Whispering Springs, New Mexico

A group of hippies takes a shortcut on the New Mexico desert and breaks down in a ghost town

Whispering Springs, New Mexico
By Lea Sheryn


Chapter One

"Hippies," Hektor Estevez thought to himself as the kombi pulled away from the antique gas pumps in front of his desert service station. Absently scratching his protruding belly, the older man returned to the small service shop attached to the two-bay garage. Snatching a Schlitz from the cooler, he plopped onto the wooden stool behind the old-fashioned cash register.

Too few cars passed along the rutted two-lane road for Hektor to hold prejudices against anyone who did stop for a fill-up. He had very little time for Flower Children, but their dough was as good as anyone else's. Lifting the dewed beer can to his lips, he chugged half of it down. His Adam's apple did jumping jacks as the cool liquid slid down his throat. Idly aiming in the direction of the waste paper basket, he chucked the can and missed. As though an afterthought, he rang up the gas sale. Then, cranking the handle to pop open the drawer, he uncrumpled the fiver and placed it in the correct slot.

“Bunch of stupid kids,” Hektor thought as he contemplated the trio who emerged from the VW bus half an hour ago. Two boys and a girl. They always seemed to travel in that combination. Had to be something hinky going on there, he mused. The gal would have been a pretty little thing had she cleaned herself up. Her greasy blonde hair hung limply over her shoulders. The design on her Indian headband was too dirty to make out. Hektor's late wife, Ester, would have cringed at the patched denim short-shorts that barely covered her butt cheeks. A fringed vest and scant bikini top hid the tiny buds of her breasts. Then, there were the scuffed white go-go boots. The older man cringed.

Dolefully shaking his head, Hektor turned his mind to her male companions. The white fellow had sauntered into the shop as though he owned the place. After several moments, he returned to spread an old map across the hood of the psychedelically painted kombi. While his chocolate-skinned companion leaned against the bus and rolled a joint, the gangly hippie peered studiously at the road map. Hugging her knees tightly together, the girl hitched herself toward the restroom.

"You know when a gal hasta go," the old man thought as his eyes drifted after her. Grinning but suppressing a laugh, he lifted the gas nozzle and began filling the tank.
“What’s the plan, bro?” the girl questioned upon her return. Wrapping her arms around her companion’s waist, she pressed her face against his back.
Silently, the duo studied the map. When their buddy joined them, the gal flung her arms around both their waists then fondled the black fellow's behind. Finally, whitey folded the map and climbed into the passenger seat of the bus. The girl leaped into the middle seat. Pressing a five-spot into the older man's hand, the third of the trio swung in behind the wheel. The kombi roared off in a cloud of exhaust when the clutch popped. The last thing Hektor saw was the black peace sign painted beneath the back window.

Scratching his protruding belly, Hektor moseyed into the service station office, grabbed his beer, and plunked onto his stool. He figured he would never see them again. When it came to Hippies, out of sight/out of mind was his motto. Well, he considered as he popped open a second Schlitz, they'd be all right as long as they stayed on the road. The hot New Mexico sun pitted the road, but it would get them back on the interstate headed toward Albuquerque. He doubted they had noticed the thin grey line that cut across the map. They were obliviously stoned, in his humble opinion.


Chapter Two

Glancing wistfully over his shoulder, Greg Willams studied the solitary desert road that stretched out behind them. As far as the eye could see, the same sight lay before him. A cloud of orange dust enveloped the VW bus as it trundled its way along the twin-wheel ruts. The shortcut indicated on the map should have reduced their trip to fifteen minutes. However, they were already half an hour along, and the road stretched ahead into eternity.
“What’s happening, flake? You get us lost?” Impatiently, Gia Williams thrust herself between the kombi’s two front seats.
"Don't flip your wig, sis," Greg responded, glaring at his twin. "The Albuquerque road is up ahead. A few more miles, and we'll be on the highway."
“Yeah, the high way�"ha-ha,” Tracey McMaster echoed, propping his elbows into the steering wheel and rolling another joint.
“Ain’t gonna bogart all the weed, Trace,” Gia exclaimed, grabbing the joint for a toke.
“Nah, I shares,” the driver conceded, toothily grinning at his old lady.
"We all share," Greg chortled as he grabbed the roach clip from his sister.
“Right on,” the trio exclaimed in unison.

