Moonlight Water (31 page)

Red looked under the Bronco over to the jeep and saw Emery's overalls. He leveled his.45 and fired at the shinbone.

Emery howled and one leg disappeared.

Got no second clip,
Red shouted in his head.
Save your shots!
He rolled out from underneath the Bronco, jumped up, and sighted right on the big son of a bitch's head.

Pain blasted Red's skull and bolted down his spine.

Red dropped the .45, grabbed his head, staggered to his knees.
No sound,
he realized dimly.
Pistol-whipped.

The next thing he felt was the muzzle of a pistol against his temple, cold and deadly. Wayne jumped down from the top of the Bronco and snatched back his .45.

“You're lucky you're too big to carry off.” Wayne switched hands on the pistols and held his .45 by the barrel. He yelled, “No more shooting! That's an order!”

Travis padded out from behind the truck, looking like a man cheated out of a tavern brawl.

Emery stood behind the jeep and limped forward like an idiot. Red guessed his shot had missed the bone.

“Get up,” Wayne snapped.

Red heaved himself to his feet.

Wayne dragged Gianni out from under the Jeep, then looked under the Bronco and said, “Well, look what we have here.” Winsonfred scooched out sheepishly. “The old Navajo, what's-his-name? Hey, you're the kid's grandfather, aren't you, probably great-grandfather.”

Winsonfred looked deeply, deeply ashamed.

“Come to save your boy?” Wayne cackled.

Travis turned in Red's direction and grated, “I don't know who you are, but you won't need no headstone.”

Wayne snapped out words in command: “Emery, shoot out the radio in the Bronco.”

Emery did.

“Now, you're all going to the back of the incline, the far back, you and this asshole and that sweet old man, ain't it a shame? After we blast, you'll have a ton of stones to mark your bones for all eternity.”

“Don't worry,” added Emery. “One bullet, and you won't feel the rocks fall.”

“Shut up, both of you!” ordered Wayne. “No need to shoot. They deserve to suffer.” He pointed his pistol at Red's head. “Let's get going, boys. Fate is waiting for you down that dark hole.”

Gianni got slowly to his knees and then to his feet. Red put his arm around his old friend to steady him. Or maybe himself.

Travis picked up Gianni's shotgun from the dust, but Red could see the other two shells in Gianni's hand.

Heliwheeler of a situation. Only weapon left is an unarmed woman hidden in a mine.

A mourning dove called. Red snorted.

The three let themselves get herded toward the mine entrance, two injured, disarmed, middle-aged sad sacks and a 103-year-old man. Red couldn't see Zahnie, which was a good sign. He acted woozy. No harm in a little fakery. It didn't take much.

The mourning dove sounded again. Red wished he had one shot at that damn bird, wherever it was.

They piddled, limped, and stumbled forward. Red thought,
These guys are miners. They know how to set a blast to close a shaft just so.

Then from inside Red's mind spoke the thunder-deep voice of Moses.
Enter that mine, walk into the darkness, and you'll never come out.

He kept staggering forward, prodded by Wayne.

Enter that mine, walk into the darkness, and you'll never come out.

He took another couple of steps, right to the line of shadow and sunlight. He stopped.

Okay,
Red said to himself,
live or die.

Red elbowed Wayne in the gut, whirled, and grabbed the arm with the gun.

Blam
! A shot grazed Red's boot.

Someone shouted, “Now!”

At that moment two dark blurs charged. Red didn't know which blur came first. Zahnie barreled out of the mine, screaming like a kamikaze. And something dropped like a big sandbag from about twenty feet straight over their heads.

Red kneed Wayne in the balls as hard as he could.

“Ah-a-a-a-ah!”

Zahnie gave Wayne a clean block and knocked him into Red. All three went down in a tangle.

Red grabbed Wayne to squeeze the breath out of him and keep the gun down.
Fight for your fucking life! And hers.

The overhead surprise landed butt first on Emery's shoulder.

It's Damon!

Red and Damon and Gianni and Travis and Emery got into a flurry of fists and kicks.

Wayne smashed Red's nose with a club fist and squirmed away. Zahnie had the .45, and Wayne was grabbing at her arm.

