| |
MITCH FIDDLED WITH the broken air conditioning switch for the fifth time and for the fifth time since he left Peet’s place, it didn’t work. As the sun broke the horizon he finally gave in and rolled down the windows. Dust filled air blasted through the open window cooling the sweat on his brow and making him feel marginally better despite the grit now coating his skin.
The winding gravel road broke over the ridge of what was once a seabed tilted crazily on its side. Fossil Ridge was a well-known landmark and the destination of many a school field trip during his youth. There were shallow caves and crevices all along its expanse. The local lore said that gold was buried in the hills, the ill-gotten contraband of a time when the art of robbing a train was at its height, over two hundred years ago. The legend said that Crazy Annie was the brains behind the Sampson heists. Family members all, the three person team were credited with a dozen successful train robberies over twenty years. In year twenty-one, they all died when the team of horses they were using for a getaway flipped during a river crossing, trapping them all in the water beneath the wagon.
Somewhere in Fossil Ridge the gold of their heists was stashed, or so the rumours went, and prospectors turned treasure hunters searched the hills for the missing gold to this day. What no one knew was that Mitch was a descendant of the Sampson gang. No one except his sister knew, that is.
Mitch turned off onto a dusty track that switched back and forth between large outcroppings of rock, following a path that was little more than a goat trail. The old Mustang groaned at the steepness of the inclines but soldiered on, inching its way over the rugged terrain. It crested a hill and skidded down the far side to the base, kicking up a cloud of dust. A camp was set up in a copse of fragrant juniper bushes. Canvas stretched between the bushes providing a low shaded area. Under the makeshift shelter was a tightly rolled sleeping bag, a metal chest with the lid flung open and a woman, bent over a small campfire. The smell of coffee drifted back to Mitch as he shut off the engine, along with the delicious smell of eggs and bacon.
“Pam! Do you have enough there for two? I’m starving!”
Pam stirred the contents of the fry pan then lifted her head, squinting at the newcomer. Her grey hair was waist length and tied back into a pony tail.
“Is that my mangy cop-for-a-brother? Figures you would show up when there is food cooking.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” Mitch bent over and entered the shaded pavilion, squatting by the meager fire.
“Ummm,” he murmured, inhaling deeply of the smell of food “that smells amazing. How is the prospecting going?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Pam pulled two tin plates from the chest and split the eggs and bacon between the pair and handed Mitch a fork along with his meal.
“Promising. I think I have figured out another clue. Here, look.”
She pulled out a tattered old ledger. The leather cover cracked and faded, and opened it to page defined by a ribbon.
“Annie said to ‘...travel the shadow of the twin mounds to find your dearest treasure...’ I think she means those two hills right over there.” Pam pointed with her fork to a series of rounded hills just visible on the horizon.
“She was writing poetry, Pam. You know what a raunchy gal she was. She was probably practicing her pick-up lines for the local saloon.”
Pam stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”
“How long are you going to keep prospecting, Pam?” Mitch shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth.
“Until I find the treasure, you dolt. Why would I give up when I am so close to finding it?”
Mitch shook his head, bemused.
Pam put her plate down then sat back, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrowed.
“You want something. What is it, Mitch? This isn’t just a family visit, is it?”
“No, it is not. I need your help.”
“With what?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You don’t want me to sponsor your baseball team again, do you? You need some real sponsors.”
“No it’s not about baseball sponsors. This is something else, much worse.”
He picked up the pot of coffee and Pam held out the two mugs for filling. Over sips of coffee, Mitch filled her in on the events of the past few weeks, and what they had discovered. He mentioned the problem with the killer bees, if that was in fact what they were.
“You see, we need a place to house these bees, someplace that they cannot escape from but still some place that they can do what they normally would do, gather nectar and produce honey. Something about these bees is key to the drought, to the ecological disaster that surrounds us right now.” Mitch gestured with his coffee mug and liquid sloshed over the side. “The government is keeping very quiet about it all. Peet and I have hashed out a plan to locate the missing scientists and those who are possibly in hiding. The government is willing to kill to keep this information secret, Pam. I feel bad even asking you to get involved. But something must be done. The land is dying and the people will begin dying right behind it, when the food runs out. Society is disintegrating all around us. People are desperate. If you know of a possible place to hide these bees, I need to know and I need to know it, right now. I have the bees in the car.”
“You brought them here? Are you nuts?” Pam shot to her feet, her head bowing the makeshift tent. “What if they get loose?”
“They are in a secure pod. They won’t get loose until someone releases them. Do you know of a place?”
Pam slowly sank down to the ground.
“Well, there may be one place. It’s a two day hike from here. Are you willing to back pack them all that way? If they are killer bees, as you suspect, one false move or one fall that cracks that canister, we are both dead.” She glared at him in accusation. “And worse yet, you will have released a horror to the world that may kill us faster than the drought.”
“If we don’t find a place for them soon, they will die in that container and the chance to study them and find the antidote to the sickness attacking the land will be lost. Do you want to lose that opportunity? We have no choice, Pam.”
Silence descended for a moment and then she nodded.
“Ok, but we need to leave right now. I know of a secure place. It so happens to be in the direction of those two mounds you scoffed at, earlier. This is as good of an excuse to explore that set of hills as any. Personally, I’d be just as happy if they all died under my boot heel.”
She scowled at Mitch’s car containing the bees, then peered up, pinning the location of the sun in the early morning sky.
“We could get in about five hours of walking this morning before our brains fry, but I have a better idea.” She exited the tent and walked over to a thicket covered in tumbleweeds. “Come here.”
Mitch got up walked over, joining her in pulling the tumbleweeds away from the thicket. A glint of metal caught Mitch’s attention. Once they had cleared the brush a motorcycle was revealed, but not just any motorcycle. An aqua blue 1949 Harley Hydra-Glide was hidden in the brush. Mitch let out a low whistle, grabbing the handlebars and rolling it out into the sunshine.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
Pam grinned. “Not all treasure to be found out here is gold. I found this baby in a cave near where we are headed. It had been there since 1949. It was still in its original shipping crate. Inside, wrapped around a handle grip was a note that said ‘The spoils of war go to the victor. Perseverance pays off.’ The keys were in the ignition. The cave had not been disturbed since the bike was delivered. That is the place I want to take you to.”
“Wow, alright! Let’s go! I’m keen to see this place now.”
Mitch ran back to his car, grabbed his backpack containing the bees then locked and pocketed the keys for the Mustang, before running back over to Pam. An angry buzzing accompanied him.
Pam ducked back under the awning, gathered some essentials, and then joined him.
“It will be a tight fit on the seat, riding double. I’m driving.” She stuffed her bag under the straps behind the seat and climbed on.
Mitch sat down behind her, backpack on his back. She kicked the start and the bike roared to life.
“There is more gasoline in the cave,” she yelled over her shoulder then gave the bike some throttle and sped off across the dusty yard.
Mitch tightened his grip around her waist, yelling and hooting with glee as they vanished over the first set of hills.