David Corbett - Do They Know I'm Running

THE DOCTOR WASN’T GONE TEN MINUTES BEFORE THE TWO LAWMEN showed up on the front step. Lyndell closed the door to the guest room and told them all to stay quiet, he’d deal with this.

The one in city clothes was taller and older than the one in uniform. They both had that sad sort of gotcha in their eyes, like they were so damn sorry they had to ruin things.

“Mr. Desmond? I’m Donny Ireton with the Douglas Station, Border Patrol? This here’s Special Agent Jim Lattimore, FBI. We’re tracking a couple walkers, came over the mountains last night. One of them looks like she was pretty badly hurt. Think it’s a she, given the tracks, maybe a boy. They lead right up to your house here. I was wondering, anybody stop here this morning, asking for water or medicine or…”

The question hovered between them for a moment, like a dare.

“Only one here who needs medicine,” he said, “would be my wife. She’s got the cancer. Takes chemo twice a week, through this port they sewed into her shoulder? Not like it’s done any good. Just makes her sicker, you ask me. Hell of a thing.”

The two lawmen made a feeble show of sympathy. Ireton again: “You didn’t see anybody?”

“I’m kinda busy with other things.”

The city one, FBI agent, Lattimore, was studying Lyndell’s face.

“Things ain’t been easy here in a while,” he added, telling himself inwardly: Shut up. Surest sign of a liar, he talks too much.

Ireton said, “I gotta tell you, Mr. Desmond, it looks like they headed straight for your door. And weren’t in good enough shape to get much farther.”

“Like I said, I been preoccupied.”

Ireton tried to steal a glance inside the house. “Would you mind if I spoke to your wife?”

Lyndell rose up full height-the years hadn’t worn him down, not like some men his age. “What part of cancer did you not understand, young man?”

“Mr. Desmond?” It was Lattimore. “I can imagine what it must be like, having two strangers show up at your door at the crack of dawn, one hurt, both of them with God only knows what kind of story as to how they wound up here. Nobody wants trouble. I can understand your helping them out, seeing them on their way, not wanting to make any enemies among the people they may be involved with. But we can help you if you’re scared or-”

“I say I’m scared?”

“Not in words. Your eyes, though-”

“Lyndell, who is it?”

She came out of the guest room, stumbled down the hallway, using the wall as a brace. How could he chastise her? She wore only one sock, her robe wrapped tight. She gripped his shoulder hard, staring at the two visitors with empty eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

The two seemed shaken, put off their game. Ireton said, “We’re tracking two walkers who came over the mountain last night, Mrs. Desmond.”

She looked into her husband’s eyes with infinite regret. “Did you tell them?”

He swallowed. It felt like a child’s fist in his throat. “I did not.”

She glanced back at the strangers at her door. “These two young ones, a boy and a girl, they came by a little after dawn. The girl, she was cut up pretty bad. A wildcat got to her along the pass down the mountain, tore her arm up pretty good. The boy got bit by a tarantula. And he had a pistol. He asked for food and water and a ride to a pickup spot north of Sierra Vista. We’re pretty isolated out here. My husband, he fears for me. We couldn’t tell what might happen if we put up a fight. Most likely, it wouldn’t end too good. So we fed them, gave them a couple bottles of water, looked to their wounds best we could and then my husband here drove them to the spot they wanted. He can tell you better than me where that was.”

All eyes turned to Lyndell, none more pleading than hers. His mind froze up-say something, he thought, Christ say anything, it doesn’t matter, but his tongue was locked up. “I’m not sure I want to say,” he managed finally. “Like you said, the people these folks get tangled up with nowadays, I want no part of them.”

“No one needs to know you told us,” Ireton said.

“Funny how they always find out though, ain’t it.”

“They’re probably long gone by now, regardless,” Audrey said.

“I think we’d still like to know,” Ireton said.

It would be the only way to get rid of them, Lyndell realized. “You know the old Rogers place, about a mile beyond the Bisbee slag pond? There’s an outbuilding behind the house. That’s where I dropped them. About eight this morning, it was. I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t right. But you gotta understand what we’re dealing with here.”

He looked at them pleadingly, his need a truth embedded in his lies. Both men stared back, then Lattimore said, “We’re grateful for your time.”

Lyndell nodded and watched them turn away, sidle down the walk, then closed the door and said nothing to Audrey-he felt relieved but angry, the anger oddly stronger now that they were gone and that confused him-helping her back to the guest room. The girl was awake, looking weak but stable. The boy held her hand, his chair pulled up close beside the bed.

“I don’t think it would be wise for you two to stay here much longer,” he told the boy. “Call your aunt, tell her to get to Tucson as fast as she can, any way she can. We can put you up in a motel there until she arrives.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Roque said.

“It ain’t a favor,” Lyndell said.

THEY WAITED UNTIL THE BOY CALLED HIS AUNT AGAIN, MADE ARRANGEMENTS for her to come quick, then the girl tried some broth. It seemed to muster some color. She was strong in spirit, stubborn, you could see that in her eyes once she had her bearings, and she said it was not a problem, she would go whenever and however it was best. Audrey gave her a fresh shirt, something better for the cold than the things she’d brought along in her sad little bag. The boy helped her to her feet and she bit her lip but fixed her eyes on where she had to step and they made their way down the hall, a bump here, a stagger there, then through the kitchen to the garage.

“We’ll use the wagon, not the truck,” Lyndell said, and the boy helped her into the backseat, let her lie down, covered her with a Hudson blanket Lyndell brought from inside the house. “You go ahead and get yourself situated, I just want to check in on Audrey before we head out.”

She was already back in bed, inspecting the tall chrome carriage holding her morphine, a curious look on her face, half grim, half tranquil. His heart sank. He knocked gently on the doorframe and it broke the spell. She glanced up.

“I guess we’re heading out.”

“Come here, please.”

He approached the bed and she opened her arms, he leaned down for what he thought would be a hug but she took his face in her hands, kissed him drily, tenderly on the lips. “I have loved you with all my heart, Lyndell, but never so much as today.”

It felt like she’d stabbed him with a knife. “You’re not gonna do something foolish.”

“Not foolish, no.”

“Audrey, please.”

“You do love me, don’t you, Lyndell.”

He was trembling all over. His voice left him, then came back, a whisper. “Good God, woman.”

She put her fingers to his lips. “Go do what you need to. You know I’d come with you if I could. I’ll be here when you get back, don’t fear that, all right?”

“Promise me.”

“Lyndell, one of these days and soon, too, you’re going to have to say-”

“No. Promise me.”

“I love you, Lyndell. You are the best man I have ever known.

That day, you remember? Easter Sunday, over at the Murrays’ place-my God, you were so damn good-looking. So humble, so shy, so rough. Luckiest day of my life.”