The Lost Country, Episode Two

Chapter 6

“WAIT, that’s Hollywood Park?”

I looked out the windshield as Sam pulled over on Canyon Lake Drive and killed the engine, which dieseled and rattled, briefly. “It’s a park, what did you expect?”

Lazaro cupped his eyes, peering out the side window. “I don’t know. Like, a statue of Marilyn Monroe; or somethin’. You know, with the wind all up in her s**t and—”

“That’s Palm Springs,” said Nigel. “‘Forever Marilyn,’ on Museum Way. You’d like it.”

“How the f**k would you know what I’d like?”

“It’s an up-skirt. Just your speed.”

“Hey, f**k you, Jamaica. Why don’t you just—”

“Alright, knock it off, both of you,” I said. “Nigel, let’s have a look at that map.”

We all gathered around as Nigel spread it between himself and Sam.

“I’m afraid it hasn’t changed much,” he said. “There’s still no road other than Mount Lee Drive. And you saw the terrain; Gargantua can’t handle that.”

“What about on foot?” I circled a tangle of residential roads with my finger. “So we know these are blocked; what if we headed northeast straight from the park and just circumnavigated the whole mess?”

“Could work, but it would take time, and we don’t know what’s in those—”

“Hills, precisely,” interjected Mr. Fantastic. “Look, see these? All these peaks and valleys? It’s like a great big washboard, right? Well, see, that’s precisely the kind of terrain welterweights like Utahraptor and Phorusrhacos love, because it allows them to herd prey into the lowlands and trap it there.”

He looked at me gravely, solemnly. “In other words, we’d be walking straight into a kill box.”

I sat back in my seat and exhaled, wondering why Roman had put me in charge in the first place, why I’d accepted. Why I’d made the decisions I’d made. Why we’d come over a thousand miles on such a fool’s errand. What I was going to tell the others back in Issaquah ...

“If we could ... if we could just move faster, maybe,” I said. “Get there before anything could triangulate us.”

Mr. Fantastic only shook his head. “No, man. No. You’re smarter than that. Turn us around, Jamie. Turn us around ... and let’s go home.”

I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

At length Sam said, “I can drive—if you’re not up to it. I don’t mind, really.”

I must have nodded. All I remember for certain is hearing the engine start and Lazaro grumbling before Nigel said, unexpectedly, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The Ranch.”

“Forget it,” I said—irritably. I didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was.

“Holy s**t, I forgot all about it.” I heard the map rattle as he tapped it. “The Ranch. The Ranch, mon, Sunset Ranch.”

Lazaro cursed as he swiveled in his chair. “What the f**k are you even—”

“What do mean, ‘Sunset Ranch?’” I glanced at the map and quickly back to him. “Talk to me, dammit!”

He only shrugged, carelessly, nonchalantly. “It—it’s a tourist attraction, sort of a barbeque joint, but with a riding stable and a corral full of horses. It’s right here.” He indicated a spot on the map. “Yuh, see, there’s even a trail, here, which intersects with Mount Lee Drive.”

“And follow that right into an ambush?” Mr. Fantastic harrumphed.

“Horses,” I muttered. “Holy Christ.”

I slouched over the map and pointed. “If there’s horses left alive we could follow the trail to Mount Lee Drive and then cross it—right here, then cut through the hills north by northwest until we come straight to the bunker.” I looked at everyone one by one. “Not only that, but if we get attacked ... they’ll go for the horses. Not us.”

I tried to smile as Sam glowered at me. “More meat,” I said, and shrugged.

The cockpit fell silent as everyone thought about it.

“I’ve never even rode a horse,” said Mr. Fantastic. “How the hell am I going to—”

“You’ll stay with Gargantua,” I said. “And cover us with the .50 cal for as far as you can. How about the rest of you?”

“4-H Blue-ribbon, Poulsbo State Fair,” said Sam. “2007.”

“Used to ride ‘em right there at Sunset,” said Nigel, “when we were working for Eagleton.”

I looked at Lazaro, who seemed to hesitate.

“Of course I’ve ridden a f*****g horse,” he grumbled. “I’m from Idaho.” He added: “What about you?”

“Never in my life,” I said, and looked at Sam—I don’t know why. “But I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at Mr. Fantastic, who just shook his head.

“Okay ...” I breathed. I held my hand out to the others, palm down. “Who’s in?”

And Sam slapped her hand over mine, after which Nigel slapped his hand over her’s—and Lazaro topped us all off.

“Great,” said Mr. Fantastic, disappointed. “All right ...” He picked up the targeting goggles. “Let’s hope there’s some horses.”

And then we were off, making a U-turn in the middle of Canyon Lake Drive and rumbling toward Sunset Ranch—all of us, I think, wondering if we were really up to it, and if we could actually pull it off. All of us, I think, frightened out of our wits.

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