us. They think they’re safe out here in the middle of nowhere. There are plenty of places to hide down there. If we can steal a weapon, it will even the odds.”
As if two people against two dozen or more was anything close to even. “You’re crazy.”
He didn’t look crazy, though. His expression was grim, but calm, his eyes determined. “This is the kind of thing I trained for.”
“But I didn’t train for this.” She swallowed, trying to force down the fear that made it difficult to breathe. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes you can.” He gripped her upper arm. “You’re strong, you’re smart and you’re brave.”
His faith in her somehow did make her feel calmer. Stronger. “And I’ve got you on my side,” she said.
“Yeah. Remember I said I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“Is that a promise?”
No hesitation this time, and his words were all she needed to subdue the fear. “It’s a promise.”
* * *
ALL OF MARCO’S training had been for moments like this. He studied the encampment, noting the position of key structures and personnel. He and Lauren had to get in, get water, food and a weapon, and gather as much information about the operation as they could, all without being caught.
He led the way down the canyon, to a spot where the walls were shallow enough for them to descend, but far enough from the encampment that he hoped they wouldn’t be noticed. “I’ll go first,” he whispered to Lauren. “Then let me guide you down.”
“You’ll have to. I can’t see a thing after staring at all those lights.”
The sides of the canyon were littered with a loose scree of pebbles and brittle shale. He dug footholds with the heels of his boots and grabbed on to clumps of grass to slow his descent. After he’d traveled a couple of yards, he turned back toward Lauren. “Feel for the steps I made with my boots,” he said softly. “Lower yourself like you’re climbing down a ladder. It you start to slip, I’ll catch you.”
She did as he instructed, and in this way they made it almost to the bottom of the canyon. Less than ten feet from the bottom, he caught the glow of an ember out of the corner of his eye and smelled the acrid smoke of tobacco. He put out his arm to prevent Lauren from descending any farther.
“Wh—?” He silenced her by tugging on her shirt, and nodded toward the spot where the end of a cigarette glowed red, a few feet from where they would have landed on the canyon floor. As his vision grew once more accustomed to the darkness, he could make out a fatigue-clad figure, sucking hard on a cigarette.
Lauren grew very still, not even the sound of her breathing breaking the silence. Marco stared at the smoking man, willing him to finish his cigarette and return to the camp.
The man tossed the still-glowing butt to the ground and stepped on it, and then they heard the metallic hiss of a zipper being lowered.
Lauren shifted, dislodging a pebble that bounced its way down the slope, the sound of its descent echoing in the stillness. The smoker froze in the act of relieving himself and whirled around. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
But even as he reached for his weapon, Marco was on him. With one move, he’d silenced him forever.
He slid the rifle from the man’s hand, then dug through his pockets and found a Bowie knife, a set of brass knuckles and a cell phone. He pocketed all of these and slung the rifle over his shoulder, then began unbuttoning the man’s desert camo shirt.
“What are you doing?” Lauren landed beside him with a soft thud, a little breathless.
“Help me take off his clothes. The boots, too.” He finished unbuttoning the shirt and shoved it off his shoulders.
“Are you going to wear them?” Lauren squatted and began untying the laces of the dead man’s boots.
“No. You are.”
She recoiled. “I can’t do that!” Her tone conveyed her horror at this suggestion.
“You stand out too much in those feminine clothes, not to mention a shooter could see that blond hair a hundred yards away in the darkness.” He shoved the man’s cap into her hand. “Put this on. Stuff your hair underneath. Stuff cloth into the toes of the boots if you have to—they’re more practical for this rough terrain than your sandals. Hurry.”
He could tell she wanted to argue, but she pressed her lips together and ducked her head. Silently, she collected the clothing he handed her. “Did they teach you to kill that way in Special Forces?” she asked before he could turn away again.
“Yes. And just so you know, it’s not something I enjoy doing.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She started to turn away, but he touched her arm. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to be any part of this ugliness. But sometimes, surviving means doing ugly things.”
She nodded. “I know. And I don’t blame you, it’s just... It’s hard.”
“And I hope it never gets easy for you.” He hoped the hardness that had been with him so long he had no hope of ever leaving it behind never touched her. He’d let himself forget, for a little while, why the two of them shouldn’t be together. The events of tonight had reminded him that, no matter how much he was attracted to her and even cared for her, he couldn’t bring any more pain into her life. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Remember that.”
“I will.”
She quickly changed into the smoker’s clothing. “How do I look?” she asked.
The clothes were too big and sagged on her, but that helped hide her curves. With her hair piled onto her head and mostly hidden under the cap, she could pass for a very young recruit. “From a distance, I don’t think anyone will suspect anything,” he said.
“They won’t suspect you, either,” she said. “You look like a soldier, even without their uniform.�
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“That’s what I’m counting on. One more thing.” He handed her the knife.
She stared at the blade in her hand. Eight inches long, with a carved antler grip, it looked enormous in her delicate grasp. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.
“Defend yourself, if you have to. For now, tuck it into this sheath and wear it on your belt.”
She fastened the knife to her belt and they set out, keeping to the fringes of activity, avoiding any other people. “What are we looking for?” she whispered.
“The mess hall or a commissary. Someplace we can get food and water.”
“There are a bunch of trash cans over there.” She pointed toward a line of industrial gray garbage bins, lined up outside a building. “You need trash cans near a kitchen,” she said.
“Then that’s a good place to start,” he said.
Keeping to the deep shadows next to the row of Quonset huts, they made their way to the open door beside the trash cans. Light streamed from the doorway, and when Marco looked inside, he saw a lone man standing at a table, peeling potatoes. “This is the place,” he said. “You keep watch while I go in and get what we need. Make some kind of noise if anyone’s coming.”
Before she could answer, he slipped into the building, and out of sight.
Chapter Fourteen
Marco disappeared inside the kitchen before Lauren could insist that he not leave her alone there in the dark. She stared after him, trying to remember to breathe, to not panic. Everything would be okay. Marco had said so. She had to believe him, right?
“Hey, dude, you got a light?”
She plastered herself up against the building and stared at the young man who had spoken. He’d materialized out of the darkness, a cigarette in one hand, his cap shoved back on his head.
“Hey, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. He moved closer and wagged the cigarette. “I lost my lighter. You got one on you?”
“Uh, no.” She realized her voice was too high-pitched. She forced herself to slump her shoulders and lower her voice. “Sorry.”
“Oh. Too bad. I thought maybe you were hiding out over here smoking.”
