Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2

by Mark Lukens

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE SATURDAY CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  PART I SUNDAY CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  PART II MONDAY CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  PART III TUESDAY CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  PART IV WEDNESDAY CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  DARKWIND:

  ANCIENT ENEMY 2

  by

  MARK LUKENS

  Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2—Copyright © 2015 by Mark Lukens

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead (or in any other form), is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by: www.damonza.com

  PLEASE CHECK OUT THESE OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:

  Ancient Enemy – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FD4SP8M

  Descendants of Magic – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FWYYYYC

  The Summoning – www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNEOHKU

  Night Terrors – www.amazon.com/dp/B00M66IU3U

  Sightings – www.amazon.com/dp/B00VAI31KW

  The Exorcist’s Apprentice – www.amazon.com/dp/B00YYF1E5C

  What Lies Below – www.amazon.com/dp/B0143LADEY

  Ghost Town: a novella – www.amazon.com/dp/B00LEZRF7G

  A Dark Collection: 12 Scary Stories – www.amazon.com/dp/B00JENAGLC

  The Darwin Effect – www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4A8ZYC

  Devil’s Island – Coming Soon

  A Dedication:

  This sequel is dedicated to all of the readers out there who have written to me or left reviews asking for a sequel to my novel ANCIENT ENEMY. After I wrote ANCIENT ENEMY, my first novel, and then published it on Amazon, I had hoped it would do well, but I never would’ve dared to believe that I would get so much positive feedback. I had always planned on ANCIENT ENEMY being a standalone story with an ending that hopefully kept the reader guessing and perhaps thinking about the story for some time. It had started out as a screenplay, and it’s common for horror films to have a kind of open ending to set up for a sequel if the film happens to be successful. Some readers didn’t like the somewhat ambiguous ending, but many others did, and many asked for a sequel. At first I was dead set against a sequel—I had a lot of other projects I wanted to work on, so many other stories I wanted to tell. But then I began wondering what I would write if I wanted to write a sequel. Where would the story go? What would Stella, Cole, and David do now? And then the story kind of unfolded for me. And now I’m glad I wrote the second installment to Ancient Enemy. I’m glad I ended the story, and I have so many readers to thank for that. I wish I could list individual names here, but it would take too long. I do want to say a special thanks to some of the readers who have stayed in touch with me—you know who you are: Kat, Conny, Ann, Mitch, Mark, Bill, Sean, Lisa, Allen, and Sharyl.

  Thank you for your comments over the last few years, your help, and your support. I imagine readers like you when I’m writing; I imagine you reading my stories and your reactions to them, and that’s why I continue to write.

  Thank you, dear readers, for giving me the opportunity to live my dream.

  This book is for you.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  This book is a sequel to ANCIENT ENEMY, but I wanted to say that I don’t believe you necessarily must read the first one to understand what’s going on in this story. I tried to write this book so it could stand on its own for a new reader, yet still conclude the story for readers who have read the first book. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

  Much of this book takes place in Colorado and on the Navajo Reservation in New Mexico and Arizona. I tried to be as true to the geography of the area as possible, but some of the locations in this story are fictional.

  PROLOGUE

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Navajo Reservation—dig site

  Randy Tahoma sat on his horse at the edge of the ridge, staring down at the dig site on the canyon floor below. He had ridden by this dig site several times in the past few weeks, stopping for a few minutes to watch the scientists below as they hurried around like ants on little missions. He wondered why they were so intent on digging up the land, digging up the bones of the ancient people. They should let those old ghosts lie in peace. Nothing good could come from digging around down there; Randy was sure of that.

  In the many times he had sat up here on this ridge watching the scientists, he hadn’t gone down there to greet them. What they were doing wasn’t any of his business. Many other Navajo in the area were openly critical of the archaeologists and this dig site but Randy tried to mind his own business and keep to himself. Besides, if he went down there they would probably bombard him with questions about ancient stories and local legends. White people thought every Navajo could recite their people’s entire history at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t worth the hassle. He was content to sit up here on his horse and just watch for a while.

  Randy was “retired” now … more like forced into it. His sons and grandsons had taken over the sheepherding chores on his property. He still felt like he could work, but they insisted that he take it easy in the years he had left. But now his days wer
e filled with aimless wandering, and that aimless wandering had taken him here to the dig site today.

