Текст книги "The Coyote"

Автор книги: Michael McBride

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THIRTY-SEVEN

The smell hit me the moment I was out of the wind. It was a hundred, no…a thousand times worse than anything I had ever smelled in my entire life. This one would haunt me for the rest of my life. I retched several times before finally seizing control of my stomach. I had found where he had taken the bodies of his victims. No doubt about that. The stench of decomposition was so thick I felt like I was swimming through it as I wriggled deeper into the mountain. I couldn’t afford to let it distract me. Nor could I spare a thought to figure out how to cover my mouth and nose. Anything that divided my attention was liable to get me killed.

I had squirmed maybe ten feet when the light from the outside world faded behind me. I stopped where I was and waited until my eyes adapted as well as they were going to. The bluish glow of my light reached out ahead of me to the point where the tunnel opened into a larger space. I gripped my pistol with both hands to steady my aim and used just my knees and feet to scoot forward on my belly. Progress was slow and laborious, but it allowed me to keep my finger tight on the trigger and my eye even with the sightline. I cleared the earthen tunnel and recognized immediately what the Coyote had done. Walls had been erected to either side of me from the dirt floor clear up to the rocky roof, maybe six feet tall. It wasn’t quite high enough for me to stand fully erect, but I’d had enough of crawling to last me a lifetime. I rose to a shooter’s stance and entered Elder Brother’s maze.

The passage was perhaps five feet wide, not quite wide enough to allow me to raise my arms to either side. The circle of my flashlight grew smaller and smaller against the wall ahead of me. The only opening was to my right. I leaned against the adjacent wall, glanced around the corner, and ducked back.

Nothing there.

I went around the corner in a crouch, just in case, and walked straight toward another wall. This time, my only option was to turn left. I flattened to the wall, slid down lower, and peeked quickly around the corner. My beam flashed across an arm and a leg and threw a man’s shadow across the ground. I squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The report was deafening. It echoed back at me in the confines like pencils slammed straight through my eardrums.

The figure bucked and jerked and flopped backward to the ground with a clattering sound. I barely heard the faint tinkle of my spent brass over the ringing in my ears.

I fully rounded the corner and approached the body, which lay perfectly still on its back. The feet were bare and marbled purple and black. The jeans were crusted and bloodstained to match the checked western button-down shirt, the bottom of which had risen just enough to reveal the ragged wound on his abdomen. The ends of a long wooden dowel poked out of his sleeves. The entry wounds were plain as day: two roughly circular holes at center mass and a third in the upper chest. No blood flooded to the surface. No puddle expanded beneath the body. I raised my beam to the face and took an involuntary step backward.

The man’s head had been replaced by a coyote’s.

No. A coyote’s head had been skinned to create a mask for the man underneath it. Such care had been taken that it was nearly impossible to tell. The snout and the teeth had been left intact, presumably on the original bony framework. The man’s milky eyes stared up at me through the black-rimmed holes where the coyote’s had once been.

I guess I now had a pretty good idea what he’d done with the heads he’d taken from the dead animals I found in the den yesterday.

I nudged the snout with my foot to lift it from the man’s face. The wound on his neck looked like a great black bedsore through which I could see slimy liquefied flesh. I hadn’t seen his face before and doubt I would have been able to recognize it even if I had. His cheeks were in such an advanced state of decomposition that I could see his bones and teeth through the rotten holes. His skin sagged from his facial architecture and drooped from the left side as though he were having a posthumous stroke. The moment I saw something start to crawl out through the shriveled ring of his severed trachea, I jerked my foot aside and let the mask fall back down.

I could only imagine Ban sitting somewhere nearby, trying to stifle his laughter. Or maybe just running his fingertips along the edge of a sharp blade and summoning his own blood in some sort of painful release.

The shots had undoubtedly given away my location, so I needed to get a move on.

I stepped over the corpse and followed the passage. Slowly. Allowing my light to do the exploring for me. The corridor wound to the left. The walls were choppy, not smooth, as though pieced together from scraps. Dropcloths had been nailed over them to cover whatever holes or seams remained. I imagined my light probably showed through on the other side, but I wasn’t about to give it up. Not until I absolutely had to. I kept walking, letting myself continue to be guided in a wide arch until my light focused on another wall in my way. I felt like I was roughly parallel to the point where I had initially turned left and found the first body. This branch opened to the left, as well.

I tried to envision the maze in my head. I imagined it had likely been built as a replica of the one I had reconstructed from the crime scenes, but I hadn’t paid close enough attention to it to be able to recreate it in my mind. I cursed my lack of foresight.

I slid along the wall to my left and stopped at the turn.

I had an idea.

