Dana Mentink - Buried Truth

Charlie Moon raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Since you let her brother die?”

Bill exhaled. The words weren’t unexpected, but they cut deep anyway. “I loved Johnny like a son, you know that.”

“I don’t know any such thing. I only know you were my nephew’s senior officer. You were supposed to take care of him, watch his back.” Charlie shook his head. “He was so proud when he joined the Tribal Rangers. So proud to work for you.”

“I trained him the best way I knew how.” Bill felt the surge of frustration that caused his voice to edge up a notch. With an effort, he kept it level. “It was a bust gone bad. Oscar knew we were coming.”

Charlie’s calloused fingers gripped the door frame, the pressure turning his knuckles white through the natural tan of his skin. “Words. Just words. Johnny went in first, a nineteen-year-old rookie—he went in first and got blown up. Can you tell me any of that ain’t true?”

Bill looked at the red dust coating his boots. “No.”

“And can you stand there and say to me it wasn’t your fault? You’ve been a Tribal Ranger for what? Twenty years? And a rookie walks in after a fugitive first, without waiting for a backup team? That how it’s supposed to go, Bill?”

He could not answer against the thickening of his throat.

Charlie looked at him, lips in a tight line. “If you came back to Rockvale for forgiveness, you’re not going to find it here. Not with me. Maybe not from anybody.”

A six-year-old girl with a thick braid of black hair peeked past Charlie. “Hiya, Uncle Bill. Have you come back?”

Bill knelt and blinked back an unexpected wash of tears. “Hey there, Tina. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I got the birthday card you sent and I put the stickers on my lunch box. Where’s your dog?”

He nodded toward the massive rottweiler watching their every move from the back of the truck. “Right over there.”

“Can I play with him? I want to see if he’s learned to fetch.”

Bill was about to answer when Charlie pulled the girl back. “Mr. Cloudman is not your uncle and he’s leaving now. He can’t play with you anymore.”

Tina shot her uncle a puzzled look. “Never?”

Charlie nodded grimly. “Never.”

“Is it ‘cuz Johnny went to heaven?”

Charlie patted her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later. Go back to your room and put your books in order.”

“But Uncle—”

“Go,” Charlie said, voice hard.

Tina’s face was puzzled as she wiggled her fingers at Bill before she disappeared into the house.

Bill straightened. “Is she … how is she doing?”

“Better than you’d think for someone who lost her mother to cancer and her big brother to murder. ‘Course, Johnny was more like her father, him being so much older and since her father took off before she was born. So all she’s got left is her old uncle Charlie and this piece of wasteland.” He gestured to the horizon, harsh cliffs painted against the setting sun. “How’s that gonna get her any kind of future?”

Images of a previous sunset flashed through Bill’s brain. The explosion, the ferocious hatred of the man bent on killing them. The ease with which Oscar Birch had been able to murder Bill’s partner. And now the murderer was back with a different target in his sights. Bill looked up to find Charlie staring at him.

“Heard you helped bust Oscar’s son near the Badlands.”

“Yeah.” He’d gone to assist his friend Logan to keep Oscar’s son, Autie, from killing a woman named Isabel Ling. They’d gotten Autie, all right, and remanded him into custody. In the process Logan had found his soul mate in the strong-willed Isabel. At least there was a silver lining—for Logan anyway. The guy deserved it. Charlie’s voice intruded on Bill’s thoughts.

“Heard Oscar’s son died.”

“Yes.” Autie had finally run out of luck. He’d made a break for it on his way to prison and been felled by a volley of police fire. Bill had felt nothing when he heard, no grief, no satisfaction; just the same numbness that had taken hold of him since the afternoon Johnny Moon was killed. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and let his gaze wander to his boots again.

Charlie’s laugh was harsh. “That’s justice, I guess. Oscar killed Johnny. You killed his kid. Now he knows something about my pain.”

Though Bill said nothing, he knew Charlie was wrong, dead wrong. Oscar was filled with hate and anger that sizzled hotter than the Dakota desert, an incendiary rage that would not be satisfied or dulled by grief. And he was here. He might even be watching right now. Bill felt a chill in spite of the heat.

A bark from the bed of the truck pulled Bill from his thoughts. He noticed the curtain move in the front window of the small house. Tina was still watching. He tried to make his expression more pleasant. “Anyway, I thought you should know Oscar’s escaped.”

The old man wiped a hand over his mouth. “Listen, I got enough problems. Not my job to help you catch him again.”

“I wasn’t asking for your help. I’m not a Tribal Ranger anymore. I just wanted to tell you and see if you or Tina needed anything.”

“She needs her big brother, but you can’t give her that, can you?”

The door swung shut, the sharp click loud in the stifling air.

Bill put his palm to the wood, warm from the late afternoon heat. If I could have that minute back, Johnny would be alive.

The curtain fluttered again and Tina’s little face peeked out. She mouthed something, a gap showing where she’d lost a tooth in the time he’d been away. Her expression so resembled her brother’s that he was momentarily frozen. He forced a smile and walked down the drive, the enormous mass of a child’s lost innocence weighing him down.

Heather Fernandes heaved a sigh. The guard at the entrance to the massive underground research facility, DUSEL, looked down at her, no expression on his stern face except for the slight uplift of one thick eyebrow.

She straightened, the steering wheel hot, since she’d turned off the air to prevent the Jeep from overheating. It was already making strange noises and she couldn’t afford a repair bill. “All I want to do is talk to Dr. Egan. I’ve called dozens of times and gotten no response. I’m a reporter with the Desert Blaze.”

She didn’t entirely blame Egan. In his position, she wouldn’t speak to reporters, either, especially not hacks for a local rag that was mostly filled with ads for used trucks and prickly pear jam. Egan was used to being interviewed by respected science magazines, like the kind she’d worked for in the past. “I used to write for Horizons in Science.”

His eyes flickered as he took in her beat-up Jeep. “And I used to guard Buckingham Palace. This is just my summer job.”

It wouldn’t do any good to prove she was telling the truth. She gritted her teeth and looked past him as the dying sunlight painted the distant cliffs. Somewhere, concealed by construction equipment and the dip and swell of brown-covered hills, was the deepest mine in North America. Only, now the goal was no longer hauling out gold, but building the finest Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory in the world. The best of the best, the most cutting-edge science so close, yet it might as well be on the moon. “Here’s my number. Please have Dr. Egan call me.”

She snapped out her business card and reversed the Jeep, suspecting the guard was laughing as he returned to his air-conditioned post.

Laughing that a seasoned forty-three-year-old reporter was so easily defeated? Or amused that Heather actually claimed she had written for Horizons? She groaned. If it weren’t for the framed copies of long-ago articles, she might have believed it was a joke herself. Now she was reduced to writing a piece about some piddly fossil find and covering the local town events. She eased the Jeep down the road a couple of miles, rounded a corner and pulled over to the shoulder. Turning off the engine, she sipped some iced tea out of the thermos and considered. In years prior, her Horizons press pass had given her access to anybody, anywhere. The who’s who in the science world practically salivated for the chance to air their discoveries in the magazine.