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Tourists tended to think the bristly, pig-like animals, who roamed like gangs of street toughs, were cute. But javelinas had sharp tusks, nasty dispositions, and little fear of humans. They were not to be trifled with—and these were coming closer.
“I’ll see if I can scare them off.” Brock bent to gather a few rocks. “Stay back—or get in the plane.”
“Not on your life. I’ll be right there with you.” Tess glanced around for anything that might deter the animals. The orange plastic single-shot flare gun was lying on the blanket, loaded and within easy reach. It wasn’t really a weapon, but if fired, the noise and the light might be enough to scare the four-footed hooligans.
She paused to toss a dry branch onto the smoldering fire. Then, gripping the flare gun, she hurried after Brock.
In the moonlit darkness, she could see the javelinas, five or six of them, milling a few yards outside the circle of firelight. They were big bruisers, numerous enough to take on anything, even a man. Maybe she and Brock should both have fled into the plane. But then they could be trapped in there for hours, unable to tend the fire or spot and signal a rescuer. They needed to drive the animals away.
“Hah! Get out of here!” Brock charged, flinging rocks that found their targets but did little damage. Tess ran alongside him, shouting at the top of her lungs. The javelinas scattered but soon regrouped a little farther away. Now they were not just curious. They were angry.
“Get back,” Brock muttered. “If we build up the fire, maybe that’ll discourage them.”
“Try this.” Tess had meant to pass him the flare gun, but as she stepped backward, she stumbled over a twisted root. As she righted herself, her finger tightened on the sensitive trigger. The gun fired with a deafening bang. The flare shot skyward at an angle, bursting high above the javelinas like a holiday fireworks display.
Maybe the creatures had been fired at in the past and remembered. Whatever was going on in their little piggy brains, they must’ve decided not to stick around. Grunting and squealing, they stampeded off into the night.
As the dust settled behind them, Tess looked at Brock and began to giggle. “I’m sorry . . . They must’ve been as scared as we were.”
Brock grinned and reached for her. They fell into each other’s arms, convulsed with laughter. “Too bad we didn’t have a video camera.” Brock gasped out the words. “Me throwing rocks, you tripping and shooting off that flare . . . Oh, hell, stop me before I die laughing!”
She stretched on tiptoe to meet his lips. Their kiss was warm and deep, a joyful release.
No one could predict what would happen in the days ahead, Tess reminded herself. But here, in this brief moment, she knew that she loved him.
* * *
The remaining hours of the night passed peacefully. Sitting next to Brock while he took his turn dozing, Tess hugged her knees for warmth. By now the fire was little more than glowing embers. The heat it gave off was negligible. But the stars were already fading. Soon the sun would rise to warm the new day.
What would that day bring? Surely their rescue would come. But would she and Brock keep the closeness that had grown between them? Or would it be lost amid the clamor of danger, worries, mistrust, and rivalry that awaited their return?
She would have to be prepared for that—even to expect it.
By the time the eastern sky had paled with first light, they were both awake and stirring. They parceled out the last two water bottles and divided the remaining energy bar. After that, there was little to do except gather more wood and watch the sky.
It was full daylight when they heard the distant rumble of a motor—not a plane but some kind of vehicle. And the sound was getting closer.
Gripped by excitement, they scanned the horizon. At first they could make out nothing. Then a battered red pickup with oversize tires came jouncing over the top of a brushy knoll. Tess and Brock waved their arms. The truck’s horn blared across the distance.
Tess blinked back tears of relief. This wasn’t the rescue they’d imagined. But at least somebody had found them. Brock, however, seemed less confident.
“Get into the plane,” he said in a low voice. “We don’t know what kind of people are in that truck.”
Tess did as he’d asked. Brock was right. Out here alone and unarmed, they couldn’t be too careful. “You come, too,” she urged him. “Maybe they think we’ve got drugs.”
“I’ll get in if I have to,” he said. “First I want to see who these folks are.”
Through the dusty windshield, she watched the truck pull into the clearing where the plane had landed. There were two people in the cab. A man climbed out of the driver’s side carrying a hunting rifle. Tess could just make out the person who remained in the cab. It was a woman—maybe his wife.
Relief swept over her. They were Tohono O’odham.
Brock had raised his hands. “We’re not armed, and we mean you no harm,” he said. “If you’ve come to help us, we’re grateful.”
The man, forty perhaps, and dressed in work clothes, nodded and lowered the rifle. “We saw the flare last night. We thought somebody might be in trouble. But we have to be careful. There are smugglers out here.”
“Are we on the reservation? That could explain why no one’s found us yet.”
“Yes, this is the reservation. My home is back that way.” He nodded toward the hills.
