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September 9th, 1962 The Chihuahuan Desert
TURNER woke with a start, squeezed in on every side and encased in solid black. It was the sound of the wind, howling as it beat against the solid rock of the mountains, that reminded him of where he was. He didn’t know how he’d gotten rest in such a compacted position, but now he was in a hurry to move. It was night, but he didn’t know how long since the sun had fallen. What he knew was that he needed to cover as much distance as he could while it was still cool. Help me get out of here.
He tried to wiggle his fingers and toes, but most of his body was numb—he’d seized up in this awkward arrangement of his limbs and barely managed to wiggle his eyebrows. Since he’d used his knee as a pillow, even the right half of his face was frozen in place. His smile must’ve looked crooked.
Taking a deep breath, he focused his will to try to get his body to respond to the signals he knew his nerves were sending to his arms and legs. Gradually those nerves came alive—and he felt the pain. He clenched his teeth and ignored the protests running through his body and the throbbing in his head, and with care he gently eased each part as it woke up.
He shifted himself, bit by bit, toward the opening of the crevice. When at last he’d moved his head out into the night air, he could see the crisp light of the moon hanging low in the sky. It was still a little while longer before he had freed the rest of him and could check his watch. Almost midnight now.
Crawling away from the crevice, he then had to lie down and wait as a wave of pain surged through his body. Then as the agony abated, he had to relax and recover before he could slowly start stretching. He massaged his aching muscles and took his time standing up.
However much he had to take advantage of the nighttime cool, it wouldn’t do him any good to try to walk anywhere until he was ready to do a proper job of it. Then he would see how far he could travel before the sun returned and he had to stop again. Assuming he could last that long.
First he turned to the south and examined what he could see of the peaks rising in front of him. He couldn’t see a way through. Surely there had to be a pass of some kind somewhere, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross to the other side. It would be better to head to the east, following the foothills and hoping they’d lead him where he wanted to go—which was civilization of any kind at this point.
Maybe daylight would reveal something that he couldn’t see now, but if he wanted to survive he had to move. So with a soft sigh, he turned and started making his way east, and concentrated on watching where he walked to avoid falling on his face. Unless he found an oasis in the desert. He wouldn’t complain about stumbling into a pool of water.
Unfortunately, finding a promising path for his feet meant he couldn’t make as much progress as he would’ve hoped for—aside from navigating around those spiny little plants, he found the terrain forced him to veer up and down the slope as he went. Not another night of this, please.
For five hours he walked on, taking his time and taking short breaks to rest. When the morning sun rose in his eyes, he was grateful for the light and the warmth, but he knew that would change. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and turned his head slowly from side to side. And in the valley below, he saw a strange sight indeed.
Almost a hundred yards ahead, at the foot of the slope, a small wooden shack stood in the shadow of a large wind turbine. Turner wondered if that could actually be civilization of a sort. He’d have to check it out.
At least it was early in the day, and if this didn’t pan out, he still had plenty of time to search for water and shelter, but that shack looked a lot more inviting than another hole in the rock. It was a sign of life, anyway, and it gave him hope. Thank You.
Tired as he was from marching throughout the night, he was careful stepping down the slope as he made his way toward that oasis of a sort. He didn’t despair when he got close enough to see there were no tire tracks from any kind of vehicle. It appeared to be abandoned, with no sign of life. Still, the first thing he did when he reached the door was knock.
Thinking he heard a rustling sound from inside, Turner rapped on the door again. That was followed by a blurry bellow, and then the door was swinging outward, and Turner had to jump back to avoid getting hit. He froze at the sight that greeted him.
“Strewth!” This exclamation became somewhat more comprehensible to Turner as he examined the skinny fellow squinting back at him from inside the shack. The man had a wild mane of bright-red hair and pasty white skin with freckles and wore a pair of blue denim overalls.
Turner shook his head to unscramble his brain. “I’m sorry if I surprised you, sir. But I’m afraid I’m lost. I’d hoped I was in Texas. Don’t tell me I landed in Scotland?”
The man stood there with his mouth gaping for a long moment before barking something sounding almost like a laugh. “What’d you do—just drop out of the sky?”
“Something like that.”
Shaking his head back and forth vigorously, the man looked incredulous. “I’ll be blasted if someone like you could’ve ended up here if not by falling out of a plane.”
“Someone like me?” As if the man standing before him could talk. “I’m surprised to find someone with your complexion out here in the middle of the desert—don’t you get sunburned?”
