In the Cold Embrace of the Desert

I never knew where it would all end. I just followed my instinct. If I had known that I would have to writhe like a snake or a twisted saxophone sound depending on changing circumstances, I would never have agreed to participate in this project. This entire enterprise made it clear to me that no matter how much you plan ahead and what your expectations are, it will never fully meet our wishes. It may give you clues as to how the world is structured, but they will only be fragmentary, scattered like a jigsaw puzzle you have to put together, but the final result will be as unpredictable as the weather in the mountains.

It's disheartening that no matter where you start, the end will be the same in many cases. I thought it might be different for once. I think it was one of my misconceptions about life. I've had a lot of them over the years, so I guess I wanted to believe it. It's the law of dreamers.

*

The rain pounded on the metal roof like a cat’s claw on a tin can. It sounded ghastly. I saw wet trickles running down the gutter at lightning speed and dripping down the sidewalk tiles. The sun had hidden its rays between the brick buildings for a long time and did not think about coming out again. It became getting dark.

We just finished clearing the place off and were getting ready to hit the road. Jack packed all the hard drives into a sports bag and slung it over his shoulder as if he were going on a hiking trip.

‘Damn! These signs of a break-in. How could we be so reckless?’

‘Leave it. How do they put two and two together, huh?’ Jack had his head screwed on the right way, no doubt.

‘You don’t work here anymore, and neither do I.’

‘Yeah, suppose you’re right. But they will be looking for someone…’

‘Not us, bro. Let’s go.’

‘I wish you could spare me your jeu d’esprit, Jack. You know that’s not true. They’ll be looking for us, hundred percent.’

The whole time I felt as if I had come on this trip to up the ante. Jack was supposed to be here alone, but I couldn't let that happen. See, that was my thing too. I wanted a part in it. I needed a dope too. I knew he was going to play hard, but this? Killing? The big black guy shouldn't be here as this place was never guarded when we both worked here. Now they have become wiser. But I was the only one who had questions of conscience as to what it was all about. Jack was not the type. We could have easily avoided that. We had balaclavas anyway. But Jack was stubborn.

We have to kill him now, haven’t we? He asked almost rhetorically, but the answer lurked behind his words like a fox ready to devour all the treasures found in the chicken coop. Somehow it seemed inevitable.

Our cut and run weren’t astounding. It was asinine. For once, I thought I could get my life together as data sells like hot cakes, no matter the times. Predictably, my prank phone calls to the company didn’t make me popular. I was stoned then. I was sitting at McDonald’s and pressing the dial button just for fun. But in the end, it wasn't fun. They brought me in for questioning, but I'm afraid they only got a history of my work there, nothing else. And for god's sake, what was I thinking? Will they now connect that incident to this?

We turned off route 62 south. The desert had the color, taste, and smell of cappuccino. Dust got into my eyes like unpleasant thoughts of death. I felt a sickly-sweet breeze blow over my acne-scarred face. I would like to skim the cream off the top of the cake, the fruits of this endeavour, but I do not consider it a success. I could smell a failure as soon as we left the highway and hit the bumpy road like airplane turbulence during fog. There was nothing here but boulders, bushes, cacti, and Joshua Tree's dagger-like spines.

My arm was heavy as lead. It was bleeding profusely from being shot on top of the previous sharp squeeze that nearly pinned me to the ground. The goddamn security guy had a real gun. I don’t think it’s allowed for them, but that’s just the way it was.

This wasn’t our main problem. Jack wasn't serious. He should have killed the only witness, but he let him go like a flock of birds. And I shouldn't have ignored the message that popped up on the computer's main screen that read, “Reset your password”. I really shouldn't. This is further evidence against us. You see, if they search among the previous employees and somehow fall on our trail, there will be no mercy. Then we're fucked. At the thought, I bit my cheek quite badly as if it were a slice of bread. By the way, I haven't eaten anything for several days. I don't know how long I've been here? My phone died a long time ago, as did my friend.

This job was like the world's bitterest pill that was slowly dissolving. Chances of promotion minimal, and your own reputation even worse. I mean, who wants to be abused for money? Nobody, right? Nobody wants to be taken advantage of at all, but if it's your conscious choice, there's definitely something wrong with you. Is there something wrong with all these five hundred employees? I guess so. Were they all abused on a daily basis like children of narcissistic parents without realising it for so many damn years? I do not know. I can only speak for myself.

