Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7)

by Anthony M. Strong

  “Hurry it up in there,” he yelled in the general direction of the two-bedroom block house they’d rented after moving out to Nevada from Colorado two years before so Tiffany could complete her graduate studies at the University of Nevada. “I want to leave before it gets too late.”

  “All right, already.” Tiffany emerged from the house and pulled the front door closed. “What’s the big hurry. We’re driving out to the desert. Check-in time is, like, whenever we get there.”

  “You won’t be so blasé if we have to pitch our tent in the dark,” Darwin retorted. Tiffany was struggling toward the car carrying a pair of large duffel bags. He took and heaved them into the Jeep, grunting at their unexpected weight. “What the hell did you pack in these, your entire closet?”

  “Just the necessities,” Tiffany replied. “I can’t wear the same clothes for three days.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Darwin said. “It’s not like we have dinner reservations. We’ll be the only ones out there. You can sit around the campfire in your undies for all I care.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tiffany grinned despite herself.

  “Maybe.” Darwin went to close the trunk, then remembered something. “Wait there, I’ll be right back.”

  He sprinted toward the open garage door, ducked inside, and returned with a shovel.

  “Almost forgot this,” he said, throwing it atop Tiffany’s ridiculously over-packed duffels.

  “Dare I ask why we need a shovel?”

  “So that we can dig a hole to poop in.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Tiffany looked aghast.

  “How else do you think we’re going to handle bathroom breaks?” Darwin asked. “You want to drive back to Vegas every time nature calls?”

  “But it’s so… gross. Plus, you’ll be able to see me.” Tiffany folded her arms, pouting. “I can’t do it. Why don’t we just go to a hotel instead?”

  “This is supposed to be my birthday trip. I get to choose. When it’s your birthday, we can go to some swanky spa and let them put mud on our faces.”

  “Oh, that’s happening, have no fear.”

  “Not until you come camping with me, it isn’t.” Darwin flipped up the box on the garage door keypad and punched the number in to close the door. When it started trundling down, he walked back to the Jeep, slammed the trunk, and climbed in. “Are you coming, or not?”

  “Guess I don’t have much choice,” Tiffany grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat next to him. “Just so we’re clear though, the first scorpion I see, we are out of there.”

  “Have no fear, I’ll protect you from whatever nasty creatures we encounter,” Darwin laughed.

  “Ooh, my hero.” Tiffany glanced toward him and batted her eyelids. “Which is why I had to get rid of that spider in the bathtub last week.”

  “Hey, I was going to take care of it.”

  “When? After you stopped screeching like a baby?”

  “It caught me by surprise, is all.”

  “Whatever you say.” Tiffany smirked. “Did you pack the coolers containing the food?”

  “You think I’d forget something like that?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you,” Tiffany replied. “You probably want to catch our food.”

  “Now, there’s a good idea. Maybe I should take the coolers back inside the house.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Tiffany shot Darwin a withering look. “Unless you want me to go back inside along with them.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to eat store-bought provisions then,” Darwin replied. “Even though it won’t be as authentic.”

  “Plus, we won’t starve. Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t put much stock in your foraging abilities.”

  “Hey, I’ve been going camping since I was a kid. My dad used to take us all the time.”

  “Okay, Mister Wilderness. I stand corrected.” Tiffany settled back into the seat and fiddled with the AC until it was blowing a steady stream of frigid air upon her. “Are we just going to sit in this car all day, or are you actually thinking about going somewhere?”

  “Now who’s suddenly keen to get out into the wilds?” Darwin put the Jeep in gear and pulled away. “Nature, here we come.”

  “Yay. I can hardly wait.” Tiffany sighed and rooted in her purse, taking out a lipstick and applying it. She flipped the visor down and checked her makeup in the vanity mirror. “Three days with no phone or internet.”

  “I know, right?” Darwin grinned. “It’s going to be great.”

  “For you, maybe.” Tiffany pushed the visor back in place and returned the lipstick to her purse. “But some of us actually have a life.”

  “Stop complaining. You can live without constantly texting your girlfriends for a few days.”

  “And apparently I can also take a crap out in the open, but it doesn’t mean I want to,” Tiffany said with the barest hint of sarcasm. “How long will it take us to reach the camping site, anyway?”

  “Forty-five minutes. Maybe more if there’s traffic on the interstate.”

  “Awesome.” Tiffany removed her phone from her purse along with a pair of Bluetooth earbuds. She pushed them into her ears and closed her eyes. “Let me know when we get there. I’m going to enjoy the benefits of civilization while I still can.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The plane carrying John Decker landed a little after 4 PM local time in Las Vegas. It taxied to a private hanger where two men were waiting next to a government issue plain black Ford Crown Victoria when he deplaned.

  “You John Decker?” The taller of the two asked as Decker stepped out of the aircraft. He was leaning against the car and now pushed himself up. He slipped a hand into his pocket to retrieve a slim leather case, which he flipped open to reveal his credentials, with the initials FBI written in large blue lettering across the uppermost card. He closed the wallet and returned it to his pocket. When he did so, Decker saw the silver FBI badge attached to his belt.

