Stalkers
Chapter XIII
THE GODS OF GHOST RIVER
“Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desire.”
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Dirt, dust, that gritty taste in your mouth, those final moments of the blistering summer before autumn bites at the air again. The desert developing its final phase of coarseness, only the insects shrieking under the scalding sun indulge in the rapture of its rays. And thus, I’m resigned to the world of the arthropods, pulled once again into the wastes on yet another clinic delivery with Bobbi. Normally a part of my material rhythm, but today, the heat’s burned a wound in my temper, at a whopping hundred and six degrees, the only medicine I’ve got to tame it is the soft pleasure of my arm riding the waves of wind out Carl’s window.
“Fuuuck, this run is way out of the way,” I moan.
“Yeah, I know, it sucks… right,” Bobbi dismisses my whinging, “Package was late for this one, didn’t mean drag you into this shit.”
“Yeah, that’s life,” but, it doesn’t matter, I’m going to sulk about it anyway, knowing full well this isn’t on our clinic list we do together, as Bobbi takes this route on the day I cover for him at the Nautilus.
One week until Baby Cakes is released from the shackles of incapacity, just the emissions test and then freedom…. freedom to finally be my own man, no longer tied to Bobbi. Traveling south, down the dirt road, closer and closer to the foot of the great dark mountain, Akya’O’, the black place, a place that bridges between the earth and sky. I can’t help but feel the bitterness well within me, Nana will forever be lost to its shadow. She never escaped the rez... fuck, is this what awaits me, bound to this place until I too wither and die? Mom had the right idea, flee, get out of dodge, leave it to the sand and grime. That’s all the Ghost River Reservation is, sand, grime, and... death. Fidgeting with the crimson shell fossil in my pocket, I now carry it with me most days, something compulsive to chase away the anxiety. Only sometimes do I switch it out for the marble badger, which, I’m now convinced was left for me by the Mistwalker herself.
“You’ve been hydrating, right?” Bobbi calls to me over the grind of gravel on tire.
“No!”
“Well, there’s your damn problem,” he reaches into the backseat, to the bright orange cooler, pulling a generic brand plastic water bottle from its depths, “Drink this, and quit being a bitch ass motherfucker.”
“Fine,” I snatch the cold crinkling container from him.
Taking a swig alleviates the noxious tension headache I couldn’t discern seconds before, the temperature in my skull drops a few degrees. Damn it Bobbi, why are you always right about everything? Somehow it’s easier to sit in simmering silence than admit that I’m the asshole. Even the unshakeable Bobbi seems rattled today, the searing late day radiation destabilizing his inner equilibrium, that anchor he possesses that seems to be missing within me. Screwing the flimsy cap back onto the bottle I…
Bang!
Jarring the base of my spine, Carl hits a particularly nasty rut in the ungroomed dirt road, throwing the container from my hands.
“Oh Carl, that’s a hard one buddy, I’m so sorry,” Bobbi consoles his car, as though that might somehow cure any misalignment dealt to the steering column.
Sensing his agitation, I quietly scoop up the water bottle, the seams in the cheap plastic creating an unpleasant sensation against my fingertips, “Hey, what’s going on? You’re not you today.”
Bobbi sighs, “I… You know this part of the route wasn’t supposed to be on your day… and I didn’t know until we picked up the delivery in New Town. I guess I’m just worried.”
“Why?”
“Just bad energy out here, in the western corner of Akya’O’… Didn’t want to expose you to it, you know? I’d be a shit friend if I did.”
“You ain’t my protector,” I punch him playfully in the shoulder, “At this stage, I’ve probably been drenched in bad vibes, what’s a little more going to do to me? And hey, if it bothers you that much, then you can make it up to me by buying me a new beanie.”
Bobbi’s weak smile signals his resignation, but his uneasiness lingers, sticking with the persistence of discount maple syrup clinging to the inside of the bottle.
•••
The nearly undriveable path, strewn with large flat rocks, snakes unforgivably through stunted mesas of soft sediment, obscured in the late day shadows cast by the great lonely mountain. A strange loamy scent fills the air, contrasting with the regular odors of the stark land. Collared lizards and the occasional jack rabbit skitter, alarmed by the foreign timbre of the car roaring against the normally still outcrops.
“You smell that, right?”
I pull a face at Bobbi, but he sits silent, ignoring my question, as though bracing himself for something. One final bend and we come to a shack, nestled in a corner at the base of the mountain, overlooking the valley to the northeast, but it’s too distant to see Old Town from here. Adobe, bits of desiccated log poke through the walls of the building, holes and parts of the roof appear to be patched with sheets of rusting corrugated tin, a couple of cow skulls don the entryway. In the corner, a pen of ginger-haired pigs squeal frantically at the vehicle as numerous chickens of different breeds scuttle about the drive, annoyed by our sudden arrival. Not dissimilar to some places on rez where a lot of old timers live, but something feels off, that prickling sensation returns to the base of my neck.
