Storm of Locusts

Chapter 12

Since I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone, I leave my truck behind for Tah. I don’t want him stuck without a vehicle. The twins came on their motorbikes, big monsters with knobby oversize tires and serious off-road suspensions, black on black so that they can’t be seen at night when the Goodacres are up to more nefarious things than running a honky-tonk.

Ben’s already climbing on behind Rissa. Rissa hands her a pair of goggles, which she puts on dutifully.

“You got something warm for your head?” she asks the younger girl, all her concerns about Ben tagging along seemingly gone.

“No,” Ben says. “Do I need something?”

Rissa digs around in her pocket and produces a black beanie, twin to the one Clive’s wearing. “Wind was rough coming up,” she explains. “Cold, too. You’re going to want this.”

Ben pulls the beanie on, tucking her bun underneath. It’s so big that Rissa reaches back to roll up the edge so the smaller girl’s eyes aren’t covered. Ben grins in her beanie and goggles, looking like a slightly dangerous but very nearsighted prairie dog. Rissa laughs. Turns the key in the ignition and revs the engine.

Shaking my head at the two of them and their sudden sisterhood, I head over to Clive.

“Rissa warmed up to Ben quickly,” I observe.

He’s been watching their exchange too. “I don’t think she meant anything bad before. She’s just . . . protective.”

“I meant what I said earlier—that she’s only coming to help us track.”

He gives me a skeptical look. “Did I not see her with a gun?”

“It’s mine. I’ll take it away if I need to.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I mean it, Clive. I’ll make sure she gets back to the Thirsty Boys in one piece. I didn’t actually promise Hastiin I’d take care of his niece, but I plan to do it anyway.”

He nods, thoughtful, before he leans back to say, “Glad you decided to come. Kai’s my friend too. I want him back just as much as you do.”

Our eyes meet. “Not just as much.”

He holds my gaze for a moment before he says, “No. Maybe not.”

Rissa pulls forward first, Clive and I follow, and my dogs escort us out.

Grace’s All-American looks the same as the last time I saw it. Long strips of gray paneling line the rectangular box of a building, trying their best to look like wood but mostly looking like the cheap aluminum siding that it is. An old Budweiser banner hangs limply from the twenty-foot-high metal fence, the edge caught in a curling spool of razor wire. The All-American is usually a welcome sight, a kind refuge beyond the jurisdictional reach of the Law Dogs or just a place to have a drink and not be alone. But in the harsh light of the early-December morning, the place looks defeated. It’s unsettling. Wrong.

The yard is silent, dry gravel and gray dirt. The line of garages that usually house a variety of illegal or otherwise suspect vehicles is shuttered. But it’s the guardhouse that drives it home. Last time I was here Freckles stopped me there, his hands like oversize puppy paws around his assault rifle. Fierce kid, bright-eyed, innocent in a lot of ways I liked, despite having a mouth like an old rodeo hand. And me and Kai here because we were running and needed Grace’s help. I’d owe Grace this, even if Kai weren’t missing.

We stop at the entrance, and Rissa gets off her bike to key the heavy bolt locks and pull the gate open. Clive drives through, and I catch a glimpse of the inside of the gatehouse through the open door. The floor is stained an unmistakable brownish red. The door itself has an amoeba-like splash the same ugly color right above center. I know what it is.

Blood.

Unease flickers in my stomach, making my throat dry. The twins didn’t say anything about violence.

I tap Clive on the shoulder and motion for him to cut the engine. He obliges, bringing the bike to a halt a few feet inside the gate.

“I want to look around,” I say, sliding off the back. “Then I’ll come meet you at the house.”

“What about Mom?”

I pull my goggles off, hand them to Clive. “Tell Grace what I’m doing. She’ll understand.”

He doesn’t argue. Just starts the bike up and winds down the driveway to disappear behind the bar.

