It's probably better not to risk drinking it, but you sure don't intend to waste such a gift. You pull your shirt off and wet it carefully from the cup—being extremely careful not to let even a single drop roll off onto the ground. You wipe your back and chest off with the cool rag as best you can before wrapping it around your head like that man did in that movie you saw a long time ago on TV.

You go back to work and before long, you have something that resembles something that someone might accidentally mistake for a shack. It's more of a lean-to than anything, but at least there's shade.

You get down on all fours and crawl through a narrow opening at the bottom. The ground is still hot and could possibly blister if you dally. Once inside, you scoop handful after handful off the top and shove it against the sides at the bottom. It'll help hold them up as well as give you a faintly cooler spot to lay down.

Slumping over, something bites your little finger. It stings a little, but nothing serious. You push yourself back up and see a tiny scorpion right where your hand was so you slam your fist down on it and crush it before it can reset itself to strike again. You don't see any others, so you lay down and look at the white sky through the cracks for a while to make yourself sleepy.



When you wake up, the sun is still high and your hand is throbbing something awful. You need water desperately and your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth.

Pushing yourself back against the far wall you try to get your mind off of your hand by watching what little light filters through the cracks. While you watch as the sun makes its ever so slow descent, you wipe yourself off every now and then with the cool rag—truly a gift from heaven.

You don't know when the throbbing in your hand went away or when your head sagged, but you open your eyes and between the vertical planks you can see the light fading from the sky. There are reds and oranges and pinks. Even through the slits, it is breathtaking.

You scurry back through the hole in the boards and see the tapestry of the western sky in all its glory. The sun has already set, but has left an explosion of color in its wake. You stand there a moment in awe before setting off down the tracks once more.

You walk through the night taking frequent rest breaks to rub away the burning cramps in your legs and once, you have to move away from the tracks and go prone when a freight roars through. You don't think you'll be able to make it much farther if you don't find drinkable water soon.

When the sun starts to peek its head, you scan the barren landscape looking for both water and another daytime shelter. It's already getting too hot for comfort. Up ahead a couple of miles, you see a string of hoppers sitting off on a siding near the foot of a small mountain. They won't offer much, but at least it's shade. You quicken your pace despite your toes attempting to curl themselves in under your feet.

There's plenty of shade under the hoppers when you reach them, but already they are giving off more heat than would be comfortable. You do spot a dusty brown prickly pear patch off toward the mountain so it's a good thing you decided to stop early in the day. It seems like so long ago when Harvey first showed you that you could eat it. You'll just have to be really careful when you pick and skin it since you lost your knife.

You rush over and fall to your knees and start to carefully pluck one of the leafy pads. The tiny spines prick at your fingers so you take extra time to be even more careful. When you have it in your hands, you dig the skin off of it with your thumbnail. The moisture runs down and drips off your hand. You greedily lap up the sweet juice as you continue digging away the skin and spines. When you have enough exposed you take a bite and the sweet flavor explodes in your mouth. It doesn't taste bland at all. Maybe it's because it's later in the year and maybe more ripe or maybe it's just because you haven't eaten or had anything to drink in days.

After three pads, you can't hold any more but you continue chewing up bite after bite to get at the juice. While you're gorging yourself, you see a deep shadow at the base of the mountain that looks like it has a door in it. Weird. Who would put a door in a mountain?

You push yourself to your feet and stumble over to the shadow and see that it's not really a door, but a boarded up hole. A cool draft hits you right square in the face. You have to get in there! At the bottom and under a faded sign that has slipped it's nail, there's a gap just big enough for you wriggle your way through if you swing the sign aside. It reminds you of the night you and Jane went into that spooky old house.

C'mon, I know the way in.

W-wait. What if something's in there? What if someone catches us?

Don't worry. No one ever comes here. This place is 'bandoned.

It seems so long ago and in a place you can barely remember and to a boy who no longer exists. Maybe even in another life, perhaps.

You squat down and hold the sign up with one hand as you work your way inside. Sand sifts down on you as you pass through the opening—but only a little. From somewhere deep in the bowels of the cave, you can hear water dripping into a pool. Too bad it isn't outside. It's been so long since you've been swimming. It'd be a nice way to cool off.

Sitting just far enough inside that you're out of the direct sunlight, you lean back to soak up the cool, damp air. Your stomach rumbles and cramps up, but you barely notice as you fall fast asleep.



You wake up shivering and crawl back into the blast furnace through the little gap. You have a vague recollection of an eerie yawning groan having disturbed your sleep, but it quickly fades into the ether along with the dream that inspired it. You head back over to the prickly pear patch and perform your routine again. It'll take some time before you are back to one-hundred percent. Right now, you aren't even considering leaving this wonderful place.

Once you've had your fill again, you crawl back into your hidey-hole. You have to crawl in a little deeper since the sun is at a lower angle and its rays stretch in nearly twice as far. It's not that you mind sleeping in the daytime so much, you just don't want those burning fingers on your skin.

You see a lump over against the far wall and have to investigate what it might be. You carefully creep over in case it might be an animal—even though by its shape, it couldn't possibly be. You reach out with the toe of your shoe and give it a light nudge. It teeters to one side and comes back to rest in the same place with a tinny sound that reverberates off the walls. You immediately know what this object is. It's a bucket!

