by Lukens, Mark
“I ain’t scared of no werewolves,” Dobbs grumbled.
“I don’t know too much else about skinwalkers,” Jed admitted. “I heard they’re like witches, though. I heard they can put curses and spells on people. Like black magic.”
“But none of that’s true,” Dobbs said almost like he was trying to reassure himself.
“It is true,” Red Moon said from the darkness, his deep voice carrying easily across the clearing. “To become a skinwalker, a man must murder his own family. He must take one of the dead bodies of his family to another skinwalker. And then he must learn to raise the dead.”
Dobbs sat very still next to the fire, his eyes wide, the cup of coffee clenched in his hands.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jed told Dobbs. “He’s just trying to scare you.”
“I know,” Dobbs said and swallowed hard, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat.
“Maybe his people really are skinwalkers,” Roscoe said, moving closer to Dobbs. “Maybe they’re all out there right now in the woods, watching us.” He cackled again and took another sip of whiskey from his flask.
“Skinwalkers are not my people,” Red Moon said. “Once they are skinwalkers, they are not Diné anymore. They are no longer men at all.”
Jed looked over at Red Moon, barely able to make him out at the base of the tree in the darkness. It looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time.
“Skinwalkers are monsters,” Red Moon continued. “They can raise the dead. Make them walk and talk again.”
“That’s enough,” Jed called out to Red Moon.
A coyote yipped from somewhere in the woods.
Jed tensed at the sound. Roscoe and Dobbs were motionless, both of them listening.
A wolf howled from far off in the other direction.
Roscoe moved closer to the dying fire. He had his Winchester repeater in his hands now. Jed was glad to see him alert after all of the whiskey he’d had in the last hour and a half.
“Just a wolf,” Dobbs said as if the sound needed an explanation.
“Skinwalkers can sound like animals,” Red Moon told them from the darkness. “They can sound like any animal they want to.”
A rattling sound came from the brush at the other end of the clearing—a rattlesnake.
Jed scooped a few handfuls of dirt onto the campfire, snuffing it out.
The three of them sat in the darkness for a few minutes, listening for any other sounds. The horses were snorting now, moving around as much as they could on their hobbled legs, pulling at the ropes tied to the tree trunks and branches.
An owl hooted from somewhere nearby. Another animal grunted in the brush a hundred yards away, then crashed through the undergrowth.
“It is them,” Red Moon said, his voice low but still carrying easily across the forest floor towards them.
“Just stay ready, boys,” Jed told Roscoe and Dobbs. “We’ll sleep in watches tonight. Dobbs, you take the first watch.”
Dobbs nodded.
Jed wanted to give Dobbs the first watch because he didn’t trust him to stay awake as the night grew long towards the dawn. “Wake me up in three hours, or if you see anything.”
Again, Dobbs nodded. He looked too scared and nervous to fall asleep anytime soon. He had his gun belt on, his hand down by his six-shooter.
Jed lay down with his head on his pack, tipping his hat down low to cover his eyes, resting his hands on his belly, his Colt .45 within easy reach. But he didn’t think he was going to sleep anytime soon.
CHAPTER 4
The sun was already touching the tops of the jagged mountains lining the western horizon. Jed and David needed to find somewhere to camp soon. He spotted a wash near a few boulders and copse of scraggily trees. It wasn’t the perfect place to camp, but it was the best he could find before it got dark. The boulders and trees would provide cover for their backs and help block the chilly wind. They only had an hour of daylight left now.
Jed ran a rope between two of the trees and then tied both of their horses’ leads to the line of rope. He wanted to keep their horses close to their camp tonight, especially with what had happened to his horses in the woods yesterday. After he was done hobbling the horses’ legs, he looked at David. “You want to find some kindling for a fire?”
David went to work right away, collecting sticks for the campfire. Jed arranged some round rocks in a circle for their fire pit. He pulled out a metal grate from his pack to heat the pots on. A few moments later David brought Jed some sticks and a few larger pieces of wood. Jed used the kitchen matches he’d gotten from David’s house to start the fire.
