I felt like posting something, so here's a short little story I wrote a few years ago for the newsletter at work. I have a couple more involving these same characters, so if you like this, let me know and I'll post more in the future.
SEAFOOD, EAT FOOD
It was a perfect day for a Skipperson family outing. The sun was shining, but a gentle breeze kept it cool. There was even a meadowlark perched atop a downed cottonwood, singing for all the world to hear. Mr. Skipperson brought the minivan to a halt near the edge of Farmer Brown’s pond. A split second later Wally Skipperson bolted out of the rear door and headed for the pond. Mrs. Skipperson got out holding a picnic basket and started whistling a merry tune. It was like a Disney movie come to life!
“Father! Come take a look at this!” yelled Wally.
“Well, gee, sport! It looks like you’ve found yourself a jolly old bullfrog!” commented Mr. Skipperson.
“Please? Can I keep him pop?” pleaded Wally.
“Well…sure! Why not?” said Mr. Skipperson with a twinkle in his eye. “Go put him in the bucket and then let’s catch us a mess of fish for lunch!”
In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, they had caught a whole stringer full of sunfish. Mr. Skipperson picked up one of the little sunfish by the tail, tilted his head back, and held the fish right over his mouth.
“Golly, son, I’m so hungry I could eat these fish alive!” he said. Then he winked at Wally and tossed the fish back on the bank. “I’ll go fire up the grill! Be right back!”
As he was setting up the grill, Mrs. Skipperson skipped down the path to talk to him. “Oh, Wardley! You’re such a tease! You need to be a better example to little Wally…you know you’re his hero!”
“Yes, dear…but look, he’s just fine!”
As they turned to look at little Wally, their faces went as pale as death. Wally was lying on his back with his eyes closed…and a suspicious tail fin was protruding from his mouth! They ran over to him and realized he was not breathing…and sure enough a slimy sunfish was obstructing his airway! Mr. Skipperson grabbed the tail and pulled, but his fingers just slipped off the slimy fin! He wrapped his shirtsleeve around the fin to get a better grip and pulled once again. However, he realized that the sunfish’s spiky dorsal fin was just expanding and digging into Wally’s cartilaginous trachea!
“Move it, Wardley!” shouted Mrs. Skipperson. With that, she shoved Mr. Skipperson out of the way and moved in. She then whipped a letter opener and a straw out of her purse. With two quick movements, she performed a tracheotomy below the obstruction and inserted the straw. Seconds later, Wally started breathing through the straw while Mrs. Skipperson called 9-1-1.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Truck in Front part 4
Yes I'm back. I've been crazy busy. One exciting thing I've been doing is writing articles for a mountain newspaper called The Flume. It's been pretty time consuming. Basically I have to drive 45 minutes (fortunately the drive is in the Rocky Mountains and it's dazzling) to a county commissioner's meeting, sit through a two hour meeting, drive 45 minutes back, write the article, and submit it to my editor. At least I get to use my imagination to turn a boring meeting into an interesting article! But the best part: seeing my name in print!
With no further ado, here's the latest installment of The Truck in Front.
The Truck in Front, part 4
Niyah backed off from the blue truck, trying not to look like she was following it. They went north, blindly driving through what was probably beautiful country, though she couldn’t tell in the dark night. Maybe she would get to see it on the way home.
Around ten o’clock they passed through the town of Moab. Mexican restaurants and steak joints were just flicking off their “OPEN” signs. Patrons heading to their cars or hotels peeked in the dark windows of gift shops and mountain bike-rental places. An entourage of lifted Jeeps, decked out with bright lights, winches and big tires, cruised slowly in the right lane. When the only stoplight in town turned yellow up ahead, the Jeeps went even slower.
The blue flatbed got in the left lane. Niyah, trying to appear innocuous, stayed behind the Jeeps and planned to change lanes and pass when the light turned green.
But then the light turned red and the flatbed went right through the intersection! Several nearby vehicles honked angrily; Niyah panicked. She swerved into the left lane but came to a stop at the solid red.
She impatiently slapped the steering wheel with her palm. She looked left and right, wondering if she should run it. Just as she was about to do it, the light turned green. She gunned her tiny engine and passed the leisurely train of 4x4’s. But the flatbed was out of sight.
