Kurkow Prison (Berkley Street Series Book 5)

by Ron Ripley

  Adrenaline pumped through his system as he picked up his shotgun, the woman's weight negligible. He stepped out of the cell and looked at Frank.

  Frank nodded and then snapped, "Down!"

  Shane crashed to the floor, pain ripping up from his knees while Frank's shotgun roared. Twice more the weapon sounded out and then Frank yelled, "Move!"

  Shane got to his feet, wincing at the agonized protesting of his joints. His ears rang, and lights flashed in his vision. He turned toward the stairs, caught himself before he slipped in a small pile of gore he had missed before, and went down to the first level. Behind the pain and the partial deafness from the shotgun blasts, Shane heard Frank reload.

  Shane exited the stairwell, focused on the door at the far end and moved towards it. A shape stepped out into the hall, and for a heartbeat, Shane thought it might be Pete. When he realized he could see through it, Shane pulled the trigger. The shot wasn't perfect, but enough of the rock salt from the load hit the ghost.

  Behind him, Frank fired again, all five rounds.

  "Weapon!" Frank yelled.

  Shane paused, handed off his shotgun and took Frank’s. Frank fired twice more and then they were at the door and into the foyer.

  "Reloading," Frank said, "keep moving."

  Shane nodded, shifted the girl from one shoulder to the next, and exited the prison.

  "Damn!" Shane spat.

  "What?" Frank asked behind him.

  "Pete's gone!"

  "What?! Oh, come on!" Frank said disgust thick in his voice. The shotgun roared again.

  Shane seethed with anger as he broke into a jog. He reached his car, ripped the door open and threw the shotgun onto the car floor. Shane put the young woman in the back seat and climbed in after her. Frank closed the door as he passed, and then got into the driver's seat.

  "Keys?" he asked.

  "Ignition," Shane answered. He pulled the girl in close to him, wrapping himself around her, trying to keep her warm with his own body heat. The engine started, Frank turned the heat up to its maximum, and backed up.

  The young woman shivered, and Shane nodded.

  "Can you hear me?" he asked.

  Her head moved a fraction of an inch.

  "Okay, listen," Shane said, "I'm going to start rubbing you, I'm not getting fresh. I need to keep you warm and get the blood circulating in your hands and feet, or you're going to lose them to frostbite. It's going to hurt."

  "It’s okay," she murmured.

  "Okay," Shane whispered.

  Chapter 23: Pete's Surprise

  For the first time since Peter Dawson had purchased a cell phone, he had turned it off.

  The iPhone lay on the dashboard of the Escalade, and it looked as lonely and forlorn as Pete felt. He had never hung up on Ollie before. Not once in their entire history together. But Pete knew he couldn't go back to the prison. There was no way he could go into Kurkow and see if everyone was okay.

  The ghosts wouldn't let him.

  He knew that. Pete also knew they would hurt him.

  They'd probably kill me, he thought, sighing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Or they'd do something terrible to me first. Torture me. Who knows what.

  The glint of headlights caught his attention and Pete looked in his rearview mirror. A car was approaching, racing along route eighty-nine in spite of the black ice and the snow drifts forming along the edges. In less than a minute, the car sped by him, and Pete saw it was Shane's car.

  And as he registered whose vehicle it was, the car's brake lights flashed red. Then the white reverse lights flared, and the wheels were cut hard, the car racing backward towards him.

  Before he could do anything to stop it, Shane's vehicle smashed into the front of the Escalade. Pete howled as his head snapped forward, striking the leather wrapped steering wheel. He could taste blood in his mouth, and one of his back molars throbbed.

  Then the driver's side door was ripped open, and Pete was dragged out of the SUV and into the snow. He fell down, tried to get up and a blow knocked him back to the pavement.

  Instead of trying to get up, Pete rolled onto his back and looked up.

  It wasn't Shane standing over him, but Frank.

