Solitaire (cont.)

It was dark when Mannix finally reached the tree line. He had been able to see where he was going only because of the full moon. He felt exhausted, had lost all track of time, and each labored breath drawn had threatened to sap his will to go on. His leg was cramping, and each time he  stumbled and fell it had raised the question of whether he’d be able to get up again. Droves of hungry insects, mostly gnats and mosquitoes, had found him, attracted by the blood and sweat. They hovered around his face in clouds, but he hardly bothered to expend the energy to swat at them anymore. It was futile, and the stinging, itching bites were the least of his worries. Earlier, when he had scratched at a bite on his jaw, it dawned on him that he had too much whisker growth for just a day. Somehow twenty-four hours had been lost, probably in a drugged stupor. That might explain the nausea and confusion when they had dumped him out of the jeep.

The air had cooled off some time ago and it was sure to get colder. He looked around in the dim light and spotted a large boulder nestled under a pine tree with several small, wiry aspens clustered around. It was another fifty feet upslope, but Mannix knew he had to make it there. It would be a good place to rest for a few minutes before going higher. Just because Edwards had said they wouldn’t be back until morning didn’t make the statement fact.

Fifteen minutes later Joe staggered to the boulder, leaned against it, and sank to the ground. He closed his eyes, not sure if the buzzing he heard was the droning of insects or a disturbed rattler. A small part of him wondered, but the larger part couldn’t have cared less.  The last thing he was aware of was the yipping and howling of coyotes.

Mannix awoke with a jerk. Several blue grouse exploded up into the air, startled by the sudden movement. The squawking and sharp whirring of wings echoed up the narrow canyon. He blinked and shivered, then wrapped his arms tightly over his chest. He lay in a fetal position, head on the ground. The pleasant smell of damp earth and pine needles lulled him again into drowsiness despite the chill. Another shiver coursed through, and he finally realized the sun was up. With a groan he pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned against a tree, finding it hard to believe he had slept all night. He ached from head to toe, and cold, stiff muscles balked at every movement. Gritting his teeth, he slowly straightened his leg. There was no fresh blood on the makeshift bandage. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, whether from the lingering effects of the blow to the side of the head or insect bites, he didn’t know. A spasm of coughing threatened, and Mannix reached for the canteen. A coughing fit was the last thing his ribs needed. It took him several tries to get the cap off, and his hands shook as he lifted the canteen to his lips. It was less than a third full now, and he resisted the urge to swallow the remainder all at once. He couldn’t remember drinking any of it the day before. In fact, there was not much he could remember at all after Edwards had left.

He carefully replaced the cap and leaned his head back. The sunlight wouldn’t be reaching into the canyon for a while, so if he wanted to warm up, he would have to move from here. Oh, what he’d give for a cup of Peggy’s hot coffee. He quickly pushed the thought of food or drink out of mind. One thing he could be thankful for was the fact it was mid-August, and the nighttime temperatures were somewhat bearable. But he knew that could change in a hurry, and it wouldn’t take much for someone in his condition to die from exposure.

Mannix dreaded the thought of getting up, but there was no choice.  Edwards and company were bound to be looking for him by now and his tracks could be easily followed from the drop point to the bottom of the hill. With binoculars and a little patience, he would be spotted in no time. Joe rubbed his arms while scanning the desert floor, but couldn’t see any dust rising or the glint of sunlight off a vehicle. Instinct told him they were out there, and he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. Mannix forced himself to stand. He took careful steps, staying in the shadows and behind rocks and trees as much as possible.

It took Joe nearly an hour to travel the next quarter mile. He had decided to go upslope halfway to the ridge. It would have been easier to move along the top, but he didn’t want to risk being silhouetted against the sky. It was extremely difficult going as the brushy hillside was littered with rocks and deadfall. He had found a branch about five feet long and strong enough to use as a walking stick. That had helped a great deal to relieve the pressure from his leg wound, although he still felt like he was moving at a snail’s pace. Even with the morning dew, the vegetation was dry, and the more he tried to avoid making too much noise, the louder the cracking and popping seemed to get. A Steller’s jay had followed him most of the way, screeching and chattering until he had passed the bird’s claimed territory.