She sped up the highway for a few minutes, peering about for any sign of it. Up ahead on the right, a high ridge glowed amber beneath the moonlight. She could faintly see a ribbon of road winding up its side but no headlights ascending. Then she saw it…a pair of taillights!
The taillights were near where the ribbon of road intersected the highway, amidst a cluster of buildings. A sign indicated that this was the main entrance to…Arches National Park! There was a visitor center, a maintenance building, and a guard house all dark. And the entrance gates were up. This must be it!
But the blue truck passed the road. It didn’t even slow down!
Niyah’s heart fell. Her confidence was gone. This was Arches! Why hadn’t the truck turned in? Should she keep following it or should she abandon it and turn into the park? Hadn’t Ollie said the National Park was the key?
All these thoughts flashed through her head in a matter of seconds. At the last instant, she decided to keep following the flatbed. She seemed strangely drawn to it. And besides, she could always turn around and come back to the National Park. So, with the wheel gripped firmly beneath her knuckles, she continued following and wondered if she had made the right decision.
Fifteen minutes later, her gamble proved right. The high ridge quickly became flatlands and into them a dirt road veered off to the right. Beside it, an old sign read, “National Forest Access—Klondike Bluffs. National Parks Pass Required For Entry. High clearance 4x4 vehicles only.”
And the blue truck turned onto it.
Niyah knew she couldn’t be obvious so she drove past it without reducing speed, went over the next hill, and stopped in a gravel pullout. She turned her headlights off and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. When she could make out the center yellow line, she checked for traffic, flipped a u-turn, and slowly drove back to the dirt road.
The blue truck was already a half-mile away. She could see its headlights jouncing and flicking this way and that as it navigated the rough terrain.
She drove twenty yards onto the road, pulled to the side, and turned off her engine. Then she smiled.
This was all meant to be. Sure, her car was too low to drive on the rough road. But her bike wasn’t. And miraculously, her mountain bike just happened to be strapped to the trunk. Quickly she changed from her sandals into tennis shoes. Then she unstrapped the bike and hopped on.
As she pedaled, she guessed she could go nearly as fast as the truck on this narrow, rocky road. The night air was cool and energizing. She pedaled hard and tried not to think about what she would do when she discovered where that flatbed was headed.
Suddenly a spine-tingling sound rent the night. Worse than fingernails on a chalkboard, she heard metal grating against rock. An engine roared and then abruptly stopped. Then silence but for the crunch of her tires on gravel.
Up ahead the road took a sharp left turn then disappeared into a narrow ravine. She could tell that the road went upwards, so she down shifted her bike in preparation to climb. But as she approached the turn, a most out of place odor hit her nose.
Rain.
It smelled like rain.
Then a flash of light briefly illuminated the landscape and the silence was cracked by the sound of thunder. She looked at the starry sky in shock and confirmed there wasn’t a single cloud! What was going on?
She put her fingers on the brake but didn’t squeeze, in order to carry as much speed up the hill as possible. She leaned into the turn, came around, and looked up the hill.
The blue truck had rolled over!
She squeezed the brakes and skidded to a stop. Just ahead, the trail ascended steeply over a garden of pumpkin-sized boulders with a deep rut eroded into the shoulder of the trail. It looked like the heavy truck had slipped off the boulders into the rut, and had rolled on its roof.
The cab was crushed! One of the tires still turned slowly. White steam rose from the chassis.
Niyah jumped off her bike and ran up to the cab. The only occupant was the driver, a rough looking sort with stubbly jaw and sunken eyes. His neck was pinned between the roof and the steering wheel, literally crushed. Dead.
She turned away, and vomited into a thicket of junipers. She stayed doubled over while putrescence drizzled out of the corner of her mouth.
Finally, she spit. Then she spit again. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, stood up, and held her head in her hands. She had to focus. The driver wasn’t important. She was here to find Jeremiah. So…where was that crate?
She saw it, behind her, down the hill a little ways. In her hurry to get to the truck, she had run right past it. It had rolled across a patch of cacti and come to a stop in a stand of barren scrub oak. As she scrambled down to it the scent of rain returned, growing ever stronger. On reflex, she took a deep breath and savored the smell. Exciting. Invigorating. Dangerous.
