Chapter 10

The DeSotos had been at the Bun Boy for about forty minutes; enough time for metal left out in the blistering heat to have grown hot enough to burn tender and unsuspecting flesh. Roy learned this the hard way as he reached for the camper's door handle, then pulled his hand back quickly with a soft hiss.

"Damn it," he swore as he shook his hand at the wrist for a moment, then reached into the front pocket of his jeans for a handkerchief. He was already sweating, though he'd left the air conditioned restaurant only moments before. He felt sorry for Johnny and the unenviable job of changing a tire out in this heat. Maybe that's why it was taking so long. But Roy knew that was a specious excuse, born out of his own worry. No matter what the weather, Johnny should have had that tire changed in fifteen or twenty minutes.

As Roy used his handkerchief to gingerly open the door to the truck, he let his eyes once more scan the highway. Cars whizzed by in both directions, but there was still no sign of Johnny's white Rover. Roy's eyes narrowed with concern as he reached across the steering wheel and grabbed the CB mic. As hot as it was outside, the interior of the truck was worse, and Roy decided it would be better to stand outside.

"Junior, this is Pally. Come in." He waited a moment, then repeated his call. "Junior, this is Pally, come in. Johnny, are you there?"

There was still only dead air. Roy stood for a time, chewing his lower lip, this thoughts churning.

Come on, Johnny, pick up the radio.

But there was still only silence on the other end. And it was that silence that was bothering Roy more than the amount of time that had elapsed, or the fact that there was no sign of the Rover coming down the highway. No matter what kind of problems Johnny might have encountered, whether he'd run into trouble with the spare, or merely run into traffic, Roy knew his partner well enough to know Johnny would have called. Johnny would be aware that both Roy and Joanne would worry about their son's whereabouts and he would be sure and let them know what was going on. Even if John had turned off the radio as Joanne had suggested, Roy was certain that Johnny wouldn't have gone this long without at least checking in.

Roy's fingers tapped absently at the mic in his hand, his gaze fixed on the southbound freeway. When, after another few minutes, Johnny still hadn't appeared, the captain made up his mind. He tossed the mic back into the cab and shut and locked the door. Then he made his way back into the restaurant, feeling the air conditioning hit his face like a cool wave.

He walked toward the table where his family was sitting. Judging by the empty plates and glasses, Chris and Jennifer had finished their burgers and fries and were working on their second round of Cokes. There was a newly filled iced tea at Roy's place and he picked it up and took a grateful drink as he sat down.

He felt Joanne's hand squeeze his and he saw the question in her eyes. He set his glass down and shook his head.

"Dad?"

Roy glanced up at his oldest son's question and saw both Chris and Jen waiting expectantly for his news.

"I couldn't raise him," he said, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"But, what could have..."

"Probably nothing, Jen," Roy interrupted his daughter's question, not wanting to hear the worry that was just starting to creep into the fifteen year old's voice. "Something must be wrong with the radio," he went on. "But just in case they had some trouble, I'm going to go back and take a look... see if I can find them."

Joanne grabbed up her purse and scooted back her chair. "It'll just take a minute to get the bill paid..."

Roy reached over to place a restraining hand on his wife's arm. "You and Jen stay put," he told her. "I'm just taking Chris with me." Joanne's eyes held unspoken questions, but Jenny wasn't as silent in her protests.

"But Dad, we wanna help..."

"You will be helping," he cut in with an understanding smile to soften her disappointment. "Somebody needs to be here in case John and Johnny show up. That's probably what's going to happen anyway, and then you guys can all sit here and be cool while Chris and me are out there driving around in the heat."

He let his smile widen, trying to keep things light. Jennifer relaxed and sat back in her chair with an air of resignation. But Roy could tell by the look on his wife's face that Joanne's concerns hadn't been assuaged. They'd been married long enough that Joanne would know why Roy was taking Chris with him; that he wanted to be prepared for all the possible scenarios - if Johnny were sick or injured and they needed someone to drive Johnny's car, or in the worst case, to drive the camper back for them if Roy needed to stay at an accident scene. He knew all those things would be going through Joanne's mind just as they were going through his, but there wasn't much he could do right now to reassure her.

He took one last swig of his iced tea, then motioned to Chris. "C'mon, let's get going." Roy reached into his back pocket, fished out his wallet and tossed two twenties on the table. "That'll pay for the kids' food and the drinks, and whatever else you two might want to order while you're waiting." He put a hand on Chris's shoulder and winked at Jennifer. "Guess you two weaseled your second lunch out of your ol' dad anyway."

Both teens laughed and even Joanne managed a smile. Satisfied that he was leaving them in lighter spirits, Roy leaned down to give Joanne a quick kiss. He then steered Chris ahead of him and they headed outside, back into the oppressive heat. As if the temperature had melted the smile off his face, Roy's countenance grew serious. He wished he could believe what he'd tried so hard to convince his family; that Johnny would pull up as soon as Roy and Chris headed out. But he'd had a bad feeling about the whole situation for quite some time now, and it only grew stronger as he climbed into the hot, stuffy cab of the camper and started the engine, turning on the air conditioner as well.

"Dad?"

Roy glanced over at the passenger side of the truck. Chris's face was apprehensive.

"You think something happened to them." It wasn't a question, and Roy knew he hadn't fooled his oldest son.

Roy's mouth tightened and he shook his head. "I don't know what to think," he admitted. He put the truck into gear and headed out of the parking lot. "I just know Johnny was only a few miles behind us. It wouldn't take him this long to change a tire, and it's a straight shot down the freeway. There's no way he could have gotten lost." He checked traffic and turned onto the northbound entrance to Interstate 15. In a few moments they merged onto the highway and were traveling back the way they'd just come.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

John came awake with a start. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, the boy sat up and looked around in a panic, trying to figure out where he was and why he was all alone. The ground under him was hard and rough on his hands. He was hot, and he was thirsty. His tongue was thick in his mouth, and his head felt heavy.

"Mommy... Mommy, where are you?" he croaked, his voice sounding small to his ears.

And then he remembered. He remembered the bad boys who wanted to steal Uncle Johnny's Rover, and Uncle Johnny telling him to find a place to hide until it was safe. John sniffed back the tears that had threatened and managed a smile as he remembered that this was his hiding place, his Pow Wow cave. Uncle Johnny would be so proud that he'd done what he'd been told, that he'd been able to take care of himself in a dangerous situation.

Just like Katori, he reminded himself, trying hard to push his fear farther away.

That thought calmed him somewhat, but after a few moments of sitting in the silent, dimly lit tunnel, the little boy grew fidgety. He was still thirsty; very thirsty, and he didn't like how quiet it was.

Leaning forward, John peered at the bright circles of light that shone at either end of the culvert. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it still seemed to be day time. Hopefully he hadn't slept while Uncle Johnny came by looking for him.

Suddenly afraid again, this time that he'd been left here alone, John crawled toward one end of the concrete tunnel. He slowed when he came to the end.

What if those bad boys are still out there? What if they hurt Uncle Johnny? I can't let them see me. I promised Uncle Johnny I wouldn't let them see me.

But he was hot and wanted a drink of water so bad. And he didn't know what to do. Very cautiously, he peeked his head out of the culvert, his eyes squinting in the brightness for a moment before he ducked back out of sight.

Nobody was there. The bad boys weren't there. They didn't see me. I wonder where Uncle Johnny is. I wonder when he's coming to get me.

John sniffled once more and ran his arm across his nose. He was trying his hardest not to cry. He knew Katori wouldn't cry. Katori would be brave.

His mind replayed the beloved story; so well known from many re-tellings. He'd done just what Jenny and Chris had done. He'd found a place to be safe, just like his brother and sister had all those many years ago when that very bad man was trying to hurt Jenny.

John's young brow furrowed in concern as he remembered what had happened next. Uncle Johnny had been hurt by the bad man; hurt too much to come and get Chris and Jenny from the Pow Wow cave. John's big brother and sister had waited and waited, but Uncle Johnny hadn't come for them.

"And then Chris told Jenny they had to be brave," John recited in a whisper. "They had to be like Katori and go back to help Uncle Johnny."

John darted another glance toward the daylight and sucked in his lower lip between his teeth. He wasn't sure what he should do. Should he leave the safety of his hideout and go back to the cars? Would Uncle Johnny want him to come back and try and help him? Or would he be mad that John hadn't stayed where he was and waited for him to come find him?

He didn't want to go outside. He didn't want to let those boys see him.

But what if Uncle Johnny's hurt? What if he needs me to get help like Chris did on Cody?

That was one of his favorite parts of the story and he'd spent many an afternoon pretending he was Chris riding down the dangerous mountain trail at breakneck speed, holding onto Cody's back for dear life. That had always seemed so exciting. But sitting here all alone in this tunnel under the road wasn't exciting at all. It was scary. Chris had been older than John was. Chris had been eleven, and to five and a half year old John, that suddenly seemed very old in comparison.

John swallowed hard and rubbed the heel of his hand at his suddenly tear-filled eyes. He wished he was home. He wished he was in his very own backyard still pretending he was Chris. He wished he really was Katori so he would know what to do. And he wished with all his heart that Uncle Johnny would show up and find him and tell him everything was okay.

But what if Uncle Johnny can't come get me? What if those bad boys hurt him? He was worried about it. I know he was. He didn't want me to be scared, but I could see his face was worried. What if he's hurt like he was before. He had to be in the hospital a long time and Mom and Dad thought he might die, and Gray Wolf and Grandpa Chayton came and Apani and everybody.

Once more John managed to sniff his tears away as a new resolve came over him. He had to do it. He had to be brave enough to help Uncle Johnny -- just like Chris had. He could do it. It didn't matter that he was only five. Like Katori had learned, you didn't have to be the biggest or the smartest; or in John's case, the oldest. And even though he wasn't as old as Chris had been when he rode Cody down the mountain, John was determined that he was going to go back and see what had happened to Uncle Johnny.

With only a slight hesitation, John crawled out of the culvert and into the glaring sunlight. As hot as he'd been inside the concrete tunnel, outside was worse. Trying hard not to think about how much he wanted a drink of water, John picked his way back up the ditch. He stopped when he was eye level with the road. He didn't want anyone to see him who wasn't supposed to.

He glanced up and down the empty road. There were no cars driving on it. He raised his head a bit higher and looked in the direction he'd come from. He was far away, and all he could see was a small, dark shape that looked like it might be a car. He couldn't see any white shapes that would be the Land Rover, but he didn't know if that meant the boys had stolen the truck or Uncle Johnny had driven it away.

John chewed on his lower lip. He didn't want to go that way if the boys were still there. Uncertainty made him look in the other direction, and then suddenly he lifted his head even higher. Far away - even farther away than the blue car - was another shape. And this one was light colored. Even though he couldn't be sure of the color, John's anxious mind soon convinced itself that it was indeed white, and that it was a car. And not just any car, but the missing Land Rover.

Certain that Johnny had managed to drive away from the boys, John stood up and began walking toward the car with renewed energy.

 Chapter 11

Rudy hadn’t walked as far as the Bel Air.  When his head cleared a bit and he’d gotten over the shock of seeing the dead man, he realized the futility in returning to his broken-down vehicle.  He wouldn’t be able to get it running again, meaning the most he could do was sit in it and wait for someone to come along who could give him a ride into Nipton.  But that would take Rudy right back to the reason he was headed this way to begin with.  They’d pass by the dead man, and whomever Rudy hitched a ride with would surely want to stop, and then the police would get involved, and then they’d look at Rudy with suspicion and ask him a lot of questions he had no answers to, just like they did that time the mine caved in and so many of his friends had died.  They’d tried to insinuate Rudy was at fault.  They’d tried to blame him for reasons Rudy was still uncertain of…maybe because his half-breed status and his isolated lifestyle made him an easy scapegoat.  If it hadn’t been for Farley sticking up for him, Rudy might be in prison right now.  It didn’t help to remember how hard he’d tried to rescue his co-workers, and how Farley was the only one he’d managed to save.  He’d never gotten any credit for his efforts, and after that, his trust in small town cops was non-existent.  It had happened a long time ago now, but Rudy hadn’t forgotten the humiliation of being interrogated about his friends’ deaths, when he already felt like an overwhelming failure for not being able to reach them in time.

 

Rudy pushed the old memories aside. He’d headed west when he’d reached the patch of dirt road Farley lived on.  Farley’s place was two miles off Nipton Road.  Farley didn’t have any better mechanical skills than Rudy, but he had a new Ford pickup truck and a thick tow chain.

 

Rudy sipped water from the Thermos as he trudged along stirring up dust.  A rattlesnake lazily crossed the road twelve feet in front of him, wanting to seek shade far more than he wanted to rear up and let Rudy know to keep his distance.  When Farley’s house came into view, Rudy was relieved to see the Ford parked in the driveway. Ten minutes later, he stepped onto the concrete porch that ran the length of the square stucco home that wasn’t much different in size and shape than his own.  One thing that was different, however, was the window air-conditioner in the living room.

