by James Hunt
50
Not wanting to draw attention to herself since she was driving without a license, Amy provided plenty of distance between herself and the police cruiser carrying Kara, letting it eventually disappear from her line of sight.
Amy had already used her GPS to locate the nearest precinct, and since there was only one police station within twenty-miles, she figured she was heading to the right one.
The ride through open space provided plenty of time for Amy to gather her thoughts, and the more she dwelled on her predicament, the more she realized how helpless she truly was.
The only person who she believed could help her was a woman she barely knew, a woman who her husband had said was a lunatic and was trying to sabotage his employer.
But so far she had been the only person that hadn’t treated her like someone who was crazy. And she had told Amy that she would need her help. But how was she supposed to get this woman out of jail? Walk in there and just demand that Kara be let go? On what grounds? And with what money? Surely there would be a bail set for her release.
By the time she arrived at the police station, her head was swirling with so many questions and doubts that she felt the beginnings of a headache.
Amy parked in the back of the lot where there was only one other car nearby. She kept the engine running for a minute, but then shut it off, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She leaned the seat back and chewed on her nails, keeping low to avoid being seen by any officers driving in and out of the parking lot.
The cop that had driven Kara here must have already brought her inside, because she sat in the lot for a long time before anyone pulled in.
It was a truck, old, but well taken-care of. Amy didn’t pay much attention to it at first as she struggled to find a way to get Kara out of the jail, but when she saw that it was a Native American that stepped out and moved swiftly toward the building’s front entrance, she leaned forward but remained low as she clutched the steering wheel. She tried to remember if she’d seen the man with Kara at the protestor’s camp outside of Ghost Town, but she didn’t get a good enough look at him.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that he had come here after Kara had been arrested, so Amy decided that the best course of action was to sit and wait. And hope that no officer walked up to her in the parking lot while she staked out the police station.
But she didn’t have to wait for very long.
Whoever Kara’s friend was must have had some serious leverage with law enforcement because it was less than thirty minutes later when the man stepped back out with Kara in tow. They headed straight for the man’s truck and Amy knew that her window was limited.
Amy hurried from the van and across the parking lot, slapping her palm against the truck’s tailgate and preventing it from backing out of the spot.
The driver-side window was already rolled down by the time Amy positioned herself by the door, and she caught her breath as she was greeted by a pair of worried faces.
“Amy?” Kara asked.
With no plan of what she was going to say, Amy only nodded. “I came to find you. To get you out.” She looked to the man behind the wheel. “Thanks.”
“Amy, this is Michael Night Wolf,” Kara said. “He’s a friend of my family’s and the only lawyer on the reservation.”
“My services have been requested quite frequently over the past few months,” Michael said.
Amy kept her attention on Kara. “You said you could help my family.” She raised her eyebrows. “So can you?”
Kara nodded and then unbuckled her seatbelt. “I’ll ride with you to the reservation.”
“I don’t think that’s advisable,” Michael said.
“It’s fine, Michael.” Kara slammed the door shut, and she and Amy walked back to the van.
They piled in quickly, and just as Amy was leaving the parking lot, two police officers stepped out of the building. She didn’t know what prompted her to do it, but Amy made eye contact with both of them as she turned onto the highway and then caught one of them reaching for his radio through her view of the rearview mirror.
The pair were quiet for a moment as they followed Michael’s truck along the highway, but it was Kara who broke the silence.
“What were you planning on doing once you got here?” Kara asked.
Amy kept her eyes on the road and shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to figure out when your friend showed up.” She turned to her. “What did they charge you with?”
“They made a lot more talk about linking me to those missing security guards, and that kid, the boy that went into the mine with your daughter,” Kara answered. “But all they could do was charge me with trespassing and assault. Michael has dealt with worse.”
Kara tied her long black hair up in a bun and sat hunched forward, her hands clasped together. It was a position she looked comfortable in, casual, but still coiled and ready to strike. She was a young woman, but Amy was able to see the callous that had formed from years of struggle.
Amy had developed a similar callous. You had to when your family thought you were losing your mind.
“So what now?” Amy asked, readjusting her grip on the steering wheel, unable to get comfortable.
“We talk to my grandfather,” Kara answered. “But we need to hurry. Every documented case of people who came into contact with the gold outside of the mine died within forty-eight hours.”
Amy checked the time on her phone. “That means we only have until tonight.”
Kara nodded. “Yeah.”
“How do you know your grandfather can help?” Amy asked. “Have you seen him do it before? Is there some kind of medicine that we get?”
Kara shook her head. “I’ve never seen it done before. But I’ve seen a lot of things over the past few days that I’d never seen before, so I’m prepared to walk with a little bit on faith.”
Amy ground her teeth. “I need more than just faith.”
“My grandfather knows what he’s doing,” Kara said, then she grew quieter. “He’ll do whatever he can to help.”
“How long will it—” Blue lights flashed behind them, and Amy whipped her head around. The police cruiser was right on the van’s bumper. She hadn’t even seen them sneak up. She spun back around. “Shit.”
“These people just won’t leave anyone alone,” Kara said, growing agitated.
