07-25-2013, 10:39 PM
Jon Little Bird was born on the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in the southwest desert of the United States. He never knew his parents as they perished in a vehicle accident in his first year of life, and he was raised in his early years by his grandfather, affectionately known as Sooyee, an elder of the Mescalero Tribe, who was responsible for teaching Jon the old stories of the gods and the ancients, passed down orally from father to son and grandfather to grandson since the beginning of Time. Sooyee taught Jon about the spirit of nature and of how the world came to be through the actions of the heroes and the katchinas and the medicine they had.
Once, when Jon was five, he asked what his Sooyee meant by medicine: “Do you mean like medicine the doctors have when they give you shots, or what you buy me when I have a cough?”
His grandfather shook his head. “No, nino, not like that.” He scowled. “Curse the death of our mother tongue to these times. What I mean when I say medicine I mean a thing, as a charm, that you cannot see but possess within you, that allows you to change what is into something else as you want it to be. You understand?”
Jon shook his head that he did not. His grandfather sighed and took a breath. “See the hunters that buy into our trophy hunts and slay a mighty twelve-point elk their first day. They have hunting medicine. See those gamblers that sometimes come to our casinos and, no matter what, no matter how careless they bet or what fools they make of themselves, they walk away winners. As if they cannot lose. This is medicine.”
Jon went to sleep that night, not really understanding what Sooyee meant by medicine. But further stories began to make him think more on the subject, especially as he began to learn of the stories of Coyote: the sly god bearing resemblance to the animal, who was also not a god but tricked god and man alike with his strong medicine. Coyote tricked the gods into giving man Fire, so it was said, and brought a mountain up to split a river in two and end a division between men and women so the First People could be born, and also tended to get drunk on White Man's whiskey and steal all his possessions from him.
It all confused Jon. At times Coyote was at odds with the great gods, at other times he was a god...still other times he seemed more a scoundrel and troublemaker than anything else.
When he was a little older, he asked his grandfather further about Coyote: “What was Coyote, Sooyee? Was he good? Was he evil? It seems maybe he was a little of both sometimes.”
“Now, now, nino,” his grandfather said. “First of all, Coyote wasn't. Coyote is and always will be, as will all the other spirits. They are eternal, and cannot die even though they do. The Great Spirit that flows through all things and makes the trees grow and the rains come will always exist, as will all the things that make up it, including the kachinas and, yes, Coyote, and me and you.
“There are forces that make up the Great Spirit, some that are benevolent and some that are less so. The Bear is a part of the great spirit but he is a danger to you, for it is to his benefit if he can kill you and eat you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sooyee.”
“Some forces did not want man to be, and some do still want man to be no more. There are even some spirits that are benevolent sometimes but malevolent other times. The wind. The rains. Fire. Understand?”
Jon nodded.
“Coyote...as I have learned through all the stories...Coyote was on our side. Everything he did was to the benefit of man even if he were to incur the wrath of the other gods. How he tied a birch tree to his tail and stole away with fire? That gave us the means to take ourselves out of the caves. How he pulled out the blanket beneath the nice rows of stars the gods had made and threw them into the constellations we know now? This gave us the gift of navigation which allowed us to connect with one another and build a civilization. No one can say what his motives were, but his actions were such that it allowed us to thrive as a people.”
Jon nodded, though he didn't really understand yet.
His grandfather could not help but mention to the other Elders the interest Jon had taken to learning about the old ways. So at times medicine men, as they called themselves, came to him and took him places. None of them were arrogant enough to claim they had any actual medicine. Able to work miracles just as Coyote and the other gods, eternally young, they had once been a part of the people and lived with them, protecting them with their medicine, but they had been long gone even before the White Man arrived. Still, his tribe's elders did what they could to teach Jon the rituals. They described to Jon how he must venture out into the wilderness and find his spirit guide.
