"You've walked in Chaos for a long time now, Doris. But when you chose Max over Andrew Takei, something in you finally remembered which is which and your shift back to Beauty began again. You'll need time to grieve your past foolishness. But you can't afford that now. Chaos is too close and it's coming at us fast."
Chapter Thirty Two
One Half Mile North of the Alma Curar Compound
Thirty Miles South of Tohatchi, New Mexico
Spring/Early Summer, 1950
Sunrise. Second Day of the First Quarter Moon.
Andrew lifted the binoculars and watched the compound awaken. Mina, watering can in hand, walked off the porch. She set the can down, dipped her hand into the pouch on her hip, and then gestured around, sprinkling something toward each compass point. It was the same thing every morning. Some kind of Indian ritual. She dusted off her hands, picked up the watering can and turned to the flower bed.
The colored guy that Andrew assumed was Samuel was starting a circuit around the perimeter and Max, at the end of his watch, was walking back to the house. He couldn't tell who was at the makeshift perch on the roof top. A sun canopy had been rigged for it that blocked his view. He hadn't seen anyone mount the ladder, but that only meant the watchman had already climbed into position in the pre-dawn gloom. Could be David. Might be Moms.
Andrew lowered the binoculars, tugged the brim of his slouch hat back over his brow and fished out another Lucky. He hid the Zippo's flame behind a cupped palm, and then rested his arms across his knees as he exhaled. He was just north of the compound, sitting cross-legged on a mesa where he'd been spying for the past three days. So far, it didn't appear they knew he was there. It sure looked like they were ready for him, though.
He hadn't spared a single day getting here, holing up only during the night he'd fled from his house, injured and betrayed. The non-silver injuries had healed virtually overnight. It was the silver wounds that had burned and throbbed for days, even though they hadn't left a mark greater than some redness and swelling. Silver wounds always had lingering pain. As did the pain of losing his second mother as absolutely as he had his first.
He sat there smoking, thinking, scratching his patchy beard stubble, his skin feeling a little raw from days in the desert sun. He wished he had a Ham so he'd know what to expect from the two hunters from Canada. Were they making their way to Tohatchi or staying put, preparing to hunt him down after he was done here? He took a couple more drags before raising his binoculars again.
He had to hand it to them, the compound was locked down. He hadn't expected anything less, from Moms' past descriptions of the place. But it was another thing to see it for himself. Electrified gates. Thick cactus and bramble grown against each other, packed tight, concealing the triplet of hot wire he knew ran through them. He couldn't make out the tarnished silver laced through the barrier or nailed to the gates, but he knew they were there. Knew they were buried beneath the barrier, too, along with more electrified wire.
The house sat dead center, about a quarter mile of open area all around. There was a chicken's coop and confine about thirty yards or so off the southwest corner. To the north, about fifteen yards, was a small hut layered with rugs and blankets. A smoke hole in the center of it. That had to be David's sweat lodge. Off to the right of that were a couple of uprights with silhouettes painted on them: one human, one large and wolfish. Target practice for the least steady among them, like Moms.
The compound's massive generator and the big, silver propane tank weren't far behind the house. Andrew had watched a utility worker top off the tank yesterday. He'd watched as Max and Samuel lugged several large fuel cans out of the truck the day before, stowing them under the back end of the wrap-around porch. Extra diesel for the generator, was Andrew's guess.
He unfolded his legs and rose, but kept low until he was well to the other side of the mesa, sloped like a broken shoulder. He controlled his skid downward, fifteen feet on the mesa's low side, to the Buick he'd boosted back in Ventura. He tossed the binoculars in the rear seat with the supplies and hardware he'd stolen from a gun shop and an Army surplus store as he had passed through Flagstaff.
Lying amongst all this was a particular memento Andrew had brought with him. The trophy he had carried away from Luperón : a Herculean effort for any lesser host, even wrapped in its plain cotton cloth. He had risked a great deal to bring it here, stealing back into his house in Ventura. It was that important to him. He was going to find a way to make a special present of it for Max.
