Barer of the Ghost Nation

By John Steiner

Shattered by hard economic times St. Louis lays atop an older city whose people died out centuries ago, save for Wanniukaga who wanders its urban decay to this day. Locked in a struggle to preserve his people's traditions and adapt to accelerating change the healer must balance his many personalities. Two homeless teenagers befriend and help Wanniukaga through difficult times against other vampires responsible for the death of his people, evade religiously motivated amateur vampire slayers and confront a hardhearted Squad Five operator stepping outside the rules of his unit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Feb 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781612355610

John Steiner

John Steiner earned his Associate of Biology at Salt Lake Community College, where he is currently working as a tutor in math and chemistry. He exercises an avid interest in history, science, philosophy, mythology, martial arts as well as military tactics and technology.

Book preview

Prologue

~ Mississippi Valley End Times ~

In the time before his grandfathers, The Great River Valley People had once lived in a vast city of more than twice ten thousand people. Four open level plazas surrounded an overwhelming central tiered mound capped by the palace. This was the seat of the Sun Falcon’s progeny on the Earth. Surrounding this spanned orderly lines of houses, lesser mounds, framed by walls and watchtowers, there stood a city like none other before or since in the northern plains.

Then, the ruddy elder holy man told some scores of children around him, Great Falcon took back His blessing from His son, the ruler before my Grandfather’s time. Thereafter Corn ceased to yield her great bounty. Bean, the second sister likewise would not sprout for The Great River Valley People. So too did the third sister, Squash. All manner of crop and gathering plant diminished until The People all fled from each other, lest they turn into witikgo and eat each other.

At that, Wanniukaga normally would have paused to hear every child suck in its breaths with wide eyes.

Or they would have if any survived.

The first scream happened when someone saw many people running toward the hill. People craven of face around sunken hollow eyes and covered with open rotting sores. Those fed off of by Witikgo spirits to become witikgo. The Witikgo spirits took blood, which turned those formerly of The People turned into witikgo, who then craved the flesh of others.

While armed men prepared to defend the survivors, Wanniukaga directed the setting of great fires in four cardinal directions. He personally produced falcon feathers handed down from his grandfather’s grandfather and further back. In his right hand the feathers, their shafts all wrapped in leather thong, shook while he muttered prayers to Sun Father.

Arrows flew, but hit after hit did little to slow the cannibals formerly of The People. No escape would be possible this time, for more witikgo approached from the west, east and north. Some twenty or more charged into the improvised camp at once.

They beat with their fists, clutched with scratching nails or bit with their teeth. Wanniukaga ran toward one, which pinned down Nanawi’tca who attended to him. She struggled against one who once had been an elderly woman, Wanniukaga’s cousin.

He grabbed at the witikgo and began pulling to free the young woman. For many years, a long gray haired Wanniukaga kept from exertion to avoid self-injury. This is why he didn’t know his fitness went much further than he could imagine.

So it surprised Wanniukaga how easily he ripped the witikgo off the woman and threw it back several paces. It got up to its hands and knees to scramble at the woman, herself also not yet on her feet trying to get away.

Again, Wanniukaga grabbed the witikgo’s arm thinking to take the woman’s place in death, except the witikgo wouldn’t attack him. It didn’t even try to tear away his grip, while flailing a savagely curling hand at the woman far out of reach.

With more frenzied attackers in their midst, Wanniukaga flung the one down the hillside with all the force he could muster. The aged former woman rolled down the grassy slope, allowing him run to stop another.

Just as he reached one so did a warrior. Wanniukaga grabbed the witikgo by the arm and back of the neck, so that the warrior could plant his axe into its face and his knife in its chest with a hammer blow.

It still struggled to devour the man, so the elder throttled at it from behind. Though it gagged, it didn’t seem to suffocate.

Wanniukaga then tested his new strength further with a sharp sideways twist of its neck. A muffled cracking break sent a convulsion through its body before it went limp.

Discarding the cursed body, he turned around many times to see the Wolf Warriors. They mustered all their skill and strength to fend off the dispirited beings. Jump kicks pushed the creatures of poor cunning away, allowing more damaging strikes at their wrists, legs or necks. Hands lopped off and heads rolled, but to little avail.

Gather The People closer together! Wanniukaga yelled over roaring flames and ravenous screams of the cannibals. Magic must do what weapons cannot!

