Written in the Blood (28 page)

C
HAPTER
28

I-15, south of Salt Lake City, Utah, USA

S
he had been driving for five hours without a break, the only sounds to accompany her the hiss of the van’s tyres and the occasional muffled bang from the cargo hold. The interstate stretched out in front, two endless lines of grey separated by a wide patch of scrub.

Flanking her on both sides she saw the outlines of distant mountain ranges, their peaks dark, except for those already claimed by snow. In between the land was flat, bleached and barren, dotted here and there with squat round bushes.

On the passenger seat, her phone began to vibrate. She picked it up and held it to her ear.

‘It’s me,’ said a voice.

Trapping the phone with her shoulder, she steered the van past two enormous Peterbilt cattle haulers. When she glanced over at one of the trailers she noticed, through its slotted metal side, the solemn eyes of its cargo staring out at the landscape. For a moment the sight nudged a memory in her – something she was meant to have done. And then the thought faded.

‘I’m driving,’ she said. ‘But I won’t be for long.’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said, and hung up.

Off the interstate, a few miles south of Beaver, she spotted a brown-brick restaurant set back from the road. A row of American flags flew out front, and a sign invited diners with the promise:
HAPPY BITE GRILLE: THE BEST RIBS YOU EVER TASTED!

Its parking lot was deserted. Swinging the van off the road, she pulled into a space furthest from the restaurant’s doors.

Inside the Happy Bite, a TV set was tuned to a news channel. The voices of its anchors served only to amplify the restaurant’s desolation. Empty booths lined two walls and empty tables studded the floor, each laid with cutlery and baskets of condiments. Along the far wall a glass-fronted chiller displayed glossy cheesecakes, pies and cakes. A wood-panelled service area held a stack of menus, a cash till, and a gap-toothed young man wearing a red
HAPPY BITE
polo shirt under a black apron. His name tag read
Sylvester
.

He jumped to his feet when he saw her and performed a curious double-take, eyes moving from the tips of her boots to her face, lingering for a moment on her breasts. Cheeks flushing crimson, glancing over his shoulder as if looking for guidance, he snatched up a couple of menus from the stack.

She ignored him, choosing a table by the window where she could watch the van. Nervously the youth approached, a novice matador edging towards a bull. ‘Ma’am,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Happy Bite.’

She took the menu, scanned it and passed it back. ‘Hickory ribs, coleslaw, fries, onion rings and a Coke.’ She paused. ‘A plate of nachos, too.’

The boy winced, shifting his weight to one foot. ‘I’m really sorry, but we’re not doing the ribs right now. How about a steak?’

She pointed at the sign out the front:
THE BEST RIBS YOU EVER TASTED!

He nodded unhappily. ‘I know. It pisses customers off no end. Ribs aren’t on the lunch menu. We only start serving them from six.’

‘Then I’ll have a steak. Pan-fried. Rare.’

‘That I can do.’ He hesitated, glancing out of the window at her van. ‘All this for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re pretty hungry, huh?’

‘Yes.’

He grinned, displaying the large gap between his front teeth. ‘Well, we do great steaks.’

She stared.

‘Can I get you some coffee while you wait?’

‘Yes.’

Sylvester scurried away and returned with a coffee mug, filling it to the brim. After placing cream and sugar down beside her, he disappeared through a door into the kitchen.

She pulled out her phone. Dialled. ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘I’m off the road.’

‘How are they?’

‘Fading. But I have it in hand for now. Do you have any news?’

‘Some. We lost the one we were following, but we’re close.’

‘They can’t survive like this much longer.’

‘They won’t have to.’

She waited.

‘
Kincsem
,’ he added, his voice softening. ‘You’ve sacrificed so much.’

‘Can we come to you?’

‘Not yet. We shouldn’t move them until it’s time. Not if they’re as fragile as you say.’

‘When?’

‘Soon. I have to go.’

‘
Szeretlek
,’ she whispered. But already he had gone.

