The throbbing in J.R.�s side was relentless, and he pressed his hand tightly against the injury in an ineffective effort to suppress the soreness as he led the way through the fissure that cut a narrow path through the rocky hill. Betty�s hand was clutched in the other hand. She followed closely behind, her ragged breathing indicative of her fear and exhaustion, but she uttered no complaints as she kept pace with his brisk strides.
The crevice was longer and deeper than he had initially thought, and appeared to be leading them down a gradual incline toward the back side of the hill. Sandstone walls rose up on either side of them to a height of more than eight feet at its highest point, and directly overhead was the blue of the sky. The fissure, a deep crack that had formed in the rock probably thousands of years ago, had been gradually enlarged and deepened by the erosive effects of wind and rain until it was now large enough to enable the man and the woman to traverse the winding pathway with relative ease. It twisted and turned, widened and narrowed again with no pattern. Repeatedly, they had to maneuver their way over chunks of sandstone that jutted up from the earthen floor.
J.R.�s biggest concern was that the fissure would terminate in a dead end or a barrier too high to climb over, creating a fatal trap. Another possibility was that they encounter one of the other drug dealers at the other end, and become caught between them. He did not voice his concerns to Betty, but he knew that she was aware of that possibility as well.
With a mild shudder, J.R. was very much aware of the fact that he had come within mere inches of being shot in the head when the criminal had shot the can from his hand. That misjudgment would have been corrected had the assailant been able to fire off another round. He had been very fortunate that the man�s gun had jammed.
Behind them, they heard the sound of a rock clattering down the sandstone walls, and realized that one of the other drug dealers had joined in the search. He was probably somewhere at the top of the crevice, and had accidentally kicked a rock down the sheer sides. Glancing over his shoulder, J.R. lifted his eyes to the rim, expecting to find a gunman gazing down at them through the barrel of his pistol, but was greatly relieved to see only blue sky overhead. Good. The man was too far behind to see them through the twisting and turning corridor.
�Where are they, Kline?� asked a gruff voice high overhead and behind them, so sudden that both J.R. and Betty jumped at the abruptness of it. �Are you sure they came this way?�
�They�re in here somewhere,� responded the voice of the man who had taken a shot at J.R. They could tell by the direction of his voice that he was somewhere inside the fissure behind them. �This is the only they could have gone without you seeing them from your position.�
J.R. glanced over his shoulder again, his eyes fixing briefly on Betty�s wide terrified eyes. Though he knew it wasn�t necessary, he pressed a finger to his lips, urging her to remain silent. She nodded her agreement and crowded close against him, urging him forward. As quietly as possible, they pressed forward, grateful that their sneakers made almost no noise on the hard ground.
�Was that you who fired the shot?� asked the first voice.
�Yeah,� growled the shooter. �My sights are off on this damn pistol.� He did not add that the gun had jammed, probably from improper loading, which had prevented him from firing off a second shot.
�Any idea who they are?�
�No, but they�re unarmed.�
�Good. We should be able to deal with them with no resistance once they�re captured. Could you tell if they were carrying the drugs with them?�
�I don�t think so. They probably stashed it somewhere, or it could be that Abbott stashed it when they split up.�
�No matter. We have ways of dragging information out of them.�
Without making it a conscious thought, J.R. hoped desperately that they never found out what methods the drug dealers used in obtaining information.
Finally, he saw open spaces beyond the end of the fissure and he picked up his pace, eager to be out of the confining space. He knew that the very act of moving into the open presented additional dangers, but it was necessary to elude their pursuers.
As they neared the opening, J.R. slowed down and approached it with caution. Leaning out just far enough to peer around the edges in all directions, he observed the vast expanse of desolate terrain that lay before him. For mile after mile, the rugged hills rose in tall jagged peaks toward the larger mountains. There was no sign of any kind of life except an occasional clump of scrub brush, but particularly, there was no sign of any human in the vicinity, nor was there any sign of the helicopter.
Glancing over his shoulder at the frightened woman, he whispered, �Let�s go.�
Cautiously, they moved into the open, their eyes continuously scanning the area around them and, in particular, behind them, searching for any indication that danger was lurking nearby.
