52

It was pure luck that Clarence found the train tracks.

He wasn’t looking for anything other than a cave or a creek.

And then he saw the sharp metal stakes that supported the railroad ties.

The next thing he knew, he was staring at a long line of track that snaked uphill after dipping down through the ravine.

The smoke from the fire drifted against the slope, making it appear as if the whole valley was shrouded in yellow fog. That same smoke caused the freight train, part of the Burlington Northern Sante Fe line, to slow.

It had been an uneventful day for the engineer in the BNSF locomotive. At least until he reached Bear Paw Ravine.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been the one to spot a forest fire.

Smoke, dense and swirling, was rising from the pit of the gorge. The tips of orange flames could be seen licking the tops of the freshly roasting pine trees.

Carefully reducing the speed of the long, heavy line of boxcars, the engineer brought the train to a complete stop.

He then dropped a GPS pin on his exact location and quickly snapped photographs. Moments later he let the world know that there was a fire in the forest.

He wasn’t able to see the wreck that had started the problem.

With the temperature hot and the wind blowing from the north, the recipe for a major forest fire was in place, unless something was done.

Clarence Border could never have chased a moving train.

But these railcars were slowing. And then he watched as the whole line came to a stop.

Almost right in front of him.

The smoke was thickening, and at first he believed he was imagining it all.

Maybe the train was from heaven, sent to take him to the higher place?

It was so inspiring that he got to his feet. He could stand. He was dizzy but upright, now minus his dummy.

His hearing wasn’t working, and his ears were ringing. But his vision didn’t fail him.

He wanted to touch the metal of the powerful machine. And so he hopped forward. Moving in wobbly lurches and leaps.

Clarence reached out and grabbed the metal ladder that was positioned on the back of the closest cargo car.

It was real.

The letters BNSF were written on the side.

They were written for him.

Border Never Surrenders for… anyone.

This train had come just to pick him up. It would carry him away. It would take him home.

Clarence summoned all the strength in his battered body and started up the ladder of the railcar, pulling himself rung by rung to the top.

The smoke was making it impossible to breathe. His stump of a leg throbbed. And blood dripped more heavily down his neck, from where he once had an ear.

But a surprise awaited him on the last rung. The railcar had a peel-back top.

Clarence unhooked a strap and pushed the tarp aside. Only a madman, he thought, would have the strength to keep going. He tumbled inside, landing in a full load of grain. It was as if he’d fallen onto a warm beach. His head settled into what felt like a giant beanbag chair.

And then the train began to move.

Someone was looking out for him.

Yes.

The blood from his many cuts and abrasions soaked the golden kernels of wheat, forming a pink outline around his body.

Clarence tilted his head to the side and realized that, if he moved his arms, he could make an angel in that grain.

Didn’t he always leave his mark on the world?

His last thought as he lost consciousness was of the two girls.

He hoped that they’d gone over the edge, too.

The dispatcher for the Oregon State Police had said to remain calm. Help was on the way.

While they waited for law enforcement to come, Sam searched every inch of the rest stop.

He ran to the trees by the highway. He moved through the tall grass near the gravel, all the while terrified that he might find something.

Another shoe.

Clothing.

Or worse.

While Sam combed the grounds, Bobby Ellis took a blue tarp that was folded up in the work area next to the cinder-block pyramids.

More crows had gathered by the dead man’s body, and Bobby got the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before the birds figured out a way to make a meal out of a homicide.

He lifted the plastic sheet into the air and it flapped in the dry wind. The sound caused more anxiety as he placed it over the dead man.

Moments later, Bobby found a seat on a picnic table near the cinder-block bathrooms. He tried to imagine what had happened, but it was too confusing. His wrecked car. A dead body. Destiny’s orange slipper.

It took a long time for Sam to stop shouting Emily’s name. He eventually quit searching in areas where he’d already looked multiple times. He finally took a seat next to Bobby Ellis.

