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Authors: Aimée & David Thurlo

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BOOK: Shooting Chant
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“Where’s Wilson?” Justine called out as she stepped out of her department vehicle. “Am I early?”

“Right on time, actually,” Ella confirmed by looking at her watch.

“Wilson called me
on my cell phone. He was just getting into his pickup. Apparently he had some trouble locating the sample bottles he wanted. They had to be sterile, and that meant going through some new inventory in the science storeroom at the college. It was donated by LabKote, by the way.”

“I could have brought some from the department lab if I’d known. The only thing I ended up bringing was my camera so
we can document the sites from where the samples are taken.” Justine looked back toward her unit, and confirmed that the camera was on the seat. “Good thing biology and ecology are Wilson’s fields of training, because this isn’t something I’ve been taught to do.”

“This is the type of puzzle Wilson enjoys, too, so he was eager to get involved. He insisted on supplying everything we needed since
we’re going to fund the analysis out of our budget.” Ella brushed back her long hair, fastening it into a ponytail with a silver barrette.

“Here he comes now,” Justine gestured toward the battered old pickup Wilson still drove to work. “Ever notice how many teachers around here, even college professors, drive old Ford and Chevy trucks. Is that the Rez in them speaking, do you think?”

“Wilson
says it helps make him a good role model for his students. It lets them know that if they want to be rich someday, teaching isn’t the profession for them,” Ella said, laughing as Wilson drove up beside them.

“Not too many Cadillacs in the police parking lot either. Know how a Navajo cop gains social status?” Justine repeated a common department joke.

“They marry a New Mexico teacher.” Ella echoed
along with Justine as Wilson stepped out of his truck.

“Hi, ladies. What’s this about New Mexico teachers? Another poverty joke?” Wilson looked back and forth between the two women cops.

“Enough talk about money,” Ella said, then winked at Wilson. “We’re police officers and teachers because we’re dedicated. Right, Professor? Money doesn’t matter to us.”

“If you really believe that, there’s
definitely something alien in the environment and it’s affecting your brain function. Shall we find out what it is?” Wilson reached into his truck and brought out a detailed topographic map of the area, unfolding it on the hood of his pickup.

“What’s the plan?” Ella moved over beside Wilson, and Justine joined them.

Five minutes later, all three were gathering samples according to Wilson’s predetermined
strategy. Wilson would place a length of wire with a labeled card attached into the ground, and Justine would take a reference photo with a building or ground feature visible. Ella would then collect soil samples while Justine took a few leaves or blades of grass from the closest plant.

Wilson concentrated on finding small dead animals to bottle. He collected grasshoppers, bugs, and spiders,
then located a bird’s nest in an eave of the exhibit hall. Inside were two dead hatchlings. Those went in their own labeled container, too.

After taking samples in every quadrant, including several spots around the agricultural building and display hall, they moved closer to LabKote’s fence. Drainage patterns showed where the most recent rains had run off, and samples were taken there as well.

Working together, they gathered around a clump of grass growing next to the fence where water had collected after draining off the roof. Wilson inserted a wire “flag,” and Justine stepped back to take a photo of the location.

Ella, out of the viewing field of the camera, noticed a LabKote guard walking in their direction and cleared her throat.

Justine took the photo, then lowered the camera.

“Just what the hell are you three up to?” The Anglo officer growled, resting the palm of his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. “This is a restricted area, and you could get severely injured if you touch the fence. Can’t you see the signs?” He pointed to a red warning sign in English, Navajo, and Spanish.

Wilson responded first. “I’m an ecology professor at the local college, and we’re
collecting soil and organic samples from this public use area for a class project. Do you want to help us?”

“Um, no. I have work of my own to do. What kind of samples did you say you’re taking?” The guard looked at Ella. “Aren’t you one of those cops who was here the other day?”

“Yes.” Ella decided to be noncommittal. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Landreth and Morgan found out what they’d
done. She hoped it would worry them, especially if they’d dumped some kind of contaminant.