 

Rudy knocked on the closed door.  When he didn’t get an answer, he knocked again, and then again, until finally he used his fist to pound on the wood.

 

“Hold yer horses!” Farley shouted from the other side.  “Geez, ain’t ya’ got no respect for a man with one leg ya’ gosh darn peas-for-brains idiot…oh, Rudy. It’s you.”

 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Rudy pushed past his friend into the cool room.  “If you’d shut that damn thing off you’d be able to hear me when I knock on your door.”

 

“No I wouldn’t, ‘cause if I shut it off I’d be layin’ here dead from a heat stroke.”

 

“Would not.”

 

“Would too.”

 

“Would not.”

 

“I said I would, and since it’s my house, I’ve got the final say-so.”

 

Rudy shrugged. “Guess ya’ do, but it’s a waste of money in my opinion.”

 

“And just what do I got to spend my money on other than a few luxuries I enjoy, like that thar air conditioner?  Ya’ don’t see any women lined up at my door, do ya’?”

 

“No. But then, no woman in her right mind would be lined up waitin’ for you.”

 

“Speak for yerself. You look like something the cat drug in.  A blind cat, that is.”  Without asking Rudy if wanted something cold to drink, Farley walked to the kitchen and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade.  He got three ice cubes from the freezer, dropped them into a glass, and poured the lemonade over them while they cracked and hissed.  He walked the few feet back to the living room and thrust the glass at his friend.  “Here, drink this.”

 

Rudy took the glass. “Thanks.”   He drained it in five swallows and handed it back to Farley.

 

“Want more?”

 

“Naw, I’ve had enough. But if ya’ don’t mind, I’ll fill this Thermos back up at the sink.”

 

“Be my guest.”

 

Rudy followed Farley to the small kitchen. He turned the tap onto ‘Cold,’ unscrewed the cap on his Thermos, and shoved it beneath the stream of water.  When he was done he stepped aside so Farley could put the glass he was still carrying into the sink.  The TV was on the living room; tuned to some soap opera Rudy knew nothing about because even when he had owned a TV, he sure didn’t watch that kind of crap.  A card table sat in front of Farley’s favorite easy chair with a half put together jigsaw puzzle on top of it. Rudy pointed at the box top on the floor depicting a 1922 Model-T Roadster.

 

“You’ve already put that one together.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That puzzle. You’ve already put it together.”

 

“So?  Maybe I wanna put it together again.”

 

“I gave you two new puzzles for Christmas.”

 

“I know.  And when I’m ready to work on ‘em I will, but for now, I wanna work on this one.  What’s it to ya’?”

 

“Nothin’, I guess.  If you wanna put together a puzzle you’ve put together at least three times before, then that’s your business.”  Rudy’s eyes flicked to the TV screen. A commercial for fabric softener had a woman looking far too happy about doing the laundry piled at her feet. “I hate to interrupt your afternoon. I can see you’ve got a lot of excitement goin’ on around this place.”

 

“Hey, keep the criticisms to yourself, friend. I happen to think huntin’ around a desert for rocks is a pretty stupid way to pass the time too, ya’ know.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry.  Listen, I need ride back to the Bel Air.”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“A few miles from here on Nipton Road.”

 

“She break down again?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Gonna buy yerself a new car now?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“That’s what I thought you’d say.  Want me to tow you to Palmer’s?”

 

“Nope.  Just wanna tow home.”

 

“But how ya’ goin’ fix it? You might as well let me tow it ta’ Kip’s.  If we take it to yer place, you’ll end up payin’ him ta’ tow it to the garage.”

 

“That’s okay.  For now, I want it at home.”

 

“But that just don’t make no sense, Rudy.  I can take her to Kip’s just as easily as I can take her to your--”

 

Rudy knew Farley was right, but he wanted to avoid Nipton at all costs today.  Besides, if he had Farley tow the Bel Air to Nipton, they’d pass the dead man.  If they went to Rudy’s house instead, they’d be headed north and then west, away from Nipton.

 

“I just wanna get her home. I’m hot, I’m tired, and my feet hurt like hell in these damn cowboy boots. They mighta’ been made for ridin’ horses, but they sure weren’t made for walking very far.  Besides, I don’t wanna listen to Kip jaw at me today about it bein’ time for a new car.”

 

The grizzled old man shrugged. He’d known Rudy for a lot of years and was well aware of how stubborn the man could be.  “Have it your way,” Farley said, as he crossed the room to shut the TV off.

 

Farley’s limp wasn’t pronounced, but if you watched him closely, you could detect it.  Rudy’s eyes wandered to a corner of the living room where the crutches stood that Farley used when he didn’t have his prosthesis on.

 

Rudy followed his friend out of the front door. Farley walked to the shed that sat a few feet in front of his truck. He got his tow chain from it and hoisted it into the truck’s bed.  Rudy climbed into the passenger side of the Ford, while Farley got behind the wheel.  Farley shot his friend a sideways glance.

 

“Mind if I turn the air-conditioning on in here, Mr. Tightwad?”

 

“Waste of money, but she’s your truck, so do whatever makes ya’ happy.”

 

“You damn well better believe I will.”

 

Farley turned the air conditioning on full blast with no other intention but to annoy Rudy.  On any other day that might have worked, but on this day Rudy paid little attention to the cold air blowing in his face.  He was anxious to reach the Bel Air and be headed for home before Nipton Road was littered with cops asking questions Rudy had no answers to.

 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

"Why the hell doesn’t this goddam jeep have any air conditioning?" Shawn shouted, banging his hand on the dashboard loud enough to make Danny flinch.

"I dunno, man," the blond behind the wheel of the stolen Land Rover answered sullenly. "You’re the one who was so damn hot to get this car you..."

Danny bit back the rest of the words, not wanting to push Shawn, but they played out in his head anyway.

You killed a guy. You cracked his head open and killed him. Just to get a fucking car.

It had been nearly an hour since they’d switched cars out on that empty road in the middle of nowhere. An hour since they’d left that poor sucker bleeding into the dirt. If he hadn’t been dead when they drove off, he sure as hell was now. Danny knew anybody left out in this heat would quickly be buzzard food. But Danny didn’t want to think about that too much. And he certainly didn’t want to remind Shawn of what he’d done. The Angel Dust had made his friend’s temper dangerous and unpredictable, and it wasn’t improving as he came down off his high. The last thing Danny wanted or needed was for Shawn to let that anger loose on him.

Fortunately Shawn wasn’t paying close enough attention to have picked up on Danny’s blunder. He was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station he liked. When they'd first gotten back on the interstate, the only sound they could pick up was the frequent chatter on the CB. For a while it had been mildly entertaining, and Shawn had laughed over some of the more stupid sounding names people used on the airwaves.

But while most of the operators were long haul truckers talking about cops and weather, there was one man's voice they picked up frequently enough to start to give Danny the creeps. He kept calling for somebody named Junior, whose real name must be Johnny since he occasionally used that too. Danny knew there were all kinds of reasons for somebody not to answer. He could be out of range, he could be pulled off the side of the road sleeping, he could even have turned his radio off. But there was also the possibility that he could be lying dead on a deserted road where his buddy might never find him. That specter loomed over Danny's shoulder and with more and more certainty, that by the time Shawn finally shut the damn thing off and tried the commercial radio again, Danny's hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

They were close enough to Barstow now that they were even picking up a couple of the more powerful signals from L.A. Shawn eventually found one he liked and he settled back in his seat, his feet propped up on the open window.

Danny breathed a quiet, but relieved sigh. Hopefully Shawn was over the worst of his high. They were coming into the more populated areas and any irrational behavior would be much more noticeable.

"We need gas," he announced evenly. "We’re gonna have to stop in Barstow."

Shawn didn’t answer. He had his eyes closed and was silently singing along with Corey Hart about wearing his sunglasses at night.

Danny wasn’t sure if Shawn hadn’t heard him or if he was ignoring him. So he tried again.

"I think maybe we oughta dump this thing and pick up a different set of wheels. There should be plenty to choose from in Barstow."

Still all he heard from the passenger side was the soft thumping of Shawn’s hands on his thighs as he kept the rhythm of the music. Danny had just about decided he wasn’t going to get an answer when Shawn turned to give him a disdainful look.

"Barstow’s a beat town," he announced. "We’ll switch cars in San Berdoo."

Danny bit back a sharp retort about how stupid that was. This truck was too distinct. He really wouldn’t feel safe until they were in a nice, low-key sedan that wouldn’t stick out in the mass of traffic they were sure to hit as they came through San Bernardino and into Orange County. It made more sense to get rid of it as soon as they could. But Danny didn’t want to antagonize Shawn. It was too easy to give into a lifetime of habit and follow his friend’s lead.

"Okay, dude, if you say so. But we still need gas."

Shawn nodded and closed his eyes again, intent on the new song on the radio. After a moment he spoke without opening his eyes. "Just pick a place outta the way. Don’t go right into downtown."

Heaving another sigh, Danny started looking for exits that would take them to an outlying gas station. He kept hoping that focusing on the green freeway signs would keep the image of the dead man's bloody face out of his mind, but he wasn’t very successful.

 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

The sun baked down on the barren landscape, where the full heat of the day drove even the hearty desert creatures to seek shelter until the fierce temperatures lessened with the coming of the late afternoon. One small lizard darted under the arm of the man on the ground, seeking the meager shade it provided.

Lying in the dirt, Johnny was hardly aware of the heat beating down on him, drying his sun reddened skin and drawing the moisture from his battered body. Drifting in a hazy limbo, he wasn't even fully conscious. But he was aware of the pain. He wasn't lucid enough to localize the sensation, but it had become the only thing he was sure of - the only thing he could hang on to.

There were other things here in the gray mist that he existed in. Faces. And voices. Some were from long ago and some came from the present. But they swirled and merged in his mind, and he couldn't separate them - couldn't bring them into focus. And it hurt too bad to try. Whenever he tried to think - tried to concentrate on anything except the fog - the pain would increase until it became a thing unbearable and he had to retreat into the mist, waiting for it to lessen.

Only one time did he manage to recognize one image - one face. Recognition came with such a burst of urgency that he very nearly managed to drag himself all the way out of the haze that enveloped him. Almost. He was never able to open his eyes, but he did face the pain long enough to say the name.

"John."

It was so soft, so quiet in the vast emptiness, that it was merely a puff of a breeze in the sand that encrusted his parched and blistered lips.

­­­­­­ Chapter 12

John hadn’t expected it to be so hot.  If he’d known that the sun was going to burn the top of his head and back of his neck, he would have stayed in his hiding place.  At least it had been cooler in there than out here in the open.

The boy tried not to think about how much he wanted a drink as he walked toward the vehicle.  The bright sunlight distorted the road, making it seem like it was wiggling when it really wasn’t.  John squinted, but he couldn’t tell if the Land Rover was moving toward him.  He lifted an arm and waved.  When he attempted to shout, “Uncle Johnny!” the sound came out in a harsh croak, and John’s dry throat made him cough.

John ran a few steps, then walked, then ran.  He kept this pattern going despite the way the exertion burned his face bright red. 

Gotta get to Uncle Johnny.  Gotta get to him ‘fore he turns around and drives away. I musta’ hid so good that he couldn’t find me.  Maybe he’s walkin’ around looking for me, or waiting in the Rover for me.

“Uncle Johnny!  Uncle Johnny!”

John’s shouts weren’t any stronger than they had been earlier, but his actions brought him some comfort.  At least he was doing everything he could to get Uncle Johnny’s attention.

The harsh sunlight made it difficult for the boy to see the vehicle in any great detail until he was almost upon it.  Until then, it had just been a square shape on the side of the road.  But now, as John got close enough to see it clearly, his stomach suddenly hurt and tears rushed to his eyes.  This car wasn’t white like Uncle Johnny’s, it was a pasty pale green like the walls of the dentist’s office.  And it wasn’t a truck like Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover, but a…

John circled the vehicle, not sure at first what it was.  It kind of looked like the station wagon Ryan Murphy’s mom drove, only hers was clean, and new, and didn’t have a broken window.

John had been taught better than to nose around a strange vehicle, but as he looked up and down the desolate road and still saw no sign of the Land Rover, he wondered if the boys had taken it from Uncle Johnny, and if Uncle Johnny had borrowed this car from someone.  Maybe he’d find some of their things inside.  If he did, then John would know Uncle Johnny would be back soon, and that he should wait here.

John lifted the hem of his dusty shirt and used it to wipe the tears from his face. He walked around the car, trying each door, only to find all the doors locked.  Glass crunched beneath his tennis shoes as he approached the driver’s door.  Being careful of what few shards of glass remained in the window’s frame, John stood on his tiptoes, reached his right hand in, and lifted the depressed lock.  He pulled on the door handle and smiled with triumph when the door opened. 

The door was heavier than any car door John had ever opened before.  He planted his feet on the road and strained to pull with his arms until he had it open all the way. He climbed in the front seat, leaned out of the car, grabbed the door handle, and pulled the door closed with a grunt.  His feet dangled above the floor.  He looked around at the red interior.  Everything looked old – like it belonged in another time and place.