Yes, dangerous. For now, at the crate, she glanced about nervously. One side of the wood was broken and the inside gaped open. Empty. Whatever had been inside was now out.
And whatever had been inside was alive, evident by the scrape-marks leading away from it.
“Jeremiah?” she called out shakily.
Thunder rolled again. Another flash of light brightened the ravine for a half second. In the spark, she saw something move along the wall of the ravine!
“Jeremiah?” she called again. “It’s Miss Niyah! Honey, if you can hear me, yell or something! So I can find you!”
More thunder and another flash, but no movement.
Niyah looked down at the broken crate again and realized it wasn’t completely empty. Inside was a pile of something soft and downy. What was that?
Kneeling down, she reached a shaky hand into the crate and pulled out a handful of feathers. Feathers? There were several large grayish-brown feathers and one huge auburn wing feather, as broad as her hand! She ran her fingers along its soft spines and contemplated.
OK, it probably hadn’t been Jeremiah inside that crate. Rather, it appeared to have been some kind of bird in there. A big one. She wished she’d paid more attention in her ornithology classes.
Anyway, it wasn’t Jeremiah. But did this bird have something to do with him? With his disappearance? There was only one way to find out. She knew she needed to follow that bird. No matter how scared she was, finding Jeremiah was more important.
Niyah dropped the feathers and looked toward where she’d seen movement along the ravine wall. It looked quite rough. Great sandstone slabs were jumbled all over and in between them the scrub oak and cacti were thick and twisted together. That would be a chore in the dark. Perhaps there was a flashlight in that truck. And some water.
She climbed back up to the truck and went to the passenger side. The door was popped open and she was able to pull it back to crawl inside. Soda bottles, cigarette cartons, and papers were strewn about the ceiling. The ceiling that was now the floor. She shuffled through the trash for a moment looking for a flashlight or a water bottle, careful not to brush against the dead body. She found none of what she was searching for, but something clutched in the driver’s hand caught her eye. Almost dreading to look, she brushed a sheet of paper away and gasped.
It was a golden tube about the size of a straw. It was old and mostly dull, but a few spots had been rubbed clean and glittered brightly in the moonlight. The driver’s fingers were wrapped tightly around it and his arm was fully extended, as though he were saving a puppy from a raging flood.
Timorously she pinched the end of the tube between her thumb and forefinger and slid it from the driver’s grasp. She crawled backwards out of the cab and backpedaled a few steps.
Before she could inspect it further, however, she heard the thunder again. Only this time, it sounded further away. Flashlight or no, she had to go, before the bird or whatever it was got too far away! She shoved the tube into her pocket and ran.
The scramble through the brush turned out to be easier than she expected and she soon found herself cresting the rim of the ravine. As she came out on top of the plateau the smell of rain became overpowering. The thunder cracked louder than ever. The light flashed brighter. Just as she blinked she thought she saw a massive black cloud rise up into the sky. When her eyes re-opened nothing was there. She looked up and for a split second she thought she saw a few stars disappear into a void. But she blinked again and the stars returned.
The smell of rain quickly faded.
A voice boomed through the night.
“Don’t move!”
Around ten o’clock they passed through the town of Moab. Mexican restaurants and steak joints were just flicking off their “OPEN” signs. Patrons heading to their cars or hotels peeked in the dark windows of gift shops and mountain bike-rental places. An entourage of lifted Jeeps, decked out with bright lights, winches and big tires, cruised slowly in the right lane. When the only stoplight in town turned yellow up ahead, the Jeeps went even slower.
The blue flatbed got in the left lane. Niyah, trying to appear innocuous, stayed behind the Jeeps and planned to change lanes and pass when the light turned green.
But then the light turned red and the flatbed went right through the intersection! Several nearby vehicles honked angrily; Niyah panicked. She swerved into the left lane but came to a stop at the solid red.
She impatiently slapped the steering wheel with her palm. She looked left and right, wondering if she should run it. Just as she was about to do it, the light turned green. She gunned her tiny engine and passed the leisurely train of 4x4’s. But the flatbed was out of sight.
She sped up the highway for a few minutes, peering about for any sign of it. Up ahead on the right, a high ridge glowed amber beneath the moonlight. She could faintly see a ribbon of road winding up its side but no headlights ascending. Then she saw it…a pair of taillights!
