Silence in West Fork by Lakota Grace

Author:Lakota Grace [Grace, Lakota]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Southwest Mystery Press
Published: 2018-11-14T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

THORN MALONE and Ben Yazzie stopped at the gas station on the edge of Flagstaff in the late afternoon. They’d made good time from her father’s house in Cottonwood, about two hours from his door to the gas station.

Thorn was agonizingly stiff from the motorcycle ride and stretched while Ben fueled the Ducati. She used the restroom and then wandered into the mini-mart. In their escape, she’d missed lunch, and breakfast was now a distant memory.

She grabbed a bottle of Coke, a package of corn chips, a Mr. Goodbar, and a Big Cherry chunk. Her mouth watered as she approached the checkout counter.

“Hey.” Ben snatched the goods out of her fingers. “Don’t fill your stomach with this junk. Remember where you are going.”

“Mine!” Thorn grabbed the corn chip bag out of his hand, tearing it open and spilling the chips across the floor.

Ben knelt, picked up each chip and returned it to the sack. He refolded the sack and stalked to the back of the store, leaving Thorn standing there her mouth agape. He returned the Coke to the cooler, re-shelved the candy bars, and walked to the front counter, holding the Fritos.

“My friend tore this,” he said. “How much?”

He pocketed the change and tipped the corn chips into the trash. With one abrupt gesture, he poked the empty snack beneath a rotting burrito.

Thorn whirled and slammed out the door. She grabbed the passenger helmet, banging it against the side of the bike. Then she glared at Ben.

“Take me back to my father’s.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll go myself.”

“When you learn drive big-wheel machine?” He grinned at her.

“And stop talking Pidgin English to me,” she retorted, “you college-educated computer nerd.”

He laughed.

“If you won’t take me back, I’ll hitchhike.”

“Yeah and get picked up by the first cop who spots you. I’ll bet they’ve got a be-on-the-lookout alert on you already.” He glanced up and down the road, apparently looking for cops to prove his point.

Thorn decided to go along with it for a while. Anything was better than remembering how Jill Rustaine looked, sprawled on that forest canyon floor covered in blood.

Ben mounted the Ducati, and she climbed up behind him, keeping herself rigid, not touching him. That was until he accelerated the engine, and she had to grab his waist to stop from sliding off the back.

From Flagstaff, they took Highway 89 east to the Navajo Trail. The narrow road undulated over the rolling hills; Thorn’s stomach dropped at each dip in the surface. They took a rest stop, and once more Thorn slid off the bike gratefully. Motorcycle riding was harder than it looked, even for the passenger. She leaned over stretching her stiff legs. Across the way was a sign announcing this was Tuba City.

“What a stupid name for a town. In honor of the band instrument, I suppose.”

“No, for Tuuvi, Hopi chief,” Ben said. “When the Mormons settled here, they couldn’t pronounce it properly. You like Naneesdizi better?”

Thorn stared at him blankly.

“That means ‘tangled waters’ in the Diné language,” he said.

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