Double Blind

by Hannah Alexander

  “I heard that White Wolf was the last of the witches to be put to death by The People.”

  “Yes, but not before he infected many of our children.” She nodded and stared into the distance. “He always sought the young ones.”

  “What was it Kai did?”

  For a moment the old woman didn’t answer. Her lips folded together in a bouquet of wrinkles. She straightened her shoulders and met Canaan’s gaze. “He abandoned the way of his people.”

  Canaan stared at her.

  “He told me of the great sorrow he felt over the things he had done in service to White Wolf. So he sought the way of the white man. The white man’s God stole his spirit.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “There was a missionary who held some tent meetings in the area when Kai was here. He gave in to the missionary’s God.”

  “You mean he became a Christian?”

  The old woman nodded. “He renounced his standing in the clan.”

  “Why would he have to do that?”

  “Many families here have hated the white man for many years because of White Wolf.”

  “Are you saying the wolf was a white man?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “So they wouldn’t turn against Kai for his involvement with White Wolf—a Navajo werewolf—but they evicted him from the clan because he accepted the white man’s God?”

  She shrugged. “Everyone knows the white man’s God is more powerful than any wolf.”

  The sounds of chattering children and thundering footsteps had long ago subsided late Friday afternoon. Most of the children who were going home for the weekend had been picked up and many of the teachers had gone into town.

  Sheila knew that the school ran only a skeleton crew on the weekends. On a campus that housed a hundred and fifty adults and children during the week, perhaps only thirty were remaining this weekend.

  Sheila stood holding the telephone as she waited for Betsy to answer. “I’ve tried twice in the past three hours,” she told Blaze. “No answer.”

  “Maybe she’s trying to sleep,” Blaze said. “And maybe she’s using earplugs so nobody’ll bother her. When I’m not feeling well, I don’t answer the phone, either.”

  Sheila scowled at Blaze as she disconnected. “I’m going to her apartment.”

  “Okay, but didn’t you tell her to rest? How can she rest if she keeps getting interrupted? You might just make her mad.”

  “I’d rather make her mad than take chances.” She picked up a medical bag and hurried to the door. “I’ll probably be right back with my tail between my legs.”

  “Okay,” Blaze said darkly, “but don’t come crying to me if she kicks that tail.”

  Chapter Forty

  W hat is it about Sheila’s presence in this place that causes trouble? It’s all gone wrong again. The deaths…why do there have to be so many deaths?

  I know Sheila can’t be blamed for everything that has happened. If the Hunts had not grown suspicious of the time their son spent out in the desert at night—if Tad had not followed his son—they would never have died. If Steve had not come to me today, he would still be alive.

  But then…if Tad and Wendy had not died, I would not have stopped Wendy from sending those samples. I never wanted to kill them, but it was necessary.

  It is taking me so long to reach the hogan this time. My legs don’t want to work. I stop often to rest. It is so hot, even though a bank of clouds covers the afternoon sky.

  It will grow dark early tonight.

  Sheila is beginning to remember too much. I knew she must never come back to the school. I knew the spirit I serve would order her death. But what if I can make her forget again? I was able to control her once before.

  I reach the hogan at last, where there are medical supplies. I take several thick gauze squares from the medicine drawer, dampen them with peroxide and place them in the band of my pants, over the wound, gritting my teeth and moaning with pain. My whole body burns with fever, and it cannot be from this fresh wound. What I fear is something much worse.

  I take an elastic bandage and wrap it around the wound to hold the gauze in place. I can get through this. The spirits are all around me, I can feel them. I am strong and able to endure great pain.

  I eat a peyote button. This will help with the worst of the pain. I have to do what I was sent here to do. I must find the power to stop these discoveries and get on with my work.

  Power and wealth await.

  Canaan left the canyon behind. It was not yet dusk, though a bank of clouds made it seem much later. It felt so dark to him—the history of Black Mountain, as well as the attitude he’d sensed in the people. No wonder Kai hadn’t wanted to return home during summer breaks.

  For the first time today, Canaan began to doubt the wisdom of his fact-seeking mission. Was he on a wild-goose chase? Had Sheila’s memories and the paranoia of the children diverted him from what he should have been doing today at the school?

  He considered calling Eyotah Whitter and asking him about other former students who were now staff members at Twin Mesas. If the professor had had such insight about Kai, what might he know about Doc? Or Jane? They were both from Black Mountain and had been at the school when Sheila’s mother died.

  Had Eyotah instructed them in Navajo legends and customs and hypnosis techniques? Certainly a Navajo werewolf—or a white witch embedded in the Black Mountain culture—could have gotten to either of them as effectively as Eyotah suspected Kai had been influenced.

  As soon as Canaan had cell reception, he called Eyotah, only to be bounced to voice mail. He decided not to leave a message.

  Was it just wishful thinking to believe that Kai had truly experienced a change of heart all those years ago, when he attended that missionary meeting? Yes, he still struggled with the need to control, and he still resented whites, but considering his childhood and the hostility he’d been raised to believe was normal, he’d come a long way.

