Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2 (41 page)

“This
is
a sacred place,” Joe said.

“It’s a ghost town,” she said.

Joe nodded like that was obvious.

“This wasn’t built by the Anasazi or Navajo,” Stella said, her eyes still on the dusty street that split the town in half. There were dilapidated two and three story structures on both sides of the street, some so worn they looked ready to collapse. At the far end of the town, about five hundred yards away, was a white church.

Joe nodded again like her statement was obvious. “I know you might have thought we were going to an ancient city built by the Anasazi, but this is still a sacred site, I assure you.” His horse was prancing around again, eyes wild. “We need to go inside that church down there. There are a lot of preparations we need to make.”

The old man didn’t wait for them; he was already riding his horse down the middle of the road through the ghost town.

Cole nodded at Stella and then he put his four wheeler in gear. David held on to Cole, but he stared at Stella for a moment almost like he was making sure she was going to follow them.

The wind had picked up suddenly. Sand swirled through the air, pelting her skin. She pulled her goggles back down and followed Cole, David, and Joe. She looked at Cole and David who were off to her right a little and still in front of her. The tinny sound of their four wheeler’s motor echoed off the skeletal buildings and petrified wood siding and shingles.

Porches and decks built in front of some of the buildings were crumbling away, not rotting in this arid weather, but just slowly disintegrating away to dust. Many of the windows had been broken out long ago, some of the pieces of glass hung there like sharp teeth; the broken windows allowed glimpses into the gloomy interiors of the buildings. This was a one-street town abandoned a long time ago, yet it felt like someone was here watching them.

It knows we’re here.

The wind gusted again.

The Darkwind, Stella thought. She sped the four wheeler up a little more, getting closer to the others, staying in as tight a pack as they could. She could imagine that dark, constantly re-forming mass of tentacles and alien-like feelers materializing out of the wind and sand, gaining substance and pushing its way into this world in a solid form. Maybe it could only stay solid in this world for a short time. Maybe it needed to be inside something. She didn’t know. She didn’t understand it, she would never understand it. She just wanted David to send it back to where it belonged and then close that door forever.

The front of the church looked like it had been painted white when they’d been farther away from it, but now that they were right in front of it she saw that a lot of the old paint had chipped and peeled away a long time ago and the wood had been bleached white from the sun and wind. But at least the structure still looked solid; at least it looked safer than the other buildings in this long-forgotten dead town. The church’s double doors still had a little bit of red paint left on them, some of the paint had soaked into the dry wood over the decades, darker down in the cracks. A corroded metal bell still hung high up in the steeple above them and the stained glass windows were cracked but mostly intact.

Joe got off his horse and whispered something into her ear. He gave his horse a kiss on her nose, and then patted her shoulder. The horse looked relieved to take off; she ran back down through the town the way they had come.

“I can’t leave her outside for that thing,” Joe explained and he seemed to be close to tears. “She’ll find her way home.”

Stella didn’t want to ask how Joe planned on getting back home—she assumed that she and Joe would ride the four wheeler back together. Or maybe he didn’t plan on all of them going back. But she didn’t want to think about that.

Cole cut the engine of his four wheeler and Stella killed hers too. They all got off the vehicles and unbuckled their helmets and pulled off their goggles, setting the equipment down on the seats.

Joe had his pack of supplies slung over his shoulder as he walked up the path through the rock garden that led up to the wood steps and the double doors of the church. He opened the doors, pushing them all the way open. He looked back at them, waiting for them to follow him inside.

Stella looked back at the ghost town. Joe’s horse was already beyond the town now, in a full trot across the desert. The wind was kicking up again, howling down through the buildings. Something, a loose piece of siding or a shingle perhaps, flapped loudly.

She looked back at the church and followed the others inside. The inside of the church was empty except for a layer of debris and garbage all over the wood floor. It looked like the church had been stripped bare of the pews, stage, dais, and any other furniture or anything else a long time ago. A few bare studs stood at the far end of the left side of the large room like pieces of a skeleton, probably where rooms had been sectioned off before.

