Shifting Paths - Brossura

Koehler, Sandra L.

Brossura

ISBN 10: 1452583595 ISBN 13: 9781452583594

Casa editrice: BalboaPress, 2013

Riassunto

Crashing through the desert shrubbery, Dillon raced for his life as watchful eyes peered down from above. The secret of his fate remained unknown until his older sister, Suzette, made a three-day hike into the Superstition Wilderness with her good friends, Timber and Doug, and four high school students. The challenges the teenagers were dealing with seemed minor in comparison to what they faced in the wilderness. Nate had been frustrated with his mom, her boyfriends, and a threatening drug supplier. Marcie lived with an alcoholic dad and her abused mom. Jonah had to fend for himself as his parents lived the life of the rich and self-indulgent while Markus risked an athletic scholarship to protect a teammate. Attacked and threatened by wildlife and cataclysmic events out of their control, they had to work together to survive. Forced to shift paths, each of the hikers faced adversity and unexpected challenges to make it back to civilization.

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Shifting Paths

By Sandra L. Koehler

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2013 Sandra L. Koehler
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-8359-4

CHAPTER 1

The bird flaps its wings to reach the heightneeded to glide easily with the wind.

Dillon rubbed the aching bump on the side of his head, then he triedto sit up. His head banged the inside of the trunk with a sharp thud.

"Shit!"

Conscious enough to be aware that he was in an enclosed space,Dillon opened his hazel eyes to the darkness of the trunk. Feelingthe vibration from the car as well as the frequent bumps as the tiresrolled over rough terrain, he moved his left arm to touch the interiorwalls. Breathing the exhaust fumes and dust into his lungs, Dilloncoughed, then he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Dillon's mind raced with thoughts. "Don't panic. Stay calm.Think! How can I get out of here?"

Feeling for a release mechanism along the back edge of thetrunk, Dillon scratched the tip of his finger on a sharp piece of metal.His eyes squeezed shut as the pain radiated up his finger while blooddripped onto the gray carpet covering the floor of the space. Dillonpressed his injured finger against his tongue to stop the oozing bloodas a low moan escaped his throat.

Dillon squirmed his body around to face the back seats of thecar. Muffled music could be heard over the constant rumbling insidethe trunk. The edge of the gray carpet ripped as he pulled it awayfrom the seats. Smooth, cool metal felt good against the skin of hishands. Dillon's body flew into the air and landed hard as the vehiclebounced along the dirt road. Air in his lungs exhaled as the painfrom the jolt radiated along his right ribcage.

Both hands pushed hard against the back of the seats as he triedto pry an opening. Nothing happened. Dillon used his elbows andknees to squirm closer to the corner. Shoving his left hand into thecrevice between the seat and the side panel, he slid it up and downsearching for a handle to move the seat forward. His fingers toucheda metal bolt that fastened the seat to the frame of the car.

Damn! What else? What else?

Grabbing the carpet edge, he pulled it to expose the metal coverover the spare tire. Adjusting his body around the opening, Dillontwisted the latch and pulled the cover to the side. Reaching insidethe space, he pulled out the jack and the crank. Breathing heavily,he twisted his body so that he could place the jack upright near therear trunk latch. A sharp pain moved down his shoulder as he triedto insert the crank over the knob on the jack. Bouncing roughly,Dillon placed his hand on the lid of the trunk to stabilize himself.Licking his dry lips, he positioned the crank onto the jack. The crankpulled up and down easily until the jack touched the lid of the trunk.Dillon took a deep breath, then slowly released the air in his lungsas he pulled down on the metal crank. His muscles strained as hecontinued moving the handle in uneven, short bursts until he heardthe click as the trunk popped open.

