by Mark Lukens
“Like from heat? Maybe the fire.”
“No,” the M.E. told Palmer. “I don’t think so.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t have any kind of guess. Like I said, I’ve never seen anything like this in twenty-six years. Never heard of anything like this.”
Palmer’s mouth was suddenly dry and he could feel the beginning of a headache coming on. He could really use a drink right now. He wondered how he could get back to his car and sneak a nip from the bottle in his duffel bag.
What the hell was going on here? Palmer wondered. He echoed the M.E.’s sentiment—this was the strangest crime scene he’d ever seen in the years he’d been with the Bureau. They had numerous bodies with damages that seemed almost supernatural. And the only connection to the archaeologists’ bodies and these murders was Stella Weaver. Her vehicle had to have been the missing vehicle from the dig site, and now it was here. But she wasn’t here. Was she involved in this somehow? The murderers could’ve taken her and her vehicle from the dig site. They could still have her captive, or they could’ve dumped her body in the woods somewhere on the way up here.
And there was still the missing boy to consider. How did David figure into all of this? Maybe the murderers killed David’s parents first. They took David to the dig site, then killed the archaeologists and took David and Stella with them up here to Colorado. They still could’ve dumped both of their bodies along the way, or they could still have them.
“No ID’s on the bodies yet?” Palmer asked even though he was fairly sure that hadn’t happened yet with the degree of mutilation and burning done to them.
“Not really,” the sheriff said. “But we think we know who these guys might be.”
Palmer looked at him with raised eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.
“There was a bank robbery a few days ago in Cody’s Pass, a town south of here. The robbers killed one of the customers and got away with two metal cases of money.”
Palmer nodded for him to continue.
“We think the bank robbers were holed up here. We think one of these bodies is the owner of the cabin, a man named Tom Gordon. He lived here alone. We found the two metal cases they used in the robbery, same description the witnesses gave. And we found several guns. A lot of the money was still inside the cases. Not much damage from the fire because the cases were made of metal.”
They were all quiet for a moment as Palmer thought this through. “So,” Palmer finally said, “these guys rob a bank, come here in that vehicle stashed around back, then one of them kills the other four guys in his group, rigs an explosion, sets fire to the cabin, leaves most of the money behind, and …”
“There were snowmobile tracks leading away from this cabin,” Sheriff Hadley said. “The guy must’ve taken Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile from the garage out there and drove right out of here.”
Palmer glanced back at the doorway, at the front yard cluttered with vehicles.
“Not easy to see now,” the sheriff said quickly. “But they were there. And Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile is gone from the garage.”
Palmer looked back at the sheriff. “Why would he kill all of his partners and not take the stolen money?”
“Well, we’re not sure he didn’t take any of the money,” Sheriff Hadley said. “Some of it might be gone.”
The sheriff walked across the debris-littered floor to the two metal cases on the floor near a destroyed couch, burnt down to the floor with metal springs poking up out of it. The cases were charred black, but open now revealing the packs of money stacked up inside. Palmer and the M.E. followed him there.
“I would guess these cases were full when they left the bank,” the sheriff said. “We’re working with the bank right now to see how much money is missing, and then we’ll count this up. But just by eyeballing it, I’d say some of it is gone.”
“But that brings us back to why the lone robber wouldn’t have taken all of the money with him. He could’ve carried the two cases with him on the snowmobile. Right?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Sure. Could’ve strapped them down to the back.”
“Why would he go through all of this trouble? Why would he mutilate the bodies of his crew like this? Seems like he would’ve just shot them and escaped with the money. I mean the fire … that’s what drew us here. Why would he create a bonfire if he was trying to escape?”
Neither the sheriff nor the M.E. had an answer for him.
“Let’s step back outside,” Palmer said, moving towards the doorway. He needed to be away from the burnt flesh smell and charred wood.
The M.E. remained on the porch as Palmer and the sheriff walked towards the garage and the pickup truck parked there.
“That pickup truck,” Palmer said.
“Tom Gordon’s truck.”
“Why would this guy take the snowmobile and not the pickup truck? I can see why he wouldn’t take the SUV, but why the snowmobile instead of a pickup?”
“Roads are bad. Route 217 out there wasn’t plowed when this guy left. It would be too hard to get this truck down the road. Maybe too dangerous.”
Palmer nodded. That made sense.
The sheriff seemed satisfied that he’d figured out something that Palmer hadn’t.
But still, there was something about the truck. Palmer stared at the front of it for a moment. “Does it look like the hood’s unlatched to you?”
The sheriff looked at the truck, his eyes widening a little. “Yessir.”
They walked over to the pickup truck. A lot of the snow had melted off the truck from the cabin fire.
“Let’s look inside,” Palmer said.
The sheriff lifted the hood up and they both stared down in shock.
“Holy shit,” the sheriff breathed out. “Looks like someone took a baseball bat to this engine.”
Or an ax, Palmer thought. And then he thought of the ax still gripped in the dead man’s hand on the porch.
Another thought occurred to Palmer. “Come on, let’s check out the SUV in back.”
