41
“Miles...? Miles...? Miles, are you in there? Miles, wake up, we got company.”
He pried his eyes from the dreamworld, still unsure of his last known whereabouts, no time to deliberate the irrational, it was all he could do to squint through the blinding sunshine.
“Look, over there, coming down the hill, there’s like six or seven horses headed right for us. You see ‘em?”
He did. And it certainly appeared that the posse was on a mission. They were approaching fast, calvary perhaps, which on the rez doesn’t insinuate reinforcements, it alludes to the ruthless gunslingers pillaging their eminent domain.
And while we’re at it, mission is not exactly a term of endearment either, it was the God fearing missionaries who beat the spiritual connection out of anyone left unmassacred. They ripped children away from their families and locked them into boarding schools, cut their hair, changed their names, forbid their language, and songs, and prayer.
Plus, like any good catholic authoritarianship, there was an unfair share of abuse and molestation, to boot. It turns out that for some reason, the clerics on the rez were the least scrutinized of the clergy, the least subject to papal reprimand, and therefore it was the obvious place to send the pedos with a history of getting caught. Don’t want to undermine the sanctity of the church with scandal, so they just redirected the atrocity to a people uncared for, I mean, they pray to the dirt, for God’s sake.
But, no need for modern day church folk to get all in a tizzy, that was all in the past, long long time ago, even if that had been Unci’s fate just within the last century. But that’s all over now, there’s no way in today’s politically correct climate that the priests would be allowed to molest children, as we separate them from their parents, and lock them in cages because of their skin color. Oh yeah, huh?
The team corralled at Unci’s, the lead investigator went in for a consult, the boys debated fight or flight, until the captain emerged and tore up the hill at full gallop.
“Hihani cousin,” greeted the interrogation. “Hey Miles,” she said with an authentically pleasant tone.
“Tiana!” exclaimed Jordan. “I was wondering if you were ever gonna show up. We were just about to come down there with our boomerangs and chase of a bunch of horse bandits.”
“I bet. Listen, I’m not here on vacation, there’s some serious shit going down, we gotta get you guys outta here.”
“For real?” doubted Jordan, as Miles noticed his own comfort with the expedition.
“Yeah for real. They’re looking for you, like, here on the rez.”
“Who?”
“Fuck, I don’t know, FBI maybe, TigerDucks, what difference does it make, they all want to stick you in the same place.”
“How do they even know we’re here?” Jordan grilled.
“Or who we are?” subtracted Miles.
“Good news, they don’t really know who you are, not names anyway. Just Goose and Dingle Bat, guess it’s back to HonkyTonk, huh?”
“Zipline.”
“Uh huh, bet they’ll never figure that one out. Anyway, they do have pictures of you, kind of. They’ve got one from the helicopter of Jordan, so it’s kind of hard to really see you, but somebody around here might pick you out for a little mazaska.
And Miles, it’s actually kinda funny, they’ve got this sketch that’s supposed to be you, I guess from what the tree cop could see, or from the roadblock or something. Just looks like another white dude to me. But, a strange white guy shows up here around the time they start looking, on top of Jordan always being suspicious, I just don’t really think it’s a good idea to wait and see.”
“How do they know I was with him?”
“Infiltrator maybe, maybe someone saw you leaving together, noticed that you weren’t around anymore. I mean, they already know what groups we hang out in, I bet they know a lot more about us than we even get paranoid about. That’s probably why they think you may be here, and how long before they link you to Unci?”
“Copy that. What’s it been like back at camp?”
“Crazy. In every way. They raided camp fishing for anyone with warrants, took a few, we figure it was just an excuse to bust in looking for you, that was the day after you left. Frontline’s been hectic, there’s a lot more people, I left a week ago and my estimate was two thousand. It’s evolved into a whole new thing, and a lot of that credit goes to you Miles, people watched from home and got inspired into action.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“Right.”
“What about Paul?”
“That mother fucker was still up there when I left. I don’t think they know how to get him down. I don’t even know if he knows how to get down. Like I said, I left a week ago, when he’d been up there for six days, but he still had water and food and good spirits. That dude is nuts, in the best kinda way.”
“Wait,” Jordan jumped in. “Are we riding horses out of here on the run from the FBI? Badass.”
“Calm down Buttercup, how long do you need to be ready?”
“Thirty?”
“How ‘bout fifteen?”
Fifteen minutes, nearly a hundredth of Miles’ first overnight packing job, take that Miss Two Hours. They were packed in five, the tipi could stay where it was at, just had to get Unci’s hugs on board with an early departure.
“Oh Miles, I’m going to miss you sweetheart. You come back anytime you want now, you don’t even have to bring that fool with you.”
“I’m right here,” the fool protested.
“Oh hush, you can come back too,” she said with a wink. “As long as you bring Miles.”
“I’ll miss this place a lot too,” he preminisced. “Already feels like home in a big way.”
“It’ll do that, the land is alive in God’s country, and you’re a part of it now.”
He felt that somehow she was well aware of his recent rendezvous with the Earth.
“I got something I want to give you, as a wopila for fixing my roof, you take care of it and it’ll take care of you.”
She unfolded a thick red wool blanket with a captivating pattern of geometric arrowheads, blankets are sacred gifts between natives, hold the smallpox.
“A Pendleton?” cried Jordan. “You know I helped too, don’t you?”
Of course Takoja. So Miles, if it gets real cold out there, you should let Jordan curl up under this thing with you. See, I didn’t forget about you, my little Buttercup.”
“Love you too, Grandma.”
Miles wished he had something to show his appreciation in return, something sacred of his own.
Raccoon fur? No.
Turkey feather? No.
Oh yeah.
“I’ve got something in my pack for you too, hang on, where is it, here we go. I think these have probably been yours all along, I was just carrying them for a while.”
He handed her the packet of tobacco seeds, the energy exchanged was of another level, his heart was in the seeds and she would feel it with every toke. A hug to seal the deal and he hopped on the white horse. I assume it goes without saying that he doesn’t know anything about horses, but that’s a tail for another chapter.
They rode southwest until the most spectacular sunset finished melting the clouds into night. Could be checkpoints on the roads, so they’d stick to game trails, it was a little bumpy. Miles felt something on his chest, not his heart, on top of his chest, under his shirt, he let go of the reins and pulled it out.
It was a blue and white beaded leather medicine pouch.