Halfway across the open space, J.R. released Betty�s hand and stopped abruptly. He blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear the sudden blurriness of his vision, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Betty was watching with a worried frown. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she asked, �J.R.? Are you all right?�
The world became sharp again, and he nodded, briskly. �Yeah. I�m fine.� He pointed toward a gap between two rises. �Over there.�
Betty knew that he was not fine, but with a possible killer on their trail, she understood that the first priority was to find a place of refuge. Together, she and J.R. jogged across the open space and moved into the notch between the rises of ground, and collapsed behind one of them.
There, suitably concealed behind the rocks that jutted out of the landscape, they crouched down and gazed toward the fissure, waiting to see if they were still being pursued. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a man emerged from it, looking about him, clearly searching for them. The muzzle of the pistol he carried was pointed at the sky, but his finger was on the trigger, ready to bring it into firing position.
Beside him, J.R. heard Betty�s breathing accelerate in sudden panic at the visible threat of the man with the gun. �Oh, God, there he is,� she whispered, fearfully, struggling against the urge to flee. She slid lower to assure that the man could not see her, and pressed her body against the hard ground, but J.R. continued to peer over the top of the rise.
�There�s the other one,� he said quietly, indicating the man who was approaching along the rim from above. Like his accomplice, he carried a pistol and was searching the desolate terrain intently in a decidedly predatory fashion. �I wonder where the other two are,� J.R. muttered to himself as his eyes scanned the area around the fissure.
�I don�t know,� Betty responded, her voice trembling with fear, wondering how in the world J.R. could remain so calm. �Let�s go,� she urged.
�Not yet. That guy on top of the ridge will notice any movement we make. Better to stay still for now.� He rested his right arm on the rocky ground in front of him, and he stroked his chin thoughtfully with his right hand. �I�d be willing to bet a month�s wages that they�ve split up to cover more ground. The other two are probably on the other side of the valley searching for the drugs in case Tyler hid them over there. There must be a fortune in cocaine in that suitcase Tyler was carrying, or they wouldn�t be this desperate to get it back.�
That sounded logical to Betty, but she too frightened to respond. Her heart was pounding so wildly at the nearness of the killers that she could hear it pulsating in her ears.
J.R. glanced at her, and saw that she was very pale and was obviously fighting tears. Placing his hand on the side of her face, he managed a weak smile. �Hey, it�s going to be fine,� he said, encouragingly, even though he had no earthly idea how they were going to get out of there alive. �The rescue crews are looking for us. All we have to do is stay ahead of these guys long enough for them to find us. We know where they are, but they haven�t spotted us yet, and that gives us the advantage.�
Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes as she stifled a sob. She clutched his wrist as she nodded, trying to force a smile that refused to cooperate.
J.R. rose up again and peered over the rise toward the fissure. The two criminals were still trying to decide which direction their prey had taken. Finally, the one that had emerged from the crevice moved off toward the west, the direction J.R. had hoped to take, for it offered the greatest protection in the form of boulders and irregular rock formations in the craggy hill. The other man, still standing atop the rim, turned around and retraced his steps in an apparent effort to find a way down. His path carried him out of sight.
When both men had disappeared from view, J.R. rose up again. �Okay, let�s go.� He pointed east. �That way.�
Keeping low behind the protection of the shallow hill, J.R. and Betty crept quietly away, moving farther from the scene of the plane crash and away from the men with guns.
Barnaby had been picked up earlier in the day by a rescue helicopter, and for the past few hours, they had searched the rugged ground below, searching for any sign of the downed aircraft.
Gazing out the window, his forehead pressed against the Plexiglas, the private detective had a better understanding of the daunting task faced by the rescuers. The seemingly infinite expanse of wilderness of southeastern California had hardly been noticed during his occasional flights over the area, but now, closer to the ground, he was suffering from eye strain as he searched for his loved ones. The glare of the sun and the discouraging enormity of the desert gave him a greater degree of appreciation for the men who did this sort of thing for a living.
Although the chopper was air-conditioned, the window was hot against his forehead from the heat outside, attesting to the tremendously high temperatures that Betty and Jedediah must be enduring. And he knew that they were enduring it, for his mind refused to allow room for the possibility that they could have perished in the crash. They could be injured, but he would not accept their deaths until he saw the bodies as proof.
Piloting the helicopter was Chris, a former Vietnam veteran who now volunteered his skills with the aircraft to the search and rescue teams that were frequently called into the Mojave Desert to rescue lost hikers and trapped rock climbers. Beside him, in the co-pilot�s seat, was Michael, an off-duty paramedic who had also volunteered his services.
