Ever Hayes - Emergency Exit

As we approached the end of Old Fall River Road, we could see a makeshift gate ahead. We had the lights on now because not doing so would have been about the biggest possible red flag. There was a jeep parked by the gate, and a soldier stepped out, walked up to the gate, and opened it. Yeah, we never would have made it with the trucks. He waved as Sam drove past, and Sam repeated the motion. Isaac did the same, waving as well, following us through the parking lot. Had we been soldiers coming up from the cabin, we’d definitely have stopped here for something. We couldn’t afford to do any different. Sam pulled into a parking spot within view of the main building, where a group of about ten soldiers was standing out on the porch. Isaac pulled in beside us. Danny told Sam to get out of the jeep, walk around to Isaac’s jeep, and talk to him for a couple of minutes. The hope was if anyone saw us, which we figured they had, they would see someone get out in full uniform and ignore us after that. Sam was supposed to tell Isaac to go ahead and head down Trail Ridge Road until they reached the Continental Divide. They were to stop there, and we’d catch up to them and take the lead again.

Sam followed Danny’s instructions to the letter. Danny could see one of the soldiers step away from the others on the porch and watch Sam carefully for a minute before slowly going back to the group. But as Danny watched him through binoculars, the soldier kept glancing their way. Then the soldier suddenly spun and went inside. He came back out twenty seconds later, gun in hand, and started walking quickly towards them. Danny frantically tapped the window and rolled his finger to tell Sam to get going. Sam walked away from Isaac, and Isaac backed out. Sam hopped behind the wheel and put their jeep in reverse. The man started running towards them then. “Danny…” Sam whispered.

“I see him,” Danny replied. “We can’t just pull out. You’re going to have to talk to him.”

“You’ve got to be…” Sam muttered, backing the jeep up so it was facing directly out of the parking lot. The man ran up and tapped on his window. Danny had his Springfield out, ready to fire if necessary, though he was completely buried under a backpack and blankets. Sam rolled the window down. It was still pouring, so the soldier had his head down to shield himself from the rain. “Hey. Where are you going?” he asked in decent English.

“Valley,” Sam replied, pointing.

“Why? Why now?” he asked. “Where’s Ortiz?” He glanced into the back of the jeep.

“Cabin.” Sam said pointing again, this time in the direction they’d come from, hoping that answer would satisfy.

It seemed to. The guy nodded and looked back at the other soldiers on the porch. “Ah,” he said. Then suddenly, “Hey. I go with you.” It didn’t sound like a request.

Sam just nodded. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. He was trying to speak as little as possible. “Not good space,” was all he could manage.

“No problem,” the soldier replied. “Let’s go.” He walked around the jeep.

“Uh, Danny…” Sam whispered.

“Let him get in. Stick to the plan,” Danny said as the door opened, pulling himself down even closer to the floor.

Sam threw his backpack from the front seat into the middle of the back seat, blocking Danny a little bit more. He tossed his jacket on top of the backpack too. The man hopped into the front seat with Sam. This was going to be interesting.

If you’ve ever been in a crowded elevator when someone farts, you know how uncomfortable it can get. Everyone’s looking around at everyone else, not really caring who the culprit was, but wanting to make sure no one thinks it’s them. Bottom line: everyone just wants to get out of that elevator, as soon as humanly possible. For some reason, that’s the comparison that came to mind for this situation. For the life of him, Sam couldn’t understand why Danny didn’t just kill the soldier and dump him. For that matter, none of us knew what Danny was thinking.

Danny could tell Sam was nervous, but he was hoping Sam wouldn’t panic—that he would just trust him. We’d made it out of the parking lot, but it was still a long ride down the mountain. Danny was asking for a lot of faith.

Sam knew Danny had to have something in mind, and Sam needed to make sure the soldier’s focus stayed on him. Danny was at far greater risk. He had no way of knowing if the soldier was looking back at him…if the soldier was suspicious of the pile of gear in the back seat. Danny was doing his best to keep still and stay covered, but a five-by-five-foot box doesn’t offer much shelter for a barely concealed, six foot four soldier.

The first two miles seemed to take an hour on their own. Fortunately, the guy in the front seat with Sam couldn’t shut up. He was going on and on about all the Americans he’d killed. He kept saying, “High five.” And Sam kept high fiving him. As we drove past Isaac, we were sure Isaac was wondering why we didn’t stop and why Sam didn’t wave back. He flashed his lights at us a couple times, but we kept driving. “What he want?” the soldier asked.

“Dunno,” Sam mumbled back.

“Idiot,” the guy replied. Then “High five!” Idiot indeed .

We were halfway to Grand Lake when the soldier finally looked in the back. He smacked Sam in the arm and asked, “What is it? Food?” He started digging through the backpack, even touching Danny’s knee at one point.

“No,” Sam said a little too strongly.

The guy gave him a hard look. Then he glanced back at the gear again. Something sticking out caught his attention. He reached into the backpack and pulled out a Springfield handgun. “Ah,” he said. “A gun.” He paused. “An American gun.”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. Shoot him Danny. Shoot him already!

“Is nice,” the soldier continued, flipping the safety on and off. Then the smile disappeared from his face, and he pointed it at Sam’s head. “You dead, American,” he said.

From the back, Danny was pretty confident the man wasn’t going to shoot Sam at forty miles an hour driving down a slick curvy road, but it was all he could do to not peek out from under the coats and blankets.

Fortunately he was right, but no doubt Sam was sweating. “Bang!” the soldier said, and then he started laughing hysterically. He slid the gun back into the backpack and turned to Sam. “Is nice.”

Sam was afraid if he said a single word now his voice would crack. He wasn’t sure how Danny had known the guy was joking. Sam could only nod. Come on Danny!

“You sick?” the soldier asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly. You have no idea!

“Mountains,” the man replied, turning his focus out the window. “Make sick easy. My mom. She was sick all the time. Mountains, no mountains. Always sick.” He shook his head, then, “High five!”

Seriously? Sam definitely felt like he was going to throw up. He cracked the window, and the sound of rushing wind allowed Danny to shift a little. He was pretty sure every muscle, other than the ones in his trigger finger, was asleep.

The man started singing “Sweet Home Alabama.” Of all songs . “I love rock ’n’ roll,” he said to Sam, punching him in the shoulder again. “High five!”

“High five!” Sam mumbled back. I’ll high five you in the face, you bastard . He and Danny painfully listened to the soldier sing for the next twenty minutes—the same two lines over and over—until they pulled up to the guard gate at the south end of Trail Ridge Road.

The man punched Sam one more time in the shoulder, said “I get out here,” and then stepped out of the jeep and walked up to the guards. He either knew the one guard, or he was always that friendly, but he high fived the guard and talked to him for a little while. The other guard disappeared from view for a few seconds and then returned with a dog, presumably intent on searching our jeeps. He was walking towards us.