Peter will help me unhitch the trailer, and then we’ll be on our way.” He smiled again, then got out of the truck and left it running so I would have heat.
I watched Peter lead Redhead to the stables and felt a pang of guilt for not taking care of her myself. I turned on the radio and let the morning sun warm my face through the windshield. I could barely hear the broadcast above the low rumble of the truck’s idling engine, so I reached to turn the volume up. “And in local news,” an announcer said, “a search and rescue team has recovered the body that had been carried downriver after it was spotted beneath the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge two days ago. New Mexico State Police agent Lou Ebert said the investigative team is not releasing any details in the case, other than to say that the body has not been identified. When contacted, the Office of the Medical Investigator in Albuquerque declined to comment.”
Suddenly, I felt too hot. The windshield had amplified the sun’s rays like a magnifying glass and I felt like I was roasting. My mouth tasted sour from the few sips of coffee I had taken and it made me feel a little queasy. I opened the door of the truck and worked my way out from under the blanket. But I had forgotten about the mug of coffee, which fell to the asphalt and bounced, coming apart, the red cap spinning away, the liquid from inside flying up as one glistening brown steaming organism in slow motion, and then disconnecting into hundreds of drops and falling down to the cold asphalt, where it immediately began to freeze.
I squatted to retrieve the cup and its lid and felt a pang as the muscles in my backside stretched. Although it hurt, it felt good to have my weight off the bruise and to stretch the muscles. And the cold air made my tummy relax. I sat on my haunches and took several deep breaths, feeling better with each one.
After I’d taken one last deep breath, I noticed a pair of brown smoke-jumper boots on my periphery. I had no idea how long Kerry Reed had been standing there. “You okay?” he asked, his hat shading my face from the now-blinding sun.
I straightened up, guardedly. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry about the coffee. All of I sudden, I just felt hot.”
“You going to be all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” I turned and started to get back in the truck.
“Here, let me help.” He took my arm and held it for support. “Do you need to go home?”
“No, I’m all right.”
In the truck, he looked at me before putting the truck in gear. “If you’re not feeling well, I can take you back to the BLM, and if you want, we can go get your truck and trailer at the drop point later. I got your rifle. Your horse is all taken care of.”
“Did you get that backpack?”
He reached behind the seat, pulled up the canvas bag, and handed it to me. “It’s right here.”
As we drove, I stuck my head out the window and into the wind. I could feel the numbing cold move from my face through my chest and into my middle. After a few minutes, I was too chilled. I rolled up the window.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. Then I zipped open the top on the backpack and rummaged through its contents. “There’s no wallet or I.D. in here, no personal items at all. No way to tell who that guy was. The only things in here are a few camera accessories.”
“What kind?”
I held up the items one at a time. “This looks like some kind of lens filter. This must be a lens cleaning kit. There are two of these—extra batteries. I think that’s everything.” I swept the bottom of the bag with my hand. “No, wait. What’s this?” I held up a small flat square.
Kerry took his eyes from the road for a moment and glanced at the item in my hand. “That’s a memory card.”
“I wonder what’s on it.”
“We can find out. I bet I’ve got something that you can use to read it.”
I put everything back in the pack and zipped it up again.
“How are you feeling now?” Reed
I watched Peter lead Redhead to the stables and felt a pang of guilt for not taking care of her myself. I turned on the radio and let the morning sun warm my face through the windshield. I could barely hear the broadcast above the low rumble of the truck’s idling engine, so I reached to turn the volume up. “And in local news,” an announcer said, “a search and rescue team has recovered the body that had been carried downriver after it was spotted beneath the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge two days ago. New Mexico State Police agent Lou Ebert said the investigative team is not releasing any details in the case, other than to say that the body has not been identified. When contacted, the Office of the Medical Investigator in Albuquerque declined to comment.”
Suddenly, I felt too hot. The windshield had amplified the sun’s rays like a magnifying glass and I felt like I was roasting. My mouth tasted sour from the few sips of coffee I had taken and it made me feel a little queasy. I opened the door of the truck and worked my way out from under the blanket. But I had forgotten about the mug of coffee, which fell to the asphalt and bounced, coming apart, the red cap spinning away, the liquid from inside flying up as one glistening brown steaming organism in slow motion, and then disconnecting into hundreds of drops and falling down to the cold asphalt, where it immediately began to freeze.
I squatted to retrieve the cup and its lid and felt a pang as the muscles in my backside stretched. Although it hurt, it felt good to have my weight off the bruise and to stretch the muscles. And the cold air made my tummy relax. I sat on my haunches and took several deep breaths, feeling better with each one.
After I’d taken one last deep breath, I noticed a pair of brown smoke-jumper boots on my periphery. I had no idea how long Kerry Reed had been standing there. “You okay?” he asked, his hat shading my face from the now-blinding sun.
I straightened up, guardedly. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry about the coffee. All of I sudden, I just felt hot.”
“You going to be all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” I turned and started to get back in the truck.
“Here, let me help.” He took my arm and held it for support. “Do you need to go home?”
“No, I’m all right.”
In the truck, he looked at me before putting the truck in gear. “If you’re not feeling well, I can take you back to the BLM, and if you want, we can go get your truck and trailer at the drop point later. I got your rifle. Your horse is all taken care of.”
“Did you get that backpack?”
He reached behind the seat, pulled up the canvas bag, and handed it to me. “It’s right here.”
As we drove, I stuck my head out the window and into the wind. I could feel the numbing cold move from my face through my chest and into my middle. After a few minutes, I was too chilled. I rolled up the window.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. Then I zipped open the top on the backpack and rummaged through its contents. “There’s no wallet or I.D. in here, no personal items at all. No way to tell who that guy was. The only things in here are a few camera accessories.”
“What kind?”
I held up the items one at a time. “This looks like some kind of lens filter. This must be a lens cleaning kit. There are two of these—extra batteries. I think that’s everything.” I swept the bottom of the bag with my hand. “No, wait. What’s this?” I held up a small flat square.
Kerry took his eyes from the road for a moment and glanced at the item in my hand. “That’s a memory card.”
“I wonder what’s on it.”
“We can find out. I bet I’ve got something that you can use to read it.”
I put everything back in the pack and zipped it up again.
“How are you feeling now?” Reed
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