First Chapters: "The Erie Incident"

The Erie Incident

A POG Novel

By Tim Williams

Chapter 1

         The morning clouds had mostly cleared as we swung our rucksacks onto our backs from the bed of my truck, parked on the edge of the Greasy Spoon trail. I had come down to Sedona with Nicola, a friend of mine who was a geology professor at Northern Arizona University. We were celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday, which had come the previous week. The goal was to get ourselves as far away from other people as possible, and thus far we had done a good job of it. Nicola wanted to study rock formations that had seen as little human contact as possible. I, on the other hand, was just along for the ride.

It was a few minutes before eleven in the morning, and the temperature was starting to climb. The forecast was for sunny skies and a high around ninety. I didn't mind the heat in Arizona, because it was dry. The air felt light, and the breeze was cool against my face. I had recently spent a couple of weeks in Eastern North Carolina, where the humidity made the air feel like I was breathing through a wet towel.

"How many miles can I get out of you today, love?" Nicola asked as she buckled her waist strap.  I had to remind myself that she calls everyone she knows 'love.'

"How many can you handle?" I asked.

"Well, aren’t you precious, then?" she mused, taking the last sip of water from the bottle in her hand and tossing it into the bed of the truck. "Don't be having a cardiac episode on me, pretty boy."

Talking trash was in her nature. I had met Nicola a month and a half earlier, standing behind her in line at the bank. We hit it off, but there was no time for a relationship. We were both drifters. She would take off for a couple weeks at a time and come back with pictures and stories from her travels. I did plenty of my own traveling, when the mood hit me.

She had been born in England and raised in New Zealand. Her mother was from Bangladesh and her father was Irish. They were fairly affluent people, but she had insisted on paying for her own school and travel. Nicola had the dark hair and skin from her mother's side of the family; her Irish blood mainly showed through her temper, other than her crystal blue eyes.

Aside from the college, she volunteered at an animal rescue organization, as well as taking the occasional modeling gig. It was rare that she had a full day with no prior commitments, so I was prepared to squeeze as much into the day as I could.

We hiked up a scrubby hillside to the top of a ridge, where we could see the evidence of past geologic activity, according to Nicola. She was taking pictures and videos, giving me an impromptu lecture on tectonics and erosion, how to tell whether it was wind or water that shaped a particular rock formation, and so on.

I understood most of what she was saying, but I wasn't one to geek out on that sort of thing. History and mechanical engineering were more my style. I liked to solve problems, rather than simply answer questions. I was mostly enjoying her company and trying to take advantage of the day.

Probably the biggest point of friction between us was that she had made academics her life, and I had never attended even a day of school beyond getting my high school diploma. I had been to a couple of trade schools and taken certification courses, but my G.I. Bill sat unused, mostly because I didn't feel like dealing with the government to use it. I thought the importance society put on a college degree undermined the usefulness of having one. Too many people were going into serious debt to get a degree that didn't make them any more valuable to an employer than they were before.

Other than the academic disagreement, we got along great. We had both spent time in Japan, although she was in Tokyo and I was assigned to Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni. I was nineteen when I went, and she was almost thirty. We both listened to classic rock and a little bit of country, although her little bit of country was different from mine. We had similar taste in vehicles. I drove a decade-old four-wheel drive Nissan, and she had an even older Toyota Land Cruiser. I'd driven it a few times, and it was a beast. My truck had a slight edge in fuel economy, though, so we had driven it to Sedona.

I paused at the top of a rise to let her catch up with me. Sweat was beading on her forehead and she was rubbing a cramp in her side as she reached the top of the rise.

"How many miles can I get out of you today, love?" I asked her with a crooked grin.

"Oh, fuck off, John," she said. "I'm fine. I've just spent too much of the summer break drinking wine and streaming chick flicks. And how the hell are you wearing blue jeans and doing this?"

I took a drink from my water bottle. I could tell that I was already beginning to get dehydrated, but I had brought enough water for the day. I just needed to get better about actually drinking it.

