Yates Dennis

Red Mountain

Red Mountain

For Pamela

CHAPTER 1

The room tilted back and forth, as if he were in the damaged hull of a ship taking on black seawater. Robert swayed in and out of consciousness as his body drifted into shock.

He dropped his head to the side and stared beneath the family room couch. At the moment it felt as if his whole life was summarized in the objects collected there since the last time they’d moved furniture—a world of lost or forgotten things, pushed beyond the reach of any halfhearted search of the hand. Among the dust bunnies Robert could make out the contours of Connor’s old baseball mitt, some rubber dinosaurs and pieces of ancient Halloween candy. There were also Peggy’s Christmas catalogues, Nugget’s old dog brush and a chewed leather slipper that had gone missing over a year ago.

Men he didn’t know where ransacking his house. He heard their heavy footfalls thundering up and down the hall, dresser drawers being thrown open and the squeal of rarely used closet doors he’d always meant to oil. He turned his head back to the thing pinning him to the floor and forced his eyes to refocus.

A dark figure towered above, pressing a boot into his sternum. Robert had attempted to squirm out from under it, but he was too weak now to try again. It hurt too much to breathe. He squinted up at the eye-slits of a ski mask.

“My family... What have you done to my family?”

Thin lips protruded from the mask’s mouth hole in a twisted smile. The boot punched down hard and knocked the remaining air from his lungs, causing another wave of pain to rip across his body.

“He’s coming out of it!” shouted the mask.

“Take whatever you want,” Robert begged, his voice sounding thin and bronchial. He’d heard something pop in his chest. A wet and bloody sound. “But please don’t hurt them.”

The mask burst with laughter, the kind of laugh Robert associated with men who smoked and drank a lot.

“If you want money, I can take you to the bank first thing tomorrow. There’s not much there, but it’s something. We can do this the easy way. Nobody has to get hurt.”

“Shut up,” ordered the mask.

Robert’s strength was gone. He was at their mercy and they knew it. All he could do now was hope his family would survive.

If it hadn’t been for the car accident, things might have turned out differently. Nugget would have been home to warn him of the home invasion and he would have had a fighting chance. But Nugget was spending the night at the vet’s. She’d been riding in the car too and had hit her head on the dash. Robert, who’d been taking painkillers for his hurt shoulder, had fallen asleep on the couch while watching television. The fifty-two inch television he’d bought at an Independence Day sale last year was now a burst eye of broken glass. Acrid smoke curled out of the blackened socket and hung near the ceiling where it left a charred mark. Robert had thrown one of his attackers into it.

He thought about Peggy’s and Connor’s screams coming from the back bedrooms, of how a primal lightning deep inside him had flashed through his arms and legs. He’d punched and kicked and broken bones. But there were just too many of them, and when they’d finally managed to pin him to the floor and beat him senseless he’d held onto the location of his family’s cries as long as he could…

He closed his eyes and strained to listen. He could no longer hear any signs of his wife and child in the house. Had they killed them? The thought tore at his insides. He had no idea how long he’d passed out. Except that when he came to again, the house felt empty. His family was gone... They’d either killed them or taken them away somewhere. When he opened his eyes again an indifferent moonlight was shining through the slider door.

“What have you done?” Robert asked again. There were two of them now, grinning through mouth slits.

The one not standing on his chest bent down next to him and took his arm. He heard the snap of surgical tubing and suddenly his bicep went numb. When he lifted his head he saw a needle sinking into his flesh. There was a brilliant burst of light throughout his body, followed by the sensation of sinking to the bottom of a very warm sea.

All pain was washed away like a bad tide. He’d been fighting back all this time and now his will was no longer his…

While he glided down into darkness, Robert heard the dope shooter’s silky voice echoing to him from somewhere above.

“We will soon be contacting you with instructions, Mr. Crain. And please, don’t call the police. It will only make things very messy.”

Even as terrible as it sounded, those words were like a heavy treasure that pulled him down faster. In the final moments before he was engulfed by oblivion, Robert was certain his family was still be alive.

CHAPTER 2

Robert awoke with the sun beating on his face through the slider. He ached all over, had no immediate memory of the night before. He thought maybe he’d passed out on the couch and rolled onto the floor in his sleep. When he sat up he saw the overturned shelves and broken furniture. He brushed his cheek and bits of ground glass and dried blood came off on his hand. His head lobbed back and forth, swollen and bruised.

What the hell happened? Did I sleep through an earthquake?

“Peggy!” he called out in panic. He grabbed the edge of an overturned couch and pulled himself up. His legs were shaky, and the carpet sucked at his feet like wet sand. He wondered if the pain pills he’d taken were kicking his ass. But that can’t be possible. They’d have worn off by now...

He hobbled through the house, staring at the damage, feeling as if he was in one of those nightmares that you can’t seem to wake from.

“Peggy!”

He checked their bedroom, but there was no sign of her. Clothes and papers and broken glass littered the floor. If Peggy had left a message, he was unable to find it.

What the hell has happened to everyone?

By the time Robert reached Connor’s room, the floodgates had broken inside. Memories from the night before suddenly flowed through his head, blood-washed images of grinning ski masks and hypodermic needles.

Robert fell onto his son’s bed and cried. He remembered Peggy and Connor screaming for help. But he’d been too busy fighting off attackers of his own. And now his family was gone…

I didn’t protect you. I did everything I could but I still failed.

He buried his face into his son’s pillow. His nose was clogged with dried blood and he could barely smell the sweet scent of his son’s hair, the baby shampoo and the pine trees he loved to climb in their backyard.

We were supposed to go to a movie today. Just you and me buddy. While mom went to lunch with some old friends…

A phone rang down the hall. After a few moments Roberts sat up, remembering there was something important he had to do. He ran down the hall as fast as he could, stumbling into walls and tripping over a pile of coats still on their hangers.

He closed his eyes and picked up the phone, concentrating as hard as he could to remain focused. He leaned against the wall to stop his head from spinning.

A television blared in the background, a football game maybe... Then the voice of a man Robert didn’t recognize.

“Sleep well, partner?”

“Where are they?” Robert said. He tried picturing what the person on the other end looked like. The voice was casual, edged with glee.

“Of course I can’t tell you where they are. But they are safe Mr. Crain. You really do have an attractive family by the way.”

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch. You touch them and I’m going to find you and I’m going to make you pay with your fucking life.”

The man laughed easily, as if he and Robert were sitting at a bar trading dirty jokes. Robert imagined a sun-damaged face, a dark polyester blend suit and rotting cowboy boots. A cheap cigar smoldering in an ashtray.

“Sorry Robert, I didn’t mean no harm by it. I was just making a friendly observation. I completely understand how you might feel. And I won’t be taking any points away just because you might talk a little rough. A man in your position can’t always be expected to keep a cool head.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want you to listen to my instructions.”

Robert slid down the wall to the floor, head pounding as he fought off the dope still coursing through his veins. He wanted to hurt this stranger who’d stolen his family from him, draw it out until the man was incapable of ever having another humorous thought before he did him the favor of sending him to hell…

“You need to prove to me they’re still alive.”

CHAPTER 3

Central Oregon – 1880

Wind howls across the high desert plain. It has just rained and the sharp tang of juniper dominates the cool night air. A torso of dark clouds and lightning continues to thrash along the far slopes of Mt. Jefferson and Mt. Hood. Arms thick with rain stretch eastward, brandishing ocher fists high above a badly weathered farmhouse where a group of three men and a boy prepare to carry out an execution.

Standing below a large tree with his arms tied behind him is the owner of the farmhouse, Jared Horn. He’s a tall man, with piercing green eyes and long white beard. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound to his right armpit, soaking the sleeve of his gingham shirt. He is remarkably calm for a man about to die.

Two of his executioners, Arvin and Palmer, carefully fix a noose around Jared’s neck. A large man named Hemmel shoves more firewood below Horn’s feet, and the small jostling causes the rough hemp rope to tighten. Horn only smiles when the ring around his throat starts to burn. He turns his head to see a young redheaded boy named Stu walk out of the front door of his home carrying a leather sack stuffed with valuables. The bag is too heavy for the boy, and he soon lets it scrape against the ground. Stu meets Horn’s eye only briefly, before turning his attention to the task of strapping the load to his horse.

The men finish their work and back away from Horn quietly. Stu joins them as soon as he’s done. He cups his hand, puts a match to a cigarette and coughs.

“Be careful boy, those things will stunt your growth,” says Arvin, grinning.

Stu takes another drag to show he can take it, but a coughing fit causes him to double over. He drops the cigarette on the ground and puts it out with his toe. When he looks up, his eyes are watering and the others are all chuckling softly.

“Jump in a lake, fellas. I bet you all puked after your first smoke.”

“You got yourself an iron stomach, boy? I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” says Palmer.

“He’s just like his daddy was,” says Arvin. “Always trying to show he’s tougher than an oak shithouse.”

Palmer produces a bottle of whiskey to pass around in the lantern light. Their eyes are already bloodshot from too much of it, but they pass it around anyway. They’ve spent the entire day getting shit faced, so there’s no sense in tapering off now, especially now.

Raised several feet above them on a pile of split firewood, Horn stares down at the men, smiling.

“What are you so happy about, Jared?” says Palmer. “This time you’re finally going to get what you deserve.”

Jared laughs, spits a bloody wad at their feet. “Looks like the whiskey must have given the so-called vigilantes some courage. But you still look like a bunch of cowards from up here.”

Stu finishes a hearty slug and passes the bottle to Hemmel. The boy pie-eyed and his speech is slurred. “Just watch us you son-of-a-bitch. We’re gonna do you like a murderer and a witch.”

“No, you’re the murderers, lad. This ain’t no court of law.”

“It’s good enough for us,” shouts Palmer.

Hemmel picks up a rock and throws it at Horn. It strikes him in the temple, causing a thick flow of blood to run down the side of his face. “We’re sending you back to hell where you belong,” Hemmel says in a thick German accent, “And we’re taking what you owe us for the trouble of doing it.”

“Wherever I go, I’ll certainly have you devils as my company. And that’s a promise boys.”

Palmer removes a matchstick from his teeth and takes a wobbly step closer toward Horn. “And we promise to kill the rest of your kin if we ever find them.”

Horn shrugs his shoulders “Do what you must, but when I see you again, you’ll sooner be hung by the neck twenty times than suffer what I shall bring upon you.”

“I’ve heard enough,” says Arvin. “What the hell are we waiting for? We’ve still got a long ride home tonight and I’m afraid it won’t be a dry one.”

Palmer picks up one of the kerosene lamps and throws it at Horn. The lamp bursts into flames and sets the pile of wood on fire. Jared screams and tries to kick away the burning wood, but every movement he makes causes the rope around his neck to choke him more.

Stu picks out a flaming chunk of firewood and tosses it through the open door of the farmhouse. Flames soon erupt inside, followed by the sounds of exploding glass.

“Goodbye, Jared Horn,” says Hemmel. He leans forward and spits on the ground.

Thunder crackles above them, and when they look up they see an enormous blue-black cloud hovering in the sky above. Rain first patters gently against their hats and leather jackets, then swiftly builds intensity. Hissing tendrils of steam wind upwards as Horn’s body spasms above a glowing mound of coals. Flames lick up the rope attached to his neck toward the gnarled limb above.

Stu is on his hands and knees vomiting up what little food he’s eaten today. The smell of Horn’s burning flesh has made his stomach lurch. It wasn’t as if he’d never smelled burning meat before, he keeps reminding himself. When he was eight he and his uncle were forced to put down several rabid horses and cows. They’d had no choice but to shoot them all in the head, roll them into a pit, and set them on fire.

But this was different. More foul than Stu could ever imagine. The smoke had worked its way up his nostrils like a severed pair of dead man’s fingers and slid down his throat and knotted in his gullet.

Arvin pats Stu on the back and offers a hand to help him up. The boy can’t take his eyes off the figure wheezing with fire. One of Horn’s hands remained raised and his blackened index finger has curled as if he were beckoning Stu to come closer. The boy watches, trembling.

Arvin puts his arm around his nephew and turns him gently around. “He’s dead, boy. He ain’t ever coming back to cause us harm.”

The ranchers walk back to their horses as the rain turns to hail stone. They mount their horses and stare soberly at the body of Horn one last time before riding off into the darkness.

CHAPTER 4

Robert drove to the vet’s to pick up Nugget. Dr. Jordan had told him over the phone that his dog was doing much better.

“I thought she might have had a concussion,” he’d said, “But she appears to have made a full recovery. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised.”

“She’s a tough customer,” Robert replied.

Nugget also had strong family instincts. Back when Connor was learning to ride his bike a teenager on a skateboard had bumped into him accidentally and sent him shooting out into traffic. Peggy and Robert were too far away to do anything about the oncoming truck, but Nugget took charge and put herself in front of the vehicle. Luckily the driver saw her and screeched to a halt. Nugget hadn’t flinched—just bared her teeth and growled at the surprised driver until Connor was safely out of harm’s way.

Robert took some aspirin and washed them down with the last of his bottled water. God was he thirsty. He’d already guzzled two liter-sized bottles and needed to stop for more. Although he didn’t feel hungry, he knew he should eat. He was going to need the energy. His family was still alive. One way or another, he was going to bring them home.

The man who called him this morning had handed Peggy the phone to prove to Robert that she was still alive. Her spirit hadn’t been shattered, but he’d sensed right away that she was worried about Connor. He’d had a flash-vision of himself waiting in a teller line at a bank. An icy sweat was trickling down his back. In his hand was a note demanding money. And tucked in his waist band was a gun…

“I promise you I’m going to get you out of this no matter what it takes. How’s Connor holding up?”

There was a long pause in which he only heard the blare of the television in the background. Then Peggy started crying.

“He’s not doing very well… I’m afraid Robert.”

“Did they hurt him?”

“No. It’s just…. He won’t open his eyes… I’ve never seen him like this before. He was so scared when they came into his room last night. It’s like he’s blocking everything out right now, going through some kind of shock. I don’t know what to do other than hold him.”

Robert felt a murderous rage begin to fill him, familiar black waters.

“Listen. You’ve got to keep talking to him, try to get him to open up… Tell him his daddy is coming to get you both back.”

“I’ll try…”

“I love you Peg…”

“I love you Rob…”

“I think that’s enough for today,” interrupted the kidnapper’s cheerful drawl. “We’ve got some business to discuss now Mr. Crain.”

Robert was dizzy with violent thoughts as the man talked. The kidnapper acted so nonchalant that he might as well have been instructing Robert on how to baste ribs over a barbeque.

Had he heard the man correctly? It was all so unreal. So fucking insane…

****

Several hours later the drug was just a distant bass-beat in his head. He had one hell of a headache, but at least he had some control over his flurry of thoughts. He was still tormented by the idea that the morning’s conversation had been a hallucination. The feeling had remained lodged in the back of his mind like a painful splinter.

At midnight tonight he was to go to the upper Mt. Tabor reservoir, located in a city park less than twenty minutes from where he lived. A place where he and his family took Nugget for long walks. There he’d meet his first opponent, a man wearing a bright orange hunter’s cap. If he succeeded in eliminating his opponent, he and his family would be spared another day.

“Excuse me? What do you mean when you say eliminated?”

“Killed, if you need me to be more precise.”

“Listen asshole. You’re out of your fucking mind. If you think…”

“Call me Walker. Please. There are three rules, Mr. Crain. No cops and no weapons, except those which you can improvise from the pre-arranged location.”

“How will you know I’m not bringing anything with me?”

“You will be frisked.”

“And the third rule?”

“You must fight to the death.”

Robert began to tremble. If he’d still smoked cigarettes he’d have finished a whole pack by now. No, two packs at least. Unfiltered.

“You’re full of shit. You know either way I’m dead.”

Walker puffed his cigar and groaned. “Come on Mr. Crain, don’t go underestimating yourself.”

Robert had fallen silent. He knew he’d have to agree to the rules. But it didn’t mean he had to follow them. There had to be a way to play this, some way he could turn things around and still manage to get his family back alive. He had to believe it…

“If I’m the one who gets killed, then what happens to my family?”

“That’s entirely up to the mercy of the winner. The decision will rest with him.”

“And if I survive, I get my family back alive?”

“Not right away. You will still have one more opponent to face. Once you have successfully eliminated him, your family will be returned.”

“What about the cops? You don’t think they’ll be interested when bodies start turning up all over town?”

“My people will take care of things, Mr. Crain. The police won’t find any traces to begin with.”

“What’s this really about? Are you too cheap to pay somebody to kill people you don’t want around? Or are you doing some new variation of a snuff film? Is this what kind of sick fuck you really are?”

Walker let out an impatient sigh. “No sir, this isn’t that kind of thing.”

“Then why? Does this have anything to do with Barney or my father?”

“I can assure you we are not trying to deliver retribution on you in any way, Mr. Crain. We too are simply following instructions.”

“Instructions from whom?”

“This isn’t the appropriate time to explain. You should be getting yourself prepared now, just as your opponent is doing at this very moment. I promise you, he will be very driven to kill you—has been for several days now.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, Mr. Crain. I can assure you you’re complete strangers. He’s just another good man like you who wants to take care of his family.”

Robert had stood up and stared out the kitchen window. Connor’s bicycle lay on the porch, its front tire turning in the wind, spokes clacking against a playing card clipped to the frame. An image of the Joker bent forward and back, as if possessed by a bout of riotous laughter. Robert looked away.

“So how do I know you aren’t just setting me up?”

“Pardon?”

“How do I know you won’t be waiting at the park to gun me down?”

“Gun you down. What for?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe you’re a serial killer who gets his kicks that way. Maybe you like to take out the husband before you do the rest of the family.”

Walker gasped like a shocked old woman, mocking Robert’s suggestion.

“Goodness, it’s not like that at all. I realize it’s impossible for me to prove my sincerity to you, but you will soon see I’m a man of my word. By the way, too bad about your shoulder. However, we do have a tight schedule and can’t allow you any time to get better. I’m sorry Mr. Crain, but I must go now.”

“Wait…”

“Goodbye, Mr. Crain. Good luck.”

And then the man hung up.

It had all happened so fast. And now Robert’s mind was spinning in too many directions at once. What am I going to do? How long do I have to find them?

He’d checked the caller id and wasn’t surprised by what he saw. The number was blocked.

I can’t believe this is happening…

The past was repeating itself in the worst of all possible ways. Like a tropical storm it had blown out to sea and let him be. Now it was returning for round two, and this time there was even more at stake than his crazy father…

Seven years ago he’d met Peggy and Connor and turned his life around. They’d built a wonderful home together. And although Connor missed his real dad at first, he’d bonded with Robert more quickly than they’d expected. Now the two of them were practically inseparable.

As much as he wanted to, Robert couldn’t go to the cops. It wasn’t worth the risk. These guys were psychos, he thought. They’re highly unpredictable.

He realized he’d have to take care of this on his own, his own way. Even if it meant taking another life.

Something he swore he’d never do again…

But you’ve already forgotten how lucky you were the first time. The devil isn’t going to repeat his mistakes.

I’ll take that chance…

He pulled into the vet’s parking lot and slid out of his pickup. When he heard Nugget’s barking coming from an opened window, warm tears filled his eyes and he wiped them away before going inside.

CHAPTER 5

They sat in line at a fast food drive-through. Robert had ordered two cheeseburgers and a coffee for himself and two cheeseburgers for Nugget. She sat on the passenger seat next to him, her chocolate eyes deep with concern. Normally she’d be grinning like a silly happy kid, trying to contain her excitement.

She dipped her gray speckled nose under Robert’s hand, forcing him out of his current daze. He rubbed the top of her head, played with her floppy gold ears. Nugget flicked her tongue affectionately against his wrist.

“I know girl… I know you’re worried about me.”

Nugget stopped licking, scooted closer to his face and stared into his eyes.

“I’m going to get them back. I don’t care what happens to me. They’ll still have you to protect them.”

The car ahead finished collecting its order and drove off. Robert eased up to the window and paid for their food. A teenage girl with braces smiled when she noticed Nugget sitting next to him. She handed him a bag and a cup of black coffee, did her best not to stare too long at Robert’s black eye.

“Cute puppy,” she said.

“Thanks.” Although she was in her early teens, Robert could still see his own child in her sweet smile. Perhaps it was the freckles and the slight over bite. Whatever it was, it made him hurt.

“She’s not really a puppy,” he said, wondering why he wasn’t driving away. “She’s actually much older than she looks.”

“Really? How old?”

“She’s about four years younger than my son. Connor’s nine and a half.”

“What’s her name?”

“Nugget. She was mostly gold and black when we first got her. But she’s getting more silver every year now.”

“How’d you come up with a name like that?”

“My wife and I were traveling in California. Thought it might be fun to try and pan for gold in this shallow river. An old man who’d rented us the pans said we might get lucky, but we didn’t find a single speck in two hours. Then when we were about to leave, Nugget shows up out of nowhere, scared and hungry. We couldn’t just leave her behind. The old man said he had no idea who she belonged to, never saw her before.”

“Wow…” the girl said, obviously taken by his story. Nugget was usually a big crowd pleaser whenever he took her out in public. He always found it ironic, since she could turn into one hell of a wolf if she sensed her pack was in any danger. The personality she displayed now was what he fondly called her “Disney” side, and Nugget had learned from experience this was the best way to soften up strangers for treats.

Someone honked from behind, startling them both. Robert stared nervously into the rearview mirror. In a fogged-up minivan he made out a haggard looking woman in her early thirties. Three young children appeared to be in the throes of fast food withdrawal, jumping up and down in the backseat and screaming.

“I better not hold her up,” Robert said.

The girl leaned out the window to have a look. She turned to Robert and grinned broadly. “You know what mister? I think when I get old I’m going to stick with dogs.”

“You take care, young lady.”

“Thanks. See you next time, Nugget.”

After Robert pulled away, he found an empty place to park. While Nugget thumped her tail in anticipation, he set down his coffee. He pulled the contents out of the sack and picked out the two burgers minus sauce he’d ordered for her, unwrapped them and set them on the seat. It took her thirty seconds to inhale them both, buns and all. When she finished licking the wrappers, she looked up at him and smacked her mouth.

“Didn’t like the hospital chow?”

Nugget cocked her head, but he could see that her eyes were secretly narrowing on the unwrapped burger sitting next to him.

“Forget it, girl.”

She let out a snort, and when she concluded there wasn’t going to be any chance of seconds she turned her attention to some seagulls fighting over a soggy bag of fries. Robert watched also as he ate his second burger and gulped his coffee. When he saw a patrol car cruise by from behind, he glanced down at the floor to be sure the handgun was out of sight.

The patrol car stopped several spaces to his right. Two officers got out and headed inside, laughing. Robert quickly finished his meal and drove off.

****

Mt. Tabor was partially fog-hidden when he arrived at the entrance. Instead of driving up the road that took you to the crater of the extinct volcano, Robert pulled over and parked as soon as he found an empty shoulder on the two lane road.

Nugget stared excitedly out the window, hoping to spot the usual squirrels zipping between trees. Robert popped the glove compartment and got out her leash. She looked at it unhappily as he clipped it to her collar.

“You know the rules. You can’t eat the wildlife.”

Nugget feigned innocence. But he knew better. Once, when he’d forgotten to put on her leash right away, she’d caught a squirrel no more than five seconds after jumping out of the car. So strange it was, that both he and the dog were surprised when it happened. It seemed as if the poor animal had run purposely into her jaws. He’d yelled at her to let the squirrel go, knowing that it was pointless to try and stop her. And when he’d finally gotten close enough to try and intervene, she’d whipped it back and forth until its neck snapped, just as she’d practiced on his leather slippers while still a pup.

Before they left the truck, he slipped the handgun into a dark plastic bag and tucked it into his jacket.

There was no one around at the moment, except for some runners coming down the road far away.

A light mist was falling, and Robert breathed in deeply. He loved coming here whenever he could to inhale the forest air. After giving up smoking and allowing his acute sense of smell to return, he was amazed by the variety of scents he encountered. It was like he’d awakened part of his boyhood again.

The woods smelled strongly of decayed leaves, fungi and moss. As Robert walked Nugget along a narrow path surrounded by maples, he caught himself imagining Peggy and Connor next to him in the early fall, with engine puffs of steam coming from their mouths while they talked about what they saw along the way.

He recalled an autumn morning when the four of them had encountered a whole gallery of intricately woven spider webs sparkling with frost. Connor was excitedly pointing them out, forcing them to stop at almost every step. He soon discovered if he positioned himself with his back to the sun, the ice particles on the webs would appear iridescent, almost magical.

That’s when you finally stopped being afraid of spiders, wasn’t it kiddo?

Robert’s throat ached as he forced back another wave of scalding tears. He swallowed hard and took several deep breaths. Except for the painfully twisted nerve wirings in his shoulder, his body felt numb and bloodless. It made him feel as if he were floating up the trail rather than walking. Nugget came to a halt to sniff a fungus-covered tree stump. Her leather leash dug into his palm.

“Who’s been here?” He asked.

Nugget leaped up and set her front paws on the stump’s edge. There were piles of chewed up pinecones covering the top. She’d found a squirrel’s dining table. But then something pulled her attention away. She stopped sniffing and cocked her head sideways.

Robert soon understood what she knew. After a few moments, he heard the familiar crunch of gravel as someone came down the trail. He peered up under the dense evergreen bows. On the switchback above he saw a flicker of red.

The runner began to pick up speed as the slope sharpened. Robert pulled Nugget away from the stump and led her behind the trunk of a redwood tree. The thudding footfalls moved closer. He kept his hand in his pocket, gripping the gun wrapped in plastic.

Someone’s following us….

He could now hear the runner’s sharp breaths. Nugget strained to get her head around the trunk so she could see. He bent down and tapped her on the nose, to let her know not to bark.

As the runner went past, Robert shifted to the other side of the trunk. He glimpsed a young woman dressed in red sweats, and trailing behind her was a Doberman Pincher. As the dog passed, it swiveled its head in their direction and sniffed without slowing.

Robert pressed his head against the redwood and laughed. The feeling of it next to his skin was comforting. He shut his eyes and willed away the fears that crowded inside him. He’d discovered how useful the trick was back when he was still a boy, while visiting his grandfather who lived in a cabin up in the Cascade mountain range. Back then a day could feel like a whole summer—an endless series of adventures, dependent only on your willingness to get out and find them. There’d been time to discover things his friends at home would never know. Yet on that evening when he’d found himself clinging to a cedar for dear life, he would’ve traded everything he knew just to be back in town again, riding bicycles with friends and hanging out at the mall.

After a few moments Robert felt the tree trunk absorb his fears and unwanted thoughts. He visualized them being carried up the trunk into the branches high above, then into the needles, and finally out to the very tips of the needles where they escaped into the air and slipped past the threatening rain clouds.

All clear. Blue as far as one could fathom. But how long can it last?

Now that Connor was no longer afraid of spiders he’d have to teach him his trick.

He’d probably get laughed at too...

Nugget tugged on her leash. Robert could tell she was getting anxious to hunt for squirrels, even if it meant pulling him in tow. He glanced down at her, smiling for just an instant.

“Sorry Nug. I promise to do better from now on.”

****

As they walked around the reservoir, Robert looked for a safe place to hide the revolver. Next to the path was a concrete and steel bar fence protecting a reservoir roughly the size of a football field. Portland’s drinking water. On the opposite side of the path was a sharp hillside covered with ivy.

Birds bobbed out in the middle of the man-made lake where a geyser of silver water shot high into the air. When Nugget heard the quacking ducks, Robert let her put her paws up on the wall and stare at them through the spaces between the bars.

Despite a sudden cloudburst, several hardcore joggers slogged their way around. Robert walked in the same direction as the joggers and tried to avoid eye contact. All of them wore headphones, and appeared to be lost in their own worlds. He watched as the hammering rain moved across, causing thousands of miniature quakes. They stood in the doorway of a stone pump house until the shower passed. A fine mist smelling faintly of chlorine rose above the roiling surface of the reservoir. It drifted lazily over the concrete wall separating them from a steeply angled, concrete shore.

At a parking spot not far away, Robert thought he saw someone sitting in a black van watching. But when they’d made their second trip around the reservoir, the van was gone.

They stepped off the path and climbed up to a graveled parking lot. There were only a few cars left, most likely owned by the same joggers who’d been circling the reservoir with them. He noticed a small grove of trees on a hill just above the parking lot. He decided to go up there and see what he could find.

They waded up through a field of yellow grass with several old cherry trees. The dark limbs of the trees were gnarled and covered with small bumps. Robert was always amazed how such arthritic looking branches could produce such striking blossoms in the spring.

It had been below trees just like these where he’d proposed to Peggy. Tiny fragrant white and pink flowers had clung to her hair like a bridal veil. A few even got pasted to her cheeks after they’d become wet with tears. Robert had collected his share as well…

He stood below the trees and watched as one of the soaked joggers got into his car and drove away. From up here he had a good view of the reservoir and the rain-blurred city stretching beyond.

Somewhere out there is a man making preparations to kill you. A man you’ve never met…

Robert found a deep ragged hole in one of the trees. Damp, and full of cobwebs. At one time the tree had lost a limb and it had tried to heal over, until the squirrels found it to be a useful place to store their cache.

Once he was satisfied no one was watching, he shoved the plastic-wrapped gun inside. He and Nugget then climbed up through the tall grass to another trail which fed back into the woods. Maybe the gun would come in handy. He had no idea if it would. But at least it was there if he needed it…

Later, Nugget smelled a rabbit and forced him to trot along behind her.

CHAPTER 6

By the following afternoon the storm had been long forgotten. The sky was intensely blue, and hot sunlight had already baked the mud into a cracked skin. Horned toad lizards hunted for ants, while buzzards made big lazy circles in the thermals above.

Sheriff Underwood felt like crap.

He and Deputy Logan had been riding horseback since daybreak. They’d been out settling a ranching dispute ten miles to the north when word arrived that a vigilante party was seen headed for the Horn farm the afternoon before. Not that anyone in town had bothered trying to stop the three men and boy from their crazy quest to do god knows what. It was only later, when they hadn’t returned home to their beds that caused their families to become worried to the point of calling on him for help.

Something had boiled over, and Underwood hadn’t been around to simmer things back down. He suspected the timing wasn’t entirely coincidental with him being away. The men had been planning this for some time, and they’d managed to keep the festering anger to themselves.

Underwood, who’d been county Sheriff for nearly twenty years, knew all four of the party well. He’d recently spoken to the boy a week earlier about paying him to white wash the outside of the jailhouse. Having been an orphan himself at a young age, Underwood and the kid hit it off right away. Unfortunately, the kid’s uncle wasn’t what you would call an ideal role model. He wasn’t a bad character though. No, the problem with Arvin was just he didn’t enforce a whole lot of discipline under his roof. Underwood, in his own way, had tried his best to gently steer the kid whenever he could.

When they got the news, Underwood and his partner had only enough time to heat up a plate of chili and some coffee before breaking camp. Now Logan’s chili was doing a war dance on Underwood’s stomach, and riding a horse thirty miles wasn’t helping matters. He couldn’t figure out what the hell his deputy must have done to it. His guts felt as if they’d been packed with gunpowder.

Logan’s cooking had frequently been an issue between the two men, and Underwood hadn’t thought of a delicate way in which to bring it up again. For a man who’d been tempered by several hard years in the army, Logan’s only soft spot left had been an overblown pride in his culinary skills.

As they rode, Underwood released a notch on his belt, making himself feel more comfortable. He longed to stretch out on his blanket and take a nap under a tree. Better yet, he would’ve liked to have rested his head on his wife’s lap and sip lemonade.

Face it. You’re just getting too old for this crap...

“Horses,” Logan half-whispered.

Underwood shaded his eyes and squinted. He saw four palominos grazing on a patch of grass near a trickle spring. On their backs sat empty saddles.

Where were the riders?

It was virtually flat for miles in any given direction. Unless the party had fallen into a hole, they should have seen them by now, and Underwood hadn’t heard of any abandoned gold mines out in this area.

As soon as they reached the horses, Underwood dismounted and walked slowly up to them, talking softly and trying to keep them from getting spooked. They were relatively cool to his touch, and didn’t appear to be terribly nervous. He examined the saddles and recognized the initials of some of the vigilantes engraved on them.

You stupid sons a bitches. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourselves in?

CHAPTER 7

Several yards in front of him Logan was hunched over with the scorching sunlight behind him, staring at something. He slowly raised his head and motioned the sheriff over. Underwood thought he looked like a man who’d just stared death in the face. A swarm of black flies smudged an aura around Logan’s body as he stood waiting, his face cast in blue shadow.

A stiff breeze kicked past, and Underwood found himself being assaulted by the stench of soured meat spiced with juniper, the perfect buzzard aphrodisiac. The smell of death…

He covered his nose and forced himself to move forward on resisting legs.

The body was lying face down. Logan moved aside while Underwood carefully rolled it over and gasped. Grinning up at him was Hemmel’s enormous white skull. All the flesh had been stripped away, leaving behind only the thick black hair on his head and his long peppery beard. Ants dribbled from his empty eye sockets.

Underwood fell back a few steps. His intestines were roiling like an angry nest of snakes. Before he could think of doing anything else, he had to find a place to relieve himself. He raised his hand silently before turning and heading for a bit of privacy. Logan bit off a plug of tobacco and waited.

By late afternoon they found the others spread out across the high desert plain. The hardest part for Underwood was seeing Stu hadn’t been spared.

“Who in God’s name would do this to a boy?” he asked.

“Horn,” Logan said without hesitation.

Underwood turned to his partner. Logan’s soldier-worn eyes betrayed no emotion, not even for the faceless boy, a boy who should have never been out tagging along with a group of troublemakers.

Buzzards screeched above the mutilated bodies still lying where they’d found them. Underwood looked away from the deputy and stared into the distance, wishing at that moment he was with less stoic company. Suddenly he let out a sharp groan, as if he’d been sucker punched in the stomach.

Glimmering behind the wall of a heat mirage, Jared Horn’s farmhouse loomed before them. It was a trick the desert sometimes played. Waves of heat acted like mirrors, bouncing things around—even sometimes projecting the fading images of the dead or dying. And it always took you by surprise when it happened.

Underwood rubbed his eyes, looked again and the image was gone. He knew the Horn ranch was still at least an hour’s ride away. If Logan hadn’t been with him, Underwood might have been tempted to turn away, go back to his house and weep in the dark and drink his whiskey. Anything to shed the horrific images that now stuck in his mind and would undoubtedly scar.

CHAPTER 8

Robert had never wanted to take over the family business, but that’s precisely what had happened.

Once he’d finished high school, he left Portland for a small liberal arts college in upstate New York on a scholarship, to the surprise of everyone. The relatively short period far from home provided some of the most pleasurable moments he’d ever had away on his own. Although his father failed to see any practical use for the pursuit of art and literature, Robert had finally felt free to explore without feeling like someone was constantly looking over his shoulder.

Not long after he’d started attending classes, he began to imagine himself as a beggar who’d accidentally found an opened door to a gigantic banquet. Dizzy with a real hunger for knowledge, he began filling his pockets and devouring as much as he could. The fear that it wouldn’t last was always lurking in the back of his mind. Instead of spending his evenings handing his father tools in a cold garage after school, he found himself nestled next to a fireplace at the student union, engaged in exciting conversations.

Life seemed so ripe with possibilities, eager to let him pass through its great doors.

And then everything changed…

One night during his second fall semester, after he’d kissed a pretty girl on the library steps and made a date to see her again, his mother called, hysterical. Father was in the hospital. He’d had a stroke. The family desperately needed him to come home and manage the garage. Only Robert understood the way things had to be done.

Unlike some of the snobby rich kids who never had to worry about issues like money, Robert knew he had no choice but to drop out and return home. He’d felt humiliated, suicidal. On the plane home he flashed some fake i.d. at the stewardess and proceeded to drink heavily while staring vacantly at the landscape below. In a hopeful haze he convinced himself he’d return as soon as possible. He even made a promise to himself, that every spare moment he had alone he’d do something to keep his mind alive.

One or two years won’t matter, he’d convinced himself. You’re still young. You’ll show them all you can beat this crappy luck.

Fast-forward twenty years.

Still waiting to show them, pal?

To Robert, those two years back in New York seemed more like something he’d dreamed up one day while putting in long hours at the garage. By the time his father returned to work, the idea of going back to college had become one of many dead fantasies still clinging to the margins of his mind. He’d changed so much by then…

****

Nugget was still curled up asleep when Robert slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of Crain’s Body Repair. He was surprised, since she usually got excited when he took her to the shop, for there was always a dependable supply of Milk Bones in his office. A dog always remembers these things, if she remembers anything at all.

Ben, who was hunched over a badly crunched Honda, glanced up and waved at Robert as he rolled into his usual spot. Ben had worked for the Crain family since before Robert was born, and he lived in a small trailer behind the garage. Both of his parents had died in a tragic car crash on Christmas Eve. A teenager at the time, Ben had been riding in the back seat and had suffered some brain damage due to a severe head injury. He’d been working part time for the garage for almost a year when the accident had occurred. Regardless of the many painful months it took for him to regain his skills, Robert’s father stood behind him, for Ben had shown great talent for resurrecting damaged car bodies.

It was probably the one act Robert’s father was most proud of. Keeping Ben got him a lot of mileage in the community. But on the day that tank went dry, Frank Crain’s house of cards finally began to collapse piece by illusory piece, until he no longer resembled the man he wanted everyone to believe he was.

Nugget snapped awake and was now panting anxiously to be let out of the cab, her eyes darting in every direction.

“Hey Ben,” Robert said as he and Nugget climbed out of the truck. Ben stared at him for a moment, and Robert could tell he sensed something deeper was wrong, that it didn’t have anything to do with his recent car accident. Ben might have been slow at many things, but very little ever escaped his gaze when it came to damaged cars or hidden emotions.

Robert simply stared back, not knowing what to say. He was relieved when Nugget wandered over to greet Ben, her tail swooshing happily back and forth.

“Jesus, Bobby. What happened to your face?”

“I got it from the car accident last night. Doctor says it’s going to be really ugly for awhile, may even get worse.”

Ben wiped his hands with a greasy rag before reaching out and patting Nugget on the head. “You better put ice on it.”

“I will.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Still hurts.”

“Well if I was your boss I’d tell you to stay home. You shouldn’t be out running around in your condition.”

“I know. But I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

“Couldn’t it wait another day or two?”

“No. I’ve got to write some checks and get them in the mail, stuff like that.”

“Oh.”

“I was also wondering if you could do me a big favor and watch Nugget for me tonight.”

Ben’s eyes widened a little. “Sure. Are you taking the family somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Robert lied. “We’re going over to my mother’s tonight for dinner. Her new husband doesn’t like dogs very much.”

“Well I’d be honored.”

“Great. I’ve got some canned food for her in the break room.” Robert smiled and turned to let Ben get back to work on the Honda.

“By the way, what should I tell Will? He’s been looking for you, said he’s been trying to call.”

Will was Robert’s best friend and had been responsible for introducing Robert to Peggy. They’d lived through a lot of things together, and if you added them all up they could have easily filled several lifetimes. He’d felt guilty for just watching Will’s number come up on the caller i.d. and not picking up. But he couldn’t take the chance of calling him back right now—not until he figured out what the hell was going on. He knew from experience that Will possessed an even superior bullshit meter than Ben’s.

“Tell him I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”

“Can do,” Ben said. He wandered back to the crumpled Honda.

Nugget followed Robert to his office, where she crawled onto an old couch and went to sleep. Robert quietly took care of what things he needed to and later tiptoed out of the office. Nugget had heard him leave the room, but she hadn’t raised her head until he’d started the truck. When she realized what was happening, she flew off the couch and skidded across the polished linoleum to catch him before he drove away. But the back door wasn’t propped open as usual—Robert had shut it on his way out. Nugget stood up on her hind legs and scratched at the door with her front paws and whined as the sound of the truck drifted away.

Robert felt terrible about ditching her, but what could he do? Bringing her to the park with him tonight was too risky. She was safer with Ben. If he never returned, Ben would certainly take care of her.

He drove home and spent the next several hours cleaning and straightening the house. At the moment it felt like the only right thing to do. His family would be coming home soon and he didn’t want any horrible reminders of what had happened. It would also give him a chance to take some kind of inventory.

The inside of the house looked like a tornado had torn through. Robert gathered up the unbroken things and placed them back where they belonged. Next came the many items ruined beyond repair, and he stuffed them inside two plastic garbage bags and set them in the garage.

Once finished, he discovered that very few items were actually missing. What was missing made no sense. The photo albums and genealogy book he’d kept stored in a glass cabinet were gone. Also, the old family portraits he’d had framed after his father’s death—grainy pictures going as far back as the turn of the last century—had vanished from the walls.

Why?

He took a hot shower and tried to loosen the knots in his back and shoulder muscles. In less than three hours he would be in a fight for his life, for his family’s life. If he survived, then maybe the men behind this would start to reveal why they were doing this, why they’d taken such an interest in his family history.

It’s really about two families, isn’t it? There’s another father out there just like me, right now, with his own family to protect. What gives you the right to survive and not him?

CHAPTER 9

Robert had taken his share of licks from schoolyard bullies, but by the time he went to high school he’d surpassed most of them in size and strength. He lifted weights and ran during lunch breaks. There was no time in his life for things like football and track. His father needed him at the shop, had refused to hire on another full time employee when he could have his son do it for nearly nothing. The few precious hours he had left in the evenings were spent on studying. Sometimes he’d try painting landscapes with oils, but never seemed able to finish anything he was proud of.

Except for times when he found himself having to protect someone, Robert was mostly left alone by the hot heads and fight-pickers in high school. He was good at avoiding trouble, knew when it was time to give others a wide berth. It wasn’t until years later—when his father came back to work after his stroke—that violent forces came knocking…

He wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror. His reflection caused him to gasp. The bruise on the left side of his face was dark and rubbery. He put some antibacterial cream on his cuts, dressed a gash on his knee with a fresh bandage.

While changing into clean clothes, he became aware of a strange disconnected feeling. How did he really know if he wasn’t still in the hospital? What if the car accident had been much worse? Could I actually be in a coma right now?

He wondered if it were possible that he’d imagined the break-in, that his subconscious mind might have concocted the entire kidnapping scenario, even replaced the doctors who were trying to save him with men in black ski masks…

He sat still on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of his own blood humming in his ears. At the moment he felt as if he were caught between two competing realities.

Even if it all turns out to be false, you still have to trust that it’s real. Peggy and Connor’s lives could be at stake.

But what if it’s not real?

Stop driving a wedge into your sanity with stupid ideas. You aren’t lying in a hospital bed in a coma. No fucking way…

As he left the house, he noticed a picture taped to the front of Connor’s bedroom door. It was a family portrait the boy had drawn with colored pens. Peggy, Connor and Robert were standing on a sunny beach with big blue waves crashing behind them. Nugget was swimming in the surf of course, while a whiskered sea lion strained its neck to watch.

