The Graves of Plague Canyon
By Michael Richan
By the author:
The Downwinders series:
Blood Oath, Blood River
The Impossible Coin
The Graves of Plague Canyon
The River series:
The Bank of the River
Residual
A Haunting in Oregon
Ghosts of Our Fathers
Eximere
The Suicide Forest
Devil’s Throat
The Diablo Horror
The Haunting at Grays Harbor
It Walks At Night
The Dark River series:
A
All three series are part of The River Universe, and there is crossover of some characters and plots. For a suggested reading order, see the Author’s Website.
Copyright 2015 by Michael Richan
All Rights Reserved.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.michaelrichan.com
ASIN: B00TX2SDU0
Published by Dantull (149015127)
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Deem climbed the dark staircase, checking each step to make sure it would hold her weight. With the extreme age of the building, and the fact that half of it was demolished, she didn’t trust the rickety staircase under her feet. She was afraid of falling through it to god knows what below.
Why would someone go into a building like this? she wondered. The entire place is about to fall down!
Just a half hour ago she received a desperate call from Erin, a friend who lived in Kingman. She asked Deem to check on her friend David, who had called her from the building Deem was now walking through, trapped somewhere on the upper level.
She pulled a flask from her jacket pocket and let a couple mouthfuls of protection slide down her throat, wincing as it stung. A window in the stairwell appeared on her right, and she glanced out over the zoned-off construction area outside, a chain-link fence in the distance where she’d entered through the opening David made earlier. The lights in the parking lot beyond were bright enough to cast light into the stairwell, and Deem was grateful. Using a flashlight in this place would surely alert security or the cops.
When she turned the corner at the top, she saw a large, open floor, half gone. The floor was shiny and looked like small strips of wood, especially at the point where the demolition had stopped.
That’s right, she remembered. This place used to be a skating rink. A very old one, with a beautiful wooden floor. It’s been closed for ages. Why would someone sneak in here, especially in this state?
She walked out onto the floor. It appeared to be stable. The demolition was about halfway complete, and she could see through the open end of the building to the rooftop of a business next door. Small particles of dust blew through the air as the wind raced freely into the space. Another day, she thought, and this will all be gone.
Across the skating floor in another direction was a door that had an “Employees Only” sign, with windows that opened onto the rink. She walked silently and carefully over the floor toward it, expecting to feel the wood move under her. With half the floor gone, disappearing into nothing twenty feet to her right, she felt the need to tread very lightly.
The door to the office was open, and as soon as she walked in she could hear rustling. It was darker, and since she couldn’t see any exterior windows, she felt using her flashlight might be safe. She turned it on, and walked past a desk. The rustling was coming from a room in the back.
When she reached it, she was greeted with an unusual sight: a young man, crouched on the floor inside an alcove lined with shelves. Above him, in the ceiling, was an opening that led to the attic. The man seemed stuck, his left arm immobile, his right arm extended, holding a phone.
Deem walked toward him, and he looked up at her. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Get down!” he replied, looking up at the hole overhead. It looked empty.
“There’s nothing there,” Deem said.
“There is!” he said. “It keeps popping out!”
Deem dropped into the River and saw movement in the opening overhead. Something was shifting up there, drifting around just outside of sight.
She took another step forward, and the image descended rapidly from the opening, face and arms first, reaching for the kid. It was ghostly white and moved very quickly, stretching to touch him but coming up short. Its fingers swiped through the air six inches from his head, moving back and forth in frustration, unable to descend farther. After a while it retreated back into the opening.
Deem dropped from the River and moved toward the young man.
“Don’t come closer!” he said, extending his hand with the phone toward her to stop her. “It’ll come out again. It pops out every few seconds.”
“I take it you’re David?” Deem asked.
“And you’re Erin’s friend?” he asked in return.
“Slide out from there!” Deem said.
“I can’t!” David replied. “My left arm won’t move. It’s stuck against the wall, some kind of trap.” He illustrated by trying to pull himself free, but it didn’t work.
Deem dropped into the River once again, and saw a faint luminescent glow on the wall where David’s arm was stuck. She dropped back out. “Some kind of glue. I’m guessing it was put there to try and stop whoever is dropping from the ceiling. Like flypaper.”
“Then why has it trapped me?” David asked, tugging at his arm, trying to pull free.
The white figure dropped from the ceiling once again, a faint image that filled the alcove with a fog, partially obscuring the shelves. Deem dropped into the River, and it came into view — a long, thin man, his hair tumbled over his head, his face contorted into an angry snarl. His torso was mostly bones, but his face still contained flesh. Deem rose slowly through the roof and into the attic, where she saw that the man’s feet were attached to a similar luminescent substance that had been painted on the floor surrounding the opening. He was trapped, just like David. She returned to her body on the floor below and dropped out of the flow.
