Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1) by JT Sawyer Page B

already craning her head out of
the window, studying the scene, then she reached into the back seat and
withdrew her small pack. “I’m not staying put here. Looks like we’re back to
boot power.”
    Mitch nodded in agreement, grabbing the
rest of his gear and his rifle then motioning to her to head up to the canyon
rim forty feet above. “I’ll be right up,” he said, handing his items off to
her. “I hate to foul up the desert like this but it’s better to remove any
evidence we came this way.” Mitch went back to the jeep, removed the emergency
brake and placed the stick in neutral. The vehicle rolled forward into the
tumult, turning sideways upon impact with the current and joining the rest of
the debris washing downstream.
    He rejoined Dev, both of them watching in
fascination as their brief reminder of civilization melded into the grip of the
hungry waters. “The coming rains will wash away our tire tracks on the road,”
he said, looking north at the cumulonimbus cloud that hung upon them like a
black veil. “Hopefully we can find a way across the canyon quickly and then
hole up somewhere. This storm is going to be savage.”
    Shouldering their gear, they hoofed along
the rim while scanning each small rock or cow pie to make sure it wasn’t a rattler.
The landscape was rife with large juniper trees and clumps of mesquite. Mitch
thought for a second about how this would be good terrain for mule deer hunting
and then realized how the tables were turned and they had become the prey. With
the full moon in the cloudless sky at their backs and the electrical storm
filling the horizon to the front, he caught a glimpse of a primitive
sheepherder’s bridge atop the canyon a mile up.
    He tapped Dev on the shoulder and pointed
to it. “Let’s hope those sheepmen have been keeping that crossing point
maintained.”
    “Why is that even there when the road
isn’t that far back?”
    “A lot of the cattle and sheep bridges out
west were put in fifty years ago or more while some of these roads came into
being in the past coupla years. The ranchers prefer staying off the beaten path
anyway.”
    His voice was drowned out as the wind
shifted and began pelting them with rainfall. They picked up their pace, trotting
to reach the bridge as the tempo of the storm increased with each step. Mitch
could hear the current in the canyon below pulsing as if it was a living creature
that would reach an arm up over the edge to claim any terrestrial being that
defied it.
    The moonlight was fading as the storm
overtook them, the inky black clouds occasionally belting out another shockwave
of lightning and thunder. Just where I want to be right now — out in
the open, near water, with the sky gods pissed off. The last volley of lightning
revealed the bridge a hundred yards out. Mitch and Dev began sprinting,
crunching over ankle-high cacti in a frenzied dash to the bridge.
    Making it to the edge where metal was
married to rock, Mitch did a hasty inspection of the rickety contraption in
between lightning flashes from above. The canyon below had swollen further and
the water level was coursing four feet away from the cable suspensions that
spanned the short distance between rims.
    “You sure this redneck piece of shit is
going to hold us?” yelled Dev.
    “If not, I’ll see you in Mexico,” he
shouted back, then grabbed the railings of spun cable on either side and began
moving across. He steadied himself with the waist-high supports while half trotting,
half shuffling across the creaky planks, hoping his trust in cowboy engineering
wouldn’t prove him wrong.

 
    Chapter 18
    The raging current of mud and churning
boulders below resembled a brown python undulating through the bedrock,
reshaping the very walls of the canyon with its violent passing. The pounding
rain was slapping against his entire body like it was trying to drive him into
the hungry mouth of the silty beast below. Mitch wanted to look over his
shoulder to check on