32

Having come back in from the storm, Boots appeared distracted, as if he was searching his thoughts for a vague recollection. He set about the cabin in silence, looking for items in a haphazard way and stuffing things into his satchel. Jack and Laura could not see exactly what he was grabbing, but both got the sense that the old man was preparing for a short journey. Finally, Jack broke the silence.

“What are you doing, Boots?”

“Just got something to get to.”

“Are we taking off?”

“Naw, just me,” Boots said.

“Come on, Boots, if you’re going to town, we can keep up with you.”

“Ain’t going to town, Jack.”

“Then where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to know.”

Jack looked over at Laura, who was sitting on the couch. She appeared as uneasy as he felt. “Come on, let us—”

“I said, nowhere you need to know. Now I want you two to sit tight, and stay inside. Ain’t nothing out there for you right now.”

“Boots—”

“I mean it!” Boots yelled, staring Jack down with a force that he had not witnessed up to this point from the old man. His mild temperament replaced with harsh determination. “Now I got something to get to, and I want you to stay here.”

“All right, all right,” Jack said as he sat down next to his wife.

The old man closed his satchel, adjusted his hat, and went out the front door. In moments they could hear the neighing of the horse as it rode off toward the mountains and the soon-fading sunset.

“What’s going on, Jack?”

Jack’s deflated ego weighed down his words. “I don’t know.”

Boots made his way to the mountains with the speed and grace of a snake through the dimming light of evening. The horse carried him on without hesitation. The beast knew that if there was ever a time to question and pull against its master, tonight was not the time to do it. The pair made their way up a path of their own making, guided by the stern eye of the old man at the reins. The horse did not misstep, and though they had never trekked this way before, it was as if the trail before them was outlined in lights and arrows.

Cresting a small ridge, Boots stopped the horse and got down. He walked forward several steps and crouched on the ground. He could see in the waning light the two-track leading up the mountain and stretching across the desert floor in the opposite direction. Tire tracks lay fresh in the sand. The way the dirt was kicked up the hill, he could see that they were made by a vehicle on the descent. He was alone on the mountain, but then again, he knew he wasn’t entirely alone.

Boots led the horse on foot, and the mare seemed to enjoy the slower pace and lighter load. The two walked up the side of the two-track, the mountain walls embracing them with cold invitation.

Boots laid his hand on the cliff wall, feeling the radiant heat of the day licking his palm. He stood motionless, eyes shut as if taking the pulse of the world. This was the place. This chasm spiraling upward and inward.

They walked on as darkness moved in around them. Enveloping them with each step. The mare’s head held low as it trotted behind Boots, content with him to take the lead. They trudged on into mystery until the two-track dead-ended in a small clearing surrounded by rock, which produced the effect of standing on the floor of a volcano. The mountain walls stretched up above him, ominously looking down with ageless coldness.

Boots dropped the reins and the horse stood still. He walked across the opening to the far side where he saw a small cave cut into the rock wall. Without missing a beat, he went inside and disappeared from view.