High Desert Barbecue

by J. D. Tuccille

  “Screw that.” Scott said. He started walking. “I don’t think this is the week to learn how to fly. We’ll head straight for the canyon mouth.”

  Lani nodded her head vigorously and mouthed her silent agreement. Scott smiled and put his arm around her. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

  “Why don’t you and Rollo walk ahead. I’m going to keep an eye on our back trail just in case our naked friends are after us again.”

  Lani nodded.

  “Half-naked.”

  “What?”

  “Our half-naked friends.”

  “Yep. Them.”

  Lani called for Champ who was clearly torn over who to accompany. He looked at Scott, then at his mistress, and whined. Finally, he padded over to Lani grinning and panting. Dog in tow, she stepped forward and fell in alongside Rollo.

  “Wanna fool around?” Rollo asked after a few paces.

  “What?”

  “Oh hell. I thought I’d just get all that awkward sexual tension out of the way.

  “Jesus Christ. You are the biggest—”

  “Asshole. Yeah, I know. I’ve learned to live with my limitations. It’s a curse, y’know. Sorta like hemorrhoids.”

  They walked in silence for several long minutes. Champ dashed ahead, scrambling over rocks and perching atop boulders for views of the trail down the canyon.

  The sun was nearly overhead now, and temperatures rose to match the glare and the dropping elevation. Lani stripped down to a T-shirt over her shorts, while Rollo grudgingly pulled off a tattered windbreaker, leaving his trademark plaid shirt in place.

  Lani suddenly giggled.

  Rollo snorted.

  “All right, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s OK. You were trying to get a rise out of me, and you did it.”

  Rollo smiled.

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “Dick.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, you think we’re going to get out of here.”

  Rollo grunted. He said nothing for a long moment, then answered.

  “Fuck. I hope so. I like Sycamore Canyon, and I don’t especially mind dying here. But I don’t want to be shot by a bunch of psycho rangers who are trying to set me up as a firebug.”

  “You still think they’re rangers? Scott said they slept in a pile, with no sleeping bags and too little clothes. And that scene yesterday was just as weird.”

  Rollo sighed.

  “OK, that’s strange. But they had Woody Mountain Road sealed off. That sounds pretty official to me. And then there’s the business with my cabin. That truck I … umm … liberated was Forest Service. I don’t think a bunch of nutjobs with a pack of matches are behind this.”

  “Maybe.” Lani sounded doubtful. “Anyway, I think Scott’s plan for getting that video out is a good idea.”

  Rollo grunted.

  Lani shot a glance at her traveling companion.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “Scott has more faith in people than me. I’m not convinced that video is going to help us. Even if we get it to some journalists, they’ll probably spin it as hardworking civil servants doing their jobs. We’ll end up the bad guys.”

  “You think Scott has faith in people? He doesn’t even like them! Look at the way he lives his life. I mean, I love him and all, but he does his own thing, in his own way. He’s not exactly a stickler for obeying the law.”

  Rollo stabbed a sharp look at the woman.

  “You have it all wrong, Lani. Scott likes people just fine. It’s groups he can’t stand, and the control freaks that try to run groups. People get tribal when they’re in groups and start slapping around anybody who doesn’t conform. Scott gets along all right with individuals.” He looked back down the canyon. “I sort of agree with him. But I still think he cuts people too much slack.”

  “You are a natural-born hermit.”

  “Damn straight. And I look forward to getting back to hermitting.”

  Lani laughed again. “Well, maybe you’re right. He’s nice enough to my students when he meets them.”

  Rollo glanced out of the corner of his eye.

  “Is it true you let your kids screw-off in the forest instead of going to class?”

  “Is that what Scott told you? I can’t believe— No! I let my students have more leeway than I’m supposed to, and I get them interested in lessons by letting them do things they enjoy—”

  “Whoah. Hold on there.”

  “No, I’m pissed. I take my job seriously-“

  Seeing Rollo laughing so hard that tears streamed from his eyes, Lani stopped.