Joe had picked out landmarks on either side to establish a base line: a huge lightning struck pine at the edge of the valley to his left, and a towering column of basalt a couple of miles away to his right. It wouldn’t always be possible to stay at the edge of the valley, so as long as these were in sight, he knew he’d avoid wandering aimlessly in circles. He didn’t want to lose his hunters entirely. The vehicle they drove was his only chance of getting out, so he needed to keep track of them as much as possible. If Jules had planned this escapade for as long as he’d claimed, than no doubt this area was desolate. There would be no one around for miles. The thought that perhaps Edwards had brought him out here with no intention of returning crossed his mind, but as bent on revenge as he seemed to be, Mannix highly doubted that this would be the case. He was sure Edwards was telling him the truth about Benny Wickes. He also knew that the old man was probably right about Benny and the barmaid not being much help in the search for Joe Mannix. That search, he supposed, was going full steam ahead by now. Peg was really going to be pissed at him over this. So much for promises.

He took another sip from the canteen. One thing for certain, he needed to find more water. That was critical. Both for drinking and for cleaning the leg wound. It was likely to pick up some infection sooner or later, and he wanted to at least slow the process. If things were going to turn around as he had planned, when Jules Edwards and his two cohorts became the hunted, Mannix was going to need all the strength he could get for the difficulties he was yet to face. He wasn’t going to try to con himself into thinking that the road ahead was going to get easier.

Evan Edwards kicked angrily at the dirt and threw his hat to the ground. Jules sat in the jeep, patiently drumming his fingers on his cane. He watched his son, the only family member out of four who had not abandoned him. He’d let the young man go ahead and throw his fit. The more angry he became, the more useful he’d be. He had a very singular mind.

“Son of a bitch!” More dirt was kicked into the air, the dust settling over the sagebrush. A small, brown lizard scurried out from under one of the plants and darted into a pile of rocks. Evan picked up a stick and threw it at the vanishing creature. “He went up above! Who the hell would have thought a man with a hole blown in his leg would go uphill! Through the damned rocks and bushes!”

Jules breathed a small sigh of relief. At least Evan had thrown a stick instead of blasting away with his pistol, a sure way to let Mannix know they had arrived. He looked at Hutchens, who was leaning on the jeep, scanning the mountainside through binoculars. “You did get him a good one, Del. Not enough to kill him outright, but it sure as hell is going to be rough going. I knew I could depend on you.” He patted the artificial leg and smiled. “We’ll see how Mr. Mannix likes a nearly useless leg. I must admit that this is one thing I didn’t anticipate. Guess I thought that because I couldn’t climb worth a shit, he couldn’t either.”

The big man shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter, Jules. We’ll find him and drag his ass back down.” Del lowered the binoculars. “Then we’ll haul him out into the middle of the puckerbrush again and give him a couple hundred yards head start.” He grinned without a touch of pleasantness. “You have your rifle. You can pick him off like a scared jackrabbit.”

“We have to catch the rabbit first,” Jules remarked dryly. Deep down he was thrilled over the turn of events. Mannix hadn’t panicked at all over the situation. Not yet. “Might I suggest that one of you go on up and look around. He can’t hide every track he makes. Besides, there’s always the possibility that he’s passed out up there somewhere.”

“If I find the bastard I’ll...”

“Evan,” Jules said softly. “You know I’ve indulged your every whim, but not this time. He’s mine.”

Another jay was fussing. Joe leaned against a tree to catch his breath as the bird fluttered in the branches above him. His leg was cramping again and he resisted the urge to lie down and rest. He wiped the sweat away from his eyes. The day was heating up fast, but he didn’t dare take the jacket off. In his current state of mind he was afraid it would fall to the ground unnoticed, and he would stumble on without it.

“Why don’t you go bug somebody else, you little bastard,” Joe muttered. He managed to pick up a rock to toss at the noisemaker, but that only made the bird even more vocal. As if daring him to try it again, it didn’t budge or quiet down.

Shortly before, Joe had flushed more grouse, and they had promptly flew downhill, complaining all the way. Nothing like having feathered alarms going off everywhere, Joe thought. He absently-mindedly swatted at the gnats hovering in front of his face. The bugs hardly bothered to land and bite anymore. Joe figured he was covered in such a layer of grime by now that they couldn’t find any bare places to chew on.

He looked toward the valley. He had spotted the jeep once, cruising slowly along the bottom of the grade. The three men had rode up as far as they could, so Joe had climbed a little higher, into rockier terrain. He would leave less tracks that way, but the cost was expending even more precious energy. He was sure one or both of Edwards’ toadies were on foot by now, playing bloodhound.

