The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5)

by Michael Richan

  I have to go, Winn said, turning.

  Winn? Lyman said, stopping him. Winn turned to face the ghost of the young man, staring at his features, waiting. Although it was unwrinkled, it showed signs of maturity and weariness. It will be soon, Lyman said.

  Winn tried to force a smile in return, but between the irritation with David and the stonewalling from Lyman, he wasn’t feeling capable of delivering a false emotion, and it resulted in a half-hearted smirk that looked anything but appreciative.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Awan instructed Winn where to park his Jeep behind the abandoned brick building, a spot where it wouldn’t be noticed by passersby. The young Paiute hopped out of the passenger seat, and the warm desert air lifted his long black hair as he walked to the building.

  “Looks deserted,” Winn said.

  “It usually is,” Awan replied. “The owner renovated it several years ago. I guess he thought the town was going to pick up again, but as you can see, it hasn’t.”

  Awan led him to a fire escape that hung ten feet in the air above them. “How’s your upper body strength?” Awan asked.

  Winn rolled his shoulders, wondering what Awan had in mind. “OK, I guess.”

  “If I hang from there, can you pull yourself up over me?”

  Winn looked up at the metal bar overhead. “Not sure.”

  Awan knelt down. “Then I’ll do it. Here, let me boost you up. Just hang from the bar until I climb over you, then I’ll pull you up.”

  Winn placed the toe of his boot into Awan’s hands and stepped. He felt himself thrown upward remarkably fast, and within seconds he had his hands wrapped around the metal bar.

  Before he knew it, Awan had jumped to his legs and was climbing up his body. He thought for a moment that the weight might cause him to lose his grip and they’d both fall to the ground, but Awan moved so quickly he realized he didn’t have time to let go. The Paiute’s lean frame passed in front of his face as he climbed. Winn felt a little thrill as his chest and waist moved past, but it was over within seconds.

  He felt Awan’s hand above him, grabbing at his wrist. “Let go,” Awan said.

  Winn looked up at him, unsure if Awan had a firm enough grip that he wouldn’t fall if he released his hold on the bar.

  Awan smiled at him. “I’ve got you!”

  Winn released his hold, and instantly Awan pulled him up to the metal grating of the fire escape.

  Some kind of muscles on this guy, Winn thought.

  While Awan looked up, Winn looked down. “How is someone supposed to use this thing to escape?” he asked. “They have to jump from this point?”

  “I think they removed the sliding ladder since the building is unoccupied,” Awan said, beginning to climb the fire escape. “Unoccupied except for Jackson, I mean.”

  Winn followed Awan, looking up occasionally to be met with Awan’s jeans-covered ass. It wasn’t a view he minded.

  As they reached the top of the four-story building, Awan gave Winn a hand, scaling over the side and onto the flat roof. It had been recently resurfaced, and several shiny new air conditioning units were positioned at various points. Awan led him to a door that lifted open from the flat surface of the roof, exposing a metal ladder leading down. Winn noticed a broken, discarded lock resting on the roof a couple of feet from the door.

  “After you,” Awan said, holding the door open.

  Winn started down the ladder, and after fifteen rungs found himself standing in a corridor lined with two-by-fours. The last of the day’s light streamed into the windows, which were easy to see as no walls obstructed the view. He heard Awan closing the roof hatch overhead; he was soon standing next to him. “They didn’t finish this section,” Awan said, walking forward down the hallway. “Must have run out of money. Come on, Jackson’s on the third floor.”

  Winn followed Awan through the building, coming to a set of stairs at the far end. They walked down together, the wood of the staircase occasionally creaking under them. On the floor below, new sheetrock had been hung but not finished. Their steps didn’t echo quite the way they had on the top floor, where things were more open.

  Awan snaked down a short hallway and then turned, walking until he came to the end of it. A closed door was on the left; Awan grabbed its handle and opened it.

  Inside was an empty hotel room, about four hundred square feet. Winn could tell Awan had already dropped into the River, so he joined him.

