Rattlesnake Rock

Preface

Circa 700 AD

Despite weeks of solitude, the screams of his people and the clash of swords constantly plagued him.

As a scholar and a scribe, he was charged with documenting the never-ending wars of his people. It seemed that all of the tribes had taken one side or the other in this war. Except, despite the passion and carnage they all embraced so openly, he still couldn’t figure out what they were fighting for.

It was as if they were fighting simply to die, to destroy centuries of civilization for no other reason than to see if it were possible.

They moved often, trying to stay ahead of advancing forces. But each day they left more of their people behind, victims of this senseless hate. Was it because his God somehow hated their gods? Or had God left them to their own devices, washed His hands of them?

Their numbers grew fewer and fewer until it was just him and a young girl. She had latched on to him for some reason when the last of her family died in battle, so he watched over her and let her share his fire and food.

But now, even she had left him. As far as he knew, he was the only one of his people left. Soon, there would be no one. For days, the others pursued him through the forests and across the open plains. He carried only a scroll to write on and a sword to protect himself. Otherwise, he traveled light, moving mostly by night and hiding during the day.

As the landscape changed, his pursuers fell further behind, until one day he realized that he hadn’t seen or heard them for at least a week. Still wary, he continued his pattern, traveling on foot through rough country previously unknown to him or his people.

He took to describing the land in his scrolls. He no longer had anything else to write about. His people were gone, lost to time, recorded only on the scrolls he carried with him. One day, if he ever found a place to rest, he intended to transfer the record to plates or tablets, something that would last longer.

He traveled day after day in the direction of the setting sun, and found himself one day entering a wide valley. Water had grown scarce, and it had been days since he had crossed a river or a stream. His waterskin was so dry he feared the leather would begin to crack as badly as his lips. He sucked on a pebble just to create enough spittle to swallow. He knew he would die if he didn’t find water soon.

He walked into the valley, marveling at the sparse and unfamiliar vegetation. His home had been rich and green, the grass so high you could get lost if you weren’t careful. Large lakes filled with fish were fed by rushing rivers cascading down from the mountains. The land was full of game, and food grew abundantly in its season. The people had lived in prosperity and peace until the wars came.

They had been happy, or so he had thought.

Standing sentinel in the valley, a column of rock stood alone, like an altar to God constructed by a race of giants. He approached warily, as it was nothing like he had ever seen before.

He saw strange tracks on the ground, unfamiliar animals that must inhabit this barren place. The valley was quiet, and his heart raced with trepidation. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword, his eyes darting left and right, alert for any sign of danger.

As he got closer to the rock, he saw the sweeping tracks of a serpent in the sand. He slowed his pace, knowing that a serpent could be dangerous or at the very least, a bad omen. He walked up the bank of a dry gulch and stopped suddenly when a rattling sound broke the silence. He scanned the valley, but saw nothing. He took a cautious step forward and the rattle grew louder and more intense. He froze.

From under a rock, a snake emerged, its black eyes boring into him. At the end of its coiled body, its tail shook, and he realized it was the source of the sound. What was this creature who could sing?

The snake’s forked tongue flicked in and out. He grasped the hilt of his sword tightly as his palms broke out in sweat. Would he be fast enough if the serpent struck?

You are thirssssty, traveler, a voice hissed.

Who’s there? he cried.

It isss me, the voice said.

He looked down at the snake in unbelief.

Follow me, and I will lead you to water, the snake implored.

He felt keenly the dryness in his throat and his swollen tongue.

The snake slithered away, then looked back as if asking if he was going to follow.

He took a step forward before the voice of his mother filled his mind.

The serpent will beguile you. It is a trickster.

He could see himself as a boy sitting around the fire as his mother taught him and his brothers.

Quickly, the snake hissed. I will quench your thirssst,

He stepped forward as if to follow the snake, but at the last second, twisted his arm and slashed down with his sword at the same moment that the snake struck.

He adjusted his aim and jumped backward as his sword slashed cleanly through the serpent’s neck. Its body coiled around itself and rattled. Its head landed cleanly at his feet.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He cut the rattle from the snake’s body and stuffed it into his pack. He set out in a run towards the standing rock, falling to his knees at its base. He bowed his head in the sand, hoping it truly was an ancient altar.

Even if it’s not, it can be, he said.

He looked to the heavens. Oh God, he began, quench my thirst as I protect the record of Thy people. He bowed again and then repeated the prayer over and over until eventually exhaustion overcame him. He fell into a deep sleep.