Silence prevailed in the bus while the miles drifted along behind them. An hour had passed with no sign of life other than the cactus and scrub of the desert. How they arrived in New Mexico was beyond them. Their gig in LA had been a bust. Perhaps, if their amp hadn't shorted then caught fire, they would have gotten through the first set. However, the clammer of their music drowned out the first pop and sizzle.
Jamming their gear into the back of the bus, they beat it. With no destination, the trio retreated to the sound of approaching sirens. Then, finding themselves in front of Hektor Estevez’s gas station, Greg discovered that they were in New Mexico using the free state map. How long they had been on the road was beyond the hippie's knowledge. They were too stoned to remember.
"Poor Pete," Gia moaned, then laughed. Peter Strong was their bassist or, rather, at this point, their ex-bassist. Since he was not on the bus with them, he had to be back in LA.
“Poor Pete,” Greg and Tracey repeated.
"Poor us," Gia moaned again as her maracas rattled amongst their equipment stashed in the back. They had managed to save the drum kit, two guitars, tambourine, and maracas but had left Pete behind to deal with the mess.
“Hey, babe, we ain’t lost,” Tracey chortled from the driver’s seat. “We’re right here. We done lost the world.”
“Yeah, right, Trace,” Gia responded, wrapping her arms tightly across her stomach. Greg hummed the Twilight Zone opening tune. “Knock it off, Greg,” his sister snapped.
“What’s that up ahead," Greg suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward an anomaly on the horizon. It was difficult to tell what lay ahead. However, it broke up the doldrums of the landscape.
“Civilization?” the female member of the group asked as she leaned forward to hug her brother’s seat.
“Way out here? Doubtful, sis,” Greg responded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Probably just a mirage,” Tracey cut in. “Psychedelic, man.” Joining Greg, both men did the Twilight Zone thing.
"Very funny." Gia didn't think it was amusing at all.

As the miles melted behind them, the vision ahead expanded and retreated in the haze of the New Mexico sun. The bus lumbered along the road, quickly showing signs of overheating. However, the occupants continued onward as though they had complete faith in their ride.
Then, a crooked signpost loomed out of the desert as though a natural part of the landscape. Pulling up beside it, Tracey stopped the kombi. Greg leaned out of the rolled-down window and read out loud: "Whispering Springs, New Mexico, pop. 642."
“Far out,” Tracey exclaimed.
“Yeah, like too far out,” Gia glumly answered.
The ambling bus swayed as the wheels encountered rut holes. Gia swayed on the middle seat to its rhythm while her maracas continued to rattle. The tambourine joined in. Greg unfolded the map onto the knees of his orange and brown striped trousers. It held no indication that a town called Whispering Springs existed. Tracey jounced along in the driver’s seat as he headed toward the outcrop of buildings dotting the landscape.
“I hope they have a burger joint,” Gia announced, popping between the front seats again. “I’m starving.”
"And a payphone," Greg suggested.
"Yeah, we should call Pete," his sister sighed. Although she was Tracey's old lady, she had an occasional fling with their other bandmate. Hey, well, it was all about free love. She was about as free with her love as any of them.
“Nah, wouldn’t wanna do that,” Greg answered, leaning back in his seat and propping his hands behind his head.
"Noooo," Tracey put in, grinning toothily. "He doesn't need to know. We did a fade-out, and I intend to remain faded out."
"Would ya dig that?" Greg exclaimed as Whispering Springs came into sight.
The old town stood starkly on the desert. Buildings faced each other with only the rutted desert road to divide them. Timbered false fronts loomed above a line of broken hitching posts. Faded curtains hung limply through the broken window of the hotel. A wheel-less wagon lay keeled over before the blacksmith shop.

The kombi rolled along the street, then sputtered and stopped. With a hiss, the rear-mounted engine farted steam. Throwing the doors opened, Greg and Tracey leaped out and dashed to the back. Gia stood behind them and peered over their shoulders.
“What now?” she asked, turning to survey their surroundings. Any hope of a burger and fries quickly disappearing.
“We check it out,” her brother responded. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he moseyed toward the swinging doors of the saloon. Tracey followed in his wake. After a moment’s hesitation, Gia ran after her male companions.
The half-hinged doors of the saloon creaked eerily as the trio entered. Broken chairs and tables scattered the floor; the wrecked bar sagged in the middle. The mirror behind the bar lay shattered in a million pieces. Smashed bottles of aged whisky added to the ambiance. Yellow desert dust covered everything.
Cautiously, Gia glanced around. The whole place gave her the creeps. Her stomach knotted then tightened. When was the last time I took the pill? she wondered. Time became fluid for her. How many days had they been on the road? Had they traveled to New Mexico from California or haphazardly drifted through Arizona before crossing into the Land of Enchantment? She realized she had no clue what day it was. Gnawing on her lower lip, she pressed her mind to recall their movements.

