24

Those first miles were painfully slow because of the bad light. The clouds pressed residual heat back against the earth; it remained warm for hours. Dust rose into Mackenzie’s eyes and teeth, carried on wanton gusts of eccentric wind. There was a thick dampness in the air but it didn’t bode rain.

They had to pick their way with infinite caution. Several times they blundered against shrubs; twice they had to stop to extract spines from their ankles. A portion of sky to the northeast remained clear for a long time and Mackenzie, having memorized a pattern of stars there, guided on it-kept it ahead of his right shoulder.

There was a range of low mountains ahead of them and he wanted to go around its western flank. Once past that buttress they would be permanently out of Duggai’s sight; but there remained miles to cross.

It was too dark to make out the mountains but Mackenzie knew where they were. They settled down to a flat-footed weary march and he realized they were not likely to get beyond the flats by daybreak. The pace was too slow and in this blackness there was no way to crowd it.

It meant another day holed up under Duggai’s jurisdiction and he wasn’t sure he had the patience for that. They would lose precious hours of cool traveling time: they’d have to stop an hour before first light, dig their pits and get out of sight. If it weren’t for Duggai they’d be able to keep walking at least two hours longer before stopping to dig in; and the digging would go faster by daylight.

He was carrying the water sack and they’d filled it with three or four gallons; it was a heavy burden. Jay had taken all the other accoutrements-these consisted pitifully of the food sack, the two brass knives and the spare moccasins. In the food sack were several pounds of dried pork, the remaining shreds of jackrabbit jerky, a few clots of rocksalt, a pair of small thick clay bowls and the folded square of transparent plastic. Like Punjab beggars they lugged their worldly possessions across the flayed arid landscape.

The clouds tumbled eastward on high winds aloft; along the surface of the earth dust devils whirled and greasewood bushes clattered like cicadas. As the slim moon moved west it passed beyond the thicker body of cloud; it began to throw a hazy glow through the trailing sky-fog and this pittance of illumination helped them move faster: no longer was it necessary to test the ground with a prodding toe before putting one’s weight down. Cactus and rocks became vaguely visible against the paler surface of the desert. Several times Mackenzie stubbed a toe against things unseen but they were making a good walking pace now and he revived his hope of passing the end of the mountain range before first light.

It had been sixteen hours since his body had ingested the first mouthfuls of rocksalt; its beneficence had ramified through his system and the muscles no longer had a tendency to cramp. They had consumed the blood of the javelina, its raw marrow and its sun-dried flesh.

His legs were tired but it was not the loose-kneed weakness he’d got used to. He’d lost a good deal of weight and for a time he’d been feeding on his own muscle but it hadn’t gone beyond restoration. Jay had suffered more because he’d begun with less: now his jut-ribbed gauntness was macabre but he was keeping up with the pace: salt and the meal had revived him.

When they reached the edge of the mountain range he judged the moon’s westward angle and saw no suggestion of light to the east. The clouds had gone on toward Tucson, El Paso, the Gulf.

“We’ll go through the foothills instead of around.”

“Won’t that slow us down?”

“A little. But it’ll put high ground between us and Duggai.”

“Good idea.”

So they climbed, striking through canyons and passes, skirting clumps of sandstone boulders and igneous rock. At the trailing end of the range the foothills were of lackadaisical proportion: above to one side the rock cliffs sprouted and the razor spine of the range stood several thousand feet higher than the plain. The low crumple of foothills bordered the range all round; staying within its folds they pressed on. Where canyons narrowed into deep shadow Mackenzie elected to go up and around rather than through: it made for stiffer going but they had light and it minimized the risk of accident.

With the first spread of morning they paused to eat and drink but they were up again and moving within ten minutes. Mackenzie looked back and had a last brief look at the arid plain that had sustained them. Shirley’s campfire winked ten miles away beyond the flank of Duggai’s hills and Jay said explosively: “Thank God.”

“They’ve made it so far,” Mackenzie agreed. Then they went on across the sandy hogback and when they began to descend its northern slope they were beyond any further view of the plain behind them-and beyond Duggai’s view as well: a smile stretched Mackenzie’s lips until the chapped skin split painfully and he felt his shoulders lift as they marched steadily downhill in the growing dawn.

The land out ahead was more of the same and that was no surprise but Mackenzie was vaguely disappointed. In a corner of his hopes had rested the improbable chance that they’d been marooned just out of sight of salvation. All the evidence stood against it but it had remained there until now. The span of sand-whacked plain to the north only fulfilled his expectations but it was enough to sunder the relief he’d felt on discovering Shirley’s fire.