Barnaby occupied the back seat, and had long ago answered all their curious questions about his relatives and his reasons for wanting to accompany them. They did not question the authority that had allowed him access to the rescue, for it often paid to have friends in high places, but they silently questioned whether the aging detective had the stamina to hold up under the stress of the search. Although neither man commented on the subject, Barnaby knew that both of them suspected that this mission would not be a rescue at all, but a recovery of bodies.
�Is that metal over there?� asked Michael, breaking into Barnaby�s thoughts.
Barnaby glanced at him quickly, and his eyes followed the direction the paramedic was pointing. The bright glint of a metal object reflecting the brilliant sun could be seen in the distance.
Speaking into his microphone, the pilot informed the others in the search crew. �This is Rescue Chopper Three. I�m picking up a metal object in my sector. Going to check it out now.�
�Roger,� crackled the reply.
The chopper soared above the rocky landscape toward the shiny object, whipping up dust and the occasional clumps of dried sagebrush and creosote bushes as it passed. Barnaby leaned forward eagerly, his eyes intent on the brightly reflecting chunk of metal.
�It�s an airplane,� the paramedic announced as they neared.
Barnaby�s heart skipped a beat, and he shifted in his seat, trying to get a better look at the crumpled, twisted wreckage of the small airplane below them.
�Looks like a single engine Piper,� the pilot said, squinting through his dark sunglasses as the dirty white fuselage. �And it�s been here a while, too,� he added. �Probably several years. Look at the brush and debris tangled up in the wreckage.�
�Wrong type plane, anyway,� said the paramedic. �Didn�t Biddle say the plane we�re looking for is a twin engine King Air?�
�Yes.� He adjusted his microphone, and spoke to the other searchers, �Looks to be an old crash site. We�re going down to have a look, but this isn�t the craft we�re looking for.�
Barnaby�s heart jumped again. �Going down? Why? You said yourself that this is an old crash. We could be wasting valuable time!�
�I know, Mr. Jones, but we need to see if there are any bodies aboard this plane, so that the authorities can be notified.�
�Can�t we just record the coordinates and come back after we�ve found Betty and Jedediah?� Barnaby insisted. �There is obviously nothing that can be done for anyone who might be aboard this plane! My cousin and my daughter-in-law are out there in this desert somewhere, and they have been since yesterday! Time may be running out for them!�
The pilot exchanged glances with the paramedic, clearly indicating that they did not believe that the people they were looking for would be found alive, but finally the pilot nodded. �All right, Mr. Jones.�
After recording the coordinates, he turned the helicopter away from the crash site, and guided his craft farther south in search of the more recent accident.
The sun was sinking lower toward the western horizon when J.R. glanced at his watch: it was after five thirty. Time was rapidly diminishing for a possible rescue that evening. Facing them was another night in the desert, this time with the potential of being overtaken by a group of killers. They would have to take turns keeping lookout to prevent being apprehended while they slept. He was already exhausted, and knew that Betty was as well. They had acquired very little sleep the night before, and, with the exception of the candy bars the afternoon before, they had had nothing to eat since breakfast the previous day.
They had stopped to rest in the evening shadow cast on the east side of one of the desert�s many clusters of boulders that lay at the foot of the jagged hills, and with a sigh of weariness, he leaned back against the boulder and allowed his body to sag with fatigue. He knew that soon they would need to start searching for a suitable place to spend the night, someplace sheltered where they would be able to keep an eye on the surrounding terrain. He had no idea whether or not the drug dealers would also decide to spend the night in the desert, but it was better to stay alert.
Seated beside him, Betty had folded her arms on her upraised knees, and was resting her forehead on her arm. Like his, her clothing was dirty and sweat-damp; her beautiful fluffy hair was limp. Several locks had come loose from the scarf she used to hold it back, but she made no attempt to replace them. She was simply too tired to concern herself with it. Her makeup, impeccably applied before leaving her apartment yesterday morning, was long gone.
They had seen no sign of the drug dealers since leaving the fissure hours earlier, but J.R. did not become complacent and allow his guard to fall. In all probability, they were still out there searching. Though his body was relaxed, his eyes were scanning the landscape for any sign of movement. Lifting his eyes higher, he gazed longingly at the vast sky overhead, desperately wishing to see a friendly airplane or a helicopter. He saw only endless, cloudless blue. The drug dealers had not returned to the sky either, apparently realizing that the sounds of the rotor blades would alert their prey to their presence. They were much deadlier on the ground.
