Dead Horses

by David Knop

  Scrambling and grabbing for purchase, Grizz squeezed into the cruiser’s prisoner compartment. I wanted to bail out, but my door, jammed flat against the side of the mountain, opened less than a few inches.

  Rivets popped when Grizz shouldered against the prisoner barrier and crushed me against the steering wheel. I couldn’t breathe. I drew my pistol out of my belt but couldn’t angle an arm to aim at him.

  Grizz dragged two-inch canines across the plating that separated us, his hot breath reeking of putrid meat. I dropped the pistol while fighting for air. Grizz’s ear-splitting roar destroyed my hearing and expelled every rational thought in my head.

  Grizz snorted, head-butted the passenger rear door. The blow caused the vehicle to bounce away from the rock. He rammed again and the cruiser bounced free of the rockface and started to roll down the steep road.

  Another roar deafened me. Stuck half-in half-out of the prisoner cage, Grizz fought to keep pace with the accelerating vehicle with rear legs like pistons. He bit at the mesh screen between us, fangs scraping like fingernails on a chalkboard. I oversteered the SUV left and right as the trapped animal’s violent thrashing pin-balled the Ford against the road cuts and safety rails.

  Grizz inched backward as he struggled to free himself. I jerked the wheel hard right and aimed the cruiser off the road toward a drop-off. I yanked the door handle. No luck. Another tug. And again. Roadside gravel crunched under the tires as we rolled toward the cliff, Grizz yowling in my ear. I pulled the door lock toggle, then handle.

  The door opened and I rolled out. Impact with the road took all of my air. Pain shot through my left arm. I missed the rear wheel by an inch and slid to a stop. I lay there and watched the car disappear over the edge of the precipice.

  The sound of sheared metal and shattered glass exploded from the canyon. I sat on the cold ground soaked in sweat, too exhausted to celebrate with more than a weak smile at each echoing return. I listened for screams of an injured animal but there were none, just the final tinkling of glass falling against rock.

  The bushes rustled against the silence.

  “Hm.” said Deer.

  Too drained to muster surprise at his sudden reappearance, I stared at the ground.

  He shook his head, said, “It’s too early to count your victories.”

  My patience had been sucked away with my energy, but Deer vanished before I could say a word.

  Chapter 30

  I patted my legs and arms to take inventory. All parts hurt but were present. I grimaced at the thought I’d just taken this same inventory a few days before. Numerous scrapes and abrasions stung, but I wasn’t bleeding anywhere important. The cold had penetrated my wet clothing and I shivered. I was dressed for summer, not a three-inches-of-snow mountain summer.

  I tried to touch my right shoulder with my left hand but could not. My left shoulder had dislocated from the fall and racking pain shot to my spine when I moved it. I tried shallow breathing, but the technique at this altitude made me dizzy.

  The level of pain was so high, I knew that I only had one option. I’d seen a few dislocations treated, so with an amateur’s idea of how, I sat.

  I placed my left elbow between my thighs. I relaxed as best I could, then squeezed hard with my legs. I leaned back and pushed against my knee with my good arm. The joint popped back in. I stifled a cry, but tears clouded my vision. I swung my arm in a circular motion. It hurt like hell, but at least I had regained movement.

  It took all my strength to stand. I held my left arm close and started uphill. Every breath of frigid high-mountain air scratched at my throat and left my lungs begging, but now was not the time to stop. I had to get to Reel and report my conversation with Pokoh and his accusations that Grizz planned to create fatalities at the hospital groundbreaking.

  First, I had to check on Deputy Sheriff Lettau. He’d tried to kill me more than once, and I wouldn’t give a shit if he froze to death, but I had to keep alive my insurance policy for the Deputy Jones killing.

  I’d run into people like Lettau before as an MP. Lettau was up to his ears in the Jones shooting, but he was in fact a coward—shooting a sleeping man in his bed is low-life and spinelessness. A man hiding behind a badge is a weakling, not a Boy Scout.

  Lettau would turn against his mates to save his own skin, and testimony will be crucial to my defense. Of course, Lettau could lie on the stand, but assholes like him inevitably sell out fast to save their own miserable asses.