In the meantime, Greg and Tracey disappeared up the rickety staircase leading to a narrow galley. Several small bedrooms led off the galley. Images of a saloon filled with rough cowboys and dancing girls crowded their imaginations. They were still young enough to recall a youthful fascination with playing sheriffs and bad guys. Grinning from ear to ear, they hooted down at their female companion.
“Let’s beat it, guys,” Gia called back. She already hated the place.
“Can’t,” Tracey yelled back, cupping his mouth with his hands. “That kombi is done fried.”
“So are you, Trace,” the young hippie yelled back.
Gia's mind cleared enough to provide a glimmer of understanding about their situation. They found themselves stuck in the middle of a desert ghost town. No one knew where they were. There was no way to reach the outside world, and their ride was toast. Tears sprung to her eyes as the sounds of the boys hollering "bang-bang" echoed around the abandoned dance hall. Tracey suddenly plummeted to the first floor with a splintering crash as the banister he leaned against broke.
Awkwardly, Tracey McMaster sprawled at Gia’s feet. The twist of his leg beneath his prone body caused her stomach to jump into her throat. She knew a broken bone when she saw one. Falling to her knees, she cradled her boyfriend’s head in her lap. Greg clattered down the swaying stairway to stand pitifully above her.
“Holy Crud!” Greg exclaimed as he ran his hands through his straggly blonde locks.
"Is that all you can say, Greggie?" Gia countered, standing and thrusting her fists into her sides. Then, she returned to her knees beside Tracey. "We're busted now."
"Yeah." her twin turned away, instantly sober for the first time in as long as he could recall. His head sagged between his shoulders as he placed his hands, palm down, on the broken bar.
As the day dwindled, twilight entered the town of Whispering Springs, New Mexico. The first call of a coyote echoed across the desert landscape. Gia trembled. In her arms, Tracey murmured through his unconsciousness. Greg's mind raced for solutions. They had no transportation, no food or water, and their friend lay injured with probably more than just a broken leg. Furthermore, no one knew where they were.


Chapter Three

Hektor Estevez closed his gas station at nine o'clock. The neon sign facing the two-lane roadway flickered three times after he flipped the switch. Then it flicked off. No one would stop after dark. It was rare for anyone to stop during the day. Several days could drift by with no one appearing. Since the interstate went in, the old road saw little traffic.
On many evenings such as this one, Hektor considered packing it in. Since Ester died several years earlier, he lived alone on the desert. Their marriage had not been fruitful; they had no children. If there had been, life might have been different. The nearest school was too far away to provide an education. The nearest community was more than thirty miles to the west. However, for more than fifty years, they had remained with the gas station.
There had been good times and bad times. Before the interstate highway went through to Albuquerque, the desert road had been a busy one. Not as busy as 66, but enough to keep them hopping. Ester had opened a little diner in a shack next door to feed the hungry tourists. Tacos, burritos, enchiladas, and, yes, even burgers and fries appeared as menu items. Three booths sat beneath the wide windows, along with a couple of outside picnic tables.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Hektor could see the dooryard filled with parked cars and children playing on the swing and slide set perched on the desert hardpan. Those were the days, he thought wistfully. Then the interstate arrived, driving the tourists away from the more scenic roads that meandered through New Mexico.

Hektor sighed. Scratching his overhanging belly, he yawned and headed for the backdoor. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, he flopped onto the squeaky brass bed without bothering to undress. It hardly mattered what he did anymore. He no longer had a wife to tell him what to do.
As his eyes began to drift closed, the trio of hippies who stopped at his pumps sprang to mind. Hektor had nearly forgotten them. Well, out of sight/out of mind was his motto. Still, the lonely wanderers stuck out to him.
“Crazy kids,” he muttered out loud as he squirmed into a comfortable position.
Indeed, they wouldn't have taken the shortcut past Whispering Springs. It was barely a scratch mark on the outdated old map the skinny hippie had taken from the brochure stand. No, Hektor convinced himself. The kids holed up in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of Albuquerque�"probably three to a bed. Alternatively, they were sleeping on the bus along the side of the road. Yeah, more likely camping in the rough, the older man decided.
No one went to Whispering Springs. There was no Whispering Springs; not really. The old ghost town perched on the desert was little more than an old movie set. A movie that had never gone into production. Did the film star John Wayne? the older man tried to recall. Or was it Glen Ford? No, perhaps it was Jimmy Stewart. It did not matter much anymore. No one remembered "Whispering Springs.” No one except Hektor Estevez.

During the heyday of Western Movies, all of Hollywood seemed to gravitate to New Mexico or Arizona. Movie sets had popped up here and there on the desert floor. Whispering Springs was only one of hundreds. However, everything went wrong during the filming. Equipment broke down, possibly by sabotage. One of the cast members broke his leg in a stunt fall from the roof of the bank. A rumor of ghosts spread amongst the extras. Finally, the big-name star withdrew, then the producer withdrew his funding. The set lay abandoned and was left to decay beneath the hot sun.
Afterward, talk spread about a TV show produced out there, but that too went bust. Then, a giant corporation moved in with plans to turn the place into a tourist attraction. Hektor and Ester had been all set to expand their gas station and diner into a motor lodge. One of those teepee villages, the older man thought as he reminisced about the old days.
However, like everything else, it wasn't long before the backers abandoned the idea. They would have rolled in dough if the project had succeeded. Then the interstate highway went through to the south. Business slackened to a mere dwindle of passing vehicles. The old gas station rotted along with Whispering Springs.