Curiosity got the best of John as he turned knobs and pressed buttons. Besides, it felt good to be protected from the sweltering sun, even though the vehicle was only a little cooler than outside.

The boy turned around and sat up on his knees.  He looked into the big back seat. 

“Wow!  Mom and Dad need to get a car like this.  Jenny would never yell at me about bein’ on her side again.”

John threw his left leg over the front seat, dangled there a moment, and then dropped onto the back seat like he was dropping onto a mattress at home.  He scrambled to his knees and looked into the long cargo hold.  He reached over and lifted a section of the blue blanket that covered the area.  His tears started again when he saw nothing but woven baskets, a neatly folded pile of rugs, and some cardboard boxes filled with bracelets and necklaces made with sparkling rocks.  There were no sleeping bags, or cots, or fishing rods  - nothing familiar to John at all.

The boy sank to the seat crying.  As his chest heaved he sobbed, “Mommy…Daddy?  Chris…Jenny?  Uncle Johnny….somebody.  Somebody come…c-c-come an’ get me.  Somebody ple-ple-please come an’ get me.”

John didn’t care any longer that Katori would do something a lot braver than sit in a car and cry if he were in John’s situation.  John didn’t want to be Katori any more.  He wanted to go back to being John DeSoto, and he wanted his dad to drive up in the camper and take him home.

“Dad?”  The boy looked out the windows.  “Daddy?”

No amount of pleas for his family or Johnny Gage brought any rescuers to young John’s aid.  Crying only made him thirstier, and when his stomach growled the boy cried harder.  It was bad enough being thirsty, hot, and scared.  Now he was hungry too.

When John’s tears finally stopped to the point they became an occasional ragged sob, heat and thirst drove him to his knees again. He rolled down the window on his right, then scooted across the seat on his knees and rolled down the one on his left.  He peered over the seat next, surveying the cargo hold.  Maybe there was lemonade in a container back here like Mrs. Murphy had put in her station wagon that day a few weeks ago when she’d taken John, Ryan, and Jordan Thomas on a picnic for Ryan’s birthday.

Johnny didn’t spot any lemonade, but when he lifted a far corner of the blanket, he did see a gallon milk jug filled with water.  He reached for it with a little shriek of delight and had to use both hands to hoist it to the backseat.  He unscrewed the cap and tipped the jug to his parched lips.  It was really heavy, and he spilled water all over his shirt, but John didn’t care.  The tepid water felt good as it soaked through to his chest. 

The boy drank and drank, thinking of how his mom yelled at Chris whenever she caught him drinking from the milk jug at home, and how she’d yelled at John the one time he’d tried it.  Right now, John wouldn’t even blink if his mom came along and spanked him for drinking out of this jug, like she said she’d do if she ever saw him copying Chris’s bad habit again.  He’d be so happy to see her that the spanking would be worth it.

John set the jug down on the seat and swiped at his mouth.  He leaned over the seat again and snared a small paper bag he’d spotted.  He unfolded the top and found a box of Cracker Jack and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.  His eyes lit up when he unwrapped the sandwich, took a big sniff, and smelled peanut butter.  Grape jelly oozed onto John’s fingers as he chomped right into the middle of the bread.  This wasn’t the white Wonder Bread he was used to.  It was light brown and had some kind of tiny seeds in it, but John was willing to overlook that oddity.

The boy alternated eating the sandwich with drinking water.  When the sandwich was gone, he opened the Cracker Jack box and ate the sticky caramel corn and peanuts until the box was empty.  He plucked the prize out, opened it, and spent a few minutes trying to get the tiny silver balls into the holes on the clown’s face. John shoved the toy into a pocket of his shorts, then drank more water.  When he’d had enough to quench his thirst, he tossed the crumpled up lunch bag onto the floor, and placed the now half-empty milk jug next to it.  He climbed out of the car on the passenger side.  The hot sun made him want to get inside the vehicle again, but he had to go potty real bad.  He looked around, but didn’t see anything other than scrub brush and Joshua trees. One of those would hide a five-year-old boy just fine.

John hurried behind a tree, unzipped his shorts, and did his business.  He felt a lot better when he was once again headed for the car.  He wasn’t thirsty, his stomach was full, and he no longer had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t want to cry again, but as he looked up and down the road and still saw no signs of his parents or Uncle Johnny, he couldn’t keep the tears from starting.  He climbed into the back seat and shut the door.  He sank to the floor, curled up in a ball, and cried himself to sleep.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Farley did a y-turn in the middle of Nipton Road, then backed up his Ford until he was a few feet in front of the Bel Air.

“You stay here,” Rudy instructed as he grabbed his Thermos from the seat. “I’ll hook the chain up.”

“Try startin’ her first.”

“She’s not gonna start.”

“She might.  You’ll feel like a damn fool if I tow ya’ all the way home, only to have her start when we get her there.”

Rudy grumbled something non-intelligible as he climbed from the truck.  He hated it when Farley’s advice was actually good.

The man walked around the Ford.  When he spotted the Bel Air’s broken window he swore.

“Dammit!”

Even with his window rolled up and the air conditioner on, Farley heard Rudy.  He rolled down the window, propped his left elbow on the frame, and stuck his head out.

“What’s the problem?”

“Somebody busted the window on the driver’s side.”

“Why would somebody do that?”

“Probably lookin’ for something to steal.”

Rudy walked to the rear of the vehicle.  He noticed the open backseat windows as he passed by. He assumed the thieves had rolled them down in an attempt to cool the car’s interior, before realizing it wouldn’t start.  The open windows mattered little to Rudy.  The only things he had of value in the station wagon were in the cargo hold.  He unlocked that window and pulled it up, then dropped the tailgate.  He poked his head inside and picked up the blanket.

“Anything missin’?” Farley shouted.

Rudy waited until he’d shut the tailgate and window again before answering his friend. He walked to the front of the car so he wouldn’t have to yell.

“Just my jug of water and my lunch.”

“Someone actually wanted to eat one a’ yer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and them Cracker Jacks you call dessert?”

“Guess someone did.”

“That’s mighty peculiar unless your thief was six years old, don’t cha’ think?”

“Don’t know what ta’ think, and don’t care.  The most important stuff is still there.”

Rudy suspected the boys who had tried to run him off the road were responsible for the vandalism to his car, but he didn’t say anything about them to Farley.

The man opened the driver’s door and slipped behind the wheel.  He lifted his hips far enough to dig his keys from the front pocket of his jeans.  He inserted the proper key into the ignition and turned it.  When nothing happened, he emerged from the car with a self-satisfied smirk he shot at Farley. 

“Told ya’ so.”

Rudy grabbed the tow chain from the Ford’s bed before Farley could answer.  He dropped to the ground and attached the massive hook at one end of the chain to the Bel Air’s front bumper, then got to his feet with a grunt.  He took the hook at the other end of the chain and attached it to the pickup’s rear bumper.   

Rudy pushed himself to his feet.  His lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his palm, then set the hat firmly on his head once more.  He walked the few feet to Farley’s window.

“Take her slow.  You’ll have to do a U-turn to get us headed to my place.  I don’t wanna slide off into the ditch.”

“How many times have I given you a tow?”

“I don’t know. Three or four maybe. Why?

“Then don’t be yackin’ at me about how I should or shouldn’t do it.  I’m the one who’s missing his TV shows to tow that hunk a’ junk you drive.  Git in the car and quit bein’ so damn bossy.”

“I’m not bein’ bossy.”

“You’re worse than a wife any day.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Before Rudy could argue further, Farley rolled up his window.  Rudy waved a hand in disgust and headed for the Bel Air.  He got behind the wheel, shut the door, slid the on-the-column shift into first gear, depressed the clutch, and gave a light toot of the horn to let Farley know he was ready.

It took a minute of maneuvering on Farley’s part to get both the truck and car headed north in a straight line.  Rudy kept the car steady as Farley drove.  They didn’t cross paths with any one on Nipton Road.  Nonetheless, Rudy was relieved when they turned right on to the unnamed scruffy desert road that led to his house.  He’d be glad to get home and put this day, and the memory of the dead man, behind him. 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rudy set the tow chain in the truck’s bed. He shuffled to the driver’s side where Farley opened the door so they could talk.

“Thanks for the tow.”

“ ‘Welcome. But I still think ya’ shoulda’ let me take ‘er to Kip’s.”

“And I don’t care what you think.”

“No shit, ya’ stubborn ole’ goat.”

Rudy ignored the insult.  “Wanna come in for something cold ta’ drink?”

“Nah. Wanna git back home.  I’m missin’ my stories.”

Rudy could think of fifty insults to toss at Farley over his obsession with those stupid soap operas, but since he’d need a favor in a couple of days, he decided it was best to forego the smart remarks.

“Would ya’ mind coming by on Thursday and givin’ me a ride to Kip’s?”

“I can come by tomorrow.”

“No. No not tomorrow. Day after tomorrow. Thursday.”

“I know when Thursday comes.  But why not ‘til then?” Farley pointed at the station wagon parked behind him. “It’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere.”

“I know, but I got things to do.”

“What things?”

Rudy’s desire to stay out of Nipton for the next twenty-four hours or so caused him to reply harshly, “Just things, okay?”

“Okay, okay.  Geesh! Don’t go gettin’ all riled up over nothin.’ ”  Farley squinted, studying his friend. “Are you all right?  Ya’ been actin’ funny ever since ya’ showed up at my place. Ya’ feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.  Like I said earlier, just tired and hot.  So how about it? Can ya’ come by on Thursday morning and give me a ride to Kip’s?”

“I can do that, ‘long as we’re back before my stories come on.”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time.  Pick me up around eight, okay?  I’ll buy ya’ breakfast for your trouble.”

“You got yerself a deal, friend.”

“And if you don’t mind, I’ll load some of my stuff in your truck then and drop it off at the hotel and the trading post.”

“I don’t mind.”

“And I need one more favor.”

“What?”

“When you get home, call the hotel and then the trading post.  Let ‘em know my car broke down, and I won’t be able to deliver my stuff until Thursday.”

“You know, a guy named Bell invented the telephone about a hundred years ago now. You should git yerself one.”

“Just one more expense I don’t need.  Besides, when I need to talk to someone, you let me use your phone.”

“Or ask me to be yer gosh damn secretary.”

“I’m buyin’ you breakfast for cryin’ out loud.”

“Okay, okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll call ‘em when I get home.”

Just as quickly as the bickering started, it came to an end. Rudy gave his friend’s upper arm a quick pat.  “Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Rood. See ya’ on Thursday.”

“Yeah.  See ya’ then.”

Farley backed the Ford onto the dirt road, gave Rudy a wave, and headed for home.  Rudy rounded the Bel Air and opened the cargo hold.  He’d never had a problem with anyone snooping around his place, but since the driver’s window was broken, meaning he had no way to secure the car, he’d feel better if his wares were in the house until Farley picked him up on Thursday.

Rudy made five trips back and forth from the Bel Air to the house; completely unaware of the wide-eyed little boy huddled as small as he could get on the station wagon’s back floor.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

 Men’s voices had awakened John.  At first, he thought he was dreaming.  He closed his eyes, then opened them again.  He repeated that action twice, but each time he did so he was still sitting on the floor of an unfamiliar car.  As sleep began to recede, he remembered walking toward this station wagon while thinking that it was Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover, climbing in it, and finding food and water.  He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember crying, and now he wanted to cry again.  He hoped those mean boys weren’t back.

When the voices sounded far away, John cautiously lifted his head.  He peered over the front seat.  An old man with long braids wearing a cowboy hat stood beside a pickup truck talking to someone.  John ducked down when the truck began to back up.  He risked peering over the backseat a few seconds later, and saw the man with the braids standing by the road watching the truck drive off.  When the man turned, John got a glimpse of his profile. 

Gray Wolf!

John almost shouted the name of John Gage’s grandfather, but then the man turned enough for John to get a good look of his face.  It wasn’t Gray Wolf. The boy’s heart sank.  The Indian man kind of looked like Gray Wolf, but he wasn’t Gray Wolf, and once again John felt frightened and alone.

The boy ducked to the floor again as the strange man approached the station wagon.  He remained hidden while the man dug around in the cargo hold.  John peered out the open window above his head each time the man’s back was to him, as he made a trip to the house carrying boxes.  John didn’t see any signs of the boys who had been talking to Uncle Johnny, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close by.  Maybe they knew this man.  Maybe they were his sons, and he’d told them to steal Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover.

John counted five times that the man walked back and forth to the house.  He waited and waited and waited, but the man didn’t come out for a sixth time.  It was getting really hot in the car.  John slowly lifted his head until his eyes reached the window frame.  He looked around, but didn’t see anyone. He wasn’t sure what to do, but it was too hot in the station wagon to hide in here much longer.

