Blair had a mental road sign of sorts. It popped up like one of those annoying ads that appear after clicking on a free website that's eighty percent spam advertising.

He wasn't sure how he'd first found it, only that it saved his bacon more than a few times in his short life. A handy sign; big circle and a slash: `keep out'.

Sometimes he ignored it.

Think Lash.

Sometimes he let it control his actions and folks called him yellow. That's okay, because Blair would rather be dubbed yellow and alive, than dead and... dead.

But Jim? Oh. My. God.

Jim had no signs at all! The guy just did things, ran blindly into the danger zones and, God help him, Blair was starting to follow.

"Stay put, Chief." Jim thumbed the catch, dropped the ammo clip from his gun, examined the bullets briefly as if assuring himself he had plenty and slammed it back in place. "When backup arrives, brief them. I'm going down this way." He pointed down a muddy track. "I want them to circle around on foot. Tell them to move quietly. We don't want to spook this guy. Understand?"

Blair had been nibbling his lower lip upon hearing the first three words of Jim's instructions. He didn't like it. "Jim, just wait for the others, man. This guy is certifiable. And we're in his world here. You don't know what to expect."

"Can't wait, Sandburg. I'm going after him." Jim cut him off while he slipped the gun into the small of his back, under his jacket. His head panned as blue eyes raked the area. They stood amid large two-story high piles of dirt and sand. Tall silos and complicated machinery was everywhere they looked. The man Jim wanted was the caretaker.

"But, Ji-"

"Stay," Jim ordered again and he was gone, running fast over the mud and splashing through the puddles.

"Shit." Blair thumped the Ford's hood with a fist. He glared briefly at the clouds, thick with falling ran then peered down the deserted two-lane road. Where was the backup? This place was miles from Cascade's city limits. How long would it take the county cops to arrive?

Seconds later Blair heard a shout. He couldn't be sure if it had come from Jim or not. Blair wiped the rain from his face and took two steps toward Jim's direction, unsure what to do.

A gunshot nearly stopped his heart.

"JIM?" Blair yelled out.

No answer.

Flipping open the cell phone with shaky fingers, Blair punched redial. They'd been on the road all day. Jim had warned him the phone was down to one battery bar. As the connection went through he heard the low warning beep a split second before the small screen blinked out.

"Damn it," Blair cursed bitterly.

Jim's voice reached Blair. "Freeze, Sims!" He sounded okay.

Leaning against the fender, weak with relief, Blair scanned the road again, praying for visions of cop cars. "Come on, come on. Make with the cavalry here."

When he heard Jim yell again, Blair whipped his head around to pinpoint his friend's location. Jim was climbing up the long, webbed arm of a conveyer belt. Further out on the arm he could see Sims.

"Oh, man," Blair groaned. The danger zone sign was flashing in his brain. "Jim, get off that."

Jim and the caretaker were far away, two dark silhouettes of miniature figurines against the back drop of clouds. The contraption they climbed was so high that it rose above the tree tops. At its apex, a thick pipe traveled back to the ground. Was the suspect planning on riding it down? It didn't make any sense.

He checked the road again, even trotting out to stand on the middle yellow line. Not a single car was in sight.

Blair looked back just in time to see Jim fall.

"JIM!"

Blair ran hard. His tennis shoes slipped in the clay-like mud. He kept his balance, fueled by terror that added speed. The road rose to a levee with a steep bank on the right. At the bottom was a small lake. On the left lay a strange looking pond filled with thick mud.

Blair ran on.

A divider of dirt separated the pond to a lower pond, reminding him of locks connecting two bodies of water at different levels. A small part of Blair's analytical mind recalled that sand was washed from dirt by a natural process of water filtration, probably pumped up from the lake. These must be the separator ponds.

"Jim!" Blair called out, not slowing, running as hard as he could. He couldn't afford to track where the suspect had gone. If he looked up he'd slip and fall. He had to get to Jim as fast as possible.

The third pond held a pudding like substance of muck. The belt had stretched over the top of this level. Blair searched the quarter acre-sized pond, frantic for a sign of his friend.

"Sandburg!"

"Jim!" Blair spotted the sentinel on the far side, only his upper torso and head showing.

