by Mark Lukens
Stella looked back at the ghost town. Joe’s horse was already beyond the town now, in a full trot across the desert. The wind was kicking up again, howling down through the buildings. Something, a loose piece of siding or a shingle perhaps, flapped loudly.
She looked back at the church and followed the others inside. The inside of the church was empty except for a layer of debris and garbage all over the wood floor. It looked like the church had been stripped bare of the pews, stage, dais, and any other furniture or anything else a long time ago. A few bare studs stood at the far end of the left side of the large room like pieces of a skeleton, probably where rooms had been sectioned off before.
The ceiling was vaulted to a peak high above them and thin shafts of daylight streamed down through a few of the small holes—they looked like laser beams of light shooting down at the wood floor that was covered with dust, broken pieces of wood, scraps of debris.
Joe found part of an old bench in the middle of the clutter and he set it upright and laid his pack down next to it on the floor. He wasn’t wasting any time; he was already taking items out of his pack and setting them on the bench.
Cole, Stella, and David walked across the littered floor, skirting around the larger debris. They gathered around Joe who was softly singing to himself in Navajo. He pulled out a clear mason jar filled with a thick dark fluid from his pack.
“Owl’s blood,” Joe said as he set the jar on the rickety bench. “I’m going to use this to paint the symbols on David’s face and hands.”
Joe set what looked like a bundle of feathers tied together next to the jar of blood—it looked like a set of rudimentary paintbrushes. He also set the spiral bound notebook that David had drawn symbols in this morning near the brush and jar of blood. He took out a long wooden stick that had symbols carved into it. The stick had feathers, beads, and some kind of small dried bird claws tied to it with thin pieces of leather. Next, he slipped a necklace of beads and turquoise around his neck. And the last things he took out of his bag were four plastic containers of lighter fluid and two boxes of large kitchen matches. He picked up one of the bottles of lighter fluid and one of the boxes of matches and handed them to Cole.
“This is for the snakes and spiders if they get too close,” Joe explained.
Cole nodded like he already knew what to do with them, and then he stuffed the container of lighter fluid down into his coat pocket and shoved the box of matches down into his pants pocket.
The wind was getting stronger outside. Sand pelted the outside walls of the church and rattled the stained glass windows. The wood beams and walls creaked and moaned from the gusts of wind.
And underneath that wind, Stella heard the howl of a coyote, and then another one. She looked at the others—they’d heard the howls too.
David grabbed Stella’s hand as he looked around at the church with wide eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Stella said as she held David’s hand while looking at Joe. David squeezed her hand hard and she thought she could hear him breathing more quickly now. “You said we were going to a sacred site. What’s so sacred about a ghost town?”
Joe nodded at her. “I promise this is a sacred site. This is where we need to be.”
“But …” Stella began, but then David’s words cut her sentence short.
“I think I’ve been here before,” David said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The trail to Joe Blackhorn’s property
“There’s the truck,” Captain Begay said as he slowed his Ford Bronco down to a stop on the rutted trail that led to Joe Blackhorn’s property. He parked right behind the old blue pickup truck.
“That’s the truck they stole in Colorado,” Palmer said. “Matches the description that was sent in.”
They both sat in the Bronco for a moment, both of them watching the parked truck in front of them.
“Nobody inside,” Palmer said as he got out of the Bronco, dropping down to the ground from the high truck. He pulled his service pistol out from his holster just in case.
Begay got out from the driver’s side, but he didn’t pull out his gun.
Palmer looked around at the desert brush that stretched out to the mountains all around them. They were down in a depression in the land here—the trail continued on past the stolen pickup truck, rising up to a ridge in the distance, then disappearing over the top.
Palmer walked up to the rear of the pickup truck and glanced in the bed, holding his service pistol aimed down at the ground but ready if he needed it. There was nothing in the bed of the truck except a few pieces of construction debris scattered all over the place: scrap pieces of wood, stripped pieces of wiring, sawed-off metal pipe, a few rusted brackets.
