Bolt

by Siena West

  “I’m sorry, Tía, but I’ve got to bail on our trip to the pueblo. I’ve got too much to do.”

  The director shrugged. “No problem, mi’jo. I’ll muddle through by myself.” It might even be fun to get out of camp. Busy with excavation and bureaucracy, she had little time for herself. She sought out Sue before she left, following the first rule of camp life—always tell someone where you’re going. Jorgensen had reinforced this rule in the current climate of fear when no one knew if they would encounter an armed Mexican instead of a bear. “I’m driving up the Chediski road to the site on the bluff,” she told Sue.

  “Anyone going with you?” Sue asked.

  “Nope—I’m on my own. Everyone else is busy. I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour or two, unless I get caught in the rain,” she said, eyeing the clouds that had drawn closer.

  The comment proved to be prophetic.

  * * *

  Scarcely a mile north of the ranch, the little pueblo stood high on a bluff covered with piñon pines and junipers. It overlooked a broad, green meadow where once a stream flowed. The bluff’s inhabitants had farmed along its banks. Elena parked on the road that ran past the site, and a brief walk brought her to the ruin.

  The pristine ruin consisted of about twenty rooms and a large, open plaza. Its location and the thick tree cover had hidden it from pot hunters. It would be a wonderful place to excavate. There was even shade, which was rare at archaeological sites. Elena knew there was no need to look at the other sites Cole selected as candidates for excavation. This was the one. She took lots of photos because if they excavated the ruin next summer, she and Cole would have to write a research design for the Forest to justify the fieldwork. She thought Cole would need to find time to sketch a map for the proposal.

  Elena was so preoccupied, happily picking her way across the site, she didn’t notice the sun had disappeared. The first grumbles of thunder took her by surprise. Little prickles of fear peppered the back of her neck; it was dangerous to be on the high bluff in a lightning storm. It was time to leave. She turned to walk away and found herself face to face with Otis Greenlaw.

  Chapter 37

  Bolt

  Clad in a rumpled windbreaker, Greenlaw smelled of campfire smoke. He raised a gnarled hand and tipped his hat to Elena. Not the battered silverbelly hat with the silver pin Maggie and Cole had found—that one was now in an evidence locker—but a brand-new, black Resistol hat. She wondered when he’d found the time to buy it.

  “Howdy there, Miz Vargas. Wanted to drop by for a visit. Never got that tour you promised me.”

  Pinche mierda. Elena would stake her life that Greenlaw hadn’t risked being seen, perhaps even being caught, for a neighborly visit. The air was still and thick under the roiling clouds. Sweat trickled down her face and tickled her back. In part, it was the heat and humidity, but mostly it was fear. The fugitive had returned, and his intentions were not good.

  “Where have you been, Mr. Greenlaw?” Elena asked. It took effort to keep her voice casual. “I understand the law’s been trying to find you.”

  The rancher grinned, tobacco-stained teeth showing brown and broken. “Funny, ain’t it? I found out they was after me and lit out. Been campin’, hiding from ‘em.”

  “This site is out of the way. How did you learn I was here?”

  Greenlaw continued grinning. “All it took was askin’ at the ranch house when they told me you wasn’t there. They gave me real good directions.”

  Hijo de las mil putas. The first place visitors stopped was the open lab where Sue and the lab rats worked. Sue would have recognized Greenlaw from his visit to the ranch earlier in the summer and didn’t know he was the suspected pot hunter. Those who did—Maggie and Cole—may not have realized that Greenlaw had stopped in camp. They would have blocked him had they known.

  Lightning began to flash, and the thunder grew louder. Elena’s mind filled with questions, firing fast like the lightning above them. No doubt Greenlaw learned that Maggie and Cole had identified him as the pot hunter. But why had he driven to the bluff to confront her?

  The wind whipped up, blowing ahead of the storm and breaking the unnatural stillness. Elena had to stall Greenlaw and get away from him. The old man was dangerous. He’d shot Cole, and she was alone and unarmed. It was ironic that after her many warnings to Maggie and Cole about riding alone, it was she who’d landed in trouble. Alone, on top of a butte in a lightning storm, facing a crazy man—it was not a good situation.

