Chapter 6: The Way West

Texas

There’s a sort of loneliness in traveling that I didn’t expect. When you’re always on the move, your time seems to diverge from the rest of the world’s. You’re racing by, and everybody else is standing still. The farther you go, the more afraid you are to stop, even to wave, for fear you won’t start back up.

-

Sparse, dry air shimmered beneath the midday sun, blurring the border between a cloudless sky and the line of asphalt shooting straight ahead forever.

Massive wind turbines loomed above the rusting oil wells that dotted the otherwise deserted Texas scrub plain. In the towering shadow of the windmills, the wells dipped their heads like rickety birds in a cuckoo clock, marking time until the end of an era.

It was already a very different era than when the first cautious pioneers, lured by promises of free land, ventured out of the forests of Arkansas and Kentucky and were struck with awe and terror at the limitless openness of the central plains, and the fierceness of the tribes who defended it. They were the vanguards of Manifest Destiny, skirmishers in a bloody war for control over the dying days of a lawless wilderness. Ben wondered what the hard-lipped pioneers or the Comanche braves would have to say about the Texas interstate.

He watched an eighteen-wheeler crawl up a low hill in the distance, its shimmering outline barely larger than a gnat. Four hours ago they had crossed the Mississippi brawling into the Gulf. Soon after, the coastal wetlands had given way to endless miles of khaki-colored plain dotted with tough grass and twisted bushes. There were few other cars or buildings on the road, making distances difficult to judge. The land seemed to grow with every passing mile.

The trailer crested the hill and winked out of existence, leaving them alone again on the never-ending highway.

The sun was high in the sky when the scrub plains and oil fields finally gave way to a network of low canyons and gulches. Stands of pine and cottonwood sipped at shallow, rocky streams. Ben squirmed in the driver’s seat in an effort to relieve his cramped legs. It was the first time Tyler had relinquished the wheel on the whole trip.

Tyler stirred in the back seat and sat up, blinking in the intense sunlight. “Are we there yet?”

“No,” Ben replied. “It’s been ten minutes since the last time you asked.”

Tyler groaned. “We’re never gonna get out of this place.”

The engine coughed. Ben’s eyes snapped to the gas gauge as the Mustang began to decelerate. It said they still had a half-tank.

“Tyler—”

Tyler’s eyes went wide. “I forgot to tell you the gas gauge doesn’t work.”

“What!”

“You have to gauge it by your mileage.”

“Tyler, don’t you think that would have been useful information in a place where there’s a

hundred miles between exits?!”

Ben grit his teeth as he guided the sputtering muscle car to a halt. He stepped out the shoulder and slammed the door. Heat and sun hit him like a wall. The remnants of a hangover and the beginnings of a serious case of dehydration throbbed in his skull. He paced.

Tyler kicked a rock. “Well, now we’re screwed.”

“Please don’t start, Ty.”

“Who designed this place? Couldn’t have thrown in a couple of Sinclair’s between every fifty miles or so of certain death? Huh? Too much to ask?”

“You’re starting.”

Tyler slumped against the Mustang. “My head is on fire.”

Ben sighed. He rummaged through his backpack for a couple of water bottles and tossed one to Tyler. “Drink up,” he said. “These are the last ones, unless you brought more.”

Tyler shook his head. He guzzled the warm liquid and stared mournfully at the empty bottle. He wiped his brow.

“This is the interstate,” he said hopefully. “Somebody’ll come along eventually.”

“We might be toast by eventually,” Ben replied, squinting into the sky. They had to get out of the sun to think. He scanned the surrounding landscape, one hand shading his eyes. The land dropped away slightly from the wide shoulder, all tawny dirt and shrubs and dry gulches and cottonwood trees.

Something caught his eye. A faded green box was half-hidden behind several trees maybe a half-mile off the road.

“An RV! Somebody’s over there!”

“Oh joy. Let’s hope he’s still alive.”

The RV was closer to a mile away down a trail of hard-packed ruts that sprouted off the highway. There was no escape from the sun. By the time they stumbled onto the flat patch of dirt where the vehicle sat, they were close to toast. Tyler sank down against a scrawny tree, panting. He pulled his shirt over his head.

“Anybody home?” Ben called. The RV resembled an ice cream truck that’d been painted a garish green about twenty years ago.

