Shifting Paths

By Sandra L. Koehler

Crashing through the desert shrubbery, Dillon raced for his life as watchful eyes peered down from above. The secret of his fate remained unknown until his older sister, Suzette, made a three-day hike into the Superstition Wilderness with her good friends, Timber and Doug, and four high school students.
The challenges the teenagers were dealing with seemed minor in comparison to what they faced in the wilderness. Nate had been frustrated with his mom, her boyfriends, and a threatening drug supplier. Marcie lived with an alcoholic dad and her abused mom. Jonah had to fend for himself as his parents lived the life of the rich and self-indulgent while Markus risked an athletic scholarship to protect a teammate.
Attacked and threatened by wildlife and cataclysmic events out of their control, they had to work together to survive. Forced to shift paths, each of the hikers faced adversity and unexpected challenges to make it back to civilization.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Nov 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781452583600

Sandra L. Koehler

SANDRA L. KOEHLER has a Master of Environmental Planning and a Bachelor of Landscape Architecture. She loves to explore nature and participate in activities such as scuba diving, hiking, backpacking, canoeing and rafting. Sandra lives in the Phoenix area and enjoys creative writing and photography.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 Sandra L. Koehler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-8359-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-8361-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-8360-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013917824

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/30/2013

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Dedication

A tiny spark has the power to ignite

a fire, that glows far into the darkness, lighting the way for others.

Shifting Paths is dedicated to my oldest son, Ryan. Gregarious, hilarious, and loving, Ryan filled his short life with family and friends, challenging himself to experience all that he could. I’m grateful for the time we had together and the fantastic memories. Ryan followed a path filled with love, laughter, challenge, and hope. I know in my heart that the loving energy that tied us together will never be broken.

Acknowledgments

To my parents, Bob and Bunny, I give thanks for the gift of life, your encouragement, support and unconditional love. The inspiration and insight modeled by both of you during some of the most challenging times of our lives has created a tremendous legacy.

I thank each of my children, Ryan, Sean, Craig and Kohl for filling my life with love, laughter and joy. Each of you are a special gift to this world and I am honored to be your mom.

To all of the people I have had the privilege to backpack, hike, raft, scuba dive, canoe and kayak with—you are awesome. Nature lifts the spirit, realigns priorities and provides balance. More adventures to come! Let’s keep soaking in the beauty, splendor and magnificence of nature.

Many thanks to my West Side Critique Group. Your helpful suggestions improved the story and characters. It was a pleasure to spend time with Elisabeth, Sonya, Kate, and Mary as we provided feedback to each other. The encouragement and support was invaluable. Through our time together, Shifting Paths became a reality and I made some fantastic friends!

My deep appreciation is also extended to my good friend Angie Cassavant for her editorial skills and encouragement. Her motivational talks and support are the reason Shifting Paths was written. Furthermore, her ability to bring me back to reality with an Are you nuts? text message helped to create a portion of the story. I’d also like to acknowledge Bradley Bear Cassavant, whose presence and love touched many lives during his time on earth.

Chapter 1

The bird flaps its wings to reach the height needed to glide easily with the wind.

Dillon rubbed the aching bump on the side of his head, then he tried to sit up. His head banged the inside of the trunk with a sharp thud.

Shit!

Conscious enough to be aware that he was in an enclosed space, Dillon opened his hazel eyes to the darkness of the trunk. Feeling the vibration from the car as well as the frequent bumps as the tires rolled over rough terrain, he moved his left arm to touch the interior walls. Breathing the exhaust fumes and dust into his lungs, Dillon coughed, then he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Dillon’s mind raced with thoughts. Don’t panic. Stay calm. Think! How can I get out of here?

Feeling for a release mechanism along the back edge of the trunk, Dillon scratched the tip of his finger on a sharp piece of metal. His eyes squeezed shut as the pain radiated up his finger while blood dripped onto the gray carpet covering the floor of the space. Dillon pressed his injured finger against his tongue to stop the oozing blood as a low moan escaped his throat.