A smile spread across Robert’s face. Connor’s artwork always had the same affect on him. The boy had a gift for capturing those special moments when they were together as a family, and Robert had bought him scrapbooks to save his drawings in.

I’m not imagining this. Not a chance in hell…

Being careful not to tear the taped edges, he removed the picture from the door and folded it before sticking it in his pocket. If he ended up dying tonight, at least he’d have something to take with him.

After he locked up the house, he drove in search of a quiet dark place where he could eat some dinner and think.

CHAPTER 10

Jared Horn had not always filled his neighbor’s hearts with such hatred. For years he’d led a quiet, idyllic existence just outside Wrath Butte.

On Friday afternoons Horn and his family would ride into Wrath’s main street to conduct their business with the town. While his wife shopped for essentials, Horn and his two sons would deliver the orders they’d filled for their handmade furniture. Many of the locals in Wrath Butte owned things the Horns had made over the years. The quality of their work was stunning. Horn’s porch chairs weren’t only a marvel to look at, but could make you feel so comfortable you’d sooner go hungry than be called from it at suppertime.

After finishing their business, Jared would send his sons away with some spending money while he sipped a few whiskeys with the local men inside a cool saloon. He was well known for having a sense of humor and a deep laugh, and men seemed to gravitate to his table whenever he visited. On the few occasions he might have had trouble with someone, he’d simply pick up his hat and leave and the offender would soon find himself an unwelcomed customer.

As always, some folks in town had the need to find faults in others they deemed unworthy of success. Brandon Dukes had the worst habit of anyone around. At one time a skilled wood craftsman, Dukes’ drinking finally landed him into serious debt problems with a dangerous gang and ultimately the loss of a hand. He referred to the Horn family as “damned Amish” although they were known to be unaffiliated with any religion and never came to church. After he’d once tried to sell Horn a load of pine riddled with beetle damage, Dukes became furious when Horn declined the deal.

Horn had felt sorry for Dukes, and didn’t want any trouble. And despite his offer to allow Dukes to find him a better product, the drunk’s fragile pride could not be mended. From then on the Horn’s weekly visits to town began to deteriorate. Dukes began spreading vicious rumors to anyone who’d listen, manufacturing stories about the Horn family being involved in devil worship and the like. Folks laughed at first, but Dukes’ lurid stories started poisoning opinions and soon the town became edgy when the Horn family came for their Friday visit. Even people Jared considered friends began to look upon him with suspicion. Thanks to Dukes, people stopped buying their wares and often the Horn family would return home with very few provisions to get them through the coming week.

Over the next several years Horn’s visits became less frequent. People had grown tired of the stories Dukes had spread, and began to question why they’d believed him in the first place. They’d seen no evidence to support Duke’s claims that the Horn family was in league with the devil. But it was still too late to change what had happened. The damage was done. The proud family they’d once admired was dying from starvation, their bodies reduced to skin and bone. Mrs. Horn, who’d once turned heads when she walked along the boardwalk, had lost most of her shimmering red hair and now kept her head wrapped tightly with a scarf. Horn’s sons no longer smiled or waved, but cowered with fear of the other children who chased after their wagon and threw stones at them. A jealous drunk had turned them into outcasts. There was no one left they could trust.

Jared, distraught by the betrayal of so many, began to wander alone into the mountains for days at a time, filling his sketchpad with the things he saw. Once, after being gone for several days without food or water, he had a vision that changed everything. Instead of producing a great quantity of tables, cabinets and chairs, he decided to sharpen his focus on images he could engrave in wood.

The strategy paid off. Although in far less quantity than their once popular furniture, the Horns delivered more intricately carved pieces—wall hangings and jewelry boxes, decorative figurines and chests. The townsfolk couldn’t resist them and soon forgot about the ugly past. Most said they were ready to make amends and showed it by opening their purses.

Horn’s new works were a success. When news reached Dukes that several of the wealthier townspeople had standing orders, Dukes’ fury hit the boiling point. His goal to drive Horn permanently away had ultimately failed. He couldn’t believe how quickly his neighbors had gone from treating the Horns like pariahs to going soft headed over his new carvings. Something had to be done before Dukes found himself being run out of town.

It wasn’t too long afterward that Horn’s Trojan horse began to take its toll...

****

A bruised sun dropped toward the serrated outline of the Cascades. Dark purple clouds sat perched on snowy peaks like behemoth gargoyles. Underwood and Logan hitched their horses to a fence post not far from a cottonwood towering next to the Horn farmhouse. The gloaming tonight was eerily devoid of sound. When several crows hiding in the branches of the cottonwood abruptly flew off, Underwood noticed they made no sound. On the other hand, he could hear every sound he made, from the creak of his bad hip to the smallest grains of sand whispering against the heel of his boot.

When they reached the tree, Underwood bent down and passed his palm over a bed of dying coals, determining in his own mind how long the fire had been burning. He glanced up at a branch high above him and noticed a piece of rope still clinging to the blistered bark.

“I reckon Horn is somewhere in this mess,” he said turning over the ash with a stick. “Otherwise, he’d be out here giving us hell by now.”

“You want me to check the house?” asked Logan.

“Might as well be sure of it,” he said without looking up. “But I doubt if there’s any survivors.”

Logan nodded and walked toward the farmhouse, rifle braced against his hip. The likelihood of someone rushing out of the house with a loaded weapon seemed remote indeed. It was just so damned quiet you could almost hear the air pop as you moved.

Underwood picked out a leather strand from the ash pile, a bootlace perhaps, and examined it before throwing it back. When he stood up and backed away from the tree, he almost tripped on an empty bottle. He picked the bottle up and probed the neck with his finger. It was still wet with whisky.

Wrath Butte vigilantes… more like shit for brains.

Underwood shook his head and wondered why on earth they’d brought the boy. The men should’ve had more sense and stayed home. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t known what Horn might be capable of. Did they think the town would have handed out medals for what they did?

Most likely…

He lifted the whiskey bottle and flung it into the brush where it smashed against a rock.

“Jared Horn. Are you in there Jared Horn?” Logan shouted as he approached the doorway to the house. He noticed the windows blown out from fire. The soot-streaked front door was tilted inward, held up only by a lower hinge. Something told him not to go into the house, but he brushed it away like he always did when such warnings came to him. Logan credited his survival to learning long ago how to ignore his fears, especially of the dead. It never made sense to him anyway why a corpse scared people so. What was dead was dead, and if you thought it could still come after you then you were a fool.

He kicked the door off its only hinge and watched it splinter when it hit the ground. Stepping inside the house, Logan’s eyes probed at the damage. Horn’s scenic carvings were mounted all over the walls. And although they were nothing more than charcoal now he could still make out the rendered landscapes and portraits of wildlife and people. The sharp smell of burnt wood prickled his eyes and made them water.

When he heard a hissing sound in the next room, his heart skipped a beat. He released the safety and moved forward. With the muzzle of his rifle leading the way, Logan turned the corner and saw the small wood stove in the corner of the room. On top of the stove was an iron pot full of boiling water.

What the hell?

****

Underwood had gone back to his horse to get some headache powder. He could no longer think straight. His head felt like someone was inside his skull, trying to kill a fly with a hammer. The medicine’s bitterness tasted good as he washed it down with water from his canteen. After he closed his eyes and started to rub his temples, he began hearing Logan’s screams coming from inside the house.

He lifted his rifle and hobbled toward the house, his bad hip sending a hot stitch up through his lower back. By the time he reached the front doorway, Logan’s screams had stopped. Goosebumps traveled up Underwood’s back and across his arms. He hadn’t heard a man scream like that since the time he’d come upon some Indians on a moonlit night during his first year as sheriff, had witnessed a man being skinned alive for raping and killing a young woman from their tribe.

Underwood shouted Logan’s name as he made his way into the house, staring at the wooden pictures on the walls. It seemed as if the things depicted in Horn’s carvings had started moving, like the moving picture machine he’d once seen at the state fair. Except these were different. They swirled and hummed with a life of their own, transforming into scenes from a hell never before imagined. He watched in horror as a herd of elk melted into vile creatures playing catch with squirming naked humans, impaling them on their horns. In another grisly tableau a group of cowboys sat around a campfire on a starry night, drinking coffee. Suddenly, hellish beings made of fire leaped out of the campfire and engulfed the men in balls of flame.

He swore he could smell them burning. It was so real, and then again it wasn’t.

Underwood shook his head to get rid of the bad thoughts streaming inside. He recalled the havoc played on the Wrath Butte residents unfortunate enough to have something made from Horn’s hands. In some ways he could understand why a vigilante party had formed and done what they did. So many folks in Wrath Butte had nearly gone insane. Underwood’s neighbor, a mother of four, was preparing to put out her children’s eyes when their father had heard the cries and stopped her…

He stepped into the room with the wood stove, but the pot of hot water Logan had seen was gone. A crimson sunset bled between the boards nailed across the room’s only window. There was no sign of his deputy anywhere.

Suddenly the floor below Underwood began to drop. He instinctively tried to back up, but the trap door caught him in the lower back and sent him plunging into a deep pit of carved rock. The wind was knocked from his lungs when he hit bottom, and he heard the fractured ends of bones tearing through skin. His left leg had snapped apart above the knee and his right arm was dislocated and twisted behind his back. Glancing up, he saw his bloodless palm looked as if it were about to pat him on top of the head.

Next came a sickening squeal, and when the Sheriff looked up he saw the square of floor settling back into place. He gripped his rifle one-handedly and fired. Splinters rained down onto his face, but the door continued to rise until it settled back into place. Now in complete darkness, Underwood gradually lost consciousness. He felt as if he were bobbing on the surface of a black tide. He remembered taking his wife to see the Pacific Ocean not long after they’d married. They’d sat up on a cliff together and just watched the waves for hours, eating a picnic lunch of fried chicken and apple pie.

Caroline…

Eventually the presence of light caused Underwood to open his eyes. He’d toppled over sometime during the night, and the side of his face was pressed against the cold floor. He felt like an insect that had been crushed under someone’s boot and left in a tangled mess. His clothes were covered with damp, bloody straw. He heard water dripping from further back in the cave. As he lay craving a drink of it, he saw a child moving toward him, clutching a tiny lantern.

“Help me...” Underwood pleaded, lifting his only good hand.

The child backed away several steps and stared at him, the expression on its thin white face both scared and curious. Its head was shorn and scabby. Underwood let out a sigh and gently motioned the child over. The child didn’t move. It stood silently, studying Underwood’s mangled body, the stream of blood flowing from his left ear and down to his jaw where it fell off in thick drops.

He couldn’t even tell at first if the child was a girl or a boy, until he eventually recognized him as Horn’s youngest son. It had been a long time since he’d seen any of Horn’s children, so long since anyone had seen much of the Horn family at all. Rumor was the mother and eldest son had fallen victims to a disfiguring disease, leaving only Jared and his youngest child capable of making their bi-monthly trips into town.

“Don’t be afraid of me boy. I mean you no harm.”

He began to drag himself across the floor so the boy could see his face better in the wavering candlelight. The boy stepped back and lit several candles in a small alcove. As Underwood’s eyes adjusted to the light, he wished he’d stayed put.

Holy Christ…

Resting on a bed of dirty yellow straw were thick blocks of clouded ice. One lay split apart and leaking. Ice like that, Underwood knew, could only have been taken down from the mountains in the back of a mule-drawn wagon.

In the flickering candlelight he could make out a grayish form suspended inside the unbroken block. It occurred to Underwood the steaming pot of hot water sitting next to it was there for the purpose of helping it melt. When the child touched the block with his palm Underwood was startled by a shadowy movement inside. The boy took his hand away and giggled.

“What is it?” Underwood asked, not believing his eyes. Torrents of pain passed through his body, creating hallucinations that played tricks on his mind.

The boy grinned and picked up the lantern from the floor. Before Underwood could say another word the boy disappeared. He thought he heard the padding of bare feet ascending a wooden staircase and shouted at the boy to come back. As the night wore on, he watched the candles sink into runny puddles on top of the blocks of ice. Then, just as he was going to shut his eyes again, he heard the sound of something moving toward him through the near darkness, its hot breath stinking of raw flesh and death.

“Sheriff… Sheriff…” hissed a voice just outside the golden refuge of candle light.

Underwood strained to see, but it was too dark. Then the candles began to go out, one by one, and with each candle he could feel the temperature of his blood drop several more degrees.

It can’t be Horn. Horn’s dead…

He loaded his rifle and braced it against his good knee.

But then again it might be….

“Sheriff… Sheriff…”

He could have sworn the voice was a woman’s.

He had an idea. A desperate one and the only damn card he had left holding…

“You and I’ve got no bad blood between us,” he shouted to the unknown presence. “I’m asking you to let me live. I’ve got a wife and a daughter who need me. If you just put me on my horse, I can take myself home. I’ll tell them all you’re dead so they won’t come looking for you.”

Underwood waited. Whoever—whatever—had stopped calling his name. But it hadn’t stopped coming toward him. He listened to the gritty scrape of its feet.

“I’m begging you. Please…”

Shaking badly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden match. He struck it against his silver belt buckle, stretched out his good arm and held it there.

A shape suddenly blurred into view, a human monster covered in sticky yellow fat. Its jaw sank into the sheriff’s wrist and tore it away in seconds. Blood sailed from the ragged stump and pattered against the candle-lit blocks of ice. The match he’d lit still flickered in the palm of his severed hand.

When Underwood fainted the thing leaped on top of him. In the pitch black he felt its muscular thighs rock against his groin, and its long hair fell into his face and tickled it just as his wife’s sometimes did. He felt himself getting hard, and forgot for a bittersweet moment he was probably bleeding to death. He lifted his hips and moaned, his mind engulfed by an unspeakable ecstasy as long finger nails twirled playfully with his ears before plunging deep inside, stirring the delicate bones and flesh into a pulpy soup.

He couldn’t even hear his own screams.

He splashed backwards into a heaving sea and floated along an obsidian surface until a swift current gripped him by the legs and pulled him under. He knew he’d never be coming back.

Underwood’s final thoughts were of his promise to take Caroline to see the Pacific again in late summer. With luck, perhaps they’d meet there again in some form or another, yet he knew in his heart it was all just gambler’s foolishness, for the cards you were dealt in life held no meaning after you took your last breath.

Absolutely no meaning at all…

CHAPTER 11

Peggy had no idea where they were until they were ordered out of the van. When she smelled the dry air spiced with juniper, she was certain they’d come as far as central Oregon or Southern Washington.

Not long after she’d spoken to Robert on the phone, Walker had led her and Connor to an Air Stream trailer behind the farmhouse. Connor had kept his face hidden against her chest as they’d walked.

She saw three trailers in all, spread out in a circle. Each was equipped with its own power source, water and sewer hookup. Black spray paint and barbed wire mesh sealed off every window from the outside. The doors themselves were fitted with heavy- duty latches and key padlocks. In the middle of the prisoner trailer park was a large tent where she could hear voices talking low.

She’d spent time in the high desert before, but a low-lying band of white cloud on the far horizon kept her from spotting any recognizable landmarks. On a clear day she would have been able to orient herself with the mountain range to the west. When she stopped to watch a pickup moving down a distant highway, Walker frowned and looked impatiently skyward.

“Mrs. Crain…”

Laughter made Peggy turn her head to look behind her. Two men armed with rifles stood watching, their eyes staring menacingly as they lit cigarettes and puffed from smirking lips. Peggy had recognized their raspy cackles. They’d been the one’s who’d carried her and Connor out to the van after binding their wrists and mouths with duct tape. Later, while the van sped unnoticed down the highway the night before, they’d taken turns feeling her bottom through her jeans.

She turned back to Walker, her eyes widened with anger. “So whose shoe did you scrape those two off of?”

Walker met her gaze with a crooked grin. “You’re not going to want to make any trouble for them.”

****

Connor had spent the entire day huddled in a corner of the bed. His condition hadn’t changed much since they’d arrived. Peggy tried to comfort him the best she could, and a few times he actually opened his eyes but they looked as if he were staring at something far away. When night arrived, she searched the entire trailer from top to bottom for anything useful, finding nothing but some forgotten rusted pliers wedged beneath a cabinet.

A man she hadn’t seen before brought them their dinner. He was brittle-thin and appeared nervous as he stood next to one of the armed guards who called him Stick. He handed her a cardboard box packed with sandwiches and bottled water.

“Why are you doing this?” Peggy asked. Stick’s jaw quivered as if he wanted to say something, but the guard quickly motioned him to move away. The guard held up his hand so she could see the open padlock swinging on his finger.

“You don’t want to ruin the surprise, do you?”

“What the hell is this all about?” Peggy screamed. Her voice had carried out into the desert night, causing the guard to take a step closer.

“Keep it down or I’ll have to gag that pretty mouth of yours.”

“I’m not shutting up until I get some answers.”

“Enjoy your dinner, lady,” the guard said. He slammed the door shut. She heard the snap of the padlock and crunch of rock as he walked away. Other than the hum of trailer generators, the place was quiet except for the occasional howl of a lone coyote or far off wail of a passing train.

Peggy sat down on the bed next to Connor and started to cry. His hand crept out from the blanket and touched her face.

“Mommy?”

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He’d finally made the long journey back to her.

“I’m here, baby.”

“Where’s dad?”

“He’s trying to find us.”

“I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared.”

Peggy closed her eyes and wondered where Robert could be, what he was doing.

You’re going to find us baby. I know you will…

CHAPTER 12

Sitting in a dark booth at the rear of the bar, Robert chewed down the last of his turkey sandwich. He hadn’t felt at all hungry, and every bite seemed to take forever to swallow. The shot of tequila, however, had warmed him up nicely. It also smoothed away some of the edginess he’d been feeling since the dope in his body had worn off.

He watched as the regulars came and went, happily engaged in loud chatter and laughing over their private jokes. Robert had stopped hanging out in places like this years ago. But it wasn’t as big of a town as people wanted to believe. He still worried that someone might recognize him.

After a while he noticed that when people glanced over at him their faces tended to sober before turning away. Even the tough-as-nails bartender seemed apprehensive about him at first. He couldn’t blame her, for the bruise on the side of his face really did look awful.

His fingers played with the empty shot glass. He stared outside at the shafts of rain angling past the streetlights. The taste of Cuervo was still present in the back of his throat, and for a moment he contemplated ordering another shot. He began thinking about his father, and the whole nasty business in Mexico.

Two years after Robert’s father had his stroke, the body shop dipped close to bankruptcy. His father had taken measures to hide their financial problems as long as he could. He’d started drinking again, despite his doctor’s warnings. After months of trying to work out a deal with unsympathetic creditors, Frank saw no other choice than to call his brother Barney.

An ex-con who’d recently done three years for burglary, Barney still could not see himself ever walking the straight and narrow. Each time he’d been released from prison, his only thoughts were on how he was going to make up for lost time. As always, Robert’s father would give Barney a job around the shop, hoping this time his brother might not stray. But once Barney had saved enough money, he’d disappear for another year or two. Then one day Frank would receive a letter with a prison’s return address, and things would start all over again.

Robert’s mother could never understand why his father always let Barney back into their lives. She didn’t like seeing her son being exposed to a man who’d spent a greater part of his life behind bars. In retrospect, Robert believed his mother just cared too much for Barney, and it broke her heart to see him throwing his life away. Barney had always treated his sister-in-law with the utmost respect.

Robert and Barney grew close when Robert’s father was in the hospital. In many ways Robert looked more like Barney’s son. Both stood well over six feet tall and carried a lot of muscle. Whenever Barney came over to have dinner or just to visit, he’d always set aside time to teach his nephew how to fight while his mother was busy in the kitchen. Barney rarely went looking for trouble, but it frequently came to him. Over the years, his skills had become legendary on both sides of the prison wall.

Not long after Robert’s father had made the call, he and Barney announced they were going on a fishing trip to Mexico. Robert, then in his early twenties, had asked if he could come along. His father had told him no, that he’d wanted to spend it alone with his brother. Maybe he could finally talk some sense into him this time, get him committed to the straight path before he wound up dying behind bars.

Robert was suspicious from the beginning. He knew his father hated fishing, and he couldn’t buy the idea he’d be willing to do it even for his brother’s sake. In the weeks before they took off, Robert had seen them spending a lot of time in the office in back of the garage—his uncle on the phone and his father pacing the concrete floor, lighting one doctor-forbidden cigarette after another. They were acting unusually nervous, not at all like two men about to go somewhere to relax and fish in the sun.

Across the border in Tijuana, the brothers met some members of a lucrative car- theft ring. Barney had done some prison time with the leader and they’d become friends after Barney had saved the man’s life from a shiv-wielding neo Nazi. There was a reunion celebration of sorts, with plenty of food and drinking, until a ruthless rival gang swarmed down on the hacienda and shot Frank and Barney’s new business partners through the head. Failing to escape from the attackers, Robert’s father and uncle were tied and beaten, blind folded and kept in a cramped room behind a shop selling purses and belts to American tourists.

It was of course a case of mistaken identity. Their kidnappers believed they’d captured two worthy prizes—not some auto body repair man and his burglar brother, but a couple of wealthy drug smugglers who’d come down to visit the home office.

Robert was working at the shop when his father called. He could barely recognize his father’s voice as he pleaded to his son for help. Frank’s voice had sounded broken and repentant, so unlike the man who’d managed to undermine Robert’s dreams.

Robert could see his destiny was jumping tracks once again and there was nothing he could do about it. The rage inside him pushed up to the surface like an angry weed. Had his father not been so reckless then maybe the violence would not have been allowed to germinate. But this was his father, and aside from the fact he deeply resented him at times, Robert would do anything to protect him.

There was still the matter of finding the money, and then getting it to the right people before it was too late. His friend Will had driven to Mexico with him, had helped get Robert’s father back alive. Uncle Barney hadn’t been so lucky…

****

A soft hand reached down and slowly pried the shot glass from Robert’s tight fingers. He looked up and saw a woman leaning toward him. Her mouth formed a garish frown of heavy lipstick.

“You’re going to break it if you aren’t careful,” she said.

Robert’s mind was still deep in Mexico, and it took a few moments for him to stroke sluggishly back into the present, where a strange woman holding an empty shot glass was searching his eyes for something she could cling to.

What the hell does she want?

He stared coldly back, unable to speak, but the woman pretended she hadn’t noticed. Not bothering to ask for an invitation, she slid into the seat across from him and set the glass on the table between them. Her eyes were a deep brown, and they seemed to soak up what little light there was.

For a brief moment Robert wondered if she was working for Walker Marsh. He waited for another one of Marsh’s messages to issue forth from her mouth, but she only looked at him hopefully, hungrily.

“Why are you staring at me that way?”

“I don’t know you,” Robert said, pulling up his sleeve and eyeing his watch, surprised that a half hour had vaporized since he’d knocked back the tequila. He took out his wallet and pulled free a twenty to pay his tab with. When he glanced up he saw that the woman was playing nervously with her crispy tri-colored hair.

“Do you have some place you gotta be honey?” she asked.

This time he heard the slur in her speech, noticed the broken blood capillaries webbing her face like fine lace when she lit a cigarette. He grabbed his jacket off the seat and stood up tall, purposely giving all the rubbernecks sitting in the bar one final look.

“Yes, I do have some place I have to be.”

“My lousy luck.”

“Lady, you don’t know the meaning of bad luck.”

“Then why don’t you go to hell,” the woman said, blowing a cloud of nicotine venom as he turned to walk away.

He didn’t bother telling her that he was already there…

CHAPTER 13

The rain was coming down harder than ever. Because Mt. Tabor was closed to motor vehicles at night, Robert found a quiet side street at the base of the park to leave his truck. He pulled his cap down and began hiking up toward the reservoir. Other than the sparse sodium lights illuminating the single road circling to the top, the park became very dark at night, especially where he took short cuts through groves of trees and thick undergrowth.

He saw no sign of anyone around. There was only the hum of cars off in the distance below him, moving along roads somewhere beyond the dense fog that ringed the park off from the rest of the city.

When he saw the reservoir his heart started pounding. He leaned against a tree and inhaled deep breaths to slow the throbbing in his temples, pressed his palms against his eyes.

“And the third rule?”

“You must fight to the death.”

He was up against a wall. If he refused to fight and ran, he’d never see his family again. It was as good as being dead. There’d be nothing left but a cowardly shell of a man carrying around a dead heart, until the day he finally put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger...

You’ve got to stay focused…

He pushed away from the tree and hiked down an ivy-covered hill to the concrete walk next to the reservoir. Mist hid the lapping water on the other side of the wrought iron fence.

On clear windless nights the reservoir would reflect the night sky and city lights like a giant ebony mirror. Robert had taken Peggy and Connor to see a full moon in it more times than he could remember. Once in the middle of freezing winter they’d witnessed a comet.

He quickened his pace toward the southern end. Voices echoed from somewhere nearby. When he rounded the corner he saw figures gathered next to the stone pump house. They stopped talking and turned to watch him as he advanced. Their faces were obscured by hoods. As he drew closer, one of the figures stepped in front of the rest and pointed a gun at Robert.

“Stop. Turn around, put your hands on the fence and spread your legs,” ordered the gunman.

Robert did as he was told. The iron was cold and bit his hands. He held his breath and listened to the thud of boots. A hand slammed down between his shoulder blades, causing his face to strike the fence.

“Don’t fucking move,” said another voice. His body was patted down thoroughly. Robert tasted blood where he’d split open his lip.

“He’s clean.”

The gunman leaned next to Robert’s ear.

“Do you need to be reminded of the rules again, Mr. Crain?”

Robert shook his head.

“Good. You will stay where you are and not attempt to follow us. Wait until you’ve heard our signal, then you will be free to look for your opponent and kill him.”

“What if I think he’s dead and he turns out not to be?”

The man behind him laughed coldly. “If you’re in doubt, then I suggest you do anything you can to make certain. Otherwise you forfeit. Good luck, Mr. Crain.”

Robert gripped the bars tighter, flexing his arms. It seemed like an eternity before a single gunshot pierced the night.

He assumed it must be the signal.

Stepping back from the fence, he quickly scanned both directions for anyone coming. He saw no one. He began walking, keeping watch for any shadows possibly lying flat on the ivy hill waiting to spring on him.

When he cleared the pump house he began to wonder if the whole event was some kind of cruel joke. He imagined the kidnappers sitting somewhere on the hill above, snickering as they watched the show.

An owl hooted from a cluster of trees at the top of a ridge.

Robert found a broken wine bottle on the ground and picked out the sharpest piece he could find. As he continued forward, he wound his handkerchief around the duller end, creating a handle he could grip tightly. Once he finished tying the loose ends into a tight knot, he slid the knife into his coat pocket.

He picked up his pace, thinking he’d head for the road where the daytime runners parked their cars.

Out of nowhere a heavy weight smashed down on his shoulders and crushed him to the ground. Robert rolled several times across the wet pavement with his attacker clinging from behind. Strong fingers dug into his neck and choked him. His head was slammed into the ground, sending out a white flash behind his eyes. Then suddenly his attacker fell back, out of breath, and after Robert wiped the grime from his face he found himself eye to eye with his first opponent.

He was heavyset, out of shape. But he deserved an A for surprise.

While he lay on his side and sucked hungrily for air, Robert struggled up on his elbows, wondering how he’d been ambushed. He soon noticed a section of the iron fence was missing, the hole strewn with torn yellow tape. His attacker had been waiting on the other side.

The man rose to his feet and glowered over him, his thick bare arms covered in tattoos and bloody scrapes. “You’re going to pay for what you did to my Dawn and Jenny. I’m going to tear you apart piece by piece just like you done to them.”

Robert stared up. “I didn’t harm your family. I swear on the lives of my wife and child.”

The man spit a gob of blood. “The police told me everything. They told me how you killed them.”

“The police? What are you talking about?”

The man smiled crookedly and shook out his legs as if preparing to run a marathon. “I guess you didn’t know they were going to nail your ass, did you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Thought so,” he said before kicking Robert in the side with a heavy work boot. Robert moaned and tried to drag himself away. When the boot came flying toward his forehead he reached out and caught it in both hands and pulled. The big man back-slammed the pavement and growled.

“Shit! My fucking back!”

As soon as he found a better grip on the man’s boot with both hands, Robert twisted it around like a shark pulling away meat. He heard bone give way and the man scream. When he let go the man’s foot dropped limply to the side.

Having thought of an idea, Robert stood up and took the man by the arms and dragged him into shadow so they wouldn’t be seen. He fumbled in his coat pocket for the piece of glass. He could have slashed the man’s throat. He stared into his fat sweaty face, searching for a reason to finish the job.

But there was something oddly familiar about him... Had they once drank beers together? It was such a small town when you really thought about it. Robert was usually good at remembering faces, but he couldn’t place were he’d seen this man’s before.

“What’s your name?”

“Fuck—you!”

Robert’s fist came down into the man’s face. He wished he hadn’t done that, but it was too late. Blood oozed from the man’s nostrils and into his mouth. He lay still with his eyes closed. Robert searched his pocket and found a wallet. He pulled out a driver’s license and turned it so he could read it in the faint light of his wristwatch.

“Kenneth Nolan…”

The man opened his eyes. Robert slid the license into his own pocket.

“You don’t have to believe me, but they took my family too. I don’t know why they’re doing this. But they said I have to kill you if I want them to live. Do you understand?”

Ken nodded, but Robert couldn’t tell if he believed him.

“If they’re telling the truth then your family is still alive. They just told you that I killed them so you’d be motivated. It’s a game their playing with us. Like dropping red and black ants into a jar and watching them battle to the death.”

“What are you talking about? They showed me pictures…”

“It’s all part of their game, Ken. Did you really believe they were the cops?”

“All I know is that my wife and child are gone.”

“Then let’s do something to get them back… Something that works for the both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how are we going to make them think I killed you?”

“Aw, fuck you...”

“Listen to me. There’s not much time. They’ll be coming back soon to check. Since you’re the one who’s busted up, I don’t think you really have much of a choice. But if I can get you over that ledge and into the water we both might stand a chance.”

Nolan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re a crazy murdering son of a bitch. The cops will be here any minute, you’ll see. They said they’d give me some time to do what I wanted before they picked you up.”

“They weren’t cops, Ken. Don’t you get it? We’ve been set up. They want us to try and kill each other.”

Nolan grinned through bloody teeth. “I think you’re scared, man. Scared you’re going to be on the fast track to death row.”

Robert pressed his makeshift knife against the man’s throat.

“Go ahead. Do it,” Nolan whispered. “It’s what you’re good at, right?

Robert pressed deeper into the man’s flab, until blood began to well up around the edges of the crystalline point.

“You must listen to me, Ken. There’s an island in the middle of the reservoir. Right now it’s hidden by fog. Swim for it, and hang on. This area is full of security cameras. As soon as they see us in the reservoir they’ll be calling the cops. The men behind this won’t be sticking around. They’ll think you’re dead.”

He drew back the blade from Nolan’s neck. The tip had left behind a red dot of blood.

Nolan laughed incredulously. “I still don’t believe a fucking word you say. You’re a goddamn coward. You could’ve stuck me in the jugular with that thing and it would have been over.”

“You’re exactly right. I’m trying to give you a chance to live.”

Robert thought of something. A way to connect. He took out Connor’s drawing and handed it to Nolan.

“What’s this?”

“My son drew it for me.”

Nolan squinted at the picture. He lifted his head and stared into Robert’s eyes.

“Jesus, your kid really did draw this, didn’t he?”

“His name is Connor. He and my wife were taken from me last night by a group of violent men. I have no idea why they chose us. They’ve taken them somewhere, and won’t give them back until I’ve done what they ask. Those men you think are cops are going to kill us all if they don’t see a clear winner tonight.”

Nolan studied the picture some more and grunted. “Kid’s got talent.”

Robert stood up on shaky legs. He walked over to the fence and sat down on the concrete ledge. It seemed that Nolan was coming to his senses. He could understand why he wouldn’t want to believe him, especially if Marsh had been feeding him lies.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go along with your plan,” Nolan said. “But how am I going to do this if I can’t walk?”

“I’ve already thought of that… I’m going to drag you over here and dump you over the fence. They’ll think I first stabbed you, then decided to drown you just to make sure.”

“Then let’s get this fucking thing over with.”

Robert took Connor’s drawing and folded it neatly back into his pocket. He slid off his jacket, lifted Nolan up by the armpits. He was heavier than Robert expected and his bad shoulder began to throb.

“You’re going to need to help.”

“Go to hell. You broke my leg, remember?”

When they came to the ledge through the opening in the fence, Nolan used his good leg to help jack himself over to the other side. A concrete slope angled sharply into the slapping dark water. Robert had been too busy trying to support Nolan’s weight to notice he’d grabbed hold of a loosened iron bar and pulled it free.

Robert set Nolan down on the narrow shore and looked up to see if anyone was watching. Nolan slid the iron rod out from behind his back and stabbed Robert in the chest. The pain shot up inside him, ringing all the way to the back of his jaw. It hadn’t gone in but had glanced against a rib and taken a lot of skin with it. He stared down at Nolan in surprise.

“And here’s one for the wife,” Nolan said. He swung again and cracked the iron against Robert’s hipbone.

As Robert pitched backward, he grabbed Nolan’s hair and pulled him into the reservoir with him. The water was ice cold and set his lungs on fire. Nolan let go of his club and began to claw at Robert’s face. Robert grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him toward the bottom, until he felt a current begin to pull them both down.

When they reached bottom Robert realized that Nolan had been sucked up against the mouth of a giant intake pipe. Already Nolan’s movements had begun to slow as he ran out of oxygen. Robert tried to pull him away from the pipe but Nolan bit him in the arm. There was no time left now but to save himself. Robert kicked to the surface.

Gasping for air, he treaded water with his face in a layer of mist. Warm bubbles left from Nolan’s lungs drifted up to the surface and burst next to him. Robert began to hear the sounds of people yelling in the distance. Then he saw a glow of yellowish light making its way around to his side of the reservoir.

****

He swam back to shore. Shivering, he pulled on his jacket and hat and started to climb the slippery ivy hill. A man’s voice shouted up at him to stop. Robert hid behind a tree and watched. There were many couples standing on the path below, staring up at him. They also had several dogs straining on leashes. He figured it was some kind of neighborhood watch program. He’d heard of the rise in citizen patrols but had never seen them in action.

Just my luck…

“He’s up there! I see him behind that tree!” a woman screamed.

The crowd started to run up the hill toward him. Their dogs barked excitedly and hauled them up faster. Robert tucked his head and charged through a patch of blackberry vines. Stickers tore through his clothes and scratched his skin. Flashlight beams danced wildly around as the citizen patrol got closer. He found a muddy path and followed it down to the grove of cherry trees.

He dug his arm inside the tree and pulled out the plastic-wrapped revolver. The citizen patrol had now broken up into two groups. One group was coming down the hill toward him while another worked up from below. Soon their flashlight beams were criss-crossing near where Robert stood.

“He’s over there!” a man’s voice called out.

Two men began to move cautiously toward him, one with a wide-eyed black lab at his side. Neither one of the vigilantes looked anxious to fight.

“You might as well give it up, Mister,” one of the men said. His voice trembled. “We’ve got you surrounded. The police are on the way.”

Robert pulled his cap down low over his face. He raised his pistol and waited until they saw it glint in their flashlight beams.

“Holy shit! He’s armed!” someone shouted.

Robert aimed the gun just above their heads and fired. Branches split apart and rained down on them. The two men flattened against the ground. The black lab whimpered and covered its ears with mud-sopped paws. Other members of the brave citizen patrol could be heard diving into bushes and behind trees, cursing as they scratched themselves. Robert saw an opening in the woods behind him and ran toward it.

He’d survived his first match…

CHAPTER 14

When Underwood first settled in Wrath Butte to begin his new career, Frank Longhorn, the retiring sheriff, regaled him with the story of Charlie Maynard—Oregon’s infamous merchant sailor turned cross-country bank robber. It so happened that Wrath Butte Bank was the last place he’d held up before disappearing into the mountains with a posse of lawmen on his trail, including Frank Longhorn and two men from town he’d recently deputized.

Underwood recalled reading about Maynard’s career as a criminal, but was unfamiliar with how he got there.

Legend had it that Charlie Maynard grew up in the thriving town of Portland. As a young man, he’d dropped out of school and began unloading freight from ships that made their 80-mile journeys up river to Portland’s docks. The work was strenuous, and Charlie struggled to help his tubercular father by keeping food on the table for his seven younger brothers and sisters.

On the night Charlie turned drinking age, his father was too sick to even get out of bed. He felt guilty at seeing his son’s youth being eaten up so quickly by work. He had wanted to take his eldest out on the town for his birthday and educate him in the ways of the adult world. Most of all he wanted Charlie to know he still had a future.

During the day when Charlie was at work, his father composed a mental list of everything he’d wanted to share with him. A sense of urgency was haunting him day and night. He slept very little, and thoughts about the cold ground next to his departed wife’s grave caused his bones to ache all the more.

When Charlie returned from the docks that evening, his father called him to his room. He told Charlie how sorry it was that he couldn’t take his own son out for a few pints on his birthday. Charlie didn’t seem to mind, having never cared much for the smell of liquor anyway. He told his father he’d be just as happy playing games with the younger children or reading to them. His father disagreed, insisting a man of Charlie’s age needed time to mingle with other men, maybe even buy himself a whore if he felt like it. He’d pressed some money into Charlie’s hand and told him not to come home until he had some stories to tell. He said that the pain he felt for his son had become unbearable. Charlie deserved a chance to experience freedom once in awhile.

There was no sense in arguing with the dying man, so Charlie thanked his father and left, confused about where he should go. As he walked the darkening streets, he thought about concocting some stories to tell his father so he could save the money for his family. His younger siblings were growing so fast. They needed new shoes and warm jackets for winter. Yet Charlie never lied to his father, and he knew if he came home with a few made up stories, his father would certainly be able to tell if his was lying.

He passed near a small tavern where a friendly crowd standing in the doorway waved at him to come inside. Charlie didn’t recognize anyone—they were all strangers, merchant sailors who told him they’d only been in Portland for a few days.

Charlie had never been in such coarse surroundings before and was stunned by the forward women and the drunks. A man who wore a silver plate for a nose laughed when he observed the shock on Charlie’s face. When Charlie glared back, the man apologized and asked him if he could makes amends with a bit of rum. His name was Captain Greeley, and he claimed to have sailed the world nine times over.

Several rums later, Charlie found his surroundings had much improved. He and Captain Greeley were later joined by some of Greeley’s crew. Stories were traded and songs were sung at the tops of their lungs. Throughout the night, Captain Greeley continued to take Charlie’s cup and refill it with more rum. Charlie made many attempts to leave, but his new friends kept stopping him at the door and begging him to stay a little longer.

By the time he drained his final cup, Charlie was overcome with an intense dizziness. Since he’d never been drunk before, he had no clue that he’d also been drugged. After his head struck the table and he was out cold, two giggling crewmen picked Charlie up and followed Captain Greeley through a door behind the bar. Showing the way by lantern, Greeley took them down a staircase to a dank tunnel where they passed below several city blocks. If Charlie had been conscious he would have seen the cages of female sex slaves and Chinese opium dens. The tunnel finally ended at the docks where ships floated gently on the black Willamette, decks busy with the movement of shadows.

Charlie had been shanghaied.

For the next fourteen years he vanished without a trace. Some believed he’d been murdered, or run away to the woods to work in a lumber camp. Overcome with grief, his father died within months after his son’s disappearance. The children were sent to an orphanage. Six years later, most of Charlie’s siblings were buried side by side after a deadly flu outbreak swept through the city. Captain Greeley returned from a long trip at sea and purchased a house in Portland at a bargain.

****

On a foggy winter day a merchant ship brought Charlie back to Portland. The house where he’d once lived was no longer standing, having at one time burned to the ground. After making several inquires, he was able to locate his sister Iris—the only sibling still alive who’d married and stayed in the city. She barely remembered him. His face was so deeply tanned and thin, and his eyes frequently stared at empty corners of the room or spaces beneath trees. Then inexplicably, he’d slowly nod his head and smile before turning back to meet your gaze. Iris took her brother’s odd behavior as a sign of sheer exhaustion and being too long at sea. She saw that he rested in her guestroom for the next few days before taking him to the local cemetery to place flowers on the family graves.

Over the next few weeks, Iris failed to see any improvement in her brother’s behavior. His condition seemed to be getting worse. She heard him shouting in his sleep at nights, and once while she stood outside his door she listened to him having conversations with invisible persons. When she glimpsed Charlie’s face without his knowledge, she saw the great effort it must have taken him to conceal his darker emotions from her. His tragic life had shattered his poor soul to pieces, she thought. How else could she make sense of his refusal to go to church service with her? Did he really mean it when he told her he had no use for God?

She needed to get him to talk, to confess to her what he was experiencing. Her husband was beginning to feel uncomfortable in his company, and her children thought their uncle frightening.

When they went alone on a carriage ride to the countryside, Iris asked Charlie about what had happened to him all those years. At first Charlie merely repeated his story of being shanghaied, of seeing foreign lands from his captor’s deck. Yet something in his eyes told Iris there was much more he was leaving out. She begged him to tell her the whole truth, to allow her to bear witness for him. When Charlie saw her tears he too began to cry. He’d gripped both her hands in his and gradually began to speak…

What he told Iris made her blood run cold, and after he was finished she ordered him to pack his things and leave her home at once. He put up no argument and did as she asked. She never saw her brother again.

It was shortly after Charlie left his sister’s home, however, that Portland was besieged by a series of grisly murders. Captain Greeley and several of his crew were found slaughtered in their homes, in a manner reserved only for those who engaged in the practice of drugging men and turning them into slaves once they awoke at sea. The victims had all been hung from the ceiling by their ankles. The killer had intentionally slit the tops of their heads so they would slowly bleed to death while thinking about what they had done.

One of the crewmen, however, had escaped the fate of his captain and the others. He’d also seen Charlie’s face. When the police raided the small room Charlie had been renting from an old widow, the mysterious lodger was nowhere to be found.

According to Iris’s interview with the chief of police a week after the murders, her brother had confessed to her that he’d made a pact with an evil spirit. He’d told her in great detail how he’d barely escaped from Greeley and lived on a remote island somewhere off the coast of Africa among the natives. At first the natives had tried to kill him. In fact they’d left him for dead. Yet somehow Charlie managed to survive the deep spear wound to his back after spending weeks hiding in the jungle undetected, going to the sea late at night and soaking the infected wound, snaring small animals and stealing from the long boats left out on the beach.

The next time he approached the tribe, Charlie first rubbed his body down with white ashes. The tribe believed he’d come back from the dead, and it was his new ghost status that allowed him to live freely among them without fear. Later, he befriended the tribe’s witchdoctor and sometimes dentist, where he learned a style of black magic, including the ability to conjure. He’d admitted to Iris he was protected by two of the creatures he’d helped bring to life, that they were always close by in case he needed them.

For a year and a half following the brutal murders of Greeley and his crew, Maynard moved up and down the country holding up banks. Bank employees, like many folks, found themselves easily taken in by Charlie’s immense charm. It was only after he’d departed that his befuddled victims realized they’d been robbed. Some claimed to have heard unusual sounds or saw figures that were little more than wisps of smoke. The police surmised that Charlie had the ability to mesmerize.

Those who’d tried to collect on a bounty for Charlie’s head were never so lucky. Even those who dared to get in his way found themselves on a short cut to an early grave. In all, eleven murders were attributed to Maynard’s crime spree, which ended a month after his holdup in Wrath Butte.

Pursued by determined lawmen since a robbery in Idaho, Maynard headed for the mountains of the Oregon Cascades, where he hoped to hide until the posse grew tired of searching for him. At first his strategy failed to test their confidence, until he slipped through their defenses and killed two lawmen while they slept next to their campfire. Having heard their horrible screams, those who’d been in charge of keeping watch ran back to find nothing but their colleague’s smoldering bones. A week later, Sheriff Longhorn’s deputies were found brutally slain. Stripped naked, their flesh had been punctured with horrific wounds. Some speculated the weapon must have been fashioned from elk horn.

Instead of being persuaded to turn away, a band of hardened lawmen continued their hunt for Maynard…

CHAPTER 15

Robert leaned forward and vomited on the street. He pressed his palms against the side of his truck and waited for the nausea to subside. Neighborhood dogs barked at his presence, reminding him he should keep moving before someone came to a window.

He got inside and released the brake, allowing himself to coast down hill with no engine or headlights for the next block. There were no flashlight beams darting from behind, nor any signs of police. His clothes were soaked to the bone, and he shivered until he started the truck and turned the heater on high.

Regardless of how it happened, he was still responsible for killing someone. A family man just like he was. Robert blamed himself for being unable to gain Nolan’s trust. If he’d been able to get him to cooperate he might still be alive.

It should have worked. The police had been called as Robert predicted. If Nolan had only done what he’d asked him to, then maybe…

Maybe you just got him killed.

No, Robert told himself. You did what you could, what you thought would work to save everyone. And even if he’d made the wrong decision, Nolan had been brave. He’d chosen to do what he thought was right…

He drove the backstreets home and took a hot shower. His skin was raw and stung when he rubbed soap into it. After he toweled off, he swallowed two painkillers and lay in bed. The sheets smelled like his wife, and he turned his head and kissed her pillow before his body shut itself off.

****

As he drifted off to sleep, Robert’s thoughts gathered at his grandfather’s cabin in the mountains. It was summer time, and after visiting for a month and a half he desperately missed his friends back home. He’d re-explored every nook and cranny in the surrounding forest, caught so many rainbow trout that he was growing bored with fishing.

If his arthritis wasn’t acting up too badly, Robert’s grandfather would pack sandwiches and they’d go for long hikes in the woods. On especially clear days they’d take the trail up to the timberline where they could touch the snowy slopes of Mt. Hood. Robert loved the higher altitude and the view of the giant glacier it opened onto. It made him giddy and caused his scalp to tingle. His grandfather was just the opposite. The old man would become quiet and reflective, and when he spoke it was to tell Robert strange things.

“What is it grandpa?” Robert always asked, and grandpa would lift a crooked finger and point toward the glacier.

“It’s a stunning thing to behold. But there’s something wicked inside that ice.”

Robert would squint up where his grandfather’s unblinking eyes seemed to remain fixed. Fissures in the ice closest to them gradually became larger as you moved your focus up between the spines of the mountain. To Robert, the crevasses looked like grinning jawbones, but what affected him most was the eerie blue light seeping from between their jagged teeth. The light had always beckoned him to come closer, and Robert would have gone to it if his grandfather had allowed him.

“I’ve never seen anything bad grandpa. You always say that when we come up here.”

“It’s not something you can see, boy. You feel it in your gut. And sometimes when a cold gust comes down from the glacier you can hear voices being carried with it.”

Robert shook his head and smiled. Today it’s the glacier story, yesterday the power of tree hugging. He was feeling too old for this silliness now. He needed to be around his friends back home, shooting hoop or hanging out at the public pool. Grandpa’s spooky discussions no longer had an affect on him, yet grandpa hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Whatever you say, Grandpa...”

A long silence followed between them, until Robert wondered if he’d offended him. Grandpa put a wrinkled hand on Robert’s shoulder while his gaze stayed on the mountain.

“You don’t have to believe me, Bobby. But some day you may.”

Right, Robert thought. I’m sure that will happen. But it was only a few days later when Robert found out his grandpa wasn’t always making things up…

****

He hiked alone on Old Burn trail, passing several acres of blackened dead trees. Something about the place always set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the contorted shapes of the snags and the bitter scent of old charcoal. Or the feeling someone was watching him. His mother would blame it on an overactive imagination.

The trail led to a remote lake deep into the mountains. Because he loved the solitude, Robert was willing to put up with the discomforts of getting there. Plump trout leaped high for the flies his grandpa had taught him how to tie. He often forgot what time it was.

Returning one evening with his largest catch to date, Robert decided to take an old logging road back to his grandfather’s cabin. He’d forgotten his flashlight and knew it would be easier to see his way in the moonlight than trying to take the usual deer-trail shortcuts through dense undergrowth. He nerves were jangled, for he’d been certain a pair of yellow eyes were following him through the woods. He’d stopped many times and listened, yet hadn’t heard anything definitive. Whoever was stalking him knew how to walk quietly. He wondered if it was a bear.

As he made his way up the path to the cabin he noticed a pair of yellow eyes waiting for him. The owner of the eyes wasn’t a bear, but the tall flickering shape of a man. Except this wasn’t a living man made of flesh and bone. It was a ghost.

Terrified, Robert dropped his fly rod and load of fish and ran back the way he’d come. But he didn’t get far before the figure blocked his way once again. He’d stood still while the shape floated closer, creating eddies of freezing air that wilted the ferns and trilliums.

“Listen to me, young man,” the misshapen face ordered.

“What do you want?” Robert asked. The ghost’s eyes burrowed into him and pinched at his heart. Robert reached out and grabbed hold of a cedar to stop from shaking.

“Remember to look in the box,” the voice continued, “I’ve left something for you. Remember to look.”

Robert squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ghost to leave him alone. He’d heard the surrounding vegetation crackle from the ice, listened as it broke apart and crumbled onto the forest floor like delicate crystal. When he finally dared to open his eyes, the ghost had disappeared.

He sat up, bathed in sweat. The clock read 3:30 am. Outside a car was idling, and he didn’t lie back until he heard it finally sputter down the street.

You haven’t had that dream in years…

CHAPTER 16

The trailer camp was still covered in shadow at dawn. A lone figure emerged from the old house and walked over to trailer number one. He picked up a rubber hose that was connected to a gas tank and screwed the free end to a pipe that fed into the trailer.

Dawn Nolan and her daughter did not awaken to the smell or hiss of the gas. Not immediately, anyway.

Kenneth Nolan lay inside a body bag less than three hundred miles away, awaiting his autopsy.

CHAPTER 17

At seven in the morning the phone began to ring. Robert got out of bed, heavy and sore as he limped to pick it up. At first he heard only the buzz of a radio in the distance.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations,” said Walker Marsh. “You choose a very fine means to dispose of your opponent. A very thorough job, sir.”

“Go to hell.”

Walker cleared his throat. “Now, before we discuss your next match, I need to know what we should do about Mr. Nolan’s surviving wife and child. You can ask for them to be spared if you wish. Otherwise…”

“Don’t do a goddamn thing to them. Let them live.”

“It’s your call, Mr. Crain. Consider it done.”

“I want to talk to Peggy… Put Peggy on the phone.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not a good time.”

“You’re lying. You’ve done something to them.”

“I guarantee your wife and son are very much alive and unharmed. In fact, I just spoke to them less than twenty minutes ago, to let them know that you were just one more step away from getting them back. You should have seen the hope grow in their eyes. It was brighter than this morning’s sunrise, Mr. Crain.”

Robert swallowed hard. It hurt so much to think about what his family must be going through. Then he reminded himself that Peggy was strong, and she wouldn’t be waiting around for him to come and rescue her. She’d be working on a way to escape. He was certain of it.

“Maybe you can tell me what this is all about?”

There was a long pause. Robert heard a door shut and the torching-up of a cigar.

“I’m not supposed to say anything until the game is over, Mr. Crain. However I’m not the horrible monster you probably take me for. I too am limited by what I can and cannot know.”

“How the hell can you say that? It sure looks to me like you hold all the cards. Come on… This game you’re playing with people’s lives has got to be for a reason.”

Walker cleared his throat. “This whole matter goes much deeper than you can imagine. It’s not about revenge or sadistic pleasure or any of those things. I’m only coordinating a process that has been in motion for a very long time.”

“Process? What the hell does that mean?”

Walker lowered his voice to a whisper. “All I can tell you is the contestants were not picked at random.”

“So there’s something that connects us?”

“Believe me, Mr. Crain. I wish I could tell you more, but I am risking my own life by revealing this much.”

“Then can you tell me who you’re taking orders from?”

“I would be crazy if I did. You have no idea of what kind of power is involved.”

This is just more bullshit, Robert thought. He’s got nothing to fear except for the day I find him. The son of a bitch just wants to mess with my head.

“Who is it?” Robert shouted into the receiver.

Walker fell silent again, as if truly worried someone might be listening in on his conversation.

“I cannot say. It wouldn’t even make any sense to you if I could.”

“Try me.”

“I have already explained this to you. If you prevail, things will be fully explained. Right now we are simply separating the wheat from the chaff as it were… I’ll be calling you again soon, Mr. Crain.”

The line went dead.

Robert, crazy with rage, threw the phone across the room. Then the doorbell rang, and he went and fetched the revolver from under his pillow before going to see who was there…

****

“Holy shit Bobby, you look like road kill.”

Robert fell back on the couch as Will walked into the kitchen and dug in the freezer for some ice. He came out and handed Robert an ice pack.

“Put this on you face and hold it for awhile.”

“Yes, Doc.”

“How many were there?” Will asked.

“I don’t know. The light was bad, and I was half drugged. There might have been three or four of them.”

“Those fucking crackheads must have gotten their addresses screwed up… Wish I’d been here to help you out. How’s Peggy and the boy?”

“They’re doing okay. Thank god they were visiting Peggy’s mother. They’ll just stay a few extra days while I try and get things straightened out. I don’t want to worry about those bastards coming back. I know I must have sent a couple of them to the hospital.”

“Oh they won’t be back,” Will assured him with a cold grin.

“You’re probably right.”

Will found a chair and sat down. “Do you want me to do a little sniffing around? I could try to find out where they live and we could pay them a friendly visit. When you’re feeling better, of course…”

“No. I think we better just let this one go. It had to be a mistake. I can’t think of any other reason. The cops will take care of it.”

Will shrugged. “Yeah, but will they really take care of it?”

“I don’t want to go down that road, Will. I’ve got a whole new life now, a family to think of.”

Will gazed at the floor for a moment and chewed pensively on a toothpick. “It’s up to you, buddy… Have you had time to go over everything, find out what they took? Because it looks to me like they just trashed you and the house.”

Robert felt a thick wave of heat move up into his aching face. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was lie to his best friend. But he just couldn’t take any chances. Not until he knew for sure where Peggy and Connor were being held. Then and only then would he consider some outside help.

“They got Peggy’s jewelry and some cash I had in the dresser…”

Will closed his eyes and shook his head softy side to side. Robert could sense some hurt feelings and he hated himself for it. Will was someone who’d take a bullet for him.

“So why didn’t you call me, bud?”

Robert shifted the ice pack to the other side of his face. If they hadn’t shot him up with dope he would have called Will, although it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

“I was going to. I guess I was walking around in a state of shock after the cops came and left. I’m sorry Will. This whole thing just blindsided the hell out of me. I guess I believed I’d been through enough shit, that I’d paid my dues or something. I guess I thought I’d finally developed some kind of immunity to it...”

Will stood up and began to pace around the living room. Robert noticed fine grains of glass clinging to the soles of Will’s worn cowboy boots—the same leather boots his friend had bought in Mexico ages ago. Back when they’d gone to rescue his father and Uncle Barney…

“It doesn’t work that way, Bobby. Once the snake has bitten you it just wants to keep coming back. Sure, you can force it to go back down under a rock for awhile, and you might even walk past it several times before it makes up its mind to strike again.”

“I thought they were going to kill me, I really did.”

“And you’ve driven them back under the rock they came from. Listen to me, please. If you did send any of them to the hospital, I’ve got a cop friend who can check emergency room records for me. It might be a good place to start.”

“I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need.”

“Come on Bobby. You know this kind of stuff bugs the shit out me. Throw me a bone. There’s got to be more I can do for you than bag ice.”

“We could go get a beer somewhere.”

Will smiled and directed the ice pack in Robert’s hand to another place on his forehead. “I don’t know, champ. It’s not Halloween and I don’t think you’d even blend in very well at biker bar.”

“We could go to the shop. I keep some cold ones in the fridge. I need to pick up Nugget anyway.”

****

They sat on some old overstuffed chairs and drank a few beers together in the near darkness of Robert’s office, listening to music on the radio. Nugget lay on the floor with her back pressed against Robert’s legs. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight anymore. Robert drifted in and out of sleep. Will sat quietly and watched him with growing concern.

“Do you want me to go pick us up something to eat?” he asked.

Robert shook his head. His stomach was churning in on itself. Food was out of the question. Whenever he closed his eyes he’d see Nolan’s face.

Will got up and removed another beer from the small fridge and slowly cracked it open. Robert felt an electric charge in the air, the feeling that everything he said, every movement he made, was being scrutinized by Will’s mind. He’d thrown up a wall the best he could, yet he knew Will had a gift for finding the little cracks and weaknesses that escaped most people’s detection.

“I’ve got the feeling you’re not telling me everything,” he said. “There’s something you’re holding back from me, man, and I want to know what it is.”

Robert opened his eyes and stared back at his friend.

“I’ve told you everything, Will. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Will glanced outside at the rain bouncing off the damaged cars sitting in the fenced lot behind the shop. Ben was leaning under a raised hood smoking a cigarette as he studied the engine.

“I’m just having problems with the randomness of the crack head attack last night. Are you sure you’re not having any problems with anyone? Have you fired any disgruntled mechanics recently?”

“I told you. I’ve never seen them before. It was bad luck.”

Will stepped quickly forward and grabbed Robert’s arm before he could hide the needle mark. A purple bruise had bloomed out from the small needle prick.

“Then would you mind explaining how you got that?”

Robert pulled his arm away and rubbed at it. “Jesus Christ, they gave me a shot at the hospital, Will. My shoulder was already killing me from the car accident before those crack heads started stepping on it.”

Will turned his face away. Robert could hear him taking deep breaths.

“I’m sorry, buddy, I guess I just want to make sure.”

“Then try believing me. I’m getting tired of this interrogation of yours.”

Will sat back down in his chair and had some beer. Robert noticed his friend was taking his time for a change and not slamming it back like a college freshman. It meant Will had something weighing on his mind…

“This whole thing has got me really worried about you, Robert. But mostly I’m just jealous of the life you’ve made with Peggy and don’t want to see it get all turned to shit.”

Robert shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. I appreciate your concern. You should know that.”

Will nodded and got up and stretched. “Then I probably should get going then.”

“There’s more beer in the fridge.”

“No thanks. I’ve got some errands to run. And you look like you could use some decent rest. Keep up the ice and stay in touch Bobby.”

“I promise.” Robert said.

“You better, asshole.”

Will walked out of the shop to his car without looking back. Robert listened to his El Camino growl as it sped off the blacktop and down the street.

He sank back into his chair and wept. He had never been this scared in his life. At least in Mexico he’d been able to look the enemy in the eye and deal with the problem. Now he’d been reduced to lying to his best friend.

The call came from Walker just after he gave Nugget an early dinner. He had less than six hours before he was expected to meet his next opponent.

CHAPTER 18

When the man called Stick came to bring them their breakfast she knew something was missing.

“What happened to the other trailer?” Peggy said. She moved past Stick and took a step outside the door before anyone could stop her. A few yards away she saw the deep tracks in the dirt. The tracks hadn’t been there the night before.

“Trailer?” Stick asked. He looked away while his hands fidgeted at the edges of the box he was carrying.

The guard standing nearby pointed his rifle at her. “Get your ass inside or I’m going to start tying you up in there.”

Peggy backed up. She hadn’t realized Stick was behind her, and when she bumped into him several water bottles toppled from his box to the trailer floor.

“Oh no!” Stick cried. His face turned bright red. He set the box down and began to gather up the bottles. Peggy saw a book of matches drop from his shirt pocket and before Stick or the guard even noticed she’d slid her foot over it.

“It was my fault,” Stick said. He reached into the box and picked up some food wrapped in foil and handed it to Peggy. “I’ve got to be more careful.”

“It was all my fault, Stick. Not yours.”

“You’re too kind lady.”

When Stick bent down and picked up the box she noticed the bloody slits in the back of his shirt. They’ve been whipping the poor man, she thought. It’s no wonder he’s acting so nervous.

“I want to thank you for all that you’ve done,” Peggy said.

“It’s nothing...”

“I mean it. You’re a good man Stick... I know you are.” Peggy reached out and put her hand over his. The flesh was dry and brittle and she could feel the individual bones beneath. Stick stared down at her hand and didn’t move, and when the guard barked an order to leave Stick looked Peggy directly into the eyes for the first time and she saw how terrified he was.

“Don’t give up,” Peggy whispered. But she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her…

The guard finally stuck his head inside and looked around. “What the fuck did I say Stick? Get a move on before I decide to see how easy it is to break your bones.”

Stick lowered his head and followed. The guard shut the door and Peggy listened to them walk to the next trailer. She hid the matches beneath the small shower with the pieces of wire she’d removed earlier, the balls of string they’d pulled from the lining of the couch and the screwdriver lodged beneath the greasy oven.

****

She didn’t have a plan. For the past two days they concentrated on learning as much as they could about what was going on around them while harvesting from the trailer whatever things they thought might be useful without causing notice. It had become a game between Peggy and Connor, to see who could find the item with the most potential. So far their captors hadn’t been interested in checking the inside of the trailer too closely. Peggy hoped it stayed that way.

Back when she was in the army she had trained to be an explosives expert. She learned all about how bombs were made, including those created with ordinary things you could find around the house. Most importantly, she was taught how to dismantle them before they killed anyone. It was at the base in Georgia where she first met Will, who’d also grown up in Portland. The two instantly became close friends and ended up working on many projects together. Neither one of them cared for Georgia much, so their conversations about home were a welcome escape from the oppressive humidity and their inability to feel like they belonged. Will’s wife at the time was serving in Desert Storm, and when she returned to the States she introduced Peggy to her cousin Andrew—a tall, shy man, who’d marry Peggy shortly afterwards and started a family with her.

After a few hard years of living from paycheck to paycheck with a baby to care for, Andrew finally completed his training and became an officer with the Portland Police department. Things started looking up. For the first time ever they had enough money to pay their bills and some extra to set aside. Connor started school, allowing Peggy to work part time for a security company as well as take some night classes. Eight months later, everything came to a screaming halt. On a sunny, cloudless afternoon, her husband, who’d only been on patrol for the first hour of his shift, was standing on a freeway shoulder trying to help an injured dog when a drunk driver swerved and hit him. Completely devastated and far from any family, Peggy knew she wouldn’t have been able to survive the period that followed without Will’s love and support. And now, as she ran ideas through her head about how to escape, she often imagined Will nodding or shaking his head to each suggestion.

So far, Will hadn’t liked anything she’d come up with…

As soon as it had become dark the night before, Peggy figured out how she could deal with the paint-blackened trailer windows. The flat strip of metal she’d removed from the edge of the shower stall was thin enough to wedge between the sliding panes of glass and scrape away some of the paint on the outside. Just tiny strips really, but they could cover them up from the inside with some of the electrical tape they’d unwound from some wires behind the fridge. There was also the vent above the shower stall. If Peggy held Connor up, he could easily see through the crack where it lifted from the roof. It didn’t exactly help with seeing things at close range, but it did allow them to survey the horizon from every direction.

They stopped to eat their sandwiches and drink some water. Connor felt sleepy afterward and she told him he should lie down. He crashed out almost immediately, with his head cradled in her lap as she stroked his back.

Peggy thought about what they’d seen that morning when the trailer across from them was moved. She was certain it was the strong smell of gas that had awakened her before the sound of a truck’s engine idling close by. There may have been a faint scream and a steady pounding inside the trailer before she’d had time to find a proper slit to look through. By the time she’d managed to see just the outline of the trailer in the pre-dawn gloom, several shadows were already moving around it, attending to various tasks.

Were there people in the trailer? She didn’t know for sure. She had heard the guards moving the chains through the trailer’s locks earlier in the day, thought she heard Stick’s brittle voice while he made a food delivery. Then there was the look Stick gave her when she’d asked him about what had happened to the trailer. It was the same look she’d seen on a policeman’s face many years before, after she’d asked him if her husband was still alive…

Whatever was going on, they had better find a way out soon.

****

Peggy listened to the cicadas singing out in the desert while she turned over ideas. They hadn’t had much time to note a pattern in the guard’s routine. Although they didn’t have a watch they did have the sun coming through a skylight in the kitchen. Connor had helped her put notches in the cheap linoleum to make a crude sundial. It kind of worked, so long as the days remained clear.

The guards didn’t seem to come around much at night, but kept mostly to their tent where they drank and played cards. Still, Peggy felt as if they were being monitored around the clock. Many times when she pressed her eye up to a slit in the window, she’d catch some shadowy form passing by, and later Connor told her he’d wakened once to see a man’s face floating above the sunroof. She asked him why he hadn’t told her about it earlier, why he wasn’t scared. Connor shrugged, saying that the man was different than the others. He didn’t scare him like those men who were always staring funny at his mom, as if they were hungry dogs. He told her the man on the roof looked sad.

At night Peggy found no comfort in the idea of a ghostly face watching over them. It didn’t matter to her if Connor wasn’t afraid, she still shivered regardless. Unable to sleep, she got out of bed, careful not to awaken Connor as she went to examine their cache of supplies for what felt like the hundredth time since morning. She decided if she continued studying them an idea would eventually emerge. So far nothing had happened. The objects just looked more pathetic than ever as she turned them over in her hands, but gradually her mind began to pull itself together as a single beam of concentration, directing itself at a wide array of possibilities before being suddenly drowned out by a loud grating noise…

What was it?

Then she knew. Someone was at the trailer door undoing the chains. They sounded like steel teeth grinding against the outside of the door. Peggy jumped up from the floor and tossed the pile of objects below the bed before shaking Connor awake.

“What Mom?” he asked, bleary-eyed. When he heard the rattle of keys at the door he cringed.

Peggy pressed her face close to his. “I don’t know what they want. But promise me if I tell you to run that you run away as fast as you can... Don’t look back until you find someone who can help us.”

Connor’s eyes grew wide.

“What do you mean? I’m not going to leave you.”

“No. Do what I say.”

The door to the trailer swung open and Walker March stepped inside. Peggy watched his eyes move up and down her body while he puffed on a cheap-smelling cigar.

“It’s show time, darling.”

CHAPTER 19

Charlie Maynard was running out of options. He’d used up the last of his ammo keeping his trackers at bay. His horse had fallen and died and his mule would soon be following. Neither animal had eaten for days and they’d taken their share of lead.

It would be impossible for him to haul his entire horde alone. He hid it under a dry riverbank and went in search of a solution while buzzards made death-circles above.

When night fell he spotted a small campfire and crept up to investigate. He found two men snoring loudly beneath the stars. They didn’t have any horses. They were malnourished and their threadbare clothes hung loosely on their bony frames.

Just a couple of men down on their luck who were hoping to collect a reward, he thought.

They would have to do.

Because they’d been drinking hard, the two sleepers didn’t wake in time to stop Maynard’s knife from slipping into their throats. Yet when they opened their eyes again they had no memory of what had happened…

CHAPTER 20

Sheriff Longhorn enlisted more men from town and now there were at least twenty of them combing the forest below Mt. Hood looking for Maynard, driving him up closer to timberline where the forest became short and sparse.

Maynard traveled mostly by night, choosing to hide deep within caves during the day. On a chilly afternoon three boys discovered the entrance to a cave he was hiding in. The wind had picked up, and the fresh boughs he’d placed in front of it had blown over. Even from deep inside the cave, Maynard could hear the boys’ quick breaths as they checked and loaded their weapons. He decided to keep still, hoping they’d eventually lose interest and leave. If not, he’d have but one choice to make.

Outside in the cold wind, the boys’ faces were flushed with excitement. For some time they’d been calling for Maynard to surrender and come out with his hands raised.

“If that ain’t where he’s hiding, boys, I’m a horse’s ass,” said Phil, the oldest of the three.

“But he’s not surrendered,” replied Sam.

The youngest of the three, a pudgy seventeen-year-old named Rudy, spit a thick flow of tobacco juice next to the cave. “Then maybe he thinks he can just wait us out. Either that or he’s in there dying. You’re talking a hundred dollars for each of us. We’re going to be rich!”

“So who is going inside to get him?” asked Sam, who’d been peer-pressured into joining the search. He preferred to experience his adventures from books. And the stories he’d overheard about Maynard’s long string of victims had given him terrible nightmares. The sooner he got home to the safety of his warm bed, the better.

No one spoke for some time. Then Rudy spat on the ground again before glaring at his friends in mild disgust.

“Hell, I’ll do it, you pussies. But each of you is going to have to cough up twenty-five dollars of your reward.”

The other two didn’t argue. Seventy-five dollars was still a fortune as far as they were concerned.

“Maybe we should just smoke him out,” offered Phil. “We could build a little fire, you know. Put a bunch of stinky green twigs on it. It would be much safer than going inside after him.”

“That would take too long,” Rudy replied. “Besides, some of the other searchers might notice the smoke and come running. Then we’d have to split up the reward some more, which I don’t intend to do. Now one of you fire up a lantern, because I’m going in to get this son of a bitch.”

Rudy checked his pistol again to make sure it was fully loaded. Phil passed him his flask of stolen whiskey and he took a long drink to warm his bones and give him courage. Sam handed him the kerosene lantern. A rope was tied to Rudy’s ankle so as to help him if he got lost or if they needed to pull Maynard out of the cave.

“Okay boys, I’ll let you know if I get into any trouble. I’ll kill him if I have too. However it goes, I want you to be ready with the rope if I happen to need it. One shake means I’m lost and need help, two shakes means you’re going to be pulling out Maynard, dead or alive.”

Rudy’s companions nodded grimly. They were still overwhelmed by their companion’s bravado. It wasn’t merely blind foolishness that made Rudy so different from other boys his own age. He’d killed his first man when he was only twelve, after a drifter who’d greatly underestimated the boy decided to break into his home while his father was in town getting a leg put in a cast and his mother lay in bed with one of her debilitating headaches.

“Wish me luck,” he told them before he flopped down on his belly and crawled forward, the lantern in one hand and his pistol in the other. His companions watched as he slid through the small opening until his boots disappeared.

“Shit Phil, he’s actually done it,” said Sam.

“Better him than me,” Phil grinned. “The boy is plain crazy in the head.”

They both knelt down close to the entrance and watched Rudy’s lantern edge further back into the cave while the oily rope tickled their palms.

****

It took Rudy’s eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness. He didn’t have to slide on his stomach for very long before he was able to stand on his feet. Carrying the lantern in one hand and his pistol in the other, he stepped forward.

“I know you’re in here, Charlie Maynard,” he said in deepest voice he could muster, “You’re surrounded, and you might as well give up before I shoot you, because I don’t give a damn either way.”

Rudy’s threat didn’t echo up through the cave as he’d hoped, but quickly deadened against the rock walls painted with bat guano. He stood still for a moment and listened hard for any sign of Maynard. On the moist dirt floor he noticed a fresh set of boot prints filled with foul-smelling water. He followed the tracks with his eyes until they ended near an archway were a lone figure stood watching him.

The boy gasped, took a few steps backwards and cocked his pistol.

“I see you, Maynard! Put your hands in the air if you know what’s good for you.”

Maynard raised his hands without a word and moved forward. Rudy couldn’t believe his eyes. The killer was taller than he’d imagined him, and his long shadow jackknifed against the rock wall behind him.

Suddenly the rope tied around Rudy’s ankle jerked to life, almost pulling him over before he dug his heels deep into the muck to steady himself.

What the hell were those damn fools outside doing now? I haven’t given them the signal yet!

Although it was normal for Rudy to think about what kind of punishment to deliver to his friends when things of this nature occurred, he managed to bottle it up for later. At the moment he had himself a big fish to catch. Charlie Maynard, the most wanted man in the West! Rudy was looking forward to becoming famous…

“You’re close enough,” he said. He threw Maynard a small length of rope. “Now tie your hands together real good. And don’t try cheating because I’m going to check your work.”

A crooked smile spread across Maynard’s face as he picked up the rope and began to wind it around his wrists. His eyes remained fixed on Rudy’s ankle, where the rope had sprung to life again and tugged violently. Fuming, Rudy set the lantern down on the ground and gave the rope a sharp pull while still keeping his pistol leveled on Maynard. Distracted, he’d forgotten his own pre-agreed signals. When the rope answered with another series of tugs, Rudy fumbled for his knife to cut himself free. It was at that instant when Maynard sprang at him and Rudy swung his pistol and fired.

Maynard shifted sideways and the bullet whizzed past his head and struck rock. Then suddenly he pitched forward and began clutching at his shoulder and cursing.

Rudy couldn’t believe his good fortune. The bullet had ricochet off the wall and hit Maynard! The injured man continued to lurch toward him and he took aim once again.

“Stop where you are mister or I’m going to put this one right in your heart.”

“It’s over little man,” Maynard hissed through gritted teeth.

Rudy smiled back at him. “Dead or Alive” the poster in town had read. There wasn’t a question now of what he should do. He wasn’t afraid of killing a man if he needed to. He aimed the pistol at Maynard’s chest when the rope around his ankle suddenly jerked him off his feet and sent him flying onto his back. He struck his head on a rock and cried out. The rope began to pull him away, and he tried to find a place to anchor his hands but the rock was too slippery. Skidding fast across the mud, he headed for the mouth of the cave.

“Sam! Phil! Stop pulling the fucking rope!” he screamed.

He popped out of the cave like a champagne cork and was knocked out when his head struck a tree trunk.

****

When Rudy came to again he lay still for a long time. He tried to remember where he was. He’d had the strangest experience. He’d felt his mind soaring away from his body, and when he got as high as the mountain tops he’d willed it to come back. Something tickled his nose, and when he opened his eyes he saw thousands of downy snowflakes descending toward him. As he watched the snowflakes, he noticed they also had bits of red in them, like blood.

He sat up and turned to look at the large dead spruce leaning out over the mouth of the cave as if it were the skeleton of some mythical beast. On two separate limbs he saw Phil and Sam. At first he thought they were just fooling around and he almost cussed at them until he saw the reason they floated in the air like they did. His posse had been skewered through by the dead tree’s branches… As the wind blew down the mountain, their corpses bobbed in the air like meat about to be roasted over a fire. Blood strayed from their mouths and down over the jutting ends of the branches and mingled with the falling snow.

Rudy bit his lip and looked away. He tried to stand, but his legs felt broken. He heard a movement behind him and slid around to see what it was. Maynard stepped outside the cave and stood below the tree for a long time, catching the snow on his tongue. Rudy struggled to say something and only choked. Maynard turned his head and smiled. He lifted Rudy’s pistol and waved it.

“Thanks for the piece, boy.”

“Give that back,” Rudy mumbled. “It belongs to my Daddy.”

Maynard ignored him and began to walk away, the shoulder were he’d been winged by Rudy’s shot stiffening at an odd angle. From what Rudy could tell, the man was hurt pretty bad. It would be difficult for someone in Maynard’s shape to get far in this weather. He only wished he could alert others about what was happening.

They’ll see his blood on the snow and track him down. He doesn’t have a chance in hell…

He watched as Maynard stopped several yards away and turned to laugh at him. That’s when Rudy noticed the dark shapes drop the rope attached to his ankle and move toward him. The snow seemed to melt as they floated forward. Rudy was confused. Had another posse come for his rescue? Why weren’t they shouting at Maynard, or filling him with bullets?

Rudy couldn’t make out their faces beneath the brims of their hats. They reminded him of the long-bearded prospectors he’d seen pass through town. Half-starved men dressed in rags. Except these two smelled strongly of death.

“Who are you?” Rudy asked.

They seemed not to hear him. They slowly lifted Rudy in the air and carried him toward the tree where his dead friends stared down at him.

“Stop! What do you want? Can’t you see that Maynard is getting away?”

He tried to squirm free from their grasp but it was of no use. The more he struggled, the deeper their long yellow nails sank into his flesh.

Rudy soon spotted the branch they’d readied for him and began to scream.

After they were finished, the two figures picked up their satchels of stolen gold and followed Maynard’s footprints in the deepening snow.

CHAPTER 21

It wasn’t until the following morning that the bounty hunters managed to chase Maynard up into one of the mountain glaciers. Sheriff Longhorn had been close enough by to join the small party of men. They had Maynard backed up next to a crevasse in the sloping field of ice.

By afternoon they’d managed to once again exhaust Maynard’s ammo supply, yet they knew this was the least of their worries. They’d seen the trail of mutilated bodies Maynard had left behind. No ordinary man could have done what they’d witnessed, unless he was the very devil himself.

The stories they’d heard from the few survivors no longer sounded like the talk of men who’d lost their minds. Nearly everyone who’d gotten close to Maynard saw his twin demons, in a variety of forms.

Surrounded by several men with their rifles trained on Maynard, Longhorn shouted at the killer to give himself up. Moving together as one, the men stepped closer until they could see Maynard’s face.

“Give your self up,” shouted Longhorn. “There’s no way out this time.”

Maynard spoke to the two pale men standing next to him. They were unarmed and loaded down with heavy satchels and burlap sacks of gold. Longhorn couldn’t understand how the rail-thin men could possibly have the strength to carry all that weight. The longer he watched the more he became convinced that something wasn’t right. Then Hicks said their necks were slit and handed him a glass and he’d almost dropped it after he looked.

They weren’t ordinary men, that’s for sure. Unless you think a dead man that moves is something ordinary…

After the two corpses tossed the gold next to Maynard’s feet, they turned and charged Longhorn and the others. It took more rounds than the bounty hunters had expected to bring them down and even then they continued to crawl toward them across the snow until their heads had been blown off their necks.

Maynard had watched silently. Then he dumped the horde into the dark fissure behind him and grinned as the bounty hunters scowled in disbelief.

“You cannot kill me,” he shouted. He backed up to the lip of the crevasse with a loaded saddlebag slung over his shoulder, opened his arms wide and fell backwards into the crevasse.

Those who witnessed his fall claimed to have seen shadows rise from the slain men rush to join their master.

A search was conducted afterwards, but neither Maynard nor the gold was ever found. Satisfied the devil must have fallen all the way back to hell, Longhorn and the others returned home to bury their dead.

A peace settled over Wrath Butte for the next several years. Longhorn retired and was replaced by Sheriff Underwood. For Underwood, the relative peace of Wrath Butte didn’t completely unravel again until after Jared Horn began selling his carving pictures. Had the elders in town been aware that Horn was spending time up in the glacier, they might have warned others of the danger.

CHAPTER 22

Although he sometimes freaked even himself out by what he was capable of doing, Walker Marsh was having a hell of a good time. Riding the razor’s edge was the way he always preferred it, and it had been such a long time since he’d experienced the thrill, even with strings attached. As a soldier in Vietnam, he’d had the opportunity to develop a particular taste for things he could only experience with great difficulty back home. The jungle, however, had afforded him much greater cover, until the day when Marsh’s commanding officer discovered what he was doing, leaving Marsh with no choice but to kill the man while he slept.

Unlike his fellow vets, Marsh never had any dreams to pursue when he stepped off the plane in San Francisco on a sunny afternoon and was greeted by a crowd who spat and screamed at him for killing babies. By the mid-seventies he took overseas mercenary work until mental health problems began to interfere with future job prospects. He’d never imagined the day when the shadowy people who hired mercenaries would suddenly become so picky. Afterwards, he found himself taking on the driving and bodyguard duties for a network of very wealthy and paranoid men, and it was during this time in Walker’s life that he wisely chose to shed his mercenary identity like an old skin. Replacing the military jargon that had flowed off his tongue naturally for so many years, he tried his best to sound like the loyal servant his employers expected. The severe mood swings had lessened, and what fear people still had of him actually worked in his favor. Walker lasted at the job for almost seven years, until he discovered one day that his employers were planning to make him take the rap for a double murder one of them had committed during a drunken rage at a hotel in Miami, forcing him to run with nothing more than five hundred dollars cash and the clothes on his back.

With a limited number of places to go, he returned to Wrath Butte. He’d been smart not to tell his employers where he was from, knowing all too well that he might pay for the mistake later. He found what work he could, which usually consisted of kissing tourist ass to some degree or another. For years Walker had lived in a shabby apartment above Wrath Butte Drug and Liquor, where he’d spend hours sitting next to the blinds watching people come and go on the street below unless he was pulling a miserable janitorial shift up at the ski lodge.

He felt like an old wolf who’d been locked up at the pound, counting the days before his adoption period was over, listening for the people who would eventually come to give him his permanent sleep shot.

And then his life shifted into another direction. With adoption papers in hand, Fate had intervened, springing him loose from a prison of inertia.

****

When he inherited the Horn homestead from his aunt, Marsh was not exactly overjoyed. In fact he would have burned it to the ground if there’d been any money in it, for the place was about as worthless as the hardscrabble ground it stood upon. If it were closer to town it might have been considered an eyesore, but you had to drive several miles up an unpleasant washboard road to get to it. The only thing the property had going for it was its privacy, for there wasn’t a single home within miles.

During the years before Marsh took possession of the house, teenagers frequently used it for drinking parties. One summer a cheerleader’s half nude body was found hanging from the giant cottonwood tree that slouched next to it, and despite the efforts of the local police, the mystery surrounding her death was never solved. To further add to Wrath Butte’s tragic news, a teenage boy who’d attended the party the same night later committed suicide.

Bending under pressure from the local authorities, Marsh’s aunt had the house boarded up and put in a barbed wire fence to keep people out. She placed the house up for sale, but received no offers. It stood untouched for almost a decade longer before it fell into Walker’s hands.

Depressed one day after being fired from yet another dead-end job, Walker cashed his final paycheck and bought a bottle of Old Crow and a brand new sledgehammer before driving out to his inheritance. It was a scorching hot afternoon, and by the time he’d finished half the bottle of whiskey he was stripped down to his underwear and running through the house, smashing walls and cursing at the world for screwing him over once more.

“How long are you going to make me pay?” He screamed at the indifferent blue sky through a shattered window. He was certain his thirty years of bad luck were due to his transgressions in Vietnam.

The last thing Walker Marsh expected to happen was to have the floor give way below him...

A few hours later, he came to again and found himself sprawled out beside the skeletal remains of Sheriff Underwood. Marsh had broken his back.

For the next two days before his rescue, Marsh watched the cyclic rise and fall of the sun through the mesh of cracks running between the floorboards and the bare slats of the roof above. On the first night a smoky figure rose from another pile of bones from across the room, bones that had apparently washed under the house long ago. The figure eventually settled down next to him. It didn’t scare him to keep the company of a ghost, for there were plenty of dead boys from his old Nam unit who would pay him visits, including his commanding officer, as well as scores of Vietnamese villagers who’d been unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Walker couldn’t touch the ghost down here like he still sometimes could with the women he’d raped and murdered. Perhaps their memories were imprinted in his flesh somehow and that’s what made the difference. After awhile he began to wonder if the thing down in the hole with him was even a ghost at all.

When he awoke in the hospital, it felt as if he was sharing his skull with a new tenant. The way the man spoke reminded Marsh of the westerns he watched on television. His name was Jared Horn, and he promised Marsh protection, as well as a fortune in gold if he chose to cooperate.

Choice, Marsh had thought bitterly on many occasions. When someone tells you they want you to make one, you better damn hope they aren’t sharing skull-space with you.

****

Lately Horn had been quiet and let Marsh get on with his work. Putting together a team wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Within a month he was joined by four men he’d met over the years, men who were much like him in having at one time developed a thirst for violence that had gone unquenched for some time. Stick was the only one he hadn’t known before. He’d found him standing next to a freeway on-ramp holding a pathetic cardboard sign saying he’d work for food.

From the reports he was getting from the other guys, Stick was looking more like a liability than an asset to the team. He’d already been caught twice trying to escape from the farm and had been beaten severely. Unfortunately for the highway panhandler, he’d seen too much to be simply released back to his life on the highway. No, Stick was scheduled to disappear in a shallow desert grave, once Marsh decided he no longer had a use for him.

Tonight things were finally set to come together. Mr. Crain’s next confrontation was already arranged. Same as last time, Marsh’s boys would keep him informed on how things were going and take care of any loose ends, if necessary. Marsh hoped for a cleaner resolution than the night before. Until then, it was just him and Stick who were left watching the trailers.

Crain was a lucky man, Marsh thought. His wife was a fine-looking piece of tail, one yummy mommy. Marsh sat back in his chair and poured another generous helping of Old Crow. After he downed the glass, he parted the dirty curtains and stared out at the remaining two trailers. His mind flashed on the one they’d removed at sunrise. He remembered how the trailer’s chrome roof sparkled for several minutes while it zigzagged down on its long journey to the black-green bottom of a water-filled rock quarry.

He wondered which trailer would be gone in the next dawn to come…

CHAPTER 23

Before Robert left his house, he called Will’s answering machine and read off Nolan’s driver’s license number.

“Here’s the bone you’ve been asking for. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s connected somehow to the crackheads that attacked me...”

If anything were to happen to him tonight, at least Will would have something to give to the police. And although it seemed highly unlikely, there might still be enough time for them to find Peggy and Connor.

Nolan’s death was all over the local news but so far the authorities hadn’t released his name to the press. They hadn’t had any luck notifying his family because they were still looking for them.

Nugget insisted on riding with Robert in the truck. Before he’d even had a chance to stop her, she dove into the cab and refused to listen to his commands for her to get out. When he tried grabbing her by the collar she growled and stared up at him defiantly. He’d never seen her do that before.

“Okay girl, you win,” he said letting go, “But you have to stay inside and wait. There’s no way I’m going to let you come with me.”

It was a bad idea to leave her in the truck, he realized. What if he didn’t make it back? He decided to leave another voicemail with Will and tell him where to find the truck. At least when Will got off his shift later tonight he’d hear it.

If you’re still alive you’re going to have to tell him everything. You owe him that much…

He glanced over at Nugget. She was calmly licking a paw.

“I’m glad you wanted to come, Nug. You’re all I’ve got right now.”

He patted her head and started the truck.

After he stopped at the Shell and filled the tank, he got onto the westbound freeway. He was on his way to his next appointment with a stranger. This time it would be at a tunnel, located in an area people had no good reason to visit.

