“How is my little Sprout today?” the old man asked, rising from his chair by the window. He wore jeans, a bolo string tie made of turquoise, and a pale blue button-down western shirt.

“I’m fine,” Rory replied.

“Are you sure?” He spread his arms, beckoning to her.

She went to him and gladly accepted his embrace.

“I’ll be okay, Grandpa,” she assured him. While in his arms, her hands instinctively went to the long white pony tail that still hung halfway down his back. Her fingers caressed that mane of hair as they had done so often since she was a child.

The old man gave her an extra squeeze before releasing her. Rory looked up into those dark, aged eyes. She saw the special gleam, that sparkle that said he had his mind about him today. Such days became fewer and farther between with each passing year. The skin on his face was dark, weathered and creviced by time, and still bore all the traits of his ancient Yavapai Indian ancestry.

“You wouldn’t be lying to the old man, now would you?” he smiled.

“No Grandpa,” she lied.

“Please sit down, little Sprout.” He motioned for her to sit on the narrow bed. “I have something to tell you.”

His voice had always charmed her. It was a deep, resonating sound, with the words delivered slowly and deliberately. As always, she obeyed him without question.

She watched as the old man walked to the window and gazed out on the beautifully landscaped grounds of the Sunrise Home for the Elderly. So many hours she had spent with him, talking about her loves, her life, her troubles. And all he would do is sit in his chair and stare out that window, never saying a word. She wondered if the view looked different to him on days like today, when his mind wasn’t buggered with the disease.

“Do you remember the story I told you about my father, and the quest he endured to save the lives of his family?” he asked, still facing the window, hands clasped behind his back.

“I do, Grandpa. I remember it.”

“It has been four generations since a quest of this importance has gripped our family. But the time has come again…and you, little Sprout, must bear the weight upon your shoulders. You must embark on the very same quest as my father. You alone must journey to Red Rocks. It shall be the only relief, for yourself and those who love you.”

“What about Robert?” she asked. “He is of full blood and the next in line of descendents.”

“Bah!” the old man flicked his hand as if to shoo away a fly. “Robert is nothing but a coyote in sheep’s wool; a disgrace to the family.”

He turned from the window and kneeled before Rory. He took her hands in his. “You, my little Sprout, are a true Fisher, whether you believe it or not. I have taught you the importance of the sun, your faith, and your dreams. Have I not?”

“You have, Grandpa.”

The old man nodded, and smiled with pride. “Take that knowledge with you in your quest. Follow your dreams and the path that the Spirits lay before you. Trust in them, and trust in yourself. Look to them, and look into yourself. There you will find the answers…”

***

Rory Fisher approached the cabin cautiously on her ten-speed bicycle. She knew that her brother sometimes visited Grandpa’s hideaway in the woods. And the last thing she wanted was for her brother to catch her at what she was about to do.

There was no sign of Robert’s pick-up though, and that was a telltale sign that he was nowhere around. She steered her bike into some wild shrubs on the edge of the property and dismounted, dropping her backpack to the ground. The gusting wind blew her red hair back from her pale forehead and threatened to tip over her thin 110 lb. frame. Her baggy black tee shirt billowed as she leaned into the wind, moving swiftly through the front yard.

The cabin was old, but well-built by her grandfather’s own hands. It was just now showing the signs of neglect after nearly eight years of abandonment. The structure was nestled up against several acres of forestland below what some called a mountain, but Rory considered a large hill.

As she stepped up on the front porch—now sagging slightly from too many winter snows and no repair—she glanced up and down the gravel access road to be sure there was no sign of Robert.

Satisfied that she was alone, she inserted the key into the lock and entered the cabin, quickly closing the door behind her. She was standing in the small kitchen and living room area. A short hallway led to the single bedroom and a bathroom at the back.

The bedroom was her destination, but she first retrieved two dusty butter knives from a drawer in the kitchen. With one knife in each hand she swiftly made her way into the bedroom, and dropped to her knees on the wood floor. She scanned the seams between the boards carefully with her eyes until she found what she was looking for; a gap slightly wider than the rest of the floor.