As quietly as he could, John opened the door and slid to the ground.  He looked around again, hoping to spot the Land Rover.  All he saw, however, was a small square house with a long wooden front porch capped by a low roof that made John think of houses he’d seen on the John Wayne western movies his Grandpa Stellman liked to watch on TV whenever he and grandma visited from San Diego.

There was a shed next to the house, where a garage might set if the man had a garage.  The door on the shed was closed, so John couldn’t see if the Land Rover was inside of it. 

Maybe he had the mean boys hide Uncle Johnny’s Rover.  If I find it I can…I can…I can walk to a police station and tell on them.

John ignored the part of his brain reminding him that he had no idea where he was, or how close a police station might be.  He just knew that when someone had done something wrong, like stealing a truck, you told the police about it.

With one eye on the house, John inched toward the shed.  He could see that the house’s front door was open.  It had a screen door too.  The man must have left the door open so the house wouldn’t be hot inside like the car was.  The windows were open too, so John knew he had to be very quiet.

John reached the shed and scurried to the side that couldn’t be seen from the house.  There wasn’t any window he could look in.  He inched toward the rear of the building, peered around the corner, and again saw there was no window.  He rounded the back of the building, flattening his body against the weathered wood.  John slid along it until he came to the back corner and could peer to his left.  This side of the shed faced the house, so John didn’t want to walk into the open.  He stuck his head out as fast as a rattlesnake strikes, didn’t see a window, and flattened himself against the building again.

John bit his lower lip with indecision. The only way he’d be able to see if the Land Rover was inside the building was to go to the front of it and try opening the double doors. 

The little boy retraced his steps until he was standing at the front corner of the shed. Closing one eye tight, he peeked around the building with the other.  There was no movement outside of the house, and no one sitting on the front porch.  John counted to ten, took a deep breath, and ran the few feet to the doors.  He grabbed a silver knob, ignoring the heat that blistered his hand.  He turned the knob to the right, and at the last second remembered not to shout with victory when the door opened. 

The boy slipped inside the building. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior.  He craned his neck, looking up, down, and all around.  A tool bench ran the length of one wall and was covered with the kinds of tools John’s father had at home.  Another wall had hooks for shovels, and axes, and other tools John couldn’t identify.  Right in the center of the shed was a big wooden thing that had pedals and two levels of wooden slats with heavy string strung between them.  John didn’t know what it was.  It kind of looked like what he imagined the inside of a piano would look like.  He reached out to touch one of the strings, but before his hand came in contact with it, someone grabbed his shoulder and a voice boomed, “Hey! What are you doin’ in here?”

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rudy shook the boy’s shoulder.  “I asked you what you were doin’ in here.”

“Uh…I’m…uh…”

“You’re what?”

Tears swam in John’s eyes.  This man wasn’t nice like Gray Wolf. He was holding on to John’s shoulder real tight, and he looked real mad.

“I-I-I was…I’m looking…looking for Uncle…Uncle Jo-Johnny’s Rover.”

“I don’t have your uncle’s dog.  Now get on with you.”

Rudy gripped John’s shoulder and escorted him from the shed.

“It’s…it’s not a dog.  It’s a tru-truck.”

“A truck?”

“Uh-uh-uh huh.”

“Well I don’t have anyone’s truck either.  Do you see a truck ‘round here, boy?”

The terrified John couldn’t summon more than a whisper. “N-N-No.”

“Now where’d you come from?”  Rudy glanced up and down the road, but didn’t see any vehicles.  His nearest neighbors, the Ramsey’s, lived four miles away, and their children were long grown up and gone.

“You aren’t one of Phil Ramsey’s grandkids, are you?”

“N-N-No.”

“Then how’d you get here?”

John pointing a trembling finger at the Bel Air.

Rudy looked from the boy to the car. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you hitched a ride in my car?”

“Uh-uh-uh huh.”

Rudy let go of John’s shoulder. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his uninvited visitor.  “Did you break the window?”

“No,” John shook his head. “It-it was already broken when I got there.”

Rudy’s demeanor softened just a little as it sunk in with him how young and scared the child was.  “Well, where’d you come from then?”

John looked up into the man’s face.  He didn’t know if he should tell the man about how the Land Rover had a flat tire, and Uncle Johnny stopped to change it, and then the two mean boys came along that Uncle Johnny told John to hide from, or if he should keep all of that a secret for now.  If this man was the father of the mean boys, then he might hurt John.  If he wasn’t the father of the mean boys…well, then John could tell him the story later on.

“Son, I asked you where you came from.”

John simply pointed to the Bel Air again.

“I know you rode here in my car, but where’d you come from before that?”

John shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

“N-N-No.”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“I’m sure.”

“What’s your name?”

John almost said, “John DeSoto,” but then had a quick change of mind. Until he knew if this man was a bad guy or a good guy, he had to be careful.

“Katori.”

“Ka – what?”

“Katori.”

“What kinduva name is that?”

John’s eyes grew round with shock. “Don’t you know?”

“No. Should I?”

“It’s Indian.”

“You don’t look Indian to me.”

“Gray Wolf says I am.”

“Who’s Gray Wolf?”

“Uncle Johnny’s grandpa.”

“Uncle…?  Oh. The guy with the truck named Rover.”

“It’s not the truck’s name.  The truck is a Rover. It’s kind of like…well, it’s kind of like your station wagon, only taller.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say.”

“It is.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“And I suppose you’re gonna insist you name is Kat…whatever you said.”

“Katori.”

“I suppose you’re gonna insist that’s your name, too.”

“It is my name. Katori. Do ya’ know what it means?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“How can you not know?”

“I just don’t.”

“But you’re an Indian.”

“Only a part time one, kid.”

“Uh?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, do you wanna know what Katori means?”

“Sure.”

“He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Now you know why I just tell people my name’s Katori.”

“Yeah, I can see your point there.”

“It’s Uncle Johnny’s Indian name too.”

“Good for him.  Now just where is this Uncle Johnny you keep talking about?”

John shrugged.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You don’t know.”

“I don’t. I’m supposed to wait for him.”

“Where?”

“No place special. I’m just supposed to wait.”

Rudy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You didn’t run away, did you?”

“No.”

“Uncle Johnny…is he mean to you?  Did you run and hide from him because he hurt you in some way?”

“Uncle Johnny’s not mean! He would never be mean to me or hurt me! Never!”

“Okay, okay, don’t get so upset.”

“Then take back what you said about Uncle Johnny.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about him.”

“You said he was mean.”

“I did not! I only asked you…” Rudy shook his head with exasperation.  This is just what he needed - a runaway kid on a day when he didn’t want to get anywhere near a police station. However, since his car wasn’t working and he didn’t have a telephone, there wasn’t much Rudy could do with the boy at this moment regardless of whether he wanted to talk to the police or not. 

Rudy sighed and placed a hand on John’s back.  “Come on, Katori.”

“Where to?”

“Inside the house. It’s too hot to stand out here talking about Rovers, and Indians, and Uncle Johnnies.”

John hesitated.

“Well, come on.  I don’t bite.”

The boy’s reluctance to enter a stranger’s home was softened by two things.  First, the hot sun beating on his head, and second, the fact that in appearance, the man reminded him of Gray Wolf.

John finally worked up the courage to walk beside the man.  “What’s…what’s your name?”

“Rudy.”

John wrinkled his nose.  “Rudy?”

“What’s the matter? Ya’ don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.  What’s your Indian name?”

“I don’t have…” Rudy’s eyes twinkled when he decided to play along with the child’s game. “Cloud Jumper.”

“Cloud Jumper.” John repeated the name, then gave the man a tentative smile.  “I like that.”

“Glad it passes your muster.”

“Does that mean you’re glad I think it’s okay?”

“That’s what it means.”

John paused at the threshold of the door. 

“Come on,” Rudy urged while holding the screen door wide open.  “Hurry it up there. I don’t wanna be lettin’ any flies in.”

John closed his eyes a brief second, fought to find the courage of Katori, then opened his eyes and followed Cloud Jumper into his house.

­­­­­­ Chapter 13

"And how long did you say they’d been missing?"

"They shoulda been here over two hours ago," Roy told Highway Patrol Officer, Don Cooper, who was busy taking notes in a small pad.

They were standing on the side of southbound I-15, a hot afternoon breeze plucking at their shirts. Every few minutes a car would whiz by them with a whoosh of slightly cooler air. If any of the passing occupants gave them any notice, it was probably only to feel sorry for the poor joker who got pulled over and to be glad it wasn't them.

Roy and Chris had driven nearly all the way to the California/Nevada border, with no luck spotting John and Johnny, or the disabled Rover. Roy had done his best to keep up an optimistic front for Chris’s sake, assuring his son several times that they didn’t need to worry, that they’d probably find the Rover sitting in the Bun Boy parking lot when they got back, but he knew neither of them really believed that.

As they pulled off the highway, turned around and headed south, it grew silent in the camper. Neither father nor son said anything as the miles flew past and they neared Baker, where Joanne and Jennifer would be waiting anxiously for the news Roy wasn’t going to be able to bring them.

Roy had gone over and over in his mind what his next plan of action would be once he got back to Baker. The little desert town didn’t have much besides the restaurant and a couple of gas stations, but he assumed there would be some kind of law enforcement there. He knew this area was too vast and barren for just him and Chris to cover on their own. They were going to need help. He just hoped that help was near at hand, rather than another hour or two down the road. He couldn’t help the growing feeling that speed was important - that whatever had happened to his son and best friend - they needed to be found in a hurry.

He got his first break when he spotted a black and white Highway Patrol car pulled over to the side of the road a few miles out of Baker. A deep red Camaro had just pulled back onto the highway, obviously after being given a ticket. Roy made a quick decision and pulled up behind the patrolman.

As he and Chris stepped out of the camper, the policeman turned to watch them approach. He seemed the typical Highway Patrolman; tall and lean, with short, military cut blond hair. His eyes were hidden by a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and his right hand rested on his right hip, near enough to his gun to be ready for trouble. Roy supposed it was an overall image meant to be intimidating, and he understood the reasoning behind it. But this man was their link to help and Roy wasn’t going to be put off.

"Excuse me," Roy called out as he neared the officer. "I’m Captain Roy DeSoto, L.A. County Fire Department." He gestured to Chris. "This is my son, Christopher. We've run into a little trouble."

Roy had explained the situation, trying to convey his growing sense of urgency to the officer. He bit back his frustration at seeming to have to keep repeating the same sequence of events over and over as the patrolman took down his report, but Roy knew they were fortunate he’d found the officer since the man had informed them the nearest CHP office was an hour away in Barstow.

"Johnny radioed that he had a flat and was going to change it," Roy related again in answer to the patrolman’s question. "We went ahead to Baker to wait for them."

"And when was the last time you actually saw his vehicle?" Officer Cooper inquired.

Roy thought for a moment. Johnny had been behind him when they’d left Vegas. But shortly thereafter had made that brief stop. After that, Roy couldn’t remember ever seeing the Rover in his rear view mirror.

"I dunno for sure," he said hesitantly. "He pulled over for a minute and then..."

"So he’d stopped without you before this last time?"

Because of the reflective sunglasses the patrolman was wearing, Roy couldn’t see the man’s eyes to read what he was thinking, but he wasn’t sure he liked the tone in the officer’s question. If the man thought Johnny was playing some game or was being irresponsible with Roy’s son, then the fire captain was going to set the guy straight. But before he could say anything, Chris broke in.

"They stopped about half way between Vegas and Jean. Uncle Johnny said he had to get something out of the back of the Rover, but more than likely John just had to pee and Uncle Johnny didn’t want to get him in doghouse with Mom."

Roy spared his son a glance. Chris smiled weakly and shrugged, and Roy realized his son was speaking from experience - that Johnny had done things of that nature in the past to keep the DeSoto kids out of what he would consider needless trouble.

"Has Mr. Gage ever done this sort of thing before... taken off with one of your children for an extended period of time?"

Roy felt his worry and frustration churning into anger and he worked at keeping his temper in check. It wasn’t going to help the situation f he alienated the police. But he also wasn’t going to stand here and let this guy malign Johnny’s character.

"Look... how many ways do I have to say it? Paramedic Chief Gage..." and he stressed Johnny’s title to remind this man that they weren’t talking about some irresponsible teenager, "...is a highly respected member of the Los Angeles County Fire Department and has been a close friend of my family for years. He wouldn’t do anything to put John in danger."

The officer stopped his writing, reached up and at last took off his sunglasses, allowing Roy to see the man’s whole face. It wore an apologetic expression and Roy felt some of his tension dissipate.

"I don’t mean to imply anything about your friend," the patrolman stated. "I just have to get as much background as I can. You’d be surprised how many times things like this turn out to be nothing... merely somebody took the scenic route and forgot to tell anyone where they were going."

Roy opened his mouth to defend Johnny again, but the man held up his hand in an understanding gesture. "I know... your friend wouldn’t do that. He sounds like an upright kind of guy. So we’re left with a couple of possibilities... either he ran into trouble changing his flat and maybe hitched a ride with somebody..."