“Fuck.” Amy slapped the steering wheel, then glanced in the rearview mirror again. “My license was revoked.”
“What?” Kara asked.
The police flipped the siren in a short burst. Amy’s heart jumped.
Amy thought about pulling over, about trying to play the forgetful housewife who just left their purse at the house, but after just coming from the police station, she didn’t think that she’d be able to convince the cop to let her off with a warning.
Plus, with time running out to save Liz, Amy didn’t want to waste it with authorities who would no doubt revel in wasting what precious moments she had left.
“Just keep driving,” Kara said, her tone laced with urgency.
“What? And go where?” Amy asked.
The siren flipped again, and this time it was followed up by the officer’s voice over the vehicle’s loudspeaker. “Pull over.”
Kara grabbed Amy’s shoulder and squeezed tight. “We pull over, they stop us, you go to jail, and your daughter dies. If you keep heading toward the reservation, they won’t follow us onto it. They don’t have any jurisdiction there.”
Amy glanced back at the lights, then to Kara, then at the road ahead. She slammed on the accelerator and the van rocketed forward. Simultaneously, the police cruiser flipped the siren to full blast and accelerated in pursuit.
Heart pumping and gripping the steering wheel like a vise, Amy didn’t let up on the gas, letting the speedometer top out at one hundred ten on the straightaway. Traffic was light, and no one was in her lane, a few cars passing in the opposite direction.
“How muc
h farther?” Amy asked, flicking her eyes toward the mirror and the police cruiser that was still riding her tail.
“Not far,” Kara answered, her eyes glued to the cop. “Do you have a phone?”
“Cup holder,” Amy answered.
Kara picked it up. “What’s the password?”
“Seven-eight-one-three.”
Kara pressed the phone to her ear, and after a few seconds broke out into her native language.
The conversation was hurried and short, but even if it was in English, Amy wasn’t sure that she would have been able to understand. The adrenaline pumping through her veins made her head throb, and her vision became tunneled as she struggled to keep the van straight and steady.
With the speedometer tipping between one fifteen and one twenty, Amy knew that it would only take the smallest swerve left or right for their drive to take a nasty turn.
Two more police cruisers blew past in the opposite lane of traffic, quickly spinning around and joining the pursuit as Kara finished her call and dropped the phone back in the cup holder.
“When you see the sign for the reservation, just keep going and don’t stop once you turn,” Kara said. “They might follow us for a little bit, but they won’t go very far onto the property. So don’t stop. No matter what.” She repositioned herself and faced forward.
“Okay.” Sweat had drenched Amy’s shirt and pants, and her palms were slick against the steering wheel, which made it harder to keep steady. Her hands ached from squeezing the wheel so tight, and with the sun reflecting brightly off the van’s hood, she struggled to keep her eyes open.
Thankfully, Kara pointed to the sign up ahead, and while the caravan of police cruisers had grown to five, none of them attempted to pass her. They were probably waiting for her to wreck, run out of gas, or stop.
“Here,” Kara said, bracing for the sudden slowdown and the sharp turn.
“Hang on!” Amy hit the brakes, skidding to a stop, and turned the wheel. Smoke and sand whirled around them, the cluster of police cars behind them reacting sporadically to the sudden stop.
One of the cruisers jolted forward, trying to block the roadway into the reservation, but Amy swerved sharply out of the way, avoiding the collision, and floored the accelerator, sling-shooting her van onto the reservation.
Kara laughed, smacking the dash repeatedly as she glanced back to the cluster of cops that had bottlenecked themselves. “Nice driving!”
But Amy could only offer a quick smile and exhaled a pent-up breath that she didn’t even realize she was holding. “Thanks.”
Like Kara said, the cops followed for a little while but eventually pulled back, allowing Amy to make some space between herself and jail time. Though she wasn’t sure how long that was going to last.
The rest of the journey through the reservation was quiet, Amy coming down off of the high from the police chase. She wasn’t sure how much time they’d bought themselves, but she hoped it was enough to save Liz.
Amy glanced out the window, staring at the ride taking them through miles of desert, the landscape dotted with nothing but sand, rocks, and vegetation that had adapted to the harsh environment of the Mojave. The sun was already getting higher in the sky, and Amy had broken out into a sweat.
The two-lane road that cut through the reservation was just as barren as the highway they’d driven. It wasn’t until a mile onto the reservation that she saw the first few houses on her left, dotting the land sparsely.
Most of the buildings were old, run down by sand and time, their edges smoothed and their surfaces cracked from the harsh desert sun.
“Take a left at the fork in the road,” Kara said.
Amy slowed as she veered off the two-lane road and transitioned onto the single-lane gravel path. Dust kicked up in her wake, and she hunched forward over the wheel, squinting ahead at a silver trailer on top of a hill.
“There,” Kara said. “That’s where my grandfather lives.”
Two trucks were parked on the trailer’s front side, and Amy recognized one of them as Michael’s, who climbed out of the cab when she pulled up alongside him.
Kara was out of the van before Amy killed the engine. She and Michael spoke, and Amy caught the tail end of the conversation as she got out.
