Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2 (43 page)

“Take some water with you,” Begay said.

Palmer had taken a few nips from his bottle of vodka on their bumpy ride through the desert, trying not to spill any of it, but he left that behind and took Begay’s advice; he slipped a bottle of water down into his outside coat pocket. He zipped up his coat and slipped his gloves on. He wished he had a hat but he would just have to tough it out.

Begay went to the back of his truck and grabbed a small backpack that was obviously loaded with supplies. Palmer watched him as he rummaged through the pack like he was performing a last-minute check.

“What have you got in there?” Palmer asked him.

“Just some extra water and some other stuff,” Begay answered without looking at Palmer. He buckled the straps and slipped the backpack on. Then he grabbed the shotgun, unlocked the trigger guard and shut the hatchback.

And then they started walking.

Palmer wasn’t exactly out of shape, but he was no athlete either, and twenty minutes into the walk he was breathing a little heavier and the muscles in his legs and lower back were already burning. He glanced at the captain who walked beside him, but the big man seemed to be breathing normally, having no trouble with their hike through these rocks even though he was probably a hundred pounds heavier than Palmer was.

Begay didn’t talk on their walk, and Palmer was glad because he was probably too out-of-breath to answer coherently.

The groupings of rocks gave way to a gradual dip down into the desert floor that was a sea of brush and shrubs, some of them thorny and sharp, with dozens of trails through them. Palmer followed Begay as he wound his way through the paths through the brush, following the beaten-down trails left behind from the four wheelers and the horse. Palmer kept glancing down at his feet, looking for any rattlesnakes in the brush. The thought of all of those snake trails near the abandoned truck they had seen had gotten to him and he wondered how many thousands of rattlesnakes were out here where few humans ever walked.

Ten minutes later Begay stopped. The vegetation had thinned out and even though the sand was packed down a little harder in this area, the trail from both the four wheelers and the horse was still evident.

“Look at that,” Begay said.

Palmer saw it—a horse was trotting up to them.

“That must be their horse,” Palmer said.

Begay nodded and clicked his teeth. The horse came right up to him.

This guy has some kind of way with animals,
Palmer thought.
A regular Dr. Doolittle.

The captain whispered into the horse’s ear, stroking the animal’s flank gently. The horse looked jumpy, staring at Palmer with wild eyes. Begay patted the horse and whispered to her again. The horse took off towards the sea of brush, following the trail they had just left behind.

“Why is their horse coming back without them?” Palmer asked.

Begay didn’t answer. He started walking again.

Twenty minutes later Begay stopped at the edge of the brush which opened up to an expanse of open desert. In the distance was a line of structures that looked like dark shapes on the horizon with the mountains beyond them. Palmer could tell the structures were man-made.

As they got closer to the structures, Palmer realized that they were buildings in a ghost town. He’d heard of ghost towns before, but he’d never really seen one in person before.

“Do you know this place?” Palmer asked. His breathing was better, his lungs more used to their hike and the altitude now.

Begay shook his head. “I don’t come out this way much. Nobody does. A lot of this land is sacred Anasazi land. Many Navajo don’t go to these places.”

“But why would a town be built here? That looks like a …” Palmer didn’t know how to phrase it exactly.

“You mean this is the kind of place white people might build?” Begay asked with a smile.

Palmer just sighed.

“There were towns all over here in the eighteen hundreds before the government sectioned off the reservations for the Navajo, Ute, Zuni, Hopi, and others. Many of these towns were built up during the silver rush, or as way stations along the way to the west coast. But just like towns are disappearing in the Appalachian valley now as the economy changes, people left these towns for the same reasons.”

A howl rang out through the air. Then another one.

Begay looked over at a ridge that ran along to their left, running all the way from the sea of brush they had walked through and then beyond the ghost town. “Coyotes.”

Palmer looked at the ridge and saw that it was dotted with coyotes. They stood there in a line like a regiment of soldiers. His skin crawled as he thought back to all of those animal tracks around the stolen pickup truck.

