The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5)

by Michael Richan

  Winn turned to look at Carma. The tale she’d told of Lyman’s death was a vivid story, one not easily forgotten. The image of Lyman’s testicles nailed to the side of a wall, a warning to other young men not to interfere with the polygamous marriage designs of the older elders, caused him to sit up straightly in his chair.

  I see you do, Lyman said. Men always rearrange themselves whenever the subject comes up. A sly smile crossed Lyman’s face.

  He’s pleased that I’m uncomfortable, Winn thought.

  Anyway, Lyman continued, I spent those first few years after my death trying to move on. Since I had been gifted during my life, I understood ghosts to some degree, but being one was an entirely new experience. I didn’t understand just how extreme a death like mine, combined with the anger and the injustice, could cause a perpetuation…a continuance that I couldn’t suppress no matter how hard I wanted it to stop. I was very, very angry. Not only was I separated from the love of my life, I was mutilated and left to bleed out. My blood cried out for justice against those church leaders, those supposed men of God. You’d be angry too, I expect. Anyone would. The fact that I was sixteen when it happened didn’t help. Love is strong at sixteen. So are all the other emotions. I’ve learned a lot since then, but the emotions are still there. Love and anger. You know that I have been on a crusade ever since.

  Yes, Winn replied.

  I eventually decided that if I was stuck as a ghost, forced to continue because of my situation, my anger, I might as well make the best of it and find a way to get back at the people I hated. I resolved to use whatever tools I could. When I found out about The Dark River, a whole world of new opportunities presented themselves. It’s where most of this world’s troubles come from, Winn. It’s not like here. It’s a dark and dangerous place. There are people there who deal in the most depraved and malignant pastimes, and create pure evil to inflict upon the world. I met many of those people, and when I discovered what they were capable of, I realized I could leverage some of it to achieve my goals. How do you imagine this property, the house above, is so powerfully protected?

  So you’re peddling evil, now? Winn asked. Like I said, I thought we were the good guys.

  Monochildren live only in The Dark River, Winn, Lyman said. They’re the result of sexual union there. Pleasure in The Dark River isn’t what it’s like here. Physical sex there is an act of violence, something that everyone knows will result in a monochild. It’s sexless, and has no ears or nose. It lives for a few miserable weeks and then dies. In The Dark River, they’re just ingredients for other things, harvested like tomatoes. Their fingers, if taken at a very young age and in the proper manner, have incredible properties. That’s why I asked you to plant them.

  What kind of properties? Winn asked.

  The ability to merge all the anger and desire for justice that has waited in that massacre field for a hundred and seventy years, with the violent, depraved beings in my soul cage.

  Winn looked confused. The soul cage? He asked. The one Deem is trapped inside?

  Yes. The one filled with some of the most despicable people I’ve been able to collect over the past fifty years.

  Winn shook his head. This is your plan to get Deem out?

  It’s my plan to take down the local gifted church leaders, as many as I can, Lyman replied.

  Winn turned to look at Carma. She was staring admiringly at Lyman.

  Does this make any sense to you, David? Winn asked.

  No, David replied, stepping forward. I don’t get it.

  The monochild fingers you planted activated the souls of the people murdered there, Lyman replied. Each finger is connected to one of the beings I have trapped in the soul cage. When the right moment hits, the two will merge.

  Merge? Winn asked.

  The being will leave the soul cage and merge with the ghost in the ground at the massacre site. They will rise from their grave as a blend of the two. Sick, bloodthirsty individuals merged with ghosts seeking vengeance. It will be one of the most potent little armies ever created.

  Army? Winn asked. To do what?

  To travel across land to Caliente, fifty miles to the west, and destroy Dayton and the other gifted church leaders who will be meeting there in three days’ time.

  Winn sat stunned. Destroy? he asked.

  Lyman leaned forward over the table until his face was just a foot from Winn’s. Utterly destroy, he said. Dayton and those leaders have ancestors who participated in the massacre. The resurrected ghosts from the field will seek them out, just as they tried to rise against David. Once they’re found, the merged degenerate inside them will show no mercy to Dayton and his group.

  That ghost couldn’t pull itself out, Winn replied. They’re not coming out of the ground.

  Oh, they will, Lyman said, leaning back. Thanks to your mechanism.

  My mechanism? Winn asked. The one I got from Deem’s family?

  The same, Lyman replied.

  What does that have to do with it?

  Dayton and his group have had many conferences in Caliente over the years, Lyman replied. I could have executed this plan at several different times, but I was never able to calculate the exact moment the fingers should be planted to coordinate the resurrection and the merge. It had to be timed out precisely; that’s why Carma asked you to plant the fingers during a specific window of time, when the moon was in the correct position. I put so much work into collecting the fingers and the souls over the years, preparing for a confrontation, I wasn’t going to waste it on a gamble. I had been trying to come up with a way to make the necessary calculations for the merge, but nothing seemed reliable. Then — out of the blue, a perfect confluence of events brought everything into alignment. The information you lifted from Warren tipped us off to a meeting Dayton is planning; a large, region-wide conference, scheduled in a few days, packed with the worst of his contingent…and you, you show up with an Antikythera Mechanism out of the blue. It’s as though the stars aligned.