So was at the age of thirteen Jon ventured outdoors in the lush pine-tree forest of the reservation. It was already starting to show signs of drought from overuse of the water table by his time, but was still tranquil. Not quite sure what to do, he lay down against a tall fir tree, listening to a subtle river flow, and feel like he was one with all around him. He thought upon the stories of his elders of the Great Spirit and when he was silent enough for long enough, could almost feel himself melting into his surroundings. He closed his eyes and imagined he was really awake and wandering among the trees, swimming in the river with the fish, and running alongside the deer. As if he could simply seep into the earth and become one with it.
And he found he could see from his forehead. Around him was the forest, behind him was himself sleeping. He found he could wander as he pleased away from his sleeping body. A thrum passed through his spirit and he felt eyes upon him.
“Who is there?” he called out.
He saw a blur of motion coming from the tree line. It appeared to be coming right at him. Jon winced and braced for an impact with whatever the thing was.
The thing stopped before him. It was a coyote, sleek with streaks of white, silver and gray fur, the largest coyote he had ever seen. It yipped at him, and arched its neck as if begging Jon to follow. Then it disappeared in a blur through the tree line.
“Wait!” Jon said. He ran as fast as he could toward where the coyote went. It seemed his spirit could move in this place faster than he'd ever before been able to, yet he was quickly lost among the trees. There was no sign of the coyote anywhere.
__________________________________________________________________________________
After his grandfather passed away Jon was awarded to a polite but distant couple as a foster-ling. he was sent to school on the reservation just like the other kids. Education on the reservation had become pitiful, with few teachers willing to take the pay when there were better jobs to be had down in the valley. With the destruction that had come in the massive tsunami, refugees had flooded the desert and the once-humble cities of the New Mexico desert were burgeoning with people from the West Coast. The federal government through the Bureau of Indian Affairs could no longer subsidize many things for the reservation, including pay for teachers, and while the reservation had casino money to fund its education department, with dwindling members, it still could not compete with the tax dollars appropriated to students in more populous regions. Additionally, the new America was much like the old America in which more attention and money was paid to those of athletic talent, and Jon had little of this. So Jon soaked up what he could intellectually, and looked for what advantage he could gain elsewhere. When he grew out his 5'6 frame of 120 pounds he (surprisingly) made his high school football team as a kicker. He became well-known for his ability to make the on-side kick, and was able to use this to devastating effect at the state championships when he convinced his coach to perform this maneuver on the starting kick-off.
He also nearly got expelled for triggering a fire alarm as a diversion so he could break into the school records in broad daylight and destroy student records for one of his friends who had been expelled. Jon had witnessed the altercation between Wendell Geronimo and his friend Asencion Guerrera in which Wendell's hand had been broken, and knew Wendell had been the aggressor in the confrontation, though family connections had made the official story something else. With the records destroyed at least Asencion was free to pursue other academic options, which he ultimately did. Jon was questioned quite fiercely in the incident, yet no one could prove he had done the deed. So he had gone on to graduate.
He never forgot his grandfather's stories or about his experience with his spirit guide.
The push of people was unrelenting from the West. More came as resources dried up from other lands. They began to push onto the reservation, and the BIA pretty much went AWOL. No resources to spare in the new world for honoring old treaties. While land was plentiful, water was not. New Mexico was still a desert. Private interests began draining water from the reservation's aquifer and courts did not seem obliged to stop it. Jon saw all this, and understood. The White Man had come from the west as he once had from the East...These people were a threat to his people should they go on unchecked...but they were only doing what they needed to to survive themselves. And yet another was coming form the east, the CCD, which had as of yet very little influence where he was but Jon was sure would be coming more strongly.
And Jon began to understand Coyote. He did what must be done. And he began to understand that it was out of love that he did it, his love for humanity.
Jon applied, and was accepted into the University of New Mexico agricultural engineering program. He managed to secure a scholarship based on his tribal affiliations, the last of his tribe to do so as it was discontinued due to financial hardship. His intention was to learn about the role water played in desert agriculture so to benefit his people, and he did in fact learn much, both about mechanics and crop production; however, during his college years he excelled as a master of the school's debate team and led them to several regional and one national championship title. He decided to switch his major to pre-law before graduation. During his time in school he also became convinced that land ownership was sacrosanct; his people owned their land in the eyes of the law and by way of treaty, but in this new world would this be honored or once again trampled?
