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Warrior Spirit
0800 HOURS
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
"The 'vampires' are here." Bud grimaced, nodding toward the Blood
Bank van that had just pulled up in the parking lot. "God...I hate needles!
You'd think that there was some other way they could do this."
"Take it easy, Bud." Mac smiled. "It only pinches for a
minute. Think of all the good it does. What would you do if Harriet or little
AJ needed a transfusion and there wasn't one available because someone else
was afraid of needles too?"
"I know you're right, Ma'am, but NEEDLES! Sheesh!"
Colonel Sarah MacKenzie smiled. It seemed that if anyone could make her smile
it would be Bud, but even the gentle light-heartedness he usually brought
into her life was now tarnished by the course of events that had taken place
over the past few days.
It seemed like everything had gone sour all at once. But the more she thought
about it, the more she realized that this had been building up for quite some
time. The charges brought against her in the Bracken Parachute Mishap case
had merely been the last straw.
Silently, she rolled up her sleeve and settled into the upholstered chair in
the Bloodmobile. [At least I'm still good for something], she thought
sullenly as she watched the nurse prepare her arm for her life-giving
donation. [I can't say that I have anything else going for me right now.]
As Mac settled down to wait until the "vampires" were done with
her, she thought back to the unfinished request for "terminal
leave" that sat awaiting completion on her computer at JAG. It had been
a difficult decision, but, she felt, a necessary one. It wasn't so much that
she wanted to leave JAG, but more a matter of nothing being left to keep her
there. Since the Parachute Mishap case, not only was the future of her career
in jeopardy, but the question of her personal integrity had been severely
compromised as well.
Normally, she would have confided in Harm. But now, with Renee Johnson so
firmly entrenched, she felt distant...alienated. She felt that she no longer
held the place in HIS life that had become so important to her own.
Bud, likewise, as defending counsel on the Bracken case, was now beyond her
reach, and Harriet's new pregnancy just served to remind her that she was not
only failing as an attorney, but as a woman as well.
That left the Admiral, and this was the most painful motivator of all. Since
the disclosure of her inappropriate perusal of part two of the mishap report,
his faith in her had been shaken...their friendship strained and stilted.
Formal charges were being processed against her at that moment. Another
trial...the shame of facing the same judge that she would have to see over
and over again in the course of her job, if indeed she was allowed to
practice law again, weighed heavily upon her mind.
It was all too much. The joy of driving to work each morning...to the job
that had once meant so much to her...had now become a study in self-abuse. It
was time to move on...time to start over...to fill her life with new
horizons, new people, maybe even the child that she longed so desperately to
have.
It was time to say "good-bye".
Mac watched as the nurse removed the tubing from her arm and placed an
elastic bandage over the small bruise that remained. That was odd. She didn't
usually bruise. "Oh well, that figures." she muttered, rolling her
sleeve into place and walking toward the door.
She felt light-headed... her stomach growling loudly and uncomfortably.
"Ma'am? Why don't you sit down a minute and have some cookies and
juice?" the nurse offered, noticing Mac's distress.
"I'm okay." Mac replied, tossing down a small cup of orange juice.
"This'll be fine, thanks."
Slowly, a distinct wooziness swimming along the peripheral edges of her
consciousness, Mac climbed the stairs and rode the elevator to her office on
the second floor. She'd never had a reaction like this to a blood donation
before. Maybe the strain of her messy life was affecting her, she thought as
she settled gratefully into the solid comfort of her oaken desk chair. Just
one more reason to be on her way...
0930 HOURS
Admiral Chegwidden's office
JAG Headquarters
"What! I don't believe this!" the Admiral shouted. "You're
resigning...AGAIN! What is it this time...another cushy civilian job?"
he accused, his temper pulling rank on his common sense.
Mac was crushed, her stoic demeanor disguising the pain that his retort had
caused her. He thought so little of her now, she reflected, holding her tears
at bay behind the dull gaze of protocol. Maybe it was best just to leave his
impression intact...she had nothing to gain. It seemed the easiest and
quickest way to meet her objective.
Noticing her lack of denial, the Admiral slammed the type-written
"terminal request" form down on his desk. "You've let me down,
Colonel. I should have known better when I took you back the last time. Says
here that you want to use up your personal leave before you go...effective
immediately. I see that extending two weeks notice is still beyond you..."
"I...I'm sorry, Sir." Mac stammered. "I...I..."
"Colonel...if you want to be out of here that badly, then GO. I'll
process your paperwork immediately. Just leave. I'll have the Gunny box up
your personal effects, and you can pick them up after your 'personal
leave'."
"Dismissed!"
"Aye aye, Sir." Mac choked, then, turning on her heel she crossed
the bullpen and rushed single-mindedly toward the relative security of her
office.
[What do I do now?], she thought. [Where do I go from here?]
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she dialed her travel agent for a quote on
airfare to Sydney. Maybe a visit to Mic would cheer her up!
Briefly she ascertained the fare, then told the agent to confirm her seat.
"I can always cancel" she said, uncertainty rising to the fore.
"Going somewhere?" a friendly voice spoke from the doorway. "I
just came to tell you that we're going to be giving closing arguments on the
Bracken case tomorrow."
"I think I'll pass. I'm going to take a few days off and go to
Australia." she replied, turning her attention to the lanky Commander
leaning against her door.
"Does Brumby know you're coming?" he asked, an impish grin crossing
his features.
"Not yet."
"Oh...going to surprise him?" he teased, rolling his eyes.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you...me catching Mic in 'flagrante delicto'
with some 'Shiela'. Well, Mic is a good man. He isn't like that. You might
have to get used to that."
"I'm just wondering if you're leaving to see him, or to get away from
here?"
"Maybe a little bit of both." she admitted sadly... "Maybe a
little bit of both."
0600 HOURS
Saturday morning
Flagstaff International Airport
Flagstaff, Arizona
Gently the wide-bodied jet set down on the tarmac at Flagstaff International.
Not exactly "down under" she thought, feeling the cool breeze of
the high desert waft through her hair as she descended the gangway. She'd
needed more than Mic could give her this time. Actually, if truth be known,
Mic's proposal was just one more problem that she had to sort out.
Somehow, after running into the Admiral and his "lady love" at the
terminal in D.C., she'd known that Australia was not the destination for her.
She needed more than the balmy beach at Manly to chase away the demons that
plagued her soul...she needed Red Rock Mesa.
Quickly shouldering her "carry-on", Mac crossed the brief expanse
of blacktop toward the attractive, modern-looking terminal building.
Yes, she thought, warming once again to the idea. Red Rock Mesa had been on
her mind for quite a while now. It was her safe haven...her place of
renewal...the one place on earth where her life seemed to take on a crystal
clarity unknown anywhere else. It had been there, amid the red sandstone
hills and the lonely howl of the coyotes, that she had stayed with Uncle Matt
so long ago...and found her pathway through life. Would she be so lucky a
second time?
Securing her modest bag from the luggage claim area, Sarah made her way
toward the car rental booths that lined the main concourse. She'd need
something that could "off-road" she thought. Red Rock Mesa was far
from the beaten path...very far.
In no time at all, Sarah found herself on Interstate 40, heading east toward
the Chambers exit near the New Mexico border. The tiny back seat of her
little black "Tracker" was almost filled with the modest camping
supplies she'd hastily added to her cache at the local K-Mart Superstore in
Flagstaff. Now, all she had to do was add a few more groceries along the way,
and she'd be all set for the duration of her stay.
