The Desert

It's hot, was the first thing that Steve thought. And I have sand in my mouth. Why do I have sand in my mouth? Steve's head hurt. Steve's everything hurt. 

The back of his left hand was sunburned and blistered. He was wearing a long sleeve dress shirt or the damage could've been much worse. I must work in an office, Steve thought. He managed with painful difficulty to get himself up on his hands and knees.

He heard a voice say, "Wait! Wait! Let me guess… I should see the other guy!" 

Steve struggled to sit up, wincing in pain, squinting his eyes against the relentless sun that seemed at the moment to be focused only on him, as if it held a giant magnifying glass and was waiting like a cruel teenager for him to burst into flames. He looked around at the near nothingness surrounding him, only to find a vulture, perched on a small outcropping of rock. What the hell? Steve thought. He reached into his pants pocket for his phone.

"Oh, they took your phone," the voice said. "Not that there's any signal out here. I suppose it could've been used to identify your body, though, so there's that." 

The vulture is talking to me, Steve thought. 

"I know what you're thinking," the vulture said, "and I just don't know why it's so hard to believe. Parrots. Budgies. Cockatoos. Mynas. The list goes on. But a vulture talks and suddenly everyone's all like, oh, now that's crazy. But is it? Is it really?"

Maybe it's a dream? Steve thought. 

"You're not-" the vulture began.

Steve slapped himself and cried out in pain.

"Dreaming," the vulture said. "I'm pretty sure your jaw was fractured, among other things, by the way, and if I'm not mistaken, that's your tooth just over there to your left. More importantly, I think you're supposed to just pinch yourself. You know, to see if you're dreaming."

Steve spotted the tooth. Bicuspid, he thought. How do I know that? Am I a dentist?

"How do I get out of here?" Steve said.

"Telling you that would be acting against my own best interests, don't you think?" the vulture said.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Steve said.

The vulture nodded. "Ah! Talking to yourself. Not a good sign, you know?"

Slowly, despite the pain memo his body sent marked urgent to his fuzzy brain with a strong recommendation for him to remain seated, Steve managed to stand up. He needed to take stock. He labored to breathe and suspected his jaw wasn't the only fractured bone in his body. His phone, wallet and keys were gone but whoever had done this had left him his clothes - a little the worse for wear with blood stains and missing buttons - and his shoes. No bullet holes in his shirt or pants. That was the good news. The bad news? Everything else.

"I'd say they made a mistake leaving you your clothes and shoes but they feared their own latent homosexuality. Seeing you naked might've been too much for them to handle. You've been working out, haven't you?" the vulture asked.

Steve looked at the vulture. "What the hell?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong!" the vulture said. "I'm not trying to make some larger societal or religious statement. You all taste the same. I'm just saying those two guys were definitely born that way but they're not even out to themselves. Repression, denial, the inner conflict, the inability to love themself means they can't love anyone else. Yes, these two men are monsters but they're also victims of cultural expectations. I suppose they deserve some credit for finding a line of work that allows them to manage their anger management issues productively." 

"Productively?" Steve asked.

"Come on, Steve," the vulture said. "Credit where credit is due. You've got to admit they did quite a number on you."

That they did, Steve thought. 

The sun was just above the horizon but Steve had no sense of whether it was rising or setting. He needed a hat, that much he knew, and as far as it went, that was all he knew about surviving in the desert. He had no idea where he was or which way to go but whatever direction he took he didn't think he'd survive more than two or three hours under this sun. He could navigate by the stars at night but isn't that when desert predators come out? Snakes, scorpions, and giant, radioactive ants. 

"Giant, radioactive ants are the least of your worries," the vulture said. "Trust me."

"Right," Steve said. "Yeah. That was just a movie. But snakes and scorpions and neurotoxins are real."

"It's all starting to come back to you now, isn't it?" the vulture asked.

"I'm in the desert, no water, no hat, no phone, no idea where I am or why I'm-" Steve stopped short. It was, indeed, coming back to him.

"It is, isn't it? Coming back? Short term memory loss is not uncommon given the type of brain trauma you suffered," the vulture said.

Steve nodded. "I'm Steven Joseph Augustine, and I'm a dentist with a practice in Sonora."

"A dentist? You know who people hate more than vultures, Steve? Dentists!" the vulture said. 

"That's not true," Steve said defensively, doubting himself as he said it.

"Oh, it's true," the vulture said. 'Wait! I've got a dentist joke for you! Why did the Buddhist monk refuse to have novocaine when he had a molar pulled? Because he wanted to transcend dental medication!" The vulture laughed at his own joke. "Get it? Transcendental Meditation? Transcend Dental Medication? It's a clever play on words to humorous effect."

"I know what a joke is," Steve said.

"I don't think you do," the vulture said, a bit judgmentally. "But given the significant brain trauma you suffered I guess it's understandable. My apologies. I interrupted you."

Steve grudgingly continued. "I'm 32-years old, divorced-"

"They say a good sense of humor is key to a successful marriage," the vulture said. "Apologies for stating the obvious."

"And apparently I bear an unfortunate likeness to somebody named Leonard. According to the two very large, humorless men who did this to me-" Steve said.

"You'd know humorless," the vulture interrupted.

"Leonard did something unforgivable."

"And I thought looking like Tom Cruise was a curse," the vulture said.

Steve looked at the vulture.

"You don't see it?" the vulture asked, turning his head slightly. "I think this is my best side."

