Over The Edge

The Delirium Threemen

December 2011

Don't own the copyright to any of the characters depicted in Emergency they are the property of Universal Studios/Mark VII Productions. Content from the show is the property of the original creators. No copyright infringement intended.

All original characters and story content is the sole property of The Delirium Threemen and may not be used without permission.

Parts of this story are based loosely on an actual incident.

"What we do not see, what most of us never suspect of existing, is the silent but irresistible power which comes to the rescue of those who fight on in the face of discouragement."

-Napoleon Hill (1883-1970)

Chapter 10

Craig Brice turned off the radio, but much to his annoyance Bob Bellingham continued singing snatches of the song that had played in his own off-key vocals.

"Bob, you'll be sorry if you make me pull over to the side of the road," he sighed deeply. "You'd think we were on our way to a shindig the way you're acting.

"What? You expect me to brood all the way there?"

"Do you ever wonder if others may interpret your lackadaisical attitude as being callous?"

"Mmmmm…you think I don't give a rat's ass about finding DeSoto?"

"I know you do care, but don't you ever worry that others may consider your behavior obtuse?"

Bob mulled over Brice's last statement a moment before answering. "No, I don't really worry much about that. People who know me, know deep-down I take things very seriously. I've just learned that a lighthearted approach tends to ease those around me. The best thing to do in any volatile situation is to stay calm and level-headed."

"You may have a point there. I know my approach leaves everyone thinking I'm phlegmatic."

"Well unfortunately you do come across that way at times? BUT, I have noticed over the last year, you've lost some of that super-cil-ious-ness." Bob cocked an eyebrow at his partner who grinned impressively at his use of verbosity.

"I see you're becoming quite the sesquipedalian," Craig replied back before throwing Bob a sly grin. "I didn't know you changed your bathroom reading material from 'Wheels and Gears' to a dictionary."

"Hanging around you, I've learned to expand my vocabulary to include polysyllabic words."

"Who ever said you can't teach 'The Animal' new tricks?"

"Or it's impossible to get the 'Walking Rule Book' to pull the cork out of his ass every once in a while?"

"How much longer 'til we get there?" Bob asked as they turned off Pacific Coast Highway onto South Topanga Canyon Blvd.

"Another forty minutes."

"Uuughhhh, PHewwwwwWWWWWW," Bob yelled out as he hurriedly rolled down his window. "You could've warned me first."

"I refuse to have shitty ideas traveling up to my brain," Craig said with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Augggghhhh…silent and deadly….you don't even give a warning signal. A skunk at least lifts up its tail before it sprays."

"You're just jealous because you let out a sonic boom first, which gives me enough time to roll down the window or leave the room."

"Well buddy, feel free to put that cork back in anytime. Man, that's nasty."

Roy wrapped his right arm around the old dried out branch and lugged it out near the dried creek bed. Yesterday, he had spent the latter part of the afternoon using his knife to cut though belts and plastic materials from the car. This morning he was piling them up in preparation of creating a fire in the hopes of drawing someone's attention to this spot. In another hour the sun would have burned off most of the fog. Each day down here had left his body more depleted than the last, especially since his failed attempt to scale up the side of the ravine. He dropped the branch on the pile as a coughing fit overtook him. The congestion that had built up in his chest over the last couple of days was noticeably heavier this morning. He was up half the night hacking up phlegm in between bouts of sleep plagued by some rather vividly disturbing dreams.

The dregs of one particular dream kept playing, rewinding, and re-playing in his head even though he had been awake for a few hours now. It was one where he was standing in front of the house he had lived at in Norwalk which was the only thing recognizable to him on the street. The empty lot he used to play in wasn't there. In its place was a large skyscraper and the houses lining the street weren't the same houses that he remembered, the only thing that looked familiar was his parent's old house. He ran up the street in the direction where Joanne's childhood home should have been. His instinct told him she would be there, compelling him to go in that direction.

He wasn't sure how far he had gotten when the street was abruptly blocked by a tall wire-mesh fence. He could see Joanne and their children waving to him, beckoning him to join them on the front lawn of her old house. He started to climb over the fence and was on his way down the other side. Joanne was playing with the kids as they called out for him to hurry over to them. He started to climb down and it was then that fence's wire seemed to turn into almost a sticky spider web-like steel. He slipped out of his shoes which were stuck to the fence and dangled by his hands. He was willing to chance falling the rest of the way to the ground. He managed to free one hand and knew it would be a few moments before the force of gravity and the weight of his entire body would free his other. The street went dark as soon as his feet hit the ground. Joanne and the kids were no longer within his sight.