****

Railroad tracks ran next to the gray river before entering Portland. Drivers on the road above never saw the tracks through the thick woods. Only those who happened to be stopped at a red light with their windows rolled down would hear the trains when they moved past. Robert knew of the tracks only because he and Will had once been salmon fishing on the river. A train had emerged from behind the trees and thundered briefly beside the slag-heaped shore, startling away any fish they may have had hopes of catching.

It was treacherous hiking through the choking undergrowth, and once Robert almost went over the edge of a cliff when his foot slipped on a moss-covered log. For a while he could hear Nugget barking back in the truck. He made several switchbacks on a narrow deer trail before finally reaching the bottom.

He couldn’t believe he was going through with this.

But what choice did he have?

****

The mouth of the tunnel was completely black. Robert stared at it while a man in a ski mask frisked him for weapons. He imagined that on the other side the same thing was happening to a stranger who was also probably staring into the tunnel entrance, wondering if he too was going in there to die.

“He’s clean,” Ski Mask yelled to a man standing beneath a tree with a rifle trained on him. The man looked green in the full moon.

“Give him the pics then,” Green Man said, lighting a cigarette.

Ski Mask tossed Robert a cell phone and walked away. Robert picked it up and looked at the glowing display screen. A digital slide show was in progress…

Oh no…

Robert’s heart slammed against his ribs, bringing him to his knees. He stared at the images in disbelief. Pictures of his family slaughtered. Blood everywhere.

Tremors ran up his spine and caused him to shake. He held his breath and tightened his fists. He stood up and sprinted toward the two men watching him.

“You killed them!”

Green Man dropped his smoke and crushed it with his boot. “Stay back Crain, because I will not hesitate to shoot.”

“Go ahead asshole,” Robert cursed. He continued to rush toward them, and when he got too close the man struck him in the stomach with his rifle butt.

Robert stumbled back and sucked for air. Hot wires spread from the point of impact in his gut.

“Don’t be a dumb shit,” Green Man said, “It wasn’t us who did it, but the son of a bitch you’ve got a date with tonight.”

“Which means you best screw your head back on and go find him,” added Ski Mask. “A mad dog like that needs to be put down.”

They’re lying, Robert thought.

He bent down and took up the phone again in his hand.

What he saw was less real this time… Something about their expressions told him they were still alive. Having been face to face with the dead before, he knew all too well what the Reaper stole from the living...

The pictures were just more of Walker’s sick humor. But his message was clear: If you don’t play with us, we can do this to your family. And probably a hell of a lot worse…

“This is a trick,” Robert said, “You’re just doing this so I’ll want to kill this man. It’s the same thing you did to Nolan.”

“Hey, this one’s smart,” said Ski Mask to his partner. “I told you fat boy wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. He must have told him we said we were cops.”

“I don’t give a damn what this one thinks,” Green Man said, lighting another cigarette. “So long as someone dies in the tunnel tonight, our work here will be done. I guess it all depends on who wants their family the most… You want to see your pretty wife again Mr. Crain?”

Seething, Robert backed away, wishing he’d been able to come earlier so he could have hidden a weapon. He stared at the two men. More than anything he wished he could see their bodies squirt obscene amounts of blood, watch as they hopelessly struggled to stop the flow...

Ski Mask tapped his watch. “You ought to get going, Crain. Your buddy has already been in there for nearly two minutes.”

Robert turned and ran down the railroad tracks toward the black mouth in the side of the hill. He had to assume his family was still alive.

“Meet us back on this side, Crain,” a voice shouted behind him, “If you survive that is.”

The men cackled with laughter.

CHAPTER 24

Less then three strides inside the tunnel, Robert tripped on the rail and skinned his knees on gravel. He pulled himself up and slowly walked forward, his ears straining to pick out any sounds other than his own.

Moving through the dark with outstretched hands, he inhaled the earthy smell of the cave, reminding him of when he spent time in the garden with Peggy and Connor. No one had taught him how to grow things before. Not from a bag of seeds. His favorite ones were the giant sunflowers. Their backyard had a forest of them in the summer.

He could see no better than a blind man, and yet the light depravation caused his brain to grow impatient and it began to project shrouds of brown and deep red to float around the cave.

This is stupid, he thought. Instead of listening he was trying to use his eyes. Rather than being more cautious, he was throwing one foot out after another in some kind of reckless march toward death’s arms…

Then he heard the distinct crunch of gravel and froze in mid-step.

Someone was coming toward him. Was he a killer, or just another unfortunate player in Walker’s game? Even if he hadn’t done anything to Robert’s family, it was dangerous to presume he wouldn’t do what was needed to save his own.

The sound of the man’s footfalls became rhythmic, and for a moment Robert concentrated on what clues they might reveal.

The man was taller than him, that much he could tell. And perhaps a good deal more muscular. He was favoring one leg over the other, but not enough to cause his foot to drag.

Instead of staying in the middle of the tracks, Robert moved over and crouched next to the wall and waited for the man to get closer. He reached down and felt for an anvil shaped rock he could fit comfortably in his hand. After sampling a variety of useless ones, he finally found one that would have to do. If he could swing down quickly enough without losing his grip, he just might be able to deliver a fatal blow.

As soon as he was close enough for Robert to hear him breathe, the man stopped. Robert tossed a few small stones out near the man. To his dismay, the man didn’t walk forward to investigate the sound. It was a stupid idea anyway, and Robert wished he’d remained quiet.

“We need to talk,” a voice said.

“Talk all you want, but I’m the one who is walking out of here alive tonight.”

“Is that right? What makes you so sure?”

The invisible man’s cockiness took Robert by surprise. Yet he could detect a tremble in the stranger’s voice, a rapid pulse caught in the back of the throat. Robert felt forced to up the ante with the truth.

“Because I’ve had to kill before, that’s why. And I bet you haven’t.”

Water dripped and echoed through the tunnel as they stood in the dark, waiting for the next bodiless voice to say something.

“Tell me why we’re doing this,” the man finally said, his tone turning milder. “You strike me as someone who can be reasonable when he wants to be.”

Robert thought about how important it was to be able to see someone’s face to know if they were lying to you. He felt the heft of the cool rock in his hand, imagined its pointed end sinking into the man’s skull. It would be hard to know when the job was finished…

“They showed me pictures of what they say you did to them,” Robert said, “But to tell you the truth, I don’t believe it.”

“What pictures are you talking about?”

“Of my family… all cut up.”

The man gasped. When he spoke again the tremor in his voice worsened.

“I swear I haven’t hurt anyone. I’m only trying to get my family back too. You’ve got to believe me. For three nights now they’ve been gone. Walker says I won’t get them back until I kill you.”

“And is that what you planned to do? Kill me?”

“Hell no! I’m not falling for his bullshit. He’s just messing with our heads, hoping we’ll get desperate. I was praying I could convince you we shouldn’t do this.”

“What’s your name?”

“Steven Westlake… Yours?”

“Crain… Robert Crain. I think I’ve heard of you. Doesn’t your family own a golf course up near Wrath Butte?”

“Yes...”

Both men exhaled loudly. They were jittery and afraid. What was the chance they would know each other? Did it mean anything? Maybe there was still an opportunity to diffuse the tension before someone got hurt. Or maybe it was too late. The pitch black of the tunnel played hell on their nerves…

“I remember hearing a story about a great uncle of mine,” Robert said. “That he’d lost property in Wrath Butte while playing poker.”

“He must have been talking about the old Jared Horn homestead. But other than that miserable place, the rest of his parcels have always stayed in my family.”

Jared Horn? Robert seemed to recall hearing the name mentioned before, but it was so far in the past. And although he couldn’t see Westlake’s face, he was struck with the feeling they’d once met before. He’d had the same feeling when he’d first encountered Nolan.

Was there a connection?

Robert dove into his memory and took a look around, stirring up dust. He felt a prickle of recollection cause goose bumps to rise down his neck and arms. He’d found what he was looking for.

“You said Jared Horn, right?”

“Yes. He’s my great grandfather.”

“He’s also my great grandfather.”

“No shit?”

“I once saw his headstone when I was a kid. There was a big family reunion in Wrath Butte. Anyway, I remember getting really bored. It was hot and I got in trouble for taking off my shirt and running off with some other boys to play out in the desert. We were catching lizards.”

“I think I was one of those kids. Didn’t we put lizards on their backs and rub their stomachs until they fell asleep, then see how many we could line up side by side before they woke up and ran away?”

“You and the other boys were fast at it too. I could never get more than two at a time to stay down.”

“I seem to remember when your dad came and found you. He was really mad.”

“Yep, sounds like my pop.”

“So do you still believe I’m going to try and kill you? We are great cousins after all…”

“I think we’re good,” Robert said. He dropped the rock from his hand and it struck the ground with a thud. It might have been a bad idea, but his gut told him he could trust the man. A moment afterward Steven let go of the weapon he’d been carrying. The loud impact caused Robert to flinch.

“Jesus Westlake, what the hell was that?”

“Part of a rail, I guess. I was lucky to stumble on it.”

They stood silent in the darkness, each listening to how the other breathed. The sharing was so basic, and yet it spoke volumes.

“They’re going to want a body,” Robert said after some time had passed. And he was right too. Any minute Walker’s boys might grow impatient and decide to come and see what was going on.

“I know.” Steven said. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

CHAPTER 25

Peggy wiped away the blood the best she could. She plunged the towel back into the sink again and rinsed it out. Connor took the towel from her hand and dabbed her scalp and ears.

“Gee mom, this stuff is really sticky.”

“That’s because there’s a lot of syrup in it.”

Connor stopped and looked at her. “Like the kind we put on pancakes?”

“Not this kind. This is called Karo syrup. It’s the main ingredient in fake blood.”

“Oh.”

“Are you almost finished?” she asked.

“I think so. But I don’t know what you’re going to do about your hair. I can still see spots you missed after you rinsed in the sink.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s not like we’re going out for dinner tonight.”

Connor set the towel down and frowned. “Why did that bad man want us to pretend we were dead?”

“I’m not sure Connor. But I think he wanted to take those pictures of us so he could scare Daddy.”

“Why does he want to scare Daddy?”

“I wish I knew, baby.”

Connor wiped some fresh tears from his eyes.

“Do you think Dad is going to think they’re real? Do you think he’s going to be sad?

Peggy sat quiet for a while. She could only imagine what kinds of emotions her husband must be going through. They were putting him through absolute hell.

She’d never felt so degraded in her entire life. Having Marsh make them pose for the kind of pictures he wanted revealed what a diseased mind the man had. It was beyond anything she could have imagined. But she told herself to hold it in and not to cry. She couldn’t let Connor see she was being turned inside out, even as Walker laughed maniacally behind the camera.

“Daddy won’t believe them,” she said while combing back Connor’s hair with her hand. “Because he knows we’re still alive.”

“How?”

“He can still feel us still next to his heart. Just like we know he’s out there looking for us.”

Peggy had figured out what they’d done to the occupants of the trailer the night before. As she and Connor were led to the tent for the photo shoot, she’d noticed the hoses and gas tanks outside of the trailers.

They’d tried to kill them in their sleep. But it didn’t quite work. Someone had woken up and smelled the gas and tried to get out.

From listening to Marsh and the others talk, it sounded like the same thing was going to happen again tonight, and she had to get prepared. She’d come up with some ideas of how to escape. Impossible perhaps, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

The four guards had left in the van several hours ago. If they were gone as long as they were the night before, then just maybe there was a sliver of hope.

Peggy bent over with the screwdriver and continued to pry away the paneling from the trailer door while Connor kept watch through a slit in the window.

CHAPTER 26

As soon as Robert walked out of the tunnel, four men stepped onto the tracks and surrounded him, some with weapons drawn. He assumed the two he didn’t recognize had been with Steven. In the moonlight he could tell the group had been listening to Steven’s dying cries coming from back under the hill. Aside from the one who wore a ski mask, he saw in their faces a kind of grim amusement, like the men he’d seen watching a dogfight in a Tijuana warehouse.

“I bet them you wouldn’t make it,” Green Man said. “Now I wish I hadn’t.”

“Shitty luck I guess,” Robert said.

“What did you use to kill him?” asked one of the men he didn’t know.

Robert shrugged. “I got him in the face with a rock, then after that I broke his neck across the track… So when do I get to see my family?”

“Slow down, big boy,” said Ski Mask. “We’re going to need to make sure Westlake is not alive. About how far in did you leave him?”

“He’s less than halfway in from this side. You can’t miss him.”

“Let’s go then,” Green Man said. “We need to wrap this thing up and get the hell out of here.” Followed by one of the men who’d been with Steven earlier, Green Man took off down the tracks. Before they entered the mouth of the cave they turned on flashlights. Moths darted in front of them, scattering pinhead shadows on the tunnel walls.

“Can I have some water?” Robert asked.

Ski Mask ordered Robert to sit on the ground. The man next to him tried to hand Robert a bottle of water but Ski Mask knocked it from his hand. The bottle few over the tracks and rolled under a wall of blackberry vines.

“What are you doing Gomez?” Ski Mask yelled.

“He only wanted some water.”

“He doesn’t get shit unless I say so.”

“Well you don’t have to be a prick about it.”

A train wailed in the distance, too far away for them to be able to hear it pass over the tracks. Its eerie voice softened to a whisper as the train moved behind a faraway hill. As soon as the train wound around a bend in the track, the horn returned more throaty and louder than before.

“Do you suppose it’s headed our way?” Gomez asked.

Ski Mask grimaced through his mouth hole. “How should I know? I’m not the one who checked this place out.” He jabbed a finger toward the tunnel. “It was those two who’ve been here before.”

They watched the silhouettes of the men moving deeper inside. Their flashlight beams continued to grow smaller, until they appeared to merge into a single clot of white light. The train howled once again, and this time it was much closer. It was possible the two in the cave may not have heard it.

“I think we better warn them,” Gomez said.

“Don’t worry. They’ll be turning back soon.”

While they focused on the ball of light inside the cave, neither man noticed the dark figure moving down the side of the hill. Robert held his breath, hoping Steven would be able to pick up his pace once he reached the bottom and make his way across the ridge of tall grass before the men in the cave got suspicious.

I should have been the one to go over, he thought. Although his leg had swollen considerably since he’d fallen on the tracks, he wasn’t totally convinced Steven was in better shape. But Steven had insisted on going, and wouldn’t hear otherwise.

Robert rolled onto his side and clutched his stomach. The two men stared down at him.

“What’s you’re problem, Crain?” asked Ski Mask.

“Think I might have ruptured something during the fight,” Robert said, wincing in agony, “My gut’s killing me.”

“Can I give him water, now?” Gomez asked.

Ski Mask shook his head. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t give water to someone who thinks they might have busted….”

Steven was fast. He brought the iron bar down on top of Ski Mask’s head in a high clean arc. The pressure of the blow caused one of the man’s eyes to burst from an eye slit and roll stickily down his black polyester-blend mask. As he collapsed to the ground, he managed to squeeze off a single shot from his rifle, spitting mud in all directions.

Robert and Gomez rolled down the middle of the tracks, each one trying to grip the other by the throat. Gomez pulled a knife from his boot and raked Robert across the thigh. Robert growled and knocked the knife from Gomez’s hand as it swung at Robert’s chest. Having disarmed him, Robert forced Gomez over onto his stomach and drove his knee into his lower back. Gomez let out a piercing scream. Robert gripped him by the hair and drove his face into the track, instantly shattering teeth and jaw against the steel rail.

Gomez went limp. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth and pooled on the gravel next to the track.

Robert looked away, struggling to catch his breath. He examined the burning slash on his hip and decided it was mostly superficial. He might be able to get by for a while before having to bandage it. An icy rage coursed freely through his heart, feeding every starved cell of his body. He was certain this was only the beginning of things to come. He was as terrified of himself as the uncertainties that lay ahead.

“We’ve got to get going, Robert. The other two are on their way back.”

Robert looked up and saw Steven’s hand reaching down to him. He noticed there was blood drying in the grooves his palm, what some believed to be the map of one’s life. Once the madness was over, he hoped they’d both get back soon to enjoying to their own lives. He stuck out his hand and was pulled to his feet.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steven asked.

“I think so.”

Robert glanced back at the tunnel and saw the two men running toward them, shouting things that turned to echoed garble inside the tunnel. He picked up a pistol from one of the dead men and they turned and ran.

The night air was split with a series of harsh whistles. They heard the train rumble across the tracks.

CHAPTER 27

The paneling and insulation was off the door. Peggy worked quickly, finding the screw heads that attached the door lock and outside handle. Some were slightly rusted and wouldn’t turn. She had Connor rub some butter on them they’d saved from earlier. Stick had thoughtfully provided them salt and butter to go with tonight’s corn on the cob.

“I’m almost done, baby. Can you see anything?”

Connor was back at his post next to the window.

“They’re still inside, mom. Stick came out to turn on the skeeter zapper, but he went back in.”

“Any sign of the van?”

“Nope.”

As she released the final screw, the handle popped off and thudded against the ground outside. Peggy held her breath and prayed she wouldn’t hear the squeal of the screen door as someone came out of the house to investigate.

Other than the shrill chorus of cicadas, it was quiet.

She slipped out first to have a look before allowing Connor to follow. She told him to hide next to the other trailer until she finished doing what needed to be done. Carefully, she positioned the door handle onto the door with the aid of some nails she’d covered earlier with tar. It held. Before she shut the door, she stretched a line from the gas stove and connected it to the door. All this time she could hear the disassembled oven timer ticking away, reminding her to hurry.

It was almost like another final exam, except this time she was building a bomb instead of diffusing one.

Almost have this one in the bag. God I hope they don’t come out to check on us. Not until I’m finished...

Peggy crept around to the back of the trailer, mindful of the thick power cords and other hazards threatening to trip her. When she made it to the other side, she found the tank of propane gas and hooked it up to a pipe that fed into the trailer. She turned the handle on the tank and heard it hiss.

If the front door of the trailer was opened again, the pilot light would come on and ignite the gas, making Marsh go bye-bye.

That is if everything worked out the way it was suppose to...

Connor was waiting where she’d asked him to. She grabbed the set of keys off the post next to the guard’s tent and unlocked the other trailer. After removing the chain as quietly as she could, she turned the handle and cracked open the door.

No one was waiting for them.

She stepped inside with Connor next to her and together they scanned the trailer with their eyes. Cowering in a corner she saw a woman and a small girl about Connor’s age.

“Come on! We need to get out of here before it’s too late.”

The woman stared up at her, confused by what Peggy was saying.

“But they’re watching us. They’ll kill us if we try to escape.”

“And they’re going to kill us if we don’t,” said Peggy.

A screen door flew open with a cry and shuddered against the house. Peggy heard feet scuffling across the wooden porch. She grabbed Connor by the hand and headed out of the trailer.

“We’re leaving… Decide now if you want to live or not.”

CHAPTER 28

Green Man and his partner were catching up. Robert could hear the hiss of air in their throats and the sharp crush of gravel as they ran. His thigh stung horribly now and blood had soaked all the way through his jeans.

They slowed down as they approached the train trestle, hoping to spot a trail that would allow them to get off the tracks into the surrounding woods. But there wasn’t any such trail through the thick wall of bramble and the higher ridge above the tracks looked steep and muddy.

The train whistled behind them, its beam illuminating the far end of the tunnel.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Steven asked.

“I don’t see any other way.”

The ground exploded between them, cutting their arms with gravel shrapnel. Robert spun around and returned fire, but the shooters ducked behind a steel utility box.

Their decision had been made for them. They’d have to get across the trestle and hope for the best…

They leaped forward onto the cross beams, taking care where they stepped so their feet did not fall through the wide empty spaces in between. It was impossible to move forward without keeping your eyes on where you stepped at all times. Once the two men found a comfortable stride, they were able to cross the tracks much faster.

Robert didn’t know how much more his hip could take. It throbbed intensely, and seemed to be freezing up.

A bullet sang past his head. He turned to see the two men standing next to the edge of the trestle. Behind them he saw the yellow gleam of the train’s headlight spilling onto the rails.

They were trapped. If they didn’t get shot first, the train was sure to run them over. Several yards ahead, he noticed a wooden platform off to the side of the trestle—a safe place they could stand as the train went past.

If there was only enough time to get there…

He heard another gunshot, and Steven let out a cry. He glanced to his side and saw Steven crouched over on the tracks, his leg jammed down between the crossbeams. Directly below him was a deep ravine of jagged rock.

“I’ve been hit!”

Robert turned around and fired back at the shooters. It was a sloppy job, but one of the men screamed and grabbed for his elbow. Robert reached down and took Steven’s hand, pulling him up until he could free his leg. Once he got him clear, he saw a ragged dark hole on the back of the man’s calf, spurting blood. The foot itself was a twisted mess.

“Come on,” Robert said, putting his arm around him. “We need to get to the platform.”

They started to take a step forward. But Steven had lost all sense of balance and swayed back and forth before Robert could steady him again.

“There’s no way this is going to work, Robert. Just leave me here with the gun. I can try and hold them off for awhile.”

“Bullshit. You’re going with me. Now try hopping on your good leg the best you can and I’ll support you from the side.”

The train roared into the tunnel. Robert looked back and saw its light rim the silhouettes of the two men with a sickening glow.

He hugged Steven to his side, and together they managed to get a few more yards before the next bullet ripped into the Steven’s back and threw him forward, taking Robert with him. Robert struck his head against the rail and tasted blood in his mouth and saw white-hot sparks behind his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that the tracks had swallowed Steven’s legs up to his hips.

He raised the pistol and fired at the two figures behind them. This time he saw one of the men collapse onto the tracks while the shadow of the other dove next to the bank…

He slid over to Steven on his stomach and touched his shoulder.

“Steven. I need to get you out of here.”

Steven’s eyes were mere slits. His skin was pale and waxy. There was blood trickling from his ears.

“Can’t move…”

Robert edged up behind him and tried to pull him up, but Steven’s body was slack and heavy. He moved around in front of him, bent over and pulled up from Steven’s hips, but he was legs were caught and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then another bullet struck Steven in the throat, almost tearing off his head.

Covered in blood and bits of Steven’s flesh, Robert rolled away, screaming. Behind him, a man squealed with laughter.

Robert got up and wiped his face with his sleeve. He headed for the platform on shaky legs.

CHAPTER 29

An orange fireball rose behind them as they ran across the farm as fast as they could. The juniper and sage clung to their legs as if conspiring to slow them down. Fortunately the woman and child were able to keep up. Peggy hadn’t been able to come up with an alternative plan if they were in no shape to do so. They would have had no choice but to leave them at the camp while they tried to find help.

Two nights ago, Peggy and Connor had both observed glimmering lights far to the west. They decided it had to be the reflections of headlights on some highway, and it was in this direction they were now headed.

Another explosion lit up the sky behind them. Could it have been the other trailer’s gas tank? For a moment Peggy lost it. She spun around and jabbed her fist in the air and screamed like a banshee, until she noticed the frightened eyes of the others staring at her, reminding her that she needed to stay focused...

She wanted to believe Marsh was blown into a thousand pieces—the son of a bitch deserved much worse, but she’d take what she could get. And yet she knew better than to believe he was dead, for belief without proof was not a very reliable survival method.

Peggy had to assume that Walker Marsh was still coming after them. The worst thing she could do now would be to let down her guard.

She hoped the fire would draw someone’s attention from a distance. Maybe someone would call 911 and report it. As they moved further down the hill, she glanced back again at the flames. She noticed the guard’s tent had also caught on fire…

CHAPTER 30

Robert jumped onto the wooden platform and immediately flattened himself against it. Despite the threat of the train close by, the man was walking across the trestle with his rifle, firing wild shots.

Splinters of wood flew around Robert’s head. Two posts eventually exploded and the dry-rotted railing toppled over the edge and crashed far below.

Completely exposed now, he gripped the metal anchors that remained fastened to some of the planks and slid over to the far end of the platform to avoid being hit. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a steel cable spanning down from the trestle. It angled across the tops of trees before disappearing into the dark.

The shooter turned to see the train coming and cursed. He shot desperately at Robert’s hands and missed. Then he turned and walked off the trestle and stood near the side to watch it pass.

I’m going to die…

When the train rolled onto the trestle, Robert saw something he couldn’t believe. A dark figure had sailed down from the bank and landed on top of the shooter. Like a spider pouncing on a bug.

The trestle shook violently. Robert felt his hands slipping on the steel anchors. He could no longer hold on. As he fell backward he reached for the cable but it was much further away than he’d judged.

So far away that it seemed like miles…

He fell through darkness, unable to do anything more about it, thinking to himself that maybe this was the way things were meant to end…

CHAPTER 31

When Marsh peeled himself up from the ground he noticed his cowboy hat lying next to him, smoldering.

His hands were red and blistered, and when he moved his eyes up his arms, he saw that all his hair had been singed off. The heat damaged wristwatch he wore said it was after midnight, suggesting he’d been out cold for at least twenty minutes.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and stared around at what was left of the trailer. An awful stench of burning tires and plastic assaulted his nose. Something weird caught his eye and he took a few steps closer before bending over to look.

It was Stick’s skinny arm, torn away from the elbow, the socket a polished ivory. Flesh bubbled on the surface of the limb like the split crust of an apple pie when it’s been in the oven too long. Marsh dug his toe beneath the limb and kicked it into the cauldron of fire still raging within the collapsed trailer.

“You’re fucking dead cunt!” he screamed at the darkness mocking him outside the glow of spitting flames.

He went inside the house and looked for his car keys, realizing how badly his skin was burned. In the bathroom he stared at his face in the mirror. His flesh looked like a crab does after you boil it—so livid red it almost glowed. Marsh bent down and rinsed his face in cool water, but it did little to help the raw hurt. The first aid kit was inside the van that had gone to Portland, so there was nothing he could put on it to give himself some relief.

He went and checked to see if he had any phone messages.

There were none.

Strange, he thought. Perhaps Crain’s final contest was dragging out longer than they had figured it would. Or maybe there’d been some complications. Bad luck always came in threes. No matter. All bets were off. Marsh was going to have to clean up this mess now and make sure the women and children disappeared before they found help.

He wasn’t too worried about them getting far. In fact, he was already enjoying the idea of hunting them down himself. The cool night was still very young. If anyone heard gunshots they’d assume he was just shooting coyotes and wish him well.

It was high time the Crain bitch got what she had coming, even if Stick was only worthless highway trash. There was nothing he hated more than a tricky woman. Oh yes, he was going to save her for last. Introduce her to a world of pain she’d never forget.

Most importantly, Marsh felt he now deserved the fortune of gold he was promised. He was getting tired of waiting, of living in the old run down house and not having any money. If he didn’t pay off his debts soon, nosy bill collectors would be showing up at the front door, creating even more problems he didn’t need.

Once I get my hands on one of those maps, it’s mine. Screw Horn and his crazy plan. I’ve got to take care of number one…

Easier said than done, Marsh thought bitterly. What the hell am I doing? How could I be so goddamn stupid?

You couldn’t exactly tell a ghost to go fuck himself, especially if he’d become part of you, had made a little home in one of the cobwebbed corners of your mind. Marsh braced himself for Horn’s angry voice to boom through his skull but nothing happened. He glanced nervously around the room. The ghost wasn’t even there to threaten him.

Bugger must be messing around somewhere else for a change...

He picked up his rifle from the kitchen table where he’d been cleaning it the night before and stuffed some extra bullets into his front pocket.

The house was quiet, except for the beat of the grandfather clock and a moth darting against the screen door.

Marsh glanced cautiously around the room, could hear his pulse beating inside his ears.

He didn’t see any ghosts. Not tonight.

But when he opened the front door to leave, an icy claw sank into his shoulder and spun him around. Marsh trembled at the sight of Horn’s face so close to his. The ghost’s eyes were like portals to another reality, a place you didn’t need to see twice to know you never wanted to go there…

Marsh tried closing his eyes but it was too late. Horn had his eyelids pinched between dark fingertips.

“You must honor the bargain we made.”

“But the women and children have escaped. They’ll find help. And then the police will come and ...”

“Damn you Marsh. Take care of them. Then bring me my rightful kin… Must I teach you another lesson about betraying me?”

Marsh’s guts twisted up into cold knots. Horn had his eyelids stretched to their limit. If the ghost wanted to he could tear them off like the wings of a fly.

I guess the gold will have to wait…

CHAPTER 32

Robert woke to a tongue licking his face. When he heard Nugget’s concerned whimpering, he opened his eyes. He lifted a hand and stroked her chin.

“Hey girl…”

For a moment he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up sprawled out on a bed of fragrant needles. He vaguely recalled his fall from the train trestle, of bouncing downward from one limb of a giant cedar to the next.

Nugget settled beside him and thumped her tail.

“How’d you get out of the truck?”

Nugget gave him her knowing look. Haven’t you figured it out dad? When she didn’t react to the sounds coming toward them through the undergrowth, he finally understood. Will had found him.

“Robert?”

“I’m over here.”

Will parted some sword ferns and bent down under the cedar to join him.

“Jesus Robert, are you hurt?”

Robert didn’t actually know. He hadn’t thought about trying to move anything more than he needed to. He started to gently wiggle his toes, then his legs. They seemed to function normally. But his hip throbbed as if a hot branding iron had been pressed in all the way to the bone. Will bent over and triaged Robert’s injuries. When he saw the wound on Robert’s hip he whistled through his teeth.

“That’s a nasty cut you have, bro. We’re going to have to get it cleaned out as soon as possible… Do you think you can still walk?”

“I haven’t tried… So what happened to the guy who was shooting at me?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s not going to be a problem. Oh, thanks for the voice messages you fucking jerk. You’re lucky I checked them before I got done with my shift. I was planning to go out with this hot number who’d just started in accounting the other day. I had to give her a goddamn rain check.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Will. But this thing is really bad. I promise you I’m going to tell you everything that’s happened.”

Will gnawed his lower lip. His eyes were filled with tears.

“You can tell me all about it later. Right now I think we better get the hell out of here. Before any more of your friends show up and try to kill us.

CHAPTER 33

Peggy was growing concerned. The highway was much further down the basin than she’d realized. In fact the headlights they saw earlier may have come from aircraft flying low on the horizon. Or were they the glow of distant forest fires? This was the time of year when lightning committed its random acts of arson. It burned up acres of drought-stricken pine forests and darkened once green mountains.

Still, there had to be a main road somewhere. With the night sky as clear as it was, there was hope they’d see passing vehicles before long. Early stars began to light up the sky. Bats darted overhead catching moths.

They’d only stopped running a few minutes ago. For the moment Peggy was satisfied no one was following them. Their pace slowed as their lungs worked overtime. It gave them their first opportunity to talk.

“My name is Peggy by the way. And this is Connor.”

A worried smile stretched across the woman’s thin face. Dark circles around her eyes told Peggy she hadn’t slept much lately.

“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jan, and my daughter’s name is Krista. Can you tell us where we’re going?”

“We’re looking for the highway. And to be honest with you, I don’t have any idea how far it is from here.”

“When did they take you?”

“Two nights ago. It was really late. They broke into our house. My husband tried to stop them but he’d been hurt in a car accident.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Only once. The following morning.”

“Did you find out what’s happening? Did he mention my husband?”

“No. He only had time to ask how we were. Then they took the phone away. What about you. How long ago?”

“Three days. My husband went to the store to buy some ice cream. He’d left the door unlocked, thinking he’d be right back. Then these men came into the house wearing ski masks. Krista and I didn’t stand a chance. They tied us up and shoved us in a van. When Steve got back we heard them ambush him. It sounded really bad…”

Jan began to sob. Peggy took her hand and squeezed. Connor was still walking beside her, softly humming one of his own compositions. It was his habit when he was trying to calm his nerves. He’d been doing it since he was a baby. Krista had glanced curiously at Connor, and after awhile she began to join him. They were coping with the situation much better than Peggy had expected. She hoped it would stay that way.

“Listen Jan, we’re going to find help. And as soon as we do, every cop car in this county is going to be screaming toward that old farmhouse.”

“I just wish I could understand what this was all about. We’re good people. We didn’t do anything to deserve this. If it was ransom they wanted, then they’ve got the wrong family. We work hard, but it’s not like we’re rich.”

“It has to be something else. But I don’t believe this was a coincidence. No, this was carefully planned and executed. There must be a connection of some kind, but I’ll be damned if I can find one.”

Jan took some deep breaths and wiped her face.

“I want you to know I appreciate what you’ve done for us. You’ve got a lot more guts than I do, Peggy.”

“Please don’t say that. I’m just as scared as you.”

“You didn’t have to get us. You took a big risk by doing that.”

“There’s no way I would have left you two behind.”

“Well I hope when this is over you’ll be able to meet Steven. I’m sure he’d want to thank you.”

Peggy nodded and stared out at the dozens of new stars appearing in the night sky. It was taking every ounce of her being to stay optimistic, to believe the worst was over. And yet the undertow beneath her emotions seemed to indicate just the opposite, that even more fearful things lay waiting for her arrival.

I’ll still take my chances, she thought. Anything was better than being gassed to death inside a crummy trailer.

CHAPTER 34

Before Jared Horn was welcomed back to Wrath Butte, and before his carvings sent the town into a brief period of madness, only a handful of local hunters had known about his frequent visits to the mountain.

At the time Horn tried to keep to himself if he encountered others on the trail, but the hunters would rarely let him be without inflicting some form of abuse. Whether it was destroying his camp, threatening to hang him from the nearest tree they could find, or stealing what game he’d killed, Horn was unable to find any sanctuary from Brandon Duke’s wicked lies.

When the town finally had a change of heart toward Horn and welcomed him back in the community, no one suspected he’d been planning his revenge all along. By all appearances, the now broken and nervous man seemed forgiving to all those who’d caused him harm. The town embraced with opened arms what they saw as an authentic Christian attitude, and those who felt particularly guilty about how they’d treated Horn in the past became extremely generous with their purses.

Wrath Butte, in fact, became obsessed with paying off their sins, the same as when the town’s founders tried to compensate the local Indians they’d once terrorized and slaughtered. Hence was the origin for the town’s name, after a mortally wounded medicine man climbed to the top of the prominent rock that overlooked the town and laid down his curse.

Brandon Dukes remained unrepentant. He jeered at his fellow townsfolk for their stupidity, warned them to beware of Horn’s trickery. His drunken behavior often landed him in jail, and those who passed his cell window at night reported hearing him mutter his same old lies.

During the period of reconciliation, Horn’s visits to town almost always included an invitation to dinner, and on the occasions he accepted he was known to present the hostess with a gift carved by his own hands. Soon all the households in Wrath Butte had something special to boast about, a figurine or a scene carving that was guaranteed to be one of a kind.

People continually asked Horn where he drew inspiration for his fine work. As always, he would politely smile and stroke his beard and tell them about how after several days of not eating and trying desperately to hunt game for his family, God suddenly revealed to him an aspect of nature he’d never witnessed before.

“It was like a giant candelabrum of burning wicks had lit up inside my mind,” he’d say to the mesmerized crowd sitting at dinner. “And as I observed these hidden wonders, my hands sought my knife and a piece of wood in which to capture it.”

This was the version the townsfolk were anxious to believe, for although they had treated Horn so poorly, God had stepped in and made things right again. The truth, however, would have shaken them to the very core. Horn held his tongue and waited...

****

In late summer two years earlier, Horn began roaming higher and higher into the mountains. He began taking camping supplies with him so he wouldn’t have to make the return trip home in the evening. Being around his family had become difficult for him. It broke his heart to see his wife’s declining health, his children losing teeth for lack of food. If he’d been able to afford to repair the wagon he would have moved the family to Portland where they might start over.

On a cloudless afternoon he followed a wide stream up to timberline where it met with a glacier, and was immediately awestruck by the grand scale of the place. Something spoke to him at some point, a voice on the puffs of wind that came down from the mountain and showered his face with cool kisses. Overcome with a variety of new emotions, he ran up the glacier, screaming and laughing and shoving handfuls of the pure ice into his mouth.

He was hooked from that moment on.

The next morning he went up again, bringing his miner’s pick and some other tools he’d fashioned next to his campfire the night before. He was obsessed with climbing as far as he could up the river of ice, of gazing down into its deep furrows. Being from Kansas, Horn hadn’t grown up around mountains. No one had ever taught him about the deadly tricks they can play on naive visitors.

Snow had fallen on the glacier the night before, and had helped to hide the brittle ice bridge that covered the width of a deep crevasse. Horn hadn’t seen the signs, and when he crossed the ice bridge the ground below him gave way and he fell as far as his waist before he shot out his arms and caught himself from going any deeper. His legs swinging freely below him, Horn had tried digging in his boots but the inner surface of the crevasse was as smooth as glass. Soon his thin arms began to spasm with the stress of holding himself up. He thought he heard distant laughter and when he glanced up at the mountain’s peak he screamed in despair.

He’d been betrayed. The mountain had been lying to him all along, had seduced him.

The fall was quick.

Horn felt his body slip down between giant molars of carved blue ice. Down he went, feeling it tear at his back and batter his face again and again until he expected to be nothing but a gory pile of flesh by the time he hit bottom.

****

It was the sheer cold that finally woke him up, shivering and numb all over. And although it was a hot August day, he hardly felt any warmth at all. He felt like he’d fallen to the bottom of a blue bottle made of ice, and the sun he saw above was nothing more than a watery point of silver light.

Suicide had crossed Horn’s mind many times before but now death seemed like an inevitably. He’s always known in his heart that he’d never have the nerve, but now nature and his own stupidity had managed to push him up against that very wall. To be able to climb out alive would be a miracle. To suffer a cruel death seemed more than likely.

Fortunately he still had his pickaxe and some food and water. But he quickly found he didn’t have the strength left to climb up through the gaping mouth directly above him, and after the third time that he fell back with hands and face bleeding, he saw the narrow opening of a tunnel and followed it until it emptied into a large cavern at the bottom of a crevasse further up the mountain.

The clear walls of ice stunned him. It appeared as if he were looking through miles of glacial ice, at a hidden world no mortal was supposed to ever see. He forgot about his predicament then, about death marching toward him with his bloody scythe.

He didn’t see Maynard at first, thought that what he was looking at had been only a fracture-shadow in the ice. After wiping away some grit with his arm, Horn couldn’t believe what he saw. Less than a couple feet deep into the ice he saw Charlie Maynard suspended in front of him, perfectly preserved from the day of his final showdown with the vigilantes. Except now there was one very important difference. The great layers of ice had sheered apart at one time, neatly slicing Maynard’s upper torso from the rest of his body.

Poor son of a bitch, Horn thought. But I guess it no longer matters to you much anymore. It’s not like it’s going to make any difference to you if the ice ever melts. You’re still as dead as a fish at market.

And what’s this?

What Horn had initially thought were reflections in the ice finally dawned on him. Surrounding the man in equal stillness were saddlebags bursting with coins. Gold coins. One hung suspended close to Horn’s face, and after a few minutes work he dug it out with his pickaxe.

Excited now, he sought out other coins he could retrieve easily. While the sun passed overhead, he managed to get quite a few. He told himself he would return home and buy food for the family table as soon as he could. The trip into town might be dangerous, but he still knew a few people in Wrath Butte who might be persuaded to help him.

As the sun passed over the last of the glacier, Horn was jarred back to the fact that he had not yet found a way out of the crevasse. Maynard looked even closer than before, reminding him of the traveling wax museum he’d once seen as a child. Maynard seemed to be smiling too, welcoming Horn to the coins suspended around him. But when Horn saw the two dark shapes next to Maynard’s stilled corpse, his blood froze. The things looked like twisted clouds of smoke, but somehow gave the impression of once being alive.

“I’m going to leave now, sir,” he told Maynard. “But I’ll try and come back soon and take you up on your offer.” After biting down on a coin, just to feel the gold between his teeth once more, Horn smiled and tipped his hat at the man who’d been dead for a few years. “If I don’t make it back, I want you to know I’ve appreciated the little taste.”

Warmed now by his reversal of fortune, Horn left Maynard and the frozen cache of gold and followed the tunnel until it eventually rose up close enough to the surface were he could safely climb out. He drew a map on calf skin so he could remember how to get back and kept it hidden in a wooden box he’d carved the winter before.

****

In the end Horn became less interested in pursuing gold coins than spending his time sitting in front of Charlie Maynard and staring into his frozen eyes. For Charlie had begun talking to Horn. Not with his mouth of course, but by some power Horn could never accurately describe.

Horn became the perfect pupil too, even sometimes lighting candles and bundling himself up in animal fur and spending whole nights at the bottom of the crevasse. At first he began carving wood just so to keep his fingers warm and his mind alert, but gradually he felt as if Charlie was working through his hands and he no longer needed to watch what he was doing.

He didn’t understand right away what Maynard was supposed to teach him. He listened patiently to the man’s stories about his life and adventures, up to the time when he fell into his icy tomb.

Horn listened and carved. Asked questions when appropriate. And all along, his hands kept busy without him having to look away from Maynard’s eyes.

The first set of carvings scared him to death. They were the size of chess pieces, and captured in the soft pine were the grotesque caricatures of Wrath Butte residents. It wasn’t this aspect that upset Horn, for he’d seen such things in the newspapers. What got to him were their expressions of terror, as if he were seeing their images just before they died violent deaths.

What am I doing?

Hands trembling, Horn set each figurine on the ground and smashed it to pieces with his hammer before turning and striking the ice in front of Maynard’s grinning face.

“I will not be party to evil,” he’d shouted. “I might have good reason not to believe in a god, but don’t you ever tempt me to accept this as a substitute. I do not wish to burn in hell…”

Horn’s words fell on deaf ears, for before he realized what he was doing, he picked up the knife where he’d dropped it and pushed it up tight against his own throat and held it there until his arms ached. And he didn’t move again until the will to resist Maynard’s power faded from his mind…

Horn never brought up the subject again, and when winter came on he returned home full time to be with his family. He worked on his crafts in the cellar, turning out beautiful objects of wonder day after day, knowing all along they were not what they appeared, but actually seeds of destruction in a pretty disguise.

Although Horn didn’t want to admit to himself that he was preparing his revenge upon Wrath Butte, he knew deep down that it was exactly what he was doing. He felt an unusual power growing inside him, and his hunger for more caused him to return to the glacier before winter was over.

He’d taken Maynard’s offer to lend him one of his servants. It took several days to chip the block containing the shadow from the ice and more to haul it in a wagon back to his home. With Maynard’s instructions he’d thaw it and learn to control it for his own use. Never again would he or his family have to live in fear, Maynard promised. Not again for as long as Horn lived…

Horn hadn’t expected the vigilantes to come and hang him from the giant cottonwood so soon. But he’d had a feeling trouble was brewing, and he’d sent his wife and children away with plenty of gold coin so they could join the next wagon party headed south. He’d instructed them that if he didn’t find them in three days, they must assume the worst and proceed to San Francisco where his wife had a sister.

