A Trick of the Eye
by Jack Thompson
Copyright © 2011 Jack Thompson
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A Trick of the Eye
by Jack Thompson
Copyright © 2011 Jack Thompson
Tohono Sihu loved the desert. Some mornings she would stand watching the sunrise and find herself still standing and watching hours later. Although the desert plain was relatively flat and even, there were subtle variations. She knew every one of them like the back of her hand. Today as she scanned the desert, there was something out of place, something that felt alien and threatening to her.
She relaxed and let herself flow out across the sands, the way Sleeping Bear had taught her, extending her perception beyond its normal range. At its farthest reach just left of due east, she saw a tiny black dot that didn’t belong there. She stood perfectly still, like a hungry desert owl locked in on a tiny spot far below, waiting for the spot to move and turn into a tasty desert mouse.
While she watched and waited for an indication of who or what or even if something was coming, an excited anticipation gathered in the pit of her stomach and surged up into her throat. She swallowed instinctively. Not many people dared to come this far into the desert, and she was about as desperate for company as most desert creatures were for their next meals. Although the dot looked to be less than a mile away, she knew it was more like five miles. The desert can be very deceptive to human senses. Some objects really do appear closer than they are. Other phenomena like dust storms or storm clouds can look to be a long way off and yet can be on top of you in minutes. Talk to anyone who lives in the desert and he will tell you how dangerous it really is. You can be walking and feeling a pleasant warmth from the sun, and yet die from heat stroke in an amazingly short period of time. That made it all the less likely that someone would be walking on foot across the desert to Sihu's home. Still, she watched and hoped.
Blake Farley found himself alone, lost and without any clue which direction to go. “I’m up shit’s creek,” he mumbled to himself. Then he managed a rare smile. Hell, I’d take shit’s creek right now if I could find it, he thought. He had run out of water at least five miles back. Back home in Boulder, five miles would be nothing for a fit, thirty year old man to travel on foot, but the desert makes its own rules.
I should have listened to that Indian back at the ranch, he thought belatedly. “The desert is a dangerous woman for those who don’t know how to handle her,” the old Indian had said. Blake had scoffed to himself at the time. First of all, he hadn’t met the woman who could get the best of him. Second, Gilly was right. How could he legitimately write for "The Travel Guide to the Southwest" if he had never actually been in a desert.
The whole trip had started out on a dare from his roommate, Gilly Mason. They had been at Paulie’s, a neighborhood sports bar they liked in Denver, and Blake had been talking up his new writing project. He was to write copy for a tour guide book on the southwestern area of the U.S., and the pay was top dollar. Bragging it up was probably a better description, and Gilly did not like it much. When he found out Blake had never been to a desert, he started right in on him.
“Jesus, Blake. You’re worse than the blind leading the blind. How can you take that money knowing you are just going to bull your way through the project? That’s the living end. You might be a bigger asshole than even I thought you were.”
“I’m a writer,” countered Blake. “I do my research and then add in a good amount of imagination. It’s not rocket science.” Gilly had been unconvinced. He kept baiting Blake through several more rounds of Coors Light.
“You know, Blake, deserts aren’t like the amusement parks you’re used to visiting. They can be severely harsh terrain. If you make a mistake with your travel story, your imagination could cost some fat tourist his life.” That was the button that had pushed Blake into doing a reality check on the project. After reading up on the long lists of do’s and don’ts published by everyone connected to the desert, he had decided some first hand experience would be the smart way to go. Besides, he had three months before his deadline for the articles, and he could use a little adventure. So Blake had flown in to Yuma, Arizona, and against all advice had set out into the desert by himself, going southeast from a small ranching community east of Yuma. He planned to spend a week hiking into and back from the desert, sleeping under the stars and getting the reality he needed for his article. There was Interstate 8 and the Gila River to the north, Highway 85 to the east and the Mexican border to the south. How lost could he get?