He had managed to find some huckleberry bushes along the way. The tiny berries were sparse, and what few the bears and birds had left behind were now mostly dried up. It was nearly season’s end for huckleberries. Joe ate all he could find, withered or not. At least it was something. He finished the water with only a tinge of regret.

The column of rocks didn’t seem to be getting much closer. He had hoped to reach it by nightfall, but now that seemed doubtful. It was by those rocks that he had wanted to start circling, but he couldn’t chance traveling at night through the rough terrain, even with another full moon. A gunshot wound to the leg was bad enough, but a broken one was surely fatal. He looked up. Judging from the sun’s position, Joe guessed it was around four o’clock in the afternoon. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to spend another night in the elements, but needed to prepare anyway. There was still plenty of time to find a good place for the night. He shook his head slightly and pushed forward.

Del Hutchens watched a scowling Evan pick his way down the slope to the jeep. If this were a cartoon, he thought, there would be a dark cloud hovering right over Evan’s head. Try as he might, Del couldn’t hold back a snicker.

“Anything?” Jules asked, ignoring the huge man beside him and hoping Evan would do the same.

Evan shook his head. Jules could tell he was extremely angry and frustrated. The old man adjusted his hat and shifted into a more comfortable position in the jeep. He was not feeling well, especially with the heat. He knew he shouldn’t be out here at all. It was a worthy price to pay, however. He had been waiting years for this, so at least he would die a happy man.

Del snickered again.

“Why don’t you give it a whirl, smart ass?” Evan’s face was beet red. He was nearly a foot smaller in all dimensions compared to Del, but it didn’t faze him at all. “See how you like tramping around up there...”

“Quiet down, both of you,” Jules barked. He was tiring of Evan and Del’s snide remarks to one another. Usually they got along reasonably well, but the unsuccessful search for Mannix was already wearing on them. He supposed the two men figured that a five or six hour jaunt was all this was going to involve, but obviously that was not going to be the case. Evan had never enjoyed being in the so-called great outdoors, where to him, there were hungry bears and cougars lurking at every turn. His idea of camping was a cabin with all the amenities on the shores of Lake Tahoe, complete with hookers, and the closest bears and cougars being at a taxidermy shop. Earlier, when Evan had found a tick crawling on his arm, he had jumped up and hopped around as if suddenly discovering he was sitting on a red ant hill. By contrast, Del was usually game for anything, but Evan had a knack for getting on the big man’s nerves.

Del, softly singing Three Dog Night’s “Joy To the World”, went back to his binocular scanning. After he had helped Jeremiah drink his wine, he stopped singing. “You were looking in the wrong place, Evan.”

“Oh really? In all your infinite wisdom, oh great Oracle, where is he?”

“Right there.” Del was smiling. He had the binoculars focused on an area nearly a quarter of a mile further from where Evan had been searching. Mannix was also higher up the mountain than anticipated. The guy was one surprise after another. Del handed the binoculars to Jules and pointed. “He’s above that pile of rocks right at the top of the clearing. By those two big pine trees.”

Jules barely spotted the detective before he disappeared behind the trees. “Got you, you bastard,” he breathed.

Mannix carefully lowered himself to the ground, leaning forward to cradle his aching head in his hands. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and shaky again. Feet dangling, he found himself staring directly down the steep slope of a gulch. All along the bottom were thick tangles of bushes, and across on the other side were more scatterings of rocks and trees. But something else caught his eye. A huge pine had recently lost its grip on the mountainside. It was nearly flat on the ground, and the wall of dirt still packed around the roots went straight into the air nearly eight feet. The branches formed a thick canopy along the ground. With another night in the colder temperatures looking like a strong possibility, Joe decided underneath the tree might be the best place to be. The problem was getting to the other side, and he realized it would most likely take him the rest of the day to do that. Going on up the hill wasn’t an option. The rocky, nearly perpendicular sides as the gulch narrowed would have been nearly impossible for an able-bodied person to negotiate. The other direction would take him close to the valley floor. Too close. His only choice was to go straight across.

He tiredly ran his fingers through his hair. The thirst and emptiness in his stomach was impossible to ignore, and with it the came the first small flicker of desperation. The hunger was a sharp gnawing pain and as his thirst grew, his split lip seemed to be cracking apart even more. The few huckleberries he’d found had been little help, in fact they had only made him more ravenous. If he’d been able to catch anything - a bird, a squirrel, anything that moved - he wasn’t sure if he would have any second thoughts about eating it raw.