A crack of lightning flashed outside Hektor's bedroom window. The midnight darkness momentarily turned purple. Then, the boom of thunder rattled the service station.
“We’re in for a big blow,” the old man thought as he rolled onto the pillow that once cradled his wife’s head.
Next, Hektor found himself sitting on the edge of the bed. An image of the three hippies exiting the VW bus at his gas pump flashed through his mind.
“Where are those stupid kids?” he asked himself, running his fingers through his dirty grey hair. Then, he shook his head and lay down. Why was he so concerned about them? he wondered. Those kids meant nothing to him.
Nevertheless, somehow, he knew they were in Whispering Springs. The kid with the map had studied it very carefully. Indeed, he had noticed the shortcut. In the darkness, Hektor envisioned the dusty cut-off three miles along the road from his place. He saw the beat-up old kombi rattling over the pitted trail. The black fellow was at the wheel, the white guy sitting shotgun, and the girl on the middle seat. Perhaps they were singing "Kum-bi-ya" as the bus thumped over the ruts. It was a song that got on the older man's last nerve.


Chapter Four

The shrill scream cut through the night, followed by a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder. Rain pelted down outside the Whispering Springs saloon. Gia scooted into a corner on her backside. Then drawing her legs up, she encircled them with her arms.
“What’s up, sis?” Greg questioned as he loomed above his sister.
Frantically Gia shook her head, unable to speak. In the eerie darkness, her brother appeared like a specter. As he bent over her, the love beads that swayed in front of her wide eyes clattered together. Again, she opened her mouth and shrieked.
“Ga…ga…ga…ghost,” the frightened girl stammered as she tried to scooch further into her corner.
“It’s just me,” Greg Williams stated, squatting beside his twin and taking her ice-like hand in his.
“Get us outta here, Greggie,” Gia cried, grasping her brother around the neck.
"In the morning, girlie," he responded. "We can gather rainwater for the bus, then get back on the road."
“But what about Trace?” the girl questioned. “We can’t move him.”
“Then I’ll drive back to that gas station and call for help,” Greg answered. “There’s a phone back there.”
“You can’t leave me here alone,” Gia mumbled, staring into hands folded in her lap. "I won't stay here alone."
“Tracey will be here,” her brother suggested.
“What good is he?” the girl glumly responded.
Together, brother and sister glanced toward where their companion lay prone before the bar. Although they hadn’t moved him, Gia had balled up her vest to create a pillow for his head. Tracey McMaster’s body lay crumpled and broken. Neither of his friends knew the extent of his injuries.
“Yeah, well,” Greg meditatively spoke into the darkness. “You take the bus back to the service station. I’ll wait here with Trace.”
Gia's eyes widened with fear. She had never driven the kombi, nor did she have a license to drive. What did she fear the most, the frightened girl wondered, staying in the ghost town or driving the kombi along the rutted road? Although the signpost had claimed they were in Whispering Springs, Gia knew they were actually in Nowhere, New Mexico.
“Aw, c’mon, Gia,” her brother stated, plopping down next to her. “Someone has to go. It’s either you or me.”
“Yes, Greg,” the young Flower Child conceded. Meditatively, she chewed on her bottom lip.
“In the morning, sis,” Greg declared, rising.
Striding toward the swinging saloon doors, he silently stepped outside.

Rain pelted him as it poured off the overhang. Dimly, the outline of the VW Bus loomed in the darkness. Why had he believed the shortcut was a good idea? The map had deceived him. Instead of cutting their trip to fifteen miles, it had taken them more than fifty miles out of the way.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Greg Williams marched along the warped board sidewalk. Stopping at the end, he glared out at the rain. For the first time in his life, the hippie had to take responsibility. Up until this point, he had drifted through life. The world had been a playground filled with pot and LSD trips. The band had played one-nighters here and there across the country. They had stayed only long enough to get paid. Then, they coasted into the next town for another back alley barroom gig.
Thoughtfully, Greg considered his elder brother. In their early childhood, he and Gia had called him Phil Perfect. Phil had gotten good grades throughout school and had been on the honor roll. Their parents had held up their firstborn as an example to the twins. However, they consistently failed to reach his pedestal. According to their father, they were lazy children. Their mother often chastised them for cheating on tests or failing to do their homework.
Phil Perfect went to college. Then, last year, he entered medical school. On the cusp of their high school graduation, the twins dropped out. They hit the road in their kombi in the view of making it big in the music world. Psychedelic Mushroom was as good as the Zombies, and the Byrd’s in their opinion. However, they couldn't get any further than the barrooms that hired them for one-night gigs. Still, they made it to LA. If it hadn't been for the amp fire, Greg was confident they would have been "discovered."
Wistfully, Greg kicked out at the support holding up the overhang of the mercantile at the end of the sidewalk. Then, he leaped back as the rotted wood collapsed. Digging his hands into his pockets, he headed back to the saloon.
“This would have never happened to Phil Perfect,” the boy muttered to himself. The weight of his mistake hung heavily upon his shoulders. His brother would have known how to care for Tracey. His brother would have fixed their ride and gotten them out of their mess.
No, the young hippie changed his mind. Phil would have never been in this situation, nor would Phil have ever been in a fried-out kombi. Phil wouldn't have gotten lost in the desert or caught in a ghost town. Phil was perfect.