I step into the gatehouse first. It’s a modified shed, the kind people used to buy at hardware depots to store their yard tools, but this one’s been decked out with an extra layer of thick concrete bricks along the interior wall that faces the road and around the entrance surrounding the metal door. No windows. There’s a small table and two chairs, a dartboard with a handful of darts all stuck in the bull’s-eye, and a stack of old paperback books, mostly with spaceships on the covers. All of it looks fairly undisturbed, as if whoever works here stepped out and expects to come back the next day. Certainly no signs of struggle or forced entry. Just the blood.

The blood looks like an impact stain of some kind. Something or someone was hit hard enough to spatter. Gunshot is my first thought even though the concrete bricks are intact. I examine the walls opposite me, but they’re clean too. Which means that if the blood was back spatter from a gunshot, there’d be front spatter too. And there’s nothing. It’s possible that whoever shot the gun got hit with most of the front spatter, but surely some would have reached the walls. Plus, the twins said nothing about hearing a gunshot. But then they didn’t say anything about bloodstains either. I’m not going to rule it out, but my gut says no guns.

My next thought is some kind of knife wound, and at this height, maybe to the throat. But there’s no arcing patterns to suggest spray. In fact, the pattern is more like clumps of mist, almost like wisps of clouds against the walls. Kind of pretty, if it weren’t, well, blood. I’m not sure what to make of it.

I pull the blue bandanna from around my neck and shake it out. Hold it flat in my palm and use my Böker to dig a few flakes of the dried blood into it. Sheathe the knife and carefully fold the bandanna closed. Tuck it in my pocket and step outside into the sun.

I walk a wide circle around the gatehouse, eyes on the ground. Slow, careful where I step, searching for prints. As much as Dinétah needs rain, for once I’m glad for the drought. No rain means footprints stick around forever, and the clay-colored dust here in Grace’s yard holds prints exceedingly well. I see at least three distinct ones. A heavy boot, a moccasin, and what looks like a partial print of a bare foot.

I can eliminate the first two sets as Caleb’s boot and Kai’s moccasin respectively. I bend to get a closer look at the last one. Too many nasty things out here in the desert to go barefoot anywhere. Besides, the ground itself is too hot to walk on for any distance without a good pair of shoes. Wouldn’t make sense for anyone to be barefoot.

I trace my finger along the outline of the print. A partial print. A graceful foot, with a high arch. As if a dancer rested only briefly here, touching on the ball of their foot. Light, too, shown by the shallow imprint.

A shadow moves between me and the sun. I look up to find Rissa coming my way, fine white gravel breaking under her feet.

“Did you see this?” I say as she joins me.

She glances down at the partial print. “Yeah. Mom’s waiting for you back at the house.”

“What did you make of it?” I ask, ignoring her implied command.

“I didn’t. It’s a footprint.”

“A bare foot. That doesn’t seem strange?”

She shrugs. Looks away into the sun.

I sigh. “Work with me here. We’re on the same side, right?”

She exhales, annoyed. But bends to run a finger around the edge of the print, careful not to disturb it. “I guess I didn’t think much about it. We get a lot of customers through here. Most of them not at their best by the end of a night bellied up to the bar, if you know what I mean. Unusual, but not impossible, for someone to lose a shoe on the way out.”

“Well, whoever it was seems light on their feet.”

She snorts. “Most people aren’t light on their feet after a night at the All-American.”

“That’s my point.”

She stands and brushes the dust from her hands. “You done? Mom wants to see you. It’s rude to keep her waiting.”

I rise too. “Don’t you have cameras out here?”

“Closed circuit, feeds to an old DVR back behind the bar.”

“Did it record?”

A shadow crosses her face, dragging the edges of her mouth down in disapproval. “It recorded.”

“But something’s wrong?”

“It recorded Kai shutting off the camera.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s some audio. You can hear him talking, but it’s mostly incomprehensible. Then he comes into the frame, looks right at the camera.” She rubs her hands up and down her arms. “I hear Caleb scream, and then . . .” She exhales and fixes me with a stare. “And then Kai come back on, clear as fucking day. Reaches up and shuts off the feed.”

There’s a beat of silence between us when I have no idea what to say. “Are you sure?” I finally manage.

She shakes her head. “You can see for yourself. I kept the tape.”