A few minutes later the flames of their campfire were dancing inside the circle of rocks, pushing the cold and darkness back a little. As Jed cooked some beans and heated a pot of coffee, he tried again to talk to David, but the boy wouldn’t talk to him. Soon, Jed’s mind slipped back to the woods again.
*
Jed snapped awake in the woods and knew right away that Dobbs was gone. It was dark with their campfire out. Roscoe was lying on his back with his rifle across his chest, snoring.
Jed woke Roscoe up, nudging him. It sounded like Roscoe had choked on an intake of breath for a moment as he woke up. But a second later he was sitting up with his rifle in his hands.
“Dobbs is gone,” Jed whispered. Their horses were gone, too. Jed looked over at the tree he had chained Red Moon to and the Navajo was still there, just a dark lump in the darkness at the base of the tree.
Jed and Roscoe hurried over to where the horses had been. A few pieces of rope hung from the tree branches. Jed studied the ends of the ropes in the moonlight; they were frayed, not cut—almost like they had been snapped.
“Maybe Dobbs took the horses,” Roscoe said.
But Jed didn’t think so. The bounty for Red Moon was worth much more than the horses. And Dobbs was no criminal—Jed’s friend had vouched for Dobbs, and that was good enough for him.
They hurried back to the dugout just beyond their dead campfire.
Roscoe nodded down at the ground. “There ain’t no blood. No sign of a fight. And look over there; his guns and gun belt are still here.”
Jed knew Dobbs hadn’t run off—it looked like he had been taken.
“Cover me,” Jed said, already looking over at Red Moon.
Roscoe wasn’t happy about Jed going to check on Red Moon, but he covered him with his rifle. Jed ran across the clearing that seemed so bright now that it was bathed in the moonlight. He felt exposed in that moonlight, tense, sure that he might feel the bullet from a rifle or the tip of an arrow stabbing into his flesh and bone any second now.
“Dobbs is gone,” Jed told Red Moon when he got to him. “Our horses are gone.”
Red Moon just stared up at Jed; he was trembling so badly that he was rattling the chain around the tree and the handcuffs on his wrists.
“Did your men do this?” Jed asked Red Moon.
“Not my men,” Red Moon answered. “I swear to you.” He lifted his hands up as far as the chains would allow. “Please. Unlock these.”
Jed felt a pang of sentiment for just a moment—Red Moon’s face was pure fear. But Jed needed to think about this rationally. It had to be Red Moon’s men out there.
“Those skinwalkers out there are not my people,” Red Moon said. “They will come for me just like they will come for you.”
“Did you see what happened to Dobbs?”
Red Moon shook his head no. “I was asleep. I just woke up now.”
Jed gave up questioning Red Moon; he went back to their camp where Roscoe was waiting with his rifle.
“What did he say?” Roscoe asked.
“He said he was asleep when Dobbs left.”
Roscoe was about to respond, but his words were cut off when they heard a long, continuous scream from the woods.
It was Dobbs.
The scream turned into what sounded like words, but the words were unintelligible, like Dobbs was trying to say
something while he screamed. Maybe he didn’t even have a tongue anymore. Jed had heard stories about some of the tortures Native Americans could inflict on their prisoners.
Jed and Roscoe called out to Dobbs as they ran up into the woods beyond the rock wall that they had camped in front of. They climbed higher into the hills, aiming their weapons into the woods where the moonlight filtered down through the tree branches. And then they froze when they saw what was left of Dobbs.
It looked like a man was strung up between two thin trees, but even from where Jed stood, even in the dark, he could tell that it wasn’t a man up there . . . not a man anymore.
Jed had to force himself to put one foot in front of the other, to keep pushing forward another few feet, pushing the plants and tree branches aside. Roscoe was right behind him, stumbling through the brush, his rifle in his hands.