Emery was fighting one-handed—that shoulder was dislocated or broken. Gianni grabbed Emery's rifle and swung it like a club, but the barrel glanced off his head.

Red hurled himself into Wayne's midsection, but Wayne was ready and shoved back.

Zahnie fired a shot that turned the bastard's ear into a bloody, mashed cauliflower.

Wayne grabbed his ear and hollered, “The incline!”

Red shook his head, trying to get set right.

Oh.
Wayne and crew weren't whipped, they were just heading for the better cover. Emery grabbed at Zahnie from behind. She threw the .45 toward Red. Emery yanked her radio off her belt and threw it over the cliff. She spun away. Then he, Wayne, and Travis zigzagged into the mine entrance with most of the guns.

At the same time, Red and the others ran like hell the other way, behind the vehicles. The shotgun was back in Gianni's left hand.
Praise be!
thought Red. He had the .45 back in hand.

Winsonfred lay in no-man's-land, between the antagonists, probably hurt, maybe dead.

Zahnie and Damon were hugging like mad. “I was hid up there the whole time,” Damon jabbered. He pointed to the steep rocks above the mine entrance. “I saw it all, I—”

“Damon,” Red said seriously, “thank you for saving my life.”

The pride in the boy's eyes could have electric-powered a small town.

“Zahnie,” Red said with equal seriousness, “I thank you for my life.”

She squeezed him. “You were a hero.”

“The mourning dove call, right?” he said to her.

She nodded. “Mother–son signal.”

Gianni said, “Let's shoot the box of dynamite and seal them in.”

Red looked at the box of red cigars.
Unpredictable.
“No, might blow the whole face of this mountain off.”

Travis's voice graveled out of the mine's interior: “Looks like a Chinaman's standoff. You best get in that Bronco and get outta here. We don't wanna have to kill you.”

That was worth a couple of grins. “You could have fooled us,” Gianni shouted toward the mine shaft.

“I've got an idea,” Gianni said. “Let's see if the keys are in the truck.” He crept to the open window, reached in, and held them up. His shirt was soaked with blood—apparently he was operating on adrenaline.

He handed Red the shotgun. “I'm going to attack them with the truck,” he said. “I'll drive the sucker right into the shaft and run the bastards down.”

Red snapped, “Don't be stupid!”

Damon was checking the jeep. “No keys here. Let's push it off the cliff, take the truck and Bronco, and just leave the bastards stuck here.”

Red snatched the shells out of Gianni's shirt pocket, loaded, and shot the jeep in the radiator. “Let's go,” Red said. He told Gianni, “Take the keys to the truck.”

Just then Red saw Winsonfred struggle to his feet, right out in the open.

“Get over here!”

“I got something to do,” the old man said softly.

Red couldn't figure out where Winsonfred was headed. Wayne and Emery stuck their weapons out from behind shadowed corners at the old man but didn't shoot. The Kravins evidently considered the old guy a waste of ammo.

After about ten steps Winsonfred leaned over, reached into the wooden box, picked up a handful of dynamite sticks, and tucked them into the crook of his left arm.

“Don't shoot!” yelled Wayne.

Then Winsonfred started the short shuffle to the mine entrance.

Red stared wild-eyed.
The Kravins can't believe it.

“Let's go!” Red shouted. He ran behind the vehicles and threw himself flat. Zahnie, Gianni, and Damon flopped beside him.

When Winsonfred was halfway there, Travis stuck out the barrel of the lever-action.

“Dad!” shouted Wayne. “No shots!” He clubbed his father over the head.

Travis collapsed.

When Winsonfred was ten feet from the entrance, he threw a stick in.

Emery bellowed.

Miraculously, the stick rolled to a quiet stop.

Emery dived for it.

Winsonfred threw another one.

Second miracle. The stick just rolled.

Roaring like a banshee, Emery dived for it.

“Don't touch it!” screamed Wayne.

Winsonfred looked at the two sticks in Emery's hands, then at the bunch in his arm. He threw all of them in at once.

Apocalypse!

*   *   *

Darkness, darkness, the blackness Red always knew waited for him somewhere.

Then slowly, blearily, gray light. Consciousness.

Zahnie, Damon, Gianni, and Red were in a ragged pile.

When he could look, Red saw an incredible rage of sand and pebbles, whirling in every direction, a DuPont dust devil.