Adrenaline pumped through his aching muscles as Dillongrabbed the outside edge of the trunk and hoisted his body out ofthe trunk and into the wall of dust billowing behind the vehicle.Keeping his arms and legs near his torso, his body collided againstthe dirt roadway and flipped over as the momentum pushed himin a rotating motion. Coughing dust and exhaust fumes out of hislungs and throat, Dillon blinked dirt out of his eyes while orientinghimself to his surroundings. Sitting up, he saw through the dustyhaze the outline of cactus and shrubbery on each side of the dirtroad. As he watched the brake lights glow through the dust, Dillonstood up and ran toward the desert. Thorny branches scratched hisface and arms as he raced through the moonlit landscape.

As two figures climbed out of the dark vehicle, the drivershouted, "Get him!"

The passenger raced toward Dillon as the driver stood on theframe of the car by the driver's seat, aiming a revolver over the roof.Bang! Dillon felt a burning pain in his left shoulder, causing him tostumble forward before he caught his balance. Dodging back andforth across the rough desert terrain, he felt moisture on his backand chest from the wound.

Pumping his right arm to increase momentum, while his leftarm dangled at his side, Dillon focused his attention on placing hisfeet as quickly and carefully as possible to ensure he didn't trip.

The slender passenger and the stout driver chased the escapeethrough the creosote bushes and around the Palo Verde trees.Following Dillon across a rocky wash, the driver stepped betweentwo boulders, trapping his foot. The weight of his stocky bodymoving forward created enough pressure to snap his shin bone.Screaming in agony, he collapsed onto the rocks that covered thefloor of the wash. The other figure stopped, looking back at the manon the ground and then toward the teenager racing away. Scratchinghis head, he took a step toward the fleeing boy, then he turned andtrotted back to the driver.

The sharp edges of bone protruded from the leg of the writhingman. He grabbed his leg and rocked in anguish as he looked up,"Take the gun! Get him, or the boss will kill us!"

Nodding his head, the passenger grabbed the gun from theinjured man before he turned to follow Dillon.

Dillon felt a throbbing pain in his chest and shoulder as eachfoot contacted the ground. Touching the front of his shirt with hisright hand, he tried to apply pressure to the gushing wound.

I've got to hide somewhere. If I keep running, the blood will keepflowing.

He glanced back to check where his pursuers might be and feltrelief that they weren't in sight. Running parallel to the canyonwall, Dillon hunted for a safe place to stop. Several mesquite treesgrew near the base of the cliff. Diving underneath the branches thatbowed along the edge of the canopy, Dillon crawled using his rightarm and knees to reach the gnarled trunk. Squirming his bodyaround so he could watch for the men chasing him, he lay flat on thepile of dead leaves and branches. Feeling light headed from the loss ofblood, Dillon breathed heavily as he rested his head on the ground.

Oh my God! What am I going to do? How in the hell did thishappen? I went to meet Scratch to give him the money from the last deal.I told him that I'm done. That I wanted out. Then everything went blackuntil I woke up in the trunk.

Dillon watched and listened for any movement around the tree,while he pressed his right hand against the wound by his collarbone.Moist blood flowed around his fingers and dripped down his arm.

"Damn!" Dillon whispered as he acknowledged the severity ofhis wound. Tears formed in his eyes as he sniffed his nose. "I don'twant to die."

Not hearing any movement, Dillon debated. Should I takepressure off the wound to get my phone?

He closed his eyes to focus his energy on listening for the peoplechasing him. Catching himself losing consciousness, he shook hishead and blinked several times. Leaning the front of his shoulderagainst the tree litter on the ground, Dillon moved his right handto pull his cell phone out of his pocket as he thought, "I know who'safter me!"

The light from the display glowed brightly against his pale faceas the trembling hand opened the contacts. Selecting Suzette, henoticed dark, red blood oozing onto the phone from his hand beforethe message, Out of service area, appeared.

No!

Dillon's body felt heavy. It took extreme effort to hold his headup as his mind became foggy. Each breath became shallower ashis energy dissipated. Placing the glowing screen face down on theground, he rested his head on top of it.

I need to call 911, maybe the signal would work for the emergencynumber. I feel so tired.

Tears trickled out of his eyes. I'm so sorry mom and Suzette. Ididn't expect this. I love you both so much. I'm so sorry. I love you....

