Chapter 18: Desert Chase

Morning dawned; three sleepy humans staggered into the kitchen and groped for the coffee makings. Marie stoked the fire, Steve rinsed out the old enamelware percolator and gathered three cups, and Mike put a handful of beans in the hand-cranked coffee grinder. Sense and sensibilities returned with their first sips of the rich brew. Before she started on her second cup, Marie started breakfast: sourdough flapjacks, hand-sliced bacon, and free-range eggs from a neighbor's flock. Mike hustled outside to split a double armload of stove wood. Steve busied himself emptying ashes and cleaning around the fireplace from last evening's fireside gathering.

Breakfast went down easily with a second pot of coffee. Mike looked much more awake after his evening of dreams with Dee'rah, dreaming of them together in an evolving world. He glanced over his steaming cup at Marie, then turned to Steve:

"Steve, we three need to pull out of here and get to Salt Lake City. Rhys and Martha can help with arrangements for getting down to Punta Arenas. I'd suggest they return to Twin Falls after we leave, but perhaps not ... somebody in the syndicate might think to snatch them for leverage against us. They should stay in hiding until we're finished with this." Mike reached across for the pot and refilled their cups.

"I'd say you're right about that. I know the agency would do it, so I'm sure the Russians wouldn't hesitate, either. They'll snatch them if they can. Rhys and Martha are much safer where they are," Steve agreed.

"Marie, I know your brother and his friends are scouting this whole area, running interference. How much advance notice will they need to run a screen for us so we can slip out without getting into an ambush or firefight?" Mike asked.

"We could go out in the morning, if necessary, but it would be better if we give them two days."

"Good," Mike nodded. "We'll leave on the second morning. Tomorrow night after dark we'll have our stuff packed and ready to load by 0400. By 0430 we should be able to slip away. We'd better empty the spare gas cans into the 4Runner's tank.

"Steve, I don't know about you, but I'm very hesitant to have our weapons up front and loaded. I don't want to use them unless it's to shoot out tires or some other non-lethal defense, but guns aren't made for non-lethal purposes. I'd just as soon put them in the back, out of easy reach. How's that sit with you?"

For a brief moment Steve looked as confused as a pilot asked to fly without wings, but his face turned grim when he realized the consequences of having loaded arms at hand. He'd use them; it would be an instinctive reaction. They waited, sipping their cooling coffee as he wrestled with his inner feelings.

"Damn it all to hell!" Steve slammed his open hand down on the table. Coffee cups jumped and sloshed; Mike and Marie smiled. Red faced, Steve scowled and muttered curses under his breath, just clearly enough that Mike and Marie could hear him predicting they'd all be shot full of holes at the next encounter, left to rot in the hot desert sun for the buzzards to pick apart. "White bleached bones scattered in the lava rock," Steve muttered to himself.

He glanced up, chagrined at his own outburst. He blushed a deeper red when he noticed Mike and Marie smiling back at him.

"It's a conundrum, ain't it?" Mike grinned.

"Damn right it is!" Steve snapped back. He looked to Marie: "Do you have any words of wisdom, young lady?"

"Don't be a target," she grinned back at him.

"Hmmmph!" Steve snorted. He forced himself to calm down; to think more clearly. No weapons and don't be a target are pretty much two sides of the same coin.

"Well, hell, that's it!" he exclaimed. "Pass that blasted coffee pot, will you? Jeezus, you guys, I'm going nuts trying to figure how we're going to stay alive another day without our weapons, and you two sit there grinning and drinking all the damn coffee!"

Marie grabbed the pot and tipped the last of the brew into Steve's cup. She made sure a good slug of grounds from the pot's bottom got included in the pour.

"So, sweetie, what have you decided?" she asked.

"It's easy. You just told me the answer: don't be a target!" Steve took a swallow of coffee and spit it back into the cup with a mouthful of cold grounds. "Damn it, woman... !"

Marie giggled and scooted away from the table.

"You know, Steve, sometimes you can be pretty smart, for a white guy!" She ran laughing to her bedroom and latched the door. Steve stared after her; Mike grabbed his hat and hustled out the back door. When it closed behind him, he doubled over in loud laughter, slapping his hat against his leg.

The second morning came quickly.

"Oh-dark-hundred! Time to coffee up!" Steve yelled as he clanged loudly on a steel skillet.

Marie had shown Steve the secret of good camp coffee: start with cold water, add a tablespoon scoop of ground coffee for each cup, and let it float on top. Heat the pot to its first roll, when the water just begins to boil, then immediately remove the pot from the heat. Douse the boil with a dash of cold water to settle the grounds. Letting the coffee boil longer makes bitter coffee. Let the grounds settle for a moment, and pour.

Marie slipped into the kitchen in her fluffy fleece robe, stepped behind Steve and hugged him from behind, nuzzling her face close behind his ear.

"Steve, love, you know I've decided that you are the man I thought I'd never find; the man with whom I wish to share my life. But if you persist in making that offensive noise, ours will be but a brief moment together. Please, stop!" With that last word, she nipped his ear with her teeth, then scampered away to the bathroom.

"Pour me a cup, please. Black, no sugar!" she called, then slammed the door shut behind her. Steve nursed his stinging ear: