by David Knop
The new moon lit my way. I tripped over roots and rocks as I walked. I don’t know how many times I fell. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Deer. Inspired by his reappearance, I paced on legs painful but limber enough to make ground and kept my mouth shut. Stepping in water along the way upped the ante and threatened hypothermia. I had to find the campito or freeze. In the distance, the white peaks of the San Juan Range sliced skyward like ancient hatchet heads.
In an hour, I came upon a familiar meadow. Down canyon, the campito’s white shell reflected the moonlight. I gave everything to get there. When I finally made it to the trailer, Deer trotted off into the night.
The police had strung yellow tape around the trailer and had taken Rafi’s body and bloody bedding. I rummaged around, found some smelly clothing to wear instead of my wet ones. I crapped out on the campito’s plywood platform bed.
Lights blinded me. Someone yelled, “Don’t move!”
Four hands grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the trailer onto the ground. Someone recited my rights while another cuffed me. The plasti-cuffs dug into my wrists, but I was too confused to complain. I mumbled something. Didn’t know what. I had no feeling in my legs.
A man leaned in close. His onion breath mixed with the smell of the valley’s sweet grass. “What are you doing here?”
“Got an ID?” I asked. I had no idea who I was talking to. These men had taken me by surprise, and I was expecting questions about the cop I’d shot.
“I’ll ask the questions. This is a crime scene. What are you doing here?
“Camping. What’s it look like?” I said.
A knee pressed down and my arms were pulled up by the wrists. Lightning shot up my spine. “Okay, okay. I’m private, looking into horse rustling.”
A hand pulled my wallet from my back pocket.
“PI? ID says you’re a rez cop. Some kind of weird-ass investigation, you at a sheepherder’s camp looking for horse rustlers.”
“Better per diem.” Up went my arms. Pain seared my shoulders. “I got a lead. What the fuck?”
“You have a weapon?”
I’d lost my Smith and Wesson in the truck. Or near it. Or under it. “No.”
“Who’s your employer?”
I lifted my head, tried to get a view of my interrogator. Up went my arms. “Tommy Palafox, Santa Fe County Security Consulting,” I half screamed, half-croaked it out.
“What’s his interest, Romero?”
“No fucking clue! He signs my paycheck. I don’t give a shit about his interest.”
My arms jerked up again. “Okay, okay. Jesus.” My hip joints sparked, and my legs started to burn. “Palafox hired me to track down horse killers. Blue List Arabians.”
The speaker and the man pressing me to the ground talked in hushed tones. All I heard from the conversation were the words “Palafox” and “dickhead”. My opinion of Palafox went way up.
My interrogator walked away and made a call. He mentioned Palafox, then said, “Yes sir.”
He returned, to me, he said, “You skated on this one, asshole.”
The man on my back cut my plasti-cuffs. The blood flowed to my fingers, pricking needles all the way to my neck. “Get up,” he said.
On my feet, I got a view of the men and their cruiser for the first time, a late-model Ford Interceptor SUV, La Plata County Sheriff displayed in gold letters, gold curving highway stripes in black. The deputy wore black trousers, khaki long-sleeve shirt with a logo shoulder patch. A black ball cap covered light-colored hair. His badge, reflecting the cruiser’s headlights, flashed Ramirez.
“Where’s your vehicle?” Ramirez asked.
I rubbed my wrists and waited for the bomb. The cop killer bomb. My stomach fluttered and my fingertips went numb. I focused on recalling any clues I might have left at the crash scene when it hit: my gun.
“Stolen.” I grimaced, hoping to distract him.
“So, I’ll find it listed in the stolen vehicle notice, huh?” He said walking away.
“No cell reception,” I said, using the best excuse I could think of.
Ramirez payed no attention. The two men jumped into the Ford and rolled away, light bar flashing. I went to the trailer pretending to hit the rack but readied to get the hell out. The records clerk in Durango had said the servers were down and Ramirez may have not been aware of the police shooting at this point, but he would soon enough and return.
After changing into my own damp clothing, I waited ten minutes, then high-tailed to the trail at the top of the hill where I had found the murdered students the day before. I made for the summit, my knees and bad ankle sparking fire to my hips. My brain race-tracked everything I knew about the case. Little and damn little.