He added more kindling to join the fires into one circle around a mere half-dozen people still living. Among them stood Stargazer, the last Wolf Warrior, now that Wanniukaga saw the other two dragged off and ripped open by the bare hands of witikgo.

Back to prayer, Wanniukaga pleaded his cause to Sun Father, Grant us, The People, the courage and strength to see through this dark night. We six are the last. If my life will spare five, I offer it to You for their sakes. Sun Father...! Please!

Instead, two last witikgo not preoccupied by eating came toward the flames. Barely clad, nothing caught fire but some strands of hair. Wanniukaga pushed one back hastily, and Stargazer kicked the other away. He then loosed an arrow into its mouth with the tip piercing through the back of the head. It felled the witikgo, racked with spasms.

Then three Witikgo spirits arrived. Wanniukaga recognized them clearly from their albino skin, white hair and red reflective eyes. Unlike the witikgo, they approached the fire warily, until one used his long knife to flip burning branches at six of The People.

Everyone jumped back in panic, as the Witikgo spirit leapt through the safe gap. One swept its arms-length knife at the Wolf Warrior who answered with his axe. The metal weapon sliced through the wooden shaft easily and left a deep long gash down the man’s arm. The next strike took his arm off completely, and a third slashed toward him an instant after.

Wanniukaga didn’t see if it landed, because a blow to his head knocked him cold.

When he came to, Wanniukaga heard the three Witikgo spirit talking in alien tongue while standing over him. Their svelte language sounded like nothing he could imagine. Daring to open his eyes a tad, he blearily saw one pointing to the witikgo they’d fed on, bite marks visible on their necks in the predawn light.

A second, the one who cut Wanniukaga back in the city, bent down to examine the injury. The elder had packed the wound with grass clippings in lieu of Wanniukaga’s best medicinal practices shortly after the attack. The evil spirit seemed more interested in the cut itself, and that infection faded rather quickly.

The third Witikgo spirit, adorned with metal skin and scalp, turned uneasily to the east and ushered the others to make haste. While the three of them fled the coming dawn, their witikgo victims just hunkered down, gorging themselves on The People they slaughtered in the night. Blood and entrails spilled wetly over the ground at the base of the hill. The mindless and soulless beings tore at flesh with their bare hands to stuff it greedily into their mouths.

Wanniukaga uneasily rose to his hands and knees to discover the fires burnt out and bare wisps of smoke rising from a graveyard of ambers. Also, after looking around, he discovered he was the only one from among the six survivors that had lived to see the sun.

The aged healer grabbed at the lifeless Nanawi’tca. Shaking her by the shoulders, he refused to cede her to death. No, no, no! Wake up young one, wake! You mustn’t depart us! There are none left to carry on our traditions!

Having taken their fill of blood from the other five people, the Witikgo spirits let the rest run out onto the ground, unclotted. Stargazer, Nanawi’tca, Sings to Stones, Grinning Beaver, and the mute, slow of wit adolescent, Plucked Raven, lay dead. Those of the council in the city, indeed all of The People had departed from life.

Wishing he could follow them, Wanniukaga, instead, became the last to know the language and traditions of The People. Setting himself to collect braids of hair, weeping over each life taken from this world, he swore to carry their spirits with him for so long as he walked the land. For the witikgo that remained, he gave them fire. Set to their flesh, he burned them to the last, to which, strangely, none resisted.

Back in the grove of defoliated trees, Wanniukaga saw yet one more Witikgo spirit. Like the others, facial hair grew, but he stared with eyes shaped closer to people far to the west in the deserts or from jungles way south of these plains. He also stood taller than the rest and wore greater strength. He laughed at Wanniukaga before turning away into the woods.

Chapter One

~ Trickster In Necropolis ~

Endless times they walked through the barren yards of faded industry by the riverside–now empty shells of buildings once active with workers. Crumbling brick, rusting steel and broken windows everywhere one turned. Dead ground laced with industrial residue, ensuring scant little could grow beyond the hardiest weeds from a distant continent.

Here and there ran twin rails for iron horses, no longer thundering by, or at least very infrequently. So dreary this place, especially in winter, many of the Ghost Nation considered themselves lucky not to see it by the light of day.

Among them, East Wind Speaks saw into the dark with ease and commented, No footprints, no talking and I don’t hear anything else. She didn’t come this way.

Wanniukaga doubted him in the same language. I’m sure this is where she went.

With respect, Elder, the younger male voice said, Why would a vulnerable woman come down here of all places? Whoever she finds wouldn’t be anyone good.

