He was the chief of the white man. Little Wolf had never seen a picture of him; he imagined him in glorious, feathered robes with a mighty headdress, and boots made of animal hides with colorful beads.
Many years later, he would come to realize this was a childish vision. Of course Millard Fillmore would look and dress like the other white men.
But he was their leader! As were so many more to follow, one after the other, changing the land and making everything so much more complicated.
“Qaletaqa?” came the voice from outside his teepee.
“Yes, come,” he said, abandoning his thoughts for the moment.
It was Ahanu. He was twenty-three years old and always happy. When the skinwalkers began to stream toward their reservation, he had been frightened beyond measure. His name meant literally, “He Laughs.” And he did.
But not once the skinwalkers came. He had become a much stronger warrior since their arrival, around four months before, but his laughter was now rare.
“What is it?”
“There are men here.”
“White men?”
Ahanu shook his head. “They are from the Henomawi Tribe.”
Qaletaqa turned his head and stared at the young man. He could not know, but his words struck the elder like a spear into the haunch of a buffalo.
“What is wrong, Qaletaqa?”
“What do they want?”
His voice was as ancient as dust, but there was strength behind the words. It was not a question; he demanded to know.
“Help. A man named Wattana was with them, but he was changed by a skinwalker.”
“Climbing Fox,” whispered Qaletaqa. He had heard what the Henomawi Mundunugu had taken responsibility for. It was madness. He had challenged the spirits to keep their promises and they had.
Climbing Fox Wattana was not pure of heart. He was well-intentioned, but ill-equipped. The black rain that had fallen over 100 days before had washed the earth in poison.
Qaletaqa said, “Who was he with before he became a skinwalker?”
“Several men. One younger man called Magi Silver Bolt. Wattana named him chief before he was bitten and changed.”
Qaletaqa nodded. “I will go to them. Have you let them inside our walls?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Do so now. In the gathering tent. I already know what they want.”
“But … they did not ask for you. I am the one who felt you could help them.”
“Because you are wise beyond your years, Ahanu. Go. I must prepare before meeting them. Offer them food and drink.”
The ancient chief, a man who was eight years old when Millard Fillmore first entered the office of the presidency in 1850, went to his bureau to remove his finest attire.
Their guests could only be there for one reason.
Ω
CHAPTER TEN
From Lebanon To California
“Gettin’ low on fuel, CB,” said Danny, over my shoulder.
“Got my eye on it.”
Georgie leaned over to eye my odometer. She nodded, satisfied. “Not bad. 320 miles.”
“That’s what keepin’ it steady’ll do for you,” I said. “I hardly ever kept it to 60. You do get pretty good mileage.”
We were the lead vehicle, and had been for the last hundred miles. The sign ahead said Potter, Nebraska.
“Sounds a bit podunk to me,” said Lilly. “Which is perfect, don’t get me wrong.”
We’d gotten used to seeing scattered zombies shuffling through the dusty landscapes here and there. The biggest horde – if you could call it that – had been maybe eight of them. They were skinny but motivated when they heard the sound of our trucks. They crawled or staggered on whatever appendages they could manage, just to cut the distance between us and them by a few feet.
I don’t know if any made it to our convoy before we passed, but Georgie pushed the radio button anyway. “There are a few dead here,” she radioed. “Keep an eye out.”
“Keep your eyes out for fillin’ stations,” I said.
“There’s a Gulf sign there,” said Georgie, pointing. “Not sure where the station is.”
“There’s a Texaco without any pumps,” I said, lifting my chin to a dilapidated building on the side of the road. “Hope the Gulf’s in better shape.”
“Shit, I wouldn’t go gettin’ my hopes up,” grumbled Danny.
To the left and right of us were enormous grain silos, tickling the sky. I imagined all the putrid grain, mold growing it into greenish-brown clumps. Wasted work to go along with all the wasted lives.
“Lookie there,” I said. “Gulf has now become a divide between us and gas. A true gulf.” The sign stood broken out except for the G and part of the U.
