Mystery: Satan's Road - Suspense Thriller Mystery (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Crime Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  Then a strange thing happened. He started to tear up. The watch was never a gift from Sheila; in fact, he couldn’t remember anything that she had given him besides crayon drawings as a child. But that long-forgotten memory of her, standing there with a page full of colorful scribbles in her hand, was vivid enough to trigger a surprisingly powerful emotion. He almost felt like he was going to lose control for a moment.

  Conner looked at him sympathetically, seeing the pain. “You keep it,” he said. “Might bring you luck. And here’s my card. Look me up when you find your wife. We’ll all have a beer together.”

  And that was that. A complete stranger had thrown him a lifeline.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Parkhurst was not what Kam expected at all. He could only describe the community as a twenty-first-century fortress. The website had painted a picture of an idyllic life inside the gates. They just neglected to say that the gates and the walls were twelve feet tall.

  Kam could see that the design for Parkhurst was based on traditional castle architecture – covered towers every fifty feet or so connected by defensive walls made from structural concrete. The towers had small roofed housings on top with windows. Kam could see lookouts and soldiers at every visible window. Though modern in design, there was something stark and medieval about the structure. It was pretty clear that getting out of Parkhurst would be as difficult as getting in.

  Kam knew from the online brochure that the commune consisted of several neighborhoods populated by small compact houses. At the center of the community was a large farmhouse where Gideon lived and controlled his global operations. Inside Parkhurst’s gates, you could also find a football field, an indoor swimming pool, an auditorium, shooting ranges, schools – and even a modern gun factory.

  The major gatehouse, facing the East, had a heavy steel gate that rose up on rails with guard housings on each side. Men in camouflage clothing were milling around the open gate. Long lines of trucks, carrying everything from vegetables to shoes, were lined up in a queue waiting to gain entry. Kam watched as a van, covered in images of fruit, was quickly waved through. He realized then that in order to feed and clothe five thousand people, Parkhurst would need outside suppliers – for food the community wasn’t able to grow.

  Kam drove on past the gates, climbed a gentle curve on the highway, parking far off the shoulder, out of the view of the sentries.

  He casually walked up to the end of the line of trucks. The last vehicle was a white step-up van. The graphic on the side said Virginia Bakery, est. 1946. Kam walked up to the driver’s door, which was open. A younger man in a white uniform was sitting at the controls, staring at the lineup. The smell of fresh bread was intoxicating.

  “Hi,” said Kam, putting on his most-endearing smile.

  The driver jumped in surprise. “Didn’t see you coming,” he said, not able to hide his embarrassment.

  “Your bread smells amazing.”

  “Thanks. I think I’m immune to it now. If you want to buy some, we have a store in Ashland next to the Subway …”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, but I need your help.”

  “Huh?”

  “My daughter has joined this group. At Parkhurst. And I need to talk to her.”

  The bread driver took that in for a few seconds, and then realized what this stranger was asking. “I’m sorry Mister. I can’t help you. I can’t risk losing this customer and this job. They’ve been really good to me.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think they’re good people too. But you must have family. You know how tough that is? I haven’t seen her for a year. And I’ll pay you for your trouble. No one will know.”

  The driver moved his truck up another car length and Kam followed.

  “Like I said, mister. I’d like to help and all but …”

  “I don’t want to beg, but I came here to tell her I’m dying. I may never see her again. I’ve got about three months – if I’m lucky. And I can’t reach her inside.”

  Kam knew it was manipulative, but he was working the heartstring tactic again. Somehow he didn’t care. He would do what it took to find Tamara. His eyes were already starting to well up. “You know this place. I can’t just walk in.”

  “Listen, mister, I’d be glad to take your money, but that wouldn’t be right.” The driver stopped then – his mind working. “I’ll be in there for about two hours. They trust me, and they don’t search the truck every day. My idea is – you come in as an assistant and help me with the baked goods. It’s a big order today; something special is going on. When I’m ready to leave, if you’re not on the truck, I’m reporting you missing. That way I’m not lying to anyone. You’ll be on your own. One hour to help me. One hour to find your daughter. That won’t be hard. The women live in a compound right next to the kitchens.”

  Kam could hardly believe what he heard. He shook the man’s hand and ran around to the passenger door before the driver changed his mind. Just as he closed the door, the truck moved up another length. They were about five vehicles now from the massive gate.

  “You’ve been delivering here long?” Kam asked.

  “About two years or so.”

  “What do they do there?”

  “Farm. Grain and corn mostly. Some veggies. No cattle or anything. They’re all vegetarians. A lot of training and stuff. Pretty good militia, based on what I’ve seen.”

  “What makes a good militia?” The van moved up another space.

  “I’ve seen a lot of scruffy characters over the years wearing camouflage trousers with holes in their knees and beards down to their belly buttons. This isn’t that kind of group. They wear clean new uniforms. Shiny boots. Clean cut mostly. They look like they know what they’re doing.”

  “You belong to their church?” asked Kam.

  “No. My wife is Pentecostal,” the driver said.

  “And you?”