“Riley, do not get out of the car,” Bobbi warns, although, his expression drips with the a flavor of a threat, that heaviness grabbing hold of him in the depths of his fathomless eyes, “I’ll take care of this.”
He leaves the car, pulling a package from the back seat. That’s when I see her, a geriatric woman, there the entire time leering at me from the side of the shack. How the hell did I miss her? It’s as though my perception of her being was clouded, until Bobbi spoke, shaking the effect. Instinctually, I unbuckle and lean back in my seat to obscure her view of me. An older man, adorned in ragged clothes and an equally worn bandana, his peppered hair tied in a loose knot, greets Bobbi at the corrugated door. Avoiding her gaze, I investigate the cow skulls over the entry. It hits me, these aren’t what they seem to be, instead a myriad of smaller pieces collected from numerous creatures combined to create the illusion of a whole unit. Some of which, look uncomfortably like the bones of human fingers.
My heart quickens, as the old woman draws herself to her full height, her clothing is odd, a strangely tailored taupe hide robe, removed from any Aolu’yi aesthetic I know of. The material too, covered in bone fragments strung together to act as beads. Out of sight from Bobbi, she shifts over to the car, her pruned ashy face chiseled in an expression I could only liken to that of ravening hunger. Bobbi, Bobbi, damn it Bobbi, get back here… I plead to myself as I instinctually lock the doors. Looking desperately to my old friend, he seems lost in conversation with the figure in the doorway, the man hanging on Bobbi’s words with reverence I don’t fully comprehend. Ten feet from me, the old woman creeps forward, an opaque ebony fluid trickling from her mouth, her colorless eyes fixed upon me. Debating whether it’s time to make a break for it, I return to Bobbi’s demand that I stay… so here I sit, frozen in the seat. Those gnarled fingers crack in unnatural directions against the joint as she reaches towards me. About ready to lose my shit and bolt, I try to slow my rapid breath, compulsively turning the red fossil in my hand, that rabbit part of my brain threatening to take control of my nervous system.
“WE’RE LEAVING,” Bobbi shouts at the woman, to which she withdraws and takes a step back from Carl.
In that moment, she looks, well… normal, weathered but fit, with a plait of white hair in a thick elegant braid tied stylishly, but like the man in the doorway, her clothes look twenty years worn and torn in places. The skulls over the door are once again just regular old desert rubbish. Familiarity… He Who Weaves Lies. When Navan’yu intervened, the hallucination shattered, same as today. The old woman nervously averts her gaze and takes yet another step out of the way as Bobbi passes.
Starve It.
“You alright?” he asks, hurriedly sitting down, starting up the engine and pulling out of the drive.
“What are they?”
“You’ve never seen a Stalker before? The twins up there follow Tui’li’roh, they just leave me alone because he needs his heart meds.”
“Then why did she go after me, huh?” the anger stitched onto my expression.
“Well she didn’t really, did she? You stayed in the car.”
“The fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“Carl’s been blessed by the medicine folk. You were safe in the car,” Bobbi reassures me, “But had you left…”
“Well shit… Why’d the Stalkers have to be real too?” I bury my face in my hands, “I thought that was stuff Nana cooked up to scare us kids.”
“Real too? What else have you been seeing besides Navan’yu, Riley?”
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“How…?”
“Pretty easy to put it together since have a near melt down every time the Mistwalker comes up… I mean…”
“SHE FUCKING KILLED HIM, BOBBI,” I burst into uncontrollable guttural sobs, emotions I’d suppressed for months spilling into the car, “NICO… NAVAN’YU FUCKING TORE HIM APART…”
“Damn…”
“That’s a lot…” the luster of Bobbi’s expression leaving his face.
“…I definitely owe you that beanie now…”
••••
Coral rays draw the western hills of the rez into shadowy indigo pinnacles against the falling summer sun, the first glowing points peering through the eastern sky. They could be planets, brighter than the average star in the growing dusk. I relish these quiet moments to myself, deaf to the world, my tape player rings with a progressive rock song about a crimson vintage racecar. If I had one wish, I would let this moment go on forever… Huh, maybe there’s something I’d miss when I finally adios from this place.
What, again?
