by K. F. Baugh
“Don’t go far,” she shouted after him.
He gave no indication he’d heard her.
“Better go with him, Gus.” The dog trotted from his customary sentry position next to her. “Make sure he doesn’t go far.” She watched Gus follow Tim and suddenly felt very alone.
Sage paced back and forth until she knew she had to do something or go crazy. Time to unpack the Jeep once more.
Chapter Fifteen
Several hours later, Sage woke to the sound of the rain-fly being unzipped. She flicked on her tiny camp light as Tim and Gus entered. Tim climbed into his sleeping bag, and Gus curled into a ball at Sage’s feet.
“I hope we can be honest with each other now.” He finally spoke. “And by we, I mean you.”
“I’m sure you have some secrets you haven’t shared with me,” Sage said.
“Yes, but the difference is, if you asked, I’d tell you,” he said. “I can’t remember you giving me a straight answer since we met. Who are you? What are you?”
“Why it is so important for you to understand?” Sage flicked off the light. The sudden darkness pushed down on her like a suffocating weight. “Can’t we just move forward?”
“No.” Tim’s voice was soft yet strong as granite. “If it’s our job to destroy some evil creature, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
A voice inside Sage screamed in protest. She knew she couldn’t open all the doors of her past. She wouldn’t do that for herself, let alone a stranger. Besides, no one else believed her the few times she’d even hinted at the truth, except Grandfather Benally, and he was like no one else on earth. But the Wind’s revelation that Tim was now part of this terrible drama played through her mind, and Sage knew she’d have to tell him something.
“Fine. Ask away.” She sighed. “I’ll consider answering.”
“How long have you been talking to that angel?” he asked.
“Angel? What angel?”
“The one we were talking to!” His voice rose with irritation.
“That wasn’t some kind of mythical creature, Tim,” she barked at him. “That was the Wind. The Wind who lives Beyond-the-Sky.”
“Wind?!” His voice was incredulous. “Did you not see that thing?”
“See it?” She echoed. “There wasn’t anything to see.”
“You’re serious?” He flicked the camp light back on and studied her face for a moment. “You are serious.”
She nodded. “Of course I am. I don’t see anything, but I hear it. And of course I feel it. The Wind’s been talking to me since … since I was a child,” she finished lamely. “But no one else has ever heard it except me.” Not the foster parents who’d made brief appearances in her life, certainly not Uncle Brian, and not even Grandfather Benally. But somehow this random guy could hear and evidently even see the Wind, a revelation that both excited and annoyed her.
“Is it the Wind that heals you? Or does that happen on its own?” Sage felt Tim scoot closer to her sleeping bag. She glanced over and saw him studying her in in the lantern’s dim glow.
How could she formulate an answer that would satisfy him? “I had an accident as a child. It was terrible.” And I couldn’t tell you much more than that if I wanted to, she almost snapped. Frustration and anger threaded through her as they always did when she tried to conjure the details of that night. Why couldn’t she remember what happened? Ambiguous explanations from her social workers and the brief write-up she’d found in an old newspaper were all she had. That and the nightmares.
“When I first woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t see, but I could hear. The doctors and nurses left me alone most of the time. I’m pretty sure they thought I was a goner. They barely even came to check on me, but the Wind did. It would sneak into my room, through a window, I think. It took care of me, healing my wounds.” At least the ones on the outside. Sage quickly silenced the thought.
“It took a while, but I got better. Ever since then, my body heals itself quickly. And the Wind’s been there ever since too, no matter where I am. But I hear it better if I’m alone.”
“And the sensing thing?” Tim prompted when she didn’t continue.
“That came after the accident too. I could sense things: smell them, feel them. It’s usually with animals.” Sage lay on her back and closed her eyes against Tim’s probing gaze. “Like right now, there’s a raccoon circling the Jeep with two kits. She just climbed into the back and is trying to open the food bin. But she can’t manage the lock.” Sage paused for a moment and waited. “Now she’s going to lead the kits to the stream down the hill and hunt for fish.”
