Chapter 9

When John finished his cryptic phone call to Dan he worked his way back down the embankment to the road below. He turned eastward, staying right at the road’s southern edge. While he walked he took an inventory of his situation. In Tom’s backpack he’d put what remained of the stuff Curly had picked up at the convenience store in Buckeye: two bottles of water, and two candy bars. He’d the small pocketknife from Curly he’d used to cut the chip out of his hand and place it in Tom’s, as well as a disposable lighter that had been in Tom’s pocket. He’d no idea what else was in the pack.

He was at least out of the bright orange prison jumpsuit, and into jeans and a work shirt. At the same time he was an escaping prisoner in the middle of the Arizona wilderness with no coat, nor map, nor compass. Even if he had these things he’d have little idea of his location. He’d seen the time when he used the cell phone, and figured it was about an hour before sunrise. He knew he needed to find a source of food and water as well as a place of shelter from the cold November nights, but his first priority was to travel as far from this area as possible.

A mile or so down the road he came to a place of decision. To the right he could see the Interstate and the interchange for this small road. To the left was a small dirt and gravel road with a sign that said US Forestry Service. Since it looked lightly traveled, and led away from the Interstate, John decided it was his best option. About ten minutes after turning to the Northeast onto the forestry road John observed the lights of an oncoming vehicle in the distance. Moving to his right he retreated deep into the trees and brush, trying not to be observed by anyone in the vehicle. A couple of minutes later a beat up old pickup drove by. When the tail lights disappeared John returned to the road, where he noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten. Instinctively, he knew he’d now have to be even more alert, as soon he’d no longer have headlights in the distance to warn him of approaching traffic.

Roughly another ten minutes later John came to a fork in the road and a sign stating he was entering the Navajo Indian Reservation. The road signs stated the road to the right was a Reservation road while the left fork was a continuation of the forestry road he’d been traveling. Concerned about getting lost in a maze of roads on the reservation he decided to stay on the forestry road, at least for the time being. While he continued down the road John realized he was feeling more tired than he should’ve, considering the short time he’d been walking. He wondered if it was repercussions from the lack of exercise for the past few weeks coupled with the accident tonight.

He had traveled another mile or so when he observed a narrow game trail leading off to the left. Thinking this would at least give him a place off the road to rest he turned onto the path, following it into scrub brush, cacti, and an occasional tree. In a few minutes he came to a small open area with several large pines on the right side. He sat down at the base of one set back a few yards from the clearing. When he reached to get a bottle of water out of the backpack he discovered the basis for his feeling of weakness. His hand, where he had removed the chip, was bleeding. It wasn’t bleeding heavily, but was a consistent dripping that was slowly sapping what strength he had. He took a short swallow of water since he wasn’t sure how long it’d have to last. He then used a little to wash dirt from around the wound. He pulled out the old t-shirt which he ripped and cut with the pocketknife while he tried to make a bandage. The most difficult part was tying the compress across the top of his own left hand, leaving him exhausted by the time he finished. Concerned his efforts wouldn’t be successful in stopping the flow of blood John decided to rest there for a while. He hoped this would allow time for the bleeding to stop, and his strength to return. He drank some more of the water, deciding his body needed it more right now than it would a day from now. He also ate one of the candy bars. The remaining chocolate bar would likely be a melted mess in a few hours, but at least it was November, not July.

Within minutes John dozed off, and it was late afternoon when the loud trumpeting of some animal woke him from his sleep. He slowly opened his eyes. Standing maybe thirty yards in front of him was a large bull elk. Compared to the white tailed deer John had hunted with his father this thing was huge. From the snorting it was doing John was pretty sure the elk could smell him, but couldn’t seem to decide if John was dangerous or not. When John did not move the elk finally decided to ignore him, and ambled on down the path. When he became more awake it finally hit John he’d slept most of the day. He started to panic and berate himself, but then decided his body had needed the rest. Surveying his situation he discovered he was stiff, sore, and slightly chilled. His hand appeared to have finally stopped bleeding, but the bandage and the pine straw around where his hand had rested showed it had bled a good bit while he was asleep. He drank some more of the water, and ate the other candy bar. It might have melted some, but it wasn’t too bad.

Standing, he decided to continue following the game trail. He might not readily find shelter, but he was less likely to run into people. Taking one more swallow of water John started down the trail, moving at a fairly fast pace. He was trying to travel as far as he could before dark.

