Burning Sky

by R. S. Scott

  “What about Tracy?” I ask.

  “She wants to sit down and talk with Pastor. Don’t worry. That won’t happen until you say so,” Holden says.

  “What is she doing?” I ask.

  “She requested a Bible. She’s been reading it I hear,” Holden says.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Pastor has been having these prayer meetings, praying against all this. He’s working that God mojo.” The nurse interrupts. “I’ll give you an update tomorrow.”

  “Later.” We shake hands and Holden leaves. I finally sleep for six hours straight. The awful dreams persist, but the terror is slowly subsiding.

  My third night at the hospital, I watch a hockey game on TV while scooping chocolate pudding into my mouth. “Come on, ref. That was a slash!” I yell at the TV.

  “Hey, Keller.” Her soft voice startles me.

  “Karen,” I say and hop out of my bed and hug her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry for getting you involved. I feel so bad.” She trembles.

  “It’s OK, as long as you’re OK.” I hold her close.

  “I’m sorry about Jess. I know how much she means to you,” Karen says.

  “She left me. I’ll be OK with it. I guess.” We stand leaning on each other in the middle of my room with hockey commentary blaring. “Are you really doing OK?”

  She nods, wiping away tears. “I will be. I don’t remember a whole lot. Most of it is just a blur, a terrifying blur. I was so scared. I just wanted to run and pretend it didn’t happen,” she says fidgeting. “I just need some time.”

  “Karen…did we? You know, I remember it but sort of like a dream,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. They found your DNA. Way up there,” Karen says.

  “Damn, I’m sorry.” We stand in an awkward silence for several moments. “So, the hockey game is going to crap.”

  “Oh, is it?” Karen asks awkwardly.

  “Yes, those goofy Canadians.” We share a laugh. “Karen, are we going to be OK? Really?”

  “Yes, of course. If you can be, I know I can be,” Karen says.

  “We’re partners. I mean I’m your partner. You think they’re going to split us up over this?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. It’s not up to me,” Karen echoes.

  “What if it was up to you?” I ask her.

  “I’d keep you around.” She shrugs. “I trust you. I mean Jeremy is cool but he’s superficially arrogant sometimes, and Holden is just way too serious most of the time. I think we make a good team, don’t you think?” Karen asks.

  “I do. I think Holden and me get along, but I’ll just annoy the crap out of Jeremy. Me and him are too far apart,” I say, agreeing with her.

  “We get released tomorrow, then a temporary leave of absence, or back to work. It’s your call,” Karen says.

  “Screw the leave of absence. I want Daren,” I say.

  She smiles, “Agreed. Watch your game. I’m going to get some sleep.”

  “Come on, ref! He barely touched him!” I shout.

  “Tom, what do you have?” I ask.

  “Mostly pictures and piles of ash. The old woman at the main house was moved to the retirement home in Winslow. What we recovered are mostly burnt ceremonial items and several pelts of bears, cougars, jaguars, coyotes, and dead birds, lots of those. But also pelts from a tiger, a hyena, and a lion. Animals not found in North America. Everything else went up in the blaze,” Agent Ellington says.

  “What about the hogan?” I ask.

  “There was a massive cavern underneath the hogan. It connected with the centrally located butte and the storage shed by the old woman’s house. That shed housed generations upon generations of black widow and hobo spiders, very poisonous spiders. And that mound in the parking area? It was just the covering. The park ranger had to be called in. They removed over three dozen diamondback rattlers.” Agent Ellington looks at me bewildered. “It’s their hibernating season, and none of them were hibernating.”

  “And?” I prompt.

  “The mountain room is closed off. We can no longer get to it, no matter what we’ve tried. The local medicine man will not go onto that compound, but Pastor and Taylor are willing to bless the grounds,” Agent Ellington confirms.

  “What about the teen with the dead uncle?” I ask.

  “He’s back at school. The stakeout deterred him, or so we concluded.”

  “That’s it?” I glance through several field reports.

  “One last thing. It’s regarding your cousin, Anthony Keller,” Agent Ellington hints.

  I look up. “OK, you have my attention.”

