Free High Desert Barbecue by J. D. Tuccille Page B

plants.”
    “ We usually use AK-47s, though,” Rena added. “They’re a lot tougher than these plastic toys.”
    R ay gaped.
    “ Oh, that’d be easy to explain,” Terry commented. “Federal forest rangers armed with Russian surplus weapons.”
    “ Well … maybe,” Rena said. “But the AKs are a lot easier to maintain. I can field-strip one in the dark.”
    F ar ahead and entirely oblivious to the tumult at the rear of his column, Jason stopped in his tracks along the trail and held up his hand.
    “ What’s wrong,” Samantha asked. She reached her hand out and brushed Jason’s bare shoulder.
    “ Um … uh …” the team leader stuttered, momentarily distracted. He stared into the woman’s eyes. Bambi, he thought. Just like Bambi.
    “ Is something wrong?” Samantha repeated.
    J ason shook his head.
    “ No, but I heard something. It sounded like somebody yelling ‘Champ’. Who in Hell is a champ?”
     

Chapter 24
     
     
    W ith the red nylon pouches of his doggie backpack flapping against his furry flanks, the black-and-white beast launched himself at a large boulder along the rock-strewn floor of the canyon. His paws splayed in four directions, the animal tightly gripped the steep rock surface. The tips of his claws extended into any cracks or crevice that could provide support. With a sudden heave, he hopped forward, set his grip again, and then pulled himself to the top. Eyes wide, panting and grinning, the dog stood atop the boulder, gazing down the canyon. He turned to gaze at his companions, his tail wagging wildly in celebration.
    “ Goddamnit, Champ,” Lani yelled. “Get down from there!”
    “ Is that his full name?”
    L ani glanced at Rollo, then continued walking down-canyon, away from Geronimo Spring and the trail from the rim.
    “ What?”
    “ Is Goddamnit Champ the dog’s formal name? I mean you always say those words together when you’re pissed at the dog. I figure it’s like some moms who address their kids informally—like calling a boy ‘Johnny’—then get all formal when the kids step out of line.” He cupped his hand to his bearded mouth and called out, “Oh, J-o-o-o-n-a-th-a-a-a-n!”
    L ani stared.
    “ I can’t tell whether you’re serious or not.”
    S cott sighed.
    “ He’s just needling you, hon.”
    R ollo chuckled.
    “ Well, you do treat that dog like a baby.”
    L ani shot a look at her boyfriend. She smiled.
    “ Well, Scott does call Champ our baby substitute.”
    “ Oh really ?”
    “ Oh crap.”
    “ That’s adorable.”
    “ Leave it alone, Rollo.”
    S erenaded by chorus of chuckles shared all around, the three stepped slowly and carefully along the floor of the canyon. They stepped over rocks when possible, and hopped from one to another when it wasn’t.
    T he spatter of raindrops picked up in frequency, now landing faster than the wet freckles they left could evaporate from rock and dirt. Scott glanced up just as the canyon lit up with a bright flash. Moments later, a dull boom echoed through the rocky corridor.
    W ithout a word, he dropped his pack to the ground, and fished out a small, tightly stuffed nylon bag. From this he quickly extracted a rain jacket. As he cinched the zipper under his chin, he looked up to see Lani shrugging into her own jacket. Rollo patiently stood in place, already hidden under a voluminous poncho that fit over his head, body and pack like a dirt-encrusted mumu.
    T he older man snorted.
    “ You’re gonna sweat like a pig in that thing,” he warned, pointing at the jacket. “You’d stay dryer in the rain than you will in that sauna suit.”
    S cott flamboyantly reached under each of his arms to unzip vents and let the air circulate.
    “ Oooh. Fancy.”
    L ani glanced back the way they’d come.
    “ We should probably get going. I don’t know if we’re being followed, but I don’t want them catching up with us.”
    “ We’re being followed,” Rollo said. “There’s no way they can let us get away