“Hello?” Palmer called out just in case someone was lying low inside the cab of the vehicle. “Special Agent Palmer with the FBI.”
Palmer saw Begay on the other side of the pickup truck. He walked casually to the king cab back window and peered inside. “No one in there,” he said.
Palmer relaxed a little and walked up towards the passenger door. He peeked in through the windows. No one in there like Begay had said. There was a large cooler in the back along with a lot of other junk. The front passenger floorboard was littered with trash and fast food bags. The keys were still in the ignition.
He looked down at the front tire. “Tire came off the rim over here,” Palmer said as he holstered his weapon. “Front passenger tire.” The tire was eaten up, barely clinging to the rim which looked bent and was dug down into the dirt.
Begay walked on ahead of the front of the pickup truck, studying the ground.
“Truck broke down,” Palmer said re-creating the scene for Begay. “They must’ve left on foot from here.”
Begay didn’t respond. He walked on ahead a little farther, studying the ground for a while. “Tracks here,” he said. “They got into another truck over here.”
Palmer looked down at the ruts in the dirt trail in front of the truck, following them until he came up beside Begay. He saw the tire tracks in the dirt, but he couldn’t be so sure of what had happened like Begay seemed to be. But he wasn’t going to argue with the man’s tracking skills.
“What the hell’s that?” Palmer asked, pointing down at dozens of smashed spiders, scorpions, and two snakes among the tire tracks.
Begay walked over and stared down at the dead animals and insects. “The truck ran over them,” he said. “A lot of them”.
Palmer didn’t respond. He just watched as Begay walked away from the rutted trail. Palmer was ready to get back in the Bronco and continue on to Blackhorn’s property, but he didn’t say anything as Begay wandered around in the brush and sand. He watched Begay stop and crouch down, studying the ground for a few minutes. Something seemed to be bothering the captain.
“What is it?” Palmer finally asked. It didn’t seem like Begay was going to volunteer anything.
“Strange,” Begay said as he stood up and walked back towards the stolen pickup truck, staring down at the dirt like he was following a trail.
“What’s strange?”
“There are all kinds of animal tracks around here.”
Palmer just nodded. He wanted to point out that they were in the middle of the wilderness, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to get to Blackhorn’s property before these guys got away again. But he’d learned so far that he wasn’t going to hurry Begay along until the man was ready.
“A lot of animals,” Begay said as he pointed down at the ground. “Coyote tracks back there all over the place. And there are snake trails everywhere.”
“Snake trails?”
“Looks like hundreds of them,” Begay said.
Palmer looked back at the two dead rattlesnakes in the ruts among the crushed spiders and scorpions. He felt a shiver dance along his skin, and he nearly trembled at the thought of hundreds of snakes crawling all over each other across the sand.
Begay walked over to the pickup truck. “Scratch marks a
ll over this truck. Maybe from bird claws. More animal tracks, too.”
Palmer watched the captain for a moment. “What are you trying to say? A horde of animals and snakes came out of the brush?”
“Yes,” Begay answered and looked at Palmer. “It’s like they surrounded the truck.”
Begay pointed at disturbances all over the dirt around the truck, but Palmer couldn’t really see it. He’d had probably a total of a few hours at Quantico when it came to following tracks in the dirt, so he had to trust that Begay knew more about this than he did. Still, it was hard to believe that all of these animals and snakes had surrounded the truck.
“Is that normal?” Palmer asked.
Begay just stared at him and Palmer thought he was going to get a sarcastic remark from the captain.
But Begay just shook his head and looked back out at the desert. “Rattlesnakes have been seen in large groups before, especially during mating season. Snake balls, some people call them.”
Again, Palmer shivered at the thought of a bunch of rattlesnakes writhing together in a giant ball, the cacophony of the shaking rattles filling the air.