No wonder Rissa’s so angry, and no wonder she thinks looking at footprints is a waste of time. She’s already convinced Kai is responsible for hurting Caleb.

“Anything else?” she asks.

“I just want to . . . If you give me a minute . . .” I walk away from Rissa’s accusing glare. Head outside the gate, where there are more prints. There is a series of crisscrossing tire tracks here, but with all the traffic that comes and goes from Grace’s All-American, that doesn’t mean much.

Rissa joins me. “We’ve been closed since it happened. Those are the last prints anyone made.” They’re tire tracks, wide tread and off-road, which isn’t unusual for Dinétah.

“So, this is the vehicle that took them. You’re sure.”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure.”

“When did it happen?”

“Day before yesterday.”

Almost seventy-two hours. So why wait to come to me? One look at Rissa’s stormy face and I don’t have to ask. I was a last resort. If she’d had any other options, I would never have found out that Kai was even missing.

“Those two would come out here together for morning duty,” she continues. “I mean, usually there’s nothing to worry about. We’re a bar, mostly. There’s deliveries sometimes, but otherwise not a lot of traffic during daylight hours. But they liked to sit together and have coffee. Caleb really liked Kai.” She smiles a little. “Like a puppy the way he took to him.”

“A lot of people do that. Kai’s charming.”

He faces darkens with suspicion. “Doesn’t he have some clan power that makes him like that?”

“He does,” I say carefully. Rissa’s made it clear she’s not a fan of clan powers. “But a lot of his charm is just the way he is. Clan powers don’t work like that. They only come when you’re in some sort of life-threatening situation, and they’re exhausting. It’s not like you go around using them all the time, and he wouldn’t use them on Caleb unless he felt threatened.” I don’t mention Kai’s superhealing, which allows him to use his clan powers more often than other people might. And I definitely don’t mention Ben’s seeming ability to use hers at will. I’m sure Caleb and Kai’s friendship had nothing to do with Bit’ąą’nii.

She shrugs. “Well, whatever. They were friends.”

Which makes this even worse in her mind. I get it.

“Nothing different about that morning?”

“If there was, I don’t remember it now.”

“When did you notice they were gone?”

“Clive noticed. Maybe around dusk. He usually goes out for guard duty around then. Me or him, and it was his turn. I was working the door at the bar. Anyway, Caleb’s usually inside, complaining that he’s starving or whatever, but he didn’t come back. So, finally, Clive went to look, and . . .” She trails off. Glances back at the gatehouse with the bloodstain.

“Did you go after them?”

She glares at me. “Of course we went after them. But the trail faded out in Tse Bonito and no one in town had seen a thing, and by that time it was dark anyway. There was nothing we could do.”

“And day two?”

“We went back. Asked more questions. Got shit-all. And that’s when Mom said we should . . .” Her whole face seems to bunch up in distaste.

“Grace said to come find me.” I know I’m going to have to deal with this enmity between Rissa and me. I know it’s left over from Black Mesa, and Caleb’s disappearance has just compounded it. Maybe we can hash it out over a bottle of whiskey, or maybe we’ll end up meeting at dawn and drawing down OK Corral style. Whatever it takes. But it’s going to have to wait. “I’d like to get a look at that closed-circuit recording.”

She slaps a hand against her leather pants. “Suit yourself. You’re not going to see anything.”

“Humor me. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Another set of eyes? Someone who might see something you missed.”

She starts to answer me but cuts herself off. Turns on a heel and heads back to the bar, leaving me to follow. Or not. Because I have to fight the urge to curse her name and go the opposite direction, head out the fence and leave Rissa and her hostility behind. I don’t need the Goodacres. I’m perfectly capable of finding Kai on my own.

But I don’t leave. Too many people are involved now. Clive and Grace. Tah. Even Ben, in a way. So I swallow my choice words and jog a little to catch up.

“There was one weird thing about that tape,” Rissa admits reluctantly, once we’re walking side by side again.

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense. At first I thought it was just Caleb, but we listened to it half a dozen times. It’s definitely not my brother.”

“What is it?”

“Right before Kai shuts off the tape.”

“Yeah?”

“I swear you can hear someone singing.”