Gradually, the piney highlands of the San Francisco Peaks gave way to the
painted desert as Sarah turned northward on State Route 91 toward the Hubbell
Trading Post in Ganado, on the Navajo reservation . Once there, she would
pick up a tribal newspaper and the last of her groceries before heading
upland into the Canyon De Chelly area...the ancient Navajo tribal lands south
of Red Rock Mesa.
It was good to be home in Arizona again, she reminisced. It had been a long
time...too long. She had needed this retreat toward sanity for months...
maybe years, and now the time had come.
Had it been five years since she and Harm had climbed the crumbly sandstone
cliffs of Red Rock to bring her Uncle Matt back to Washington? Had so much
time passed since she'd first met the tall, dark-haired Lieutenant Commander
on their first assignment? It was hard to believe! Time had a habit of
getting away from you when it was filled with life and...and what? Love?
The thought was a sobering one. Is that what she felt for her partner...her
friend. Did she love him? Did he love her...COULD he love her? Right now, she
wasn't sure if she even liked herself. Was there room in this emotional void
for Harm...or anyone?
She recalled the looks the "video princess" had given Harm at his
apartment last week. Had Renee, with all of her Hollywood glitz, captured the
love she herself had never been able to claim?
Maybe she was torturing herself for nothing. If Renee was the
"type" that attracted the dark-haired litigator, then she wasn't
even in the running. She could never be like Renee...she wouldn't want to be.
She had to be comfortable with herself before she could ever be comfortable
with anyone else.
She needed to find herself again.
Finally, after three dusty hours on the road, Mac saw the Trading Post
looming on the horizon. Her stomach growled disconcertingly. Maybe they'd
have some Pepto Bismo at the small tribal store. She certainly could use
some. Her stomach had been churning loudly ever since Friday morning at the
Bloodmoblie. It must be nerves, she rationalized...or maybe a little stomach
flu. At any rate, it would soon be resolved. An upset stomach was the least
of her worries.
Five minutes later, Sarah pulled up along the hitching rail in front of the
Trading Post, the red dust of the dry, unpaved roadway settling heavily on
the shiny black surface of her vehicle. It was just as she remembered it, she
thought as she entered the dimly lit recesses of the ancient building...the
same pawn counter, filled with squash blossom necklaces and Kachina dolls,
the same old flour barrels, the same stale, musty smell. It was wonderful!
Quickly, knowing that she needed to scale the cliff and set up camp in the
cavern at Red Rock before dark, Mac began to pile an assortment of dry goods
and fresh produce on the counter. Then, seeing some Tony Hillerman
paperbacks, her favorite southwest author, she added these to her pile and
motioned for the proprietor to come and tally up her purchases.
"This be all, Ma'am?" the aged shopkeeper asked. "Got a sale on
'old pawn' today. Might I could interest you in a pretty squash
blossom?" he asked, sensing her vulnerability. "I could make you a
good price. Got too many of them. Come on over here and take a look."
Most of the pieces were heavy, touristy affairs...nothing that Sarah would
ever wear. Then, at the very back she spied something different...something
unique. Unlike the bulky, assertive squash blossom necklaces, this piece
appeared old...very old. It was made of beaten silver, a single lone
figure...a native fluteplayer...Kokopelli as the locals called him...one of
the ancient Hopi gods. Threaded along an aging piece of braided black
leather, Kokopelli seemed to call to her.
It was frivolous...it made no sense...and maybe that in itself was the very
reason she had to have it. "How much on the fluteplayer?" she
asked, preparing to haggle.
"Kokopelli? You interested in that thing? It's been here as long as I
can remember...long as I been here, and that's near five years. How about
twenty bucks?" the shopkeeper asked hopefully.
"Make it fifteen, and you've got a deal." Mac countered, enjoying
the exchange.
"Tell you what," he rejoined, hot on the trail of a deal,
"Make it twenty, and I'll throw in a jar of this homemade napolito, some
fresh fry bread, and a fistful of elk jerky. What da ya say? It's all
good...made by a little old gal down the road. She makes the best napolito on
the 'res'."
Sarah thought of the homemade napolito. She hadn't had the slivered cactus
salad in years...not since she was a child. "You've got a deal."
she concluded. Just add them to the pile. Traveler's check okay?"
"Yes Ma'am. That'll do just fine. I'll have your total in a jiffy."
he smiled, satisfied with the deal they'd struck.
Ten minutes later, Mac was once again heading northward, toward Canyon De
Chelly and the dusty trail along Chinle wash, the chill metal of Kokopelli
warming itself intimately against her skin. It would be good to set up camp,
she thought...good to get settled in...good to let the healing process begin.
Her stomach growled once more. It would also be good to rest the discordant
percussion band that had begun to clamor restlessly in her midsection. Thank
heavens for Pepto Bismo!
0800 HOURS
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Harm sat at his desk, attempting to dispose of the paperwork on the Bracken
plea bargain quickly, and possibly salvage at least SOME remnant of his
weekend.
Mac should be in Sydney by now, he thought morosely...with "Bugme".
Why does that bother me so much, he thought for the millionth time. I've got
Renee...a great career...a terrific life. Am I so petty that I'd begrudge Mac
a little happiness too? Was Brumby all that bad?
Harm thought of the ruggedly hormonal Aussie Lieutenant Commander. Then he
envisioned him with Mac. No...it wasn't just his limited opinion. Brumby WAS
all that bad! He was a brawler...a skirt chaser...he'd make Mac miserable. It
was his job, as Mac's friend, to protect her from losers like Brumby. She
needed someone like...
Like whom, he questioned, floundering for a response. Like me? Is that what I
really mean? Is everyone else right? Am I the only one who can't read the
writing on the wall?
Harm pushed back from his desk. It was a moot point. After this vacation to
Australia, Mac would probably be wearing that damn ring on her left
hand...maybe even a wedding band. She'd made her choice...and it hadn't been
him. In this, her darkest hour, it had no longer been him she'd run to, it
had been that jerk from Oz. Her preference had been clear.
Disconcerted, Harm stared at the text which paraded its way across the
monitor screen. I won't look back, he thought. The Admiral was right...I
can't look back. I'll get this done...call Renee...and get over it.
Dimly, visions of the pert blond he'd been "seeing" crossed his
line of consciousness. They were so different...Mac and Renee. Why was he
always attracted to women who couldn't hold a candle to Sarah MacKenzie?
Maybe, deep down inside, even he knew that Sarah was the only one who could
ever fill his life...force him to face his phobia to commitment. Maybe this
endless string of "anti-Sarahs" was his way of filling the void
until he could finally...
(a knock)
Harm looked up to see a young woman in white...a nurse's uniform.
"Excuse me? Where might I find Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie?"
she asked, gazing questioningly at the deserted bullpen.
"I'm afraid there's no one around today but me. Colonel MacKenzie's on
leave right now. I'm Commander Rabb...maybe I can help you."
The young woman shook her head. "No, I don't think so. It's a
confidential matter. I need to speak directly with her...and immediately. Do
you know where I could find her?"
Harm abandoned his keyboard. "Well...the last I heard she was headed for
Australia. She may be gone a while. Sure there's nothing I can do?" he
asked, the concern evident in his voice.
The young woman became noticeably distressed. "Commander Rabb. This
matter is quite...urgent. I really must contact her. Do you have a phone
number where I could reach her?"
"It's that important?" he asked, his voice peaking with curiosity.