The wind was howling in the eaves as she inserted the two knives into the gaps and began prying up the loose floorboard. It took several attempts before she was successful. Finally, she lay the board aside and gazed into the black hole beneath. With the curtains drawn, there wasn’t enough light to see what the cavity might hold, but she already knew the answer to that question. She reached in and grasped the small metal strongbox, carefully lifting it to the surface.

As she set the box on the floor, she paused, listening intently for the rumbling sound she’d just heard. All she could hear though was the wind. Sure it was just her imagination, she turned her attention back to the box.

She lifted the metal lid slowly to reveal the contents; a tattered fold of yellow paper. Her fingers were gentle against the aged paper as she picked it up and unfolded it. A smile graced her lips when she saw what the paper contained.

Then she heard a thump, followed by the front door of the cabin squeaking open on its hinges. Someone was here! She turned around in shock as her brother’s long legs carried him quickly across the living room and into the bedroom. The look on his dark face showed the same shock that Rory felt on hers. His dark beady eyes widened below the large brim of his tattered gray cowboy hat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” her brother growled. He noticed the fold of yellow paper in her hands. “Is that what I think it is?”

Rory stuffed the paper deep into the front pocket of her jeans. “It’s mine, Robert. Grandpa gave it to me.”

“Bullshit, it’s yours. That old bastard’s been holding out on me for twenty years.” Robert stepped forward in a threatening manner.

Trapped in the small bedroom, Rory turned and ran to the window where she threw the curtains aside. Her fingers fumbled for the latch that would swing the glass open and allow her freedom. She just managed to throw the lock when Robert grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. The window swung partially open, but was now out of her reach.

Robert threw Rory to the floor so hard that her head slammed against the floorboard. Shooting stars filled her vision. Her brother stood over her menacingly. “Give it to me, Rory.”

Rory shook her head as she waited for her vision to clear. “Grandpa gave it to me,” she repeated.

“I don’t give a shit who Grandpa gave it to. I aim to make it mine.”

Robert dropped to one knee beside Rory and she saw her opportunity. She brought her knee up in one quick jerk, catching Robert in the groin. He let out a grunt, and his narrow face squeezed in pain. Rory rolled aside and crawled to her feet. Robert was doubled over, still on one knee, his hands pressed between his legs. His breath came in short gasps.

Rory ran for the door of the bedroom, but Robert recovered enough to reach out and grab her foot. She tried to pull free, dragging her brother’s weight across the slick wood floor. When she finally broke free, he was between her and the doorway. Robert was still drying to draw a full breath, but Rory knew her chances for escape were fading.

She jumped up onto the bed, out of reach of Robert’s long arms, and made a dash for the open window. She barely got both feet on the ground outside when she felt Robert’s hand grab the back of her shirt.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled.

Rory twisted her body around and slammed her forearms into Robert’s, breaking his grip. He’d torn the collar of her shirt, but she was free. She ran off into the woods, hoping the trees would provide enough cover for her to escape.

She glanced back once, just as she entered the forest, and saw Robert climbing through the window. He wasn’t going to give up that easy.

Rory ran faster than she’d ever run in her life, adrenalin spurring her on. She dodged thickets of shrubs and leaped over fallen trees, mindful of where she was stepping. She could hear Robert’s footsteps not far behind her, and if she were to trip and fall, it would all be over.

“Damn it, Rory, I’m gonna kill you when I catch you!”

Rory knew that was a distinct possibility, so she just kept on running. The terrain began to climb at the base of the small mountain, and she didn’t want to run up hill. Instead she turned north, where she knew there were other farmhouses and cabins a mile up the road.

Rory ran for ten minutes before the adrenalin in her body began to wane. Her legs were tiring to the point where she was having a hard time keeping her balance on the unpredictable landscape. She could still hear Robert’s pursuit, but it was fading. She had been gaining ground, but she was afraid her fatigue would erase that advantage if she ran much further.