The only thing left of Dobbs was his skin. The entire skin of his body had been strung up between the two thin trees—each arm pulled out wide and tied to the thin trunks of the two trees with what Jed had thought at first was cord, but then realized were pieces of intestines tied around each wrist, the skin of Dobbs’ hands hanging down like white gloves. The way the skin had been tied up made it look like Dobbs was hanging between the trees with his arms out wide, like he’d been crucified, but not on a cross, just hanging there in the night air. The skin from Dobbs’ head and his entire face was being held up by something propped up inside of him. A stick maybe, but Jed thought he’d caught the gleam of bone. The features of Dobbs’ face were flattened like a mask, much of the skin sagging in some places now that they didn’t have muscle and bone to adhere to anymore. Dobbs’ skin seemed to be in one whole piece, not a slit anywhere that Jed could see—maybe there was a long slit up the back—but the front of the skin was pristine, not even a spot of blood on it, like the skin had been washed clean with care before being suspended between the two trees. Dobbs’ skin looked like a ghost floating in the woods.
Roscoe vomited. It was a noisy sound, and Jed thought he’d heard choked sobs between each round of retches.
“They . . . they took his skin off,” Roscoe said, his words coming out in a rushing, wheezy breath; it was like he had no air left in his lungs.
“Get your rifle up,” Jed snapped at Roscoe.
Roscoe sniffled and raised his rifle, aiming it at nothing in particular, but ready if something moved in the woods.
“We need to get back to camp,” Jed said. At least at the camp they had their backs protected by the dugout in the rock wall. Here in these woods, they were sitting ducks.
As they hurried back down through the woods to their camp, Jed wondered if Dobbs was still alive somehow. Could he still be alive for a while without his skin? Was he somewhere, shaking uncontrollably from shock, his heart ready to give out as his tormentors poked at his exposed muscles and nerves with sharpened sticks?
Skinwalkers, that’s what Red Moon had called them.
Maybe this group was a rogue band of Navajo that believed they were skinwalkers, believing they had special powers. Jed had heard of some tribes skinning their victims with amazing speed and skill, but what he had just seen up in those woods seemed almost impossible.
No way Dobbs could still be alive. No way.
Jed and Roscoe hurried down to the bottom of the hill, crashing through the brush, no longer worrying about making noise now. Jed just wanted to get back to the dugout. He wondered if Red Moon was gone now. He wouldn’t be surprised to find Red Moon free from his chains. And truthfully he wouldn’t even care at this point. If Red Moon was all those men in the woods wanted, then Jed would let him go if he and Roscoe could somehow survive this night.
After Clara had died, there was a long period of time where Jed didn’t care whether he lived or died. But he had gotten over that in the last few years. He still wasn’t afraid to die—he knew he would be with Clara again when he went—but he didn’t want to go through what Dobbs had just gone through. No, he’d make sure to save a last bullet for himself before he would let them do something like that to him.
Roscoe was breathing hard when they got back to their camp and the dead fire. He wiped at the last bits of vomit around his mouth, his breaths coming out in blasts of mist in the cold air, his eyes wide with shock.
“Wait here,” Jed told Roscoe as he looked over at the clearing where he had chained Red Moon to the tree. Red Moon still seemed to be there, just that same dark lump against the base of the tree.
“Where are you going?” Roscoe asked.
“I need to check on Red Moon.”
“Hell with that Injun.”
“Just cover me,” Jed told him and then he ran across the clearing in the moonlight, feeling exposed out there again.
A moment later Jed was right beside Red Moon. The Navajo was still in the same position against the tree, his knees drawn up, his hands in his lap, his head down. He was chanting softly.
“How many of them are there?” Jed snapped at Red Moon.
Red Moon looked up with tears in his eyes. “I do not know.”
“What do they want? Do they want you? Do they want the bounty on your head?”
Red Moon didn’t answer; he began chanting again, whispered words that Jed couldn’t understand.
Rage burned inside of Jed. It took everything he had not to shake Red Moon or try to beat the answers out of him.
“Please,” Red Moon said after he stopped chanting, looking up at Jed again. “Kill me.”
Jed aimed his Colt .45 at the side of Red Moon’s head. “You want me to kill you?”