Earlier that afternoon Dan and Deke had traveled the roughly one hundred and sixty miles to where the accident had occurred. They spent most of the trip getting to know one another. By the end of the trip each man had developed a deep respect for the other. At the same time, Deke learned a lot more about John and his personal history. The more he learned the more his heart went out to the young man. One of the things that truly amazed him was the quiet humility of this young man. He was beginning to realize John had one of the most intelligent and creative minds in the country.

The trip was made more difficult due to the large number of curiosity seekers who flooded the highway, slowing to a crawl so they could try to see the burned out wrecks. When they finally reached the site of the accident they could see little but a small portion of the burned shells of a van and a tractor-trailer truck. A few hundred yards down the road Deke said, “There’s the mile marker. Do we pull over and stop?”

“I think it would be too obvious. Besides, I don’t think here is where he meant.”

“Really?”

“His message was two-nineteen north. I’d say he was referring to the mile marker on the north side of the road.”

“That would make sense and stopping there would probably be less noticeable. Do we get off at the next exit and swing back?”

“Probably,” Dan said thoughtfully, “but we’ll look at other options also. Unless he was too shaken by the accident he would’ve tried to find a way for us to get to it without being easily seen. OK, here’s the exit.”

Pulling off at the exit, Dan turned left, and crossed under the Interstate. When he prepared to turn on to the westbound ramp he saw the sign for Angel Road just a few feet further down. On a whim he ignored the entrance ramp, and turned onto the small two-lane road instead. Deke asked, “What are we doing?”

“I think this road runs beside the Interstate. If it does, we can approach the mile marker from below. That way we’d be less noticeable than if we pulled off the highway and stopped to look at a sign.”

“That makes sense. And if we’re wrong we’ve only gone a few hundred yards out of our way.”

“Deke, I don’t think we’re wrong. See how the road’s curving back toward the Interstate?”

“Yes, and there’s the mile marker. Pull over. I’ll climb up the hill, and find out what treasure John has left us.”

As soon as Dan stopped Deke jumped out of the car. He moved swiftly up the hill, spotting the small pile of rocks before he ever actually reached the top. As he moved the pile aside he noticed several dark splotches on the rocks and the surrounding soil. He quickly found the bottle and grabbed it, along with several of the splotchy rocks. He jumped in the car. As he fastened his belt, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Dan accelerated quickly. When they reached the side road’s speed limit he said, “What did you find?”

“A plastic water bottle with a piece of paper rolled up inside.”

“What about the rocks?”

“I brought them back for analysis. It looks like drops of dried blood on them. John may have been more hurt than he let on.”

They continued on the side road until the next interchange. Where they were able to get back on the Interstate, and head back to Phoenix at a much faster pace. Less than three hours later they were back in the motel suite which they’d made their central headquarters. Once inside Dan said, “I’m dying of curiosity as to what John left for us.”

Deke responded, “I am, too.”

They went to the table in the little kitchen area of the suite, and Dan carefully tried to remove the rolled up paper. Unfortunately, it had unrolled a bit while inside the bottle, making it impossible to just slide it out. Dan walked over to where he had left his laptop case, and pulled out a red handled Leatherman multi-tool in a nylon web holster. He opened the blade and proceeded to cut the top off of the plastic bottle. He removed the paper and carefully unrolled it, exposing the fingerprints John had obtained from Tom’s hand. The two hands were clearly marked. John had also written Tom Jackson, 19, Terra Bella, CA.

Dan looked at Deke, and said “Brilliant.”

Deke nodded, but a confused Brenda said, “I don’t understand!”

Deke replied, “Brenda, there was someone killed in the crash who shouldn’t have been there. I’m guessing his name was Tom Jackson. I’d also say John’s statement about checking up on the ranch and the uncle, was in response to a dying request from the young man.”

Dan continued, “And if they were about the same size John could have swapped clothes with this young man, removed the chip, and put it in the kid’s hand about where it was on John’s hand. Since we’re not yet into DNA typing of our prisoners the only other key to the identity would be fingerprints. John somehow made a copy of this Tom’s fingerprints, leaving them for us to retrieve. Now it’s up to us to put them into the prison’s computer in place of John’s prints.”

Brenda slowly replied, “O-o-o-o-o-h, so this convinces the authorities he was dead, thus preventing a manhunt for an escaped prisoner.”

“And removing the chip could explain the blood on the rocks,” Deke added.

Brenda turned to him and demanded, “What blood?”