She opened her eyes and glanced over at Tim. His face reflected disbelief and awe.
“That’s why I know the creature isn’t close by,” Sage continued. “I also know it can’t come over the ridge of this mountain. Yet.” She added, remembering the Wind’s words. “We’re safe here tonight. But we’ll need to move tomorrow.”
She pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin, now annoyed with how much she’d shared, but also strangely relieved.
When Tim continued to stare at her, Sage added, “I’ve only told a few other people about this. My foster mother doesn’t even know. It’s hard for me to put in words.” She let out a deep sigh as a bone-weary exhaustion settled over her.
Tim nodded. “I guess that’s enough for now, but you need to remember a couple of things.”
“What?”
“Obviously, I’m more vulnerable than you. I wasn’t raised by the ... Wind. I don’t have super healing abilities. I can’t sense animals. I can’t smell evil creatures. Should I go on?” His voice suddenly sounded rough, angry. “I’m just a normal guy. The more you hide from me, the more at risk I am in all this. I’m not afraid to die, but I’d prefer not to. It would break my mom’s heart. Ever since I came back to America, Thanksgiving and Christmas mean the world to her. I think she’s as scarred by my Sudan experience as I am.”
Sage tried to picture his mom. I bet she was with him while he was being treated for his PTSD. A longing that pierced her heart with sudden swiftness. Gus crawled from his place at her feet and shoved his head against her chest.
“For some reason, we’ve been thrown together in this situation,” Tim continued. “I don’t know why, my brain still refuses to accept all that’s happened in the past 48 hours, but I’m here. I’m willing to try and stop this … thing before it kills anyone else, but the more honest you are with me, the better.”
“I’ll try,” Sage said. But long years of careful secrecy would not have let her share everything even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t.
Tim turned off the lantern and let out a huff of frustration as he fell back against his pillow. A tense silence filled the tent.
“Gus’s special too.” She finally broke the quiet. “He’s twenty-two years old but doesn’t act like it. And sometimes we can talk without words.”
“Great.” Tim rolled over. “That’s exactly the kind of detail that will help keep us alive.”
Chapter Sixteen
With unspoken agreement, the two skirted any more talk of the Wind, Sage’s abilities, or the creature and fell into a taut silence.
Sage’s head ached as she considered the magnitude of their situation. Just as she knew their campsite was safe for tonight, she also knew that come morning, they would need to pack up and leave. But where? Her mind demanded. She had no answer.
And how, exactly, did the Wind expect her and Tim to fight the Skinwalker, as it had instructed? With their bare hands? Listening for obscure hints? She envisioned the two of them standing before the terrible creature that had chased her from Old Hank’s cabin. The only outcome she could conceive of was a complete bloodbath.
Last but not least, a sick feeling of betrayal (or was it jealousy?) tried to sabotage any of the more logical, survival-driven questions that demanded answers. It annoyed her that the Wind had revealed itself to Tim. It annoyed her even more that he not only heard it, but saw it to
o. Surely you did not think you were my only charge, Broken One? Yeah. She had.
The tension in her neck and shoulders thrummed. Sage tossed angrily in her sleeping bag, dislodging Gus who moved to the edge of the tent with an irritated grunt.
“I can’t sleep either.” Tim’s voice broke into her thoughts. “What the heck are we going to do?”
Sage threw her hands up in the air then smacked them down on the bag. “Die, probably.”
“Don’t say that,” Tim said, his voice suddenly sad. “It’s not something to joke about.”
“I’m not joking,” Sage muttered.
Tim didn’t respond but sat up and dug around in the backpack at his feet.
“What are you doing?” Sage asked.
“The only productive thing I can think of,” Tim said and pulled out his computer. He set the backpack behind him and leaned against it. “I’m going to look over those pictures I downloaded from where we found Shaun and Tabitha. Maybe there’s something that will help us.”
Sage didn’t respond. Suddenly shame joined confusion and jealousy in the parade of emotions that marched through her. But I wasn’t joking, she wanted to explain to Tim. You don’t understand the thing we’re up against, but I do. And I see no other pathway than death! I wish I did, but it’s hopeless.