The taillights were near where the ribbon of road intersected the highway, amidst a cluster of buildings. A sign indicated that this was the main entrance to…Arches National Park! There was a visitor center, a maintenance building, and a guard house all dark. And the entrance gates were up. This must be it!
But the blue truck passed the road. It didn’t even slow down!
Niyah’s heart fell. Her confidence was gone. This was Arches! Why hadn’t the truck turned in? Should she keep following it or should she abandon it and turn into the park? Hadn’t Ollie said the National Park was the key?
All these thoughts flashed through her head in a matter of seconds. At the last instant, she decided to keep following the flatbed. She seemed strangely drawn to it. And besides, she could always turn around and come back to the National Park. So, with the wheel gripped firmly beneath her knuckles, she continued following and wondered if she had made the right decision.
Fifteen minutes later, her gamble proved right. The high ridge quickly became flatlands and into them a dirt road veered off to the right. Beside it, an old sign read, “National Forest Access—Klondike Bluffs. National Parks Pass Required For Entry. High clearance 4x4 vehicles only.”
And the blue truck turned onto it.
Niyah knew she couldn’t be obvious so she drove past it without reducing speed, went over the next hill, and stopped in a gravel pullout. She turned her headlights off and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. When she could make out the center yellow line, she checked for traffic, flipped a u-turn, and slowly drove back to the dirt road.
The blue truck was already a half-mile away. She could see its headlights jouncing and flicking this way and that as it navigated the rough terrain.
She drove twenty yards onto the road, pulled to the side, and turned off her engine. Then she smiled.
This was all meant to be. Sure, her car was too low to drive on the rough road. But her bike wasn’t. And miraculously, her mountain bike just happened to be strapped to the trunk. Quickly she changed from her sandals into tennis shoes. Then she unstrapped the bike and hopped on.
As she pedaled, she guessed she could go nearly as fast as the truck on this narrow, rocky road. The night air was cool and energizing. She pedaled hard and tried not to think about what she would do when she discovered where that flatbed was headed.
Suddenly a spine-tingling sound rent the night. Worse than fingernails on a chalkboard, she heard metal grating against rock. An engine roared and then abruptly stopped. Then silence but for the crunch of her tires on gravel.
Up ahead the road took a sharp left turn then disappeared into a narrow ravine. She could tell that the road went upwards, so she down shifted her bike in preparation to climb. But as she approached the turn, a most out of place odor hit her nose.
Rain.
It smelled like rain.
Then a flash of light briefly illuminated the landscape and the silence was cracked by the sound of thunder. She looked at the starry sky in shock and confirmed there wasn’t a single cloud! What was going on?
She put her fingers on the brake but didn’t squeeze, in order to carry as much speed up the hill as possible. She leaned into the turn, came around, and looked up the hill.
The blue truck had rolled over!
She squeezed the brakes and skidded to a stop. Just ahead, the trail ascended steeply over a garden of pumpkin-sized boulders with a deep rut eroded into the shoulder of the trail. It looked like the heavy truck had slipped off the boulders into the rut, and had rolled on its roof.
The cab was crushed! One of the tires still turned slowly. White steam rose from the chassis.
Niyah jumped off her bike and ran up to the cab. The only occupant was the driver, a rough looking sort with stubbly jaw and sunken eyes. His neck was pinned between the roof and the steering wheel, literally crushed. Dead.
She turned away, and vomited into a thicket of junipers. She stayed doubled over while putrescence drizzled out of the corner of her mouth.
Finally, she spit. Then she spit again. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, stood up, and held her head in her hands. She had to focus. The driver wasn’t important. She was here to find Jeremiah. So…where was that crate?
She saw it, behind her, down the hill a little ways. In her hurry to get to the truck, she had run right past it. It had rolled across a patch of cacti and come to a stop in a stand of barren scrub oak. As she scrambled down to it the scent of rain returned, growing ever stronger. On reflex, she took a deep breath and savored the smell. Exciting. Invigorating. Dangerous.
Yes, dangerous. For now, at the crate, she glanced about nervously. One side of the wood was broken and the inside gaped open. Empty. Whatever had been inside was now out.
And whatever had been inside was alive, evident by the scrape-marks leading away from it.
