Journal entry from Tuesday, August 9, 2011

8:00 p.m. at the Salvia Homestead

Santa Ana winds howl and blast the dust from Mama's statue of Saint Death. The setting sun abandons the sandstone alcove to shadows. A six-inch Western Fence Lizard climbs through Santa Muerte's open mouth and up to her bony forehead. The lizard's scaly grey head swivels in my direction before it scrambles atop the skull to face me. Scaly grey and tan striped limbs drop and rise in pushups meant to threaten predators.

The breeze stirs the savory smell of black sage from the bushes flanking the alcove. My hand closes around Mama's suicide note with its single sentence. I can't live with what I've done.

I close the distance between me and the statue to slap the note against her chest. My movement sends the lizard bolting behind the statue's head. Aislinn McBride moves to LA and Mama comes back from the dead. I retract the note and jab my index finger into the skeleton's breastbone. "What's with Mama and Aislinn?"

The wind roars in my ears as Saint Death's black cloak flaps around her bony body. Dirt and oak leaves swirl behind her empty eye sockets. Anger swells in my chest with the memory of last night's craziness. Amber's family goddess came to her rescue. I retract my finger to curl my hand into a fist in front of Santa Muerte's throat. What has this bitch ever done for us?

Santa Muerte's bony angles blur into a grey haze as the wind showers us with dirt and leaves. I step back from the statue as it speaks in a deep, manly voice. "Por favor, necesito tu ayuda." Please, I need your help.

Before I can react, the cloudy mist coalesces into the shape of a bandido. His back's to me and he removes his hat in a gesture of respect to Saint Death. The howling wind whips debris around his calf-length boots, but cannot rustle his long leather duster. As he replaces his hat, he turns toward me. I'm staring at my brother Ken's doppelganger, Fernando Salvia.

The front door to our house opens and the wind slams it against the wall. Ken, Martin, and George rush through to join me in front of Santa Muerte's shrine.

With a sweeping gesture, Fernando motions east toward the San Fernando Valley. "Ella está en peligro. ¡Debemos actuar rápidamente!" She's in danger. We must hurry!

Remembering the legend from the book Finding Gold in Southern California, I ask, "The rancher's daughter?"

As Fernando nods, Martin addresses him in Spanish, "But she's long dead by now!"

My ancestor's brow furrows as his eyes flick eastward. "Su antepasada." Her ancestor. I cross my arms over my chest. "Nosotros queremos respuestas." We want answers.

Ken interrupts me to confront his ghostly doppelganger. "¿Donde esta el tesoro? Where's the treasure?

Fernando turns east and away from us. "Te lo diré después de que la rescatemos." I will tell you after we rescue her. I uncross my arms and walk to stand in front of Fernando. "Promesa." Promise.

Fernando nods and gestures to a rock outcropping rising from the valley floor, a mile from our house, known as Stoner's Jump. I know it well, having partied there in high school.

My ancestor eyes me to see if we're serious about helping him. He watches as George returns to the house to retrieve our gear, and as I remove the pickup keys from my pocket. Satisfied we won't bail, he disappears.

Ken and Martin high-five each other, then Ken elbows me. "Rescue her from who?" I shrug. "Let's roll."

We run to the old pickup truck and I open the driver's side door. With a metal groan, the Santa Ana wind jerks the door from my hand. I wrestle the handle from Santa Ana and slide into the driver's seat.On the passenger side, Martin and Ken shove each other for the privilege of riding shotgun. Ken wins by pushing Martin off-balance. Ken grabs the passenger door handle, which opens with a loud creak. By the time Martin regains his balance, Ken slams the door in his face.

George walks onto the doorstep with our gear. Martin lowers the tailgate and George loads the backpacks. As I shift into gear, Martin and George jump in the back and close the tailgate.

Dust and leaf litter swirl in front of the headlights as we rattle down the hill in the ancient truck. When we reach the dirt road that runs north along the top of the hills bordering the western end of the State Park, I shift into a higher gear. As we bounce over potholes, Ken grins at the pained groans coming from Martin and George in the pickup's bed.

Within a few minutes, we skid to a stop at the entrance to an old wagon route known as El Camino Nuevo, the New Road. We leap from the truck, grab our backpacks, and continue east on foot. Towering cliffs border the south side of the road. To the left is a deep canyon. Rumor has it in the late sixties, Manson and his band of dipshits stripped stolen cars, then sent them over the side of this road and down to the bottom of the ravine.

What we're navigating now is an overgrown animal path. In the twilight, we're able to avoid the boulders and deep rivulets carved in the stone following its abandonment as a road.

After fifteen minutes of running, the cliffs fall away and the trail angles south, away from the ravine. With a burst of speed, we clear the rest of the trail in minutes and close in on a dry, brushy meadow. I skid to a stop near a stand of Laurel Sumac and hold up a fist for silence.

At the meadow's center are two oaks whose umbrella boughs rustle under the rush of wind. The southeastern edge of the meadow ends in a cliff overlooking the San Fernando Valley. At the eastern edge are Stoner's Jump's towering sandstone slabs.

I motion my brothers toward the meadow. Silently, we approach from the north. As Stoner's Jump comes into view, movement atop the rock outcropping catches my attention. Six dark forms creep from the west across the top of the formation toward its eastern terminus, a giant stone tongue that juts out over the valley.

Retrieving my night vision goggles from my backpack, I angle and adjust the lens to sharpen the focus. Aislinn and Amber McBride's long red hair stand out against the twilight shadows. I recognize the black boy, Jonah, who I met the day Amber moved in. With them are Marisol Garcia, her friend Noelle, and the Russian Max Kisilev.