"Yes...extremely. I need to speak with her immediately. Is there any way
you could expedite this?" she responded.
Now Harm was worried. Whatever this woman wanted, it was obviously serious.
Maybe a call to Brumby was in order.
"Sit down Miss..."
"Mayfield. Janet Mayfield. I ran the Bloodmobile that stopped by here
yesterday."
"Well, Miss Mayfield. Take a seat and I'll see what I can do." Harm
scowled. Then, flipping through his phone listings he began to dial the
number of Mic Brumby in Australia.
The phone rang once...twice...three times. Harm had just begun to return the
receiver to its cradle when an all-to-familiar voice broke the silence.
"Brumby here."
"Brumby...this is Rabb. I have someone here who needs to speak to Mac.
Any idea where I can reach her?"
"Why are you askin' me? How should I know?"
Harms upper lip curled in disdain. "Well, isn't she there with you? She
left yesterday. She should have been there long before this."
"She's headin' my way? Well that's good news, but it's the first I've
heard of it. Any idea where she's stayin'?" the voice crackled through
the earpiece.
"That's what I called to ask YOU, damn it! She's your...friend. Don't
you two talk to each other?" Harm growled.
"Hey Mate...don't get your knickers in a twist," Brumby rejoined
wryly. "If she's here, she'll contact me. Why else would she come all
this way?"
"Hang on a minute, Brumby."
"Miss Mayfield...this may take a while. Just how urgent is this?"
he whispered across the desk.
The petite nurse let out a sigh. Confidential or not, she had to impress upon
this man the critical nature of her request. "It's crucial that I speak
to her immediately. It could be a matter of life or death...hers."
Harm was shaken. His fist gripped the receiver with white-knuckled intensity.
"Brumby. This is important. The person who needs to speak to her is a
nurse. She says it's urgent. Can you call around and get right back to me.
I'm at JAG. I'll be waiting for your call."
The phone lay silently in his hand. Then Brumby responded. "I'll do my
best. Hang tight...I'll get right back to you."
The low hum of the dial tone filled the silence of the office. "Miss
Mayfield. I realize the confidentiality of your work, but the Colonel and I
are...close. If she's in some kind of trouble, I'd like to help."
The stoic young woman stared uneasily at the firm countenance of the Navy
Commander before her. Should she break the seal of confidence? Would it help
save the young Colonel's life if she did? Finally, a tentative decision in
hand, she began to speak.
"Colonel MacKenzie's CBC showed a tremendously high white blood count
yesterday, so we ran it through a more thorough screening. We found a highly
elevated level of E. coli bacteria in her bloodstream. There were seven other
cases in the area yesterday...from undercooked burgers at the Beltway
franchise a mile from here. Do you know if Colonel MacKenzie has eaten there
in the past...say late Wednesday or Thursday?"
Harm thought back to the many times he'd seen Mac shove the disgusting
concoctions of starch, fat and dead animal flesh into her face. Did she ever
eat at Beltway Burger! When DIDN'T she eat at Beltway Burger!
"I don't know what she ate this past week, but she does frequent that
particular franchise a lot. It's possible that she ate there during that time
frame...she was on duty at JAG at that time. Just how serious are we talking
here?"
Nurse Mayfield shifted uncomfortably. "Well, untreated, E. coli can
cause hemorrhagic colitis...renal failure...hemolytic anemia...Thrombotic
Thrombocytopenic Purpura..."
"In layman's terms, Miss Mayfield. How serious is all this?"
"In layman's terms...she could die if she doesn't receive treatment.
She'll lose a great deal of her fluid reserve...begin to hemorrhage, her
bodily functions will slowly break down, and under extreme circumstances, she
could become terminal. She needs to see a doctor, and soon."
Harm scowled. Tapping his pencil nervously against the surface of his desk,
he waited anxiously for Brumby to return his call. Finally, after what seemed
like years, the phone rang.
"Rabb here. That you, Brumby?"
"You got that right, Harm, but I don't think she's here. I called around
to any likely hotels, and the airport as well. There was no Sarah MacKenzie
on any recent flights from the States, but there was a cancellation late last
night on Quantas. Apparently she had a ticket, but cashed it in. What's this
all about? Is Sarah in trouble?" he added tensely.
"This nurse says that she may have picked up a case of food
poisoning...E. coli bacteria. She needs to see a doctor right away. Any
ideas?"
"E. coli. That's not good. Nasty buggers...I've read of people dyin'
with that in their system. Is Sarah in danger?" "Could be, Brumby.
We need to find her fast. If you hear from her, call me on my cellular
immediately. Alright?"
"You got it, Mate. Keep me posted. I'll keep checkin' on this end. I'll
call Quantas right away and book the next flight out."
"That's not necessary, Brumby. There's nothing you can do that I can't
do by myself," Harm interjected.
"Well...I hope you're wrong there, Rabb. "Cause apparently you
aren't doin' too well, are you?" Brumby countered.
Harm stifled an impulse to tell Brumby where to stuff the receiver. "Do whatever
you want, Brumby. I don't give a rats ass what you do. My concern is for Mac,
and if you can't help, then I quite honestly don't care where you are!"
Harm hung up the phone and stared angrily at the young woman sitting
nervously before him. "I'm sorry...bad connection. Apparently she didn't
board the plane for Australia after all. Listen...let me call around and get
back to you. Give me your number and I'll ring you as soon as I make contact
with her. Okay?"
"Fine." she agreed hurriedly, backing toward the door. "I left
my card on your desk. Call anytime...but call soon. Understand?"
"I understand, Miss Mayfield. I'll contact you as soon as
possible."
Harm watched the woman in white vanish down the hallway in the direction of
the elevator, then once again picked up the phone and dialed the number of
Mac's apartment in Georgetown. He waited until the answering machine cut in,
then left a message for her to contact him immediately. Finally, both
frustrated and frantic, he called the Admiral's yeoman.
"Tiner. Rabb here. Do you have a number where I can reach the Admiral
this weekend? It's important."
"You want to reach the Admiral THIS weekend, Sir? I really doubt that he
wants to be disturbed, Sir. Are you sure?"
"Believe me, Tiner. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have to. Now...have
you got the number, or don't you?"
"Yes, Sir." Tiner responded reluctantly. Have you got a
pencil?"
"Just give it to me, Tiner!"
Quickly, Harm jotted the numbers down on a nearby note pad, then abruptly
disconnected the young Petty Officer without another word.
Within moments the phone in his hand was ringing the Admiral's hotel in the
Virgin Islands. Pensively, Harm said a silent prayer that the Admiral would
still be in his room. Of course, if he was still in, that would mean he might
be interrupting... Harm didn't want to think about it.
Finally, a familiar voice broke through on the other end. "Chegwidden.
Who's calling?"
"Admiral...Sir, it's Rabb. I need to speak to you, Sir." he
explained nervously.
"This better be good, Commander. I left my staff behind for a
reason!"
"Sir...it's about Colonel MacKenzie. I need to contact of her
immediately. It's a medical emergency. You wouldn't happen to know where I
can reach her, would you?"
"Colonel MacKenzie is on terminal leave in Australia, Rabb. What do you
mean, a 'medical emergency'?"
"Apparently the Colonel has contracted E. coli poisoning, Sir, and can't
be reached. So far I've called Australia...and her apartment...she's not in
either location. Sir? Terminal leave? Mac resigned her commission?"
"E. coli poisoning...and she's not in Australia. Where in the bloody
hell is she?"