"He wouldn’t do that," Roy declared firmly. "Not with John."

"Or..." Cooper continued evenly, ignoring Roy’s interruption, "...some kind of trouble ran into him."

Roy didn’t like the sound of that last statement, but before he could respond, the policeman flipped his notebook closed, excused himself and moved to his squad car. Roy watched as the man reached in and pulled out the mic to his radio.

"You think he can help us, Dad?" Chris asked.

Hearing the worry in his son's voice, Roy turned to lay a reassuring hand on Chris’s shoulder. "They have resources we don't. They'll be able to cover a lot more ground... and a lot faster."

It was a flimsy explanation at best, but Chris didn't say anything else. Roy wasn't sure if his son was appeased by it, or if he merely recognized the uncertainty of the whole situation and knew there wasn't any real answer at the moment. Roy squeezed the teen's shoulder a little tighter, letting his son know he appreciated the mature way Chris was handling things.

After a few moments, the officer replaced the mic and walked back toward Roy and Chris.

"Okay, Captain DeSoto, here’s what we’re going to do. Under ordinary circumstances, we don't consider an adult missing until after twenty-four hours. But, because you son is with him, we're going to act on this now. I called in the report to our area office in Barstow. They'll put out an APB on the Rover. Within the time frame you've given me, they could be all the way into San Bernardino already."

"You think somebody stole it?" Roy asked, not wanting to think about what might have happened to his son and his friend if someone had accosted them while they were disabled on the side of the road.

"It's a possibility," Officer Cooper conceded, "but not the only one. We're not going to assume anything at the moment, except that they're unaccounted for. We'll also coordinate with the Nevada State Troopers in case they headed north."

The patrolman shaded his eyes and surveyed the desolate landscape. "There's a lot of little roads around here. Most of them don't lead anywhere... except maybe some private homes... or some old abandoned towns. But there are a few places they could have headed for... maybe looking for a tool or a car part... or to try and find help. We've got a fixed wing airplane... and a couple of helicopters. The pilots are good and know all the out of the way places. They'll be diverted from traffic patrol and assigned search and rescue." He lowered his hand and gave Roy a reassuring look. "If they're out there, we'll find them."

If they're out there. Those words echoed chillingly in Roy's brain and kept repeating themselves like some macabre chorus.

If they're out there... Johnny and John could be lost, wondering where the hell they were, hungry, thirsty, tired.

It they're out there... one or both could be injured, hurt by whomever had stolen Johnny's Rover. Roy's mind rebelled at the thought of his sweet son in any kind of pain, but especially pain inflicted by someone else, being hurt by a stranger's hand. John, afraid and crying for Joanne.

If they're out there... they could be dead.

No! His mind wouldn't even accept that. But to go the other route... if John and Johnny weren't out alone in the desert somewhere waiting to be found, then where were they?

While Roy's mind was occupied with its dark debate, Officer Cooper’s radio crackled with the static of dispatch looking for him. Roy stood silently watching the man walk, the gravelly shoulder of the highway crunching under the patrolman's shoes. Cooper spoke to someone for a few minutes, then returned to address Roy and Chris.

"Things are getting underway. The APB is out. Our Barstow office also notified the San Bernardino County Sheriff's office in case they leave the freeway. Our plane is starting to cover some of the outlying areas."

"What can we do to help?" Chris asked, before Roy had a chance to voice the same question.

The officer's face held an understanding smile and he lay a hand on Chris’s shoulder. "There's nothing you can do now. Why don't you go ahead into Baker and wait." He glanced over at Roy. "You say your wife and daughter are at the Bun Boy?"

Roy nodded wordlessly, thinking of the news he was going to have to bring Joanne.

"Then why don't you join them there. Or you might be more comfortable at one of the motels. Baker does have a couple." His mouth quirked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Roy appreciated the man's efforts, but he couldn't find it in himself to return the smile. He merely nodded, took hold of his son's arm and started to lead him toward the camper.

"If you do go to a motel, just leave word at the restaurant so we'll know where to find you," Officer Cooper advised as he moved once more to his vehicle.

Roy nodded, more to himself than to acknowledge the man's words. He climbed into the cab of the camper, settling behind the wheel as Chris slid into the passenger seat. As he started the engine, he watched the black and white squad car pull into traffic, then move over to the left lane, then off the road completely and into the wide space of dirt and gravel that separated the two directions of traffic. Roy had to turn his head to see the officer head back northward, disappearing rapidly from the fire captain's line of sight.

He watched for a moment, then finally turned his head back to stare down the long expanse of highway in front of them. Only a few miles down the road his wife and daughter were waiting - waiting for him to come assure them that everything was going to be fine. But that wasn't going to happen. As he thought about what he had to tell Joanne, Roy felt his fingers clutch at the steering wheel tighter and tighter in fear and frustration.

"Dad?"

That one word spoke volumes to Roy, and he turned to see Chris's worried face. The teen look very young at that moment, and Roy reminded himself that Chris was only eighteen, still just a boy himself in many ways, and right now needed his father to be strong. Roy couldn't allow himself the luxury of giving in to his fears, and he made a conscious effort to relax and felt his fingers loosen on the wheel. He even managed to dredge up a weak smile for his son's benefit.

"It'll be okay, son. The police will find them."

He kept repeating that statement to himself as he checked traffic, then pulled onto the southbound highway.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

The day that had started out so pleasant for Joanne now seemed like it would never end. It had been two hours since they'd first arrived in Baker - two hours since they'd entered the welcome coolness of the restaurant; happy to wait for Johnny in air conditioned comfort.

Now this coffee shop had taken on all the aspects of a prison; the wait for Roy an unending mix of boredom and apprehension. About half an hour ago, after Jennifer had finished her third Coke and Joanne had stirred unnumbered teaspoons of sugar into her untouched iced tea, Joanne paid for their food and drinks and moved their vigil to the long, vinyl booth in the entryway where customers waited to be seated. She knew by the way the waitress had been hovering that their table was needed, and besides, she could see the highway better from the wide picture windows here than she had been able to in the dining area.

Jennifer had followed without question. She'd made herself comfortable in the booth and pulled out her novel, settling down to pass the time reading. But Joanne noticed her daughter turned very few pages, and her blonde head turned often to the window.

No one from the restaurant bothered them or asked them to leave, as Joanne had been afraid they might. She supposed as long as they weren't taking up space that paying customers needed, management wasn't going to be too concerned with them. And so they sat and waited, each minute that dragged past taking longer and longer as Joanne tried to convince herself that nothing was wrong and that at any moment she would see the camper pull into the restaurant parking lot, followed behind by Johnny's white Rover. John would be waving at her from out the window, a big smile on his face, ready to regale them all with his 'ventures with his best buddy.

The ghost of a smile played around Joanne's lips as she continued to stare out the window. Her son's happy face was so vivid in her mind, his voice so clear. If she just closed her eyes for a moment, she could believe he was in the room with her, telling her how much fun he and Uncle Johnny had had fixing the flat tire and how much they laughed at Daddy and Chris's scared faces when they pulled up looking for them. How nobody shoulda’ worried, cuz Uncle Johnny was the best tire fixer in the whole wide world.

"Mom... Dad's back."

Joanne blinked out of her wistful daydream, a keen sense of disappointment rushing through her as she realized that's exactly what it had been and John wasn't here. Then that disappointment turned instantly to dread as she registered that the camper had pulled into the parking lot without the Rover in its wake.

But there was enough hope left in her soul, that for one moment Joanne was able to keep that dread at bay. She hadn't seen who was in the camper. It was possible Roy had left Johnny with the Rover at a mechanic’s or with a tow truck. But Roy would know how much she needed to see her son. He wouldn't leave the energetic five-year-old to get in the way of car repairs. He would bring John with him - he would bring John to her. Holding onto that slender thread, Joanne leaned forward to peer out the window, almost willing her little boy's face to appear at the window, waving to her as she'd dreamed he would be.

"Oh, god," Joanne breathed raggedly, sagging against the booth and unable to keep the soft prayer back as she saw the camper park and only Roy and Chris emerged from the cab. Needing to do something to fight back the wave of despair that could overwhelm her if she let it, Joanne stood up and reached for her daughter's hand. Jennifer took it and squeezed it as she stepped up beside her mother, her paperback forgotten on the bench.

A part of Joanne told her to go outside - to meet Roy half way. She could at least spare him the lonely trek from the truck; keep him from having to walk through that door to face her with news that at best could only be that he hadn't found them, and at worst - well, she didn't even want to consider what the worst could be. But her body wouldn't move. She couldn't get her legs to obey her mind, as the frightened mother took over the strong willed firefighter's wife who was prepared to deal with almost any tragedy.

And so she stood there, holding onto her fifteen year old daughter's hand, drawing strength from Jenny when it should have been the other way around. But when Roy pushed through the double glass doors, Chris following close at his side, the sight of her husband's weary face, the weight of failure showing plainly in age lines Joanne normally never noticed, she found her strength returning. It was there for Roy. She could be strong for Roy.

She moved toward him, feeling his arms wrap around her even as she slid her own arm around his waist. They stood in silence for a moment, no words needed as they buoyed each other up. Joanne could hear his heart beating where her ear pressed up against his chest. It was a strong and reassuring sound and she missed it fiercely when Roy finally pulled away, still holding onto her arms as he faced her.

"The police are starting a search," he stated, and she knew by his tone that he was trying not to alarm her. "We talked to a CHP officer and he got the ball rolling. They've got an APB out from the State Line all the way into San Bernardino."

"And they're doing an air search too, Mom," Chris broke in. He gave his mother and sister an encouraging smile. "They'll find 'em."

"But what happened to them?" Jennifer asked, not ready to accept their reassurances calmly. "Uncle Johnny only had a flat tire. Why wasn't he just on the freeway?"

The teen's voice had risen with her agitation, but before Joanne could say anything to calm her daughter down, Chris stepped in and put a comforting arm around his sister's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jen," he said in a voice that could have been Roy's twenty years ago. "Uncle Johnny will take care of John... no matter what happens." He grinned and pulled her close to his side. "Who knows that better than us?"

A smile broke out on Jennifer's face, as Chris had obviously intended it to. Joanne flashed him a grateful look, which her oldest child accepted with a quiet nod. It was such a mature gesture from an eighteen-year-old boy, that Joanne felt tears well up in her eyes. Tears she knew weren't totally caused by pride in her son.

"They'll find them," Roy said firmly, echoing Chris's confident statement. "In the meantime, we're going to need to find someplace a little more comfortable to wait. There's a motel across the parking lot. It'll have air conditioning... and beds in case... well, in case it takes longer... just in case we're here a while."

Joanne listened as Roy stumbled over his last few words, trying his best not to admit that they very likely were going to have a long night ahead of them. She decided for the sake of her family's emotional state she needed to shake off the grip of her own fear and at least attempt to wear a confident face.

"Let's go get that room then," she suggested with a smile in Roy's direction.

They had never been more in sync with each other than at that moment. He returned her smile and tossed the car keys to Chris, who caught them deftly.

"Why don't you and Jen go get our bags out of the camper and bring them over to the motel. Your mom and I will go check in."

"Okay, Dad."

"Sure thing."

Joanne watched her children make their way out of the restaurant and head towards the camper. She bit her lip for one anxious moment, then felt Roy's hand reach out to take hers. He gave it a squeeze as she glanced up to meet his eyes.

"John'll come back to us," he assured her softly.

Joanne nodded, not able to trust her voice, but she did manage to return Roy's smile with a watery one of her own.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later, the DeSotos had settled into what the Bun Boy Motel advertised as a deluxe room. There were two king size beds, a table with two chairs, and a television. The bathroom offered a small basket of mini-sized soap, shampoo and hand lotion in addition to the inadequate supply of white motel towels, barely big enough to dry a grown person. But despite its over-inflated status, it was clean and cool and would be more comfortable to wait in than the hot, cramped camper.

Roy didn't think his family even noticed the room's inadequacies. Chris had turned on the TV, flipped between the three available channels for a few moments, then left it on the news with the sound down low. He stretched out on one of the beds and had been staring at the screen ever since.

Jennifer had gone back to the coffee shop to retrieve her forgotten book, but when she returned she'd tossed the novel on the table and settled in one of the straight backed chairs, her eyes on the large windows with a view of the parking lot, and farther in the background, Interstate 15.

Joanne had tried to keep herself busy, sorting through the bags the kids had brought in and pulling out a few things they might need if they ended up staying the night. But Roy knew his wife's calm demeanor was surface level only; meant to be reassuring for Jennifer and Chris, and probably even for Roy himself. And if he hadn't known before, he certainly would have clued in when she ran out of things to do and simply stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, her eyes searching for one last thing that might need her attention. When she couldn't find anything, she sat down slowly on the side of the bed, her gaze joining Jenny's in staring searchingly out the window.

Roy found it hard to just stay in the room and wait. He'd already walked back to the Bun Boy once to make sure they hadn't heard anything from the police and that they still had the information on the DeSotos’ room number in case anyone did call. He'd stopped at the camper before returning to the motel and tried to raise Johnny on the CB. The radio remained maddeningly silent, and he had to fight the sudden urge to yank the mic from the dash in frustration.