  The room changed; it was covered in fancy wallpaper. A bed sat against one wall, and on another was a table with a large pitcher and basin. In one corner was a desk, piled high with books and objects. Next to the window was a man, dressed in clothes from the mid-nineteenth century, staring out the window, a perplexed expression on his face. He turned to look at the two men who had just entered. He smiled briefly at them, then turned to look out the window once again.

  Winn saw the man raise his hand to the holster at his waist, letting his fingers grip the handle of the revolver there. He didn’t remove the gun, but he held onto it as his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the ground outside.

  Goddamn top floor! the man muttered. I wanted the top floor so I could see them coming. This floor ain’t high enough.

  Who’s coming? Winn whispered to Awan.

  It’s a long story, Awan replied. It was a hundred and fifty years ago. He jumped a claim, and he’s paranoid.

  Awan turned to the man and approached him. Jackson? he asked. Jackson? It’s me, Awan. You remember me?

  The man turned from the window to face them. He had a short beard that was well groomed, and thinning blond hair on his head that was cut well above his ears.

  Blue eyes! Winn thought to himself. You don’t often see eye color with ghosts.

  The man’s face expressed confusion for a moment, and he returned to looking out the window. Awan called to him again, and the man turned back, squinting. Suddenly his eyes widened. Awan! he said, smiling. Thank god you’ve come! There’s a pistol in the nightstand by the bed. Grab it and join me here at the window.

  Awan walked to the small nightstand and opened a drawer. Inside were three revolvers. He took one and walked to Jackson.

  When they come, they’ll come from the north, Jackson said, pointing out the window. Two of ’em, Richie and Dale Sorensen. Brothers. The most disreputable sons o’bitches ever born. We’ll take ’em down from here, as soon as they round that bank on the corner.

  Alright, Awan said, looking out the window, playing along. Jackson, I want you to meet my friend Winn.

  Jackson turned from the window. Is that short for Winthrop? he asked.

  It is, Winn replied.

  Help yourself to one of the pistols, Jackson said, turning back to the window. Hot damn, with three of us armed, they’re outnumbered!

  Winn looked at Awan, who gave him a wide grin and shrugged. Winn walked to the nightstand and took out a revolver, half enjoying the ghost’s cycle.

  Jackson, you know all kinds of symbols, right? Awan asked, turning to face the man.

  Keep your eyes down the road! Jackson ordered, and Awan turned to face north, looking out the window.

  Symbols, Jackson, Awan repeated. You know a lot about them, right?

  I do, Jackson replied. Some say I’m an expert at them. I don’t claim to be, though.

  But it was symbols that led you to the Cole Mountain find, wasn’t it?

  It was, Jackson replied, his voice filling with pride. Huge find, made the papers in St. Louis.

  You deciphered something on petroglyphs, right?

  Ancient symbols, yes, left there by your progenitors hundreds of years ago. Told me right where to find the entrance.

  So, my friend Winn here, he has some symbols we need to figure out. We were hoping you’d take a look at them.

  Jackson turned from the window to face Winn. Sure! he said enthusiastically, his concern for the window abandoned.

  Winn removed the paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it, handing it to Jack
son. Jackson took it and held it up to the light.

  Hmm, he said. Let me just check something.

  Jackson walked to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a cigarette from a small gold case and slipped it into his mouth. A second later he struck a match against the side of the desk, lit the cigarette, and dropped the match into an ashtray. He took two long drags, holding the smoke in his lungs each time.

  Care for any? he offered, extending the cigarette to Awan.

  No, thank you, Awan replied.

  Aww, come on, this is medicine to you people, isn’t it? Jackson asked, taking another large lungful.

  Yes, Awan replied. But I can’t take medicine right now.

  Well, Jackson said, tamping the cigarette out in the ashtray, let me just take another glance at these symbols. He sat down in a chair next to the desk and studied the paper Winn had given to him. His eyes narrowed and went wide several times, and he moved the paper back and forth, holding it at an angle.