Headed east, this time. After a lengthy but successful clerkship Jon had been accepted into what passed for a prestigious law school these days at Yale. The details of payment had yet to be worked out; Jon figured he'd find some way to persuade the masters to let him stay once he'd been there awhile.
It was Sooyee's rusty 1995 GMC Sierra that propelled him down the road east through Oklahoma. The vehicle was so old there were no parts made for it anymore, yet Jon managed to keep it running, mostly with socket wrenches and hope. Fitting an old Indian's truck rattling held together with duct tape and chicken wire should take him through Indian territory. What Indian territory was left, that is. Were there still Comanche out there, those who had once fought his ancestors but in the end took them in? Little was there to be sure of these days.
The recession and natural disasters had taken great toll upon many of the still-surviving Indian tribes, and there was great cause for worry of the future among them. There was great discussion among the various independent tribes whether they should approach the CCD and ask for admission, and Jon followed the chatter with utmost attention. Best he could discern, there were three emerging camps on the issue. One said the CCD would protect their heritage and bring benefits to the Indian peoples, and be better able to honor the treaties protecting their reservations than the American government currently could in its state. Another claimed it was just swapping one dominating power for another, and the CCD was thousands of miles away, so it was better to stick with the devil they knew. Still a third whispered that the global recession was an opportunity to take back the days of old and not have to live under the shadow of a treaty that survived on the whim of a greater power. Jon wasn't sure what to think about the last argument...he'd sworn that the days of old had died long before his Sooyee, apart from what Jon himself had learned.
Dim headlights lighting up the black pavement before him, Jon couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to thinking about Sooyee and his stories. Would Coyote have let the businessmen chase the Sioux and the Cherokee off their land out here? Probably not; he'd have stolen their suits right off their backs and sent them back running to the Mississippi. Would have served them right, too, to keep messing with such old blood.
The road wound on, as Jon sped past bleak mile marker after mile marker. The thump-thump of the slightly uneven pavement against his partially-bald tires crooned to him in a bitter, poor-pitched melody, and Jon felt himself starting to … drift...as he had in the days of his youth while out in the forest, all alone, feeling the thrum of nature's own heartbeat. His spirit guide called to him to walk in the spirit. He didn't fight it, even though in one small part of his mind he knew that crashing his truck could be a real possibility.
As the hypnotic rhythm took effect, Jon found himself looking at his own body. He could still move the truck's wheel with his hands if he concentrated on it, but it felt like he was moving puppets. It was as if he was still driving but at the same time just passively watching. Careful to keep himself anchored to the body that was driving the vehicle, he let himself drift upward to watch the stars. They were dazzling tonight, an array of constellations under a frigid dark canopy. He quickly found the Big Bear, and the Little Bear with Polaris that guided all souls true North. Then the Hunter, chasing his prey across the sky with bow fully drawn.
A coyote suddenly appeared among the stars, and made a silent howl.
This is foolishness. Reason guided Jon to the notion it was incredibly stupid to be taking a spirit-walk while his body was driving a two-ton vehicle at highway speeds. He had no idea how to return so decided he would imagine himself back in his truck. This seemed to work, for he opened his eyes and found himself driving down the dark highway in full control of his vehicle.
He was not sure what that spirit-walk was intended to achieve. Why had his guide pulled him in again? He had already determined through years of research and his own experiences that there must be some truth to the old stories. There had once existed true medicine among his people, of that he had no doubt. There was also possibly some real truth to the katchinas and the Great Spirit. Coyote perhaps did actually at one time walk among the living and steal fire from the gods and bring man into being. There sure weren't any to say otherwise out on this old highway.
