The Bone Man

by Vicki Stiefel

  Oh, dear.

  Aric was at the wheel and Hank sat in the passenger’s seat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  More bumpy roads with numerous potholes in the packed dirt. I sat between the two men and ate the sandwich handed to me by Hank. Turkey, mayo, lettuce, no tomato. He knew me well. Maybe too well.

  The sandwich had appeared out of a Bashas’ Supermarket bag. I wondered if he’d gotten me a pickle or chips. I didn’t dare ask, lest I unleash the floodgates of his fury.

  No one was talking. Neither man had yelled at me. Neither, in fact, had said a word.

  I pretended to be upset. Actually, I was pretty pleased with the silence. I took a sip from the huge water bottle provided by Hank. The water slid down cool and refreshing.

  A sea of desert sprawled beyond the bug-spattered windshield. Strips of clouds banded the bright blue sky. A few miles back, we’d turned left at the long-abandoned Seven Lakes Trading Post. Our route took us on or near The Bisti Badlands. I’d always wanted to visit and see the Hoodoos. Some were strange outcroppings of pedestal rock with tilted flat pancake hats atop them. Others looked like giant mushroom-shaped fields of stone. I’d seen photos and had been amazed.

  Over a small rise, cattle stood in clumps. What a wild place for cattle to graze. How could they possibly get enough water? But they must.

  The land undulated, and for miles and miles we saw no sign of humankind. Hawks danced on the air currents overhead. The clouds gradually coalesced, and a soft rain began to fall.

  “That won’t help,” Aric said.

  “Ayuh,” Hank said.

  “I wish we could go faster,” I said.

  The two looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. The gray, fading light slowed us even more.

  I worried about the time.

  I thought of all that had happened and wondered what Governor Bowannie would have made of all the blood and violence over pot shards and a skull and the blood fetish. I wished he were here to guide us. I believed he was the only one who understood what was going on. Or maybe that was simply my wishful thinking. Maybe there were no answers.

  The rain hardened, and the road became less and less visible.

  I checked my watch—maybe for the fiftieth time.

  “We’ve got less than an hour to make the meeting,” I said.

  “We’ll make it,” Aric said.

  I waited. Neither man spoke.

  And then my anger bubbled up. I wanted to tell them about the old woman at the library. About Kai and the blood fetish and the useless Taser. Except neither man was saying a thing.

  I leaned forward, retrieved my purse and plucked out my cell phone and lipstick. Few things seemed to annoy men more than donning lipstick when the world was falling apart.

  I moved the rearview mirror, which I knew would annoy them further, and slashed peach something across my lips. Aric grunted, which I found oddly satisfying. Hank’s chuckle was simply irritating.

  I felt like a mackerel sandwich between those two.

  I flipped open the phone, saw I had coverage, and called Gert.

  “Hey, G, it’s me,” I said.

  “It’s about time,” she said.

  “Let me tell you a few of my adventures, since we last spoke.” I launched into a litany, which was punctuated by oohs and ahs and yikes from the other end.

  I checked my watch. We had fifty minutes, which felt like not nearly enough time.

  In the background, Aric seemed to be grunting, while Hank began to softly curse. At least they’d stopped the silent treatment.

  “Anything on the carbon dating?” I asked.

  “Yeah, finally.” Exasperation filled Gert’s words. “Took me forever to get Kranak moving, and then he had to do this whole trip on this really dumb judge. I mean, the guy was one nasty piece of—”

  “Gert! Please, hon, I’d love to hear later, but now, what were the results?”

  “Cool your jets, Tal. You sound really stressed.”

  “Didn’t I just explain what’s been going on? Stressed is sort of an understatement. The pot? Please!”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s one of those old things. Like from A.D. 1100 or something. Wait a minute, let me get the paper, huh?”

  “Um, yeah. Sure. Get it.”

  I glanced at Hank while I waited. He must have sensed me watching, because he turned, slowly drew off his sunglasses, and stared. His cool blue eyes blazed hot. Then he leaned down and kissed me, and I became lost in his passion.