“Jeremiah?” she called out shakily.
Thunder rolled again. Another flash of light brightened the ravine for a half second. In the spark, she saw something move along the wall of the ravine!
“Jeremiah?” she called again. “It’s Miss Niyah! Honey, if you can hear me, yell or something! So I can find you!”
More thunder and another flash, but no movement.
Niyah looked down at the broken crate again and realized it wasn’t completely empty. Inside was a pile of something soft and downy. What was that?
Kneeling down, she reached a shaky hand into the crate and pulled out a handful of feathers. Feathers? There were several large grayish-brown feathers and one huge auburn wing feather, as broad as her hand! She ran her fingers along its soft spines and contemplated.
OK, it probably hadn’t been Jeremiah inside that crate. Rather, it appeared to have been some kind of bird in there. A big one. She wished she’d paid more attention in her ornithology classes.
Anyway, it wasn’t Jeremiah. But did this bird have something to do with him? With his disappearance? There was only one way to find out. She knew she needed to follow that bird. No matter how scared she was, finding Jeremiah was more important.
Niyah dropped the feathers and looked toward where she’d seen movement along the ravine wall. It looked quite rough. Great sandstone slabs were jumbled all over and in between them the scrub oak and cacti were thick and twisted together. That would be a chore in the dark. Perhaps there was a flashlight in that truck. And some water.
She climbed back up to the truck and went to the passenger side. The door was popped open and she was able to pull it back to crawl inside. Soda bottles, cigarette cartons, and papers were strewn about the ceiling. The ceiling that was now the floor. She shuffled through the trash for a moment looking for a flashlight or a water bottle, careful not to brush against the dead body. She found none of what she was searching for, but something clutched in the driver’s hand caught her eye. Almost dreading to look, she brushed a sheet of paper away and gasped.
It was a golden tube about the size of a straw. It was old and mostly dull, but a few spots had been rubbed clean and glittered brightly in the moonlight. The driver’s fingers were wrapped tightly around it and his arm was fully extended, as though he were saving a puppy from a raging flood.
Timorously she pinched the end of the tube between her thumb and forefinger and slid it from the driver’s grasp. She crawled backwards out of the cab and backpedaled a few steps.
Before she could inspect it further, however, she heard the thunder again. Only this time, it sounded further away. Flashlight or no, she had to go, before the bird or whatever it was got too far away! She shoved the tube into her pocket and ran.
The scramble through the brush turned out to be easier than she expected and she soon found herself cresting the rim of the ravine. As she came out on top of the plateau the smell of rain became overpowering. The thunder cracked louder than ever. The light flashed brighter. Just as she blinked she thought she saw a massive black cloud rise up into the sky. When her eyes re-opened nothing was there. She looked up and for a split second she thought she saw a few stars disappear into a void. But she blinked again and the stars returned.
The smell of rain quickly faded.
A voice boomed through the night.
“Don’t move!”
Monday, March 2, 2009
The Truck in Front, part 3
This tale is feeling like it is going to have six parts. I'm not sure if we can still call it a short story. Maybe it's a novella.
Anyway, make sure to read parts 1 and 2 before tackling this one. Enjoy!
The Truck in Front, Part 3
The road dropped down the backside of the plateau, following broad switchbacks into a ravine. Distant snowy peaks glowed like nightlights.
Down in the ravine, there was no wind and Niyah was able to hold her headlights steadily on the crate. She leaned forward like a near-sighted little old lady, her chin almost touching the wheel as she peered intently at the mysterious box.
After a few miles, her vigil was rewarded. The crate jumped again and this time she knew it had jumped of its own accord; the road had been smooth with no bumps. The crate seemed closer to the edge of the truck bed. Was that thing even tied down?
Then something new caught her attention. Instead of a black hole behind the broken wood she saw something soft and…furry. Or fuzzy. Downy. A surface that rippled in the breeze. Then it went black again, but not before there was a quick golden glint.
Niyah’s heart pounded in her breast. That could be the sign! The signal she was looking for…
Last night, after the day’s whirlwind activity, the solitude of her trailer had been a haven. She remembered stumbling through the front door and flicking on the light, but her fatigue had knocked her out like a hypnotist. And that was why her brain had been so slow to respond when someone pounded on her door in the still hours before daylight.
