by Mark Lukens
Palmer shook his head, tiring of Begay’s constant warnings. “I don’t think the German Shepard would be too comfortable with me hanging around here with him.”
Begay didn’t laugh at Palmer’s joke. He turned around and started walking back towards Joe Blackhorn’s place.
Palmer fell in step beside him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The ghost town
“What did you mean by that?” Stella asked David. “What do you mean, you’ve been here before?”
David didn’t answer.
“You’ve been here with your parents?” Stella asked him.
David shook his head no, but it seemed like he was confused, deep in thought. He also looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I haven’t really been here before,” he said. “But at the same time, it feels like I’ve been here before.”
Stella looked at Joe for help.
“Remember when I told you about a man in 1891 named Jed Cartwright who found a boy named David?” Joe asked. “And I told you that the boy’s family was slaughtered when Jed found him.”
Cole and Stella nodded. David squeezed Stella’s hand even tighter.
“I told you that Jed and David went to a town and that those people were wiped out by the Darkwind … this is that town.”
David said that he’d been here before.
“Everyone in town was killed?” Cole asked.
Joe shrugged. “There are different stories, but many believe that a yataalii, a Navajo medicine man, was here in this town—a relative of Billy Nez’s clan—and he helped David close the door on the Ancient Enemy.”
“If he defeated it, then why is it back now?” Cole asked.
Joe shrugged again. “Maybe they didn’t succeed, or maybe they didn’t kill it but only managed to send it back to its world, and now, one hundred and twenty years later, it has come back. Or maybe this is a different Darkwind this time.”
Stella thought about the time of one hundred and twenty years—a person’s life span. Was David somehow the reincarnation of the David before him, and the David before that? Was he somehow related to this ancient being somehow?
She didn’t want to think about that. David was just a boy, she told herself. Just a little boy who needed help.
The wind rocked the side of the church, the wood creaking even louder. The ceiling above them groaned in protest. A howl sounded in the distance. The coyotes were closer now … all of the animals were closer now.
“Come, David,” Joe said. “We have to hurry. It’s almost here. You know that, don’t you?”
David nodded and he pulled his hand away from Stella’s grasp.
Stella knelt down and grabbed David’s shoulders gently before he turned to walk to Joe. She locked eyes with him. “We’re going to get through this,” she told him. “You’re strong enough to beat this evil. You understand me?”
He nodded.
“You listen to everything Joe tells you. But you have to believe in yourself … you have to believe that you can do this.”
“I’m scared,” David whispered.
“I know,” Stella answered and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling now. “I know you’re scared, but you’re stronger than that monster. You can hurt it. You can send it back. No matter what happens … no matter what happens to us …” She glanced at Cole who nodded in agreement and then she looked back at David. “No matter what happens, you just concentrate on sending that thing back through the doorway. Back to its own world.”
David nodded and hugged Stella fiercely. She hugged him back. She was so sorry David had to go through this, but she wasn’t going to tell him that right now. She wanted him to stay strong.
She let him go and she wiped at her eyes. “Go to Joe,” she whispered. “Do what he tells you to.”
• • •
Forty-five minutes later Joe had the symbols from David’s notebook painted onto David’s face, hands, and arms. The symbols looked like perfect replicas of the ones in the notebook. They looked almost like dark red tattoos on David’s skin.
Joe used the rest of the owl’s blood to paint a large circle on the wood floor after Cole and Stella had helped him sweep the debris out of the way. He’d painted more symbols inside and outside the line of the circle. David now stood alone in the middle of that circle as Joe danced around the outside of it, waving his carved wooden stick, rattling the bird claws, beads, and feathers, singing a prayer in a low voice.
Cole stood the farthest away from the circle. He had his gun in one gloved hand, his finger caressing the trigger, his eyes on the double doors at the front of the church in the distance.
Stella stood halfway between Cole and the circle. Her gun was still in the waistband of her jeans.
The wind had remained constant over the last thirty minutes, howling and screeching around the eaves of the church. The building creaked, the stained glass windows rattled in their frames, the whole building seemed to sway a little from some of the stronger gusts.
Shadows flew outside the stained glass windows … birds, buzzards, and bats. Some of them bumped into the glass, some of them already beginning to peck at the pieces of stained glass.
The howls outside from the coyotes were closer now.
The Ancient Enemy was closer now.
Cole and Stella had barred the front doors shut as best they could with some old pieces of wood and two-by-fours. Cole had managed to brace them against the doors at angles, but he knew the pieces of wood wouldn’t keep that thing out when it finally came.
A moment later something pounded on the doors from outside.
Then another pounding.
And another one.
It was here …
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Captain Begay drove his Ford Bronco as far into the desert as the big knobby tires would allow. They had driven for almost forty minutes, traveling deeper and deeper into the desert. The trail was easy enough to follow even from his truck, but then the trail ran up to some narrow passageways through sheer cliffs of rock. No way to get the truck through there. They could’ve backtracked and tried to find a route around the groupings of rocks, but they might drive too far out of the way and lose the trail for good.