Why did everyone keep asking him that? Did they think he'd be asking if he
already knew!
"I don't know, Sir. I've talked to Mic Brumby and he's going to keep
checking until his flight leaves for Washington...but so far I haven't a
clue. I was hoping you might know."
"Brumby's heading there? This must be serious. I used to know a little
about E. coli contamination back in 'Nam. Find her, Rabb. That's an order.
I'll be on the next flight out."
"Yes Sir. I'll keep trying."
" ...and Sir?"
"What is it, Rabb?"
"You said the Colonel's on terminal leave?"
"Yes, that's right...terminal leave. This is not something I
particularly want to discuss at this point, Rabb, but if it helps any...she's
found another civilian job and has turned in her resignation, effective
immediately...as soon as her personal days are exhausted. Do you think
that'll help any?"
"Sir...I knew nothing about this. Colonel MacKenzie never mentioned
it!"
"I'll be on the next flight, Rabb. Maybe you'd better check inside her
apartment. She may need help."
"Aye aye, Sir." he replied. I'll see if I can round up a key.
Otherwise...I may owe the Colonel a new door."
"Just do it, Commander. You're under orders. Is that clear?"
"Yes Sir. Understood, Sir." And with that, Harm sat back in his
chair, took a deep breath, then picked up his keys and headed for his SUV.
Gratefully, Mac climbed the pebble-strewn escarpment up toward the cavern one
last time. It had taken four trips, but now, at last, the end was in sight.
Dropping the last of her gear within the dim confines of the cave, she sank
breathlessly to the ground. She felt terrible! Her stomach churned painfully,
her head had begun to throb, and a distinct malaise had robbed her of the
will to move.
The Pepto hadn't done its job, she reflected, shuffling in her pack for
another dose. Maybe she needed something to eat...to fill her stomach...but
not now. She still had to gather firewood or there would be no welcoming
flame to fill her encampment that night.
Feeling an intense lethargy once again overtake her, Mac forced herself to
her feet and began to search the area for fuel. The pickings were lean, but
finally, her arms loaded with dry mesquite branches and saguaro ribs, she
returned to the cavern and began to spread out her bedroll.
Rest. That's what she need most at the moment... rest, she thought,
stretching her weary frame atop the thinly padded sleeping bag. She'd take a
little nap, then finish unpacking her camping supplies...maybe have a little
lunch.
Wearily, Sarah closed her eyes against the noonday sun and drifted off into a
fitful sleep. It couldn't have been more than an hour or two, she thought,
but when she again opened her eyes the light had flown from the desert below,
and an unlimited spectrum of astral bodies now filled the inky blackness of
the sky.
She should have felt better...but she didn't. She should have felt
rested...but restfulness still eluded her. What was wrong, she wondered? This
wasn't like her at all.
Groggily, Mac forced herself once more to her feet. She needed to get a fire
going...and even though the thought repulsed her, she needed to get something
into her empty and growling stomach. Flu or no flu, she was out in the
wilderness alone...she needed to keep up her strength.
Allowing herself to cheat a little, Mac placed a small dab of Sterno on a
mesquite branch, lit it, then shoved it amid the small pile of kindling at
her feet. Immediately, as the warm glow of firelight filled the nooks and
crannies of the cold sandstone walls, the small cavern began to take on the
look and feel of home. Something primeval within her celebrated the advent of
light...of warmth...of security.
Now for something to fill the inner woman, she decided, the thought appealing
even less now than it had before her "nap". Immediately rejecting
the thought of elk jerky on an upset stomach, Mac released the lid of the
Ball jar containing the nopalito, and fished a small circle of Indian fry
bread from the plastic Baggie in which it was encased.
Silently, she inhaled the aroma of the delicate cactus preserves, letting the
memories of her youth wash over her. There weren't many good memories of
those days, but feasting on nopalito with her friend Juanita along the banks
of the Little Colorado on a hot summer afternoon was one of them. This was a
treat indeed.
Slowly, she forked a few mouthfuls between her lips, savoring the distinct
yet familiar taste of the southwest delicacy. Then, feeling her stomach growl
once more, she set the cactus salad aside and took a few bites of the crisp,
deep-fried Indian bread she had balanced on her left knee. The proprietor of
the trading post had been right...it was good. His "little old gal"
was a rare and wonderful cook indeed.
Mac's stomach began to lurch, and she decided that her brief culinary
exploration would have to be enough for now.
Quickly, she washed her "dinner" down with a few swigs of bottled
water, then secured her leftovers for another time.
It was so peaceful here, she thought. Coming to Red Rock Mesa had been a good
choice. Already she could feel the burdens of her life lifting from her
heavy-laden spirit...the tense tribulations of the past few days slipping
into perspective. The ancient red sandstone table-mesa knew her, and was
welcoming her home.
Again Mac slipped into a deep sleep, losing track of both time and place,
until finally she sensed a presence in the cave beside her...hovering near
her...over her.
Instantly awake, Sarah attempted to rise to her feet, but his [who's?] hand
held her firmly in place.
"You need to rest." his said, his voice piercing the stillness.
"You're sick...you need your strength."
Sarah stared warily at the strange figure before her. He was native...either
Hopi or Navajo she assumed, since Red Rock bordered on both
reservations...but somehow he seemed different.
"Where did you come from? she questioned, wishing for the solitude she
had come so far to attain.
"Hey. You're the visitor. I live here. I might ask you the same
question."
Cautiously, Mac assessed her new "roommate". He was a young man,
possibly in his early thirties, with long raven black hair tied securely with
a leather thong. His dress was traditional...age-old...made of softly tanned
leather with thigh-length "leggins" rising upward to bracket a
brightly woven breech cloth.
"My name's MacKenzie...Sarah Mackenzie," she replied. "Who are
you?"
"I'm called 'Ah-na-sozi', but 'Ah-na' will do just fine. You know, you
look like the aftermath of a buffalo stampede. You should lay back down. I'm
making you some herbal tea...cactus...a home remedy...should have you up and
around in no time."
Dimly, Sarah stared at the small pot she'd bought at K-Mart, simmering over the
brightly burning mesquite fire. Steam rose from its surface, and a bitter
aroma permeated the confines of the cave.
"It's been steeping for a few hours. It should be ready now...I was just
waiting for you to wake up," he smiled, his golden skin taking on a
coppery hue as the firelight caressed the gentle contours of his face.
"I don't know about this," Mac replied, her common sense taking
command. I've got a bottle of Pepto somewhere around here. I think I'll stick
with that."
"You mean this?" he said, lifting the empty container for her
inspection. "I don't think it did you much good...did it?"
"It's empty?" Mac questioned. "How did that happen?"
"You drank it all. Don't you remember? You've been turning down my
cactus tea since yesterday...and slurping down that pink stuff instead. You
don't remember any of it, do you? So...are you ready to try it yet? What have
you got to lose?" he grinned.
"Yesterday! How long have you...we been here?" she asked, feeling
her grip on reality slipping through her fingers.
"Well, I saw your fire last night...around midnight I guess. Then you
were pretty much 'out' for the next day, and now it's getting close to
morning again. Are you gonna try this tea, or not?" he offered, his
concern evident.
Mac looked again at the young man, dully assessing the wisdom of trusting his
"concoction", then nodded her head. It was foolish, sure, but
somehow she knew, deep in her heart that this bronzed quasi-paramedic would
do her no harm.