No one knew that Horn’s younger son would steal a horse and ride it back to the farmhouse to warn his father of the posse he’d seen watering horses down at Trout Lake earlier in the day. Once back to the farm, he helped his father gather wood for the stove so they could melt the block of ice, but the process was taking too long. Then they heard the sound of hoofs beating around the house and breaking glass. Men began shouting at Horn to come out or they would burn his house down.

Before he ordered his son to leave he remembered to give him the bundle of slender wooden boxes with the calf skin maps to Maynard’s body. He told his son to take them with him and head out through the tunnel in the secret basement and once he caught up with the wagon train he was to give the boxes to his older brother.

The men were pounding on the front door of the house.

“Run,” he said to the boy crying at the bottom of the ladder. “They’re going to come looking for you after they’ve finished with me.”

But after Horn closed the trap door behind his son, the boy went back to the block of ice to see if it had melted some more…

CHAPTER 35

“When we get back to town, I’ll call someone to go out and pick up your truck,” Will said.

The front of Will’s El Camino was tight, especially with Nugget squeezed between them, panting and fogging up the windshield. Driving as fast as he was, Robert wondered why Will wasn’t worried about attracting cops.

One day his luck has to come to an end. What if a cop decides to pull us over and wants to see what we’ve got stashed in the back? What then?

“Can you slow down?” Robert asked.

Will glanced over and nodded, but his foot never let up on the gas. Robert shut his eyes.

Thick rain clouds spilled on them as they moved down a twisted road toward town. Robert was thirsty, and as he sat with his arm wrapped around Nugget, he fought off the ungodly pain stabbing at his hip. Will hadn’t failed to notice. He reached under the seat for a half pint of tequila and shoved it into Robert’s hand.

“Do me a favor and take a hit or two. I can’t stand seeing you this way.”

Robert took a few deep pulls, and when he offered it to Will he shook his head. “The exit to the hospital is the one after this.”

Will rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you probably already know. I’ll shut up.”

When he looked at Will’s face again, he saw there was something wrong.

“You are taking me to a hospital, aren’t you?”

Will laughed, but Robert knew it wasn’t because what he just said was funny.

“Come on, you said yourself I might need stitches.”

Will peered into the rearview mirror before turning to Robert. “Right, if I take you in there they’ll be phoning the cops before you even sit down in the waiting room to look at the magazines.”

“And why the hell would that happen?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Will frowned. “The cops received an anonymous tip last night. Someone claimed it was you who drowned the guy they fished from the Tabor reservoir. They’re showing your face all over the news, Bobby. I just about choked on my lunch when I saw you on the television tonight, and that was before I even checked my phone messages.”

“So they really think I killed the guy?”

Will stared back at him. Robert could see the slight smirk in the corners of his mouth. God he sometimes hated him when he did that.

“Well did you?” Will asked.

“Fuck you. You really think I have it in me to drown someone?”

“No, I don’t… But then again, if I thought this asshole was one of the guys who broke into my house, beat the shit out of me and stole my family then yeah, I’d be tempted to show the bastard a good time!”

“I didn’t know him, Will. He had nothing to do with what happened the other night.”

“So what the hell were you doing up there man. Giving swim lessons?”

Robert stared numbly at the black road rushing under them. He glanced around for cars, then brought the bottle of tequila to his lips and swallowed. After a few minutes he wasn’t aware of the pain as badly, and his head felt clearer than it had been for days. Nugget nuzzled her head against his neck, and while they cruised the desolate freeway back to Will’s house, Robert told him everything that had happened. Afterwards he cried for Steven, and he cried for Peggy and Connor although he refused to believe they weren’t still alive…

****

Once the garage door rolled down behind them, they went to the back of the El Camino and pulled away the leather cover from the top of the bed. Lying at the bottom was a shape wrapped in a black muddy tarp, a plump human form with a rope tied around its neck and ankles and anchored down by the same rusted tire rims Will had kept back there for years. There was a breathing hole punched in the tarp approximately where the mouth would be, no larger perhaps than what a head of a screwdriver could make and bloody around the edges …

Robert edged up closer, heart hammering with rage and his eyes playing tricks. What he thought he saw lying before him was a demon, and before he was aware of what he was doing, his fists were raining blows against the plastic-wrapped head of the railroad shooter Will had ambushed.

“Robert!” Will shouted. “Stop!”

Robert paused, but his fists were still bobbing before him. “Where are they? What have you done with them?” he screamed at the shape.

“Go fuck yourself!” squealed a voice below the plastic.

Robert cut into him some more. Blood spouted from the mouth hole. The shrouded figure squirmed as Robert’s blows warmed the plastic until it molded mask-tight against an anguished face.

He’s just a man. A pathetic bag of human shit…

Will seized Robert by the wrists and held him until he stopped fighting. Overcome by dizziness, Robert gripped the tailgate to keep from fainting. They both watched as the man’s barrel-shaped chest heaved high a final time.

Swiping a remote control from his workbench, Will kicked a stereo into action. Speakers attached to the rafters instantly thundered with Metallica, one of Will’s favorite bands, keeping what was really happening inside the garage from seeping into the outside world.

Will shouted. “Are you done, Bobby? Because I hope you didn’t want to just bring him here to kill him. You could have done that back at the tracks.”

“You know I can’t make any promises. If he doesn’t start giving me anything useful he’ll be bringing it on all by himself.”

“Then give him a fucking chance to talk some more, okay?”

Will turned down the volume of the stereo to a bearable level. He bent over the body and poked at it with his finger until it began to wiggle beneath the tarp. The man beneath it released a low howl. Will glared back at Robert.

“You had me worried. I thought for sure you’d knocked him out, or worse.”

Will saw how Robert’s face seemed to have deepened into layers of shadow. His friend’s eyes had greatly changed since he’d seen him at Connor’s birthday party last month, playing horseshoes in the backyard and laughing. Instead they were heavy now with a pale fire—something Will hadn’t seen since Mexico. He saw it in himself too… The signs of a darker consciousness moving in, taking up residence. In this state all boundaries lost their meaning. Rules were for people who never had to take on evil with their bare hands.

He’d prayed in his own way that they would never have to go back to this place again…

But it wasn’t their fault. It had come looking for them.

“So what do you plan to do with him when you’re done?” Will asked.

Robert wiped his hands with a rag. “Do you know where I can find a trash compactor?”

Will shook his head and then moved nervously over to the big freezer where he normally stored his elk and salmon steaks. For the past couple years he’d lost his desire to hunt or fish. It wasn’t the same as it had been in his younger years. Hardly anyone showed nature much respect these days. They left loads of garbage behind, vandalized and killed or maimed things just to be mean.

Robert was surprised when Will lifted the door of the freezer and his hand came out with two icy bottles of beer. He limped forward and stared inside. It was empty except for some frost-covered bags lying at the very bottom. Ancient vegetables.

He was struck by an idea...

Will popped the beers and handed one to him, then tipped back his own bottle and drank the whole thing down all at once. Will rarely drank his beers slowly, for they always warmed up way too soon for him, became what he commonly referred to as donkey piss.

“Ah shit that’s cold!” he said, striking his chest with his fist and belching, just as Robert had seen him do hundreds of times. Will’s face was flush with color.

“Now what do you think we should do with our new friend?”

“I think I should take care of this alone.”

“Bullshit. You’re in no shape to do anything right now. Do you realize how far you must have fallen off that train trestle? I thought for sure I’d have to scrape you into a bag.”

“I know. But I think I should…”

Suddenly the floor shifted below Robert’s feet, and Will caught him by his upper arm before he fell forward.

“Whoa, buddy. You’ve got to take it easy. You need to let your old friend Will carry the water for awhile.”

A wave of nausea swept up and down Robert’s body like cold jelly. Gradually, it sloshed to the bottom of his stomach, where it appeared to settle. He took several deep breaths.

“This has nothing to do with you, Will. I’ve dragged you into my problems before, remember? You almost got fucking killed.”

“Look, you’re like a brother to me, Bobby. No matter how bad things get, I’ve got to be there with you. You can’t do something like this all alone.”

Robert patted Will’s shoulder. “I know. But you must listen to me. You need to go inside and let me handle him my own way.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

“And you’re not going to kill him, right?”

“Of course I won’t.”

Frowning, Will handed Robert the remote control to the stereo. “Then you might want this.”

Robert ran his thumb over the small panel of buttons and grinned. “Do you have any Beethoven?”

Will gave him the finger as he turned to leave. When he got to the door that opened into the house, he heard a loud thud from behind. He turned and saw Robert dragging the tarp mummy across the floor while Nugget frantically sniffed at it. As Will closed the door the freezer filled the garage with its sterile opaque light accompanied by muffled screams.

Will’s teeth began to chatter.

Jesus. He’s going all out…

CHAPTER 36

After he’d taken a bath and bandaged his hip, Robert fed Nugget some cooked hamburger Will had in the fridge before lying down on the couch to rest and eat a sandwich. His knife wound hadn’t been quite as bad as he’d feared, and the butterfly bandages and gauze seemed to pull the wider places together. Still it hurt like hell and could have really used a few stitches, but Will had left him something for the pain before going to bed.

The man in the garage was asleep and not going anywhere. Robert’s interrogation had yet to produce anything.

He petted Nugget and consoled her the best way he could. Then he turned on the local news and saw his face flash up on the screen. It was so unreal to see himself a wanted suspect, another face among the many you saw paraded in the press every day.

Interesting, he thought. There was no mention of Peggy and Connor missing and nothing about Steven or his family. Maybe the police were trying to keep a tight lid on it, until they were able to find Robert and question him. He channel-surfed over the other local news stations and saw them report the same headlines in almost exactly the same manner.

Robert wondered if any reporters had tried talking to his mother, and was relieved to see they hadn’t so far. She wouldn’t have said anything anyway. She hated most news reporters and their perfect hair and their obsessions with finding the most sensational angle possible. Milking misery until innocent people had their reputations ground into the dirt.

His stepfather would be a different story...

He imagined Dan saying something to the effect that he’d seen Robert have a serious temper on occasion, but otherwise he appeared to be a good father to his adopted son. But that was Dan, and Dan and Robert were never on good terms after Robert caught him talking abusively to his mother one day and called him on it.

There’s still time motherfucker. I’m sure you’re dying to help them decide I’m guilty…

Robert turned off the television. As soon as he lay his head down on a pillow he fell instantly to sleep.

****

Mexico—a dream. He was following the man dressed in white, the one whose shoes had flecks of blood on them from the dogfight he’d just attended. Robert had been keeping tabs on him all afternoon, waiting for the man to show him the way back to where his father and uncle were being held captive.

For several blocks Robert followed the man through crowded streets, watched as he bent over and petted some sleeping puppies a young boy was selling from a wood crate. Then the man continued onward, unaware Robert was less than a block behind. He crossed a busy street and stepped out onto a beach covered with dozing tourists and colorful umbrellas, the sound of salsa music on radios and the greasy smoke of cooking meat.

Before Robert reached the beach he was accosted by a marionette maker. He stopped when the toothless old man began to make the puppets dance. One of them resembled Robert, surrounded by skeletons made from the small bones of animals held together with bits of dirty rag. The old man laughed as he made them dance faster, and the more Robert tried to break past the circling skeletons, the more they’d pick up speed and throw him back to the middle.

He ran from the old fool and his puppets. But when he got down to the beach the man in white was gone…

“Try it again, dad,” said a boy’s voice.

He turned and Connor was standing beside him. A silver kite had materialized in Robert’s hands. He tried to teach Connor how to fly it, but as soon as he got it ten feet in the air a big gust of wind came along and caused the kite to spiral downward and crash into the sand. After the third time he could no longer hide his frustration from Connor.

“I can’t fly these damn things anymore.”

He turned the kite over again to see if he could find any defects. From behind he heard a sound that was between a snort and a cough. When he looked he saw Peggy with both hands pressed to her mouth, trying to suppress an explosion of laughter.

“If you think you’re so good with these things…”

The wind roared down the beach again, and this time it whipped the kite from Robert’s hands. The silver arrowhead climbed high into the sky and was swept out over the frothing surf. Connor jumped up and down with excitement, not upset at all that Robert had lost it.

They watched the kite until it drifted even further offshore. Soon it became a brilliant speck of mercury on the horizon—as close to what Robert imagined an angel might look like if he believed in such things—before being swallowed by a swiftly moving squall line.

The world went black, and he heard Peggy and Connor’s screams for help. He thrust his arms out into the darkness, hoping they were within reach. He felt someone’s head and gently drew whoever it was toward him. When the squall line passed he found himself under a sweltering Mexican sun again and he looked down to see what he’d been holding.

It was his uncle Barney’s severed head. And next to Barney were the severed heads of a dozen eyeless pigs hanging from hooks in an outdoor market flashing with bottle-flies. He could hear the man in white laughing from a balcony somewhere high above the lines of drying laundry. It was the laugh of the devil.

Robert let go and screamed. Barney’s head swung back and forth on its rusty chain while fresh blood streamed from the corners of his mouth. His black eyeless sockets snapped opened and he began to speak.

“Look inside the wooden box, boy. I’ve got something in there for you.”

It wasn’t Barney’s voice, but the ghost who had once pursued Robert through the woods up at his grandfather’s mountain cabin. Just the memory of the tall glimmering figure made his skin feel as if it had been coated with stinging frost.

“What box? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’ve seen it before. On that day you were snooping in your grandmother’s attic.”

“I swear, I don’t remember.”

“Then you must try harder.”

Cold hands squeezed his shoulders and began to shake him. Somehow the violent movement loosened his memory of the object, made it tumble back into his conscious mind.

An oblong-shaped box no larger than a man’s hand, partially wrapped in the very brown paper it had been mailed in. With carvings on it that moved when you touched them…

Of course this was what the ghost was talking about, Robert thought. But he’d been so young when he’d first discovered the heirloom that he later dismissed it as a dream. His grandmother’s attic had always been a world full of mysteries to him. He never got to spend enough time up there before she’d shout at him to come back down.

****

“Bobby. It’s Will. Wake up.”

Robert rolled over on the couch, shaking. He opened his eyes and saw Will standing above.

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe. You’re inside my house.”

Robert was drenched with sweat and he had a raging headache. Will must have anticipated this, for he pushed a couple aspirins into Robert’s mouth and forced him drink from a glass of water. Nugget stood next to Will, her eyes following everything.

“How long have I been out?”

“Four hours.”

Robert sat up fast, wincing as a network of pain went red hot. “You’ve got to be kidding. How come you let me sleep so long?”

“I couldn’t wake you up. So did you learn anything from that guy?”

“No. I think he’s a waste of time.”

“Well I’ve got some great news. Maybe it’s just a perfect good-cop, bad-cop thing we’ve got going, but Mr. Frosty was in a really talkative mood when I checked on him a few hours ago. I found out where they’re keeping Peggy and Connor…”

“What?”

“He says they’ve got them up at this old farmhouse near Wrath Butte. I cross-checked some things on line and I think he’s telling the truth.”

Will sat down in a chair and began cleaning a revolver with a small cloth.

“Wrath Butte?” Robert seemed to recall the place being a topic of conversation recently but he’d forgotten to whom he’d been talking. Then the image of Steven came rushing back to him—the memories they’d traded about a past family reunion and the realization they both had the same great grandfather Jared Horn.

The dots were beginning to connect but Robert was no closer to understanding why. It was driving him crazy. At the moment he had little sense of how deep the dots would take him far into the past, that before his great grandfather there’d been a man named Charlie Maynard, and before Maynard a mysterious and powerful dark skinned man from an island on the other side of the world…

He felt the depth in his flesh and bone. It was as if he were on the edge of a giant canyon on a moonless, starless night. Staring into the void. There was so much he needed to understand…

“Is there something else you want to tell me?” Will asked. “You act like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Robert shook away the scattered thoughts and drew himself together. It hadn’t been easy to stay focused. The past seemed to be manipulating him like the old Mexican had with the dancing marionettes. All he could do was keep moving forward, despite the feeling that he’d completely lost control. Peggy and Connor were still counting on him.

“I’ve been thinking about something I saw a long time ago. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“You want to tell me about it now?”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense yet.”

“Oh.”

“But thanks for your help with Mr. Frosty.”

“Don’t mention it. You made it easy for me after softening him up and all.”

“How far is Wrath Butte from here? It’s been ages since I’ve been back.”

“We’re looking at a three-hour drive. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve started rounding up some gear.”

Robert rubbed his forehead. He still wasn’t absolutely sure if he was still dreaming or not. “I think we should get going as soon as we can… So how is Mr. Frosty now?”

“He escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“After he told me where they were at I sat him next to a space heater to thaw out. You almost turned him into an Eskimo Pie, Bobby. I did my research on line and then took a hot shower. When I went back to the garage he was gone...It looked like he’d burned off the rope, a cigarette lighter maybe...”

“Didn’t you go looking for him?”

“Of course I did, but I found no sign of him. It’s like the guy walked out of here and went poof.”

“He’s probably made a call to Wrath Butte by now.”

“I’m sure you’re right. And all the more reason we should be hitting the road.”

“I’ve got to do some things first. I need to go visit my mother’s house and also drop Nugget off at the shop.”

Will glanced up from polishing his gun. He looked worried. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to be going to your mom’s right now, or the shop. There are cops all over town looking for you.”

“That’s why I’m going to need your help.”

“So what’s so important at your mom’s place?”

“There’s this family heirloom up in the attic that I haven’t seen for years. I need to find it and I don’t know why. It sounds crazy but you have to trust me on this. It’s something important.”

CHAPTER 37

Earlier they saw two semi trucks pass below them and they’d tried to wave them down. Peggy knew she and the others were still too far away, that they’d just blended in with the darkness of the hills. It was hopeless without flashlights or something to signal with, but seeing the shadows of the big trucks had lifted their spirits.

Later she was glad they hadn’t drawn attention to themselves, for she began to hear what she thought was an engine sound following them from the hills above. Whoever it was hadn’t turned on their headlights.

Everyone was getting tired and thirsty. The children had stopped interacting and seemed to be marching forward in their sleep. Peggy found her mind drifting inward and had to keep reeling it back. She wondered how much longer it would be before sunrise and what they would do then.

“I see a house!” Jan shouted.

Peggy raised her head and looked. At the bottom of the hill was one of those country houses you saw in the magazines with a generous wrap-around porch and a white washed fence. Behind the house there was a red barn and a small tractor. She noticed a light on upstairs and wondered if the occupants had already heard them coming.

“Let’s try to hurry everyone.”

They picked up their pace going down the grassy hillside and soon encountered a dirt road leading to the back of the house. Finding it impossible to contain their relief, they began to laugh excitedly. A dog sat up on the porch and started to bark.

I just hope they’re not hostile, Peggy thought. Out here in the country you could never be sure how folks would react…

Years ago Peggy and a college friend had their car break down on the highway and they’d gone to ask a local if they could use a phone. A woman had answered the door with a pistol and might have shot them both if Peggy hadn’t acted quickly and calmed her down. Eventually the woman allowed them to make their call but hadn’t let down her guard in the least. It was only when they left the house and smelled a foul chemical odor coming from the run down garage that Peggy knew someone was probably cooking meth.

This house looked nothing like that one and the closer they got the more secure Peggy felt. The owners obviously cared for the place. There was a lush garden surrounded by tall sunflower plants and a pond with a miniature windmill.

She saw the porch light come on and the front door ease open. A heavy man stepped out with his wife next to him. He was holding a rifle. He was wearing only a white T-shirt and baggy jeans, and she was still in her bathrobe and curlers. The man told the black lab to stop barking and it sat down in front of them and kept guard. Peggy and the others were close enough now that the farmer could see they posed no threat.

“What are you doing out here at this hour?” His voice was deep, but not entirely unfriendly.

“We need help,” Jan said, forcing back tears. She lifted Krista up next to her chest. “We’ve been walking almost all night. We escaped from some men who had kidnapped us.”

“Kidnapped?” The farmer glanced at his wife in disbelief. He took a few more steps forward on the porch and squinted at them.

Peggy moved under the porch light. “You must have seen something on the news by now… About Portland families vanishing in the middle of the night.” She was sure a friend or co-worker would have gone to the police, even if Robert had been unable to.

The couple on the porch looked as if they didn’t believe their own eyes.

“Jesus, it’s them alright,” the farmer’s wife said to her husband. “They said there were two women and two young children. Let’s not make them wait out here any longer, Wilbur. I’m going in to make them something to eat.”

Wilbur lowered the rifle and his wife went inside. He turned back around and grinned at Peggy and the others. Several of the man’s front teeth were missing, and some were down to brown nubs.

“Okay folks, come on inside and we’ll take care of you. You’re safe here.”

Wilbur held open the screen door as they stepped up on the porch. The black lab sniffed them curiously as they walked by.

“What’s your dog’s name?” asked Connor.

“That’s Randy. He’s our chief inspector around here. He never lets anyone come inside he can’t smell first.”

“Thank god we found you,” Jan said, unable to hold back her tears anymore.

Jan, Krista and Connor went inside. Peggy was the last one to the door. She couldn’t stop thinking that there was something odd going on. It almost seems like they were expecting us…

“I’ll need to use your phone,” Peggy said.

Wilbur glanced nervously at her and laughed. “You’re not going to believe this lady but our phone’s been dead for two days now. Lightning storm took it out and the phone company says they won’t be coming out to fix it until maybe this afternoon.”

“Then it would be best if we left straight for town. Those men who kidnapped us could be on their way.”

Wilbur stroked his rifle with a fat hand and grinned. His lack of teeth sent a slight shiver of disgust up Peggy’s spine.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to let them get you. But I think it would be best if you and the children had something to eat. Come sunrise I’ll take you directly to the sheriff’s office in town.”

Peggy found it difficult to argue. The teasing smell of frying bacon was already drifting toward them from the kitchen and made her stomach grumble with hunger.

Okay, maybe I’m being overly paranoid. It’s just that horrible looking mouth…

“You don’t need to feed us, you know. We don’t want to be a burden.”

Wilbur reached out and gently squeezed Peggy’s hand. She smelled mint mouthwash on his breath, and knew in his case he probably needed it often.

“Please. It’s no trouble at all. If you knew my wife you’d know she’d drop everything to feed an empty stomach.”

Peggy smiled. “Well thank you then.”

****

Betty kept the pancakes and bacon coming until they begged her to stop cooking any more. The food had made them aware of how tired and sleepy they were. Connor and Krista were already asleep on the sofa. Peggy and Jan sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee while Wilbur quietly finished yesterday’s newspaper.

Peggy thought it was weird they hadn’t asked them many questions about their ordeal. Maybe they thought it was impolite.

“Thanks for the meal, Betty, it was delicious,” Jan said.

“Think nothing of it,” Betty said with a wave of her hand, “I’m glad we could help you and your young ones. I’d hate to think of what might have happened if you hadn’t chosen to stop by here instead of another house.”

Wilbur lowered his paper and glared. “Come on, Bet. You make it sound as if all our neighbors are bad people.”

Betty’s eyes lowered to her cup of coffee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. But they never seem to be around. Not really neighbors in my book. All I’m saying is that you girls would still be knocking on doors if we hadn’t been home.”

Peggy excused herself and went to the bathroom. On her way back through the hall she noticed an old rotary-style phone sitting on a shelf next to a pile of crumbling phonebooks. She picked up the receiver and listened for a dial tone. The line was dead.

He’s telling the truth. Happy now?

When she returned to the kitchen she asked Wilbur if he was ready to drive them into town. The sun had risen over an hour ago and it looked like they were in store for another hot day.

“I’m all ready to go if you are,” Wilbur said, rising from the table. “I guess the others can rest until we get back.”

Peggy shook her head. “No, we’re all leaving together.”

“Well I’m afraid that’s not possible. The sedan is in the shop right now, trying to bankrupt me. That just leaves the water truck, and it only has enough room for one person up front with me.”

Peggy glanced at Jan and then back to Wilbur. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that we get separated right now. Those men could come here looking for us.”

“Nobody’s going to come now,” Wilbur said. “Not in broad daylight.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peggy felt herself losing patience with the farmer. How could someone be so naïve to think that bad people had to wait until after dark to do anything?

Wilbur lowered his eyes and moved his head softly from side to side. “I’m sorry lady. I don’t know what else I can do.”

Jan reached out and grasped Peggy’s arm. Her voice was thin and wavering. “We don’t have much choice Peg. Unless we all walk to town together. But you know that wouldn’t be any safer. I’ll go with Wilbur and you stay here with the kids.”

I’m not staying here, Peggy thought. I know how cops think, and what it will take to get them fired up and headed out to that old farmhouse. I was married to one after all…

“No Jan. I think it would be better if you stayed here. We’ll go with Wilbur.”

“Who's we?” Wilbur asked, irritated.

Peggy shot the farmer a look that caused his jowls to turn a bluish shade. His piggish eyes danced nervously within deep pinholes of flesh.

“Connor is going with us. And that’s how it’s going to be.”

****

She woke up Connor with a kiss. He lay on the couch, snuggled beside Krista under a handmade quilt. They looked so adorable with their heads lying next to each other that she wished she could sit down and simply watch them sleep.

“Mom?” Connor asked. He blinked his eyes and frowned. Peggy knelt down and took his hands and helped him slide off the couch. His legs were unsteady at first, but she held him upright with his arms looped around her neck.

“What are we doing, mom? I was asleep.”

“It’s time to go honey. We’re going to town to find some help.”

Krista stirred as if she were about to wake. Jan adjusted the quilt and stroked the top of the girl’s head. It took less than thirty seconds to send her back to sleep.

The three of them tiptoed to the front door. Betty emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Her smile looked strained.

“We’ll get through this,” Peggy whispered to Jan. “I promise I’ll be back here with cops as soon as I can. Then we’ll help them find our husbands.”

Jan’s face was streaked with tears. “Thanks for everything. You saved our lives back there.”

The two women hugged tightly before Peggy took Connor by the hand and led him out to the porch. Wilbur was waiting in the truck. The engine was belching black exhaust. He was digging an ear with his finger and examining what it found there.

Peggy could see that the farmer had told the truth once again. Mounted behind the cab of the pickup was an enormous water storage tank equipped with hoses. It would have been impossible to take any more than two adult passengers, but Connor wasn’t so big yet that he couldn’t still sit on her lap.

As soon as Peggy and Connor hopped inside Wilbur got the truck moving. She pulled Connor up on her lap and he leaned against the open window. Betty and Jan stood on the front porch waving and they waved back. A brown dust billowed up from below the truck and forced them to roll up the windows.

The morning was already hot. Wilbur flicked on the air conditioning but Peggy only felt warm air coming through the vents. She figured they could last until they reached the highway.

“So what’s the name of the closest town?”

Wilbur chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you already? Wrath Butte. About thirteen miles or so from here. Ever hear of it?”

“Sure I have. Isn’t there a big resort there?”

“You’ve got it. And for some reason I can never remember what they call it. Maybe because it’s so fancy I’d never go there myself. I hear the new mayor is trying to get the town’s name changed. He’s worried it might turn off all the folks who drive up from Portland to play golf.”

“Stuff like that drives me nuts,” Peggy said, pleased that they were opening up to each other. “Can’t people ever leave things alone?”

Wilbur nodded. “Even the poor rock takes its share of abuse. The teenagers muck it up with spray paint, and just last year a company stuck a cell phone tower on top of it so that the rock now looks like it’s giving the town the finger. And they call that progress.

Peggy shook her head. “There’s just nothing sacred anymore is there?”

“Oh that’s not all of it. Don’t even get me started about the new casino.”

“Well you’re sure lucky to be way out here. Must be nice to be surrounded by all this beautiful scenery. I bet you wish you had something more convenient to drive right now.”

“Oh I don’t mind. This truck has served me well. Rarely gives me any trouble. It’s helped my popularity too. I’ve lost count of how many folks I’ve helped put out brush fires over the years.”

“I’m sure you have.” Peggy glanced down at the floor and realized her feet had been resting on some envelopes. “Oh my god,” she said, reaching down and scooping them up with one hand while balancing Connor on her knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even see your mail down there.”

Wilbur stuck out his hand and his eyes narrowed.

“Give them to me.”

There was dirt on them from the soles of her shoes, and she tried to dust them off. “Just a second… At least give me a chance to clean off the mess I’ve made.”

“Put them in my goddamn hand. Do it now!”

Wilbur’s tone was scaring her. Connor instinctively scrunched himself close to the passenger door.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see your mail down there when we got in.” She finished brushing the envelopes and began to hand them over, until she scanned the address of the one on top.

It was a phone bill. A cell phone bill.

Wilbur snatched the envelopes from her hand and the truck swerved. He was breathing rapidly, filling the cab with the sour smell of his rotted teeth.

“Wait a minute!” Peggy shouted. “You never said anything about having a cell phone.”

Wilbur glared at her. “Maybe that’s none of your goddamn business.”

Peggy turned to face him while her hand snaked around Connor and felt for the door handle.

“You could have called the police the minute we showed up. Why didn’t you, Wilbur? Why did you lie to me?”

Wilbur shoved the envelopes behind the seat and scowled at her. “You’ve got some nerve, Peggy. Or is Peggy even your real name?”

“What are you talking about?”

Wilbur wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was sweating like a pig. That combined with his stinking teeth was starting to choke her.

“My neighbor Walker Marsh called me before you showed up at my place. He told me an interesting story. Said he’d felt sorry for you because you’d run away from some men in Portland who were looking for you. Thought he trusted you too, gave you a place to stay while things cooled off. Then yesterday he discovers his bank account has been cleaned out and while he’s gone you try and steal his truck so you can skip town.”

Peggy stared at Wilbur’s hooded eyes in disbelief. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she was overcome by a wave of furious anger. She turned sideways so that her body shielded her son.

“That’s bullshit. Jan and I never met until last night. Do you really believe we’re the kind of people who’d do something like that? And bring our children into it?”

“I’ve heard of worse on the news,” Wilbur said. “Every day you hear about some folks doing something bad. But to tell you the truth, we never saw anything on the television about you and the children missing. At the time Bet and thought it would be best to play along until Marsh arrived. We didn’t want you to get suspicious.”

Peggy gasped. She kicked herself for falling into his trap. She’d felt the warning signs and had talked herself out of taking them seriously. Now she understood why the bedroom light was on before they’d arrived. Marsh had been on the phone with him.

Wilbur pulled the truck over to the side of the road. Peggy turned back to Connor and mouthed at him to be ready to run. She’d take his hand and they would run all the way back to the house if they had to…

And then do what?

Suddenly her attention was drawn toward a pickup truck moving up the road in the opposite direction.

Walker’s pickup…

As it drew closer she recognized the driver with the black cowboy hat. A fat wet cigar hung from his yellowed teeth.

****

Peggy tried to open the door but Wilbur grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back.

“And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Let go of me!”

She struggled to free herself from Wilbur’s large hand. His skin felt like the belly of a dead fish. He grinned at her and yanked her closer. She slapped him hard across the face and it left a bright red mark.

The blow appeared to have stung the big man. Peggy looked down and saw that Connor was huddled below the dashboard. His eyes were shut tight and his lips were trembling. He looked like he was retreating back to the place he’d been earlier.

“Stay with me, baby…”

Still in a daze, Wilbur reached up and touched his face with his palm. Then his hand curled into a fist and before Peggy could move out of the way it connected with her jaw. The impact sent her flying into the window behind her. She’d heard glass crack against her head. Or was it her skull?

The cab swirled around her while she fought back the urge to vomit. She dropped her arm and grabbed Connor’s shoulder, hoping he hadn’t seen what had happened. Her jaw was numb and she tasted blood. She tried to ignore the searing headache creeping up from the bottom of her skull, knew that it was only a matter of time before the pain took control.

She watched Marsh’s blurry form emerge from his truck. At his side she saw something long and shiny and blue-black. A rifle…

“Please Wilbur, listen to me. Marsh is lying. He’s a lunatic and he has others following his orders. I think there is some kind of cult ritual involved. People have been murdered…”

“That’s a tall tale if I ever heard one before,” Wilbur spat. “You mean to tell me that man out there is into some kind of devil worship?”

Marsh was leaning against his truck and fanning his face with his hat. He didn’t appear to be in any particular hurry.

“I don’t know exactly. He wouldn’t talk much about it. All he said was there’s no way to stop what’s happening, that this all comes from something way back in the past. You’ve got to believe me. I think there’s this poor guy named Stick who might be in danger. I’m sure he knows about the innocent people Marsh has killed.”

Wilbur’s eyes probed her face for lies. “Did you say Stick?”

“Yeah. Frail looking guy. Marsh had him making food for us. They treated him as if he were a stray dog. Like they could just shoot him at any time...”

Wilbur’s eyes never left Peggy’s face. “Stick is my cousin. Been called that since he was a kid. Something to do with his bones the doctors said. He works for us from time to time, when he’s not out wandering. How in the hell did he wind up over there? We haven’t heard from him for over three months...”

Peggy looked out and saw Marsh standing in the hot sun. When he moved his hat away from his face she saw the blisters and angry red flesh. It finally dawned on her what was wrong.

Marsh was always the one who opened the trailer. But if Marsh is alive then there’s a good possibility Stick was the one who got blown to bits. You stupid bitch… If Marsh tells him you killed his cousin then you might as well kiss your ass goodbye.

“I should really talk to him first before making up my mind,” Wilbur said. “I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

“That’s not a good idea Wilbur. He’s not stable. He could decide to kill us.”

Wilbur scratched his head and thought about it. Marsh looked at him as if to ask what was wrong.

“Oh hell with it. I might regret this, but I’m going to take you and the boy to Wrath Butte. I’ll leave the sheriff to sort this all out.”

Peggy sat up, amazed. “You’re taking us?”

“Yes… Come to think of it, I probably know you better now than I do him. To be honest, I don’t know why I agreed to get involved. He never was much of a neighbor.”

Wilbur started the truck and Marsh stepped toward them, confused by what was happening. He pounded on the driver’s window and ordered Wilbur to stop. Wilbur stomped the gas and they moved past him like a lumbering elephant. Marsh screamed obscenities and began to fire at them with his rifle.

Taillights exploded and the driver’s side mirror was torn off the door. Wilbur swerved to make them a harder target but the truck reacted slowly.

Next came a loud flurry of thick popping sounds from the back.

“He’s shooting holes into my tank!” Wilbur cried.

Peggy glanced into her mirror. Sure enough, the tank was sprouting water all over. When she turned back to Wilbur he was blinking at her with bloodshot eyes.

“I believe you now young lady. I’m sorry I didn’t before. I just get so confused sometimes. And I want you to know that I’ve never struck a woman before in my life. I don’t know what came over me. I feel terrible.”

“We all make mistakes sometimes. I should know better than anyone.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Some. But I think I’ll be OK.”

There was movement in her side mirror and she leaned forward to look.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?”

“Marsh. He’s in his truck now and catching up fast.”

“I think we can get to the highway before he cuts us off. He can just follow us to the sheriff’s if he wants to...”

A rooster tail of dust flew up behind Marsh’s truck. Peggy guessed he must be clocking eighty. But just before they got to the highway she saw him slow down and turn the pickup to the right. Instead of following them onto the highway, he was returning to the house. He was going back to Jan and Krista.

You son of a bitch!

“We have to go back!” Peggy screamed.

When she saw Wilbur look at her everything appeared to slow down, as if they were suspended in a pool of sun-heated molasses. The back of her head exploded with pain. It felt like someone had wedged a crowbar between the bones of her skull and was trying to lift it.

Before she passed out Connor had opened his eyes.

He was calling her name…

CHAPTER 38

After packing up what they needed for Wrath Butte, Robert decided it would be best if they took Will’s pickup instead of the El Camino. If they came across some rough terrain the 4-wheel drive would certainly come in handy. They also decided to take Nugget with them since the risk of stopping by the auto shop seemed too great.

“Won’t be long before the cops stop by here either,” Will said, stuffing a duffel bag with boxes of ammunition. “Somebody is bound to bring my name up as a friend of yours.”

“Yeah, and then they’ll have every cop in town doing mandatory overtime to find us.”

“Very funny. Believe it or not, I still have some friends that are cops.”

“Doesn’t that make you feel special?”

Robert adjusted the revolver so it fit more comfortably in the holster under his arm. Will had also provided him with several knives to conceal under his clothing. He stood up and felt the extra weight pulling at his body.

“I feel like I’ve just been on a Wal Mart shopping spree.”

Will handed him a thin flashlight to keep in his pocket. “Hey, I’m not just giving you this shit. You’re going to have to return it you know. I’m keeping a list.”

****

Nugget panted nervously. Will kept the truck idling a block over from where Robert’s mother lived. Having grown up in the house, Robert knew the easiest route to get to the backdoor without being seen. The sun had risen, but near the house several giant oak trees kept the backdoor in perpetual shade.

He’d tried calling his mother to see if she was home, then decided she might just not be answering for fear of talking to another reporter or maybe she’d unplugged it all together. When they drove past the house it appeared vacant, curtains closed and a couple rolled up newspapers lying on the walkway. Robert also noted that Dan’s Lincoln wasn’t sitting in the driveway. Maybe they’d gone to help look for Peggy and Connor.

He jimmied the screen to his old bedroom window and was inside the house in minutes. It was still mostly dark on this side of the house and didn’t quite smell the way it used to. Robert’s father was never a cologne man but his mom’s new husband was and it left a sickly sweet odor to things. Robert checked all the rooms before going up the stairs to the attic. The place smelled just the way he remembered it, a combination of mildew and dust and something else that he always associated with the old magic of the past but could never identify.

It had been years since he’d been up in the attic, and it took him a moment to recall where his mother kept the old chest. His stepfather had taken no care in stacking his boxes of junk after moving in with Robert’s mother. After searching behind Dan’s stuff he finally found what he was looking for.

The chest was never locked, for it had already rusted away back when his grandmother kept it stored in her leaky attic. He pulled it forward by its worn leather strap and carefully raised the lid. Reaching inside, he rummaged down through a layer of faded photographs and old leather bound books. He glanced at the photos as he dug, thinking he might get lucky and find a picture of his great grandfather Jared Horn. But he knew better than to believe this, for his father had once told him that if any pictures ever existed they had certainly burned up in a tragic house fire long ago.

At last he came to the oblong shaped parcel wrapped in crumbling brown paper. He tore away the brittle layers until he came to the polished box. The type of wood was nothing he’d ever seen before. Depending on the angle you tilted it, the dark grain would turn from the color of blood to that of a creamy blue much like full moons in the summertime. It felt hot in his hands, and radiated such heat that beads of sweat immediately gathered on his forehead.

He held it closer and stared at the deep engravings he’d recalled seeing when he was a child, grand wilderness scenes of mountains and glaciers, wondering if his grandfather had seen the box and why he had never mentioned it to him.

At first you didn’t notice them, but after a few moments people and animals gradually emerged within the engravings. Robert shivered and goose bumps rose up his arms like a spreading rash. He wanted to put the box away like he’d done when he was a boy but instead he lifted the top and peered inside.

The box was empty.

Was the ghost lying to him?

He stuck his fingers inside and ran them along the inside of the box as his mind lost itself in thought.

Maybe Will was right. This is a waste of time. I should be on my way to Wrath Butte to rescue my family…

At about the third circuit around, his ring finger struck something sharp, and he withdrew his hand. Whatever it was had drawn blood. A sliver? He picked up the flashlight and shone it inside to see what had caused it and noticed a needle like the end of a porcupine quill sticking up from the bottom. When he turned the box upside down to try and get a better look, a false bottom fell open on miniature hinges and a roll of soft white calf leather dropped into his hand.

Robert set down the box and began to spread the long leather strip across the floor. He discovered a map of a mountain, with small dashes indicating a trail leading up a glacier to a star-shaped mark with the initials “C. M.” printed next to it. The detail of the map was amazing. As Robert traced his finger over it he started to recognize the forms of certain rock outcroppings and the winding paths of streams.

The map was of the same glacier his grandfather had warned him to stay away from as a boy…

****

They were on the highway a half hour later. Will had switched out the license plates as a precaution, although they never saw a single cop.

As they moved eastward and up to higher elevation, the thick cloud cover that had been pushing down on Portland began to pull apart. Crows dove down to the highway and picked at the bloody scraps of road kill. Robert dozed off again, while Will talked quietly on his cell phone. After he finished and put the phone away he nudged Robert’s shoulder.

“Wake up. I just got some info on the guy who drowned in the Tabor reservoir.”

Robert rubbed his eyes and sat up. The bright sunlight made his head hurt. “What is it?”

“You’re right. He’s another cousin of yours. It all checks out. And the cops think you have something to do with his family missing.”

Robert turned his head and stared at the forest rushing past.

“So why did Marsh choose us?”

“Maybe it has something to do with the map. I’d bet money your cousins each had a copy of it.”

“If that’s the case, then what is the purpose of us having fight? Couldn’t Marsh just take the map and go get what he wants without getting anyone killed?”

Will let up on the accelerator as a state patrol car passed in the opposite direction. The deputy didn’t even turn his head.

“That’s what’s so weird about it. It’s like you’ve been chosen for some kind of blood ritual. Whoever Marsh is working for has got to be seriously fucked up. If he’s got an agenda it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Do you think it could be someone who has held a grudge against my family for a long time?”

“I don’t think it’s anyone outside the family that’s behind this. Why go to all the trouble? This might be crazy idea, but I think it’s somebody in your family tree who is orchestrating all of this.”

Robert shook his head and laughed bitterly. “But it’s not possible. There aren’t many relatives left on my father’s side. Alive anyway.”

Will’s face darkened and he chewed pensively on his lower lip.

“What is it?”

“I never told you about something I once saw.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Back when we were in Mexico.”

“And you’re waiting until now to tell me this story?”

“Yes, and I don’t know why. There was just so much shit happening back then. I never really believed it myself. I guess I thought I should keep it buried. But things sometimes take time to work their way back up. Like wood slivers in your hand.”

“What was I doing during this?”

“You were unconscious when it happened.”

Will took a sip of coffee. The highway began to ascend Mt. Hood, not far from the gravel road that led to the house where Robert’s grandfather once lived.

“Well I don’t remember being unconscious,” Robert said.

“It was only for a short time Bobby. It wasn’t like you’d been knocked out by anything.”

“Where were we?”

“We were holed up in that hacienda. Waiting for it to get dark so we could go rescue your dad. A couple of Garcia’s thugs stood in front while the heat inside was killing us both. We were just lying on the dusty floor trying to stay quiet. Then I heard this voice, real thin, like a whisper. At first I thought it was you. But when I looked over your mouth wasn’t open and you didn’t even react when I touched your shoulder.

“For a second I thought maybe there was someone inside the hacienda with us, and I was thinking shit, this is great, because we’ve got two assholes standing outside who’ve been ordered to kill us. But when I looked around I didn’t see anyone until I saw a shape pass many times through a shaft of light beaming down from a hole in the busted roof. I thought I was just seeing shit because the thing moving in and out of the dusty light was practically transparent.

“When I sat up and rubbed my eyes the thing stopped moving. Then just as I was about to turn back around and check on you again I saw the face of a man appear in the light, and the sight of him sent chills down across my skin despite the fact we were inside a fucking oven being slowly baked alive.

