J. Black - The Survivors Club

Tess slowed at the sight of an old travel trailer backed into a rocky hill. It sat on a spur off an old ranch lane. Thirty yards beyond the trailer, where the road bottomed out in the streambed, a couple of tree-limb posts were strung with two strands of wire across the wash. Tess noticed that tin cans had been stuck on top of the limbs, and they’d been shot to pieces.

The travel trailer was shaded by a camo tarp. The sixties seemed to be a theme here: a faded Game & Fish truck, pale green, stood out front, the emblem painted over. A campfire ring and a makeshift table made out of scrapwood kept a cheap kitchen chair company under the tarp.

There was a stake and a chain, too—for a dog.

She had a bad feeling about this, partly because of the way the place looked, but also because of Danny’s Blade Runner comment.

As Tess pulled up, the trailer door squeaked open and a tall tanned man stepped out.

Two things she noticed right off the bat: First, he was really tanned.

The second thing: he was armed with a Winchester repeating rifle.

And it was aimed at her vehicle. “What do you want?” the man yelled.

Tess took him in: he was tall and the color of beef jerky. Gray-blond hair in a ponytail. Flip-flops.

He wore a dirty guayabera shirt and nylon running shorts circa 1970.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want with me?”

Tess buzzed down her window and said, “Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office. I want to ask you about a fire the day before yesterday.”

He lowered his rifle an inch. “Fire?”

Tess kept her hands up and palms out. “May I get out of the car?”

“Stay where you are!”

Tess had parked diagonally to the clearing, so if she got out, the engine block of the SUV would be between her and the trailer. She opened the door and held her hands up.

“Come out from behind there,” he said, motioning with his weapon.

“No. You need to put down your rifle. Otherwise, you’ll be facing a lot more law enforcement than just me, and I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot.”

“I have the right to defend my property.”

The ownership of the property was doubtful, but Tess ignored that. “You have nothing to fear from me. Lay down your weapon and let’s talk.” At the same time, she slid out of the car, canting her body so that her right side was hidden. She inched her hand down to her side, unsnapped the holster, and drew her SIG Sauer. She called out, “Did you see the fire?”

“Fire?” he said again.

“A car was burned about fifteen miles down the road. You must have seen it.”

“I did not! Cease and desist! You are trespassing on my property!”

“Can’t we talk?”

“You can’t be the sheriff! I talked to the sheriff yesterday. He looked nothing like you!”

“That was my partner, Danny.”

“Danny?” He was puzzled. “Another one? How many are there of you? Why are you harassing me? Throw your weapon out. Do it now or I won’t be responsible for what I might do! A man has a right to defend his life and his property.”

“I can’t do that.”

There was a pause. “Okay. Leave your weapon in the car.”

“I will,” Tess lied. She watched as he lowered his rifle again and scratched an ear.

“Okay, then.” He took a deep breath.

“I just want to talk to you. Like the other guy, Danny. Remember? He came by and talked to you and then he drove away.”

“Okay,” he said again. He’d made a one-eighty-degree turnaround in a split second. “I don’t want any trouble. You have backup? They’re not on their way, are they?”

“No. I’m just here to ask you about the fire. Like my partner Danny was. You remember he just asked you some questions and left? Please put down your rifle.”

He lowered his rifle all the way, then walked out from under the tarp and set his rifle carefully on the ground. He stepped back.

“Thank you,” Tess said, easing her SIG Sauer P226 back into her holster but keeping her hand close. “Thank you.”

He nodded. Suddenly he looked shy. “You can’t come in, though. The place is a mess.”

“That’s fine. We can talk out here.” Tess did not move from behind the door and the engine block. “Anybody else live with you? Anyone inside the trailer?”

“No. I ride alone.”

“Did you see the fire?”

“Of course I saw the fire.” Another one-eighty.

“Do you remember what time it was, Mr.…?”

“Name’s Peter. Peter Deuteronomy. Rhymes with lobotomy.” He giggled at his own joke.

“You believe in the Bible,” Tess said. “That’s good.”

He smiled. “You a Christian?”

“Yes.” She was, and she wasn’t, depending on the things she saw on any day. But right now she was a true believer. He hadn’t shot her, for which she was thankful.

“Some of us around here, we have a Bible study. I could ask them, if you want to join.”

“Thank you, but I have my own. What night do you guys meet?”

“Tuesdays at seven o’clock p.m. Over at Matty Thompson’s house.”

“Oh. That’s when we meet, too.”

His face fell. “Too bad, but at least you’re washed in the blood of the Lamb.”

Tess nodded. “So can I ask you about the fire? You saw it? Do you remember what time that was, Peter?”

He looked down at the ground, shifted his feet on the rocks. “I think it was during Pickers . I saw it over that hill.” He pointed. “Just a light, but I could tell it was flames. And smoke.”

“So that would be what time?”

“It was a rerun. They had the American Pickers marathon. So I can’t rightly remember. It was still light, though.”

“Evening?”

“No. Dusk.”

“Dusk. Like around six p.m.?”

“Uh-huh. You want to hear about the shooting, too?”

“I would, yes.”

“Somebody must’ve been shot up bad. Maybe it was the guy you’re looking for. It was an automatic weapon—an AK-47, I’ll bet. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat! Like that!”

“How long was it between the shooting and the fire?”

“You think the same guy who was shooting set the fire?”

“Could be.”

He looked down at his own rifle. Tess hoped he didn’t have second thoughts. She eased one hand down to her own unsnapped holster.

“How long, do you think?” Tess asked again.

He frowned. “I dunno. Maybe a half hour?”

“Did you call the police?”

“Nope. People are always shooting around here. There are a lot of bad guys. That’s why I tell intruders I shoot first and ask questions later.”

Comforting. “So you think the fire was around six-thirty p.m.?”

“Sounds about right.” He was staring at his weapon again, even took a step toward it. Tess didn’t think he wanted to shoot her. She hoped it was because he just didn’t want to be away from it very long.

He said, “I heard someone start up a car and drive away after the shooting. Then I saw the fire.”

“All this happened between five and six-thirty at night?”

“Pretty sure. Can I get my rifle now?”

“Tell you what. I’m going to get into my car and drive away. Let me get back in the car, okay? And when I drive around that hill, you go pick up your rifle.”

“Sounds fair.” But she could see his hand itching. He was looking at the rifle the way a dog looks at a ball he can’t quite get to.

Tess went to three other squatter camps in the Atascosa Mountains. No one answered at two of them, and an older gentleman in a newer travel trailer invited her in for iced tea and a grilled cheese sandwich. He remembered seeing a light in the sky, but it was too far away for him to hear anything. He, too, thought the time was around sunset.