  Long pause. “Like I said, my wife is Pentecostal.”

  “Is there a head office of some kind? A place I can report to?”

  The bread guy laughed. “You can go ask for Gideon at the farmhouse, if you’d like – but he’s just as likely to stare at you with those scary blue eyes of his and turn you into a pillar of salt. I would stay away from there.”

  “Is that where he lives?”

  “That’s where he runs things. All things.” The bread truck was almost to the guardhouse. “Now get in the back. Move some of the stacks around and keep yourself busy. If anyone asks, you just started with us. You’re my helper today. ”

  They moved up to the gates and stopped. The driver just waved at one of the guards saying nothing. Kam didn’t see more than a flash of a soldier’s uniform. He was moving bread around in the back, trying to look like he had a job to do. They seemed to be sitting there forever.

  Then Kam heard one of the guards say something to the driver – but he couldn’t make out the words. The driver shifted gears and put the truck into park and then stepped out onto the ground. Kam froze. Had the driver lost his nerve at the last minute? Thought his job was worth more than helping a stranger? He could run, but he had no idea how to even open the back door of the truck. Then, just as that idea flashed in his head, the back door of the bread van rolled up with a noisy clatter.

  Staring at Kam was one of the compound’s soldiers – wearing tan slacks and holding a semi-automatic rifle at his side.

  “And who are you?” he growled. There was an uneasy silence for a few seconds, then the driver answered for Kam.

  “He’s my helper today. This order’s too big for one guy.” The soldier stepped up to the back of the van and looked inside. Kam was holding on to one of the cooler racks where the bread loaves were stacked, not sure what to do next.

  “Hi. Name is Jim,” he offered, figuring that if Gideon was aware of him, they probably knew his real name. Did they also know about his thick Boston accent? The soldier squinted at him – then took in a deep breath.

  “Damn that bread smells good,” he finally
said and stepped back. “You wouldn’t have any samples today, would ya’?”

  “I just happen to have a dozen cinnamon buns for you and your men,” answered the driver, looking relieved.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The bread van rolled down the gravel road for about a quarter mile – then the entry road opened into a town centre, surrounded by freshly painted shops. Groceries. Clothing. Shoes. They stopped at the front of the bread store and started to unload.

  The bread guy looked at Kam as if to say honor the deal. They hauled bread for about 45 minutes.

  “There are washrooms in the main dining room you can use. Behind are the kitchens. They’re big. You’ll see about a hundred women working in there, plus a few men hauling potatoes and veggies. People have to work here so she’ll be either in the kitchen or out in the fields.

  If you ask for her, your daughter, you might cause trouble right away. I can’t help you from here on in. You are on your own. I’ll give you about 20 minutes. Then I’ll load my racks back in. Then I report you AWOL.”

  Kam walked across the street of packed dirt and headed towards the dining areas. The buildings reminded him of Main Street at Disney World, although not as pristine and detailed – like he imagined a town in the 1920’s might look – only not ringed by a high concrete barricade.

  The women wore long print dresses with their hair tied up. The men wore mostly camo, some with baseball caps. A few were carrying rifles casually. He stood out right away in his dark blue slacks and white captain’s shirt.

  He asked one young woman where the washrooms were and she pointed into the double doors off the wide porch of the community building. She backed away from him slightly when he asked. All strangers were potentially demons, realized Kam. It’s part of the cult culture. The guest washroom was on the right. Guest washrooms? Could he hide in there? And for how long?

  Before he entered the dining area, he looked back across the fields and saw for the first time what the bread guy must have been referring to – a tall log building, about three stories high with various additions spreading out from the center, all constructed of the same solid varnished spruce logs. Beautiful in a way, but also imposing. The windows were darkened with tinting which gave the building a slightly menacing tone.

  Is that where they would keep a hostage? he thought. As he turned around, he walked straight into a tall militiaman, who let out a breath of air and glared at him.

  “You know where you’re going?” he asked.

  “Just using the guest washroom. I’m with Virginia Bread.” Kam pointed at the bread truck parked in front of the bakery.

  “You hurry up now. You don’t want to be around here long. We’re going to be doin’ some shootin’ practice later and might need us a target.”

  Kam used the guest washroom, not sure if he would have a chance again over the next few hours. The most frustrating part about not having a cell or a watch was not knowing the time. On a day when every minute might count.

  Back in the hall, Kam stopped a young woman carrying a large steel salad bowl and asked for the exact time. She just looked away and hurried on, saying nothing. He had to remember – he was the image of the evil outsider. He couldn’t expect co-operation from anyone.

  His job now was simple – get into the main farmhouse – which appeared to be heavily guarded. There were two militia types on the front porch carrying semi-automatic weapons and at least two more on what he could see of the back deck. The farmhouse sat in the middle of a vast clearing, long site lines available to the guards in every direction – except one. There was a thick line of trees running up to the house along the east side – a wind break planted decades ago by a previous owner. Kam thanked him under his breath and headed east.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Annika brought in green tea to the small guest bedroom and opened the small shuttered window. Under a down filled coverlet, laid a tiny woman, her hands bound. She looked up at Annika and smiled.