The panic rose inside of him, he had to find the house with the lights on. Stumbling in his stocking feet, he started to run in between the two lines of dark and deserted houses. Gone was the nice suburbia he had seen from the other side of the fence, replaced by neglected houses long ago abandoned. He could smell the fetid water that ran along the sides of the street and the putrid smell of decay filled his nostrils. He ran up the street hearing his feet slapping against the wet asphalt. He side-stepped around the potholes that threatened to swallow up anything foolish enough break through their murky surface. Finally, he saw the light from a window and he pushed himself to run faster, until finally he made it to the walkway. It was his home, their home. He stepped up on the cement walkway and felt his foot sink into the cement. He kept plowing his way to the house, to the porch light that beckoned him, but he kept sinking deeper and deeper with each step. The cement began to harden as the door flew open. It was then Roy had awakened, never finding out if it was Joanne or something else, perhaps sinister that had opened the front door of his house. He was more afraid of the latter being the conclusion of his nightmare.

He surmised last night's phantasmal images were due to the lack of adequate fuel deprived body and the lack of human interaction that left him famished for contact. The absence of interaction with another hominine tended to impoverish one's mind and soul; the ears deprived of the laughter of family and friends, the eyes unable gaze on the smiling face of a friend, the skin craving the touch of another, the smell of one's habitat, and the unsatisfied hunger for a taste of your lover's lips. The imprisoning solitude coupled with the yearning for the fellowship of family and close friends was disparaging to his spirit.

Roy spat out the wad of mucus to the ground that he had just coughed up before gathering some wood shavings, bark, twigs and broken-up dried out branches. Using a swatch of denim cut off from his jeans, he threaded it through the hole in the reflector of the flashlight. He pointed the reflector towards the sun and directed the light to the end of the material that bulged out from where the light bulb once was. He watched the material slowly start to smoke and his eyes widened as the first flicker of a flame appeared. Leaning over the pile of kindling, he gingerly removed the burning cloth from the reflector and placed it at the base. He blew on the flame until he coaxed it to transfer itself to the kindling as he proceeded to arrange some larger twigs around it to build the fire up, finally adding some larger and thicker branches to get the fire going. Once the fire was going he added some rubber strips he had cut up from one of the truck's floor mats. He backed away from the fire as it began to emit dark, acrid smoke.

"Black smoke, no pope," he chuckled out loud as he watched the plume snake its way upwards.

He moved back from the fire and smoke and hoisted himself upright with a thick branch that served as a walking stick. He was going to need more fresh leafy branches to put on top of the fire to produce lots of smoke. He hobbled over to the underbrush and began breaking off branches from the nearby bushes and small trees.

"Is it just me, or do you think this lead will be another dead-end?" Sam Sterling sighed.

"We'll find out in soon enough after we talk to that gas station attendant," Lieutenant Ron Crockett answered, pulling his car into the gas station. He ran over a thin, black pneumatic hose as he pulled up beside the gas pump. A loud 'ding-ding' caused the attendant inside the station to look their way as he walked out of the station towards the pumps.

"What can I get for ya?" He smiled as he leaned towards the open car window.

"Are you Carl Hollinger?" Lt. Crockett asked as he held up his badge.

"Yessir," the attendant nodded carefully.

Lt. Crockett stepped out of the car and pulled out his note pad. "You called in a tip claiming to have seen a man on late in the afternoon on Tuesday matching the description of a Mr. Roy DeSoto." He asked as he held up a photo for the man to look at.

"Yeah, his hair was a bit longer than in this picture, but I'm sure it was him. He was driving a 1970 dark blue Dart Swinger."

"Did you happen to get the license number or remember anything about it?"

"The plates were from Nevada. Definitely wasn't the woman from the paper with him either."

"He wasn't alone?" Lt. Crockett questioned.

"There was a female passenger with him. Pretty…Blond."

"What kind of blond? Dark, light? Short or long hair?"

"Very light blonde and short hair…one of those pixie haircuts."

"Did you get a good look at her? Eye color, anything distinguishing about her?"

"Blue eyes, a little heavy on the makeup. Greyish colored dress, tight fitting. Other than being skinny as a rail, there really wasn't anything that stood out about her."

"Did they say anything that might indicate where they were headed?"