  “You got me again.”

  “Yeah. Scott approves of what you do with the kids. So do I, by the way. Not that you need my approval.”

  “I just get so much shit for doing things a little differently.”

  “I don’t doubt it. The schools aren’t set up to teach kids. They’re just supposed to keep the little punks docile and get them used to obeying orders.”

  Lani sighed and took a long sip of water. She kicked at a rock and watched Champ go scurrying after it.

  “Is this another Forest Service conspiracy?”

  Rollo looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Nah. Probably not them.”

  “Rollo, the people I work for aren’t competent enough to plot the corruption of young minds. They’re just time-servers who like to do things by the book so nobody gives them any trouble. And they hate giving kids more freedom or being questioned because that suggests that they’re not experts who should be calling all the shots.”

  The man scratched at his face and sniffed.

  “Maybe so. It’s all the same in the end.”

  Lani nodded.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Back from his pursuit of the wandering pebble and pressing in from the side, Champ leaned up against Lani’s left leg, causing her to stumble. She caught herself before toppling over face first, but as she stepped forward again, the dog stepped back in her path.

  “Damnit Champ. Are you herding me?”

  The woman gave in and moved in the direction suggested by the animal. Then her thoughts froze in response to a sound like a solo performance by the world’s most enthusiastic maraca player. In the grip of adrenaline and instinct, Lani, Rollo and Champ lurched away from the noise, covering about ten feet in the blink of an eye.

  Rollo kicked a small rock toward the sound’s source—a coiled reptile poised for a quick strike.

  “Shit! Rattler.”

  Out of reach of the snake, Lani hunched down and stroked her dog’s face.

  “Wow, Champ. Thanks.”

  Rollo eyed the animal thoughtfully.

  “That is one good dog.”

  Chapter 35

  At a safe distance from reptilian threats, but all too close to two-legged dangers, Scott hiked along in the shadows by the canyon’s wall. The route was treacherous with rocks and tangled with thorns, so he moved slowly.

  He also kept an eye on the trail behind him. The divided attention made him move even more slowly, and he began to regret his impulsive decision to play rearguard. He’d intended to be stealthy, hanging in the shadows to see how much of a lead he and his friends had over the pursuers—and to slow them down if he could. Now he feared that he’d end up playing tag in a rocky corridor with a pack of homicidal maniacs.

  Seeking reassurance, Scott reached for his holster. His thumb easily slipped into place, disengaging the snap that held the restraining strap and allowing the pistol grip to fill his hand. He brought the pistol up, simultaneously disengaging the thumb safety.

  Now he felt armed and nervous, which was infinitely better than just being nervous.

  Sound carried far, but unpredictably, between the walls of the canyon, and he heard his pursuers long before he saw them.

  “I’m still stiff from being so fucking cold last night.”

  “Rupert says that discomfort is an artifact of Western materialism. We’re too used to luxur
ies.”

  “Who the fuck is Rupert?”

  “So people in Massachusetts don’t get cold?”

  “Western means our whole civilization, not just the American West. You know, America, Europe, Australia …”

  “I repeat—who the fuck is Rupert?”

  “That’s Dr. Greenfield.”

  “So people in Tibet don’t get cold?”

  “I’d like to see Dr. Greenfield spend a night in the open under a piece of tin foil.”

  “Oh, he does. Rupert denies himself most pleasures. He thinks we all should so that we’re less of a burden on the Earth.”

  “Especially on the plants.”

  “Of course. Especially on the plants.”

  “All pleasures? Like what?”

  “Oh sure. The people of the developing world know how to live with nature. What we consider discomfort they see as a normal way of life. It’s very spiritual and in tune with the natural rhythm of life.”

  “Well, like heat and air conditioning and new clothes. He’s worn the same clothes for years. He doesn’t wash them, because that consumes resources.”