“You’re making this more difficult on yourself than it needs to be,” Michael said.
“Just keep them off our backs for a little while longer,” Kara said.
Michael glared at Amy, then climbed back into his truck. “Just tell Thelma and Louise over there that she shouldn’t expect to be able to drive off the reservation in that van.” He slammed the door shut, and the window still down as he hung his arm out the side. “I’ll talk with the reservation police, tell them what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Michael,” Kara said, waving as he backed up and disappeared down the gravel road. Once he was gone, Kara turned to Amy. “He’s a good man. He’s been with us from the start trying to bring down Mulaney and his company.”
Amy nodded, waving the kicked-up dust from her face.
Kara walked up a ramp that had been put in place of steps to the trailer’s front door. “Just hang back here for a minute. I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” Amy hung back by the van, examining the trailer. It was old, but the sun still gleamed off what silver remained to the home’s exterior.
The trailer’s front door suddenly burst open and a large man stepped out, similar features to Kara, but his expression menacing. His eyes were set on Amy. “Get out!”
“Ben, stop!” Kara rushed out of the trailer and jumped to block the big brute’s path. “It’s not as bad as you think it is.”
“Oh, you mean bringing the wife of the man working for the same company that’s trying to destroy our home isn’t a bad thing?”
Kara kept her hands up, blocking Ben’s movements. “She’s on our side.”
Ben exhaled, but the anger still simmered just beneath his expression, and he turned to his sister. The pair spoke quickly and quietly in their native tongue, and when they finished, Ben turned toward the trailer, muttering under his breath.
Once her brother was inside, Kara stepped down the ramp to Amy. “Our tribe isn’t very open to outsiders.”
“I don’t need to make friends,” Amy said. “I just need to get my daughters back.”
Kara nodded. “I’ll come and get you when my grandfather says it’s time.”
Amy watched Kara head back inside, and then spun around at the sound of the door slamming shut. There wasn’t anything else around as far as she could see, at least not anything other than sand and rocks. It was such a contrast to their home back in Colorado, but even she had to acknowledge the poetic justice of it all.
Her family had been uprooted from their home after experiencing the worst hell on Earth, and now they were currently surrounded by the worst hell on Earth. She didn’t understand why these people guarded this landscape so fiercely. It was nothing but heat and death.
Scrunching her face from the constant pummeling from the sun, Amy used her hands to help shield herself while she watched the trailer like a hawk. She didn’t know how long it would take to convince Kara’s grandfather to help her, but once again, she felt time slipping through her fingers like sand from an hourglass.
Amy expected some element of shouting and cursing as she waited outside, the family arguing over what to do with the white woman that Kara had brought home. But she heard nothing, and the silence stretched minutes into hours.
Pacing the length of the van, it was the groaning hinges of the trailer’s front door that pulled Amy’s attention back toward the rusted structure. Kara stood in the doorway, but she didn’t come outside.
“You can come in,” Kara said.
Amy hurried to the trailer and bounded up the steps. After being whitewashed in the sun for so long, Amy was blinded again by the contrast of darkness inside.
The windows had been blocked out, and when Kara closed the door behind her, it sealed th
em in the dark. It took a minute for Amy’s vision to adjust, and when it did, she noticed Ben to her left in the living room, sitting on a worn loveseat, the brown cushions dirtied and torn.
“This way,” Kara said, walking to the right.
Amy followed, the trailer groaning and creaking from her presence with every footstep and movement along the way. The trailer’s innards matched the condition of its exterior, pieces of the ceiling and walls peeling off, hanging by a thread.
But despite the worn condition, Amy noticed that there was no clutter. Everything was neatly tucked away in its place, and while the floors were worn, they were clean.
Kara stepped through a narrow door, and Amy followed, stopping just after entering. Kara looked to an old man sitting up in a bed that barely fit the room.
“Grandfather, this is Amy.” Kara looked to Amy. “This is Jonathan Running Water, our tribe’s puhagante.”
51
Kara spoke her grandfather’s name with a sense of pride, but it was overshadowed by the lump that caught in her throat.
Unsure of what type of greeting was protocol when meeting a tribal puhagante, Amy offered a small bow and then stepped inside to get a better look at the man who would decide the fate of her family, and ultimately, the fate of her own life.
Running Water wasn’t as old as his bedridden state suggested, and the pair of eyes that stared back at Amy were lucid. He sat up with a pillow behind his back for support, dressed in a collared shirt with his grey hair brushed and cascading freely down his shoulders and back. A blanket covered him from the waist down, his hands carefully folded in his lap.
“I’ve seen you in my dreams,” Running Water said.
Amy walked to the bedside, hands clasped together in the vein of a pleading mother. “Kara said that you could help my children.”
Running Water didn’t break his gaze away from Amy’s eyes. “She is sick with the curse.”
Amy nodded. She stepped toward him, knocking into the foot of the bed. “Can you save her?”
“I can do nothing but offer an opportunity,” Running Water said. “As a puhagante, I am only a vessel for the great spirits of our ancestors to work through. But I can try and open a door for you to pass through.”