It took a moment for the rolling echo of a rifle shot to register. A split second later there was the dull thunk of a bullet embedding itself into a tree several feet behind Mannix’s head. He immediately crawled away from the gully edge and lay behind some rocks, keeping his head to the ground. A second report sounded, and a spray of rock shards rained down on him as the whine of the ricocheting bullet faded.

“That should perk him up.” Jules lowered the rifle. He’d actually had the detective in the crosshairs of the scope a couple of times, but decided not to end everything yet. He had even considered winging him, but didn’t trust himself enough to avoid a mortal wound. Del was the expert marksman, which was the main reason he, not Jules, had initially shot the detective. But from now on, no one was going to do any serious plugging except Jules Edwards. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of hauling Mannix back out into the sagebrush and giving him that hundred yard lead. He’d take him out, one inch at a time.

“That got his ass moving, Pops,” laughed Evan, now watching through the binoculars. For once he seemed to be enjoying himself.  “We can have him down here before dark.”

“We’ll let him stew the rest of the evening. It’s going to be a very uncomfortable night for him.” Jules eyed the thunderheads boiling up to the west, a consequence of the heat. The late afternoon sun had already disappeared behind them. “Maybe in more ways than one.” He limped to the jeep and slid the rifle into a scabbard. “Let’s set up camp right here. Our nice toasty campfire and hearty meal ought to add to his misery.”

Evan, scowling once again, shook his head in disbelief, muttering under his breath. Sometimes he had great difficulty understanding his father’s flair for the dramatic. First, the games with Wickes and the barmaid, and now giving Mannix the chance to slip away. To top it all off, they were going to be spending the night in this God forsaken place. If it were up to him he’d have shot the bastard in the warehouse and been done with it.

Mannix belly-crawled to the edge of the gully. No more shots were fired, so he didn’t know if his hunters were coming after him on foot or if they were just watching. He wasn’t about to wait around to find out.

Sharp rocks dug painfully into his battered body as he lowered himself over the side. It looked to be nearly thirty feet to the bottom. He stuck the end of the walking stick into the softer dirt and began slowly zigzagging down. The thick canopy of bushes at the bottom made it impossible to see what was really down there. Regardless, he’d have to somehow get through them to climb up the other side. His trail would be as visible as a neon sign, but there was nothing to be done about that.

He was nearly halfway down when he slipped. As Joe tried to shift the walking stick, he heard the dull snap of it breaking. The wounded leg collapsed beneath him at nearly the same time, and try as he might, he couldn’t right himself. He fell, clutching frantically at the sparse bitterbrush clinging to the side. Unable to hang on, he rolled down to the bottom and slid partially under the bushes. A few small rocks had followed, bouncing on and around him, but by then, Joe wasn’t aware of anything.

As his senses slowly cleared, he thought he detected the sweet aroma of grapes. He raised his head slightly at the sound of a soothing, familiar voice whispering his name. Since he was wedged tightly under a  bush and couldn’t see anything, he lay still and simply listened. Maybe the voice he’d heard was one of Edwards’ goons, but after a couple minutes of silence broken only by the fluttering of chirping birds, he decided he was hearing things after all. Great. That’s all he needed.

He moaned and dropped his head back down. He could feel warmth moving down his thigh and knew the wound had been reopened in the fall. As painful as breathing was, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find a rib now broken and poking into a lung. He expected the shortness of breath and taste of blood but it never came.

It took him several more minutes to realize his left hand was in water. He raised it and saw mud and brownish-green slime dripping off in thick globules. The acrid smell of the decaying vegetation and stagnant water was lingering unpleasantly in his nostrils. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he tried to raise himself to hands and knees, but could hardly move. The canteen was wrapped around a thorny branch above, pulling at his shoulder. He finally managed to jerk it free, and began inching backwards over the spongy ground, wincing with each movement. The thorns caught at his hair and clothing and left scratches across his neck and hands as he fought his way out of the thicket. When he finally freed himself he sat back, gasping for breath. He looked down at the makeshift bandage with dismay. The top side of his thigh was also coated. He quickly cleaned as much of the muck off as he could, knowing full well it probably had soaked through to the wound.

He looked with distaste at the algae loaded water, the stinking ooze and the crust that had formed over some of the small pools. He wasn’t that desperate yet. Anyone drinking that brew would have been hit with the Tijuana two-step and God only knows what else. This was nothing but a mosquito breeding ground.