I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and opened the mirror app. If I held it out and away from my body at the right angle, I could use the forward-facing camera to look around the corner without having to stick my neck out. It obviously wasn’t a perfect solution. The phone would make an easy target for anyone with a weapon, but I’d rather lose my hand than my head. The digital “reflection” was a split-second slow, the tilting movements slightly blurred the image, and it was so dark I could see little more than grainy shades of black and gray. Considering the alternative, though, I figured one remaining hand would be sufficient to pat myself on the back for my ingenuity.

I used my phone to clear the corridor, then ducked around the corner to the left. Slid sideways along the wall with my light sweeping ahead of me. From here, I could only turn right. I held the phone out in my left hand this time and watched the dim, jerky reflection. The passage bent sharply back upon itself. I could see where it terminated roughly ten feet away. Nothing in between. I rounded the bend, flattened myself against the wall to my right, and scooted all the way along it until I reached the end, where my only option was to turn right again. I held out my cell phone—

Someone was standing right there.

I pulled my arm back as fast as I could. My heart was beating so hard and fast it pounded through the high-pitched ringing, which was slowly beginning to diminish. I tried to listen for the sound of breathing from around the corner, but it was a futile proposition. I shined my light at the ground. There were footprints in the dirt. Sporadic partials at best, but I was getting better at picking them out. Large. A man’s footprints. Utilitarian tread. All of them headed deeper into the maze; none coming back. Of course, that didn’t help me in my current situation, either.

If I assumed that each of the five victims was somewhere in here, as both logic and the nauseating smell suggested, then I still had four more to encounter, presumably on my journey to the center of the maze where I’itoi himself waited. Based on the level of decomposition, I was confident that the corpse I had shot was the first. If I was right, then the body around the corner belonged to the second victim, the woman whose murder had initially brought me here. What had Randall said? Knockoff Keds? Small feet.

I stuck out my phone again and tilted it downward. The bare feet were dainty and dangled several inches above the floor. The toenails glimmered subtly with chipped polish.

I retracted my arm and slowed my breathing. I went around the corner low and fast, swinging my light from right to left. No movement. No one else there.

I shined my light on the poor girl’s body. Her sweatpants were torn and stained. Her shirt was crisp with a bib of blood. I could tell by her shape that she was still young, perhaps late teens or early-twenties. Her arms were stretched out to either side. A long wooden dowel had been run in one sleeve, across her back, and out the other. The dowel was fitted to brackets on either wall. The way she’d been hung almost made her look like a scarecrow. The snout of her coyote mask rested against her chest. The ears pointed forward. Her dark eyes looked down at the ground, unblinking.

I had to avert my gaze.

Anger flared inside me and I had to resist the urge to sprint headlong into the darkness to force the confrontation. He wanted me to see these people like this, to know that he had been the one who did it and I hadn’t been able to stop him. He wanted me to see the next three lives that had been snuffed out on my watch. He wanted me to face my failures and realize that I’d been beaten. Over and over and over.

I picked up my pace as I walked, my gun held out in front of me. The passage guided me around to the right until I felt almost like I’d come in a complete circle around the damn cave before I finally encountered the end. I used the mirror function on my phone to clear the area around the bend and then went maybe another dozen feet before the maze doubled back on itself to the left.

Phone. Reflection?

Empty corridor.

Clear.

I went around the corner fast and quickly saw the next turn coming to my left again. Fifteen feet. Flatten my back against the wall. Lead with my light; follow my sight.

Phone. Reflection?

A human silhouette.

Pull back my arm. Blood thundering in my ears.

Wait.

Listen.

No sound. No breathing other than my own.

Footprints? Still only one set. Leading deeper into the warren.

Phone again.

No sign of movement. First impression? Male. Short. Five-foot-eight. Feet touching the floor, but just barely. Up on his toes. Suspended by his arms? Check.

Move.

I tried to vary my maneuvers to eliminate the element of predictability. Tuck and roll. Rise to one knee. Light, left to right. Exhale, slowly. Stand and ease forward. Based solely on the style of the pants and the curve of the hips, I assumed it was another woman. Not a man as I’d initially thought. The feet could have gone either way and the lightweight hoodie was black and crusted with dried blood. As with the last, a dowel had been run through the back of her sweatshirt to suspend her like a scarecrow. I could barely see the gash above her waistband. Her coyote face hung forward to hide the deep laceration across her throat. The dead animal’s tongue was still clenched between its bared teeth. One of its ears was split and withered and resembled an artichoke leaf. I raised the light to her dark eyes. Soft and brown. Barely visible beneath the half-closed lids. Definitely female.

I had to keep moving. Soon enough these victims would come down and I’d make sure they were identified and given a proper burial if I had to do it myself. And even then, they deserved so much more.

A mental picture of the maze was starting to come together in my mind. I was now in the outermost ring. I could feel a slight difference in temperature from the outside heat radiating through the rock wall to my right. I figured this passage ought to take me nearly all the way around the cave and to the opposite side of the wall to the left of the entrance. I’d pretty much navigated the rest of the periphery; a left from there ought to lead me into the heart of the maze, where the passages would become much shorter and narrower.