Kantu watched the headlights of the car as he perched on thecanyon wall. His acute eyes discerned the body rolling out of thetrunk and the teenager rushing toward the dry wash. The cricketsstopped chirping as the "Bam!" of the pistol echoed through thenight air like a clap of thunder. From the valley below, he heard thevoices of two men yelling, and the crack of branches breaking asfeet pounded across the earth. Moving deeper into the shadows onthe face of the cliff, Kantu surveyed the terrain as he watched andlistened to the distant activity. The evening breeze blew his black hairaway from his light brown face as he leaned back against the rock.

The injured boy ran along the cliff below him, and thendisappeared underneath the canopy of the tree. Crashing loudlythrough the brush, the slender man with the weapon, jogged andwalked at an angle that took him away from the cliff. Severalminutes passed before the pursuer headed back to the injured manin the wash. Once Kantu heard the two men talking and workingtheir way back to the vehicle, he quickly and quietly climbed down.

Kantu's bare feet made very little sound as they landed on thesoft canyon floor. Crouching in the shadows he stopped to listen.The reverberation of a coyote calling in the distance pulsed throughthe night as other coyotes responded in a chorus of long, mournfulhowls.

Jogging to the tree where the boy disappeared, Kantu crawledunder the low branches. The smell of blood, sweat, and the odorof decomposing plant material permeated the air underneath thecanopy. He heard Dillon exhale his last breath as he touched the topof his head. Kantu chanted rhythmically in a quiet tone as he honoredthe death of the teenager and welcomed his soul to the spirit world.Dirt and partially dried coagulated blood were enmeshed underneaththe tips of Dillon's fingernails, as well as on the palms of his hands.His tangled, dirty-blonde hair had tiny mesquite leaves and dried soilwoven within the strands covering the back of his head.

Kantu gently rolled the body over so that it could face theheavens. He picked each leaf off of Dillon's face and combed histangled hair with his fingers before he tenderly arranged the limparms across the chest. Kneeling next to the body, Kantu sang softlyuntil the rays of the sun peaked over the canyon rim. As Kantuturned to leave, he picked up the cell phone. The display showedthe image of a young blond woman and her telephone number.Carefully, he placed the phone on Dillon's upper chest before hequietly left the deep shade underneath the tree.

CHAPTER 2

A child's laughter echoes through your souland bounces across the universe.

Timber Bennett walked down the hallway past the photographsof his wife and daughter, clustered among images from numerousmemorable outdoor adventures. His eyes gravitated to the last familyportrait taken two days before the fatal car crash. Kristen's lightbrown hair rested against Timber's shoulder, with Abigail's curlyblond hair under his chin as she sat sideways on his lap, clutchingher favorite stuffed bunny, Pink Eye.

Visible dark blue veins protruded between age spots on the handthat reached out to gently touch the frame. Smiling, Timber spentonly a couple of seconds absorbing the image before he strolled intothe living room filled with dark brown leather furniture and a heavyglass coffee table with golden oak legs. Reaching down among thevarious travel and backpacking magazines scattered across the topof the glass, he picked up the keys to his Xterra.

Craving time with nature, Timber hurried out the door beforethe sun rose above the McDowell Mountains. His light brown hair,salted with gray, resembled the color and texture of scrub oak bark,and his short beard and mustache formed soft prickly pear spines.Snaking out from the corners of his green eyes were lines on his facethat created tiny canyons due to years spent squinting against thebright Arizona sun and smiling at his own jokes. The cool morningair embraced Timber as he pulled his cowboy hat over his messyhair and climbed into his Xterra that he had named Xenia, the RoadWarrior.

"Good morning, sweetheart. It's time to hit the road," Timbersaid as the engine hummed.

The tire treads bounced over the dirt driveway as the Xterrarolled down the hill past the gates that marked the front of theproperty. A family of javelinas rushed across the narrow road tocongregate in a nearby ravine as the headlights announced thevehicle's approach. Xenia's taillights glowed against the silhouetteof the desert landscape, illuminating the branches of the mesquitetrees that arched over the pavement.

