A troubled young woman unexpectedly meets a lonely retired gold miner in Death Valley. They enter a treacherous, shuttered gold mine, and become trapped amongst the skeletal remains and precious artifacts of ancient people. What happens next?

“Momma, please wake up.”

“Let me sleep, girl!”

“You’ve been sleeping for five days.

“I need to drive you to the urgent care.

“We live in remote Death Valley with no phone service and no paramedics.

“Remember?

“I can’t carry you to the truck, Momma.

“Please try and walk with me.

“It’s getting dark soon and the rain will wash out the dirt road into town.”

“Let me die in peace.

“Maybe your bastard papa will come to save me.”

“Your delirious, Momma.

“Papa’s been dead twenty years.

“I’m leaving now to see the urgent care about some medicine for you.”

“You’re still a tumbling tumbleweed in search of somethin’ but findin’ nothin’.

“Your daddy beat me black and blue when I took you back after running away as a teenager.

“Put the radio on for me.

“I prefer it’s company to your nagging!”

“…A flash flood warning has been issued for Death Valley…”

The rain is heavy as I leave our tin can of a trailer home on the edge of Death Valley surrounded by canyons.

Death Valley is like living in a blast furnace in summer but when it rains, the fragrance from the wet chaparral is heavenly.

The potholes dotting the dirt road leading into town one hour away are filling with water quickly. Dad dragged us all over the world while force feeding me “tough love” during his career in the Air Force. Dad taught me resilience and unknowingly, no love is better than “tough love”. The emotional dam named “resilience” is cracking up. I might not make it back in time with the medicine.

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Dad loved this old International Harvester pickup truck and talking to the long-distance truckers on the vintage CB radio. Let’s see if I get anybody’s attention with this old mic,

“Breaker, breaker.

“911.

“Mayday, mayday.”

The CB is as dead as my dad.

The windshield wipers are making a muddy mess and it’s difficult to see the road reminding me about my difficulty of seeing a life at home inside a dysfunctional family.

“Come on, truck!

“We’re almost halfway there.”

Dad called me “airhead” but the whizzing inside my head ain’t air rushing about but the unmistakable sound of wheels spinning signaling I’m stuck in the mud.

“Breaker, breaker.

“Emergency.

“My rig is stuck on Coyote Road about a mile south from Mine Shaft Canyon.

“Anybody got their ‘ears on’?”

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No response. Not even static. Dad told me never to cry and I haven’t spilled a tear until now. My lifelong reservoir of pent-up tears is flowing like the rain pelting dad’s truck. I’ll sit on the horn and maybe the jackrabbits will pull me out of the mud.  Hear this horn, dad? This horn says,

“Screw You!”

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My entire life has been a dumpster fire my tears won’t extinguish. I’ll walk back and when mom dies, I’ll swallow the end of dad’s shotgun and checkout.

​

A bright flash appeared in my rear-view mirror. I don’t hear the accompanying thunder from lightening. It can’t be a shooting star because it left the ground towards the sky like a pyrotechnic.

​

I see a truck driving towards me flashing the headlamps. I’m an emotional mess and maybe mistook the headlamps as a flash. I need to flag this guy down.

​

“Stop, please!”

“Damn you, girl.

“Some nut fired off a flare gun into the tranquil dusk and you’re sittin’ on the horn disturbing the peace.

“I had to drive out here and see what the hell is goin’ on.”

“Who would fire a flare gun out here?”

“We’ve been getting’ our share of drunken off-road enthusiasts acting crazy with fireworks as night closes in on the big desert sky.”

“My rig is stuck in the mud and I’m in a hurry to get to urgent care and see about medicine for mom.

“I think she’s dying.”

“Your front end is buried up to the bumper.

“I’ll pull you out.

“Put the transmission in neutral.”

That old man reminds me of somebody my dad knew but I can’t place him. He sure knows what he’s doing because it got me out of the mud in a jiffy.

“Thanks, mister.”

​

“Ain’t you Rita and Sam’s kid?”

“Yes, Sir.

“I’m Annie.”

“I’m an old friend of your folks.

“My name is Lou.

“I live on the other side of the canyon.

“I attended your father’s funeral.

“Rita was one hell of a firebrand.”

“She’s been tone deaf my entire life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now isn’t the time.”

“She really bad off?”

“I think she’s dying.”

“I left the satellite phone at home.

“You want me to drive you to urgent care?”

“I’d rather you sit with my mom.

“The front door key is under the mat.

“If she wakes, tell her I sent you over.

“Maybe you can become reacquainted and it will keep her alive?”

Desert Tortoise Urgent Care and Pharmacy

“Your mother is dying from a urinary tract infection common in elderly people.

“She needs to be admitted to the hospital in Vegas, ASAP.”

“Don’t the Sheriff or firefighters have a helicopter for emergencies?”