Chapter 14
The cold air helped calm my brain as I shuffled along the high-country trail with a twinge in my right foot. The wreck injured my ankle and now, when I needed all my strength, pain caused the big toe to drag.
The deputies could be back at any time, so I kept moving. In the moonlight, snowflakes blinked like fireflies.
Still damp from my cross-country walk to the campito, I picked up the pace to gain body heat.
I pulled out my cell; the one thing I hadn’t lost in the truck rollover. No bars, no service.
I was Southeast of Durango on the Southern Ute Reservation. I knew that much. No lights betrayed the location of homes or barns and the moon hid behind clouds. The dark void caused my stomach to roll and my heart to thump. Dizziness blurred the trail and I couldn’t swallow the sour taste in my mouth.
Up ahead, a pair of eyes glowed among the trees. I hoped those yellow orbs belonged to Coyote; an animal too small to attack a full-grown man. Colorado had been conducting a reintroduction of Wolf, however, and my fears were confirmed when the moon peered through the clouds and revealed a large gray form.
Wolf’s yellow tracking collar meant Colorado Parks and Wildlife knew his location but by the time they thought to look for him, I’d be lunch. I hoped my casual stroll would somehow lessen my appeal. Wolf stared. Wet drops of drool hung off his canines.
Another pair of gold orbs appeared and looked straight through me. Attacks on humans by Wolf in North America are rare, but the pitiless eyes of this predator showed no hunger for statistics.
The eyes kept pace. A third set of glowing spheres tracked my movements, then two more sets appeared. Animals that do not fear man, command fear. Now, six pairs of eyes glowed unblinking, unfeeling, intent, hungry. Their intelligence called to me, Don’t fight us. It’s no use. Become one with us, brother. It will end quickly.
My only weapon was a cell phone with no service. Only stunted trees grew at this altitude, so escape up a pine was not possible. The night hid rocks to throw or sticks for stabbing. I broke into a trot. A foolish move: as I sped up, so did they. Wolf trotted beside me. Confident. In charge. In control.
The biggest loped easily while I forced a limping trot. He may have been the alpha male because the rest of his pack hung inside the tree line. He matched my pace naturally, a hungry smile on his gleaming teeth.
Wolf dropped behind me, a position I feared because I couldn’t see him. But, I could feel his hot breath on my legs, and I imagined fangs dripping with blood until jaws clamped on my calf and threw me off my feet.
My fall must’ve broken his grip, but I ended on my face, then rolled over and sat up. The pack surrounded me with six snarling snouts, all within biting distance. I tried to rise, but one, with matted slobber smeared to his tracking collar, made a grab for my leg. A quick kick caused him to back off. He lunged. I countered with a boot square to his jaw. He dropped and stopped moving.
A third grabbed my right arm. I jabbed with a left, missed, then reached for his collar. He jerked me off my ass and dragged me across the trail. I rolled, kicked him away, and sat up. A fourth bit at my leg. I kicked, he dodged and lunged, again. I booted him, he swerved. Another seized my left sleeve. I pulled my arms
inward. She let go.
My tormentor to the right had jaw-locked onto my forearm. He yelped and released when I jabbed a finger hard into his eye. At the same time, I grabbed his tracking collar, drug him to my chest, cradled his head while holding his snout closed with my free hand and twisted hard until his neck snapped with a dull crack. He collapsed.
The remaining pack members regrouped then launched at me in a simultaneous assault. Four sets of growling, snapping jaws and claws ripped my clothes and dug into my skin. I punched at fur, flailed at razor-toothed mouths. I seized another by the collar, but he pulled loose. I rolled, sprang to my feet. The pack backed off, exhausted, but with eyes fixed in instinctive hate.
Blood warmed my legs and arms. Dark patches staining my ripped jeans. Wolf might take me down, but the fuckers would have to work for it. I intended to die well.
And Tsichtinako, the Creator Spider Woman, had something for me. Her ancient energy fired my limbs, pulsed my heart with the momentum of long-ago, fire-lit drums. Pain vanished. Her power infused my mind with clarity, my heart with purpose, and my body with the strength of my ancestors.