"Yeah, he stepped out of the car to grab a pop outta the machine and she told him to hurry up. She wanted to stop by her sister's place in Barstow. He grumbled something about it being past midnight by the time they got to Vegas."

"Anything else you remember?" Det. Sterling asked.

"Nope, came in, got gas, grabbed a soda from the machine, and left."

"What about their demeanor?" Sterling pressed.

"Whadda ya' mean?"

"You know," Lt. Crockett added as he gestured towards the attendant with his hand. "Did they seem upset, in a hurry, running away from something, anxious, anything like that?"

"Well he seemed a bit in a hurry to get to Vegas. Probably worried she'd change her mind 'bout marrying him."

"Why makes you think they were getting married?" Det. Sterling asked.

"There was a bridal gown in the back seat."

"So ah, why do you think she was having second thoughts about marrying him?" Det. Crockett asked as he stopped writing in his note-pad.

"Like most short men, he was bossy."

Det. Sterling and Crockett looked at each other. "Short? How tall do you think he was?"

"'Bout 5' 6", maybe 5' 7"."

"Well thank you for your time sir," Lieutenant Crockett said to the gas station attendant as he clicked his pen before shoving it in the pocket of his sports jacket along with his note pad. "I think we've got all the answers we need for now. Thanks for all your help."

"No problem. Anytime," the attendant answered.

Lt. Crockett smiled broadly. "Greatly appreciated. Thanks."

Lt. Crockett opened the driver's door of his car as Det. Sterling walked over to the passenger side of the car and got in. The attendant waved at them as they drove away. Det. Sterling gave a slight wave back. They pulled out on Mulholland Hwy and headed towards the Stunt Road turnoff.

"Well that turned out to be a waste of our time. What's DeSoto? 6' 1" or 6' 2"?" Lt. Crockett asked his partner.

"6' 1" according to the description here."

"It's just frustrating…I mean… the guy honestly thought this was DeSoto and was genuinely trying to be helpful," Lt. Crockett shook his head in disappointment.

"Look at the bright side. We got out of the office for a bit. If I had to answer one more call from some psychic-sleuth claiming that DeSoto and the Loaring woman were in Nevada getting Reno-vated I may have committed hara-kiri," Sam Sterling teased.

"Gotta love all the wannabe detectives and screwballs that crawl out of the woodwork in cases like this," Crockett replied. "My gut tells me the two of them don't know each other. Unfortunately, in both cases there really isn't much to go on."

"The volunteer search parties haven't found anything so far," Sterling mused. "It's like they both disappeared into thin air."

"We both know people just don't vanish into thin air," Lt. Crockett sighed in frustration. "I think we'll swing by and let DeSoto's wife know that we're planning on sending out search copters to comb the area tomorrow."

"His parents are running a command post at Saddle Peak lookout point."

"We'll head down Stunt Road. Gage drives a white Land Rover so keep an eye out for it."

Roy used his good arm and his weight to pull down the leafy green branch of the small willow tree. He finally heard it snap as it gave way and using his knife, he managed to cut through the remainder of the branch. He tossed it on the ground beside him and started pulling on another branch. He was cutting through the broken portion of a second branch when he felt a couple of pin-prick sensations; one on his shoulder and the other on his chest. It wasn't until he tossed the branch to the ground and heard the fricative sound of an angry horde that he realized he had disturbed a nest of paper wasps. The insects began to swarm and sting him on multiple parts of his body. He stumbled out of the area waving his hands around his head and face for protection. He kept moving as the small swarm seemed to follow him. He could feel the fiery needles of pain on his thighs as some of the insects managed to get under the material of his cut-offs. He wasn't sure how long he had been stumbling around before finally stopping and realizing the angry, droning noise was gone.

"Shit, son-of-a-f-fah…," he yowled as he felt a couple stingers knife into the scrotal area. He quickly stripped off his shorts and boxers and shook them out before the final attacker flew away.

He stumbled towards his ravine habitat before finally putting his boxers and the remnants of his jeans back on. He didn't bother doing them up as he allowed himself to crumple to the ground. His one eye was already starting to swell shut while his top lip painfully stretched to the point where he thought it would split. His ears felt like they were on fire and the swelling started to muffle his hearing a bit. He could feel the prickly hot itchiness beginning on his legs, arms, and torso. He laid down on his side and curled up; giving in to the darkness was the only refuge from the torment that was consuming his body.