“Is that normal?” Palmer asked, nodding towards the line of coyotes in the distance. “All those coyotes up there on the ridge like that?”

“Nothing is normal about this,” Begay answered.

They followed the trail through the hard-packed sand to the edge of the ghost town as the wind began to kick up, nearly blotting out the ghost town now in the sandstorm. Palmer stayed tense, but he kept one arm shielded over his eyes. If something was coming for them in this sandstorm, they wouldn’t see it until it was too late.

They got to the edge of the town and the buildings lining both sides of the dusty street provided some protection from the swirling sand. Begay carried the shotgun as he walked down the wide street through the middle of the town and Palmer had his service pistol in his hand.

“They could be in any of these buildings,” Palmer said.

Begay looked down at the tracks in the sand. Palmer looked down at the dirt, too. The wind hadn’t blown the tracks away completely because of the buildings, but Palmer could barely see them anymore.

“Their horse came back from that church down there,” Begay said and pointed at the white church in the distance. “And their four wheelers are parked there.”

Then that was probably where they were, Palmer thought. But they still needed to be ready in case a shot rang out from one of these decrepit buildings on both sides of them. He didn’t think he needed to tell Begay that.

More howls sang out in the distance and the wind shrieked down between the buildings as Palmer and Begay made their way down the dirt street towards the church like two gunslingers marching towards a shootout. Once they were in front of the double doors of the church, the wind was stronger, the sand swirling harder, pelting them like a dry stinging rain.

Palmer looked to their left and saw shadows moving towards them in the sandstorm. Some of the shadows were definitely coyotes creeping forward, their bodies hunched low to the ground. But there were also some kind of birds flying through the swirling sand; some were large birds like buzzards, but others were smaller … maybe they were bats. And there were other creatures on the ground slithering towards them. Snakes—had to be snakes.

But there was something else out there moving around in the sandstorm—it looked almost like two people stumbling around out there.

Could it be Stella or the man she was with, or Joe Blackhorn?

Palmer was about to point the two people out to Begay, but then the two people were gone, lost again in the swirling sand.

Begay and Palmer got to the front doors of the church and Palmer pushed on the door. It seemed like it was locked or barred shut. He kicked at it as Begay turned around, his shotgun aimed at the swirling sandstorm and the shadows advancing towards them. He was singing a prayer under his breath as he held his shotgun steady.

Palmer kicked the door again.

Then another kick.

Then another.

Finally the doors splintered and broke open. Palmer pushed the doors open all the way, his gun aimed into the gloom. “FBI! Everyone down now!!”

T
he pounding continued on the front doors of the church.

Cole had his nine millimeter in his hand, the gun aimed at the double doors. His finger was on the trigger, ready to shoot.

David still waited inside the circle of owl’s blood Joe had painted on the floor. Joe danced around the outside of the circle, shaking his carved stick ordained with feathers, beads, and claws. He continued singing a prayer.

Stella was about to hurry towards Cole.

“Stay there,” he told her, his gun still aimed at the double doors.

Stella stopped—she trusted him.

Cole didn’t have time to explain, but he wanted to be away from Stella, David, and Joe when the Ancient Enemy came inside. He was willing to be the first one taken when that thing came, willing to buy David some time if he had to. But he had a surprise for the Ancient Enemy. He was going to shoot it, he was going to burn it, he was going to hurt it somehow before it took him. He was going to make it pay for what it had done to his brother. He wasn’t going out without fighting to his death.

And now the Ancient Enemy was here, pounding on the door, kicking it in.

Cole was ready.

But then he froze when he saw a man dressed in a dark coat and tie stumble inside the opened doors, a fog of swirling sand following the man inside.

“FBI!” the man yelled, aiming his gun right at Cole. “Everyone down now!”

Cole didn’t lower his weapon.

“Drop your weapons now!” the man yelled.

A split second later an even larger man entered the church right behind the man in the suit and tie. This man wore a bulky green Navajo Police jacket with a backpack over it. And he was carrying a shotgun.

