“Take off your shirt.”
Art sighed and removed the shirt, revealing a bloody, raw armpit where the makeshift crutch abraded a lot of skin, leaving parts of it looking like fresh hamburger. He said, “Not much we can do about it, so let’s get back.”
They started to mount the bikes when Hunter heard something faint but steady. She thought it sounded like she imagined metallic locusts would sound, and it was coming their way. “What is that?” Art said.
“I don’t know, but let’s hide. If it’s nothing, we’ve only wasted a few minutes.”
They put the bicycles in the crack first, then Art entered, hobbling on his crutch, and finally Hunter stepped into the deeper darkness. She stopped for a moment, letting her eyes look over the edge of the rock toward the sound.
A group of at least ten drones made their way across the land, coming in formation like a military squadron of fighter planes. Hunter eased her head down and told Art. And then the drones were above their hiding place, buzzing like oversized hornets. One of them dropped low over the trail as if looking for something, then the drones in unison stopped their forward path, hovering in the air above Art and Hunter.
Art touched her arm, “They can’t see us, right?”
“Not back in here, unless one of them flies in the mouth of it.”
“What are they doing?”
“I think…maybe they spotted a track and are searching the area.”
“How long can they stay up there like that?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
Art scooted around, trying to maneuver his raw armpit into some position where it wouldn’t throb with pain, “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll watch first, then you can spell me. They have to leave sometime.”
Art didn’t answer. He curled on his side, wincing once when his shirt scraped the raw flesh, feeling like someone slid a salt-laden wood rasp across it. He closed his eyes and was in an exhausted sleep in minutes.
Hunter didn’t watch the drones continually, but depended on her hearing as much as her sight to locate them in the darkness. One came very close to the fissure where they hid, but it went on after a few seconds.
Hunter felt drowsy after another fifteen minutes of immobility and almost nodded off to sleep, but a small snake came from somewhere in the deep recesses of the fissure and crawled across her foot. Hunter jerked when she felt it, bumping her head on the rock overhang. It stung like fire where her head hit, but she didn’t bleed.
She looked down to see Art’s eyes open. He said, “Are you okay?”
She rubbed the spot on her head, “Yeah.”
“Good, I thought maybe you were having a seizure and I was gonna have to carry you out of here.”
“We’d have both died in here, then.” She noticed the silence and chanced a look outside the fissure. There were no drones in sight. “You ready to move?”
Art said, “Hell, yes.” He rose, hissed slightly when he put the crutch under his armpit, and helped Hunter remove the bicycles one more time.
She took one last long look and saw nothing. Let’s go.”
They rode in single file and made it to the river without incident. Hunter built a cup-sized fire of dry twigs at the water’s edge and they waited.
Within five minutes they saw vehicle lights playing on the desert as someone drove down through the hills toward the crossing. Buck was there with the boat ten minutes later, sliding it into the water, pointing toward the Mexico side. As soon as he landed, Hunter and Art had the bicycles loaded and were in the boat. Buck turned the boat and rowed them to the United States.
When they were back at the ranch house, Buck brought out his medicine kit and treated Art’s wounds, including an ace bandage wrap on his ankle. Then he poured all three a tumbler of bourbon and they relaxed at the dining table, sipping their drinks and letting the tension dissipate.
Hunter and Art told Buck what they witnessed, and he sat in silence until they finished.
“If they have that many, there’s a big shed or something where they keep ‘em.”
Hunter said, “I didn’t notice anything at Osorio’s other than the house and the barn. The barn door was open and I only saw a few things inside.”
Buck said, “The place will need enough space to work on them, probably assemble and repair them, too, and hold all the supplies.”