by Lukens, Mark
Palmer didn’t like being looked at like that.
“I’m going out there alone,” Begay said. “I’m not bringing my men with me. I’m not going to risk their lives over this. You can go with me if you want. If not, then I can drop you off at the gas station and I’ll have someone come get you.”
Palmer chuckled. He couldn’t believe this shit. “I don’t think you should be giving me orders. I have jurisdiction on this case. The FBI has jurisdiction when it comes to murder cases here. I think you already know that.”
Begay looked back at the road as he drove, still gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands. But he didn’t explode with anger at Palmer’s words. When he finally spoke, his words were soft, almost conversational. “Yes, you are correct about the FBI having jurisdiction, but I don’t care. We’re doing things my way or I drop you off. You choose. I don’t imagine that your superior is too happy right now that you’re down here and that you’ve abandoned your crime scenes up in Colorado. I don’t think your superior is too happy that you’re down here chasing a bogeyman with me instead of letting Klein and the other agents down here handle this. And I also don’t think your superior would be too happy to hear that you’ve been stumbling around down here with vodka on your breath the whole time.”
Palmer bristled. Begay was right, Cardenelli wouldn’t be happy about a report like that at all. Cardenelli wasn’t happy with Palmer at the moment, and if he got another report about Palmer’s drinking …
Begay softened even more and looked at Palmer again. “I didn’t want to threaten you, but this is important.”
Threaten? Palmer thought. Begay had probably threatened someone earlier to find Billy, and then who knew what threats Begay had made in that hut—in the hogan—to get that map from Billy? And here he was, threatening him. No, Palmer was pretty sure that threats were a part of Begay’s normal everyday police procedure.
“What we’re facing is dangerous and powerful,” Begay said.
“Yeah, you’ve already said that.”
“But you don’t seem to understand what I’m telling you. I know deep down inside you know this. I know you or your forensics teams can’t explain what happened to those archaeologists at the dig site, or David’s parents, or all those people up in Colorado. I know you don’t want to admit it, but you sense that there’s something strange and powerful happening here. Something … supernatural.”
Palmer wasn’t going to admit shit. He leaned his seat back a little, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and closed his eyes. Maybe he would nap on the way to the gas station instead of listening to Begay’s bullshit. He’d slept like crap last night because of the nightmare.
“Well?” Begay asked.
Who was the impatient one now?
“I’m in,” Palmer grumbled with his eyes still closed. “How long until we get there?”
“About a half hour to the gas station,” Begay said. “And then another two or three hours after that to Joe Blackhorn’s place.”
Palmer didn’t answer. He just kept his eyes closed. He was going to let Begay play the game his way, but when they found Stella and David, and whoever they were with, then it was going to be his show.
CHAPTER 63
Captain Begay pulled into the gas station. Palmer had been asleep nearly the whole time on the drive there. He’d been fidgeting in his sleep, mumbling, breathing hard. Having a nightmare, Begay thought. That made him think of what his wife had told him that morning about the nightmare she’d had.
He hated to wake Palmer up; he figured the man needed some sleep. He also loved the peace and quiet without Palmer talking the whole time. White men always talked and talked instead of remaining still and listening, without truly seeing things. Palmer didn’t want to see the truth; he wanted to see his own version of the truth. But Begay was afraid that Agent Palmer was going to see the truth soon—they were both going to see things that they couldn’t imagine.
Begay pulled up to the outermost pumps of the newer gas station and turned the truck off.
Palmer woke up abruptly, sitting bolt-upright in his seat, looking around.
“Getting gas,” Begay said.
Palmer nodded as he came fully awake.
“I recommend that you use the bathroom while we’re here if you need to,” Begay told him. “I also recommend stocking up on some snacks and drinks. If we break down out where we’re going, we could be there a while.”
“Lovely,” Palmer grumbled and got out of the truck and started walking to the gas station store.
Begay got out and walked to the back of his Bronco. He opened the back hatch and looked all of the supplies over. He usually kept spare gas cans, jugs of water, and food back here in case he ever broke down, and he’d made sure last night that everything was stocked up. Besides the basic supplies, he also had a handwoven blanket, two plastic tarps still sealed in plastic, a large first-aid kit, an additional spare tire along with a jack and four-way tire iron, a jump kit for the battery, a cardboard box of canned and boxed food, along with two can openers, six gallons of purified water, six emergency flares, a shovel and a pick, and a few pieces of scrap two-by-fours.
He also had a small duffel bag—his personal prep bag. It contained an extra pair of hiking boots, an extra pair of clothes, two pairs of socks, a wide-brimmed hat, work gloves, a rain slicker, a portable water filter, lighters, and two flashlights with an extra pack of batteries.
Begay also had a twelve gauge pump shotgun with a lock on the trigger and a full box of shells.
There were places out here in the remote corners of the Big Rez where he might not see another person for days … weeks even. There was no cell phone service in many of those areas. It would be crazy not to have some kind of provisions in his vehicle.