Precisely, Wanniukaga’s aged words sounded. The girl turned down a dark path in life. She wants for trouble in place of despair.

But she’s one of the white invaders, East Wind Speaks reminded, A worshiper of Wendigo spirits. Suppose she’s waiting in ambush. Maybe Gray Knife should handle this.

The oldest and most skilled Wolf Warrior he also advocated, in contrast to all others, that the Ghost Nation should wage unrelenting warfare against the invaders.

Wanniukaga vigorously shook that off. Absolutely not! We let him lead our people and none other may gain control back. The council won’t risk it.

Wait! East Wind Speaks stopped everyone up short. I hear her!

She’s in that—what do you call it? the old healer asked.

"Warehouse. Do you want me to go in there and talk to her?"

Yes, do that. But just take a step or two inside. Don’t follow.

All of the Ghost Nation strode toward the warehouse, un-fazed by the night’s biting cold. Everyone tread with nary a sound up to the large roll-up door.

Turning around, East Wind Speaks searched for who outside the nation might be watching. On the ground, leading to where the Ghost Nation stood appeared only one set of footsteps. Spirits from a slain and forgotten people all inhabited a single tireless ageless body, that being Wanniukaga’s.

As promised, he struggled to retrieve the souls of all The People. Few came to him in days, still more over the course of moons, scores in years, then hundreds over decades. Everyone he knew during the three plagues filled his mind.

When Wanniukaga controlled the Ghost Nation he walked with the same slight shuffle he once had centuries ago, but not because of any bodily ailment.

By appearance, others might guess him to be twenty-seven or so. When last he looked his age, Wanniukaga lost nearly half his teeth. Since becoming a ghost, they all grew back. Twelve came in sharp enough to slice the toughest of hides, and the canines protruded to nearly double their normal length.

His eyes reflected the same dark penetrating red of the Wendigo spirits. The full force of Wanniukaga’s curse set in a little over a moon, then over following moons he lost skin tone and what little hair color he had. Alongside its good accompanied atrocious evil.

The Ghost Nation had been banished into centuries of night by Sun Father for needing blood to survive. Wanniukaga insisted to the council that regardless how severe things got, they never consume blood from people, and for centuries, they never did.

Wanniukaga also never learned any other languages. Most of the Ghost Nation hadn’t learned a new language since that dark night. Of those tongues some could speak, few remained after the whites invaded and slaughtered more people than could be counted.

Only East Wind Speaks knew the two most common tongues spoken in the many cities and towns that had since sprang up. That which prevailed throughout the invader’s nation he called out with, as his posture and facial expressions shifted. Is anyone in here?

Of course, she was, but East Wind Speaks also wanted to check for others. His voice reverberated off the walls just enough so only the Ghost Nation could catch the echo. It gave East Wind a sense of the building’s interior.

‘The fuck’re you? her long simmering anger rang back.

She’s asking us who we are, East Wind Speaks explained to everyone else.

Just make up a name, Wanniukaga advised, And don’t mention anyone else.

Eddie, East Wind lied with a buddy’s smile.

He caught a glimpse of her dyed black hair from where she stood around the column. He recognized that it must’ve been dishwater blonde due to the texture.

Eddie what? she pressed with audible doubt.

Eddie Van Hauser.

God! You’re so full of shit! the voice of what Wanniukaga said was a teenage girl, shot.

What’s the point of following her? East Wind muttered in The People’s tongue.

She’s being followed by someone else, Wanniukaga answered just as quietly.

If we’re going to do this you need to pay up front, the girl said.

What’s she saying? the elder asked.

She’s selling herself. I suppose she has mistaken us for her next customer.

Quickly, Wanniukaga took the lead and turned around to see who else might be about.

Cops don’t come out here. So is it a deal? she asked.

East Wind resumed control only of the voice. I’m not here for that.

I don’t see anyone else, the elder quickly whispered.

You think he’s already inside? East Wind asked.

Wanniukaga nodded while walking the Ghost Nation further inside and cut off line of sight with the girl completely. Because of heavy work boots, their footfalls offered no stealth on hard smooth concrete. In keeping more with practical needs, rather than blending in, loose denim jeans still performed double duty. Wanniukaga kept the Ghost Nation’s hair short mainly because that’s how they wore it back then, unlike the nomadic peoples further north. He maintained a cut closer to that of the invaders mainly to hide in their midst.