"I think Tracey's dead," Gia glumly stated. Slowly she raised her tear-streaked face as her twin entered the saloon. "He's…he's not breathing."
Swiftly, Greg fell to his knees beside his sister. Grasping their companion’s wrist, he checked for a pulse. He had learned that much from Phil.
"He's okay. There's a weak pulse," the youth responded. Slinging his arm around his sister's shoulders, he pulled her close. “Only a few more hours then it will be light enough to travel. Are you okay with driving the bus?”
Gia nodded, although she wasn't okay with driving the bus.


Chapter Five

The day dawned bright and clear. Leisurely, Hektor Estevez entered the worn kitchen and lit the gas stove. It wasn't long before the percolator began to brew his morning pick-me-up. The aroma of fresh coffee filled his nostrils.
Lackadaisically, the older man sauntered into the service station office. Then, squatting before the old-fashioned safe, he spun the combination lock. A lone bank bag sat upon the middle shelf. He emptied it into the cash register. Other than the hippie's fiver, there had been no profit from the previous day.
Hektor wandered outside. The lonely road showed no sign of traffic. Returning to the office, he perched upon his stool.
With no excitement to capture his attention, Hektor's mind returned to the trio of young people. Why did they bother him so much? the older man wondered. There was something about them that-- what�"amused him�"perplexed him�"haunted him? He'd never shown any interest in his customers. Why them?
Where were they? Hektor wondered. Were they at some flophouse in Albuquerque? Or were they in Whispering Springs? Every part of him wanted to believe they were in the city. However, he knew the ghost town had been their destination.
“Confound it!” Hektor exclaimed to the empty gas station office.
No one was going to stop here, Hektor finally decided. It wouldn’t hurt him to take a ride out there. He would check it out then come right back.
Flipping the open sign to the closed side, the older man strolled to the wrecker parked beside the garage. He could take his pickup, but that bus looked ready to conk out. If they were stuck, he would have to pull them out. After cranking the engine several times, he finally began to roll.

The old road was more pitted than he remembered. Furthermore, the wrecker’s shocks weren't in great shape either. Hektor's oversized gut swayed back and forth beneath the steering wheel as they jounced along. Still, he overrode thoughts of turning back. For all he knew "those kids" were far away and long gone. It wasn't an outing for an older man. He was only going to Whispering Springs for a look-see.
The miles slowly passed. The sun rode midway between the horizon and high noon. Shading his eyes from the glare, Hektor peered ahead of him. Whispering Springs should lie straight ahead, yet it hadn't appeared. Hitching himself forward, he opened his eyes and stared. There was no movement in the desert.
Then he saw it. A movement far ahead caught his eye. Blinking, he looked again and lost sight of it. It must have been a sunspot, Hektor thought. The desert could be deceiving. Still, he pressed onward.
The movement occurred again, stopped, and moved again. Intermittently, it nudged forward and halted. For a moment, the older man believed it might overturn. Pressing the accelerator, he sped up. The wrecker jolted then stabilized. Ahead of him, he was able to make out the shape of the VW bus.

The kombi lurched then stopped. The driver’s door flung open. A figure leaped out and stood with its arms pressed against its sides. Then it kicked the wheel. Finally, it began pounding the vehicle with its fists.
Creeping ever closer, Hektor was able to make out the figure of the young hippie girl. Continuing her rage, she eventually threw herself onto the ground. Sitting with her legs crossed beneath her and her arms wrapped around her chest, she stared daggers at the vehicle. The gas station attendant pulled up next to her and leaned out of his opened window.
“What’s the problem?” Hektor asked, startling the girl.
Instead of answering, the girl covered her face with her palms and sobbed. Gently, the older man squatted beside her and tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“It can’t be all that bad,” he stated, pulling her head onto his shoulder.
Uncertainly, Gia stared at her companion. If he only knew, she thought, he would not make such a ludicrous statement.
"Tracey's hurt," she finally wailed. "He…he fell, and now he won't wake up. My brother sent me to find you. He's waiting with Trace."
Again Gia covered her face and cried. Then, she wiped her face dry with her palms.
“He knew I couldn’t drive the bus, but I couldn’t stay in that…that ghost town,” she continued. “Now the bus is dead.”
“Okay,” Hektor stated, sighing deeply. “I’ll tell you what, young missy. Why don’t we go in the wrecker and see how your friends are doing? If we can move them, we'll bring them in. Otherwise, I'll come back for the bus, tow it in and call the state police to pick you up."
“The fuzz?” Gia moaned, afraid of the authorities.
“You gotta get your friend to a hospital, missy,” Hektor explained, standing to his feet. “There’s no other choice.”
Sauntering around the VW, it didn’t take long for Hektor to realize it had taken its last ride. Well, he'd tow it in, but that was that. His main objective was to help the kids as best he could. Assisting the girl into the wrecker, he made an arc around the bus then regained the rutted road. It was still many miles before Whispering Springs came into sight.