… Alone, something feels different, a foreboding tickling the tip of my spine, some people’s hair stands on end, but I feel it at the base of my neck where the bone protrudes, a sixth sense, maybe passed from the ancestors. At least, that’s what Mi Ma says. Mi Ma says a lot of weird stuff, but you kinda just flow with it. I’m extra alert, my trailer key held as a shiv, primed for whatever might await.
Like a broken record, skip, skip, skipping, I’m lost again in mom’s memories, but why do I keep returning to this so specific groove in space and time?
The stars twinkle in the growing indigo, my eyes adjust to the darkness, southbound, down this long lonely road, home again to Mi Ma’s trailer… Although, Mi Ma talks about selling it and moving back to the ancestral stucco homestead just outside of Old Town. Whatever, she can do what she wants, I’ll be outta here soon enough. Coyotes, that prickling feeling at the base of my neck, I pull off my headphones, the brass key biting at my fingertips. Something’s definitely watching me.
Tam’s heart doesn’t skip a beat, she’s dead calm, patiently analyzing the wilderness from the side of the road, headphones in hand. Is this what it’s like to be devoid of anxiety? Shit, where the hell did the anxiousness come from within me? It certainly doesn’t seem to stem from mom. She contains a resilience I can’t comprehend, a hardened survivor.
Illumination, headlights round the corner of the butte north of me, I hold my head high and pretend to ignore the incoming car, fully aware of its presence. A defense mechanism, don’t give anyone a reason to think you’re an easy target. The growl of a V8 engine echoes against the slickrock as a hefty vehicle approaches, the timbre becoming softer as it comes up the road. Fuck, it’s decelerating, maybe Marta was right, this was a shit idea. I give it a nonchalant side eye, only to see a van with painted over windows coming to a full stop next to me. A gaunt white man with a mane of tightly woven dreadlocks steps from the driver’s side. In alarm, I leap backwards to give myself a few seconds heads start, only to feel thick arms wrap around my torso from behind. I feel nothing except the burning conviction of a molten rage deep within me, fire that fuels my violence. My arms are pinned, rendering my shiv useless.
The lanky guy approaches me, “Calm down and shut up! We aren’t going to hurt a pretty girl like you, we just wanna talk.”
Letting out a feral roar of defiance, I struggle against the unseen stranger behind me, “STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
He continues his approach, ignoring my words, to which I let out a series of ferocious flailing kicks, nearly dislodging myself from the figure behind me. My boots make contact with the dreadlocked man’s ribcage with a resounding, sickening snap.
“YOU STUPID BITCH!!!” he yowls in agony.
Making another break for it, I try to propel myself from the arms, attempting to slam any feet that might be behind me with the heel of my boot.
CRACK!
Blackness…
Blackness… I wish I could vomit, so fucked, cortisol hitting me in untenable doses. She’s alive, right? I’m here, so I know she’s alive. Yet, somehow I’m conscious in her unconsciousness, stuck in a void of no sensation.
•••
“…I think I need a hospital man,” a voice rasps.
… Iron flavor on my tongue, biting salt, blood, cotton, a rag pushed into my mouth. Vibration through the floor, movement, vision spotty. I try to lean up but meet resistance around my wrists… ankles too.
Mom…I’m so sorry. Pulling all of my focus through her blurry eyes, I can discern the dirty carpet, a van floor maybe?
“We find a place to turn around, deliver her, and then we can get you patched,” my vision clears as a deep voice emanates from the driver’s seat.
“She did me dirty,” the guy with dreads gasps, his head lolling, slumped in his seat, the ambient gleam from the headlights illuminating little beads of sweat, “I think my ribs are broken...”
Looking to my ankles, they are cuffed, I can’t see my hands, but it seems likely they too are restrained the same way. The saturated fabric in my mouth tastes sour with bad breath stink. Quietly, I try to shift myself to face the back doors, maybe I can roll my way out at a stop.
“Better not be up to shit,” a wide, possibly indigenous, man with a smooth head and downward pointed nose glares at me from the driver’s side, a face unfamiliar to me, unlike anyone I know on the Ghost River Reservation.
“I think it’s really bad, man,” the white guy moans transitioning into a rattling shudder, “Just drop me off where I can get help, and continue the job without me.”
“FINE!” the driver makes an aggressive u-turn on the road.
“GeeeYAUGHGHH!” the gaunt man yelps against the force of the car as I’m flung into the side of the van.
“Fine, we’ll go getcha patched, but you’re fucking buying me a beer when it’s over!”
That throbbing pain in my head is now joined by a bruised sacrum and shoulder. My mind races, do I hold tight and hope there’ll be a chance to escape when the cuffs come off?