“You entered the River when you were touching it?” Deem asked. “Of course you did.”
“I guess so,” David replied.
“It’s not holding your physical body,” Deem said. “It’s attached to the part of you that enters the River. The zombighost’s feet are stuck to a similar substance up there.” She nodded toward the opening. “That’s why it hasn’t sliced your face off yet.”
“Zombighost?” he asked.
“That’s what we call ghosts that transform, due to the radiation,” Deem said. “You’ve never heard the term?”
“No,” David said. “All I want is to get away from it. I’ve been trapped here for an hour!”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Deem asked.
“I came to get something,” David replied. “I think it’s on a shelf up there.” He pointed to one of the shelves lining the alcove underneath the opening. “Do you know how
I can get free of this stuff?” He tugged at his arm again, but it didn’t budge.
The ghost let out a snarl and descended through the hole again, straining to reach him.
“You realize its fingers aren’t really fingers anymore, not when it’s transformed, don’t you?” Deem asked. “They’re more like claws, with sharp blades. If it reaches you, those fingers will slash into you.”
“I figured it was dangerous,” David said. “But no, I didn’t know that exactly.”
Deem looked at him. He was young, about her age. He had blond curly hair and was wearing his inexperience like the letterman jacket wrapped around his chest.
“Did you drink protection before you came in here?” she asked.
“What?” he replied. “Protection?”
“You don’t know what protection is?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “Protection is when something is protected. Covered. Uh, sheltered from harm, that kind of thing.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Deem said. “Did you drink any?”
“Drink protection?” David replied, cowering down as the zombighost launched from the hole again, swinging its arms at him for a moment, then retracting back into the opening. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Deem removed her flask and slid it along the floor toward David. “Put down your phone and pick up the flask,” Deem said. “Take two large mouthfuls.”
David did as she instructed, and he sputtered after the gulps. “What’s in this? Booze?”
“A little bit,” Deem said. “Make sure you drink enough.”
David capped the flask. “What now?”
“Just wait,” Deem said. “It’ll take a moment to sink into you.”
“You think this will break me free?” David asked.
“It’s a good bet,” she replied. “I see from your jacket you went to Dixie. What’d you letter in?”
“Football,” he replied. “Are you from around here?”
“Grew up in Mesquite,” she replied. “Been staying in Leeds.”
“You know Erin?” David asked.
“She and I used to be best friends. I guess we still are. Since she lives in Kingman now, I don’t see her much. How do you know Erin?”
“We’ve been chatting online,” David replied. “There’s a forum for people who are…” he paused.
“Gifted?” Deem offered.
“Yeah, gifted. We met there. She’s been helping me deal with my parents.”
The ghost descended once again, mindlessly swiping at David, still missing him by a few inches. David ducked lower.
“Try pulling your arm free,” Deem suggested.
David tugged on his arm. “There’s some give. I think it’s working.”
“So you’ve never heard the term zombighost before?” Deem asked, trying to take his mind off their predicament until he could detach from the trap.
“No, I’ve never even seen one before today,” he said. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know they could claw you with their fingers.”
“Is it your father or your mother who’s gifted?” Deem asked. “They didn’t teach you about it?”
“They’re both gifted,” David replied. “They had only started to teach me some things. They didn’t think I was gifted until recently.”
“Well, ask them about zombighosts when you get home,” Deem said. “Anyone who works in the River around here has to know about them, or you’ll find yourself ripped to shreds.”
David didn’t reply, and she noticed he’d turned his face away from her.
“What’s wrong?” Deem asked.
“I can’t ask them,” he replied. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” Deem asked. “What do you mean?”
David pulled his arm free from the wall and he fell to the floor in front of Deem. She pulled him a few feet from the alcove, far enough that the ghost in the attic couldn’t reach them. David got to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” Deem said, turning to leave. Instead, David walked back to the alcove, directly under the opening, and grabbed something from the shelves. He examined it, and threw it on the floor. Then he grabbed another item from the shelf.
“What are you doing?!” Deem cried. “Get out from under there!”
“I have to find it,” he said, grabbing another. He looked it over, and said, “This is it!”
The zombighost descended from the opening again, and Deem rushed forward to grab David’s jacket, tugging him backward and away from the creature’s claws. One of them grazed David’s cheek.
“That was stupid!” Deem said.
“I had to get this!” David replied. “It’s what I came here for.”
“What?” she asked.
