Tortoise Soup by Jessica Speart Read Free Book Online Page B

sounded like good advice through my tequila haze. I grabbed another cup of coffee and a bag of Doritos to go, but Ruby pulled the chips out of my hands, foisting a bran muffin on me in its place.
    “You gotta eat healthy!” she called as I headed out the door.
    The heat was already a sweltering ninety-eight degrees by seven in the morning and about as dry as a sponge held under a running faucet. I turned onto a dirt road and headed toward the mountains, passing sun-bleached bones along the way. I only hoped they weren’t human. The wind had begun to pick up, singing a mournful dirge through the needles of large barrel cactus as shadows of clouds tripped across the mountain face. I’d heard that with time you can learn to take the desert’s pulse. This morning it was vibrating with life, even though none could be seen.
    Shifting into four-wheel drive, I worked my way up and down switchbacks and over rocks, following Ruby’s directions. After about twenty minutes of this, I began to think that she’d been wrong. It seemed inconceivable that anyone would want to live out here.
    Then I heard the sound of gunshots. I turned off what Ruby had called a road and blindly followed the sound, but nothing came into view. Not wanting to risk losing my way, I was about to turn back when sunlight reflected off an object in the distance. I headed in its direction.
    The closer I got, the less I trusted my eyes. There appeared to be a large wooden ark sitting in the middle of the desert. Unless I had just solved a biblical mystery, this was the home of the group of scientists I had been told about.
    Then I caught sight of my welcoming committee. Ensconced in a beach chair was a bare-chested, middle-aged man with stringy blond hair. His sunburned beer belly hung like a worn-out tire over cutoff denim shorts. Cowboy boots covered his feet. He was bleary-eyed, with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s stuck between his legs. He looked like he should have been on a beach, waiting for a wave to roll in, instead of working on his skin cancer in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
    He waited for me to get out of the Blazer. “How ya doin’?”
    “Hi. I’m Rachel Porter, with Fish and Wildlife,” I said.
    “So you’re the new oinker, huh?” he commented, squinting up at me.
    Somehow it didn’t sound like scientific jargon to me. He gave a wide grin as he brought the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to his lips and took a swig.
    “Name’s Noah Gorfine. Welcome to my ark.” Noah motioned behind him without bothering to get out of his chair.
    After Cammo Dude I thought I’d met all the loony tunes around, but Noah was coming up number one on my hit parade. If there was one thing I hadn’t expected to find, it was an ark sitting out in the middle of the desert. But then again, I should have known better. In Nevada, nothing is what you expect it to be.
    “Why the ark?” I couldn’t help but ask.
    “In case it rains,” Noah deadpanned.
    “So where are all the animals?” I questioned.
    Another gunshot rang out. Noah looked off in the distance and chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re coming.”
    In the Bible, two of each kind were taken onboard the ark. Heading our way was a twist on the story. A pack of small, unkempt dogs began yapping their lungs out upon catching sight of me. Breaking into a mad dash, the motley brood lunged en masse, looking like out-of-control mops as they nipped at my legs.
    “Down!” A new voice issued the command.
    The dogs immediately fell back in a ragtag semblance of order. I’d been so busy swatting the little beasts away that I hadn’t noticed the woman who now stood before me. A busty bleached blonde, she was dressed in a midriff shirt cut to emphasize her abundant cleavage, a small roll of fat squeezed out of the top of her hip-hugger jeans. She’d taken the time to apply full makeup to her slightly bloated face, and large gold hoop earrings finished off the ensemble.
    Noah introduced us. “This is my number one