  I surfaced gradually. The radio was on. Aric was saying “Get a room, guys,” and Hank had crossed his arms and was facing forward again, as if we’d never kissed.

  Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. Except my belly was jelly, and my thighs burned and . . .

  “Gert?” My voice sounded weak and strange.

  “Where ya been?”

  “Outer space. Sorry. You have the paper?”

  “It’s just what I said. One thousand years old, consistent with Anasazi. The composition of the mud marks it as Southwestern, too. If they had more time, they could tell us exactly where the pot was from because of the makeup of the mud or something. Really weird stuff. I looked ’em up online and everything makes sense, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I know. I do. I can’t believe it, but I do. Thanks, hon, so much.” I flipped the phone closed.

  “Well?” Aric said.

  “The pot was authentic. So now I don’t get what’s going on at all. How did Delphine’s skull get in a pot from A.D. 1100? A pot that had to be built around the skull?”

  The rain turned to mist, and again I checked my watch. We had forty minutes to make the meet. None of us had been to Chaco before, and I wondered in the gloom and wet if we’d be able to find the Chetro Ketl grand kiva easily enough. I hoped they’d gotten a map of the park and the canyon. If not, we’d have to stop at the ranger station.

  “I read about it, you know.” I said the words hoping either Aric or Hank would respond.

  Aric grunted. Wow—a victory.

  “Do you guys have any idea where Chetro Ketl is? Or even what a grand kiva is?”

  We landed in a huge pothole, and I bumped my head on the roof of the truck, even wearing my seat belt. On landing, the Land Rover fishtailed badly. I fisted my hands in my lap. No way would I hold on to Hank. Their silence was really pissing me off.

  “I’ve had it, guys. And, Aric, your damned Taser didn’t work when I needed it. I almost got killed.”

  “Which time,” drawled Hank.

  “Not that funny,” I said.

  “We didn’t think so, either,” Aric said. “You acting like a prima donna.”

  Hank chuckled, and I elbowed him in the gut.

  “Cut it out,” he said.

  “My ass, I will,” I said. “The situation is deadly. We may not reach Niall and his daughter in time. And I’m stuck here with Misters Silent One and Two. Do you not see how lethal this all is?”

  “We see,” Aric said. “But we journey to where my ancestors lived or at least worshipped. Don’t you feel it? The power?”

  I breathed deeply, tried to relax. Of course he was right. Chaco had power. I’d always known that. And when I looked out on the austere landscape, I realized it mattered more than I’d thought. I felt dizzy with the pull of Chaco. “You’re saying your ancestors will help us?”

  Aric shook his head, spit out the window, and pushed a fresh chew into his cheek. “I’m saying there’s more here than us and our hunt. I’m saying we should try to feel the power and use it to help us. It was a travesty, the skull in the pot. One we must fix.”

  I stared at Aric, and in the closeness of the truck cab, where the air was thick and musty and tight, I saw a different man. Not the FBI agent or the Indian, but the man who was comfortable being close to the spirits.

  I leaned toward Hank, tilted my head. “Do you feel it?”

  “I feel the truth, Tal.” Hank brushed a lock of hair from my forehead. “No more than that. But tr
uth is a powerful thing. Maybe different from Aric’s power, but a strength and its own kind of power. More than that, I can’t say.”

  I leaned back, closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. I was in a truck with the Obi Wan twins. I slipped my arms through theirs. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

  All well and good, until someone shot out our tire.

  “Someone shot it, Aric.” I paced by the side of the road in a vain attempt to keep warm. Aric and Hank were making swift work of changing the thing. But time was getting tighter and tighter, like some damned hangman’s noose.

  “How soon?” I said.

  Aric’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I know you’re both rushing. I’m terribly worried about them.”

  “And we’re not?” Hank said.

  “No, of course you are.”

  Hank stood, arched his back. He walked around the Land Rover. I continued to pace. “Damn, it’s cold out here.” I hoped Niall and his daughter had warm coats to wear.

  “Here,” Hank said.

  I looked up, and he handed me a lidded styrofoam cup with “Basha’s Supermarket” on the side.