  The two-mile uphill hike turned out to be three. Snow trickled off the road in rivulets. My cowboy boots, a gift from my wife—ex-wife—provided little traction on the slush. I would’ve given my good arm for a pair of hiking boots.

  At the road where Lettau had driven me, I turned left. New snow hid the tire tracks, but I spotted the blanket I’d abandoned while escaping Grizz. I didn’t see Lettau. In this black and white place, every rock and bush appeared as a featureless mound. I searched farther but the snow hid the man’s tracks. Backtracking showed only my prints and no others. Cuffed hand-to-foot, Lettau could not have escaped. I had the only key to his cuffs.

  Lettau had sustained a serious head injury when I had thrown him. He could’ve staggered off half-dazed. All I knew was he had not made it to his cruiser.

  A groan, then another, floated over the snow from a quivering snow-covered mound. Underneath the snow, Lettau lay curled up. When I pulled him to a sitting position, he mumbled gibberish, half-frozen.

  His carotid pulsed weakly against my fingers.

  I admit I slapped him harder than I needed to, “Hey. You in there?”

  “Wha…?” he asked. “Where?”

  I slapped him again. Hypothermia would kill him if I didn’t get his body heat up. Pissing him off might help. Lettau’s face seemed cold to the touch and his waxy pallor showed the beginnings of frostbite. His eyes darted until they focused on me in a mix of gratitude and hatred. I retrieved my blanket and wrapped it around Lettau’s shoulders. He clutched one end with a palsied hand. I rubbed his cheeks roughly to draw blood to the skin.

  Then he vomited. The man needed medical attention.

  “Can’t walk,” he said.

  He shivered uncontrollably, his breathing rapid, shallow, and choppy. Vapor clouds drifted away with each breath. I fished around in the snow for his lighter, found it next to his leg where I’d dropped it before, then set about gathering dry wood to build a fire. I began shaking, too, but I got the fire going.

  As Lettau thawed and I watched the fire grow, I began to question the nature of Pokoh’s comment on asteroids. At first, it sounded like a boast borne from his arrogance. Now it seemed more like a threat. My exhausted mind played a scene featuring a space object looming above Southern Colorado, teasing the earth with a near miss only to return. A miss then a return. Then, again.

  Rather than accept Pokoh’s word that he controlled celestial bodies, I wanted to talk to my favorite Aunt, Priscilla Romero, PhD, who could tell me if there were any asteroids headed our way. If not, I could forget about Pokoh. If true…well, we had a whole bigger problem.

  Lettau stared at me for a good ten minutes. The fire flickered in his eyes as he said, “You think this’s gettin’ you off the hook, Injun?” His teeth chattered as he spoke, but his pupils seemed normal in the flickering campfire.

  “You got an explanation why you dragged me up here?”

  Cuffed hand to foot, he managed to pull the blankets tighter around his shoulders. He focused on the fire, said nothing.

  “Thought so.” I held out my hands to gather heat, relished the warmth on my palms, pressed them to my face.

  “They’re coming.”

  “That a fact?” I asked.

  “You didn’t have to come back.”

  “Ain’t no love fest, man. You gotta sing at my trial.”

  Lettau stared off, said, “Fuck you. What happened to my cruiser?” he asked.

  “Long story.”

 
We sat in silence until the fire glowed and my supply of wood disappeared. Lettau had recovered enough to walk and I wanted to get him to FBI custody where Reel could keep him under wraps.

  “We’re gonna walk out of here,” I said.

  “They’re coming.”

  “You got a credibility problem, Lettau. Get up,” I said.

  Lettau made a face, but he stood on shaking legs, then fell over. I moved behind him when he tried again, steadying him when he needed it, ready for whatever mischief he’d planned. Still weak from the cold, he could do little hunched over with one ankle handcuffed to the opposite wrist.

  I almost laughed at his semi-crouched discomfort. “Gotta fix that,” I said. Grabbing a piece of firewood, I jammed it into his kidneys. He dropped, wheezing for air. He groaned as I put a knee on his backbone and switched one of the cuffs from his leg to the un-cuffed wrist, my own arm jolting every time I applied pressure.