“We’ll have to walk from here,” Begay said.
Palmer didn’t argue.
“Take some water with you,” Begay said.
Palmer had taken a few nips from his bottle of vodka on their bumpy ride through the desert, trying not to spill any of it, but he left that behind and took Begay’s advice; he slipped a bottle of water down into his outside coat pocket. He zipped up his coat and slipped his gloves on. He wished he had a hat but he would just have to tough it out.
Begay went to the back of his truck and grabbed a small backpack that was obviously loaded with supplies. Palmer watched him as he rummaged through the pack like he was performing a last-minute check.
“What have you got in there?” Palmer asked him.
“Just some extra water and some other stuff,” Begay answered without looking at Palmer. He buckled the straps and slipped the backpack on. Then he grabbed the shotgun, unlocked the trigger guard and shut the hatchback.
And then they started walking.
Palmer wasn’t exactly out of shape, but he was no athlete either, and twenty minutes into the walk he was breathing a little heavier and the muscles in his legs and lower back were already burning. He glanced at the captain who walked beside him, but the big man seemed to be breathing normally, having no trouble with their hike through these rocks even though he was probably a hundred pounds heavier than Palmer was.
Begay didn’t talk on their walk, and Palmer was glad because he was probably too out-of-breath to answer coherently.
The groupings of rocks gave way to a gradual dip down into the desert floor that was a sea of brush and shrubs, some of them thorny and sharp, with dozens of trails through them. Palmer followed Begay as he wound his way through the paths through the brush, following the bea
ten-down trails left behind from the four wheelers and the horse. Palmer kept glancing down at his feet, looking for any rattlesnakes in the brush. The thought of all of those snake trails near the abandoned truck they had seen had gotten to him and he wondered how many thousands of rattlesnakes were out here where few humans ever walked.
Ten minutes later Begay stopped. The vegetation had thinned out and even though the sand was packed down a little harder in this area, the trail from both the four wheelers and the horse was still evident.
“Look at that,” Begay said.
Palmer saw it—a horse was trotting up to them.
“That must be their horse,” Palmer said.
Begay nodded and clicked his teeth. The horse came right up to him.
This guy has some kind of way with animals, Palmer thought. A regular Dr. Doolittle.
The captain whispered into the horse’s ear, stroking the animal’s flank gently. The horse looked jumpy, staring at Palmer with wild eyes. Begay patted the horse and whispered to her again. The horse took off towards the sea of brush, following the trail they had just left behind.
“Why is their horse coming back without them?” Palmer asked.
Begay didn’t answer. He started walking again.
Twenty minutes later Begay stopped at the edge of the brush which opened up to an expanse of open desert. In the distance was a line of structures that looked like dark shapes on the horizon with the mountains beyond them. Palmer could tell the structures were man-made.
As they got closer to the structures, Palmer realized that they were buildings in a ghost town. He’d heard of ghost towns before, but he’d never really seen one in person before.
“Do you know this place?” Palmer asked. His breathing was better, his lungs more used to their hike and the altitude now.
Begay shook his head. “I don’t come out this way much. Nobody does. A lot of this land is sacred Anasazi land. Many Navajo don’t go to these places.”
“But why would a town be built here? That looks like a …” Palmer didn’t know how to phrase it exactly.
“You mean this is the kind of place white people might build?” Begay asked with a smile.
Palmer just sighed.
“There were towns all over here in the eighteen hundreds before the government sectioned off the reservations for the Navajo, Ute, Zuni, Hopi, and others. Many of these towns were built up during the silver rush, or as way stations along the way to the west coast. But just like towns are disappearing in the Appalachian valley now as the economy changes, people left these towns for the same reasons.”
A howl rang out through the air. Then another one.
Begay looked over at a ridge that ran along to their left, running all the way from the sea of brush they had walked through and then beyond the ghost town. “Coyotes.”
Palmer looked at the ridge and saw that it was dotted with coyotes. They stood there in a line like a regiment of soldiers. His skin crawled as he thought back to all of those animal tracks around the stolen pickup truck.
“Is that normal?” Palmer asked, nodding towards the line of coyotes in the distance. “All those coyotes up there on the ridge like that?”
“Nothing is normal about this,” Begay answered.
They followed the trail through the hard-packed sand to the edge of the ghost town as the wind began to kick up, nearly blotting out the ghost town now in the sandstorm. Palmer stayed tense, but he kept one arm shielded over his eyes. If something was coming for them in this sandstorm, they wouldn’t see it until it was too late.
They got to the edge of the town and the buildings lining both sides of the dusty street provided some protection from the swirling sand. Begay carried the shotgun as he walked down the wide street through the middle of the town and Palmer had his service pistol in his hand.
“They could be in any of these buildings,” Palmer said.
Begay looked down at the tracks in the sand. Palmer looked down at the dirt, too. The wind hadn’t blown the tracks away completely because of the buildings, but Palmer could barely see them anymore.