I'm hallucinating, Steve thought.

"You're not hallucinating," the vulture said.

"Oh, really?" Steve said. "Okay. If I'm not hallucinating, Jack Reacher, where are all the other vultures? I've seen plenty of old westerns and there are always-" Steve looked up and saw three more vultures, high in the heartless, pale blue sky, gliding silently in a circle above him.

"I'm the extrovert," the vulture said. "There's one in every group. I mean, when you look like Tom Cruise it kind of forces you to be the male lead in the cast."

"You're hallucinating," Steve said. "If you think you look like Tom Cruise."

"That hurts, Steve," the vulture said. "This isn't like you. I know you're under a lot of stress right now but that's no-"

"Shut up!" Steve barked. "I'm trying to think!"

"Okay!" the vulture said. "Tick-a-lock. You don't have to tell me twice. You need a little space. I get it. I can respect that." The vulture paused but only briefly. "You know, even after they had your wallet they were so caught up in their own narrative that they were convinced your ID was fake? Hard to shake a belief system, even one as flimsy and recently constructed as their article of faith that you were the one true Leonard. Let's face it. Some people facing pressure situations rise to the occasion and some people, well, their bones get picked clean by fate, if I may use an obvious metaphor. Steve? Steve! I feel like you're not listening to me."

Steve was not listening. He forced himself to focus, to ignore the vulture's voice, to... Think! What else do you remember? What's the last thing you remember? That's the question the cops always ask the amnesiac, isn't it? The last thing... But it wasn't coming back to him. He took off his dress shirt and fashioned it into a kind of keffiyeh, using the sleeves to tie it on. He took another look around. The sun was lower, touching the horizon. It would be night soon. I guess it's going to be snakes and scorpions, Steve thought. There was no cover nearby and nothing to indicate a source of water. He realized that even if he was willing to drink his own urine he had nothing but his own hands to use as a cup. Then again, he thought, I'm not sure I could pee even a handful. He giggled.

"Starting to lose it, Steve?" the vulture asked. "I hate to see you go out this way. Really. I do."

Steve closed his eyes and was still, slowed his breathing, and listened as intently as he'd ever listened before. The two men had cracked his skull, broken his jaw and fractured several ribs with the zeal of workmen who've mastered and clearly enjoy their craft, but they hadn't struck Steve as sufficiently detail-oriented to be considered management material. He thought he probably wasn't that far from whatever road had brought him here. Steve listened for the sound of passing cars, keenly aware that while survival might be as little as a quarter of a mile away, if he struck off in the wrong direction he would certainly die. He pocketed the bicuspid and smiled at the irony of a dentist's skeletal remains being identified by his dental records.

"What's so funny, Steve? You finally got my dentist joke?" the vulture asked. "I've got another one for you! Why did the yellow tooth not find the white tooth's jokes funny? Because he was already dead inside!" the vulture laughed. "Man, I'm just killing it! Oh. Sorry, Steve. Too soon?"

Too soon, Steve thought. It would be nightfall soon enough. If he was as close to a road as he believed - hoped? - he might be able to see light spill from the headlights of passing cars. If he was really lucky, admittedly a longshot given his current predicament, there was a town near enough that he would be able to see the glow of street lights and restaurants.

Steve smiled. "I've got one for you," he said. "What do dentists call their x-rays? Tooth pics! You see? Tooth picks? Pics as in pictures? It's a clever play on words to humorous effect."

"Hilarious, Steve," the vulture said, sarcastically. "I really think you missed your calling."

Steve looked around and was happy to spot a tennis ball-sized rock. He picked it up and chucked it at the vulture, missing it by a good five feet, causing an explosion of pain in his ribs. Steve grimaced with satisfaction despite his errant throw.

"You throw like a dentist," the vulture said. "But I can take a hint." The vulture spread its wings and labored to become airborne. "What's a dentist's favorite dinosaur?" the vulture asked as he started to gain altitude. "A flossiraptor!" The vulture laughed and flew off.

Steve found himself thinking a poster of a velociraptor flossing its teeth might actually help kids take their dental hygiene seriously. The velociraptor would be flossing bits of brontosaurus from its teeth and given the native savagery of children, that just might work. There were probably better reasons to live than making a fortune off Tyrannoflossus Rex but it would have to do. He laughed out loud. Tyrannoflossus Rex! 

I hope the brain damage isn't permanent, Steve thought.

The sun set and night crept over the sky. Steve's luck apparently had changed and for the better. He could see the glow of lights off to the west, to his left as he faced the North Star. He walked toward the light, counting his steps to measure his progress, scanning the sand for those snakes and scorpions he was certain owned the desert night. He struggled at first and quickly adopted a carefully marshaled stride to dim the flashing bolts of pain pulsing from his ribs with every step. He settled on a rate Steve decided was best described as "Stop! Ow! Stop!" 

Far less painful than his initial "Kill. Me. Now!" clip. 

After walking for what he thought was an hour and what he calculated to be a little over a half mile he saw the sudden, arcing flash of headlights sweep over the short ridge ahead of him and heard the car as it passed. He stopped counting his steps and raised his pace a bit, his ribs painfully begging Steve to stop and kill himself. As he reached the top of the ridge he could see the road below, less than a hundred yards away. To his right, to the north, he could see a gas station about a mile off, and beyond that the lights of the town. If he could've, he would've cried. He took a deep breath, winced, and started slowly making his way down the gentle slope to the road.