  While Canaan still held the cell phone in his hand, it chimed. He answered. It was Preston.

  “Did your friend Dr. Sheridan get in touch with you?” Preston asked.

  “No, I just got back into cell range.”

  “You’d better check your messages, because I’m sure he’d have called you about his findings. Ever heard of Marburg virus?”

  “Marburg? I think that’s something like Ebola, which originated in Africa. Why would—”

  “He found Marburg in the blood he received earlier this week,” Preston said. “All four boys.”

  Stunned, Canaan gripped the steering wheel and stared at the road ahead of him. “But that’s impossible! We’re on the other side of the world! There’s never been a single event of—”

  “It’s confirmed,” Preston said. “When I was there, he wasn’t sure if it was rabies, Marburg or Ebola, because the shape of the virus is very similar, but he has since called me. He isolated Marburg. From what he told me, that virus appears to have a higher death rate every time there’s a new outbreak. I have to tell you this scares the dickens out of me.”

  “But we haven’t had an outbreak,” Canaan said. “Nobody’s been sick enough for it to be a killer virus.”

  “Bob Jaffrey,” Preston said.

  “One man, and he had low resistance due to a preexisting condition. No caretakers fell ill, no coworkers, which is what would have happened with an outbreak.” Marburg? How was it possible?

  “Those four boys had been sick.”

  “Very mild cases,” Canaan said. “Nothing deadly.”

  “Canaan, listen to me,” Preston said. “Dr. Sheridan has called the CDC to the school.”

  Canaan’s hands nearly bent the steering wheel. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But without outward signs of an outbreak—”

  “They’re on their way,” Preston said. “The school has been notified, and the staff on-site are handling the situation. I’d say the campus will be swarming with CDC and FBI ag
ents within a couple of hours.”

  Canaan forced himself to focus on the road and remain calm—not an easy task. He’d known there was a problem, but this?

  There would have to be a quarantine, of course. But a large majority of kids, teachers and dorm parents had already left for the weekend.

  This was crazy! “Preston, are you sure they had the right blood samples? Maybe a mistake was made.”

  “They checked and rechecked.”

  Canaan thought about the outbreak of unidentified illness at another school, which he’d heard about just this morning. If this madness was true, then the danger multiplied many times over.

  “Do you realize that it’s possible, if Marburg is at the school, that you and I might have risked a lot of lives today?” Canaan continued to quake at the implications. “When you stopped to fill the van’s tank, how many people did you see? I was at the university, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Tell me what you found today that might help us narrow this down.”

  “Just more questions.” Canaan forced back the fear. Panicking now would only complicate a horrible situation. “I can’t even begin to connect today’s information with the Marburg virus.”

  “It might help if you bounce the questions off me,” Preston said. “I’m unbiased except for my very good friendship with Sheila. You could probably use my opinion, hard as it might be to admit it.”

  Ordinarily, Canaan would have responded to those little digs, but he was in shock, beyond any kind of reaction. Instead, he shared his concerns with Preston, along with the information he had discovered today in Flagstaff and Black Mountain.

  “So you’re doubting whether Kai is the culprit, due to his apparent conversion all those years ago,” Preston said, and Canaan could hear the skepticism in his voice.

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re willing to look for another suspect based on that information alone?”

  “Judging by my experiences with Kai, in spite of his aggressive personality and gruffness, yes, I believe he had a true change of heart as a young man. I believe his constant diligence with the kids he mentors, and the fact that the children with whom he has had the closest bonds have remained true to their faith, attest to the good fruit of the spirit within him.”

  For a moment, Preston didn’t reply, then he asked, “What do you think the witchcraft is all about?”

  Even in the middle of a disaster, Canaan’s evangelical radar picked up on Preston’s discomfort with the subject of faith. “It’s a Navajo belief that the motivation behind the witchcraft of a werewolf is greed for riches and power,” he said.

  “But wealth and power are the American dream,” Preston said. “Didn’t Johnny Jacobs establish his schools to make the American dream more attainable for the Navajo?”

  The comparison disturbed Canaan. “I don’t think my grandfather’s desire to give the Navajo people the same opportunity as white people to operate in the world today was a bad thing.”

  “But often it seems there are more and more people seeking wealth and influence at the expense of others,” Preston said. “It’s one reason I left the world of finance.”

  “I’ve noticed that in my profession, as well,” Canaan said, “even when individuals don’t recognize avarice in themselves. I see no reason to work to death to stockpile riches, and I think my attitude comes from the Navajo influence in my life.”

  “I’m surprised at you, Canaan. I would have expected you to say Christianity was what influenced you the most.”

  Canaan grimaced. He was losing his touch. Preston was doing a good job of distracting him, and he appreciated it more than Preston would ever know.

