Shadow of the Raven by David Sundstrand

Author:David Sundstrand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2011-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

18

The first fat drops of rain kicked little puffs of dust from the powdered dirt that covered the Jawbone Canyon track. It splattered on the grimy windshield, transforming the dirt into rivulets of mud. Soon the entire road would be a sump. Frank stepped on the gas, driving faster than was his custom, faster than was safe. He needed to hit the pavement before he became mired in muck. He could barely see through the muddy windshield. The wipers were still vintage 1953, strictly vacuum, not very efficient at optimum condition, and they weren’t at optimum, the blades hardened and rough from baking in the sun. If he could just make the pavement, he’d be all right. If not, he’d be stuck in the mud up to the running boards. Sand ramps would be next to useless. The truck careened to the left, and Frank steered into the skid, gently bringing it back on line, only to have to repeat the process on the right.

He took off his sunglasses and leaned out the window. The rain immediately plastered his hair to his forehead. He squinted against the rush of water and air. He could just make out the pipeline ahead, maybe no more than a quarter of a mile away. He grimly held on to the wheel, guiding the careening truck through the mud. Stopping meant staying. He wasn’t stopping. He plowed on, the truck’s progress becoming more labored every minute. He felt a thud as the truck steadied. He’d made it onto the asphalt. He still couldn’t see much, but the windshield wipers were mercifully more efficient now that he could back off on the gas. He pulled the truck to a stop under the trees at the pumping station and switched off the ignition.

The rain roared off the pipeline and danced off the road, splattering up almost a foot. A short wall of water covered the pavement. On the desert surface, it was different. The rain disappeared, soaking through the porous layer into the ground. If enough rain fell, it would puddle and run off, but the uneroded surface of the desert soaked up the water like a sponge.

Frank stepped out of his truck into the shelter of the trees. Despite the morning’s heat, the air was surprisingly cool. He had the urge to build a campfire, heat some coffee, maybe lace it with a bit of Jameson. He thought of Linda. Rain in the trees, rain on the roof, romantic musings. The wind paused. Now there was only the sound of the rain, and already it was lessening. Take your drink and be quick about it. You may not get another for some time.

In the distance, lightning flashed on the horizon. He counted to twenty and gave up. Then he heard a faint rumbling. It must be over toward Red Mountain, he thought. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Great puffs of cloud parted and shafts of sunlight struck the floor of the canyon. Wisps of vapor rose up from the water-drenched surface, which was still warm from the sun.

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