Sand Trap (Haunted Series)

by Alexie Aaron

  She had the pregnant dream again. This time Whit was in the pictures without his wife. Ted was still smiling, and as she stroked her stomach, the memory of the previous dream’s birth clouded the serene bliss of this dream. There was a tap on the glass, and she saw to her horror the biker standing there. He loomed over her and melted through the glass. He was almost on her when a CRACK sounded, and Murphy appeared and severed the man’s head from his body.

  Murphy floated next to her and began to pat her stomach. Mia lifted her face to his and smiled.

  She woke up with two thoughts in mind. One, she had to find a shrink and two, she and Whit hadn’t used protection. “Well, that was so very responsible, wasn’t it?” she chided herself. Mia got off the couch and wondered if the pharmacy in town had morning after pills. She picked up her pack and stopped, realizing she was looking at the setting sun. Maybe it was too late. She turned back to the door and couldn’t get herself to turn the nob. Would it be so bad if she were pregnant? She could take care of herself. The kid would have a wonderful support system of Bernard and Ralph. She put down her pack and went into the bath to shower and get dressed. The stuff in the truck would wait. She ran the water and walked over to her bedside table and opened the drawer. Ralph hadn’t raided her protection. It all was still there.

  She smiled. If she and Whit got away with last night, maybe they should be more careful tonight, and any other night when love was in the air.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Sally was coming off a double shift at the diner when the front door burst open and a wild-eyed teenage boy ran over to the counter. He looked like he had been in a fight. His clothes were torn and his knees bloody.

  He was panting as if he had run the race of his life. “Call the cops. Please,” he said as he slumped to the ground.

  Sally ran over to him, grabbing a dishtowel on the way. The manager was on the phone. “What happened?”

  “I think Manny’s dead and Dave’s gone. We tried to save him, but we were punching air, man. I ran all the way here.”

  “Where? Where did this happen?”

  “We were just parked, hanging out, drinking beers, smoking weed. We weren’t doing no harm,” the boy cried. “We weren’t bothering anybody.” He sniffed and winced as Sally tried to staunch the blood flow on one of his knees. “I couldn’t see nothing. All of a sudden we were being pushed back and forth by nothing! Manny’s screaming. Dave’s standing there punching air.”

  The lights from a highway patrol car lit the diner. Two officers got out and walked inside.

  Sally got up and went for some ice. The boy’s face was swelling.

  The boy, Richie, told his story to the patrolmen, pointing in the direction of the old stone bar up the street. Sally felt a wave of fear move through her. She put a handful of cubes in a fresh towel and folded it over. She walked back over and knelt down and pressed it to the boy’s brow.

  “We’ve called an ambulance. Do you think you can stay with him?” asked Patrolman Davis. We’ve got to check on the other boys.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Sally said. “You shouldn’t go there without backup.”

  The young officer looked at her, seeing the concern in her eyes. “Whatever’s going on, we can take care of it.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Wait for help,” she advised.

  The two men left. She shook her head sadly. Sally hoped that she was wrong, but a faint memory of something happening at the bar when she was a child was suddenly fresh with her. They would need backup.

  Dispatch informed them their backup was five minutes away. Davis looked over at Sgt. Malloy and asked, “Are we waiting?”

  Malloy angled his head and looked at the empty lot. “Nah, let’s check it out. Probably the kids were tweaking and were fighting each other.” They bumped along the uneven lot. He stopped the car and ordered, “Shine the spot over there. I think I see something.”

  Davis opened his window and rotated the spotlight slowly. The lot was empty. No vehicles. He wondered how the teenagers got there. There had to be a car. “Didn’t that kid say they were parked? Where’s the car? Maybe he got it wrong, and they were parked elsewhere.” This place wasn’t near anything but the highway.

  “There,” Malloy pointed out, tapping on Davis’s shoulder.