He grabbed the two ten-gallon gas cans. One still had about five gallons of gas in it, but he took both out and filled them up to the top and then returned them to the back of his Bronco, securing them to the side wall with bungee cords.
Next, he filled up the truck’s gas tank, using his fleet card to pay for it at the pump. After he was done, he walked to the gas station store at the other end of the concrete parking lot.
Inside the store, he saw Agent Palmer over by the coffee machine. He was preparing some kind of gigantic cup of coffee.
Begay went into the restroom and used the toilet. He washed his hands in the sink afterwards and stared at himself in the mirror for a moment. He searched his eyes, looking for fear in them. He wanted to walk into this without fear. He wanted the spirit of his warrior ancestors to guide him.
He thought back to this morning, back to his wife. She’d been scared; he could tell she was rattled even before she told him about her nightmare. She had seen visions before, visions that had come true, so Begay had to take her infrequent warnings seriously.
Begay was afraid right now, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing his job. He would go to Joe Blackhorn’s place and confront this thing. He would save David, that poor boy, a boy who had endured so much tragedy already.
He touched the silver and turquoise charm that hung from his necklace.
To keep you safe, Billy Nez had said. Begay hoped it was true. He sang a quick prayer and then left the bathroom.
Palmer was already back inside the Bronco when Begay got to it.
“Packs of peanuts and protein bars,” Palmer announced, pointing down at a paper bag between his feet on the floorboard. “Also a six-pack of drinks.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Begay asked. He hadn’t started the truck yet. He still had the keys in his hand and Palmer still had a last chance to back out. “Once we get out there we’re going to lose all cell reception. We’ll be too far to drop you off.”
Palmer just glared back at him like he’d been insulted.
Begay wasn’t trying to insult Palmer; he just wanted to make sure that Palmer was absolutely ready for this.
“Just drive,” Palmer said. He unzip
ped the duffel bag next to him and pulled out the half empty pint of vodka and poured a little bit into his steaming cup of coffee.
Begay watched the agent spike his coffee, but he didn’t say anything. They were both breaking protocol and regulations right now … they had been all morning. They both had dirt on each other now.
CHAPTER 64
Zeke and Joanie had parked their RV on the hard-packed dirt out in the middle of the desert a few miles away from Piute Creek. They had been out here for three days now looking for meteorites on the desert floor and at the foothills of the mountains.
Zeke knew Joanie was already tired of wandering around the desert looking for space rocks or nuggets of gold or silver. These little nuggets were rare but they could bring big money, especially the meteorites. But what little they’d found so far had barely paid for their expenses on the last three trips out here.
But what else was he supposed to do? Zeke thought. Ever since his neck and back problems had placed him on permanent disability, it wasn’t like there were a lot of opportunities for him to make money. The disability payments damn sure weren’t enough to pay the bills and keep Joanie’s constant supply of liquor flowing freely.
At least the raggedy RV they drove was paid for, and so was the equipment they used. They just needed money for gas, food, and some extra cash for the liquor, cigarettes, and lottery tickets—which were also three of Zeke’s vices.
They were back in the RV now, taking what Zeke liked to call a siesta. They usually worked for a few hours in the morning and then for a few more hours in the evening because it was too hot to work underneath this sun during the middle of the day. Of course it was cold right now—a wicked cold front had come through last week, but at least it hadn’t snowed down here like it had up north where they’d had record snowfalls—but even through the winter Zeke liked to stay on their “siesta” schedule.
Joanie had already downed a shot of whiskey while Zeke cooked a lunch of canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for them. Their lunches usually became their dinner because they mostly snacked and drank in the evening. Joanie drank a lot more when they came out here in the desert than she did when they were at home, which was a modest singlewide trailer in an adult mobile home park. She said the loneliness got to her out here.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Zeke had told her plenty of times. “You got me here with you.” But Zeke guessed that he wasn’t reassuring enough for her somehow.
Zeke was fine with the solitude of the desert; he’d never been a big fan of people, especially crowds. And the dream of finding that million-dollar meteorite or gold nugget was what kept him coming back out here over and over again. Eventually they were going to find something big, and then he and Joanie could buy a condo on the beach or whatever the hell she wanted.
He had just buttered four pieces of cheap white bread on a plate while the frying pan heated up. He slapped some American cheese on the pieces of bread and put it all together in the pan.
Then he froze for a moment. He swore he’d just seen something move on the cluttered countertop next to the small stove.
The RV rocked a little from a sudden gust of wind. It sounded like someone had just thrown a handful of sand against the side of their RV.
That was strange, he thought. The weather was supposed to be good … cold, but calm. The worst of the winter weather was already north of them now.
Zeke looked towards the front of the RV, but he had already pulled the shades over the windshield, blocking the light from coming in through the glass. He thought about going up there to remove the cardboard shades so he could peek out through the windshield and check on that wind, but Joanie was already stretched out on the tiny built-in couch a few steps away. Probably close to passing out for an hour, he thought.
The smell of the burning sandwich brought his attention back to the stove. He flipped the sandwiches over in the frying pan. They weren’t burnt too badly.