When he came back through the door to their room, all three heads turned in his direction. Three pairs of fearful eyes looked to him for a word of hope. But he had none to give them, and Roy suddenly knew he couldn't just sit here and do nothing. He wasn't made that way. Years of being a firefighter, a rescue man, a paramedic and now a captain had ingrained it in his very nature to be actively involved in this kind of situation. He couldn't sit on the sidelines and be a victim. He had to be a part of the search - to at least be trying to find his son.

He reached for the keys on top of the TV where Chris has left them, then held out his arm for Joanne. She came to him without a word. She already knew what he was doing. He hugged her for a long time before finally releasing her.

"I'll be back in a while," he said, seeing the question in Jennifer's eyes, but knowing he could leave that to her mother to handle. Chris, however, was another matter.

The boy got up from the bed and walked purposefully toward the door where Roy stood.

"I'm going with you," he announced, just the faintest trace of defiance in his voice, as if daring his father to try and stop him.

Roy faced his oldest child; a child no longer in most ways that counted. Chris's eyes were level with Roy's own and were just as determined.

The fire captain wasn't going to argue. He nodded once and slapped his son on the shoulder in a gesture of unspoken affection.

"Dad?"

Roy turned to find Jennifer standing behind him. He'd expected an argument from her about being left behind again, but instead she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Roy stroked the back of her long, blonde hair.

"Don't worry, princess," he told her softly. "Everything's gonna be okay. You'll see."

Jenny pulled back from her father's arms, sniffed once and nodded. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and managed a weak smile.

"Just bring the twirp home, Dad," she said as Joanne came up and put an arm around her shoulder.

"He will, sweetie," Joanne stated resolutely. "He will."

Roy nudged Chris's shoulder and they headed outside. As he closed the door, Roy took with him the image of the two women in his life standing strong beside each other.

­­­­­­ Chapter 14

He slowly became aware of the world again, and it was a strange mix of browns and grays. Everything seemed distorted, slightly out of kilter. He was vaguely aware of something rough pressing into his cheek, but he didn't know what it was or even where he was. Somehow it didn't matter.

His other cheek was hot, and there was a persistent buzzing near his ear that was distantly annoying. If he'd been able to concentrate long enough to make the effort, Johnny might have tried to lift his arm to wave the bothersome insect away. But it was taking all his energy to try and make sense out of the fuzzy, wavering images that drifted in and out of focus.

Something moved on the edges of his vision; a streak of motion near a larger object that he couldn't identify. He stared at it for a long confused moment, and then all at once knew it was a hand. The longer he stared the more familiar it became until he finally realized it was his hand, a few inches from his nose and lying in soft, sandy dirt. From somewhere in the foggy mist that was consciousness, a voice told him that was where he was lying as well; that what was scraping his cheek was more of that same sand. He accepted the knowledge, with calm detachment.

A rush of movement caused his gaze to shift, and something small and gray darted into the meager shade provided by his slightly curved fingers. He felt it brush lightly against his skin. It occurred to him in a very distant part of his mind that he should be concerned about what exactly was using his body for shelter, but that too required more energy than he could muster. And then the little creature shifted again and Johnny saw its head under his thumb, saw the tiny flickering tongue.

A lizard. It's only a lizard.

He stared at it as if transfixed, its image blurring and then sharpening again as Johnny's vision would clear for a time and then grow hazy. After a moment the little reptile turned its head, its tongue shooting out with lightning speed. Its eyes were steely black and seemed to be looking directly into Johnny's own dark eyes.

Abruptly the irritating buzzing began again, only this time it was much louder - too loud. It droned on and on, grating mercilessly in Johnny's ear until it seemed to reverberate in his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head that the noise had so suddenly reawakened.

God, just go away. Damn fly... lemme alone.

An unexpected and blaring eruption of sound startled him so badly that Johnny flinched, his body jerking in panicked reaction. The unguarded movement was all that was needed for the pain that had receded into the gray mist to return with a vengeance.

Oh, god... oh, goddam... hurts like hell...

He tried to move, but it only made the pain worse. All he managed was to draw his legs up and pull his arm in closer, in a near fetal position of self-protection. It was only when he felt the sand scrape against the palm of his hand that he remembered his small friend. He opened his eyes, searching frantically for any sign of the tiny lizard.

Where are you? Where'd you go? You didn't let them get you. Please don't let them get you.

In a final effort to locate the missing reptile, Johnny lifted his head. The pounding increased its tempo to a crushing crescendo, bringing with it unending waves of nausea. The world tilted and Johnny let his head drop the few inches it had risen. It hit the sand with a soft thud, but it was enough to send shards of pain shooting through his eyes and ears.

As he rode the rush of agonizing dizziness, subjected to the confusing mix of sounds, his one thought was for a three inch lizard who had scurried into the sagebrush for safety.

Stay safe... hide... don't let them find you.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rich Haskins had been a pilot for nearly twenty years. He'd flown first for pleasure, learning at his father's knee and earning his wings as they soared together over the never ending fields of wheat that blanketed North Dakota. As an adult, he'd been asked to fly for his country, plucking desperately wounded boys out the jungles of Viet Nam. That chapter in his life had ended in '72, and for the last twelve years he'd been patrolling the vast stretches of desert for the state of California, trying to keep her citizens safe from their own stupidity.

He hadn't heard the whole story on how this particular idiot had managed to get himself and his friend's kid lost during the high heat of August. Just that he was looking for a white Land Rover, a tall, thin, dark haired man in his late thirties and a five year old little boy who may or may not have gotten lost on one of the many roads to nowhere.

Maybe he was harsh to judge the guy so quickly. But he'd seen too many people make too many errors in judgment. Most of them had no respect for each other and certainly no respect for the fierceness of nature that made the desert a formidable enemy.

He'd been pulled off his normal traffic patrol pattern and assigned to do a low level sweep of the northeast sector. There wasn't much out here even if you knew where you were going. He'd been down near Halloran Springs when the base had radioed him. From there he'd swept east for a time, but then turned north toward the nearest road a motorist could exit on. That put him over Cima Road. When he'd found nothing there, he'd headed north again towards Nipton Road. If the guys wasn't on one of these small, two lane highways, Rich would have to start sweeping over the miles and miles of the Mojave Preserve.

He banked right, to head east along the ten mile stretch of asphalt that led to the little town of Nipton, a last stop collection of gas stations, small shops, and even a hotel, all catering to the campers, hikers and amateur geologists who wandered through the National Park. Like all the towns around here, Nipton had its roots in mining and the railroad. What separated it from most of the others was that Nipton had somehow survived all these years and was even staging a bit of a renovation, with a movement to redevelop that place into an art and tourist mecca. If the missing man had indeed turned off the Interstate looking for help of some kind, this would have been the wisest choice.

As he began his sweep of the road, moving in banked circles that took him far afield, but enabled him to see ground below, Rich started with the widest radius. This would take him all the way from the Nipton exit on I-15, to the town itself. He would then tighten his circle each time he swung around. It wasn't the quickest way to cover the ground he'd been assigned, but it was the most efficient for a fixed wing craft. Helicopters would have been better, but their division only had the one and it was working the west side of the Interstate, searching the rugged terrain that led to Death Valley. Rich knew that if this manhunt lasted very long or became very big, they would get help from other CHP divisions, but for now, in these early stages, they had to make do with what resources they had.

His first circuit completed with no luck, Rich adjusted his flight path to make a smaller circle. He looped around the north side of Nipton Road, coming back around before he'd reached I-15. His eyes were glued to the landscape below him, only moving back to his cockpit when he needed to check his instruments.

He did two complete circles before he spotted anything. And when he did, his first emotion was disappointment. The car he saw on the side of the road wasn't white and it wasn't a Land Rover. It was a dark blue sedan of some kind.

Probably some other unlucky bastard who ran out of gas or overheated his engine.

He came around again, figuring he might as well get a better look since he was out here anyway. This guy might be in need of some help too.

He circled around again, this time banking a little steeper to get a better look. He craned his neck as he came up on the car, meaning to see if he could read the plate number. As he shot past, he at last noticed the dark shape on the ground about twenty or thirty yards from the vehicle. The hair on the back of his neck rose at what looked suspiciously like a body.

He cut his circle smaller this time, zeroing in on the scene below him. As he passed over again, he was able to see for certain. It was a body lying motionless on the side of the road.

Holy shit!

There was no way to tell from up here if the guy was dead or alive. Rich picked up his mic and switched his radio to loudspeaker. The only times he'd ever used it this way was to order speeding motorists, who somehow never noticed the patrol car behind them with its flashing lights, to pull over.

“You on the ground. This is the California Highway Patrol. Help is on the way. Hold on.”

He repeated the same message twice before his flight path took him out of hearing range. As he maneuvered around again, he flipped a switch and put in the call to dispatch.

"Barstow base, this is air patrol two-niner-one... how do you copy?"

“We copy, two-niner-one... go ahead.”

"Barstow, I have a man down... Nipton road... about five miles east of the fifteen..."

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Roy spared one hand from the wheel to rub at his road weary eyes, then returned to scanning the side of the highway as he and Chris continued their search. They'd gone as far north as the state line, then turned around and headed south again, but hadn't seen anything more than when they'd made this journey the first time. It was growing harder not to give into his fear and frustration, especially since the police didn't seem to be having any better luck.

Early in their trip Chris had excitedly played with the CB until he'd found the emergency channels used by law enforcement. What had up until now been a mild diversion for those long hours of driving, had become a lifeline as Roy eagerly listened to each update in the search for his son and his best friend. But those updates and check-ins from the units involved had been disheartening, and there was enough other traffic on the channel; the normal everyday events that the highway patrol dealt with on this heavily traveled corridor, that Roy wondered at times just how much of a priority the whereabouts of one man and one little boy could be.

He glanced over at Chris and saw that his son was staring out the passenger side window, his eyes fixed on the passing landscape. The dejection in his eldest son's demeanor compelled Roy to say something hopeful - to try and keep Chris's spirits up.

"There's still a lot of places they could be," he began brightly, fully aware how transparent his attempt was and that Chris could see through it. "We can't give up..."

But Chris wasn't listening. He suddenly sat up straight. "Dad... hang on a sec." The teen leaned forward and adjusted the volume on the CB. "Listen!"

Roy hadn't realized how much of the static and chatter he'd tuned out until the filtered voices filled the cab.

“...a man down... Nipton Road... about five miles east of the fifteen. I.D. unknown at this time.”

Roy's foot jammed down the accelerator, the camper shuddering a bit under the sudden demand for speed. He ignored the truck's protest. They'd just passed a sign that said the Nipton exit was three miles away. As he watched the road intently, he could hear the report continuing.

“It's possible that it's our missing man, but unable to confirm. There is a vehicle here, but it is not... I repeat, not a white Land Rover. It's a dark blue sedan... license plate unknown at this time.”

“10-4, two-niner-one. Ground units are being dispatched.”

There was a static filled pause, and then base came on again.

“Two-niner-one, any sign of the missing boy?”

“Uh, that's negative, base. I'll keep searching as long as I can. I have about thirty minutes fuel time...”

"It might not be Uncle Johnny, Dad," Chris reminded his father as he too kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "He said the Rover wasn't there."

"It's gotta be him," Roy stated fervently. "Who else would it be?"

Chris had no answer, and remained quiet. Roy concentrated on driving; on getting to the exit as fast as possible. It had to be Johnny. After all, how many people went missing from a busy highway? But his mind was still nagging him, sending fear coursing down his spine in a long sweaty line. Johnny was down - injured in some way. And worse still - there was no sign of John.

­­­­­­ Chapter 15

“Inland Units 25, 27 and 32... respond to man down on Nipton Road... five miles east of I-15. Be advised Chopper One is en route to base to pick up EMS personnel and will respond to this call. ETA... one hour.”

Officer Don Cooper hit his lights and siren, floored the accelerator of his black and white cruiser, then pulled out his mic and answered the call.

"This is Inland 27... I copy. Responding to Nipton Road."

“10-4, Inland 27.”

Don returned the mic to its cradle, then concentrated on covering the last mile to the Nipton exit with as much speed as possible. He could hear the other two units acknowledging the call. That would be Hinkson and Byrd. The three of them were the closest to where Rich had called in his man down. There would be no way to tell from the plane, but Don hoped this guy wasn't too badly injured. With as long as it was gonna take to get him medical attention, he'd better be able to hang on for a while.

He'd had an uneasy feeling about this one from the beginning, when Captain DeSoto first approached him with the story of his long overdue friend and son. Don had been a highway patrolman for nearly ten years. He'd seen a lot of things on this desolate stretch of highway. He'd responded to so many car accidents he'd lost count, from single car roll overs resulting from overtired drivers trying to push it all the way to Vegas late on a Friday night, to multi-car pileups where you couldn't tell where one car ended and another began. He'd seen blood and death, but he'd also seen birth, having delivered no less than five babies along the side of the road.