If you can find the source of that dripping sound, you could have all the water you'd need for a couple days and surely you'd run into more by the time it is empty.

You continue on your way

You carry the bucket back with you into the light and examine it for holes. There aren't any that you can see so you set it near the entrance and crawl back out of the light, lay down and sleep for the rest of the day.



When you wake up, there is barely enough light to see your way out by and you have trouble even making your way back. You manage to squeeze your way back outside and a warm, stiff breeze ripples its fingers over your skin and through your hair. It feels rather pleasant after being in the cool for so long.

With bucket in hand, you stroll over to the prickly pears and begin carefully filling it with the pads that you don't immediately eat. There's not much left of the patch when you get done with it.

You look over your shoulder to see that the moon is more than a sliver and just a might above the horizon behind you. You decide that you might as well continue on since there's no point in staying in one place for too long.

You pick yourself up, dust yourself off and set off down the tracks again. There are faint shadows outlining each railroad tie and you can see the wispy shapes of gravel off to the sides. There is a bluish tint to the desert where it fades into nothingness only a stones throw to each side.

You don't have to stop to rest nearly as often and when you do, you carefully peel bits of prickly pear and suck out the juice. You've got enough to last you for days as long as you don't get too piggish with it. And now that you've found out how magical it is, you'll keep an eye out for patches so you can keep your bucket as full of it as you can.

Once in the night, you have to get away from the tracks and go prone when an East-bound freight rumbles through. It must be miles and miles long with six roaring engines straining to keep it moving. It's too dark to make out the cargo, but it has to be really something special. You long to be on it heading back to familiar territory, but what magical things it must have seen before reaching this point. Even after it passes out of sight and then hearing, you can still feel its vibrations in the tracks.

The moon drifts by overhead—dragging the stars in its wake. You take the ties two at a time until the bottoms of your feet are so puffy that you have to slow to every one. The dark silhouettes of the mountains to your right take form as they rip free of the night sky and go from black to red to gold before you turn around and see the sun spilling over the horizon to your rear. It is a most awe inspiring sight of reds and oranges and golds fading into lavender at its fringes.

You scan the barren landscape around you and spot a tiny twinkle far up ahead. Maybe it's something and maybe it's not, but the tracks will come close enough to it that you're going to find out. The landscape is sparsely dotted with bluish-green lumps and by their shape you can tell that they are prickly pear patches. They are everywhere! There's so much that you'll never go hungry or thirsty again! You'll just grab what you need from the patches when they come close to the tracks to keep your bucket full.

There is a sudden explosion all around you and your heart skips a couple of beats when a dozen or so tiny pigs shoot out in all directions from their dusty wallows surprised by your sudden appearance. Even the grown ones are no bigger than a dog. It takes you a moment for your blood to settle enough that you can keep walking.

After you go a little farther, you are close enough to see what the thing is that is twinkling. It's a windmill out all by itself. The shiny fan blades are high enough off the ground that they catch a ripple every now and then, but the tail fin is broken and bent sideways so it can no longer face into the wind. Did there used to be a farmhouse near it and now it's gone? Maybe there's still some stuff laying around it. You pick up your pace in the hopes of finding something salvageable.

From somewhere not too far off toward the mountains, you hear a sound like someone screaming with rage. Your hair stands on end and you freeze in your steps. You carefully scan the area and see nothing but a barren, sand-colored landscape dotted with the occasional boulder, cactus or prickly pear patch. Everything is eerily still.

You take a tentative step down the tracks while keeping a wary eye on the desert. Something is out there, but you don't have a clue what it might be. A ghost, maybe? Or some madman? You are poised to run at the first sign of movement.

Before long, you are adjacent to the windmill and—after taking a last, long look around—head down the gravel embankment toward it. You see a long galvanized water trough—a little bigger than the bathtub you had in your old house before your mom and dad got a divorce—a short distance from its base connected to a rusty tank via a short, bent pipe. Maybe there will be enough water to soak in and cool off before the sun creeps high enough to scorch the day.

When you get up to the tank, you see about an inch of water in the bottom. You could still use it to cool off in and rinse away several layers of dirt and dust that you've picked up since the last time you bathed so you strip down to your altogethers and dip your toe in. The water is a bit warm now even though it's still early in the day, but not so much that you can't stand it and when you climb back out the gentle breeze should take care of the rest.

You sit down and start dipping water with your hands and pouring it over your head. It feels so good on your bare skin as you rub away the grit and dust. You haven't had a bath in a long, long time so you make the most if it.

You lean back and bask in the sun for a few minutes soaking everything up and notice a metal latter going up the side of the windmill. There's no telling what you'd be able to see from up there. As soon as you've dried off, you want to climb it and have a good look around. There's nothing on the ground here for as far as you can see. Why would anyone put a windmill out in the middle of nowhere? There's not even a fence to keep in animals if that's what it's for.

You stand up and are reaching over the side for your clothes when you hear that scream again from much closer this time. Your blood runs cold. You whip your head around toward the tracks and the direction it came from. There on the ridge, you see a big tan cat just like the one you saw when you were with Sam only this one isn't quite as big even though it is twice as scary.