Red Moon gave the slightest of nods, closing his eyes, remaining still, waiting for the bullet to enter his brain.
Jed lowered his gun a little. He realized that Red Moon was serious—he wanted to be killed. Maybe Red Moon was telling the truth; maybe whoever was out there wasn’t trying to free him. But Jed still thought he was lying.
“Who are they?” Jed asked with his gun still aimed at Red Moon.
“I already told you. They are skinwalkers. You cannot stop them. Your bullets will not kill them.”
“How do we stop them?”
“Magic.”
“What kind of magic?”
“Strong magic. Shaman magic.”
“What about you?” Jed asked. “Aren’t you a shaman? People say you’re a witch doctor.”
Red Moon shook his head and sighed. “I am not.”
Jed didn’t want to keep proceeding with this conversation. He didn’t believe Red Moon. Bullets could stop those men out there in the woods. Bullets could stop anything. “You don’t want to help me, then you can stay here and wait for your men.”
Red Moon lowered his head and began to chant again.
Jed hurried back to the camp where Roscoe waited.
He and Roscoe decided to stay awake the rest of the night and walk out of the woods in the morning with just their guns, canteens, and anything they could carry in their pockets.
CHAPTER 5
Jed sipped his coffee as he stared at the campfire. David was lying down on his bedroll now, about to go to sleep. He had the photo of his family in his hands, staring at it, his eyes glassy and his expression blank.
Jed didn’t know what to say to David, didn’t know how to comfort him. Instead, he said nothing and drank his coffee, hoping it would help him stay awake for much of the night.
As he sat there he remembered waking up this morning in the woods and finding Roscoe gone. Roscoe’s pack was still there, his rifle, even his whiskey flask, but he was gone.
Just like Dobbs.
Jed had looked over at the tree and saw that Red Moon was still there. He had rushed out to the Navajo, afraid he might already be dead, his throat cut while chained to the tree. But Red Moon was still alive when Jed got to him, still whispering his chants.
He had questioned Red Moon, threatening him, even pressing the barrel of Roscoe’s rifle against Red Moon’s drawn-up knee.
Jed finished his coffee
and threw another piece of wood on the fire. He sat back down on his bedroll again, leaning back against his pack. He remembered the conversation with Red Moon this morning, and soon he was back there in those woods again.
*
“Where did Roscoe go?” Jed asked Red Moon, still aiming the barrel of Roscoe’s rifle at his knee. “What did they do to him?”
“He got up and walked into the woods,” Red Moon said.
“Why would he do that?”
“Skinwalkers can get inside some men’s minds, make them do things. Skinwalkers can . . . can call them and they will walk to them.” It seemed like Red Moon was getting frustrated as he tried to translate what he wanted to say into English.
Jed walked away from Red Moon, staring at the woods. “Roscoe!”
Roscoe didn’t answer. There were no sounds from the woods except for a few birds tweeting in the early morning light.
Jed walked back to Red Moon.
“Please,” Red Moon said. “You are taking me to a town where the people are going to hang me. Please kill me. I am going to die anyway. I am not afraid of death and what is beyond. But the skinwalkers, they will not let me die. They will not let me pass into the next world.”
Jed ignored Red Moon and yelled at the woods. “Roscoe! Bring him back!”
“You do not want him back now,” Red Moon said. “You do not want to see what he has become.”
Jed was about to ask Red Moon what he meant by that when a sudden wind shook the tree branches above them, rattling the leaves. Red Moon looked up at the tree above him. “The Darkwind,” he whispered. “It is here.”
“What’s the Darkwind?”
“Powerful magic,” Red Moon said, still looking up at the rattling leaves.
Jed had to walk away from Red Moon again before he attacked him. He went back to their camp, searching the ground for Roscoe’s tracks. He saw Roscoe’s footprints leading away from the camp and into the clearing, but then the tracks ended and there was no telling which way he had walked after that.
Roscoe was dead—Jed had to admit that now. He couldn’t wait around much longer. If he was going to get out of these woods before dark, then he would need to start walking soon.