He was awakened by a cool touch on his cheek. He opened his eyes, sideways to the world, and lay still for a moment, trying to understand what he was feeling. He pushed himself up and stared in awe as a cascade of water fell over the edge of the rock to the ground where it soaked into the soil. The mist encircled him.

He rushed to the cascade, cupping his hands under the flow of water. He drank deeply until his stomach was full, then dropped to his knees to give thanks.

Chapter 1

1849

Rose Callandish leaned against the crooked door frame, ignoring the sweat soaking through her blouse and dripping down her back. She watched as the wagons lurched ahead into clouds of red dust; she fought against the anger building in her chest.

Captain Adams frowned and cleared his throat. His paint mare stood next to him and whinnied as though she feared being left behind.

You have your rifle, and we tucked your food barrels back against the rock face. You should be fine until the next company drives through. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a smear of dust. He looked down and kicked at the dirt.

Rose didn’t respond. They both knew it was too late in the season for another train to come through. For some reason, they both held up the pretense that help was imminent.

Bethany Dillon, Rose’s best friend in the company, glanced over from her wagon as it passed the makeshift cabin and gave a tentative wave goodbye. She frowned and wiped a tear from her eye. The others did their best to look the other way.

Mrs. Callandish, we all decided this was for the best. Your husband isn’t fit to continue on the trail and with your condition… He glanced down at her swollen belly. We’re already late as it is. The weather may turn at any moment, and then all of us would be stuck.

Rose refused to look at him. She had trusted him when, in Missouri, Adams had promised he would see her little family safely to Santa Fe. You’ve said as much ten times. You needn’t rationalize your broken promises to me again. She turned and walked inside.

But Mrs. Callandish, Rose, please, we have no other option. Paul is snake bit and wouldn’t survive the rough ride in the back of a wagon. You know that as well as I do. It’s his only chance. There are frequent travelers on the road. If Paul survives…

Rose whipped around, fire in her eyes, and advanced towards Adams with an arm poised to strike. He took a step back.

I, I mean, of course he will…survive I mean. I didn’t intend to…It’s just that we can’t wait any longer for him to get better.

Just leave, Captain Adams. You’ve done enough. The creaking sound of wagon wheels and rusty springs outside drew her mind back to the first day on the trail when she and Paul looked at each other with excitement for their future out west together. He had helped her up onto the wagon bench with an exaggerated bow.

Your carriage awaits, your highness, he said while bowing deeply.

Stop it, she replied, giggling. What will everyone think?

That you are the queen of the company, madame. As they should.

Just get in, silly. You’re embarrassing me.

Paul grinned widely.

Captain Adams coughed and replaced the sweat-stained felt hat on his head. We’ll see you both straight away in Santa Fe. I’m sure of it.

Rose nodded curtly, dismissing the Captain for the final time. He mounted his horse and looked down at the open door once again before kicking the mare’s flanks.

Rose stood deathly still. A shaft of light drew a line across her sunburned face where sunlight shone through the cracks of the hastily built shelter. When she was sure Captain Adams was gone and that the last of the wagons had finally passed, she dared to move.

She could see the dust cloud in the distance where the wagon train reunited with the main trail, but the air around her was silent and oppressive in its heat. They had been camped there for a week, but she decided to explore the area further now that it was empty. The camp seemed entirely different without her friends and companions.

The cabin, if it could be called that, was crudely built from their wagon box. The men of the company had all joined in to piece together the ramshackle structure. The canvas acted as their roof, covered in hardened mud for insulation and protection from the sun. One of their guides had learned the trick from the natives south of Santa Fe. They mixed desert grass with the mud and then caked it over the taught canvas. The guide had wanted to use the same method to fill the chinks in the cabin, but water was scarce and they didn’t know how long the natural water basin up in the standing rock column would last.

They built the cabin up against the rock face because they only had lumber enough for three sides. They stuffed the gaps between the side walls and the rock face with grass and did the best they could to anchor the little structure to the rock.

It’ll last until the next wagon train passes by at least, one of the men had declared, as if trying to convince himself.

Rose walked around the base of the cliff until she reached the narrow trail that led up to the catch basin. They had only found it because their guide knew to watch for bees. When one buzzed his ear, he eagerly searched until he found a narrow crevice leading up to the rare source of water. But there didn’t seem to be any spring feeding the basin. Sheltered from the sun, the water would evaporate slowly, but even so, Rose knew the water would only last for so long. They needed rain to refill it if they were to survive.