“Their horse came back from that church down there,” Begay said and pointed at the white church in the distance. “And their four wheelers are parked there.”
Then that was probably where they were, Palmer thought. But they still needed to be ready in case a shot rang out from one of these decrepit buildings on both sides of them. He didn’t think he needed to tell Begay that.
More howls sang out in the distance and the wind shrieked down between the buildings as Palmer and Begay made their way down the dirt street towards the church like two gunslingers marching towards a shootout. Once they were in front of the double doors of the church, the wind was stronger, the sand swirling harder, pelting them like a dry stinging rain.
Palmer looked to their left and saw shadows moving towards them in the sandstorm. Some of the shadows were definitely coyotes creeping forward, their bodies hunched low to the ground. But there were also some kind of birds flying through the swirling sand; some were large birds like buzzards, but others were smaller … maybe they were bats. And there were other creatures on the ground slithering towards them. Snakes—had to be snakes.
But there was something else out there moving around in the sandstorm—it looked almost like two people stumbling around out there.
Could it be Stella or the man she was with, or Joe Blackhorn?
Palmer was about to point the two people out to Begay, but then the two people were gone, lost again in the swirling sand.
Begay and Palmer got to the front doors of the church and Palmer pushed on the door. It seemed like it was locked or barred shut. He kicked at it as Begay turned around, his shotgun aimed at the swirling sandstorm and the shadows advancing towards them. He was singing a prayer under his breath as he held his shotgun steady.
Palmer kicked the door again.
Then another kick.
Then another.
Finally the doors splintered and broke open. Palmer pushed the doors open all the way, his gun aimed into the gloom. “FBI! Everyone down now!!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The pounding continued on the front doors of the church.
Cole had his nine millimeter in his hand, the gun aimed at the double doors. His finger was on the trigger, ready to shoot.
David still waited inside the circle of owl’s blood Joe had painted on the floor. Joe danced around the outside of the circle, shaking his carved stick ordained with feathers, beads, and claws. He continued singing a prayer.
Stella was about to hurry towards Cole.
“Stay there,” he told her, his gun still aimed at the double doors.
Stella stopped—she trusted him.
Cole didn’t have time to explain, but he wanted to be away from Stella, David, and Joe when the Ancient Enemy came inside. He was willing to be the first one taken when that thing came, willing to buy David some time if he had to. But he had a surprise for the Ancient Enemy. He was going to shoot it, he was going to burn it, he was going to hurt it somehow before it took him. He was going to make it pay for what it had done to his brother. He wasn’t going out without fighting to his death.
And now the Ancient Enemy was here, pounding on the door, kicking it in.
Cole was ready.
But then he froze when he saw a man dressed in a dark coat and tie stumble inside the opened doors, a fog of swirling sand following the man inside.
“FBI!” the man yelled, aiming his gun right at Cole. “Everyone down now!”
Cole didn’t lower his weapon.
“Drop your weapons now!” the man yelled.
A split second later an even larger man entered the church right behind the man in the suit and tie. This man wore a bulky green Navajo Police jacket with a backpack over it. And he was carrying a shotgun.
Joe had stopped dancing and singing around the circle.
They all stared at the two men who stood in the doorway for a few seconds with th
e fierce sandstorm behind them.
The other man, the Tribal Police officer, closed the doors on the howling wind and stinging sand. He managed to prop up a few of the pieces of wood that Cole had used before, bracing the doors closed again.
“I’m not fucking playing around!” the FBI man screamed, still aiming his gun right at Cole and taking a step closer. “Lower your weapon now! Put it down on the floor and kick it away!”
“Joe Blackhorn?” the Tribal Officer said as he turned back around to face them, casually holding the shotgun in his hands but not aiming at them.
Joe nodded. “I’m Joe Blackhorn.”
Palmer’s eyes shifted to Joe and then to David who stood inside the circle of blood with red symbols painted all over his face and hands. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“I’m Captain Begay from the Navajo Tribal Police,” Begay announced, ignoring Palmer. “We’re here to apprehend these two and take David back to his family. This man with me is Special Agent Palmer from the FBI.”
Joe smiled and shook his head slowly. “You two came at a very bad time.”
Begay looked at Cole, locking eyes with him from across the room. “Sir, could you lower your weapon please?”
Cole didn’t lower his gun. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?” Cole asked them.
“What the fuck are you taking about?” Palmer growled. “I’ll show you my ID and badge after you throw your gun down on the floor.”
“I’m not putting my gun down,” Cole said.
“Wait,” Begay said, looking at Palmer.
The Tribal Police officer seemed to be trying to calm the FBI agent down, Cole thought. He laid a big hand on the agent’s shoulder. “Just lower your weapon a little, please. We don’t want any accidents here.”
The agent glared at Begay: Don’t tell me what to do, his eyes said. Then he looked back at Cole. “You’re a suspect in twenty-one murders, two stolen vehicles, and one bank robbery.” He smiled like he was delivering information about Cole that the others might not know about.