He'd also dealt with missing motorists. But as he'd explained to the distraught fire captain, most of the time it ended up with the lost party merely taking the wrong turn, or deciding to see where a stretch of road ended up. In nearly every case, the wandering friend or family member was reunited with the rest of their party; sometimes a little hot and thirsty, but for the most part intact.

But Don also knew sometimes bad things did happen out here. Robbery, assaults, even occasionally rape. Most of the more violent crimes occurred at night, under the cover of darkness. But that wasn't always the case. Don had learned over the years to trust his instincts about when something should be taken seriously. And DeSoto's story, his anxious face and worried voice as he reported the facts struck the right chord of urgency. The officer only hoped that if this man they were heading for was indeed Gage, that he was still alive and could help them locate the child.

He spied the exit and veered off the interstate, slowing down a bit as he hit the more roughly paved road. As he did so, he though he caught sight of flashing blues coming down the Fifteen from the north and knew he was going to be first on the scene. That would be Hinkson's lights he'd seen. Byrd had been farther south, but he wouldn't be long in coming either.

As he neared the five-mile point, Don could see Rich low in the sky to the southwest, circling his plane as he continued searching for the missing boy.

God help that kid if he's out here alone in this wasteland.

He spotted the dark shape of the sedan Rich had reported. It was on the right shoulder but facing the wrong way. A few moments later he could also see the injured man lying on the side of the road. He didn't appear to be moving. Don killed his siren and pulled his car to a skidding stop on the sandy shoulder, leaving enough room for the medics to work when they got here, as well as trying to preserve any forensic evidence if this did turn out to be a crime scene, which was looking more and more likely.

As he got out of his car, the heat hit him full blast after the comfort of the air-conditioned squad. Ignoring the discomfort, he quickly covered the distance to the still figure, the sound of Hinkson's siren growing loud in his ears.

The man appeared unconscious and was lying on his side, his knees drawn up. The one arm Don could see was pulled in close to his chest. His face was streaked with dried blood, and as the patrolman crouched down for a closer look, he had to wave a cluster of flies away. It was hard to tell if this was the source of the bleeding, as the guy's dark hair was long and thick, hiding any scalp wounds. There was, however, congealed blood matting some of that hair, telling Don he was probably right.

He reached down and pressed two fingers against the guy's throat, breathing a sigh of relief as he found a pulse there. The skin against his fingers was hot, however, and Don knew the heat might be the most critical of any of the man's problems.

He stood up when he heard the skidding of another car, and saw Jay Hinkson getting out of his squad. Don waved him over and Jay ran to his side, sweat already running down his neck from that little bit of exertion.

"Byrd got delayed," he reported in out of breath pants. "Big collision five miles south." He glanced down at the man at their feet. "He alive?"

Don nodded. "For now. Don't know how bad he's hurt other than that head wound." He crouched down again and laid the back of his hand on the reddened cheek. "We need to get some kind of shade up. Get him outta this sun 'til the medics get here."

"Just got an update from 'em," Hinkson stated over his shoulder as he started back toward his car. "They left Barstow about ten minutes ago. Should be forty... forty five minutes."

Don wasn't sure what Jay was looking for as the officer began rummaging through his black and white's trunk. But instead of wasting time asking a lot of stupid questions, he settled for trying to make some shade with his hands over the fallen man's face. It probably wasn't much help, but he needed to feel like he was doing something. His natural impulses made him want to act; to get the poor guy out of the sun and the dirt and into someplace cooler and more comfortable. But even if there was such a place out here in the middle of God's big furnace, Don had been to enough training seminars about dealing with trauma victims, to know the last thing he should do would be to start moving this guy around without knowing how badly he was hurt.

"Here, see if this'll work." Jay was back with a big brightly striped beach umbrella. He popped it open and set about situating it for maximum effect.

"Where the hell'd you get that?" Don asked as he reached up to help shift the umbrella slightly to the left.

Hinkson shrugged. "I bought it after that big accident last month. No more sitting around for two hours in this heat waiting for the damn tow truck for me!"

Don shook his head at his colleague's inventiveness. He glanced back down. The man hadn't stirred, but most of his upper body was in the shade now.

Feeling better that they'd done something, even if it wasn't much, Don knew their next task was to try and confirm this guy's identity. His gaze moved over the lean form and spotted the faint bulge in the back pocket of his dusty jeans. Careful not to jostle the man too much, the officer fished the wallet out. It only took a moment to find the driver's license, Fire Department I.D. and several credit cards.

"That Gage?" Jay inquired.

Don sighed and nodded, regarding the dark hair, even the jeans and green t-shirt. Everything fit not only the description Captain DeSoto had given them, but it matched up to the pictures on the I.D.'s as well. "I'd say we found him." He looked up and scanned the horizon. Rich's plane was still circling to the west. "Haven't seen any kid though." He jerked his head toward the car that had turned out to be a Nissan. "Or a white Rover," he finished.

Jay nodded and pulled out his pad to jot down the plate number. "I'll go run this. See what comes up." He jogged back to his unit and slid under the wheel to call it in.

Done looked at the wallet again. Not only were the credit cards still here, he found nearly sixty dollars in cash. Whomever had attacked Gage, hadn't been after money.

A quiet moan brought Don's attention back to the battered man. He wasn't conscious, but it looked like he might be trying to come around. His head moved slightly in the sand and his hand shifted a bit, his fingers curling tighter.

"John?" Don called quietly, "John Gage?"

The dark head shifted again and another soft moan came from the sun blistered lips.

"It's okay, John. You're gonna be all right. Try not to move."

The man grew still, but his eyelids fluttered open. Don saw a pair of dark eyes peering at him with a glassy look.

"John? John, can you hear me?"

"...mmm... wha... what?" came the groggy response. The eyes closed for a moment and then he grimaced in pain. "...mmm... my... my head..."

"I know. But help's on the way." He leaned a bit closer. "John? John, where’s the boy? What happened to John DeSoto?"

The eyes opened again, but were dazed and didn't seem to comprehend Don's question.

"Wha...? I... I don't..." He frowned and then grimaced again. "Head... head hurts."

Don blew out a frustrated breath. Obviously Gage was still too out of it to be of any help. He heard Jay coming back and looked up.

"Car's stolen," Hinkson reported. "Went missing from Huntington State Beach a couple days ago."

Don's mouth formed a tight line. "And it looks like they got tired of this one and decided they needed a change."

"I notified headquarters and they're upgrading it now to attempted murder and possible kidnapping. The APB's gone statewide."

Don nodded grimly, aware that now any evidence they found here was of even more importance. "Take a look around, will ya;, Jay? See if you can find anything."

"Okay." Jay started to move off, but stopped, turning to gaze down the highway. He shielded his eyes to see better.

"What's wrong?"

"Somebody's coming," Jay observed. "Didn't think Byrd would get here this soon."

Don got to his feet and moved to stand beside Hinkson. He could see the vehicle in the distance now, and it wasn't a police cruiser. It looked more like a truck.

"Tourist maybe?" Jay suggested, his hand resting on the gun on his hip.

Don shook his head slowly. "Nahhh... I don't think..." His eyes widened as the shape of a blue camper became recognizable. "Shit," he exclaimed. "I told him to stay at the motel and we'd call him."

"Who?" Jay asked curiously.

Don ran a hand through his close cropped hair, wondering how he was going to deal with a panicked father. "It's the missing kid's dad. It's DeSoto."

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Roy brought the camper to a gravelly stop behind the two police cars. The sight brought all Roy's suppressed fears rushing to the surface, and he had to work to push them back where he'd buried them since this nightmare began. He couldn't afford the luxury of giving in to that mind numbing despair that lurked in the corner of his mind. There was still too much to do; too much unknown. The identity of the injured man was still unconfirmed, though with each passing mile, Roy had grown more and more certain it was Johnny. And, according to all the police calls back and forth, there was still no sign of John. Even now, Roy could see the plane in the distance still searching for his son. He swallowed hard and made himself move.

He emerged from the truck and made his way quickly around the two black and whites. What he saw made him actually stop in his tracks for a brief moment. In an almost surreal picture, two CHP officers were standing in front of a red, white and green beach umbrella. Under the umbrella Roy could see the lower half of someone, lying in the shade as if merely asleep at the shore.

Shaking off the image, Roy moved forward again. As he reached the officers, one of them reached out to take him arm to stop him.

"Captain DeSoto, I don't think..."

"Is that Johnny?"

He pulled away to look around the patrolman he finally recognized as the officer who had first taken their report. But that knowledge registered in an instant as he caught sight of the mop of black hair on the injured man.

"Johnny?"

He jerked his arm free and pushed past the officer, his feet sliding on the sandy ground as he knelt by his friend's side. His hands automatically reached for the pulse point in Johnny's neck, to assure himself his friend was alive. It was there, a bit rapid, but still strong. Only then did he allow himself to take stock of Johnny's overall condition.

There was a lot of blood on his face; blood Roy easily traced to a gash over Johnny's right ear. It had clotted over and was covered with matted hair, so Roy didn't disturb it. Even in the shade, Roy could tell Johnny's skin was sunburned, something Roy could never remember seeing in all the years they'd known each other. His Native American heritage gave Johnny the ability to bronze in the sun rather than burn, a trait Roy envied anew every time he spent a day at the beach with Joanne and the kids. But Johnny's face, neck and right arm bore visible evidence of his time spent out in the intense desert heat. And not only was his skin reddened, but it was warm to the touch and spoke of a fever.

"Is he okay, Dad?"

Roy glanced at his son crouched down beside him. He'd almost forgotten Chris was with him.

"I don't know yet. Go get the first aid bag out of the camper, son... and bring some water and some towels too. We gotta get him cooled down."

Chris raced off toward the camper. As soon as he was gone, Roy felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Officer Cooper. His face wore a stern expression.

"We should wait for the medics," the man instructed firmly.

"I am a medic," Roy informed the patrolman, then paused. "Was a medic," he corrected himself, his face flushing slightly at his oversight. He didn't dwell on it; rather he pushed for some concrete information. "How long before the paramedics get here?"

The officer glanced at his watch. "They're still about thirty minutes out." Roy's surprise must have showed on his face, for the policeman gestured at the vast landscape. "They got a long way to come."

Roy nodded his understanding. "Okay, but Johnny shouldn't wait thirty more minutes. Look..." he sat back and wiped his forearm over his heavily sweating brow, "I'm not an active paramedic right now, but I'm still certified in L.A. County. I'm not starting any I.V.'s here or giving him any medication. But he needs to be cooled down. I'm just going to be doing some basic first aid... stuff your medics are gonna need to do anyway. This way we'll be giving them a head start."

The man still looked undecided. Roy wasn't sure what it was going to take to convince him, but he knew he wasn't going to let Cooper stop him from treating Johnny. It was only when Chris spoke up that Roy realized his son had returned from the camper and had heard most of the exchange.

"My dad and Uncle Johnny were two of the first paramedics in Los Angeles County," he informed the policeman in a voice that spoke of both pride and confidence. "He knows what he's doing."

Roy wasn't sure what finally made up the man's mind, but he suddenly squeezed Roy's shoulder and moved away, calling to the other patrolman. Roy turned back to Johnny, but not before he flashed his son a grateful smile. He grabbed the bag Chris brought over, then he instructed the teen to use the water from the thermos and wet the towels he'd brought. While the teen was doing that, Roy started his examination. Skills honed by years of practice kicked in automatically, even though he hadn't used them in months.

He fished out the box containing his basic instruments and found his penlight. As he bent down to check Johnny's pupils, he called to his partner in a steady, even voice.

"Johnny? Johnny, it's Roy."

He got a faint moan from his partner; not much of a response, but at least it told Roy Johnny was still partially aware of his surroundings. He then breathed in relief when he found normal pupil reactions. Moving to check for fluid in Johnny's right ear, he was relieved again to find none there. He ignored the left one for now, as he didn't want to move Johnny's head. He'd wait until he had a collar on him and could take spinal precautions.

He reached down and touched Johnny's wrist to get an accurate pulse. He found it to be rapid as he'd thought before, but some of Roy's concerns about heat stroke were eased by the fact that Johnny was still sweating. He motioned to Chris.

"Take those towels, son, and wet his skin down. Just whatever you can see without disturbing him. We can do a better job once we can get him a little better situated."

Chris nodded wordlessly and began to gently wipe at Johnny's flushed face and neck. This cooling touch elicited another soft groan from the injured paramedic chief. Roy leaned closer and spoke again.

"Johnny? Johnny, it's Roy."

"Mmmm... wha?" Johnny's eyelids opened slowly, his dark eyes unfocused. "R...roy?" His voice was weak and raspy. Talking was definitely an effort.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's Roy." The captain had to fight the urge to start demanding answers from his friend; to know what had happened and where John was. He had to go easy here. Johnny wasn't in any condition to be drilled, so Roy tried his best to keep the worry out of his voice. He would take care of Johnny first, be a paramedic first. Then he would deal with the questions and answers. "Can you tell me what hurts?"