She continued her climb to the top, where she could look out over the valley. The rock formation stood alone, surrounded by miles of nothing but creosote bushes and the rare juniper. Cholla cacti and yucca plants punctuated the steely landscape. She could see dust on the horizon from the wagons, but otherwise, she was completely alone.

She stood there for a time, trying to force down the panic fighting its way to the surface. Her husband lay dying of a snake bite down below, and her belly grew more each week. By her calculations, the baby would come soon.

Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she lashed out, yelling at the deep blue sky to whomever was listening. No one was there to witness her weakness. She had nothing left to prove.

What have I ever done to You? she screamed. She thought of the words her father, a traveling preacher, had taught her from the scriptures. Why hast Thou forsaken me? she cried. Tears streamed down her cheeks. A raven screeched overhead as if in reply. The sound wasn’t comforting.

Chapter 2

2024

Rosaria latched the deadbolt and shivered. The wind rocked the trailer and whistled through the ill fitted windows. She could feel the thin floor vibrate through her socks as the trailer shook on its cinder block foundation.

She glanced over at the microwave—11:48 pm. He would be home soon. Her heart raced in trepidation, but she forced aside the hurt and fear, allowing anger and indignation to take its place. She had done nothing wrong. No matter what he said; it wasn’t her fault.

She yawned as she slumped into the worn couch. The springs were so worn, she practically sat on the floor. He had promised he would buy her a new one with last month’s paycheck. She had even found one online that was in good shape and for a good price. When she had built up the courage to show the ad to him the Saturday morning after payday, he had reacted as he always did. At least this time the bruises were hidden under her shirt sleeves. She had done what she always did when he got that way and hurried to the kitchen to cook for him—that time it was eggs over easy just as he liked them, fried in bacon grease.

She was so tired. Her thoughts swirled around in her mind, unable to find purchase. She had planned her escape so many times, but had never been able to go through with it. Her sister had practically given up on her. But where would she go? The trailer was so far out of town with only one dirt road in and out. He never let her drive, and she had let her license expire anyway. His sister Soledad picked her up everyday to drive her to her job at the dollar store with strict instructions not to make any detours.

With her luck, if she ran he would find her before she even got to town—or she would die in the desert. Some days, that seemed like the better option.

There was a sign in the women’s restroom at work with a number for women in her situation to call if they needed help. What phone did they think she was going to use? Didn’t they know that he checked her phone every night? Unless they were prepared to swoop in and take her away on a moment’s notice, the number just taunted her. Freedom was nine digits away, yet impossible to reach.

She reached over and picked up the cheap brass frame from the side table. It hadn’t always been this way, although looking back she blamed herself for not seeing the signs. He had been so attentive at first. When he insisted on picking her up from work every night, she had thought that he was just being gallant. When he punched that guy in the restaurant for hitting on her, he was protecting her. When he bought her a cell phone and put her on his plan, he was just helping her save money. Every insidious act had an innocent explanation. He just loved her so much that he couldn’t stand to be away from her.

Eventually, her friends gave up trying to call her or invite her to go out. He worked so hard all week and just wanted to spend time with her on the weekend. Why would she want to be away from him when he did so much for her? Couldn’t she see that he couldn’t live without her? But whatever she did or however hard she tried, it was never good enough for him. And then he moved her to a strange town where she had no friends.

The photo in the frame had been taken on their honeymoon to Albuquerque. She kept it next to the couch, because those were the last good days—the only good days really. He had been so carefree and loving that weekend. The hotel was a cheap one, and they took extra food from the hotel breakfast so they wouldn’t have to pay for lunch. They spent the days in the hotel room or wandering through Old Town making up stories about the type of tourists who would buy the fancy jewelry sold in the shops lining the plaza. They laughed and held hands like a normal couple.

But then, a month later, when she missed her period, the honeymoon phase ended abruptly.

How dare you get pregnant now. Do I look like I can afford your stupid little rugrat? What’s wrong with you? He spouted such ridiculous accusations so frequently that she started to believe it really was her fault.

She set the framed photo back on the side table and placed a hand over her empty womb. A tear trickled down her cheek and she choked back a sob. It will be two years ago next week, she whispered.

She heard tires crunch on the gravel drive and could smell the rich exhaust of his pickup truck seeping through the seams of the trailer, carried in by the wind. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed to her feet. It wouldn’t do for him to find her sitting on the couch when he was sure to be hungry and expecting food to be ready for him, as if she could divine the exact moment he would stumble home from the bar.

She rushed to the kitchen and set water to boil. The doorknob rattled in its frame and she felt a moment