Slowly, she took the tin K-Mart mess-kit-mug from his hands and began to
cautiously sip its contents. She gagged. It was terrible...bitter...vile to
the taste!
"I know...I know. This stuff tastes like coyote piss, but it really
isn't...just cactus and your own bottled water...I swear. Finish it...it'll
help. Really. My people have been using this for centuries. It works."
Wrinkling her nose in disdain, Mac took another swig, then wanting it to be
over quickly, she upturned the mug and drained the last of the tea between
her puckered lips.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "That'll either cure me or kill me! I
think that cactus would have been better off left in the desert."
Ah-na laughed. "You're funny, 'Legai'. Do you always make such a fuss
when you take your medicine?"
"Is that what you call this...medicine?" she choked, the bitterness
lingering on her tongue. I can think of a better name for it! And what's this
'Legai' thing all about?"
"It means 'silver' in my language. I saw your oak leaves in your
backpack when I was fishing around for some warmer clothes last night. You're
in the Marines, right?"
"Uh huh," she replied, grateful that the bitterness was finally
residing. "I'm on vacation...I came up here to be alone for a
while," she mentioned pointedly. "I have a few things that I want
to work out before I go back."
"I know." he stated without preamble. "Your dreams have been
pretty vocal over the last few nights. You quit your tribe, didn't you...and
some guy...Harm is it? You left him too?"
Mac flushed. What had she been saying? She never talked in her sleep...why
now?
"That's personal," she blurted out. "You shouldn't have been
listening."
"And just how do you think I could have accomplished that?" he
asked. "We're sharing a cave...remember. Would you like me to close the
door? You know, sometimes dreams are more real than we give them credit
for," he offered, placing the pot near the radiating heat of the flames.
"What are you doing...channeling Sigmond Freud?" Mac answered
sarcastically, wishing the prying native would get the hell out of her head.
Again Ah-na smiled...a silent evasive smile...one that spoke volumes but left
the recipient wondering what what lay behind the mask. "This place...Red
Rock Mesa...did you know that it's been used for 'vision quests' since the
beginning of time?"
"Vision Quests?"
"A time to confront the truths that lie within...a spiritual awakening.
Basically, the exact thing you came here to find. You picked a good place.
The warrior spirits of my people live here. Isn't that what you call it in
the Marines...warrior spirit?"
Mac was stunned. How did he know her so well? Who was this man?
Mac began to formulate a response, when she felt the room begin to spin
around her. Laying back against her bedroll, she watched, fascinated, as the
firelight wove its way, panther-like amid the stalactites on the ceiling of
the cavern. She closed her eyes, willing the queasiness to pass, then once
again drifted off into the primeval darkness of her own disquiet mind.
Time lost all meaning, and Mac awoke to the sound of chanting, echoing lowly
along the reddish-brown walls of her encampment. The light was different
now...had morning finally arrived? Quickly, she glanced toward the mouth of
the cave. No...it was still dark outside...but was it the same night?
Her eyes searched the bright, swirling glow that filled the "room",
and came to rest on a bare-chested figure crouched in the corner of the
confined space. Was it Ah-na? She couldn't tell. But, whoever it was, he
seemed intent on taking small pinches of brightly colored sand and filtering
them through his fingers to the floor below.
Curiously...drawn to the scene, Mac rose from her bedroll and approached the
figure, gliding soundlessly across the red, hard-packed earth.
It was a sand painting, she realized, filled with a myriad of mazes swirling
geometrically in a circle-like pattern...leading ever inward toward what? She
looked closer...her oak leaves! There, in the very center of the intricate
pattern, lay the symbols of her rank, as though lost in a child's puzzle, awaiting
some ethereal pencil to trace its way to the heart of the matter.
"Ah-na?" she began...but it wasn't Ah-na at all. As the figure
turned to face her, she saw not the face of her young Indian acquaintance,
but that of her old friend the man to whom she had futilely given her
heart... Harmon Rabb.
"Harm! What are you doing here! How did you find me?"
"I've always known where you were, Sarah," he replied cryptically,
his voice soft...intimate. "I just had to let go."
Stunned, Sarah looked on in amazement. This wasn't possible. Harm couldn't be
here...he wouldn't be here...saying these things to her...
"What about Renee?" she asked, dreading his reply.
A million answers appeared to whirl discordantly through his
consciousness...almost tangible in their intensity... lost aborning in the
convolutions of his mind. A hundred responses died a silent death upon his
lips...until one alone surfaced to fill the void between them.
"She's not you"', he whispered simply, "...she's not
you."
Then gently, tenderly he turned to face her. "You're what I want in my
life, Sarah...what I need...only you.
Mesmerized, Sarah watched as the firelight played across the firm planes of
his chest, drawing him nearer...seeking the touch of flesh upon flesh.
"Give me the ring, Sarah. You don't need it anymore," he whispered
huskily.
Sarah tugged, but the ring held fast, frozen in place as though held by some
invisible force.
Harm smiled. "Let me..." he murmured. Then raising her hand to his
lips, he gently placed her finger deep within the warm recesses of his mouth
and closed his teeth upon the band which encircled it.
"There...it's magic!" he said smiling as her finger resurfaced,
ring-free, into the swirling light of the cavern. "Lets put it over
here," he said, taking the symbol of another man's love from between his
teeth, and placing it on a small rock ledge above the sand painting.
"You don't need it...you don't need him...ever again."
Sarah looked deeply into his eyes. They looked different
somehow...darker...more intense. She felt herself slipping...losing
ground...losing reserve...falling into the endless depths of his gaze.
"Harm..." she breathed as he tasted first one corner of her mouth,
then moved to pay tribute to the other.
Sarah closed her eyes, tilting her head back, exposing her neck in wolf-like
abeyance, reveling in the touch of his lips upon the hollows of her throat.
She felt lighter than air, adrift in a sea of passion, filled with the
sensations that consumed her soul.
Slowly, delicately, like the minute trickling of sand against her skin, she
felt her clothing vanish...falling away, to be replaced by the warmth of his
body pressed closely against her, the smoothness of his skin...the timeless,
rhythmic beating of his heart.
Was she breathing? She was no longer sure. Somehow her body had become the
center of the universe...the vortex of all that was real and pure...the
essence of her quest for life and self.
Dimly, she felt the softness of her bedroll against the curve of her
spine...against the rounded jut of her buttocks...against the muscled
firmness of her thighs. How had she gotten there? Had he carried her...or had
she shaken off the shackles of gravity and drifted of her own accord?
As though completing a puzzle whose pieces had been scattered by the ravages
of time, Sarah felt him slip between her thighs, the firm thrust of his
erection pressing hungrily against her abdomen.
Now, she screamed in silence...now.
But he was not to be rushed, she realized, as his lips claimed the pebbled
surface of her nipples... gently drawing first one and then the other deeply
between his lips into the moist, warm cavern of his mouth.
"Harm," she breathed. Harm..."
Then, as though to consume the very sounds of her passion, he covered her
lips with his, thrusting deeply, mimicking the act she so longed to complete.
His hand slid between them...his fingers searching...finding... probing
between the soft folds of her moist, warm core.
Again she cried out...something primal...without form or coherence as she felt
the first waves of abandonment wash over her... claiming her...consuming her.
Savagely she thrust against him, arching her back, pleading for the
completion that only he could offer. "Please...now!" she screamed,
her nails biting into the firm flesh of his back. "Harm...please!"