  You used my device to figure this all out? Winn asked.

  I used it to calculate the exact time you should plant, Lyman replied. As long as Dayton’s group doesn’t change the meeting time and place, the resurrection will occur and the combined souls will travel overland to Caliente to confront Dayton at the correct moment.

  And then? David asked.

  They’ll be slaughtered, Lyman replied, matter-of-factly.

  And Deem? Winn asked.

  She’ll be one of them, Lyman replied. Once the task is completed, she’ll be released and I’m hoping she’ll return to her body.

  You’re forcing Deem to participate in this battle? David asked.

  If I know Deem, Lyman said, it’s a battle she’ll enjoy being part of. She hates Dayton more than I do.

  And if you’re wrong? Winn asked.

  Lyman chuckled. You’d better hope I’m not. If I’m wrong, those merged beings will keep going until they get their revenge. If they don’t meet up with Dayton in Caliente, they’ll continue on until they’re satisfied. Western Nevada will have to deal with them.

  Can you stop it? David asked.

  I can stop the merge, Lyman replied, but I can’t stop things after that. Don’t you want Deem released? This is how she gets out, how she survives. I would think you’d be supportive.

  I want her out, David replied. I’m just worried about what she’ll be forced to do.

  She won’t be forced to do anything, Lyman said. She’s a strong enough personality to override anything that might be going on inside the ghost she merges with.

  And I suppose you can’t just release her, now? David asked.

  The cage opens once, and it opens for all, Lyman replied. I’m not throwing decades of work down the drain. This is how Deem gets out, as part of my plan to decimate the local leadership. It’ll be the single greatest blow against them since the Storehouse hanging in 1914. It will take them years to recover.

  A broad smile spread across Lyman’s face. The war is engaged
, brethren, and Deem’s survival is at stake. Don’t let me down.

  Winn leaned back in his chair, trying to assimilate everything Lyman had shared. It was overwhelming, and he felt the lateness of the hour pass over him, feeling as though he might pass out from exhaustion.

  I need to sleep, he said, rising from the table.

  Lyman reached out to grab his hand, and Winn felt the slight movement against him.

  It’s the only way, Lyman said. It’s what has to happen.

  Winn dropped from the River, and Lyman’s image dissipated, becoming a faint wisp of distortion across the table.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Winn said, turning to leave the chamber. He heard Carma and David following. He felt numb; tired from the long day and overwhelmed by the details of the plan Lyman had laid out. He was only faintly aware of Carma and David talking behind him, discussing their plans for tomorrow when David would be leaving to visit his uncle.

  As they reached the ground floor, Winn turned to the staircase that led up. “I’m turning in,” he said to the others.

  “Are you alright?” Carma asked, concern in her voice.

  “I’m fine,” Winn replied. “Just need to sleep. Goodnight, David.”

  “See you in a week,” David replied.

  Winn turned to walk up the stairs, only half aware of what David had said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Winn turned over in bed. He’d been on the brink of sleep for an hour, and his inability to completely pass out was driving him crazy. He threw off the covers, leaving only a thin sheet to cover his body, hoping the cooler feeling might help him drift off.

  Then the flashes began; bright streaks of light behind his eyelids, as though someone was popping a camera flash at his face. He opened his eyes to see the dark ceiling of the bedroom and turned his neck. The room was empty; the drapes on the window were closed. He waited. No flashes.

  Slowly he let his eyelids shut again, and after a few moments the flash returned, jolting him with its intensity. He felt panic — is there something wrong with my brain? he wondered. Blinding flashes of light, only happening in my mind; an aneurysm? Something wrong with my eyes?

  The flashes continued, slowly subsiding until they were no longer bright and debilitating. As their intensity decreased, the clarity of the message they were carrying emerged. Winn felt himself relax as he realized he wasn’t ill.

  Symbols. More symbols.

  He watched as they played out in his mind, repeating themselves over and over. At first he recognized some of them, and thought it might be the same message he’d received days ago, but as they recurred he realized it was not the same message. It was something new.

  He let the pattern play out like a song on repeat until he felt he had it down, then he swung his feet out of bed, feeling them hit a soft rug. He reached for the light by the bed and flicked it on. In the corner of the room was his backpack, one of the few things that had survived the trailer explosion by virtue of having been in his Jeep when the catastrophe struck.

  He walked to it, digging through its pockets until he found a notebook and pen.

  OK, Deem, he thought as he carefully sketched out each of the ciphers. What are you trying to tell me now?

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  The sound of a car engine racing to life pulled him from sleep. Winn picked up his phone from the bed stand and checked the time: 11 AM. From the loud roar of the car outside, he knew it was David’s.

  He also knew he wouldn’t be falling back to sleep, so he pulled on some clothes. On the bed stand was his notebook, left open to the page showing the sketch he made the night before. He ripped the page out and tucked it into his back pocket, then he went for the stairs. At the landing he heard gravel crunching under tires as David’s car left. When he reached the bottom, Carma was coming back inside from the front porch.

  “He’s off?” Winn asked.