  Elena kept her voice even. “OK, I’ll give you the site tour, Mr. Greenlaw. But we’d better hurry before it rains harder.”

  “A little rain never hurt nobody.” The rancher hadn’t said why he had followed her to the ruin, and he showed no intention of leaving.

  The first big drops splattered on the ground. Then they pelted down harder and faster, splashing into the puddles left from the last rain like tiny fish swarming up to the surface of a pond.

  As they stood in the open plaza, Elena weighed the potential danger Greenlaw posed against the indisputable danger from the sky. “Please, Mr. Greenlaw, let’s get off this bluff. It isn’t safe here. We need to get into the vehicles,” she insisted. She was poised to dash away when Greenlaw shouted at her.

  “Stop right there, missy!”

  His tone arrested her as surely as if he had grabbed the back of her shirt. Elena turned and saw the gun, the black mouth of the barrel pointed at her.

  The gun answered one question. Greenlaw must have figured out that Elena had turned him in to the FBI after Cole and Maggie identified him as the pot hunter. She hadn’t forgotten her conviction that someone in their little community was seeking revenge, and now she discovered who it was.

  The storm was overhead now. Lightning flashed a ring of fire around the hilltop, and rain mixed with a smattering of stinging sleet pelted down, driven at a slant by the wind that had risen.

  Her breasts rising under the thin, soaked shirt drew Greenlaw’s gaze. Elena grew uncomfortable as his eyes flickered from her face to her chest. Be polite to him, an inner voice prompted. Don’t make him mad.

  Elena spoke as one would soothe a frightened horse, although inside, she was torn between terror and nausea. “Please, put the gun down, Mr. Greenlaw. You’re facing a long time in prison as it is for federal antiquities violations. Don’t add murder to it.”

  The big man shook his head. “You know too much, lady. You been snoopin’ around, asking questions.” He smiled at her quizzical look. “Yeah, I heard about ol’ Madge. And that big-shot professor you talked to. Fuckin’ Indian lover.” He spat on the ground. “You figured out I was helpin’ myself to pots in the ruins and sellin’ em. Caleb told me that little redhead and her boyfriend found my hat out there at that ruin with all the turquoise where I did a little diggin’. There never was a woman in the world who could keep her damned mouth shut.”

  Elena remembered that afternoon when Cole and Maggie had danced and giggled in their glee at finding Greenlaw’s hat, and Caleb had heard them from the stair landing. That explained why Caleb had disappeared; he’d run to tell Greenlaw they had discovered him.

  “Caleb’s been helpin’ me out all summer, kinda like a spy. I told him to git hisself hired on your dig.”

  “So he’d be able to steal artifacts from our excavations,” she said.

  “So what? None of that shit he took was worth anything. I reamed his butt out for that.”

  “It was worth something to us,” Elena said.

  Greenlaw snorted. “That kid Caleb is an idiot. Don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. The crystal meth he smokes has rotted his brain. Never could take care of hisself. I tried to get him involved in the bidness as a favor, but he just ain’t savvy. Caleb couldn’t get the hang of it, stuff that would sell good to the Japs and Krauts.”

  “The business?” Elena asked, confused.

  “Diggin’ up pots. It makes money, so I run it like a bidness.”

/>   “It’s illegal, Mr. Greenlaw.”

  “Bullshit. Them pots and the other stuff buried with them dead Indians are mine as much as anybody else’s. I’ve paid the gov’mint enough over the years. Taxes, grazing fees, licenses. Anyway, ever’body knows you archaeologists is hypocrites. You have a hissy fit if somebody digs up a pot, but you keep the pots and other stuff you find.”

  “That’s not true, Mr. Greenlaw. The profession would bar a bona fide archaeologist who did that from ever practicing archaeology again.”

  “More bullshit.” A tremendous boom of thunder drowned out his words. It seemed to reverberate in Elena’s chest.

  The red mud that spattered up from the puddles had soaked and splashed them. Cocoa-colored runoff rushed downslope, carrying sticks and pine cones and bits of archaeological debris with it. Keep him talking. If Elena stalled him long enough, someone in camp would come looking for her, thinking she’d had car trouble or slid off the road in the rain.