  “Anthony visited the old woman from the Nelson house at the nursing home yesterday. Hours later she died in her sleep. We can’t prove he was the murderer, but we can tie him to that incident by indirect means.”

  “What are the last whereabouts of Daren?” I ask.

  “The wilderness area east of Leupp, just north of the Painted Desert.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll find him,” I confirm.

  “Keller, you’re not going after him, are you?”

  “I am,” I say.

  Agent Ellington looks on.

  “Tom, you have burnt down the Nelson homes, took the pelts, took the snakes. Hopefully killed all the fucking spiders and just disrupted his way of conduct. He’s weakened. Now is the time to hunt him down.”

  Holden walks into the church. “Why are we here? Hey, Pastor.”

  “Coffee?” Pastor offers Holden a cup. I go over the plan again with Holden.

  He sits puzzled. “Why here?”

  “Because they can’t see what we’re doing in here. They can’t hear us either.”

  “Tracy told you that? Tracy the liar?” Holden asks.

  “Yes, but she’s onto something if you think about it,” I say.

  Pastor’s church staff arrives. “Holden, it will work.”

  Karen arrives and is briefed on the plan. “It’s a fucking stupid plan, and it will never work!” We glare at Karen. “Sorry, I’m really sorry, Pastor.”

  Holden gets up from the dining room table. “OK, let’s do this. I’ll call Ganado and White Cone stations and get this moving. Karen, let’s go.”

  Karen nods and leaves.

  “Pastor, is this going to hurt?” I ask.

  “No, it’s just communion and prayers. Let’s get started.” Pastor prays for protection, blessings, and God’s will as I am surrounded by church elders. They all pray intensely. I pray silently.

  This land is barren and cold with leafless trees and frozen snow. The clouds move above me eastbound in herds of grayish haze. The wind blows a defeating brisk trail behind me, chilling my bones. This is the third hill, and the tracks are now more visible. The mud packed snow between the lugs of my boots, is heavier than I thought. I hoist the gun close to my heart, close to my soul. With my lungs pushing out clouds of vapor, I jog along.

  Surely it’s tired now. Surely it must stop for air or to assess the situation. Surely this one must know I can’t stop now. I’ve come so far. I’ve fired upon it, and it chose to run. Surely my .30 caliber rounds have done their work more assuredly than mere chants or words. I suck in more air and keep my pace.

  The air is thick in this country in the high altitude, it’s moist and heavy. The late afternoon sun hides behind cloaks of fierce flowing, graying blue. It snowed two days ago, but all is frozen in dim gray under the howling moving wind. The snow and ground are frozen solid. The mud has formed small crevices and tires set trails of dirt frozen in ice. The extra ammo and provisions are getting heavier with each step.

  Three hundred and fifty yards out is a blur, a shadow that creeps low in the snow. A shadow with nothing to cast it. Just an area of space where the cold is colder yet and the bile of hell itself sputters and twists itself into a contorting mess of the unrecognizable. A shadow, trapped in a contained void, stoops low and seems to move like a flash flood.

  I spy Dar
en for how he really is. I drop immediately behind a sage bush and bring the rifle in front of me. The frozen snow crumbles under me as I struggle to situate the 10x scope in front of my right eye. My feet burn with the cold, and my knees ache desperately.

  Through the glass I see a monster, I see the devil. The devil, slowed and angry, spies my presence behind the sage bush as my breath vapors have betrayed me. I spy his face, contorted and painted in streaks of white clay and blacken blood. Its body also covered in streaks. Its head wears the skull of a long dead, angry wolf. Its eyes glow slight amber where it gazes. Its mouth growls and hisses bearing blackened teeth. It is covered in the dead wolf’s dark cloak, tattered and torn. Its legs are black and strong. Around its neck hangs small pouches and more pelts.

  I chamber a round and attempt to hold steady as my heartbeats pull my zeroed aim to the right in continued steady jerks.

  “Daren! I know you!” I yell.

  The devil shows his teeth and exhales, leaving a small grayish cloud. Daren contorts in audible creaks and violent jerks.

  “Daren! Stop!” I say.