She began searching for a hiding place, someplace she felt comfortable that Robert wouldn’t find her. There were thickets of shrub in the forest, but none thick enough that she felt safe hiding in. So she ran further, beginning to stumble in her flight. Darkness began to grow in her peripheral vision, and she knew that her body was about spent.

She stopped and leaned against a giant oak tree, trying to catch her breath. The oak was ancient, its trunk so thick she couldn’t have stretched her arms even half way around its girth. About six feet up, the trunk divided and grew into two crooked arms that were large enough to be trees themselves. She considered climbing up into the dense foliage of its limbs, but knew she hadn’t the strength.

Rory looked back the way she had come. She could hear Robert coming, but he was still hidden by the forest. She knew she had to go on, so she forced herself to start moving again, stepping away from the old oak.

Then she noticed the sinkhole at the base of the trunk on the other side. It was nearly six feet deep and mostly obscured by the twisting roots of the giant tree. She stopped and peeked around the enormous trunk. She could see flashes of Robert’s flannel shirt through the pines, but she felt confident that he hadn’t spotted her yet.

Rory squeezed her small body down between the roots and into the dark confines of the sink hole. She lay back and concentrated on getting her breathing under control.

Robert’s footsteps grew closer, finally stopping less than ten feet from the trunk of the old oak tree. Rory could see him through the intertwining roots. He paused for a moment, bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. A minute passed by before he stood straight once again.

“You won’t get away with this, Rory!” he screamed. “When I catch you, I’m gonna wring your scrawny neck until your goddamned head pops off! You hear me?”

Then he turned and began walking back toward the cabin.

***

Rory remained in the sinkhole for another ten minutes, waiting for her heart to slow and her energy to return. While she was resting, her mind turned to what she’d do next. She knew she had to get out of town, for her destination lay nearly one thousand miles to the south.

There were really only two viable options. She could go south of Twin Falls, and try to hitch a ride on Highway 93, toward Jackpot, Nevada. Or she could go north, through Twin Falls, and try to catch a ride on Interstate 84 going southeast. The southern route was the most logical because it was the quickest route south and rides would be easier to come by; many locals traveled to Nevada to gamble. But she also knew that Robert would be watching 93 South, which was only a few miles away.

She decided to take the northern route, to the freeway, and hope to catch a ride there. Hitch-hiking on the freeway was illegal, and she’d have to deal with that problem, but Robert would not expect her to go that far out of her way. First though, she’d have to risk returning to the cabin and retrieve her pack and bicycle.

Rory crawled from the sinkhole and turned back to the giant oak tree. The ancient sentinel of the forest had provided her safe haven, and she was appreciative of that. She pressed her lips against the palm of her hand in a kiss, and then placed it against the rough bark of the tree.

“Thank you, Mr. Oak,” she whispered, and then began her long journey.

***

Robert returned to the cabin and inspected the bedroom. He felt around in the hole beneath the floor, but found nothing but dirt. He looked in the metal box, which still lay tipped over on the floor after the brief struggle. It was empty as he expected. It pissed him off that Rory had snuck in and stole what was rightfully his. It pissed him off even more that their grandfather was the one behind it all.

But what really pissed him off was that it had been under his feet the whole time. He’d come to the cabin today to fetch a pound of marijuana that he had stashed in the closet of the bedroom, not more than five steps from the hidden cavity in the floor.

He kicked the metal box across the room in frustration and went out to his truck, a black, late-model Dodge Ram Quad Cab. He wasn’t going to let Rory get away with what was rightfully his. While walking back to the cabin he’d already formulated a plan of action.

He snatched his cell phone from the dash of the truck and pushed in a series of numbers.

“Texaco by the freeway, Mike speaking,” a voice answered.

“Mike, it’s Robert.”

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

“My little bitch of a sister just screwed me, that’s what’s up.”

“How’d she do that?”

“I don’t have time to explain. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, what do ya need?”

“I need you to watch the freeway entrance for me. If you see my sister out that direction, call me on my cell phone immediately. Can you do that?”

“Sure. But—,”

“No time to talk now. Thanks, Mike.”

Robert hung up and punched in another number.

“Yeah?”

“Whitty, it’s Robert.”