He crossed into Missouri without incident. That was a blessing, he had been unsure what to expect from what he had heard of a group that called themselves the Minutemen. Rumor had it they were setting up roadblocks in order to intercept “outsiders,” whomever they might be. CCD perhaps? Seemed a bit foolishness to Jon; everyone knew CCD didn't have any real influence in American heartland. Not yet, at least. Obviously if they did there probably wouldn't be any minutemen. One thing was sure, the CCD was so quick at its consolidation of power there was no way it would tolerate any sort of dissent. That in itself was troubling as considering tribes were thinking about joining with this force?
No. Best form no opinions. This government bloc could be very well something better. Jon just did not yet know all the facts.
Four hours across Missouri, and two more across Illinois. Nothing to see but flat plains. Hardly a light amongst them, not surprising as villages died and people emigrated to what little opportunity still remained in the great cities. Jon was just crossing into Indiana when the dream began to take him once again.
This time, his spirit guide manifested itself in his truck's cab. The coyote jumped at him without warning and threw his spirit self from the vehicle.
Is this madness? Jon's spirit self rose along the side of the road. He panicked, thinking of his actual self still driving his vehicle along the highway in the distance. This is dangerous! I have to wake up!
South. That was all that was sent to him. And his spirit guide leaped at him, causing him to waken.
Jon was back on his truck, driving toward a fork in the road. South resonated in his memory from his dream, and he jerked his steering wheel right.
He drove on, wondering what the hell he was doing driving on this road which was just putting him further from his destination. Stunned as he was, he didn't make any attempt to deviate from his new direction. South.
The fuel light sprang alight on his dashboard. Cursing, Jon began to look for a gas station along who knows what highway he was now driving down. Illuminated lights greeted him shortly, advertising gas prices he would rather forget, but knew he must pay.
The station was completely abandoned, but the pumps were still lit. One of those 24/7 pumps with no attendant, Jon supposed. Jon drove up next to the gas meter and slid his debit card from his wallet. He hoped his last pay from his clerkship had been debited on time as promised. Not only were US dollars worth less than they used to be, but it seemed payers in USD were more often to turn up fraudulent these days. The pump activated and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Jon was just finishing pumping his gas and putting the pump nozzle back in his place when he felt a chill. Instinctively, his third eye felt another presence around him. He looked to his left, and to his right. Shadows swished around the dim lights of the gas meter.
Jon walked slowly back to the cab of his truck. There was something else out there...yet his spirit guide had sent him here, hadn't he? Must be just the long hours on the road.
As Jon reached for the handle on the door, something struck his body, sending him sprawling to the ground. His keys went flying from his hand, finally resting by the rear tire of his truck. Jon gasped and felt something warm trickling down the inside of his shirt. Check that, his shirt was ripped and he was bleeding. And also on his back, with his truck keys just out of arm's reach. Still, with his right hand he stretched for his keys.
He felt a pressure on his right hand, as something was stepping on it. Jon looked up. He couldn't make out anything. Just shadows.
You will yield your secrets to me, the message came. Jon understood it immediately.
“I don't know what-” His feeble voice cut off as a clawed hand wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze.
Tell me how your people still have medicine. Crushing pain! Breath, a simple thing, a moment ago, denied! How the lungs burnt so quickly, the throbbing in the head manifested so soon! Black spots? How in vision already darkened by surroundings could things get blacker? Blood throbs trying to fight its way to the brain and fails! Escape! Escape! Dimmer........
flash.
Jon blinked, and took a belated gasp for air. He gingerly felt his windpipe, nothing felt broken. Stinging from scores on his flesh. So it was real. Spots danced on his vision, and he took another breath.
Memory is where it all begins. Jon stood up and remembered something was wrong with his side. He glanced and found blood trickling from a gash. He tore his shirt and wadded it against his side to stem the flow of blood. Then he looked around.
The windows from his truck had shattered into a myriad of spiderweb cracks. Of the gas station pumps, there were no sign. Only spurts of gas piping up from the tank below. Blackened bubbling patterns emanated on the concrete radiating from where he lay. Jon could smell it cooking, black tar and pitch heated like desert pavement in July. He found his keys, knocked a hundred feet away in a section of burning brush.