  But he noticed that the camp was different today. Everything was still and silent, no movement anywhere, no sounds drifting up to the ridge where he sat, no smoke from a campfire. He waited at the top of the ridge for almost thirty minutes, bundled up in his heavy coat as he watched the two trailers and tents below. He also watched the line of trucks and SUVs farther away from the camp, all of them parked in a line near a stand of juniper bushes and cottonwood trees.

  The mouth of the cave looked like a slit in the rock wall from way up here but he knew it was far bigger than it looked from where he sat. When someone entered or left the cave he could see that two people could easily stand side by side in the mouth of the cave if they wanted to. The opening was wider at the bottom and it narrowed to a crack thirty feet above the canyon floor. The mouth looked like it had been hidden before by shrubbery and plants for a long time, and now those shrubs were cut away and drying up in heaps on the desert floor.

  Something felt wrong down there. Every time he’d been here before he had seen at least one person walking back and forth from their camp to the mouth of the cave. He had heard the clicking sounds of hammers tapping on rocks, music playing from somebody’s battery-powered radio, a bark of laughter, the words of a conversation floating up to him. He had seen the lights shining in the two trailers and he’d seen the lights burning on the string of electrical cords that ran from the generator into the mouth of the cave.

  But today was different: no activity, no noise.

  He decided to ride his horse down a barely perceptible trail towards the canyon floor below. He sensed the nervousness in his horse well before he reached the trailers.

  “Whoa …” he cooed at his horse. But he felt as nervous as his horse did.

  It was late afternoon now. As the sun dipped lower to the west, the shadows stretched all the way across the canyon floor. There were no lights on in either one of the trailers. The generator that sat close to the mouth of the cave was silent.

  “Hello?!” Randy called out.

  No answer.

  He rode his horse over to a cottonwood tree and got off. He tied the rope around a low-hanging tree limb and then patted his horse for a moment. His horse sputtered and stared at him with wild eyes, shifting his weight nervously.

  “It’s okay,” Randy whispered to the horse. “I just want to have a look around. Make sure everyone’s okay.”

  Randy walked over to the trailer and knocked on the flimsy aluminum door. He waited for a moment, listening.

  No one answered. No one was coming to the door—he would’ve heard their footsteps inside the trailer if someone was approaching.

  He knocked again. “Hello?”

  Still no answer.

  The thought of entering the trailer crossed his mind, but it was rude to enter someone’s home—even if it was a temporary trailer—without their permission. Navajo prized privacy.

  He looked at the next trailer beyond this one and thought about knocking on that door. No lights had come on in either trailer since he had been pounding on the door. He glanced over at the line of vehicles a hundred yards away past a field of juniper and sagebrush that dotted the sand and hard-packed dirt. There were four vehicles parked there, all trucks of some kind. There seemed to be a space where a truck had been parked before, but now it was gone. Maybe all of the scientists had left.

  In one vehicle? And with their generator and a lot of other equipment left behind?

  That didn’t make any sense.

  Randy looked at the second trailer again. He walked towards that door and knocked on it. Still no answer. No lights coming on inside.

  He was about to walk back to his horse but then he froze when he saw something in the dirt about thirty yards away near the edge of the brush. He walked over there and stood there for a moment, staring down at a large dark stain on the sand. It was dried blood. A lot of it.

  Something had happened here … something bad.

  Randy hurried back to his horse and pulled his flashlight out of his saddle bag. He turned the flashlight on and shined it back at the two dark trailers. The sky was still blue above him, but the shadows seemed to have darkened even more down here on the canyon floor. He pointed the flashlight beam towards the crack in the canyon wall … at the mouth of the cave.

  Don’t go in there, his mind whispered, but Randy started walking towards the mouth of the cave. Maybe somebody was hurt.

  He stopped beside the generator for a moment and placed a hand on the muffler. It was ice-cold. He shivered as the wind sliced down from the ridge towards him. He thought about starting the generator up, but he didn’t want to disturb anything. He aimed his flashlight into the mouth of the cave, and then stepped right up to it. The light beam only shined so far into the tunnel, revealing claustrophobic rock walls on both sides, a hard-packed dirt floor, and the lines of electric cords with the construction lights every fifty feet or so that disappeared into the darkness.

  “Hello?” Randy called into the mouth of the cave, his voice echoing back at him. “Are you okay in there?”

  No answer.

