by Mark Lukens
HOPE’S END
ANCIENT ENEMY 3
by
MARK LUKENS
Hope’s End: Ancient Enemy 3 copyright © 2017 by Mark Lukens
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reprinted without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Damonza.com
Special thanks to: Jet, Ann, Kelli, Kat, and Mary Ann – your help is so valuable to me and appreciated more than you know.
BOOKS BY MARK LUKENS
ANCIENT ENEMY – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FD4SP8M
DARKWIND: ANCIENT ENEMY 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B01K42JBGW
SIGHTINGS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00VAI31KW
DEVIL’S ISLAND – www.amazon.com/dp/B06WWJC6VD
WHAT LIES BELOW – www.amazon.com/dp/B0143LADEY
THE EXORCIST’S APPRENTICE – www.amazon.com/dp/B00YYF1E5C
NIGHT TERRORS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00M66IU3U
DESCENDANTS OF MAGIC – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FWYYYYC
THE SUMMONING – www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNEOHKU
THE DARWIN EFFECT – www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4A8ZYC
A DARK COLLECTION – www.amazon.com/dp/B00JENAGLC
GHOST TOWN – www.amazon.com/dp/B00LEZRF7G
RAZORBLADE DREAMS: HORROR STORIES – www.amazon.com/dp/B076B7W252
THE VAMPIRE GAME – www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2M72X9
FOLLOWED – www.amazon.com/dp/B078WYGMJN
PART 1
THE WOODS
CHAPTER 1
Arizona Badlands—1891
Jed Cartwright knew he and David were being followed as he rode his horse through the badlands. Scrub brush dotted the hills as far as he could see with a jagged rise of mountains lining the western horizon. The trail he followed led to a labyrinth of canyons down in the valley below. Buzzards circled the air above those canyons—there was something dead in there.
He turned around in his saddle to look behind him, the leather creaking in the silence of the desert. He didn’t see anyone, but he could feel them. They were out there somewhere in that vast wasteland, watching and following. They were skinwalkers. That’s what Red Moon had called them.
David, a Navajo boy, rode right next to Jed. He had found David in his home only a few hours ago. The boy’s entire family had been slaughtered, their bodies taken away by the murderers, leaving only blood and gore smeared all over the walls and floors of the home.
The skinwalkers had taken David’s family, the same skinwalkers that had killed Jed’s deputies and the prisoner that he had been transporting back to Smith Junction—Red Moon. And now Jed was sure those same skinwalkers were trailing them through the desert right now.
David had barely said anything except his name. He was traumatized after seeing what had happened to his family. Jed could only imagine the horrors the boy had seen—the same horrors Jed had seen up in those woods when his deputies were taken in the night, their bodies mutilated. It would take David a long time to get over the things he had seen in his own home . . . if he ever got over them at all.
Jed looked at David as he rode his horse. David stared straight ahead, his stare blank, his face expressionless; he was good with his horse, strong and confident in the saddle.
The sun hovered just above the line of mountains, there would only be a few hours of daylight left now. The air was cold, but it wasn’t freezing. They had ridden away from David’s house quickly after Jed found him hiding in his bedroom, but over the last few hours they had slowed their horses down. The horses were tired, and so was Jed. They would need to find a place to make camp soon.
Jed thought back to how this had all started—with the capture of Red Moon.
*
For eleven years now Jed had been a U.S. Marshal. He’d gone after plenty of bounties over the years, but the notorious outlaw Red Moon had to be one of the biggest bounties he’d ever chased down. Red Moon was as bad as they came; he was wanted for twenty murders, multiple robberies, and horse thievery. And he was going to bring a hefty bounty for Jed and his men: Roscoe and Dobbs.