After midnight stargazing, the morning desert rubricated itself with the rising sun for a change. It seamlessly turned into white amber, blinding the eyes with a bright light. The all-encompassing heat crawling behind me like snakes. The steppe gave the impression of undeserved freedom. It all happened so fast. Before everything went down like a boulder avalanche causing vertigo, the last thing I wanted to do was change my mind and leave Jack. We slipped the hands of justice for a while thanks to the desert, but everyone knows what shelter this lady could have provided. Unstable. Unpredictable. Uneventful. Just boulders, bushes, cacti, and Joshua Tree's dagger-like spines.

Alien River and Ghost Towns, that’s what we found here. We pulled up by the defunct Eagle Mountain iron mine. It felt as if the devil himself were walking in the sand, I can tell you that. Not a living soul around. Jack wanted to stall a bit, wait till morning. We were planning to go to Jack's cousin in Pioneertown, but while we were on the road, he called us saying he wouldn't be alone that evening. See? That’s what I meant by plans. We couldn’t go to our places. We decided to move on and placed our stuff in a storage in Palms Springs. Just in case. Big city, lots of tourists, less hassle. We knew we wouldn’t be back anyway.

By the time the park rangers found us in the cold morning light, Jack was no longer breathing, which was a much surprising as my condition was worse. He was bitten by a Mojave rattlesnake. Fortunately, I found shelter by a rock, but I couldn't drag him there. He was a heavy son of a bitch. So was the snake. I was shaking like a chick all night; afraid it might come back. Then I must have fainted as I don't remember anything. There was no water.

I remember our dialogue in the dead of night, when the night shrouded in a dark veil of oblivion our vile misdeeds of the past few hours.

‘A little more out here in the dark and I’ll grow my vampire teeth. Get that, Frank?’

‘No, not really. Is there any specific reason why you say that?’ I replied.

‘No, guess not but just for your empty head!’

Quite funny how we remember little things embedded in a big picture. When all life is gone, we will no doubt remember it. Not the horror of dying, just a friend saying he was a malinger and shirking his duty was second nature to him. But I wasn't working with him then. I came later, not finding paradise there either.

I've always wondered where this world has lost all its morals. You become a large employer, you look for someone to do all the donkey work, and in the end, you only care about the external image, and internal dependence only aggravates conflicts and injustice. How could something like this even happen in modern America? Shouldn't we be free and independent? Treated with respect for the democratic values they instilled in us and guided us through. What if all this has failed and we're just pawns on a dirty chessboard, unable to do anything but show our powerlessness? What if the only way to show them is to expose them and use them just as they used us while rewarding us for our work for them. But it’s all fake and we’re just drifters in this disorderly and debilitating and dubious world.

It turned out our only witness was found in the boot, shot dead. So Jack didn’t let him nick off after all. But I have nothing to do with the killing. How do I explain it to them now? All I wanted was to steal some dope. Will they ever believe me?

*

The steel drum beats like water droplets on metal. It's already a memory. Here it’s probably a snake, coyote or jackrabbit seeking shelter for the night. I'm not even curious to know what that is. All I want is warm toast and a fresh cup of coffee. When you start down this rough path, you never know where you'll end up. All so that a drop of excitement flowed through your veins, to feel like a human again, as otherwise you can't feel that way.

Of course, it wasn't worth it, but if they ever found me here, I'd probably spend the biggest chunk of the rest of my life in prison, wishing I'd never wanted more than anyone else. I regret it now, but first they have to find me here. I'm neither a driver nor a seasoned criminal, none of these things. But I would have to pay for mistakes made somewhere along the way. They are just one of those with a high impact value. It happens. But why did this have to happen to me?

The taste of metal drills from my mouth to my stomach, water-drained. My black curly hair is damp, but it hasn't rained since we rolled out into the desert. This is my head then. Having a quite unaccountable head as your best friend is the last thing you want here in this place where everything ends.

Perhaps I’ll catch a bus somewhere from here this morning to get out of this desert injunction before they find me? But where would I go? Bubba lives in Phoenix, but will I ever make there? And what will I tell him? “Hey bro, let's get out of here for good.” That wouldn't sound convincing, would it? He would have to opt for the whole story to hear, and I would have to give it to him. At least a few reasonable chunks. Pity!

I feel like I’m drowning; my mouth, nose, and ears stuffed. Strangled, stupefied, shiftless. I stretch out my hand to reach for someone or something, but an invisible force keeps pulling me away, as if my existence is doomed, scheduled the wrong way from the start. As if I had no backrest or armrest for support. My male supremacy instantly seems to fail me here against the pervasive nature.

Anyway, it's probably rats in the pipes. I'm not even curious to know what that is.

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.

– THE END –

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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