  He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he entered the cave. He had been in caves many times in his life … more than he could remember. He knew his way around caves and with the string of lights in this cave there was no chance of getting lost. He would just venture inside a little ways, just far enough to make sure no one was injured and needed help.

  “Hello?” he called out as he walked deeper into the cave. His flashlight beam looked like a laser beam of light stabbing into the total darkness. He moved slowly, his work boots scuffling along the dirt floor, kicking at the small rocks in the way. The path through the rock seemed to narrow slightly the deeper he went, the walls closing in slowly. He’d never been claustrophobic—he’d never been scared of much in his life—but something was frightening him badly now. Something felt bad here … very bad.

  And a moment later he smelled the unmistakable coppery scent of blood … the odor of death and decay. Something was dead in this cave farther ahead in the darkness. Something big. Or maybe more than one dead thing.

  I should just turn around right now, Randy told himself. Turn around and get back on my horse. Ride home and call the police. Something isn’t right here.

  But he didn’t turn around.

  He ventured deeper into the cave.

  And finally the path through the walls of rock opened up to a gigantic cavern. He felt like he could breathe again now that the walls of rock weren’t pressing in on him, but the smell of rot and decay was so strong now that it was hard to breathe. He held his nostrils closed with one hand, breathing in and out through his mouth, while his other hand that clutched his flashlight trembled slightly, shaking the flashlight beam in front of him.

  He panned the light beam around the large cavern and then he shined his light on the most horrifying thing he’d ever seen.

  “Oh … no … no …”

  The big flashlight nearly slipped out of his hand as he stared at the sight in the darkness fifty feet in front of him, something that shouldn’t be possible.

  Then he turned and ran.

  He ran back down the claustrophobic tunnel through the solid rock, his footsteps and ragged breaths echoing all around him. He felt like he was being followed, like something was chasing him through the darkness, about to grab him and pull him back …

  Moments later Randy was out of the cave and vomiting in the bushes. It seemed so much darker out here now, the night coming so quickly. He wiped the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he exhaled, his breath clouding up in front of him in the cold air. His horse was whinnying now and reeling against the rope, threatening to snap it.

  But Randy kept his eyes on the mouth of the cave, sure that some demon or monstrosity, some creature of ancient legend, was going to come crawling out of that cave after him. He backed up towards hi
s horse, his eyes on the cave the entire time.

  “It’s okay,” he lied to his horse, touching him, calming him down only slightly. Maybe his horse could smell the death all the way out here.

  Randy slipped his flashlight back into his saddle bag and then untied the rope from the limb of the tree. He mounted his horse and rode towards the trail that led up to the ridge, both of them glad to be leaving.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Navajo Reservation—dig site

  “I’m not going back in that cave,” Randy told Captain Begay.

  Begay stared at Randy. “I’m not asking you to go in there.”

  Randy had raced his horse home and called Captain Begay of the Navajo Tribal Police. He knew Begay well and he had the man’s private number. It was early evening by the time Begay and two of his officers drove way out here to the dig site. Randy had ridden back to the dig site to meet them there, but he didn’t venture down onto the canyon floor until Begay and his officers had arrived. He didn’t want to be down there alone.

  The officers had come in three vehicles; two of the vehicles were Dodge Durangos painted olive green with the Navajo Police shield among the wide green and yellow stripes down the side. Whipcord antennas poked up from the backs of the vehicles, and they both had large meaty tires and extra gas cans strapped to the back. The other vehicle was an older jacked-up Ford Bronco with faded brown paint and oversized tires, a gas-guzzling dinosaur of a vehicle that rumbled with power.

  All three men got out of their vehicles. The two officers who drove the Durangos both wore bulky green jackets over their khaki uniforms with the Navajo Tribal Police patch on the shoulders of their coats. One officer was tall and lean, his long hair tied back in a loose ponytail. The other man was an inch shorter and a little heavier, his black hair cropped short. Randy was glad to see that they both had a sidearm on their hips.

  Captain Begay was dressed casually in jeans, a button-down shirt, and a well-worn pair of cowboy boots. He wore the same type of bulky green jacket over his clothes like his two officers. He was a bear of a man with a fleshy face and slicked-back dark hair that didn’t show a strand of gray even though he had to be close to fifty years old. He walked towards Randy who was tying his horse to the same cottonwood tree he had tied him to before. Begay didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold.