Red Mountain (13 page)

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.