Roscoe had worked with Jed on bounties half a dozen times, but Stephen Dobbs was a first-timer. Roscoe was much older than Dobbs, even older than Jed. His hair and mustache were completely gray. His clothes were always rumpled except where his shirt was stretched over his pot-belly. But Roscoe was quicker than most people expected, and he wasn’t afraid of much. He was an experienced tracker and a good shot. But most importantly to Jed, he was trustworthy and dependable.
Dobbs was young, only twenty-three years old. He’d come on a recommendation from one of Jed’s friends, and that was good enough for Jed. Dobbs had been nothing but respectful and eager to learn on this trip. He knew his place among Jed and Roscoe, and he’d been excited about being a part of the team that would be nabbing the notorious Red Moon. Dobbs was shorter than Jed and Roscoe, and much thinner, but he was strong for his size. He had a shock of bright red hair and a spattering of freckles across his face.
On a tip from a reliable source, Jed had found out that Red Moon was shacked up with a woman in a farmhouse. Jed, Roscoe, and Dobbs had staked the place out overnight and planned to storm the house as the sun came up.
That night, as they waited, Jed had fallen asleep. He had awoken in the darkness, biting back a scream. His skin had been covered with sweat, his muscles twitchy. He couldn’t remember the dream, but something had frightened him badly. All he could remember was the feeling of suffocating in the dream, like a living darkness had been smothering the breath out of him, holding him down so he couldn’t move.
Jed had stayed up the last few hours until morning, still shaken by the dream. He tried to tell himself that he was just nervous about apprehending Red Moon. Not scared, just nervous. Cautious. Any man who wasn’t a little nervous going up against a man like Red Moon was a fool. Yeah, maybe that nervousness—that cautiousness—had sparked the bad dream.
And maybe the rumors about Red Moon being a Navajo medicine man had spooked Jed a little, too. Some even said Red Moon was some kind of witch doctor. Jed didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, but the men who had told him about Red Moon seemed convinced of it. Jed was sure that the stories about Red Moon were just tall tales conjured up by people who didn’t even know him, rumors spread about a man whose culture they didn’t understand, a culture they didn’t want to understand. When it came to these gunslingers and bandits, some people liked to turn them into larger-than-life legends. Usually when Jed finally crossed paths with these “legends,” he found himself a little underwhelmed.
They stormed the farmhouse at dawn, kicking the door in and barging in with guns drawn. Red Moon was sleeping in bed with the woman he’d shacked up with, and he never even had a chance to go for his gun. He surrendered immediately. And Jed was glad he had surrendered so easily. Some wanted men went for their guns when they were cornered, preferring a shootout rather than facing the embarrassment of dangling from the end of a hangman’s noose in front of a town full of gawkers. Some wanted men preferred to go out in a blaze of glory.
In his years of chasing down wanted men, Jed had only faced five men who had gone for their guns rather than surrendering. He’d killed three of the men and wounded the other two. Most men though, like Red Moon, surrendered without a fight once they realized they didn’t have a chance in a shootout. Maybe they wanted those extra few days of life even if it was in a jail cell and a courtroom. They wanted to cling to those extra hours of life even though they knew the inevitable was
coming soon. Maybe some of them regretted their decision of not shooting it out as they walked (or sometimes they were dragged) up the gallows steps, dishonoring themselves at the end by sobbing and begging with their hands tied behind their backs. Some of them, right up to the end, swore they had committed no crimes.
*
Jed slowed his horse down when they were closer to a group of boulders at the entrance to the narrow canyon. Buzzards still circled the air over the canyon in the distance, some of them diving down while others took flight. His horse was snorting and bucking just a little, spooked by something in that canyon, possibly picking up the scent of blood . . . and death.
“We have to ride through it,” Jed told David. “No other way around.”
David didn’t answer Jed, but he looked as nervous as the horses were.
Their horses clopped over the hard-packed dirt and rock as they made their way down into the canyon floor where the rock walls closed in, leaving a narrow passage to ride through. About halfway through the canyon, Jed saw the splashes of dried blood along the rock walls. It looked like someone had taken their blood-soaked hand and dragged their fingers along the face of the rock, the fingers leaving behind four long stripes of blood.