  “Caleb took the boxes of human remains, didn’t he?” Elena said, although Jorgensen had already given her the answer.

  “Yep. I told him to look for burials, to git the pots and jewelry buried with the dead people. The dumbass thought the bones was the same as a burial. Kid’s too dumb to recognize the cock in his own hand.”

  “And he set the fire, too.”

  “That’s right. Caleb’s even dumber than I thought. You don’t set fires in the forest. Ever’body knows that.”

  “We were lucky to put the fire out. But it might have spread to the ranch house—people could have been hurt or died. It might have started a brush fire.”

  “Yeah. I beat the shit out of him for that. But I didn’t tell him to do it. He cooked that up hisself.”

  “Why did he do it? The fire threatened everyone in camp.”

  The old man shrugged. “Ain’t got no idea.”

  There was one more question to ask, one more piece to fit into place. “Was it you in the canyon shooting at Cole and Maggie?”

  Greenlaw shook himself like a dog as if trying to evade the weight and force of the water pouring from the sky. “You know about that, too? Guess you are real smart.” The gun remained pointed at the middle of Elena’s chest. At this range, even a bad shot would strike her heart.

  “Why did you shoot at them?” Elena said.

  “I was tryin’ to scare those stupid kids away so I could ride out the canyon.”

  Greenlaw had confessed everything, she realized. The rancher must have recognized that the FBI and the County sheriff knew everything he’d done, or he wouldn’t be hiding somewhere in the mountains. If he was spilling his guts like this, he surely didn’t mean to let her leave the hilltop alive.

  “You plan to shoot me, don’t you? People know where I am, Mr. Greenlaw. You won’t get away with it.”

  “Ma’am, I ain’t gonna shoot you. You’re gonna have a tragic accident—struck dead by lightnin’.”

  It was so outrageous that Elena laughed, despite the fear lying cold on her hammering heart. She couldn’t stop herself from spitting out a curse. “Tonto de culo. What, you’re God now? You can’t order lightning where and when to strike.”

  “That sounds like blasphemy, lady. No, I ain’t God, that’s for sure. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna march right on down the hill into the meadow. Like they say, lightning always strikes the highest thing—and you’ll be it in that open field. And this here gun says you’ll do what I say.”

  The gun wavered a little as if Greenlaw was tiring. His voice dropped; he almost seemed apologetic.

  “I didn’t mean to shoot that stupid kid. But I hit him by accident.

  “And I ain’t planned on gettin’ rid of you like this, either. This notion is much better. I worked it out when I saw the clouds comin’ in. Lightnin’ don’t leave no evidence. I’ll say I saw you git hit when I was drivin’ back to yore camp. They won’t be able to pin it on me.” The old fool laughed at his own cleverness.

  “Why do you want to kill me, Otis?” Elena asked, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve done you no harm.”

  Greenlaw fixed her with an icy stare. “That’s bullshit, too. I’m a Christian man. But you’re a witch, lady. Maybe even a demon. Caleb told me all about you. You can walk through fire without a scratch. You kilt my cattle, put the kibosh on my pot-huntin’ trips. When you’re dead, I can git the worry off my chest.”

  “I’m afraid you’re not thinking clearly, Mr. Greenlaw,” Elena said, heedless of the rain pouring off her hair and body. She had to stall him for a few more minutes. “Why would I want to kill your cattle?”

  “Witches don’t need no reasons. They just purely love doin’ evil. That day you came to my ranch? Wouldn’t be surprised if you left somethin’ bad in the barn to witch my cows.”

  “Mr. Greenlaw, some of your cows were already dead when I came to your ranch. Listen—the County sheriff, the FBI, the Forest, and the Apache cops—they understand everything you’ve done. The cops raided your place and discovered Caleb’s meth lab, and they arrested him. The FBI found your journal, and they know about your pot hunting, even the people to whom you sold artifacts. You won’t be able to get away when they figure out you were responsible for my death. You’ll be caught. And they will convict you.”

  Greenlaw snorted. “So you say. Cain’t believe a word a witch says.”

