Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets.

by John Turney

  “I wish you’d told me sooner,” she whispered against his cheek. “But now I see I couldn’t hear anything you had to say before today. Rye, I am still gonna need a little time.”

  Rye took a deep breath and released it with a long exhale. “Okay. Today’s fine. We’ll do it your way. I lost you once. I don’t want to jeopardize the delicate balance we’ve established.”

  She pulled back to look at him. Tears left wet trails on her cheeks. She mouthed, “Thank you.”

  As Rye eased his way out of the Tahoe, Chee drove up in his old pickup. Rye nodded to Sunflower and Chee in the truck.

  He gave his son a hearty hug then mussed the boy’s hair. “I want you to know you made your dad very proud today.” A grin spread across the boy’s face. “You done real good getting your next belt. But I also want you to know you don’t have to do anything to earn my love. You got that free of charge.” Rye hugged Manny again, relishing his son’s embrace. Then, Rye gave Dee a long embrace.

  She whispered, “Thanks. That means a lot to him. And me. I pray for you, Rye, every night, for you to defeat this demon you face with the booze. I … I still … love you.”

  They held each other for several seconds. Why not? He leaned over and kissed her. A light touch of the lips first, then, a deeper kiss. She melted into him.

  “Mmmm,” Dee murmured, pressing against him.

  Manny coughed. “Will you two get a room?”

  They broke the kiss, laughing. Rye shot a one-eyed stare at the boy. “Where did you hear that?”

  “At school.” But he refused to say more. Instead, he pointed at the roiling clouds. “Wow. Look.”

  An explosion of lightning filled the sky with spidery tentacles. Thunder rumbled.

  “Nice,” Rye said while he took both of Dee’s hands in his. “Y’all best be going, but I wish you would stay. At least ’til the storm passes.”

  “I’ve got work waiting for me,” she said in a regretful tone. Rye drank in the gaze of her dark brown eyes. “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Will you answer if I do?” he mumbled.

  “Sure.”

  He released her hands.

  Sunflower opened the passenger door, scooted out of Chee’s pickup, and drew close to Rye. Over her shoulder, he watched Manny and Dee climb into the truck and work their way to the middle of the seat.

  He glanced back at Sunflower, and she stared at him in silence for several seconds. He wondered how his life would have been different had her family not suddenly disappeared the night the two of them shared an intimate rendezvous in the forest. She touched him on the arm, the tips of her fingernails lingering on his sleeve.

  “Rye Dawlsen, you take care and watch your back. Remember, a great evil follows you. Even Navajos,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “fear this evil Skinwalker.” After a quick survey of their surroundings, she added, “He comes for you. This man to the south has great power, and he looks this way.” She pressed something into his hand.

  A glance at his opened palm revealed a square cut from leather with a glyph of twins made of beads sown into the square. A leather necklace dangled off the side of his hand.

  “Did you get this from the museum?” he asked, suspicion rising in his voice.

  “You need to wear it,” Sunflower urged. “It will protect you.”

  “Sunflower, answer my question.” He gave her a stern look. “Did you or did you not break into the Whiskey Navajo Museum two nights ago and steal this from one of the displays?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she answered, her voice going cold. “Just … wear it.” She paused and her eyes searched his. “If you want to live, do what I say.”

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  “Stop right there, mister.”

  Johnny Batts leveled his AK-47 at the approaching limo, aiming it where he assumed the driver’s head would be.

  The vehicle rolled to a gravel-crunching stop in front of his cabin. The tinted glass prevented Johnny from seeing the car’s occupants, but he figured he’d fire a couple of bursts at the window if they didn’t stop. Some SOB stole my Winchester and kilt my sheep. And they’re gonna pay.

  “Git outta the car.” Johnny motioned with his rifle.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. He took quick notice of the storm moving in from the south.

  “I ain’t asking y’all again.” He fired a burst at the ground in front of the car. Thunder drowned out the echoing gunfire.

  The back door opened, and a young Mexican senorita stepped out.