“You’re gonna have to head back toward the bigger roads to find a station,” said Lilly. “Truckers take them. That’s where the gas’ll be.”
“Why did we bring gas if we won’t use it until we have gas?” asked Georgina.
I figured I’d take that one. “Because then we’d be ridin’ with no backup. We just happened to hit E on the fuel gauge beside a somewhat populated area, but we can’t always count on that. Next time we might be in the middle of BFE.”
She stared at me, and I said it. “Bumfuck Egypt.”
“I knew that,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Figured that. Anyway, we gotta take the opportunities we come across.”
The bullet that pinged off our windshield with a sharp, loud tap scared the shit out of me. “Down!” I yelled. I hadn’t heard the report of any rifle, but the music was loud, and we were talking. Everybody ducked down, including Danny.
“Shots fired!” yelled Lilly, mashing the button on the radio.
“Look for a place, CB!” shouted Danny.
I did. I saw it not a hundred yards up. I floored it as another shot came, this one whizzing through Georgie’s open window, right past the tip of my nose, and out the other open side window.
I felt my sphincter squeeze tight on that one.
“Hang on!” I shouted. I saw the massive, overgrown cornfield to my left, and once we pulled into it, we were blind.
“Gimme the radio!” I shouted. Lilly shoved it into my hand and I pushed the button. “Stay right on my ass. We’re doin’ the ladder formation blind, folks!”
We’d practiced the ladder formation before. It was one of those ideas the Nacogdoche had formulated, in case we were caught off guard in our vehicles and ran into a situation just like the one we’d just found ourselves in.
I cranked the wheel hard to the left, bounced over a shallow ditch and drove straight into the dried out, head-high crops, trying to keep myself perpendicular to the road. I drove straight for the moment, but trust me, I had a plan. That plan involved heavy reliance on the vehicle in front of us, of which I had none.
I pushed the button again and held it down to avoid anybody asking any questions. “Follow my trail! Get ready to turn right!”
I cranked it hard, doing my best to make a sharp, 90-degree turn. When I had my bearings and felt I was driving parallel to the highway I’d just left, I drove for another eighth mile or so and said, “Okay, Lilly’ll do the count. You know your positions. When she calls your number, you turn hard right, drive 10 miles an hour for ten seconds and stop.”
I tossed the radio to Lilly. In less than five seconds, she called “ONE!”
I cranked it and she counted to herself. “One, two, three, four, five,” then mashed the button. “TWO!”
Another five count. “THREE!”
Soon the ladder was complete. We all cut our engines and got out. We kept the radios low and listened.
The ladder formation got us all separated, and if we could then creep forward enough without alerting our attackers by shaking the cornstalks, we’d be good and spread out.
I hit my radio four times fast. That meant minimal volume so we could follow up with voice communications.
I didn’t have to wait lon
g. Micky Rode came through.
“You see who was shooting at us?” he asked.
“I did,” came another voice. I didn’t recognize it immediately. When she spoke again, I recognized Carla from the Nacogdoche tribe.
“I’m a few feet from where the cornfield begins,” she said. “I see … five vehicles. Perhaps fifteen men.”
Suddenly, several reports came, followed by the dull sounds of cornstalks being pierced by bullets. They were aiming too high, but a second later I heard the crack of one hitting a windshield. The moment that happened, more rounds went off, and I heard what must have been the windshield exploding.
“Shit!” I whispered. “Everyone, stay down!”
The firing stopped. I waited a few beats, then said, “Carla? You still see ‘em?”
“Yes,” she said. She didn’t sound injured, but I didn’t know about anyone else.
“Everyone got eyes on your teams? Is anyone hurt?”
The responses came, and to my great relief, nobody had taken any rounds.
“No women or children?” I asked. If not, it might be an army of sorts.
“None,” said Carla, her voice low and tense. “All of them are armed with hunting rifles, though. Scopes all around.”