“Let’s get to Joe Blackhorn’s place,” Begay said and started walking back towards his Ford Bronco.
Finally, Palmer thought.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Joe Blackhorn’s property
Twenty-five minutes later Special Agent Palmer and Captain Begay saw Joe’s trailer and the other buildings down in the shallow valley below as they drove the trail up over a ridge.
Palmer was tense and excited. Maybe this was it; they were finally going to get these guys. It was how he always felt when he was close to collaring criminals. The place looked quiet and abandoned, but they could still be there, hiding out in that trailer or one of the other buildings. His senses were on high alert and he noted everything in vivid detail. Time seemed to be slowing down a little. He noted the wood barn and fenced corral. He noted the mud building in the distance—a hogan, as Begay had called it. He noted the trailer and shed and greenhouse near it, the windmill generator in back. He noted the two pickup trucks parked next to each other which looked like they ran, and the two older vehicles which looked like they didn’t.
Begay pulled his Bronco up twenty feet away from the backs of the pickup trucks parked side-by-side near the front of the trailer. He shut the engine off and he and Palmer got out of the truck at the same time.
“Joe Blackhorn!” Begay called out as he walked to the front of his Bronco. “I’m Captain Begay with the Navajo Tribal Police! We just want to ask you a few questions!”
No answer from the trailer. No sound at all except the freezing wind. Nobody came to the trailer door. Nobody peeked out the windows.
Everything was quiet, but then that silence was shattered when a barking German Shepard came bolting out from behind the trailer, running right towards them.
Palmer pulled his gun out of his holster, ready to shoot.
“Don’t!” Begay yelled and jumped in front of Palmer, staring at the approaching dog.
Begay yelled something in Navajo at the dog, a series of sharp and commanding words.
To Palmer’s amazement, the dog stopped in its tracks and stared at them. The snarling creature had become an adorable dog in a matter of seconds.
“He’s just scared,” Begay told Palmer without turning around to look at him, keeping his eyes on the dog the whole time. “He’s scared of something,” he said in an even lower voice. “I don’t think Blackhorn’s here.”
“Great,” Palmer said. A mist of his warm breath clouded up in front of his face as he said the word. “If this is even Joe Blackhorn’s place. Maybe Billy Nez tricked you again.”
Begay said something else in Navajo and the dog turned and ran towards the door of the trailer. Begay followed the dog.
Palmer followed Begay to the trailer.
The German Shepard hurried up the wood steps and waited at the door. Begay climbed the steps and stood beside the dog, knocking on the door.
No answer.
Begay waited a moment and then he twisted the door handle, testing to see if it was locked.
It wasn’t.
“What the hell are you doing?” Palmer hissed. He looked down at the German Shepard, expecting the dog to suddenly attack now that Begay was opening the door.
“I’m seeing if this is Joe Blackhorn’s trailer,” Begay answered simply.
“You can’t just … just go inside.”
“Of course I can,” Begay said. “Navajo leave their doors unlocked. We don’t steal from each other. If we need something, we ask and the other gives.”
“Well, in my world, we call this breaking and entering.”
“Stay out here if you want to,” Begay said.
After Begay opened the door all the way, the German Shepard darted inside like it was glad to get into the safety of the home. Begay didn’t try to keep the dog out.
Palmer sighed and looked around at the other structures in the distance. “I think I’ll take a look around out here,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” Begay said and entered the trailer, leaving the door wide open.
Palmer didn’t feel good about what Begay was doing. He just wanted to get away from the trailer and distance himself from the crime that was being committed. Begay could be ruining this whole case by entering a suspect’s home without a warrant.
He walked over to the two pickup trucks parked next to each other near the front of the trailer. He peeked in through the windows of each of the trucks but he didn’t see anything unusual.
He walked over to what looked like a small greenhouse. And sure enough it was loaded with plants on both sides of a wide aisle. It was still somewhat warm inside.