The ceiling was vaulted to a peak high above them and thin shafts of daylight streamed down through a few of the small holes—they looked like laser beams of light shooting down at the wood floor that was covered with dust, broken pieces of wood, scraps of debris.

Joe found part of an old bench in the middle of the clutter and he set it upright and laid his pack down next to it on the floor. He wasn’t wasting any time; he was already taking items out of his pack and setting them on the bench.

Cole, Stella, and David walked across the littered floor, skirting around the larger debris. They gathered around Joe who was softly singing to himself in Navajo. He pulled out a clear mason jar filled with a thick dark fluid from his pack.

“Owl’s blood,” Joe said as he set the jar on the rickety bench. “I’m going to use this to paint the symbols on David’s face and hands.”

Joe set what looked like a bundle of feathers tied together next to the jar of blood—it looked like a set of rudimentary paintbrushes. He also set the spiral bound notebook that David had drawn symbols in this morning near the brush and jar of blood. He took out a long wooden stick that had symbols carved into it. The stick had feathers, beads, and some kind of small dried bird claws tied to it with thin pieces of leather. Next, he slipped a necklace of beads and turquoise around his neck. And the last things he took out of his bag were four plastic containers of lighter fluid and two boxes of large kitchen matches. He picked up one of the bottles of lighter fluid and one of the boxes of matches and handed them to Cole.

“This is for the snakes and spiders if they get too close,” Joe explained.

Cole nodded like he already knew what to do with them, and then he stuffed the container of lighter fluid down into his coat pocket and shoved the box of matches down into his pants pocket.

The wind was getting stronger outside. Sand pelted the outside walls of the church and rattled the stained glass windows. The wood beams and walls creaked and moaned from the gusts of wind.

And underneath that wind, Stella heard the howl of a coyote, and then another one. She looked at the others—they’d heard the howls too.

David grabbed Stella’s hand as he looked around at the church with wide eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Stella said as she held David’s hand while looking at Joe. David squeezed her hand hard and she thought she could hear him breathing more quickly now. “You said we were going to a sacred site. What’s so sacred about a ghost town?”

Joe nodded at her. “I promise this
is
a sacred site. This is where we need to be.”

“But …” Stella began, but then David’s words cut her sentence short.

“I think I’ve been here before,” David said.

The trail to Joe Blackhorn’s property

“T
here’s the truck,” Captain Begay said as he slowed his Ford Bronco down to a stop on the rutted trail that led to Joe Blackhorn’s property. He parked right behind the old blue pickup truck.

“That’s the truck they stole in Colorado,” Palmer said. “Matches the description that was sent in.”

They both sat in the Bronco for a moment, both of them watching the parked truck in front of them.

“Nobody inside,” Palmer said as he got out of the Bronco, dropping down to the ground from the high truck. He pulled his service pistol out from his holster just in case.

Begay got out from the driver’s side, but he didn’t pull out his gun.

Palmer looked around at the desert brush that stretched out to the mountains all around them. They were down in a depression in the land here—the trail continued on past the stolen pickup truck, rising up to a ridge in the distance, then disappearing over the top.

Palmer walked up to the rear of the pickup truck and glanced in the bed, holding his service pistol aimed down at the ground but ready if he needed it. There was nothing in the bed of the truck except a few pieces of construction debris scattered all over the place: scrap pieces of wood, stripped pieces of wiring, sawed-off metal pipe, a few rusted brackets.

“Hello?” Palmer called out just in case someone was lying low inside the cab of the vehicle. “Special Agent Palmer with the FBI.”

Palmer saw Begay on the other side of the pickup truck. He walked casually to the king cab back window and peered inside. “No one in there,” he said.

Palmer relaxed a little and walked up towards the passenger door. He peeked in through the windows. No one in there like Begay had said. There was a large cooler in the back along with a lot of other junk. The front passenger floorboard was littered with trash and fast food bags. The keys were still in the ignition.

He looked down at the front tire. “Tire came off the rim over here,” Palmer said as he holstered his weapon. “Front passenger tire.” The tire was eaten up, barely clinging to the rim which looked bent and was dug down into the dirt.