Dillon squirmed his body around to face the back seats of the car. Muffled music could be heard over the constant rumbling inside the trunk. The edge of the gray carpet ripped as he pulled it away from the seats. Smooth, cool metal felt good against the skin of his hands. Dillon’s body flew into the air and landed hard as the vehicle bounced along the dirt road. Air in his lungs exhaled as the pain from the jolt radiated along his right ribcage.

Both hands pushed hard against the back of the seats as he tried to pry an opening. Nothing happened. Dillon used his elbows and knees to squirm closer to the corner. Shoving his left hand into the crevice between the seat and the side panel, he slid it up and down searching for a handle to move the seat forward. His fingers touched a metal bolt that fastened the seat to the frame of the car.

Damn! What else? What else?

Grabbing the carpet edge, he pulled it to expose the metal cover over the spare tire. Adjusting his body around the opening, Dillon twisted the latch and pulled the cover to the side. Reaching inside the space, he pulled out the jack and the crank. Breathing heavily, he twisted his body so that he could place the jack upright near the rear trunk latch. A sharp pain moved down his shoulder as he tried to insert the crank over the knob on the jack. Bouncing roughly, Dillon placed his hand on the lid of the trunk to stabilize himself. Licking his dry lips, he positioned the crank onto the jack. The crank pulled up and down easily until the jack touched the lid of the trunk. Dillon took a deep breath, then slowly released the air in his lungs as he pulled down on the metal crank. His muscles strained as he continued moving the handle in uneven, short bursts until he heard the click as the trunk popped open.

Adrenaline pumped through his aching muscles as Dillon grabbed the outside edge of the trunk and hoisted his body out of the trunk and into the wall of dust billowing behind the vehicle. Keeping his arms and legs near his torso, his body collided against the dirt roadway and flipped over as the momentum pushed him in a rotating motion. Coughing dust and exhaust fumes out of his lungs and throat, Dillon blinked dirt out of his eyes while orienting himself to his surroundings. Sitting up, he saw through the dusty haze the outline of cactus and shrubbery on each side of the dirt road. As he watched the brake lights glow through the dust, Dillon stood up and ran toward the desert. Thorny branches scratched his face and arms as he raced through the moonlit landscape.

As two figures climbed out of the dark vehicle, the driver shouted, Get him!

The passenger raced toward Dillon as the driver stood on the frame of the car by the driver’s seat, aiming a revolver over the roof. Bang! Dillon felt a burning pain in his left shoulder, causing him to stumble forward before he caught his balance. Dodging back and forth across the rough desert terrain, he felt moisture on his back and chest from the wound.

Pumping his right arm to increase momentum, while his left arm dangled at his side, Dillon focused his attention on placing his feet as quickly and carefully as possible to ensure he didn’t trip.

The slender passenger and the stout driver chased the escapee through the creosote bushes and around the Palo Verde trees. Following Dillon across a rocky wash, the driver stepped between two boulders, trapping his foot. The weight of his stocky body moving forward created enough pressure to snap his shin bone. Screaming in agony, he collapsed onto the rocks that covered the floor of the wash. The other figure stopped, looking back at the man on the ground and then toward the teenager racing away. Scratching his head, he took a step toward the fleeing boy, then he turned and trotted back to the driver.

The sharp edges of bone protruded from the leg of the writhing man. He grabbed his leg and rocked in anguish as he looked up, Take the gun! Get him, or the boss will kill us!

Nodding his head, the passenger grabbed the gun from the injured man before he turned to follow Dillon.

Dillon felt a throbbing pain in his chest and shoulder as each foot contacted the ground. Touching the front of his shirt with his right hand, he tried to apply pressure to the gushing wound.

I’ve got to hide somewhere. If I keep running, the blood will keep flowing.

He glanced back to check where his pursuers might be and felt relief that they weren’t in sight. Running parallel to the canyon wall, Dillon hunted for a safe place to stop. Several mesquite trees grew near the base of the cliff. Diving underneath the branches that bowed along the edge of the canopy, Dillon crawled using his right arm and knees to reach the gnarled trunk. Squirming his body around so he could watch for the men chasing him, he lay flat on the pile of dead leaves and branches. Feeling light headed from the loss of blood, Dillon breathed heavily as he rested his head on the ground.