Under an oversized sports jacket, he wore more than a flannel shirt. There hung a few charms and a small leather bag next to Wanniukaga’s skin under the shirt. His jacket’s inside pockets had been filled with more than a few separate herbal trappings of his ancient path. Along with that, he carried few new discoveries he’d learned since then. On a belt concealed by the jacket hung three larger pouches reserved for the direst of enemies.

Diagonally across his back slung a long narrow nylon pack holding a bound cluster of raven feathers with a strip of rabbit fur hanging off the bottom end. There, the Ghost Nation also stored a turtle shell rattle wrapped in a coyote pelt, a few larger clippings of plants, a kitchen knife meant for mundane function rather than fighting and an old flute made by Grinning Beaver. Wrapped separately was Peace, a pipe of red stone and wooden handle.

Deliberately slow steps drew Wanniukaga’s eyes up to the ceiling of concrete, as echoes of the girl’s path rang off the hollow skeleton of shattered industrial promise.

When she returned to view down a set of stairs meant to be walled off, Wanniukaga halted with a startled jump. More than her hair reflected a state of mourning as per the invader culture. Black glossed her fingernails. A choker around her neck just as dark matched a skintight top and irregular skirt meant to show more than Wanniukaga thought proper. Were it not for the sooty black long coat he might wonder what kept her warm.

Even her lips and eyeliner sucked in light never to offer it back. Only one item of apparel granted a contrast from her black attire and deathly white facial powder. A silvery pendent dangled promisingly from the choker as a relic from ancient innocence.

She can’t be older than fifteen, one of the council members mentally advised.

Yes, too young to be stripped of spirit like this, Wanniukaga agreed in his head.

Just don’t say anything aloud, East Wind thought back, and then spoke to her in nearly perfect English while eyeing the ceiling for himself. Why conduct business in this?

Tilting her head one way then another invitingly, a seductive smile crossed her lips, clashing strongly with the well-veiled hurt in her eyes. ‘Cause most guys like it dirty.

I said I’m not here for that, East Wind repeated his earlier admission.

When she resumed her slow pace, the translator for the Ghost Nation realized its purpose. Each foot placement came exactly in front of the last to accentuate a hip shuffle meant to induce a groin surge. Were not Wanniukaga in control of that, it still wouldn’t work. Sexual allure from someone so young evoked only revulsion, which Wanniukaga struggled to repress.

Reaching for their hands, she tilted her head sideways at East Wind. C’mon. I promise I’ll never tell why you’re really here.

Then she got a close look at the Ghost Nation’s hands and froze.

A maze of complex markings resembling tattoos covered them. She guessed they went halfway up his forearms were she to pull up their sleeves. An unbroken patchwork of glyphs Sings To Stones discovered and adapted some hundred years after the deaths of his people. A story of great birds causing thunderstorms, the symbols also helped capture their power.

Ooh! Nice tats! she cooed at East Wind. Tell me, what do they mean?

It’s not for their people to know! Wanniukaga hurriedly warned.

It’s personal, East Wind rephrased more diplomatically.

A grinding of tires on dirt and swiveling headlamps drew everyone’s attention, even that of the white girl. When the car stopped, a door clicked open and clapped shut as if the machine were a cherished pet. It answered back with a loud double chirp.

The girl strode past East Wind, toward the open roll-up door, giving one of the Wolf Warriors the opportunity to slip the Ghost Nation out of sight completely.

A once thirty-seven year old Wolf Warrior named Stargazer had been the last to stand at Wanniukaga’s side. Of all the Wolf Warriors most often it was he who stepped up to lead because of his lackadaisical childhood nature, for which he’d been named. Upon reaching manhood, he’d matured into a calming, dispassionate presence in times of crisis.

However, his warrior’s training caused him to reach back for the pack with the knife inside. Yet a firm left hand from Wanniukaga clamped down onto the right Stargazer used, as the elder whispered tightly, No! Leave it be!

Thinking she heard something behind her, the girl turned to discover no one. Rather than stare curiously at the Ghost Nation’s departure, she turned around to the well-dressed man coming into view.

Reddish brown hair stylishly combed to one side capped a cleanly shaven mid-30's face for billboards. From his suit, many would guess he just came from a meeting at the office but for the hour. That and a tightly packed gym bag in his hand.

An ivory gleam from his summoned professional smile hid something unclean about his intent with the girl, as he pulled from his pocket an unkempt wad of cash. Should we do it here or someplace even more secluded upstairs?