And then he lost control.

He had never broken down like this. The world had come apart. And it was his fault.

Sam put his head between his knees and sobbed.

What had his father done?

Whatever happened next, he would need to go back and get Riddle. And then they would travel south. He could find some kind of job. Maybe he’d just play his guitar on the street for money.

But he would get Riddle into school. They would change their names. They would spend the rest of their lives righting the wrongs. They would never succeed, but they would disappear.

The only thing that he could give the Bells was the assurance that they would never have to see his face again.

A helicopter flew by overhead.

It was red and black and appeared to be official. They both looked up with the expectation that it might simply land at their feet.

But it kept flying.

With each passing minute, smoke from the nearby forest fire thickened. The wind was blowing harder, and before long it was impossible to see from one side of the parking lot to the other.

Sam was already having trouble breathing. The smoke made him choke on every inhale.

And then, his head downcast, he heard the noise of an approaching vehicle.

They couldn’t see it, but they could hear.

Whatever was coming into the rest stop was big. The engine had a roar that broke through the eerie stillness.

Sam looked up and saw a chrome exhaust pipe belching dark smoke, which mixed with the soup of the forest-fire blaze.

An eighteen-wheeled big rig appeared as a moving mass cutting through the haze.

It looked more like a freight train than a truck.

Sam’s eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

Through the smoke, he could make out the silhouette of two girls. The smaller of the two was driving.

And he knew.

The one in the passenger’s seat had dark hair that brushed the top of her shoulders.

He couldn’t see her large eyes. Or her athletic legs. Or her curling toes.

But he didn’t have to.

Emily Bell, with Destiny at her side.

And they were both alive.

Sam wanted to tell her that he would have waited his whole life for her to come back to him.

He would have looked for her in every dawn. And in every star-filled night. He wanted to say that he was lost without her. And that his broken heart would have stayed that way forever.

The truck was still moving when he grabbed the handle of the passenger door and lifted himself up to the cab.

He had the door open, and as Destiny put on the brakes he took hold of Emily.

And all he could manage, over and over again, was to whisper through his tears.

“I’m sorry.…”

The rest stop looked different as they rounded the curve into the parking lot.

Smoke hung in the air, and the horror of the day flooded the place so that it wasn’t just a crime scene. It was the return to hell.

It had to have been someone else who had a gun shoved in her back and who had sat in that car in silence with the Monster driving.

It was another person who got locked in the trunk. Someone else had dodged a hailstorm of bullets.

And then she saw Sam. Bobby was with him. They were both running.

The next thing she knew, Sam was inside the truck.

It was only then that she returned completely.

This is me now.

Here.

With you.

This is us now.

None of them could remember much more about the rest of that day.

It all disappeared into a jumble of mostly questions.

Emily tried to answer, but not much came out. She held Sam’s hand, and she stayed close to Destiny.

In bits, stopping and starting, they told the story.

They would do that many times. For many different people. And with each telling, the events became more distant, until the characters were not people they knew. For Emily the afternoon would begin to vanish, because she chose to let all the details disappear.

It wasn’t long after the arrival of the big rig that the first highway patrol officer pulled into the rest stop.

He was followed by six other patrol cars.

And then later by Tim and Debbie Bell.

And finally a coroner’s van.

The authorities were notified in California.

The prevailing theory was that Clarence Border had been hiding somewhere close to Merced, and a kind of panic had seized the community.

Now the citizens felt a deep sense of relief.

The investigation of the homicide of K.B. Walton began as soon as the truck driver’s family was notified.

Emily could hear the officer breaking the news.

She shut her eyes and tried to imagine what would have happened if the man and his big rig hadn’t been there at the rest stop.

She asked her mother if they could have the information to contact the trucker’s family.

She wanted to make sure that his loved ones knew how grateful she was that he had come to her aid that day.

K.B. Walton had been there for two strangers. And he had paid the ultimate price.