Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2 (24 page)

“What the hell’s going on down there?!” Cardenelli yelled as soon as Palmer answered his phone.

Hello to you, too, Palmer thought, but he didn’t think his superior would appreciate his sarcastic sense of humor right now.

“I’m not exactly sure yet,” Palmer answered Cardenelli’s question.

“What do you mean you’re not sure? I’ve got the TV on and there are reports coming in about mass killings down there in two small towns. Something about a cabin fire and missing bank robbers …”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to piece it all together.”

“I’d like to know what the hell you’re doing there in the first place. You’re supposed to be investigating the dig site in New Mexico. You know, the place I
told
you to go to!”

“Forensics has taken over down there, and I left Agent Klein in charge of questioning—”

“Leaving Klein in charge is like letting a monkey try to fuck a football.”

“These murders are all connected,” Palmer told him.

That shut Cardenelli up for a moment.

Palmer continued quickly before his SAC started yelling at him again. “A woman named Stella Weaver was the only person missing from that dig site. And a nine year old boy named David Bear was missing from the other murder scene in Iron Springs.”

Agent Palmer summarized what had happened in the last twenty hours, telling Cardenelli how Stella’s vehicle was found behind the burning cabin near Cody’s Pass, a cabin with more mutilated bodies inside which included the owner of the cabin and four out of the five bank robbers who had committed the crime a few days ago in Cody’s Pass. He then explained what he and Sheriff Hadley had found at Nora Conrad’s house (he left out the part about Nora Conrad’s dead husband lying in the middle of the living room floor with a bullet hole in his head).

And now he was here at the Mountainside Inn where three more bodies lay, including Nora’s son Travis Conrad.

“Is this some kind of … of spree killing or something?” Cardenelli asked him, his tone a more reasonable speaking voice now.

“I really can’t find much of a motive to the killings down in New Mexico. Nothing seemed to have been taken except for Stella and David. If these bank robbers are the ones who killed all of those people down in New Mexico, then I don’t know why. I don’t know why they would take their time slaughtering a Navajo couple and a group of archaeologists, and then take a woman and a child and steal a vehicle, rush up here to rob a small bank in Cody’s Pass, and then kill each other at a cabin during a snowstorm and leave most of their money behind. I don’t know why the last bank robber left would kill several more people in a house, cutting two of them up, and then come here to kill three more.” He took a deep breath after the long sentence. Cardenelli was still quiet, still listening.

“All I know now is that one of the bank robbers, Stella Weaver, and David Bear are all still unaccounted for,” Palmer added. He glanced over at the forensics team crowded around the remains of Bruce Goldman’s body like they weren’t sure where to begin with it. “We’re going to look at the security video here and question some people in town. Somebody had to have seen one of these people. One man couldn’t have done all of this here,” he said in a low voice.

“Listen,” Cardenelli said. “I want you to keep a lid on this.”

“Got it,” he answered, but he had another idea.

“Get this under control down there before those reporters run away with this story.”

“Yeah.”

Palmer hung up his phone. He stood there and watched the forensics team and the cops in the large lobby for a moment. He ran through what he’d just said to Cardenelli in his mind. And no matter how many times he ran different scenarios in his mind, nothing made much sense. It was like he was missing major pieces of the puzzle.

A monster.

Captain Begay’s voice popped into his mind
. Skinwalkers and ancient enemies.
Palmer knew that those kinds of stories and legends were part of Begay’s culture, but Begay was also a cop and he needed to look for a logical explanation for what had happened.

And there had to be a logical explanation. People wanted to believe in monsters because they didn’t want to believe that their fellow human beings were often the true monsters, the real bogeymen that crept along in the darkness and hunted their own species, the creatures that did unspeakable things to their fellow humans just for the pleasure of it.

Palmer took the pack of breath mints out of his suitcoat pocket and popped one into his mouth. It had been several hours since he’d taken a sip of vodka, but he couldn’t take a chance that any of the reporters might catch the scent of it on his breath. Cops would keep his secret among themselves, they might resent Palmer for his weakness, but they would uphold the blue code of honor and not rat on one of their own. Reporters were another matter altogether.