“Don’t go out in the sun to get burned. It’s nicer at night anyway.”
Turner blinked. It was a rather strange conversation to have in these circumstances. “Nice being a relative term in my opinion. I’m sure I would have appreciated it better if I’d had food and water.” And somewhere more comfortable to sleep.
The man grunted. “My name’s MacInnes, and I have water, at least—for a man who needs a drink in the desert.”
“I’m Turner. And I won’t refuse it.”
MacInnes stood and stared for a minute. “Suppose you’ve been walking all night?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Like I said, I’m lost. I’ve come from that way.” Turner pointed back the way he’d come. “I’m hoping to find a city, or town, or something. Along with that water, I’d appreciate it if you could give me the right direction to head in.”
“A city? Why in the world would you want to go into one of those?” The man backed into the shack and motioned Turner to come in. “Difficult enough getting away from the darned things.”
A cheap cot occupied the length of one wall—on the north side, underneath a window with mosquito netting instead of glass. On the other side sat a sink with a faucet next to a small counter on which sat an electric coffee pot. Against the far wall opposite the door was a cramped desk with a lamp on top. Next to that was a plain wooden chair. All the comforts of home.
MacInnes gestured for him to sit and turned to the sink with a coffee mug already in hand. Turner was grateful to sit down in the shade. He’d be even more glad to get that drink of water he’d been promised. His chances for survival—at least in the short term—were looking up.
“How did you end up here?” Hopefully the man would be happy to have someone to talk to. The opportunity couldn’t come around that often. “I take it that windmill outside is what provides the energy to run the coffeepot and the lamp?”
“Aye. And to run the pump for the well.” MacInnes filled the mug with water from the tap, handing it to Turner with a caution. “Drink slow, son, or you’ll make yourself sick.”
While Turner took his time slaking his thirst, his benefactor sat on the cot and told his story, in an abbreviated fashion.
“I’m an engineer. Dug the well, put the pump in, and set up the wind turbine. I built this place, with my own hands too. This is federal land, but I got a grant. It may not look like much, but I’ve got everything I need—shelter and water, coffee when I wake and light to read by, and plenty of room with no one crowding me.”
Turner nodded. “And a great view you can enjoy in peace. But I didn’t see any vehicles—how can you get food, or more books to read?”
“A couple times a year or so, someone will stop by with supplies. And if I really needed something, I could always just walk into town.”
Hearing this, Turner asked the question he had been waiting to put to the man. “And how far away is this town? How do I get there?”
“Once you get on the other side of these mountains, it’s only ten or fifteen miles to the road. Then it’s another forty or fifty miles to the nearest town in either direction. You have to hope someone comes by to give you a lift, though, ‘cause that’s a long way to walk.”
Turner tried to smile. After crossing the mountains and traveling ten miles beyond that, he didn’t think he would be in any shape to walk further even if he wanted to—which he most definitely wouldn’t. Give me strength.
“That’s great. Can I get you to show me the best way through the mountains to get to this road? And maybe to find shelter, in case I can’t make it over in one night?”
MacInnes nodded. “I can do better than that. I can take you up a ways to where there’s a cool cave. It would give you a head start tonight, so you could reach the road before dawn. You don’t want to wait out in the sun any longer than you have to.”
Turner drank the last drop of water and handed the mug back to MacInnes. “I’d appreciate that. I want to thank you for the water too.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of water in the desert, if you know where to look. Take the agave plant, that little spiny thing you’ll see all over the place. South of the border they sell the stuff you squeeze from its stalks as a sports drink.”
And all along, Turner had been busy cursing the things for getting in his way. Alright, the joke is on me. You’d provided what I needed, I just didn’t recognize it.
As soon as he was able to stop laughing, Turner slowly lifted himself from the chair, offering his new friend his hand. “Let’s get going. I want you to get back here before the sun rises high enough to burn your Highland skin.”
“Highland?” MacInnes snorted. “I come from North Carolina.”
Turner shook his head. It took all sorts. While he saw the appeal of the man’s lifestyle, it wasn’t for him. Besides, he had a wife to get back to, even if it took him fifty years—but he could worry about that if and when he’d survived the desert.
“Wherever you’re from, I’m grateful for all your help.” And Yours. He felt better now that he knew where he was going. He wondered if he would actually make it, and what he’d find there if he did.