Big Maria (28 page)

“What are you doing?” Ramón asked.

“Our people are the best trackers in the world. It is a talent imbued within each and every one of our tribe. It does not need to be learned. It is in our blood. We hunt the signs, track the thief, and get our stolen supplies. Then we continue on to find your grandfather.”

“We are not doing any of that. And I am very positive that tracking is something people do learn,” Bernardo said. “And none of us, including you, were ever taught that skill.”

“Don’t turn your back on your heritage, son. We are a proud people.”

“We cannot track shit, mother.”

Mercedes turned her head sharply.

Ramón let out an involuntary whimper. “Do not do it, bro.”

Bernardo stepped forward. He spread his legs wide as if in preparation to withstand a heavy wind. “This trek is over. We return west, back to the river, back home.”

Mercedes faced Bernardo. “Do. Not. Talk. Back. To. Me.”

Bernardo looked up at the sun in exasperation. “Mother, Ramón and I have heard your shouting our whole lives. Yes, we are frightened of you in town, but no longer in the middle of the desert. We are trespassing on Army land. We are lost. We have no food. I will play the mother-son game when I cannot die from it. Until we have cement under our feet, I am the decider.”

Mercedes fumed but remained silent.

Bernardo turned to Ramón, who looked like he was waiting for a balloon to pop. “What supplies do we have?”

Ramón couldn’t stop staring at Mercedes. He was transfixed by how red his mother’s face had become. The color of a dog’s pecker. If steam was ever going to come out of a person’s ears like in the cartoons, now was the time. He didn’t want to miss it.

“Ramón!” Bernardo barked.

Ramón snapped out of it. “We got all the
mota
. Two jugs of water. Some supplies. But no food that I saw. None.”

“We are not done talking.” The quiet words leaked from Mercedes’s mouth.

“Yes. We are,” Bernardo said. “We go while we still have sun to follow. If we head west, we will find the river.”

Mercedes turned abruptly, picked up her blanket, and folded it.

Ramón walked next to his brother. “I would not sleep, brother. You may wake up dead.”

“With no food, we cannot waste time.”

“We can forage.”

“It is all rocks and dirt. We cannot live on spiders and thorns.”

“What about the
mota
? We could eat it. Like a salad.”

Bernardo nodded. At the least, it would make the hike painless.

“U
p there?”

Frank shouted over the mortar fire that blasted against the mountain. The mountain that Frank pointed at. The mountain that the trail led to. The mountain that was made out of explosions.

Frank rubbed his eyes as some dust drifted down. “You didn’t say nothing about mountain climbing. That’s really steep. I’m an old man, for Christ’s sake.”

Harry waved his map. “I didn’t know. A map is a flat thing. There’s squiggly lines for mountains, but how do I know from how high? It ain’t a pop-up book.”

Frank snatched the map from his hands. “You see the numbers next to the squiggly lines? Jesus. The artillery, that’s a big thing, but I was prepped for that. Been looking at it, hearing it. But mountains? Might be too much.”

Harry looked stung, like Frank had bad-mouthed his mother. That was, if Harry had had anything but loathing for his mother. “The mine is on the other side of that rise. There’s a trail. No climbing. Like walking up stairs. Rocky stairs.”

“Rocky stairs that someone is trying to blow up.”

“Nothing can stop us, Frank. We’ll make it. Destiny, like I’ve been saying. We’re here. And there’s been all kinds of chances for this to go sideways. Darkest before the dawn, right? This is our last test. Or one of the last. No promises on this being the last one.”

Frank laughed. “Yeah, no more tests when you’re dead. I learned that from cancer. Only, when you got cancer, pieces of you ain’t flying through the air in all different directions.”

Ricky walked between the two men, holding his arms out as if stopping a brawl, though the men had shown little anger and were ten feet apart. “We got to decide next. Is this the only way?”

“Only way I know.”

“Can’t do nothing about the height, but we can wait until they stop bombing.”

Frank shook his head. “What happens if we get halfway and it starts up again? Or the trail farther up is covered in rocks and we can’t get though? That trail has taken damage, I’m guessing. It only takes one mistake. But that’s not my problem, it’s the climb. This old body is having trouble walking. I slow you down, I stop, could get you boys killed. Can’t live or die with that.”