“As you know, I’ve never been a believer in ghosts. I’m a die-hard skeptic through and through. But here was something I could see with my own eyes. So I whispered to the glimmering form, asked what it wanted. He didn’t look up. He just stared at you on the floor next to me, as if he’d known you for a long time. Then I heard him move through the dark and he started making scratching sounds at the door. I swore at him under my breath to stop what he was doing but he ignored me. Then I heard the two men outside start to talking excitedly and they began to wrestle with the broken handle of the front door.

“They were going to kill us for sure, I thought. I tried shaking you again, but you just lay there like you were in some kind of deep trance. I aimed for the door hoping I could pick at least one of them off before they burst in with their rifles. When they finally broke inside and I could see the bright light coming in through the doorway the ghost or whatever it was attacked them, drove them back out into the light.

“I listened to their screams as they ran off down the street. Then I heard several gunshots and things went quiet again. Later when we split up, I saw the two men lying dead in an alley. Someone had taken their rifles and stripped them of their boots and several scab-covered pigs had started feeding on the bloating bodies.

“To this day I believe a ghost saved our lives back in that run down hacienda. Even if we’d been able to deal with those Garcia boys the noise it took to do it would have drawn more trouble than we could handle.”

Robert stared at his friend after he’d finished.

“Let me tell you what I know about my great grandfather.”

CHAPTER 39

Charlie Maynard gave up the idea of returning home and exacting his revenge upon the cruel sea captain who’d shanghaied him. The need had vanished. Instead, he’d grown fond of the islanders who’d once tried to kill him. Had his master not received a powerful vision of Charlie coming back from the dead to learn the ancient ways, he would not have survived.

He no longer saw the people he lived with as savages. Despite having an irrational fear toward a spirit world they believed woven intricately with their own, Maynard witnessed great flashes of intelligence and wisdom in his fellow tribesmen. It wasn’t until he’d learned the skills of his master, however, that he too became familiar with the deeper source of their fear.

The witch doctor’s name was Oman, and his ebony skin was the darkest of any African Maynard had seen during his travels. In contrast, the elderly man’s hair was as white as the necklace of bleached bones hanging from his neck. He smiled often, even when he was angry. Old pink scars would swell and writhe while he performed his most difficult tasks.

Maynard learned that while Oman’s grandfather and father had been fishermen their whole lives, his great grandfather had also been a shaman. The leaping forward of two generations was no accident, but followed an ancient custom. If the tradition was ever violated, the power entrusted to the shaman would be lost forever.

When it came time to find the shaman’s successor his great grandsons would be called together for the ancient rite. They called it climbing a red mountain, and the one who survived their bloody trials would become the next shaman. Thirty years ago Oman had climbed the red mountain, and the ugly scars covering his entire body were his constant reminders.

CHAPTER 40

One morning a group of explorers accidentally discovered the island after a storm had blown them far off course. Since Maynard was the only white man on the island, the roguish crew of English seamen gravitated toward him for help, fearful of the company he kept and offering to take him with them as soon as they repaired their boat and replenished their lost supplies. They were shocked to find Maynard so content among the savages, that he preferred the loincloth and shell necklaces to the spare clothes they’d found on board for him.

The crew was only supposed to stay for a week after they made their vessel ready, but it soon turned into three weeks and then stretched to over a month. It was a welcome diversion from their hard life at sea and they didn’t want to leave. They made wine from the fruits and flowers they found growing abundantly up in the surrounding hills and fed nightly on wild boar. Many members of the tribe began to drink with them, and soon terrible fights were started, mostly over the women or imagined thefts of property.

When one of the crewmen was found screaming as he hung suspended above a bed of hot coals for attempting to force his lustful desires on a young native girl, the island exploded with violence. Natives were cut down with machetes or shot by muskets. When Oman tried to rescue his two grandsons and their mother from a burning hut, the crewmen tied him to a tree and made him watch as they slit his belly open and his insides spilled out in a shiny mass.

“Read your future in that,” spat the sailor who’d done the cutting.

At the time Charlie was paddling across the island’s hidden black lagoon after gathering herbs and other plants to use for healing purposes. He smelled smoke and turned around to see what was happening. Great flames were coming from the village and he heard distant screams. He pulled up to shore and ran to see what was happening. When he got to the village he found Oman half alive, trying desperately to wind his intestines around his wrist so he could shove them back into his gaping abdomen.

Oman knew he was dying but insisted that Maynard allow it to happen, even despite the possibility he might still be saved by their ancient practice.

“The ritual to heal me takes too long,” the old man said, pushing Maynard away. “The invaders need to be stopped before all is lost.”

“They won’t survive, Oman. They’re outnumbered, and those who swim for their ship are covered with blood that will be smelled by our brothers the sharks. They will be eaten alive...”

Oman stared at him with fading eyes and a wide smile. He could no longer speak to Maynard through his mouth but that didn’t stop him from communicating in his special way, mind to mind.

“You don’t know this. One of those devils could still escape and return later with hundreds of his kind... You must make certain this won’t happen and do what’s best for the tribe. My family has been taken away from me and there’s nothing left but my sorry bag of bones… That is the reason you were sent to this island. It is why I had the vision. The spirits knew this day would come...”

Oman bent forward and a stream of blood flowed from his mouth. Maynard helped lower him next to the trunk of the tree. The old shaman grabbed his water flask and rinsed his face. His dark skin had turned into a purplish hue.

“Only you can be my successor. You must find others that can be trusted with the knowledge. Take the gifts I’ve taught you and find some giant land where you can begin to reseed.”

Maynard’s face was slicked with tears. “But I have no family of my own.”

“Then you must create one, or find one whose heart is truly open to yours. Now leave me. I must die alone.”

“Please don’t send me away Oman.”

“It is what you must do, my friend. Don’t cry for me. My spirit will return to this island after I make my journey. Perhaps one day a seed of yours will return here to converse with me. But remember one thing before you go, Charlie. Do not allow your soul to house the two devils of hatred and revenge for very long. You must purify as soon as possible. We may need to live in the dark when it is absolutely necessary, but we must always return to the house of light after we’ve completed what was needed.”

Oman’s head fell against his shoulder and he died with his smile still on his face and his eyes turned toward his pupil as if he’d just posed a final riddle. His fist released his intestines and they uncoiled onto the ground like a restless snake.

Maynard wiped the tears from his eyes, kissed his tutor on the forehead and then took off running toward the beach where he could hear men shouting as they struggled to swim past the rough surf to their ship anchored in the bay.

CHAPTER 41

Years of living on the island had turned Charlie into a strong swimmer and it didn’t take him long to catch up with the retreating Englishmen. He carried an ivory blade between his teeth. Thick tendrils of smoke stretched out over the water, providing only brief periods of visibility. As soon as he came close enough behind his prey he’d dive beneath the surface of the foamy water and stroke as fast as he could, then shoot up below and lay the knife across the man’s throat without being seen.

The emerald green lagoon soon blossomed with concentrations of red. Sharks swam to the victims as they sank bleeding to the bottom holding their throats and ate them while they were still conscious. Others were able to make it to the boat and crawl inside, gasping for air. When Charlie finally swam up to the side of the boat he felt his heart sink.

Many more men had made it to the boat than he had anticipated. It would be impossible to kill them all, at least at this point in time. Charlie had no choice but to drop his knife before they saw it. Hands reached down and helped him aboard. The men stared at him suspiciously, and he saw some raise their weapons although it was obvious he was unarmed.

“What do you want here?” asked one of the men Charlie had seen setting fires to the huts. The man wore a patch over one eye.

“I want to go with you. I want to return to the civilized world.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not a heathen?”

“Aye. It was purely a matter of survival. If I had not adopted their ways my head would have been set on the end of a pike.”

“He’s lying!” said another man who looked anxious to cut him down with a long blade. “And even if he convinces you he’s not, he will still bring us bad luck if we take him back with us.”

“Let’s kill him!” cried a voice from the back of the crowd. But the man with the patch on his eye turned and motioned them to quiet down.

“Must I remind you I am the captain of this vessel now?” He turned back to Maynard. “Perhaps you can be of use to us. It appears our best navigator has been killed. If you can guide us through these murderous reefs then I will see to your safe passage.”

Maynard took the man’s hand without hesitation and shook it. “Then we have an accord, sir.”

Two weeks later the vessel sailed into an English port to be restocked with supplies. Those who recognized the ship thought something odd had happened to her crew. Other than the one-eyed captain and his strange American companion, no one else had left the ship.

Some passersby reported seeing strange hooded figures pacing the ship’s decks late at night. Serious attention came when a drunken sailor was found dying from stab wounds he claimed to have received from a hooded figure when he’d boarded the ship without permission. Even more remarkable about the sailor’s story was his insistence that his attacker was not a living man at all but the reanimated corpse of an old friend.

The truth, however, would remain elusive. By the time suspicions of some foul occurrence had reached the point where a local magistrate was awakened to the news, the ship had slipped quietly out of the harbor under a blanket of soupy fog, bound for the American Northwest.

CHAPTER 42

Except for Peggy, the other women and children had been rounded up and locked in the tool shed. It was hot in there, with its corrugated metal blistering to the touch. Marsh could hear their muffled cries for help. He took immense pleasure leading Peggy past them with a rifle barrel ground against her already throbbing skull.

She’ll do anything for me now. Anything she can to see her boy again...

When they came to the barn he opened the door and waved at her to go inside.

“It’s time for our little hayride, darling. Hope you’re up for a good time.”

Crying, Peggy froze in the doorway until he shoved her inside and shut the door behind them. He led her deeper into the barn where he tied her to a post covered with old horseshoes hanging from nails. Before leaving, he squeezed one of her breasts through her shirt. She shuddered and another hot wave of tears flowed from her face and pitted the dirt floor.

“Don’t you worry baby, I’ll be right back. Give you some time to get all hot and juicy.”

With the aid of his pickup and a length of rope, Marsh next pulled Wilbur around to the back of the barn where he wouldn’t be seen out in the open. The big man had tried his best. He’d stood up bravely to Marsh although it had been short lived. Now he was unconscious from two strikes to the head from Marsh’s rifle butt, but not before he’d been ordered to tie Peggy’s hands behind her back with his leather belt.

Marsh decided it was too early to kill the man. He’d gagged and tied him to a tree instead.

Stupid hick might still be useful later, he thought.

On his way back to the barn he stopped and drank some water from a rubber hose. He was thirsty as hell, and the cool water felt good over his burns. Then he remembered something he’d put in his shirt pocket and smiled as he pulled it out. It was the free boner pills he’d gotten in the mail. He’d been saving them for a special occasion just like this.

He popped the pills into his mouth and guzzled some more water. As he walked toward the barn, the cries coming from the tool shed made him grin. He felt a rush of heat to his crotch, the sense that his pants were tightening.

Oh this is going to be fun…

The faint light seeping into the barn reminded Marsh of twilight. He inhaled the rich aromas of cut hay and manure, reminding him of the first time he’d taken a woman into a barn back when he was still a senior in high school. She’d been a hitchhiker, to be exact. And there hadn’t been anyone around for miles to hear a thing on that stormy night, no one to worry about what had happened to the truck stop whore some had seen him give a ride to that afternoon...

This one he’d treat differently though. She was worth a taste first. Like a delicious new cigar he’d roll her around in his mouth and get her good and moist before he brought on the flame. Hell, she might even turn out to like it.

Before he untied her hands, he fastened the dog collar around her neck and attached it to a chain. The collar was still damp with the blood of Wilbur’s dog. After he was finished, Marsh knocked Peggy forward onto a pile of hay. She rolled over on her back and screamed while he glowered above her with the rifle.

“As soon as you’re finished I’ll need you to strip.”

CHAPTER 43

The highway sign told them Wrath Butte was another fifty miles. Having fallen asleep again, Robert awoke to Will holding a cup of coffee under his nose. He winced as he tried straightening up in his seat. Places other than just his hip were on fire now.

“Take those first,” Will said, pointing to two pills lying in the empty ashtray.

“What are they?”

“They’ll take care of the pain, but they won’t knock you out.”

Robert threw them into his mouth and then took the cup of coffee from Will’s hand. It wasn’t very hot anymore, but the bitterness gave him a nice jolt and sent the pills down his dry throat.

“Do you have any idea of where this farmhouse is we’re going to?”

Will pulled out a map he’d printed off and handed it over to Robert to look. “I had Mr. Frosty point out the area for me. It’s actually a little before Wrath Butte, so we don’t have a lot further to go.”

“Do you know the size of our welcoming party?” Robert asked.

“From what Frosty told me, not a lot. I figure we’ll have Marsh and maybe a couple guards to worry about.”

“That’s if Mr. Frosty was telling you the truth.”

“Oh, I think he was. He wasn’t too sure if I was ever going to pull him out of the freezer. I told him he’d better let me know everything before you woke up from your nap. The threat of dealing with you again seemed to work.”

“Did you get him to tell you what this was all about?”

“Not exactly. But I got the sense Marsh had promised him and the others some big payout if they kept working for him. He wasn’t exactly in the loop on most things.”

“Do you have any idea what we might expect?”

“Since Mr. Frosty has most likely tipped off Marsh already, I think they’ll be ready for us. How do you suppose we should do this?”

Robert drained his cup of coffee and studied the map spread out on his knees. “I think we should circle in a bit slowly and get a handle on what’s happening. It’s going to take more time than I want but it’s the best way I can think of.”

“And if Peggy and Connor are still there?”

“Then we’ll have to weigh our options.”

CHAPTER 44

Marsh pressed his burned face between Peggy’s breasts and moaned. His skin felt like a mask of hardened plastic. He reached down with his hand and slipped it under her panties. Then his fingers began to walk slowly over her pubic hair until they came to the cleft between her legs where they began to slide around in large coaxing circles.

Instead of trying to shut down her senses to what was happening to her, Peggy concentrated on every move the man made. She dug her hands down into the dry hay and felt around with her fingertips. When Marsh lowered his mouth over her nipple she felt his body relax as he got more lost in what he was doing.

As he sucked harder he removed his hand from between her legs and tried tugging down her panties. Peggy didn’t lift her waist to help him with the task and the panties came to a halt against her hipbones. Marsh tried pinching the fabric between his fingers and pulling down but his hands kept slipping. He lifted his head from her breast and slid over to her side and stared at her.

“Going to play hard to get, huh?” Pieces of straw stuck to the broken blisters on his face.

Peggy shook her head and closed her eyes. Her fingers had found the thing she’d been looking for in the straw. She grasped it tightly and waited…

Marsh’s hand went back down to complete the task of pulling off her panties. He turned his head and watched the veil of silk inch tantalizingly over her pubis, groaning with delight until Peggy’s hand shot up from behind and cracked him in the temple with a rusted horseshoe.

“You bitch!” Marsh screamed. He made the mistake of turning his head around to face her. This time Peggy smashed him between the eyes before she lost her grip on the horseshoe.

When Marsh sat up electrical sparks swirled at the corners of his vision and every beat of his heart brought with it another shade of darkness. He gazed down at several Peggy’s lying naked on the hay below him and got lost in the shifting kaleidoscope. He clasped his hands together to form an anvil and swung it down with all his weight behind it.

And hit only the bed of straw below him…

Peggy had acted fast. She was swimming across the golden pool of hay now in a shiny pink blur.

Marsh saw the leather leash trailing behind her and reached down and grabbed it. He heard her choke as it snapped back her head. But she didn’t stop moving, not even as the dog collar bit into her skin and the strap of leather burst hotly through Marsh’s hand, taking with it a layer of his palm.

Unable to comprehend what had just happened, Marsh held his hand up to his face and stared at the raw bloody patch. He heard a sound and looked up. Peggy was aiming his rifle at his head.

Is this how the show ends?

He watched as her finger squeezed the trigger in slow motion…

When the thunder boomed inside his head it was oddly anticlimactic. He felt his body become weightless. As he fell forward onto the hay, he imagined he was a crow gliding lazily over golden wheat fields on a hot summer afternoon.

That was until he realized he was being eclipsed by another shadow bearing down from above…

Marsh didn’t have to be reminded who it was.

CHAPTER 45

When Peggy squeezed the trigger on Marsh’s rifle, nothing happened.

The gun was empty. He’d used up everything putting holes in Wilbur’s water truck.

Yet Marsh had fallen on his face as if he’d been struck down. He hadn’t moved.

Peggy finished pulling on her clothes and ran outside the barn into the blazing sunlight. She headed for the tool shed where she could hear the other’s cries.

“Connor. Are you all right?”

“I’m OK. But it’s really hot in here mom. The lady who made us pancakes fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry honey. I’m going to have you out of there in just a few minutes.”

The metal doors were hot to touch, and when she saw the padlock holding them together she screamed out in anger.

She searched the ground for something to pry the padlock apart but came up with nothing except some brittle sticks. What she needed was a crowbar or a sledgehammer. They were probably inside the shed too.

She turned her head and looked back at the barn door she’d left wide open. Marsh still lay on the bed of straw, his burned flesh shining as if covered by embryonic fluid. He looked to Peggy like the stillbirth of some demonic creature.

She ran back into the barn and grabbed a pitchfork from a bale of hay as she went. Being careful not to turn her eyes away from Marsh for very long, she searched the barn for something she could use to break the padlock…

CHAPTER 46

At the moment Marsh had left his body, Horn had come to him again. Not only as a ghost who could tear him to pieces, but what he feared most. The Horn who did terrible things to his mind.

“You’re nothing but a stupid piece of charred meat,” Horn bellowed inside his head. “I’ve asked you to carry out my plans. Now look at you. You’re giving into your degenerate instincts again. I should kill you now.”

Marsh raised his head and stared at the bloody sun of his internal universe.

“Forgive me Horn. You know I’m weak. That woman really hurt me. I deserved a chance to take payment for it.”

Horn swelled with anger, filling the inside of Marsh’s head with a painful light, until Marsh was certain that at any moment it would explode. He reached up with his hands and pressed his temples. His nostrils dripped blood.

“Aw god please stop!” he screamed.

It seemed as if Horn was pressing forever. Marsh’s eyes bulged, nearing the point where they might spit from their sockets. Then Horn pulled back, and the crimson nova in Marsh’s head shrank to a mere pinpoint suspended in utter darkness. He dropped his hands and cried. He thought for sure he was going to die.

“Don’t forget Marsh. You’re just an ant to me and I’m the magnifying glass. Next time I’m not going to pull away until your bones are cinders. Can you get yourself together now and take charge of this situation?”

Marsh nodded, his swollen eyes still pressed shut.

“Then rise to your feet.”

To his own amazement, Marsh could. His mind felt suddenly clearer than it had ever been in his life. The recent injuries his flesh had suffered had unlocked a mystical part inside him. For the first time his saw his black heart and understood how it had become that way.

As a boy he’d learned there were pleasures one could experience from inflicting pain. In order to free him from the pain of what his father did to him, Marsh’s first victims were his weaker classmates and stray animals. And while he was still only a junior in high school he had his first woman…

He’d tried to resist, even attempted suicide. But his need for release only grew stronger. It festered after every beating he took from his father and even after he’d gotten away with killing the old man the taste for it never left him. And then along came the draft and Vietnam—every opportunity Marsh had tried to avoid suddenly served to him on a big silver platter.

Now his ugly heart spoke to Marsh with the voice of a young boy. A young boy scared of being punished again for being bad.

There was no escape from the cycle. He was doomed.

The only thing left to do was to obey and hope that maybe he’d be rewarded soon with more gold than he could imagine. Or maybe Horn would later kill him as promised. The uncertainty churned an icy froth in his stomach, and yet he’d never felt this alive in years, not since his mercenary days.

Marsh sobbed some more as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up over his stinging skin. He glanced around the barn, thought about how similar it was to the one his father used to take him to when it was time for punishment. His heart quivered against his ribs like a frightened rabbit.

It’s time to finish this. No more mistakes…

CHAPTER 47

Peggy used a tire iron to rip apart the lock. She slid open the shed doors. Connor flew into her arms, almost knocking her to the ground. She drew him close and kissed his face and wet it with her tears. Jan and her daughter stumbled out into the sun, blinking.

“Did that man hurt you Connor?” Peggy asked.

“No Mom, I’m okay. But I think the nice lady is hurt.”

“She’s still breathing,” Jan said, wiping the sweat from her eyes. “But we need to get her out of there right away.”

“Okay,” Peggy said. She set Connor back down.

“What happened to that man?” Jan asked, staring around nervously. “He didn’t leave. His truck is still here.”

Peggy knew she didn’t have much time to explain. “He’s hurt, and I don’t think he’ll be waking up soon either. Go find us some water and I’ll see if I can help Betty.”

“I don’t want to leave you again mom.”

“You want to help the nice lady don’t you?”

“Jan reached out and took the boy’s arm. Come on Connor. Your mom needs to do something first.”

Peggy stepped inside the shed. It was sweltering hot and stank of fertilizer. Wilbur’s wife lay slumped in the corner, semi-conscious. Peggy grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse. The woman’s skin was pale and clammy. Her breath was rapid.

“Betty?”

The woman did not stir at first. Then she mumbled something Peggy couldn’t understand.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Betty. If you can help me, I’d really appreciate it.”

She bent down and tried pulling the woman up, but it was difficult in the room she had to work with. Betty moaned and her eyes opened wider. She was way too heavy for Peggy to move on her own and there just wasn’t enough room for another person to come inside the shed and help her carry her out.

“I can’t do this by myself. You’re going to have to try and help me.”

Peggy bent her knees once more and heaved, feeling the muscles in her back stab painfully. She thought she was going to have to let her back down again when the woman suddenly grunted and pushed herself up. Peggy managed to get an arm around her and lead her out.

Connor and the others were standing outside with a pail of water. They followed as Peggy guided the woman to the shade of a tree and set her down. She cupped her hands and drew out water to splash on the woman’s face. Gradually the woman’s breathing steadied and her skin was cool to the touch.

“Are you feeling better?” Peggy asked.

The woman nodded. Then she began to sob.

“My husband. Where is my husband?”

Peggy whirled around and looked for any signs of Wilbur. She had last seen the big man sprawled on the ground. Marsh had knocked him out cold. But now he was nowhere in sight.

“Stay here,” Peggy said. She lifted the tire iron from the ground. As she got closer to where Wilbur had been left unconscious, she began to make out a smooth drag mark in the dust.

CHAPTER 48

Horn didn’t like being a ghost much at first, for it took some time getting used to. While the vigilantes were being slain by the thing thawed from the ice in the cellar, he’d caught an easterly breeze with the tumbleweeds and drifted in the direction his family was traveling.

After a few weeks he found them, but once he did he clung to the edge of their camp and watched over them at night. They were terribly nervous of what dangers might be lurking and yet Horn sensed a renewed energy in his wife and eldest son. It seemed as if their wills were once again their own. It also helped that they were armed with the rifles Horn had made certain they could shoot. Any highwaymen or Indians looking for trouble would get much more than they’d bargained for.

When his youngest son Tommy went to gather firewood one evening, Horn made himself seen for the first time. To do so cost him much energy and pain, and he knew he’d be nothing but a drifting, formless fog for the next couple days.

The boy immediately took him for real. He dropped the bundle of firewood he’d gathered and ran to embrace his father’s arms. When Horn held him close, the boy began to shiver. To Horn, the boy’s circulatory system moved beneath his palms like a thousand rivers and trickling creeks of vibrating heat, a sensation of pure life that he himself would never embody again.

“You’re so cold, papa. Have you been at the glacier again?”

Horn bent down to his knees so he could look up into the child’s eyes. The boy’s hair had already grown out a lot, a deep auburn like his mother’s. Whiskers of frost appeared on his son’s jacket as Horn leaned closer.

“I am not your father. Not anymore.”

“You are so!” Tommy said, grabbing his father’s arms tighter, although Horn could tell the cold made his hands hurt. The boy was so brave. Brave enough to return on his own so he could help his father while a posse of drunken vigilantes called Horn’s name.

“I’m dead, son. I’m nothing but a ghost now.”

“No. You’re real. I can feel you and people say you’re not supposed to be able to feel a ghost.”

“People are wrong sometimes. I’m telling you the truth. Those bad men back in Wrath Butte burned me up to nothing but a crisp. What you see is what I saw the last time I looked at myself in the mirror. I’m only a memory of what I think I used to look like.”

He didn’t know if his son understood what he was saying but the child backed a few steps away from him and silently watched while tears streaked over his pink face. Horn worried he’d said too much. He didn’t want to frighten the boy. But he had such little time, for he could already feel himself losing permanence once again.

“I still don’t believe you pa. You’re going to have to show me.”

Horn grinned. He’d taught his son all too well. That if a man couldn’t back up his claims with evidence, you had no reason to believe what he said.

He held out his hands so the two of them could watch. Soon, the fingers began to melt down to nothing and before he could control it all that was left were two bloodless stumps where his wrists used to be.

When Tommy fainted to the ground, Horn scooped him up in his arms and carried him back to the campfire and laid him next to his mother and brother who were sound asleep. So much for somebody keeping watch. They would, however, be able to join others making the same trek to San Francisco. Horn had spied on them too, and was confident his family would be in safe company.

Before leaving, he touched his wife’s smooth neck with his forearm, and the cold of it made her readjust her woolen scarf in her sleep.

“You’ll get along okay,” he whispered into her ear. “There’s a party just up the trail who is heading in the same direction you’re going. They’re decent folk and not from Wrath Butte. If you and the boys get up early enough you will meet them.”

He stared at his family one last time before returning to the place where he’d been killed. It was too painful to be around them for very long. He decided that was why ghosts chose to haunt certain houses. They just had nowhere else they felt comfortable at. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe they couldn’t ever completely leave because someone else held the key to their prison…

CHAPTER 49

The heat felt like an oven bearing down from above. Robert and Will crouched next to a rock and watched the Horn farm through binoculars. Nugget was panting hard. She dug herself a temporary place beneath the shade of a thick juniper bush.

“There’s no one there,” Robert said.

The old farmhouse reminded Robert of hunting with his father. Of finding the skeletal remains of elk killed years earlier and seeing how far their bones had sunk into the forest floor. Once he’d had a dream of a whole world beneath the ground, populated by roaming skeletal beings.

He handed the binoculars back to Will. “Looks like there must have been a fire last night. Something is smoldering behind the house.”

Will nodded. “Not only was there a fire Bobby, but something got blown to shit. I can see bits of metal shrapnel all over the place.”

Robert took the binocs back from Will and glassed it for himself. He felt his heart begin to drum against his chest.

Peggy… Peggy has something to do with this. He couldn’t shake the idea from his mind.

Weapons drawn, they circled once around the entire house before moving in. They entered through an opened window on the shaded side and searched all the rooms, ready for someone to pop out any moment with a gun.

“If I were Marsh, I think I would have picked a better shack for my headquarters,” Will said.

Robert glanced up at the ceiling. There were large holes in the roof where he could see the sky. He thought a strong gust of wind would be all it would take to flatten the place. The fact that Marsh was living here said something about his mental state.

“But where did they go?” Robert asked. His mind was racing now, picking over the contents of the rooms at a blurred rate. There was nothing at all indicating where Marsh might have taken his family. He and Will were now split up and searching in different places. He heard Will come up behind him.

“You need to see this.”

Robert turned and saw in Will’s hand a man’s shirt. Will held it up so Robert could see the burn holes.

“Whoever was wearing this has got to be in a lot of pain.” Will brought the shirt to his nose. “These burns smell fresh.”

Suddenly there was a sound of the back door swinging open followed by someone coughing. Will dropped the shirt to the floor and the two of them moved to see who it was.

They found Stick lying halfway inside the house. His face was badly burned and blackened. He’d tied his belt around the bloody stump where his elbow used to be. It had taken him all morning to crawl back to the house.

Stick’s eyes shot up at them in surprise. It took a tremendous effort for him to suck in enough air to speak.

“Help me…”

“Holy fuck,” Will shouted. He rushed forward and carefully lifted the man up. He propped him up against a fire damaged wall.

Robert shoved past Will and sank his hands into Stick’s scrawny neck. “Who are you? What have you done to them?”

“Let him go Bobby,” Will said. “Can’t you see he’s dying?”

“That’s the least of his worries right now.” But after a few moments he did as Will asked and let go of Stick’s throat. His friend was right, there wasn’t much life left in the man. He didn’t want to end it too early if it meant there was information to be had, anything that might lead them to Peggy and Connor.

Stick coughed and his watery eyes drifted over to Will. “You must be here for the women and children,” his voice rasped.

“Yes we are partner,” Will said.

“Do you know where they are? Are they alive?” Robert asked.

Stick nodded. He began to cough again and Robert offered him a drink from his canteen. Stick drank a few sips before pushing it away.

“They escaped last night. They’re at my cousin’s house now. I heard Marsh talking on the phone. He told Wilbur a lie so Wilbur would keep them from finding help.”

“Where does Wilbur live?” Robert asked.

Stick lifted his only hand and pointed.

“He’s about two miles west of here. Almost down to the highway. I’m really worried for your family mister. Marsh has been gone for a long time.”

****

Wilbur began to wake up after the third hard slap to his face. When he opened his eyes he saw Marsh staring at him.

“Where do you keep the dynamite?” Marsh demanded after. He’d untied Wilbur’s gag.

Wilbur saw the fresh wounds on Marsh’s face. “Whose been kicking your ass?” he asked, chuckling softly. “Don’t tell me it was the woman.”

Marsh grinned from one corner of his mouth. He slammed a fist into the big man’s jaw. Wilbur rocked from side to side, choking on broken teeth.

“When I ask you a question fatty you’re supposed to give me an answer. Now I know you’re in the excavation business, so you must keep dynamite around here somewhere.”

Wilbur shook his head and spat.

Marsh grabbed him by the chin and pried out a loosened tooth with his fingers. Wilbur struggled to free himself but his hands were still tied behind his back.

“Come on Wilbur. I’m doing you a favor.”

He pulled the brown tooth out by its roots and held it up in front of Wilbur’s face.

“I’m sorry, where you really using this? Do you want it back?”

“Please don’t…” Wilbur cried. Thick tears streamed down his cheeks.

Marsh shoved the tooth into one of Wilbur’s nostrils and pushed it deep inside until his finger felt warm with blood. Wilbur squealed and thrashed his head.

When Marsh was finished, he had the information he needed.

He didn’t bother with killing Wilbur because he wouldn’t have any time to fully enjoy himself. There was a lot of work to be done before he could play again…

****

Peggy peered inside the barn and saw Marsh was no longer where she’d left him. Sweat popped out on her forehead and she began to feel an icy tremor up her spine.

How could it be possible? She’d hurt him bad and she knew it. Knew that someone in his condition couldn’t just get up and walk away…

She turned and ran back to the others beneath the walnut tree where she’d left them. As she approached, Connor ran up to her side and held her by the waist. As much as she tried, she couldn’t hide the terror she was feeling.

“What’s happened?” Jan asked.

“I’ve got bad news. Marsh is up, and god knows what he’s planning next.”

“Where’s my husband?” Betty cried.

“I don’t know. But we can’t stay here. Are there any weapons in the house?”

“Wilbur keeps a pistol in the bed stand.”

“Let’s go to the house then. How do you feel now?”

“I think I can walk.”

“Good. Okay everyone; let’s move as fast as we can.”

Peggy covered the group’s backs with the tire iron until everyone was safely in the house. Once they locked the doors and pulled the blinds, she bounded upstairs to the bedroom and found Wilbur’s pistol. She checked the chamber to see if it was loaded. It only had two bullets left inside. Probably not a high priority out here, she thought. Betty told her where to look for more, but after a frantic search through dusty closets and dresser drawers she gave up hope there’d be any more ammunition or guns in the house.

Two bullets – that’s all you’ve got.

She didn’t like the idea of them hiding in the house, but it was the best she could come up with. At least this way she could be here to defend them should Marsh decide to try and come inside. Still, their main problem was that there was no way for them to call for help and no guarantee that it would ever come. Marsh could hold them hostage as long as he liked…

****

“Is the woman with the boy yours?” Stick asked Robert.

“How did you know?”

Stick smiled. “There’s nothing special to it. All you need is a heart and a pair of eyes, and maybe you don’t even need to see in order to know. You’re hurting as bad on the inside as I’m hurting on the outside. But I know you’ll find them. There’ll be good times on the other side of the storm. You’ll see. Your wife is a strong woman, smart too. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how. I’m a weakling, and I just took the job Marsh offered because I needed to eat and have a place to sleep. I didn’t know he was going to keep me prisoner. They beat me real bad the times I tried to escape. But if I’d been able to get away I swear I would have gone right to the authorities and told them everything.”

Robert nodded, finally understanding what had happened. There was no reason for Stick to lie to him at his deathbed confession. He took the man’s charred hand in his while Will wandered into another room with his cell phone.

“Listen. My friend here is calling an ambulance for you. The hospital will take care of you.”

Stick shook his head and coughed. “He shouldn’t do that. Tell him I’m not worth the trouble. I’m fixing to die. I know your wife didn’t plan to hurt me. It was Marsh she wanted. The devil Marsh should have been the one to open the trailer door.”

Robert’s happiness over being told his family was still alive was now tempered by sadness and guilt for the man whose hand he now held. Stick gripped harder as a bolt of pain traveled up from the end of his severed arm and caused him to spit and curse. When the wave finally subsided his eyes came back into focus.

“I’m sorry you got mixed up in this business, Stick. I can tell now that you wanted to protect them. You’re a far better man than you give yourself credit for, and I’m sure Peggy would agree.”

Stick leaned away until the back of his head touched the wall. Robert could see he was going fast.

“There is one thing I’m not sure about,” Stick whispered. A grin began to emerge on his blistered mouth, and for the last few seconds of his life Stick’s eyes sparkled with grim bemusement.

“What is it?” Robert asked, leaning in closer.

“I think she must have stole my matches.”

CHAPTER 50

Horn had nothing to do with the death of the sheriff and his deputy. The thing he’d brought down from the mountain—Charlie Maynard’s loaned out protector—had killed them before it tried to flee back to its master’s tomb up in the glacier. And despite its preternatural prowess, the coyotes had attacked and eaten it.

On his way back home, Horn had found the remains of the female creature lying just outside the farm. She—it—had borrowed the body of a prostitute who’d been recently buried just outside of Wrath Butte. The woman had died under suspicious circumstances – poisoned, it was later believed, by one of Wrath’s highly respected and pious wives.

It appeared that Maynard had been a fraud after all. Horn felt bitter and betrayed. He wanted to be with his family and watch his sons grow.

He went back to the glacier and ordered Maynard to give his life back to him, but the robber’s face only mocked him with empty black eyes. Horn waited for many days for an answer that would not come. Then he became desperate, and began to beg for forgiveness as if he were a boy pleading fervently with his father.

Maynard said nothing.

But Horn couldn’t wait forever. He was going crazy. During a severe thunderstorm on the mountain he emerged from the glacier’s jaw and left for San Francisco to look in on his family. He traveled the country—hopping trains with the hobos most of the time—and visiting places he’d only dreamed of ever seeing in his lifetime. Over the years he checked on his family he saw his wife fully recover and become the beauty she once was, watched sadly as she fell in love with another man. And then the grandchildren came, and soon they were older and having children of their own…

He’d lived a few lifetimes keeping up with what was going on. The rounds to the various places his kin now lived began to expand wider and wider. The advantage was he didn’t need to eat or sleep, although he suffered from great boredom and loneliness. There was only so much pleasure in being able to watch other people go about their lives.

Sometimes it became all too much for him, and Horn would lash out at the world. He’d cause people to hurt themselves. He’d learned how to get inside people’s heads and it scared him. He didn’t want to become another Charlie Maynard. All he wanted was to truly die and stop being a ghost.

After he’d crisscrossed the country many times he eventually returned to the farmhouse, the place he called home, and waited for Maynard to forgive him, to say something.

Panic set in when Horn’s great grandsons grew into men. Although he hadn’t heard from Maynard for decades, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t return when the time arrived. He’d tried to prepare his grandsons for the futures lying in store for them and had on every occasion almost scared the three men to death.

The worst time had been when he’d tried to speak to Robert up at his grandfather’s cabin. Afterwards, when he broke up into a fine mist and flowed down into the thick darkening woods he worried he might have hurt the boy’s heart. Thankfully Robert’s grandfather had taught him a trick or two and the boy he’d last seen clinging to a cedar tree had now grown into a man.

One day, after Horn was beginning to think there was hope his kin would be spared from having to climb the red mountain, Maynard returned to collect.

Horn was helpless and couldn’t stop it. The ghost from the ice was more powerful than ever. He ordered him to find men who could help oversee the ritual of finding the next shaman. Horn resisted, had argued that they were no longer living on Oman’s small island where the boys always know what is going to be expected of them. Those were different people back there, different times. These men—his great grandsons—were not savages.

Maynard laughed so long and hard Horn thought he heard ice crack.

“We’re all savages, Horn. With the proper motivation, that is. I expect you’ll find a man suitable for the job, someone who understands others in the very abstract.” Later he told Horn he’d be free once his kin had climbed the red mountain and given their blood to the magic.

It was then that Horn finally understood. He was nothing now but a ghost who took orders from another ghost. Maynard, he realized, had never intended to give him much power. He’d only been interested in guaranteeing that Horn’s children survived to perpetuate the family bloodline. He’d infected Horn so the power would not be lost, had used him like safe deposit box to stash the family riches.

Years jumped by, and Wrath Butte teens started coming to the run down house to party. Horn soon tired of it, and scared some of them so badly they’d taken their lives. He thought he’d put an end to the visits, until the day Marsh came and tried to tear the house down during a drunken rage.

Marsh… He was so much trouble for Horn, and yet he was the key to Horn’s freedom from purgatory...

CHAPTER 51

“You know I’m the best damn scientist you’ve got Harold. So stop riding my ass every time you call.”

Dr. Carol Unger turned off her cell phone and shoved it back into her jacket.

Stupid micromanaging prick. Why can’t he ever let me get on with my work?

Unger stood up from her chair and watched as distant hikers approached base camp. They’d been up at the glacier all morning taking measurements and core samples of ice. She would have been with them except she’d been suffering from altitude headaches again. She’d decided to stay behind unless they absolutely needed her.

Her current boyfriend had radioed her hours earlier, although she couldn’t understand him through the heavy static. The radios were crap, just another thing she should have brought up with Harold but didn’t have the energy for. Marco, who usually kept an unnervingly cool head, had sounded overly excited about something. Unger had grown worried as the hours ticked by, believing someone on the team may have been hurt. Yet when she last did a head count through her spotting scope they all appeared to be there. Four dark specks moving across a glinting snow field.

Although Marco wasn’t officially part of the scientific team, he’d proved himself invaluable. A native of Argentina, Marco had years of climbing experience under his belt. He’d taken many teams to the South Pole to study glaciers and understood what was needed to make the expeditions successful. Carol had met him by accident during a late night out drinking at a local campus pub. So impressed by his multitude of skills—including resurrecting her dormant libido—she’d hired him to go up the mountain with her team for the summer.

She chased a few aspirins down with a cup of watery tea before settling back into her chair and opening her laptop. Displayed before her were various graphs describing the deteriorating affects climate change was having on this particular glacier. In another week or two she would have enough data to take home with her to study it further. She hoped to publish a paper on her findings before the university pulled the plug on any further field projects. A paper would give her the leverage she needed to shut Harold up for awhile…

There was so much pressure involved. Developers, hungry to turn the glacier into another winter ski run and summertime sled course for the amusement park crowd, were growing increasingly nervous that she’d find something which would prevent them from pushing forward with future plans. Local environmentalists hailed the study as a positive step in the right direction.

What Dr. Unger had discovered so far was that her glacier was alarmingly smaller than it had been fifty years ago. All summer they’d heard the mountain roaring as blocks of ice, sometimes the size of townhouses, broke apart from the crevasses and crash against one another like giant dice. As the bottom end of the glacier receded, rock once blanketed by ice for hundreds of years was becoming exposed.

Dr. Unger lost herself in the data the team had already compiled. She enjoyed the rush of scientific discovery, could spend days searching for patterns and developing theories to explain them. Sometimes she felt sad by what she saw happening, days when she looked upon the glacier as if it were a terminally ill patient—a patient whose body was slowly vanishing…

“Carol! Carol!” she heard Marco yelling excitedly. He and the other hikers from the team had finally reached camp.

Dr. Unger hadn’t been aware that she’d fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes she realized her headache was gone. Marco was heading toward her.

“What is it?” Unger asked. She stood up from her chair and stretched. “I couldn’t understand a single thing you said on the radio.”

As Marco got close she began to reach out to hug him before thinking better of it. Although the team knew they were sharing sleeping bags, she had to keep reminding herself to make an attempt at being circumspect. You just never knew if one of your grad students might become disgruntled for some reason and decide to make trouble for you. She’d heard plenty of nightmares from colleagues over the years.

Marco struggled to catch his breath. Unger could see his arm was bleeding through his down jacket. The other three students had rushed over to the supply locker and began pulling flashlights and heavy equipment.

“What the hell is going on? And what did you do to your arm?” Carol asked.

Marco took another step closer, his breath almost steaming against her face.

“I found a tunnel Carol. And it goes down inside the glacier. On my way out I slipped and scratched myself.”

“You aren’t supposed to be exploring any tunnels. We’ve already been in plenty of those this summer.”

“This one’s different. I saw something in the ice. I think it might be human…”

“A long lost skier perhaps?” Carol smirked. “Or a well preserved snow-boarder?”

Marco pulled off his jacket. The scratch was long but the bleeding had stopped. One of the crew came by and handed him a first aid kit and left. He unsnapped the lid and found antibiotic cream and gauze.

“All I know is that it looked human,”

“You mean you couldn’t see it very well?”

“The ice is a little clouded on the surface. But I think I can fix it.”

“We don’t have time for this. It’s probably just a rock or a tree that the glacier picked up a long time ago. I think you’re imagination has gotten the best of you.”

“No. It was real. The others believe me and we’re going back today.”

Carol couldn’t believe it. Not only was Harold trying to end her research trip early but now the team she’d brought up was going to mutiny on her.

“Are you forgetting what we’re here for? We still have tons of work to finish before we can leave. You’ve got to call this off, Marco. This is a ridiculous waste of time…”

Marco tied off a gauze bandage and looked up at her, grinning. “Then think of it as a chance to have a little fun for a change.”

Carol watched as Marco slid his hand inside his coat pocket and came out with something flashing between his closed fingers.

“Catch!” Marco said. He flipped a gold object up into the sunlight. When it came down Carol reached out and caught it. She was surprised by what she saw. The gold piece looked old, over a hundred years at least. What could something like this be worth?

“Where did you find this?” She asked, fearing the answer she already knew was coming.

“In the tunnel I was telling you about. I don’t think anyone has been down there for a long time. I think the entrance must have been sealed until just recently. If you hurry up and get your gear we can make it back up there in an hour.”

