Hot Sur

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They didn’t know what would happen to them once they were inside, but they had gone there alone and on foot along Route 285, something absurd in and of itself, this having to walk through southern Colorado at this point in their lives. The older of the two, Greg, was twenty-six, the younger one barely thirteen, a child really, known as Sleepy Joe in school because he fell asleep in class.

“I’m not sleeping, I’m praying,” he’d protest to his teacher, who shook him whenever she caught him with his eyes closed.

Wendy Mellons thinks they must have looked more like father and son than brothers walking along the shoulder of that long highway that traverses three states. No one spends almost three hours like they did on a trip they could have easily made using their father’s pickup truck.

“They were following orders,” Wendy Mellons explains. “They’d been told that they should arrive alone and on foot.”

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