Chapter Six

Greg Williams stood between the batwing doors of the old saloon. Behind him, spread out on the floor, Tracey McMaster groaned. When the injured man attempted to sit up, pain screamed behind his eyes. Although he believed he had moved, Tracey realized he had no feeling from his neck downward. Staring upward, he muttered the name "Gia."
“Gia’s gone to get help,” Greg stated, squatting beside his boyhood best friend. Overnight, his life had drastically changed. No longer the fun-loving drifter, he had transformed into a caregiver. Cradling his companion’s head, he slowly lifted a dipper of water to the boy’s lips.
“Have mercy,” Tracey muttered, his lips remaining dry despite the sip of water. “She’ll drive that bus into a gully if she’s not careful.”
"Let's hope she's careful," Greg responded, squeezing his friend's hand. The lack of warmth in the palm frightened him. When the stiff fingers did not tighten around his own, the young hippie became alarmed. "Can you sit up, Trace?"
"No." The injured boy's lips formed the word, but no sound came out. Tears streaked his chocolate cheeks.
Greg sat back on his heels. How much time had passed since Gia trundled off with the bus? It seemed like an eternity. Returning to the batwing doors, he found the sun at the midmorning point. Only a few hours had passed. His sister couldn’t have made it to the service station yet. With slumped shoulders, he returned to sit beside his friend.

Had sending his sister been the right choice? Greg wondered. It was six of one or half a dozen of the other. Still, he wrestled with himself over the decision. What if the kombi didn't make it back? Alone on the desert, Gia would panic. She would never be able to walk back to the only sign of civilization they had encountered on their journey.
If that amp hadn't blown, Greg thought, they would be safe in LA. Perhaps they should have stayed and faced the consequences instead of leaving Pete Strong behind to deal with their mess. His messed-up head caused interference with his thinking. He'd messed up for so long he no longer knew what straight was.
After this experience, things would have to change. If they came out safe and sound, Greg decided he would go on the straight and narrow. He promised himself he would go back to school and maybe on to college. He could never become Phil Perfect, but he could do better. It was about time the hippie grew up. Drifting across the country playing gigs was never meant to be an ongoing occupation. Neither was getting stoned.
“Man, Trace, we done screwed up,” Greg stated. Keeping his back to his friend, he leaned between the swinging bar doors.
“We done, Greggie,” Tracey muttered, shaking his head back and forth. It was the only part of him he could move. “We done, Tom Turkey. Man O Man, are we done.”
“Not yet, man,” the young hippie replied. “Gia will bring help.”
“Gia?” his companion responded, forcing a smile. “Gia couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag.”
“Don’t underestimate Gia, Trace,” Greg answered, not believing it himself.
“Yeah, sure,” the injured man muttered, closing his eyes. Then, he fell back into unconsciousness.
Greg’s shoulders sank. His sister had never been the reliable sort. It had been her idea to start the group and take it on the road. Hitherto, Gia had been the dominant of the twins. Greg had followed her whims and was motivated by her suggestions. Now, suddenly, their roles had changed. It was his judgment that would get them out of Whispering Springs.
Closing his eyes, he pictured Gia driving along the rutted road. The bus would pitch back and forth as it had on its way across the desert. Anxiously, his sister's white knuckles would grip the wheel as she leaned into the windshield. Still, she would continue until she reached the service station. He envisioned her rush inside to plead with the owner for help. Oh, she could be convincing�"just as she'd always convinced him to join her folly. However, this time it was life or death.

Slowly, the sun inched toward high noon. Greg stepped into the road and gazed southward. The still desert spread away from the ghost town. Loneliness pressed upon the young hippie. Digging his hands into his pockets, he tentatively took a few steps along the road. If he began to walk, perhaps he could meet Gia on her return journey.
Deciding to walk out to meet her, Greg strolled decidedly along the road. Passing the blacksmiths, he left Whispering Springs behind. Step by step, he moved further away from the shelter. Oppressively hot, the scorching sun beat upon his back. Sweat began to soak his shirt; his jeans clung to his legs. Anxiously, he glanced back toward the ghost town.
How many miles would he have to walk until he met his sister? Should he leave Tracey that long? Sure, his friend was unconscious. However, if he awoke alone, would he feel abandoned? Deciding Gia would return shortly, he strode back to the saloon to hold vigilance.
Minutes stretched into hours. Time stood still. If the older man at the service station did not help, his sister would seek assistance elsewhere. Could she manage to drive further on, knowing the next town was miles away? Greg shoved the thought aside. The gas station attendant had to help them--Gia would manage to persuade him. No one was heartless enough to turn a young girl away.


