The empty land, p.11
The Empty Land, page 11
part #3 of Hunter Kincaid Series
When the trail cut out of the creek bed and into the foothills, Riffey almost stopped, but didn’t. Just a little further, five minutes more, he thought. If he didn’t see them by then, he would walk downriver to Candelaria and maybe get a ride into Presidio.
Five minutes later he stopped to look up the mountainside one last time before leaving. He wiped sweat from his face and started to turn when the buzzard caught his attention.
It glided in a circle, and straight below it was a Border Patrol Agent lying motionless on the rocks. “Oh man,” Riffey said, and started up the mountain.
Fifteen minutes later, he reached the Agent, whose name read Flores on his uniform shirt. Riffey knelt beside Raymond and said, “Mister? Agent Flores?” Putting his fingers to the man’s neck, Riffey found a faint pulse.
He pulled on the black, curling wire under Raymond’s body to find the end with the mike, but it was ripped off, evidently in the man’s fall. “What now?” Riffey whispered to himself.
Raymond stirred, saying in a weak voice, “Heart attack. Help…”
Riffey could only think of one thing to do: Get the man to his vehicle. He grabbed Raymond’s wrists and pulled him to a sitting position, then worked and struggled until he got the Agent across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Lord, this man’s heavy. Riffey thought, and hoped he could make it down the mountainside without falling and killing them both.
Footing was treacherous in a dozen places because of the loose talus, but he went slowly, being as careful as he could, and forty minutes later reached the Border Patrol Tahoe. He put Raymond down in the vehicle’s shadow. Riffey’s legs quivered so bad he could barely stand, and there was not enough air in Texas to fill his lungs after the descent.
Raymond stirred and fumbled with his cell phone, then passed out again. Riffey picked up the cell and saw no service. He put the phone in Raymond’s pocket, then searched through the Agent’s pockets until he found the vehicle keys.
He opened the cab, put the key in the ignition and turned it on as he reached for the radio mike. “Hello, anybody! I’ve got a Border Patrolman down here! He’s had a heart attack. You need to send some help out here fast!”
There was the pop of static and a voice came on, “Where are you located?”
“The mouth of Capote Creek, up by Candelaria. You people need to hurry!”
“We are, sir. Do you know the Agent’s name?”
“It says Flores on his shirt. He’s not conscious right now, so he can’t tell me the rest.”
“And what is your name, sir?”
“I’ll stay with him until y’all get here, but hurry, okay?”
“What is your name, sir?”
Riffey turned off the key. The last thing he was going to do was give them his name, and then have to explain everything to them. No sir.
Raymond groaned. Riffey remembered something, some bit of information about heart attacks, and he tore through the Tahoe until he found the first aid kit. Inside the kit was what he needed: Aspirins. He took one out, along with a full Camelbak on the passenger’s seat, and fed the pill to Raymond while he gave him water. Raymond never opened his eyes but swallowed without choking.
“I hope it works, mister.” Riffey said. He sat beside the semi-conscious Agent and fed him sips of water for the next twenty minutes, then he heard the wop-wop-wop of a helicopter coming fast. He lay Raymond’s head down on the sand and said, “Good luck,” and slipped into the deepest area of salt cedars and river cane he saw.
Riffey was far enough away from the clearing that the landing helicopter whipped the brush around him but did not reveal his position. He watched the pilot and another Agent who carried a large backpack embossed with a red cross, exit the chopper and hurry to Raymond.
They worked smooth and fast, putting in IVs, giving him shots, and talking to him as they did. Riffey saw Raymond’s hand lift from the ground, then one leg so that the knee was elevated. Good, Riffey thought.
The two Agents carried Raymond to the chopper and put him in the passenger seat. The pilot gave the other Agent a thumbs-up and lifted into the air to speed away.
The Agent on the ground watched the helicopter for a good two minutes, then he looked at the area around the Tahoe. Riffey realized with a start that the Agent saw his tracks. The Agent looked in his direction, but Riffey knew he was too well hidden to actually see. The Agent knew where he was, no doubt about it.
The Agent stared his way for another ten seconds. Then he did a slow salute.
Riffey felt his eyes sting.
The Agent turned his back to Riffey and climbed into the Tahoe, spinning dirt as he drove away, going downriver.
When Riffey couldn’t hear the Tahoe anymore, he rose from the brush and started in the same direction. As he walked, Riffey realized his clothes finally did not stink of chlorine.
He reached the paved surface of Farm Road 170 and walked to Candelaria, where everyone had gone inside their homes. Border Patrol helicopters zooming close to the ground, and Border Patrol vehicles racing down the roads, that was notice enough for the people of Candelaria to get inside. No one even opened the shades to peek out at him. Riffey continued on the road, knowing it was forty-five or fifty miles to Presidio.
There was no choice because getting to familiar surroundings would be to his advantage. Safety was there, too, in the one bedroom rental apartment above the Lerma’s garage. Holland didn’t know about the apartment, and neither did any of Holland’s group. He’d made sure of that. Sometimes a man needs a private place, a sanctuary.