It was time to stretch out on the car's front bench seat and get a little shut eye while the mesa's morning shadow lasted. Andrew thought things through as he drifted into a doze. After a few days and nights of biding his time, watching the compound, getting a sense of their routines, he was certain no Lesser Beast would ever get through the compound's barriers. Not during the fleeting, precious hours of First Night. And a typical host would be too witless to be of any use to the Beast in finding a way through. But when Max and David had built those defenses years ago, they hadn't planned on someone like Andrew. They hadn't known he, or the likes of the Great Beast, even existed.
He thought of Moms again. He thought of the Canadians once more and hoped with all his burning heart they were on their way. His only obsession now was to see the moon set on the corpses of the hunters. Every. Single. One.
* * *
The sun hit its zenith and it was David's turn to walk the perimeter. Max stepped onto the porch, leaned his shotgun against the railing and plopped down in the chair next to Samuel, legs out-stretched with his ankles crossed. For the first time in days Samuel stayed put instead of finding an excuse to avoid a one-on-one with him.
Max looked him in the eye for a minute, and then said, "Huh. Not leaving. I must smell sweeter than I have been lately."
"C'mon, Maxwell. You know we been busting our asses to get prepped."
"Yeah. That must be it. 'Cause I can't imagine you've been avoiding me for any other reason ... like talking about your little disappearing act."
Samuel propped his elbow on the chair's arm and pulled everything up, resting an ankle over one knee. His gaze drifted to the front grounds, his thumb stroking back and forth below his lip. "Yeh .. about that. It wasn't the way to be, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have worried everybody. Thing is, I left Mexico City for a little village west of there. It took me a while to set back up."
"You were out of touch a hell of a lot longer than it would've taken to set back up."
"Yeh ...see ... the reason for the move ..." He looked at Max again and shrugged, sheepish. "Her name's Consuela. She lives in that little village west of the city."
Try as he might to keep from it, Max couldn't help cracking a smile. "That sounds more serious than just a roll in the hay."
Samuel quit running his thumb under his lip. "It is . She's a good woman, Maxwell. And when I leave here, I'm gonna be married."
Max felt squirmy and his own gaze drifted to the compound grounds. "She's already said yes?"
"Yeh."
"Does she know about you?"
"No. Doesn't know what I do, doesn't know what I once was. And I'm not gonna tell her, Maxwell."
"So you're giving up the hunt."
Samuel sighed, and then looked back at Max. "I kept putting off telling you all. More to the point, if I'm honest with myself, I was hiding out. Once I got my nerve back, considering how long I was out of touch, I figured the least I owed everybody was a face-to-face with the news."
It took a moment for Max to recognize what he was feeling, that the reason he didn't like hearing what Samuel was saying went beyond the loss of a good hunter. He was jealous. Jealous of Samuel walking away and starting a wonderful, normal life.
He was clenching his jaw. And his long silence must have given him away, because Samuel sighed again, rubbed a palm awkwardly over his short, nappy scalp and went back to grounds gazing.
Max said irritably, "Well, hell ... aren't we even invited to the we
dding?"
Samuel met his eyes and grinned.
"Because, if we're not, you know we'll just come crash the damn thing."
The screen door creaked open then clacked shut as Mina came out of the house, a canvas shopping bag over her arm. Max twisted in his chair and said, "I guess you already knew Samuel's a marrying man."
"It was a day or so of stuffing him with tequila and my fry bread, but he finally came out with it."
"Shit." Max turned back around and hooked his hands behind his head. "I'm always the last to know anything around here."
"I've finished up casting the bullets and cartridges. It's all packed and waiting in the radio room along with the silver shavings ... all in all, we'll have three citrus crates' worth. Where we putting them?"
"We'll set 'em all through the house, so we can get to them quickly. Need help?"
Mina nodded. "Later for that, though. Right now I need to go into town to check for Paul and Amy's wire. Which one of you wants to ride shotgun?"