Chapter Seven

Hektor threw a glance toward his companion. Up close, she was a pretty girl. Beneath bright blue eyes, a line of light brown freckles danced across her nose. Her dirty blond hair hung over her shoulders, covering her tiny buds of breasts. She did not return his tentative smile. Intensely, she gripped the dashboard and stared at the barren desert.
"We'll get to your friends, little missy," Hektor encouraged, reaching to pat her knee. Although he meant it as an encouraging gesture, he realized she did not wish to be touched.
“Greg’s my brother,” Gia stated, finally glancing toward her companion. “He’s my twin brother.”
“Was it his idea to take the shortcut?” the old man asked, keeping his eyes ahead of him.
“Yeah, dumb, huh?” the girl glumly responded. “He saw it on that map and thought it would save us time.”
Silence prevailed in the wrecker. Then Hektor spoke again.
“Ain’t no such place as Whispering Springs, girlie. Ain't no one ever lived there," the gas station attendant stated. "It's nothing but an old movie set. An unfilmed movie."
"You mean like one of those old Westerns my brothers used to watch at the double feature?" Gia asked, unsure if she were interested. "Like a John Wayne movie?"
“Something like that. Not sure if the Duke was going to star in it; maybe it was Jimmy Stewart. Can’t rightly recall,” Hektor explained.
"Oh, I see." The girl turned her eyes toward the older man then refocused ahead of her.
“Was supposed to be a tourist attraction after that,” Hektor continued, “but that fell through too.”
“Yeah, I get it. Cowboys and Indians. Stuff the kiddies love,” Gia responded, still not entirely interested. “Now it’s Nowhere, New Mexico.”
“You got that right, girlie,” Hektor chuckled. “Nowhere, New Mexico. That’s a good one.”
“Yeah, hilarious,” the girl flatly agreed. “And I’m not girlie. My name is Gia Williams.”
“That’s a right pretty name, Gia.” Her companion flashed another smile in her direction. “I’m Hektor Estevez. Pleased to meet you.”
"My brother is Greg, and our friend is Tracey McMaster. He's hurt bad, mister. He might even be dead." Unable to hold them back, tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. "I'm petrified, mister. Can't we get there any faster?"
"Now, don't you worry. We're nearly there," Hektor reassured. "Keep your eyes peeled straight ahead, and you'll see Whispering Springs on the horizon."
Without responding, Gia ogled the horizon. Tensely, she hitched herself forward and grasped the dashboard. Like her brother back in the ghost town, her mind was suddenly clear for the first time in ages. She knew they were deeply in trouble, just like she knew it was their stupidity that caused it. Like her twin, she realized they had to straighten up.
No more fooling around, the young hippie thought to herself. Peace and love were just fairy tales. In reality, people made mistakes, and mistakes caused people to get hurt. They're fooling around had injured Tracey. Perhaps, he lay dead on that mockery of a saloon floor. Damn people for putting up places like that then leaving them, Gia thought. Then: damn us for getting lost and getting stuck there. If they’d stayed on the main road, they would have gotten to someplace real.

Then, just as before, the signpost loomed out of the desert. This time, Hektor did not stop beside it. The wrecker trundled onward past the blacksmith shop. As soon as it stopped beside the saloon, Gia flung the door opened and dashed inside.
“How is he?” she questioned, squatting beside Tracey. Taking hold of his wrist, she searched for a pulse.
"He was awake about half an hour ago," Greg answered, kneeling beside his sister. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he continued: "He can't move from the neck down, sis."
Wide-eyed, Gia stared at her twin. Besides death, it was the worst news she could have expected. Tracey, who was once so active, would be permanently paralyzed.
“I radioed the state police,” Hektor Estevez announced as he strode into the barroom. “They’re sending a chopper to airlift your friend out.”
"The Fuzz?" Gia and Greg both exclaimed in one voice. Regardless of their circumstance, both hippies feared authority.
“Ain’t no choice, girlie,” Hektor responded, digging his hands into his jeans pockets. “Your friend there needs medical attention. Gotta get him out somehow. He ain’t fit for a ride in the wrecker.”
“We ain’t gonna get arrested for trespassing or anything like that, mister?” Greg asked. Standing up, he strolled toward their rescuer.
"Hell no," the old man chortled. "You three ain't the first to get stranded out here. Furthermore, you ain't gonna be the last neither."
“Yeah…yeah, okay, man,” Greg tentatively stated, still unsure.
"You ain't trespassing, young man," Hektor soothed the nervous hippie. "Ain't nobody owns this place. It's just like your sister says: Nowhere, New Mexico."
“They should tear it down, Hektor,” Gia indignantly announced. Joining the two men, she thrust her fists against her hips. “Why leave it standing when it endangers people who get lost?”
"That's a debate that's been going on for ages, young missy," their companion answered with a slight smile. "But you know the government, and they run slower than molasses flowing uphill in January. By the time we wait for them to decide, the whole place will have disintegrated into the desert."
Slowly, the young people nodded in agreement. They had spent most of their young lives protesting against authority and government to no avail. They had been part of the counterculture movement. They’d been to Woodstock and had decorated their bus with peace signs. They believed they had been part of a significant change in attitudes toward gays and blacks. However, looking back, they began to wonder if they had achieved anything at all.
Irresponsibly, they had drifted from place to place. A group of wanderers, they had no real destination and no real-life goal. Their search for peace and love had left them with little compassion for others. Like the amp fire in LA, they had carelessly left their mess behind. There were no consequences for their actions. It was always somebody else's problem.
Now, Tracey was their problem. They could no longer dodge responsibility. In the distance, the sound of the approaching chopper grew closer. The state troopers were coming. Silently, Greg and Gia exchanged glances. They both had the same idea. There was no escape. Therefore, they must face the situation head-on.