"My jeans are protecting my legs from the scratches you're collecting," I said, pointing to the red scratch marks she had above her boots. "Besides, wearing my boots with shorts would make me look like one of those emo kids in your classes with the long bangs and the eyeliner."

"Well, I suppose I'll be seeing them again soon enough," she said, grabbing my water bottle and taking a drink. “Fall semester is right around the corner, after all.”

"You did bring your own water, didn't you?" I asked.

"Of course I did," she said, handing it back to me. "I've gone hiking before. But it was just easier to steal yours than to dig for mine. Now, come along, pokey."

She set off along the top of the rise a little way before she turned and headed northwest. I followed a few steps behind her, wondering how it was that no man had put a ring on her finger yet. It occurred to me that maybe she just didn't want to be tied down like that, any more than I did.

We came over the top of another rise and looked down into the valley below us. I could just barely see Greasy Spoon Tank in the distance. We could have taken the truck a lot closer, but Nicola said it was more about the journey than the destination. The tanks in the desert were reservoirs dug by ranchers over a hundred years ago to collect drinking water for their cattle. Why that would ever be a point of interest was beyond me.

As we descended into the valley, I was looking ahead, trying to find the best line to get us there. I didn't realize Nicola had stopped until I nearly ran into her. She was frozen in place, staring straight ahead. I matched her posture to see what had caught her eye.

About twenty yards in front of us, I could see a large, tan, furry body with paws the size of my hands. It was a mountain lion, stretched out in the sun. I knew they were around, but I had never been that close to one. I had heard plenty of stories about how lethal these big cats could be, but I was awestruck by just how beautiful this one was. She was stretched out on her back, with her front legs drawn up, occasionally pawing at the air. I couldn't help but think she looked just like a giant housecat. She suddenly sensed our presence and snapped over into a crouching position. When she saw us, her ears flattened out to the sides of her head as she crouched down and snarled at us.

"Oh, fuck," Nicola said, barely above a whisper.

On the wilderness survival shows on TV, they say to open your coat and yell a lot to appear as big and threatening as possible to scare a mountain lion away. The problem with that was, it was assuming I had a coat. In late July in the Arizona desert, I did not.

"Oh, hi, kee-cat," I said, as non threateningly as possible. "You're fine, go back to sleep, we're not gonna bother you."

"'Kee-cat?'" Nicola said. "John, that's a fucking cougar!"

"You got a lot of room to talk," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Thirty-five year-old single lady."

"Oh, eat my box," she said. "Just tell me how we're going to get out of this."

I had never heard her say anything so openly vulgar before. She was usually better at passive aggressive backhanded compliments.

The big cat snarled and hissed, moving forward ever so slightly.

"Get behind me," I told Nicola, putting my right arm in front of her.

She stepped left, moving directly behind me. The mountain lion continued to snarl, moving the remains of what appeared to have once been a javelina behind her and swiping the air with her paw.

"Open the middle pouch on my pack and get my gun out," I said.

I felt her tugging at the buckle and I stuck my left hand back for her to hand me the gun. I had brought my .45 caliber Model 1911 handgun along in case we encountered a rattlesnake or a pissed-off javelina. It would provide plenty of stopping power.

"Now get out of here," I said, once I felt the familiar weight of the gun in my hand. "And watch your damn step. Retrace our path back to the truck and wait for me. If I'm not there twenty minutes after you get there, go find help."

"You're not going to kill her, are you?" she asked me.

"Not unless she makes me," I said, not taking my eyes off of the mountain lion. "I'm gonna hold her attention until you're safe, then I'm gonna back away slowly. Now hurry up and go."

I listened as Nicola's footsteps faded away. The big cat paced back and forth in front of one particular area, which I finally realized was a den. She was protecting cubs. I suddenly liked my odds a little less.

I shifted the gun to my right hand, cocked the hammer, and glanced around for a big rock to lean against. My pack was starting to feel heavy. I found a suitable rock about six feet to my right and slowly moved over in front of it. The mountain lion watched my every move, snarling and grunting, pacing in front of her den.

