Old Man Lowery trudges into a small-town bar in New Mexico one day looking for two audiotapes that have been long forgotten. To get them, he's willing to kill the man who might have them. While bar owner Sam Hewett survives the encounter, he can no longer focus on the present. Instead, he's forced to examine his past, back to his days in high school and his adventures with Jake, Michael, and Kevin. As teenagers, they had not only discovered a treasure of gold on a Navajo reservation, but a lost civilization that mixed Christian and Navajo beliefs in terrible ways. Now, Lowery's obsession to recover the forgotten treasure forces the men to revisit a terrible series of events that will connect them forever. If they don't find the treasure, a curse that has remained dormant for many years is certain to be unleashed. Explore friendship, Native American culture, and the nature of evil in The Ancients.

The Ancients

By Gregory M. Tucker

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Gregory M. Tucker
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-0967-6

Chapter One

The old man, fifty years ago, would have gone unnoticed in the small oilfield town in Northern New Mexico. His clothes were dusty and dry, his leather cowboy hat worn and cracked from the relentless beating of the sun's rays. He strolled slowly and deliberately down Main Street, appearing dull and lifeless, like he had stepped out of an old painting, clashing with the more colorful world that surrounded him. People stared at the man; he paid them no mind.

He stopped for a moment at the corner of Main and Fourth Streets surrounded by old buildings that appeared to have all been built at different times exhibiting inconsistent themes of architecture. The buildings were of varied heights made with a strange combination of stucco, brick and stone, as diverse as snowflakes. He was looking for the town's first modern microbrewery, assuming, like the other buildings, it would have some kind of fake antique sign written in calligraphy, something nearly impossible for him to read. After a few frustrating minutes of wandering, he was standing only a few yards from the entrance. He entered the brewery and was greeted by a young hostess who led him to the bar. The antique building had obviously received a modern makeover. The old oak hardwood floors, the pressed brass ceiling, and the exposed brick walls seemed dormant, overtaken by computer cash registers and ergonomically correct tables and chairs.

He sat at the bar and waited as the overweight greasy bartender tried fervently to strike up a conversation with a very young attractive girl who sat at the bar. She gained entrance by using the fake identification card she kept in the back pocket of her tight blue jeans. She deliberately refused to look at the bartender as he talked to her and seemed interested only in his leaving her alone. The old man tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand but could not help observing the pair to see if the bartender really thought he could interest the girl. He wore a white T-shirt badly stained with grease and other unidentifiable stains which was several sizes too small for his build. His large belly hung suspended by his overworked belt, the white flesh and hair of his belly exposed below the shirt he pulled at repeatedly as if some miracle would occur and the shirt would remain stretched far enough down to hide his girth. The fat bartender shrugged his shoulder, more experienced in being turned down than flipping burgers, and came to the old man.

"What can I get you?" he asked, pulling again at his shirt.

"You can get me the owner," the old man replied.

The bartender smirked at the old man. "Can I tell him your name?"

"He won't know it, but he'll want to," the old man replied.

The bartender swaggered due to his weight as he walked away, stopping again to attempt more small talk with the girl. After another failed attempt, he climbed a long wooden stairway in the back of the brewery and went through a heavy wooden door at the top. The old man waited patiently as the bartender came back down the stairs followed by a man in his twenties dressed in very clean, pressed clothing. The owner stopped at every table on his way to the front of the brewery. He shook customers' hands and greeted them as he passed. When he reached the bar, he picked up a half-empty bowl of pretzels that sat on the bar-top and filled it up, winking at the girl sitting at the bar as he placed the pretzels in front of her. She blushed, trying unsuccessfully to fight off an awkward smile.

The owner approached the old man, smiling. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Is there somewhere we can go to talk?" the old man asked.

"I guess that depends on who you are and what you want to talk about," the owner replied.

"Most who know me, which there are few these days, call me Lowery," the old man said.

"Nice to meet you, Lowery. My name is Sam Hewett," the owner said, shaking the old man's hand.

"What I want to talk about may not be good barstool talk with so many ears around," the old man said.

"Well, I know most everyone in here and they won't pay mind to...."

The old man cleared his throat and looked the young owner in the eyes. "When you were in high school you worked for a radio station and came across a tape recording of an interview with a Navy pilot ..."

Sam interrupted the man, "Let's go up to my office?" Sam turned to the bartender and patted him on the back as he walked past him. Curious if anyone had heard the old man's statement, Sam looked around. Satisfied that his customers seemed busy in conversation, he moved away from behind the bar and motioned for Lowery to follow him.

The smell of yeast and hops got progressively stronger as the two climbed the long wooden stairway at the end of the brewery. Lowery stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs to catch his breath as Sam opened the large wooden door. Once through the door, Lowery could see a storage room filled with bags of yeast, hops, and beer bottles. At one end of the room was a large metal desk that reminded Lowery of the one he sat behind for years when he was in the Army.

Sam grabbed two beers from a large cooling unit and handed one to Lowery. He pulled his chair from behind the large metal desk and placed it next to another chair that sat in front of the desk. Sam sat down and opened his beer. The old man pressed his thumb against the top of his beer until it shot off in a loud pop and smiled as he took off his hat and placed it in on his knee.

"I am 78 years old. I'm too damn tired and frankly don't have the time to play grab-ass. Do you still have the tape?" Lowery said before he took a long drink of his beer.

Sam wondered if the old man's mouth and tongue would soak the beer in before he could swallow. Everything about the man seemed dry. Even his eyes seemed waterless, slowly closing as the cold beer ran down his throat.

Sam sauntered to the desk and opened a drawer with a broken lock. He thumbed through some items, and without much delay, pulled a single cassette tape from the drawer. He sat back down in front of Lowery and handed the tape to him.

Lowery's eyes widened, and Sam wondered what thoughts were dancing through his head. He knew what Lowery was looking for but doubted that the tape would provide any help. Sam could almost feel the old man's excitement vibrating through him. A feeling Sam had not experienced in years began again to simmer.

"You know, about every other year a man comes into this town looking for it, but nobody has found a thing," Sam said.

The old man took one last look at the tape before sliding it into the chest pocket of his shirt. "I suppose I'd be just like the rest if I told you that I was the one who was going to find it. That I had spent a life time collecting information and knowledge so that one day I would be the one. I suppose I'm not the first to receive a copy of the tape from you, and not the first to say I'll be the one who'll know what to listen for."

The old man finished his beer and stood. "I'm not really sure what I would do with it if I found it. Not sure I care. The fact that this tape exists, and the fact that it's still out there, well ... what the hell else is there to do?"

Sam sat drinking his beer as the old man approached the stairs. Suddenly the old man stopped, locked the door, and turned around holding a gun. Sam's immediate thoughts were not of terror but of disbelief. He could see the...