  The devil, now an animalistic beast, moves like an agile jungle cat down a frozen creek. Within moments it’s gone.

  “Daren! Pussy!” I’m tired of running and pursuing. I rise shouldering my rifle and start my stride. Just moments resting have left my feet now burning and ankles complaining furiously.

  Upon the next ridge, I spy the beast blurring the shadows of sage bushes that had now just seen the late afternoon sun. The beast casts a faint shadow against a sage bush, holding still for a moment. Then a huge jungle cat walks upright with a slight limp.

  “Daren!” I yell.

  It contorts again, and then becomes a blur barely casting a shadow.

  “How many forms does this guy have?” I say aloud.

  The blur steadies itself, then moves again northbound. It seems to disappear, but the disturbed snow on the sage bushes leaves a trail toward Peter Jackson’s ranch. I again pick up my soul and rifle and return to my pace.

  A mile away, Peter’s ranch dogs have sensed Daren. The barking starts and slowly gets louder. A careless hound and a coyote killer I spy through my scope. I reach the foot of the ridge to a resting place for sheepherders to take a moment. Below a grand oak sits a rusting, decaying picnic bench. Out in front around four hundred yards is the beast, first in a tree then flat in its long shadow. Visible but not, drifting about with every blink I dare make, Daren has roused the dogs.

  The first dog meets its end quickly and is tossed about dead and in many pieces. The remaining dog halts its charge, still barking, angrily bearing its teeth from a distance where it is safe to be angry. Backing away when the blur comes closer.

  A lasting growl and a deep, bear-like moan echoes from the blur as the valiant mutt backs away. The dog is persistent. Daren reaches out but does not seem to do so. Daren strikes out but somehow does not. With every blink I make through the scope, the blur disappears then reappears. The tree seems to close its eyes and frown in grave disappointment. The air cringes and the mountains watch in cautious dismay. The dog is strangely confident. I observe the stalemate from afar.

  “I should have brought a dog.” I pull out a bottle of cola, a peanut butter sandwich, and an energy bar. I sit with the rifle next to me. “Go dog go. The Lord bless you.” I eat quickly as the dual continues.

  I take my last gulp of my soda and pull my rifle about. Next to the old, worn chair is a small wooden post, a perfect hoist, robust and steady. I set my rifle on it and chamber a round.

  Through the scope, I spy desperation incarnate, hopeless incarnate, careless aspiration comes to life, and is then subjected to eons of cultural guidance misdirected. A decaying soul strikes at the dog but can’t reach it. A ghost claws from the darkness but then shuns the light. I zero my aim as my heartbeat has steadied.

  “Daren!” Through the scope, the beast gazes at me, then past me. The beast readies a charge at my position when it is forced into the snow by the valiant dog. The dog barks several yards away untouched. The beast turns to the dog. I take several deep breaths and hold. “I really need to borrow that dog, holy shit!”

  I pull the trigger as the muzzle blast rings out throughout the valley. I reacquire my zero and spy Daren in a cloud of snowy mist. The blur exhales as it strikes at the dog again. The dog jumps back whimpering. I chamber another round and aim for the center mass. I fire. A scream rings out through the valley, unearthly but human-like. I chamber another round and require my zero on the blur. I see Daren weave about in the dropping snow. The tree shakes violently from its roots as a mist of vapor and snow form underneath it. There is no barking from the stalemate, but the falling snow outlines a moving entity momentarily, and then disappears.

  “Where is he? Where’d he go?” I look behind me frantically while still pointing the rifle forward. To the right then to the left, I gaze about making sure there is no one there.

  “Daren! You pussy! Where the fuck are you?” I shout.

  The dog barks angrily again as I scan through the riflescope, trying to find the source of the barking. To the right of the shaken tree, a large ugly dog carries its front arm swollen and crooked. The ugly dog growls, retching brown matter from its mouth and down its white beard, a human beard. The swollen arm looks human, but dead and blackened. Peter’s dog approaches, ears down, bearing its teeth, growling. Daren returns the growl and starts backing away as I slowly squeeze the trigger for another round.