  His brother's old friend had his fists clenched, his face a mask of fury, the scars dancing in the starlight.

  "Why did you leave?" Frank hissed.

  Pete didn't answer him. He watched as the tension drained from Frank's shoulders, the rage on his face replaced by an expression of calm. Even his hands relaxed.

  "Tell me, Peter," Frank said, his voice low. "Tell me why you left."

  "I was afraid," Pete whispered.

  Frank closed his eyes and Pete saw the man's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. "Where are the blankets Shane told you to pick up?"

  "Passenger side," Pete said.

  Frank turned away from him and went around to the other side of the SUV. Pete could hear Frank get the bags out. Soon he passed by the Escalade and went to the back of Shane's car. He opened the door, and Pete sat up.

  Frank tore the blankets out of their packaging, snapping them open and then leaning into the car with them. He was wrapping someone up.

  Pete grabbed hold of the Cadillac's door and pulled himself to his feet. He cleared his throat, and when Frank didn't look at him, Pete asked, "Where's Shane?"

  Frank remained focused on the person in the backseat. "Here."

  "Is he okay?" Pete asked.

  Frank shot him a withering look. "He's fine."

  "What about the Paranormal Society?" Pete asked, trying to see inside the back of Shane's car without leaving the protection of the Cadillac.

  "There's one here," Frank said. He closed the door, bent down and picked the trash up from the road. He stuffed it all into one plastic bag and walked back to Pete.

  "One?" Pete asked, confused. "There were four of them. Are they okay?"

  "No," Frank said, throwing the bag of trash at him. "They're dead."

  Pete blinked. "What?"

  "Dead," Frank repeated. "Dead. Their heads are hanging from a light fixture inside the Prison. I'm not exactly sure if all of their body parts are there as well, but they might be. You can tell Oliver if you want. In fact, you should. And tell him that I'll be coming soon to speak with him."

  Pete's heart skipped a beat.

  Memories flashed before him. Frank had been a terror in middle school and high school. A kid who would fight for any reason, at any time. Someone who didn't mind a little bit of pain to get in close and hurt someone.

  "Tell him I'm coming," Frank said, nodding. "And it'll be soon."

  Pete watched Frank walk to Shane's car. The man paused, looked down at the fender which hung half off, and then reached down to tear it away. Frank threw the molded fiberglass onto the road’s shoulder and got back into the car.

  Pete shivered and got back into his vehicle. He found his phone on the floor and picked it up. Pete held it for a moment, then put it down.

  Ollie can find out for himself, he thought, and he closed the door.

  Chapter 24: By the Fire

  George’s world had shrunk down to what he could see of Mulberry Street from his windows, and the relative safety of his home. For almost two days, he had existed alone in his new environment, a desolate life where he had witnessed one death and nearly suffered his own.

  But now he had a companion in misery.

  Mrs. Geisel.

  She was wearing some of Jess’ sweats and wrapped up in an old comforter. Mrs. Geisel sat in front of the fireplace, her cheeks and nose still red from her time in the cold.

  George had tried to speak with her several times, all to no avail. She hadn’t responded to any of his questions or offered up any information. Eventually, George had stopped with the inquiries.

  He placed a cup of warm milk on the floor beside her, set another log on the fire and retreated to the couch. The shades were pulled, and salt lined the window sills and the thresholds. He had fou
nd another container of the blessed spice in the pantry when looking for hot chocolate.

  “Charles is dead,” Mrs. Geisel murmured.

  George looked at her in surprise. He was about to ask her a question when she spoke again.

  “The fat man killed him,” she continued. She picked up the cup of milk, took a drink and then looked at it for a minute.

  George waited for her.

  She turned to face him, her eyes swollen and red. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “Not really,” George said. His voice sounded strange in his ears, like metal being dragged across metal.

  “What did you do to stop them?” she asked. “Nothing we tried worked.”

  George picked up the fireplace poker. “This is made of iron. It can send ghosts away, just like salt can keep them out.”