Pouring on her charm again the girl took his money without breaking eye contact. She then took him softly by the hand, as she would’ve to East Wind, and stepped backwards.

When they both went up a few floors, Stargazer came out of hiding and allowed Wanniukaga led the Ghost Nation. We have to put a stop to this.

And do what? Kill him? Stargazer asked.

Wanniukaga violently shook his head while heading outside. I will solve this.

Planning to lean on or bump the car in order to set off its alarm, the elder stopped when finding someone else already inside it with a door left open. Son of a bitch!

In mere starlight, the Ghost Nation could make out the rummaging adolescent’s features well. Tall, yet not quite lanky. In contrast with the girl, the seventeen-year-old combed his light blonde hair into a clockwise pattern with some additive to hold it that way. Faded gray jeans hinted at life on the streets without reprieve. But his tied dyed shirt under a raggedy ski jacket suggested some sort of positive acceptance of that fact.

Compared to her gloom the boy seemed downright lighthearted, or so Wanniukaga guessed from his movements while searching for something of value. As he climbed further into the back seat, his sneaker came up and bumped the steering wheel.

The loud honk made Wanniukaga jump and the kid to leap out of his skin. Three floors up, the elder heard a pair of bare feet scramble into a run. Before the budding thief could get fully out of the car Wanniukaga came around the door and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Shit! I’m sorry! the boy screamed before turning to see who’d apprehended him.

East Wind quickly jumped in to handle the situation, as no one else understood what the young man said. It’s not my car. Come on! Quick!

Pushing the teenager around the side of the building, the translator found a shadow cast by starlight and the quarter moon, which living people couldn’t see. He pressed the kid against the wall while looking to the car from which they’d fled. The deviant stormed out from the building, butt naked, with his gym bag in one hand and his clothes over a forearm.

First, he climbed in and searched the vehicle himself to see what might be stolen. Then he stepped out searching all around, visibly and audibly enraged. "That’s right! You better fuckin’ run! I find you and you’re dead...! Dead! Little prick."

The last came as an utterance to his own shoulder, before he hastily dressed, other than the coat he threw onto the passenger seat, and drove off. Suddenly angry, the teenager spun around and pushed back at East Wind. Who the fuck’re you?

His informal introduction rang all too familiar with the girl’s minutes ago. When she finally stepped outside and called for him, East Wind Speaks realized they’d collaborated. Jordan? He’s gone now! You can come out! Did you find anything?

A second push gave Jordan enough distance to shake off his hostility and walk over to the building entrance. Yeah. Fuck, that was close.

When she turned to him, she voiced relief. God! I thought he’d catch you!

Some guy over there grabbed me first, he said thumbing behind himself.

White hair and wearing a jacket? she asked.

Didn’t see, Jordan explained, looking back at where he figured East Wind stood.

East Wind sensed the council’s approval to reveal himself. With hands in his coat pockets, he stepped forward just enough for the two of them to see his outline. The girl squinted at him and then said to Jordan. He’s cool. Kind of a prude though.

Who are you, dude? Jordan chinned at the Ghost Nation.

Before East Wind Speaks could do so, the girl spoke with humored disbelief. Calls himself Eddie Van Hauser. Isn’t that a kick?

Right and Jordan’s my last name. I’m really Michael, he scoffed.

Is it? East Wind sincerely asked.

Shit! he hissed at the girl.

She gave him a face and an elbowing nudge before turning back to the Ghost Nation who she still thought of as one person. Yes, it’s just Jordan. I’m Kera. So, Eddie.

Why would you do—do that with a grown man? East Wind asked.

‘Cause I have to. That’s how it is. she scornfully explained.

So wha’cha get from him? Jordan turned to her asking. He paid, right?

Two hundred, Kera confirmed. Did you get anything before honking the horn?

He held up something small for examination. Just this flash drive.

That’s why he followed her. They swindle people out of their property. Wanniukaga revealed at last whom he noticed earlier.

Anyone else you saw and I missed? East Wind Speaks thought.

Let’s take them home and offer food, Wanniukaga said aloud in The People’s words.

Excuse me? East Wind heard from Kera.

If you’re hungry I can give you something to eat. And a place to stay as well, he offered.

The two kids considered East Wind Speaks offer between each other. As they talked, Wanniukaga took an opportunity to first check the skies and then the distant buildings. Seeing nothing, the elder nonetheless, felt watched... again.