Through the whirlwind he saw the lump that must be Winsonfred's body, knocked halfway back toward them.
The old man found a way.

Zahnie said something, but Red was stone deaf. He wasn't the only one. No one heard Zahnie. She shrugged at the sky.

They stood up slowly, brushing off dust and rock fragments, shaking their heads, clearing their brains, wiggling their fingers in their ears, waiting for their hearing to come back.

They looked around. They inspected themselves. Inspected each other. Looked at Winsonfred's body. The mine was a blocked tomb now.

Red saw Zahnie say something to Damon but heard nothing. She came to Red and embraced him, they rocked, they held each other. None of them could rouse the desire to go anywhere.

Slowly, hearing returned. He could hear Damon murmuring softly, “My God, my God…”

Suddenly Red thought of what he heard, what he saw, and what he didn't see.

“My God…”

The cloud in front of them hovered in the air, drifted to earth, its energy leeching away.

Within it a shape assembled itself and rose above the ground. It seemed to move, though Red didn't let himself think so.

It did move.

Waving its arms, it emerged from millions of particles toward them.

It appeared to be Winsonfred.

It was Winsonfred.

Zahnie ran toward him.

He took a couple of steps into her arms.

Red ran up and flung his arms around both of them.

The Ancient One pulled his battered head back, looked into their faces, and saw their tears.

“Why were you afraid?” he said. “I told you, I have trouble dying!”

They stumbled, an awkward, six-legged creature, toward Damon and Gianni.

“Look!” cried the old man, sweeping an arm toward where the incline used to be. The entrance was shattered, pulverized, blown to smithereens. Half a mountain had crashed down upon Wayne, Travis, and Emery. Red hoped they died instantly. A piece by piece death in the blackness, buried by tons of rock, knowing—Red didn't wish that on anyone.

“You did it!” all but Winsonfred began to shout. “You did it!” They slapped the old man on the back until they nearly knocked him down again.

Red looked up into the pure-blue sky, thinking he wanted to thank the Anonymous Source.

Instead a buzzard hung above the mesa, circling.

Red waved.

He knew buzzards don't wave back. This one, though, circled away from the summit and let itself angle down. They all watched, transfixed. After a few moments it perched on the roof of the Bronco.

They stared. Except for Winsonfred, who seemed to be listening. Before long the buzzard launched himself into the air and winged away to the west.

“Ed's going to the lake,” said Winsonfred. “Sometimes he and his friends roost for the night in some cottonwoods there.” Pause. “I thanked him, and he said he was glad to help. But he wants us to remember something. He hung around because he was hungry. Next time he does us a favor, we shouldn't leave a mountain of rubble on top of all that good meat.”

They laughed. At first it was an edgy-in-the-face-of-death laugh. Then it got free, it came from the belly, it sprayed happily into the air. Maybe it was different for each one of them. Gianni from his satisfaction at doing right. Damon from a sense of belonging. Winsonfred from his delight and pride in Ed. Zahnie from a mother's blessed relief. Red sent his laugh to roll all around heaven with hers. They'd found their rhythm, together.

 

38

BUZZARDS AND DANCING

Changing Woman, she who is old every winter and young every spring, she got pregnant by Sun when a ray of sunlight passed through the drops of a waterfall.

—Navajo creation story

 

On the way back to Moonlight Water, Damon told his long story. How he ran away from the Squash Blossom Café, got picked up by Gianni and accepted a roll of bills and a ride ten miles out of town, and then started hitchhiking to Santa Fe. And who should pick him up but Travis Kravin!

Damon faked eagerness, jumped into Travis's cab, and fed him a line about how he was escaping to keep from being questioned by the cops and how he sure was glad to see Travis.

Damon didn't know if Travis was on to him. Then they made him call Zahnie. So he knew, knew absolutely and fatally, and lay in wait for his chance.

While they were stacking all the crates of artifacts in the incline, Damon stepped aside to relieve himself. Out of sight, he rock-climbed up the canyon wall and hid. He was hoping they would search for him thoroughly—that would give him a good chance to push someone off the edge. But they were too cagey for that. Knowing he couldn't carry enough food and water to get to the highway, they drove off and left him to the buzzards.