  Davis stilled the light and lowered it. There on the broken pavement fifty feet from the bar was a mass of clothing. It could have been a pile of rags, a large pile of rags. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Malloy pulled the patrol car over and parked it, leaving their lights on. He reported they were leaving the vehicle. Dispatch informed them their backup was two minutes away. They left the car and walked over to investigate.

  Davis reached back, pulled out his flashlight and trained its beam on the bundle. Malloy pulled his weapon and scanned the area as his partner advanced towards the mass of clothing.

  “Oh my god,” Davis gasped as his light illuminated a bloody corpse of a boy. He was flattened as if he had been run over by a semi-truck. There were no features left on his face. His body was just a mass of blood and bone with the exception of his hands. They were balled in fists that were free of bruises. It was as if the young man never connected a blow in his defense. Did he just give up?

  The kneeling policeman touched the radio on his chest and called into headquarters the death of one of the missing teenage boys.

  “We better look for the other boy,” his partner said nervously. “Nothing we can do here.” He walked back to the car, opened the trunk and picked up a marker and several flares. He dropped the marker before lighting one flare after the other, positioning them a few yards away on either side of the boy. He didn’t want his backup to disturb the crime scene.

  Davis helped Malloy to cover the teen from the elements before he got to his feet and drew his gun. He turned nervously. “Sarge, do you hear a scratching sound?”

  Malloy listened and nodded. He pointed to where dirt and dust were being disturbed. A groove in the ground appeared, moving in a straight line.

  Another scratching sound was heard behind them. He quickly turned around and shone his light at the source of the sound. Before him was another line being drawn, similar to the first.

  “What in heavens’ name…” he said nervously. He advanced over the line and was shoved by unseen hands. He strained his eyes, looking past the orange glow of the flare, its smoke slowly filling the lot with gray moving vapor.

  “Sarge, something poked at me,” Davis said, backing into him.

  He drew his gun. “You look that way, and I’ll keep my eyes this way. Someone’s messing with us. We need to get to the car, pronto.”

  He and Davis moved sideways watching each other’s backs. They heard the siren before the arrival of another state patrol car. Another siren was distant but approaching from the opposite direction.

  As the first car entered the lot, Davis erred and let his guard down. He turned to face the approaching vehicle. At that moment something grabbed his arm. Surprised, he released his grip and his gun went flying. He swung his flashlight at whatever had his arm and connected with his own elbow. The pain shot through his body. “Sarge, it’s got me!” he screamed and felt several punches to his chest and stomach.

  Malloy grabbed for his partner and pulled the flailing man into him. He righted himself and held on to Davis while he sent several shots before him into the darkness.

  Patrolman Walker’s was the second car on site. He watched as Malloy sent a volley of gunshots into the darkness. He had one arm wrapped around his partner and was moving quickly towards their parked car. The light of the flares was meager, but he could see that the two men were in trouble. He drove the car between them and what Malloy had been shooting at. He kicked open the passenger door and helped Malloy haul Davis into the car. Malloy got in back. Walker raised the windows electronically. There was a banging on his side of the car. He didn’t hesitate before putting the patrol car into gear and hauling ass out of there.


  One of the flares hit the windshield, but he kept driving, jerking the wheel and sending it spinning off the hood of the car. He radioed that he had the two officers and recommended they maintain a distance from whatever was transpiring in the lot. Walker pulled his car around and parked it on the shoulder of Route 66. He and Malloy got out of the vehicle, walked around and stood on the passenger side of the vehicle with their guns drawn.

  Malloy watched as his patrol car rocked back and forth before being pushed on its side. The was the sound of metal tearing, and gasoline poured from the car. To his horror, a flare started moving towards the car. It connected with the fluid causing it to burst into flames traveling fast towards his automobile. The patrol car exploded, sending a blast wave towards them. Malloy and Walker hit the ground, covering their heads with their hands.

  “Fucking hell,” Davis said from the car. He rolled down the window and asked, “Are you guys alright?”