  She glanced around the room, nodding. “How did you find out about the iron?”

  “I was just lucky. I picked it up and swung at it,” he hesitated, then added, “It was a ghost. There were two in the room with me. I think the other one was just as surprised as I was. When they were gone, I looked up ghosts online.”

  Mrs. Geisel finished her drink and set the cup on the floor. She held her hands out towards the fire, and George saw they trembled.

  George had always thought Mrs. Geisel was in her fifties. Perhaps a little older. As he looked at her in the dim light thrown by the fire, he realized she was older than he thought. Wrinkles were gathered under her neck and crow’s feet spread out from her eyes. There was a good deal of white hair interspersed in her black locks. Fear and exhaustion added to her aged appearance.

  “I don’t believe I know your first name,” George said.

  She gave him a wan smile, revealing capped, bright white teeth. “Merle.”

  “A pleasure, Merle,” George said. “Do you need another blanket, perhaps something more to drink or to eat?”

  Merle shook her head. “No. Thank you, though. My feet hurt, as do my hands, but I take it as a good sign. The question now is what shall we do.”

  “Do?” George asked.

  “Oh yes,” Merle said. “We’re not the only ones alive on Mulberry Street, George. Not by a long shot.”

  “You want to rescue them?” George said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  She smiled. “I do indeed.”

  George looked from her to the fire and stared into it for a moment. Blinking his eyes, he shook his head. He opened his mouth, the word ‘no’ forming on his lips, but instead his voice said, “Yes. Let’s do it. Soon as the sun’s up.”

  Merle nodded her approval and George was left alone with his thoughts, wondering why he had agreed to leave the house again.

  Chapter 25: Lost in the Storm

  “Damn it!” Frank snapped.

  Shane turned his head and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m lost,” Frank barked. “Sorry. It’s snowing again. I got turned around somehow.”

  “Great,” Shane muttered. His entire body ached, not only from holding onto the young woman but from the minor accident with Pete’s SUV.

  The girl was asleep, her breathing slow and normal. She wasn’t resting easy in his arms. Now and again she kicked, struggled, and bit down. None of which were pleasant to experience.

  Shane consoled himself with the knowledge that she was unaware of her actions. With a grunt, he shifted his body and tried to get comfortable. Beneath the blankets Frank had beaten out of Pete, Shane was sweating.

  Frank stopped the car and mumbled to himself. Shane turned his attention back to the girl. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out more than a silhouette of her face, which was almost cherubic in form.

  “Oh no,” Frank whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” Shane asked.

  “We’re back in Gaiman,” Frank said.

  “What?!” Shane said. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “I must have turned off the wrong way,” his voice faded. “Wait. No, no I didn’t. Oh, crap.”

  “What?” Shane said, his anger rising.

  “The route cuts back,” Frank said. “Doubles right back on itself to follow whatever river this is to the bridge. It led us right into a small pocket of land belonging to Gaiman.”

  Shane closed his eyes. “How fast until we can get out of here?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Frank said, and Shane felt the car lunge into motion.

  The young woman whimpered, her eyelids flickered and her eyes locked onto Shane. For a moment, they were cloudy, unable to focus.

  When they did, she let out a loud, sharp gasp.

  She struggled against him, and Shane let go immediately. He thought she was going to sit up, but after she tried, the young woman collapsed back onto the seat.

  “Are you okay?” Shane asked.

  She nodded, her eyes closed. “Where are my friends? Are they in here with me?”

  “You’re in the backseat of a small sedan,” Shane said. “And I’m the only one back here with you. Can you tell me who you are?”

  “Emma,” she said.

  “Emma, my name’s Shane. My friend, Frank, is going to drive us to the closest hospital,” Shane said. “You were in the cold for a long while.”

  “I know what happened,” she said, her voice low. “We were caught by the dead. I was dragged into the cell because they were bored.”

  “Who was bored?” Shane asked.