  “What the fuck, Romero?” he said, gasping.

  “Needed to occupy your thoughts while I switched the cuff. Let’s go. You first.”

  Lettau coughed as he struggled to get up. I grabbed his arm.

  “Asshole,” he said, jerking away.

  “You’re welcome.”

  We started down the highway, hoping that a random vehicle would drive by and call for help, or that the failed FBI tail would finally show up. The deputy shuffled like an old man. I let him keep both blankets though I still shivered.

  “Romero, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” He stink-eyed me, then the road.

  “Makes two of us.”

  The moon had set, so we walked under starlight offering meager help on a road lined with drop-offs. Fortunately, the snow contrasted with the roadway and kept us from walking into thin air.

  “So, your pals are comin’ for me? A little clean up, huh?”

  Lettau said nothing.

  “Taking care of me is only half your problem.” I said. “You’re the other half.”

  He stopped in his tracks. I’d hit a nerve. Lettau knew if it were convenient for his cohorts to kill him, they’d do it. He just stared.

  “Keep moving.” I pushed him.

  We passed the spot where I’d jumped into the cruiser to avoid Grizz. A mile later we stepped around the bumper parts Grizz had removed from the Ford with a swipe. We turned sharply with the road, then came to where the rockslide had nearly stopped me. Lettau turned to look at me, said, “What happened to my cruiser?”

  “Gets worse,” I said.

  I checked for approaching lights, but the twisting road and big hills limited my view in both directions.

  At the roadside cut where the beast had jammed the vehicle up against the rocks, chrome trim and glass granules were sprinkled everywhere. The detached door lay on the blacktop, a monument to Grizz’s brute strength.

  Lettau chuckled, said, “Don’t worry about wrecking my ride, Romero. Your ass is dead, anyway.”

  “You’re lookin’ at a needle.” I said.

  Lettau stopped, turned, lowered his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You were involved in the capital murder of Deputy Jones and the attempted murder of me. Move it.” I looked both ways. No lights.

  Lettau laughed until we passed the place where I drove the SUV and Grizz off of the cliff. In the light of ten thousand stars, tracks led off to a black canyon. He said, “If you’re looking for a character witness, better kill me now, asshole.”

  We turned a sharp hairpin and continued down the road. Blinding lights appeared. A light bar flashed.

  “May not have to bother,” I said, expecting my long-lost FBI tail.

  A siren whooped. Deputies, Lettau’s thugs, stepped out of a La Plata County cruiser.

  Chapter 31

  I sprinted off the road, crashed through scrub, took my chances with the night and weather. I slipped, then grabbed at branches, but my left arm sent stabs up my shoulder and weakened my grip. Lightning flashed through my head as my banged-up bones protested. I tripped and fell. Voices from the road fueled my crawl as I scrambled like a three-legged dog through a thicket growing on the edge of a precipice.

  The sound of pounding footsteps grew closer. Someone yelled. I looked over the edge into the void.

  Deep in the gorge, Lettau’s wrecked cruiser reflected the moonlight in gold letters from a white door panel. Wheels revolved pathetically in the dark.

  I searched for the best route to climb down, but a dark, featureless slab extending to the bottom offered no purchase. I would have to solo slippery rock without the slightest knowledge of its fissures, cracks, or ledges, with every bone twinging, one good arm, a bad ankle, and not an ounce of common sense. If this was my night to die, I had plenty of opportunity.

  “Not gonna happen, Romero,” a voice pulled me away from the face of the cliff. Before I could yell, my captor threw me over his shoulder and started trotting. The shoulder on which I rode was huge. Oso.

  Oso crashed through thick brush downhill. The big man navigated the stiff ground scrub in silence. In the starlight, Oso never lost direction nor footing as we descended into the canyon down a path of broken shale.

  “Easy, man,” I rode his shoulder like a one-strap backpack. My bruised bones protested every step.

  We made it to the bottom of the canyon, a trough with dark rock stretching upward. Voices followed, Lettau cursing at his men to find me.

  “Put me down, Oso.” I had trouble drawing air while carried like a duffle bag.

