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Authors: Aimée & David Thurlo

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BOOK: Shooting Chant
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Clifford took the weapon. Grabbing Jimmie’s arm and pulling it around his shoulders while Ben did the same on the other side, they dragged him down the hall.

Ella remained at point. The shooting seemed to have decreased in intensity, and she hoped it was for good reasons. Other officers in the outer perimeter were supposed to move in if they heard gunfire, and hopefully
they’d taken out the guards at the gate and were now backing up Blalock and the others on her team.

They’d just reached the spot where Big Ed was crouched when Ella heard running footsteps behind them, and, as she turned, she saw a familiar figure cross the corridor.

“Morgan’s inside!” Ella yelled at Big Ed.

“Leave the others with me and go after him, Shorty.”

Ella motioned to Clifford and
Ernest Ben, who eased their wounded companion onto the floor beside the wall. Big Ed, crouching on one knee behind the doorjamb, concentrated on looking for targets inside the large warehouse.

Knowing the three were safer with Big Ed than they would be with her, Ella crept back down the corridor, shotgun ready, listening carefully as she moved. A second or two later, she heard cautious footsteps
behind her.

Ella spun around and very nearly pulled the trigger of the shotgun. “Are you crazy?” she whispered harshly, staring at Clifford. “Go back.”

“No, I’ll help you. This man came into my home, threatened to go after my wife and my child, sliced at me with a knife, then brought me here as a prisoner. I owe him. Jimmie also managed to tell us more about what Morgan plans to do. He’s a terrorist
and has to be stopped. I won’t kill him if there’s a choice, but he won’t escape, not if we work together.”

“No,
I’ll
see to it. Get back to Jimmie and Ernest Ben. You can help Big Ed protect them.”

Clifford held up his hand. “Do you hear it? Morgan went up on the roof.”

“I don’t hear a thing,” she said.

“Listen!”

Ella struggled to hear something other than an occasional gunshot from the
warehouse. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“He’s probably headed for the metal roof that covers the loading dock. That way he can ambush the officers below,” Clifford said.

“Do you know the way up?”

“There’s a utility closet with a ladder leading up to the roof. The door was open when they brought us through the building to the room where they locked us up.”

Ella followed her brother, but before
he could go up the ladder, she moved around him and blocked his way. “I’m going up there but, unless you’re going to shoot to kill, brother, don’t follow. You’ll just be another target for him.”

Even though they both knew that he wouldn’t fire a kill shot, Clifford followed her up anyway. When they emerged on the roof, Morgan was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of gunfire was much louder from
here.

“Look around, but be very careful,” she said.

The gunfire suddenly subsided and an eerie silence followed. She’d been in too many gun battles before not to know the calm couldn’t be trusted. Almost in response to her unspoken thought, they heard one gunshot, and a hard, dull thump followed almost simultaneously. Clifford ran to the loading dock side of the roof, leaned over and peered
down.

“Morgan must have been shot by one of the men below, then went over the edge,” Clifford said. “I can’t see him. There’s an awning, then a truck below that.”

“Get back,” Ella whispered, running over to where he stood, intending to pull him behind cover. “You’re too exposed near the edge.”

She was less than three feet away from Clifford when a flicker of movement caught her eye and made
her look beyond him. Morgan was on the porch-style roof of the loading dock a few feet lower than they were, huddled against the building. His pistol was swinging around toward Clifford and he had a clear line of fire. There was no way he could miss.

With Clifford in her way, Ella couldn’t fire. Instead, she dropped her shotgun and shoved Clifford to the side hard with both hands. Clifford, taken
by surprise, stumbled on a projecting vent pipe and fell over the edge of the parapet.

Ella took the bullet meant for her brother squarely in the chest. The impact pushed her back, spun her sideways, and she fell onto her knees, gasping for breath, right next to the roof’s edge. The doubled protection of the vests had stopped the round as she’d hoped, but her chest felt as if she’d been hit by
a truck. Still on her knees, she struggled to pull out her pistol. The pain was excruciating.

Morgan’s attention had shifted back to Clifford, who’d rolled off the awning and landed on the roof of the van parked directly below them. Both he and Manuelito, who was climbing up to help him, were sitting ducks.