“You picked a bad night.

“All aircraft are grounded due to the inclement weather.

“All I can offer you are antibiotics and suggest you keep her drinking this electrolyte infused sports drink.

“I’ll get the helicopter out to your place when the weather clears.

“Good luck.”

“End of the Trail”

Dad planted a wagon wheel in the front of the driveway. Wagon wheels carry a lot of symbolism inside the west but for dad, planting the wheel meant he traveled life’s long trail and reached the end. I pray today isn’t the end of the trail for mom.

​

 Lou’s truck is parked outside, and all the lights are on inside the trailer.

“Why are IV bags hooked up to mom?”

“One bag is named ‘Lactated Ringer’s and the other is called ‘Ciprofloxacin’

“We had a nice walk down ‘memory lane’ before she fell asleep and passed away.

“She was happy and told me to tell you,

‘See you on the other side, Annie’.”

“Who gave her the medicine?”

“Rita muttered something about an ‘old friend’ coming by to give her a ‘going away’ party.

“I used my SAT phone to call the Urgent Care who said you had left, already.

“The nurse said somebody with expert medical training gave her dehydration and antibiotic treatment.”

“Momma loved shots of Tequila and I see a half-finished bottle within arm’s reach.

“There’s a half-eaten cherry cobbler which was her favorite.”

“When I came into the room she was sitting up with a smile, smelling like somebody gave her a sweet-smelling sponge bath, combed her hair and applied makeup.

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“She resembled that happy young wife I met decades ago.”

“I left her in pajamas.

“Momma hasn’t worn this favorite cotton Hawaiian dress since I was a kid livin’ on base in Pearl Harbor.

“I’m surprised she kept it all these years.

“Mom was always happy wearing this dress.

“She hasn’t worn makeup in decades but appears to have had a makeover.

“She was a loner and had no friends.

“Who the hell came here?”

“The rain washed away any tire tracks or footprints and the nurse confirmed she didn’t send anybody out here.

“There’s nothing between my spread and here.

“I’m very sorry for you mom’s passing but she wasn’t alone and appeared to have a sendoff party, of sorts.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“No!

“I’m freaked out.”

“What are your plans for your mom?”

​

“She wants to be cremated.”

“Do you need help with the arrangements?”

“The cremation is already paid for.

“I’ll bury her ashes at the entrance to the mine shaft”.

“Why there?”

“She believed there were spirits living inside the mine which would keep her company in the afterlife.

“Mom also believed there was gold inside the mind.”

“If there was gold, miners would have found it.”

“I’m tired, Lou.

“I need to process all of this.

“Please stay the night.

“I’ll bring you a pillow, blankets, and you can sleep on the couch.

“There’s food in the frig and the bottle of Tequila.”

“I’m sorry for your loss but the sun always rises and things look differently in the morning.”

Rita Knox

1941-2025

“Place the grave marker close to the entrance to the mine, please.

“Do you hear that sound coming from inside the mine?”

“It’s just mine shaft wind.”

“It’s mystical, surreal, and speaking something about the mine.”

“I thought you kicked the drug habit?”

“I’m sober.

“I think its mom signaling me to search for the gold.

“Will you help me, Lou?”

“I worked inside that mine for over ten years.

“We called it ‘The Garbage Disposal’”.

“Why?”

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“The mine had a vicious heart and chewed up anybody mining for gold.

“The only thing inside is quartz and large animal bones the coroner said were those of equines mixed with human bones of native people.

“It’s too dangerous, Annie.”

“What’s that siren whaling?”

“That’s my truck alarm going off!”

“An animal likely nudged your rig.”

“I need to check it out.

“Pay your final respects to your mom and meet me at the truck.”

I once sprinted up and down this trail working inside the mine. It sure seems a lot steeper than what I recall.

“What the hell!

“Annie, get your ass down here and take a look at my truck.”

“Who messed with your engine?”

“Whoever opened the hood, removed the distributor cap but left it for me to find.”

“I think it’s a message somebody doesn’t want us around the mine.

“Let’s get back to my place.”

“Home is where the heart is.”

“It’s nice having you keep me company, Annie.

“You’re a good cook and I appreciate havin’ a woman’s touch around the place to keep it tidy.

“You resemble the daughter I always wanted.”

“It’s nice takin’ care of a man who appreciates a woman.

“My daddy wasn’t a compassionate or grateful, man.”

“You’re a rebel sort of girl, Annie.

“So was your momma.

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“She was a dutiful wife travelin’ the world from air base to air base and never wanted for anything.”

“I think she ‘wanted’ for love and married dad to escape a hellish life with her mother and father.

“Why didn’t you find a wife and settle down?”

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“I was a heavy equipment operator most of my career moving earth around which got me into mining.

“The day the mine was shuttered by the owner, I came home to find a note from my wife tellin’ me she took up with my boss.”