  A silence punctuated by the taps of rain drops on the ground and rumbles of thunder extended from seconds to minutes.

  “There’s one detail you’ve forgotten—my truck. I wouldn’t have left it here and walked to the ranch.”

  Greenlaw’s smile chilled Elena more than the rain. “I’ll fix it so it won’t start. It’ll look like you headed off for help.

  “I’m through talkin’.” He waved the gun. “Now git down off this hill!”

  Elena turned and started toward the edge of the bluff that overlooked the meadow. Greenlaw followed, and she felt the gun pointed at her back. Lightning bolts struck blue around and above them, so fast it was impossible to count the seconds before thunder cracked. Rainwater had filled the low-lying places. In fact, they stood in a puddle, making the danger from the sky worse. Think, Elena. How can you get away from him?

  The next lightning strike was so close it sizzled, and it seemed the shock of the rolling thunder would topple the trees. Think. Elena’s mind scurried like the little mice that invaded her cabin. There was only one way to escape—run. But although she could outrun the old man, she couldn’t outrun his bullets. She needed to find a place to hide.

  At the edge of the bluff, Elena turned to face Greenlaw and glimpsed movement in the trees beyond the ruin. Greenlaw saw the flicker in her eyes and the unconscious, sidewise flutter of her eyelids.

  “That’s the oldest trick in the world, witch lady, and I ain’t fallin’ for it. There ain’t nobody behind me. You cain’t stall no longer.

  “When you’re off the hill, walk toward the road. I’m comin’ after you if I don’t see you in that meadow soon. And I’ll shoot you, I swear.”

  Greenlaw was a fool if he thought she would do that. Her confidence rose. She decided to hide in the brush at the base of the bluff. Greenlaw talked big, but she doubted he could follow her down the bluff with its slippery footing, now slick with rain, and shoot her. Her advantage was youth and physical fitness. As she looked past his bulky figure, she saw movement again. Someone was threading through the trees toward them, wearing a yellow rain slicker that gleamed in the gray downpour. It must be Cole or Tim, coming to see why she hadn’t come back to the ranch when the storm hit.

  “Well, goodbye, Mr. Greenlaw. Guess you’ve got the better of me.” Elena could give him that much.

  She took a deep breath and started down the bluff. Then three things happened at the same time. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose, and she felt the peculiar tingle that foretold an imminent lightning strike. She tripped on a slippery, bare ro
ck, lost her balance, and fell. And last, she heard Greenlaw’s outraged roar.

  Elena rolled a way down the steep, slippery slope but caught up against a juniper stump. She struggled to get on her feet and was scrambling back up the slope when the sky split open.

  The tremendous electrical charge gathering in the earth and rising to meet the same force striking down from the sky sought the tallest object in the open, unprotected space at the edge of the bluff—the standing figure of Otis Greenlaw, clutching his gun.

  Chapter 38

  Fatal Strike

  Elena watched the lightning strike Otis Greenlaw. Later, she would recall that the horrifying sequence seemed to unfold as it did in the movies—in slow motion—although in reality, it took only seconds. The brilliant bolt struck Greenlaw on the top of his head and traveled through his body to the ground. The tremendous concussion of the strike sounded like an explosion. A fraction of a second later, there was an actual explosion as the loaded gun he carried detonated like a bomb with the heat and force of the bolt.

  The force of the strike lifted Greenlaw’s body like a ragdoll and tossed it in the air. His body landed in a crumpled heap, bones and skull broken. The superheated air between Greenlaw’s clothes and his skin exploded, shredding his clothing and half-denuding him.

  The strike heated the metal on Greenlaw’s body to red-hot—the keys in his pocket, the watch on his wrist, the zipper and rivets of his jeans. Later, while undressing him, the coroner would find the stopped watch with its shattered glass and discover the metal burns on his skin.

  When it was over, a deep silence enveloped the bluff. It was as if the lightning had abated with the last, fatal strike, and although it continued to rain, the storm was moving away. Greenlaw had fallen on his back, lifeless eyes staring up to the sky. Raindrops collected in the low planes of his face and streamed down his cheeks. Blood seeped from his fractured skull, ears, and nostrils, watery in the rain.