Asadullah jerked as a round hit him, and he spun to face his attacker.
Hunter charged, hitting the terrorist in the back, knocking him skidding across the wet rock. He stopped three feet from Miguel.
Miguel clicked the trigger, but the rifle was empty.
Asadullah came to his feet and Hunter yelled, “Hey!”
Asadullah faced her and raised the pistol, “You die first, then the Mexican.”
Miguel pushed himself half out of the water, leaned forward and grasped the back of Asadullah’s belt and pulled backward with all his strength.
Both men fell into the raging brown water and disappeared below the surface.
Hunter yelled, “NO!” and staggered to the edge. She saw Asadullah surface in midstream just as the jagged roots of a large hackberry tree slammed into his face, spearing it like a dozen knives. The terrorist went under, and she didn’t see him again.
Miguel never surfaced, but Hunter didn’t want to give up on him.
She staggered along the rim, pushing through thorn thickets, crawling over house-sized piles of wet boulders that barred her way, jumping across crevices and screaming in pain when she landed, but always going downstream as fast as her damaged body could move, hoping for Miguel to surface.
He didn’t. Hunter sat on a boulder and wept. She used a sleeve to wipe rain and tears and blood from her face.
When she was cried out, Hunter continued walking. One eye was swollen shut and threw off Hunter’s depth perception so she often stumbled. She couldn’t breathe through her nose, or take a breath without stabbing pains in her side, but she did not stop.
CHAPTER 11
Hunter walked on the west side of the canyon and when further down, looked for Sam on the east side, where they had originally parked. Her Tahoe was there, but Sam and his pickup were gone.
She shivered, soaked to the skin, and knew hypothermia was worsening in her. She climbed to a higher point and looked over the country.
Every tiny draw and arroyo ran water, and the drainage out of Auras Canyon was large and fast, but spreading wider as it ran over the alluvial area farther from the mountains.
It was a little over two miles to the River Road, so she walked in that direction, stumbling occasionally, and feeling so very tired.
She made a staggering, falling, thorn-scratched mile, then had to stop. The rain came down harder, and the black sky made it so dark she didn’t cast a shadow.
Hunter sat on the gravel beside a spidery ocotillo and shivered so badly her neck muscles cramped.
Images of Miguel disappearing below the floodwaters, of finding Lee Rodriguez’s body, and of Raymond looking so ill while sitting on his porch, they all filled her thoughts. Hunter felt she was to blame for what happened, that she didn’t do enough to save them. She knew it wasn’t true, but it was what she felt.
Hunter looked around and saw no one. Despair and guilt swept through her, and a few tears mixed with the rain on her face. She had never felt so deeply cold and alone in her life.
Then Hunter got angry. My partner’s no wuss. That was what Raymond said.
She pushed to her feet and walked toward the River Road, wading through puddles, fording shallow arroyos, and pushing through thorn bush when there was no way around. She occasionally stumbled or slid down. Each time, Hunter waited until the stabbing pain in her side subsided, then she struggled to her feet and continued, but slower each time.
After what seemed like days, she caught a glimpse of the road. Plodding forward, one step at a time, and feeling a thin thread of hope, that kept her going. The climb up a small ridge that had no way around it almost stopped her, but using hands and feet, on all fours, Hunter reached the crest and stood, wea
ving like a drunk.
At first she thought it was a hallucination. She saw Sam Kinney leaning against his pickup fender, looking her direction. She waved and tried to yell, but only a weak sound came out.
Waving back, Sam limped to the driver’s side of the truck. The old vehicle drove off the pavement and through the rough country toward her. He was careful not to get stuck, and snaked his way around the flooded places. Hunter started down the ridge toward him, then stumbled and fell, rolling to the bottom. She did not rise.
Sam hurried as fast as he could. Hunter was in poor shape, and Sam saw with a shock that she had been badly beaten. She was also hypothermic. Lifting Hunter’s head, the old rancher gently patted her cold cheek, “Hey girl, you need to wake up. Let’s get you in the pickup so I can turn on the heater for you.”
She half opened her eyes, “Sam.”
“You’re safe now.” He helped her stand, then worked her into the passenger seat. When he got behind the wheel, he turned on the heater.