Sage eyed Tim and the whisper of an idea flitted through her mind. What if she left him? She and Gus could sneak away after Tim had fallen asleep and drive far, far away. They could escape from all this chaos and drama. But then the Wind’s words filled her mind once more: You must fight the yee naaldlooshii together; otherwise it will prevail and many will suffer as you have both suffered. Sage took a shaky breath. She wouldn’t wish her childhood on her worst enemy.
“Hey, here’s the cave drawing you had me take a picture of,” Tim said and shifted the computer toward her. “Why don’t you explain to me why it caught your attention.”
Sage hesitated for a moment before sitting up and leaning closer to Tim. “Pictographs usually show hunts or battles, but see the horses and guns in this one? That means it can’t be very old. And look at that thing on the left.”
“Is that what the thing at Hank’s cabin looked like?”
Sage nodded.
“Huh. So maybe that monster isn’t the first one to live in the Oriel Valley.”
“Maybe not,” Sage agreed, and Tim clicked to the next picture.
As she studied the images with Tim, she was drawn back to the terrifying experience at the mine. But now she was able to analyze the memories and their implications without the distraction of fear.
“See the way that the bones and flesh are all piled into that huge heap?” She pointed at one of the close up shots. “Coyotes would never do that. The Alpha gets the first pick of the remains, since they often scavenge from stronger, more skilled predators. Next, the other coyotes in the pack, the dominant females and the up and coming juvenile males, take their pick of the kill. Each of them will move away from each other to feed because none of them trust each other. As scavengers themselves, they’re always waiting for someone to steal from them. They’d never keep their share of the kill together like that.”
“Was the way they ganged up on you normal behavior?” Tim asked as he scrolled through the images.
“No. If they were desperate, like in the middle of winter, and starving, maybe. Or if I was smaller, the size of a child, then they might try something like that. But during a normal summer without food or water shortages, coyotes would never attack a full grown human like that. Chase me out of their cave maybe, but never corner and kill me. Especially with Gus nearby.”
Sage leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. The barrier of secrecy that protected her unique abilities had not been breached since her days with Grandfather Benally. To be so unguarded with her words felt strange and uncomfortable, like life returning to a limb that had gone numb.
“The weirdest thing was, I couldn’t make a connection with them. I’ve come across predators before, but I’ve always been able to convince them to leave me alone. I speak to their thoughts, like I do with Gus, and then they accept it when I tell them to move on. But this time, something was blocking our communication. I think …” Sage fell silent.
Tim glanced at her, his face illuminated by the computer screen. After a moment he looked down again. “What about this?” He pointed to the large paw print with the deformed foot. “That’s not a coyote paw print, is it?.”
Sage shuddered. “No, it’s not. I think it belongs to the same thing that chased me from Hank’s cabin.”
“You seemed to know what it was when you talked to the Wind. You called it something … yee nada… I didn’t recognize the words.”
“Yee naaldlooshii. It’s a Navajo word.”
“How do you know that?” Tim asked.
In an instant, Sage was transported back to an Enemy Way ceremony Grandfather Benally had performed. Sage had watched, wide-eyed and silent as an unconscious young woman tossed and turned in a feverish stupor. Her mother slumped next to Grandfather, sobbing, and told him of how her daughter had been witched while out collecting prickly pear fruits.
The girl had stumbled home in the middle of the night raving about a yee naaldlooshii. How it had appeared in the middle of the desert and chased her for hours. The mother gave Grandfather Benally the few details she could piece together from her daughter’s fevered ravings: the girl had hidden in a small canyon and finally an intense afternoon rainstorm had driven the yee naaldlooshii away. The girl waited as long as possible before the stream rose and flushed her from the flooded canyon. Somehow she had found her way back home.
As a holy man Hatałii or Singer, Grandfather had performed a healing ceremony. Although it lasted for over a week, the poor still girl had not seemed entirely recovered.
