Ghost Medicine (30 page)

“No more than five minutes ago.”

“Did they see you, uncle?”

He shook his head. “It’s good that you brought the
hataalii
and extra protection,” he said, looking down at the medicine pouch on her
belt.

“What’s down that trail?” Ella asked.

“My brother and his wife make their home just beyond that rise. His son and family are visiting today, so I’ve warned them to be careful. My brother has his rifle loaded and ready in case they get close to his home or try to steal one of their trucks,” he said. “The trail the evil ones took means they’ll have to walk two miles before they get there,
but there’s a shorter way. Through there.” He pointed to a narrow passage between the rocks. “If you hurry, you can get there first.”

“Thanks, uncle,” Ella said. “Keep watch in case they turn back. Okay?”

He picked up his rifle again. “If they come near my home or truck, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

Ella told the rest of her team what she’d learned as they headed toward the cutoff.
“They’re close, so let’s split up. Benny and Justine, stay on their trail in case they decide to backtrack. Clifford and I will try to outflank them. Be sharp, and if you spot anyone, use your radio and call in.”

Ella turned to her brother. She’d already decided that Clifford needed to stick with her from this point on. She knew him better than the others did, which made tactical sense. Besides
that, with him being a civilian, she also knew it was her job as leader to take responsibility for his actions. “We may have a gun battle on our hands after we catch up to them. Are you up to this?”

Clifford removed the rifle from his shoulder and switched off the safety with a flick of his thumb. “Lead the way, sister.”

They were family, and she hadn’t really expected anything less from him.
By threatening Dawn, Clifford’s only niece, the skinwalker had made yet another dangerous enemy.

Clifford found the trail quickly, a narrow path worn to a soft dust by foot traffic. The ground muffled their steps, so she picked up the pace to a jog.

It didn’t take long to get the lay of the coming terrain. Their shortcut rose up a steep hill, while Justine and Benny’s made a more leisurely circle,
an easier hike but considerably longer. Beyond was another low mesa, and from the gentle curl of smoke rising from the far side of a grove of fruit trees, the home of the old man’s brother and his wife.

For a second, she wondered how exactly the old man had warned his brother of approaching danger. There were no phones lines that she could see.

Figuring that would be answered later, Ella concentrated
on her breathing, covering ground quickly. It was possible that once Truman and Eileen realized they were trapped, they’d try taking hostages. The possibility sent a chill through her and remained in the back of her mind as she pressed on.

Ella went to a prone position as she drew closer to the top of the ridge and looked down on the single-wide trailer below. Clifford crawled up beside her,
well aware of the need to avoid being seen.

Nobody was in sight, but there were two pickups parked in front of the hogan. On a wooden table beneath a shaded porch, she could see a satellite telephone receiver. That explained how the old man warned his brother. Neither was quite so traditional after all.

“Why didn’t the family just drive off once they knew?” Ella whispered.

“Some people refuse
to leave their home when danger is close,” Clifford whispered back.

Ella nodded. “Good point. Who’s that behind the pickup?” From that position, the people there were hidden from anyone coming up the other trail.

Clifford raised his rifle, looking through the scope. “Looks like we’re too late. There’s a girl, maybe sixteen. Crouched down beside her is a woman in her twenties or early thirties,
wearing some kind of waitress uniform. Farther to the right, there’s a man with a rifle.”

“Let me take a look.” Ella shifted her position slightly and Clifford flipped on the safety before handing her the weapon. A quick look was all Ella needed. Though she couldn’t see the face of the man with the rifle, she knew who it had to be. Eileen was the waitress, and she had the girl by the arm, refusing
to let her go, though the teen was struggling.

“They’ve got a hostage, but where’s the rest of the girl’s family?” Ella asked, straining to see. Nothing was more powerful than a mother’s need to protect her child. So where was this girl’s mom? Not knowing meant big trouble.

Clifford crawled to another position, then stared intently for a moment. “A man is just inside the trailer. He has a rifle
aimed at the pickup through the open door. It looks like a standoff,” he whispered.

