Page 14 of Arresting the Warlord

I waved at him all friendly like and had the flies show him some lovin’.

“Not funny.”

Grinning like a lunatic, I pulled out on the main highway and put the pedal to the metal. It was also a good thing Dezba’s hogan was on sacred land and the warlords had no idea what happened during a Blessingways ceremony.

Ten miles down the road, I mentally scanned the area for any signs of the alien monster. To my surprise, my internal radar was quiet. I couldn’t sense the Chupacabra or Dezba. Which was bad. Very bad. Dezba had a very distinct aura.

I glanced down at the speedometer. Damn. I was doing a hundred and twenty miles an hour. I eased off the gas pedal. The last thing I needed was a blown engine. I glanced over at my father. Even at seventy-three he still had the face of a warrior and the wiry strength of a street fighter. His magic roiled around the car. If the Overlord knew what he was truly capable of, he would either kill my father or lock him up.

Fifteen minutes later, I turned down a narrow, rutted dirt road. The truck shook and vibrated as it kicked up a boiling cloud of red dust. A few skeletal trees dotted the flat, seemingly featureless land.

Father stopped chanting. “I cannot sense Dezba.”

“Me either. Let’s hope she went to Window Rock to do some shopping.”

Dezba’s traditional Navajo hogan came into view. The dome shaped dwelling was constructed from cedar poles and plastered with mud for insulation. The door faced the east so she could greet the morning sun with prayers. There was no sign of her blue van.

Father stiffened and pointed.

Shit! Dezba’s prized sheep had been slaughtered. I brought the truck to a stop and surveyed the carnage. “I don’t see her mare. You think she made a run for it?”

“No. Dezba would stay and fight.”

We got out of truck and reluctantly approached the hogan. Blood covered the shattered front door.

One look inside and I knew the bloody remains on the floor were Dezba’s. I opened my psychic eye. “Her soul has passed Father.”

His face a mask of grief, Father commanded, “Burn it.”

“Let me do my job first.”

“No. Burn it down. I will not allow the Coletti to take her body.”

A coyote howled in the distance.

My mouth tightened into a hard line. Evil prowled our land.

Taking a pouch of ash out of his satchel, Father smeared it over his hands and face. The Navajo believed ash protected them from the dead.

I took the pouch from him and quickly rubbed the ash over my exposed skin. Grabbing a fuel can from the truck, I splashed gas around the interior of the hogan. If Jake or the General found out about this, I would simply tell them it was a Navajo death ceremony.

Father spread his arms and began chanting. Dark gray clouds gathered overhead. Whoever had killed Dezba would soon feel my father’s wrath.

Retrieving a flare from the emergency pack, I struck it and tossed it inside the hogan.Whoosh!Flames flared, golden and greedy and raced along the floor. Within minutes the hogan was engulfed in flames.

Thunder cracked and incandescent red lightning bolts arced across the building clouds.

My internal radar screamed a warning. I whirled to face the threat and caught a brief glimpse of sunlight flashing off metal.

“Sniper,” I yelled.

Thecrackof a high-powered rifle sounded.

Pain exploded in my chest as the bullet struck me. The force of the impact spun me around. As I fell, my head struck a hitching post, and the world faded away.

“CeeCee. Wake up. Wake the fuck up,”a determined male voice shouted.

“Father?”I opened my eyes and swiped at the blood running down my face. Huge bolts of lightning crackled around me. “Father?” I pushed myself upright and sucked in an agonized breath. Damn, my chest hurt. I blinked as funny black spots danced in my vision.

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