Max stood. "I'm restless, I'll go."
He grabbed his gun off the railing because, when Mina asked who wanted to ride shotgun, she meant that literally. They were taking no chances between now and First Night.
* * *
Andrew watched the truck leave. Samuel closed the gates and electrified them again before hopping in Moms' Rambler for the drive back to the house. The truck was headed north, a safe assumption they were off to Tohatchi. Andrew reasoned that, by the time he scrambled down the mesa, got in his car and pulled onto 491, he'd be just far enough behind them to not be noticed.
Sure enough, as he came to the junction of 108 and Loma, he saw the truck parked outside the town's feed store. He didn't turn, but kept on 108, pulling off the road only after he was sure the sparse buildings of the town blocked the Buick from immediate view. In a dusty Indian backwater like Tohatchi, a strange car rolling down the main street would catch everyone's attention. So would a newcomer on foot, but not nearly as much or as quickly. Especially one that blended in like he did: rumpled plaid and denim, a shadow of patchy stubble across his jaw, sun-darkened skin. As long as no one got close, he could probably pass for Mexican. He got out of the car, pulled the slouch hat low over his eyes and started walking.
Max and Mina were crossing the street from the feed store to Chuli's, that diner where they used to make phone calls to Moms. Andrew stayed on the feed store side, keeping his eyes down as he sloped along, stopping in the gap between the store's loading dock and the five-and-dime next door. Max shouldn't be able to sense him close by, not while the moon was phasing and the Beast was dormant. But there was no point in taking chances. After all, Max wouldn't need a twist in his gut to look up and recognize him.
In the middle of a bright New Mexico midday, Andrew couldn't see much through Chuli's window other than the stickers plastered on it: Western Union Available Here ... Greyhound Bus Stop. But when Max and Mina came back out, he could see the telegram in Mina's hand. She was reading as they stepped onto the board walk, Max peering over her shoulder. After a moment, she stuffed the paper into her canvas bag and she and Max crossed the street, heading toward the truck. Andrew stepped behind the feed store corner, pressing his back against the wall.
He caught all he needed from their conversation as they got into the truck. He smiled to himself. The Canadians were on their way.
* * *
As the truck rolled up to the house, David waved to Max and Mina from the makeshift perch on the roof. Doris came out the front to meet them.
David made his way over to the edge nearest the truck and called down, "Did you hear from Paul and Amy?"
"The telegram was waiting at Chuli's," Max said. "They're in Denver now and should be in Albuquerque a little after dusk tomorrow."
David nodded. "I'll feel a lot better once they're here."
Max, Mina and Doris grabbed boxes from the truck bed and headed up the porch. "How are they getting from the airport to Tohatchi?" Doris asked. "You're not going all the way to Albuquerque, especially at that time of night ..."
"Not unless we get to Andrew before he gets to us."
"So what, then? Taxi?"
"Nobody's going anywhere at night, including Paul and Amy," Max said. "They'll bus in to Tohatchi the next morning." He dipped down, hooked an index finger around the screen door handle and tugged, letting the women pass through.
"Then two of us will still need to go get them ..."
"Just to Tohatchi. During broad daylight."
Doris went quiet and Max could almost hear the wheels cranking in her head. He let the screen door clack shut behind him and followed them through the house to the kitchen.
"If Andrew's here," he said, "he's probably not going to make a move until closer to First Night."
"Uh-huh ... the operative word being 'probably.'" Doris set the supply box on one of the kitchen counters and started unloading it, Max and Mina doing the same. "Look .. every time we send two of us out it's a big risk. We weaken the compound, and the closer we get to First Night the riskier it is to do that. We need to start keeping as many of us here as possible. Especially our strongest guns. I should go get Paul and Amy."
"Good idea," Max replied, "and just before you leave, we'll paint a big, red target on your back. Andrew'd love nothing better than to get you separated from us."
She didn't come back at him with an argument quick enough, and that's what tipped him off to what she was really thinking.
"He won't be happy with just you, Doris."