  “I’m living,” Walker reported.

  “I’m pissed,” Malloy said getting to his feet. He helped Walker up.

  In the light of the fire, the three officers witnessed a ghostly crowd of men circle the burning vehicle unconcerned for their safety. Some of them pointed at the police and raised their fists. Others appeared to take a piss on the burning car.

  “What the hell are we seeing?” Malloy asked the others, not expecting an answer. He looked from the wreck of his car, past the place where the dead teen lay and over to the bar. The dancing flames lit up the front of the building, giving it an eerie glow. He saw some movement on top of the building. “God in heaven, look on the roof.”

  Walker and Davis followed Malloy’s outstretched hand and saw to their amazement, sitting on the roof of the bar was the missing teenage boy. He had his knees drawn up maintaining his balance on the slanted tiles. He held something in his hand and raised it to his mouth.

  “That son of a bitch is sitting up there smoking a joint,” Walker pointed out.

  “Relax. It’s not like we can do anything about it,” Malloy said and pointed out, “Probably the safest place to be. Shit, the kid can’t get by that crowd. And we can’t get to him. So in his mind, he may as well settle in for the night,” he observed.

  The third car pulled up and two other officers got out. Like he and Davis, the pair was comprised of a recruit and an experienced older office who asked, “Hey, Malloy, that your car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you flip it doing doughnuts in the parking lot?” asked the younger of the two cops.

  “No, I didn’t”

  “Then what the fuck is it doing on its side?” the older man asked.

  “Appears to be burning,” Malloy said and spat on the ground.

  ~

  Burt’s phone rang. He blindly batted his hand around until he found it. He squinted at the caller and the time. “What the fuck?” he said and cleared his voice to answer, “Burt Hicks.”

  “Burt, sorry to wake you up. This is Homely. We got big trouble out here.”

  “Hang on. I’ve got to get vertical.” Burt sat up. “Go ahead, what kind of trouble?”

  “Doc just called me. He’s a volunteer fireman,” Homely explained. “He’s out on Route 66. A kid’s been killed out by the bar, two stateys assaulted and their car burned.”

  Burt listened while Homely gave the play by play with the information that he got from Doc.

  “The kid on the roof, he’s safe as long as he stays on the roof,” Burt said. “Why the fuck is this escalating?” Burt asked more for his benefit than expecting Homely to answer.

  “I don’t know, man, but we have to do something to save that kid.”

  “Salt. Thick and heavy. Get some suicidal driver to get ahold of a salt truck. Load the sucker with the purest salt you can find. Have him lay a track to the bar and back to the iron bridge.”

  “I’m hearing you. Hold on, let me three way you to Doc. Hang on.”

  Burt got up and went to the john to pee. He was working on two hours of sleep. He finished just as Homely came back on the line.

  “Burt, Doc’s chief is on with us. You tell him about the salt and the bridge.”

  “This is Chief Stanley. Dr. Myer’s gave me a brief outline of your expertise.”

  “And you’re still talking to me?”

  “Yes, it amazes me too. But we have a situation on our hands. We have things we can’t see attacking the police and firemen. Dawn’s cutting a swatch in the sky, and I think the kid’s got to get off the roof before he falls off.”

  “I was caught in that lot, and here’s how I got out.” Burt told the Chief the story of his attack and rescue by the sisters. He also told him how he was able to get his car back.

  “Salt. Damn, this sounds like a horror movie.”

  “You could airlift the kid off?” Burt suggested.

  “I’ll run this by the State Police. They’ve got the means. Best we could do was a crop duster. Thank you, Mr. Hicks,” The chief started to end the call.

  “Sir. One more thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Once you get that kid off the roof, all hell’s going to break loose. These things are going to chase your firemen, police, and whoever happens down that stretch of road. Get it blocked off. Drop some iron girders across the front of the property before the salt blows off. You have to do something because until we figure this out, it’s going to get worse.”