Timber smoothly downshifted as Xenia climbed the windingroad leading to the Challenge Trail lookout point. Xenia rolled intothe empty parking lot before the sun had broken the dark outline ofthe distant mountains. Timber climbed out of the Xterra and pushedthe lock button on his remote as he walked toward the trail leadingup the hillside. Following the winding trail carefully in the pre-dawnlight, Timber savored the smell of the mesquite and creosote as hebreathed in deeply.

Reaching a rock outcrop that overlooked the valley below,Timber climbed on top of the highest boulder and settled himselfinto a seated position, crossing his legs underneath one another.Looking towards the east, he focused his attention on his breathingas he began his daily meditation. As Timber closed his eyes, the lastsight he registered was a hawk gracefully and effortlessly movingthrough the early morning sky.

As the first rays of the sun peaked over the distant horizon,his peaceful meditation was interrupted by the vision of Kristen,and their daughter, Abigail, standing together at the base of a cliff,pointing toward a large mesquite tree. A trail of blood could be seenon the ground, leading underneath the lower branches. Shocked outof his reverie, Timber opened his eyes as his heart pounded in hischest.

What are you trying to tell me? I don't understand. Who or whatis under the tree?

Timber purposely slowed his breath as a puzzled frown formedon his face.

That's strange. It's the twenty-fifth anniversary of your death, butit's been years since there has been such a sharp, vivid image of both ofyou.

Unfolding his legs, Timber stood up and stretched before hestarted the hike down the hill. The red dirt worn smooth from theboots of many hikers made the trail easy to follow. Looking at thehorizon, Timber noticed the saguaro silhouettes above the creosoteand jojoba bushes as the sun shined sideways across the terrain. Asthe trail twisted around an ironwood tree, Timber could see thewhite outline of Xenia parked at the base of the hill.

Reaching the car, Timber climbed in and checked his cellphone—one missed call! Doug was one of Timber's favorite hikingbuddies for over twenty years. Just two weeks ago, they had hikedrim to rim across the Grand Canyon.

Timber listened to Doug's voice, "Good morning, good buddy.I know today is a special anniversary for you, and I just wanted tolet you know that I was thinking of you. I'm not going to get allmushy, but give me a call if you want to meet at the Scrambled BrainCafe for breakfast."

Grinning, Timber pressed the call return button on his phone.

After two rings, he heard Doug's booming voice explode, "It'sabout time, you old fart. What the hell took you so long to get backto me? My stomach's growling cause it wants food!"

Timber retorted, "Why don't you meditate, breathe, and listento some good music? You need to start your day in a better mood!"

"First, I fill my belly," Doug said, "And then I can be sweet,nice, and in balance. You know how I am in the morning before Iget a cup of coffee!"

"You're worse than an alley cat in heat before you get your coffee,"snapped Timber. "You better be nice to the staff at Scrambled Brain,or they'll refuse to serve a grouch like you!"

Timber drove along the roadway that led from the beautiful,pristine desert into the urban landscape. Within twenty minutes,he turned onto the main thoroughfare where he could see the pole-mountedsign that read, Scrambled Brain Cafe. Timber turned Xeniainto the crowded parking lot and glanced around to locate a vacantspot. He drove past the side of the building and parked in oneof the only open parking spaces near the trash bin at the back ofthe restaurant. As Timber exited the vehicle, he caressed the whitedriver's door, "Sorry, Xenia, it's not the classiest place to park, butyou've been in worse."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Shifting Paths by Sandra L. Koehler. Copyright © 2013 Sandra L. Koehler. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Dettagli dell'edizione

• Editore: BalboaPress
• Data di pubblicazione: 2013
• Lingua: Inglese
• ISBN 10: 1452583595
• ISBN 13: 9781452583594
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 266
• Contatto del produttore: non disponibile
• Persona responsabile: non disponibile