Dennis Yates - Red Mountain

“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.