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Skinwalker: Part 2a – Three Buttes
The paramedics showed up too late. All of the victims were dead by the time they got there. It took over an hour before the agents were able to return to their van. It was not in the shape they left it in.
“What the hell happened?” asked Hammer.
“I thought you two were with the van?” asked Blade.
“We were helping Colorados scope out the crime scene!” Hammer shouted back.
“Hey, buddy,” said one of the paramedics. “Someone was snooping around your van before, thought it was one of you guys.”
Clothing was scattered everywhere. Vests, BDUs, even underwear.
“What did he look like?”
“Weird guy in a tattered overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat. Was sniffing your laundry. Holding big handfuls of it under his nose. Looked like he was liking it too.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Blade.
Colorados walked over while Hammer scanned the exterior of the van with his cistron.
“I picked up a print on the door handle,” he turned to Colorados. “I’ll send it over to you; check AFIS and see what you come up with.”
“Rumors speak of a witch,” he said.
“A witch?” asked Hammer. “The kind that rides around on broomsticks?”
Colorados shook his head. “Skinwalkers. A Skinwalker’s a Navajo witch. They are always up to no good, casting curses and poisoning the orenda. They can change their shape, become a wolf or rattler or some such.”
“Is there anyone around here we can ask about this sort of thing?” asked Blade. “The only shaman I knew is dead.”
Colorados nodded. “Michele Blackmoon,” he said.
“If she’s not the witch herself,” said the paramedic. “She was a nice lady, but since she came back from college she’s been into some strange stuff.”
“Guppy,” asked Blade, but the smaller Indian man was already on it.
“Got her address. Not far from here.”
They piled into the van. Thanks the arrival of the fire trucks, someone had winched them out of the ditch.
“Maybe I should drive,” began Blade.
Guppy slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got it! I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure…”
“Yes!” Guppy leaned on the gas pedal, lunging the van forward. “Fine!”
The others strapped on their seat belts.
The paramedics showed up too late. All of the victims were dead by the time they got there. It took over an hour before the agents were able to return to their van. It was not in the shape they left it in.
“What the hell happened?” asked Hammer.
“I thought you two were with the van?” asked Blade.
“We were helping Colorados scope out the crime scene!” Hammer shouted back.
“Hey, buddy,” said one of the paramedics. “Someone was snooping around your van before, thought it was one of you guys.”
Clothing was scattered everywhere. Vests, BDUs, even underwear.
“What did he look like?”
“Weird guy in a tattered overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat. Was sniffing your laundry. Holding big handfuls of it under his nose. Looked like he was liking it too.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Blade.
Colorados walked over while Hammer scanned the exterior of the van with his cistron.
“I picked up a print on the door handle,” he turned to Colorados. “I’ll send it over to you; check AFIS and see what you come up with.”
“Rumors speak of a witch,” he said.
“A witch?” asked Hammer. “The kind that rides around on broomsticks?”
Colorados shook his head. “Skinwalkers. A Skinwalker’s a Navajo witch. They are always up to no good, casting curses and poisoning the orenda. They can change their shape, become a wolf or rattler or some such.”
“Is there anyone around here we can ask about this sort of thing?” asked Blade. “The only shaman I knew is dead.”
Colorados nodded. “Michele Blackmoon,” he said.
“If she’s not the witch herself,” said the paramedic. “She was a nice lady, but since she came back from college she’s been into some strange stuff.”
“Guppy,” asked Blade, but the smaller Indian man was already on it.
“Got her address. Not far from here.”
They piled into the van. Thanks the arrival of the fire trucks, someone had winched them out of the ditch.
“Maybe I should drive,” began Blade.
Guppy slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got it! I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure…”
“Yes!” Guppy leaned on the gas pedal, lunging the van forward. “Fine!”
The others strapped on their seat belts.