Second Sunrise

by Aimée Thurlo

  After several minutes, he spotted the dirt road he had in mind and slowed to take the turn off the highway. He knew there had been trucks up here, because the army was planning on placing a radio tower at this location. It was important that the German see recent tracks.

  The truck was a lot easier to handle now, and Lee figured that was all part of his new strength. Being a vampire, or whatever he was, did have some advantages. He didn’t need headlights to drive at night because night was almost as clear as day. “It’s just two miles up this trail.”

  The German nodded, wiggling the Colt slightly. “Don’t even think of trying to escape.”

  Lee had to put the truck in its lowest gear, what some old-timers called “granny,” to inch the big GMC up to the top of the tall sandstone mesa, which overlooked the valley to the left. Below was the highway, and beyond that, the railroad tracks.

  Lee stopped the truck and set the brake. “This is the place,” he mumbled, opening the door and climbing down from the cab. With his newly acquired night vision, Lee could see clearly for miles.

  “Where’s the box? I didn’t come up here for the view.” The German, who had appeared at his side within a few seconds after leaving the truck, poked Lee in his side with the pistol barrel.

  “Take five, will ya? There’s a ledge about ten feet down the side of the cliff, and a shallow cave where eagles nest. I moved the box in there, and hid it behind some brush.” Lee walked toward the side of the mesa slowly, dragging his feet and pretending to be weary. It was difficult, actually, because he felt as strong as an ox at the moment, and amazingly light on his feet.

  “Where are your footprints, and the truck tire tracks? I don’t see them.” Hans appeared beside him again, moving swiftly, faster than any human Lee had ever seen, yet in a flowing motion that seemed effortless.

  “I’m a Navajo warrior. I brushed out the tracks.” Lee kept walking, moving closer to the rim.

  He stopped close to the edge, and looked down at the boulders and rubble below. Hans was beside him, just out of reach. “The ledge is just a little farther in that direction.” Lee pointed past Hans to a spot along the cliff side. “See it?”

  Hans turned to look, and Lee leaped forward like an offensive guard on a football team, hitting the vampire in the lower back with a full body block. “Can you turn into a bat?” he yelled.

  Hans’s arms and legs flayed out, grabbing for handholds that weren’t there, but at least he had the courage not to scream.

  Lee watched him fall. The man struck a rock on the way down before slamming into the ground with a thump he could hear even from this distance. The body rolled and slid another ten feet or so, then stopped. Lee could see a pool of blood begin to form beneath the body. “I guess not.”

  Lee watched the motionless figure below. He looked dead, but then he’d looked dead before. This time he wouldn’t take any chances. Climbing into the back of the truck, he gathered up a can of gasoline and a container of heating fuel from a G.I’s cooking gear, along with a box of strike-anywhere matches.

  Opening the gasoline can, he threw the entire container down the cliff. It struck a rock above the body, and broke open, splattering gasoline all around.

  He opened the container of fuel, used to heat individual rations, lit the container, then dropped the flaming material down toward the gasoline.

  The container landed right in the middle of the gasoline-soaked ground, and ignited with a flash of red flame that quickly spread. Black smoke billowed into a cloud. Nothing could survive that heat.

  By the time Lee reached the highway again, he’d decided that whatever he was now, vampire or chindi, it wasn’t really a good career move for a New Mexico state policeman. He’d better try and put a stop to it before it was too late.

  He turned east again, gave the truck all the gas it could handle, and built up speed. Lee was going to find that medicine man. If anyone could treat him for something supernatural, it was a Navajo hataalii.

  Lee arrived a short time later at the large, eight-sided log hogan that belonged to Bowlegs. On the way, he’d barely avoided an encounter with two police cars who’d been heading the other way, emergency lights flashing. He’d seen them coming and pulled off the highway just before they passed. As they went by, he recognized one of the men—State Police Sergeant Ben McAllister. Some motorist must have come upon the bodies and wreckage at the ambush site and gone on to Grants or Gallup to report it. If things went well with the medicine man, Lee would be able to do his part to unsnarl the mystery of what happened there . . . and maybe return that military cargo—if he could find it again.

