Near Death Valley

The warm desert air blew through Mia's dark hair and she smiled at some silly thing that Stevie said. In front of them, Route 127 unrolled across the barren landscape as they motored south toward Vegas. Scrubby land all around, purple mountains in the distance. A Neil Young song, Cinnamon Girl, played on the radio.

Somewhere far south of a small town on the perimeter of Death Valley, they turned off the road and onto a dirt track and stopped. The late April sun slid down to touch the peaks of the valley mountains and lengthening shadows stretched across the dusty ground.

Mia opened the left side door of the Jeep and the boxers leapt out, bounded around in the clumps of salt grass and flowering brittlebush.  Sidney, the bigger dog raced off, while Kelly bobbed and weaved, kicking up dust around Mia as she poured some water into a bowl on the ground. Unobserved, Stevie watched Mia as she bent her slender body to the task.  

Sidney ran off and wouldn't come back when beckoned, so Stevie walked over to retrieve the dog and in doing so, stumbled on something. It was a dead body, lying face up on the ground, and it was only with the sketchiest impression of the corpse that Stevie pivoted away in shock, grabbed the dog by its collar and hustled it back toward the vehicle.  An urgent debate ensued, Mia cajoled the dogs back inside the Jeep, and a few minutes later they considered their options, conferring excitedly over a dimly lit map.

"I suppose we could just press on, pretend you didn't see anything?", said Mia, who had committed to return the borrowed vehicle to her boyfriend in the evening.

"I think that’s a bit risky. Tire tread impressions and footprints", said Stevie. "They might track us down and give us grief for not reporting a possible crime. Let's go back to the nearest town and call the police".

As the light faded, they motored back over thirty miles toward the small town of Amargosa where they discovered a neglected and almost empty bar with a payphone near the entry. The dispatcher told them to wait for the police to arrive, which took about an hour.

"Andy will be pissed", said Mia before taking a slug of beer from a bottle. "He needs his car for work tomorrow". Mia’s mood darkened and Stevie nodded sympathetically. “I sometimes wish I had my own place. My own wheels”, said Mia. Stevie said nothing but she wanted to. Instead, she went over the juke box and dialed up a Patsy Cline song.  

Under cover of a moonless sky, they drove back down Route 127 in front of the police car, careful to stay within the speed limit. The headlights carved out a narrow tunnel in front of them and the overwhelming darkness pressed in on them from all around.

"Best we slow down now", said Stevie, as the miles ticked by on the odometer. "The turn-off should be soon".

Nearly ten miles further down the road they stopped at the side of the empty road in response to flashing lights from the accompanying police car. The young police officer, dressed in a fresh-pressed uniform seemed unnerved as he instructed the two women to turn off their motor and stand between the vehicles in the small cocoon of light formed by his headlights. Two women; the dark-haired woman was tall and lean, and wore a black dress, torn and frayed in an artful way. He didn’t like the way she looked him directly in the eye. The other woman was blonde and athletic and seemed friendly, keen to please, more his type. 

"You should have used a desert sign", he said, sternly, "built a small pile of rocks by the roadside". Mia laughed at this, and the cop seemed to inflate inside his vest. His right hand moved along his belt, and towards his revolver. Twitchy.

"I am sure we are close, officer Carter", said Stevie, reading his name badge, " If we turn around and drive slowly, I’m sure we will find the track".

A few minutes later, they tentatively turned off the road and observed that the rough track fell away in a familiar way though everything else felt different.  

"I love you Mia", said Stevie, pausing briefly into unanswered silence, "your sense of humor… but let's keep things simple with this man. He looks like he’s unsure of himself".  They pulled to a halt.  

Officer Carter hung back by his car as Stevie stumbled around, looking for the corpse. Carter’s handheld flashlight offered erratic illumination in the approximate area of Stevie’s search, while the light from the vehicle headlights forked off uselessly into an improbable distance.

"Why aren't you helping her look?", said Carter after a few minutes. 

"I don't know where to look, or what to look for", said Mia. "Perhaps the person wasn't dead, recovered and walked off?", conjectured Mia mirthlessly. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?", said Carter, who moved away from her with startling suddenness.  There was a metallic click as he flicked open the snap on his holster, a more ominous clunk as he cocked the revolver. He shone the flashlight beam directly at Mia. The two dogs observed from the back seat of the car and became agitated. Officer Carter shouted nervously, “Do not move. Do not move or I will shoot”.  

Officer Carter was new to the police and mostly he had handed out speeding tickets to hapless tourists as they hurried between National Park entrances or on their way to Reno. Today was his first night patrol, and solo. He was scared to be alone with these two strange women in the desert.

"Hey, I found it", shouted Stevie. "Over here. It’s all good".

"Do not fucking move ", said Officer Carter, who began to move in the direction of Stevie’s voice, training his light on Mia, then his immediate path ahead, then back and forth. “This better not be a prank”. 

The dogs, now out of the car, moved with a silent fury and under cover of darkness they leapt forth.  Officer Carter felt a hard blow on his left forearm which caused him to drop his flashlight. He cursed loudly as Sydney mauled at his arm and Kelly tore away at his pant legs. Fearing for his life now, he fired two ineffective rounds as he tumbled into the dirt.  

“Get these fucking dogs off of me!”, he cried. Another shot, a dog whimpered momentarily. Another shot and a loud cry, but it was not that of a dog this time. Silence, and moment of confusion from which a million possible futures might have emerged. 

“I am shot”, said Officer Carter, “in the leg. It’s bad. Help me.”

“Do you still have the gun?”, asked Mia.

“Help me, please”.

“What about the gun? You might shoot us!”, said Mia.

“Help me”.

Fearful, they did not help the stricken officer, but they listened to Carter’s moans and fearful lamentations as the blood drained from his body and fed a small patch of parched desert. Mia and Stevie, shaking with cold and with terror, held hands as they approached the silent space. Stevie picked up the flashlight and waved it across the scene of death. Carter’s shirt was torn and bloody, and his blood-soaked pants were stuck to his legs. Sydney looked unharmed but was lifeless on his side. Kelly sniffed around the scene, somewhat indifferently. Stevie embraced Mia and they were shrouded in the cold night air under a star-filled sky.

Back in the car they sat in silence. Again.

“I couldn’t find the corpse”, said Stevie, “I don’t think this was the right place”.

“Definitely not the right place”, said Mia. “Well, we can’t just sit here”. She started up the motor, did a wide U-turn across uneven terrain and looped back onto the dirt track that returned them to the junction with Route 127, where they paused. Turning left would take them back North to Amargosa, right would take them South to Las Vegas.  

It was 1992 and the Rodney King riots were burning up Los Angeles to the West. “I love you, Mia”, said Stevie.