  Ah, there we go, he said. He handed the paper back to Winn.

  Well? Awan asked.

  Your symbols are untranslatable in this timeframe, Jackson replied, leaning back in his chair, his eyelids drooping.

  What does that mean? Winn asked.

  It means you’d have to view them in a different timeframe to understand them, Jackson replied, slurring his words a little.

  He’s baked! Winn said to Awan.

  Yes, Awan replied. Seems so.

  Great, Winn replied. How does this help?

  Marijuana is how I determined that your little message is timeshifted, young man, Jackson replied, raising his feet to place them crossed on the bed. Marijuana allows enough of a time slip to detect it, if you’re an expert like me.

  Then how can we decipher it? Winn asked. Do I have to get high?

  You’re welcome to, Jackson said, pointing to the ashtray. But no, you won’t be able to decipher it that way. It only allowed me to confirm that my suspicion was right.

  How can it be deciphered, then? Winn asked. It’s important.

  Simple, you have to time shift to the same differential of the person who created it. Then it’ll appear in whatever language or symbols the original composer intended. Jackson lowered his feet from the bed and swung around in his chair to face his desk. He began looking through the books. Here, let me give you an example. Pick up that cigarette and take a few puffs.

  Winn looked up at Awan, who only smiled in reply. He walked to the desk where Jackson was seated, and lifted the partially used blunt from the ashtray, then pulled a match from the supply in a small shot glass on the desk. He had it lit within seconds and took a long drag.

  I didn’t know you could take this stuff while in the River, he said to Awan. Within seconds he felt his head begin to swim, and he replaced the cigarette in the ashtray. Whoa! he said, reaching out to steady himself. He felt Awan grab him and maneuverer him to the bed near where Jackson was sitting.

  Once he felt himself sitting on the bed, Winn reached out to grab the bedcovers at his sides. That’s strong stuff, he said. He tried to stand up again, but Awan pushed his shoulders back down.

  You better sit, Awan said, the words sounding as though they were echoing down a long tunnel. You’re kinda shaky. Just sit.

  Jackson turned around in his chair, a book open to a page of markings that reminded him vaguely of Celtic lettering. The figures swam on the page, moving up and down.

  Now, this one’s a simple one, Jackson said. See how these look? Now watch.

  Jackson turned the book so that Winn was viewing the symbols at an angle. Winn watched as the lettering began to glow, as though it was burning. It dissolved, leaving new letters in its place. ‘This is one,’ Winn read aloud.

  One, Jackson repeated. One one-thousandth of a second shifted from reality. Close enough that you can read it without shifting very far. Being in the River with a good hit of the marijuana is enough to allow you to translate them.

  Let me see my symbols, Winn said, pointing to the paper on Jackson’s desk.

  Isn’t going to work, Jackson replied.

  Let me see! Winn insisted.

  Jackson placed the book on his desk and handed Winn the paper that contained the symbols he’d seen as he neared sleep. He held the paper at an angle, trying to make it out.

  Won’t work, Jackson repeated.

  Why not? Winn asked, tilting the paper back and forth, trying to get a result.

  Because this wasn’t written with a one one-thousandth time differential, which is all you can make out this way. Marijuana alters perception of time in a very, very slight manner. It’s not enough for this, Jackson said, pointing at Winn’s paper.

  How can we translate it, then? Winn asked. Is there a way?

  You’re asking the wrong man, Jackson replied. I know symbols, not time differentials.

  You knew how to do this! Winn replied, pointing at Jackson’s book.

  Only because it was in the book! Jackson replied. I’m not a time specialist. You should talk to someone with more knowledge about it.

  Know of anyone? Awan asked.

  Jackson rubbed his chin. Now that you mention it, maybe I do. A friend of mine from Tonopah said they’re having some kind of ghost convention at the hotel up there. He was excited to attend because a time expert from Spokane had driven down, and was going to speak and put on some kind of demonstration. He thought very highly of the guy, and was all excited about it.