  Oso dropped me into a shallow cave and blocked the door with his bulk, a man-mountain. Grizz in human form. I imagined teeth and claws, the eyes of a predator. He must’ve sensed I assumed he was going to kill me. He said, “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, hiding fear with volume.

  “Pokoh. That star-juggler is a liar.”

  “Liar?” Oso Walker’s claim was as surprising as it was bizarre.

  “Gettin’ even for the past is what he’s doing.”

  Ute-Navajo conflicts were constant and deadly long before European arrival in the Southwest. Spanish and Mexican governments promoted that enmity as part of a brutal divide-and-conquer strategy to acquire more land. Later, American policy promoted an Indian Armageddon and theft of Native resources. Tribal conflicts continued today heated by a history of abuse and hate.

  “What are you saying?” I asked.

  “He’s blaming all the trouble around here on a skinwalker. That’s complete crap.”

  “Oso, Grizz has killed at least a dozen so far and who knows how many will be hurt during the hospital groundbreaking. You don’t call that trouble?”

  He smiled. “I call it payback, but you still not getting it.”

  “Get what?”

  Oso moved in close, breath like spoiled milk. “There’s no goddamn Navajo skinwalker. There’s no Navajos involved, period. Pokoh’s the one doing the killing. Pokoh is Grizz. Plain as day. He tried to kill you, close up. Killed those Chivingtons and us Utes. Blamed it on the Navajo skinwalker hoping to start a shoot-up. That didn’t work so he’s gonna kill a bunch of Utes and rednecks at the hospital groundbreaking then blame it on the Navajos. Again. Both Chivingtons and Utes are armed to the teeth. Gonna be real retribution, this time.”

  If I wasn’t sitting, I would have fallen over. I clutched my chest, a sharp pang shot through my injured arm. Pokoh was planning to kill his own people, sacrifice them to an age-old beef with the Navajo.

  “What? I just kick you in the balls?” Oso asked.

  Hurt like it. I said, “Bullshit. I saw you with Grizz from behind your house and up the hill. You danced with Grizz then took him inside.”

  “Jesus, man. That’s old Sash. Raised her from a cub. You think Sash’s been killing these people? She has no teeth. Eats nothing but milk, porridge, and raw eggs. Sound like a killer to you?”

  “A pet? A grizzly? You’re
shittin’ me, Oso.”

  “Found her near Mexican Hat, skinny as hell, mostly ribs. She’d lost her fur, skin was blue and purple. Her teeth were black, man. Poor cub was way the hell out of her territory with mama gone or dead. When she saw me, she ran up and rubbed against my leg like a cat. I bent over to pet her, she licked my face. What would you do?”

  “A pet bear? C’mon,” I said.

  “Got fifteen grand in vet bills over the years. Don’t regret a penny.”

  Turning my world around like that made me dizzy and the only thing I believed was he was lying. “How in hell does a career Navy man have time to raise a grizzly?”

  “You still buying the shit Pokoh’s sellin’? My last tour was at the Albuquerque recruiting station. Gave me plenty of time to look after Sash.”

  “And when you went to sea?”

  “Had four tours with the Marines, mostly at the Camp Pendleton hospital, so I didn’t deploy much. Gave me plenty of time to care for her. I kept her at home ‘til she got huge. Otherwise, she hung around my place on the rez. Still does. When I couldn’t take care of her, my cousin did.”

  Oso’s cabin had broken chairs, I remembered, so it made sense a big bear might’ve busted them up. “You said she had no teeth.”

  “She’s twenty-three which is like seventy bear years. She’s got no teeth. I bottle feed her, no shit.”

  I still wasn’t convinced, but he blocked the only way out of this cave. I hugged my bad arm close and kept my mouth shut.

  “See anything?” a voice asked from outside the cave. I could not see the speakers, but they were just below our cave.

  Oval light beams raked the cliff from near the SUV, not seventy-five feet from our cave. Oso moved away from the mouth of the opening. He put a finger to his lips.

  “Nothin’,” said another voice.

  “Look at my cruiser. Fuckin’ Romero ran it off the cliff,” said Lettau. “Anything in it?”