It’s the pain of the truth underneath. We’ll never be those people.
I cling to Noah as we bump over the frozen ruts of the campground road and turn back onto the blacktop of Highway 78, heading deeper into Arizona.
The ride is a tense, silent descent. The road twists through the Ponderosa pines, every hairpin turn a blind drop into the dark. Noah is pushing the bike to its limits, the engine roaring around us. His body feels stiff, and I’m not sure if it’s his focus on the road—or the pain in his arm.
And then finally, the geography shifts.
The trees begin to thin out, revealing the jagged, plunging limestone canyons that lead down toward Clifton and the massive Morenci Mine complex.
We take a sharp, descending curve, and suddenly, the shadows on the canyon walls ahead aren’t just gray anymore…
They are pulsing with a faint, rhythmic flash of red and blue reflecting off the rock face a mile below us.
Oh shit.f
Noah’s spine goes rigid against my chest, but he doesn’t hit the brakes. Instead, he immediately rolls off the throttle and downshifts, letting the engine brake the heavy bike.
“I think they’re waiting for us,” he rasps over his shoulder.
He wrestles the handlebars to the right, veering off the pavement just before we round the bend that would put us in their direct line of sight. The tires crunch over loose volcanic rock as he forces the bike up a narrow, hidden wash choked with scrub juniper.
He kills the engine, and the sudden silence of the mountain drops over us like a heavy blanket.
“Get off,” he orders, his voice low and tight. He kicks the stand down and leans the bike into the brush to hide the chrome from the road below.
“Where are they?” I ask, my shoes hitting the dirt with a crunch.
“I don’t know.” Noah looks up at the towering limestone ridge to our left, blocking our view of the valley below. “We have to see what’s ahead. Come on.”
“Up there?” I point to the ridge. “We’re climbing that?”
He blinks and then nods. “Uh, yeah. Let’s go. I’m not going to fuck this up and ride right into a trap.”
My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes for a second, then breathe out. “Okay, fine. Let’s go for a fucking hike then.”
“Good girl.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the ascent.
The hike up the bluff is a grueling, miserable battle, and I spend most of it cursing under my breath, while miraculously, a few eggs and bacon seem to have brought Noah back to life.
How fucking nice.
However, as we make the final scramble up the limestone, I notice his left arm is stiff, favoring the gunshot wound. His eyes are clear and hardened with that familiar, calculating focus, though.
And I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but I hold back.
When we reach the crest of the bluff, Noah drops to his stomach. I follow suit, crawling the last few feet to the edge of the rock overhang.
The wind whips my hair across my face, but I barely feel it. Below us, Highway 78 carves a deep, dizzying ‘S’ curve down the side of the mountain, dropping into the massive, excavated canyon of the Morenci Mine.
And at the bottom of the pass, the road is bleeding red and blue.
Oh my God.
“Did Kirk call the cops?” I ask, tilting my head to catch Noah’s gaze.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, but the answer doesn’t really matter at this point. There’s a lot of fucking cops.”
“They’ve got us boxed,” I whisper, my stomach dropping as I take it in again.