She tried a feint. "Did I say he would? But, okay ... fix me up so I look like Mina. Or Samuel or David. I'll only be alone on the way there. Besides, maybe seeing one of us take off alone will draw him out a little."
"Foolishness," Mina said. She turned away from her work, resting her knuckles against her hip. "We're not falling for that any more than he would. No one is going to make any drive alone. Max is right. First Night is still about a week away. Andrew won't risk silver until he has to."
Doris started to tick off some logical rationale or another to back up her argument, but Max walked over and popped a couple of fingers over her lips. Mina went back to unloading her supply box.
"You didn't lead him here, Doris," Max said. "Even if he'd gotten to us before we made it, you know he still would've come for David and Mina. He would have had to. So stop worrying. All the way to Tohatchi and back, there'll be at least two guns to train on him and a lot more than that once we're here. And don't forget he'll have to get through the compound's barrier first."
"I hope he does try something early," Mina said. "Until First Night, he's still just a man."
Chapter Thirty Three
Mesita, New Mexico
Fifty Miles West of Albuquerque
Spring/Early Summer, 1950
Sunrise. Third Day, First Quarter Moon.
Dawn spread across the windshield, turned opaque through the night by Andrew's body heat. The Buick lay hidden in a shallow wash that was walking distance behind a ramshackle building, part food store, part gas station. Andrew propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed a peep hole through the condensation. No one seemed to be around.
Once out of the car, he stretched out the stiffness then ducked inside to get the hand gun off the floor board. The gun went between his undershirt and trousers, back against his spine.
He had to mentally prepare himself to pick up the Bowie knife wrapped, sheath and all, in a cotton cloth. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves, took a couple of deep breaths, then grabbed it out of the cloth, looping its sheath over his belt and pushing it back against the gun. Moving fast, he worked the cotton cloth into a tight roll and jammed it between his undershirt and the knife's handle, leaving his flannel shirt unbuttoned and untucked.
With the barrier made by his undershirt and the roll of cloth, Andrew could breath a little easier. It was only the sense of silver, the risk of it so close to his skin, which he had to deal with now. He lit up a Lucky, snuggled the hat's sl
ouch brim over his cold ears, then crossed his arms against the morning. He hoped there'd be coffee once the store owner showed up, and walked a few figure eights to get his blood pumping and keep his mind off the knife.
When the sun was about a hand above the horizon, a battered old utility truck rattled in from the east and Andrew heard it come to a stop in front of the store. He started walking and rounded the corner in time to see a tubby, gray-haired Navajo woman unlock the door.
"Good morning," he said.
She stopped with the door half open and eyed him up and down. "Help you?"
Andrew kept smiling as he reached behind him. He grabbed his wallet.
"I need a bus ticket. And a coffee, if you're putting any on."
* * *
First came the flash of sunlight against a windshield, then the Greyhound shimmered up behind the heat waves coming off 66. Now that it was almost here, Andrew's hands went clammy.
It's not too late. I don't have to board.
But he'd have to, to be certain it was the right bus.
All I have to do is see if they're on it. If it stops long enough, maybe they'll get off and go inside for a Coke.
He could hear the engine as the Greyhound rose through the road heat. Andrew smoked his Lucky until it nearly burned his lips, and then doused it in the cold dregs of the paper cup crowded with butts. He crushed its sides and, to avoid being memorable for even the least transgression, tossed it in the rusted barrel between the two gas pumps.
Maybe fifteen minutes or so earlier, a middle-aged man and woman had pulled up in a dusty, dented Ford straight out of the Great Depression. They had gone inside, where they were talking with the old lady storekeeper in a sing-song kind of Spanish. Now, apparently hearing the bus, they stepped out to watch it, chattering at each other and craning their necks as if that could help them see better through the heat waves. The Greyhound whined down on approach and the air brakes hissed.
The door flapped open. The bus driver called to his passengers, "Mesita. Drop off and boarding only. All others, remain seated, please."
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