She’d sat up on her still-made bed, panting. The lamp still glowed on the nightstand. The furnace whirred smoothly. The alarm clock displayed 5:11. She exhaled and told herself it was nothing. But the urgent knocking which rattled her hung pictures told her otherwise.
She reached for the Smith and Wesson 38 special revolver tucked between the mattress and the paneling. Her dad had given it to her. No doubt if he were here now he would be telling her to start shooting. Ask questions later. Fortunately he wasn’t there and Niyah had more sense than that. She calmly checked the gun’s cylinder, confirmed there were six rounds in it, and returned it to its hiding place. Then she answered the door.
It was the teenage boy from Manny’s place.
Silky hairs stood up on the back of Niyah’s neck as she croaked, “Ah...Hi. There.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi there. Ollie, right?”
Ollie stared at her, like last time, as he nodded and said, “You haunt my dreams.”
She almost slammed the door in his face. But something in his eyes, a sparkle or a flicker, kept her interested. She asked, “What?”
Ollie began spilling, “I know that sounds creepy but I don’t mean it like that I just had to find you lucky for me I saw the detective’s paperwork so I knew you lived out here on this ranch and now I found you but you’re not going to believe me.”
He paused to draw his breath and Niyah held up her hand to stop him. “Hold it. Please. I’m not awake yet.” She rubbed her forehead and suddenly realized her hair was a mess, so she pulled her dark tresses into a bunch and rolled a rubber band off her wrist and onto the tail
Ollie gulped and ran his hand over his own buzzed hair. “I don’t think you have time. I think…I think you have to leave while it’s still dark. Before dawn.”
Niyah looked the boy up and down. If he were going to hurt her, he would have done so by now. She glanced at the black skies to the east and said, “Well that gives us an hour, at least. Come on in and sit.”
Ollie sat at the tiny kitchen table and bounced his knee up and down rapidly while Niyah made coffee. Then he pounded his fist on his thigh. When she sat down across from him, he blurted, “Believe me. This is hard for me. I’m not…not a dreamer, you know? I don’t even remember my dreams. But there was this girl, and she’s been in my dreams for weeks! Not like fantasies, you know, but like haunting! Like I was possessed or something! I didn’t know who she was but then yesterday, when I saw you—I knew! It was you! And the dreams make sense now and I have to tell you, lady! I think…I think you’re supposed to save that kid! What was his name?”
“Jeremiah.”
“Yeah, Jeremiah. You’re gonna save him.” Ollie, apparently satisfied with himself, poured himself a cup of coffee and relaxed.
Niyah was at a loss. She prompted, “So what did I do? In the dream?”
Ollie smiled. “Oh yeah. I dreamed about this black cloud. Thick, really scary black. Then I dreamed you came in and the cloud got, like, lighter. Then in the cloud, in the middle of it, was that kid Jeremiah. Then you left and the cloud got thicker again! But the cloud wasn’t just black anymore. There was a light flashing in it! I think Jeremiah had like a flashlight or something and he was trying to signal you.”
“Ollie, did you tell the police—”
“I’m not done!” said Ollie. Then softer, “I mean, there’s more. After he signaled you, you came back. But this time you were a kokopelli and you pulled him out of the cloud.”
“A kokopelli?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah, those Indian guys with the feathers in their hair and playing a flute, you know? They put ‘em on hats and stuff at the gift shops, you know?”
“Yes, I know what a kokopelli is. The Hopi god that gives children to their mothers! They—”
“There’s a little more,” Ollie interrupted again. “Sorry, but this might be the most important part. In my dream, Jeremiah was wearing a hat that said ‘Arches National Park’. Was he, you know, wearing that hat when you lost him?”
“I didn’t lose him! He was stolen!”
“Whatever, lady. Was he wearing it?”
Tears filled her eyes but she shook her head and said, “No. He was wearing church clothes. No hat.”
Ollie pounded the table and said, “Then that’s where he is! You have to go to Arches to find him! You’re the kokopelli. You’re the one to help him. Even though you probably don’t believe me.”
Niyah’s entire face was moist as she leaned forward to hug the teenager. She said, “I do believe you. I do.”
Ollie pushed her back and raised one eyebrow. He said, “Really? Uh…why?”