“Hey, Bobby, what’s going on?”

“You busy?”

“Nope. Just sittin’ around as usual.”

“Good. Grab your camping gear and meet me outside your house. We’re going on a road trip.”

“Where to?”

“Arizona, if I have my way.”

“Arizona? What’s in—?”

“Never mind, I’ll fill you in later. Just get ready.”

Robert cut off the call and hopped into the Dodge. He fired the engine and tore out of the cabin yard, throwing dirt nearly thirty feet behind the rear tires.

***

The late-morning sun glimmered off an aging, white Kenworth T600 as it toiled east down Interstate 84 between Boise and Twin Falls, Idaho. Behind the unmarked cabin, a metallic gray trailer swayed gently in the gusting breeze. The large side panels on the trailer were quietly adorned with a conservative, plain-text logo reading Ottumwa Casket Company, Ottumwa Iowa.

Behind the wheel, Deek Taylor scratched his chin through a thick, well-trimmed beard as he gazed out at the passing Southern Idaho scenery. The sandy high-desert lands consisted mainly of pastel greens and varying shades of brown, sparsely populated with small shrub-like trees and the occasional outgrowth of barren black lava rock.

Far to the south, freshly planted farmland led to the golden rolling hills that were beginning to show signs of spring life. Hints of bright and shallow green could be seen, softly coloring the small mountains as if at the cautious hand of a child and his crayons.

Deek was enjoying the scenery because it was the only element of the job that still appealed to him. After only four years of driving truck, he had grown weary of the loneliness and solitude that originally drove him to this line of work.

Previously, he had spent thirteen years as a professional wrestler known as Jebediah Jones, rugged mountain man of the squared circle. Wrestling had been his passion since high school and he had been fortunate enough to make a good living at it; until he suddenly found himself on the outside of the business, looking in.

His unwanted departure from his chosen profession also coincided with the bitter divorce of his high school sweetheart, Lisa. In fact, the two events were strongly linked together.

It had been the love of his woman that had caused him to fall out of grace with the wrestling promoters. Sure, they could have given him a break, but wrestling was a hard business by nature. Deek knew that going in. The hard fact of the matter was, it was his own damn fault that he’d lost his job.

The long weeks on the road while he was wrestling had taken a toll on his wife back in Des Moines, Iowa. They had gradually grown apart, each living their own lives. Unfortunately, the life Lisa chose was a long-running addiction to drugs and alcohol.

When they’d first been married, and he’d just embarked on his lifelong dream of being a pro wrestler, she had been so good at managing their money. He would deposit his paychecks into their bank account, from wherever he was, and she would make sure the bills got paid back home.

But as the years passed and Lisa sank into a world of depression, paying the bills took a backseat to getting the next gram of cocaine or another bottle of illegal barbiturates.

In hindsight, he realized he should’ve taken her name off the account and started paying the bills himself. But somehow, with each near foreclosure on their house, she had managed to clean herself up and convince him she was done with the drugging and boozing.

It was his trust in her that had been his downfall. Toward the end of their marriage, Deek had often been forced to cancel his appearances and rush back home to clean up the mess that Lisa had made of herself and their finances. He had got in the habit of borrowing money from the wrestling promoters to help dig them out of each hole Lisa had dug for them. Eventually, the multitude of missed appearances made it impossible for Deek to pay the promoters back.

In 1999, without fanfare, Deek was cast out of the wrestling business, deemed unreliable in appearances and unable to pay back debts. His wrestling career was over; Jebediah Jones was dead.

Deek had divorced Lisa later that year and taken the job of truck driver, hoping the solitude of the job would help him put the tattered pieces of his life back in order. And it had helped, for awhile. But now the loneliness only weighed on his heart.

Inside the cab of the Kenworth, Deek forced back the tears that threatened to break free. He always felt morose when he thought about the past, and chided himself for allowing those painful memories back in.

His mood immediately lifted when he saw a familiar sign. Exit 173, three miles.

Tammy.

