Dead Man's Land by Jack Patterson (digital e reader .txt) 📕

Umatilla National Forest?” Cal cracked a small smile.

Prado chuckled. “No, in the United States, playing baseball against the best players in the world. I’d be in a dream if the rest of my family were here with me.”

“It seems like we all make sacrifices to chase our dreams.”

Prado nodded. “But does that make our dreams worth the sacrifice?”

“Depends on what you’re sacrificing. If you sacrifice for a short period of time with the idea that the future will be different—and better, it makes it worth it. If it’s a lifetime of sacrifice and you miss out on what’s most important in life, then it doesn’t make it worth it. No sacrifice amounts to anything if it’s only for you. True sacrifice considers others as well—and it must benefit them. Otherwise, you’re just a selfish bastard.”

“I’m doing this for my little girl—and myself.” He paused. “And for Liliana, if she’ll come.”

“Who’s Liliana?”

“The woman I love. But she doesn’t exactly love me right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“How do you say it here? It’s complicated?”

Cal snickered. “That’s one way people put it.”

“I wasn’t always good to her, but I’m trying to win her trust back.”

Cal’s eyes bulged as he stared at Prado’s shoulder. “Don’t move,” Cal said, reaching out toward Prado.

Prado didn’t listen. Instead, he slowly turned his head and looked down, letting out a loud shriek at the sight of a spider the size of a golf ball inching along his shoulder. He vigorously brushed it off his shoulder and screamed again. “Get it off me!”

Cal heard the door to the house slam and caught a glimpse of the old man storming toward them—with his shotgun.

“Get down now. We need to hide.”

Cal and Prado scurried into a corner and hid behind a 55-gallon drum brimming with wood scraps. Cal listened as the old man stomped around the woods before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

“If you punks are in here, you better step out now before I fill you full of buckshot,” he grumbled.

Cal held his breath and prayed the old man didn’t inspect the workshop closely.

After a few moments, the door slammed behind him as he headed up the incline back toward his house. Cal rose up slowly and watched the old man disappear inside.

“Okay, it’s safe to get up now,” he said to Prado. “But we’ve gotta get outta here now.”

Cal suggested they wait a few moments to make sure the old man wasn’t watching out of his back window. Satisfied that he wasn’t, Cal opened the door just enough so they could slip out and return to the trail. They both raced down the hill and continued hiking toward the rendezvous point Cal had set up with Kelly.

After a few minutes, Prado broke the silence.

“Is your life always filled with so much adventure when you are a reporter?” he asked.

Cal laughed. “Most days I have boring conversations with highly paid athletes and then write about it so other people can escape from their boring lives by reading about them.”

Prado shook his head. “There’s that much interest in professional baseball here?”

“There’s that much interest in anybody who makes more money than most people do—athletes, actors, politicians, CEOs. That’s what we do in my business—we write about powerful, important or rich people for the unempowered, unimportant and not-so-rich people.”

“And you enjoy this?”

“Most days. Then there are days I really enjoy it, like today, when I get to run around in the woods and escape kidnappers with a Cuban baseball player.” He winked at Prado.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I’m terrified.”

“Don’t worry. This is America. People don’t just snatch you and take you away without law enforcement trying to help you out.” He paused. “Most of the time, you don’t get ignored.”

“Sometimes they do?”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re a professional baseball player. They’re going to do everything to make sure you’re safe.”

Cal gestured for Prado to veer off the trail and head toward the main road. They eased closer to the road before Cal identified an inconspicuous spot to hide and still keep an eye on the road.

After a long period of silence, Prado spoke.

“What time is your wife going to be here?”

“I think it was about a six-hour trip for her. She should be here soon. But I have no clock, so I can’t be sure.”

A few more minutes went by before Cal heard the sound of an approaching car. He sat up and strained to see through the vegetation. He slapped Prado on his bicep with the back of his hand. “I think that’s her.”

A forest green Subaru Outback was the vehicle of choice for Cal and Kelly. As soon as Cal saw it, he relaxed. “Gotta be her. Get up.”

Prado jumped to his feet and walked toward the road behind Cal. “What are we going to do next?”

“We’re going to get in that car and you’re going to come back with me to Seattle. We’re going to get you cleaned up, let you rest, tell the Seafarers’ front office where you are, and hopefully get everything back on track to the point where we can get Isabel and Liliana over here, if that’s even possible.”

Prado smiled. “It’s possible. What I’ve learned in America so far is that anything is possible if you have enough money.”

Cal shook his head and grinned. “You’re a fast learner, Vicente. I think you nailed wealthy American culture with that observation.”

“Other people don’t know this?”

“Everyone knows this, but they stick their heads in the sand when confronted with this truth.”

The car neared their location and Cal slipped out to the road and waved, flagging it down.

“Over here, Kelly,” he said.

The sun had risen above the trees and cast a glare on the Subaru Outback coming from a westerly direction. The car hit the brakes as it pulled over onto the shoulder.

Cal raced toward the driver’s side to give Kelly a hug. But then he realized something was wrong—very wrong. Kelly wasn’t driving the car. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. Inside the car were