Dr. Unger stood silent for a moment, her mind trying to right itself again as she stared in awe at the coin in her hand. Not far away she could hear members of the team having a good chuckle. When she glanced up at them they looked away.

“I’ll have no choice but to fail you,” she shouted. But she knew her threat was useless. The team was ignoring her now. They had bigger things on their minds.

This is nuts, she thought. Who would have thought this could happen? Dr. Unger turned her gaze to the glacier looming above them.

The patient might be dying, but she still has many surprises up her sleeve…

Carol held the coin up to the sun one last time before handing it back to Marco.

“So you’re saying there are more of these?”

“I sure hope so,” Marco said. He pressed his lips against the coin like some crazed prospector from the past.

CHAPTER 52

Robert closed Stick’s dead eyes and found a blanket to cover him with. There wasn’t any time to wait for the ambulance to arrive. They got in the truck and Will stepped on the gas. Fifteen minutes later they were rolling down a dusty road to the front of Wilbur’s house.

The house looked closed up and the curtains were drawn. Robert wondered if Stick had been right about where Peggy and the others had fled from Marsh. Perhaps the neighbors were out of town, leaving Peggy to decide whether they should find another household that could help them.

But she would have checked to see if they had a phone first. Even if that entailed putting a rock through the front window so she could get inside.

She’d left no signs of stopping here. At least so far he hadn’t noticed any. Everything appeared to be in its place.

The porch was deeply shaded, surrounded by waist-high planter boxes overflowing with flowering plants. A wooden loveseat squeaked back and forth in the breeze and an occasional gust of wind caused it to thump against the house.

“I don’t like this,” Will said. “I don’t like this at all.”

“What is it?” Robert asked.

“We’re being watched.”

“You know where?”

“They’re inside the house. I saw someone behind the curtain of the front window when we pulled up. But they’re gone now. They’ve moved away from it.”

They gazed at the rest of the farm, noticing that the barn door had been left open. A padlock hung from a metal hasp. If the inhabitants of the house had gone somewhere it seemed odd they hadn’t closed things up. Unless they just forgot. Or had to leave in a hurry…

“I’ve got a funny feeling about this,” Will whispered. “Like a fly must feel before you sneak up and swat it.”

Robert exhaled slowly, trying to settle his nerves. “Then maybe we should hang back a bit, let them show themselves so we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

“And end up being out here the rest of the day? No thanks. If it’s just grandma in there with a rifle then I want to know if we’re wasting our time standing out here getting cooked.”

“Okay then. Let’s do it.”

Sensing their excitement, Nugget pressed her head between the seats. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men.

“What about her?” Will asked.

“Nugget stays. Until we find out if it’s safe.”

Moving fast, they slipped out of the truck and approached the porch with their weapons drawn. Robert soon felt the eyes on them too, although he couldn’t tell where the watcher was hiding. For the first time in several hours he’d become aware again of the hellish ordeal his body had been through. The pain buzzed within his flesh like a swarm of stinging wasps.

“We’ll knock first,” Will whispered, “And if we don’t get an answer right away I’ll kick in the door.”

“I have no objections to that,” Robert said, breathing heavily. His face was a mask of sweat.

Will shot him a look.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but I’ll live. Those pills are wearing off and I’m getting edgy.”

Both men lunged up the steps to the porch. Robert was about to knock on the front door when they were startled by loud ragged laughter.

They turned and saw Marsh sitting up on the porch swing. He’d been lying there all along, waiting patiently for them to make their move. Robert leveled his revolver at the man’s head until Will came up from behind and pulled his arm downward.

“Don’t do it, Bobby, the guy’s got a bomb.”

Robert hadn’t even noticed. He’d been too distracted by the familiar laugh. The mocking laugh that had been haunting him for the last three days. He then saw what Will was talking about. A bundle of dynamite—maybe six to eight sticks in all—duct taped together and wired to a crude igniter.

“Welcome, Mr. Crain,” Marsh said around a smoldering cigar. Blood streaked down from gashes in his forehead. His burnt face was as bright red as the dynamite he cradled in his hairless, charred arms. Robert and Will stared. They couldn’t believe a man in Marsh’s shape could still be conscious.

“Who the hell are you?” Robert asked.

“You don’t recognize your old friend Marsh? I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you in person. By the way, how’d you enjoy those pictures I took of your family?”

Robert’s eyes turned to darkened pools. His heart kept a steady cold drum beat.

“Where are they?”

“You’ll know shortly,” Marsh said, licking his lips. “You do have the map, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play me, Robert. I’m talking about a little oblong-shaped box that speaks to you through its carvings. And inside the box there’s a map. As it turns out, all of you great grandsons of Horn got one. But if you didn’t bring it with you, well, I’m afraid things will get tragic very fast around here.”

Robert took a step closer. Will grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back.

“If he sets if off Bobby there’s going to be nothing but a crater here for the locals to come and gawk at…”

Will glanced over at Marsh, who seemed to be enjoying himself.

“He has the fucking map.”

Marsh closed his eyes and smiled. “Your pal is a wise man, Mr. Crain. It must be nice for you to know someone who can keep a cool head.”

Robert sucked in a deep breath and gradually stopped straining against Will’s hand. Then the curtains in the window behind Marsh began to flutter. A moment later he saw his wife looking out at him from inside the shadowy house.

Peggy…

It felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d last seen her. Three evenings ago she’d kissed him goodnight while he lay on the couch doped up after his car accident. He had been restless and incapable of falling asleep that night. Worried about how Nugget was doing at the emergency clinic and concerned he was keeping Peggy from studying for her final exams.

Robert wished he’d gone back to bed as she’d asked. Maybe he would have been able to ward off the attackers.

Maybes just don’t cut it now.

Marsh followed Robert’s eyes and turned his head to see Peggy behind the glass. He wagged his tongue at her suggestively.

“Hello Peggy. Can you hear us?”

“Peggy nodded, her eyes locked on Robert’s.

Marsh turned back to face Robert.

“Good. This is the deal, folks. Robert and I have a place we must go. But unfortunately the rest of you are not welcome to tag along…”

“I’m not going anywhere without my wife and son,” Robert said.

Marsh glared up at him. “Don’t be unreasonable. We’ve come so far now it would be a terrible shame if I just ended everything where it now stands. So look hard into that window Crain, and tell me you don’t care if everyone dies.”

While Marsh caressed the dynamite with his hand, Robert stared into his wife’s eyes and saw everything she’d been through. Connor stepped beside her and lifted his hand. Robert waved back. Then Peggy motioned her son to leave before raising Wilbur’s pistol in both hands and aiming it at the back of Marsh’s head, waiting for Robert to give her permission. Robert wished he could have said yes but the chance Marsh could still set off the bomb wasn’t worth the risk.

He shook his head at her not to try.

When his eyes returned to Marsh he could feel his insides tearing apart. Peggy swayed back from the window, tears streaking through the dirt on her face. A woman Robert did not know came and led her away to the rear of the house where she could no longer be seen.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe,” Robert said.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Marsh said, “But before we progress any further with the festivities, you two can start by disarming yourselves.”

Reluctantly, Robert and Will did as they were told.

Once he was satisfied they had completely disarmed, Marsh got up from the loveseat and walked off the porch with the two men moving cautiously beside him, their eyes never leaving the bundle of dynamite.

When they were out on the graveled driveway, Marsh ordered them to remove their cell phones and stomp them to pieces. Then he handed Robert a hunting knife and told him to slash the tires of Will’s truck.

Just as Robert was about to slash the last tire, they heard a vehicle rumbling up the road toward the house. A black SUV skidded to a dead stop within a few feet from where Marsh and Will stood. Mr. Frosty slid out of the passenger seat and limped up to Marsh.

“About time you got here,” Marsh growled. “What the hell happened to you boys?”

Mr. Frosty raised his arm and pointed. “Those sons of bitches almost killed me.”

“Is this true?” Marsh asked.

Robert and Will didn’t answer.

“What about the others?” Marsh asked.

“We lost three back at the railroad tracks.”

“And how did you luck out and the others didn’t?”

“I got jumped. Then they took me home and stuck me inside a freezer so they could get me to talk.”

“So that’s how they found out where I was?”

Frosty lowered his head like a dog about to be punished.

“I didn’t tell them anything. Not right away. Then I got so damn cold I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I thought I was going to die. I’m sorry Mr. Marsh. I didn’t want to.”

“Not to worry Gomez. This is all going to work out just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m going to give you a chance for a little payback. So go help yourself to one of those guns up on the porch.”

Frosty nodded happily and ran off.

“I think that about does it,” Marsh said. He tossed Robert a set of keys. “Now be a good boy and fetch me my truck. You’ll find it parked behind the house.”

Robert nodded and walked away while Marsh laughed to himself. “I’m sure glad he’s come to his senses. I’ve got a lot I want to do when this is all over.”

“Then you better hope we never meet again,” Will glared.

Splashes echoed up from the bottom the well after Mr. Frosty dumped their remaining weapons. He turned around and walked toward them with Robert’s .38 pointed at their heads.

Marsh bent next to Mr. Frosty and whispered into his ear. “As soon as we’re gone I want you to mop this place up for me.”

“What?”

“Kill the sonofabitch and everyone inside the house. Then burn it all to the ground...”

A wicked grin cracked across Frosty’s face. “I’ll do it, Mr. Marsh... And after that?”

“Meet me up on the mountain. I’m going to need your help hauling that gold out of there.”

CHAPTER 53

With the sun beating overhead, Carol and Marco were lowered down into the pale blue chasm of the glacier. The ice near the top was thick like milky quartz, but as they made their way inside it became luminous and otherworldly.

“This is fantastic,” Carol shouted as she repelled deeper. She soon reached the shelf of ice where Marco was waiting for her.

“It’s only the beginning,” Marco said, unclipping her from her line. Being the first ones down, they took a moment to kiss before Marco took her by the hand and led her through a twisting corridor of ice.

When they reached the cave, Carol felt as if she was entering the crystalline heart of a giant thunder egg. She couldn’t believe the colors she was seeing now, how the surface—at least two stories above them—absorbed the sunlight above and transformed it into fractal-shaped jewels.

In all the years she’d spent studying glaciers, she’d seen nothing like this. She wished she’d remembered to pack her camera.

They followed the cave to the end where the light in the ice grew weaker, until they came to a dome shaped room with a pit scooped out of the ice, the inside of which was blackened with the remnants of charred wood. Along the base of the wall they saw evidence of candle wax drippings preserved under a layer of ice.

“What is this?” Carol asked, shivering with excitement.

“Don’t you think it looks like a kind of shrine?”

“Well if that’s the case, then I don’t understand its purpose.”

“Hold on and I’ll show you…”

Marco walked around to the other side of the fire pit and set down his pack. After a few minutes he lit a propane torch and began to wave it across the mostly clouded wall in front of him like a wand.

The ice melted and cooled, but the surface this time was as clear as glass. Marco leaned closer and stared into the wall.

“Come over here Carol,” Marco grinned. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

Marco stepped aside for Carol to see. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the sheer thickness of ice. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the shafts of yellow light far away, reminding her of watching sunlight piercing silver rain clouds on the horizon. At first the only material she saw suspended in the ice were rocks and ghostly clouds of frozen silt, until suddenly the foreground jumped into her vision and her brain registered the dark figure of a man floating before her.

“Jesus, Marco,” she said, catching his shoulder with her hand to stop from falling onto her back. She saw tiny black dots before her eyes until she regained her breath. She couldn’t get over the fact that the frozen man had been so close all along. It reminded her of the time when she was a child and she’d lost her parents inside the dimly lit horror section of a wax museum, with Jack the Ripper and Dracula seemingly reaching out to grab her by her blonde ponytail.

Marco laughed softly and held her steady, his eyes intently focused on the space of ice below the phantom man’s boots. Carol finally turned back and looked too, noticing the large leather saddlebags bursting with gold coins. Coins flying off in every direction, surrounding the figure like parade confetti. There was so much gold. And they had the means to take it if they wanted to...

“What do you think we should do?” Carol finally asked, her limbs trembling from both the excitement and frigid air of the cave. “You can’t just take old treasure without attracting attention.”

Marco put his arms around her and tried rubbing some warmth into her bones.

“Relax. I made a few calls. It’s not as difficult as you think. I know someone who can help us. I talked it over with the rest of the team already and they’re up for it. We’ll split it all up evenly and never say another word about it.”

“So what do we do about him?” Carol said, pointing at Maynard. “Aren’t we going to have to call the authorities? That is a dead body after all. We could be committing all sorts of crimes if we don’t do anything.”

Marco drew Carol’s face up to his and kissed her on the cheek. When he moved back she could still feel the warm imprint his lips had made on her skin. She stared into his dark eyes and realized she was going to do whatever he said.

“We’ll try and leave him where he is. If we need to extract him for a short period we can always put him back and fill the place in when we’re done. It’s the least of our troubles, Carol.”

“So what’s going to be our biggest obstacle?”

Marco smiled. “To figure out how we’re going to spend our fortunes. They may not be huge but they will be enough to change the course of our lives if we want.”

Carol pulled away and pressed her chin against the ice for another look at the gold. Marco might be right about this, she thought. If it could at least get her out of debt she might be able to start over. Leave the university and Harold’s bitching and maybe go live somewhere with the man of her dreams.

“I still can’t believe you found this... With all the ice climbers up here you’d think someone would have discovered it a long time go. It just seems so unreal.”

“You’re telling me. After I slipped this morning I must have been knocked out for awhile, because when I came too I was convinced I was either dreaming or dead.”

“So how long do you think it will take to extract all those coins?”

“Not long. We’ve got all the tools we need.”

“Then let’s get started immediately.”

“You’re the boss.”

Carol smirked. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

Marco smiled and patted the photocopy of the map he’d kept in his jacket since the beginning of the research trip. When he’d been sure no one was around to see, he’d smoothed it out on the ground and studied it.

He’d worried all along that he wouldn’t have the opportunity to find the cave, but thanks to Carol’s headaches and an inexperienced team he’d managed to pull it off. Now that they’d seen the gold, there would be little he’d have to do to keep them motivated.

Everyone has had a dream of finding treasure, he thought. But only a few have the guts to do what it takes to claim it…

CHAPTER 54

As soon as Robert and Marsh were out of sight, Mr. Frosty ordered Will to put his hands on his head and make for the barn. Too bad it wasn’t Robert, he thought. He’s the one I’d really like to make suffer. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Marsh called the shots.

Mr. Frosty could feel eyes watching him from inside the house. He didn’t want to panic anyone. If they saw him shoot Will they might run and scatter across the farm, making things a hell of a lot more complicated than taking care of them in the house all at once.

Will did as he was asked. His stride was much longer and in no time he was ahead of Mr. Frosty who puffed hard from exertion in the boiling desert heat.

“Slow down, goddamn you!”

Will stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. His body slumped forward like a man being marched to the gallows.

Short on air, Mr. Frosty smiled painfully as he slowed his pace. His mind was now a whirl of delicious thoughts. Things were beginning to look up, ever since he’d escaped from the psycho’s garage half frozen but still alive. It didn’t take long to find the SUV. The woman talking on her cell phone hadn’t even seen him coming. Boy was she surprised to see a fist heading for her stupid face…

“So what do you think of yourself now, hot shot?”

Mr. Frosty ignored how his voice sounded shrill and wobbly, prepubescent. He didn’t even care what the bastard thought. Mr. Frosty was determined to love every minute of this. Killing this prick was going to be the most satisfying thing he’d done in years.

Will’s pace got him ahead of the little man again. He turned his head to see if Mr. Frosty was catching up. His eyes seemed to catch something behind his executioner, but he quickly looked back to the dark doorway of the barn.

Does he really think I’m going to fall for it? Talk about desperate. I’m not turning around. Not so he can jump me.

Mr. Frosty poked Will in the back with the muzzle of his gun and caused him to grunt.

“You like that?” Mr. Frosty asked. “Just wait until that fucking head of yours is swimming with lead.”

This time it came out deeper, like the voice of a man who’d already done this many times. Mr. Frosty had found his groove.

While he’d been locked in Will’s freezer in complete darkness, Mr. Frosty had sworn he’d do anything necessary to have his revenge. He knew he couldn’t ask god for help, so he’d spoken to the dark thing he’d met back when he was spending time in solitary. Four long years inside a concrete box losing his mind. All for assaulting a prison guard with the severed head of rat whose teeth dripped with rabies.

He hadn’t made a deal for a long time with the dark thing but it had appeared to him inside the freezer without much coaxing. Then it became anxious, like most dealers are when they want to get down to doing business.

Mr. Frosty was going to have his revenge. He’d stare into the Will’s eyes while he cut him down. The dark thing would be there too. It told him it looked forward to the show.

He stopped near the entrance to the barn as Will began to walk inside.

“That’s far enough dead man… Now turn around.”

Will obeyed, but his face was much too calm for Mr. Frosty’s liking.

Where was the fear?

This wasn’t going quite the way he’d imagined. He’d wanted to see the man begin pleading for his life. He’d assumed Will understood his time on earth was nearing the end. But more than killing him, he needed to see him suffer.

Shoot him in the kneecap, boss. That’ll get him blubbering for you.

Good idea…

When Mr. Frosty took careful aim and was about to squeeze the trigger, a blast of hot white light shot out from behind his eyes. He saw some black raggedy object shoot past his head and plop on the ground several feet in front of him.

Stupid fucking crow…

He’d always hated birds. They woke him up before sunrise and shit on his car. The crows always sounded as if they were mocking him.

He staggered toward it, wondering how in hell a bird could have been so dumb as to slam against the back of his head and kill itself.

Except as he got closer he realized it wasn’t a bird at all.

It was his bloody scalp…

Mr. Frosty touched the top of his head and felt warm slick sponge beneath his fingertips. He fell to the ground and rolled over to his side. His face was turned toward Will in surprise. An opened eye gazed sightlessly into the sun.

After several twitches he didn’t move again. And yet the dark thing he’d made a bargain with raged inside him, frantically searched for a means of escaping from its outsmarted host.

Peggy stepped forward cautiously, keeping Wilbur’s revolver aimed at the dead man’s chest. She reached down and pried the gun from Mr. Frosty’s hand. To the thing inside him, she was like a ray of sun breaking momentarily through a bank of winter fog, and it savored her warmth during the brief contact. Later it would find itself being tormented by flies coming to lay eggs in the dead man’s body.

Will moved into the light and she handed the gun to him.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she said.

“I know.”

****

Will held Peggy tightly in his arms and tried his best to comfort her. She cried heavily, to the point where he felt her warm tears soaking through his shirt. Robert had been so close, only to be torn away by the same man who’d arranged the kidnapping of her and her son in the middle of the night. Will placed a hand against either side of her head and gently lifted it up so she could see his face.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to get him back.”

Peggy nodded and placed her hands upon his. Will examined her face, noticing the bruises around her jaw and neck for the first time.

“Holy shit. Did Marsh do that to you?”

“Mostly. Wilbur landed one to my jaw, when he thought it would be a good idea to turn me over to Marsh.”

“Well he’s just lucky now to be alive.”

Will removed his hands. He turned and peeked into the house where he saw Betty cleaning the mess from Wilbur’s face with a washcloth. They’d found him behind the barn suffocating on his own blood. Jan stayed on the couch with the children on either side of her. They were quietly petting Nugget.

“How’s Connor holding up?”

“Not too bad, considering. He’s got his dog back. Now he just needs his dad.”

“So what do you know about Marsh, other than the fact he’s been leading a group of psychopaths?”

“It’s some kind of cult. They’ve had plans for Robert for a long time. I think they’re going to kill him.”

“How many guys have you seen working for Marsh?”

“I don’t know. There has to be a least four or five of them. They’d take off in the evening and wouldn’t be back until almost dawn. Except last night they never came back.”

“And they won’t be either.” Will said.

“What happened?”

Will stared down at the porch. “Robert was supposed to fight a man down at some railroad tracks. When the two met they managed to talk sense into one another and not go through with it. They came up with a plan of their own. The overseers got really mad and started shooting. They killed the other guy and then tried to kill us. We had to protect ourselves.”

Peggy’s face darkened. “Who was this other guy, the one that got killed?”

Will realized what Peggy was thinking, and he moved her away from the window so Jan and the others couldn’t see them.

“It was Robert’s great cousin. Steven Westlake.”

“God… That’s Jan’s husband.”

“Should we tell her?”

“Not now. I don’t think she could take it.”

Will nodded. He hugged Peggy once more. “If I’m going to try and save Robert I better get moving.”

“You’re not doing this alone Will. We’re going with you.”

“Bullshit you are. I’m not going to let you get killed too.”

Peggy grabbed his collar and pulled his face closer. Her eyes so full of cold rage it sucked the breath out of him.

“Yes we are…”

****

Marsh hummed along with an old Johnny Cash song while the bundle of dynamite shifted on the seat between them. Robert concentrated on driving and tried not to think about it. He’d bitten his lip until he’d tasted blood.

They passed carloads of casino patrons heading in both directions. Some drivers returning to Portland seemed buzzed and occasionally they swayed over the yellow median before making a sudden correction. Robert gave them a wide berth wherever he could.

“Are you going to finally tell me what this is about?” Robert asked.

Marsh waited until the song was over before considering Robert’s question.

“Come on Robert. It can’t be any real mystery to you. You’ve known for a long time that something big was going to happen some day. Remember the ghost you saw back when you were a kid? How you wondered if it had all been a dream? The ghost is fucking real amigo. In fact I talk to him almost every day.”

Robert felt cold sweat trickle down his back. “Whose ghost is it?”

“Jared Horn. Your great grandfather.”

“So why does he talk to you?”

Marsh stuck the nub of a cigar in his mouth and chewed pensively.

“I’d inherited Horn’s house from my aunt. I got drunk one night and was looking around the place when I fell through a trap door. Broke my back, I did. Lay there for days in a cellar waiting for help to come. Then Horn’s ghost made his presence known. At the time I thought I was hallucinating from the pain but after I was released from the hospital I could still hear his voice in my head.”

“So you’re blaming a ghost’s voice in your head for all this?”

“It’s the truth, Crain. I’ve been following orders.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“What’s in it for me? Horn’s promised a fortune in gold if I can deliver you to the place he wants you to be.”

“Do you know what he’s planning to do when we get there?”

Marsh spat a piece of the cigar onto the floor. “Hell if I know. He’s a goddamn ghost.”

****

Will loaded some supplies into the SUV and siphoned off the remaining gas from his disabled pickup. They found a cell phone on the floor and Peggy left a message at the sheriff’s department. She couldn’t tell if the snide dispatcher believed her abbreviated description of events. She could only trust that the woman would let the sheriff know as soon as she heard back from him.

She turned off the phone and climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. Connor and Nugget had already made themselves at home in the backseat. Will still looked unhappy about taking anyone with him but she didn’t care. They were going to do this thing together.

“Do you have an idea where Marsh is taking him?” Peggy asked.

Will looked at her with hooded eyes. “I only saw the map once. I think they’re headed for the glacier up near Starvation Point.”

“Isn’t that the place his grandfather used to warn him about?”

“That’s the one.”

“Robert said he could never get to the bottom that story. The old man would only tell him it was an evil place and that he should stay away from it.”

Will couldn’t help but grin. “I believe it. I stayed the night a few times up at his cabin when Bobby and I were kids. He scared the crap out of me with his crazy stories. He was quite a character. Too bad you never got to meet him...”

When they’d driven several miles clear of bone dry ranches and barbed wire fences, they passed through dark stands of ponderosa pine until the road crested a hillside and the land opened up onto a long stretch of rock and sage. Will pulled over to study his map and they all climbed out to see the view.

Looming before them was the ominous blue cutout of Mt. Hood rimmed by setting sunlight. They smelled smoke and when they turned around they saw forest fires burning on a distant plateau while a harvest moon waited somewhere offstage for the first sign of night.

Peggy turned back and stared at the mountain.

We’re going to find you Robert. I know we will...

CHAPTER 55

Deep inside the glacier Marco and the crew used torches to extract the coins while Carol tended a fire in the pit and kept watch for potential cave-ins. She couldn’t stop herself from becoming distracted by the rising mound of treasure. How much money in gold had they taken so far? A million? More than that? The size of the frozen robber’s horde was staggering…

Her three graduate students worked harder than they had all summer and Marco was pleased with how fast things were going. He glanced at his watch and smiled, comforted by the fact that they would be able to finish up well before sunrise. Unless they encountered some early climbers on their way to the summit, they’d have plenty of time to return to base camp before anyone took notice of their haul.

So far they’d removed about two thirds of the treasure, including the corpse of the man who’d taken it down into the mountain with him nearly a hundred years earlier. Marco had them set the body down as far from the fire as they could to avoid melting. He didn’t enjoy having the corpse watching them so he covered its face with a piece of groundsheet. The expression on the dead man’s face had given him the creeps.

It wasn’t the first time Marco had been involved in taking treasure from the hands of the dead. There’d been many others over the years that he’d done the same to, millionaires whose planes disappeared into the mountains and were never found or men who’d decided to take up mountain climbing as a hobby and then vanished without a trace. Marco loved the challenge of cracking a mystery, especially if there was money to be had. He’d scour a hundred different newspapers and websites to find his next lead, and he had a knack for breaking open long-closed cases.

This opportunity had dropped into his lap unexpectedly. On a flight to Peru to follow up on some leads with a corrupt government official regarding a missing drug cartel’s plane he’d met a passenger from Portland. Several cocktails later his friendly chat with the man turned to the subject of treasure hunting and maps. And although he never saw him again he did receive a fax copy of a map the American claimed to have found in some old family heirloom—a mysterious carved wooden box that no one in his family recalled the significance of. Marco wrote the man and told him he’d get back to him if he ever gleaned something useful from it. After studying it for a few days he put it away when another prospect stole his attention.

Years later, while reading a book on famous bank robbers of the West, Marco had come upon a story describing Charlie Maynard and his violent history. The man’s name had jogged his memory, and when he dug the copy of the map from his files he was finally able to piece it together.

Plagued by visa problems, Marco knew he wouldn’t have enough time to properly search the mountain. It wasn’t until he searched the websites of universities who had summer mountain research programs that he came up with an idea. Carol had played perfectly into his plan…

CHAPTER 56

Marsh bitched at him for not driving fast enough. He told Robert to turn off the highway onto an old service road. Robert didn’t know where he was at first, but a few miles later he began to recognize certain boulders next to the road and the thick stands of blue fir. It was the same short cut his grandfather sometimes used when he went up for Christmas trees. The road also worked as a quick route to the timberline, where the trail they sometimes took to the glacier dipped down to a campground often used by climbers as a base camp.

Robert hoped Will would recognize where to turn off before recalling how his friend used to come up here and bow hunt in the fall.

He’ll remember how to get here. If he’s still alive…

When they’d gone several miles up the dusty road, Marsh ordered Robert to pull up between some trees heavily bearded with bright green-yellow lichen before tying his wrists together with a piece of rope. They got out of the truck and walked. Bats zipped past their heads catching moths and an owl hooted from a canyon below them.

After twenty minutes Marsh found two men back under the trees. They were sitting next to a fire smoking and drinking whiskey. In the dying light Robert noticed that the ground around them was littered with empty Vienna sausage tins and beer cans. When Marsh approached the campfire the two men almost fell out of their seats.

“What the fuck?” A man named Billy said. Marsh’s appearance had caused him to spill his drink down his shirtfront.

The other named Chester raised a gun and pointed it at Robert and Marsh. He was obviously drunk but trying his best to appear sober.

“Who the hell are you?” Chester demanded.

“It’s Marsh you dumbshit.”

Chester settled the gun at Robert. “And who’s he?”

“He’s the big winner. The one we get to trade for a fortune in gold.”

“Oh...” Billy lowered the gun and peered at Marsh. “What… What happened to you?”

“I got burned. What the fuck does it look like?”

“How’d it happen?”

“Long story Chester. One I don’t have time for now.”

The drunk shook his head in amazement. “Damn that’s got to hurt … You’re one hell of a crispy critter, aren’t you?”

Marsh didn’t reply. He turned away and grabbed something out of the fire. When he spun back around the end of a flaming branch appeared in Chester’s face. Chester jerked back and clutched at his singed nose.

“Why the fuck did you do that for?”

Marsh waved the branch in front of both men, until he was sure he had their full attention.

“We’ve got work to do gentlemen. A lot of work.”

Billy peered up, his bloodshot eyes watering. “It’s too late Marsh. Some people already got to the gold.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“We tried to call you. When you didn’t show up we thought maybe something had gone wrong.”

Marsh withdrew the burning branch and let the fingers of his free hand play in the flames. He couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing. The two men stared fearfully as they began to sober up.

“You wouldn’t be shitting with me now, would you?” Marsh said.

“It’s true,” Chester said. “These scientific types have been hanging around up there all week. We didn’t think they’d be anything to worry about. But we got up closer and watched them climb down inside the glacier today. It was like they knew what they were looking for.”

“We saw them raise up burlap sacks and pack them on a sled,” Billy added. “It just had to be the gold they was bringing up.”

“Are they still at it?”

“I think so. We never saw them go back to their base camp, don’t imagine they will until they’re finished cleaning us out.”

Marsh lowered the branch and helped himself to a bottle of whiskey sitting on a stump. Robert shook his head when he offered him a drink.

“Don’t drink Crain? You surprise me.”

“I’m a tequila man.”

Marsh grinned. “Sorry. It doesn’t look like the boys brought any up with them. Well I suppose we have no choice but go up and crash our thieves’ little party. No assholes are going to take what I’ve sold my soul for.”

Billy spit into the fire and frowned. “Come on Walker. We can’t go up there now. It’s not safe.”

Without warning Marsh jabbed the end of the branch against Billy’s face and it sizzled and smoked into his flesh. Billy thrashed wildly with his arms and screamed. When Marsh pulled the stick away Billy’s cheek had a hole almost all the way through it.

“You don’t seem to remember that you’re working for me. The next time you back talk me boy I’m going to jam this here firewood down your throat.”

Billy nodded and bit into his hand to keep from crying.

After packing up supplies, they headed for the trail Robert and his grandfather used to get near the glacier. The horizon glowed orange through the trees, but the moon was still hiding somewhere below the eastern haze.

A chill breeze came down from the mountain to welcome them. It’s going to be much colder up on the glacier, Robert thought. But at least it was still summer, and the moon would be full.

****

Will pulled the SUV behind some trees and they got out, careful not to make much noise. Nugget ran ahead, sniffing at the needle-packed ground. She caught something almost right away and led them through the woods. They found Marsh’s empty truck and then the campsite littered with sausage tins and empty beer bottles.

The campfire was now a bed of coals. Realizing they were in no immediate danger, Will told Peggy and Connor to help look for any clues they could find.

On an old log bench next to the fire, Peggy discovered a message written in charcoal. She recognized Robert’s shorthand from the shopping lists he always left himself on the refrigerator back home.

“What’s it say?” Will asked.

“He says he’s with three men and they’re all armed. They’ve headed for the glacier.”

“I was afraid of that.”

CHAPTER 57

“That’s them,” Chester said before handing his binoculars over to Marsh, “It looks like they’re almost done too.”

Marsh had untied Robert’s wrists so he could walk easier. Not because he cared much if Robert fell on his face, but he didn’t want him slowing them down either.

The full moon had finally risen—a giant anemic sun that soon turned blood-orange by the smoke of wildfires. It was the biggest lunar display Robert had ever seen. As it glided higher up into the sky, ice crystals on the snowy slopes glistened like red diamonds until the entire mountain was bathed in crimson.

They were climbing a red mountain.

****

“Maybe two to three bags left to go,” Carol told Marco over the radio.

“Excellent. I’ll wait to pull it all up. When I’m done I’ll come down and help the team put our outlaw back where he belongs.”

Marco finished fastening some bags to a sled, then waited for the next tug on the line to let him know the last load was ready to be hauled up. All told, the research party had collected eight bags of gold coin and many gold bars.

It had all been so easy. Marco sat down and opened his pack to check on something. Inside was a small explosive charge, a device he was quite familiar with. He stood up and walked back over to the edge of the crevasse. The upper ten feet of ice was mostly darkened by shadow although the red moonlight seeped in wherever it could. When he peered into the very bottom of the crevasse he could see the phantom blue of glow sticks set out to guide the crew across the treacherous shelf.

Almost done…

He checked the explosive device again. He tried to decide what to set the detonator clock for so he’d have enough time to get away in case of a cave in. Part of him didn’t want to leave Carol behind. Although he knew it would never last, he’d grown to like her. Except there was just one problem. Marco didn’t like to share. And he didn’t like loose ends either…

He was about to start the timer when he thought he’d heard something behind him. At first he didn’t see anything until he noticed a thin beam of light against the snow. He walked toward it and found a flashlight.

What the hell?

He checked to see if it was his own, but his was still attached to his belt. Someone must have dropped it and it rolled away, he thought. One more thing you don’t need to draw any attention. Especially not now. When he bent over to pick it up he noticed a long shadow flickering behind him.

He straightened up quickly and turned around.

“Who’s there?” Marco asked forcefully. He was getting scared. Ever since he first set eyes on the frozen man he’d been having strange sensations of someone following him.

As he swung the light around, he drew his knife and held it out before him.

“Come out you son of a bitch. Let Marco teach you a lesson.”

It might have worked in the toughest barrios back home, but out here he didn’t know with whom he was dealing. There were large black outcroppings of rock the beam couldn’t reach, and for a moment Marco thought he saw a shadow crouching on top of one. He grabbed the sled handle and pulled it closer to him.

“If you don’t want any trouble, go back to where you came from. I’m sure your mama still has some warm milk waiting for you in her big ugly tits.”

Marco stood still, waiting to catch the slightest movement. He was quickly growing tired of this game. He soon convinced himself that the stalker was a figment of his imagination, a product of his growing paranoia.

You’re going to fuck this up if you don’t stay focused...

Marco shrugged the phantoms off with a tight smile. He turned away from the rock outcropping to gaze at the sled packed with gold.

He was going to be rich. Not filthy rich but damn close. A year from now he’d be sitting on a perfect white sand beach with a bucket of Coronas just like they did in the television commercials. He’d be living under a different name and would have almost as many women at hand as he did chilled beers.

Shots rang out, echoing against the rock and ice.

Marco fell forward onto the sled, struck in the back, while blood-tipped feathers from his down jacked took flight into the night air. He rolled over, groaning. He tried to sit up but the pain was too intense. A few minutes later he saw the figures of two men walking up the slope toward him, their faces obscured by puffs of steam.

Who were they?

Marco knew he was dying. Death had been following him, annoying him all day with its dark hands reaching from the edges. He’d dismissed the inky clots in his peripheral vision as something to do with sun glare and tired retinas. Instead of focusing solely and recklessly on the gold he should have paid more attention to his senses. If he had known in time, then maybe he could have protected himself in the way his great aunt had once taught him.

Now it was too late. Maybe back in the barrios of home he would have had a chance to go down with machismo, taken out a couple of murdering thugs with him and left a lasting impression on the neighborhood. But here, high up on a mountain, he wasn’t even going to get the satisfaction. Because in a country he’d so easily charmed his way around, some fucking cabron had decided to shoot him with a rifle.

Legs trembling badly, he dug his heels into the ice and kicked away, forcing his body and the sled over the edge of the crevasse. For even in death Marco did not plan to share…

CHAPTER 58

They could have waited and picked off the thieves as they emerged from the crevasse, but Marsh no longer had the patience. And besides, there weren’t a lot of hours left until sunrise. Using the ropes already set in place by Marco, the four men climbed down to the lighted ice shelf below.

Halfway down into the glacier they found a loaded sled jammed into a tight crevasse. It would take some time pulling out. Chester set about lowering himself down to it so he could attach a line. The other three followed the trail of glow sticks leading to the shrine. Marsh forced Robert to walk in front of them so he could test the safety of the ice.

****

Carol and her crew had heard a crash but assumed it was the glacial ice adjusting itself. The eyes of the man who’d come out of the ice had stared up at her, giving her the creeps before Marco tossed a canvas sheet over him. Carol thought there was something obscene about hacking the corpse out of the ice like they did, despite Marco’s assurances he’d be put back as soon as they were finished.

The whole idea wasn’t setting right with her. Even though she had no idea who the man once was, Carol felt guilty about leaving him behind, as if they were somehow violating his right to be known to the world again. But as Marco had pointed out, the frozen man was dead and they were not. He would never be able to buy a new life with his treasure, but they could.

It made perfect sense. But still…

As much as she liked Marco, Carol had been recently unsure of how much longer she wanted their affair to last. She knew the only way he’d be able to stay in the country would be if she married him, and she wasn’t prepared for that. There were lingering feelings for her ex-husband needing to be sorted out and she didn’t like the fact that Marco still wasn’t as open about his life as she had been with him. He could sometimes be very touchy about his past if she pressed him about it. At first she’d thought it was kind of thrilling to wonder what he was hiding from her. Now it had simply become an annoyance.

“This is the last of it. Let’s get out of here,” one of her students said as he hoisted on his backpack and lumbered out with the final load of gold. But a few moments later he was backing into the shrine with his arms raised in front of him, pleading with Marsh and Billy not to shoot.

“Just stay calm college boy. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Billy said.

“What’s going on?” Carol shouted. She stepped forward and put herself between her student and the two rifle barrels.

Where the hell was Marco?

“We’re here to take what belongs to us,” Marsh said.

“The gold doesn’t belong to you,” Carol said. “We were here first. Now go away and leave us alone.”

Robert edged between the two men so she could see his face. He saw her eyes sweep over his bruises and scrapes, watched as she realized he couldn’t be there voluntarily. Would she trust him?

“Let them have what they’ve come for,” Robert told her.

“What?” Carol stared at him, confused. Then Marsh whipped around and struck Robert in the face with his rifle stock, causing him to crumple to the ground. Marsh glared down at him and spat on the ice.

“Don’t you ever interfere with my business again, Crain.”

Carol screamed, and the others began to shout at Marsh to stop.

His face a bloody mess, Robert pried his head up from the ice to warn them before he saw the legs of Marsh and Billy move past him and suddenly his ears were deafened by the thunder of rifles exploding, white flashes and the screams of people hopelessly trying to seek cover. Robert covered his face and choked. A cordite cloud hung in the air like fog, burning his eyes and throat.

Robert wasn’t sure how long he’d passed out. It was eerily quiet as the cloud oozed out of the room, revealing the carnage left behind. He felt Marsh and Billy grab him from under his arms and drag him across the shrine through an obstacle course of dead bodies before they dropped him hard onto the bloody mirror of ice.

“Holy shit,” he heard Marsh say after he’d removed the canvass from Maynard’s frozen remains. Robert tried opening his eyes but everything was way too blurry when he attempted to focus. He lowered his head upon the cooling sheet of blood and felt himself begin to drift off once again.

“Sure is an ugly son of a bitch,” Billy said as he moved to get a better look at Maynard. “I wonder how long ago he died down here?”

Marsh stared into the face he sometimes saw when Jared Horn’s ghost was really messing with his head. A grin spread slowly across his blistered mouth while his eyes danced like moths trapped inside a hot lantern.

At last…

“What is it Walker?”

Marsh didn’t hear Billy at all, and glanced around at the ceiling of the shrine, laughing with nervous relief. It was fucking over. After all this bullshit the time had finally come to collect his paycheck and head for Reno, maybe find a plastic surgeon to patch him up before he went on a binge of drinking and whoring. Even god won’t be able to save the world from me now!

Marsh pulled off his hat and spoke politely to the ghost he could not see but felt was close.

“Look Horn, I’ve done what you’ve asked… I’ve lived up to my responsibilities, delivered to you your rightful kin. I’m just going to take what I’m owed now and leave. It’s what was agreed.”

Marsh waited for a response but none came. He could hear the sharp clang of Chester setting hooks in the ice with his hammer and the moan of the wind as it blew across the lip of the crevasse. Marsh didn’t know if it was a sign Horn had completely vacated the premises of his skull for good or was waiting for him to make a punishable mistake. He could never predict when the ghost would be in the mood to inflict pain.

“Speak to me!” Marsh repeated over and over, while Billy slunk around the research team and quietly stole the rings and watches from their stiffening bodies.

Marsh soon tired of Horn’s game of hide and seek. He told Billy they should just get the gold and leave.

“It’s going to be light soon, and god knows how long it’s going to take us to get off this mountain.”

“What about him?” Billy asked.

Marsh toed Robert’s head with a blood soaked boot. He was alive, but barely conscious.

“He’s not our problem anymore.”

****

After Chester secured a line to the sled, he’d had the feeling that someone was watching him. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. When he climbed back up to the ice shelf from a different route than the one he’d come, he found Marco impaled on a giant stalagmite of pure blue ice. The Argentinean was pierced through the stomach, and his arms were wrapped around it as if he’d actually attempted the impossible task of pulling himself up to freedom. Chester observed he’d made it maybe an inch or two before giving out. Quite a feat for a man who’d already been shot in the back first.

Amazing what a man is capable of doing over a bunch of gold, he mused. He’d enjoyed Marco’s brave attempt at scaring them off, had even felt a little sorry for him when Marsh decided he’d had enough and shot him.

The surface of the stalagmite below Marco glowed more pink than blue. His eyes remained opened, and already Chester could see they were beginning to freeze.

****

Robert could hear them coming. As his mind drifted within the cavern of the ice shrine, he’d heard footfalls on the glacier surface far above him echoing down like some kind of weird sonar. The sounds grew louder and soon he was able to make out what he believed to be familiar voices calling his name.

Peggy. Will. Connor.

Am I dead?

There was no way to be sure. How could he verify anything? He felt the frozen man begin to stir his mind. Thoughts of death or his would-be rescuers began to blur and lose significance. The frozen man was preparing a stew within Robert’s head. Dropping in pieces of memory, adding pinches of this and that, until he turned up the heat to bring it all to a raging boil...

Robert’s body became as hot as molten lead, until the ice below him began to give way and he sank into it like a spear through flesh, passing through the mountain’s heart and heading for the core truth of its being.

He forgot about those above who were still calling his name…

****

Peggy and Connor had collapsed on the silt-grayed snow and gulped painfully for air. Will gave them water, told them to try and relax their lungs for awhile. He’d never seen two people so determined in his life. He’d begged them to stay back in Wrath Butte where they’d be warm and safe, even went as far as saying it would be what Robert would want.

But they wouldn’t buy it. They refused to even consider the idea of turning back. And despite the exhaustion racking their muscles and surrounding their eyes with dark circles, Peggy and Connor’s unwavering obsession of finding Robert appeared greater than ever.

Fortunately he’d talked them into stopping in at a sporting goods store on the way up to the mountain. They’d at least been able to find some warm jackets and hats, some bottled water, beef jerky and chocolate bars. Being still the hottest period of summer, the grizzled owner had no gloves in stock, or at least that was his excuse. Will had hoped for some rope and better footwear for Peggy and the boy but he only found flashlights and a couple boxes of matches. They’d shopped frantically while the worried owner stood near the counter with his eyes screwed up hard.