Dan replied, “Deke found some splotches of what looked like dried blood on the rocks that covered the bottle. There wasn’t a lot, but if he opened up that spot on his hand where the chip had been placed there would’ve been some bleeding. Deke brought some of the rocks back so they could be tested to make sure it’s blood.”

“Luminol,” Brenda whispered.

“What was that?” Dan asked.

“Luminol. It’s what criminal investigators use to detect the presence of blood. I have some at home from when I still had hopes of becoming a detective one day. I made up my own crime scene kit.”

“Can you test it for us? Also, where’s John’s computer?”

“It’s at home, and I’ll be glad to test the rocks. It’s a very simple test.”

Dan turned to Deke, and asked, “Could you go with Brenda, and bring back all of John’s computer stuff? Brenda can test the rocks while you’re there. While you do that I’m going to purchase a good flat-bed scanner and some graphical editing software.”

Maria Corsay sat on the small bench in front of the only table in the Hogan. She was in the process of cutting up the two rabbits she’d been able to kill this morning. She was happy that yesterday Robert had purchased some potatoes, onions, and carrots, instead of another bottle of that rotgut whiskey he drank.

Last night was the first time he hadn’t brutally beat her since he abducted her from the school parking lot. He’d still forced her to have sex with him. But he was somewhat gentler, even though he was still more centered on his needs than on hers. An even more positive thing was he left early this morning to work at the new sawmill that opened up about twenty miles away. She was hoping if she was going to be stuck with him, at least he could try to be a good husband to her, and a good father to the child she felt she was now carrying. It was too early to tell for sure, but she was having her suspicions.

Earlier in the week he’d come up with a way of allowing her to forage for food without him worrying she’d escape. From somewhere he’d gotten a set of shackles with sixteen-inches of chain between them. To this he used a lock to attach a longer piece of chain which was locked to a twenty-five pound weight from an old barbell set. He’d decided it would give her some range of motion, but the shackles would prevent her from having sufficient leg reach to climb out of the box canyon. The weight, though movable for small distances, was just too much to carry or drag for the ten to twelve miles needed to reach the open end of the valley.

Behind the Hogan were the remains of a small garden. Here she could pick a few greens, as well as some peas that had dried on the bush. There were even a few late tomatoes. She’d harvest all she could, before the first snowfall. As for meat, she found this morning she still remembered enough from her grandfather’s teachings to make a sling and use it to kill rabbits. She’d also set some snares to catch more rabbits. She’d seen a large elk on the rim of the canyon this morning. If things went well maybe Robert could kill it. It’d provide them meat for most of the winter. She wasn’t happy with her situation, but she was trying to make the best of it.

Sometime during mid-afternoon she heard a truck come down the long dirt road that bisected the canyon. As she looked outside she realized it wasn’t Robert’s truck, so she carefully slipped into some brush a few feet from the door. With her buckskin clothes she blended in to the point that it was impossible to see her. When the truck stopped two men pulled a drunken Robert from the back of the truck, dragging him into the Hogan and dumping him on the bed. When they came out one said, “Where’d Robert’s woman go?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”

While they got back into the truck the first man replied, “Well, hopefully she’ll be back soon to help him sober up.”

“I don’t know. Robert is a pretty mean drunk.”

The other man laughed as he replied, “Yeah, but when she finds out how he lost his job, today, as well as wrecking his truck, she’s liable to get pretty mean, herself.”

When they drove off the passenger said, “That place was awful, how can they live like that?”

“Robert’s got some perverted views from someplace that the Red Man doesn’t deserve to live any better than that. As for his wife. From some of the comments he has made, she’s more of a slave than a wife.”

“Should we say anything to the tribal council?”

“No, Robert’s Apache, not Navajo. The Council won’t deal with it, even though they’re on Navajo land.”

After the truck disappeared down the road Maria reemerged from the bush. She’d heard everything the two men had said before they’d driven off. Angry, disgusted, and somewhat scared she returned to the Hogan to check on Robert. When she realized how drunk he was she searched for his keys, hoping to at least unlock the weight, if not the shackles. If she was going to escape again this might be her best chance. Not finding any keys she decided they were probably still with the wrecked truck. She looked for other options, but other than cutting her feet off, she couldn’t come up with anything. Unable to escape she decided to try to make the best of it, hoping if he found her taking care of things when he came to he’d be less likely to beat her.

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The Hawk and the Chipmunk

Mike Lowe aka The Scot

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