Jon stumbled into his truck, and turned the ignition with his key. Thankfully, the truck started up. Mind numbed to where he was not even remotely ready to process what had happened, he started to drive.
South.
Once, when Jon was five, he asked what his Sooyee meant by medicine: “Do you mean like medicine the doctors have when they give you shots, or what you buy me when I have a cough?”
His grandfather shook his head. “No, nino, not like that.” He scowled. “Curse the death of our mother tongue to these times. What I mean when I say medicine I mean a thing, as a charm, that you cannot see but possess within you, that allows you to change what is into something else as you want it to be. You understand?”
Jon shook his head that he did not. His grandfather sighed and took a breath. “See the hunters that buy into our trophy hunts and slay a mighty twelve-point elk their first day. They have hunting medicine. See those gamblers that sometimes come to our casinos and, no matter what, no matter how careless they bet or what fools they make of themselves, they walk away winners. As if they cannot lose. This is medicine.”
Jon went to sleep that night, not really understanding what Sooyee meant by medicine. But further stories began to make him think more on the subject, especially as he began to learn of the stories of Coyote: the sly god bearing resemblance to the animal, who was also not a god but tricked god and man alike with his strong medicine. Coyote tricked the gods into giving man Fire, so it was said, and brought a mountain up to split a river in two and end a division between men and women so the First People could be born, and also tended to get drunk on White Man's whiskey and steal all his possessions from him.
It all confused Jon. At times Coyote was at odds with the great gods, at other times he was a god...still other times he seemed more a scoundrel and troublemaker than anything else.
When he was a little older, he asked his grandfather further about Coyote: “What was Coyote, Sooyee? Was he good? Was he evil? It seems maybe he was a little of both sometimes.”
“Now, now, nino,” his grandfather said. “First of all, Coyote wasn't. Coyote is and always will be, as will all the other spirits. They are eternal, and cannot die even though they do. The Great Spirit that flows through all things and makes the trees grow and the rains come will always exist, as will all the things that make up it, including the kachinas and, yes, Coyote, and me and you.
“There are forces that make up the Great Spirit, some that are benevolent and some that are less so. The Bear is a part of the great spirit but he is a danger to you, for it is to his benefit if he can kill you and eat you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sooyee.”
“Some forces did not want man to be, and some do still want man to be no more. There are even some spirits that are benevolent sometimes but malevolent other times. The wind. The rains. Fire. Understand?”
Jon nodded.
“Coyote...as I have learned through all the stories...Coyote was on our side. Everything he did was to the benefit of man even if he were to incur the wrath of the other gods. How he tied a birch tree to his tail and stole away with fire? That gave us the means to take ourselves out of the caves. How he pulled out the blanket beneath the nice rows of stars the gods had made and threw them into the constellations we know now? This gave us the gift of navigation which allowed us to connect with one another and build a civilization. No one can say what his motives were, but his actions were such that it allowed us to thrive as a people.”
Jon nodded, though he didn't really understand yet.
His grandfather could not help but mention to the other Elders the interest Jon had taken to learning about the old ways. So at times medicine men, as they called themselves, came to him and took him places. None of them were arrogant enough to claim they had any actual medicine. Able to work miracles just as Coyote and the other gods, eternally young, they had once been a part of the people and lived with them, protecting them with their medicine, but they had been long gone even before the White Man arrived. Still, his tribe's elders did what they could to teach Jon the rituals. They described to Jon how he must venture out into the wilderness and find his spirit guide.
So was at the age of thirteen Jon ventured outdoors in the lush pine-tree forest of the reservation. It was already starting to show signs of drought from overuse of the water table by his time, but was still tranquil. Not quite sure what to do, he lay down against a tall fir tree, listening to a subtle river flow, and feel like he was one with all around him. He thought upon the stories of his elders of the Great Spirit and when he was silent enough for long enough, could almost feel himself melting into his surroundings. He closed his eyes and imagined he was really awake and wandering among the trees, swimming in the river with the fish, and running alongside the deer. As if he could simply seep into the earth and become one with it.