  “Christ. Why doesn’t he just suck off a shotgun and really reduce the burden …”

  “I’m having a hard time believing that people in Tibet don’t get cold.”

  Listening in the shadows, Scott slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m running from these people.”

  He peered down the canyon. In the distance, people came into view, gesturing wildly at each other. Their movements were slightly out of sync with the echoes from the canyon walls, but sound and vision made it clear that the animated discussion had degenerated into an argument.

  “How can you say that about-?”

  “Rupert sounds like a fucking loon! That’s all I’m—”

  “There’s no fucking way they don’t get cold—”

  Scott raised his pistol.

  “I’ll be doing them a favor, honest to God. At least, I’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Scott sighted in on the largest of the pursuing rangers. He focused on the pistol’s front sight, the target’s crew cut blurring into obscurity as his finger squeezed the trigger…

  Shit! He couldn’t do it. Dangerous lunatics they might be, but he wasn’t yet at the point where he could just shoot one down in cold blood.

  Feeling like an ass, Scott changed the point of his aim to a rock just in front of his original target. The man walked along, punching the air with his hand, lips moving seemingly without connection to the sound rebounding from the canyon walls.

  “Well, if he’s such a fucking genius—”

  “All I’m saying is that cold is cold—”

  “He’s a sensitive, brilliant lover of plant life-”

  Lover of plant life? Scott wondered. Literally? What in Hell is that all about? What are they? Psycho grad students? That might narrow it down to Forest Service, after all, or NOAA—those fish-and-wind types are pretty freaky. Or a few other agencies, to be honest. But the pyromania and armed pursuit … He pondered on his questions as he squeezed the trigger.

  An explosion rolled through the canyon, smothering the sounds of argument. The lead man staggered and dropped like a sack of cement, leaving Scott wondering if a ricochet had made up for his squeamishness. The man’s comrades disappeared almost as quickly, though a foot or a rump poked out here and there from inexpertly taken cover.

  “Hold it right there you tree fuckers!” He was still fixated on the last words to echo through the canyon before his shot. “I’ve had it with this shit. Throw out your—”

  Scott never got to finish his command. A burst of automatic gunfire sounded, followed by the insect whine of ricochets and the crashing of branches falling to the ground. He ducked behind a boulder and covered his head with his hands. At a lull in the firing he peered out and squeezed off a shot at a faint glimpse of motion. Then he dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling as quickly as possible back up the canyon toward Rollo and Lani. A quick look behind him revealed a head rising from behind a distant bush. He fired again. Then he continued his scurrying way among the sharp rocks and sharper thorns, his gun hand cocked at an angle to keep the pistol out of the dirt.

  Ten long minutes later he stopped to assess his various nicks, cuts and bruises. A long scratch down his right calf oozed red. He doffed his cap to scratch his sweaty scalp and noticed a neat bite out of the brim where a bullet had apparently passed.

  He fingered the damaged fabric while thinking back on his moment of restraint just before firing his warning shot. He punched himself in the thigh.

  “Dumbass.”

  Chapter 36

  “I thought we discussed the whole shooting frenzy issue yesterday,” Jason said to his assembled team. He fumed and glared at his comrades, who gathered behind as much cover as they could find in the wake of the ambush.

  In return, the targets of the ranger’s wrath kicked at dirt, sniffed and nervously eyed their toes. That is except for Ray and Samantha. Ray glared right back, while mopping with the back of his hand at a red pattern of dots that might have been freckles if they weren’t oozing blood down his cheeks. A spray of rock fragments sent flying by a bullet had left their mark on his face—and his mood. The combination of the bloody freckles with the shiny, though somewhat tattered loincloth had Jason thinking of a cartoon character … Baby New Year! That’s it. A really belligerent Baby New Year recovering from a bender.

  In contrast, Samantha just stared back looking wide-eyed and slightly hurt. Jason battled to keep from sinking into those damp orbs. Well, and the firm, if dusty orbs below. They weren’t large, but he just wanted to sink his face between—

  He caught himself.