Next, Palmer checked out the hogan at the rear of the property. He wasn’t sure if a mud hut qualified as breaking and entering, but he pulled the wood door open anyway and peeked inside. He took a few steps inside the hogan. There was no furniture anywhere. The floor was dirt and there was a pit in the center of the hogan that was surrounded by a circle of rocks. The walls were constructed out of wood beams and filled in between with stones and mortar and straw. It was warm inside the hogan and there was the ghost of the smell of fires from the past in here.
The last place Palmer checked was the corral and the barn. Inside the barn he found stalls where two goats watched him. There were two other larger stalls, and a horse was in one of them. The other stall was empty.
“Horse is gone,” Begay said from behind Palmer.
Palmer whirled around, almost drawing his gun. He breathed out a sigh of relief. “You scared the shit out of me. I didn’t even hear you walk up.”
“Injun training,” Begay said.
Palmer ignored the man’s remark. “Anything in the trailer?”
Begay shook his head. “It’s Joe Blackhorn’s trailer,” he said but didn’t offer proof of how he knew that. “He had some guests here. Looks like they had some breakfast and then left. There are some extra blankets and pillows in the living room.”
It was them, Palmer thought—had to be. Their stolen pickup truck was on the trail a few miles back and now this reclusive old man had entertained some guests.
“So they were here earlier and now they left,” Palmer said. “But where?”
“Someone took a horse,” Begay said nodding at the empty stall in front of Palmer. “Looks like there’s space in the shed behind the trailer where vehicles used to be parked. Most likely four wheelers. A lot of four wheelers and dirt bikes out here.”
Palmer nodded. “So they left on a horse and on four wheelers.” He looked beyond Begay and noticed that the German Shepard had followed the captain out here to the barn. The dog was sitting there watching them, like it was waiting to follow them wherever they went next.
Begay noticed that Palmer was looking at the dog. “Blackhorn’s got a doghouse for the dog behind the trailer,” he said, “but I don’t think he wants to stay there. He wants to fo
llow us around. He’s scared of something here.”
Palmer nodded.
Begay walked past Palmer, entering the barn. The captain looked down at the dirt, studying the tracks left behind by the horse. He followed the tracks out of the barn and corral, and then to the shed behind the trailer. And then he followed all of those tracks towards the front of the trailer, and then he kept on walking past it.
Palmer followed Begay but he kept his distance, not wanting to unknowingly disturb any tracks. He’d probably already done some damage by walking around out here earlier.
The German Shepard stayed a few paces behind Palmer. He turned around and looked at the dog, holding the dog’s stare for a moment.
The dog growled at him, but he didn’t attack. He sat down on his haunches and refused to follow them any further.
“Don’t stare at him!” Begay called back over his shoulder without turning around.
Palmer turned back around from the dog and shook his head. He kept on walking, following Begay out into the desert.
Once they had walked a few hundred yards past Joe’s collection of structures, Palmer looked back at the dog. He had remained in the same place, just watching them.
Begay finally stopped walking and Palmer caught up to him.
“Dog’s afraid of where we’re going,” Begay said as if Palmer had asked.
“Where are these tracks leading to?” Palmer could see the clear horse and four wheeler tracks in the dirt now.
Begay pointed. “Over that ridge.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Is there somewhere specific they would be going to from here?”
Begay shrugged. “I don’t know. We can follow their trail as far as possible in my truck, but I have to assume that the trail gets too rough for a vehicle if they took four wheelers and a horse. But I can get a lot farther in my truck than he could’ve gotten in his.”
“Why would Joe Blackhorn drive off into the desert with these three?”
Begay shrugged again. “He’s helping them.”
Here we go again, Palmer thought.
Begay looked at Palmer like he could read his mind. “This is the last chance,” Begay said. “They’ve gone somewhere out there to confront the Ancient Enemy. If you want to stay here, I can go alone.”