I walked as fast as my shooter’s stance would allow, following the leftward curve all the way around as I had expected. The wall of the cave remained to my right, although any number of side passages could have been hidden by the drop cloths and patchwork construction. The turn at the end was to the left. Again, as I had expected.

Back against the wall.

Phone out. Tilt. Reflection?

Nothing.

Come around high, leading with my light and pistol.

Clear.

It was a straight shot ahead to another left turn. Fifteen feet. Follow my sweeping light. Another left.

Phone. Reflection?

Maybe five feet to another left turn. Nothing in between. I covered the distance in two long strides. Flattened to the wall.

Phone. Angle. Reflection?

Clear.

Move through fast.

Next left.

Phone. Reflection?

Empty.

Round the corner in a crouch. Rise to shooter’s stance again.

The corridors were getting shorter and shorter. This one was maybe eight feet long and ended in an abrupt right turn. I was nearing the center. I could feel it.

There were still two bodies left to find. It reeked so badly I couldn’t have trusted my nose to guide me to either.

Still only one set of tracks, leading inward. None leading out.

Back against the right wall.

Phone. Tilt. Reflection?

No one there.

The bend was sharper and wound back to the right, out of sight. I swung around and followed it to a point on pretty much the opposite side of the cave. My heart was racing. I had to readjust my grip on my pistol. The light had begun to dim. I couldn’t help but think about how long my escape route would be from here.

Coyote is the master of deception.

As I neared the end I identified a turn to the right. I approached cautiously. I was running out of turns almost as fast as I was running out of space. He was so close I could almost feel his presence.

The Coyote.

I’itoi.

My Elder Brother.

Right-hand turn.

Phone. Reflection?

Damn it!

I yanked my arm back.

Another body.

Should be Agent Matthews.

I knelt and held my arm out again.

The bare feet were a livid purple and rested flat on the floor, causing the knees to bend. Green pants, black splotches. Green jacket. Nameplate on the breast, insignia on the shoulder. Definitively CBP. Arms out to either side, although they were too long. The dowel had been forced through the jacket over his elbows, leaving his forearms and hands to dangle like his coyote head. The lips of the mask had been peeled back and glued in place to expose the savage teeth.

I ducked back. Deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Choke back the stomach acids. I rolled around the corner and cleared the passage with my Beretta. Maybe eight feet long. Nearing the end.

I shined my beam into the coyote’s eyes. Blue irises, sclera shot through with blood. Vacant stare.

I ducked under his right arm.

Back against the wall, slide sideways.

Phone. Steeper angle. Reflection?

Another passage. Four feet long. Another right turn. Nothing in between.

I came around high and fast. Darted to the next turn.

Phone. Reflection?

Again, nothing. Another four-foot stretch. Left-hand turn.

Pulse thumping in my ears, shaking my vision.

Breathe. For God’s sake, breathe.

Coyote is the master of deception.

Crouch. Hustle. Back. Wall.

Phone. Reflection?

Six feet. Arched passage. Left turn at the end.

Go, go, go.

Phone. Reflection?

Three feet. Right turn.

The quarters were getting tight. No room to move. To make a mistake.

Duck left. Already there.

The right turn bent back in the opposite direction, one-hundred-eighty degrees.

Phone. Reflection?

Nothing.

Three feet. Right turn.

Phone. Tilt. Reflection?

Ten feet, arched passage.

Clear.

Come around low and slow.

Right turn at the end. Back against the uneven, rounded wall.

Phone. Reflection?

Three feet. Nothing. No one.

Roll and rise. Two strides. The left turn merely rounded the wall to my left.

Phone. Reflection?

Clear.

Coyote is the master of deception.

Swing around. Five feet. Left turn. Back against the wall.

Phone. Reflection?

The curved corridor bent beyond my range of sight.

It was the final long stretch and I knew it.

Round the turn, hard and fast, sweeping the light, finger tight on the trigger, pressing it into the sweet spot.

Footprints?

Still one set, continuing inward. None coming out.

My heart, jackhammering.

Respirations, shallow, jerky.

Mouth dry.

All over soon.

Swallow hard.

Reach the end. Left turn.

Coyote is the master of deception.

Back against the wall, slide down low.

Phone. Tilt upward. Try to keep from shaking. Reflection?

Body. Large.

Arm back.

Steady breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

Roll around.

Pistol up. Light up.

Black shoes, tan slacks. Universal cop special. Bloodstains. Belly holding shirt open, missing buttons, bloodstained undershirt. Glimmer from a badge on the chest, in the middle of a crimson Rorschach. Arms out. Just tall enough to remain standing roughly flat on the floor, not suspended or leaning. Doubtful dowel would have held otherwise. Antone. Without a doubt. Raise the light to the coyote mask. Jaw molded wide open, as though preparing to snap. Wrinkled skin on snout. Look up higher for the eye—

“Took you long enough to get here.”