  “What day is it,” asked Tamara, feeling distant. She knew they were giving her something that made her endlessly sleepy and sluggish so she had tried to resist all food and drink. That only made her weaker, so she was limiting herself to the smallest amounts that would still give her minimum nutrition. She was treated well by the women from the compound, who were obviously following strict orders, but were still kind at heart. Most of them had a harried and frightened look, which made her sympathetic to them. She never saw men around or even heard their voices.

  Everyone, though no one mentioned it, were aware of an approaching deadline, and it showed in their speech and their body language.

  “It is Sunday,” said Annika carefully. She inspected Tamara’s wrists to make sure the binding was not too tight. Then she lifted a small cup to her mouth to drink.

  “You don’t suppose I could get just tea next time, do you?” Annika stiffened slightly. “It is good, though. You can thank your friends for me. And if you had some soup, that might make me feel stronger too.”

  “We may have some broth for lunch. I will see what I can do, but we are very busy,” she answered carefully.

  “Are you worried about your sons?” asked Tamara, taking another mouthful. Annika looked away, which was her way of avoiding difficult subjects.

  “Gideon says there will be no need to fight.” She seemed to pause, to remember the exact words she had memorized. “The government will fall under its own weight in a matter of days.”

  “That’s a lot of training for people who never intend to fight.” Tamara had heard about the years of constant militia exercises at Parkhurst from the women talking in the background. She guessed disaffected ex-military types did most of the training; people with a grudge on for the establishment.

  “The army will be too busy with its missiles misfiring to worry about our little group.”

  “Annika, I know you. You worry about your sons.”

  “There is nothing I can do. I watched Waco on TV. I saw what Bush did to his enemies in Afghanistan. But it is written and has been written for thousands of years, that the end will come on Monday. It is out of my hands.”

  “Annika, there is something you can do.”

  “Yes. We can feed the chickens. Make meals for our sons. Wash clothes.”

  “And bury the dead. I’ve seen this many times before Annika. And I have seen the prophecy. Not just the parts they have shown you. That’s why I am here.”

  “How did you see this?”

  “A very brave man died bringing it to me. He translated the prophecy. I have seen it all. Yes, Revelations talks about what will happen, but the document I read, also talks about how to stop it. The men don’t want you to see that. They want to fight; they want to raze the land so they can have it for themselves. At what cost? Your children?”

  Annika hesitated and then began to weep, spilling the rest of the tea on the bed covers. She stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, uncertain, and then ran from the room. Tamara lay there, trying to focus on something, anything. There was an antique lamp beside her, but she couldn’t make out any details. Everything was surrounded in a soft glow. That was how her head felt too. She knew she needed help just to stumble to the washroom. Saving herself was not going to be easy and would depend on her using her intelligence. Chasing Annika from the room was not a step in the right direction.

  For the past several days, she had worked to build a bond with as many of the women as possible. On Wednesday, when the Soldiers of Patmos had come to her home, they were all young men. They had come to kill her. They had looked very determined, but for some reason seemed to lose their nerve when they realized they were ganging up on a woman who looked like their grandmother. Thank God Kam wasn’t there when they arrived.

  Once the terrorists had the inane Revelations document, they used her phone, and someone had given them orders to take her back with them. Was it Gideon? She was covered with one of her blankets for most of the trip; a portion of that voyage aboard what sounde
d like a small private jet. She was allowed to come out from hiding once they reached Parkhurst.

  Tamara had no idea what they intended to do with her. She hoped they saw her only as a nuisance, at least until noon on Monday.

  Over the few fuzzy days she had been locked in her bedroom, she was able to piece together quite a bit. It helped, of course, that she had carefully read the Chapertah document, which referred to the Soldiers of Patmos and their plans.

  These poor people. How deluded they were by this one arrogant male? Every time she thought about Gideon, she wanted to scream. They all kowtowed to him like he was Jesus reborn. He had created his own bizarre little society here, which included sexual rights to every woman at Parkhurst. Well, wasn’t that his right as the alpha male? As a result, the women were in constant fear of him. Tamara was hoping to use that fear against him.

  Suddenly the door opened. Tamara could hear the sounds of several pairs of slippered feet on the pine floor. Several women came in and closed the heavy door. Tamara waited. She couldn’t make out faces. She needed to hear their voices.

  “I told the others about the book you read – the one they took from you. What did it say?” It was Annika, sounding breathless.

  Tamara calmed herself. Now was not the time to rush. “Annika, the translation was very precise. It says you have a choice. You always have a choice.” Annika shook her head.

  “You don’t understand,” said a voice that Tamara recognized as a younger mother, Elizabeth. “Do the writings talk about the caves?”

  “The caves?”

  “About what is in the caves.” She sat down on the bed. Tamara could almost make out her worried expression. There was desperation in her voice. Something about these caves had them frightened for their lives.

  Annika spoke next. She was the eldest. “We hoped you would know about the caves. Then we could be sure that you really understand.” Tamara sensed disappointment in her voice.