Oh my God! What am I going to do? How in the hell did this happen? I went to meet Scratch to give him the money from the last deal. I told him that I’m done. That I wanted out. Then everything went black until I woke up in the trunk.

Dillon watched and listened for any movement around the tree, while he pressed his right hand against the wound by his collarbone. Moist blood flowed around his fingers and dripped down his arm.

Damn! Dillon whispered as he acknowledged the severity of his wound. Tears formed in his eyes as he sniffed his nose. I don’t want to die.

Not hearing any movement, Dillon debated. Should I take pressure off the wound to get my phone?

He closed his eyes to focus his energy on listening for the people chasing him. Catching himself losing consciousness, he shook his head and blinked several times. Leaning the front of his shoulder against the tree litter on the ground, Dillon moved his right hand to pull his cell phone out of his pocket as he thought, I know who’s after me!

The light from the display glowed brightly against his pale face as the trembling hand opened the contacts. Selecting Suzette, he noticed dark, red blood oozing onto the phone from his hand before the message, Out of service area, appeared.

No!

Dillon’s body felt heavy. It took extreme effort to hold his head up as his mind became foggy. Each breath became shallower as his energy dissipated. Placing the glowing screen face down on the ground, he rested his head on top of it.

I need to call 911, maybe the signal would work for the emergency number. I feel so tired.

Tears trickled out of his eyes. I’m so sorry mom and Suzette. I didn’t expect this. I love you both so much. I’m so sorry. I love you . . . .

Kantu watched the headlights of the car as he perched on the canyon wall. His acute eyes discerned the body rolling out of the trunk and the teenager rushing toward the dry wash. The crickets stopped chirping as the Bam! of the pistol echoed through the night air like a clap of thunder. From the valley below, he heard the voices of two men yelling, and the crack of branches breaking as feet pounded across the earth. Moving deeper into the shadows on the face of the cliff, Kantu surveyed the terrain as he watched and listened to the distant activity. The evening breeze blew his black hair away from his light brown face as he leaned back against the rock.

The injured boy ran along the cliff below him, and then disappeared underneath the canopy of the tree. Crashing loudly through the brush, the slender man with the weapon, jogged and walked at an angle that took him away from the cliff. Several minutes passed before the pursuer headed back to the injured man in the wash. Once Kantu heard the two men talking and working their way back to the vehicle, he quickly and quietly climbed down.

Kantu’s bare feet made very little sound as they landed on the soft canyon floor. Crouching in the shadows he stopped to listen. The reverberation of a coyote calling in the distance pulsed through the night as other coyotes responded in a chorus of long, mournful howls.

Jogging to the tree where the boy disappeared, Kantu crawled under the low branches. The smell of blood, sweat, and the odor of decomposing plant material permeated the air underneath the canopy. He heard Dillon exhale his last breath as he touched the top of his head. Kantu chanted rhythmically in a quiet tone as he honored the death of the teenager and welcomed his soul to the spirit world. Dirt and partially dried coagulated blood were enmeshed underneath the tips of Dillon’s fingernails, as well as on the palms of his hands. His tangled, dirty-blonde hair had tiny mesquite leaves and dried soil woven within the strands covering the back of his head.

Kantu gently rolled the body over so that it could face the heavens. He picked each leaf off of Dillon’s face and combed his tangled hair with his fingers before he tenderly arranged the limp arms across the chest. Kneeling next to the body, Kantu sang softly until the rays of the sun peaked over the canyon rim. As Kantu turned to leave, he picked up the cell phone. The display showed the image of a young blond woman and her telephone number. Carefully, he placed the phone on Dillon’s upper chest before he quietly left the deep shade underneath the tree.

Chapter 2

A child’s laughter echoes through your soul and bounces across the universe.