She put the phone back in her bag and stared out of the windows at the van. On the TV, the female anchor launched into a story about a local ice hockey team. The woman threw a comment at her male co-anchor, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Sylvester returned with her food, balancing the plates precariously. He laid them out before her, announcing each one with a flourish. When he saw her attention was on the TV, he flicked his head towards it. ‘Pretty funny, huh?’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘Those Grizzlies guys. Five of ’em, they say. Went out to a club two nights ago, then failed to show up for their game. Nobody’s seen ’em since. Must have got pretty wasted, huh? One thing’s for sure – they’re in a world of trouble right now.’

‘Grizzlies?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re not local. Grizzlies? Ice hockey team?’ Sylvester’s eyes began to roam again. ‘Those boots. They real snakeskin?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cool.’

She waited until the silence grew too awkward and he wandered off. Immediately she tore into the steak, demolishing it in three bites. Cramming a fistful of onion rings into her mouth, she washed them down with a mouthful of Coke, then swallowed the rest. The coleslaw was next, followed by the fries. It took her less than a minute to consume them. Finally she turned her attention to the nachos.

Glancing down, she saw her blouse was blotched with ketchup and grease. She wiped the worst of the mess away, and called Sylvester over.

When he saw the empty plates his eyes bulged from his head. ‘Goddamn, lady. You like to eat, don’t you?’

‘I need to order some take-out.’

‘You’re not done?’

‘It’s not for me.’

‘What can I get you?’

‘Five bacon cheeseburgers, with fries.’ She paused. ‘Root beers, too.’

‘For five?’

She nodded.

He came back a few minutes later with two white bags, and she paid with cash.

‘Got far to go?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded at her van. ‘What’re you hauling?’

‘Meat.’

‘Uh huh.’ He shuffled from foot to foot, licked his lips. ‘You know, I get a discount here. Like, for staff. It’s pretty generous.’

She stared.

‘I mean, if you ever wanted to come back.’

She looked around the empty restaurant. ‘Here?’

‘If you ever wanted to try those ribs, I mean. Or, like, whatever.’ He glanced down at his name badge. ‘This job, it’s only temporary. I’m saving for college.’

She stood, took the bags. Her sudden proximity seemed to unnerve him.

He moved backwards, nearly tripped. ‘You know, if you liked, we could even—’

She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. ‘Stop talking.’

His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Yes ma’am.’

He watched her go, his stomach flopping like an eel. Later, he would not sleep for thinking about her.

Twenty miles south of Beaver, she turned east onto State Route 20, a strip of road that led through a wilderness of gently sloping hills. She found an empty truck stop and pulled in, the van sending up a shower of gravel. Carrying the bags of take-out, she went around to the back and unlocked the doors.

It was dark inside, and it smelled bad. Urine and sweat.

The faces of five terrified young men stared out at her. Their wrists and their ankles were bound. Each had a rectangle of duct tape pressed across his mouth.

Leaning in, she studied them more closely. All wore black nylon jackets. For the first time she noticed the emblem they displayed: a grizzly bear with glowing red eyes, cradling a hockey stick and a sign that read:
Utah Grizzlies
.

When she moved to the nearest of her captives, he pressed his spine against the side of the van, eyes wide with horror. Reaching out, she ripped the tape from his mouth. Where it tore the skin from his lip it left a dribble of blood.

‘You’re hockey players,’ she said.

He nodded.

‘Time to eat, all of you. Take off the tape.’ She handed the bags of food and drink to the young man whose gag she’d removed. When he opened his mouth to speak, she shut the door and climbed back behind the wheel.

She drove for another two hours, taking US-89 south before turning east towards Bryce Canyon. The rocks here had a reddish cast. Thousands of years of flash-flooding had carved channels and fissures.

Past the town of Cannonville, Garfield County, she took a left turn and twenty minutes later drove past the rusting metal sign welcoming her to the ranch.

As the van bounced along the track, she saw that the land was strewn with dark humps. It took her a while to realise they were the carcasses of dead cows –
her
cows – and now she understood why the sight of the cattle haulers on the interstate had pricked her memory. When she’d bought the farm a few weeks earlier she’d purchased its livestock, too. She recalled the realtor explaining about the irrigation ponds and the creek, along with the system of fences and gates.

Now the animals were dead, a hundred rotting hunks of beef. As she passed, a flurry of crows exploded from the nearest carcass. They’d stripped one side of its face down to the bone, and had dug into the soft flesh of its belly.

Another mile, and she saw the ranch house waiting ahead, a wide timber-built structure with dark windows and a gently sloping roof.

Pulling up, she switched off the engine, sitting quietly for a minute as she stared at the building. Then she took a knife from her bag, climbed out and went to unlock the van’s rear doors. Inside, her captives had consumed their lunch of cheeseburgers and root beer. The stench had worsened considerably.

She leaned towards the youth she had addressed earlier and cut through the bonds tying his feet. Grabbing him by the ankles, she hauled his legs over the lip of the luggage bay.

‘Get up.’

He nodded, eyes panicked, shifting his weight to his feet. Two days locked inside the van had driven the strength from his muscles, preventing him from standing fully, but he tried his best. He smelled like a sewer. ‘I don’t know what you want,’ he said. ‘But I’m not a bad guy. My name’s—’

‘Walk.’

‘OK. I will. I’m doing it.’ He shuffled forward, dragging his feet through stones. His hands, tied before him, began to shake. ‘Why me? I mean, what about the others?’

When she declined to answer, his fear ratcheted up a notch. ‘You don’t need to hurt me, OK? Whatever it is you want, you don’t need to do that.’

She unlocked the ranch’s front door. It swung wide, revealing a wedge of darkness, and an odour that troubled her.

He caught it too. ‘No, I don’t want to go in there. Seriously. Let me stay out here, in the light, just for a while. Just for a while, OK? We’ll work this out. If we talk. Come on. Please. I don’t want to die.’

She turned to him. Stared. Lifted her mouth into a smile. ‘What’s your name?’

‘J . . . Jason.’

‘You’re not going to die, Jason. Not here. Not today.’

‘Then why—’

‘I know this is distressing. But you don’t have to be scared. I haven’t brought you all the way out here just to kill you.’

His eyes moved to the shadows inside the ranch. ‘Then what? What’s in there?’

‘Something incredible. Something that will change your life forever. Trust me, Jason. Now go inside.’

‘I don’t want to. I . . .’

She came towards him.

‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t touch me again! I’ll go in. I’ll trust you.’ He started crying as he shuffled across the threshold.

‘Down the hall,’ she instructed.

Inside, the air was thick with a rotten dead-poultry stench. Shadows gathered, pressing close. At the end of the hall they came to a door.

‘Open it,’ she told him. ‘Go inside.’

Trembling, he obeyed, and she followed. Just enough light was seeping between the drapes to make out details: a large room, square in shape, lacking any furniture except five wingback chairs arranged in a semi-circle. The meagre light prevented her from seeing their occupants, but she heard a creaking of springs, and a whispery sound, like sheets of paper carried by the wind.

On the floor stood a Coleman lantern. She fired it up, the gas hissing as its light brightened the room.

Now she saw them more clearly, staring up at her. Their limbs were shrivelled and brittle, faces lined and pallid. Some had dried blood on their chins where they had spat out teeth. Cloudy eyes blinked.

‘My darlings,’ she told them softly. ‘I’m here.’

‘Oh, please God,’ whispered the youth in the Grizzlies jacket. ‘What the hell is this? What the
hell
?’

‘All I ask,’ she said, ‘is that you do as I say.’

He raised his eyes from the chairs’ occupants. ‘Which is what?’

She led him to the nearest chair and instructed him to kneel.

The old woman sitting there had lost almost all her hair. Her hands, veined and liver-spotted, were clutched in her lap, aged before their time. Around her neck she wore an amber locket, its chain fashioned from interlinked beetles. She sighed, and with great effort she lifted a hand and draped it onto his head. Immediately the contact was made she slumped back in her seat, breath rattling out of her like an avalanche of stones.

The young man stared at the crone. The terror slid from his face, replaced by a reverential calm; he bowed his head. ‘You honour me with your gift,’ he said. Rising, he turned to the woman who had brought him and held out his hands. She cut through his bonds.

‘Do you bring news?’ he asked.

‘He asks for patience.’

‘We’ve
been
patient. It’s killing us.’