  “That’s me.” Decker nodded and stepped from the Gulfstream’s built in airstairs. In one hand was an overnight bag that contained a few changes of clothing, a pair of hiking boots, and a toiletries bag. Over his other shoulder was a laptop case. When he reached the car, he set them both on the ground. “And you are?”

  “Special Agent Fowler.” He nodded toward the other man. “This here is my partner, Special Agent Barnes.”

  The shorter man raised a hand in greeting but said nothing.

  “You ready to go?” Fowler asked. “You waiting on luggage?”

  “What you see is what you get,” Decker replied. “I travel light.”

  “Great. Let’s get on the road.” Fowler popped the trunk so that Decker could stash his bag and laptop case. Barnes climbed into the back seat so that Decker could sit up front, and soon they were on their way.

  Fowler steered the car out of the hanger and onto a service road that ran to the airport’s perimeter. At the gate he flashed his badge to a security guard and a few minutes later they were on the Strip.

  The sun was setting. It slipped below the distant mountains, painting the horizon a dazzling orange. To the left and right of them, casino resort hotels jostled for attention with bright lights and outlandish themes. Traffic was moderate, but despite this, the going was slow as they moved along the main thoroughfare in fits and starts, stopping at intersections clogged with tourists. Decker had only visited Las Vegas once before, many years ago, and he peered out of the passenger side window, fascinated by the garish facades of the larger hotels and casinos.

  Agent Barnes, in the backseat, watched the passing scenery with disinterest. “You a gambling man, Mister Decker?” he asked, eventually.

  “Depends how you define gambling. I’ve taken a risk or two over the years as a law enforcement officer. If you’re wondering if I have a desire to spend hours throwing money away in one of these casinos, the answer is most definitely no.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Fowler said. “Bec
ause where we’re going, you’ll be lucky to find a strong drink, let alone a craps table.”

  “I read the briefing file during my flight,” Decker said. “It’s a ghost town, right?”

  “Is it ever.” Barnes didn’t sound happy. “There’s only one habitable building in the entire place. The rest of it is falling into the ground. I swear, we get the worst assignments.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Fowler said. “The landowner renovated the hotel, and it’s actually pretty comfortable. There is a saloon bar but is not officially open yet. As for the rest of the place, there’s an old man that lives in a dilapidated cabin, and there are a few other buildings, mostly crumbling shells.”

  “What about the goldmine?” Decker asked. They had left the city behind now. The bustle of the Las Vegas Strip had given way to smaller businesses and new housing developments scattered around the outskirts of the gambling mecca, and then to open desert with little sign of habitation. “What condition is it in?”

  “It’s stable enough. At least according to the surviving geologist. The trusses and beams holding back the rock are still in good condition considering how old they are, and the tunnels are mostly free of obstructions. We should be able to enter with no trouble.”

  “Except for whatever is lurking inside,” Barnes added. “If we run into that, we could be in a whole heap of trouble. The last two groups that went in there didn’t fare so well.”

  “I’ve been briefed,” Decker said. “I assume you still haven’t found the two missing geologists?”

  “Correct.” It was dark now, and they were driving up into the mountains. Fowler flicked on his high beams. “They were almost certainly killed, and since the rescue team that went in to look for them almost met a similar fate, we decided it was best to retreat until we could bring in expert help.”

  “That would be you,” Barnes said.

  “One person on that rescue team did meet a similar fate,” Decker observed. “From the witness statements I read on the flight, it was lucky that any of them made it out alive.”

  “I assume you watched the footage retrieved from the responding Vegas PD officer’s body cam.”

  “Yup,” Decker responded.

  “First impressions?” Fowler asked.

  “Whatever that creature is, it’s been there a long time,” Decker said. “If I had to guess, I’d say it dates all the back to the Wild West.”

  “What makes you say that?” Barnes asked.

  “Because I also saw the photos taken by the geologist. Those three mummified prospectors didn’t just decide to sit down and end their days in that mine on a whim. Something scared them so much that they didn’t dare walk out.”

  “Unless they got lost down there and couldn’t find their way back to the surface,” Fowler suggested.

  “They didn’t. For one thing, they weren’t that far from the entrance. If the surviving geologist is correct, they’re only about half a mile in and close to the adit leading out of the mine. They also carved a symbol into the dirt. I suspect this was for protection, but I’ll know more once I do some research.”

  “Sounds plausible. Is that all you’ve got?”

  “No. The current owner of the ghost town only recently reopened the mine entrance. No one had stepped foot inside for generations until those three geologists entered. I suspect that renewed human activity awakened whatever is in there, with tragic results.”

  “Now for the million-dollar question,” Fowler said as they crested a rise and drove toward a cluster of lights that Decker assumed was their destination. “Do you know how to deal with it?”

