The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5)

by Michael Richan

  They dropped from the River, and David walked farther. Another ten feet brought another vibration. Winn reached inside the box and removed a bone; he dropped to the ground and inserted the tip, entering the River at the same time. This time he was ready for it; the hand slid up from the surface of the meadow directly under his palm, and he lifted himself away, choosing to plant the bone in a spot about a foot distant from his original choice. The hand grew from the ground, twisting in the air, searching for anything to grab, but Winn had completed the planting and had stepped away before the arm rose above the elbow. They watched as it tried frantically to reach them, but then gave up and slowly slid back under the surface.

  It’s not exactly where you were standing, Winn said. But your box stopped vibrating. So it must have worked.

  David checked his watch. Twenty minutes left, he said. Let’s keep moving.

  David walked onward, and they repeated the process over and over, beginning to pick up speed as the repetition increased their efficiency, and as Winn improved his evasion tactics.

  They had traveled more than a hundred yards from the Jeep and had planted dozens of bones when Winn knelt to deposit the next, performing his maneuver. Instead of a hand rising from the ground where he first attempted to place the bone, a head and shoulders quickly emerged, along with a long arm that reached for Winn and landed its bony fingers around his wrist. He felt an excruciating cold pass through him as he dropped the bone and reached with his free hand to try and pry the ghostly fingers off his arm. The contact with his attacker allowed him to more acutely sense the emotions he’d detected earlier:

  Darkness. Patience. Revenge.

  The thoughts raced through his mind like angry blades, potent and concentrated by a hundred and fifty years of building hatred. It wants justice, Winn thought. It may not care how it gets it.

  Dirt fell from the face of the corpse, its eyes rolling to settle on him. Winn felt frozen, unable to move, as though the ghost had somehow paralyzed him. He felt like a bug, pinned down to a board, his underside exposed for examination.

  Not you, he heard, and saw the ghost look upward, turning its attention away.

  You! it hissed at David. The ghost released Winn, using the free arm to try and wrestle the rest of its body from the grave.

  Run! Winn yelled to David. Run back to the Jeep! Leave the box!

  David dropped from the River and placed the box on the ground, then took off running.

  Winn watched as the ghost continued to struggle to pull itself from the ground, unable to extract more than half its torso from the earth.

  You can’t come out, can you? Winn asked it.

  I will! the ghost replied.

  But not today, Winn said. You’re not able to.

  Soon! the ghost hissed back at him, slowly giving up on its attempt to escape the earth, and slipping back under the meadow.

  Winn turned to see David still running back to the Jeep.

  Let him stay there, Winn thought, dropping from the River and picking up the box. I can finish this. He opened it; there were still dozens of bones inside.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the time. Five minutes left.

  He started walking, waiting for the vibration to arrive. When it did, he pulled out a bone, dropped to his knees, and within seconds after entering the River, he faked his move that drew forth the arm. He quickly shifted a foot away, planting the bone into the soil.

  He repeated the process as many times as he could. As he dropped to plant the next finger, he entered the River and noticed the dark mist had disappeared; the meadow looked exactly the same as it did before he dropped. He waited for the oppressive feelings to wash over him, but none developed.

  He stopped to check his phone: 2:41. Carma had said that anything they planted after 2:40 wouldn’t matter.

  He stood, turning to walk back to the Jeep. When he arrived, he found David sitting in the passenger seat, trembling from the cold.

  “Time to go,” Winn said, placing the box in the back of the vehicle. “You OK?”

  “Freezing,” David replied. “Turn on the heater, would you?”

  Winn started up the Jeep and cranked the heat, then slowly maneuvered the vehicle out of the meadow and back to the road.

  “When it looked at me,” David said, “I felt the most intense cold I’ve ever felt.”

  “It was pure hatred,” Winn said. “I could feel what it was thinking. It wanted to kill you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Yeah, why you and not me,” Winn repeated. “That’s a good question.”