The silence was broken by the grumbling of Betty�s stomach. She turned her head on her forearm and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for the comment that she knew he would make.
�Hungry?� he asked, lifting his eyebrows in an attempt to be cheerful, even though he wasn�t feeling very cheery at that moment.
�A little,� she replied, refusing to admit that she was feeling weak and nauseated from the gnawing emptiness in her stomach.
�Yeah, me too,� he replied, rubbing his hand on his abdomen as if to sooth the empty rumbling inside. �What I wouldn�t give for one of my mom�s spaghetti dinners, right now. That woman was a great cook.�
�Please, don�t talk about food right now,� she scolded. In an effort to at least partially fill the void in her stomach, she reached down beside her and picked up the can of water that she had firmly propped up on the ground beside her. It was alarmingly light, and she shook it in her hand, listening to the rapidly diminishing amount of liquid that it still contained. Glancing quickly at J.R., she saw that he was looking back at her with a solemn expression. Since losing the other can of water, Betty had shared hers, but with two people drinking from the same reserves and natural evaporation, it was nearly gone. �I didn�t notice it being this light before,� she said.
�It�s evaporating in this heat.� He nodded toward the can. �You go ahead. Better to drink it than to let it evaporate.�
She was thirsty enough that she could have easily done just that, but as tempted as she was, she could not, in all conscience, deprive him of his fair share. He was as thirsty as she was. �No, there�s enough for us each to have a swallow,� she told him.
She lifted the can to her lips and drew in one mouthful, savoring the wetness in her mouth for a moment before swallowing it, knowing that it would probably be her last for a while. Then she passed the can to J.R. He hesitated, reluctant to drain the last of her water, but at her insistence, he lifted the can to his lips and took in the last mouthful. With a discouraged sigh, he lowered the empty can. It was gone. From this point forward, they would have to do without.
�Well, I guess that�s that,� he said, regretfully.
She dropped her head onto her arms again and drew her hands close against her head in an effort to hide her despair from him.
He seemed to understand, and placed a comforting hand on her back between her shoulder blades, rubbing gently. �Hey, it�ll be all right. We�ll be a little uncomfortable for a while, but we�ll get through it.�
�I�m not a little girl, J.R.,� she said, sharply, turning her face to glare at him. �I know things are getting desperate for us!�
Surprised by her outburst, he withdrew his hand, but did not refute her statement.
She regretted her sharp tongue immediately. Raising her head again, she shrugged, ashamed. �I�m sorry. I should haven�t have snapped at you. I�m just so damn hot and tired.� Lifting a hand to her sore shoulder, she grimaced slightly as she rubbed it. �My shoulder hurts, I have a headache, and I�m hungry and thirsty. Not to mention the fact that we�re being chased by men who want to kill us! I just want this to all be over with.�
J.R. could not recall a single time that he had heard Betty Jones swear, but he refrained from commenting. This was not the time for teasing. �Betty, I know it seems hopeless, but they are going to find us. I�m not just saying that. It�s just going to take time.�
�And what if those goons find us first?� she retorted.
�We�re staying ahead of them,� he reminded her.
She kneaded her forehead with her fingertips in an effort to reduce the throbbing in her temples. �Why is it taking so long? Why don�t they find us?� The unthinkable suddenly sprang into her mind, and her eyes widened in alarm. �Oh, God, what if they�ve given up on us?�
�They haven�t given up on us,� J.R. insisted. �You know Barnaby. He won�t stop searching until he finds us.�
She covered her face with her hands and wept softly in anger and frustration. �I don�t know how much more of this I can take!�
�You�re strong, Betty,� he told her, gently. �You�d be surprised how much you can tolerate.� Moving closer to her, he placed his arms around her and attempted to draw her nearer. She resisted briefly, stiffening as he pulled her against him.
�No, don�t . . . .� she said, attempting to push him away.
�It�s okay,� he said quietly against her hair. �It�s okay.�
Giving in to frustration, she pressed her face against his shoulder, and he held her with comforting arms as her body convulsed with quiet sobs.
Her tears did not last long, and when she was under control again, she drew back, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. �Here I sit telling you that I�m not a little girl, and then I act just like one.�
�No, you�re not. You�re just upset and scared. Believe me, so am I.�
�You�re not the one who�s crying.�
�Well, I was never a little girl,� he offered by way of explanation.