The slight breeze shifted, carrying the scent of something sweet. In his confusion he had thought it was grapes, but he knew that was impossible. He looked at the thorny bushes, but what he was looking at didn’t register right away. Then it slowly dawned on him. Huge, ripe wild blackberries. By the hundreds. Mouth watering, Joe crawled to the nearest bush and began pulling berries off as fast as he could and shoving them into his mouth. At this point, he would have challenged all three men plus a grizzly for the berry patch. He forced himself to slow down, careful of making himself sick. When he finally felt full, he leaned back to rest and let his stomach settle. He had moved further into the gulch in his feeding frenzy, and it was from here that he thought he heard the sound of water. With the wind now moving through the trees, it was hard to pick up on, but he was positive he had heard something. The food had helped clear his head and he became aware of the smell of rain on the breeze and the sun behind thick, fast-moving clouds. The wind died down before changing direction, and in that quiet moment, he heard the water again. The stagnant water further down had to come from somewhere. If it had seeped up from the ground he may not be able to find anything drinkable. But this sounded like running water. Impending storm forgotten, he grabbed the canteen, and hobbled along the blackberry bushes, picking berries now and then as he made his way toward the tumble of rocks at the head of the gulch.

It wasn’t too long until Joe found the source of the water. A number of springs started in the middle of the cliff face, trickling down in several spots until forming one tiny streamlet. In turn, it dribbled into a small pool within the tumble of rocks. From there the water made it’s way through the blackberry bushes and down the gulch before seeping into the ground and disappearing. Arms shaking, Joe plunged his hands into the pool, then reached out and let the water run over them. He looked at the water closely, smelled, than sipped.  He couldn’t remember ever tasting water so cold and pure. After drinking handful after handful, he uncapped the canteen and held it under the stream. When it was finally full, Joe drank more.  He leaned over, splashing water on his face. He couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of grime that probably rolled off. He scooped water over the back of his neck and head, then washed the rest of the muck off his sleeve. That done, he sat on a flat rock nearby, still reeling from his good fortune. The mosquitoes would probably also be celebrating.

In the dimming light he turned his attention to his leg. If nothing else, the cloth needed to be rinsed out. Mannix tugged at the knot. The material was stuck together with drying blood and muck, so he began scooping water over it. As he unwound the strip, the pressure lessened and the pain grew, but he persevered until the bandage was off. He wadded it up and dropped it into the pool of water. As it soaked, he widened the small hole in his trouser leg, then poured some water over the wound, grimacing at the sharp jabs of pain. It was getting too dark to try to do anything more with it, so he retrieved the cloth, wrung it out and quickly wrapped it back around.

He topped the canteen off with water for the last time and struggled back to his feet. Between the cliff face and bushes there was an opening large enough for him to squeeze through. He had to pick his way over more rocks, but that was a hell of a lot easier than having to crawl underneath the blackberry bushes and through the muck. Before he began going up the side, he grabbed more berries, eating some and filling the pockets of his jacket with the rest. They may be a berry mash by morning, but it would be edible.

He could hear thunder in the distance as a few fat drops of rain plopped on the ground. He had contemplated staying in the gully tonight, but the coming rain helped change his mind. If it was raining hard further up into the mountains, he didn’t want to be in a gully below. Besides, maybe there would be enough rain to wash his tracks away. He eyed the slope, at first with apprehension, and then determination. It was fourth and long, and he may have to drop back fifteen yards, but he’d be damned if he was going to punt.

Joe crawled into the downed pine, pushing aside branches as he burrowed, stopping only after he couldn’t force any more forward progress through the dense foliage. Unable to see in the darkness, he reached up to make sure he was under the thick trunk.  The still malleable branches and overpowering scent indicated the tree hadn’t been down for too long. The rain had stopped for now, but he had gotten thoroughly soaked getting here. Shortly after beginning his climb up the side of the gully, the sprinkle had turned into a deluge and it felt like the temperature had plummeted twenty degrees with the main thrust of the storm. His jacket was wool, and what lining was left had helped to keep out some of the dampness, but the front of his shirt and pants were cold and wet, as were his feet. His shoes, not designed for hiking, were beginning to split at the seams and he could feel the sting of blisters.  Shivering, he curled up into a ball. At least he had managed to end up on a relatively smooth area, with dry grass underneath instead of sharp rocks. The wind had died completely and he could hear rainwater dripping from the trees, with no other sounds except the periodic rumbling of distant thunder.  Joe remembered one other time in his life when he had felt so utterly alone. He had been fighting for his life then, too. As his eyes closed he had to remind himself that this was a different sort of war altogether.