Roy wasn't sure how long he had been out when he opened one eye and looked over at the fire and saw that it was losing its life due to lack of fuel. He watched the last flame turn to a glowing ember as it finished its dance and faded. He hated being at the total mercy of Mother Nature for she kowtowed for no man; she was truly the original femme fatale. She had dangled enough water and food to keep him alive, but she also seemed merciless, almost punishing him for wanting to escape the solitude of her wilderness.

"Damn bitch," he muttered allowed himself to drift back to the insentient darkness of unconsciousness.

"Bob, will you leave the radio off. We'll be at our search area in a few minutes."

Craig batted Bob's hands away from the radio.

"What's a matter? Don't you like music?" Bob said dejectedly as slumped into the passenger seat of Craig's Suburban.

Craig rolled his eyes. "What you listen to doesn't really fall under any musical category that I know of."

"Please tell me, what do you consider music? Classical?" Bob snorted. "We've been partners two years and I have no idea what kind of music you like."

"Actually, I'm more into the mellow stuff like Seals and Croft, Bread, Loggins and Messina, and a little Dr. Hook, and John Denver."

"I guess that means you don't own a pair of boogie shoes," Bob said drolly.

"That's not music; it's a fad."

"I'm not big on disco, but ya' hafta admit some of its catchy." Bob smiled. "Are you into dares?"

"No. Most dares are stupid." Craig was starting to become annoyed.

"That's too bad. I was going to dare you to serenade that cute nurse at Rampart who seems rather fond of you."

"No nurse at Rampart is fond of me," Craig countered back. "They're all looking for dashing and charming…like Gage."

"Mmmmm, I can't believe you haven't noticed how Kim seems to light up around you. I heard she turned down Gage."

"Really?" Craig answered, almost sounding interested.

"Really," Bob confirmed. "You should walk up to her and strike up a little dialog."

"Sure, Bob, and what do I tell her?" Craig asked. "There's not much I can say or do that will make me resplendent in her eyes."

"Craig's just a love machine, bub ba ba dub da dub, He's just a love machine, a rule-book-loving fiend," Bob sang.

Craig rolled his eyes, regretting even getting into this current discussion with his partner. "Not only can't you sing, but I'm not even sure that even qualifies as music."

"Hey, Craig, pull over."

"For crying out loud Bob! I told you to go before we left!"

"I'm serious, pull over," Bob said more forcibly as he reached behind him to grab a knapsack. "Look over to your left. It looks like smoke."

Bob pulled out the binoculars from the pack as Craig pulled the Suburban to the side of the road. Bob jumped out and peered through the binoculars at the column of smoke weaving its way upwards from a distance. "It looks like it's coming from down in the ravine right where the road snakes several times."

Craig took the binoculars from Bob and looked through them. "Grab the walkie-talkie and call it in. We'll head out there and start looking around. Could be a car gone into the ravine."

"This is Search Team 18. We've spotted some smoke coming out of the ravine," Bob said into the radio. He waited a moment for the radio operator to acknowledge him.

Jim looked over at Harriett as they both heard the voice come over the radio. Other than routine check-ins, there had been no calls over the last three days. Jim had to step over Fergie as he scrambled for the CB radio and quickly acknowledged the transmission. "This is the Saddle Peak Command Post. Go ahead Team 18."

"We spotted a narrow plume of black smoke about 3 miles east of where we're at. We're just about ten miles down the road from your command post."

Jim quickly jotted down the information. "Do you need a second team to aid you?"

"Affirmative. We're not at the scene yet. We suspect it could be a vehicle that went off the road."

The radio fell silent for a moment as Jim waited anxiously for Team 18 to say something. A moment later the voice came back on the radio. "The smoke has stopped, but we have a pretty good idea the general area it was in."

"I'll send Search Team 17 to help you out. Any equipment you need dispatched to your locale?"

"We're good. We have rappelling equipment in our vehicle. Tell Search Team 17 to look for a series of three curves in the road and to keep an eye out for any signs that might indicate a vehicle went off the road."

"Roger that, keep us posted, 18."

"Do you think it's possible…?" Harriett started to say before Jim hushed her.

"You heard him say he thinks it's a car accident. Give me a minute to raise the other search team to help them."

"Search Team 17, this is the Stunt Road Command Post."

A few moments later a male voice came over the radio. "Search Team 17, go ahead command post."

"Search Team 18 requests some assistance further up the road. They spotted some smoke and believe it warrants investigation. The site is about 4-5 miles from your position. Look for where the road has a series of three curves."

