Tahoe Deathfall

by Todd Borg

By the time the first guard reached the break in the fence we were down into one of the dark valleys between the hills, away from the searchlights. I set Alicia down and stopped to catch my breath. She stood in the dark, unsure of what to be afraid of or who the enemy was. Although it was too dark to tell, I knew that she was looking to me for the answer.

  “Where is Jenny?” she said in a weak voice. Her accent had hints of American Southwest, yet the question had a strange inflection as if English were not her first lan­guage. I decided it was probably the drugs they had her on. I had no idea what would happen when the drugs wore off.

  “At home in Lake Tahoe,” I said between panting breaths. “I’m going to bring you there. My car is about a quarter mile from here. Do you think you can make it?”

  I thought I saw her nod. She turned, started to walk away from the hospital and fell in the dirt.

  I scooped her up and placed her on her feet. My arms were tired. “Alicia, I’m going to turn and you’re going to get on my back. Like kids do. Okay?”

  Another nod in the dark.

  I turned and backed up to her. I did a deep knee bend. “Climb on my back, Alicia.”

  She made a weak effort, but she didn’t have the strength. Finally, I wrapped her arms around my neck and boosted her up, grabbing her skinny thighs and lifting her into place.

  “Are you hanging on tight?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” came the feeble answer.

  “Concentrate on your hands,” I said. “I’ll hold you up, but you need to concentrate on your hands and keep them clamped around my neck.”

  She obeyed in concept. But I knew her grip was frangible and I had to bend over at a steep angle to keep her from falling off my back. Nevertheless, it was better than holding her in my arms, and we made good time across the desert.

  The rental Ford was where I’d left it. I set Alicia down and leaned her against the hood while I fumbled for my key. I unlocked the doors, set her into the front seat and ran around to the driver’s side.

  With the headlights off, I pulled out and drove past the mountain of used tires and on toward Lincoln Ave­nue. A siren sounded in the distance. I stopped well back from the street. In moments the siren and then flashes of lights grew on the road in front of us. The glow of head­lights suddenly appeared and a police car flashed by, blue and red lights flickering. A second later the cruiser was fol­lowed by an unmarked sedan with a single red beacon stuck on the side of its roof.

  I knew they would eventually figure out that I’d parked by the used tire mountain. It would be easy to fol­low my tire tracks. So I pulled out after them so that my marks in the gravel at the side of the road would show that I had gone that way. When I got to the first intersec­tion where the blacktop widened, I made a slow U-turn and headed back toward downtown Hollybrook.

  In front of me, up by the entrance to Saint Mary’s, were the lights of more police cars. I took the first turnoff and drove through side streets and quiet neighborhoods.

  I knew of only one highway that went through Hollybrook. The police would have the highway covered. And it would not be long before they were searching every street. I could head off into the desert, but the rental car wouldn’t get far.

  “Where are we going?” Alicia said, her words drawn out slowly.

  I didn’t want to betray my lack of answers so I said, “Not far.” I came to another intersection. There was a trailer park entrance across the street. The sign said Happy Trails Trailer Park and had a picture of Roy Rog­ers on his horse Trigger. Beyond, in the distance, was the flashing red light I’d sighted on from up at Saint Mary’s. Just beyond it was a rotating white light. I realized that the white beacon represented my possible escape.

  The local airport.

  I drove down the side of the trailer park. A man was walking his dog in the darkness. My headlights were still off. His head turned to watch us cruise by. I immedi­ately turned down the next street, away from the airport, thinking that if he was taking note he’d notice we went away from the airport. I went around several blocks, put­ting distance between us and the late-night stroller. When I drove back across the road, I looked in the direction of where I’d passed the man and dog. He was out of sight. But farther down the road, coming toward me, was another police car, its lights flashing.

  I darted down the block, turned right, raced another block and turned left. Two blocks later I turned right again, keeping my eye out for the airport light. It appeared and then disappeared, although behind what I could not tell.

  The town was small and in a minute I was out of the neighborhood and on a barren desert road. The rotat­ing beacon came again. This time I watched it disappear behind a line of trees. Big cottonwood trees. I saw in the starlight a row of them, typical of a stream on the desert. The airport, if it actually was an airport, was on the other side. The road I was on paralleled the stream.

  I had to find a bridge. No doubt my road con­nected with a bridge, but where I did not know. Police lights appeared in my rearview mirror. Then, in the dis­tance in front of me, more flashing lights turned onto my road. I was trapped.

  I took my foot off the gas and used the parking brake to slow the car so as not to flash the brake lights and betray my location. The police might not see me in the dark if I got off the road fast enough.

  When we slowed, I turned the wheel and we bounced off the shoulder and down onto the desert sand. Dirt flew up from the wheels, making a dust cloud that was certain to be spotted. I drove toward the cotton­woods. The parking brake brought us to an unsure stop in front of the tree trunks.

  “Okay, Alicia. Now we have to hurry again.” I grabbed the map out of the glove box, jumped out of the car, ran around and pulled her from the passenger seat. “Up on my back like before. Ready? There you go.” She was willing but limp.

  After I hoisted her up I ran through the trees toward the stream bed that I was certain was there.

  The stream was robust, rushing with rapids, and nearly out of its bank with snowmelt from distant moun­tains. I turned and looked back, wondering if the cops had seen my dust cloud and found the rental car. I saw no lights.

  “Alicia, I’m going to carry you across this stream. You’re going to feel water on your feet. The water will be cold. Ready?”

  I felt her tense.

  I waded in. The water was more than cold. It was like ice. I took careful steps, gauging the strength of the current. As long it wasn’t too deep, we’d be okay. When the water reached my crotch and Alicia’s bare feet we both gasped. I continued on, leaning into the current. The stream got deeper. Soon, it was up to my waist. Alicia started crying as the ice water flowed around her butt. The current pulled hard. I leaned into it. My grip on Ali­cia was firm, but I felt her arms loosening.

  “Hang on, Alicia! Hang on. We’re almost there.” The water was up to my rib cage. It swept over Alicia’s hips. I reached out to take my next step and my foot rolled off a submerged rock. We leaned sideways. I released my grip on Alicia’s thigh, shot my arm out and caught an overhanging branch. I was regaining my footing when Alicia let go.

  She fell backward into the fast flowing water. Her body turned and her other leg twisted out of my other hand.

  I reached for her with my other arm, but she was already gone downstream into the dark, rushing rapids.

  TWENTY-NINE