Chapter Eight

Officer Charlie Townes took Hektor Estevez’s statement before he turned toward the two hippies. He’d received calls to Whispering Springs on many occasions. Other than the injured man in the saloon, it was a routine call. Behind him, the two paramedics he'd brought with him were strapping their patient onto a stretcher. He only had a few moments to speak to the young people.
“What brought you out this way?” was Officer Townes first question.
“I grabbed a map at the gas station and noticed the shortcut,” Greg responded. Intimidated by the tall, muscular cop, he shied backward and kept his eyes toward the floor.
"Our bus conked out when we got here," Gia interrupted. Although she, too, felt bullied by authority, she compelled herself to state their case. "We flopped out in the saloon. Greggie and Trace were fooling around�"playing Cowboys and Indians�"then Trace fell from up there." Pointing, she indicated the broken railing.
"Okay, miss." Officer Townes's statement was devoid of emotion. With a snap, he closed his notebook. "We have to get your friend to a hospital." Then he turned toward Hektor and said, "We'll head to Albuquerque General. Are you willing to transport the young people?”
“Anything you say, Charlie,” Hektor immediately agreed. “I’ll pick up the bus on the way back.” Swiftly, he jabbed his finger toward the lopsided vehicle.
“We don’t want that thing,” Gia immediately cut in. Without consulting Greg, she continued, “We want to leave this mess behind and get on with our lives. It’s time we grew up and stopped screwing around.”
Before Greg could step in to agree with his sister’s statement, one of the paramedics stepped forward. “There’s no rush, Charlie,” he briskly stated.

Momentarily time stood still. Awkwardly, the EMT hovered in the background until the State Trooper dismissed him. Standing close together like errant children in a schoolyard, the twins slowly entwined their fingers. Then, turning into her brother's embrace, Gia sobbed into his chest. Tightening his grip with one arm, Greg tenderly cradled his sister’s head in his hand.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Officer Townes stated, his cop’s voice as flat as ever. Swiftly, he stepped away to approach the waiting paramedic. Slinging his arm over the young man's shoulder, he drew him away. Then, in a soft voice, admonished him for his brutal announcement.
In the meantime, Hektor approached the hippies. In their short acquaintance, he had grown fond of the young people. They suddenly became the children he never had.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” the old man stated, gently placing his hand on Gia’s heaving back. “I’ll drive you into Albuquerque. You’ll have to talk to the police there. It won’t be a big deal. Just provide information about your friend. They'll have to notify his next of kin and make arrangements. I’ll stay with you and make sure you get back home to your family.”
“That’s….that’s very kind of you, mister,” Greg replied, resting his chin on his sister’s head. “But you don’t have to do that. We’ll…we’ll be okay.”
"Nevertheless, I'm going to do it, young man," Hektor firmly declared. He wasn't about to take "no" for an answer. "Do me good to help you out. I've been stuck at that filling station for too many years now. Time to give it up. Ain't nothing going on 'round here."

As the chopper lifted from the ground, Gia and Greg climbed into the wrecker. Leaving Whispering Springs behind, Hektor headed out. When the siblings glanced back, they could only see the dust the wheels were kicking up. The old ghost town may have disappeared from their sight, but it never left their minds.

Reviews

[G Wade]

That was a bloody good story which I thoroughly enjoyed. Though I am from the opposite side of the world from where this is based it was like watching one of those great American road movies of the 60/70's somehow. I actually like the flamboyance of the text, maybe because I love the song lyrics of Joni Mitchell and Tom Waits, it adds to the overall impact. Even though the rules of short story writing are 'get to the point' and 'cut out waffle and unhelpful detail' I think because you have written a long short story it works well in this context.

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you for your kind review. I am glad you enjoyed Whispering Springs, New Mexico.

[FGFRANKLIN]

I found the story pretty well put together and interesting enough to hold my attention to the end. Well done. I did think some of the descriptions were a bit repetitive and overboard. Sometimes less is more. I could say, The fiery ball of the heavens sunk low into flaming tangerine and turquois blue or I could say, The sun set. Maybe there's a happy middle ground, not flamboyant or flowery but not staccato snap short either. Overall, it was a pleasing read and I enjoyed your story.

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you for your most Interesting review.

[Ken e Bujold]

interesting story Lea. engaging and well composed. I concur with my good friend Winston, and bow to his expertise in this form. I am a poet, and long form stories are not my area of interest. That said I did enjoy the read.

ken

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you for reading. I appreciate your review.

[Arundass TP]

Beautiful writing. Some thoughts and events. Good work

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you!!

[W. Barrett Munn]

You should use italics for thoughts instead of quotes. You do a pretty good job of showing rather than telling but could do more, choices like “protruding belly” and “old fashioned cash register” don’t really paint the picture you’re trying to show.
Start your stories in medias res, i.e., in the middle of things. Start with action.
I hope this information is of value and the type you want to receive.

Winston

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you for your review, Winston. I am always looking for ways to improve my stories.