"10-4 command post."

"Search Team 16 reporting in," A female voice interrupted. "We're going to meet both teams there."

"Now, Jo…" Jim took a deep breath and continued. "Teams 18 and 17 can handle things. You just stay put."

"No! If this is…" The transmission was abruptly cut off.

"This is Team 16." Jim heard the voice of John Gage coming through on the radio. "We're going to head over as well to check things out. We also have a couple of police detectives with us. If any further help is needed they can radio it in from their vehicle."

"Roger, Team 16. You need me to retransmit the location."

"No. We got it."

Jim set the mic back in its cradle and looked over at Harriett. "Let's not get our hopes up, honey. You heard Team 18 say it's probably a car accident."

"I know this was the general area. The smoke seemed to be coming from between the second and third curve." Craig said as he returned from looking over the road for signs of tread marks, anything to indicate a vehicle had went off the road.

Bob guessed the incline was close to an 80 degree angle, almost a straight drop for any vehicle that might have gone off the road. He stood at the edge of the road with a pair of binoculars scanning the area below looking for any sign of disturbance in the sun burnished grasses and bushes of the landscape – unnatural ruts torn into the ground, debris that could be part of the undercarriage of a vehicle – so far he had spotted nothing. . That doesn't look right, he thought as he honed in on the sandstone formations below. It looked like something had scarred the surface recently. He had seen enough accidents to recognize the blemish as being caused by something metal skidding across it.

"Any signs of anybody going off the road?"

"Just before that clump of trees, it looks like something scrapped along the sandstone there," Bob answered as he started surveying an area just before a grove of small tree and shrubbery. "It also looks like the grass all up just from there in a direct path leads right into the trees."

Something caught his eye near the bottom of the ravine. Was that a glimmer? Bob thought as he slowly adjusted the binoculars. He finally honed in on something reflecting the sun's rays. "Take a look here? I see something shining down there just past that bunch of trees." Bob handed the binoculars over to Craig. "Whadda ya think?"

"Yeah, it could be a piece of wreckage. Bumper, mirror…," Craig said as he scrutinized the area. "Hey, I think I spotted a muffler."

"Really?"

"Just before the trees. Kinda hard to see because it's partially hidden by some tall grass. Definitely a muffler."

"Do you want to grab the ropes or shall I?" Bob offered.

"We might as well start preparing to go down. I'll tie that rope over on that boulder across the road. It looks pretty solid."

"Afraid you might lose a bumper?" Bob said sarcastically.

"Really, Bellingham. I doubt my bumper would support your lard-ass."

"Ha-ha," Bob answered back as a black Ford truck pulled up and parked behind them.

"We got more rope if you need it. Gage is right behind us along with a couple of detectives," Charlie Dwyer said as he pointed his thumb behind him.

"Dom, make sure to keep Joanne DeSoto outta the way," Bob said as he gave him a hard pat on the back. "I can only imagine how hard this is on her, but the last thing we need is for her to get worked up. Make sure to keep her from hearing us over the radios, just in case."

Dom Barberi nodded. "Yeah, I think the detectives can help me out. You're going to need me, Dwyer, and Gage to help out with the ropes."

They both turned as John Gage's Land Rover came to a skidding stop. Joanne jumped out of the passenger side and quickly ran over to them. "Do you think it could be Roy? He coulda started a signal fire?"

"Now Joanne, we don't know anything yet." Dom wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulder and guided her towards John Gage and the two detectives. "Bob and Brice are going to head over the side and look around. They'll let us know if they find anything." Dom figured it was best not to argue with her over the possibility of the smoke belonging to a signal fire. He knew the greater likelihood that this was possible an accident that occurred recently, within the last hour or so.

"I called LA Dispatch and they have a copter on stand by," Lt. Crockett said as he walked over to the two men. "Who spotted the smoke?"

"Brice and Bellingham," Dom pointed over to them.

"Okay, I'll find out what they know so far," he said as he walked over to the two men preparing to go over the side.

Joanne watched impatiently as Lt. Crockett spoke with Bellingham and Brice. She couldn't explain it, but she had that strong gut feeling that she needed to be HERE. Please Roy, please be down there, please stay alive, she whispered silently to herself.

Lt. Crockett finally broke away from the two men and headed back to where Joanne was standing with Johnny and Dom Barberi. "Gage, hand me your walkie-talkie. So they can let me know what they find."

Johnny grudgingly handed it over to him. He knew they wanted to filter what he heard on the off chance it was something bad about Roy.