  “You’re scaring me, son,” the chief admitted.

  “Good, you should be,” Burt said.

  He heard the chief disconnect.

  “Burt, you still there?” Homely asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you guys coming back?”

  “Job’s not finished. Yeah, we’re coming back.”

  “Bring help. I’m starting to lose sleep here.”

  Burt looked at the clock and read 5:00AM. “Me too. I’ve got to rally my team. I hope to God we’ve got some new info to work with. If you got any pull with the developers that own that property, I would convince them to blow the fucker up.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.” Homely said.

  ~

  Whit’s phone rang. He opened his eyes not sure where he was, let alone his phone. It rang again, and he found it in his discarded uniform pants pocket. He didn’t look at the call, just answered it.

  “Whit, Burt Hicks here.”

  Whit looked down at the bed and the woman lying in it. Did Hicks know he and Mia were together?

  “Are you there?”

  “Sorry, a bit early for me. I worked the afternoon shift. What’s up? Is Mia okay?” he asked, watching the sleeping Mia pull the covers over her head.

  “I guess so. Haven’t heard otherwise. I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Sure, what’s the favor?”

  “I need to get a hold of your boss. I’m hoping he has some history with the State Police.”

  “Why?”

  Burt explained what was happening down south. He gave a thumbnail sketch of the situation. “I need for them to understand that they are dealing with something way out of their control. I think after the hollow, your boss can vouch for how dangerous the situation is.”

  Whit’s eyes fixed on the Mia-sized lump under the colorful duvet. “Dangerous and deadly. I’ll give him a call and have him call and talk directly to you.” He looked at the clock and winced. “I guess you want me to wake him up.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  Burt disconnected the call. Whit walked out of the bedroom and closed the door. He called dispatch to get John Ryan’s home number.

  “Martin, this better be important,” the sheriff growled into the phone.

  Whit swallowed hard. “It’s important,” he insisted. Whit summarized the situation, answered a few questions and waited while his boss sorted things out.

  “Bikers? Paranormal bikers,” Sheriff Ryan asked
incredulously.

  “According to Mia, Burt, Ted, and, well, Murphy. They’ve all been attacked.”

  “Do they know how they are going to rectify the situation?”

  “Not yet. But the first priority is saving that kid and stopping anyone else from being killed.”

  “I hear you. Give me Hicks’s number.”

  Whit did as asked and disconnected the call. He walked back into the bedroom and tossed his phone. Whit slid under the covers and moved his cold body next to Mia’s warm one. She mumbled something before pulling his arm around her. He kissed the back of her neck, and she pushed back against him. Memories of making love last night filled him with desire. Mia reached for him. He turned her body to access her warmth. They moved slowly together, enjoying the joining. After, when their passion was spent, Mia curled into his body and fell asleep. Whit lay awake for a while thinking. He worried about the dangerous occupation Mia consulted in. He shook his head knowing that Mia worried too about him when he was working. Maybe worry was part of caring. Maybe that’s what antacids were for? All he knew was that he was given a chance with this woman of caliber, and he wasn’t going to blow it on petty jealousies and worry.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Homely stood with the other volunteers as Malloy tried to explain what they were going to do, without explaining why. “Ah, due to strange circumstances we are going to attempt a rescue.”

  “What’s strange about that, Sarge?”

  “It’s the way we are going to do it. We have a salt truck that is going to lay a path to the side of the bar and circle back. We need the ladder truck to follow close behind and get a ladder and a man on that roof and bring the boy to safety. The tanker truck will have your back.”

  “Salt and water? What the hell?” one of the volunteers asked.

  “The team on the tanker should be prepared to open fire with the hose on anything threatening the ladder truck operation.”

  “Malloy, you’ve been downwind from the toking kid haven’t you? You’re going to put a man on a ladder and fire water at him? Are you fucking nuts?” asked the same man.