“Everybody. Grab our biggest guns and get into position around five feet from your trucks on both sides. Get ready to light ‘em up.”
I didn’t want to do it. At the same time, I didn’t think calling out or raising a white flag was too wise, either.
I heard some rustling as everyone did what I’d said to do. More shots rang out and as I’d hoped, the movement fell silent and everyone laid low for the moment.
“… fire!” called out Micky on the radio. “Get back to the vehicles –”
The field erupted with gunfire, all directed at the road we’d vacated a few minutes before. The bullets ripped through dried stalks, zipping toward our attackers.
“No, no!” shouted Micky, his voice winded and panicked. “They set the field on fire! Get the hell out of here, now!”
“Shit!” I said, mashing the button on my radio. “Everyone! Get in your trucks now!”
As Georgie, Danny, Lilly and I ducked low and scrambled back through the heavy stalks, I could smell the burning corn. Moments later, the dried-out ears of corn crackled so loudly, it filled my ears like white noise, drowning out all other sounds.
I reached the truck and jumped in just as the others got to the Toyota. I fired the engine. Now with the truck between us and the flames, even with the windows down, I could hear again. I grabbed the radio, not knowing the status of all the others, or whether they’d made it back to their vehicles. “Everybody, drive! I’m in the lead. Watch the ….”
I didn’t have time to finish before the fire was at the hood of our truck. “Go, drive!” Lilly yelled, taking over the radio.
I jammed it into reverse, flooring it.
The flames were closing in around us fast, the crops so dried out they ignited as fast as tissue. Mere seconds later when I dropped it into drive, the flames were all around us, and nobody in the car said a word as I floored it.
I suspect some praying was going on.
Some loud noises came from the undercarriage of the pickup, and I prayed we didn’t get hung up on broken cornstalks or pop a tire. It would be tough enough to escape the flames in a fast-moving vehicle, let alone trying to outrun the inferno on foot.
I cranked the wheel hard left and drove away from the source of the fire, but at least some of the bastards weren’t done shooting yet, because I heard something ping off the truck that had nothing to do with the fire.
“Everyone okay?” I asked, now turning the wheel side to side after hearing the bullet strike, just to make for a more difficult-to-hit target, even if they couldn’t see us. Everyone called out, acknowledging they were okay.
Far enough from the crackling flames, I straightened the wheel and floored it. The tires spun momentarily, but then grabbed and we shot forward. I drove as parallel to the road and the raging fire as I could gauge.
“They comin’?” I called out. “Can you see?”
“The stalks are movin’!” Danny responded. “I can’t tell how many, though!”
We were both talking about our people. The attackers might’ve believed we’d burned up, but if they were paying attention – or could see us at all through all the black smoke – they’d see the stalks bending down as we made our escape to the west.
“Hang on!” I said, turning the wheel sharp left and driving for all I was worth. I hoped like hell the vehicle with the shattered windshield could still run, but there was no time to make sure.
I don’t know how long I drove; driving blind makes time crawl, but it wasn’t long after the thought hit me that the pickup broke through the edge of the cornfield and bounced onto a gravel road. It seemed to run north/south, so I cranked it left and drove with the pedal to the floor for another thirty seconds before I let off and stopped.
“Everyone okay?” I asked, looking from one to the other. I paused extra-long on Georgina Lake, but all of them were important to me.
They all gave me the news I wanted to hear.
Behind us, the others in our caravan burst out of the field and hit the road at speed, so I was glad as hell I’d thought to pull away a bit. All of them turned after me, which told me they were paying attention.
Once I thought they were all with us, I floored it again. I had no idea whether the gunfire the others had laid down when Micky yelled fire took any of the bastards out, but I hoped like hell they wouldn’t be in pursuit.
A loud static burst came through the radio, and it sounded like a voice was behind it.
“What in the hell was that?” asked Lilly, breathless.
“Stop!” came a call over the radio. This time it was clear. “Wait!”