  Nice. Johnny eyed her. For a fourteen-year-old. She wore a slinky black dress, revealing much of her light brown legs. Johnny spit into the dirt.

  “What?” Johnny asked. His AK never wavered from the front windshield.

  She started to speak and choked on her words. Johnny noted the fear in her eyes. Go easy on her. Someone’s putting her up to this.

  “He wants to buy your land, mister.” The girl struggled with her English.

  “Who wants my land?”

  “He do.” She nodded to the open door. Johnny heard a smattering of Spanish coming from within the car. She opened her mouth to speak.

  Johnny turned his gaze to the limo. “I know enough Spanish,” he yelled at the car. “It must take a real man to kill a poor man’s sheep and frighten a teenage girl. I’m keeping my land. Now git off of it.”

  This time the Spanish from the back of the limo hissed like a snake.

  “What did he say?” Johnny demanded.

  “He say when he returns, it won’t be to kill livestock.”

  CHAPTER 17

  SATURDAY EVENING

  Watching as Chee backed out the driveway, Rye’s heart staggered under the weight of regret. He wanted to chase after them, stop the truck, and compel Dee to stay. But he didn’t. Fear of making the wrong move and ruining today’s precarious start froze his feet.

  As the truck drove down the street, Manny turned and waved through the back window. Rye returned the wave. When he could no longer see his son, he lowered his head.

  Setting his overnight bag down, he slipped Sunflower’s amulet over his head despite feeling foolish for doing so. A chill swept down his spine. He fingered the talisman and glanced back to the now empty road.

  Winds buffeted him, and he tasted the hint of moisture in the air. Lightning flashed like a rock concert light show. Thunder rumbled. The air turned cool.

  “Gotta check the weather radio,” he said aloud to himself.

  He limped his way up the steps, grimacing and grunting. Gotta find my knee brace and wear it. Can’t afford to be a gimp. Not with all the problems brewing like a bad stew.

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  Dee grinned at her son who jabbered nonstop with Chee about Indians this and Indians that. Mostly stories he’d seen on TV.

  Her smile faded while she puzzled over the recent events. She had enough difficulty processing Rye’s story of the night she had taken Manny and left. Even more so, her mind refused to wrap around the idea of Navajo Skinwalkers in today’s modern America. Skinwalkers … ludicrous. She had started researching what Rye had asked of her … and held off saying anything about it. He hadn’t even asked.

  A gust of wind battered the truck, and a squeaking yelp escaped from her lips. She felt her face turn warm.

  “Looks like we’re in for some rough weather,” Chee said.

  Sunflower grunted an acknowledgement and said to Dee, “I’m a Yeenaeldooshi.”

  Dee stared at her. “You’re a … a … Skinwalker?”

  “Don’t go there,” Chee snapped, glancing at Sunflower. “It’s almost night, and a storm is about to sweep us away. You can talk about it tomorrow. When there’s daylight.”

  Sunflower ignored him. “I am not ludicrous,” she said to Dee.

  “How …” Dee forced her gaping mouth closed.

  “I put my life into your hands to reveal this to you. But I trust you, wife of Rye Dawlsen.” Sunflower never removed her piercing gaze. “I walk the p
ath of a Navajo witch.” Sunflower lifted her head.

  Dee eased herself away from the woman as far as the cramped seating would allow. She began to shake.

  “Don’t fear. I will not steal your soul.”

  “Mom,” said Manny, “I’m afraid.”

  “We’re okay,” Dee told him. “We’re with friends and family of your father.”

  Sunflower continued as if she didn’t hear the interruption, “Your husband faces an evil greater than any I’ve seen. Other Skinwalkers fear this one. It comes from the south.”

  The truck veered, rocked by the wind. Chee muttered a curse.

  “Mommy,” Manny said, his voice shaking. There was something different in Manny’s voice.

  “What, dear?”

  “He scares me.”

  “Your uncle is driving great. We’ll be okay.” She patted his leg.

  “Mo-om. Not Uncle Chee. Him.” The last word expelled out of Manny’s throat like a striking rattlesnake. His hand shook visibly as he pointed out the back window of the truck.