He walked out of the lobby towards the police tape and barricades in the distance. They had set the barriers so far away purposely because the lobby was well-lit and now visible at night to the high-powered cameras the press had brought with them. At least the emergency vehicles and forensics vans were blocking much of the glass wall of the lobby now.

As Palmer approached them, the reporters crowded towards the barriers like dogs excited about a possible treat.

“I want to make a quick statement,” Palmer said as cameras were aimed at him, lights were shined in his direction, and microphones were thrusted towards where he stood a few feet away from the stretch of police tape. Two police officers were nearby in case this mob got out of control.

“I’m not taking any questions right now,” Palmer said as cameras flashed. “I just want to let you know that right up front.”

Palmer knew Cardenelli was not going to be happy about him talking to press right now, but he was out of options. He wanted to get the word out about Stella and David.

“We’re looking for two people of interest,” he told the reporters. “They are not suspects at this time, just people we want to talk to. I don’t have any photos of them with me, but I will get some sent to you soon. One of these persons of interest is a woman named Stella Weaver. She’s twenty-nine years old. She’s an archaeologist who works out of Arizona State University. She was last seen driving a white Chevy Suburban truck with New Mexico plates. She may be traveling with a child, a nine year old Navajo boy named David Bear. If anyone out there has seen these two, or talked to them, in the last few days, we’d like to hear from you. Thank you.”

Palmer turned away from the mass of reporters and he could already hear the questions fired at him even though he’d already told them that he wasn’t taking any questions.

“What about the bank robbers?” one of the reporters barked.

“Does the burnt cabin have anything to do with this?” another screamed at him.

Palmer ignored them as he walked back up the steep incline from the parking lot to the Mountainside Inn that stood up on the hill in the darkness. The police and emergency lights were shining, the blue and red lights were flashing off of the woods in the distance.

Someone would come forward soon, Palmer thought as he walked back to the motel. Someone had to know something. Someone had to have seen something.

Southern Colorado

C
ole parked Bruce Goldman’s Chevy Tahoe at the edge of the parking lot of the bar, closer to the trees. He had the truck turned off, all of the lights off, and they were waiting as Cole watched the bar.

The bar was a rinky-dink, honkytonk place, a large wood building with an antique neon sign that read: Ollie’s Bar. The O in Ollie’s name was burnt out. The lights were dim at the entrance, but it was enough to reveal how seedy and rundown the place was. The parking lot was plowed, creating piles of snow around the perimeter of it, yet there were still fourteen vehicles parked there—hardcore drinkers, people who weren’t going to let a little thing like the snowstorm of the century keep them from their nightly ritual, people who would prove to nature, and to each other, that they would venture out on a night like this to drink.

It was a little after eleven o’clock. Late enough so new customers probably wouldn’t be coming, and still a little too early for many of them to be leaving. It was now or never, and Cole had already spotted a large pickup truck with a king cab as his target. The pickup looked like it was from the mid-nineties. It was rusted around the wheel wells, it had big meaty tires, a bent side view mirror, dents all over it that showed how many times this driver had driven home drunk. A few faded bumper stickers were pasted on the tailgate.

Even though Cole would rather drive an SUV or mini-van, this truck was their best option. It would be the easiest one for him to break in to and to hotwire, and it would fit in with the ubiquitous pickups in the area. He just hoped everything worked in the truck: the radio, the heater, the lights.

“You ready?” Cole asked Stella. He had already explained to her that she was going to have to drive Bruce’s truck and follow him after he stole this pickup truck. They couldn’t keep driving Bruce’s vehicle; every cop in this state was going to be looking for it now. A pickup truck in this area was the best camouflage for them, and by the time this guy wandered out and reported his truck stolen they should have a good head start down to New Mexico. It wasn’t too much farther to the Ute Indian Reservation from here, and from there the border into the Navajo Reservation. Once they were they were on Navajo land Cole felt that they would be a little safer from the police.