I leaned back against the rock and bent forward at the waist to center the weight of my pack over my feet.

"Are you a good kee-mom?" I asked in a singsong voice, similar to what my friend Jason used when he was talking to his two cats. "You love your babies?"

She stopped snarling and her grunting became less pronounced. She kept pacing, but her circles grew wider and she would lift her nose and sniff as she passed the point closest to me.

After a few passes, she put her ears back upright, although she would lay them back to occasionally hiss at me again.

"Oh, good kee-cat," I would say every time she got closer. "Good kee-cat."

She got bold, sauntering right up to me and sniffing my legs from my boots to my knees. She turned around and walked back over to the den, then came back toward me. Rearing up on her hind legs and using her tail for balance, she sniffed the air three feet from my face. I was doing everything I could to control my adrenaline. She lost her balance and caught herself by putting her paw out and bracing against my leg. Her claws stuck in the denim of my jeans, pulling loops of thread out as she pulled her paw back. I tried not to tremble as she continued to sniff me over. I mimicked the sniffing action, trying to convey that I was as curious about her as she was about me. Her face was so close to mine that I could see her pupils dilate as she shifted her gaze around.

With a final huff, she pushed off from my leg and returned to the entrance to her den and sat down, still watching me. I started slowly making my way to the trail and out of the clearing. With each step I took, my breathing began to return to normal.

I had taken a gunshot wound to the back of my shoulder two months earlier, and I hadn't been as scared for my life as I had been just then. As I walked further away from the mountain lion's den, a euphoric feeling came over me, like I was glad to be alive. I picked up my pace and caught up with Nicola still half a mile away from the truck. She was muttering something to herself as she walked.

"Hey," I said. "Wait up."

"Oh, hi, psychopath," she said. "Do you feel better now, big bad lion tamer?"

"I saved your life," I said. "She was protecting cubs. We're lucky to be alive."

"I could have just dropped my pack and ran," she said. "She would have killed you. So, in fact, I saved you."

She poked me in the chest with her finger.

I thought about it, and she had a good point. I tried not to smile, in case she really was upset with me, but it was no use. I cracked up and she punched me on the left arm.

"What is the matter with you, John?" she asked. "Doesn't your life matter to you? You voluntarily stayed back there, in the face of a horrible death, to make sure I got out? What makes my life worth any more than yours?"

"Would you rather I had flipped a fucking coin?" I asked. "I had a gun, and way less exposed flesh than you. It wasn't because you're a woman, or that I don't care whether I live or die. I made a decision."

"Well, you don't have to be such a knight in shining fucking armor," she said, giving up and putting her arms around my waist and resting her head on my chest.

Her pack was in the way of me putting my arms around her shoulders, so not knowing what else to do, I rested my hands on her head and neck. She took a deep breath and blew it out.

"OK, well, it's a little warm out for all of this, then," she said as she pushed away from me. "What do you suppose happened to that cactus over there?"

I looked in the direction she was pointing. A prickly pear cactus was green and lively on one side, while the other side was almost black and mostly lying on the ground. We walked over to it. There were no signs of the ground being disturbed around it. After a closer look, I found what looked like a scorch mark on the green side.

"Lightning strike, from the look of it," I said, pointing out the scorched spot.

"Tragic, yet beautiful," Nicola said. "Will you take my picture next to it? I want it for my portfolio."

"I'm not really a good photographer," I said, dropping my pack. "But I can give it a shot."

"For fucksake, John, you find your target in the viewfinder and push the damn button," she said, wriggling out of her pack and digging her camera out.

She handed me the camera and guided me into a position she said provided the proper light and depth. I went along with whatever she told me. She walked back over by the cactus and stretched her arms out above her head.

"Now, whenever I hold a pose, you take a picture, got it?" she said.

"OK," I said, pushing the shutter button.

She moved around the cactus, striking different poses. Most of them looked like they were either ballet or yoga poses, but that was based on my knowledge of both subjects, which was nearly nonexistent.

