Page 13 of What is Found

“Other than rocks?” Davila said, tugging on his watch cap.

“Other than that, yeah.” He made a small, keep-it-rolling gesture to Davila. “Don’t stop working. Keep moving.”

Davila resumed his work. “Okay,” he said, shoving a blocky wedge of gray stone onto the tarp. “I give up. What?”

“A sign.”

“Road sign?”

“Yes.” He kept working but focused on moving smaller rocks just large enough to keep himself looking busy. “Not is a single sign warning of a landmine. You remember the other slides?”

“Yeah.” Davila’s tone had changed, grown more thoughtful: the tone of a man sifting through memory. Emulating John, he kept working but more slowly. “You’re right. Every other slide, there was one those landmine signs.”

“But not here.”

“But not here,” Davila echoed. “And?”

“And that means anyone could approach from either the mountain or valley without going ka-boom.”

“Okay. But that in and of itself doesn’t mean anything.”

“But I think this next bit does. Remember a while back when Parviz asked what I was looking at? I’ve seen a really big rockslide before. We’ve seen a couple on this trip that weren’t as bad, but they had all the same general things in common. You know, the way the rocks were splayed out on the road. But this one is different. Forget the fact that they’re all different kinds of rock. Just…look at it; see if you see what I see.”

Davila’s eyes narrowed as he searched the mounds of rock, his gaze ticking between the slide and the road and the mountain, all while steadily working, piling stone onto the tarp—and then John heard Davila’s breath catch.

“Theroad,” Davila muttered, his voice low but now throbbing with urgency. “It’s not dinged up.”

“Exactly. No divots, no damage, nothing. Same with the mountain. I was looking for the place where the fall might have come from. Didn’t see anything. No gash, no area where enough water might have gotten in through a crevice, frozen, and then either melted or pushed off a slab. Could be higher up the mountain, but then there’s the pattern of the fall,those big piles with a dip in the middle. Is that the way a slide should look?”

“I—” Davila began then stopped. For a moment, the only parts of his body that moved were his eyes flicking back and forth. “No,” he said, finally, in a tone of some wonder as if flabbergasted that he might overlook something so obvious. “Why didn’t I?—”

“Because we’re tired, we’re in a hurry, we’re a little freaked—” He flinched at the sudden grind of a starter turning over and then a roar as Parviz gunned the engine.

“The hell?” Davila pivoted on his heels. “Isn’t he supposed to be keeping watch?” Pushing to a stand, Davila waved his arms at the van. “Stop,Parviz, what the?—"

“No worry!” Parviz was out of the cab now, rifle in hand. “Warm up engine, you almost done, we go fast!” Then at the look on Davila’s face. “Sorry, I sorry. You want I switch off engine?” Parviz said, reaching in and turning the ignition key. “There, is done. I stand watch.”

“Davila, leave it. Harm’s already done. Let him take the watch. Just this last batch and then we’ve got enough room to get the van through.” When Davila didn’t move, John said, “Davila, starting up that van was like taking out an ad. The whole valley knows we’re here.”

That got Davila moving. “If someone’s notalreadyhere...”

“Exactly. All you’d have to do is follow the sound.” Even silenced, the engine noise could be a prearranged signal. He hoped he was wrong.But I know what I know…I think.John bent to his task again, attacking the rocks with a renewed sense of urgency. “Come on, Davila, let’s finish this and get the hell out of here while we still can.”

Emotions warred over Davila’s features. “Maybe I should get my rifle.”

“No,” John said.

“Why not?”

“Too late.” He was shoveling rubble over now, working as fast as he could, his fingers forking stones. The rocks were still mostly the size of large grapefruits.Too big, too big, too big. Come on, there’s got to be a couple that are the right...

“All the more reason?—”

“No,” he said again, his eyes still on the stones, his hands still raking, rolling rocks onto the tarp. He trusted his hands.

“You’re not telling me something,” Davila said. “What is it?”

“The weapons,” he said, eyes still on his work, still raking and rolling stones onto the tarp, confident his hands would know when he found what he was looking for. “I couldn’t find a good time to tell you, but I think your rifle might not?—”

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