No Return

Wes clenched his teeth. “What did you do to her?”

“Pick her up, or I shoot her where she lies.”

Wes might have been willing to gamble with his own life, but not with Anna’s. He worked his hands under her body, then lifted her into the air. She groaned, but it was low, too quiet for anyone but Wes to hear.

“Good,” the man said. “Now bring her outside.”

His back to the door of the trailer, Wes whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you now.”

He thought he felt her stir, but her eyes remained closed.

“Come on,” the man said. “Move it.”

Wes carried Anna to the opening, then paused.

The man had moved back several paces. “I’m not giving you a hand. So try not to drop her.”

Wes turned sideways, then stepped carefully to the ground.

“What did you do to her?” he asked again.

“Let’s go,” Dori said.

She motioned with her gun for Forman to start walking.

“No,” Forman told her. “The only place I’m going is to town. Either you drive me, or you give me the keys to your car.”

The gunshot was quick, and unexpected. Forman fell to his knees, his left hand gripping his right arm, just below the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Dori repeated, her gun still pointed at the commander.

Forman clenched his teeth and staggered back to his feet.

“You bitch,” he said.

“Watch your mouth, or I guarantee the next time I pull the trigger you don’t get up,” she said. “Now, that way.” She motioned to the path that led up to the crest.

They formed a single-file line-Forman first, then Dori, then Wes cradling Anna, and finally Dori’s partner-and began walking. The path was little changed from the last time Wes had been on it, a well-worn groove about two and a half feet wide with, at first, desert and scrub on either side, then more rocks and boulders the closer they got to the top.

As they approached the final, narrow segment that curved between two large boulders, Dori tapped the barrel of her gun against Forman’s back. “Don’t even think about trying something.”

If he had been, the warning was enough to keep him in check.

The shape of the rocks forced Wes to lean back and turn sideways as he shuffle-stepped to get both Anna and himself through. He made it almost to the end before his hip banged into a pointed obstruction.

Grunting in pain, he nearly lost his grip. He leaned farther back and was able to get Anna balanced without banging her into anything.

“Keep it moving,” the man behind him said.

“Wes?” It was Anna, her voice low and weak.

Wes quickly turned so the man would only see Wes’s back.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered. “Pretend like you’re still out.”

“What?” she said.

“Please,” he said. “Just act like you’re still unconscious.”

Wes wasn’t sure whether she was following his directions or she had actually passed out again, but her eyes remained closed, and she was quiet.

Six more feet and the rocks fell away. Wes almost expected to hear music blaring and see dozens of half- drunk teenagers standing around a bonfire. But there was no music, no fire, and no one but them.

Tonight there was no party at the Drama Rocks.

Dori and Forman stopped twenty feet in front of the concave rock that had served as a backstop for decades’ worth of bonfires. The rock was a little blacker than before, but otherwise unchanged.

“Remember this place?” Dori asked Wes.

Wes could feel Anna tense at the sound of Dori’s voice. Not unconscious, then, he thought. Just doing as he’d asked.

“What are we doing here?” Wes asked.

“Here?” Dori looked around, then shrugged and shook her head. “We’re just passing through. Where we’re going is that way.” She nodded to the east. “Keep walking, Commander.”

Their little parade started up again. Every once in a while, Dori would let Forman know when he was getting off course by shoving him with the barrel of her gun. It took them ten minutes to reach the next ridge, then they followed the crest until they arrived at a rocky clearing about a quarter the size of the one at the Drama Rocks.

From this point the hills curved southward toward more ridges and more rocks. In the east a long slope descended into the waterless dirt bed of Searles Lake. Wes could see the shadowy forms of the Pinnacles off to the left and, across the lake bed straight out, the dark scar Lieutenant Lee Jamieson had created when he crash- landed his F-18.

“This is about right, isn’t it, Wes?” Dori asked.

Wes said nothing. But it was right.

She looked to the southeast and pointed at the next ridge. “And that’s where you took him.” She turned back. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Wes remained silent.

“Come on. We met several times.”

“This is ridiculous,” Forman said. “Whatever’s going on between the two of you, I’m not part of it.”

“You’re right. You’re not.” Dori pulled the trigger of her gun again.

This time, as promised, the commander did not get back up.

Wes edged a step backward. He had to get Anna away. If he could get behind some of the rocks, he might have a chance.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dori’s partner asked. He moved to the right, cutting off the gap in the boulders Wes had been angling toward.

Dori strode over, stopping just a few feet away.

“Who am I?” she asked.

Wes pressed his lips together.

“Who am I?”

“You’re Dori.… You’re … I’m sorry,” Wes said. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Dori raised her gun and pushed the barrel against Anna’s head. “Do you remember now?”

“Please,” Wes said. “I don’t. That was a long time ago.”

“But you remember my sister,” Dori said. “Michael says you visited her grave.”

Her partner nodded. “Yesterday afternoon.”

Mandy? Her … sister?

Wes tried to remember back. Mandy did have a sister. Older than her by a few years, and hardly ever around when Wes was over. Her name had been-

“Doreen?” he said.

Dori smiled, then moved the gun away from Anna’s head. “See, I knew you’d remember.”

“But your last name is Dillman,” Wes said, as if that would change everything.

“It’s what happens when you get married, Wes,” she told him as if he were a child. “You take the last name of your husband.”

Michael snickered.

Michael … Michael Dillman.

Wes remembered him more than he remembered her. This Michael Dillman, while still tall, had shed some of the pounds he’d used to go after quarterbacks during football season.

“Of course, I had planned on having an entirely different last name. Doreen Rice. Wife of Jack Rice. You remember him, don’t you?”

Jack Rice. Jesus.