Ben rapped on the door. No response. He peered through the window. Clothes and cooking equipment were scattered around the cabin. A chocolate bar was spreading into a puddle on the shiny vinyl seat.

“I wouldn’t want to be the sorry sucker pressing my cheeks on that today,” Ben muttered.

“Anything?” Tyler said woodenly from under his shirt.

“There’s camping stuff and some snacks that look fresh. The guy’s gotta be around.”

“Hope he gets hungry soon.”

Ben wandered to the edge of the campground. His eyes widened when the ground suddenly dipped. A shallow stream chattered softly over a bed of rocks glittering in the sun. Several cottonwoods were spread out along the banks.

“Tyler! Water!”

Tyler stumbled to the lip of the gulley. He scrambled down the short bank, charged into the stream, and flung his whole body into the current. Ben laughed and ran in after him. Tyler stripped off his shirt and flung it to the bank, then knelt and began to drink from the fountain of cool, liquid relief. Ben stooped to join him, but hesitated.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to just drink out of streams, anymore. Something about parasites and bacteria.”

“Would you rather have the squirts,” Tyler gasped between gulps, “Or be dead?”

“Fair point.” Ben cupped a handful of water. It tasted like nothing and heaven. He drank greedily.

Something flopped on the stream bank. He ignored it. A much bigger something flopped into water. Ben looked up.

Tyler was lying in the stream on his back, naked except for a wide grin. Ben flinched.

 “Tyler, put your clothes on!”

“Why?”

“Somebody might see you.”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief. Maybe they’ll have gas.”

Ben groaned.

“Live a little. You can’t do this in the city. Not for long, anyway.”

Ben considered the cool caress of the water on his feet, in contrast to the fire still burning in his forehead. He’d run straight into the stream without even taking his shoes off.

“I guess you can’t.”

“Do it.”

Ben took his shoes off.

“Attaboy. And the rest.”

“If you look at me, I’ll kill you.”

Tyler closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head, his elbows creating fans of ripples in the lazy current. He was asleep almost immediately.

Ben hurriedly stripped and lay down in a sandy portion of the stream, wriggling to clear a few stubborn pebbles from the bed. He kept his t-shirt balled over his crotch. A big cottonwood shaded that part of the stream, and the current came up midway through his torso, just high enough to submerge his ears. The world was immediately cool and quiet.

The fire in his skull ebbed away. Water flowed all around him and sat pleasantly in his stomach. His eyelids began to feel heavy.

“Just a few minutes,” he murmured, and closed his eyes.

When Ben awoke, he was aware of two things. One, his throat was dry. And two, the shadow of the tree was several yards away from where it should have been. He jerked upright and looked down, lips parted in horror. His entire body was red.

Tyler was still sprawled on his back, every bit as burnt as Ben was and more so—there was no white patch around his crotch, where Ben had left his t-shirt over his own.

“Tyler.” Ben croaked. He reached out, cringing as his skin stretched around his shoulders, then froze.

A few feet away, perched on a rock jutting out of the bank, was a huge raven.

The bird cocked one greedy eye at Tyler’s exposed groin. Ben’s eyes widened in understanding.

“WAKE UP!”

The nude napper’s eyes snapped open, instantly taking in the raven.

The bird lunged.

Tyler yelled and twisted away. The bird uttered a strangled squawk of dismay, but it was too late. It was committed. Ducking its beak at the end of its short dive, the unfortunate bird slammed into Tyler’s backside, embedding its head firmly between his buttocks. Both bird and boy screeched in horror.

Tyler sprang to his feet and thrashed around the streambank, beating his arms wildly, butt clenched in a terrified embrace. The bird scrabbled desperately in a vain attempt to free itself.

“Quit struggling! It can’t get out!”

“Get it off me!” Tyler shrieked.

The bird frantically agreed.

“Hold still!”

Tyler did no such thing. Ben snatched a heavy stick and chased the miserable partners as they danced around the stream bank, swiping at the raven. Tyler tripped on a tuft of grass and sprawled on his belly with a splash. Ben seized his chance.

Uttering a triumphant shout, he swung the stick with all his might. The bird squealed and dodged to the opposite cheek, pivoting around its clamped skull just in time. The wood struck home with a thunderous smack. Tyler screamed. The vise of his backside relented, and the bird rocketed across the stream.