I stow my gear and motion for my brothers to form a tight circle. George and Martin flank me, and Ken stands across from me. He whispers, "I don't get it. Marisol doesn't need rescuing."

I resist the urge to deliver a knuckle punch. "Pendejo, whatever they're heading into is a trap."

George reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his cell phone. "I'll call Amber and tell them to stand down."

We wait as George taps the screen, then brings the phone to his ear. His mouth scrunches into a frown, then he extends the phone to stare at it before shaking his head. "No signal."

I gesture toward Stoner's Jump. "They're heading to the split. We'll stop them there."

My brothers nod as I pivot to walk point. As they follow me along the trail, I review the twenty-foot gash that bisects the Jump. Getting across requires navigating a fifteen-foot drop. Easy for us Salvias, but I doubt these kids can do it.

The trail narrows and we pass between thick elderberry bushes. Our movement disturbs a raven, who croaks her displeasure before winging away. I stop and hold up my fist to signal my brothers. The only sound is the howling wind. As it jostles the brush to rain dry berries and leaves on our heads, I breathe in the light, sweet smell.

Satisfied the raven didn't alert anyone to our approach, we continue through the Elderberry tangle. When we clear the brush, the trail opens up to a jumble of broken rocks. At our feet are basketball-sized stones, broken off from boulders dislodged by earthquakes. The scattering of rock increases in size across the fifty feet between us and the formation.

I raise a fist and we stop to retrieve our night vision goggles. Focusing the lens, my eyes traverse the rock fall until reaching the Stoner's Jump and the darkened gash bisecting the formation. Atop the gash at the western edge stand the teens and the Russian.

The black boy, Jonah, is the first to jump down into the crevice. With gale-force wind lashing our ears, I can't tell if he's landed unharmed.

We stow our gear to work our way over the rock fall. Within five minutes, we near its apex. In a scramble, we climb the remaining boulders to reach the north-facing opening, only to find a one-story stone blocking the entrance.

Dios Mio! Back in the day, my friends and I brought girls here. In the time since high school, the boulder must've fallen from the top to block the entrance.

A chorus of panicked voices erupts from within the crevice. Fuck me, they're giving away our position. As the wind roars in my ears, I hope it masks our presence.

I free-climb the boulder in seconds and clear the top to drop into the split. Twenty feet from me are the teens and Aislinn in a huddle. Dim light seeps in between their bodies from the circle's center. No sign of the Russian.

As my brothers clear the boulder to drop into the split, Amber's mother turns toward us. Her pinched, pale face and the white streak in her hair stand out against the darkness.

Aislinn's forehead creases into a frown. "Why are you here?"

Before I can answer, George pushes past me and rushes to Amber. Martin mumbles something about helping the kids and follows George.

Aislinn ignores them as her eyes widen in surprise. She's looking past me, so I turn toward Ken.

Superimposed over his body is the filmy outline of our ancestor, Fernando. In blurred double-vision, Fernando's features align with my brother's. Ghostly bandoliers crisscross Ken's t-shirt, and a broad-brimmed hat hovers just above Ken's head.

Suddenly, I'm elbowed aside by Aislinn. She points her index finger in Fernando's face. "You tried to kidnap my dog! What kind of sicko are you?"

My ancestor's mouth scrunches into a frown as he looks beyond us at the huddled teens. He steps away from Ken and toward the crevice's interior. As he passes Aislinn, he raises an index finger to the brim of his hat, then disappears.

Within seconds, Fernando reappears near the gaggle of kids. Without warning, he walks through Jonah. With a yelp, the Black boy steps out of the huddle. "What the..."

As their circle breaks apart, I discover the reason for Fernando enlisting our help. A flashlight on the ground casts weak light over an unconscious Marisol Garcia. At her side is a kneeling Max Kisilev.

As Aislinn, Ken, and I close the distance between us and the teens, Marisol groggily opens her eyes.

Fernando removes his hat, drops to one knee, and leans in so they're nose-to-nose. He peppers her in rapid Spanish. "Senorita, you must be away from here! It is not safe for you."

Moving through Fernando's ghostly form, the Russian leans to whisper something in Marisol's ear. Her chin tilts toward her chest in assent, and Max takes her hands to help her into a seated position against a nearby boulder.

The teenage Latina blinks hard, then answers Fernando in Spanish. "The Manson followers who attacked us kidnapped my brother and Seth. We have to save them!"

At this announcement, Aislinn turns to Amber and grabs her shoulders. "No one said anything to me about Charles Manson!"

A barking laugh escapes from Ken. With a grin, he cracks his knuckles. "I'm beginning to think this isn't about bear hunting."

Ken's use of that old joke regarding the beat down we gave those pendejos makes me chuckle.

George moves behind Amber to remove Aislinn's hands from her shoulders. "Don't worry, Mrs. McBride. We've got this."

Aislinn's eyes are wild as they flick between Amber and George. "Fine! We'll stay with Marisol until the cops get here. My sister called 9-1-1. Hopefully, they're on their way."

Amber turns to George and whispers something to him. He pulls her in for a hug.

Max gestures to Noelle, who takes his place by Marisol's side. As he rises to stand, he nods at me and my brothers. "Salvias, you come with me."

As we join the Russian to walk toward the crevice's southern opening, Jonah grumbles. "Throw a stick around here and you'll hit a Salvia."

The Russian is the first to slip out of the split. I follow to find him free climbing to return to the top of Stoner's Jump. As we follow, I hope we still have the element of surprise.

AUTHOR NOTES:

Banner photo of the trail leading to Stoner's Jump (walking eastward from the Upper Meadow)  taken by the author

Playlist Blackout by the Scorpions

https://youtu.be/qGPT1kfaSEs