And he found he could see from his forehead. Around him was the forest, behind him was himself sleeping. He found he could wander as he pleased away from his sleeping body. A thrum passed through his spirit and he felt eyes upon him.
“Who is there?” he called out.
He saw a blur of motion coming from the tree line. It appeared to be coming right at him. Jon winced and braced for an impact with whatever the thing was.
The thing stopped before him. It was a coyote, sleek with streaks of white, silver and gray fur, the largest coyote he had ever seen. It yipped at him, and arched its neck as if begging Jon to follow. Then it disappeared in a blur through the tree line.
“Wait!” Jon said. He ran as fast as he could toward where the coyote went. It seemed his spirit could move in this place faster than he'd ever before been able to, yet he was quickly lost among the trees. There was no sign of the coyote anywhere.
__________________________________________________________________________________
After his grandfather passed away Jon was awarded to a polite but distant couple as a foster-ling. he was sent to school on the reservation just like the other kids. Education on the reservation had become pitiful, with few teachers willing to take the pay when there were better jobs to be had down in the valley. With the destruction that had come in the massive tsunami, refugees had flooded the desert and the once-humble cities of the New Mexico desert were burgeoning with people from the West Coast. The federal government through the Bureau of Indian Affairs could no longer subsidize many things for the reservation, including pay for teachers, and while the reservation had casino money to fund its education department, with dwindling members, it still could not compete with the tax dollars appropriated to students in more populous regions. Additionally, the new America was much like the old America in which more attention and money was paid to those of athletic talent, and Jon had little of this. So Jon soaked up what he could intellectually, and looked for what advantage he could gain elsewhere. When he grew out his 5'6 frame of 120 pounds he (surprisingly) made his high school football team as a kicker. He became well-known for his ability to make the on-side kick, and was able to use this to devastating effect at the state championships when he convinced his coach to perform this maneuver on the starting kick-off.
He also nearly got expelled for triggering a fire alarm as a diversion so he could break into the school records in broad daylight and destroy student records for one of his friends who had been expelled. Jon had witnessed the altercation between Wendell Geronimo and his friend Asencion Guerrera in which Wendell's hand had been broken, and knew Wendell had been the aggressor in the confrontation, though family connections had made the official story something else. With the records destroyed at least Asencion was free to pursue other academic options, which he ultimately did. Jon was questioned quite fiercely in the incident, yet no one could prove he had done the deed. So he had gone on to graduate.
He never forgot his grandfather's stories or about his experience with his spirit guide.
The push of people was unrelenting from the West. More came as resources dried up from other lands. They began to push onto the reservation, and the BIA pretty much went AWOL. No resources to spare in the new world for honoring old treaties. While land was plentiful, water was not. New Mexico was still a desert. Private interests began draining water from the reservation's aquifer and courts did not seem obliged to stop it. Jon saw all this, and understood. The White Man had come from the west as he once had from the East...These people were a threat to his people should they go on unchecked...but they were only doing what they needed to to survive themselves. And yet another was coming form the east, the CCD, which had as of yet very little influence where he was but Jon was sure would be coming more strongly.
And Jon began to understand Coyote. He did what must be done. And he began to understand that it was out of love that he did it, his love for humanity.
Jon applied, and was accepted into the University of New Mexico agricultural engineering program. He managed to secure a scholarship based on his tribal affiliations, the last of his tribe to do so as it was discontinued due to financial hardship. His intention was to learn about the role water played in desert agriculture so to benefit his people, and he did in fact learn much, both about mechanics and crop production; however, during his college years he excelled as a master of the school's debate team and led them to several regional and one national championship title. He decided to switch his major to pre-law before graduation. During his time in school he also became convinced that land ownership was sacrosanct; his people owned their land in the eyes of the law and by way of treaty, but in this new world would this be honored or once again trampled?