  He stepped down from the truck, knowing that Navajo custom required him to wait until he was invited in. For the first time he was impatient with that tradition. At this hour, Bowlegs had been asleep, almost certainly, but the noise of that truck would have woken a deaf man.

  As he waited, Lee wondered if he’d done the right thing in coming here. Would Bowlegs know what he’d become and be afraid? He had come back to life, like Hans Gruber before him. And that made him some sort of chindi, according to the Navajo Way. But Lee didn’t feel evil, or want to hurt anyone . . . well, except for throwing the German off the cliff and torching his body.

  “What are you?” An old, shaking voice came from behind the heavy blanket covering the opening of the hogan. Lee, with his vampire vision, could see Bowlegs’s wrinkled and wind-burned face squinting at his unexpected visitor from the interior of the hogan through the narrow slit where the blanket was being held open. “What do you want with me?”

  “Recognize my voice, uncle,” Lee said in Navajo, using the title out of respect, not kinship. “I’m the state police officer the Anglos call Lee Nez. We’ve spoken several times, and you did the Blessingway for my mother—the teacher—when she had that trouble breathing. We belong to the same clan.”

  The medicine man said nothing, and Lee could see he was holding a knife in his hand.

  “Something bad happened to me, uncle. I got into a gun battle, and was shot. One of the men I killed came back to life, and took my gun away. I was afraid of him because of the stories I know as a Navajo. But he didn’t seem like a phantom or an evil one. He could move like the wind, and had the strength of a bear. I grew weak, and died from loss of blood. I woke up later able to see in the dark like an owl. There was a big slit on my wrist where the man mixed his blood with mine. The cut has already disappeared, and I’m as strong as an ox and fast as a deer. But I don’t like what I may become. Can you do a Sing that will heal me? I swear I mean you no harm.”

  Lee tried to express what had happened in terms an old Navajo would understand. Unfortunately, he knew that what had happened to him didn’t make much sense no matter how it was explained.

  “Please, uncle. I have no one else, and I’m Dineh like you.”

  There was a long pause, but finally the hataalii came outside, holding an old kerosene lantern and a medicine pouch. The light blinded Lee for a second, then his vision adapted and he was able to see clearly again.

  “Hold out your wrists,” the medicine man ordered. Lee did as he was asked. The man looked him over carefully.

  “I see what has happened to you, nephew. If all the blood on your uniform is yours, you should be dead. Your wrist shows only a faint scar, and your eyes glowed strangely under my light. Only a few of our healers have even heard of the magic you have encountered, and even fewer know the way to influence such power. Come inside with me. My herbs might still be able to help you, but we have to hurry. They’ll be useless if too much time has already passed.”

  Lee entered and sat down on an offered sheep pelt upon the hard earth floor on the north side of the hogan, the side that belonged to the men, traditionally, and was to the left of the east-facing entrance. The hataalii followed him inside and began to work quickly, choosing among several pouches, gathering pinches and handfuls of sweet-and foul-smelling ingredients. Lee thought he recognized some of the dried herbs. From the smell o
f some of the others, he didn’t want to think about what they could be.

  When the hataalii had gathered all the items in a small clay bowl, Bowlegs blessed them with a short song, then mixed the ingredients together with a carved stick. He then placed the contents in a larger fired-clay pot, and sat it on the small wood stove in the center of the hogan below a sturdy-looking metal pipe that led outside through the smoke hole in the roof. It was obvious that Bowlegs was prosperous, many Navajos still depended upon a wood fire in a pit rather that a stove of any kind.

  “Do you carry a medicine pouch?” Bowlegs asked.

  “Yes. It’s in my pocket.”

  “Take it out, place it in your hands, then close your eyes, nephew, and follow my instructions exactly. In order for you to be cured, the gods must accept the ceremony. Speak no more until we are done.”

