Echo Burning

get ambushed by them.”
    She shook her head.
    “Great,” she said.
    He said nothing.
    “It’s dark,” she said. “How will I see anything?”
    “I’ll take care of that.”
    “How will I know when to fire?”
    “You’ll know.”
    He pulled the Jeep close to the edge of the limestone table and stopped. Opened the tailgate and took out the first rifle. Checked his bearings and ran to the fractured rock lip and laid the gun on the ground with the butt hanging over the edge and the barrel pointing at the emptiness twenty feet in front of the distant VW. He leaned down and racked the lever. It moved precisely with a sweet metallic slick-slick . A fine weapon.
    “It’s ready to fire,” he said. “And this is the eight o’clock spot. Stay down below the lip, fire the gun, and then move to the seven. Crouch low all the way. And then watch, real careful. They might fire in your direction, but I guarantee they’ll miss, O.K.?”
    She said nothing.
    “I promise,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Superman couldn’t hit anything with a handgun in the dark at this distance.”
    “They might get lucky.”
    “No, Alice, tonight they’re not going to get lucky. Believe me.”
    “But when do I fire?”
    “Fire when ready,” he said.
    He watched her hide below the lip of the rock, an arm’s length from her rifle.
    “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
    “Great,” she said again.
    He climbed back into the Jeep and hustled it straight across the mesa to the four o’clock position. Spun the wheel and reversed the car and backed it straight off the rock. It bumped down two feet and came to a shuddering stop in the undergrowth. He killed the engine and the lights. Took the fourth rifle and propped it upright against the passenger door. Carried the second and third with him and climbed back onto the ledge and ran in the open to what he estimated was the two o’clock spot. Laid the third rifle carefully on the lip of the rock and ran the rest of the way to the parked VW.Ducked inside and unscrewed the dome light. Eased the driver’s door back to three inches from closed and left it. Measured twenty feet clockwise and laid the second rifle on the ground, on the rim of the ledge, somewhere between the twelve and the one. Twelve-thirty, maybe. No, about twelve-seventeen, to be pedantic, he thought. Then he crawled back and lay facedown on the ground, tight up against the VW, with his right shoulder tucked under the little running board and the right side of his face pressed against the sidewall of the front tire. He was breathing deeply. The tire smelled like rubber. His left shoulder was out in the weather. Big ponderous raindrops hit it at infrequent intervals. He hitched in closer and settled down to wait. Eight minutes, perhaps, he thought. Maybe nine .

    It was eleven minutes. They were a little slower than he expected. He saw a flash in the north and at first thought it was lightning, but then it happened again and he saw it was headlight beams bouncing across rough terrain and catching the low gray cloud overhead. A vehicle was pitching and rolling its way through the darkness. It was heading his way, which he knew it would, because the landscape gave it no other choice but to stay on the track. Its lights flared and died as the nose rose and fell. He was sweating. The air around him was hotter then ever. He could feel pressure and electricity in the sky above. The raindrops were falling harder and a little faster. It felt like a fuse was burning and the storm was set to explode. Not yet, he thought. Please, give me five minutes more .
    Thirty seconds later he could hear an engine. A gasoline engine, running hard. Eight cylinders. The sound rose and fell as the driven wheels gripped the dirt and then bounced and lost traction. Hard suspension, he thought. Load-carrying suspension. Bobby’s pick-up, probably. The one he used to hunt the armadillo.
    He tucked himself tighter against the underside of the VW. The engine noise grew louder. It rose and fell. The lights bounced and swerved. They lit the northern horizon with adull glow. Then they were near enough to make out as separate twin beams spearing through the mesquite. They threw harsh shadows and flicked left and right as the vehicle turned. Then the truck burst into sight. It bounced up onto the mesa traveling fast. The engine screamed like all four wheels were off the ground. The headlights flared high