Death Valley

Aaron stumbled in the sand. He tripped and fell flat on his face. He spit out a mouthful of sand as he raised his body from the blazing ground. He brushed himself off, and looked back to where he’d fallen. There was a gleam of metal amidst the sand. He walked to it, brushed the sand away, and stood back for a long moment in disbelief. 

“That shouldn’t be here” He mused. 

Laying before him in the sand was a Marlin 30-30 lever action rifle. 

He picked it up, and admired its smooth finish. It was in excellent condition. A piece of old leather was fastened around the buttstock, which held twelve rounds of 30-30 ammunition. This was just like the rifle he owned as a teenager. He’d spent every winter hunting deer with his brother, and the Marlin 30-30 was a certified deer killer. 

What the hell was this thing doing in the middle of Death Valley? He placed the strap on his back, and carried the rifle with him as he continued across the sands.

Aaron was searching for lost gold. In 1850 a man named Jefferson Hunt lost a group of his men out in the valley. They were carrying twenty-five pounds of solid gold between them, at least according to the book that Aaron had been studying. He’d found a wealth of resources on Death Valley, and on treasure hunting.   

No one came out here this time of year, the temperatures were intolerable. However, Aaron kept a close watch on the weather updates, and there was a lucky cold spell in Death Valley, with the peak temperature forecasted for the next three days at 110 degrees. 

He'd been walking for the better part of the day, following his GPS to the coordinates that he had calculated in preparation. He was close, only a few hundred feet from his destination, when his GPS malfunctioned, and suddenly lost its charge. He tapped it, then smacked it against his thigh, yet it remained lifeless. 

“Damn”  

He’d have to trace his tracks all the way back to his truck. 

Then, he noticed a reflection on the hill before him. As he raised his gaze above the reflected light, he saw a figure on the hill. He squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the person. Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing off the surrounding hills. A moment later, a plume of sand exploded before him, spraying his face with bits of debris.

He backpedaled and fell onto his back, bracing his fall with his hands, then crawled, bewildered, to the nearest cover. The shots continued as he searched for cover. He counted nine. Finally, he found a low place. It was a clear downwards slope from where the figure was, to his ditch. There was the cliff, a stretch of level sand, then a sharp decline before the earth leveled out again. He raised his head, peering out of his cover to gauge the situation, and another shot was fired, this time narrowly missing his head. The bullet whizzed by his ear, and caused another explosion of sand behind him. He ducked back into cover.

Could there be other hunters? He didn’t think it possible that anyone else had found the same coordinates. Perhaps they’d been tracking him. He noticed a stone laying next to him. He reached out and picked it up, then slowly raised it out of the cover. Another shot fired, missing again, but landing close to his left side.

He remembered the rifle then. He crawled behind his cover, moving a few yards to his left. He swung it around, but noticed that only one round remained in the leather holder. Confused, he loaded the single round into the chamber, and cocked the hammer. 

He slowly raised his head from his new position, and closed his left eye, staring down the barrel with his right. The figure still stood on the hill. Aaron adjusted for the breeze and the distance, about two hundred yards, then inhaled sharply, and pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening, and he cursed at himself for not plugging his ears. After the resounding shot thundered around him, he heard nothing but a high ringing whine, and then the figure fell. It crumpled, falling headlong down the sandy cliff.. The body twisted and turned, colliding with boulders, bones breaking in its awkward descent. Aaron did not hear the dull sound of the body as it struck the sand. He heard only ringing.

 He cautiously exited the ditch, watching for other men that may be hiding. He walked the distance to the body, and found it lying on its front side. The back of the body was blown to pieces, the exit wound near the center of the chest. The legs were twisted unnaturally, and the neck was clearly broken.

“Damn good shot.” He said into the air, hearing only a muffled version of his own voice. Then he shuddered involuntarily as he noticed the brown boots that the body wore.

 He used his brown boot to turn the body over, and then upon seeing it, heaved, and vomited profusely.

The face was his own.

As he stared at his own lifeless body, his eyes grew big tears, and he wept uncontrollably. Quickly entering a frantic mania, he spoke, breathing heavily,

“What is this? WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?”

Beside the body lay a rifle identical to the one strapped on his shoulder.

Madness consumed him and he soon lost his voice. After minutes of tortuous utterance he fell back against a boulder, the skin of his face was stretched as tight as a drum, and his eyes wore a thousand yard stare. 

After an hour, he began to come to his senses. He did not cast his gaze again on the face. Instead he told himself that it was a hallucination. The day was nearing a close, and he’d come to this place for a reason.

He buried the body shallow in the sand, and looked up to see where reflected light had come from. He climbed the sandy hill, and found that the reflection had come from the steel fastener of a canvas bag. It was the only part of the bag that was visible, the rest was buried in the sand. He pulled the bag out, and immediately struggled with its weight. He opened the canvas flap, and it produced a golden glow. His heart jumped again. A new rush overtook him, and pushed him onwards, telling him to leave all of the strangeness behind. He swung it over his back, made his way down from the cliff, and began to trace his tracks back to his truck. 

Then, in the distance he saw another figure. He checked the bag to make certain that it was secure. There was nowhere to hide, and if he ran, his tracks would betray him. Reluctantly, he walked towards the figure on the horizon. Soon the moving shape became a man on horseback, wearing a wide brim hat. As the man approached, he made no motion to Aaron. Aaron waved, and with no response, put his head down and decided to walk around the man, and continue on his way. 

As he passed the rider, he heard the sound of a hammer cocking. He looked up to see the man pointing a revolver at him. He slowly guided his horse to Aaron, and put the barrel between Aaron’s eyes.

“Don’t move.” He spoke deliberately, and in a gravely tone. 

“What do you want?” Aaron asked, looking away from the man’s eyes. 

“Give me the bag.”

“What?” Aaron feigned ignorance. 

“I won’t repeat myself again boy.” His expression showed the severity of his words. 

Aaron took off the bag and handed it over. The man flipped the bag upside down, and all that fell was rocks. 

“Do you see?” Said the man, as though he’d expected as such. 

“See what?” Aaron didn’t know how to assess this situation, his heart sank as he watched the man throw the bag off to the side, empty. 

“You killed yourself for a bag of rocks.” The man shook his head, and removed his hat. He took a red handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead. 

“I hope you’ve learned something here boy.”

“Who are you?” Aaron’s head was spinning.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man fumbled in his saddlebag, and produced a set of keys.

“Recognize these?” He slipped them over one finger and waved them in front of Aaron, his other hand still holding the pistol pressed against Aaron’s brow. 

“Those are my keys. How do you have my keys?”

“Want em back? Do ya?”

“Yes, I do.”

The man suddenly tossed the keys into the air, and in one motion swung the revolver up and blew them to pieces. 

“Dang, my bad. Well, guess you won’t be driving home then.”

Aaron stood, confused and silent. 

“Well son, it’s a long way to town, so you’d better start walking.” He motioned with the revolver, and Aaron started to walk.