They made good time in the freshening light-down the backslope through inconsequential hills and onto the plain. Rock ranges encircled the district but there was a gap between them to the north and they set out toward that passage. It was six or seven miles away and Mackenzie knew they wouldn’t get that far today but they were making better distance than he’d anticipated. At sunrise he stopped to parcel out a ration of water and searched Jay’s physique until Jay blushed.

“I’m trying to judge how many miles you’ve got left in you.”

“You don’t have to put it brutally.”

“If you look at your skin you’ll see what I mean. The sunburn’s starting to tan. The blisters have gone down on your shoulders.”

Jay tucked in his chin to examine himself. “So?”

“If we can add two or three hours’ walking time to each night we can cut a day off our travel time.”

“You want to keep going a few hours, that it?”

“It won’t get scorching hot for another four hours. If we walk for three hours and dig holes under scrub shade we still should be all right. Then start out again a couple of hours before sunset. If our feet hold out we may make it in three nights.”

“I can stick it as long as you can.” There was jealousy in Jay’s defiance; but he didn’t hold Mackenzie’s glance. “I’m just as eager as you are. If we can shave a day off it’ll make a lot of difference.”

So they continued until the sun was well up; dug their holes with the sun strong against their backs; and tumbled into their damp earth beds with a twitching of overtaxed muscles. Mackenzie had a final look back toward the mountains they’d crossed. He saw nothing remarkable and he was asleep instantly.

He awakened once with the sun just past zenith: it was the rush of a jet that had alerted him but by the time he lifted his head the plane was retreating toward the horizon. He saw no buzzards, no Duggai; he sagged into the cool bunker and slept.

He was awake again by three or so; he spent an hour repairing his frayed moccasins with rawhide but they wouldn’t last the night and there remained only one spare pair each.

Well, we’ll keep the ruined ones and try to stitch them together to make new ones.

They were fed and moving again well before sundown; by nightfall they’d crossed several miles; moonrise found them in the passage between ranges.

It was going better than he’d hoped: if their muscles and moccasins held out they were going to make it. But he itched terribly where the sun had baked his already punished skin and he was conscious of the dry scratch of the hard leather breechclout.

They walked without hurry, not letting impatience force the pace; they’d settled down to the march of soldiers, one pace at a time and no thought of anything beyond it. The water sack swung from Mackenzie’s fist, the palm tacky with sweat, and every hundred yards or so he shifted it from hand to hand.

They emerged from between the ranges. The moon was perceptibly stronger tonight: it threw a steel-hued glow across the flats and by its light Mackenzie could make out distinctly the canyon contours of sierras some miles away. To the northeast the plain stretched away to a level horizon many miles distant. At other compass points there were cairns and hummocks and mountain ranges that brought the horizons closer. Due north stood a forbidding rampart of boulder cliffs. No point going up against that: they struck off to the right and followed the flats.

Underfoot they traversed pebbles and clay and the dry-rotting remains of crumbling plants. The trick was to stay a good distance from any shrubbery big enough to cast a shadow. The bare earth ran in contours of washboard unevenness but it made firm footing and the journey was easy so long as you watched where you were putting your foot down.

The occasional coyote yapped distantly; the occasional rodent or jackrabbit bolted away. Mackenzie thought of the bonepiles of bleached remains that had been strewn across this desert a hundred years ago-pioneers trying to reach California across the infamous Jornada del Muerte: the trail had been signposted with cattle skulls and human skeletons.

Well, they didn’t have plastic raincoats in those days.

Judderingly weary; but he felt good. Triumph filled him, kept him moving even when spasms ran uncontrollably along his punished legs. Jay kept up-it was an evident struggle but he voiced no complaint and halted only when Mackenzie called a rest.

By midnight the moccasins had given out; they changed to the last ones. The new footwear was stiff and painful but they kept on.

As they approached the horizon a massive range climbed into sight and Mackenzie diverted the course again, swinging west of north. They were zigzagging in long arcs and it was adding to the distance but it wasn’t as severe as he’d expected: the ranges stood far apart and rarely extended more than a few miles in length. Off to the west he could see a great humping granddaddy sierra that covered an entire quadrant but it didn’t lie across their path. When they stopped to drink he said, “I think we may strike the highway sometime tomorrow night.”

“That soon?”

“We’ve covered at least twenty-five miles since we left camp. A lot better than I expected. It may not be much more than fifteen, twenty more miles.”

It perked Jay up. When they continued Mackenzie saw him searching the plains ahead for headlights.

Toward morning the earth began to tilt; they faced a gradual upward climb. It was a shallow slope but it extended miles and they could see nothing beyond it but sky.

The climb sapped them; they had to stop every quarter hour, then every ten minutes.

“Maybe we should call it a night?”

“I want to see what’s on the far side.”

“You’re stumbling like a drunk, Sam.”

“So are you.”

