The Nightcrawler (10 page)

Not even the ache in his rear end however could dampen Roger’s awe at the vastness of the landscape. The bleakness of central Nebraska had turned quite stunning here. The trees, hills and outcropping rocks were things that together could inspire artists. He hadn’t seen a sign of human habitation in over an hour, not a power line, road, or even a fence post. Back in Vermont there was forest and wilderness, but this seemed endless.
 

“Beth, don’t the people around here mind you riding through their property?”

“I don’t know. I have never ridden off Daddy’s land.”

“Man, your backyard must be as big as the state of Vermont.”

She shrugged, then without warning, kicked her heels into the side of her mount, and hollered, “YAAH.”

The bay filly beneath her bolted, leaving Roger literally in the dust. He watched her ride off, her hair whipping out behind her. It occurred to him that if he lost her out here he might never find his way back. With a kick and a, “Yeehaw!” his black horse galloped after her. He knew he wasn’t catching up but at least he could still see her. No amount of urging got him closer, but at least he maintained his distance. He would rejoin her when she decided to let him. He knew it, and contented himself with the belief that she would indeed let him. In a few minutes she pulled her horse up and moments later Roger came to a stop beside her. Both horses were damp with sweat and beneath the reins lather streaked their necks. Their chests heaved and nostrils flared as they drew in much needed air.

Beth made a great tour guide. She spoke with enthusiastic pride as she pointed out trees and rocks. She walked him through an archeological dig site. A group of students gathered artifacts the previous summer from what they believe was an Arapaho camp. He loved the sound of her voice and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. At first, the riding was fun. Roger thought seeing the countryside from horseback could not be equaled, but by 11:00 am he was glad to see Beth climb down from her horse. Happily, he followed suit only to find his legs had gone to sleep. When he swung his right leg over to dismount, his numb left leg buckled and he fell to the ground. Beth burst into a fit of laughter as Roger tried in vain to salvage some dignity by not letting her know that he may be injured.
 

“Is that how you Easterners get off a horse?” she said through her giggles.

“Well, why climb down when gravity is perfectly capable of doing it for you?”

Beth wrapped the reins of her horse around a tree branch, and then walked over to where Roger’s mount stood grazing. The big black horse trotted a few steps away after his rider fell to the ground at his hooves. Beth secured the second animal then plopped on the ground next to her fallen companion.

“My legs went to sleep,” Roger said. His voice sounded a bit shaky and his heart rate was still a bit elevated from the fall. Add to that the pins and needles in his legs had begun, as the circulation returned to his lower extremities.

“I guess I should have remembered, you’re not a cowboy,” she said through another wave of guffaws.

He shoved her, a bit harder than he had intended causing her to tumble on her side but she continued to laugh. Roger joined in on the laughter, while rubbing and massaging his thighs.

“How about some lunch, Vermont?”

“Sounds great, can we get a pizza delivered?”

Beth didn’t answer that question. She stood and extended a hand, “Can you walk yet?”

He accepted the hand offered, not that he needed it, and stood.
 

“I think I can manage.”

“Then go get the saddle bag from your horse,” she said pointing.

He managed, none too gracefully to his horse. Pulled at the saddlebag a couple of times, then noticed the straps. He undid the ties, flung the leather bag over his shoulder like he had seen in many a western. He turned back to Beth seated on a blanket in the shade of the tree where her horse was tethered.

Roger joined her on the blanket, handing her the pack. She tossed him a bottle of water and a sandwich in a Ziploc bag. “I hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter.”

Biting into his sandwich he said, “Mmmmm, Peevee thay.” Another round of giggles followed his peanut butter induced speech impediment.

“Jiffy and Smucker’s, nothing but the best,” she replied.

She pointed out a colony of prairie dogs, which they watched while they ate their picnic lunch. They even saw one take flight in the talons of a bald eagle. After lunch they walked around, Beth schooling him on the flora and fauna as they went. She showed him some elk, wild turkeys, and even a rattlesnake sunning itself on a rock.

Roger was in heaven. He hadn’t even known this girl yesterday and today he couldn’t imagine not knowing her. Yet sadness came with that feeling. He had a mission. The canyon was his goal and he always followed through. Quitters never win and winners never quit. Roger Morris was no quitter. He would have to say goodbye soon. The canyon was waiting. He would not lose sight of the goal.

To Roger it felt like they had traveled three hours in a straight line away from the ranch. If it took half the day to get out here, it would logically take half a day to get back. With the lunch break and the walk through the hills, he was sure it would be well past dark when they returned.
 

“Should we be getting back soon?” he asked.
 

“Sure, I like to have a swim after riding.”

Together they shook the blanket clean and folded it. They packed the baggies and bottles in the saddlebags and Roger followed Beth in what he felt sure was the wrong direction, but to his surprise, an hour later they were back at the ranch.

Chapter Twelve

By late afternoon Scott was on I-70 just past St. Louis. His headache had subsided to a dull throb. With an empty stomach and nature calling, it was time for a pitstop. A sign displaying the symbols for food, lodging, restrooms and gas at exit 36 was all the invitation he needed to get off the highway. He hadn’t even noticed that he was on empty until he pulled into a Mobil station. He filled the tank and paid at the window.
 

“You have a restroom I can use?”
 

The clerk was watching a small TV and didn’t look up. He put a key attached to a long chain on the counter and pointed to the left side of the building. Bright blue doors with the men and women restroom symbols broke the dreariness of the solid cement block wall.

Surveying the road Scott decided the Wendy’s across the street would fill the void that was his stomach. He could use the drive thru and wouldn’t have to interact with anybody shooting off their fingers.
 