“We’ve got to act now before things get worse,” Ella said, verifying what he’d seen using the scope. “If we go around the trailer, we can catch the perps from behind. That’ll also give Benny and Justine time to close in from the other side.” She switched on the radio and updated Justine quickly. “Watch yourselves,”
she said at last.

Ella handed Clifford his rifle, and, covering each other, they circled left and inched silently down the hill, using the terrain to screen themselves from below. Ella moved quietly, yet in comparison to her brother, she sounded like a herd of stampeding elephants.

Behind the trailer were several peach trees, low and heavy with green, immature fruit. Their approach from that
direction would be well screened by branches.

They were at a critical point, moving from cover to cover, knowing that if the hostage-takers happened to turn around and look up onto the hillside, they could be spotted. Suddenly there was a shout.

“Stay where you are—or I’ll kill the girl,” a man said, looking up the trail Justine and Benny had taken.

“Truman John,” Ella confirmed in a whisper,
crouching low. Following Truman’s gaze, she saw Justine duck behind a boulder about the size of a dishwasher. Benny would be close by.

“Time to move, sister,” Clifford said.

Slipping downhill while Truman remained focused on the others, they reached the ceremonial hogan to the right of the trailer. The six-sided structure was made of stucco and construction-grade timbers rather than the traditional
notched logs. Tactically speaking, she would have preferred thick logs right now.

She held up her hand and stopped. Clifford got down on one knee a few yards away. Justine was yelling at Truman, ordering him to release the girl and put down his weapon.

Clifford got Ella’s attention. “Our cousin knows we’re here now. The officer with her saw us circling around. He nodded when I looked through
the scope at him.”

“Okay, then. Let’s take advantage of the diversion and close in. Stay low. I’ll take him out the first opportunity I get. Switch weapons with me,” she said, bringing out her pistol.

Clifford nodded. “I’m not so good with a pistol, but if you’re going to target the man, the rifle is more accurate. You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s my responsibility. I can live with it,
brother.”

“And the fact that he’s threatened your daughter isn’t going to weigh on your decisions at all?”

“I’m here to do a job, and my first priority is the hostage.”

Truman had threatened her child, and she wouldn’t mourn his death if it came to that, but neither anger nor revenge could play a part in what she had to do. The weight of the badge at her waist helped her focus. Rational thought
and training had to prevail now, not emotion.

She handed him her pistol, butt first. “Just aim and squeeze the trigger. You’ve got fifteen rounds.”

He thumbed on the safety, then handed her the rifle, a bolt-action Remington .30-.06 with a Weaver scope. “It’s dead on at two hundred yards.”

Ella switched off the safety. “Let’s go.”

Justine kept up a steady one-way dialogue. Truman hadn’t responded
yet, but the distraction kept him focused on her. Where Eileen was looking was anyone’s guess, but hopefully she wouldn’t glance back over her shoulder.

They crept to within thirty yards of the pickup, and from there, Ella finally had a clear shot. She took a kneeling position beside the trunk of a peach tree and raised the rifle. She used the scope to find Truman and placed the crosshairs on
the right side of his head. He was standing, his hunting rifle resting on the hood and aimed up the trail. A pistol was tucked into his belt, and it looked like the same model and caliber as Harry’s missing weapon. Maybe that was what they’d dug up in the arroyo. She could also see a revolver on the running board. It looked like a Smith & Wesson, probably the .38 used to kill O’Donnell.

Moving
the scope, she checked out Eileen, who was sitting on the running board of the pickup, her hand gripping the forearm of the teenager—their prisoner. Truman’s girlfriend didn’t appear to be armed. All things considered, deciding who looked more terrified, Eileen or the girl, was a tough call.

Truman was the real threat. If she took Truman out, that would solve the immediate problem and probably
end the hostage situation. The man was a multiple murderer, and innocent lives were at stake.

The easy answer was to just squeeze the trigger. Yet, as tempted as she was to use lethal force, there was the chance, however slim, that Justine could talk him into giving up. Her job was to protect—not to judge. If they brought Truman in alive, they’d also be able to get answers that they might never
find otherwise.

As she was trying to decide what her next move should be, she heard someone calling out from the top of the hillside to her right.