  It was nearly dawn when the healer sat back on his heels, blessed Lee and himself with a short finishing song, and stood. Sweat dripped from his brow, and Lee felt exhausted, as if he’d been chopping wood all night. He was hungry . . . but for what? Hopefully, not blood.

  “Now the test, nephew. Stand by the entrance and wait for Sun. When the first rays of light come over the mesas, hold your hand outside so that the light touches your skin.”

  Lee waited just inside the entrance to the hogan. The door faced east, traditionally, to greet the morning sun. It was getting lighter now inside as well, and the medicine man had blown out his kerosene lantern. Lee felt unsettled and more than a little afraid. If the hataalii had failed, what he was doing would feel no different than holding his hand over an open flame.

  He tasted the bitterness in his mouth and swallowed it back. Dread filled him as he pushed his hand out into the sun. Would it only burn his hand, or would his entire body burst into flames?

  Inching his left hand outside, and looking through the opening created by his arm pushing against the blanket, he saw the first rays of the sun reach his skin. It was warm, and he could sense the heat, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He waited a few minutes, then brought his hand back inside.

  “Well, I didn’t catch fire or anything,” Lee said to Bowlegs.

  “Let me have a look, nephew.” The old man looked closely at Lee’s hand. “Put your other hand beside it.”

  Lee did, and noticed the hand that had been outside was darker, though his skin was already tanned from years in the sun. It wasn’t a big difference, but it was there. “I’m going to be getting one hell of a tan, if this is any indication.”

  “If you hadn’t come to me, your skin would have burned to a crisp with that much sunlight. My teacher would have called the one who did this to you a ‘walker of the night.’ He taught me that Sun would kill night walkers immediately, and their death would be accompanied by unbearable pain. You didn’t come to me in time for a complete cure, but at least now you’ll be able to go outside during the day for short periods of time. Now let’s see what else remains of the curse on you.”

  Bowlegs handed him a sharp piece of flint, a mineral known to defeat evil. “Run the edge of this across the palm of your hand. We need to see if you can heal yourself like other night walkers.”

  Lee had to think about it first. Taking a deep breath, Lee acknowledged the need for this test and drew the razor-sharp flake of chipped flint across his left hand, slicing his palm open. Blood flowed from the wound, pooling in the center of his palm.

  Fear touched the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to be a vampire, but he’d miss the powers he had already experienced. He wasn’t sure if that was evil’s way of controlling him, or if it just showed his humanity. But he held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next.

  CHAPTER 4

  Look! The wound is closing already,” Bowlegs said.

  Sure enough, the shallow cut was sealing along the line of the injury. Within thirty seconds, only a thin scar remained.

  “How is this possible, uncle?” Lee shook his head slowly. “I’m still a vampire, what you call a walker of the night?”

  “As I said, you’ve only been partially healed, but this is as far as my skills can take you. You’ll have to be very careful now not to tell anyone what you are. Most won’t understand and you’ll be called a demon, or worse, especially by the Dineh, the Navajo people.”

  “That means I’ll have to avoid sunlight and make sure I don’t get injured in front of others who might notice how quickly I heal. I guess my time as a state policeman has ended. What else did your mentor teach you about night walkers?”

  “You’ve already discovered that you are stronger and faster than any human, and can see well in total darkness. The ritual we performed preserved some of these traits as well as your ability to heal. But those you call vampires still remain stronger and faster than you. You will age, though the process will be very slow.”

  “Will the mixing of my blood with someone else’s turn them into someone like me?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t know if you’ll be able to father a child in the human way either. The one who taught me said that walkers of the night are sterile. If that wasn’t the case, they would rule the world instead of living in secrecy.”

  “Am I going to become evil, and develop a taste for the blood of other humans?” Lee asked, remembering the vampires he’d seen in the movies.