It wobbled to its feet, fell over again, then launched itself into the air, jabbering angrily as it disappeared into the scrub. Ben planted his feet, shook his weapon over his head and screeched his victory to the plain. Tyler groaned and lay still.

As the adrenaline ebbed away, pinpricks and itchy crawlers spread across his dry, burned skin, and he became aware of a sound. His eyes flitted to the top of the gulley on the camper side, where an old woman was bent over her knees, shaking with laughter. Ben’s face turned a shade redder.

“You two look like a couple of strips of bacon somebody forgot to flip in the skillet!” the woman cackled. “The bird just wanted a little piece, is all! Just a little one.”

Ben scrambled for his clothes.

“Don’t be embarrassed. They all look the same. Make yourselves decent and come on up to camp. I got some sunburn salve for you poor babies, and dinner if you want it.”

Their host was a matronly woman of perhaps sixty-five, though she seemed older. Her silver-streaked braid puffed like dry broomgrass over a hunched, widening back. A mass of wrinkles and sunspots textured the papery leather spread across her broad cheekbones. But her teeth were white and strong, and she showed them often.

“I guess I was out exploring while you fellers were takin’ a nap,” she said as she stirred a pot hooked over a campfire. The shadows had grown long while they had slept. Ben sipped the mug of soup between his hands, pleasantly warm in the shade of the camper’s awning. The heat of the day had passed.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. We didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

“I guess you didn’t, and you’ll mean it even less tomorrow when you start molting like snakes. And don’t call me ma’am. I’m Lilly.”

“So, you’re out here all alone?”

Lilly chuckled. It was a hoarse, throaty sound. “That surprise you?”

“I don’t know. It seems like a strange place for a, um.”

“For a woman? I been worse.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared a what?”

“I don’t know. Coyotes?” He looked down apologetically. “Men?”

“I got a shotgun’ll blow the balls off anything, two legs or ten, and happy for it, too. Besides, it’s the curse of a woman’s life to be hounded while she’s young and damn near invisible when she’s old. Ain’t too much to be scared of when you get to my age. Naw, the desert is my home. It’s my peace.”

“Thank you for dinner.” Ben said. Tyler grunted his agreement from the other side of the fire, the first sound he’d made since slinking back into camp.

“Welcome,” Lilly said. “Does a woman good to have a couple of boys to care for every now and then. You ain’t from Texas, I can tell that. Where you from?”

“New York.”

She snorted. “That explains plenty.”

Tyler looked up. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“Exactly that.” The old woman wagged her spoon at Tyler. “You people from the coast—you’re delicate. You’d get offended if a heifer took a squat lookin’ your way. You think you’re so civilized, and you got life all figured out with your million-dollar houses and your shiny sports cars and your bimbo TV shows.

“But I’ll tell ya. You live in a fairy tale world. America was born out in the dust and the dirt, in blood, and gunsmoke, and dirty work. And it’s out here it’ll die when it comes time, long after you ‘civilized’ folks legislate and regulate yourselves and shop yourselves straight to hell.” She popped a crust of bread in her mouth and chewed.

“Nothin’ personal, ’course. You seem like fine young men, if just a little dim. And oh! I do love boys your age. So full of promises and life, just beggin’ to get out into the world. You think and do different when you’re young.”

Her face soured. “Too bad you turn to men. Once a man knows he is one, you can keep the bastard.” She spat. “Anyhow, where ya headed?”

“We’re trying to get to the Rockies,” Ben replied.

“Where abouts? That’s a pretty big target.”

“Anywhere. But we’re stranded. Ran out of gas.”

“Ran dry, huh? There’s a town not five miles down the road, but five miles in the Texas heat for a New York snowflake might as well be fifty. You’re lucky I’m here. I’ll gas you up in the mornin’, ’nuff to get to town.”

“Thank you so much, ma’am. We appreciate it.”

“Yup. Hey. You two hurtin’ for money?”

“Actually,” Ben said, “we are looking for a way to pick up some extra cash.”

“Uh huh. Tell you what. My brother Badger’s got a homestead across the border in New Mexico, a good day’s ride or so. He’s a little rough around the edges, but I guess he’d give you some work to do for a couple of days. His place is just at the tail end of your mountains, too.”

“We’d like that. We’re just about broke.”

“I can tell.”

“Do you mind if we camp here tonight?”

“Not if you’ll help me clean camp kitchen. There’s water, and here’s a bucket.”