  “If it had been able to reach me,” David said, “I’m positive I would be dead right now.”

  “I have to agree with you,” Winn answered. “Carma should never have sent us out here, not without warning us at least. I’m tired of the secrecy. I want some answers.”

  David looked at him wearily. “What are you going to do?”

  “When we get back, if Carma won’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going down to see Lyman.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lorenzo? Deem called. Lorenzo?

  She waited patiently. She knew Lorenzo could only come out of the house for a while, and that it took a great effort for him to communicate with her. What had just happened to her was the biggest change she’d felt in a long time, perhaps for as long as she’d been trapped.

  Lorenzo? It’s important. Are you there?

  She waited, hoping she’d hear from her friend, the only voice of sanity she’d been able to engage for what seemed a very long time. She’d encountered others, but they were hostile, violent creatures, even if they seemed normal to begin with. She’d tried starting conversations with them, but it didn’t take long for the schizoid behavior to come out and their pathological tendencies to manifest. She preferred to avoid them altogether.

  For months now, Lorenzo had been her only lifeline to normality, to sane thinking. He was her only friend.

  Deem? she heard faintly, Lorenzo’s ethereal voice drifting in from wherever he was, stuck forever in a version of the mansion where he disappeared over a century ago. Lorenzo? she called again.

  Deem! It’s good to hear your voice.

  Yours too, Lorenzo, she said. Something has happened.

  What? Lorenzo asked.

  I feel different, she replied. There’s…pressure.

  Pressure? Lorenzo asked. What kind of pressure?

  It feels cold and clammy all around me. I feel it from all sides, like I’m sealed inside something. Like I’m… She gulped.

  Yes?

  It feels like I’m buried.

  Lorenzo paused. Buried. As in the ground?

  Yes.

  As in a coffin?

  No, it feels like there’s dirt all around me. Like I’m suspended in earth.

  Oh my, Lorenzo replied. I don’t know what to think of that.

  I haven’t felt it before, not until this moment, Deem said. Something has happened. This is the first change of any significance since I got stuck here, Lorenzo. This must mean something.

  I hate to suggest this, Deem, Lorenzo started, pausing.

  Yes?

  Perhaps you feel this way because you’ve been buried. Your body, I mean. Perhaps your friends have given up and they decided to bury you.

  Deem felt her excitement turn to horror. They wouldn’t do that! she thought, unsure if what she was saying was true. What Lorenzo was suggesting wasn’t inconceivable; that might, indeed, be why she felt the sensation of dirt all around her.

  I would hope they wouldn’t do that, Deem said with some of her normal conviction missing.

  No, of course they wouldn’t, Lorenzo replied. Not while there’s even the slimmest of chances, right?

  Yes, Deem replied. Lyman knows where I am. I’m sure he’s told Winn and David. And Carma. And they’re working on a way to get me out. He said so.

  You’re right, Lorenzo said with a calm reassurance he’d used many times while conversing with Deem.
I’m sure they are.

  But you’re not sure, are you? You’re just saying that. You may be right. I’ve been buried in the ground. That’s what it feels like.

  Well, maybe I’m wrong, Lorenzo replied. Your friends, if they decided to bury you, would have placed you in a casket, correct?

  I guess.

  Then you should be feeling the soft linings of a coffin, not the cold and clammy sensation of earth. There should be no sensation of pressure against your skin.

  Maybe I’m sensing the earth outside the casket.

  Perhaps, Lorenzo answered. Do you feel anything else?

  Deem searched within herself. Yeah, I do, she said. I feel antsy.

  Antsy? What does that mean?

  Fidgety. Like there’s something I want to go and do, but I can’t quite do it yet. I feel all kinds of bottled up energy that I can’t unleash.

  What kind of energy?

  It’s…Deem started but stopped, trying to identify what she was feeling. It’s anger, mixed with hatred. It’s how I feel about Dayton.

  Dayton, Lorenzo repeated. You’ve mentioned him before. The stake president you dislike so much.