  Do you know the time expert’s name? Winn asked.

  I think it was Daniel something or other, Jackson replied. Oh, shit! he expelled, throwing himself from his chair and running to the window. His hand went to the handle on his revolver once again. Forgot to watch. I gotta catch these guys before they get to me first!

  We gotta go, Awan said, walking to the nightstand to replace the gun he’d taken earlier. Thanks, Jackson.

  If you fellas see those Sorenson boys on your way out, do me a favor and shoot ’em between the eyes, will ya?

  Sure, Awan replied. Winn replaced his gun, and the two of them dropped from the River, walking out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, Awan turned to Winn.

  “Want to go up to Tonopah?” he asked. “It’s only a half hour up the road.”

  “Might as well,” Winn replied. “If we can find this Daniel, we might get some answers.”

  Winn followed Awan back through the hotel, leaving via the roof. As they climbed down the metal fire escape, he asked Awan, “What happened to Jackson? Did the Sorensen boys ever show up?”

  “They came in the back and surprised him right in his room,” Awan replied. “Shot him so full of holes they had a hard time keeping the body in one piece.”

  “Jesus,” Winn muttered. “Were they ever arrested for his murder?”

  “I don’t know if he really jumped their claim or not,” Awan replied, leaping from the fire escape to the ground. “But that’s what the Sorensens claimed, and jumping a claim was like horse stealing; everyone knew it could get you killed. The county magistrate was the Sorensen’s cousin, so no one bothered to arrest them. They’d never have been convicted.”

  They got into Winn’s Jeep. “Fascinating story,” Winn replied.

  “Rumor was the Sorensens dropped a bag of silver on the front desk as they walked out,” Awan said. “Payment for whoever had to clean up the mess.”

  As they made their way up to Tonopah, Winn asked Awan how he’d come to know Jackson.

  “He’s renowned,” Awan replied, “but he doesn’t appear to many people. I used to explore the building as a kid, before they made the renovations. My brother would come up here to meet friends; they liked to ATV out in the desert, by where the car museum is today. My brother’s friend had younger brothers I’d hang out with. We were too young to ride the ATVs, so we’d ride bikes around Goldfield all day. That hotel was a frequent stop for us because it was a lot of fun to play in. Dangerous as hell, but we were too young to know. Whenever we were on the third floor I
could smell pot coming from Jackson’s room, so I knew something was going on. The other kids weren’t gifted and they couldn’t smell anything.”

  “Funny,” Winn replied. “So it’s like he has an endless supply in there?”

  “Yeah, it never seems to get used up,” Awan said. “He’s on his loop, always watching for the Sorensens, smoking a little pot while he waits. He would say it was to calm his nerves. The Sorensens would pop in every half hour and shoot him to ribbons.”

  “That must have been brutal to witness,” Winn said. “As a child.”

  “Come on, I’m gifted!” Awan replied. “Saw much worse in real life. I suspect you have, too.”

  Winn thought of Brent trying to escape the hole as he pulled on his young friend’s arms. In his mind he could see what the creatures on the other side were doing to Brent’s legs, clawing at them, shredding them.

  “Yeah,” Winn replied. “You’re right.”

  “I don’t know why he decided to open up, to appear to me and talk. He’s more lucid than most ghosts, and his loop is long enough that you can have conversations with him before he’s killed. I got to know him over the years.”

  “A pot-smoking claim-jumping symbol expert getting shot to pieces over and over,” Winn said. “Not what I was expecting.”

  “Interesting about the time shifting, though, huh?” Awan asked. “I wasn’t expecting that either.”

  Chapter Four

  The desk clerk hadn’t been helpful. They’d asked for information on any Daniel from Spokane, and were met with a firm rebuke and lecture about hotel policy.

  They stood in the lobby, midway between the front desk and the Wyatt Earp bar, with its ornate, antique dark wood and every seat occupied by a tourist. “What now?” Awan asked. “We’re not getting anywhere with staff. And I’m not going to jump into the River and start invading rooms.”