Frank walked away and pretended to do something important with one of the burros.

Harry turned to Ricky. “You two stay here. I’ll go and see if the mine is there. If the gold is there.”

“You said it yourself. There’s something about the three of us. It works when we’re together. Let me talk to Frank.”

Harry nodded. He found the flattest rock he could and unfolded the map on top of it. Ricky walked to Frank who stared at the explosions on the mountain and stroked the neck of the burro.

Frank spit on the ground and spoke slowly. “Looking up at that damn mountain. At all that violence and smoke. It’s like looking at death. Like I’m seeing the end.”

“We’ll wait until it stops.”

“That ain’t the thing. I’m ready to face them explosions. Family, friends, life. Couldn’t give two shits. It’s a sad day when you realize your life don’t matter.”

“You matter. You’re just questioning your faith.”

“I’d need faith to question it. When you’re young, your life is all future. Dread or excitement, you’re looking forward. But when you get old, it all switches to the past, about what’s behind you. What do you do if you don’t like what you’ve done? You can’t look
to the future for atonement, because the only future you got is nothingness.”

Ricky shook his head. “If you don’t believe in anything, I don’t know, you have to find a way to believe in something. Even Harry believes in destiny or that dead man’s head or whatever.”

Frank laughed. He picked up a black rock and rubbed the charred ash off it, until a smeared brown showed through. “It’s not like old age, a long life, makes you somehow satisfied. I’m not explaining good. I’m not saying I don’t care if I live or die. Only a crazy person wants to die. Getting old turns death into that next-door neighbor you hate, but you’ve learned to make peace. I do care about living. It’s that I ain’t got much living left. I’m looking up at an exploding mountain and I want to live. And it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.

“I thought this adventure would give me something more than the gold. Not meaning, but something. Maybe it has. It’s been good to be on my own. Friends. The chance to get a win at the end of a losing season. Going through an artillery range to get to a gold mine is the single stupidest thing that I’ve ever done. Gloriously stupid in a life where I wish I had done more stupid things. I guess when all’s said and done, I’d rather die with my idiot friends than in bed wasting away. It’s what we came here to do. If I die trying, at least I die trying, right?”

“So you’re good to go?” Ricky asked.

“I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t a man who lets down his only friends. But I’m serious, my body is broke. We need to move fast up that hill. If I slow us down, I could kill us all. And if my choice is let you down or get you killed, I know my call.”

“I got an idea,” Harry said, hobbling to the two of them. “I need my katana.”

T
here might be a doctor who would approve of using a samurai sword to remove a leg cast, but the world is full of quacks. The hygiene alone was suspect, considering the amount of dried
mountain lion blood and hair still caked to the blade of the decoration/weapon. But there was no stopping Harry once he got the idea in his head.

“We need that burro for the supplies, and with the rest of the supplies on the other one, there’s only room for one rider. My leg is healed enough. Not all the way, but enough to walk.”

“What if it isn’t?” Ricky asked.

“Then I climb back on the burro and we try it that way. Same difference. But we got to go all four of us.”

“Four?” Ricky asked, and then got it. “Oh, the head.”

“So who’s going to help me jam this thing down the leg hole?” Frank asked.

They didn’t help jam anything. They watched as Harry slid his sword into the opening at the top of the cast and started sawing at the inside.

“It feels pretty spongy. All my sweat made it sloppy on the inside. Gooey from the dead skin and filth, it won’t take long.”

“I feel a little sick,” Ricky said.

“Lot of give in there. If we had water to spare, I’d pour it down there to help break up the rot and plaster.”

“Seriously, Harry,” Ricky pleaded, “stop describing.”

“Careful not to cut yourself,” Frank added.

“Really? I hadn’t thought of that. Hey, what does this remind you of?”

Harry grabbed the handle of the katana with both hands and stroked it up and down in a not-so-subtle jerking off motion.

Ricky covered his mouth. “I can smell your leg. Jesus. It smells like the inside of a rotten pumpkin.”