  “The ghosts,” Emma answered. “They’ve been bored for decades. We were ‘entertaining’ them.”

  “Shane!” Frank yelled.

  Shane shoved himself up, twisting at the same time to look out the windshield.

  A line of ghosts stretched across route eighty-nine, all of them prisoners. The car’s headlights shined through and illuminated them at the same time. The engine revved and the car raced forward.

  “What’s happening?” Emma asked, trying to sit up.

  “Stay down,” Shane ordered. He reached into his back pocket and took out his knuckle-dusters. The shotgun, even loaded with rock salt, would be far too dangerous in the close confines of the car.

  And then the decision was out of his hands.

  Frank drove the car through the line of the dead, some of the prisoners reaching in. As Frank lashed out with an iron ringed hand, Shane did the same with his knuckle-dusters. Ghosts screamed with fury, and one managed to get into the front passenger seat.

  “Give her back!” the dead man screamed. “She’s ours!”

  “Out,” Shane snarled, driving his fist into the ghost’s face, the iron causing the ghost to vanish.

  Emma managed to sit up as Frank guided the car around a curve. For a second, the headlights shined upon a small, green sign on the side of the road. It read, Welcome to Cornish, New Hampshire.

  Frank slowed the car down and Shane sagged back into the seat.

  “What happened?” Emma asked again, the words mumbled through her swollen lips.

  “Roadblock,” Shane answered.

  Wincing, Emma turned and looked out the back window. “I don’t see anything.”

  “They were dead,” Frank said over his shoulder.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Where are my friends? How were the ghosts out?”

  Shane reached out, helped to pull a blanket closer around her and said, “Rest, Emma. You’ll know it all soon enough.”

  Emma blinked, nodded, and leaned against Shane.

  He could smell her blood and feel the tiredness of her body. A sudden, painful ache filled him, and Shane closed his eyes against the tears.

  He missed Courtney.

  Chapter 26: An Old Friend

  “Shane.”

  Shane sat up, his eyes bleary. He looked around and saw they were pulled over on the side of the road. A glance at the radio’s clock showed it was 3:33 in the morning.

  “Yeah?” Shane asked.

  “I have an idea,” Frank said.

  “What’s that?” Sh
ane rubbed at his eyes and yawned.

  “I have an old friend up here, right outside of Cornish. Former Special Forces medic. He could treat the girl if he’s home,” Frank said.

  “Why him?” Shane asked, stifling another yawn.

  “You want to bring in a female, in obviously bad condition, to a hospital and then try to walk out?” Frank asked.

  Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Damn. Yeah, you’re right.”

  “You want to ask her what she wants?” Frank said.

  “Sure,” Shane said. He turned to the girl, tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Emma.”

  When she didn’t respond, he raised his voice and shook her a little harder.

  Still nothing.

  She was asleep, or unconscious.

  “He’s nearby?” Shane asked.

  “Half a mile up on the left, we turn onto a dirt road, then a quarter mile further in and we’re there,” Frank said, nodding.

  “Alright, let’s do it.” Shane lifted Emma up, pulled her close and made sure the blankets were wrapped around her. He held onto her as Frank moved back onto the road and found his way to his friend’s house.

  It took less than five minutes before they pulled into a driveway. Powerful lights eliminated all shadows, and cameras were mounted on each corner of the house and the barn which stood on the left.

  Frank turned off the car’s headlights, picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Asa,” Frank said. “It’s Francis. I’ve got a male friend and an injured female.”

  Frank listened, nodded and said, “Thanks.”

  “We good?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank said, putting the phone away. “He won’t shoot us now. Let’s move.”

  In less than a minute, Shane had Emma in his arms, and he was close behind Frank. By the time they reached the front door, the unseen Asa had started to open it. When Shane stepped into the house, the smell of antiseptics and cleansers stung his nose. The walls were painted white and absent of any decorations. The door clicked shut behind them, and Shane turned to see an older man standing beside it.