She managed a smile at his attempt at humor. �No, I guess you weren�t.�
�There, that�s better,� he said. �I don�t have a handkerchief,� he said, helping her wipe the wetness from her cheeks with his fingers. �Are you rested enough to go on?�
She was not eager to get back to her aching feet and resume their hike through the blistering sun, but she understood the need to put as much distance as possible between them and the men with guns. She nodded. �Yeah.�
�Okay.�
They stood up, both of them using the boulder for leverage, and as they did, J.R.�s eyes fell upon the aluminum can that he had placed on the ground. If their pursuers saw it, it would give them an indication that they had passed that way. Gripping his ribs protectively with one hand, he bent down and picked up the can with the other.
�Guess we�d better take this with us, at least until we can find a place to hide it.�
�J.R.!� Betty urgently grasped his arm.
As he turned curious eyes to her in response, he saw that she was staring past him. Turning quickly, he saw a man carefully picking his way down the rocky slope of the distant hill.
Instantly, he and Betty squatted down behind the clump of scrub brush.
�Good eye, Betty. I don�t think he�s seen us, or he would have already taken a shot,� J.R. mused. Grasping her hand, he said, �I think it�s time to leave this place.�
Once again, they pressed onward, keeping close against the protection of the ridges and hills, always aware of the fact that they were leaving the crash site farther and farther behind.
Finally, J.R. spotted a narrow horizontal cleft in the rocks just above ground level. It was less than two feet high, a narrow squeeze, and about five feet in length.
�Hold this,� he said, shoving the pop can in Betty�s hand.
Dropping to his hands and knees, he peered into the darkness beneath the rocky opening.
Squatting down beside him, Betty grasped his shoulder. �What are you doing?�
�This may be a good hiding place,� he responded.
She looked dubiously at the narrow opening. �I don�t know about this, J.R. There could be snakes or scorpions under there. If we were bitten . . .� She didn�t complete the sentence. There was no need. Without a doctor nearby and no rescue in the foreseeable future, it was a dangerous endeavor.
�I wish I had a flashlight,� he lamented.
Picking up a small rock, he tossed it into the cleft, and listened carefully as the rock clattered against the stone wall at its deepest point. Leaning closer to the ground on his elbows, his rear end pointing skyward, he positioned his ear closer to the opening and listened intently for the tell-tale rasp of a rattlesnake�s warning but heard nothing but silence.
�If there had been a rattler in there, that rock should have stirred it up,� he reasoned.
�Not necessarily,� she cautioned. �While most of them respond to a threat by rattling their tails, there are some that strike without warning. And the rattler isn�t the only venomous snake,� she added.
�Well, there�s only one way to find out for sure, isn�t there?�
Stretching out on his belly, trying to ignore the constant throb of pain in his side, he pulled himself into the cleft beneath the rock, knowing fully well that if a rattlesnake or scorpion had taken refuge from the heat of the sun, he could be bitten or stung before he even realized that it was there.
�J.R.! Be careful!� she urged.
�I will,� he promised, his voice muffled as he pulled himself deeper into the cleft. His hand moved over something smooth and hard, and he investigated it with his finger tips, realizing almost right away that it was a small skeleton, probably that of a large field mouse or a rat. He gathered up the bones and tossed them aside, uncertain how Betty would react if she found them.
Then, his groping fingers touched something dry and papery, and he jerked his hand back on reflex, realizing that it was a dried snake skin. So, the cleft had at one time been used by a snake, but it seemed to have abandoned its lair. It was empty of animal life.
Betty watched nervously. All that remained in the open was his lower body, from the hips down, twisting and turning as he shifted positions inside the cleft to inspect the shelter for dangerous animals or reptiles. Finally, he pulled himself out, groaning with fatigue. Rising up on his knees, he brushed the dirt and gravel from the front of his shirt and his chest with his hands. �All clear,� he announced.
She gazed at him for a long moment. �J.R., I don�t know if I can get in there!�
�It�s perfectly safe,� he assured her. �No snakes or scorpions, I promise.�
�It�s just . . .� She frowned, making a repulsed expression as she looked at the dark opening. �It�s just so close.�
�Are you claustrophobic?� he asked, surprised.
