James Axler – Road Wars

“Penny for them.”

“Worth a lot less than that, Doc.”

“Ryan’ll make it back.”

“Because he always does?”

Doc nodded. “I suppose that is partly the answer. He always does.”

“But one day he won’t.”

“Ryan die?”

“We all do, Doc.”

And there wasn’t any answer to that.

“COME ON, JUDAS. Just a little farther up the trail and then we can reach that vista encantadora , across the universe. Top of the world. Mother of mercy, is this the end of Doc Tanner? Must try to check myself of this foolish habit of giving in to mental instability, Theophilus, my dear fellow.” He patted the mule on the side of the neck. “It does, perchance, cross my mind that Master Cawdor and the other good, good friends might sometimes consider me a few cards short of a grand slam.”

The track was narrowing, with yuccas towering on either side. Something rustled in the dry undergrowth down on the left, making Judas start uncertainly. But the sound wasn’t repeated and they carried on.

“Steady there, steady,” Doc said, keeping a firm grip with his skinny shanks on the animal.

It was comparatively rare for any of the group of friends to find themselves quite alone. Now, breathing in the slightly cooler air of evening, Doc was aware that his thoughts were carrying him back to the time that he had been a young married man with a beautiful wife and two adorable little children, a man with a career and excellent academic prospects. “Nostalgia is a fine place to visit,” he said quietly, “but I doubt that one should aspire to go and live there.”

The trail widened again, becoming more gentle. He’d hiked it before and knew that it became much more steep, just around the next corner.

But there was the cutoff to the left. Doc heeled Judas on, ducking under the low branches of an elegant sycamore, smiling at the amazing view out over the spread land.

The ranch and outbuildings were immediately below him, looking like a child’s toy farm. Doc’s sight was reasonably good, but he couldn’t see anyone moving there. The mountains ranged along to right and left, rising and falling, their peaks and ravines already shrouded in the purple mists of evening.

“The blue remembered hills,” Doc said, the sound of his voice making the mule prick up his ears.

A very large bird flew several thousand feet above him, its giant wings spread, hugging a shrinking thermal. It looked like some kind of South American condor, but Doc couldn’t be anywhere near certain.

He swung his leg across and dismounted, rubbing the small of his back. He tied the reins to a broken lower branch of the sycamore, making sure that the knot was secure. He’d already experienced Judas’s party trick of shaking loose a carelessly tied knot and vanishing in a cloud of dust, braying in triumph.

“Wait here. Won’t be long.” There was the suspicion of bared teeth and Doc glared at the animal. “I strongly urge you to set such thoughts aside,” he warned, shaking the silver-headed cane at the animal.

There was some fresh and tender young grass sprouting below the shade of the tree, and the mule lowered its head and began to browse contentedly.

Doc sighed and walked the few steps to the edge of the overlook, waving away a few golden-winged flies and seating himself on the warm turf.

“What is happiness?” he asked. “It is a moment when the pain and desolation are briefly absent.”

His face cracked into a broad smile, revealing his strong, faultless teeth. “Self-pity is a most excellent medicine. Would you not say, Dr. Tanner?” He turned his head to look the other way, toward the north, answering himself. “It is only truly efficacious for the patient who relishes wallowing in his own emotional detritus.”

He lay back, resting his head on his hands. The late-afternoon sun was still pleasantly warm, and Doc realized that he should take care not to just slide away into sleep. The older he became, the more he seemed able to do that.

So he resisted the temptation to close his eyes. As he looked up toward the heavens, tiny specks floated across his vision. “Enzyme chains,” he muttered. “Or are they the secret messages left for us by the inhabitants of faerie?”