  “Coffee?” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  He flushed. “Cocoa.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him blush. Made me smile. “Thanks, hon.”

  “Get in, you two lovebirds.” Aric hopped behind the wheel, and I ran around the side. Hank slid in beside me, and we were off.

  “Crank up that heat, please,” I said. I took a long pull on the cocoa. “Boy is this good.”

  “Tal,” Hank said. “It makes no sense that someone shot out our tire.”

  I had to think. “Maybe they didn’t want us to make the meet. Maybe this is all about the time we get there.”

  “No,” Aric said. “It was a rock.”

  “Ideas, then, about what we do when we get there?” I said.

  “You’ll see.” He floored it, and we flew over the road as if we wore skates.

  Minutes later, the rain stopped, blue sky appeared, and so did Chaco.

  “Do you feel it?” I said.

  Hank slipped off his glasses. “Pretty striking.”

  The world was painted gold and white. We neared the canyon.

  “No,” I said. “I mean do you feel the pull, the . . . otherness?”

  No one said a word. We were almost there. And yet . . .

  “Hank?” My voice . . . slurred . . . odd. Tired. I was so . . . I gasped. “The cocoa.”

  Hank took the mug from my hands just as I slipped into sleep.

  I swam up from some sludgy depth that didn’t want to release me. I pried open my eyes. Blankets swaddled me, and outside . . . emptiness. Where was I? The sun was setting on the far horizon. Where . . . ?

  Pueblo Bonito! I recognized it from the books I’d read. Impossible not to. My eyes felt heavy, and I let them droop. I could nap for just a little while longer. Sure I could.

  I pushed myself up straight.

  Dammit! Where was Hank? Aric?

  I fought my arm out of the blankets to look at my watch. 6:30! I’d been out for what, two hours? Long after we were to meet the kidnappers who’d taken Niall and his daughter.

  Then where were they? What had happened? Why was I alone?

  “Shit!”

  Hank had doped me. That cocoa. He’d put something in it to make me sleep. They’d been planning this all along, even before they’d picked me up. Geesh.

  I flung off the blankets, found some gum in my purse and jammed it into my mouth. Anything to stay awake. I trolled in my purse, found the Taser. I needed that, needed it to work. Rotated it around and around in my hand. Pressed the button. No button. No nothing.

  What was I missing? I . . . Ahhhh.

  I slid back a plastic hood on the top, and there, within the red circle, was the real button I was to push. Finally!

  I laughed. A safety. Of course. Now that I’d solved that dilemma . . . I searched under the front seat, found nothing, slipped into the back, explored and, yes. I held one of those mini-flashlights. Perfect. With that, my cell phone, and the Taser, I’d be all set.

  I pulled up the door handle and pushed.

  The door didn’t open. What the hell?

  I peered out the window. They’d strung some kind of wire tight to the front and back door handles, so I couldn’t open them. Couldn’t get out, couldn’t interfere with their big-boy plans. Talk about lame!

  Those two paternal idiots.

  I checked the driver’s side and that was the same deal. It wouldn’t budge, either. I scrambled in back, twisted the back tailgate, and that wouldn’t lift or push out. Stuck. I was stuck.

  Okay, now what?

  There was no way I was sitting in this truck for who-knew-how-long. Think, Tally, think.

  The truck was old, with vinyl duct-taped seats, a cracked windshield, and plastic steering wheel. The windshield could be broken. I was sure of that. But I’d hate to do it. I scoured the truck again, which made me dizzy. I found no rock, no ice scraper, nothing I could use to pound out the passenger-side window. All I really wanted to do was sleep. Maybe I should just let them be, crawl under the blanket and doze.

  That was when a sense of dread crawled up my spine. I was trapped. Someone could set fire to the Land Rover, and I’d be burnt to a crisp. I couldn’t breathe and was suddenly gasping for air.

  I clutched the armrest, shook the door, screamed to be let out.

  Stopstopstop.

  I took a deep breath, said a couple oms.

  If the Land Rover were burning, I would . . .