�Not really. I mean, not much. It�s just . . .�
�What?�
�What if it caves in?�
�It�s solid rock, Betty. I promise, it won�t cave in.�
She shifted her gaze around the horizon, but so far there was no sign of their pursuers. �You saw that gap,� she reminded him. �If you can see it, so can they. And if they do, we�ll be trapped under there.�
�Hm, good point,� he mused, his eyes searching the landscape for something useful. �Ah-ha!� he said triumphantly, rising to his feet again.
He moved to a dead creosote bush with a three foot span and seized it in his hands and pulled. Its roots ran deep, seeking moisture during its difficult lifetime, and it refused to relinquish its hold. He took a firmer hold and leaned back, pulling as hard as he could. The clump of brush abruptly yielded, and J.R. sat down hard, momentum carrying him over onto his back. It would have been funny had it not jarred his injured ribs so badly. His hand immediately went to his side again.
Betty knelt beside him. �Are you okay?�
�Yeah, I�m fine. I just wasn�t ready for it to come out of the ground yet.� He gasped a few times. �Damn it, I can�t even draw a deep breath.�
�You�d better rest a few minutes.�
�We don�t have time.�
He struggled to his feet again, noticing the pop can that Betty had set down when he entered the cleft. It seemed prudent to cast it as far as he could, which would hopefully lead them away from their hiding place inside the cleft.
Stooping, J.R. picked up the can and hefted it in his hands, testing the weight.
Betty watched, curiously. �What are you doing?�
�Laying a false trail,� he replied.
He gripped it tightly in his hand, then hesitated briefly, knowing in advance that what he was about to do would cause a stab of pain in his ribs. He grimaced, slightly. Painful or not, it needed to be done. Bracing himself, he drew his hand back and tossed the pop can farther up the trail, near enough to be seen, but far enough from the cleft to hopefully lead the drug dealers away from them.
J.R. managed to stifle the scream that rose in his throat as his ribs cried out in agony. As he clutched his side with his hand, the pop can soared through the air in a graceful arch, then struck the ground with a clatter and rolled several more feet, coming to rest a respectable distance from the man who had thrown it.
Betty was at his side in an instant, steadying him to keep him from falling.
�I�m okay, I�m okay. With a little luck, the bad guys will spot the can, and believe that to be the direction we had took,� he explained.
When the pain was manageable again, he smoothed down the ground he had disturbed when he had uprooted the bush, then grasped the stem of the dead shrub and made his way back to the opening, dragging the dry clump of brush behind him.
�You go in first,� he instructed.
Again, she hesitated with a decidedly repulsed expression. �Isn�t there any other place we can hide?� she asked.
�If you�ve seen such a place, let me know and we�ll go back to it,� he replied with just a trace of impatience at her resistance.
�No, I haven�t,� she admitted.
Given no other choice but to continue to remain in the open, or to hide and allow the pursuers to hopefully go on past them, she finally got down on her hands and knees and peered into the darkness.
�You�re sure there�s nothing in there?� she asked, looking up at him with worry in her eyes.
�I�m sure,� he replied, glancing over his shoulder. If she dallied too long, hiding would no longer be necessary.
Heaving a deep sigh of protest and disapproval, she removed her purse from her shoulder, and resolutely got down on her abdomen and dragged herself through the opening pulling the purse behind her. As soon as she had pulled her legs inside, J.R. blocked out the light as he pulled himself inside behind her.
It was extremely close quarters with two human bodies crammed into the narrow space. The cleft was not quite long enough for their entire length, so they were forced to bend their legs at the knees and turn them slightly to one side, even though there was not enough room for them to actually roll onto their sides. Betty was pressed against the rear wall and J.R. crowded right up against her, their shoulders and hips jammed tightly against the low ceiling.
�Are you aware that there are dead animals in here?� Betty�s voice came to him through the darkness.
�Yeah, I know,� J.R. replied, unable to suppress the smile in his voice in response to her calm query. He had expected the bones to generate more of a reaction from her. �I tried to move them out of the way, but there isn�t enough room in here to move anything out of the way. Oh, and there�s a snake skin in here, too, so if you ---�
He heard a thud in the darkness as her head connected with the low ceiling, followed by her low exclamation. �Ow! You just had to mention that, didn�t you?� she asked, rubbing the back of her head with her hand.