She pulled her hair out of the bun it had been in and let it fall. I never knew it was so long, nearly waist-length. She proceeded to repeat most of the poses with her hair down. Like she had instructed me, I clicked another photo each time she stopped moving.

She turned her back to me and pulled her shirt off, followed by her bra. She turned to me and posed twice, then divided her hair into each hand and pulled it down the center of her chest. I didn't realize I was staring so hard.

"Take the damn picture, John," she said. "I don't want some random arsehole to come by and see me out here topless."

"Shit, a month ago I was a random arsehole," I said, clicking away.

She picked up her cast-off clothing and walked toward me. I didn't know if I should still be taking pictures or not, but I snapped a few off just to be safe. She got directly in front of me and took the camera out of my hand. Holding the camera in one hand and her shirt and bra in the other, she threw her arms around my neck and looked up at me.

"Well, now, you're a very particular arsehole," she said, pulling my face down to her level and kissing my lips. "As in, mine."

She dropped her clothes and camera to the sand at our feet. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her as she ran her fingers through my hair, then down my back, then around to my belt buckle.

"Wait," I said, taking hold of her by the shoulders. "Really? Here? Now?"

"What would you prefer?" she asked, giving me a doe-eyed look as she trailed her fingers up and down my chest and arms.

"Make me work for it," I said, touching her face. "Give me a chance to earn this, to deserve you."

"Honestly, John, you just saved me from a fucking puma," she said. "The bloke I lost my virginity to paid for dinner and let me wear his jacket, when it wasn't even cold outside."

She picked up her shirt and pulled it back on, then picked up her bra and handed it to me.

"Hold onto this until you feel like you've 'earned this,' like you 'deserve me,'" she said, swinging her pack back onto her shoulders and walking away, toward the truck.

I picked up my pack and followed her, unlocking the truck as she dumped her pack over the tailgate. She got inside as I was placing my pack beside hers. After I climbed behind the wheel and put my seatbelt on, I started the engine to get the air conditioner going. She finally looked back at me.

"What?" she asked, sounding irritated.

"Listen to me," I said. "I don't know if your personal success came so easily to you that you take it for granted or what, but you're an amazing woman. Hearing you talk about the places you've been, or, hell, even the passion you put into your geology lectures, I feel way out of my league when I'm with you. Like everything I've ever done in my life has only afforded me the opportunity to be around you. When you strip off and throw yourself at me, I don't feel like I've done anything to deserve that yet. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. You should never let anyone, especially me, take advantage of you."

"You need to take me down off of this pedestal, John," she said, her eyes getting misty. "I'm scared of heights. If you really knew me, you wouldn't hold me in such high regard. Do you know I was a stripper in Australia for a year? I'm not proud of my past. I can do good things now, but we all have skeletons in our closets."

"I know," I said, looking straight ahead. "I had to kill a guy two months ago in North Carolina. I put the barrel of my shotgun a foot away from his face and pulled the trigger."

"Oh, my God," she said, reaching out and taking my hand in both of hers. "Why?"

"His boss had kidnapped my best friend's girlfriend," I said. "He was guarding the door, him and another guy. Jason shot them both from about two hundred yards out. The other guy was dead before I got there, but this guy was still breathing and trying to get his gun out."

"What about the boss?" she asked me.

"Took two fingers off of his right hand with a shotgun blast through a steel-reinforced door," I said. "But I let him live, on the condition that he took the bodies with him when the helicopter came to pick him up."

"And this never made the news?" she said, skeptically.

"Not a word of it," I said. "Everything was covered up. Jason had called 9-1-1 and the cops never showed up."

"Well, I don't know what universe you live in where you think you can tell me how you and your friend took on the mob, two-on-three, and beat them, and it will dampen my desire to shag your brains out," she said, pulling my hand into her lap.

I smiled and handed her bra back to her.

"You're gonna want this," I said. "It's a fairly rough ride."

"I'll show you a rough ride," she said.