The words came from around the corner to my left.

I froze. The voice was hollow, haunting.

It reminded me of my father’s.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this…brother.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

I swung my light toward the source of the sound and held perfectly still, keeping Antone’s body between me and the bend just past him. A faint red glow, hardly discernible, from around the corner. I waited in vain for Ban to step out of hiding and into range. No sign of movement. I crept to the opposite side of Antone’s body, under his left arm, and peered around his back toward the lone remaining turn.

Only darkness and shadows.

I eased all the way around the chief and approached the bend slowly, silently, placing each foot softly and carefully so as not to make a sound. I opened my mouth to further quiet my breathing, although I was pretty certain I’d ceased breathing altogether. I didn’t so much as blink as I stared straight down my sightline and through the heart of the flashlight beam.

Another step.

Another.

The corridor was only three feet long and terminated in a left-hand turn.

The final turn.

Another step.

“Are you ashamed of your native blood? Is that why you never even bothered to look for your roots? Or were you ashamed of your people, living on this patch of uninhabitable desert and subsisting on the scraps your government cast aside after stealing everything else from us?”

Another step.

I entered the short passage and watched the circle of my beam shrink on the wall as I closed the distance. The light betrayed my location. I paused long enough to untie the charger cord with my left hand and let it fall to the ground. I held the light in my left hand, away from my body, directed as far as I could angle it around the corner. If he had a firearm, he would get my hand, but the shot would pass well in front of my chest.

Coyote is the master of deception.

“It only seems fitting that our fates should be joined here, in this most sacred of places, where our people were first led from the darkness and into the light, where our blood bubbled up from the heart of the land. Here, in the home of our creator. Where your blood can return to that very same heart.”

Another step.

My pulse was a non-stop thunderclap in my ears. I had to concentrate to keep my hands from shaking. Considering the way the light jiggled against the wall, I wasn’t doing an especially impressive job.

“It’s said that the maze is a metaphor for one’s life journey. That we are birthed into hardship and only by navigating the various perils will we reach our ultimate destination. Here, at the center of the maze, where the sun god blesses us and ushers us into the afterlife. This is how things were always supposed to be. We were always meant to take this journey together…brother.”

I held my light sideways and directed to my left, then threw it forward. It landed on the dirt in front of me and shined back into the center of the maze. No shots rang out. I listened for movement, but heard none. I was hoping he would immediately extinguish my light in an effort to seize the advantage, and, by doing so, reveal his exact location. Keeping the light was fine by me, too. I took a double-handed grip on my pistol and inched closer. I figured speed and the element of surprise would afford me one shot, and I needed to make it count. I knew he was back there. He wasn’t making any kind of effort to hide that fact. In his mind, this was our shared destiny.

“There is one incontrovertible truth about journeys. They all must come to an end. Metaphorically and literally. No life journey would be complete otherwise. And you know what that end is, don’t you…brother?”

Coyote is the master of deception.

The muscles in my legs tensed with potential as I lowered myself closer to the ground, into something resembling a compact sprinter’s stance. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen through my ruse and he’d be spotlighted in my beam when I dove around the corner and started firing.

“The legend says there’s only one way to ensure your safe return from the maze. Do you know what that is?”

Coyote is the master of deception.

I glanced down at my flashlight, at the stretch of ground illuminated by the golden beam, at the very edge where the red glow turned it a subtle shade of orange. At the footprints heading inward.

And at the other set that crossed right over the top of them in the opposite direction, back toward me. Behind me.

“You need to bring a gift for I’itoi.”

Coyote is the master of deception.

The red light.

The shoes.

Jesus.

I dove forward, flipped over in midair, and aimed my pistol between my feet, back toward the direction from which I’d come. I was firing before I hit the ground on my back and still firing as I slid up against the makeshift wall. The strobe of the discharge silhouetted the large form sneaking up on me from behind. I watched it buck in reverse, watched its coyote head snap backward, watched a mist of blood freeze in time behind it, watched the reflection of the knife as it fell from its hand. The report was painful and lanced right through my eardrums.

I grabbed the flashlight from the ground beside me and scurried to my feet. I shined it down at the body sprawled before me. Bloody cotton stuffing bloomed from above the collar of Antone’s uniform shirt and the entrance wounds on his gut. A black puddle expanded beneath his head. The coyote mask had flopped back from his face.

“Did you bring a gift for Elder Brother to ensure your safe return?”

“Yeah.” I turned away from the dead man’s face and the entry wound between a pair of eyes that were nearly identical to mine. “I brought him exactly what he deserved.”

I walked around the corner and stomped on the digital recorder before I was forced to endure another word uttered in the voice of my dead elder brother.