Joe could feel sweat on his face and heat from a fire. He sighed and slowly straightened out his leg. It was hurting more than ever now, throbbing with every heartbeat. Must have got the wrap too tight, he thought. Better fix it. With an enormous amount of effort, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. His thoughts cartwheeled in every direction while everything else was moving in slow motion. Even the air he was breathing seemed thick. Grape scented air.  He reluctantly opened his eyes and found himself on his back, head turned to the side, staring into the bright flames of a campfire. With a sharp intake of breath in that shocking moment of lucidity, he jerked his head up, fully expecting to see Jules Edwards staring back at him. But it wasn’t Jules Edwards. It was his own father.

Joe looked at him, mouth moving and no sound coming out except for a barely audible “oh.”

Stefan Mannix smiled. “Oh? That’s all you can say to me, Joseph, is ‘oh’?”

“No...no...” Joe mumbled as his head sank back to the ground, nausea welling. Revenge of the blackberries. Surely that’s what it was.  He pressed the palms of his hands to his damp forehead and swallowed. The words were slurred.  “Another dream... shouldn’t have to throw up in a dream.”

A slight tilt of the head and a broader smile. “If you want to think of this as a dream, that’s fine.”

Frowning with the effort of concentration, Joe closed his eyes to blot out his father’s image, at the same time reaching for the bandage. He rolled to his side and tried to loosen the knot, but his fingers kept slipping. He felt himself drifting.

“Joseph.” His father’s voice again. “Last time you ignored me. This time you cannot do that.”

Joe winced as hot pain coursed through his leg. Somehow he had managed to loosen the knot and pull away part of the wrap.  Through clenched teeth he could only manage a “ last time?”

“In the blackberry patch.”

“Oh.” He remembered now. The smell of grapes, that familiar voice.

“Again, oh.” Stefan laughed.

Joe smiled and relaxed. He had always loved his father’s laugh. For too many years in his life he hadn’t heard it enough. The laughter was far more pleasant than the hands wrapped around his throat in the other dreams. As much as he didn’t want to, Mannix kept telling himself that he needed to wake up. There was something terribly wrong that had nothing to do with his father sitting in front of him. Or maybe it had everything to do with it. Here he was, talking to someone who had been dead for nearly a year.

“What’s the matter with me?” he whispered, staring dully at the dark liquid on his fingertips. Was his leg really bleeding again? “Why can’t I wake up?”

“You’re not dead. That is what you’re thinking.” His father tossed another chunk of wood on the fire. Tiny sparks whirled around in the updraft and disappeared.

For awhile, Joe was mesmerized by the flames. He blinked and shook his head slightly. “Where am I?”

Stefan shrugged. “That’s hard to explain, Joseph.”

“You brought me here...”

“No, son,” Stefan contradicted softly, “you brought me here.”

“Why?” Joe began trying to wriggle out of his jacket. It was getting too warm.

“Need, I suppose. I’m perfectly happy right where I am. You, on the other hand, are not.” Stefan leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front. Those labor-worn hands that still looked as if their owner had just come in from the vineyards.  “Leave your jacket on.”

By then Joe had it off his shoulders but couldn’t seem to get his hands working together enough to slip it off. He had managed to pop off several buttons of his shirt. His face and chest shone with sweat.

His father’s voice became urgent. “It’s still cold and wet, Joseph.”

Joe struggled to sit up. “The fire...too hot.”

“I have nothing to do with that. The heat comes from you.” The voice was now stern. “Leave your shirt and jacket alone and quiet down.”

Joe stopped and sank back to the ground. “Okay, papa,” he mumbled. He had heard that tone of voice plenty of times as he was growing up. Even now it made him feel like he was again twelve years old.

“That’s better.” The voice was soothing.

Joe closed his eyes. The exertion had left him shaking and sucking in ragged breaths, but soon the trembling lessened and the sound of his breathing was steady. He opened his eyes and saw his father staring at him, features grim.

“Am I dying?” Joe was surprised at the calm in his own voice.

“No.”

He frowned slightly. “Why is it you’re here and mom isn’t?”

“She’s doing laundry.” Stefan smiled and than laughed again. “I’m sorry, son, I couldn’t resist. She is here. Right beside me.”