  Yes. It’s like that. But it’s stronger, more specific. I feel like there’s a heavy debt waiting to be rectified, waiting for something to be made right. Does that make any sense?

  It does, Lorenzo replied. It’s the driving force behind many ghosts: vengeance.

  Vengeance? Deem repeated. For what?

  I don’t know, Lorenzo replied. But that’s what it sounds like.

  Deem let Lorenzo’s observations rattle around in her brain, trying to decide if the new sensations she was experiencing were her own personal hatred of Dayton or if it was something else. Dayton was deserving of vengeance, that was for sure. Dayton had David’s parents assassinated. Claude Peterson, too.

  As much as the sensations fit in with all of the emotions she felt about Dayton, there was something else, something more: older, and poignant. It seemed as if it had been waiting for a long time, and was now breaking free.

  I’m a little scared, Lorenzo, she said. The feelings are overwhelming. There’s a point inside me; a tiny spot deep inside my chest that seems foreign. I can’t pin it down, exactly, but something is in there, waiting.

  Perhaps change is coming, Lorenzo replied. It could be that your friends have figured out how to release you. You shouldn’t fear it, Deem. Anything is better than the hell you’re in.

  You’re right, Lorenzo. But I do fear it. These sensations, this point inside…it feels like an anchor for something that isn’t me. I’m afraid it might grow and replace me.

  What you’re describing sounds like a kind of possession, Lorenzo replied.

  Is this how it starts? she wondered.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Carma looked perplexed.

  “David was one step away from an attack!” Winn said. “He could have been killed!”

  Carma turned to David. “I told you to hold the box and let Winn plant them!”

  “I did!” David replied defensively.

  “And why didn’t you tell me they’d come out of their grave?” Winn asked. “They were grabbing at me as I pushed those things into the ground. I can still feel their fingers on my skin! And what were those things you had us plant, anyway? They looked like bones!”

  Carma was wringing her hands. “None of that was supposed to happen,” she replied. “I promise you.”

  “Well, it did,” Winn said. “I don’t mind doing things for you and Lyman, but I’d like a heads up about the risks going in. You made this sound like it was no big deal. You should have warned us. We should have taken protection, at least!”

  “I assure you I would have warned you if I thought there was anything to warn you about!” Carma replied emphatically. “I had no idea that would happen, I swear to you! ”

  “What were they, Carma?” Winn asked. “The little white things that looked like bones. Is that what they were?”

  Carma’s lips pressed together tightly, a pose Winn had seen many times before. He knew exactly what it meant.

  Winn spun around, walking away.

  “Where are you going?” Carma asked.

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Lyman,” Winn called back as he headed down the basement stairs. “I know that’s where it all started anyway.”

  Carma ran after him. David followed.

  “Lyman cooks up these plans and asks you to have us do things for him,” Winn said as he walked through the family room to the tunnel entrance that led to Lyman’s chamber. “He should at least be able to explain why he sent us into harm’s way without a warning.”

  “I’m sure he thought it was safe,” Carma replied, following him. “I’m sure there was some type of miscommunication.”

  “Your defense of him is admirable, Carma,” Winn replied, walking through the tunnel. “And I know you’re probably under some sanction from him to not tell us more. So we’ll just talk with him directly and save you the anguish of having to cross him to satisfy us.”

  “I wish you’d calm down a little before you talk to him,” Carma said, clearly worried. “Let’s not unnecessarily antagonize him.”

  Winn stopped and turned to face Carma. “Antagonize him? He sends us out into a graveyard vulnerable, David here nearly attacked, and no warning whatsoever? Like we’re just Johnny Appleseed out planting trees? Something’s going on, Carma, and I intend to find out.” Winn turned and continued down the tunnel.

  “Alright, I understand,” she replied. “But calm down. Don’t be angry. He can be a little paranoid at times and I don’t want him to question your loyalty.”