* * * *

Range to subjects is six, niner, seven mikes, the first man lying on his stomach on a rooftop breathed into his civilian headset. No, they’re just standing there.... Primary drove off.... Yessir, that’s correct. Zero aggression from all subjects currently onsite.

Atop another empty building, he and a second man surveilled the group with military issued night scopes. Both dressed in civilian clothes but selected dark shades other than solid or mostly black to blend in without appearing out of place. Each man had racked up considerable experience as snipers in special operations prior to their transfer.

Now they pacified carriers of Pathogenic Ribochondrion Vector in a paramilitary unit called Squad Five under the joint jurisdiction of FEMA and the CDC.

Correct sir. We have a license plate and model along with rough facial ID.

A brief moment of listening preceded the first operator tapping the back of his hand to his spotter’s shoulder. ROE are to verify primary’s medical condition. Let’s go!

Slowly, they rose up onto their hands and knees to crawl back from the roof edge then stand up fully. The sniper snapped together his half zipped coat and drew up the zipper completely to conceal his sidearm and second clip.

Unlike the first, loaded with normal bullets, the second carried incendiary rounds. Firearms remained less effective than Squad Five’s modern close quarter weapons and tactics. However, the phosphorous coated, spiral steel wraps around a magnesium core offered better protection than regular munitions.

Most importantly, pistol hits generated prolonged thirty five hundred degree burns curtailing infectious blood splatter when shot. A fortunate secondary benefit came through inflicting pain as a deterrent to physical assault.

Though with nothing to shoot at, nor authority through rules of engagement, the sniper/spotter pair went for the stairs. Commercially available sports shoes with exceptionally spongy soles allowed them to quietly descend the steps.

* * * *

Though Wanniukaga led the Ghost Nation, he kept East Wind Speaks close by to talk to the two youngsters walking behind him. On reaching a mostly intact yet abandoned apartment building, he held an arm out toward the doorway. Before entering, the Ghost Nation paused for Wanniukaga to retrieve his flute.

He pressed one end sideways up under his pursed lips and played a rapidly changing series of notes. Grinning Beaver had taught Wanniukaga how to play back when the men both lived. While putting the instrument away he heard fluttering wing beats. As the elder turned to step inside, a large milky skinned, white maned bat landed squarely on his back. It hooked its thumb claws around Wanniukaga’s shoulders, like a second pack.

Good little Plucked Raven, Wanniukaga said in The People’s language as he reached back to lightly pat the creature’s head.

Following the two up a set of stairs, East Wind Speaks indicated a doorway at the third floor for them to use. A hollow hall with no paint or wallpaper led to several rooms, only one of which had a door, not the one East Wind directed them to. Before the Ghost Nation entered, however, Wanniukaga hooked thumbs with Plucked Raven. Lifting him off, Wanniukaga passed the bat off onto a wall without the kids noticing.

Plucked Raven was the only member of the Ghost Nation who didn’t live inside Wanniukaga’s head and never spoke. In fact, Plucked Raven did nothing that people did. For all practical purposes, he wasn’t at all human in thought or action.

While Trickster stories once abounded about Wanniukaga throughout the plains, only a couple involved Plucked Raven helping him. The truth behind how the bat came to be would amaze both the true people of the land and invaders alike.

Inside the room, both visiting whites sat on a mattress, in surprisingly good condition. A twenty-year-old metal garbage can the Ghost Nation used to make fires had been cooling down. The elder attempted to start a new fire. However, Wanniukaga struggled to do it at the same time East Wind Speaks talked and all else within the Ghost Nation went on in the background.

Like your contacts. Kicks ass! Jordan complimented, or so East Wind thought.

Contacts? East Wind struggled to grasp what he meant.

Kera pointed at her own eyes to indicate those of the Ghost Nation. Never seen a Goth wearing a flannel shirt n’shit.

Oh, the eyes. East Wind raised his head in understanding. Keeps the whites from thinking twice before doing anything to me while I’m on the street.

They each stared at the Ghost Nation with funny expressions, not quite sure they heard East Wind right. Kera fleetingly pressed for clarification. What did you just say?

You know, East Wind calmly rephrased, The white washed crowd.

Satisfied with his dodgy explanation, they leaned back against cold hard cement wall. Wanniukaga finally felt relaxed enough around them to come out and step over to the barrel to restart a fire. Jordan talked at him a couple times, but not knowing what he said, the elder didn’t answer. Instead, he kept at striking a flint against a shard from an I-beam.