The man didn’t ask them any questions while he rang them up, but he seemed terribly nervous. Peggy was certain she’d seen him pick up his phone once the clang of reindeer bells announced they’d left the store.

“I hope he called the Sheriff,” She’d told him when they were back on the highway. “Maybe it’ll back up the call I made earlier, because I got a bad feeling that dispatcher I talked to thought I was a crank.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Will had said.

Nugget prodded Will’s leg with her nose and eyed the canteen in his hand. Will unscrewed the cap and dribbled some water onto her tongue. He glanced at the dim blue lights further up the glacier.

They had no idea what they would do when they reached the lights above, nor did they have any weapons with which to defend themselves except a single pistol. Their odds for survival didn’t look all that great, Will thought. He still hoped he could convince Peggy and Connor to turn around at the first sign of trouble.

CHAPTER 59

Few had the constitution to undertake a witch doctor’s teachings. After completing the task of killing two of their great cousins, some men would lose their minds and try to commit suicide. Others would be hurt so badly they could do nothing but curse at their great grandfather and the horrific tradition that had put blood on their hands. The lucky ones were those who hadn’t grown up being friends with their great cousins. The ones that had were the most tortured of all.

Oman had nearly died when some of the most grievous wounds he’d received had become infected. One of the two cousins he’d killed had been a childhood friend. They’d played in the jungle and fished in the bay, unaware their blood connection would one day demand a violent end to one of their lives. Afterwards, Oman had suffered from a great fever, but while he began to hallucinate he started to see how everything fit together—his people and their home on the island and the need to return their thanks with the spilled blood of brave young men. He realized that abandoning the painful tradition would tear his people apart from the very fabric that wove them into the soul of the island.

Maynard’s initiation had been the most brutal anyone on the island could recall. He was the first outsider to have ever been considered. Since he had no great cousins to fight, Oman chose three of the islands most prodigious young men to hunt him down and kill him. But Maynard had learned his way around the island by then, and he had developed many of the island’s skills. Eleven days after the community had seen him disappear into the jungle with three men not far behind, Maynard finally returned late one evening while the tribe was gathered around a giant bonfire, anxious for news. To the shock of everyone he carried with him his hunters’ smoke-cured faces on a long piece of twine.

It was just the beginning. His apprenticeship with Oman would take several years more. Some of it required him to ingest powerful drugs and spend days in the jungle or out at sea alone. Then he was taught how to make the powders and potions of his trade, and lastly he learned how to practice the magic that had been passed down generation after generation. Oman taught him how to conjure spirits from the other dimensions, as well as bring life back to things that had recently lost theirs.

Maynard also learned about ghosts. As he grew more skilled in the craft, Oman began to introduce him to the spirits that inhabited the small island. Until then he had always imagined ghosts to be no more substantial than a drifting cloud of smoke, something you might have imagined you saw when you were a child but eventually outgrew. He had no idea ghosts could take on a material presence akin to flesh and bone, until he’d met several, including Oman’s great grandfather.

Despite being a smallish man, Oman’s great grandfather projected a power that nearly vibrated the bones of anyone who had the courage to meet his gaze. The sharp, proud angles composing his face were painted in the ash of his ancestors, as was the custom still amongst the witch men, and the whites of his eyes were ruby red due to the concoctions he frequently ingested so he could increase his awareness of the spiritual world around him. Maynard tried talking to the ghost but it only sat there, staring at him until the first hints of sunrise seeped through the wicker roof until the ghost dissolved into a million specks of black mirror.

Oman explained to Maynard that he’d never met his great grandfather in person. The man had lived alone on the other side of the island, although his mother had told Oman the old man had died years before he had been born.

When Oman and his cousins reported seeing the old man in their dreams, some of Oman’s uncles and many tribesmen searched for the old man on the island and demanded he put a stop to it, knowing the violence was soon at hand. They told him they didn’t need his magic anymore. They were tired of living in isolation from the rest of the world. It was better to join now and avoid being slaughtered again like their ancestors. Other tribes were trading with the pale men who came in giant ships, and they wanted a piece of the action.

The old man had listened quietly while tears streamed down his face. In the end, he told them he would not give up his right to find a successor and asked them to leave. Later the same evening while he lay asleep in his hut, several of the men returned and killed him.

Thinking they’d freed the island of tradition that seemed more like a curse than a benefit to the community, they celebrated. But the elders in the tribe took a different view. They warned the men who’d killed Oman’s great grandfather they had made a big mistake and the entire island itself would be in jeopardy. And they were right. Oman’s great grandfather returned and promptly took revenge on those who had killed him.

Like all ghosts, his physical materiality was sometimes fleeting and the only way to avoid long periods of not being able to exert one’s influence was to avoid touching living things.

And this was what drove most ghosts insane.

CHAPTER 60

“You cannot turn your back on your destiny, Robert,” Maynard explained. “It’s not an option.”

Robert stared into the crimson sky above. The spirit of the frozen man leaned over him, his hands pressing sharply into Robert’s chest until his sternum and ribs burned like fire.

“Where is my family?” Robert gasped. It was all he could think about, his only connection to a life that had suddenly become mysterious and frightening. The only reason why he hadn’t given up and wished for a quick death.

“They are alive, Robert. Maybe not for long, but they are alive now.”

“I want to go back to them. I’ve already told you I have no interest in what you’re offering. I have a life and people I love. I don’t want to be like you or anyone else.”

Maynard lifted his hands and backed away. “I think you misunderstand me. I must ensure the powers I possess are transferred to you. Only you can pass on the sacred knowledge. It’s your duty to do so. It has protected you all this time and has given you the strength when you needed it.”

“I never asked for anyone’s help.”

“You know that’s untrue Robert. You’ve always known you could tap into something much deeper inside, a primal darkness that has lain silently within you since the day you were born. For so long you’ve repressed your nature. You’ve been keeping it under lock and key, not exercising it when you could have put it to use.”

Robert gritted his teeth. If he’d been able to look down at the rest of his body he would have expected it to be engulfed in flame.

“Please. If you won’t let me have my family back again just let me die…”

“Don’t disappoint me Robert. If it wasn’t for me watching over you all this time you would have been dead a long time ago.”

Robert’s mind flashed back to Mexico. He’d never known before that he and Will could have pulled off what they did, had never imagined the extreme violence he was capable of. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter. Either he rescued his father and Uncle Barney or stayed home and did nothing.

Then there was the ghost Will had seen in the abandoned building, the one he’d told Robert about when they’d been driving in his truck that morning. Something had come to protect them from the assassins outside—the men who worked for the dogfighter, drug dealer and kidnapper—the man who dressed in white. They were about to burst inside and fill the Americans’ bodies with holes from their automatic rifles. Instead, the thing sent them back into an alley where they took one another’s lives.

Was it you who drove those men crazy?

Maynard shook his head. He’d been reading Robert’s thoughts.

“No, it was your great grandfather, Jared Horn. He’d made those two men think that the other had the head of a giant rattlesnake. He drove them to complete madness. Your great grandfather was the first to discover me down here, and at the time he was in desperate need of help. In exchange for helping him, he agreed that his great grandsons could one day be summoned by me when the time came for new blood.”

“So this is what it’s all about?” Robert asked. “Making people kill each other so you can give the victor your power?’

Maynard grinned coldly and turned away his eyes.

“That is the tradition. I owe it to my teacher, as he did to his teacher and so on. Now that I’ve completed my task I will be freed from my prison, and not just the prison of ice that has kept my body all these years. My untimely death, of course, was unfortunate for me, just as Jared’s execution by a party of vigilantes had been for him. We’ve both been ghosts for a long time now, waiting for the right moment, knowing all too well how the fever for gold can take over some men’s minds, cause them to do things they’d normally never consider. I knew it on the day the Sheriff’s posse was going to gun me down on this mountain. I knew if I took the gold with me I would be planting the seeds of my eventual rebirth through you.”

“And if I refuse to go along? I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands. I’ll kill myself first.”

Maynard shook his head.

“Your true nature has much more to teach you. It’s too late to go back I’m afraid. The knowledge is now embedded in the very fiber of your being and cannot be removed. I have completed my work here.”

“But you haven’t taught me anything. You’re just a thief and a murderer.”

Maynard laughed and the crimson sky above them turned dark velvet blue as he vaporized into a foul-smelling fog and disappeared.

Robert lay silent, unable to move. There was nothing he could do to save the others who’d come looking for him. They didn’t have a chance in hell. Not against three desperate lunatics armed with rifles.

What they needed was more help. But even if he were able to radio for help somehow it wouldn’t make a difference. No one could make it up here in time to do anything.

If only I could hold them in my arms one last time…

Suddenly Robert began shaking, and a powerful heat began to spread through his body, opening up from his empty belly like a giant flower. Did he have hypothermia? Was this how he was going to die?

He tried to sit up but couldn’t. Invisible hands kept him pressed against the ice until he began to accept the fever running through him. The images of animals and faces of old men stared at him with glowing eyes while he started to drift out of consciousness. You can’t do this. You’ll go to sleep and then you’ll die…

Robert awoke to the sounds of people moving nearby.

Had they found him?

“Peggy?” he called out, hearing his echo careening away through a maze of glacier corridors.

He waited. No one replied. And yet there were rustling sounds very close by.

Robert remembered to open his eyes. When he glanced around he realized he was still lying in the ice shrine on his back with the low ice ceiling pressing down at him. When he sat up he saw the research team had come to life again, had pulled themselves up from the bloody muck and were headed out of the shrine. Some had their heads hanging by strands, while others pulled themselves along the ice on bloody stumps.

Oh god. They’re coming back to life.

And it’s because of me…

CHAPTER 61

Satisfied that the sled of gold was safely secured, Marsh and Chester began to head out of the glacier. Billy stayed behind to see that the load didn’t get hung up on anything while the others would see to bringing it to the surface. But just as Marsh and Chester reached the place where they’d have to start climbing, the crevasse echoed with Billy’s horrified screams.

Marsh stared at Chester, bewildered. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

Chester shivered with fear. “Something’s scared him bad. That doesn’t sound like the Billy I know.”

“I knew he wasn’t worth a damn. We’re so close now and he’s going to mess things up for us.”

“Maybe it’s Crain. He could be killing Billy down there for all we know.”

“Shit.” Marsh said, resigned. He dropped his pack to the ground, cracked his rifle to make sure it was still loaded. “I should have wasted the son of a bitch when I had the chance. Come on. Let’s get back down there before he cuts the line or something.”

****

They hadn’t even touched Billy yet.

He couldn’t run. In his hurry to get away he’d slipped over the ledge and crashed against a glassy spire of diamond-hard ice. Some barbs growing out from the spire had gotten hooked through his jacket and shirt and possibly into his flesh. Held up above a seemingly bottomless crevasse, he’d kicked wildly in an attempt to find a foothold. Soon his legs turned to mush, and all Billy could do was hang there and cry for help.

They were supposed to be dead. And now they were moving toward him, quietly, making only delicate mouse scratches on the ice with the tips of their boots, their gunshot-mangled bodies floating in the blue hue of the glow sticks.

Billy shrieked again. He could feel the air rattle up from the bottom of his lungs, burning and twisting as it broke from his mouth. He’d never been this scared in his life. Piss soaked the front of his jeans and froze painfully against his crotch. What managed to escape his jeans was forming icicles.

“Go away!” He shouted at the black approaching mass. He could see the pale yellow orbs of their eyes dancing with a kind of life that seemed otherworldly. It was clear they were angry, that they wanted him dead. When Billy saw them float across the crevasse without falling he turned his head away and sobbed like a child.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

Then they were upon him, squeezing his flesh between their cold hands, and the woman scientist who’d stood up to Marsh in the ice shrine sank her shattered teeth down deep into his Adam’s apple and tore it away.

Gunfire exploded throughout the cave. A bullet passed through the back of the dead woman’s head and tore Billy’s lower jaw to shreds. Billy went limp and his head toppled back spouting blood as the woman slid away from him and plunged down into the shaft below.

The three dead grad students turned away from Billy and faced Marsh and Chester.

“Fuck me,” Marsh said, clumsily reloading fresh bullets from his coat pocket as he backed up. Suspended not far above Billy was the treasure-laden sled, swaying back and forth like a canvas-skinned cocoon. Marsh was relieved to see the ghouls appeared to show no interest in it.

If I can slow them down enough to get out of this place… it shouldn’t take much time to reel the sled out of here.

Chester stepped forward with his rifle at his side, unloading all he had into the ghastly figures whose eyes burrowed into him.

They weren’t going down like he wanted them to. Chester worried that once his and Marsh’s ammo was spent there would be very little left they could do to stop them. Even the grisly remains of the woman who’d been biting into Billy’s neck had floated back up to the edge of the crevasse. She drifted in their direction, leaving behind cold clumps of brain matter splattering against the ice like uncooked hamburger.

The ammo wasn’t going to last forever. Especially if those things just kept getting back up again...

Lagging behind, Marsh raised his rifle and searched for a target. He only had a few bullets left and he had to make them count. He aimed at a large bearded grad student with lungs that bubbled from a gaping wound in his chest. But just seconds before he pulled the trigger Marsh was struck by a better idea. He calmly re-guided the crosshairs over to Chester’s leg and fired…

Chester hit the ice floor screaming as he grasped at the splintered chunks of what used to be his knee. Marsh didn’t stick around to hear his curses.

Sorry pal, but I’ve got my priorities. I’ve waited too long to get this far, and I’m not going to spoil it by becoming dog meat for those things…

CHAPTER 62

Robert pounded Maynard with his fists until they were completely slimed with his own blood.

“You son of a bitch. I never asked for your help. I never did.”

His head was swimming with the after-images of his encounter with the ghost of the frozen man. He no longer knew what he was supposed to do, or who he was anymore for that matter.

“You must get out of here,” a voice behind him said, as brittle as crackling ice.

Robert recognized the voice from long ago. His heart slammed against his ribcage. He turned to face the ghost that had nearly frightened him to death when he was a boy. The tall figure wavered in the candlelight, but created no shadow on the smooth porcelain-white walls. He was surprised by the expression on the ghost’s face, for unlike the cruel ghost of Charlie Maynard he thought he sensed concern.

“Jared Horn… Why did you have to speak to me in riddles? Why couldn’t you have truly warned me when you had the chance?

The ghost of his great grandfather took a step closer and his features began to appear sharper, as if his transparent form was now being filled with solid matter.

“I wanted to protect you. I’ve watched your father become a man. Not a perfect one, but your father nonetheless. And then you came along—as did your cousins—and I wished I could have put a stop to it all.”

“It’s your fault people’s lives have been ruined and innocent people have been killed. I wish to god I’d never been born.”

“I understand. I am ashamed I have brought this curse upon you. If I had the power to do so I would have turned back the clock. I would have made things different. But Charlie Maynard tricked me from the very beginning. He knew he could take advantage of a desperate man. That’s how he came up with a plan to have me killed and yet still possess my family. He was a liar and a thief, even after he was killed. There are some men you can never change and he was one of them.”

“And now that he’s gone...”

“He’s done with me. I’ve served his purpose and now I’m free to leave this lifetime of purgatory forever.”

“So what’s keeping you from going?”

“I wanted to be sure that you survived. To make certain you were aware of the powers you now possess.

“Powers?” This had to be the greatest joke of all, Robert thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t feel any different. I’m so tired now I could lie down and let myself freeze to death in this hellish place.”

Horn reached out and set his hand on Robert’s shoulder. Robert could feel the coldness of the ghost’s touch through his jacket. It reminded him of the night up in the woods near his grandfather’s cabin. Except this time he was pretty sure the ghost wasn’t going to kill him.

“Don’t be fooled Robert. What you’re now capable of is beyond your comprehension as yet. Just promise me you won’t take the same poisoned path Charlie Maynard chose. The man had no heart left in him. It was already eaten up by revenge long before he took advantage of me. And once I was under his spell there was no escaping it. I did terrible things. I might have lived had I only walked away from him in the first place.”

“I’m going to do what it takes to save those close to me,” Robert said. “It’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The ghost’s eyes softened. Robert saw for the first time the great sadness in them.

“I have some good news. Your family has come to look for you. They are above us now. But there’s a wretch of a man named Marsh who will kill them if given the chance.”

“I know who Marsh is.”

Horn nodded, removed his hand from Robert’s shoulder. A frosted print remained glittering on his jacket.

“Then you better leave this place now. Get above ground before it’s too late.”

Robert didn’t stop to think about it. He ran from the shrine and followed the trail of glow sticks up to the top. For awhile he felt as if Horn was following him, but when he took a moment to catch his breath he turned and saw nothing. A few minutes later, when he came near the remains of Billy and the research crew, Horn’s shadow reappeared, beckoning him to take another route leading out of the glacier to the mountain’s red surface…

CHAPTER 63

Peggy and the others watched as a man emerged from the crevasse. At first they thought it might be Robert, until they recognized Marsh’s stiff movements and blockish frame. They hid behind a boulder and watched him pull-start the gas-powered winch positioned near the edge of the gaping hole. His back faced them, and jammed into the hardened snow nearby his rifle stood sentry. The ebony cable attached to the treasure-sled far below began to slowly wrap around the metal spool as the winch belched smoke and growled.

“Wait here.” Will whispered. “If it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it I want you to leave right away. Do you understand?”

Peggy and Connor nodded and Will pressed his face next to theirs before leaving. They watched him run silently across the snow, keeping as close as he could next to the shadows of rock outcroppings. He eventually stopped and crouched down, waited to be sure Marsh hadn’t heard him before sprinting for his back and tackling him to the ground.

The advantage of a surprise attack did not last long.

Marsh slipped rapidly out of Will’s hold from behind and pulled his rifle up one-handed from the ice. When he attempted to swing the weapon around at Will’s head, Will rose briefly to his feet and kicked it from Marsh’s hand. The rifle skittered across the ice and disappeared over the edge of the crevasse.

The two men dove into each other, rolled as one tangled mass in the same path the rifle had slid. Occasionally their bodies separated enough so they could throw punches at each other’s faces. Will finally managed to perch himself on top of Marsh’s chest, and pounded the man’s flesh until his knuckles swelled to twice their size.

Marsh, however, appeared unfazed. After all that Will had done he still clung to consciousness.

And he was laughing…

Jesus. What’s the fucker on, anyway? Will couldn’t understand were Marsh was getting his energy. For someone so badly burned he’d expected him to wear down much sooner.

Marsh couldn’t sense a whole lot anymore. Will’s punches to his blistered face felt like they were just bouncing off rubber, as if someone was throwing chunks of soft meat at him. He waited patiently for an opening, when Will would have to catch his breath. Then the moment came, and Marsh piston-shot his arm upwards. Will didn’t see it coming. After Marsh’s fist connected with Will’s windpipe he crashed onto his back, clawing for air.

****

Robert emerged from a narrower opening in the ice not far away, and as soon as Nugget recognized him, she broke from Peggy’s grip and ran.

“Nugget!”

But Nugget was already a dog-blur.

Peggy grabbed Connor by the hand and they chased after her.

****

Will coughed, tasted blood at the back of his throat. The blow had paralyzed him. He couldn’t do anything but stare up helplessly at Marsh’s grinning mouth. The man’s face he’d recently showered with his fists appeared to be sliding off. The flesh of his forehead now bunched up into a thick angry lump that nearly hooded his eyes.

“Didn’t think I had the fighter in me, did you?” Marsh said, poking Will in the chest with a stubby finger. His eyes were lit up now like two dancing flames.

Will didn’t even want to try to speak. What could he possibly say that would stop this man from killing him? Or was the damage already done? Did he only have a little time left? Something moving several yards behind Marsh caught his attention. He rubbed his eyes, worried that the black dots he saw now would become fatter and fatter, until he could no longer see anything at all.

Marsh stood up and grabbed Will by his calves. Farther away he could hear Robert shouting at Marsh to stop. Marsh turned to chuckle at him as Will slid his hand beneath his jacket and grasped his revolver. When Marsh turned back to what he was doing there was no time for him to react.

Will lifted the revolver and fired.

Two bullets struck their target, while a third hissed off into the dark. The gun was empty now and he tossed it away.

Marsh grunted. The bullet holes in his chest squirted small streams of blood and then stopped. He gripped Will tighter and continued pulling him across the ground.

Will made feeble kicks with his legs to free himself. His fingers became raw and bloody as he tried to keep the man from sweeping him across the ice like a human mop. Marsh was possessed by a kind of power Will never imagined possible. And yet he’d seen it once before, back when he and Robert were in Mexico. As badly hurt and outnumbered as Robert was, Will had witnessed his friend tear men apart with his bare hands, had even been forced to turn away as Robert pulverized the man in white’s skull against a dirty concrete wall…

“Here comes the fun part,” Marsh said.

He positioned Will as close to the edge of the glacier as he could without falling in himself, then kicked him with the heel of his boot. Will slid into the dark maw in the ice…

Marsh stood waiting for screams that didn’t come. Frowning, he stepped closer to the edge, fearing Will may have caught himself on something. A smoky black figure whirled up from the crevasse, seizing Marsh about the waist and pulling him Anaconda-tight.

Marsh’s eyes bulged in total terror at what he saw. It wasn’t Will’s eyes staring into his but Jared Horn’s.

“I told you I would come back for you, Horn hissed, his face now a swirling vortex of broken ghost stuff.

As much as Marsh struggled to free himself, the disintegrating shadow showed no signs of weakening its hold on him.

“We had a deal. You promised me I’d be rewarded,” Marsh whined.

“I lied.”

Now dissolving quickly out of his material form, Horn raised Marsh high above the mouth of the crevasse. For a moment Marsh looked like he was riding a gusher of oil before being dropped shrieking into the abyss below.

Will turned his head to watch as the cable hoisted him up to the razor sharp lip of the crevasse. He couldn’t recall how he’s managed to grab hold of the line. After Marsh had pushed him over he’d fallen through the dark, waiting for the moment when his body would strike the bottom, wondering to himself how long he’d suffer unspeakable pain before his heart stopped. Then, somehow, he felt his frozen fingers being forcefully wrapped around a cable he couldn’t see and he’d magically started to rise…

As he neared the top he saw Nugget crouching by the edge. When he tried to pull himself up over the rim and slipped she thrust her head forward and sank her teeth into the sleeve of his jacket, holding him there with her jaw clamped shut until Robert could assist her in bringing him all the way out. Once cleared, Will collapsed on his side, struggling to regain his breath while Nugget happily poked his face with her nose.

“Give him some space, girl.” Robert said.

A distant thrumming sound soon caught their attention but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

Will rolled over onto his back and blinked away frost. “What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know,” Robert said. “But it sounds like it’s moving this way. Are you well enough to stand?”

“I think so.”

Robert pulled Will to his feet. He steadied him for a moment, waiting to make sure he could hold his own before releasing his grip. Nugget rubbed against their legs and wagged her tail. Robert looked into his friend’s eyes and smiled.

“It’s good to see you again buddy.”

Will coughed, and freed his throat of bloody spit. It took several times before his spit was clear again.

“I really thought that was it, Bobby. I really did.” Will’s voice was hoarse but he no longer believed he’d been badly hurt. He’d taken a good ass kicking though, no doubt about it.

Robert wrapped his arm around him for safe measure and they began to walk away from the crevasse. The gas-powered winch was still hauling in cable, but they paid no attention to it. Down slope they could see Peggy and Connor running toward them. Will soon patted Robert on the shoulder and stepped aside on quivering legs.

“Go get them. I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go, damn you!”

Robert nodded and broke away from Will without turning back. He spread his arms out wide and ran to reach them when a chopper suddenly roared over the looming cliff to the south and hovered above. Its blinding floodlight splashed everyone in harsh white light.

The rescue crew, come to take them back to safety.

Could have used you a lot earlier, Robert thought.

A megaphone emerged from the side of the chopper and a voice blasted through the echo of the engine vibrating against the glacier. Robert thought he could hear the ice below them begin to crack.

“Do not move. Lie down with your hands in front of you,” the voice ordered. “This is Sheriff Foster of Wrath Butte County.”

Before they could begin to comply the chopper abruptly turned and moved up the mountain before slowly arching back. A powerful gust of wind had blown down from above making it difficult for the pilot to keep the aircraft stationary for long. Robert hugged Peggy tight in his arms, flagrantly ignoring the Sheriff’s orders. Connor and Nugget clung next to them. Tottering slightly but more or less holding his own, Will soon caught up.

“I’m not ever going to let you out of my sight again.” Robert said, covering his wife’s face with kisses.

“Can we go home now?”

“Yes. It looks like our ride is here.”

“I called for help hours ago.”

“Good thinking.”

“I guess they must have decided to take me seriously after all.”

“Well they’re making a big show of things now, aren’t they?”

Although the local authority seemed to be acting overly cautious, it was still fine by Robert. So long as his family was where he could see and touch them then everything else was merely a series of formalities designed to eventually deliver them to safety. The Sheriff would undoubtedly realize they weren’t the threat. They’d already taken care of the real problem on their own.

I still wish they’d hurry up before we freeze to death.

Robert glanced at Peggy and Connor’s bright red hands and faces. They were shivering hard. It would be stupid for them to lie flat on the ground like the Sheriff had asked. They’d get full-blown hypothermia for sure.

Another breeze whipped down off the mountain, scattering equipment and snapping the small tent left by the glacier research team. The cold passed through Robert’s chest like boxful of sewing needles, causing him to see white flashes of pain behind his eyes. He could only imagine how the others must feel.

Screw it. I’m not going to let them get sicker if I can help it.

“We’re going to have to get somewhere warmer,” Robert announced, placing an arm around Connor and squeezing him tight. The boy was deathly cold. The temperature on the mountain was plummeting fast. He’d have to figure out a way to communicate his decision to the Sheriff and he didn’t care if it pissed him off.

They watched as the chopper came back again, and this time the spotlight lingered curiously over the tripod-shaped winch. Robert thought it was a little odd except that maybe they were wondering about all the blood-covered feathers stuck to the ground.

A wave of relief came over him when the chopper finally began to hover toward them. But seconds later he was staring in sheer horror as the business end of an automatic rifle extended from the side door and began firing staccato rounds.

“Run!” Robert screamed.

They headed for the cave-covered hole where Robert had emerged earlier—a much gentler crevasse than the hellish mouth Marsh had fallen into. Bullets split the ice around them. One caught Peggy in the back, causing her to stagger next to Robert as they made their way below the ice.

“What the fuck is that about?” Will screamed. He wished he hadn’t used up his pistol on Marsh. Pinned in and nowhere to go but back down, it would be easy for their attackers to finish the job. Like shooting fish in a barrel..

****

Peggy lay on her side while Robert peeled away her jacket. Blood had already soaked all the way through. She was going into shock and her breath had become rapid. Robert took off his jacket and rolled it into a pillow. Peggy lifted her head and tried to speak.

“No baby, stay still,” Robert cooed as he lifted her back and shoved his jacket beneath her. For the few seconds her body was off the ground he’d glimpsed an immense pool of blood. He turned to look at Will and Connor. They could see in his face things were bad.

“What can I do, Robert?” Will asked.

Robert stared blankly outside the cave were the chopper paced the air.

“Nothing. There’s not going to be any time.”

Connor slid up close to his mother, choking back tears. He took one of her hands and placed it next to his flushed cheek and began to whisper to her.

“Mom. You can’t leave us now. We’ve been through too much. You promised me when this was all over we could go to the beach...”

Peggy didn’t move. He face was turning the color of ice.

She was dying…

****

It got quieter outside.

Will crawled out of the cave to see what was happening with the chopper. He saw a man connecting a line between the chopper and the sled, while another man finished tamping down something in the snow. Even in the wavering spotlight beam he could tell what it was.

Dynamite.

Once they have what they want they’ll start an avalanche to cover their tracks.

Will quickly scrambled back to the others.

“They’re going to blow the place up!”

He froze as he got close enough to see their faces.

Robert and the boy looked at him with vacant eyes. Peggy lay still on the ground next to them. Will didn’t even have the courage to ask if she was still alive.

CHAPTER 64

Robert could barely hear his friend’s warnings. It was as if Will’s voice was coming from miles away. At the moment Robert’s head was filled with the ghosts of dark-skinned old men with bone white beards explaining something to him in crude sign language. There was a riot of screams coming from a jungle filled with animals watching him in the dark, and poles stretching the curing faces of men next to a blazing fire.

He heard several voices chanting. But as he listened they changed to a gentle, sweet song.

Healing music...

Without questioning himself as to why, Robert shoveled up some snow with his hand and placed it on each of Peggy’s eyes. He then leaned down and kissed the wound where Peggy had been shot before dipping his finger tips in her blood and pressing them into his forehead to create a cluster of four wet dots. He took a knife he’d had hidden inside his boot and held it over Peggy’s chest. Will stared at him in shock.

“Jesus Robert. What are you doing?”

“Put out a hand,” Robert said in a voice that no one had ever heard before. It caused the hair on the back of their necks to rise. Will and Connor tried to resist, but an invisible force pulled each of their left hands over Peggy.

Robert slit his palm and the palms of the others. He gripped their hands in his and squeezed until Will and Connor begged that he’d let them go. Robert chanted softly, his mind stripping down the truths of life and death and especially love to their most simple elements, to ribbons of pure light weaving themselves in and out of space and time.

Their blood dripped down on Peggy’s wound until it seemed to slow and scab over. Robert stared closely, expecting fresh blood to erupt from beneath the newly formed crust but nothing happened. Then Peggy gasped for a breath of air and her eyelids moved and knocked away the snow Robert had laid there, reminding him of the wet cherry blossoms on the day he’d proposed to her. She shivered, and Robert wrapped her with her jacket and kissed her on the cheek.

Will and Connor sat back and stared.

“Is mom going to be okay?” Connor asked.

Robert turned his head and smiled. “I think she’s got a chance, son.”

Outside, they could hear the chopper’s engine starting up.

“Stay with her,” Robert said.

He got up and walked to the entrance of the cave. From below a shelf of ice he watched the chopper as it raised the sled up on the line. He stepped out from the shelter and into the open. Distant shouts soon followed and the rifleman in the chopper started firing again. Shards of ice spit up and cut Robert’s face, but as much as the shooter tried he was incapable of hitting him. Robert looked inward, traveling by his mind’s eye into the chopper where he saw the face of the man who’d shot Peggy in the back as well as the corrupt Sheriff who’d given the order.

He heard them laughing. Laughing over Marsh’s misfortune and the strangers below who had no idea what was headed their way. It wouldn’t be the first time people in the sheriff’s jurisdiction had become victims of some tragic accident, Robert knew. All it took was a small town where people kept their mouths shut and a corrupt sheriff could do just about anything he pleased.

Robert had just proven to himself he could heal.

Now it was time to exercise the opposite end of the power spectrum.

He wanted those men to pay…

Still standing out in the open with his head raised, he slapped his hands together in front of him like he was killing a mosquito. The chopper hovering above him suddenly coughed and thick black smoked poured out of its engine. He heard screams as the chopper fell toward the glacier, pulled into it even faster by the gold-laden sled. Robert felt as if a bolt of electricity was shooting through his body. In his mind’s eye he could see the horror on the men’s faces as they saw themselves dropping into a most certain inferno.

He remained still and watched. A few breathless moments passed before there was an enormous explosion and the sides of the crevasse caved in, bringing down with it the bundle of dynamite yet to be ignited. But just before he turned to avoid the impending explosion, Robert heard a voice speak to him from some distant place:

We may need to live in the dark when it is absolutely necessary, but we must always return to the house of light after we’ve completed what was needed…

He ran back to the cave. Nugget growled at him, but when he got closer to her he reached out and she nosed his hand cautiously. Something had changed since he’d left to take care of the chopper, in ways that he himself was unaware of. Peggy was sitting up now and when she glanced at his face he saw it there to, her fear of him. Only when he crinkled his eyes and smiled at her in his secret way with her could he be sure she realized who he was, that he was still the man she loved.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m still me,” he said to her softly. He lifted her up in his arms and the entire party hurried deeper into the cave before the second explosion brought down a thundering avalanche of snow.

CHAPTER 65

They were walking on the beach, looking at things left behind by a crashing high tide they’d heard while still in their beds early that morning.

Robert kept in front of Peggy and Connor so he could turn and watch the excitement on their faces as they played a game of who could find the most sand dollars. Nugget quickly caught on to what they were doing and began to swipe the shells off the sand before they could reach them.

“That was mine thief!” Connor yelled. Nugget looked up at him and crunched the shell between her teeth, then turned to go find another. Connor ran to keep up with her, laughing as they fought for the next prize. Peggy tried to distract Nugget with a throwing stick, but the dog seemed too intent on munching shells.

Without these wonderful beings in his life, Robert felt he could have easily given up. It was their love that had kept him from surrendering to the cold arms of the void. They were the buoys in the fog who continually reminded him of who he was, who kept him from drifting off course.

Together they’d survived another nightmare. After they were flown back to Portland, Robert spent a week in the hospital being treated for his injuries, where the doctors were only cautiously optimistic he’d be able to fight off life-threatening infections. His fever caused him to slip into coma and it was hit and miss for several days before he regained consciousness. And yet he still wasn’t completely free of trouble. The fact that a police officer stood outside his hospital room told Robert all he needed to know.

On the day the doctors released him, Robert was loaded into an unmarked county car and driven downtown to appear before a grand jury. After spending two days answering questions he was finally acquitted of murder and released from jail. Then the press swarmed in, and Robert and his family packed in the middle of the night and left for the coast.

CHAPTER 66

Some days were still harder than others, but they seemed to be growing fewer with every passing week. Although the wounds on his body had mostly healed, the scars were like fading roadmaps of where he’d been, and sometimes if Robert happened to stare at them too long in the shower or when he dressed he would be seized by a profound anxiety. Sometimes the fear his family might be in danger was so real that he would search frantically in the cabin or out onto the beach for his wife and son and he would only calm down once he’d made certain they hadn’t been stolen from him again.

But he was getting better. He was certain now the storm had gone back out to sea and died like it should have the first time, after he and Will had rescued Robert’s father in Mexico…

He hadn’t tried using any of his powers again and he didn’t even care if he still had them. Nothing could change the profound understanding he now had of the world, and yet it seemed like he’d had glimpses of it throughout his life—brief partings of the fabric separating a reality he had grown cynical of, to a recasting of that same reality in a light that renewed his sense of wonder and awe.

The first had been going off to college. Later it was having Peggy and Connor come into his life. And now it was the sea where he felt it the strongest, far away from any red mountains…

CHAPTER 67

Back when he lay in the ice shrine receiving the secret knowledge from an unsympathetic ghost named Charlie Maynard, he’d gone far back into the chain of power, hundreds of years before Oman’s great grandfather was even born. It wasn’t like a simple filmstrip playing in Robert’s head but more lifelike in its holographic completeness, for it included all of his senses as well. He could spend as long as he wished in each place he visited, even several lifetimes trying to learn all he could about what had been imparted to him against his will. Yet after all his careful searching for a way in which he could rid himself of it he still found nothing that could help him.

He learned how the power had always resided in the island where Maynard learned the ancient craft, even before the tribe he’d lived with for many years first wrecked upon its shore. In fact it went back to the days before the molten crust of the earth began to cool, to the time when creatures fell from the sky in a meteor-sized ball of flame and how they’d melted into the liquid rock that would one day form an island…

Who they were, he did not know. But the consensus amongst all the shamans who’d traveled this far was that they were powerful spirits of energy. Shiva-like in their ability to create and destroy, they were neither good nor evil, but the essence of nature so concentrated it had drawn together a body, then later a single body divided into many bodies—like a rose with a billion fine petals, each one formed against the other, and meant to one day scatter on solar winds. This rose had traveled a long way through the void to find earth, and the question as to whether it been released from the hand or talon of some cosmic being would remain unanswered. Had it been a gift or a curse to humanity all depended on how the power was used.

The original tribe that washed ashore found the island bountiful in food and fresh water, and it was several generations later before the hidden power of the island had seeped fully into their bloodstreams. By this time their community had grown into the size of a small village. Some members who possessed the power began to use it toward darker ends, especially when warding off outsiders or committing acts of revenge against their own.

Problems arose when frightened tribes from other islands began to grow concerned about the threat of their neighbor. Stories spread quickly, mostly wildly exaggerated, and they had the effect of raising the overall panic to hit a boiling point. In a preemptive effort to protect themselves from what they considered to be an impending danger, many banded together and went to kill the entire tribe, sparing no one, and within a month’s time, the island appeared to be wiped clean of the hated “devil people.”

Unknown to their enemies, however, many of the so-called “devil people” managed to escape the island on the night the slaughter began. But they couldn’t leave in their longboats, for their attackers had already split them apart with axes. Driven instead by faith in their holy man’s promises, they gave themselves up willingly to the sea. Under a moonless night they’d walked together in one arm-linked mass beneath the crashing waves—a reef of humanity, at first drowning before realizing later they weren’t truly dead, waiting until memories faded throughout the chain of islands before some were able to rise from the surf and return once again to their land.

And that’s where the sea came in. Why Robert’s connection to it had greatly deepened. This was also behind the reason why he and his family had been renting a cabin for several weeks with no end in sight.

CHAPTER 68

They were sitting on the beach one evening when Peggy had first brought up the idea. Connor and Nugget were playing down by the water’s edge as the sun was setting behind a cottony bank of clouds. The air was chilly and smelled faintly of wood smoke and brine.

“We’ll stay as long as you want,” Peggy had told him. “Even if it means we enroll Connor for school down here this fall.”

“And what do I do about the shop?”

“You could drive into town a couple of days a week and check on things.”

“It wouldn’t be enough. There’s too much to keep track of...”

Peggy had put her arm around him and pulled him close beneath the blanket they’d wrapped themselves in.

“Just listen to me. While you were in the hospital, Will asked if I thought you might be interested in taking on a business partner.”

Robert stared at her, surprised.

“Will’s not interested in the shop. That must have been the morphine talking.”

“He’s serious, Robert. He’s come into a little money. He says he has a few ideas that could bring the place more business.”

“It’s not doing that bad…”

Peggy frowned. “But you know it could be better. Sure it pays the bills, but it won’t let you get away from it much.”

“But it’s where I’ve spent most of my life. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t needed there all the time.”

“Your family needs you too. And you should be reaching out for your dreams again instead of feeling guilty about it.”

Robert thought about what she’d said. She was making sense. Even if it made him feel uneasy.

“Then I wonder why he didn’t say anything before about this?”

“I guess he was nervous about it.”

“Will? Nervous?”

Robert couldn’t deny the fact he already liked the idea. He’d known for a long time he needed someone else around to attract more customers, and Will had the magnetic quality that Robert desperately lacked. If he could free up some of his time, perhaps Robert could start reading more, maybe think about finishing his degree or take up painting...

Now that’s a wild idea to think about…

In his heart he didn’t know if or when he’d ever want to live in the city again. He didn’t want to stop listening to the voices he heard in the waves. Maybe some day he’d understand them. But he knew it would take patience and lots of time…

CHAPTER 69

The rescue patrol was amazed they were still alive when they dug them out two days after being buried by the avalanche. For one thing they weren’t even close to being dressed for it, nor did they have any food or essential tools to stay alive below ground for all that time.

Their rescuers weren’t offered any specifics as to how Robert and the others managed to survive, and their desire to ask questions wilted as they were overcome with the feeling something completely weird had just occurred. Why were their clothes so dry? Was that a healed gunshot wound in the woman’s back? The space inside the chopper suddenly began to feel constricting. No one talked much as they flew toward Portland.

****

A wave broke and speeded onto the beach. Robert, too lost in thought, was struck against the ankles by the foaming cold water before he’d even had a chance to react. He took a few quick steps inland before he knew he was too late. His shoes and pants were already sopping wet.

The greenish wave retreated, overturning rocks and shells beneath it. After the water had completely receded, Robert’s sneakers decided to squeak like a rusty hinge. But there was also the distinct sound of joy, and when he raised his eyes he saw Peggy and Connor doubled over, dropping sand dollars as they made no effort to rein in their laughter.

Stepping toward them Robert began to imagine himself as a circus clown. He lifted his knees high and made both of his shoes fart and squirt seawater. He didn’t stop until he and his family had collapsed on the sand laughing, until their sides hurt and Nugget ran over and shook water on them. Later, while they sat around the fireplace drying out and sipping hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, Connor took up his colored pens and captured the joy they’d felt on the beach that afternoon.

CHAPTER 70

There was something about the man that put him on edge. Was it the wry smile on his blistered lips, or the pale gray eyes working hard inside their notches of sun damaged, wrinkled skin? And then there were the hands to consider. The man’s hands were dyed with blood and his fingernails were blackened and chipped back to the quick.

Robert watched him remove another limp fish carcass from the gore-crusted pickle bucket. Slime ran down from the ragged piece of flesh and onto his wrist before disappearing beneath the sleeve of his threadbare flannel shirt. He carefully hooked the meat inside the crab trap and the disturbance caused several of the flayed fish already there to sway briefly with life. A stomach-churning stench rose from the trap like a small toxic cloud, and when it hit Robert and Connor their eyes watered and they had to turn their heads away to keep from gagging.

The man stood up, tall and bony like a scarecrow. He lifted the crab ring and set it in the small boat with Connor and Robert.

“Thanks.” Robert said. He revved up the small motor behind him.

The crab-baiter grinned and lit up the stub of a cigarette he’d been saving in the corner of his mouth. “One day you’ll get used to it too. If you’ve done it as long as I have.”

Robert looked into the man’s eyes once again. Whatever he’d seen there earlier was gone. Just a harmless old guy whose job was to bait the traps for the tourists, someone who probably snuck off when things were slow in the afternoon, to a place where he could drink a couple beers and catch some sleep. Someone who may have once lived in the city as Robert once had…

He didn’t have many bad days anymore. He spent hours each day combing the beaches with his family. Gradually they learned about the secrets only the locals knew, like the best places to fish from the jetty for perch or what kinds of storms brought to shore the most treasure. Some mornings after Connor had gone to school and Peggy was busy with projects of her own, Robert and Nugget would go exploring the entire day.

He learned to enjoy his time alone with his dog. He spent much of it meditating on the currents and waves, until it felt as if some primal part of him was finally in sync again after having spent so many restless years feeling disconnected, like a clock that’s forgotten its purpose of telling time.

He felt himself becoming whole once again. He’d made peace with the young man he’d been forced to abandon at college long ago, the one who’d been drawn to the world by a deep fascination and thirst for knowledge. When he watched the harvest moon rise over the coastal mountains to the east he was not afraid when he saw the ghostly shape of a red mountain swelling above the rest, as thin as a giant silk scarf billowing in the storm-scented breeze from the north.

Robert called Nugget to his side and together they walked off the beach, through the small town and into the dark woods that lay beyond.

THE END

About the Author

Dennis Yates (born 1963) is an American writer of novels and short stories. He is a native of Portland Oregon, and a fan of long road trips. He often dreams of the red canyons of the Southwest.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2011 Dennis Yates. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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Content

Yates Dennis Red Mountain