He turned a small wooden plaque toward her. It held little engraved plates, and had a brass emblem of a roller skate at the top.
“A trophy?” she asked. “You can’t be serious.”
David turned the plaque back around. “Kenneth Hopkins, 1985, First Place,” he read. “My father won that year.”
Deem rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She led him back through the building, down the stairwell, and through the hole in the chain link fence. She rearranged the fence as best she could to hide the damage, then they walked to the parking lot.
“Come to my truck,” Deem said. “You’ve got blood on your face. I’ve got a first aid kit.”
Deem got in the driver’s side and David got into the passenger side. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the kit, then opened it and removed antiseptic and bandages.
“That was stupid, you know,” she said as she dabbed at the wound on his cheek. In the light of the parking lot, and without the terror of a zombighost popping out at them, she had more time to look at him. He was clean shaven, and his face was classically handsome, but still had a healthy dose of boy-next-door. His frame filled out the letterman jacket nicely. She was startled when he looked up at her and she saw that his eyes were green.
“I didn’t think it was stupid,” David said. “I had to get that trophy. That’s why I went in.”
“You didn’t know what you were doing,” Deem said. “What if you’d gotten stuck a foot higher? I’d have found a corpse with a shredded head.”
He lowered his face, making it impossible for Deem to treat his wound.
“What?” she asked.
“I had to get it.”
Deem paused. “Is that your dad’s name on the plaque?”
“He’s missing,” David said. “They’re both missing. They’ve been gone for two weeks. I came home from class one day, and they weren’t there. Their cars were still in the driveway, everything in the house still there — nothing stolen. But they were gone. Haven’t seen them since.”
“What do the cops think?” Deem asked.
“They’ve been looking,” he replied. “So far, nothing.”
“Do you have brothers? Sisters?”
“No. Just me. I go to classes at DSU every day, then home to an empty house. Ladies from the ward bring casseroles around, every night. I have a fridge full of casseroles.”
“Geez, I’m sorry, David,” Deem said, resuming her attention to his wound.
“I know this just looks like a stupid roller skating trophy to you,” David said, holding the plaque, “but I was reading my dad’s journal, and he mentioned it. He was proud of it. I knew they were tearing the place down, and I wanted to save it. With them gone, I feel this urge to hold onto anything about them that I can. I couldn’t let them just tear down the place and have this plaque disappear.”
“I lost my father a couple of years ago,” Deem said. “I know what you mean. I take it back, it wasn’t stupid.”
They chatted a while longer before exchanging contact information and David thanked her for the rescue. Deem said she’d check in on him in a couple of days, to see how he was doing. David replied that he’d appreciate it.
She watched him walk to his car. Cute guy, she thought. Really cute
. Not my type, but cute. She considered offering to give him some River guidance and tutelage, but then she thought about the trouble she’d had recently with Dayton and the skinrunners, and she thought better. He’s way too much of a novice for the kind of shit Winn and I have been dealing with. It’d just get him killed.
Still, he needs some help, she thought. Remember to check in with him in a few days.
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Deem had been scanning documents for hours when Carma burst into the small office. Deem looked up; Carma was panicked.
“So, so, listen, I have a huge favor to ask,” Carma said, twisting her hands together so tightly Deem was afraid she might break a bone.
“Yes?” Deem asked, lifting a piece of paper from the scanner and placing it in a cardboard box by the desk. “What is it?”
“I know you’re right in the middle of that,” Carma said, “but the problem is, I’m right in the middle of something, too, that I can’t drop. I’ve had some bad news from my niece in Fredonia. Her daughter is very ill. She’s received a diagnosis from a specialist that she can’t read, and she was wondering if I could go out there and help make sense of it. I can’t, not right at the moment. Things are at a delicate stage here, and I can’t leave.”
The tedium of scanning had been wearing on Deem and she was more than ready for a break. “Sure, I’d be happy to help. Is her eyesight bad?”
“No, her eyesight is fine,” Carma said, looking worried, as though she’d left something urgent somewhere else in the house and needed to get back to it. “Her daughter’s illness is River related, and the diagnosis likely requires the ability to jump into the flow to make sense of it. My niece isn’t gifted, though her daughter is, and apparently her daughter is so bad off she can’t be roused. So Ester is desperate to sort it out. Can you go? Figure out this diagnosis she’s received? I’d do it, but I can’t get away for the next while — some things with Lyman that I have to see through. I know it’s a huge imposition.”
“Not really,” Deem said, standing up and stretching. “I’m tired of sitting here. I could use a drive.”
The Graves of Plague Canyon (The Downwinders Book 3) Page 1