Headed east, this time. After a lengthy but successful clerkship Jon had been accepted into what passed for a prestigious law school these days at Yale. The details of payment had yet to be worked out; Jon figured he'd find some way to persuade the masters to let him stay once he'd been there awhile.
It was Sooyee's rusty 1995 GMC Sierra that propelled him down the road east through Oklahoma. The vehicle was so old there were no parts made for it anymore, yet Jon managed to keep it running, mostly with socket wrenches and hope. Fitting an old Indian's truck rattling held together with duct tape and chicken wire should take him through Indian territory. What Indian territory was left, that is. Were there still Comanche out there, those who had once fought his ancestors but in the end took them in? Little was there to be sure of these days.
The recession and natural disasters had taken great toll upon many of the still-surviving Indian tribes, and there was great cause for worry of the future among them. There was great discussion among the various independent tribes whether they should approach the CCD and ask for admission, and Jon followed the chatter with utmost attention. Best he could discern, there were three emerging camps on the issue. One said the CCD would protect their heritage and bring benefits to the Indian peoples, and be better able to honor the treaties protecting their reservations than the American government currently could in its state. Another claimed it was just swapping one dominating power for another, and the CCD was thousands of miles away, so it was better to stick with the devil they knew. Still a third whispered that the global recession was an opportunity to take back the days of old and not have to live under the shadow of a treaty that survived on the whim of a greater power. Jon wasn't sure what to think about the last argument...he'd sworn that the days of old had died long before his Sooyee, apart from what Jon himself had learned.
Dim headlights lighting up the black pavement before him, Jon couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to thinking about Sooyee and his stories. Would Coyote have let the businessmen chase the Sioux and the Cherokee off their land out here? Probably not; he'd have stolen their suits right off their backs and sent them back running to the Mississippi. Would have served them right, too, to keep messing with such old blood.
The road wound on, as Jon sped past bleak mile marker after mile marker. The thump-thump of the slightly uneven pavement against his partially-bald tires crooned to him in a bitter, poor-pitched melody, and Jon felt himself starting to … drift...as he had in the days of his youth while out in the forest, all alone, feeling the thrum of nature's own heartbeat. His spirit guide called to him to walk in the spirit. He didn't fight it, even though in one small part of his mind he knew that crashing his truck could be a real possibility.
As the hypnotic rhythm took effect, Jon found himself looking at his own body. He could still move the truck's wheel with his hands if he concentrated on it, but it felt like he was moving puppets. It was as if he was still driving but at the same time just passively watching. Careful to keep himself anchored to the body that was driving the vehicle, he let himself drift upward to watch the stars. They were dazzling tonight, an array of constellations under a frigid dark canopy. He quickly found the Big Bear, and the Little Bear with Polaris that guided all souls true North. Then the Hunter, chasing his prey across the sky with bow fully drawn.
A coyote suddenly appeared among the stars, and made a silent howl.
This is foolishness. Reason guided Jon to the notion it was incredibly stupid to be taking a spirit-walk while his body was driving a two-ton vehicle at highway speeds. He had no idea how to return so decided he would imagine himself back in his truck. This seemed to work, for he opened his eyes and found himself driving down the dark highway in full control of his vehicle.
He was not sure what that spirit-walk was intended to achieve. Why had his guide pulled him in again? He had already determined through years of research and his own experiences that there must be some truth to the old stories. There had once existed true medicine among his people, of that he had no doubt. There was also possibly some real truth to the katchinas and the Great Spirit. Coyote perhaps did actually at one time walk among the living and steal fire from the gods and bring man into being. There sure weren't any to say otherwise out on this old highway.
He crossed into Missouri without incident. That was a blessing, he had been unsure what to expect from what he had heard of a group that called themselves the Minutemen. Rumor had it they were setting up roadblocks in order to intercept “outsiders,” whomever they might be. CCD perhaps? Seemed a bit foolishness to Jon; everyone knew CCD didn't have any real influence in American heartland. Not yet, at least. Obviously if they did there probably wouldn't be any minutemen. One thing was sure, the CCD was so quick at its consolidation of power there was no way it would tolerate any sort of dissent. That in itself was troubling as considering tribes were thinking about joining with this force?