  “Walkers of the night have the same character as they did before the change. You might like to undercook your mutton and beef, but I don’t expect you’ll experience anything more drastic than that,” Bowlegs said, smiling. “I think your appetite will increase for what you enjoy eating already too. You’re going to need more fuel. Do you feel hungry now?”

  Lee nodded. “Is that because I healed my wounded side, and now my palm?”

  Bowlegs shrugged. “That would seem reasonable, but I have few certainties to offer you. I only know the legends and rituals I was taught. I guess we’ll learn together. But, nephew, one thing I do know. Your life will be a lonely one now, because you’ll outlive all those you meet, and if you consider taking a wife, remember that she will grow old while you remain young and strong. Whatever magic is inside the blood of a night walker will keep you healthy. People will notice, so you can’t stay in one place for too many years. Your life will never be the same again.”

  “I have a lot to think about.” Lee nodded.

  “There is another danger you’ll face that I have to warn you about. There’s another living creature, one which is always evil and capable of merciless violence toward the Dineh. Your power will draw them to you. Listen carefully, because what I’m going to tell you now may save your life.” Bowlegs was whispering now, and took a long look outside before speaking again. “I don’t say their name because it might call them to us. In the years you were on the Reservation, how much did you learn about the evil ones?”

  “Skin . . .” Lee almost said skinwalkers, the English language name used for Navajo witches said to use dark magic and have special powers, especially the rumor that they could change form into animals such as coyotes and wolves. “I’ve heard of evil Navajos who attempt to harm others through magic. They are said to carry out many crimes and to use the dead in their perverted rites. But other cultures have their sick people. The war has shown us this.”

  “I’m not talking only about those with disturbed minds, but about those who actually have great power, such as the shape-shifting you mentioned. These people are real, not the spirits of those who have died. They crave power more than anything, and they will want what you have. In animal form, they have the abilities of the creature they become. They will recognize you as a night walker, and they will want your blood to make themselves even stronger. You’ll have to be very careful at night. That’s the only time they can change their form.” Bowlegs paused. “You’ll be in great danger from them as long as you remain among the Dineh.”

  “But I’m stronger now, and at night I can see as well as any animal. Can they be killed, these skin . . . evil ones?” Lee lowere
d his voice as he spoke.

  “Yes. They’re only as strong as the creature whose form they take. But they often run in packs and there’s strength in numbers. Until you know more about yourself, you should get as far away from the Dinetah, our land, as possible.” Bowlegs gave Lee a small pouch.

  “A medicine bundle? But I have my own,” Lee said, reaching into his pocket.

  “This is a hunting charm, a flint arrowhead bound to the figure of a bear that I was given by my teacher many years ago to protect me from the evil ones. As you can see, so far, it’s worked.” Bowlegs’s voice was light, but his eyes were deadly serious.

  “And I’m going to need this now?”

  “More than any man on earth.”

  In the afternoon, Bowlegs slept, and Lee kept watch, listening around the hogan but only venturing outside briefly to relieve himself, which was just another indication that he wasn’t a chindi. Ghosts or spirits didn’t get full bladders, at least not that he’d ever heard. He washed his uniform, cleaned up, and waited for it to dry.

  Later, he kept to the shadows beneath the junipers as much as possible, and didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. With long sleeves, and the state police cap he’d somehow managed to keep on his head during last night’s chaos, the light didn’t bother him that much, though he did show a tan on his exposed skin by the end of the day.

  Not daring to risk full, prolonged exposure to the sun, he waited for darkness to come, and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with skinwalkers right away.

  When night came, Lee knew he had to leave. It wasn’t easy. He knew he might never see the hataalii again or find someone who could help or understand him. He gave the man half of the money he had in his wallet, twenty dollars, which would keep Bowlegs in groceries for several weeks if he was frugal. From the looks of the walls of the hogan where a few shelves had been attached to the logs, Bowlegs was good at living off the bare essentials. Metal drums containing flour, cornmeal, beans, lard, and a few cans of food were all he had.