“Hold on,” I said. “It might be those bastards who were shootin’ at us.”
Despite my apprehension, Lilly responded anyway, mashing the button on her radio. “What? Why?”
“It’s Carla! She’s … still in there!”
I felt every muscle in my neck bunch up.
“Who’s this?” asked Lilly.
“It’s Phil! I was with Carla, Bert and Lucy! Me and Lucy got back to the pickup, but I don’t know where Bert and Carla are at!”
“Why the fuck did you leave ‘em?”
“Because they were firin’ at our pickup! Me and Lucy were already inside, so it was get shot or drive!”
I understood. I didn’t like it at all, but I understood. When bullets are flying toward you, you haul ass. I still wanted to strangle him.
“Where the hell is she now?” I yelled.
“She got caught in the flames! Bert was up there with her, gettin’ eyes on the shooters.”
“Jesus Christ!” I said, dropping the Toyota back into drive and spinning it around. “Hold on!” I shouted, and floored it. I drove fast, back toward our aggressors and the raging cornfield. The fire had now spread so far to the south I couldn’t figure out where it would end. I hoped like hell it didn’t engulf any gas stations closer to the freeway. We needed that fuel, and bad.
I jammed past the other parked pickups in our caravan and drove to where we’d come flying out of the field. Just as I reached it, two figures emerged from the flaming cornstalks.
I didn’t know him well, but I’d made it a point to get eyes on everyone in our mobile army, because I had to know without a doubt who was friend or foe. I might not have been military, but I have common sense and I gotta know who my friends are.
So, I did recognize Bert’s face, even if I couldn’t have put a name to him. He looked dead on his feet, but there he was, dragging a supine figure by the hands out of the fire, coughing and spitting while he struggled. Both his and her clothes were smoldering, and she wasn’t moving.
When he cleared the edge of the flames, he fell to the ground beside what had to be Carla’s prone body.
I pulled up righ
t beside the pair and Georgie was out of the truck so fast I didn’t even realize she’d gotten out.
“Danny, grab that DP-12 from back there!” I yelled, taking a .45 from the seat beside me.
Lilly grabbed one of the .22 rifles and opened her door, lowering the window. Not a minute passed before someone emerged in the distance and she fired two shots.
I jerked my head to the left and saw the man stop in his tracks, then crumple.
Lilly was getting good.
“Good, Lil! Keep coverin’ us!”
I dove down beside Georgie and Carla, whose face was smeared with soot, her eyes closed. Georgie was pumping her chest in a steady rhythm, saying, “Come on, Carla! Stay with me!”
I scooted over to Bert on my knees. “You okay, man?” I asked.
His breath was rasping from his lungs, and he coughed up black bile, spitting. “I’m … I’m fine,” he managed. “Carla?”
We both turned our attention back to Georgie, who now had Carla’s nose pinched closed as she breathed into her mouth three times.
She immediately moved back and began pumping her chest again.
I heard a host of .22 caliber rifles popping in the distance. I turned to look, and saw every Nacogdoche Indian who’d joined us behind their trucks, firing the Henry rifles with all they had. By the time I looked past Carla, Bert and Georgina again, there were six bodies lying in the gravel road, motionless.
They never even got a shot off, but there were guns beside every one of them. Everyone had shut off their engines, but now I heard the starters of at least three vehicles crank, and engines fire.
I figured they weren’t coming our way, but I turned back to our crew and pointed in their direction. I put my index and middle fingers to my eyes, then pointed toward our former attackers.
They got the message. Eyes out. Keep watch.
I heard coughing. It wasn’t Bert. It was higher pitched. I felt a smile jump onto my face like a zombiegator grabbing hold of a kitten.
I dropped back down beside Carla, who had rolled over onto her side, spitting out black goop. She coughed, and it came out her nose, too.
“Go ahead, Carla,” I said. “Get that crap outta your system. Glad you’re back.”
Judgement Page 10