***

Robert and his friend John Whittman sat in the Dodge truck on the southern edge of Twin Falls, watching Highway 93 South. Robert wanted to catch Rory while she was still in town and on foot. He knew she had no access to a vehicle and neither did the few friends she had. If she was heading for Arizona, it would be with her thumb in the air. And 93 was the most likely route.

“What if she heads for the freeway?” Whittman asked.

“Don’t worry, Whitty, I got that covered,” Robert replied.

Whitty returned to gazing absently out the window. His dirty, dishwater-blonde curls blew in the wind of the open window, below a sweat-stained, orange Home Depot baseball cap. Meanwhile, his fingers picked at a little glob of egg yolk that had been stuck in his untrimmed beard since breakfast.    

“Are you gonna tell me what all this is about?” Whitty finally asked several minutes later.

“In due time,” Robert replied. He removed his tattered cowboy hat and scratched at his balding crew cut. His skin was dark and sun-worn, giving him the appearance of a man in his mid-forties, a full ten years older than his actual age. He wore a permanent five o’clock shadow on his weak chin, and his dark, beady eyes peered out the window for any sign of his sister.

“Can you at least tell me how long we’re gonna be sitting here?” was Whitty’s next question.

“Why? You got somewhere to be?”

“Well, no. But I do gotta take a whiz.”

“Well, go for it. I’m not stopping you.”

“Shee-it, Bobby, you want me to go right out here in broad daylight? There’s people all over the place.”

Robert shot Whitty an impatient glance. “So? They’d need a goddamned set of binoculars to see anything, even if they were ten feet away.”

“Very funny.”

Whitty climbed out of the truck, but left the door open, hoping to gain as much privacy as he could.

While Whitty waited patiently for the stream to start flowing, Robert’s cell phone chirped on the dashboard.

Robert answered before the second ring. “Go.”

“Robert, it’s Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“Your sister just rode by on her ten-speed.”

“Is she getting on the freeway?”

“Nope, went right on past, over toward the truck stop.”

“Ten-four. Thanks, Mike. I owe ya one.”

“No problem.”

Robert tossed the cell back on the dash. “Let’s go, Whitt-man. That was our call.”

“I ain’t done yet.”

“Pinch it off, we gotta roll.”

***

Deek shifted down through the gears as he pulled his Kenworth onto the off-ramp at exit 173 in Twin Falls. He turned left, over the freeway, and steered the eighteen-wheeler into a Flying J Travel Plaza parking lot. To his relief, he found an open spot in the diesel area and rolled up to the pumps. The brakes squealed sharply, followed by a sharp hiss of air.

Deek eased his six-foot, five-inch frame down from the cabin of the truck, his knees creaking and popping in protest. At thirty-seven years of age, he often felt more like fifty-seven. That was an occupational hazard of the wrestler. When a man spends five nights a week getting hit in the head with a chair, crashing through tables, and performing knee drops off the top rope, he tends to age before his time. 

He hitched his jeans up over his expanding waistline and dug his wallet out of a back pocket. After inserting a credit card assigned to the Ottumwa Casket Company, he punched in the required truck mileage and unit number. The main 100-gallon fuel cell immediately began gobbling the truck's lifeblood.

Whipping winds thrashed at his long dark hair and flannel over-shirt as he climbed up on the running board with a rag and a squeegee.

The routine maintenance of washing windows and mirrors was nearly completed when the pump suddenly squawked from behind him.

“Is that my traveling undertaker out there?” it asked in a feminine voice.

Deek smiled through his expanse of beard, revealing one missing tooth. “The one and only!”

“How ya doing, Deek?” the pump laughed.

“Great, Tammy. Just great. It’s good to hear your voice!”

“Are we doin’ lunch?”

“Been looking forward to it all morning.”

“Me too. I’ll see ya in a few!”

Deek quickly finished his pit stop, anxious to get inside and see Tammy. He passed through this area of Idaho at least four times every year and he had recently developed a friendship with Tammy, the perky counter clerk at the Flying J Travel Plaza. More often than not, they would eat lunch together and talk about their lives, (lost) loves, and dreams.