Johnny's mouth worked a bit. He licked at his dried lips and his face wrinkled in his attempt to concentrate. "Ummm.... I don't... mmm... my head... head hurts... like hell."

"I'm sure it does," Roy sympathized, eyeing the ugly evidence of the hidden wound. "Where else, Johnny? Can you move your head?"

Johnny's eyes closed a moment and Roy could see he was working at processing the request. Then his head shifted slightly in the dirt. Immediately Johnny grimaced and moaned again.

"No..." he mumbled thickly. "... dizzy."

"That's okay, then. Don't worry about it."

He reached into the first aid bag again and grabbed the cervical collar, shooting a glance toward where the two Highway Patrolmen were still looking around the area. They seemed content to leave him alone, but he wondered what they would say if they realized just how much Roy kept in his "basic" first aid kit.

"Johnny, I'm gonna put a collar on ya’, pal. Just lemme know if it hurts at all."

He got only a barely audible grunt from his friend. Johnny's eyes had closed again. As gently as he could, Roy slid one end of the collar under Johnny's neck, adjusted it carefully, then fastened it in place. Johnny whimpered softly at the slight movement, but didn't seem to have been hurt too much by the process.

That done, Roy found the scissors and cut up the back of Johnny's t-shirt. Then, very carefully, he parted the fabric to allow him to assess the condition of his friend's back. Because Johnny was lying on his side, Roy could only push the shirt part way, but it was enough to reveal a multitude of long bruises across the paramedic chief's shoulders and upper back. Roy drew in a hissing breath as he realized Johnny had been beaten with something: a bat or a board.

"Is it bad, Dad?" Chris asked fearfully.

"Bad enough," Roy answered, then gestured for Chris to put down his towels for a moment.

"We need to turn him so I can check his other side. I'm gonna keep his neck and back straight. I need you to roll him when I give you the signal."

Chris regarded Johnny's battered back, then met Roy's eyes with a look of apprehension. "But, Dad... what if I hurt him?"

Roy shook his head and gave his son a smile of encouragement. "You won't. Just do what I tell you and you'll do fine."

Roy showed Chris how to place one hand on Johnny shoulder and the other on his hip.

"When I say, roll him over evenly, put pressure on both places as equally as you can. I'll be keeping his back and neck straight."

Roy waited until Chris was in position, then shifted so he could place one hand at Johnny's neck and the other supporting his upper back, trying to avoid any of the obviously tender places where he'd been struck.

"Okay, Chris. Ready?"

Chris bit his lower lip, but nodded.

They did it quickly. Roy was fairly certain Johnny didn't have any neck or spinal injuries, but that didn't mean that much movement didn't hurt. Johnny cried out softly as they rolled him.

"Dad?"

"It's okay, Chris. You did it right. It was gonna hurt some, no matter how careful we were."

With Johnny on his back, Roy quickly cut the rest of his friend's dirty t-shirt away, as well as slitting his heavy denim jeans up most of his legs to allow as much air to circulate on his skin as possible. He motioned for Chris to resume sponging down Johnny's overheated limbs, while Roy completed his exam.

He found a darkly bruised area around Johnny's left side, and the sounds Johnny made when Roy palpated his ribs only confirmed Roy's suspicions that some of them were fractured. His breathing was still sound so that at least was good news. But his left forearm was also bruised and swollen, as was his right knee.

As Roy set about splinting Johnny's arm and leg, the magnitude of what had happened slowly set in, and he couldn't keep his mind from plaguing him with questions that had no answers; questions that made his hands tremble as he secured the splints, making cutting gauze and tape harder than it should have been.

If they did this to Johnny... if they could do something like this over a goddamn car... what did they do to John? Why isn't he here with Johnny? Why would they take him with them?

For years, working as a paramedic, Roy had been able to switch on his autopilot. No matter how tragic the scene, how mangled a body he was working on, he'd been able to push his personal feelings aside for the moment and function. He'd always prided himself on being able to stay focused on the job at hand. There was a time to deal with the horror and the loss and the sadness. But that was always later. Not while someone needed him.

Now that skill was threatening to leave him. He paused in the middle of securing a protective 4x4 over Johnny's head wound and found himself staring at his unmoving hands.

They didn't care if they killed him. They beat him and left him to die out here all alone. What would someone like that do to my little boy? Would they draw the line at hurting a child? God, John, where are you?

"Dad? You okay?"

Roy blinked and the moment was gone. His hands moved again, wrapping the curlex around Johnny's head once more and finishing the dressing as he glanced at Chris.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

Chris continued to stare at him for a long moment, as if he wasn't convinced, but he didn't press it. He returned his attention to the wet towel in his hand and went back to bathing Johnny's arms and legs.

Roy drew a deep breath and made a concerted effort to regain control. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart. To keep his hands busy, he checked Johnny's vitals once more time, relieved that the pulse he felt in his injured partner's wrist had slowed to a more normal rate. Chris's efforts were having the desired effect. With nothing more he could do at the moment, Roy sat back on his knees and swiped an arm across his face. He glanced up at the cloudless sky.

Where the hell is that chopper?

"R...roy?"

Johnny's eyes were open again, though still glazed.

"I'm right here." Roy took hold of Johnny's uninjured hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You're gonna be okay, Junior."

Johnny blinked at that and frowned slightly as if trying to figure something out. Then his face relaxed and his mouth quirked at one corner.

"Easy... easy for you... for you to... to say, Pally."

Johnny sounded lucid, and Roy couldn't stop himself from taking advantage of it. If his friend had as serious a concussion as Roy suspected, there was no telling when things would grow foggy again. He maintained his hold on Johnny's hand and spoke quietly.

"What happened, Johnny? Where's John?"

The dark eyes that stared into Roy's held a blank look that caused any hope the captain was holding on to to vanish.

"John? Is... is John here?"

"No... John's not here now." Roy fought to keep his emotion from sounding in his voice. "He was though. Do you know where he went? Can you remember what happened to John?"

Johnny's brows drew together, whether from pain or the effort to think, Roy couldn't tell. "I... I don't... where is he? Is John here?" Johnny's eyes moved toward Roy again. "Roy? S'at you?"

Roy repressed an exasperated sigh. It wasn't Johnny's fault he couldn't focus enough to tell them what had happened. He could only hope that the memory would eventually come back, and in enough time to help.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's me. Take it easy, okay. You're gonna be okay."

"Mmm...my head... hurts bad. Ev'rythings... things spinning."

Roy squeezed Johnny's hand again. "I know. But it won't be too much longer. Why don't you save your strength."

Johnny obediently closed his eyes. If he picked up on the dejection in his former partner's voice, he never reacted to it. Roy sat back on his heels, ran a hand over his face and breathed out heavily.

"Captain DeSoto?"

Roy glanced up, saw Officer Cooper walking toward him. As he stood to meet the man, he couldn't help but notice the plastic wrapped tire iron. Bits of sand and desert grass mixed with congealed blood clung to one end. Roy swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of Johnny's blood on the heavy metal bar.

"That what they used?"

Officer Cooper nodded grimly. "Appears that way. We found it down in the ditch. There's a flat tire there too. It's gotta be from the Rover." His gaze moved to Johnny, but apart from a raised eyebrow, he didn't comment on the extent of Roy's first aid. "He gonna be okay?"

Roy shrugged uncertainly. "I hope so. I think we got to him before the heat did too much damage. He'd got some fractures, but it's his head injury that's the biggest question mark. I don't think his skull's fractured, but at the very least, he's got a pretty bad concussion."

"Has he said anything about your son?"

Roy felt that surge of fear once more try to take control, but he managed to push it down and just shook his head; his mouth set in a straight line. "No. He's pretty out of it still."

The patrolman's face took on a compassionate look. "I don't know if this will help you, Captain DeSoto, but in all the years I've done this job and dealt with car thieves, it's been my experience that they don't want to mess with doing big time. They usually don't confront people and they don't get violent."

Roy gave him an incredulous snort. The man glanced at Johnny again and shook his head.

"I have no clue why they attacked your friend like they did. Maybe he tried to fight back. We just don't know." He returned his gaze to meet Roy's. "But I'm willing to bet a year's pay that they wouldn't purposely hurt your boy. Their M.O. would be to leave him here."

Roy gestured to the flat, barren landscape. "But he's not here." He hated the hopelessness he heard in his voice.

"I know." Cooper scratched at his head. "So maybe they never saw him. Maybe he was asleep in the car when they drove off. What I'm saying is that I'd wager when we find the Rover, we find John."

"You really think so?"

The officer nodded. "The APB's out. They'll be found before too long. In the meantime, we'll set up a manhunt out here just in case. We want to cover all bases."

"Hey, Don..." The other officer was walking from his patrol car. "Chopper's coming in."

It was the first time Roy noticed the distant thump-thump of helicopter blades. He shaded his eyes and sure enough, growing larger in the distance, was the familiar sight of a rescue chopper.

It still took another five minutes before it reached them, and another five or so to land. The door slid open and two men emerged before the blades stopped rotating. They were carrying equipment Roy pegged right away as a drug box and a trauma box.

As the paramedics drew near, Roy motioned for Chris to move out of their way. The teen stepped out from the shade of the umbrella and joined his father as the two medics moved in. Roy noticed right away how young they seemed. He saw from the patches on their shoulders that they were with San Bernardino County Fire.

As they began their assessment, Roy also noted how smoothly they worked together, their movements well practiced, and they never appeared to get in each other's way. In spite of the grim situation, Roy felt a small smile play on his lips. Had it really been that long since he and Johnny could have been in their place?

One of the men was busy establishing an I.V. Roy hadn't heard any transmission with a base yet, so he could only assume this county allowed their paramedics more freedom with basic, precautionary I.V.'s. He knew protocol was changing rapidly in many departments; another reminder of how long it had been since the program had started.

The other medic turned to Roy, his face questioning.

"You do this?" He gestured to Johnny's splints and bandaged head.

Roy nodded. "I'm still certified with L.A. County. Just haven't had to use it for a while."

The younger man nodded and flashed Roy an approving look. "You did a good job. We're just getting him started on some fluids and then we'll pack him up. He's looking pretty good, all things considered."

"Where're you taking him?" Roy asked.

"Loma Linda University Medical Center. They have a level one trauma unit there... and some pretty great doctors. He'll be in good hands."

Roy nodded. He knew Loma Linda's reputation. It just suddenly seemed so far away. As he watched the stokes being brought over and then Johnny being carefully bundled up for the trip, Roy felt a surge of panic. Johnny was hurt and confused and was going to a place where no one knew him. Roy hated the thought of sending him off alone like that. But yet, Roy couldn't even think of going with him. John was still missing, and Roy would never leave this place until he was completely satisfied that everything had been done to try and find his little boy. And there was the rest of his family. He still had to go back to the hotel and bring the news to Joanne and Jennifer. They would need him. He had to stay here.

He'd never felt more like wishing he were two people. He and Chris both stepped up to help carry Johnny in the stokes. When he glanced down, he saw Johnny was awake again, his dark eyes watery with pain, his face drawn from his ordeal. Roy reached over with his free hand and brushed Johnny's arm to let him know he was here. He saw first, confusion, and then a flash of gratitude as Johnny recognized him.

It took only a few moments to load him onto the chopper. One medic had climbed aboard first, to help situate the stokes. Once Johnny was on board, the other medic turned to Roy.

"We have room for one family member. Do you want to come with us?"

Roy felt a lump of lead settle in his stomach as he shook his head regretfully. "I can't. I have to stay here."

"Dad, somebody needs to go with him. He'll be all alone otherwise."

Chris..."

But Chris's face was set with determination. "Uncle Johnny shouldn't be alone." He faced the medic. "I'm going with him."

The man looked hesitant, then turned to Roy questioningly. "We can only take adults."

“He’s an adult,” Roy confirmed.

“What I mean is,” the medic looked back at Chris apologetically, "you have to be twenty-one. It’s the rules."

Chris never flinched. "I'm twenty-one," he lied without batting an eye.

Roy's first impulse was to interfere, but he restrained himself to a mere twitch. If Chris was willing to do this for Johnny, then Roy would allow it. When the paramedic looked to Roy for confirmation, Roy nodded.

"He just had his birthday."

The man's eyes moved between father and son, then he nodded his understanding and smiled briefly. "Okay," he relented. "Let me give you a hand up."

Chris moved to board, but turned to Roy one last time. "Just find the squirt, Dad." Then he let the medic help him into the chopper.

Roy's emotions were in turmoil as he stepped back out of the wash of the rotors. Worry for Johnny, pride in Chris, the ever-present panic for John. All those feelings fought for center stage and the resultant battle only succeeded in tying Roy's insides in knots.

It seemed to take forever, but finally the helicopter lifted off, heading away in a noisy swirl of dust and sand, that blasted Roy's face. When he could finally open his eyes again, the chopper was fading fast in the southeastern sky.

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