Kylie Brant - The Last Warrior

Saturday had been spent with Eddie in her first visit to Monument Valley. She’d quickly discovered how naive it had been to assume she could “see” a place so vast in one day, so they’d focused on the southern end, around Hunt’s Mesa. It had taken her four-wheel drive and some hiking to get them to the more inaccessible parts, but the landscape of lonely buttes and sculpted red rock formations had taken her breath away.

There had been a sort of sacredness about the place that quieted the spirit and hushed the soul. One that hinted of centuries-old ghosts and long-dead secrets. She’d been left with a lingering sense of sadness that she’d never truly understand what it meant to the Diné to stand in that place. And a sort of peace that came from being there at all.

Although she didn’t hear his approach, she felt a presence behind her and knew instinctively who it was. “You missed it,” she murmured. Shadows were spreading along the darkened horizon and the sky had grayed. “Do you ever get used to that kind of beauty day after day?”

He’d squatted down behind her. She could feel his breath in her hair and had the urge to lean against him, to feel his strength and warmth envelop her. She squelched the temptation. A woman who got too used to leaning on someone else could easily forget how to rely solely on herself.

“Grandfather would say that when a man stops seeing the beauty around him, he also stops seeing himself and his place in the world.”

“And what would Joe Youngblood say?” She didn’t know where this compulsion sprang from, to scratch below the surface for glimpses of the enigmatic man beneath.

“No,” he said simply. “I never get used to it.”

She would have been content to sit and watch the stars break through the night sky as it darkened but she sensed a restlessness in the man behind her. Rising, she dusted off her jeans as they headed to the house.

“I spent a day with Cowboy Nahkai,” she informed him as they entered the living room. The hours she’d spent with the older man had been an intriguing glimpse into a mystical part of the culture. The crystal gazer had explained his role as a diagnostician of various ailments, and the resulting recommendation for the proper ceremonies or chants to focus on healing.

“When people like Cowboy and other medicine people die, too often their knowledge dies with them. Already there are fewer ceremonies done than when I was a boy. Fewer chants remain well-known.”

“They need to be documented,” she said, horrified at the thought of traditions being lost forever.

“Applying for the job?” But where the words would have been caustic when they first met, she detected a note of teasing in them now.

“No. Even I can agree that it would be a job best done by a tribe member for the tribe.”

He sank heavily onto the sofa and for the first time she noted the fatigue on his face. It was evident that he’d been keeping long hours, and not for the reason she did, pushing herself to work until well after midnight hoping to drop into the bone-weary sleep of the exhausted.

“Are you hungry? I have…” She took mental inventory of her cupboards. “Peanut butter.”

“Tempting. But, no. I stopped at Charley’s before coming here.” He reached up for her hand and gave it a tug, so she sat on the arm of the sofa next to him. It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t relinquish his hold on her, but laced their fingers together. “He rarely loses an opportunity to feed me, or to nag about proper nutrition.”

“He worries about you,” she murmured. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. She was tempted to smooth the lines from his face. Her free hand rose, hovered, before dropping into her lap again. She moistened her lips. “I can see it in his expression when he talks about your job. He’s proud of you, but he’s worried, too. He said…” She thought back, trying to recall the phrase correctly. “…that coyote is always out there waiting and coyote is always hungry.”

Coyote was a recurring figure in Navajo lore, appearing in most native legends, portrayed both as an essential figure that gave order to life, and an association with evil. If Charley had been referring to the dangers inherent in Joe’s job, she could certainly understand the reference.

He made a sound of agreement, although he didn’t open his eyes. “We have another saying, too. ‘It’s impossible to wake a man who is pretending to be asleep.’ I’m careful. I have to be. Charley knows that, but he’ll worry anyway.” He gave a fatalistic shrug.

He tugged on her hand, hard enough to have her tumbling into his arms and his eyes opened then, a satisfied glint in them. “The case might be coming to a head.”

It was difficult to concentrate on his words when she was all too aware of her unfamiliar position. She’d never been a lap-sitter. She doubted she’d sat on a man’s lap since she’d perched on her dad’s as a child. But as one of his arms came around her to pull her closer, a bit of the stiffness left her limbs and she leaned a little against him, letting herself enjoy his nearness.

He was still talking. “Arnie and I discovered that there’s an abandoned coal mine on the Graywolf property.”

“They own a coal mine?”

“It was started several years prior to the Black Mesa mining agreement and probably closed when a big operation was built.”

“So what’s an old coal mine have to do with your drug case?”

“Not just the drug case, as it turns out.” She listened, with growing amazement, as he explained how the events at the cave site overlapped with the case he was investigating. “If that date in a couple days means another run to the border, they need a place that is relatively safe and out of sight.”

Her throat went thick at the mere thought of forcing the aliens into a dark, yawning shaft, leaving them to wait in vain for what they incorrectly thought would be their bid for a better life.

“So if you know where the mine is, you can catch them red-handed.”

“Not exactly.” His voice was dry. “The mine is only a possibility at this point, certainly not enough to get us a warrant. We have to figure a way to narrow down the possibilities and get some hard evidence. A judge isn’t going to let us on private property with only supposition.”

She hadn’t considered that. They couldn’t check it out without more evidence to connect Graywolf to the investigation.

And they had only two days to find it.

A thought circled, barely formed. “Do you suspect the Graywolf family is involved, or just the son?” She felt his hand loosening the knot of her hair, allowing it to tumble around her shoulders.

“There’s nothing to point to Graywolf senior, and I’d be surprised if he were in on this thing.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to mention her idea, but after a second she thought better of it. She knew what Joe’s response would be, and it was always easier to ask forgiveness than permission. At any rate, he was exhausted and needed sleep.

She remained silent while he rose, with her in his arms, and walked to her bedroom. She stripped to camisole and panties and joined him in bed. His arm snaked out to pull her close, one of his legs covering both of hers, but he seemed content just to have her close, her cheek pressed to his chest.

And something suspiciously like contentment traced through her, as she felt her body relax and follow him into a deep and dreamless slumber.

She was suffocating. Facedown in rubble that used to be walls, floors, ceilings. Pinned beneath a giant invisible weight, every breath an agony.

The screams and moans of the dying were constant companions, slashing at her eardrums, echoing her anguish. But worse, far worse was when the screaming finally stopped. When she became aware that she was the only one left, buried alive in this crushing prison to die alone. One torturous moment at a time.