Amidst a teary smile she said, “My daddy used to call me ‘kokopelli’. Me! That doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me. I don’t know…Don’t know what any of this means but I need to do something! Anything. And if that’s just taking a road trip, I’ll do it. I can leave right away.”
So Niyah wasn’t really surprised when she saw the flash from the crate. Rather, she was confused. This had to be the signal. She wasn’t far from the national park, maybe an hour and a half. And now she felt sure that this truck in front of her had something to do with it.
What was she supposed to do, though? Try to get it to stop? Ram it?
She couldn’t do anything until she knew more. Could Jeremiah be in that crate, signaling her? No, it was too big for a little boy. Way too big. It looked more like an animal cage, which would explain how it had jumped.
Still, he could be in the cab. After all, the truck seemed destined to be in front of her. She’d been following it for hours now, ever since it had pulled out of that ranch driveway in New Mexico. The Flying Animikii Ranch. The strange name had stuck in her mind. The truck had rumbled over the cattle guard and eased onto the two lane road amid a billow of red dust. She’d had to slow down to less than thirty miles per hour. She had been angry, especially with her fear of passing, but the many miles helped her get over it.
The best thing would be to keep following and see what would happen.
Everything was starting to make some sense. Everything except that crate on the flatbed. What did that have to do with a missing boy? And if not Jeremiah, what had caused that golden glint?
Right now, following this truck was Niyah’s best hope. If that glint had been the sign and she found the boy, wonderful. If not, at least she would have something to do until the sign showed up.
Anyway, make sure to read parts 1 and 2 before tackling this one. Enjoy!
The Truck in Front, Part 3
The road dropped down the backside of the plateau, following broad switchbacks into a ravine. Distant snowy peaks glowed like nightlights.
Down in the ravine, there was no wind and Niyah was able to hold her headlights steadily on the crate. She leaned forward like a near-sighted little old lady, her chin almost touching the wheel as she peered intently at the mysterious box.
After a few miles, her vigil was rewarded. The crate jumped again and this time she knew it had jumped of its own accord; the road had been smooth with no bumps. The crate seemed closer to the edge of the truck bed. Was that thing even tied down?
Then something new caught her attention. Instead of a black hole behind the broken wood she saw something soft and…furry. Or fuzzy. Downy. A surface that rippled in the breeze. Then it went black again, but not before there was a quick golden glint.
Niyah’s heart pounded in her breast. That could be the sign! The signal she was looking for…
Last night, after the day’s whirlwind activity, the solitude of her trailer had been a haven. She remembered stumbling through the front door and flicking on the light, but her fatigue had knocked her out like a hypnotist. And that was why her brain had been so slow to respond when someone pounded on her door in the still hours before daylight.
She’d sat up on her still-made bed, panting. The lamp still glowed on the nightstand. The furnace whirred smoothly. The alarm clock displayed 5:11. She exhaled and told herself it was nothing. But the urgent knocking which rattled her hung pictures told her otherwise.
She reached for the Smith and Wesson 38 special revolver tucked between the mattress and the paneling. Her dad had given it to her. No doubt if he were here now he would be telling her to start shooting. Ask questions later. Fortunately he wasn’t there and Niyah had more sense than that. She calmly checked the gun’s cylinder, confirmed there were six rounds in it, and returned it to its hiding place. Then she answered the door.
It was the teenage boy from Manny’s place.
Silky hairs stood up on the back of Niyah’s neck as she croaked, “Ah...Hi. There.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi there. Ollie, right?”
Ollie stared at her, like last time, as he nodded and said, “You haunt my dreams.”
She almost slammed the door in his face. But something in his eyes, a sparkle or a flicker, kept her interested. She asked, “What?”
Ollie began spilling, “I know that sounds creepy but I don’t mean it like that I just had to find you lucky for me I saw the detective’s paperwork so I knew you lived out here on this ranch and now I found you but you’re not going to believe me.”
He paused to draw his breath and Niyah held up her hand to stop him. “Hold it. Please. I’m not awake yet.” She rubbed her forehead and suddenly realized her hair was a mess, so she pulled her dark tresses into a bunch and rolled a rubber band off her wrist and onto the tail
Ollie gulped and ran his hand over his own buzzed hair. “I don’t think you have time. I think…I think you have to leave while it’s still dark. Before dawn.”