�Sorry.�
Reaching back outside, he grasped the bush and pulled it close against the mouth of their burrow. Twisting his body enough in the confined space to slip his hand into his front pocket, he withdrew the knife his father had given to him when he was a boy. Using the blade to dig into the soil, he buried the bush�s roots in the dry dirt and positioned it in such a way that it appeared to have been growing there naturally. Folding up the blade, he returned the knife to his pocket.
Then, they waited.
It was cooler inside the cleft, and the reprieve from the scorching sun would have been a welcomed relief had their place of refuge been a bit more comfortable. The rocky, uneven floor was littered with pebbles on which they were forced to lay, and every time they shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, a head, shoulder, or hip made contact with the low ceiling. Grateful for the cooler temperature, Betty folded her arm beneath her head, and felt the headache that had plagued her all afternoon slowly begin to ease.
After about five minutes, they heard a noise outside, the sound of shoes crunching on the hard, rocky ground as someone approached their hiding place.
�Can you see them, Kline?� asked a gruff voice.
�No,� came the response from just outside their burrow. �But I�m sure they came this direction.�
�I�m about ready to pack it up and go home,� said the first voice. �I�ve had it with this dust and heat.�
�You really want to face DuHart and tell him that we couldn�t find the merchandise?�
�Wish we had a tracker with us. This ground is so hard I can�t tell if they passed this way or not.�
There was a long span of silence. Peering through the dry branches of the bush, J.R. could see the shoes and ankles of one of the drug dealers as he stopped outside their burrow. His back was to the cleft, indicating that he was standing there gazing around at the landscape, looking for them. He was so close that J.R. could have reached out and grabbed his legs. That thought would have been tempting had the man been alone. Then, after overpowering him, he would have had a weapon with which to even the odds.
�Holsey, have you found anything on your side of the valley, yet?� asked the drug dealer called Kline.
An electronic garbled voice replied through what was apparently a walkie-talkie, but J.R. could not make out the words.
�Nothing here, either,� said Kline. �We�ve been following a man and a woman, probably friends of Abbott. The woman might be his girlfriend, but we don�t know for sure.�
Again, J.R. listened to the garbled response, but could only make out a word here and there.
�You�re breaking up,� Kline advised. �These damn hills and rocks!�
The first voice, more distant than that of the man outside the cleft, called, �Hey, I found something!�
�Holsey, we�ll get back with you,� he said into the walkie-talkie, then louder to the other man, �What is it?�
�Something shiny. Hang on.� Another pause ensued, and J.R. could easily envision the man as he approached the discarded pop can. �Just an aluminum can.�
The shoes quickly vanished from sight as Kline rushed toward his accomplice. �I shot a pop can out of the man�s hand. Could be they were carrying these to stay hydrated.�
The voices faded, and J.R. knew they were probably discussing the presence of the pop can and the possible direction they had taken. He moved his face closer to the entrance, and peered through the branches of the dead bush. He could just make out the two men as they walked away from the cleft, and then disappeared beyond the range of his vision.
�They�ve fallen for it!� J.R. said, turning his head to look at Betty. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that he could make out her face, only inches from his own.
She nodded, approvingly. �Good.�
�We�ll give them a few more minutes, in case they double back.�
They waited inside their hiding place for another ten minutes, until finally J.R. moved toward the opening.
�Wait here.�
�What are you going to do?� she asked.
�I need to find out where they are. It�s okay; I�ll be careful.�
He pushed aside the bush and emerged from beneath the cleft into the intense heat of the open desert again. Cautiously, he moved to the edge of the ridge and gazed down the path taken by the two drug dealers. They had crossed the narrow valley that separated the two hills, and he could just make out their shapes wandering around the other hill, still searching determinedly for them.
Triumphantly, he returned to the cleft, and knelt down beside it. �It�s safe. You can come on out.�
Betty pulled herself out of the hiding place, feeling almost reluctant to leave the cooler environment, yet glad to be out of the confining space. She rose unsteadily to her feet, and placed her hand on the rocky ridge to steady herself.
�Hey, you okay?� he asked.
�Yes. My leg went to numb.�
�Let�s go back the way we came and see if we can find a place to spend the night.�
Betty made no comment, but her expression spoke volumes.
�I know, I know,� he said, quickly. �I�m not thrilled about the idea either, but it�s getting late and the rescue crews will be retiring for the night. In the morning, we�ll head back toward the plane. I don�t want to get too far away from it.�
Together, J.R. and Betty retraced their steps, searching for a suitable place to rest until dawn.
Go to Act 6