  Reacquiring my zero, I spy the ugly dog regaining its footing from a horrid spin absorbing the .30 caliber round. The massive dog rises on its rear legs and stands upright. Front paws have become claws with the broken arm forced to work. The beast attempts to grasp the mutt but could not. The mutt is quick, very quick. Blood covers the white snow from the first kill.

  “Someone trained that dog,” I observe.

  The ugly dog, still standing upright, runs. In several strides, it leaves the bloody mess behind to the next hill due north. The tree looks dead surrounded by red snow. The valiant mutt spies my presence and wags its tail. I lower my rifle as I approach.

  “Please don’t kill me.” I pet the heroic mutt. “Good doggie, good boy.”

  “Freeze, fucker! I’ll kill you where you stand! Turn around slowly!”

  I turn to face the business end of a 12-gauge shotgun.

  “Peter, it’s me, Steve. Keller. I didn’t do this, the skinwalker did. I’m tracking it down. I’ve already shot it a couple of times.”

  “It killed my dogs?” Peter asks.

  “No, just one that I saw,” I say.

  “Which one?” Peter asks.

  “The lab, I think. It was a black lab,” I relay.

  “I liked that one.” Peter lowers his shotgun.

  “The other one is here…licking my boot.”

  Peter shoos away the valiant mutt.

  “You have these dogs trained?” I ask.

  “Not all of them. The lab was Jenny’s dog. Damn. You brought this here, Keller! You’ve brought this evil upon my house!”

  “Well it looks like you are familiar with it and prepared for it, now doesn’t it?” I rub snow onto my boot. “Look, I’m sorry about your dog. I’ll get you another one.”

  “The lab was a brave dog,” Peter says.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Listen, I have to go. Do you have a cell phone or something? My phone is dead.” I pull out my dead cell phone. “And I dropped my radio somewhere back there.” I point to the south.

  “Yeah, back at the house I do,” Peter says.

  “Call dispatch for me, please. Tell them where I am and to send backup. Quickly. In that direction.” I point north to Hopi country in the far distance. “Quickly, please, I have to go. I have to go now.”

  “You shot and are now hunting a skinwalker? You’ve got balls, Boy!” He pats my shoulder. “You need more water? Ammo? A shotgun? I have a spare in the house. Stainless steel action, perfect for this cold.”

  “
Naw, I’m good. Make that call, please. I’ll get you some puppies to replace your dog. Please, I have to go,” I say.

  “Yes, Son. Watch your back.” Peter scurries off with the valiant mutt beside him, wagging its tail. The valiant mutt stops and turns, gazing into the snowy haze to the north while raising its ears.

  “What do you see?” I ask, “Perhaps death come alive, seeking to kill my stupid ass.”

  In the graying distance by a paved road lay a man, naked and bloodied. I kneel and gaze through my riflescope. “Shit.” I start off quickly toward it. There are no clothes, no sign of any winter coverings.

  “Daren!” I poke at his body with the barrel of my rifle. “Daren! I’m going to shoot you again. I swear it!” He does not move.

  I cover my arm with snow and dirt and turn him over. It is Daren, and he is dead. Four bullet holes cover his torso, another through his neck and another through his right leg. I drop to my knees. “Damn.” I take off my right glove and push his eyelids down. “Damn.” I sit next to the road with my rifle in my lap, exhausted. In the distance are flashing blue and red lights.

  “Steve!” Jeremy leaps out of his patrol vehicle. “Steve!”

  “What?” I say.

  “This Daren? Yeah, it is.” Jeremy inspects the body.

  “Yeah, one of them.” I return.

  “I’ve got plastic.” Jeremy says and runs back to his truck. “Come on. We need to do this fast. They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?” I ask, barely able to move.

  “Who do you think will come after you take down one of his goons?” Jeremy returns.

  I struggle to even move. “Help me up.”

  “Get yourself up and help me!” Jeremy yells.

  I get up. We wrap Daren in plastic and duct tape then put him in the back of Jeremy’s patrol truck. “I couldn’t find his mojo pouch or his skin. This is how I found him.” I say.

  “So, his shit is still out there?” Jeremy asks.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  He pulls out his sidearm. “If we move fast, we can find it and burn it before someone else takes it.”