  Winn stopped again and released a heavy sigh. “That’s pretty insulting, Carma.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Winn continued, and within another half minute they were in the cave with the wooden table and chairs. Winn dropped into the River.

  Lyman! he called. Lyman! We need to talk to you.

  Lyman’s youthful form materialized in front of him, a questioning look in his eyes.

  Yes? Lyman asked.

  Why did you send us to plant those things? Winn asked, his tone confrontational. What were they?

  Lyman stepped forward toward Winn, his chest rising. Did you plant them?

  We did, Winn replied, just barely. David was nearly attacked. The ghosts underground rose up to grab at my hands. It was dangerous; you didn’t warn us. I want to know why.

  Lyman turned to Carma. I thought we discussed David staying back, just in case.

  I told him to hold the chest, Carma replied to Lyman. I asked Winn to plant. I was very specific about that. I thought Winn needed the backup. He’s had a lot happen to him recently.

  Backup for what? Winn asked. I want to know what’s going on, Lyman.

  Lyman turned back to Winn, his countenance softened. You are owed an apology, he said, sitting at the table. Neither I nor Carma thought you’d encounter any trouble, though we were worried somewhat about David. I think I must have misjudged the impact of the radiation upon the massacre field. It’s made things so unpredictable. In a hundred and fifty years they’ve never come out of their graves like that. I think the fallout has made them unstable. His attention left Winn and he seemed to drift off. Not entirely a bad thing, mind you.

  It was a bad thing, let me assure you! Winn said. Why were you concerned about David and not about me?

  David’s ancestors were involved, Lyman said.

  Involved? Winn repeated.

  Involved in the Mountain Meadows Massacre, Lyman added. He’s got a great-great-uncle who participated. The spirits in the ground are finely tuned to the perpetrators, and their desire for revenge is strong. That’s part of the plan.

  Winn sighed. What exactly is the plan, Lyman? Why were we out there, planting those things? What were they? They looked like bones.

  They are, Lyman replied. The fingertips of small children.

  Winn lowered his head and
shook it. I thought so. I should have stopped when I first saw them.

  I’ve been collecting them for years, Lyman replied, saving them, waiting for just the right time.

  Children? David asked, stepping forward. You’ve been robbing graves?

  No, Lyman said. No grave robbing. I bought them and harvested the fingers while they were still alive.

  Winn turned away from Lyman, looking at David. The two exchanged a horrified glance. Winn could see that David was trying to process what he was hearing from Lyman. Winn felt he was two seconds from bolting from the chamber and running down the tunnel, ready to leave Leeds and never return.

  You’re troubled, Lyman said. Of course you are. I’ll tell you what’s planned, I’ll give you the entire story, so long as you promise to hear me out.

  Winn turned back around. The fingers of children, Lyman? I thought we were the good guys.

  Not children as you know them, Lyman replied. Let me explain. Will you sit?

  He knows I’m ready to ditch all of this, Winn thought to himself. He wouldn’t be telling me otherwise. Winn sat at the table across from Lyman. David remained at the back of the room with Carma.

  The bones you planted in the massacre field were the tips of the fingers of monochildren. I took one from hundreds of them, usually the left little finger, and usually within hours after they were born.

  Winn sat stone-faced from Lyman.

  It caused them little pain and no real harm, Lyman continued. They were able to function the remainder of their short lives with no disadvantage.

  Winn’s expression didn’t change.

  Are you familiar with a place called The Dark River? Lyman asked.

  I’ve heard of it, Winn answered.

  People with the gift can go there, through natural portals, Lyman continued. There’s one near here, in the cave where you and Deem used the Blood River to transubstantiate that poor man with the hornet stings. Do you remember?

  Yes, Winn replied, recalling the claustrophobically tight crawl they’d performed to reach the spot. I remember.

  Good, good. Lyman paused as he seemed to consider what to say next. You know, when I died, years ago, I was a very angry young man. You know what they did to me, yes?