  “He wanted to wake you to say goodbye, but I suggested he let you sleep,” Carma replied. “I guess it’s just you and me for a while.”

  “And Lyman.”

  “Want some coffee?” Carma offered, walking into the kitchen. “I’ll bring us some.”

  “I would love some coffee,” he replied, knowing that at home he’d be hard-pressed to find the ingredients and he’d wind up picking up a cup at the Texaco station in Moapa after he left the trailer.

  The trailer, he thought. Gone. That whole life, just…gone.

  As his mind drifted from the past to the present, trying to fully wake up, his line of sight drifted to a shelf where the Antikythera mechanism was resting. He stared at it, waiting for his brain to kick in and remind him why he felt the need to use it.

  The drawing in your pocket, stupid, he thought, leaning over to slip the paper from his jeans just as Carma returned with two steaming mugs.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Another message,” Winn replied.

  “Like the other one you received in your sleep? From Deem?”

  “I think so.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Don’t know yet. Haven’t translated it.”

  He took a long gulp of the hot coffee and thanked Carma for bringing it, then rose from his seat and walked to the device. He carefully lifted it, looking at the gears.

  “So Lyman used this, huh?” he asked.

  “I promise you, there’s no hiding anything from him, not in this house. He’s aware of anything even remotely powerful. Just after you brought it here, he asked me to take it down so he could examine it. I didn’t think twice.”

  “And it wound up giving him the key he needed to put his plan into action,” Winn said.

  “Apparently so. How did you use it to translate Deem’s message?”

  Winn thought back to the hot storage unit, trying to remember Daniel’s instructions. They had used a focus to kick start it to life, but Winn could tell the device was still alive, still operating from whatever power it had accumulated from its last use; small wheels and gears inside it were rotating very slowly, maintaining energy like a pilot light. He carefully reversed the creases in the paper and laid it flat on the floor in front of them. He placed the mechanism on top of it but not covering the ciphers, trying to arrange it the same way he’d seen Daniel do it days before.

  “It will translate them?” Carma asked, watching as Winn sat on the floor next to the device.

  “It figures out a time differential,” Winn replied. “Then I use it to travel to that differential, just long enough to try and read it.”

  “Oh, my!” Carma exclaimed, suddenly excited. She dropped to the floor across from him and sat cross-legged, staring at the mechanism expectantly like a little child.

  “It is moving, isn’t it?” she observed, looking at the gears. “It’s doing something.”

  Winn leaned down to examine the side of the device, watching as the display wheels continued to spin, slowly stopping on a series of numbers and symbols. When the last one slipped into place, the rotation of the gears inside began to slow, resuming its former speed.

  “It’s calculated the difference,” Winn said, pointing at the display. “These numbers and symbols somehow represent the time differential.”

  “And how do you go there, to read the message?” Carma asked excitedly.

  “Just touch this,” he replied, pointing to the metal ball on top of the device.

  “You’re going to do it now?”

  “Might as well.”

  He reached for it, and the moment his palm felt the metal, his body sensed the acceleration, the tug that pulled him to the micro-fraction of time that would allow him to land in one of a gazillion different versions of where they were now.

  He felt his insides shifting, as though he’d suddenly become weightless, and panic as he felt his body might be rising from the floor. The panic was quickly replaced by calm, the same sense of tranquility and peace he’d experienced the first time.

  He looked around; the carpet he’d been sit
ting on was gone, replaced by roughhewn boards. Orange and yellow light danced on the walls, and he felt heat from a fire behind him. The furniture of the room was gone, replaced by thin rolls of blankets. The room smelled strongly of sage.

  The symbols on the paper were shifting, becoming words. As they did, he looked up at Carma.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t Carma. The creature that sat across from him was large and hairy, with a massive mandible and lips barely able to contain many rows of sharp teeth. It stared down at the paper, as fascinated with it as Winn was. He stifled a reaction, not wanting to upset whatever was sitting across from him, and turned his attention back to the paper.

  Like the last time, the words weren’t immediately comprehensible. He let them sink into his mind, trying to memorize them although he wasn’t sure of their meaning.

  Then he felt himself being pulled backward, with everything narrowing and collapsing into itself. He watched as the large hairy beast quickly shrunk to a pinprick and extinguished, replaced by the carpet and the room and Carma.

  He was afraid he was going to puke. He stood up and ran for the bathroom.

  “You alright?” he heard Carma calling as he heaved into the toilet. He sensed her standing in the doorway, watching as he convulsed. Nothing came up, and as things settled within him, he realized he was hungry. Ravenously hungry.

  “What do we have to eat?” he muttered, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he fell back onto his butt.

  Carma handed him a towel. “To eat? Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m starving.”

  “I have a tremendous number of freshly baked croissants,” Carma replied. “How about that?”

  Winn found himself laughing a little. “I’ll eat them all, Carma. Every last one.”

  “Did you find out what the message said?” she asked.

  Winn let his mind return to the translation. “Not sure yet,” he replied. “It took me a little while to figure it out last time.”

  Then he grabbed at the floor, trying to steady himself.

  “What?” Carma asked. “Are you going to be sick?”