A Desert Rescue: a desert story
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Cynthia E. Bagley
Smashwords.com Edition, License Notes
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Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero
A Desert Rescue
Jude Potter was a self-proclaimed "desert rat," born and bred in the high desert near Bakersfield, California. Before he moved to the high desert of Northern Nevada, he had spent much of his off-time walking and riding through the barren wastes. To Jude, there was nothing barren about the desert. It was full of life, just not full of water.
His truck had the well-worn spotted look of a desert truck. It was white to keep the sun from overheating the engine. Dark cars and trucks didn't do well in the desert. Some days it could get to 120 degrees in the high heat of summer. He blamed Ford for his paint job that peeled large slices of white paint. The primer, a stale gray, peeked out. Inside the truck, he carried his gun, fully loaded, and his amateur radio equipment. He had learned from hard lessons that some places in the desert far from the cities did not support his cell phone. If he wanted to be heard, the amateur radio rig would do a better job.
Part of his emergency equipment included water. Water is precious in the desert. Desert rats and even ordinary urban desert dwellers soon learn not to spill water. If you have enough water, you can survive almost anything the desert can throw at you.
Sagebrush, pinion pines, greasewood, grasses, and other plants have learned to survive in the desert. There are cacti squeezed amongst the brush. The squirrels and other desert rodents dig under the roots, sheltered from the sun. In the desert the sun is the enemy.
This morning Jude had cabin fever. He had been inside too long fiddling with his radios. He wanted to get into his truck and drive into the flats. He wanted to get out and walk long and far with only the desert and himself for company. Maybe the wild empty would calm the beast that refused to like his neighbors. He was tired of the noise, the drugs, and the people. He needed to leave for awhile to clean out his soul.
Before he set out, he checked his supplies. He had enough water and enough hard jerky to last for a day or two. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and jumped into the truck. He always kept some ammunition under the back seat and his pistol was next to him. He was well protected from the wild: cougars, coyotes, wolves and other predators that he might encounter. He took a deep breath and drove out of town, looking for a dirt road that led away, far away from the noise and smells of the city.
Once he was on a random dirt road that led in an easterly direction, he rolled down the windows and took a deep breath. It smelled of sagebrush and fresh air. The air was so fresh that he could almost taste it on his tongue. As he drove further away from civilization, he could feel his back and shoulders relax.
As he left the marks of civilization, he could feel his civilized skins slip away. He could see better, smell better, and hear better.
It was ten miles down the dirt road that he first saw the car. It was a small suburban car, possibly a Neon and it was stuck on the side of the road. Jude stopped to help, but as he looked through the windows, it was clear that no one was in the car. The windows were rolled down and in inside the car, it was full of dust. It was hard to tell how long it had been since anyone had been in the car.
He spit on the side of the road. He did a full-circle around the car and saw two sets of footprints leading into the desert.
"Oh, dang," he said, and then pulled out his cell phone. The signal strength bars let him know that the cell phone was working. He dialed the Sherriff's number. It wasn't an emergency yet. But it might turn into one.
"Found one," he said to the dispatcher. "Yea, I am in the white truck. Yea, I am going after them. Okay."
He closed the phone, strapped his gun to his waist, and then grabbed backpack that held water and food. It was going to be a long day.
It had been a great vacation so far for Mark and Julie. Julie had bought a book with maps to various ghost towns. It had been creepy to see the dust everywhere and the doors banging against the old wood that could be a hundred or more years old. The dry heat desiccated everything.
After a week in the high desert, Julie could feel her skin drying out. She couldn't keep enough lotion on her skin. Mark wasn't too interested in her. He had his camera out and was photographing everything. Of course, he was just a snapper - nothing fabulous. But the desert was so different from the green forests they were so used to seeing at home.
They had decided to go out of their usual comfort zone off the map on a small dirt road, except now they were lost. Mark insisted he wasn't lost. They just had to walk a couple more miles and they would be in an old ghost town. They would find water there. No one would build a town without water he told Julie. She thought he was probably right.
She didn't want to think that their car had over-heated, that no one knew where they were, and that they didn't have any water in the car. They did have a small bottle, but Mark was pouring it over his head.
After two hours or more, Julie wanted to go back to the car. They turned around and that was when she knew they were lost. She couldn't see the car, she couldn't even see any land marks, and Mark had finished the water.
They had been told before they set out that water was essential when out in the desert. There had been many folks and even desert rats who miscalculated how much water they needed. These poor folk were eventually found dead. The corpses would dehydrate after other animals and predators took a bite. It could take years before they were found.