She’d only get one shot now. Still trying to catch her breath, she aimed and squeezed
the trigger. The bullet hit Morgan in the center of the forehead. He trembled from the shock, then pitched forward, and fell onto the roof. There would be no need to verify he was dead.

Ella glanced back at her brother, and saw Sergeant Manuelito beside him, aiming his pistol directly at her. From their angle, neither could have seen Morgan, and all they were aware of was that someone had fired
another shot.

“It’s all right. He’s dead,” she managed, lowering her weapon. Gasping, she finally managed to catch her breath again.

“Who?” Manuelito yelled.

“Morgan.”

“I know. I shot him a minute ago when he started to leap onto the trailer roof. But why did you push your brother off the roof?”

“I didn’t do it on … and you didn’t shoot—” She shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll sort it out
later. We still have work to do.”

Grabbing her shotgun with a groan, Ella slid down onto the loading dock roof and moved to a position where she could bring plunging fire onto the terrorists who were still in action. One blast of her shotgun was enough to convince the remaining two men to give up.

S
EPTEMBER
17
TH

Ten minutes later, the wounded were being tended, and the bodies of the terrorists
who’d died were being photographed by the crime team. Fortunately, none of the officers suffered any serious wounds, thanks to their vests and Big Ed’s vicious crossfire, which had kept the terrorists pinned down most of the time.

Ella located Landreth, unarmed and alive, hiding in his office behind the remaining anthrax contaminated shipping boxes, and turned him over to state police officers
now on the scene.

Big Ed called for a Haz Mat team from the county. “Until I’m certain that this place is safe, no one except those in protective clothing will have further access to this place,” he told everyone there.

“With all the deaths here, no one will come near this place again anyway,” Ella said, approaching him.

“That’s true. Not even a Blessingway will make this place feel safe again.
The land here has seen too much.”

Ella took in the scene, watching her officers help carry the wounded to awaiting ambulances. “Chief, after this is over, I’m going to take a few days off.”

“It’ll have to wait. We still need you,” he said. “Harry Ute just gave me notice today—make that yesterday—afternoon. He’s joining the marshal’s service.”

“I know, but I’ll still need a day or two to settle
some personal business. Then, next spring I’ll be taking maternity leave.”

Ella saw Big Ed’s jaw drop. Moving away quickly before he could gather his thoughts and deluge her with questions, Ella left to find Clifford.

She finally found him standing in the parking lot, beside the emergency vehicles, where others were being checked over. “Are you all right?” she asked. One of the EMTs had loaned
him a cane and he was leaning on it heavily. “Thank goodness for that awning.”

“My leg…”

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

He shook his head. “You know better.”

“If it’s a broken bone—”

“I’ll handle it my way.” He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “But tell me. Why
did
you shove me like that?” There was no condemnation in his eyes, just confusion.

Though Ella kept her gaze on her brother,
she could sense that the other officers around them also awaited her reply.

“Morgan was still up there, hidden, and he was about to shoot you. I couldn’t fire at him because you were in my way. I had two vests on, and knew they would protect me, so I pushed you aside. I didn’t think you’d stumble and fall over the edge, really.” She opened her jacket and showed him the bullet hole and where the
round had imbedded in the kevlar.

“I understand now,” he said. As he glanced around, he saw most of the others nodding their heads. “They believe you, too,” he added in a soft voice, moving farther away from the crowd. “But not everyone will. I know you saved my life, but some will only remember, that you pushed me off the roof. Remember, nobody saw Morgan trying to shoot me but you.”

“There’s
nothing I can do about that. People will believe whatever they want, no matter what I do or say,” Ella replied. A few of the old traditionalists would now become convinced that she had turned to evil, but what hurt most was knowing that some people would actually believe she was capable of trying to kill her own brother.

“My fellow captive,” he said, referring to Ben, “will also tell others how
you chose to leave us behind when you were only one locked door away from rescuing us. Everything that happened here today will be seen as evidence that the legacy still holds true. They’ll see your child as part of it as well.”