And then he was with her...inside of her...filling her, his massive erection
plunging powerfully between her thighs, the unrestrained pounding of her
climax carrying her beyond the realms of sight and sound.
Dimly, as though muted by the hand of some omnipotent being, she heard him
cry out, his seed spilling hotly within her...their bodies bound on a voyage
meant for them alone. They had become one...touched and touching...joined and
inseparable...never again to walk the earth alone.
1800 HOURS - Saturday Night
Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment
Georgetown
Harm sat in front of Mac's computer terminal, glancing guiltily at the
fragments of doorframe that lay, like broken soldiers, along the carpet.
Well, the Admiral had given him an order. Was it his fault that no one had a
key to Mac's place?
Harm began by searching for the obvious...notes, receipts, anything laying
about that might narrow down the field of possibilities. She had to be
somewhere. No one just vanished off the face of the earth. There had to be a
clue...a lead...but where?
Then, using her password (and she thought he didn't know it!), Harm began
searching through her files for a foothold. He searched her e-mail (including
the trash bin), her bookmarks, her file folders, and, finally the menu of her
word processing program. Nothing seemed to help, and then he saw it...an
entry marked "Journal" listed among her personal correspondence.
Did he dare? Would she ever forgive him if he did? How would he feel if
someone tore away the thin veneer that protected him from the outside world,
and exposed his innermost thoughts and emotions?
He knew exactly how he'd feel...he'd hate them. Mac deserved better.
Silently he sat staring at the menu, weighing the consequences. Her privacy
or her life...with Mac that was a hard choice. It was quite possible that
she'd PREFER to give up her life rather than surrender her privacy! But she
wasn't here...and the decision had to be his.
It was eating him alive.
Finally...desperately, he made up his mind. Better to have her hate him face
to face than from the "great beyond". His objective was clear...he
had to continue.
Selecting the most recent entry, Harm stared at the screen...he hated this.
It wasn't right. It wasn't fair, but what else could he do? It read:
|
|
Harm settled his face into the warm curve of his palms, fighting back the
sobs that threatened to overcome him.
He knew where she was. He'd paid his penance. The gods had smiled...he'd been
given another chance.
0300 HOURS - Monday morning
Southwest Airlines Flight # 476
Destination: Flagstaff, Arizona
Harm was exhausted.
Wearily he chewed the dry, tasteless sandwich that the flight attendant had
delivered before him. Ham and cheese? Even that didn't matter...he'd eat
anything at this point. Why not?
Anxiously, he checked his watch again...3:15. Fifteen minutes since the last
time he'd checked. His flight would arrive at Flagstaff at 6:00 a.m., but
that was Mountain Time. What time was it in Arizona? Three hours later...no,
three hours earlier. And then there was daylight savings time...they didn't
use it. Idiots! Who the hell knew what time it was in Flagstaff? Maybe they
were all on permanent "siesta" time.
Harm closed his eyes, hoping the drone of the engines would carry into the
arms of slumber, willing himself to gather strength for the coming day.
Reclining his seat, he allowed his mind to drift...felt himself soar beyond
the limitations imposed by the small airplane...beyond space...beyond
time...beyond consciousness. Then colors...reds, oranges, golds...all
flickering harmoniously...dancing sensuously around him, weaving flame-like
through his altered consciousness.
He was no longer in the plane...or was he? Was he sleeping? Was he dreaming?
Had he finally lost his mind?
Dimly, he felt the earth beneath his knees, his clothing altered, his chest
bare, and realized that he was kneeling by a campfire in a cave of some sort.
He remembered now...it was the cavern where they'd found Matthew O'Hara...the
one at Red Rock Mesa.
Incomprehensibly, he stared at the design which lay before him in the thick,
red dust of the cavern floor. It was a maze, he realized, made of intricate
lines of colored sand, painstakingly arranged by the hand of a master...but
in the center...what was that?
His eyes widened in amazement. Silver oak leaves...the mark of a lieutenant
colonel.
Then he felt her presence behind him, and turned. She was
beautiful...radiant...the gentle play of firelight whirling seductively
across the dusky olive of her complexion. But, best of all, she appeared
well, with no signs of illness plaguing her countenance.
Silently, she sank to her knees beside him, her eyes beckoning him to join
her, her full, red lips curving gently, tantalizingly at the corners.
"How did you find me?" she asked, her voice hushed in amazement.
He began to tell her of his journey, the hours in her apartment, but the
words became lost...stolen by the gods of the cave...vanquished to another
plain.
"I've always known where you were," he answered instead. "I
just had to let go."
"What about Renee" she asked, her eyes reflecting the pain in her
heart.
What could he say...how could he make her understand when he didn't
understand himself? Silently, he searched for the words to let her know what
he felt, what he longed to say. Then, finally, he ceased to struggle... his
thoughts distilled into one pure truth.
"She's not you." he replied simply, the words taking on a life of
their own.
And then he noticed the ring...Brumby's ring, glowing dully on her right
hand.
"Give me the ring, Sarah" he asked, finally uttering the words he'd
longed to say for so long. "You don't need it anymore."
Sarah tugged at the offending ornament, but it remained steadfast, daring
Harm to challenge its hold on his beloved...his Sarah.
"Let me..." he said, feeling an unspoken assurance that this too
was meant to be.
Then, sliding her finger deeply into his mouth, he inhaled the salty essence
of her skin, caressing the smooth pad of her fingertip with the curl of his
tongue.
"It's magic," he said, removing the ring from his mouth.
"Let's put it over here. You don't need it...you don't need him...ever
again."
Gratefully, he watched as she relinquished the tiny circle of gold, freeing
her of its influence, erasing the final barrier between them.
And then he touched her, reveling in the satiny feel of her skin beneath his
fingertips, the nectar of her lips as he tasted first one corner, then the
other.
Reality swished again, and he felt the coolness of the cavern swirl around
his naked form, his hands caressing the warm, unclad softness of her body.
Then, gently, tenderly he wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her,
carrying her, laying her gently upon the thin, narrow bedroll that was to
protect their union from the harshness of the earth below.
She was so beautiful, he thought, more beautiful than any earthly being was
meant to be. Smoothly, he eased his rigid form between her thighs, his eyes
lighting on the silvery convolutions of a charm...a flute player, laying
tucked between the fullness of her breasts, secured to her neck by a thin
strand of braided leather. It shown like a dewdrop against the petal-softness
of her skin, accentuating the unblemished duskiness of her nipples as he
savored them on his tongue.
"Harm," she whispered, her voice echoing through his body...urging
him to abandon all reason and plunge himself madly within her.
"Harm..."
Silently, he gasped for air...for control. Then, pressing his hand between
her thighs, he allowed his fingers to pleasure her, stroking, probing,
tantalizing until she could bear it no longer and thrust against him,
summoning a primal urge that he could no longer control.
"Please...now. Harm...please." she cried, her voice filling the air
with its intensity.
Gratefully, he plunged his straining member into the wet, molten cavern
between her trembling thighs, responding to the frantic hunger within her...
drawing him ever deeper...devouring him...urging him to plant his seed in the
warm, fertile furrows of her body.
Once more her cries [or were they his?] filled the small, vaulted room as
they began a flight as old as time... higher...faster...farther than either
had ever flown before. Like Icarus, lured by the brilliance of the sun they
soared, finding immortality in each other's arms...eternity in each other's
souls.
Harm longed to stay buried within her arms until time faded into nothingness
and the world released them from its tenuous bonds, but it was not to be.