Timber Bennett walked down the hallway past the photographs of his wife and daughter, clustered among images from numerous memorable outdoor adventures. His eyes gravitated to the last family portrait taken two days before the fatal car crash. Kristen’s light brown hair rested against Timber’s shoulder, with Abigail’s curly blond hair under his chin as she sat sideways on his lap, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny, Pink Eye.

Visible dark blue veins protruded between age spots on the hand that reached out to gently touch the frame. Smiling, Timber spent only a couple of seconds absorbing the image before he strolled into the living room filled with dark brown leather furniture and a heavy glass coffee table with golden oak legs. Reaching down among the various travel and backpacking magazines scattered across the top of the glass, he picked up the keys to his Xterra.

Craving time with nature, Timber hurried out the door before the sun rose above the McDowell Mountains. His light brown hair, salted with gray, resembled the color and texture of scrub oak bark, and his short beard and mustache formed soft prickly pear spines. Snaking out from the corners of his green eyes were lines on his face that created tiny canyons due to years spent squinting against the bright Arizona sun and smiling at his own jokes. The cool morning air embraced Timber as he pulled his cowboy hat over his messy hair and climbed into his Xterra that he had named Xenia, the Road Warrior.

Good morning, sweetheart. It’s time to hit the road, Timber said as the engine hummed.

The tire treads bounced over the dirt driveway as the Xterra rolled down the hill past the gates that marked the front of the property. A family of javelinas rushed across the narrow road to congregate in a nearby ravine as the headlights announced the vehicle’s approach. Xenia’s taillights glowed against the silhouette of the desert landscape, illuminating the branches of the mesquite trees that arched over the pavement.

Timber smoothly downshifted as Xenia climbed the winding road leading to the Challenge Trail lookout point. Xenia rolled into the empty parking lot before the sun had broken the dark outline of the distant mountains. Timber climbed out of the Xterra and pushed the lock button on his remote as he walked toward the trail leading up the hillside. Following the winding trail carefully in the pre-dawn light, Timber savored the smell of the mesquite and creosote as he breathed in deeply.

Reaching a rock outcrop that overlooked the valley below, Timber climbed on top of the highest boulder and settled himself into a seated position, crossing his legs underneath one another. Looking towards the east, he focused his attention on his breathing as he began his daily meditation. As Timber closed his eyes, the last sight he registered was a hawk gracefully and effortlessly moving through the early morning sky.

As the first rays of the sun peaked over the distant horizon, his peaceful meditation was interrupted by the vision of Kristen, and their daughter, Abigail, standing together at the base of a cliff, pointing toward a large mesquite tree. A trail of blood could be seen on the ground, leading underneath the lower branches. Shocked out of his reverie, Timber opened his eyes as his heart pounded in his chest.

What are you trying to tell me? I don’t understand. Who or what is under the tree?

Timber purposely slowed his breath as a puzzled frown formed on his face.

That’s strange. It’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of your death, but it’s been years since there has been such a sharp, vivid image of both of you.

Unfolding his legs, Timber stood up and stretched before he started the hike down the hill. The red dirt worn smooth from the boots of many hikers made the trail easy to follow. Looking at the horizon, Timber noticed the saguaro silhouettes above the creosote and jojoba bushes as the sun shined sideways across the terrain. As the trail twisted around an ironwood tree, Timber could see the white outline of Xenia parked at the base of the hill.

Reaching the car, Timber climbed in and checked his cell phone—one missed call! Doug was one of Timber’s favorite hiking buddies for over twenty years. Just two weeks ago, they had hiked rim to rim across the Grand Canyon.

Timber listened to Doug’s voice, Good morning, good buddy. I know today is a special anniversary for you, and I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you. I’m not going to get all mushy, but give me a call if you want to meet at the Scrambled Brain Cafe for breakfast.

Grinning, Timber pressed the call return button on his phone.

After two rings, he heard Doug’s booming voice explode, It’s about time, you old fart. What the hell took you so long to get back to me? My stomach’s growling cause it wants food!

Timber retorted, Why don’t you meditate, breathe, and listen to some good music? You need to start your day in a better mood!

First, I fill my belly, Doug said, "And then I can be sweet, nice, and in balance. You know how I am