But not safe from the Ancient Enemy,
he thought.

One thing at a time, he told himself. They needed this pickup truck and they needed to ditch Bruce’s vehicle.

“I’m ready,” Stella told him.

Cole slipped out of the SUV and walked towards the truck in the distance as Stella slid over to the driver’s seat. The SUV was already pointed towards the road, so once Cole got the truck started she could fall in right behind him.

• • •

As Cole walked towards the pickup truck, he realized that Stella could just start the Chevy and take off, leaving him behind. She had a vehicle now, she had some money, and she still had the gun he’d given her. She had tried to run away from him only a few hours ago, so what would stop her now?

And what would happen if she ran? he asked himself.

He would be stuck here on foot. He would probably go inside, have a drink, and then wander away. Maybe hitchhike to California.

But Stella and David would be in danger, Cole thought. The Ancient Enemy would still pursue them, not him anymore.

It would be her choice if she was going to run away from him again—there was nothing he could do about it now.

His boots crunched on the light film of snow and ice that coated the parking lot as he walked towards the line of vehicles near the bar. The pickup truck was parked right next to a beat-up van, and he already had the multi-tool in his hand that he’d found in Bruce’s SUV so he could switch the license plates.

Nobody had come out of the bar yet, and he ducked down behind the van, working quickly to unscrew the Colorado license plate.

• • •

Stella watched Cole as he unscrewed the license plate from a big Dodge van. Her eyes kept darting from Cole to the entrance of the dark building with its neon bar signs in the windows. She could hear the faint thump of music from inside the bar and the occasional bray of laughter or a stray hoot or holler.

Cole had just finished switching the license plates on the two vehicles and he seemed like he was about to get inside the pickup truck, but then he stayed crouched down at the rear of the truck as the door of the bar slammed open. Two overweight men dressed in jeans, boots, bulky coats, and cowboy hats stumbled out of the bar and walked down the snowy walkway that had been cleared and salted.

Stella had no way to warn Cole that the men were approaching, but she was sure he’d heard them by now. She leaned back a little in the driver’s seat, keeping in the shadows. The keys to the Chevy Tahoe hung from the ignition … all she had to do was turn the keys and drive across the parking lot to Cole if they spotted him.

Cole kept still as the men stumbled down the sidewalk in front of the bar that had a pathetic line of snow-covered hedges underneath the windows. They laughed and clapped each other on the shoulders as they walked past the pickup truck and van towards a car that looked like it had been rescued from the junkyard; it had different colored quarter panels, a cracked windshield, and no hubcaps on two of the tires.

“What’s he doing?” David asked from the back seat.

Stella turned around in her seat and looked at David. “You’re awake.”

He knuckled sleep from his eyes and looked back out the window. “What’s he doing?” he asked again.

How was she supposed to explain this? “He’s borrowing a friend’s pickup truck so we can drive it back down to New Mexico. Back to your home.”

David didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to try to find someone to help you,” she told him. “We’re going to find a shaman. He can help you with your … your gift. Help you get stronger.”

David still stared out the window, watching Cole as he slipped in between the pickup truck and the van, and out of view of the two drunk men who were getting into the wreck of a car.

“You need to get stronger so you can fight back against the Ancient Enemy.”

“I don’t want to fight it,” David said in a voice so low she could barely make out his words.

“I know you don’t. I know it’s scary, but you’re the only one who can fight it. You’re the only one who can beat it. You understand that, don’t you?”

David didn’t answer.

“David?”

“Yes?” he finally answered.

“It won’t stop following you,” she told him. She didn’t want to scare him, but he needed to know the truth. “It will never leave you alone until you kill it.”

David looked scared as he stared out the window.

“I’ll be here for you as long as I can stay alive,” she said. “But you heard that thing when it was inside the motel clerk. It’s going to keep bringing people to us, people who will want to kill you. It’s scared of you, David. That’s why it does these things. You need to remember that … it’s scared of you. It’s scared of your power.”