Joe concentrated on and around his father’s image. There was no one else. Try as he might he couldn’t hold back the sting of tears. “Why can’t I see her?”

Stefan sighed and looked at his hands. “You and I still have things to resolve. You and your mother don’t.” He turned his head and murmured something, but the words were spoken so softly that Joe couldn’t make out what was said.  Stefan leaned over and lightly touched Joe’s head. “She is here, believe me.”

Joe jumped slightly at the brush of his father’s hand against his skin. It was more of a tingle, but it was still unnerving. You weren’t supposed to actually feel hallucinations, were you? Stefan picked up a slender branch and began poking it into the fire. The burning wood crackled as it shifted, and more sparks fled into the night air. However, the fire was beginning to die.

“First of all, Joseph, there was nothing you could have done for me. I was dead thirty seconds after I hit the ground. If you had been standing beside me, it wouldn’t have changed anything. My heart, it was done. Besides, I died with the smell of rich earth and grapes filling my lungs for the last time. What could have been better? You understand?”

“I still should have been there, papa, I’m sorry. In more ways than one, I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. We just chose different paths, that’s all. I was always proud of you, regardless of our differences. Always.” Stefan sighed. “There were things I did that I regretted, too.” He smiled and looked at Joe. “Stubbornness begets stubbornness.”

Joe knew what was coming next. Stefan poked at the embers again.

“Do we have to do this...”

“Yes, Joseph, we do.”

 Joe wrapped his arms over his ribs, searching for a way to stall the compelling urge to ask questions. “It’s getting cold. Can you put more wood on?”

“There is no more.” Stefan tossed the stick into the fire ring. It flared briefly as the dry bark ignited. “There isn’t much time, Joseph.”

It was as if he knew what Joe was thinking. There was no sound except the occasional pop of a fading ember.

Joe suppressed a shiver.  “I don’t know if it would have worked.”

“You should at least have had the chance to find out.”

“I don’t think she would have liked my career choice.” Wincing, Joe shifted his leg. “I’m happy with what I do.”

“You should be. You have helped so many people. It took me a long time to realize that.”

Joe stared dully at the dying remains of the fire.  “Papa, what should I do with the land?”

“You do what you want to do.  It doesn’t matter to me. You will have to follow your heart.” Stefan looked at Joe, a faint smile crossing his lips. “I cannot picture you ever settling for any sort of a peaceful, quiet life. Even when you would be able to. I have a feeling that you will continue to do what you do now for many years to come.”

Joe closed his eyes. “I want to sleep...”

“No.” Stefan’s voice was harsh. “It’s light now, and they’re coming. They’ll find you.”

“Not here.”

“Oh yes. Here. The rain didn’t cover your tracks well.” The voice was getting fainter. “Just remember, son. I love you. When you wake, look behind.”

Joe had finally realized his father was going to leave. “Wait...”

“Joseph, wake up.”

The voice faded with an echo. Joe lay still until the cool air and something crawling across the back of his neck finally roused him. Still groggy, he raised to an elbow and looked around.  Realities were temporarily crossed, and there was a momentary sense of displacement when he saw there was no fire ring, no open space, only the thick branches of a tree. There was an opening in the branches, and he saw the sunlit boughs of an aspen against blue sky. The storm had passed. So, it seemed, had something far less tangible.

His mouth was parched. The canteen was still by his side, full. After the thirst was taken care of, he retrieved the blackberries from his pockets. They had been mashed to a pulp. Even though he didn’t feel hungry anymore, he finished them off, knowing his body needed nourishment. Then he drank more water. Joe reached down and felt his leg. The wrap again seemed too tight, even though he could have sworn he had loosened it. Without even looking, he knew the wound was infected, tissue swelling. He still felt warm, but nothing like the wild hallucination inducing fever he had experienced during the night.

Joe heard voices in the distance. It was unmistakable. They were coming. He clenched his teeth and began working his way back through the tree, deciding immediately that he couldn’t stay hidden there for long. His thoughts turned, and he remembered his father’s voice telling him something.

“Look behind,” he whispered. Feeling somewhat sheepish, he did. There was nothing out of the ordinary. There, he thought, that should settle that. The backward scooting motion was becoming extremely painful for his leg and ribs, so he carefully turned and began to wriggle through head first. He stopped to catch his breath. The men were getting close. They didn’t seem concerned at all with the noise they were making, probably hoping to flush him out.

*******

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