Secrets of Goth Mountain Page 17
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When Johnny reached Two Bears, a big Indian in a tan Tribal Police uniform was kneeling over his still body. It had been a long time, but Johnny recognized him.
“How is he, Small Bear?” Johnny asked.
The Indian looked up at Johnny and momentarily showed a hint of surprise, before his face again became a blank mask. “You would be Johnny Goth. I would rejoice to see you again, were my heart not broken. My Uncle, the Great Two Bears, has been murdered.”
“No!” Johnny knelt next to Two Bears. The big man’s hand-woven normally off-white shirt was red with blood, and he obviously wasn’t breathing. A few shirt buttons had been undone, and his shirt folded down to bare a blood covered chest.
“Two shots directly to the heart,” said Small Bear, shaking his head as he stood up. “He never had a chance. I warned him not to get involved in the drug problem, but he would not listen.”
Johnny felt for a pulse. There was none.
“Tracks tell the tale,” said Small Bear, studying the ground. “There are signs leading to and from this place. He met two people here, both members of the Tribe.”
Johnny hadn’t studied the surroundings; Two Bears was his total focus. “Tribe members did this? I don’t believe it.”
“You have been gone a long time, Johnny Goth. White man drugs can make weak minds do anything.” He pointed into the forest. “The killers escape. I will follow their trail before the others destroy it when they come.” At that, Small Bear disappeared into the forest, leaving Johnny alone with the lifeless bloody body of Great Two Bears.
Johnny had never before felt so helpless. He held Two Bears’ great hand, tears streaming from his eyes. The huge hand was still warm. Blood was on the big red man’s shirt pooled on his bare chest, but there was not as much of it as might be expected; apparently he died so quickly that there hadn’t even been time for him to lose more than a pint or two of blood. Johnny knew exactly how fast Two Bears had died. In his head he had heard the shaman cry out in surprise and pain for only a second or two, then there was only a deathly silence, even as the fading sound of the deadly gunshots were still echoing through the valley.
As Johnny watched, the pool of blood on the big man’s chest actually receded, revealing two close-spaced bullet entry holes over the shaman’s heart. Johnny was puzzled for a moment, over what had happened to the blood, until he realized that he himself had willed the blood back into the wounds.
A crazy thought came to him. Without even focusing on it, he had already moved some of the blood into the body. Could he somehow circulate Two-Bear’s blood, even though the shaman’s heart was useless? How? Moving blood he could see was one thing, moving it sight unseen was another. However, many times he had helped circulate oil and anti-freeze through the engine of his old Tempo. Wouldn’t this be similar?
Also, a few times before, he had moved some spirit part of himself elsewhere, achieving out-of-body experiences that allowed him to sit atop rooftops or clouds for several minutes at a time, seeing and sometimes feeling things remotely. Could he now similarly feel his way into Two Bears, find the heart and then will blood to move though it?
There was nothing to lose; he had to try. He put his left hand over the wounds and closed his eyes, and focused on Two Bears, on feeling blood-soaked skin, the wounds, and then projecting some part of himself deeper while opening his mind to sense what was found there.
He found a chaos of torn flesh and shattered rib bone, gasping for life-granting sustenance now being denied, a torn and crushed body still trying feebly and hopelessly to repair itself even as it died. Moving deeper, he sensed a cavity full of still blood, mixed with tattered flesh that had once formed a great, pulsing heart, but which now was still.
Johnny fought to control his own uncertainties and fears as he felt his way through the torn heart, trying to figure out how it was supposed to work and what was damaged. Damage was so massive that he immediately reworked his strategy. He couldn’t simply cause the heart to reactivate; the heart was mostly gone. Exactly how the heart used to work was of no immediate concern. Using his own heart as his model, he located entry and exit arteries in Two Bears and willed blood to start moving through the torn cavity that separated them.
Blood without oxygen was useless; next he had to get the lungs to function. He positioned Two-Bear’s head, opened his mouth, and pinched shut his nostrils, before bending down and breathing a great lungful of air into him.
For a moment, he lost his concentration on the heart and blood circulation stopped, but Johnny found that he could soon indeed simultaneously accomplish both activities, though only with difficulty.
He was greatly relieved when he sensed Black Hawk’s arrival. Johnny’s old friend was wearing a police uniform similar to Small Bear’s, but with only deputy stripes on his shirt sleeves. Though his eyes were welling with tears, Black Hawk took over the lung resuscitation task, leaving Johnny to focus on blood circulation. With his eyes closed and his hands holding the big man’s limp arm, Johnny continued.
Others arrived; Johnny could hear them each cry out in anguish and rage when they discovered that Two Bears had been shot. But when they observed the efforts of Johnny and Black Hawk they also quickly sensed that hope remained.
“He breathes himself,” proclaimed Black Hawk, when he paused his efforts after several minutes of resuscitation. A loud cheer went up from the other men.
Johnny didn’t choose to also confirm to them that Two Bears’ mind was functioning, though at a very low level. Telling them that would increase their celebration and there was no time for such things. “I am moving his blood, acting as his heart,” explained Johnny. “We must get him to the Holy Forest quickly.”
“We also need a healer,” said Black Hawk. “Mary White Dove is our best. I have already radioed the Village for her to come here. In the meantime we must begin to carry Great Two Bears towards the Holy Forest.”