"A rope!" Jim called out. "No, stay out. Get a rope!"

Blair had started to scramble to the pond's edge. Jim was slowly sinking. From the looks of it, normal swimming motions were not working. Jim had landed flat, thank God, giving the most possible time for a rescue. But he was going down, too fast for Blair to run back, find a rope and get back in time.

Blair pulled out his Swiss army knife, eyeing the small saplings that grew at the edge of the pond.

"Sandburg, go!" Jim sounded scared.

"Not enough time, Jim." Blair started hacking. The trees were a little more than a thumb-size in diameter, but they grew up over his head. When he had four cut, Blair ran for the narrow stretch of earthen dam that divided the ponds. A few seconds later he was around the far side. Jim was so close. The mud was reaching the collar of his shirt now.

Blair slid to the edge. Too fast, he nearly fell in. The pond appeared to drop straight down. If the height of the road from the lake was the judge of the depth, they would both be sinking into twenty feet of sediment. Blair caught himself with a quick grab on a nearby sapling tree.

"Okay." Blair carefully set all but the longest tree down behind him, making sure they didn't roll into the muck. He stretched out toward Jim. "Grab it."

Raising his silt encrusted arm high, Jim's fingers brushed at the delicate foliage. He latched onto a tender branch only to have it snap off.

"Again," Blair demanded. He stretched further, fully aware he was extending over the same danger his partner was in. The rooted tree on the bank was his only tether to safety.

Jim's second try was no better. The tree was too short and too young. "Chief," Jim started, his voice calm now as if he accepted his fate. "Listen, I know you tried-"

"Shut up!" Blair shot back, his body vibrating with fury. This was not going to happen. He pulled back the tree, ignoring the fact the soupy clay was at Jim's chin. "I just need..."

The tree just needed a few lousy inches. He looked at the ones growing around him. None of them were close to the length he already had.

"Blair." Jim sounded so sad.

Briefly squeezing his eyes closed, Blair shook his head. "No, shut up, Jim. I need to think."

Far away, the sound of sirens drifted in. Great, more help but too little, too late. Jim was going to die for the lack of a few inches.

Wait. Blair looked at the tree again. The top was too fragile, but a foot down it was strong. He unbuckled his belt and slipped the leather out of his pant loops. He was wearing a thin belt that he'd found in a thrift store. He had liked the leather weave even if it had been too long. He'd just tucked in the end, figuring no one would notice because he often wore his shirttails out.

Cinching the end around the upper tree trunk and through the buckle, the belt dangled a good foot or more out from the top. Blair flicked the tree out like casting a fishing line.

And slapped Jim's face with the belt.

Jim caught it with both hands, a proud smile on his face.

"Now I know what a dipped ice cream cone feels like," Jim muttered as he wiped mocha colored sludge from his neck.

Blair snorted. He had more than a little bit of that dip smeared all over his body. Together they looked like extras in some slimy remake of a horror film. "The creatures from the sludge lagoon," Blair blurted out.

Simon Banks eyed Blair with a tilted head and puzzled look, but addressed Jim, "We found Sims a half mile down the road with a broken leg. The fool was trying to limp to Seattle." He took a step back when Jim flung a wad of mud to the ground with a flick of his fingers.

"He should be charged with attempted murder, Simon," Blair said hotly. "He knew he could switch that belt on from the top and make Jim fall into that crap. It was a trap."

The three men stood under the overhang of the mine's main office entrance. The falling rain beat out a steady tempo on the corrugated metal overhead. County police officers had arrived to make the arrest and search the caretaker's meager trailer for evidence of his involvement with a local drug operation.

"So that's how you ended up taking a mud bath," Simon commented. "I figured you took another walk in the Sandburg Zone."

What? Blair blinked in surprised. Jim's boss had dubbed him some sort of jinx? A flare of hurt smoldered in his chest. He knew he was the interloper here, that he was not a cop and just the observer, but Blair still tried his best to help. Did Simon still resent the ride along?

"Sir, with all due respect." Jim slung a sticky arm around Blair's shoulders. "It's the safest place to walk."

Blair leaned into the mud and smiled.

So there, Simon Banks.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]