“Let the girl go, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Ella turned her head and saw that it was the old man who’d given them directions here. He’d obviously come up the same trail as she and Clifford. He was now down on one knee, his rifle aimed in
the direction of the pickup.

Ella quickly considered her options. Even if he was an expert shot, from his position, and over open sights, the old man could easily end up hitting the hostage. She had to act now. Ella focused, her finger on the trigger, crosshairs of the scope on Truman’s head.

“You can’t get away, Mr. John, and there’s no reason for you to die out here today,” Justine called
out to him. “Nobody will shoot if you put down your weapon, and there’s no death penalty in this state. If you let the hostage go, you’ll also keep Eileen from getting hurt. She’s stood by you all this time. Are you really willing to risk her life?”

Truman looked back at Eileen. “Go!” he yelled at her.

Eileen stood there frozen for several seconds, finally nodded, then took the young girl’s
hand.

“The women are coming out. Don’t shoot!” Truman yelled, looking up at the old man with the rifle, then back toward Justine and Benny.

Eileen led the girl out, then gently pushed her away from her and toward the trailer. The girl raced to the door, was grabbed by someone there, and quickly pulled inside.

Eileen put her hands up.

“Walk toward me!” Justine called out.

Eileen walked across
the yard toward the sound of Justine’s voice.

While Eileen was still walking, Truman backed away from the pickup, turned, and ran straight toward Ella.

“Stop! Down on the ground!” Ella yelled at Truman, taking aim.

Seeing her and Clifford for the first time, Truman reached for the pistol at his belt.

“No, don’t do it!” Ella called out to him.

Truman smiled, then moved his hand away from the
butt of the gun.

“Okay, Clah. You win—this time. I give up.”

Ella stepped away from the tree trunk, rifle still aimed at Truman’s chest. “Hands out, away from your body. Get down on your knees,” she said just as the badger fetish at her throat became scalding hot.

In a lightning draw, Truman grabbed the pistol from his belt and shot from the hip.

Though punched hard in the chest, Ella fired,
then staggered back, nearly dropping the rifle.

Truman stared at her, shock in his eyes as he reached down with his free hand, groping toward the two bullet holes only inches from each other. Blood quickly turned his shirt crimson, and life faded from his eyes as he pitched forward onto the ground.

Realizing that her brother had fired as well, she turned to look at Clifford. He was staring blankly
at the skinwalker’s body. After a moment, he slowly lowered the pistol to his side.

“You okay?” she called out to him, still struggling to breathe.

“Yes,” came the one-word response.

Pain shot through her, dulling her other senses. The round Truman fired had been stopped by her vest, but it still felt as if she’d been kicked by a horse. She focused on breathing, but could do so only in short
gasps.

Clifford rushed to her side as she dropped to her knees. “Are you hit?”

“Vest,” she managed. “Hurts.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, and smiled, realizing the bullet hadn’t penetrated.

“Give me a hand up,” she said. Her ribs felt like they were on fire, but she’d live, which was more than could be said for Truman.

“If you don’t need me here anymore, I’m going back,” Clifford said.

“You’ll
have to give us a statement,” Ella said.

“I’ll meet you at the station later.”

“I’ll need my pistol back, and I’ll also have to keep your rifle for a while. The lab…,” she said, and had to fight for air again.

“Take it easy,” he said, and waited. Once she nodded, signaling that she was okay, he gave her back her pistol. “Take care of yourself,” he said, then walked back toward the trail.

She understood his hurry. He didn’t want to linger around the body a second longer than was necessary. The
chindi
of a man like Truman would be particularly dangerous. Although she was going against procedure by letting Clifford leave, she doubted she’d be disciplined for it. Clifford would honor his word and come to the station to wrap things up later today.

Justine arrived just then, and looked
at her with concern. “I saw you take a hit. You okay?”

“Yeah, vest stopped it,” she said.

“Eileen went a little crazy when she saw Truman go down, but she’s not resisting now,” Justine said. “Benny’s going to turn her over to the first patrol officer to arrive and let him take her to the station for booking.”