After moving his truck around to the side of the Flying J, Deek hopped out with a little more spring in his step. He leaned his 260 lb. bulk into the wind and made his way to the convenience store area of the truck stop. The little bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. He straightened his wind-ravaged hair with one hand and stepped up to the counter.

Tammy’s smile was genuine when she greeted him. “I’ll get you checked out on that diesel, and then we can go eat lunch.”

“Sounds great!”

Deek watched as she prepared his diesel ticket. He was growing quite fond of Tammy. She was cute, but not in a movie-star kind of way. Like him, she was packing a little extra weight, but it was well-distributed. Her most redeeming features were her smile, along with a light dusting of freckles across her pudgy nose. Deek liked that, it gave her a look of innocence.

“Okay, big boy, just sign here,” she told him, passing his ticket across the counter.

“Whatever you say, my dear.”

Deek signed the ticket and passed it back.

Tammy turned to her co-worker, currently re-supplying the cigarettes behind the counter. “Floor is yours, Caroline. I’m on lunch,” Tammy said.

Caroline turned around, saw Deek, and smiled. “Okay, you two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Deek blushed a little, and Tammy answered with a playful punch to Caroline’s shoulder.

Tammy led Deek into Thad’s, the restaurant attached to the Flying J. It was almost noon, and the place was filling up fast. The counter still had several stools open, but they preferred the comfort and privacy of a booth.

They found one booth open, toward the back of the restaurant where Deek could see his rig parked not far outside the window.

“So, where’s my traveling undertaker heading next?” Tammy asked once they got situated and placed their orders.

“Moving on to Salt Lake today. Tomorrow I go on down to Cedar City, and then to Flagstaff, Arizona.”

“Boy you sure do get around, Deek.”

“Well, you know, people die all over the place and they all need caskets.”

Tammy laughed. “Yeah, I guess they do at that.”

Deek noticed the girl in the next booth staring at him. She was young, possibly still in high school, and had shoulder-length red hair. As soon as he met her eyes, she looked back down at her salad.

“So, what happened with your ex-wife? Last time we talked, you said she’d been calling you.”

“I never returned her calls and she eventually gave up.”

“You just ignored her?”

Deek shrugged. “What else can I do? If I see her again, I’ll be tempted to take her back. I can’t go through that shit all over again.”

Tammy nodded. “No, I guess you can’t at that. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Deek was wishing Tammy hadn’t started out with such a depressing subject. He’d been dwelling on his failed marriage all morning. His mind kept running over that final time he’d returned home, the big blow-up. That was when he’d found out that their house was going to be repossessed and there wasn’t any way out of it.

He’d confronted Lisa head on, angry at her betrayal. Her response had been immediate and violent. Before Deek even saw it coming, Lisa had started throwing their fine china dinner plates at approximately the speed of a sub-machine gun. They crashed and shattered against the refrigerator, the walls, and two of them off his own head.

When the dust had finally settled, the kitchen floor was littered with thousands of shards of china, hundreds of drops of blood from his lacerated scalp, and Lisa herself, who had slumped down into a sobbing mass of emotion.

“I’m sorry, Deek,” Tammy said, drawing him out of his nightmare. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“Got anyone new in your life?”

“You mean a boyfriend?”

Deek blushed a little. He had been forming a plan for several weeks, one that might allow him and Tammy to get to know each other better; maybe even start some kind of relationship. Now that the time had come to put his plan into action, he was more than a little nervous. “Yeah, a boyfriend.”

Tammy shook her head. “Nope. Done some dating, but they were all losers.”

Deek nodded, but didn’t say anything. He was still trying to organize his thoughts. He didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

Tammy watched him struggle with what he wanted to say next. But she had a good idea what it might be. “Deek, are you going to ask me out?”

Deek blushed even deeper. “Well, you know, something like that. I was thinking of taking a summer vacation up this way, maybe take in the Shoshone Ice Caves and do some camping up in the Sawtooths. I was hoping that you’d be my guide.”

Tammy grinned. “Why, Deek, I thought you’d sworn off women forever.”

“Well, I did. I guess forever’s over.”