Jordan walked over with a lighter and hastened the process with a couple flicks of a thumb. East Wind stood up from Wanniukaga’s slight slouch to eye the kid. Thanks.

It felt good to have guests among the Ghost Nation. Many people still lived in this invader birthed, then slain, portion of a city. Yet few carried much life in them.

Chapter Two

~ Urban Burial Ground ~

Once the last child died, the decision to flee the city, lesser than the city of his grandfathers’ time, became easier. A third of the survivors barely knew where they were for being afflicted with one sickness or another.

The illness with pustules did the worst and frightened even Wanniukaga, a healer. Diseases like none their ancestors had ever seen or heard tell of.

First traders and visitors of other nations brought stories of sickness spreading to dozens, then hundreds of people in camps, villages and other cities. Later they spoke about those same places inhabited solely by the dead, for none living remained to bury them.

Then people stopped coming altogether.

* * * *

Waking in the only room with a door, Wanniukaga sat upright on his mattress. On all the walls hung decayed remnants the elder managed to find of the Ghost Nation’s former people and city. Rotted scraps of clothing, ceremonial props and broken shards of pottery were arrayed with loving care. He even a few fragments of the posts, carved long ago by Grinning Beaver’s living hands, were once used to track celestial movements through the seasons.

On shelves, located on both sides of the blocked window, rested newer additions fashioned by the will of Grinning Beaver, whose ghost Wanniukaga carried. Among them counted weapons for hunting and war. The healer didn’t reach for them when approaching the window.

To keep daylight at bay Wanniukaga hung a dirty abandoned sleeping bag over the window. Tentatively, he reached behind it to expose his hand to evening light. Instantly, there tingled that feeling of grabbing a stone heated in a fire. Should he continue to endure a noontime sun for many minutes it would leave searing blisters and bleeding cracks in burnt skin? His muscles would suffer the wrath of day, robbing the Ghost Nation of all their supernatural strength.

Instead, Wanniukaga mentally stepped back so that East Wind Speaks could seek out the two invader teenagers. Unlike the instantly awake elder, East Wind remained groggy and slow. He opened the door rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. With scrapes, his feet carried him out into the hall closing and locking the door behind him. A lethargic thumb stuffed the key into the tiny fifth pocket of his jeans.

Carefully East Wind entered the room with the fire barrel to be sure direct sunlight didn’t strike him. Half expecting to discover the two gone, he did in fact find neither in the room. With a sigh, he turned around ready to go downstairs and wait for near dusk.

That is until East Wind heard the unlikely pair coming up the stairs and then came into view. He heard the sound of crumpling paper and saw white and yellow bags in Jordan and Kera’s hands warm as their own body heat. The Ghost Nation’s eyes developed a slight sensitivity to something East Wind Speaks learned centuries later was called infrared.

Hungry, Eddie? Jordan asked holding up the bag with a shake.

Ahh, he drew out verbally to besiege the council for advice.

Traditional custom was to accept a gift to avoid insulting generosity, but the Ghost Nation council struggled to offer an answer East Wind should translate.

It’s good! Honest! Kera said warmly.

In time, East Wind paraphrased. I appreciate your gift. Usually I’d provide food to my guests, but you beat me to it.

The council warned against revealing that the Ghost Nation still hunted and gathered. Growing their own crops faded with the natural state of the land now a distant memory.

All three of them went to the open room to eat. Jordan passed over two burgers in silver, red and yellow paper as well as a cold paper cup and a bag of fried potato sticks. Biting into one fry East Wind doubted that the Inca, as removed from his people in distance as they were in time to the present, ever intended their most crucial crop be eaten this way.

But they should have, he realized with delight looking over the other half between his fingers. Mmm! These are wonderful! How do you make them?

Kera giggled, momentarily revealing herself to be a girl child, before drawing back over a maturity forged in hard times. You fry’em. That’s why they’re called fries.

Though the fries proved to be a singular dietary marvel, the burger turned out to be a myriad of foods layered into an explosion of flavor with each mouthful.

Bites that didn’t elude an astonished Jordan. Dude! Those’re some bad assed caps! Who did your teeth like that? Those are better than in ‘Interview.’

East Wind Speaks froze with a hand over his mouth and darted alarmed eyes marred by Wanniukaga’s sadness around the corners.