His heart pounding... reality swished once more, and he heard the gentle ping
of the onboard intercom announce their arrival at Flagstaff International.
With shaking hands he brought his seatback into an upright position and
prepared for landing.
"Make her safe", he prayed, his voice lost in the growl of the
engines "...make her mine. How can I live without her?"
Sarah had just settled herself into a sunny spot at the mouth of the cavern,
the remains of her nopalito salad and fry bread in her lap, when she heard
the distant, rhythmic pulse of helicopter blades making their way across
Chinle Wash. Even here, she thought, it was impossible to leave the invasive
din of the modern world behind.
Curious, she watched as the slow-moving red and white aircraft passed far
above her, drawn southward, like a homing pigeon, in the direction of Canyon
De Chelly.
She was hungry...starved, she thought as she tore a chunk of fry bread off of
the pancake-like slab clasped in her hands and savored the first solid food
she'd been able to hold down in days. She felt better, refreshed in fact.
Ah-na had been right. The bitter, acrid-tasting cactus tea had been just what
she needed.
Sarah had just removed the lid on her Ball jar full of napolito, when she
noticed the helicopter cease its southward trajectory, pause, then begin to
circle back toward Red Rock Mesa.
Reluctantly, she set her meal aside and wandered out toward the edge of the
cliff, shielding her eyes against the assault of sun and whirling sand as the
metallic bird slowed and made its decent... obliterating her small, black
Tracker in the red dust exhumed from the desert floor below.
Who is that, she wondered, watching the pilot and two jumpsuit-clad figures
disembark the craft. The tall one...that looked like Harm! Could it be...?
Vividly, she recalled the events of the night before...the touch of his hands
on the heated flesh of her body...his lips...the way he'd filled the void in
her soul. And now, here he was, slowly climbing the cliffside toward her,
thrusting his hands into the ancient toe-holds in the rock, inching ever
nearer.
"Harm," she called as his head cleared the rim, "What are you
doing here?"
The lanky Commander pulled himself upward until he stood beside her at the
mouth of the cavern, his eyes wide in amazement...relief, as he assessed the
obvious state of her health.
"Well," he began, his eyes lingering lovingly on the young woman
before him, "I thought I was saving your life."
"Saving my life? What gave you that idea?" she asked, the image of
him the night before filling her mind... clouding her vision.
Harm crossed the rocky ledge and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Some
'Wicked Witch' at Beltway slipped you a poisoned burger before you left, Snow
White. I thought I was going to find you at death's door."
"Poisoned! Very funny. Well, I WAS sick as a dog for a while...but at
death's door? Hardly! Hey...how did you find me, anyway?"
Harm prepared to describe her broken door, and his adventures into
cyberspace, when the words came pouring out, unbidden, into the light of day.
"I always knew where you were," he began, watching her eyes widen
in amazement, "I just..."
"...had to let go." she finished, her lower lip beginning to
quiver.
Shocked into silence, Sarah stood mutely, breathlessly replaying what had
just happened. How did he know what they'd said the night before, unless...
"Hey! Commander! Is this the dying woman we came out here to save?"
a young native paramedic called from the ledge, a medical pack strapped to
his back. "She looks like she's in pretty good shape to me." he
grinned.
Harm paused, unwilling to break eye contact. "To me too...absolutely
terrific." he murmured, his response directed more toward Sarah than
toward the young man who stood patiently nearby, waiting to do the job he'd
flown so far to do.
Finally, creating his own break in the moment, the young medic continued.
"Well, as long as I'm in the neighborhood, why don't I just check out a
few things and be sure?" he interjected, staring at their stricken
expressions and wondering which of the pair needed medical assistance more.
Harm reached out and lightly stroked the side of her cheek with the tips of
his fingers, his thumb gently tracing the pale outline of her unadorned lips.
"Yeah," he concurred, relinquishing the feel of her cheek against
his palm, "Sounds like a good idea. Why don't you do that?"
Then quickly, a look of confusion spread wide across his bronzed features,
the young man lead Sarah back over toward the mouth of the cavern, back to
the spot where she'd been resting when her breakfast had been so abruptly
interrupted.
Whipping out his stethoscope, the dark-haired paramedic began to question
Sarah about her flight in the "face of death".
"You know, you're pretty lucky," he began, assuring himself that
her heart, at least, had suffered no damage. "We didn't expect to find
you in this condition."
"What was supposed to be wrong with me...outside of terminal
Beltway-burgeritis?" she joked, watching the paramedic take a tongue
depressor out of his bag.
Harm stepped between Sarah and the glaring sunlight, his shadow drawing her
gratefully into the shade of his body. "E. coli, Sarah. Seven other
people came down with it as well. You had us scared to death," Harm
replied. "We almost didn't find you this morning. If this medic hadn't
been raised around here, we'd have gone right on by."
"E. coli! Don't people die from E. coli poisoning?" Sarah
questioned, her close brush with death redirecting her focus toward the young
medicine man.
"Sometimes...yes. It depends on a lot of variables, like how severe the
exposure, the age and physical well-being of the victim and the like. With
any luck, it's self-limiting and just makes you WISH you were dead for a few
days, then clears up on its own. I guess you were one of the lucky
ones."
Sarah thought back to Ah-na, and his miraculous "tea". "Well,
I'm grateful for whatever it was," she began slowly, watching the young
man wrap a blood pressure cuff around her left arm. "But I met a 'local'
up here who treated me to a home remedy that seemed to make a lot of
difference. His name is Ah-na-sosi. You're from around here...have you ever
met him?"
The raven-haired native looked cryptically at his patient, his hand stilled
on the bulb attached to the cuff. "You're putting me on, right?
Ah-na-sosi? That's a good one!"
Sarah paused. "I don't get it," she replied, her face a mask of
confusion. "What's so funny about Ah-na-sosi?"
"You're really serious, aren't you?" he answered, a vague
uneasiness creeping across his features. "That can't be...'Ah-na-sosi'
is the Navajo translation of the word 'Anazazi'. It means 'cliff dweller'. It
isn't a name...it's a tribe... 'THE' Anazazi. They were the ancients that
settled this area. They vanished mysteriously around 1500 years ago. You can
still see where they've been,' he said. "...just look up."
Sarah glanced upward toward a series of smoke-like streaks that stretched almost
fluidly across the ceiling of the cave.
"Those marks are from their campfires," the medic continued, his
eyes wide and wondrous. "See the difference," he said, pointing to
a number of darker splotches elsewhere along the ceiling. "Those are the
result of recent campfires, but these," he continued, indicating the
pale progression of sooty markings, "...are lighter...older...more
permanent. It's a sure sign that the Anazazi were here once. You see a lot of
that at Canyon De Chelly, just south of here."
"But that can't be," Sarah responded, her breath coming in short
puffs. "I didn't imagine this. He made me some kind of cactus tea...he
cured me. He was here!"
Again the young man paused in his ministrations. What did it taste like? Was
it strong...really bitter?" he asked, drawn into her fantasy.
"It was bitter...extremely bitter, but he said it would help."
"'A-zay d-ah'...Peyote tea." The medic replied. "Some of 'The
People', the old folks and medicine men, still use it for gastro-intestinal
ailments. It DOES work, but it's dangerous. It's illegal. It comes from the
peyote cactus...full of mescaline. It's a powerful hallucinogen. The only
people who can legally use it anymore are members of the Native American
Church. It's used in rituals for the most part."