He heard a skittering noise from behind the bread and tub of butter next to the stove, and then he saw the source of the noise.
“Holy hell,” Zeke said, instantly taking a step back away from the counter.
A tarantula … a big hairy tarantula was inside their RV. It sat there for a moment right on the countertop, like it was watching Zeke, like it was daring him to try to kill it. And then it was gone, disappearing behind the loaf of bread and then the canisters.
Zeke moved some of the stuff around on the countertop, but he was tense, ready to jump back if he saw that thing again.
Where the hell did it go?
Then he heard the tarantula inside the cabinets. It was so heavy that he could actually hear the thumping of its feet along the wood as it ran around in there, and the tinkling of dishes as it disturbed them.
Damn, those things gave him the creeps. Spiders and snakes were some of the things he couldn’t get used to out here in the desert.
The smell of burning bread caught his attention again.
“Shit,” Zeke muttered as he turned the burner off and set the frying pan on the cold part of the stove. Now the sandwiches were really burnt … he could eat his, but he was sure that he’d have to make Joanie another one.
He spun around as he heard the spider crawling inside the cabinets across from him.
What the hell? How did the spider get from one side of the kitchen to the other without him seeing it? Were there two of them?
Like the first one, Zeke could actually hear the dishes rattling slightly inside the cabinet as the spider crawled around in there.
“What are you doing over there?” Joanie called out from the couch, already sitting up a little.
“Uh … nothing,” Zeke said. “Just burnt the damn sandwiches, is all.”
“I’m not eating a burnt sandwich,” Joanie said.
Of course not, Zeke thought. You’d rather drink your lunch anyway.
Another gust of wind hit the RV, shaking it.
“Is there a storm out there?” Joanie grumbled. She pulled down on the string, raising the cheap plastic blinds up over the window above the built-in couch.
And then she froze.
Zeke looked at his wife, frozen on the couch. Then he saw what she was staring at.
“Spiders,” she croaked.
If there was someone who hated spiders more than Zeke, it was his wife. He rushed a few steps over to her as she jumped up to her feet, still staring at the window, clutching at herself.
“Start the RV,” Joanie hissed. “Get us out of here.”
Zeke barely heard his wife as he stared at the window. It was covered with tarantulas. At least twelve of them, maybe fifteen of them, clinging to the window outside. But it wasn’t only tarantulas; there were other kinds of smaller spiders, two scorpions, and some other kinds of bugs.
What the hell were they parked on? Zeke wondered. There was some kind of infestation here.
“Move the RV!” Joanie screamed, pushing at Zeke. “Get this thing going!”
Zeke’s legs felt weak and numb, yet he also felt adrenaline pumping through him at the same time. It was like he had plenty of energy, but his muscles were turning to mush at the same time. It felt like a nightmare where he needed to run, but everything was in slow motion.
Joanie pushed at Zeke again, almost knocking him off balance.
He tore his eyes away from the window full of spiders. Joanie was nearly in a full-blown panic now—he needed to get her out of here.
Something was definitely wrong with this spot he had parked on. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t really care to know what it was, he just wanted to get away from here.
Zeke stomped through the galley kitchen on his way to the front of the RV, and then he thought about the two spiders climbing around inside of their cabinets.
Two of those spiders had already gotten inside of their RV. How many more were in here now?
It didn’t matter … they were leaving right now.
Zeke plopped d
own in the driver’s seat, the springs underneath the torn upholstery squealing for a moment. He had the ring of keys in his hand even though he didn’t remember digging them out of his pants pocket on the way to the driver’s seat. He stabbed the key into the ignition and twisted it.
Nothing.
What? his mind screamed.
He could hear the now-constant wind outside, shrieking as it grew stronger. He felt the RV shaking, rocking gently back and forth. But he also heard other sounds underneath that shrieking wind. One sound was a distant howl of a coyote a mile or two away, but the other sound was closer … right on the other side of the cardboard sun protectors stuffed up in front of the windshield.
He tore the cardboard panels away and his breath stopped for a second as he stared at the windshield covered with spiders, scorpions, and insects. He nearly screamed. He couldn’t remember actually ever screaming in his life, but he was about to scream right now, and he was afraid once he started that he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Joanie was yelling something from behind him, but he wasn’t listening; she sounded so far away even though he knew she was only a few steps behind him.
Start the RV, he told himself.
He twisted the ignition key again.
Nothing.
He twisted the key again and again.
Nothing.
“Start the fucking truck, Zeke!” Joanie screeched from right beside him. He hadn’t even heard her run up behind him.
“It won’t start!” he yelled back at her. He pumped the gas pedal with his foot as if that would help and he twisted the key over and over again, afraid he was going to snap the key off in the ignition in his panic.
“What … what do you mean …”
“It won’t fucking start!” he yelled at her. He didn’t know why it wouldn’t start and he didn’t really think they had a lot of time to sort through the possibilities. Right now they were under attack and they needed to get out of this RV. It was only a matter of time before those spiders and insects got inside. Maybe the cold was driving them in … he didn’t know.