Ella remembered that during the fifties and sixties a uranium mill only a few miles from where they were standing had allowed radioactive “tailings” to get into the ground. Although the out-of-state owners had been forced to stage a massive cleanup, buildings that had stood for decades had been torn down
because some of the raw materials in their foundations were too “hot.” She hoped history wasn’t repeating itself.

“Aren’t you pleased that science teachers take such a positive interest in our environment, and pass that appreciation on to their students?” Justine volunteered with a smile.

“I notice all you students seem to carry handguns instead of book bags,” the guard commented, seeing Justine’s
handgun at her belt. “Professor, when do you think you’ll be done and away from this fence?” The guard, knowing they were giving him a hard time, tried not to lose his cool.

“Just a few more samples around the perimeter and we’ll be gone. You can watch, if you find it educational,” Wilson said with a straight face, gathering up the canvas bag containing their samples.

*   *   *

Ten minutes
later they were finished and back by their vehicles, a hundred yards away from LabKote.

“I would have liked to have taken a few more samples down by the river where the runoff from this part of the mesa drains, but I can’t because I have to get back for a class in half an hour,” Wilson said, handing the sample bag and topographic maps to Justine. She’d be sending the samples to the Albuquerque
lab for analysis.

“We’ll take care of that,” Ella said. “You’ve already done more than enough. Thanks for all the help. Justine will make sure you get a printout of all the lab results.” She looked over at Justine, who nodded.

“I’ll take care of it,” Justine said. “Ella, do you want me to gather the sediment samples, or start packing up what we have for shipment?” Justine waved at Wilson as
he drove off, then placed the bag on the seat of her car.

“Just give me four sample vials and the map, and I’ll do it myself. I haven’t been down to that spot near the river since I was in high school, and I’d like to go down there,” Ella said. “Get everything else ready, and I should be back to the station in time to add this to the box and catch the afternoon FedEx pickup.”

“Okay, boss. Don’t
start getting nostalgic and go for a skinny-dip in the river. The water is probably pretty cold this time of year,” Justine teased as she placed four of the unopened containers in a plastic bag, and handed them to her. “Make sure to take two samples from each of the two spots already marked on the topo map. That way you won’t need the camera.”

“I hope we’re wrong about this contamination,” Ella
said.

“If we are, we’re going to have to come up with some new theories about what affected the dead insects and birds we found. If we don’t, the traditionalists will have their own explanation ready.”

“No doubt,” Ella said, then watched as Justine climbed into her vehicle. “See you at the station in about an hour.”

“Right, Cuz.” Justine drove off, and Ella walked over to her Jeep, placing
the hard plastic vials on the passenger-side floor. The route she’d have to take was bumpy, and this way she wouldn’t bounce them off the seat and break them with her foot. At least with the Jeep, compared to the school bus she’d gone in years before, the ride would be more comfortable and much quieter.

Ella drove south on Highway 666, one of the deadliest highways in a state with one of the
worst highway fatality records, and turned east on a dirt road she hadn’t been down in months. The first few miles were graveled and relatively well maintained considering the rainy season had recently ended, but the track she took back to the northeast was probably as bad as it had ever been.

As she got within a mile of the bluffs overlooking the San Juan River, the road became a collection
of ruts laden with rocks rounded in an ancient riverbed, and it was impossible to travel a foot without a bounce or lurch to the side.

Ten minutes later she reached the edge of the bluff, which overlooked the tamarisks, willows, and cottonwoods that comprised the bosque lining the river on both sides of the valley. The bluffs came up nearly to the bosque, and defined that side of the river valley.

She remembered the last time she’d been here, her senior year in high school. The entire graduating class had collected boulders, arranged the rocks on the hillside to form the year they were graduating, then whitewashed the rocks so the giant numbers were visible all the way from the high school in the valley. Later, they’d gone down to the bosque, cut willow switches, and used them to roast
hot dogs and marshmallows over a fire one of the teachers had constructed on a large sandbar.