  I lay on my back, legs flexed, and slammed my feet against the passenger-side window. On the second kick, out it went. At least, part of it. I wrapped my hand in the blanket, lifted some of the spiked glass shards out, then reached outside and tried the door. I hadn’t expected it to open, and it didn’t.

  I pulled out the remaining glass shards and crawled out.

  I “oomphed” when I landed, then crouched and peered around. I saw no one. But I heard, in the near distance, what sounded like laughter.

  I left my purse and the blankets I’d carried through the window beneath the truck. I took the Taser and the flashlight and my cell, pulled on my gloves, and off I went.

  Night was closing in. Fingers of the sun glowed on the horizon. The moon, fat and promising, bobbed in the sky like a giant Necco wafer. My rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the desert floor.

  Around a curve, while climbing one of the brick walls, I skidded on a slick rock and went down.

  I panted. Nothing broken. Not even too badly scraped. But I’d twisted my bum left knee, and it hurt like mad. I had to be more careful.

  As I pushed myself up, I felt a rock, a nice one, a pointy one. Sure, I had the Taser, but I really trusted rocks. I slipped the baseball-sized stone into my jacket pocket and ran again. At least the pain would keep me awake. I still couldn’t believe they’d drugged me.

  The air was cool and getting cooler. Yet sweat drooled down my back and between my breasts. More laughter. I felt a punch of adrenaline.

  I crouched lower, ran faster. Don’tslip . . . don’tslip . . . don’tslip.

  I shaded my eyes and looked up at the dying sun. I was running east from Bonito toward what I guessed was Chetro Ketl. So Aric and Hank had gone past the meeting spot, locked me in and doubled back. Except I was sure something had happened to derail them. Something bad.

  Night was closing in, and I panicked. I had to find them. I ran around clumps of sage dotted with raindrops and over chunks of rock. I hustled through an arch, then down a well-trodden path, my footfalls like a beating tom-tom.

  But I wasn’t going fast enough.

  A shriek knifed the night.

  Someone was in pain. Or fear. Or both.

  I ran faster, slipped, fell to my knees. I hurt, but not as much as . . .

  Another shriek blasted the night.

  Wai
t, I told myself. I had to play it smart if I was going to help anyone. I rubbed my knees, got up, flexed them. I was okay.

  Taser, phone, rock, flashlight—check. I ran on.

  Chaco was bigger than I’d imagined. That shriek. Maybe an animal? No, it had been human.

  Someone hissed, “Fuck you!”

  I ran even faster. Hank. That sounded like Hank.

  Another shriek.

  The world blurred as I moved in some dream, faster, rhythmically, shooting through time and space.

  And then I was there. Fear grabbed my gut, and I pressed my hand to my mouth so I wouldn’t sob out loud.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I could see nothing. I crouched behind a boulder just outside of what I thought was the great kiva at Chetro Ketl. I took enough breaths to make sure I was somewhat calm, not that I really ever could be with Hank and Aric in terrible straits. Cold seeped into my bones as I listened. Before I entered, I had to know just where they were.

  The wind grew in volume, and an owl hooted, and some creature scurried with scratching sounds.

  And then . . .

  “What the fuck are we gonna do now?” came the voice.

  “Shuddup,” came another.

  Two men. I recognized neither voice. But I now knew where they were. I waited another heartbeat, and . . .

  “Do what he says.” A third voice, low, slow, commanding. A woman’s voice. The woman at the library? It didn’t sound anything like her.

  Sweat bathed me, and I shook. I gripped the rock tighter, rested my cheek on its cold face. I wanted to run, leave, escape.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth as I laughed. What sane person wouldn’t?

  I flexed my hands, loosened my shoulders, then crept forward.

  I came face to face with a wall. The dark was a bitch, all right.

  Now what?

  I tried to picture again the photos I’d seen of Chetro Ketl. The Anasazi had built the great house in a semicircle, more like a D, really, with large squared-off stones, like huge bricks, and squared windows. It once had a roof, but no more, and part of its walls had collapsed.

  Originally it rose several stories, or so I remembered. But now? The pictures showed only one story remaining, and that a jagged one where walls had collapsed. Even so, the walls around me still felt immense.