Before it heads down the slope toward you you are already climbing up the tower. When you reach the top, you look back over your shoulder to see it circling below and looking up at you. You look over and see an old paint can full of bolts and heavy, rusty adjustable wrench which you can use as a nice weapon. As long as it can't figure out how to use the ladder, you are safe since there's no way it could climb the metal legs. You pick up the wrench and slap it against your palm. If it does manage to climb the ladder, you're ready to smash its head and paws as soon as it gets within arm's reach.

Its eyes are fixed on yours and its ears are laid back when it makes a tremendous leap. You stagger backward and manage to grab onto one of the center posts that angle to the ground at the very last second while you are teetering and flailing your arms. The cat can jump much higher than you expected, but still only came a little over halfway to the top. After a couple more attempts with no more success than it had the first time, it stalks around and swats your bucket through the air—sending its contents spraying out in a wide arc.

"Go away! Leave me alone!"

You grab a hand full of bolts and start pelting the ground around him with the tiny missiles. Only one manages to hit its mark and the cat only flicks its shoulder muscle in response.

The cat pays no mind to your words and only continues pacing around the tower while staring up at you. There's really nothing you can do but wait it out and hope it gets interested in something else or bored enough that it forgets all about you and leaves. You sit down with your back against the center post and keep a watchful eye on the cat below in case it figures out how to use the ladder.

After a few minutes, the big cat moves over to opposite side of the storage tank from the trough and lays down in the sliver of shade it provides. It's only going to get hotter up here as the sun gets higher and higher. You have no choice but to suffer through it. There is a decent breeze up here that the cat doesn't have. Maybe it'll be enough.

You lean your head back against the post and close your eyes, but only to slits because you don't want that thing to get out of your sight. It yawns and does the same, but doesn't lay its head down. From here on in it's just going to be a waiting game.

You life happens

Hours have passed when you hear a low rumble coming from behind you. You look down at your nemesis to see that it has its head down on its paws and doesn't seem to hear it. You look over your shoulder to see bright red pickup kicking up a cloud of dust and heading straight for you.

You get to your feet just as the pickup skids to a stop and the door flies open.

"What the hell are you doing up there!?" yells a beefy man with a scraggly beard. "Get down from there!"

You look down to see the cat jerk its head around and point toward it.

"I can't."

He looks over to where you're pointing and immediately dives back into his truck at the same time the cat makes a dash toward the tracks. When he comes back out, he has a rifle in his hands and lays it against the open door.

Crack!

You see a wisp of dust explode on the far side of the cat and the cat veers away from it. Before the man can lever in another shell, it has gone over the tracks and down the other side. You watch as it fades into the background as it's bounding toward the mountains.

"She won't be back anytime soon so you can get down off of there now!"

You lay the wrench aside and step off onto the ladder. You don't know what you would've done if he hadn't come along when he did. Your mouth is already full of cotton. When you reach the bottom, you head straight for the closest prickly pear and begin skinning it with your thumbnails.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm thirsty. I need water."

"Come over here. I've got some ice water in the truck."

He opens the passenger door and rummages around in the pile in the floorboard until he comes back with an only slightly wrinkled paper cup. He slides a big cooler over the edge of the seat and pushes the button on the bottom to fill it before handing it to you. "Here."

"Thank you." You guzzle it down without taking a breath.

"Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

You look down at yourself and say "I was rinsing off from that trough to get cool when that big cat came."

"Well, go put 'em back on. You can't be running around naked as a jaybird."

You turn to go when he grabs your arm and says "What the hell happened to you, boy?"

You follow his gaze and look under your arm at your back. "Oh, that's from my mom."

"Why'd she do that?"

You shrug. "She was mad 'cause I ran away, but I didn't. It was an accident."

He stands there scratching above his ear for a moment before shaking his head and turning toward the windmill.

You rush over and jerk on your clothes while he climbs it. Then you start putting the all the prickly pears you can find back in your bucket and look up to see him fixing the tail. You can't help but stand there until he's finished just to see if it works. He releases a catch and the blades start turning immediately.

"Where are you from?" he asks, stepping off the bottom rung. "There aren't any houses for miles around except for mine."

You look down at your feet. "A long, long ways from here."



He takes you back to his house despite your objections and finally gets the whole story out of you. He threatens to turn you over to the sheriff, but can't come to terms with what might happen to you if you were sent back. One thing leads to another and days turn into weeks. When school time rolls around, he enrolls you under his name and after talking to a judge friend of his and telling him your story, it's all made nice and legal. It isn't long before you feel like you belong at this ranch.

One day when you're fourteen and he can barely get around even with the aid of his cane, you and he are out setting the windmill where you first met. He turns to you and says "I never had a son of my own. It's lucky for me that you dropped into my lap like you did. You're a damn fine worker and a fine young man. Someday I'll be gone and all this will belong to you."

You smile at him and give him a firm squeeze on the shoulder. Isn't it funny how life turns out sometimes, you think. Looking him square in the eye, you say "I'm the lucky one."



— The End