Hundreds of people had gathered in a large mesa on top of a bluff. The area was surrounded by forest and fields; the night sky was clear, and there were no clouds. Most of the snow had melted, but everyone knew that soon, true winter would come, altering the scene. A cold wind blew in from the north. In the far distance came the sound of wolves howling.

Several fires burned, and natives danced and sang about the end of the Yee Naaldlooshii: The Skinwalker, an old Navajo folk tale that other tribes had also adopted.

Lights flashing from emergency vehicles spoiled the effect. A tent camp had been erected; several RVs were parked in one area, and behind them on an adjacent field were five helicopters. One stood out, larger and gleaming, corporate rather than utilitarian.

A line of people stood by a few truck tailgates, being served food; the savor aroma of outdoor cooking lay like a blanket over the area.

"And when Daniela walked over to confirm that Blake was really dead, she removed the blanket Pat had placed over him, and suddenly the corpse sat up," Whitney reported.

“Blake! He’s alive?” Robert shouted, leaping to his feet.

“Wait, there’s more. Instead of penetrating his forehead, the bullet hit at just the right angle to be deflected around the skull before it exited over his ear. It happens sometimes; I saw it once in the service. They call it a ‘flexible bullet.’ But what with all the blood, we thought he was dead.”

“Well, that’s great,” Sammy said, as paramedics forced him back onto a stretcher.

“Tell that to Daniela. I think her professional pride got hit a bit hard.”

“What happened next?” Peter wanted to know; he too lay on a stretcher, next to Adrianna, who was fighting Takoda over her hand cannon.

“Silly girl!” shouted the Lakota man. “You have to turn it in, you hear me?” Takoda finally stripped her of her gun, as she responded by insulting both him and his parentage.

Takoda turned to the crowd, holding the gun in his hand. “Malik and I followed the paramedics after we heard the call on the radio, suspecting something. Most of the Feds and military thought the ordeal was over, but we didn’t. As a matter of fact, they still think it was a terrorist group behind everything.”

“Idiots.” Malik stepped up, drinking coffee from a huge mug. “When we heard what had happened at the hiking camp, I called Frank and begged him to bring that brown dog of his. Once I mentioned Christina, he and Claire got in their RV and we used it for a mobile HQ. We all knew we’d over stepped our boundaries when we left the state, but I guess that’ll be something we’ll have to deal with in the near future.”

“Don’t worry. If you need an attorney, you got one,” Tom Billing said calmly.

They all laughed.

Takoda continued, “When we realized that you guys were near the rez, I called for help, avoiding all the red tape, but the problem was that this entire region has been taboo for centuries. No one ever ventured into those forests over there.” He pointed at the dark forest in the distance, where a fire could be seen as what remained of Nero’s home continued to burn. Helicopters kept flying over it, and lights from several emergency vehicles flashed nearby.

“Eventually, the tribal elders agreed to muster the local police and militia from the reservation, but for what it’s worth it wasn’t easy. We keep our traditions tight up here.”

Malik continued, “So far, the CSI and the police have found several sets of human remains, mostly skeletal, over by the wolf den, but they can’t do any more work there until daylight. Too dangerous right now.”

Takoda turned, facing Tom. “So where are your goddaughters? My people want to thank them both.”

“Tammy is in Skull Creek with Blake, and as for Christina, I think she’s over at Frank and Claire’s RV.”

* * * * *

CHRISTINA HUNG up the phone, smiling, knowing that both Tammy and Blake would be fine. She then put on a more serious expression as she read from the computer screen; “The Roanoke Colony, also known as the Lost Colony. Established in 1585, abandoned before August 1590. The colonists disappeared during the Anglo-Spanish War. There is no conclusive evidence as to what happened to the colonists.”

“Some things are better kept secret,” said a quiet voice.

Christina jumped about three feet. “HOLY SHIT! Oh, it’s you, Mr. Smith. You really need to stop spooking people like that. If I still had Custer’s gun with me, there’d be a huge hole in you right now.”

Mr. Smith barely smiled. He placed his old umbrella next to the desk as he leaned over Christina’s shoulder, reading from the computer screen. Thank goodness for the wireless hotspots that most smartphones came with these days. As he paged through the document, she said, “Why are some things best kept secret?”

“Well…take your rifle, for example, the one that was given to you. How long do you think you can keep it once the authorities find out about it? Or his descendants, if he has any.”

“They’ll probably take it away from me.”

“And still, you earned it, and it was given to you. It will probably end up in a museum; or worse, bagged as evidence in storage for ages to come, until someone wealthy buys it at an auction.”

“Maybe it belongs in a museum.”

“Maybe it does, and then wouldn’t it be more right and proper if you were the one donating your property?”

“You scared me only to tell me this?”

“No, ma’am. The others would like to see you, whenever you’re ready. But if that comes out…” He nodded at the screen.

“What comes out?”

“What you might know of that. Imagine what it might do. A secret society murdering people who they think are enemies of nature, who have been doing it for centuries? One that explains the skinwalker and berserker legends, who knows maybe even bigfoot? Just imagine all the copycat killings that will follow.”

“But how do you know that?”

Mr. Smith smiled and said, “Who says I do?” He just stared at the computer screen, then watched as Christina walked over and petted a gray kitten sleeping in a lounge chair. On the floor in front of it lay Winston the bulldog, moaning sadly as he stared at his chair, giving the little intruder a very sad expression. Christina petted the old dog, and he just rolled his eyes at her and then back to his chair. Christina laughed, then headed outside.

Mr. Smith looked at the Croatoan files Christina had downloaded, then turned off the computer. He looked at the rifle and then on the umbrella with a sad expression.

When Christina exited the vehicle, she found Claire sitting in a lawn chair, looking like a concerned mother; next to her sat Christina’s new dogs, Hunter and Nugget, both wagging their tails. She petted them and exchanged pleasantries with Claire, but her mind wasn’t focused on anything in particular.

“He’s over by the horses, talking to his sister on a phone, I think,” Claire said pleasantly.

Christina found Robert standing by a line of horses, petting one of them. She walked up to him and cleared her throat. He slowly turned, facing her. Suddenly she blushed; but then she got her act together, and walked right up to him, only inches separating them. She looked up at him, and he looked back, both trembling a little.

“So tell me, how does a girl get to know a guy like you?” she asked after a long, quiet moment.

“She has to answer my question.”

Christina looked at him suspiciously and mischievously. “What’s the question?”

He smiled and looked like he was about to say something, when suddenly he leaned forward. He smelled wonderful. Christina stood on her tip-toes and closed her eyes; again she felt his stubble on her cheek as it brushed her face. But the expected kiss never came; instead he leaned to her side, breathed into her ear, and then he asked her his question: “What does a man have to do to keep a girl like you around?”