The blood trail on the rock wall ended, the long streaks of blood faded to nothing. On the dirt below was a severed hand, the wrist a ragged mess with a string of gristle trailing out. The end of a snapped-off bone gleamed white among the gore. The skin of the hand was light brown—like David’s skin. A little farther along the canyon floor there was a piece of flesh that was unidentifiable and riddled and pecked apart by the buzzards’ beaks.
Jed felt his stomach turning. He knew whose body parts those were—and he was sure David knew it, too.
“Come on,” Jed told David. “We need to keep moving.”
CHAPTER 2
As Jed and David rode away from the canyons, Jed thought back to when he had apprehended Red Moon, and he was suddenly there again, reliving those moments.
Red Moon showed no fear when Jed and his men captured him in the farmhouse. He showed no fear when they shackled his wrists together and sat him atop their spare horse. But after a few hours of riding, when they approached the woods, Red Moon finally showed fear and spoke his first words: “We should not go in those woods.”
Jed wasn’t going to let a prisoner dictate his travel route back to Smith Junction. When he got Red Moon there, the trial would be quick, and the justice even quicker; Red Moon would hang for his crimes.
According to Jed’s map, the woods were a shortcut—they were going to shave at least two or three days off of their trip.
The shortcut had seemed like a good idea at the time, but after a few miles into the woods Jed began to regret his decision.
Jed was sure they were being followed. He couldn’t see or hear anyone in the woods, but the feeling of being followed wouldn’t go away. He wondered if it might be claim jumpers waiting for the right time to ambush them and take Red Moon for the bounty. During his eleven years as a U.S. Marshal, Jed had never personally dealt with claim jumpers before, but he’d heard stories from other lawmen and bounty hunters about them. And the high price on Red Moon’s head would surely be a temptation.
Jed suspected that whoever was following them was part of Red Moon’s gang. Even though Jed was pretty sure Red Moon wasn’t with a gang at the moment, the outlaw had ridden with different gangs in the past.
Or it was always possible that the men following them were just run-of-the-mill bandits, highway robbers hoping to get whatever they could, ignorant of the bounty on Red Moon’s head.
Then again, maybe no one was following them. Maybe his nerves were getting to him. He didn’t usually get nervous. He’d been a lawman and a bounty hunter most of his life, beginning deputy work when he was eighteen years old. He’d worked with his father at first, but then he struck out on his own after his father had been killed a few years later. No, he didn’t usually get nervous, and he trusted his gut feelings that had been honed as sharp as a scalping knife over the years.
If he would have listened to his gut feelings in those woods, if only he would have listened to the warning from Red Moon, then maybe his men would still be alive. But Jed had been antsy to get Red Moon to Smith Junction, eager to collect his bounty and get this over with. He hadn’t even planned on spending much time in Smith Junction after he dropped Red Moon off, not even sure he would stick around long enough to watch the outlaw hang. He decided he would go back home even though no one was waiting there for him. His wife, Clara, had died five years ago from pneumonia. There was no one at his homestead now, no one except Chavez who came around a few times a week to do some work around the place, helping Jed out when he was away.
Jed glanced back at Red Moon as they rode deeper into the woods. Red Moon was a few inches shorter than Jed, but where Jed was gangly and broad-shouldered, Red Moon was thick with muscle. Red Moon wore a pair of wool pants, the bottoms of which were stuffed into a weathered pair of cowboy boots. His leather shirt was greasy and old. He wore very little jewelry except for a rawhide necklace with a silver charm dangling from it. His long dark hair was parted in the middle and hung loose down to his shoulders. He had a scraggly goatee with just the first strands of gray showing. He rode easily in the saddle, a natural horseman. He was an intimidating man, but in these woods, Red Moon was scared—Jed could see it.