No longer a man alone, I craved Wolf’s blood as much as he wanted mine. I became like my attacker, raised my head to Tsichtinako’s home in the stars and roared with a rage that came deep from my people’s past.
Then, I attacked.
The pack struck back. Jaws grabbed at my arms, bit at my legs, tugged me to the ground in a snarling, snapping mass of fury.
I twisted, kicked, got my legs under me, and rose. One-by-one, the animals flew off and hit the ground like sandbags, only to attack again. I bellowed louder, grabbed fur and collar. In my frenzy the hundred-pound canines were weightless. No matter how many I threw off, though, as soon as they hit the ground they recovered and returned.
We fought until Tsichtinako’s spirit deserted me. My power, my fear, and future floated away like ice in a spring river. Wolf yanked me down and the entire pack jumped on me. The furred warrior’s hot saliva, mixed with my own blood, stung my face.
This was my day to die. I was ready.
Chapter 15
A blinding light clouded my view, but I could make out flowers, tropical flowers, everywhere. This was not such a bad place to be dead.
“You ain’t as dead as you look,” the flowers said.
All I could manage was, “Uh.”
The blossoms belonged to a Hawaiian shirt worn by a behemoth. The big man looked Ute with chocolate skin and straight black hair pilled past his shoulders like mine. On his round face, he bore the hooked nose and keen, stern stare of Eagle.
My head throbbed, so I was alive, at least. I closed my eyes in thanks, then blinked open. The man waved a syringe. He rubbed a cotton swab on my upper arm, raised the needle and aimed in.
“Whoa,” I said. “The hell’s going on?” I pulled my arm to my side. It hurt to move. The skin on my arms and legs stung like it had been stretched. Every muscle I had ached.
“Profuse bleeding, for one thing. Shock. Multiple animal bites.” He readied to stab with the needle. “Rabies make you happy?”
“Wait a minute. Who the hell are you and what makes you think you can poke me with that thing? You know how to use that thing?”
“Name’s Walker. Twenty-eight years United States Navy, Master Chief Corpsman, retired. You better hope to hell I know how to use this needle. Shot more Marines than the Japanese Army.”
“You sure, Chief?”
“Call me Oso, and I’m sure any symptoms show before this shot, you gonna die. Found two dead wolves on the trail. Got ‘em in for testing, but it don’t take no DVM to recognize the symptoms. No sir, spent four years at the Camp Lejeune Zoonosis Clinic.”
When I tried to sit up, I got a stab in my forearm for the effort.
Oso pushed me down. “Take it easy, man. Don’t pull out that IV.”
“IV?”
He looked at the monitor next to me. “You’re doing better, now, but I dragged your ass in here so dehydrated and short of blood, I could a sold you for chemicals. Probably don’t remember the twenty stitches I put in your arms and legs, either. You had a temp so bad I coulda fried an egg on your forehead. Faded in and out half a dozen times. Babbling and making no sense.”
“I need water.”
“First, you’re gonna get this shot.” He jabbed.
“Damn,” I said. “How many people you use that nail on?”
“For a Jarhead, you’re some kind of a weenie.”
“How—”
“Eagle, globe, and anchor tattooed on your left shoulder.” Oso swabbed the puncture, turned, placed the syringe and cotton on a metal table against the rear wall. “Let me guess. San Diego. MCRD. Boot camp graduation. You got drunk and tattooed. Get screwed, too?” He laughed, snapped off his gloves
“How’d you find me?”
Oso smiled, said, “Just drove up to go to work an’ heard howling and screaming, figured something was after the neighbor’s sheep. You got some set of lungs, for damn sure.” He lifted his chin. “You’re not from here. Where?” he asked, still facing the wall, but eyeing me in a mirror.
“Cochiti Pueblo.”
“Why’re you on this reservation in the middle of the night playing with wolves?”
“Lookin’ for horse killers.”
“While chasin’ wolves in a snowstorm? Don’t think so.” He turned, loomed over me like a tank. “So…you shot a cop?”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Most people don’t lie while hallucinating.” Oso said, smiling. “Deputy Jones?”