  “Well, didn’t we?”

  Bob cleared his throat.

  “Uh, sorry Jason. That was us.” He indicated himself, Rena and Samantha.

  Rena waved.

  Samantha shrugged and eased out a rueful smile.

  “What happened?”

  Bob started to speak, and then hesitated.

  “Really. I want to know why you’ve shot off most of our ammo.”

  “Well, that is how we’re used to shooting.”

  “Yeah. We talked about that.”

  “And then there’s that whole ‘tree fucker’ thing. That’s just wrong, and I think we’re a little sensitive.”

  Ray refocused his glare on Bob. His mouth opened to speak, but froze in place. His lips tightened and he shook his head. He emitted a deep sigh.

  Terry stared off into space, squinting and obviously lost in thought. His eyes suddenly widened.

  Jason was intrigued though not very surprised, but decided to stick to the issue at hand.

  “Well, did you at least hit anything?”

  “Oh sure!”

  “Really! Let’s go see if he’s—”

  “Oh. You mean the guy shooting at us. No, I’m pretty sure we missed him.”

  Chapter 37

  Lani was nervously pacing around a small clearing with Champ dogging her heels when Scott caught up with his friends.

  “Told ya,” Rollo said to the woman. He sat under a stubby tree with his pack at his side and his rifle across his knees. An uncapped water bottle sat within easy reach.

  “You look comfy,” Scott said. It was all he could get out before a blonde cyclone flew across the clearing and buried herself in his arms. He returned her attention for a long moment, every bit as happy to see Lani as she was to see him.

  “Well, one of us had to get comfortable. She’s been wearing grooves in the dirt. But I told her you’d come back all right.”

  “You had faith in my abilities?” Scott had reclaimed his lips and now buried his face in Lani’s hair. “Shucks.”

  “Some. More than that, though, I figured that a gunfight is a heroic way to die. You’re not the type to go out all that heroically. You’re more a die-in-a-compromising-situation kind of guy.”

  “Thanks.”

  Reunited wi
th his girlfriend, Scott spared a moment to rub Champ’s head, acknowledging the affection of the beast who stood almost erect on his hind legs, leaning against the couple and licking both their faces.

  “We heard the gunshots,” Lani said.

  “Yeah. I got stupid and fired a warning shot. They responded with World War 3.”

  Rollo snorted, snatched the hat from his own head and threw it against the ground, doing the aged fabric no perceptible harm. A cloud of dust rose around the brim, and then settled in place. The hat’s fabric blended in as if camouflaged.

  “Now are you convinced they’re trying to kill us?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  “What do they want?” Lani asked.

  “I’d guess they’re not happy that we witnessed whatever it was we saw in the forest, but I don’t know. You need to see them. It’s like being chased by a well-armed circus sideshow.”

  “You teach them any manners back there?” Rollo asked.

  “I taught them to keep their heads down; but they did the same for me. I don’t think they’ve given up, if that’s what you mean.” He paused. “And that brings up a point. The firebugs outnumber us, are better armed than we are and apparently have a shitload of ammunition. We’ve been lucky so far, but they could easily catch up with us.”

  Rollo grunted. Lani crinkled her forehead—a smudge of dirt clung there, left by her clinch with Scott—and glanced nervously down the canyon.

  “Then, shouldn’t we get mov—”

  “You should get moving. You and Champ with the phone and the video.”

  He handed over a folded piece of paper.

  “Here’s the log-on information for the mailing-list server and my YouTube account. Just find a cell-phone signal, upload the video and send the information as an e-mail formatted like it says.”

  “What? You have to be kidding me! I’m not going anywhere without—”

  “He’s right,” Rollo said.

  “No he’s fucking not!”

  Rollo sighed and shuffled his feet.

  Scott jumped in.

  “If Rollo and I stay back and block the canyon, you have a much better chance at getting through with that footage we shot of the forest fire being set. Then we can get some help.”