No. Best form no opinions. This government bloc could be very well something better. Jon just did not yet know all the facts.
Four hours across Missouri, and two more across Illinois. Nothing to see but flat plains. Hardly a light amongst them, not surprising as villages died and people emigrated to what little opportunity still remained in the great cities. Jon was just crossing into Indiana when the dream began to take him once again.
This time, his spirit guide manifested itself in his truck's cab. The coyote jumped at him without warning and threw his spirit self from the vehicle.
Is this madness? Jon's spirit self rose along the side of the road. He panicked, thinking of his actual self still driving his vehicle along the highway in the distance. This is dangerous! I have to wake up!
South. That was all that was sent to him. And his spirit guide leaped at him, causing him to waken.
Jon was back on his truck, driving toward a fork in the road. South resonated in his memory from his dream, and he jerked his steering wheel right.
He drove on, wondering what the hell he was doing driving on this road which was just putting him further from his destination. Stunned as he was, he didn't make any attempt to deviate from his new direction. South.
The fuel light sprang alight on his dashboard. Cursing, Jon began to look for a gas station along who knows what highway he was now driving down. Illuminated lights greeted him shortly, advertising gas prices he would rather forget, but knew he must pay.
The station was completely abandoned, but the pumps were still lit. One of those 24/7 pumps with no attendant, Jon supposed. Jon drove up next to the gas meter and slid his debit card from his wallet. He hoped his last pay from his clerkship had been debited on time as promised. Not only were US dollars worth less than they used to be, but it seemed payers in USD were more often to turn up fraudulent these days. The pump activated and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Jon was just finishing pumping his gas and putting the pump nozzle back in his place when he felt a chill. Instinctively, his third eye felt another presence around him. He looked to his left, and to his right. Shadows swished around the dim lights of the gas meter.
Jon walked slowly back to the cab of his truck. There was something else out there...yet his spirit guide had sent him here, hadn't he? Must be just the long hours on the road.
As Jon reached for the handle on the door, something struck his body, sending him sprawling to the ground. His keys went flying from his hand, finally resting by the rear tire of his truck. Jon gasped and felt something warm trickling down the inside of his shirt. Check that, his shirt was ripped and he was bleeding. And also on his back, with his truck keys just out of arm's reach. Still, with his right hand he stretched for his keys.
He felt a pressure on his right hand, as something was stepping on it. Jon looked up. He couldn't make out anything. Just shadows.
You will yield your secrets to me, the message came. Jon understood it immediately.
“I don't know what-” His feeble voice cut off as a clawed hand wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze.
Tell me how your people still have medicine. Crushing pain! Breath, a simple thing, a moment ago, denied! How the lungs burnt so quickly, the throbbing in the head manifested so soon! Black spots? How in vision already darkened by surroundings could things get blacker? Blood throbs trying to fight its way to the brain and fails! Escape! Escape! Dimmer........
flash.
Jon blinked, and took a belated gasp for air. He gingerly felt his windpipe, nothing felt broken. Stinging from scores on his flesh. So it was real. Spots danced on his vision, and he took another breath.
Memory is where it all begins. Jon stood up and remembered something was wrong with his side. He glanced and found blood trickling from a gash. He tore his shirt and wadded it against his side to stem the flow of blood. Then he looked around.
The windows from his truck had shattered into a myriad of spiderweb cracks. Of the gas station pumps, there were no sign. Only spurts of gas piping up from the tank below. Blackened bubbling patterns emanated on the concrete radiating from where he lay. Jon could smell it cooking, black tar and pitch heated like desert pavement in July. He found his keys, knocked a hundred feet away in a section of burning brush.
Jon stumbled into his truck, and turned the ignition with his key. Thankfully, the truck started up. Mind numbed to where he was not even remotely ready to process what had happened, he started to drive.
South.