Joe had stopped dancing and singing around the circle.

They all stared at the two men who stood in the doorway for a few seconds with the fierce sandstorm behind them.

The other man, the Tribal Police officer, closed the doors on the howling wind and stinging sand. He managed to prop up a few of the pieces of wood that Cole had used before, bracing the doors closed again.

“I’m not fucking playing around!” the FBI man screamed, still aiming his gun right at Cole and taking a step closer. “Lower your weapon now! Put it down on the floor and kick it away!”

“Joe Blackhorn?” the Tribal Officer said as he turned back around to face them, casually holding the shotgun in his hands but not aiming at them.

Joe nodded. “I’m Joe Blackhorn.”

Palmer’s eyes shifted to Joe and then to David who stood inside the circle of blood with red symbols painted all over his face and hands. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“I’m Captain Begay from the Navajo Tribal Police,” Begay announced, ignoring Palmer. “We’re here to apprehend these two and take David back to his family. This man with me is Special Agent Palmer from the FBI.”

Joe smiled and shook his head slowly. “You two came at a very bad time.”

Begay looked at Cole, locking eyes with him from across the room. “Sir, could you lower your weapon please?”

Cole didn’t lower his gun. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?” Cole asked them.

“What the fuck are you taking about?” Palmer growled. “I’ll show you my ID and badge after you throw your gun down on the floor.”

“I’m not putting my gun down,” Cole said.

“Wait,” Begay said, looking at Palmer.

The Tribal Police officer seemed to be trying to calm the FBI agent down, Cole thought. He laid a big hand on the agent’s shoulder. “Just lower your weapon a little, please. We don’t want any accidents here.”

The agent glared at Begay:
Don’t tell me what to do,
his eyes said. Then he looked back at Cole. “You’re a suspect in twenty-one murders, two stolen vehicles, and one bank robbery.” He smiled like he was delivering information about Cole that the others might not know about.

“You need to get away from those doors,” Joe told the two cops.

Agent Palmer’s eyes shifted to the old man. “I’m not playing games anymore.”

“The
Darkwind
is coming,” Joe said, looking right at Begay.

“We need to brace those doors back up,” Cole said. “How many men you got outside?”

“None of your fucking—”

“We’re alone,” Begay said, interrupting Palmer. “We don’t want anyone hurt here,” he said again.

“You need to get away from those doors,” Joe said again.

The wind was shrieking outside. Sand pelted the walls and stained glass windows. More shadows moved past the windows outside—buzzards flying past the glass, their claws and beaks pecking at it on the way, punching out little holes in the colorful sections. Above them, more birds pecked at the holes in the roof, enlarging them.

Outside, coyotes continued their howling. Now it sounded like there were hundreds of them.

There was a pounding at the doors behind the two cops.

Palmer and Begay turned and pointed their weapons at the doors, backing up a few steps across the debris-littered floor. Then Palmer turned back around and aimed his gun at Cole again. “Who’s out there?!” he yelled. “Who’s with you?!”

“It’s the Darkwind,” Joe said.

Begay didn’t wait for Palmer; he backed up even farther away from the doors, moving closer to Cole and the others.

More pounding on the doors. It was so forceful, the doors barely holding.

“Get back,” Begay told Palmer. “Get back away from those doors right now!”

Cole moved farther away from Stella, Joe, and David who still stood inside the circle. Cole still held his gun steady on the FBI agent, but he wanted to be farther away from the others in case this madman started shooting at him.

“Agent Palmer!” Begay shouted.

Palmer looked back at the doors, pointing his gun at them. The doors were bulging inwards.

“It’s the Ancient Enemy,” Begay told Palmer.

Both men backed up towards Cole and all three of them aimed their weapons at the doors which were still bulging inward like something heavy was leaning against them, pushing on them slowly.

“It’s here,” Joe said and he began singing again in a low voice, shaking his feathered stick at the air as he danced around the circle of dried owl’s blood.

Stella looked at David who stood inside the circle, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the double doors of the church bulging inward.