“Sage?” Tim interrupted her memories. “I asked how you knew about the Navajo word.”
“I lived with a Navajo family for a while,” Sage answered and swallowed down her sorrow. Memories of Grandfather Benally still punched her in the gut.
“And what’s that other word you and the Wind mentioned?” Tim asked.
Ánt’įįhnii, Sage thought but didn’t say it aloud. “There’s not really a direct translation to English, but it’s the term for a powerful witch, one who has skills in shapeshifting. It can take both human and animal forms, often a coyote, wolf, or owl. Most Navajo won’t even speak of them because they’re terrified by the witches’ power over death, curses, and destruction.”
“And now one’s after us?” Tim asked.
Sage hesitated then, nodded.
“But why? Just because we discovered Shaun and Tabitha? And now Sheriff Davis? Their deaths are already going to create a storm of questions, without ours being added to the headcount. I’d expect some evil mastermind to be more subtle.” He hesitated. “Besides, could it even kill you if it wanted to? With your healing powers?”
Sage shifted away from him and pulled the sleeping bag tight around her neck. “I’m not invincible, Tim. My powers are nothing compared to this thing.”
Tim chuckled, and Sage looked up. “What?” She asked, sharply.
“Nothing? I think your powers are pretty incredible. You probably take them for granted at this point, but think of all you’ve gone through these last couple of days. And you still had the strength to almost knock me out when I was loading up the Jeep.”
Sage gave him a reluctant smile. “I guess. I mean, he did shoot me with that cursed bead, an ’adagąsh. Those are usually deadly. Even though the wound isn’t completely healed like the others from that day, I’m still alive.”
“Exactly,” Tim agreed. “Plus, we’ve got Gus.”
Sage glanced back at the computer. It had automatically started a slideshow of Tim’s pictures. An image of Shaun and Tabitha’s remains quickly extinguished the brief burst of optimism. Sage looked away. “Every time I see that creature, this primal fear takes over. It is the hunter, and I�
�m the prey.” She looked up into his eyes. “It would kill me, Tim, and it would enjoy every moment of it.”
Tim shifted the computer on his lap and gently rested his hand on top of Sage’s head. “Don’t. Don’t let your mind go there. This is not hopeless. I don’t believe that.”
Sage nodded and tried to ignore the unfamiliar warmth that spread through her at his words and touch. She glanced at the computer and saw the shadowy picture of the glass tube she’d found in the mine.
“The vials!” Sage exclaimed and sat up.
“What?” Tim asked.
“See that vial from the mine? I found some more in Hank’s cabin, but I forgot all about them.” She patted her vest pocket and felt a crunch. “I think they’re mostly broken.” Her fingers gingerly probed the crumbled shards before finding one larger intact piece. She held it out to Tim
“It looks like a prescription vial,” he said, studying it in the light of the computer screen. “I can’t quite make out the letters.”
He handed it to Sage, and she squinted at the tiny, fractured letters. “Cloza … Clozapi … that’s all I can read. The rest of the letters are cracked.”
“Could they be an N and an E?” Tim asked.
Sage squinted. “I think so. I definitely see the E.”
Tim let out a whistle. “Clozapine. That’s a serious antipsychotic. The kind they use when nothing else is working and all that’s left is a drug that might kill you.”
Sage wondered if he spoke from experience. “It matches the vial in the cave,” Sage said. “It had the letters L O Z A on it. I bet it was Clozapine too.”
“Maybe.” Tim pulled a tissue from his pocket and wrapped it around the shard. “How many vials were there in Old Hank’s cabin?”
Sage pictured the contents under the sink. “At least 40 or 50.”
“That’s scary,” Tim shook his head. “I didn’t know Hank very well. Did he seem like he had mental issues? Schizophrenia or maybe bipolar disorder?”
“Definitely not.” Sage shook her head. “He and I ran into each other plenty of times. Not as often lately, but a lot when I first moved here. He seemed like a loner, a mountain man. Nice enough but really bored. And maybe a little depressed.”