"Then you believe me?" Sarah asked, feeling her grip on reality
lose cohesion...slipping between her fingers. "Ah-na-sosi was really
here...wasn't he?" she whispered, "He spoke to me...answered
me...he made a sand painting on the ground over there." Sarah said,
pointing to a spot toward the back of the cavern, now barren and thick with
the red dust of the mesa.
"Ma'am," the paramedic responded soothingly, the facade of
professionalism suppressing his momentary lapse into the supernatural,
"There's no sand painting there. And I only see one set of footprints
here in the cave....they look like yours."
Sarah was stunned...confused. Slowly, she looked up toward her partner,
searching... hoping for an answer to her quandary.
"Harm? You believe me, don't you? He was here! I can't have been that
wrong...I know he was here!"
Quietly, Harm knelt beside her while the paramedic finished up his exam and
prepared to draw a blood sample to take back to Flagstaff. "If you say
he was here, then I believe you." Harm answered without qualification.
"I don't know how...or why, but you've had yourself an incredibly rare
experience. It kept you alive...it cured you...and I'll be grateful for that
for the rest of my days."
Ma'am?" the young man said, once more capturing her attention. "Did
you eat any of this stuff?" he asked, indicating the open Ball jar
sitting beside her."
"A little," she replied, wondering why he'd asked, "Why?
What's wrong?"
"Is this old Rose Begay's nopalito? Did you get it from the trading post?"
"Yeah...I got it from the trading post on the day I arrived. What's the
problem?" Sarah questioned, wondering what her lunch had to do with
anything.
"Rose is 93 years old," he began, sniffing at the contents of the
open jar and wrinkling up his nose. "...and she's a member of the Native
American Church. Maybe there's more than prickly pear cactus in this jar...it
would explain a lot...your recovery...Ah-na-sosi...the whole thing."
"You think that I got a few bites of peyote in there...that this was all
a hallucination then?" she asked, her voice registering her
resignation...her loss of faith.
"Could be. Ma'am." he replied. "Why don't I take this back to
Flag' and have the toxicology lab take a look at it. That okay with
you?"
"Sure, go ahead." Sarah waved weakly, watching her rare and
beautiful moment fade into nothing but a home-canning mishap...realizing that
her experiences in the cave, her night with Harm had all been nothing but a
few errant bites of cactus salad.
Quietly, the medic packed up his supplies and headed back toward the edge of
the cliff. "Commander? Are you going to be riding back with Miss
MacKenzie?" he asked, carefully lowering himself over the ledge.
"Yeah...go ahead without me." Harm replied, his gaze fixed on the
loss he found in Sarah's eyes.
[She's alone again.] he reflected mentally. [She knows that I'll let her down
again.]
"Harm," Sarah began, watching the helicopter rise noisily above
them and head westward toward Flagstaff, "You must think that I'm an
idiot. After everything else, now..."
"...I was here last night, Sarah." he said softly, enfolding her
small hand in his own, willing the pain to leave her features.
"What?"
"I was here." he repeated, "...with you...in this cavern. I
saw the sand painting too. You didn't imagine it."
"Harm...you're just saying that because you think it's what I need to
hear right now. You heard me tell the paramedic about the painting. You don't
have to..."
"Then how do I know that your silver oak leaves are back there on the
ground?"
"You must have seen them while we were sitting here...
"...and that Brumby's ring is on a ledge above them..."
Sarah hesitated, uncertain of her answer.
"...and," he continued, "...how do I know you were wearing
only this thin leather strap..." he paused, tracing the delicate, black
thong downward beneath the neckline of her blouse. "...with a flute
player at the end when I made love to you last night?"
Harm watched as the corners of her eyes filled with tears, her body quivering
beneath his touch.
Then silently, gently he lowered his head and kissed away the moist rivulets
that had begun to trickle weakly down the pale bloom of her cheeks.
"Harm...how?"
"Shhh," he answered. "Don't ask. Some questions weren't meant
to be asked...or answered." he replied softly against the gentle curve
of her throat.
"But, don't you want to know the truth?" she questioned, amazed at
his control.
"Harm paused, and cradling her face between his palms, looked deeply
into the mystic depths of her eyes.
"You're all the truth I need, Sarah...all the truth I'll ever
need."
"Let's go home." Sarah replied. "I want to start over...with
JAG...my career...with you. Red Rock Mesa has given me all that it had to
give. Now it's time for me...for us... to see what we can do with it."
"Washington...Arizona...it doesn't matter to me." he replied,
"...as long as you're there...as long as we're together. Sarah...I
didn't bring a ring...I didn't plan this, but I don't want to wait any
longer. I've waited too long already."
Then, pulling the Annapolis ring from his own finger, he placed it on the
ring finger of her left hand. "Marry me, Sarah." he asked, his
words conveying the promise of forever...of eternity.
"You know I will," she replied her voice carrying softly through
the still, desert air. "How could I say no to a miracle?"
Then, twining her fingers through the warm thickness of his hair, she pressed
her lips to his, losing herself in the glory of the moment...the intangible
gift that was theirs alone.
It was then, Sarah heard the ring, much too large for her small, slim finger,
fall noisily to the ground at her feet.
"I guess we'll have to make better arrangements when we get back."
Harm laughed, picking her ring from the dusty ground. "Until then, do
you think your 'flute player' would mind sharing his thong with your
engagement ring?"
"I think that can be arranged." she said, tugging the leather strap
out of her blouse, exposing it to the light of day.
"It's gone!" she gasped, staring at the barren cord. "But it
was here...I know it was!"
"Maybe your little flute player knew it was time to move on." Harm
smiled cryptically. "I'd say his job here is done...wouldn't you?"
Sarah kissed him once again, then untied the cord and replaced the little
flute player...her Kokopelli...with the symbol of Harm's undying love.
Silently, they packed away the remains of Sarah's gear and made their way
down the cliff toward the Tracker, waiting patiently on the desert floor.
"What about Brumby?" Harm asked, his eyes tortured and vulnerable
as he turned the ignition and headed the small black vehicle toward the dusty
highway. "What are you going to tell him?"
Sarah was silent, her heart crying out to the eternal universe...praying for
the right words to assure this wonderful man of his undying place in her
life. Finally, as though distilling the essence of all truths, she smiled.
What other words could there be?
"That he's not you." she whispered simply, "...that he's not
you."
Epilogue:
As Red Rock Mesa once again returned to the lonely solitude of it its ageless
journey through time, a raven, the mystic persona of eons past, circled
slowly above the mouth of the cavern, searching the earth for the promise of
prey.
Spying a small silver flicker, glinting alluringly at the mouth of the
cavern, it dropped lightly down into the red dust below and crept carefully
forward to inspect its prize.
It was tiny...tiny enough to be born away in its beak...tiny enough to be
stashed with the many other treasures already hidden by the curious scavenger.
Cautiously, the raven neared the glittering object...testing the wind for
signs of approach...of danger, then paused. Lifting it's head, it turned to
stare questioningly into the dim interior of the cavern itself...then flapped
its wings and took flight, the tiny silver charm abandoned until another
day...another time.
And so the morning melted into noon...and noon into evening. Finally the
blazing sun gratefully took refuge behind the edge of the world, leaving in
its wake the trailing flames of another day... lost in the crimson maze of
eternity. As the first tiny stars made their way into the inky blackness of
the endless night, Red Rock Mesa was once again left to the ages...breathless
and still...alone and silent...
...save for the haunting notes of an ancient flute, calling wistfully through
the night.
The End
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