Begay walked on ahead of the front of the pickup truck, studying the ground.

“Truck broke down,” Palmer said re-creating the scene for Begay. “They must’ve left on foot from here.”

Begay didn’t respond. He walked on ahead a little farther, studying the ground for a while. “Tracks here,” he said. “They got into another truck over here.”

Palmer looked down at the ruts in the dirt trail in front of the truck, following them until he came up beside Begay. He saw the tire tracks in the dirt, but he couldn’t be so sure of what had happened like Begay seemed to be. But he wasn’t going to argue with the man’s tracking skills.

“What the hell’s that?” Palmer asked, pointing down at dozens of smashed spiders, scorpions, and two snakes among the tire tracks.

Begay walked over and stared down at the dead animals and insects. “The truck ran over them,” he said. “A lot of them”.

Palmer didn’t respond. He just watched as Begay walked away from the rutted trail. Palmer was ready to get back in the Bronco and continue on to Blackhorn’s property, but he didn’t say anything as Begay wandered around in the brush and sand. He watched Begay stop and crouch down, studying the ground for a few minutes. Something seemed to be bothering the captain.

“What is it?” Palmer finally asked. It didn’t seem like Begay was going to volunteer anything.

“Strange,” Begay said as he stood up and walked back towards the stolen pickup truck, staring down at the dirt like he was following a trail.

“What’s strange?”

“There are all kinds of animal tracks around here.”

Palmer just nodded. He wanted to point out that they were in the middle of the wilderness, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to get to Blackhorn’s property before these guys got away again. But he’d learned so far that he wasn’t going to hurry Begay along until the man was ready.

“A lot of animals,” Begay said as he pointed down at the ground. “Coyote tracks back there all over the place. And there are snake trails everywhere.”

“Snake trails?”

“Looks like hundreds of them,” Begay said.

Palmer looked back at the two dead rattlesnakes in the ruts among the crushed spiders and scorpions. He felt a shiver dance along his skin, and he nearly trembled at the thought of hundreds of snakes crawling all over each other across the sand.

Begay walked over to the pickup truck. “Scratch marks all over this truck. Maybe from bird claws. More animal tracks, too.”

Palmer watched the captain for a moment. “What are you trying to say? A horde of animals and snakes came out of the brush?”

“Yes,” Begay answered and looked at Palmer. “It’s like they surrounded the truck.”

Begay pointed at disturbances all over the dirt around the truck, but Palmer couldn’t really see it. He’d had probably a total of a few hours at Quantico when it came to following tracks in the dirt, so he had to trust that Begay knew more about this than he did. Still, it was hard to believe that all of these animals and snakes had surrounded the truck.

“Is that normal?” Palmer asked.

Begay just stared at him and Palmer thought he was going to get a sarcastic remark from the captain.

But Begay just shook his head and looked back out at the desert. “Rattlesnakes have been seen in large groups before, especially during mating season. Snake balls, some people call them.”

Again, Palmer shivered at the thought of a bunch of rattlesnakes writhing together in a giant ball, the cacophony of the shaking rattles filling the air.

“Let’s get to Joe Blackhorn’s place,” Begay said and started walking back towards his Ford Bronco.

Finally, Palmer thought.

Joe Blackhorn’s property

T
wenty-five minutes later Special Agent Palmer and Captain Begay saw Joe’s trailer and the other buildings down in the shallow valley below as they drove the trail up over a ridge.

Palmer was tense and excited. Maybe this was it; they were finally going to get these guys. It was how he always felt when he was close to collaring criminals. The place looked quiet and abandoned, but they could still be there, hiding out in that trailer or one of the other buildings. His senses were on high alert and he noted everything in vivid detail. Time seemed to be slowing down a little. He noted the wood barn and fenced corral. He noted the mud building in the distance—
a hogan
, as Begay had called it. He noted the trailer and shed and greenhouse near it, the windmill generator in back. He noted the two pickup trucks parked next to each other which looked like they ran, and the two older vehicles which looked like they didn’t.