  Dee twisted in the cramped cab to look out the back. In the bed of the truck crouched a man-shaped thing wearing a black wolf skin. The skull of the wolf covered his head. He opened his mouth in a grotesque snarl.

  Dee screamed.

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  Rye sat on his bed and strapped on a black knee brace. He walked up the narrow hallway to the living room, testing the brace’s support. He turned and grimaced at an arc of hot pain. Except for quick turns, the brace seemed to bring some relief to his knee.

  After hobbling over to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and studied its near empty interior. Two beers and a six-pack of flavored water. However, with Dee’s presence lingering in his heart, the water made a better choice.

  While reaching for one, a gust of wind struck his mobile like a blast from a jet engine. Lights inside his home flickered. Did I close the windows to the car? He limped over to the front door and peered out the window. Sure enough, the windows were down. He spat a curse and stepped outside.

  Winds whipped up huge swirling dust clouds and pelted him with debris. Rye squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes. He held onto his Stetson to prevent it from blowing away.

  Castigating himself for leaving the windows open, Rye limped over to the driver’s door and sat in the SUV. He powered up the car and raised the windows. After getting out of the car, he decided to fetch his bow from the Tahoe’s back hatch.

  He limped to the back of the Tahoe and raised the hatch door. Reaching in for the bow, a gust pitched his hat into the front of the storage area. Grumbling, he leaned forward to get his hat, careful not to antagonize his knee more than necessary. Gritting his teeth, Rye grabbed his hat and turned to sit in the storage area. Pain-induced sweat beaded his forehead despite the cooling temps. He sighed, thinking about the walk back.

  Just then, his mobile home erupted in an explosive fireball. The blast smashed into the Tahoe, knocking it sideways. Thrown from the vehicle, Rye struck the ground amid a shower of orange burning splinters, both in and outside his head. Sound vanished into a muffled ring. His vision decreased in a narrowing circle.

  What the …

  Rye blacked out.

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  Dee gazed into the pale eyes of the man-creature as it pressed its face against the cab’s back window. Its stare fixated her, left her gasping for breath. The creature leaned backwards and raised a fist. Mouthing unintelligible words, its fist smashed into the window. Like a gunshot, the glass exploded inward, glass shards filling the cab.

  Chee swerved, nearly losing control of the vehicle. Dee bounced between Manny and Sunflower.

  Sunflower grabbed the man by his wolf skins. “Leave us, Skinwalker!”

  Her words forced him backwards as if shoved by a giant hand. Snarling, he leapt forward. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her through the shattered window into the truck bed. She shrieked, laying at his feet and bleeding from several cuts made by the broken glass.

  “Sunflower, you are a Skinwalker,” the creature growled.

  “That won’t work,” she said, pushing herself up from the truck bed. “Sunflower is a nickname and not my true identity.”

  “Then I will drag your real name out of you.”

  “Forget it. You’re not even a Diné.” Sunflower sprang to her feet and punched him in the jaw. He shoved her away from him. The woman witch and the Mexican Skinwalker faced each other, fists clenched.

  Time decelerated into slo-mo. Sunflower’s hair seemed to float out from her head. The combatants traded punches that glided.

  “Dee.”

  Someone called her name. Yet, she could not tear her eyes away from the fight in the truck bed. The truck rocked back and forth like a boat in a storm.

  “Dee!”

  Who’s calling me?

  “DEE!”

  That broke her away from her dream consciousness. Sunflower’s hair whipped in the wind. Their punches came fast and furious, the smack of skin against skin loud even in the maelstrom of noise. Winds buffeted the truck, the gusts trying to push it off the road.

  Dee looked over at Chee who said, “Open the glove box. You’ll see a brown paper bag.”

  “Mom!” She flinched at the terror in her son’s voice.

  “Hang on, Manny,” she yelled over the noise.

  Dee found a crumpled paper bag stuck between tape cassettes of Native music and a handgun.

  “Open the bag and dust us with its contents.”