  “Here’s the rub,” Preston said. “If this Navajo werewolf is behaving true to form, then explain to me why you’re investigating the backgrounds of staff members at all. Because I sure don’t see any of them getting rich.”

  Canaan hesitated. “It’s possible this wolf could be interested in another kind of payoff, easily interwoven with the practices of this wolf as I understand them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sexual child abuse.” The very thought sickened Canaan. “Sheila suggested it to me earlier this week, and I refused to even consider the possibility.”

  “That doesn’t seem to have a connection to anything happening at the school now,” Preston said.

  “There isn’t necessarily a connection between the haunting of our children and this virus.”

  “But you’ve suspected a connection all along,” Preston said. “I’ve come to believe this past week that you’re a wise man. I think you were right. I’ve considered this today as I drove, and two ideas I believe are significant. For one, Sheila never mentioned hearing a rifle report last Friday just before she had her blowout, and she would have heard it. Her window would have been open, because her Jeep has no air-conditioning.”

  “You’re thinking there was a silencer?”

  “Exactly. An eleven-year-old wouldn’t have a silencer on his rifle. So was it really a shepherd boy who did the shooting, or was something else going on?”

  “For instance?” Canaan asked.

  “I’m curious about what Sheila really saw out in the desert. Granted, the color of her vehicle would have blended into the desert background, so the stray bullet could have been accidental. But the lack of a rifle report bothers me.”

  “The boy admitted to the shooting,” Canaan said.

  “I think that, for a price, it might be easy to find someone willing to admit to something he didn’t do, especially since he’s too young to get into real trouble. But here’s my second concern, which Dr. Sheridan suggested, and it’s a doozie. Have you considered bioterrorism?”

  Again, Canaan felt the shock run through him. “At Twin Mesas?” This could not be happening!

  Chapter Forty-One

  P reston pulled the phone away from his ear. Canaan was upset, he could tell. The love and pride the doctor felt for his grandfather’s schools made him emotional.

  “That was my response at first,” Preston said. “Why would anyone want to attack one of the least populated areas in the country? But what if the attack isn’t limited to Twin Mesas? You just happened to be suspicious of a recent death, so you had children’s blood checked by the state lab. Dr. Sheridan couldn’t believe the result of his first test, because, as he said, these kids would be dead, and they’re not. What if the Marburg virus has been somehow altered?”

  “Altered?”

  “I don’t know what you’d call it,” Preston said. “I’m not a scientist. I know nothing about this stuff, but I sure do have an active imagination, and it’s been driving me crazy for the past couple of hours.”

  “It’s working on me pretty well, too.”

  “For instance,” Preston said, “if Twin Mesas and one of its sister schools turned out to be the only places involved, what if this is a sort of double-blind study to see if this weapon of destruction can be effectively suspended, hibernated in a sense, possibly to detonate later? The schools would be ideal locations for testing, because the manifestations of Marburg, according to Dr. Sheridan, resemble hantavirus, which is endemic to this area, and therefore much less suspicious should there be an illness.”

  “Where did you learn so much about bioterrorism?”

  “I got a crash course from Dr. Sheridan,” Preston said. “So you think this is a possible scenario?”

  “I hate to admit it, but it might be.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that,” Preston said.

  There was a long silence, then Canaan said, “Some might say our positions in this case are God ordained.”

  “Bioterrorism?” The cynic in Preston mocked the man’s words, but another part of him almost wanted to believe. “God ordained?”

  “He doesn’t stop all the evil in the world, but He can place His people at the right place to fight it.” Canaan said. “My so-called paranoia about the strange actions of the children, Sheila�
��s arrival at the school, plus her recollection of some of what happened to her as a child, might all be guided by God to help us stop whatever is happening here.”

  “Now you sound like Sheila,” Preston said.

  “Your arrival with Blaze would also be God-given, as I’ve already stated. ‘For all things work together for the good of those who love Him,’” he quoted. “I’m clinging to that right now.”

  Preston couldn’t remember the last time he had actually sat still and listened to a minisermon directed his way without protest. It would be so comforting to believe that a larger, benevolent power was in control of this madness.

  “My grandfather used to love to remind everyone that there are no atheists in foxholes,” he told Canaan.

  “I’ve never been in a foxhole,” Canaan said, “but I’m grasping the concept today. I just have to keep reminding myself that God has always proven faithful in everything. Maybe we should just back off a moment and let Him guide.”

  Preston stared at the road before him, remembering that Canaan shared a connection with Sheila that Preston did not. It frustrated him. And yet…as Sheila had noted many times in the past, he seemed to be protesting too much. He had been more concerned about retaining his independence from God, and showing others how independent he was, than actually listening to Sheila’s heart in this matter. If Kai honestly had changed so completely after his encounter with Christ, considering the influence of Navajo witchcraft, then there was definitely something—the same something he had always glimpsed in Sheila, Canaan, Blaze and his family.

  Sometimes it felt to Preston as if he was the only holdout among his friends and relatives.