Her pain is my pain. I don’t know what comes next on her thread in time, unlike Nico, putting me in a strange sense of numb stasis.
“The fuck is that?” the big man shouts.
“What?” he wheezes, his breath shallow.
“That big ole’ motherfucker!”
“Damn it, quit talking. It hurts too much!”
BAM!
Slow motion, gravity loses effect, the van spinning around me, somehow I push my way to the front, floating as though in space. Both men scream as the vehicle makes a full spin, bounces, lands on its tires, tilts frighteningly to one side and then snaps back to level. Somehow, I’m unscathed by the crash, landing square between them on the cup holders. The white guy, with his mountain of dreads, shrieks in terror, staring at something outta my view from the passenger’s side door, pausing, then leaping from the van. Broken ribs be dammed, he bolts around the front of the car, into the desert, leaving the door wide. Functionally a debilitated caterpillar, I wriggle out the opening, landing in a heap on the hard ground. Sand grains grind against my teeth, that wafting herbaceous scent, I crawl, rocking my shoulders and head back and forth against the cuffs, following the trail of my captor. Maneuvering between the sparse sagebrush, I don’t stop until I’m about twenty feet from the van. Using all of my core strength to sit up and stare, behind me the wide man sprints northwest into the desert abandoning his companion.
A haunting sound, thunderous and deep, yet somehow ethereal too, emanates from the direction the injured guy disappeared to. Turning my head from the van, I discern a great black presence in the valley, catching flickers of its shape in the moonlight. My eyes adjust to the night sky, bestial, an enormous form stands with a severe, sloped back, its elongated neck hunched as it slowly prowls towards something on the ground, great leathery wings folded at its sides.
The blood that isn’t my own runs cold, Navan’yu…
Nope! Not dealing with whatever that thing is. I hobble on my knees back towards the van, hoping it didn’t spot me in the gloom. Wailing in the distance and wet crunching sounds. That compulsive feeling tingling at the base of my neck, I gaze back… enormous wide piercing silver eyes loom, the man with dreads sits kneeling, wrists snapped and dangling, but raised like some kind of twisted, woeful prayer, as though venerating the monstrosity in the darkness.
Yeah, fuck that! I reach the van, the shackles cutting into my ankles. Rolling behind the vehicle, I lean against an enormous dent in its side, evidence that the force of the initial impact was great enough to fling the car across the lane and off the road. Blinding light to my back, a piercing high pitched sound, the only thing I can compare it to is the shrill nail biting whine of a large commercial jet engine, yet it’s too animalistic to be that. No, there’s something baleful about it, like a hound’s howl with a grating brassy sharpness. The valley grows still for a few moments, I hold my breath in the silence, hoping the thing can’t smell me.
Sonorous pounding wing beats… then ear-ringing quiet.
The big guy, did the fucker escape? I suck in another gulp of air. Guttural shouting breaks the hush, resonating against the sandstone columns, growing frenzied in the gloom. Shaking, I curl into a restrained ball, with the cuffs, I don’t stand a chance, it’s over, I won’t make it until dawn. I’m so sorry Marta, I’m so sorry Mi Ma, I messed up bad. Prairie Mother, please whisk me away like in all of Mi Ma’s stories. Incasing myself in my mind, I hide myself within my memories, my first trip outta the rez, to an aquarium in Douglas. A small two-spot octopus, fascinated by my presence, playfully changes its color and texture, occasionally reaching out a suckered tentacle, attempting to tickle my face through the glass. Douglas, that’s where I’d have gone, had my life not been cut short on this summer night. Regret, so many paths I would’ve trod, so many places I never went. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dream of the possibilities of a world slipping away from me…
… A soft fresh smell, that of ozone and rain. The pressure against my wrists and ankles relieves itself as the cold metal restraints slide off. Opening my lids slowly, I’m enveloped in inky haze, pillowing into little clouds of fluid. Yet it doesn’t leave a trace or vapor. Strange particles conglomerate, first into snout, and then into fearsome mercury orbs. That stirring revelation… I’m looking into the eyes of a god, the secrets that bind the universe together somehow captive in those eyes. Navan’yu, the Mistwalker, a being long relegated in my mind to harvest dances, the blessings of the Winter Solstice, and prayers for darkening storms. Building, into an immense mammalian shape, the beast draws back its lips, risking peeling from the threads of flesh that tethers it to its skull, the rows of gnashing teeth, threatening to take my life.
The Invariable
Of Our Age
Lines Intersect
The First Born
He Is Mine
Reticence, the realization hits… it always began as it ends … with Tamera. I’m a stranger in my own story… not mine… for it is and forever was… hers.
••••