Riffey figured it was two or three days walking to get there. Then some rest, a change of clothes, and a long, hot shower. After that, he would get the hidden cash and buy some food before returning to the apartment and the bottle of tequila in the cupboard. The first drink would be to celebrate being alive, and the second for his murdered friends in La Sombra. After that, he would drink to forget, and to remember.
The daydreams were so strong about getting there that he almost stepped on a diamondback curled at the edge of the road. The snake buzzed its rattles, scaring Riffey so much that he hurried to the center stripe. Still shaking from the snake encounter, he decided to walk the center stripe all the way to Presidio, but at that moment a ranch hand in a pickup stopped and asked him if he wanted a ride.
Riffey said, “I sure would.”
The cowboy said, “Name’s Mario, hop in.” As Riffey settled in the passenger seat, Mario looked him over and said, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look kind of haggard, and I’m not talkin’ about Merle, either.” He smiled with the little joke.
“It’s sure been a hell of a few days. I’m Floyd, by the way, Floyd Riffey.”
Mario glanced toward the Rio Grande. “You in Mexico?”
“Yeah, not having fun either.”
“It wasn’t hard to tell that you crossed.” He nodded at the dried, brown water stains on Riffey’s pants and shirt. “And seeing as how you’re an American, I’m guessing you had some folks on your tail.”
Riffey told a small lie. “They were, but not now. I’m back in Texas.”
Mario nodded, “I’ve crossed through the Rio a time or two myself.” He reached across the cab in front of Riffey, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a pint of Canadian Hunter whiskey. He offered it, “Help yourself. I’d say you could use it.”
Riffey took the slender bottle, unscrewed the cap and said, “Here’s to you,” and took a long swallow. The burn made his eyes water. He wiped the mouth of the bottle with the sleeve of his shirt and handed it to Mario. The two men drank the pint dry before reaching Presidio’s city limits. Riffey lied about where he lived and had Mario drop him off two blocks from the apartment. He walked the two blocks with his head on a swivel, looking for Holland or Guereca, the fear still that great in him.
When he stepped inside his little room and closed the door, there was a tremendous sense of relief. Leaning his back against the door, Riffey closed his eyes and let his breath and his pulse gradually slow to normal. In this small place he felt safe. No, that was not it; he felt hidden.
***
Hunter drove through Valentine while listening to an audiobook of a John Sandford novel when her cell rang. She paused the story and looked at the phone: Mike Turk. She answered, “Hey Mike.”
“Hunter, I just flew Raymond to the hospital in Alpine. He had a heart attack.”
Hunter felt a lump of ice form in her stomach, “Is he all right?”
“He’s not good. He was unconscious for the flight. They had to do CPR twice on him after we got there.”
Hunter’s mind raced, “Has anybody told Connie?”
“Yes, she’s on her way to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“What it was, Raymond parked his car at the mouth of Capote Creek and started following a group, but then had the heart attack. From the sign, somebody carried him out of the mountains and brought him back to the vehicle, then called on the radio for help. I was near Presidio and picked up one of their SRT guys who had a medic’s kit and we flew to Capote.”
Hunter knew there was a lot more that Turk was leaving out so he could keep the conversation short. “Who was it that called it in?”
“We don’t know. He wouldn’t give his name, and wasn’t there when we took Raymond. His tracks led into the brush.”
“Was he Mexican?”
“Nope, sounded like a gringo. Whoever he was, he kept Raymond alive. He even got into the vehicle’s first aid kit and gave Raymond an aspirin and some water, which I’m hearing from the Alpine hospital people was a big plus.”
Hunter glanced at her odometer and saw she was doing ninety-five. She eased off to ninety. “Thanks for telling me, Mike.”
“You bet.”
Hunter drove above the speed limit all the way to Alpine, and lucked out at the hospital when she found a parking space near the entrance. She talked to the woman at the desk, whose name plaque read: Norma Gonzales. “I’m here to see Raymond Flores. He was flown in earlier.”
Norma looked on her computer at the admissions. “I’m sorry, Mr. Flores has been airlifted to MCH Medical Center in Odessa.”
“Do you know if his wife went with him?”
“Let me check.” She worked the keys on the computer, read something on the screen, hit more keys, then more again. “Yes, she accompanied Mr. Flores on the helicopter.”
“Thanks.” Hunter walked out of the hospital and then had to mentally struggle to make herself go to a friend’s house in Alpine and put up the perishable groceries rather than immediately roar out of Alpine for Odessa. The logical side of her mind won out, but only by a hair. She called her friend Loraine, who said to bring them over. They unloaded the groceries and Loraine told her to get going, that she would put them up.
Hunter made the one hundred forty-five mile drive from Alpine to Odessa in ninety minutes.
***
The woman at the information desk told her that Mr. Flores was in ICU and wasn’t allowed visitors. Hunter said, “Where can I wait?”
“Are you a relative?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, but you will have to wait in the general area.”
“Don’t you have a waiting area for ICU?”
“Yes, but only for the immediate family.”
Hunter started to turn away, then said, “I’m his partner. We’re Border Patrol Agents, and he’s my partner, my best friend. Is there any way…?”
The woman told her the directions to the ICU waiting room and said, “If anyone asks, tell them you’re a relative.”