  “Not yet,” Decker admitted. He watched the lights grow brighter and soon he could make out the shapes of ramshackle buildings sitting at the base of a mountain pass. One structure stood out, in better condition than the rest. This, he assumed, was the hotel where he would bed down for the foreseeable future. He lifted his gaze to the mountains beyond the town, now nothing more than dark silhouettes against the night sky, and wondered what horrors awaited him in that long-abandoned mine.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The confrontation with Oscar Rossi left Harlan Biggs shaken. He’d known on an intellectual level that this day was coming, especially after he failed to make the latest loan payment, but until Rossi walked through his door, Harlan had convinced himself that it would all work itself out in the end. It was now clear that it would not.

  In an effort to instill some kind of normality to his day, and possibly to kid himself the world was not collapsing around him, Harlan hurried from the hotel shortly after Rossi departed, and drove out to Henderson where the vendor supplying his new slot machines was located. He spent the next three hours going over the casino floor plan with his account manager, selecting machines. Since Prospectors Paradise wasn’t a top-tier casino, he wouldn’t be receiving the newest slots. Many of the machines, while an upgrade to his old ones, would still be a year or two old. Worse, only a small percentage of the machines would be owned by the casino. He simply didn’t have the money to purchase all the slots he needed outright. His gaming floor was small compared to many of the big boys. A strip casino might have fifteen-hundred slots or more, but Harlan was only looking at a paltry three hundred. Even so, that would add up fast at a minimum of ten grand for each machine. Even with the amount he’d made selling off the old machines, his budget only allowed him to purchase a third of them outright. He would have to lease the rest for a cut of the proceeds. The thought of giving a third of his slot profits to the gaming supplier made him feel physically sick, especially after his conversation with Rossi, but it was that or have a half empty casino floor.

  By the time he returned to the Prospectors Paradise his mood was even darker than before. He parked his black metallic Porsche Cayman on the employee level of the parking garage and made his way back into the casino. He couldn’t really afford the flashy sports car, which was also leased, any more than he could afford the gold Rolex on his wrist, but he needed to project the right image to be taken seriously in a town where money was king.

  When he entered the hotel on the mezzanine overlooking the lobby, he ran straight into Wagner Mitchell, his GM, who was standing at the railing watching the new lobby floor being installed.

  “How did it go?” Wagner asked, turning toward his boss.

  “Fine, I guess,” Harlan grumbled in reply. “A month from now we’ll have three hundred slightly used slot machines in our casino, and the supplier will be skimming thirty percent on two-thirds of them.”

  “No, not that.” Wagner shook his head. “Rossi. How did it go with Oscar Rossi?”

  “How do you think it went? He’s given me two weeks and if I can’t make the interest payment, I’ll have the dubious pleasure of having my legs broken by his enforcers.”

  “Hey, sorry I asked.” Wagner turned his attention back to the work going on below. “The new floor is looking good. We should be able to put the check-in desk back in by the end of the month. That should cheer you up, huh?”

  “Yeah. Great.” Harlan sighed. “I’m sure Rossi will enjoy his new lobby.”

  “Don’t be like that, boss. You’ll think of something.”

  “You’d better pray that I do,” Harlan replied. “Or Oscar Rossi will be cutting your paychecks, and I’m pretty sure he’s not as much fun to work for as I am. He’ll probably have you dumping bodies out in the desert within a month.”

  “Not going to happen. We’ve weathered hard times before.”

  “Not like this, my friend.” Harlan turned toward the elevators and pressed the call button. A door slid open immediately. “I fear I may have overplayed my hand this time.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Me too.” Harlan stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. He saw Wagner throw his arms up in the air and shout something at the installers on the floor below. Then the doors slid closed, cutting off his view of the mezzanine.

  When he reached his desti
nation, Harlan stepped out and made his way to the penthouse. He stepped inside and closed the door, then proceeded to the living room. He turned on the TV and went to the bar that occupied one entire wall of the space. He poured himself a drink, making sure that it was substantially larger than anything he would ever allow one of his bartenders to serve in the casino. He looked down into the amber liquid, lost in thought, at least until the television drew his attention.

  He turned around. The TV was tuned to a local news station. Something big was going down. They were playing footage shot from a helicopter hovering over the desert. There were police cars, an ambulance, and even a SWAT team. The news ticker, a band of scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, identified the location as the Ghost Canyon Mine.

  Harlan stood there a moment, frozen by surprise, then he scooped up the TV remote and pushed the volume up further. He listened to the newscaster recapping the previous afternoon’s events. There had been an accident and people had died. The LVMPF press liaison was authorized only to say that it was an animal attack. Another source, speaking on condition of anonymity, added that the offending creature appeared to live in the mine, and that the survivors all mentioned glowing red eyes.

  Harlan stood staring at the screen, transfixed.

  Because the news story ignited a memory. Something he hadn’t thought about for many years. An old family legend.

  He put his drink down on the counter and took out his cell phone. He needed more information, and quickly.