Bob slipped on a pair of gloves and grabbed the backpack Craig held out to him. "I'll start on down while you and Dwyer get a second line anchored. You might want to have Gage give you a hand. Keeping him busy is probably the best thing to do with him. AND don't let him outta you're sight. He's liable to try to following us down the moment he think's nobody's looking."

"Bob's right," Dwyer said.

"Gage! We could use your help down here," Craig bellowed out. He turned back to Bob. "Take it nice and slow going down."

Johnny left Joanne with Dom Barberi and Detective Sterling as he trotted over to the three men. "I'd like to go down," he blurted out.

"How about you man the ropes with me," Dwyer said. "Brice and Bellingham are ready to go."

Johnny scowled, but reluctantly followed Dwyer's direction. "Can't he move any faster?" Johnny muttered impatiently as he watched Bellingham descend the slope of the ravine. A moment later, he watched Brice begin his downward journey.

Bob felt a tingle of relief run through his body as he reached the bottom of the ravine. He pulled off his gloves and flexed his hands. There were a few spots where he felt the ground give way beneath his feet under the dry, crunchy grass, saved only by the rope he had gripped tightly and firmly. He pulled a few beggar ticks off the legs of his jeans as he looked up to see where his partner was. He watched Craig carefully descend backwards down the side of the steep slope. It would be a few more minutes before Craig would make it to this spot judging from his partner's distance. Bob decided to do a quick survey of the area. He didn't wander far, but far enough for him to be out of sight of his partner.

"Bellingham, where the hell are you?" Brice called out.

"I'm right here," Bob said as he stepped out into view.

"Let's move," Craig ordered as both men began to move to the bottom of the clump of trees.

They finally made it to a dried creek bed and began following that. They were almost on the other side of the group of trees when a pungent smell hit them. "Damn," Bob mumbled as he recognized the smell.

"Over there," Craig pointed as he pulled the front of his coat over his nose.

"Let's move away from here 'fore the smell overwhelms us"

"We still need to search around here to see what may have caused that smoke we spotted earlier. Obviously, this isn't the source." Brice stated as he took a cursory glance around the area.

"You can do the honors. I'm gonna start looking around to see what might have caused that smoke." Bob stated as he handed Craig the radio.

"Stay within shouting distance and don't disturb anything. I'll look around on this end." Craig hissed as he snatched the walkie-talkie from him. "Search Team 18 to Lt. Crockett."

"Lt. Crockett, go ahead." The static-muffled voice answered.

"We found a car wreckage. Looks like it's been here for a while."

"Repeat, Team 18."

"Car wreckage. Been here for a while." Craig spoke as loudly and clearly as he could.

"Can you make out the model of the car?"

"No, but the color is green. Occupant deceased. Still in the car."

"Okay 18. Don't touch or disturb anything. I'll call in a police unit and ambulance."

"10-4. We're going to look around while we're down here to see what may have been the cause of the smoke we spotted earlier."

"Keep us posted."

Craig angrily shoved the walkie-talkie into his pocket. "Bellingham!" he hissed as he tromped off after his wayward partner.

Bob spotted what looked like a mound and started to walk over to investigate it. As he got closer he could see a rearview mirror sticking out the top. "That musta been what caught my eye when I was up top." he whispered as he began to explore around. Somebody had to have put that there. But who and why didn't they call the cops? Bob walked slowly as he scrutinized the area. He stopped when he discovered what looked like a couple of footprints in the dirt. One print was clear, the other seemed scuffed into the dirt. He began to walk in the direction the footprints pointed to until he finally spotted the remains of a fire. He trotted off towards it and stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted a second wreckage.

"O-my-gosh," the words whistled through Bob's teeth as he recognized the vehicle.

Authors Notes:

I remember many references from the 70s mentioning Reno when it came to quickie divorces. Reno gained notoriety for famous divorces. Actors and actresses, recording stars and other famous people including Mary Pickford, Rita Hayworth, and Gloria Vanderbilt sought Reno's quickie divorces. Businessmen looking to make a buck established "divorce ranches" where divorce seekers could wait out their six-week residency requirement. Reno was Nevada's 'Sin City' and the divorce capital of the world for over half the twentieth century. Men and women would toss their wedding rings into the Truckee River from the Virginia Street Bride (aka the Bridge of Sighs) once they got their divorce papers from the county court-house. Once they cast their rings into the river they became Reno-vated.