“If we burn ourselves out we won’t get far tomorrow night.”

“Earle needs help as fast as we can get it to him.”

“All right. You know best.”

Dawn, then daylight. He’d long since stopped counting the days of the ordeal. The earth ran uphill endlessly in front of them: they would reach something that ought to be the top but beyond it they would find a shallow dip and then more climb. The horizon was never more than a few hundred yards away. It was as if the demons were putting them to the ultimate test of patience and endurance.

“It’s getting hot.…”

“Keep going.”

They must have climbed at least a thousand feet, he thought. A wind soughed across the desert; dust rose into his teeth. Twice Jay spoke to him and went unheard. Finally Jay struggled around in front of him, flapping both arms in his consternation. “We’ve got to stop. We’ll broil.”

“All right. The top of that rise right there-we’ll stop there.”

“No farther,” Jay warned.

“No farther.” His unfeeling feet propelled him toward the top. Long steady climb: Jay scuttled behind him, hands on knees to thrust against the tilt of the earth, knees splaying every which way. Mackenzie switched the water bag from right hand to left hand. He could feel the skin frying on his back: his mind must have gone away for a while-he didn’t remember the past two hours. It had been dawn, sunrise, then abruptly it was midmorning. Jay was right. We ought to stop right here. We’ll kill ourselves.

But he walked. Just to the top there.…

Agonizing to walk. But the top was in sight-he homed on the tufted flagpole stalk of a century plant. That’s as far as we go. A hundred feet, seventy-five, fifty.

Beyond the top was a trough that ran crosswise to their course: it was half a mile across; beyond it another ridge rippled right to left.

But there was a gap through the ridge and he could see the long dry plains beyond. This was indeed the top.

And far out across that desert he saw an object crawling at steady speed. A tiny rectangle rolling eastward.

“Look.”

“What-where?”

Mackenzie’s arm lifted, trembling. He sighted along his extended finger. “That’s a truck.”

“The highway.”

They stared for the longest time. The truck disappeared behind a roll of ground. Something winked then-a flicker of painful light that appeared and disappeared along a westward trajectory. Sunlight against a car’s rear window. Then behind it another.

“Sam-”

“Forget it. We’ll dig in here.”

“But the highway.…”

“That’s twenty miles away.”

“But we’ll make it tonight, right?”

“Bet your ass we will.”

They grinned at each other ludicrously.

He tried to dig in the shade of a bush but the roots stopped him and he kept having to slope the pit farther out until the sun again cooked his back but he closed his mind against it and kept clawing earth out of the hole: sunburn could be treated.

“That’s got to be deep enough.”

“No. At least another six inches. You don’t want to die this close to the end.”

“I can’t even pick up this rock anymore.”

“Dig, damn you.”

Eventually the pits were done to his satisfaction and the bottoms were invitingly damp. They sat mostly in shade now; they portioned out meat and salt and finally a good deal of water. It left only a couple of quarts in the bag but that would do-they’d drop the bag somewhere along the downslope and cover the last few hours without water. They wouldn’t need to carry anything on the last lap.

He put a pebble on his tongue and smiled. Jay laughed aloud in response. The taste of joy overcame Mackenzie’s weariness: it ran sweet and strong through his veins.

“By damn.” It was an expression his father the silversmith had used. “By damn, Jay.”

“Shouldn’t we get some sleep?”

“Aeah. Go ahead, stretch out. I’ll just have one look down the backtrail.”

It was only an excuse: he was too nervy to remain still-he’d passed beyond fatigue into jittery alertness. He splashed a handful of water over the back of his neck and felt it run deliciously down his spine. Then he climbed out on doddering legs and limped back past the maguey stalk and crouched in a catclaw’s futile shade to look back the way they’d come and try to estimate the distance they’d covered.

They were on high ground here and he had a panorama before him: where the sky touched the earth it was perhaps as much as forty miles away. None of it looked familiar: they’d never looked at any of it from this angle. He saw going down the hill the ragged faint imprint of their foot tracks. The tan-gray slope ran down toward a bottom four or five miles away, tiered ridge below tiered ridge. Then the flats and the serrates of indigo mountains in random crumpled piles. The sky seemed very thin. He counted five vultures above a rock cairn out to the west eight or ten miles from him.

He was looking south toward the mountain clumps; he was thinking about Shirley. Just hold on-another twenty-four hours we’ll have you out. Hold on.

He’d won. He knew it with a sense of savage victory.

He got up to return to the dugouts. As he began to turn away he saw in the far southern distance a hint of risen dust.

He looked away, looked again and it was still there.

He gaped at it, squinting; shaded his eyes with his palm. Dust devil? Windstorm?

It was miles away. But it came straight toward him.

It was Duggai’s truck.

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