After fifteen minutes, the sword dug a small crack in the side of the cast. Harry set the sword down and pulled at the opening to make it wider. Scraps of plaster broke off in his hand. He threw them to the side.

“Almost got it.”

Harry pulled the remaining part of the cast off like a boot. His leg had atrophied and the skin had taken on the color and appearance of rice pudding with hair in it.

Frank said, “Talk about a farmer’s tan.”

“Can you stand?” Ricky asked.

Harry stood slowly, putting his weight on the leg. He winced with the first step, but after a wide circle, his stride became more confident.

“I ain’t going to run no marathon, but I can do this.”

T
hey waited an hour until there was a lull in the Army’s effort to destroy the mountain. Considering the amount of explosive activity over the last couple days, fifteen minutes seemed like a reasonable amount of time to guess it was a dinner break rather than an overlong reload. After all the noise, the silence was disarming.

The sun set behind them as they did their best to hurry up the trail toward the scarred blackness. The burros did their best on the rough, rocky trail but were forced to move slowly, their footing unsure. Ricky pulled the lead burro, the animal sensing the danger and fighting with every step. The burro moved forward, but it clearly wasn’t happy about it. Harry followed, leading the burro with Frank and the remaining supplies on it.

The air was cool and smelled like a battlefield. Ash and powder, but without the death. The quiet reminded them that they were in nature. That the mountain had been there long before the Proving Ground. And for all the Army’s efforts, the mountain would be there long after they were done assaulting it. Down below, they could see the lights of a few vehicles, a helicopter in the distance, and the city of Yuma and what might have been Mexicali far away on the southern horizon.

“Let’s beat the darkness,” Harry said.

“And the bombing,” Frank added with a surprising amount of humor in his voice.

The sun was gone, but they still had the light of dusk to guide them. The trail hit a crest one hundred yards ahead of them. They had climbed for about a half hour. Slow progress, but no danger.

Harry looked at his GPS and a small notebook as he walked. His limp had become more pronounced as the hike continued. He looked up from his notes. “After the crest, it’s within a half mile. The trail will drop. It looks like it opens up a little. When the trail opens, the mine’s around there.”

They began to believe that they were going to make it. But, of course, that good feeling couldn’t last forever. In fact, it lasted another two minutes.

Fifty yards from the crest, a fresh volley of artillery struck the mountain above and behind them. All around them. Intense light blinded them. A shower of rock rained down. It sounded like all noise combined.

Ricky no longer had to pull the burro. It took off. Right over him, trampling him and dragging him until he let go. As Ricky rolled, holding his already battered ribs, he watched the burro climb the trail. There was a brilliant flash of light, and the burro was gone in a cloud of debris.

Everything got a lot more confusing after the burro exploded.

T
he intensity of the barrage was beyond anything the men had ever experienced. Its brute force had no place in the natural world. A lightning storm or tornado paled. It was like being inside a comet. Light strobed so quickly that their eyes never fully adjusted. Larrups of sound assaulted them, any silence between explosions lost in the ringing and humming that filled their near-bleeding ears. Chaos overwhelmed all senses.

Ricky scrambled to his feet, forgetting the pain in his side. Not conscious of what he was doing, only doing it. He ran in the direction he was facing, beyond rational thought. He tripped on the rocks as he moved up the hill and over the crest, the mountain exploding around him. Large chunks of rock showered down on him, cutting his back and head, knocking him off-balance, but he kept forward through will and terror. Even as the world exploded, Ricky had no quit. He couldn’t have explained why. He couldn’t have told you where he was going. He couldn’t have told you if he believed he would ever get home. He couldn’t tell you anything. He could only run.

For Frank, running wasn’t an option. He was at the mercy of the burro between his legs. The burro had taken off up the hill, faster than he had thought the animal capable. The burro passed Ricky in a clumsy run with Frank holding on for dear life.

Frank had no idea where he was heading. The world was never steady enough for him to get his bearings. He thought they were on the trail, but the burro was at a full gallop, stampeding solo in animal panic.

In seconds, the exploding artillery was behind him. The light and sound continued, but he was out of the range of the explosions. His shadow cast before him with every blast. The burro didn’t slow, transporting him farther from the danger. He laughed and shouted.