  She reached into the bag and withdrew a handful of ash. “What the—”

  “JUST DO IT!”

  Dee tossed the handful over her son, then Chee, and finally, herself.

  Manny sputtered. “Aw, Mom, what is that stuff?”

  “Cedar ash,” Chee replied concentrating on driving in the near gale force winds with two Skinwalkers fighting in the bed of his truck. “It’ll protect us. Try to sprinkle some on that black-hided demon!”

  Dee turned in her seat and snatched a handful of the ash. If this stuff hurts Skinwalkers, I can’t throw it. I’ll hurt Sunflower. She stared at the two now lying tangled in the bed of the truck.

  Sunflower raked her fingernails across the man’s bare neck, leaving blood tracks. He howled and slapped her face. She spun away, putting a modicum of distance between them. He drew a knife from a sheath bound to his forearm.

  Dee saw her opening and tossed the ash at the Skinwalker, following it with a second handful. Though much of the ash blew away in the winds, some struck the wolf creature in the chest. His skin blistered, and smoke rose from the wound. The scent of charred skin filled the cab. He snarled at Dee and leapt out of the truck bed.

  Sunflower reached a hand through the window in an effort to reenter the cab. Trying to help, Dee grabbed the woman’s arm. Just then, a tire exploded. Dee slammed into the metal of the truck’s door. Out of the dust-blown darkness, the Skinwalker reappeared, running alongside the vehicle. Dee watched in horror as he lowered his shoulder and slammed into the side of the truck.

  With that, Chee lost control, and the truck spun off into a wash. It rolled once—she slammed into the metal dashboard, dragged her hand along broken glass, smashed a shoulder against the ceiling of the cab, crumpled, then crashed backwards into the foot well—and the truck slid to a stop.

  With consciousness slipping, she gazed at the Skinwalker standing next to the truck. The creature lifted his head and howled in victory.

  At that, a torrent poured from the skies, the Skinwalker vanished into the sheets of rain, and the darkness took her.

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  Wanting to make it home before the storm struck, Iona rushed around her newspaper office preparing to leave. She saved her computer files and shut it down. At the door, she gave the office a once over and turned off the lights.

  Winds whipped trash-filled dust devils up the street. Thick boiling storm clouds, laced with explosions of electricity, killed the sunlight. The e
vening turned black as midnight. Streetlights flickered on.

  She locked the office door, the winds shoving at her back. Because several cars had been parked on the street, Iona did not see the man until she turned toward her Land Rover. While she fumbled with her keys, she sensed movement in front of her and looked up.

  “Oh,” she said, “Junior List, you startled me. How’s your daddy doing?”

  “Get in the car,” he said. “The driver’s seat.” Menace charged his voice. That’s when she noticed he had a gun pointed at her. She held up her hands.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t make me tell you again.” Junior waved his gun at the car. “Just get in the freaking car.” He back-handed her across the mouth. She tasted the coppery tang of blood. The last hombre that did that, I broke his forearm. But he didn’t have a gun pointed at me.

  Rain began to plunk on them, sounding hollow on the metal car roofs.

  She slid in the driver’s seat, jammed her key into the ignition, and started her vehicle. She peeked in the rearview mirror. Junior stood at her back bumper talking on his cell phone.

  “You never were very bright,” she muttered. She threw the Rover into reverse. With tires squealing, the car flew backwards onto Yuma Street.

  “Hey,” Junior screamed, jumping out of the way. In her side mirror, she saw him kneeling on all fours, the rain plastering his hair to his head. He glared at her. His gun lay several feet away in a puddle. Iona rammed the gearshift into drive and slammed on the gas. Once again, the tires spun then caught on the pavement as the Rover leapt forward.

  She heard the explosions of gunfire, but only one shot smacked into the car.

  At the end of Yuma, she turned and headed for Rye’s neighborhood.

  Keeping her eyes on the road, she plunged one shaking hand into her purse on the passenger seat and fumbled for her cell phone. Using her thumb, she pushed 911.

  “This is Yuma 911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I’m being shot at,” Iona yelled into the phone.