Hunter thanked her and rode the elevator to the ICU floor. The first person she saw was Connie. Hunter walked to her and they hugged. Hunter said, “How is he doing?”
Connie said, “They’re operating. I haven’t heard anything else since they told me.”
They sat down to wait, and Connie struggled to hold herself together. Hunter wasn’t sure what to do to comfort her. They had been friends when Hunter first joined the Border Patrol and worked so much with Raymond, then there had been the falling out, and now they were casual friends, until this. Until today. Connie needed help. Hunter leaned sideways and put her arm around Connie’s shoulders.
Connie cried and said, “Thank you for being here with me. I can’t do this alone.”
Hunter felt awkward. She patted Connie’s shoulder and said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Three hours later, the Doctor came through the doors and Hunter woke Connie as she dozed in the chair. The doctor said, “We’ve finished the surgery, and he’s resting.”
Connie said, “Can I see him?”
“Not yet. He’s in recovery, and will be for another hour or so.”
Hunter said, “Is he going to be all right?”
“He still has a ways to go. We performed a quadruple bypass, and he has damage to the heart. We have to watch for clots and further arrhythmia for the next twenty-fours hours. This wasn’t the flu he had, it was a major heart attack.”
Connie said, “Will he be able to return to work? If he can’t, I’m not sure how he will take it.”
“He’s a Border Patrol Agent, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have to wait and see how well he recovers before we decide. It will be a while, either way, before we know.”
Hunter said, “There are things he can do at work that only involve light duty. Nothing strenuous. If that helps, I mean.”
The Doctor said, “It’s something to consider. When the time is right.”
Connie said, “Thank you.”
***
Two hours later they moved Raymond into a room. Connie stayed in the room with him, sleeping in the reclining chair. Hunter stayed in the waiting room and dozed sitting up.
At ten-thirty the next morning, Connie came into the waiting room and motioned for Hunter. “He’s awake. He’s asking for you.”
Hunter entered the room and felt a shock when she looked at her friend. His skin had a gray undertone, and his eyes were dark-ringed. It looked like he’d lost thirty pounds, and she knew that wasn’t possible, but that is the way he appeared.
Raymond said in a hoarse voice, “Quit gawking, I’m fine.”
“Right as the mail,” Hunter said, using one of the Doc Holliday quotes from the old Tombstone movie that Raymond liked.
“You bet.”
“You feel up to talking?”
“A little, I’m kind of tired, though.”
“Well, duh.”
Raymond chuckled and said, “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”
“Don’t say goofy stuff, then.”
Connie bristled, “Don’t talk to him like that.”
Hunter said, “I’m kidding, Connie. I thought it might do him good.”
“He is a sick man, and he almost died. He needs to be quiet and not upset by arguing and dirty comments.”
Here we go again, Hunter thought, but she controlled herself. “I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll be more careful.”
Connie wasn’t through, “I’m here to take care of him. I’m his wife.” She didn’t say, not you, but it was clear what she meant.
Hunter was tired, and her patience gone. She started to say something, but with a huge effort held it in.
Raymond said, “Connie, give me and Hunter some private time.” Connie’s lips thinned, but she left the room. He said to Hunter, “I could tell your fuse is a little short today, and I didn’t want you to shoot her.”
“Ahh, you know how it is between us.”
“I do. But she’s scared to death right now.”
“I know, and that makes her extra protective of you, which is a good thing.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Sure.”
Now, let me tell you something I remember.”
“Is this for a report?”
“No. This is for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“The guy who carried me off the mountain, the one who saved my life? I think he’s one of the men who shot Miguel and burned down Sam’s ranch house.”
“What makes you think that?”
“From Miguel and Sam’s description. The scar.” Raymond ran a finger by his right eye, indicating the scar.
“What was he doing at Capote?”
“I have no clue.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Not sure, but Miguel and Sam could tell us if it was.” Hunter raised her eyebrows. Raymond continued, “When he put me down by the Tahoe, I took a photo with my phone. I was in and out of consciousness right then, so I’m not sure it came out, but if it did, I might have his face. I figure that’ll give you something to do to occupy your mind so you won’t worry so much about me. Having one woman fluttering around me is plenty.”
“I wasn’t going to flutter, I was going to aggravate you.”
“That’s your way of fluttering.” He pointed at his things on the small desk. “Take the phone, get the photo, and go get some rest. You look like ten miles of bad road.”
“Flatterer.” Hunter took his phone, transferred the photo to her cell, and replaced his on the desk. “I’m leaving now. I’ll let you know what Sam and Miguel say. You need anything…”
“I’ll call. Go get some rest.”
Hunter went out and said to Connie, “If you need me to bring you something from Marfa, or for me to do anything else, I’m here for you.”
Connie nodded stiffly, “Thank you for coming last night.”
Hunter thought about hugging her, but the woman’s body language said, keep away, so she nodded at Connie and left the hospital.
The drive back was at normal speed, and she stopped once on a side road and took a ten-minute nap so she wouldn’t fall asleep behind the wheel. When she pulled into the driveway at her big Mediterranean style home on Plateau Street, she could barely hold her eyes open.