Billy Pete had been there, too, and kept telling her a hot dog wasn’t cooked until it was black all over. She’d preferred her own cooking, but she’d shared a can of cola with Billy, and a bag of chips.

Thoughts of Billy reminded her of Justine, and the age difference between her cousin and her old classmate.
He wasn’t old enough to be her father, exactly, but he did have quite a few years on her. It bothered her, because she’d always thought of Billy as a friend, and as someone who wouldn’t have taken advantage of another person. But things weren’t the same on the Rez now as when she was a kid, and that knowledge kept her eyes open to the bad as well as the good. At least the tension between
her and Justine had eased a bit.

Ella climbed out of the Jeep, grabbed the bag containing the vials and her handheld radio, then started inching her way down the narrow trail where the road had finally given up. She’d have to walk the remaining quarter mile or so down the cliff side to the narrow strip of sand beside the muddy river.

The hike down the sloping trail took only five minutes, including
a brief stop to check her map. As she stepped around clumps of willows growing like red, leaf-covered fishing rods stuck together at the handles, Ella heard a vehicle from somewhere on the bluff. It was probably teenagers coming to neck, or, unfortunately, to drink.

Ella concentrated on the sound of running water, letting it act like a natural tranquilizer. This was one of her favorite spots.
She thought about her child, and of the times in the future when she’d walk beside the river with her, sinking their toes into the warm sand and smelling the musty richness of the water that had given the Navajo Nation a chance at life.

Ella took out the vials and began gathering samples, making sure with her map that she had the proper locations: both sides of an arroyo where runoff flowed from
the bluffs. As long as she took two samples upstream and two downstream from the spot, they’d have the samples according to Wilson’s strategy.

As she was placing the cap on the last vial, instinct told her she was no longer alone. Stepping slowly away from the water’s edge, she set the container in the plastic bag with the others, and stuck them in her pocket.

She’s been a cop long enough to
hear a dozen stories about complacent officers getting killed. Remembering the tales revitalized her instincts for survival now.

Ella flipped the snap off her holster and crouched down low, looking around carefully among the clumps of willows for signs of movement. The bubbling flow of the river, the sound that had helped her relax, now masked the footsteps of whoever was stalking her, adding
to the danger.

She remained still and, after a minute, she saw a shadow farther upriver shift to the left almost imperceptibly. Taking out her pistol, she crept forward silently. Every instinct she possessed told her it wasn’t just a teenaged boy hoping to catch a girl bathing. As she edged toward the figure hidden in the shadows, she saw movement along the base of the bluff as well. There was
someone else stalking her, and that second person was closing in from behind.

Hearing the rustle of brush ahead, Ella tried to get a fix on her target and bring her pistol to bear.

Suddenly, a large man wearing a mask and a dark sweater crashed out from the brush and slashed at her with a big bladed knife. He missed her hand, but caught the barrel of her pistol, jerking it away from her just
as the second man appeared and rushed at her like a bull.

Ella kicked out, knocking the second one into the man wielding the knife. She reached for the backup derringer in her boot, but one of the men grabbed her by the foot, and twisted it around painfully. Ella fell to the ground hard but kicked again with her other foot, catching him on the wrist, and he grunted, letting go.

Everybody scrambled
to their feet at once. Ella was outnumbered, and neither one of her pistols was within easy reach. When both attackers moved to cut off her escape, each wielding deadly looking knives, she knew that there was only one option left. As both of the men lunged at her with their blades, she leaped into the muddy water.

SIXTEEN

The water hit her like a wave of ice, but she fought to stay focused on the real threat—the men after her. The river was barely three feet deep here and she stretched out, trying to keep low in the shallow water as she rode the current.

It wasn’t hard to stay on the bottom, her clothes were dragging her down anyway. Ella held her breath as long as she could, then surfaced for air and
a quick look.

One of the men was running along the bank, but falling behind steadily because of the brush and the difficult terrain. She’d walked the route only minutes earlier, and knew there was a sharp bend in the river only fifty yards away. Taking a deep breath, she dove down, allowing the current to carry her once again.

BOOK: Shooting Chant
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