I hear a loud ‘crack.’ I hit the brakes.

Stop hard. In the middle of nowhere.

There’s no one but me.

And no other vehicles. At first I think it must be a tyre, but … didn’t it sound just like a gunshot?

I get out of the car and carefully survey all directions. Nothing.

Nothing in my world now but a few cacti and the usual horde of dusty creosote bushes, and then in the distance mountains, and between them… shadows.

I am about four miles from the road fork towards Tucson, but otherwise, there are no other roads nearby. None meant for normal vehicles, anyway.

Then another ‘crack.’

Instinctively, I duck low at the side of the patrol car. In the next second, I have my gun ready. But there’s still no one to see.

The shot, if it was that, has come to my right, I figure.

It’s from somewhere from out in the sea of small, spindly desert bushes.

It has to be. Where else?

It doesn’t sound as though somebody is shooting at me, but… that I cannot be sure of.

I reach in through the half-open front door and pull at the radio’s mic:

“This is 477 – reporting possible firearm discharges on highway 85 at Cameron’s Tank, approximately four miles out of Ajo.” I fill in the rest.

I still can’t see anyone. But I will stay in the area to investigate, and they will send 436, which is the nearest unit for backup.

Jefferson is not much of a socializer, but he was in Iraq, too. Somehow that feels strangely reassuring, although I’m not sure of it should?

And, I dunno… maybe it wasn’t needed.

Maybe these are just some kids, borrowing their dad’s car, going out in the desert and having fun shooting at cans.

I put down the receiver and narrow my eyes against the shadows of the evening.

Then another ‘crack’.

This time I am sure it is a firearm discharge. And not aiming at cans.

I go down quickly and worm my way to the tail end of the car, elbows on asphalt.

Then I take a little look-see.

On the passenger side, where the shots appear to be coming from … there’s just the desert.

I have been in this situation before, it’s part of the job. Here and in the army.

That’s not the crazy part right here, at 7 PM in the ass-end of nowhere of Arizona.

The crazy part is that for the next ten minutes the shots just seem to keep coming, and now from different directions.

I stay low.

When Jefferson arrives, we cover each other and check the immediate area next to the road thoroughly, but there’s nothing.

Nothing except cacti and gravel. And ever more shadowy clouds slowly filling the evening sky.

Also, no more shots.

I think I counted about twenty, though, before the firing stopped.

Jefferson looks at me squarely before we get back into our cars. Like he is going to say, ‘You sure you heard something, or have you been on the road for too long?’

But I am sure.

Damn sure. I went to the army’s special school in Fort Benning (you can look that up) before we shipped out for Iraq. I know what a long-distance shot sounds like.

That’s not the problem.

It’s why.

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JON, July 2016

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Cover Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Arizona photo by iStrfry , Marcus on Unsplash

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Song: Camouflage – “Stranger Thoughts”