Semblance of Eden 27 ~ High Plains Drifter

I guess I must have been more shaken up then I thought. All those stairs between me and the way out of here, and I took them without even feeling my bum leg. It was adrenaline, or something. But I think I’ve pushed my luck and my weary body about as far as they’re both willing to go. I’m not in much pain, but my muscles are starting to lock up. My left leg is pretty much useless, more of a dead weight than anything.

If I were an animal, I’d gnaw it off. You hear about them doing that, but what they never tell you is whether any of them live long afterwards, or if they just die free of the trap.

I guess at this point, that’s the best I can hope for. And I remember a place. Somewhere Marcus used to take me sometimes, when he was in a good mood.

It’s behind the Plant, a sandstone ridge. And on the other side, there’s nothing but open desert, dotted with buttes and red rock spires. I think, maybe if I can make it there then I’ll have some cover.

I wouldn’t stand a chance with my leg like it is, except that some years ago public works came through and carved a footpath into the ridge, and even set up a handrail along the side. If I make it, it’ll be a hell of a thing. Even if I don’t, it’ll be better then standing here and twiddling my thumbs while I wait for Legato to catch up to me.

He must be plenty mad. I guess I’d be mad too, if I were him.

I head for the ridge, my boots leaving uneven tracks in the sand behind me. The left is one long, unbroken line. I’m practically dragging it by now.

I stumble onto the trail, and grip the rail tight in both hands. It’s been painted white to keep it from getting too hot in the sun, but it doesn’t really work. My palms blister almost instantly, but I can’t let go. I rest most of my weight against the rail, and start to drag myself up. If I remember right, a lot of runners used this trail for endurance training. But hell, I was never a marathoner. I couldn’t keep up with them even when I was five years younger and smoked a pack less a day.

You know, it’s really a lot steeper than I remember.

I don’t even make it a quarter to the top. Thirty feet up, there’s a plateau, and the side of the trail the mountain breaks off sharply and you can see out over the valley.

That’s where I collapse.

I go over like a ton of bricks. I mean, I really eat dirt.

I drag myself off the trail and use the limb of a Joshua tree to haul myself up. I hug it in both arms, and pant for breath and see big dark spots swimming in front of my eyes. My left boot is full of blood. It’s dripping slowly from the toe, making a small red crater in the sand.

But you know? You know, it’s really beautiful up here.

The first sun is just setting, and the horizon is all rusty and red. It makes the shadows of the rock formations stretch long and strange across the valley. Those delicate spires and funny mitten-shaped buttes, all stretched out, like hands beckoning me forward.

I never really noticed before. Maybe it’s something you only notice when you’re alone.

I could jump, I guess. I’d be doing it out of spite. Just so I’d be dying on my terms, so I wouldn’t let Legato have the pleasure of it. But when I lean forward a little and peer over the edge, my stomach recoils and my arms tighten convulsively on the Joshua limb.

So maybe I’m a coward after all.

And all at once, I know I’m not alone anymore. It goes through me like a jolt, the realization that someone’s watching my back. I just hug the Joshua a little tighter, and I laugh real low. “Marlowe said you’d be here. I mean, he told me this was going to happen.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he comes forward a step. I hear his clothes rustling.

“I was thinking about going over the side, but I can’t do it myself. Do you think you could help me out? I mean, you did drop the ball on killing Marcus, right? So you kind of owe me a favor.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep my promise to you, Dominique.”

I turn around, real slow. I’m not so steady right now, and I might end up pitching over the cliff whether I want to or not. I look at him there, in the fading light, with the shadow of the Joshua tree painted over his face like a mourning woman’s veil.

“Are you okay?” I ask weakly.

He’s quiet, looking at me kind of strangely, like he can’t figure out why I’d ask that.

“Guess it wasn’t what you wanted to hear,” I say. “That you’re just a man. You probably hoped it’d be something better than that.”

“I don’t remember a lot of my past,” he says, very carefully. Like I don’t know what that means. There’s only one reason people forget things like that, and that’s because they don’t want to remember.

“I guess now you know a little bit more.” It’s hard to feel too sorry, not for him.

“Listen,” I say. “It was all true. Everything I said in there. They sent me to kill Knives, and I probably could have done it, if I’d had the chance. Did you know that? Did he? Is that why I never met him?”

“I didn’t know,” Legato says. “I never knew anything about you with any certainty. I know now, though. A few things, at least.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind. Before you kill me, will you just tell me one thing? Midvalley…?”

“He’s fine,” Legato says. “They both are. No worse for the wear than you are. And I never said I was going to kill you.”

“Don’t play with me, Legato. I hate that. Just get it over with.”

He comes forward, and I back off. My heel goes over the edge of the cliff, and the rest of me would probably have followed after it, except that he hurries the last few steps and catches me around the waist before I can lose my balance. He’s strong, I think. Strong enough to hold me, and so I let my fingers uncurl from that reliable Joshua tree, and I hook them in the collar of his coat instead.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“You’re upset.”

He kisses me then, and it’s a pretty messy affair. I’m still panting for breath, for one thing. It was about the last thing I was expecting from him, for another. But when I lean back, I guess he’s smiling at me a little. The corners of his mouth are bunched up and tight, but the rest of his expression is soft. Even his eyes, there’s something gentle there.

“It’s pretty up here, isn’t it?” I murmur.

“It’s fine,” he says.

“Wish I could stay here and watch the suns go down…”

“With your leg in that condition, you’d be lucky to live that long.”

“Oh.” I look down, like I’m noticing it for the first time. “I guess it is kind of a wreck. Can you help me walk?”

“Shall I carry you?”

“Maybe,” I say. That’s a pretty tempting proposal. But if he’s really not going to kill me, then I still have reputation to uphold. Yeah, I still have something to protect. “Maybe in a while. Let’s see how I manage.”

So he puts an arm around my waist, and tugs one of mine over his shoulders. We start down the path together, one step at a time. Taking it slow. There’s no rush, you know?

And after a while he says, “You gave me quite the chase getting up here.”

“How do you think I felt?”

“Where were you running?” he asks me. When I stumble, he just digs his heels in and waits for me to get my balance again.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t know where I was going. But I do now.”

“Is that so?”

He sounds only mildly curious, but I know he wants me to explain. I’m getting good at reading all his little variations. But I don’t answer; I just shake my head, and pretend I’m too out of breath to talk.

Let him think on that one for a while.

~End