They stopped their horses when Jed saw something dead in the clearing up ahead. Even from thirty feet away, he could tell that something wasn’t right about the carcass. The thing in the trail looked almost like the chopped up remains of an animal, like something on a butcher’s table. But with the sharp points of broken bones sticking out from the bloody flesh and the ribs exposed on the outside, it looked like the animal had been turned inside out somehow.
“You reckon it’s a deer?” Roscoe asked as he rode his horse up next to Jed’s.
“Maybe a cougar got to it,” Dobbs suggested.
Jed didn’t respond to either of them. There was no telling what kind of animal the thing was anymore, but he didn’t think this was something a bear or a cougar would have done. And a bear or cougar certainly wouldn’t have left this much meat behind to spoil in the sun.
“Look at the bones on the outside of it,” Roscoe said. “It looks like it was chewed up and spit out.”
“I can’t tell where . . . where its head is,” Dobbs said. “You reckon it’s gone?”
Dobbs was right. Maybe the head had been taken. Or maybe it was hidden somewhere inside that mound of glistening meat and bone.
“Someone’s following us,” Jed told the two men as he turned towards them.
Roscoe and Dobbs stiffened in their saddles. Dobbs looked around at the woods as if he might spot their pursuers.
“How do you know we’re being followed?” Roscoe asked. “You see ‘em?”
“I didn’t see anybody,” Jed told him. “But I believe we’re being followed.”
Roscoe didn’t argue.
Jed could tell that Roscoe and Dobbs were running the possible suspects through their minds like he had done earlier: claim jumpers, Red Moon’s gang, highway bandits.
“I just want you two to stay alert,” Jed told them, but he was focusing mainly on Dobbs.
Both men nodded, their faces grim.
Jed looked back at the obscene carcass down the trail.
“An animal did not do that,” Red Moon said.
Roscoe turned his horse around to face Red Moon. “You know who did?”
Red Moon didn’t answer.
Roscoe glanced at Jed. “Maybe he knows who’s on our trail.” He looked at Red Moon again. “You know who’s following us?”
Red Moon sat motionless in his saddle.
Jed didn’t think the Navajo was going to bother answering Roscoe, but then Red Moon spoke: “Yenaldooshi.”
“What the hell’s that?” Roscoe asked Red Moon.
Red Moon didn’t bother translating the w
ord.
“I think that Injun knows who’s following us,” Roscoe said, nudging his horse closer to Jed’s. “I think it’s some of his men.”
“That true?” Jed asked Red Moon. “Are your men following us?”
“I have no men with me,” Red Moon said. “What follows us is much worse.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jed asked.
“He’s just trying to scare us is all,” Roscoe said and spit out a long stream of tobacco juice. “Whoever it is, we’ll be ready for ‘em.”
“You cannot be ready for the yenaldooshi,” Red Moon said.
“What is that?” Jed asked. “What’s that word mean in English?”
“Skinwalkers,” Red Moon answered.
CHAPTER 3
It was getting later in the day as Jed’s horse veered towards a group of rocks off to their right, the canyon with the body parts and smears of blood on the walls long behind them now. Jed allowed his horse to head towards the rocks; he looked at David who followed along. “They probably smell water over there,” Jed said, but the boy didn’t answer.
When they reached the rocks Jed spotted small pools of water, probably rainwater collected in the holes and depressions in the rocks, but the water could have come from an underground reservoir.
Jed dismounted and let his horse drink from the pool of water, patting the horse’s shoulder for a moment. This wasn’t his horse; both of these horses were from David’s home—they were his dead father’s horses. Jed’s horse had been taken in the woods last night. All of their horses had been taken.
“We’ll rest here for a few minutes,” Jed told David. “Go ahead and walk around a little. Stretch your legs.”
David dismounted while his horse drank from a pool of water among the rocks. David walked away, but not too far. He looked up at the endless blue sky—there were more buzzards circling in the air high above them.