Kera leaned sideways to get a glimpse. Can I see?

Studying the two, he swallowed his evasiveness with his food, before drawing back pallid lips from flawless teeth. In conjunction with his red eyes, he expected them to put it all together into the truth. Maybe they did. East Wind couldn’t be sure.

Got lower ones too. Kera noted. Most people don’t think of that.

If you can, like, afford that why you livin’ out here? Jordan asked.

I got these long ago before things got much worse, East Wind honestly admitted.

That’s too bad, Jordan sympathized in his mismatched enthused tone.

Good as the burgers and fries proved to be, East Wind Speaks’ heart swam with the wash of a chocolate shake. Finishing up an hour before sundown, Kera and Jordan headed out to leave, but invited the Ghost Nation to come along. Wanniukaga didn’t like it, but the council saw them as friendly and said for East Wind to learn more from them.

However, even in fading light, the Ghost Nation needed to be cautious. East Wind went back to another room. Taking off his coat to put on a hooded sweatshirt, put the coat back on and grabbed Wanniukaga’s bag. When coming back out while putting gloves on, a surprised Kera heckled. "Jesus, Eddie! What’s with the hoodie? It’s not that cold."

I have to be careful how much sun I get.

For a moment, the two eyed each other with uncertainty but let it pass.

Outside, the three headed north from desolation blocks of the city into those merely filthy and crime ridden. There they headed west to the nearest bus stop. East Wind Speaks, Stargazer and some others had ventured out into white held lands before. Here few white invaders remained. In their place, lived descendants from a people just as distant but brought here against their will.

However, scant few people once from neighboring tribes and nations of the land still survived here. East Wind waited for a bus with Kera and Jordan. A man East Wind Speaks took to be Osage arrived. East Wind nodded to him with a sense of brotherhood. Hello.

Hey, he answered barely glancing over.

Probably a little thicker than he should be for his age, the Osage otherwise blended in as well as the Ghost Nation, except that he still had his natural color. A glint from his neck revealed a small cross hanging there.

The Ghost Nation’s posture started to stoop a bit, as East Wind Speaks went away and Wanniukaga resumed control. At normal volume, he spoke at the Osage with a hard tone. Why would you wear that? After all that Wendigo’s followers did to your people?

Turning to Wanniukaga the Osage offered no answer other than confusion.

To which the elder pressed the matter a bit more loudly. You disgrace your people by bending to their flesh eating evil spirit! Take that off! he spoke back in Osage once more. What irked Wanniukaga was his irritation and disrespect for an elder. Then Wanniukaga grabbed at the cross to shove into the much younger man’s face. This is a cult of death and cannibalism!

When the Osage pushed at Wanniukaga, the elder gave a nasty open-handed swat across his face. Something akin to startled recognition manifested in the Osage’s face as he rubbed the reddening sting on the side of his head.

Wilting from the healer’s hard red-eyed stare the man walked across the street frequently staring back. Something about Wanniukaga confounded and disturbed the Osage. Turning toward Kera and Jordan made Wanniukaga want to leave and he did.

East Wind came back and saw the two kids’ incredulous expressions aimed at him. He traded back a befuddled brow of his own. What just happened?

Man, you were insane all up in that guy’s face! Jordan started to explain with his confounding verbal flare. "He’s all lookin’ at you like, ‘What’re you on about?’ Then you really kicked it up. Then he’s all, ‘Hey white guy. It’s not your business that I found Jesus,’ you know, and then—shit! You about ripped his cross off! He grabbed your hand and dude, you rattled his brain with a slap! Then he just left."

Kera’s glances switched between East Wind and Jordan, then on seeing Jordan’s irreverent grin pushed at his shoulder.

East Wind glanced over at a distantly departing Osage then to Kera. Is he alright?

It took a minute for Kera to put the words together. "What the hell was that all about? You just went off on that guy for just standing there!"

Yeah, and what was that language you were talkin’ in? Jordan asked.

The Ghost Nation translator had to mentally inventory what languages he thought Wanniukaga knew before answering. Osage, I guess.

What do you mean you guess? Kera shot.

Never mind. It doesn’t matter.

Sure as shit matters to that guy you slapped! she countered hotly.

I can’t go into it now, East Wind said, then saw a chance to distract. The bus.

Blue-green interior lighting greeted the trio as they boarded. Kera showed something to the driver and passed over money for East Wind’s ride. Jordan also displayed