They hurried down the same path through the snow to Stella’s Chevy Suburban, the packed-down snow crunching under their boots. Palmer went to the driver’s side and reached his hand through the now glassless window and pulled the latch for the hood. It thunked easily. The sheriff lifted the hood up as Palmer got back around to the front of the vehicle.
“Same thing,” the sheriff muttered.
Palmer didn’t say anything. It was similar but not the same. Except in this vehicle the battery was gone. It looked like it had been ripped out of the vehicle.
“So they drive this vehicle here,” Palmer said more to himself than to Sheriff Hadley. “Then one of these guys destroys the vehicles, kills most of his buddies, sets the cabin on fire, takes part of the stolen money and escapes on a snowmobile.”
The sheriff shook his head like it was all beyond him.
The fire, Palmer thought as he looked back at the cabin. Thin fingers of smoke drifted up to the sky. “Who called this in? Someone had to have seen the smoke in the sky this morning.”
“Kid from down the road,” the sheriff answered. “Travis Conrad. Nineteen years old. Good kid. Played football with my son. He drove his snowmobile here. He’s the one who saw the snowmobile tracks in the snow. He also put the fire out on the SUV, trying to save any evidence.”
“He saw the snowmobile tracks the escapee left behind?” Palmer asked and his voice sounded sharp with accusation.
“Yessir,” the sheriff answered. “He saw them all the way down to his property. He followed them here.”
“He have any idea where the tracks were going?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Said they went south past his house.”
“South? You mean back to Cody’s Pass? Back to the place where they robbed the bank?”
Again the sheriff gave a slight shrug. “He said it seemed that way, but this guy could’ve taken the snowmobile off into the woods at any point. I’ve got one of ou
r guys following the tracks right now on a snowmobile. I’m waiting to hear back from him.”
Palmer nodded like that made sense.
“Where’s this Travis Conrad now? The one who reported this.”
“I sent him back home.”
“I want to talk to this kid.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cody’s Pass, Colorado—The Mountainside Inn
Stella had eaten a quick meal of basically snack food with David and then she took him into the bathroom with her to get a bath. She really wanted a shower, but she settled for a sink bath and she washed her hair while bending over the bathtub. She kept the door locked and she kept her gun on the top of the toilet tank lid within easy reach the whole time. She thought about letting David stay out in the room with Cole while she took a shower, but she decided against it. Cole wouldn’t kill David now, would he? Why would he do it now when he could’ve done it so many other times before? But people changed, people cracked, people eventually broke down. She’d seen it many times in the last week or so.
She made David take a bath and she promised him that she would be right outside the bathroom door if he needed her. After David had taken his bath, she brushed his hair and made him brush his teeth. Now that she was full, clean, and warm, she realized how tired she really was. She was suddenly a little light-headed and her muscles were rubbery with exhaustion.
David lay down on the bed closer to the windows that looked out onto the scenic view of the snowy mountains that the motel clerk had told them about and he fell asleep almost immediately. Cole was in the same place where he’d been when they had gone into the bathroom … right in front of the TV, perched at the end of the bed. He was flipping from news station to news station with the remote control.
“Anything?” she asked as she pulled the sheet up over David. He rolled over, breathing even heavier now.
“The weather’s getting better,” he told her. “All of the snowstorms have moved out of the area and there isn’t any bad weather forecasted for the next few days.”
“What about us? Anything about us on the news?”
“Nothing about you and David, but there’s still a manhunt out for me. Nothing about the fire at the cabin yet, but I’m sure they’re keeping a lid on that until they figure out exactly what happened there. But they’ll find your vehicle. Hopefully it’s burnt enough to slow them down a little.”
Stella sat down in one of the padded chairs at a built-in writing desk against the wall. She watched Cole as he studied the TV with the remote control in his hand. “How far are you really going to go with us?” she asked, blurting it out. No sense in dancing around the issue anymore. She wasn’t sure if she could trust Cole to tell the truth, but she could at least gauge his reaction to her question.
“I already told you … I’ll go all the way with you,” he said, turning towards her. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes on her the whole time, never looking back to the TV. “I know you don’t believe me, but I want to help. I want this … whatever this is, to end. I want to at least try. See if we can find this … this person to train David …”
“Shaman,” Stella finished for him.
“Yeah, this shaman. See if he can help. If anything can be done at all. And if it can’t …”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll figure it out from there when we have more information.”
Stella sighed. She was so tired, the exhaustion washing over her now.
“I’m being honest with you,” Cole said. “I don’t know how many times I can say it to you. I don’t know how to make you believe me.”
Stella didn’t answer. She was ready to crawl into bed beside David and sleep for a few hours, but she couldn’t help still feeling wary with Cole in the room with them. She couldn’t make herself trust this man completely.
“Do you really think a shaman, or anyone like that, could defeat that … that thing out there, whatever it is?”
“I don’t know,” Stella said in a low voice. She glanced at David to make sure he was still asleep. “But it’s the only thing I can think of. Our only shot.”