“I? Who—?” My head started spinning.
“TV down the hall.”
“Right.” I pictured the Jones scene: a shadowy figure, a shot pulled off by instinct. I should’ve given it another second, scared up doubt instead of a gut reaction. I’d killed a man. Sure, I protected myself; it’s what I had to do. And, I’ve killed before. In the line of duty, too, if you’re not too strict on the definition of duty. It’s part of the job description if you’re not too precise about that, either. Problem is, some things you never forget, and the memory lurks inside. Killing is wrong but I live with it. Shot a kid once and can’t get it out of my head despite the fact he had a gun on me. Jones, the bastard, is another story. His men tried to kill me in my bed, and he had his gun out when I shot him. It can be too easy to take a life, but it’s easier to lose your own.
Must’ve been exhaustion, dehydration, lack of food, or just plain shock that pushed up bile up my throat. I threw up.
“Times like this, not feeling love for the job,” Oso said, cleaning me up. “Vaccine can be a little rough at first, but rabies, hydrophobia, is an agonizing way to die. Difficulty swallowing and panic when presented with liquids. Water causes excruciating spasms of throat muscles. Symptoms include paralysis, paranoia, hallucinations, and death. Thank me later.”
“What now, Oso?” I dreaded the answer and swallowed the acid taste in my mouth.
“You gonna be okay but now ya’ gotta rest and hydrate.” He busied himself with an instrument tray. From my viewpoint, he moved a little funny, reminding me of a standing grizzly. A big man aptly named.
“When they comin’?”
“Who?” He picked up the tray and headed for the door.
“The cops?”
He turned. “Cops? You come in hallucinating, saying what don’t make sense? Never called the cops before. Why now?” He winked and closed the door behind him. “Jones was a prick,” he growled through the door.
Despite his comments, I couldn’t count on Oso’s promise to not call the police. I just met the man and had no background on him. The reservation was huge, and it was just too convenient that I ended up within hearing distance of this hospital.
Enough of that. I had killers to find. I pulled the IV from my arm and the electrodes from my chest. Electronics beeped and, no doubt, alerted nurses down the hall. I hobbled to a cl
oset and put on my torn clothes. Every move gave rebirth to Wolf’s bite, especially when I pulled at my boots. I leaned against a wall, exhausted. I asked Spider Woman for strength, but no answer inspired me. I held no disappointment, for she bestows gifts at her will, not mine. I took several deep breaths and headed for the door. It was locked.
Irritating at best. I had to get out of this place, but I was trapped in a hall of mirrors inside a shooting gallery. Everywhere, an image of myself aimed in at me.
I could’ve punched my fist through the door but fear of what lay on the other side held me back.
Chapter 16
The room rocked as I moved, and my confusion made my balance more uncertain. I sat on the bed to steady myself.
Then there was this thing with Wolf. I was the pack’s dinner until I developed that unreal strength. Now, I wasn’t sure if the power was a calling or a warning. The spirits had called before. I had vague memories of travelling through time and seeing things that happened long ago. Sometimes my ancestors spoke to me but the force that called also blanked out almost every memory of all that had happened., I could never remember enough to understand what or why. This collection of vague half-memories drove me crazy. If I’d been able to explain them to Costancia, perhaps I would still be married.
To give my equilibrium a chance to recover, I lay down, fought sleep, and lost. In my dreams, Wolf charged me. Cougar stared with menacing eyes, daring me to shoot. I ran without getting anywhere while Coyote trotted next to me laughing. Deer ran back and forth in fright.
The snick of a key in the door jerked me to life. Oso loomed into the space. He displaced so much air, my ears popped.
“You got trouble,” Oso said.
“Trouble? Maybe someday I’ll tell you what trouble is.” My Jeep had been stolen, my investigation into the deaths of Juan and Jason Pecos atrophied, if not ended. I’d been rousted by the FBI for interfering in their investigation. My sole ally, Clement Pokoh, had been killed in front of me, my lead witness, the sheepherder, killed along with his dogs and two innocents. I’d gotten nowhere tracking down horse killers, the job I was being paid to do. Oh yeah, I’d killed a cop. “You gonna tell me where I am, Oso?”