Niyah looked the boy up and down. If he were going to hurt her, he would have done so by now. She glanced at the black skies to the east and said, “Well that gives us an hour, at least. Come on in and sit.”
Ollie sat at the tiny kitchen table and bounced his knee up and down rapidly while Niyah made coffee. Then he pounded his fist on his thigh. When she sat down across from him, he blurted, “Believe me. This is hard for me. I’m not…not a dreamer, you know? I don’t even remember my dreams. But there was this girl, and she’s been in my dreams for weeks! Not like fantasies, you know, but like haunting! Like I was possessed or something! I didn’t know who she was but then yesterday, when I saw you—I knew! It was you! And the dreams make sense now and I have to tell you, lady! I think…I think you’re supposed to save that kid! What was his name?”
“Jeremiah.”
“Yeah, Jeremiah. You’re gonna save him.” Ollie, apparently satisfied with himself, poured himself a cup of coffee and relaxed.
Niyah was at a loss. She prompted, “So what did I do? In the dream?”
Ollie smiled. “Oh yeah. I dreamed about this black cloud. Thick, really scary black. Then I dreamed you came in and the cloud got, like, lighter. Then in the cloud, in the middle of it, was that kid Jeremiah. Then you left and the cloud got thicker again! But the cloud wasn’t just black anymore. There was a light flashing in it! I think Jeremiah had like a flashlight or something and he was trying to signal you.”
“Ollie, did you tell the police—”
“I’m not done!” said Ollie. Then softer, “I mean, there’s more. After he signaled you, you came back. But this time you were a kokopelli and you pulled him out of the cloud.”
“A kokopelli?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah, those Indian guys with the feathers in their hair and playing a flute, you know? They put ‘em on hats and stuff at the gift shops, you know?”
“Yes, I know what a kokopelli is. The Hopi god that gives children to their mothers! They—”
“There’s a little more,” Ollie interrupted again. “Sorry, but this might be the most important part. In my dream, Jeremiah was wearing a hat that said ‘Arches National Park’. Was he, you know, wearing that hat when you lost him?”
“I didn’t lose him! He was stolen!”
“Whatever, lady. Was he wearing it?”
Tears filled her eyes but she shook her head and said, “No. He was wearing church clothes. No hat.”
Ollie pounded the table and said, “Then that’s where he is! You have to go to Arches to find him! You’re the kokopelli. You’re the one to help him. Even though you probably don’t believe me.”
Niyah’s entire face was moist as she leaned forward to hug the teenager. She said, “I do believe you. I do.”
Ollie pushed her back and raised one eyebrow. He said, “Really? Uh…why?”
Amidst a teary smile she said, “My daddy used to call me ‘kokopelli’. Me! That doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me. I don’t know…Don’t know what any of this means but I need to do something! Anything. And if that’s just taking a road trip, I’ll do it. I can leave right away.”
So Niyah wasn’t really surprised when she saw the flash from the crate. Rather, she was confused. This had to be the signal. She wasn’t far from the national park, maybe an hour and a half. And now she felt sure that this truck in front of her had something to do with it.
What was she supposed to do, though? Try to get it to stop? Ram it?
She couldn’t do anything until she knew more. Could Jeremiah be in that crate, signaling her? No, it was too big for a little boy. Way too big. It looked more like an animal cage, which would explain how it had jumped.
Still, he could be in the cab. After all, the truck seemed destined to be in front of her. She’d been following it for hours now, ever since it had pulled out of that ranch driveway in New Mexico. The Flying Animikii Ranch. The strange name had stuck in her mind. The truck had rumbled over the cattle guard and eased onto the two lane road amid a billow of red dust. She’d had to slow down to less than thirty miles per hour. She had been angry, especially with her fear of passing, but the many miles helped her get over it.
The best thing would be to keep following and see what would happen.
Everything was starting to make some sense. Everything except that crate on the flatbed. What did that have to do with a missing boy? And if not Jeremiah, what had caused that golden glint?
Right now, following this truck was Niyah’s best hope. If that glint had been the sign and she found the boy, wonderful. If not, at least she would have something to do until the sign showed up.
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