Mojave Blues

"MAY DAY! MAY DAY! This is Cessna N3713X EXPERIENCING ENGINE FAILURE! MAY DAY! Any receiving station MAY DAY!" The only response was a burst of static. Nathan Quinn had no way of knowing if his transmission had been heard, but it seemed doubtful. Frantically he pulled on the yoke to no avail. Both engines were dead and his control console was showing a plethora of alarm signals. Shit! Nathan had less than a minute until his plane hit the scrub littered desert landscape below. He struck the control console with a fist.

Crawling from the wreckage of the Cessna 310, Nathan tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. The plane was a complete loss. His head was throbbing, blood running into his eyes from a stinging cut on his forehead. He had second degree burns on his legs which hurt like hell. He was pretty sure his left ankle was sprained too. It was throbbing with pain. The late afternoon Mojave sands were still hot from the beating sun which had been somewhere around ninety-six degrees a couple hours ago. Nobody knew his actual location. Wasn't like he had filed a flight plan. This is pretty much fucked, he thought.

Well, it could be worse. At least nobody else had been in the plane. Lisa was waiting for him in Baker by the regional airport he had been in route to. Thank God for small mercies. Wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of a sand begrimed sleeve, Nathan rose to his feet. His ankle screamed in protest but held his weight. The denim of his tattered jeans rubbed the burns on his legs. Wincing, Nathan limped over and flopped onto a rock by a scrub pine. At least there were scrub trees to provide a small modicum of shade. To the west the sun was edging downward. Twilight in the desert was peaceful.

The twenty-seven foot long Cessna he had used for his flight from Las Vegas was strewn over about seventy-five feet of sand. 'Flight' was apropos he thought considering he had been escaping from armed criminals dead set on his demise when he took off. Well, despite Javier Milantra's men being a tad late, it seemed they had still accomplished their mission. It was doubtful Nathan would live to testify. One more witness struck from the list of the biggest Federal corruption investigation in the last twenty-five years.

Flames licked from the engine areas and what remained of the wings. The cockpit, such as it was, was mostly intact. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Nathan checked for signal. No bars. I guess cell coverage in the middle of the Mojave Desert isn't really a priority, he thought. So much for nationwide coverage. Punching in Lisa's number he put the phone to his ear. No connection available. Sighing, he put the phone back in his pocket.

Rising painfully, Nathan broke off a promising branch from the scrub pine to use as a crutch. Burnt legs yelling at him, Nathan limped back to the wreckage. Maybe there had been water stocked in the plane. It wasn't like he had had time to do a thorough search with Milantra's men just a few minutes behind him. Avoiding the guttering flames from the engines, Nathan went to the cockpit. Pulling aside some debris he took stock of what he could see. There was a life vest. Bright orange. Too bad I didn't crash in the ocean, he thought. That may have come in handy. No water. No food. Could have planned that better...

Picking up the life vest, Nathan limped back to his rock. Placing the life vest down first as a cushion, he sat back down to take stock. What the hell had happened? He had checked on the plane three days ago and all systems had shown five by five. The only probable explanation for the complete systems failure was some type of sabotage. The only person who had known he had access to Jimmy's cessna, other than Jimmy of course, was Lisa .... FUCK! LISA! It had to have been her. She must have told Javier or his flunky's about the plane. Was she even in Baker? Was she in Javier's bed? On the French Riviera or down in Mexico? Was she dead? Knowing Milantra as he did, the last seemed the most likely. If she wasn't dead already, she most likely would be soon. Serve the bitch right.

Karma's a real bitch, Nathan thought. After all, he himself was certainly no angel. The crimes, both violent and non, that he had committed at the behest of Milantro were numerous, spread over fifteen plus years. When the feds had caught up with him his only chance at avoiding at least twenty years in prison had been to promise to testify in return for witness protection. Guess that turned out fantastic. The feds couldn't protect him here.

As the sun lowered, it's dying rays casting a reddish tinge over the scrub trees, parched grass, and sand, Nathan watched. In the distance he could hear what sounded like coyotes howling. He hoped they were farther than they sounded.

What a way to end up, he thought. As the howls came closer, Nathan mentally began to pen a poem. 'Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.'