“Kevin Tolino is the baby’s father, and he’s already told his family.” Ella wasn’t surprised that Clifford had guessed she was pregnant, even though she hadn’t told him
yet. Her brother was remarkably intuitive.

“That’ll answer questions of paternity,” Clifford said, “particularly if he doesn’t want to hide the fact, but there’ll be other problems waiting for you there.”

“Because they’re our clan’s watchers? That’s being taken care of. Kevin will handle his family,” she said. “I’ll provide for my baby and see to it that she has everything she needs.”

“And
what about acceptance?”

“I’ve lived through these kinds of problems before. Not everyone will turn against me. Some traditionalists will but, in time, people will see that I’m just a cop, one who works very hard for the good of the tribe.”

“You’ll have to prove yourself to everyone all over again, just like when you first came back to the Rez.”

“Then that’s the way it’ll have to be, but I’ll
expect you to help me bring out the truth. People will listen to you.”

“I’ll do my best, Sister, but, in this case, the truth is a matter of who people choose to believe, and of interpretation.”

Ella nodded. “I’ve always been the type not to worry about things I can’t do anything about but, in this case, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. The deck is stacked against us, and there are too
many frightening possibilities.”

*   *   *

Ella sat at home with her mother the following morning. The Haz Mat team had declared there was no anthrax leak at LabKote, but a Blessingway would be done for her and the baby soon. Modern science had no assurances to give her, only more questions.

She still wasn’t sure if she’d been exposed to the radiation, and the uncertainties haunted her nightmares.
Landreth had admitted to knowing about the accident, but said Hansen had been responsible. No other details were available now, because Hansen’s report on the incident had been deliberately erased from the computer files.

“You know the baby will be fine,” Rose assured, patting her hand. “Trust your instincts, Daughter.”

“I know she’s okay, Mother, I just don’t know how I know and that’s unsettling.”

“It’s not necessary that we understand the hows and whys. Just accept that you do know.”

Ella stood at the window, staring at the stark contrast between the blue sky and the mesa in the distance. It was another cool fall day and, for now, there was peace. She placed a hand on her stomach, wondering how many more weeks it would be before she’d feel her child’s first kick. Would that put her concerns
to rest?

“But you’re still worried about the child,” Rose said, not needing to make it into a question.

“If there’s anything out of the ordinary about her—whether from the radiation or something else—people won’t understand.”

“Whatever’s different is often condemned as evil, but that doesn’t make it so,” Rose said. “Your child will be loved by us and by your friends. She’ll have enemies, just
as we all do, but it will all balance out, and she’ll learn to walk in beauty.”

EPILOGUE

A
PRIL
19
TH

Ella sat on the living room couch, holding her tiny, dark-haired, week-old daughter. She’d been born at home and, in the days before delivery, Clifford had done another Blessingway. Since that ceremony, a feeling of peace had descended over Ella, and it continued unabated even now.

After all, balance had been restored. The anthrax threat had disappeared from news broadcasts
months ago, and all known samples of the biological weapon destroyed. The former LabKote facilities had been renovated, and were now being use by an Anglo trucking firm. Most of the truck drivers were Navajo, though few of the
Dineh
were willing to go into the building itself because of its recent history.

The surviving terrorists were in federal lockups now, and Landreth himself was being kept
at an undisclosed location. He’d provided testimony and details of the operation in exchange for government protection from those he’d recently sold out.

Ella closed her eyes, held her daughter close, and bathed in the peace for a moment. She opened them again when she heard footsteps.

“She’s beautiful,” Clifford said, looking at them from the kitchen doorway.

“Yes, she is,” Ella said, wondering
how it was possible to love anyone or anything as much as she did this little baby. Looking back at her old life, Ella couldn’t understand how she could have been happy without her.

Ella looked up at her mother and smiled. “It’s time for the ritual. Have you decided on a name for her?” she asked. Although it was customary for the mother of the child to choose the baby’s name, the one people would
address her with, the secret name had other origins. Bestowed by a close relative, the secret or war name was considered private property and was never used even by members of the family. It was only evoked in a time of crisis, and was said to provide power to its owner.

BOOK: Shooting Chant
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