With heavy traffic it might have been a bit of a challenge crossing the road, but with the 440’s torque it wasn’t too much of a problem. At the menu board a crackling voice inquired, “Welcome to Wendy’s drive thru. Can I help you?”
 

“I’ll have a Classic combo with a Coke, please.”

“Would you like to make that a large for forty-nine cents, sir?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“$6.89. Please drive up to the first window.”

A minute later a teenage boy handed him a cup of Coke the size of a child’s beach pail. Scott set the cup on the passenger seat and balanced it with his right hand. A much more cumbersome task than the pop cans he’d been used to up to this point. A few seconds later the lad returned and handed him a yellow bag.
 

“Wendy’s Classic combo, large?”
 

“Thanks” Scott said. He parked in the Wendy’s lot overlooking the road and took a drink from the bucket-o-Coke. He watched the traffic in silence while he ate his burger and fries. When he finished he carried the empty bag and other trash to the garbage can at the corner of the parking lot. It felt good to be on his feet. Scott decided to walk a while to get some blood back to his legs so he got his Coke from the car and walked in the opposite direction he had driven in from the highway.

About a hundred yards from the corner the concrete sidewalk gave way to a paved shoulder. Scott was the lone pedestrian, which suited him fine. No people meant nobody making gun motions with their fingers. It also meant no smelly vagrants. He watched with some interest as two teenaged boys on a single bicycle passed him on the opposite side of the road. The bike looked much too small. The boy on the seat pedaled with great effort while the passenger stood on posts extending from the rear axel. He saw nothing unusual about these boys. It was a scene that could play out in every town across the nation but Scott watched them until they turned into a driveway and disappeared.
 

Crosby Park was what had drawn the boys on the bike. With nothing else of interest within sight, Scott crossed the road. The main attraction in the park was a skateboard area. The cement ramps and hills captivated at least a dozen kids doing their best to find a way to the emergency room. Scott leaned on the fence watching with some admiration as boys with bleeding knees and elbows, flipped and twisted, zipped and grinded with some degree of skill.
 

“Higher, Mommy, go higher,” a small child’s voice called out.

Scott looked to the source of the child’s plea to find a young woman pushing her son on a swing. The boy’s expression was joy, plain and simple. It would have been hard to imagine anything could thrill the child more than what he was doing right then. His mother seemed to share his fun until she noticed Scott watching. Her smile faded somewhat and Scott sent her an awkward smile before walking away.
 

An hour had passed when he returned to his car. Maybe it was two hours he didn’t know for sure and didn’t really care. He felt better than he had since getting up from the table at Lizzie’s. He went back into Wendy’s to use the facilities. Picked up another Coke for the road and walked out to the car. The sun was getting quite low in the western sky. It would be dark in a couple of hours and he wanted to get a little more distance in before stopping for the night.
 

Across the road next to the Mobil station, a large tractor-trailer pulled up and stopped. He waited for the rig to clear the intersection so he could proceed but it didn’t move. Scott grew impatient as he watched the truck but it remained parked and nobody got out. The sun reflected off the driver’s side window making it impossible to see the inside. The side of the trailer had an orange glow. He could hear a slight clanking of the diesel engine and a hue of blue exhaust rose from the stacks just above the top of the trailer. The traffic disappeared with the arrival of the truck, replaced with a freakish quiet.

Curious, he squinted at the truck trying to get a view of the driver but his gaze couldn’t penetrate the glare. He began to feel an uneasy presence and convinced himself the source of the anxiety was inside that truck. He backed up parallel to the truck trying to get a better vantage, but the glare off the truck didn’t diminish.

Scott drove out onto the street slowly moving alongside the rig. When the two front bumpers were even, someone darted out in front of him and stopped directly in Scott’s path. He jammed both feet on the brake pedal and the tires screeched to a halt. It was a girl, or young woman. She stood there for a few seconds, eyes wide with fright. The sun’s reflection gave her a celestial glow.
 

Her trance-like stare was broken by some noise from behind the rig. She ran to the passenger side door of the Charger, swung it open and climbed in before Scott could object.

She screamed, “Get the hell out of here!”
 

Scott hit the gas pedal and blue smoke from the burning rubber of the rear tires spewed out from the wheel wells. He stopped at the corner and looked in his rearview. A large man carrying a baseball bat was running up the road yelling something that to Scott was just gibberish. Gibberish that was without a doubt, fueled by anger.
 

The girl hugged her backpack and looked back over her left shoulder. “Go.” Her tone and volume made it quite clear that whoever that was back there was dangerous. The tires squawked a bit as the Charger made the right turn and accelerated back up the road to the interstate.

With the angry batter no longer in view Scott looked over at his passenger. She was very young and pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. Scott’s best guess had her at eighteen, twenty tops. She wore denim shorts that were tight around her thighs, a white sleeveless T-shirt that seemed a size too small and a Detroit Tiger’s cap. A long blonde ponytail trailed out of the cap and her blue-green eyes stared unblinking into the rearview mirror on the door.

“What the hell was that all about?” Scott asked. She didn’t answer. She continued to stare out the window as if the guy from the truck would be giving chase any minute. Scott pulled off the road.
 

“Look, either you get out of the car or answer the question. What the hell was that?”

“Like, okay. I’ll tell you, just drive.”
 

She looked at him while wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “He picked me up near Toledo. I’m hitching to LA to get a job. He seemed nice enough. When I started to fall asleep, he told me to climb in the back. Said I’d be more comfy. I’m like, it’s better than waking with a stiff neck. So I did.”
 

She paused and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Stupid me.”