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Chapter Six

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    They made Colorado Springs by dawn. The dark splotch of mountains grew into a wall on the west, tipped in white like jagged teeth, a massive black hand that had held back the advancement of pioneers, determined to seize the land as their own, unaware of the curse that lay beyond it, a last warning against the theft of Native American lands before they tumbled over the other side into the dessert and the death awaiting them on the open lands beyond. But lust for gold motivated them more than fear of dying, and eventually, many survived the trek along the traditional trails that led to California and Oregon. Not all ached for riches. Many sought a better life than they could find in the dirty gutters of eastern cities, dreaming of a freer less crowded life, uncaring or perhaps unaware that others had a previous claim on the lands they sought to settle in. Lance, who sat in the passenger seat as Dan drove, felt the chill air through the glass, feeling very much how ...
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Chapter Five

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    Lance heard the approach of the van even before the sound came of its tires popping over the gravel drive outside the motel, a hazy memory of those dark days waiting in the jungle for the arrival of choppers, lives hanging on the whisper of their approach and whether they would arrive on time, though now, no bleeding bodies lay around him, no moaning and groaning of wounded often dying men, just the silence between him and Sarah as they sat, waiting, with the sharp, hurried stomp of Dan’s boots on the walkway just outside. Each footfall filled with a growing panic only the pace could attest to, the scent of the van’s exhaust telling Lance even more, a sense of flight, as if at any moment, something, someone other than Dan would burst into the room. “Cong!” a distant voice echoed in his head, along with the remembered rat tat tat of machinegun fire, theirs, and the response of the grunts dug into soil as unsubstantial as blood. “Is that him?” Sarah asked, her voice sh...
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Chapter Four

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      They were back there somewhere    though the rearview mirror showed only the passing glitter of Denver suburb street lights, like stars glowing from a bowl of water. Dan Newhaul gripped the wheel as the van followed the winding road up and out of it, circling the belly of the mountain like a lopsided belt.   Back there riding the curve behind him with their headlights off. He tried to picture their grim faces and grey suits, wondering if they would break his legs or toss him off a cliff. He glanced forward in time to swerve away from the guard rail as the road began to tighten to it slow winding way around the mountain, narrowing a two lane county road that connected Denver with Boulder.   Calm down, boy! Don't do their job for them.   As the grade increased, the van protested. The weak Volkswagen engine struggling to keep up speed. It hadn't been built for mountains like these. And the thin air affected its fuel mixture, set origina...
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