Cole nodded. “Yeah, but what if you can’t find one of these shamans?”
“I’ve heard of a shaman down there on the reservation. He’s supposed to be pretty powerful. A man named Joe Blackhorn.”
“And you know this guy?”
“No.”
“You know where he lives, though.”
“No. But we’ll find him. I know someone I can talk to. She’ll know someone who can find Joe Blackhorn”
Cole smiled. “Yeah.”
“I know it’s not much of a plan, but what else can we do? The only person who can fight this thing is David, and the only way he can learn to fight it is from a shaman. A real shaman.”
“Then that’s our plan,” Cole said and turned back to the TV. “Why don’t you get a few hours of sleep. Then I’ll sleep while you guys are awake.”
Stella nodded. “I need some sleep.”
“We all do,” Cole said and turned the TV off. He stood up. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Stella nodded at him and stretched out beside David on the bed, curling her body up around him. She heard Cole walk away and enter the bathroom. A moment later she heard the water running in the shower.
Her eyes closed for a moment and flashes of the terrors they’d seen ran through her mind and …
… she opened her eyes again. She thought she’d only closed her eyes for a few seconds, but she saw Cole coming out of the bathroom through her half-open eyes. He only had his pants on and he laid his shirts out over the two chairs by the table so they could dry. It looked like he had washed them out in the sink. She studied his body; he was lean, nothing but muscle and bone, not an ounce of fat. She had suspected that. He had a few tattoos on his back and shoulders, and a light sprinkling of hair across his chest and a line of hair down his abs.
She closed her eyes again and she was back at the dig site in New Mexico, holed up in that trailer, armed with their pathetic weapons that could do nothing against the god-like being that waited in the badlands outside for them.
The Darkwind, Jim Whitefeather had called it. The Darkwind was another name for the Ancient One, or the Ancient Enemy, or the Anasazi.
In the dream, Stella was at the mouth of the cave again, finding David for the first time. He had blood all over his hands and some smeared on his face. She was panicking at the sight of the blood, yelling for help. He was just a little kid, and his eyes were round with shock.
The other archaeologists and grad students came running to help her.
“Is he hurt?” one of them asked.
“I don’t think so,” Stella said. “I don’t think it’s his blood.”
“What happened?” Jake asked David. “Is someone hurt?”
David wouldn’t respond.
“If someone’s hurt, then you need to tell us,” Jake barked at David.
“Where are your parents?” Stella asked David.
He still wouldn’t answer. He was shivering from both fright and the cold. Jake swooped in and scooped David up. “Let’s get him inside. Get him warm.”
Inside the trailer, Stella got David cleaned up as best she could. The blood was mostly on his hands and face, and there were blood stains on the front of his shirt. She washed his hands, arms, and face, and then she gave him one of her T-shirts to wear. It was a little too big on him, but it fit well enough. She washed the few spots of blood off of his coat in the sink and then hung it over a chair so it could dry.
After talking to David for an hour, she at least got him to tell her his name, but that was about all.
Jim Whitefeather suggested that they contact the Tribal Police. They could be looking for this boy right now. They tried their radio but it wouldn’t work. Neither did the sat phone. Jim told them that he would drive and contact the nearest neighbors, ask them to call for help, but none of the vehicles would start—all of the batte
ries were dead.
Jim was scared by then. Stella hadn’t known Jim Whitefeather very long, but they had formed a bond with each other. She respected his culture, and he knew it. Jim could tell that she was interested more in preserving the artifacts, the culture, and getting the history right rather than fame and fortune. She knew Jim was a strong and brave man, and the fear she saw in his dark eyes when he pulled her away from the others unnerved her. He was a seasoned scout and tracker. He’d grown up on this land as had his ancestors for generations. He knew this land; he knew its secrets, its stories, its legends … its monsters.
“Listen to me closely,” he told her in a low voice, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else was listening. “Something bad is out there.”
Stella was about to tell Jim that she feared David’s parents were hurt somewhere and David had run away to get help for them. That was the story they were all set on. But she could tell that Jim believed something else. “Yeah, his parents are probably hurt—” Stella began, but Jim cut her words off.
“No. It’s worse than that. Much worse than that.”
“What do you mean? How do you know that? Has David talked to you?”
“No. But this has happened before.”
“What has happened before?”
“I could be wrong about this, about that boy, but I’ve heard stories like this all my life.”
“What stories are you talking about?” Stella’s mind raced as she thought of all the stories she’d heard from the Navajo culture, anything that would have something to do with a small boy showing up dazed and bloody at a dig site.
Jim Whitefeather shook his head like it didn’t matter now. “We don’t have much time. I’m going out there to get some help, but I’ve got my pistol and I’m going to try to track that thing out there.”
Jim was the only one of them that carried a weapon, an old .38 revolver. “What thing?” she asked. “An animal? A bear or mountain lion?”
“You need to stay inside this trailer,” he told her, ignoring her question like he didn’t have time to explain. “Don’t go out there. All of you need to stay together. And protect the boy, Stella. He’s your only hope of staying safe.”
