Blood Oath, Blood River (The Downwinders Book 1)

by Michael Richan

  Awan swallowed his distaste and ripped the man’s shirt open. His chest was intact. Awan removed the collector knife from his back pocket and placed the blade edge on the exposed chest. He slid the knife, pressing down so the blade would dig into the man and slice off part of his skin. The man screamed.

  That’s some fancy work there, Sorensen said behind them. Me, I just like biting into them. I like to feel the flesh as my teeth passes through it; feel them twist under me in pain.

  Deem raised her hands to her ears to plug them. In the River it didn’t block any noise.

  Awan continued to scrape at the man’s chest.

  You’re as bad as him, the man said to Awan, nodding at Sorensen.

  I’m not a cannibal, Awan replied to the man.

  You’re worse, the man said. You’re taking what I have left. Just like the others who never help.

  After several more passes, Awan lifted the knife and inspected the container. It was full.

  We’re done, Awan said.

  You gonna cook that up? Sorensen asked.

  Yes, Awan said, wanting to leave the mine without further incident. I and my friends are going to fry it later, and have it for dinner. Thanks for sharing.

  You’re welcome, Sorensen said. But remember, if you tell anyone what’s going on here, I’ll hunt you down and have you for dinner myself.

  Your secret is safe with me, Awan said. He dropped out of the River, Winn and Deem following him. Deem rose from the floor and walked over to where she’d noticed the graves in the flow.

  “My god,” she said. “They’re buried here. You can see where the ground has been dug up.”

  “And now he eats them, over and over,” Winn said. “I think I’d prefer zombighosts.”

  “And it sounds like people have been harvesting the man,” Deem said. “At some point down the road, he’ll be gone. Used up.”

  “Let’s head out,” Awan said, placing the collector knife carefully into his backpack and lifting it to his shoulder. “I need a shower.”

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  In Fallon, they rented two rooms, one for Awan and Winn, and the other for Deem. Then they went for food at a Mexican restaurant. Deem sat in a booth, and Awan and Winn sat opposite her.

  “Thanks for the support,” Awan said. “I guess I could have done it myself, but it was nice to have you along.”

  “That poor man,” Deem said. “Not only does he have to watch his wife and son get eaten over and over again, he occasionally has to put up with visitors like us who carve off part of him. It’s sad.”

  “Sad is how I’d describe most ghosts outside of the downwind area,” Awan said. “Sounds like you haven’t run into many like this.”

  “No,” Deem said. “Most of the ghosts I know are the kind that chase you and rip into you if they catch you. I’m not used to normal ghosts with a story.”

  “They’re all a lot like the ones in the mine,” Awan said. “Something is keeping them here. Sometimes you can figure it out and help them move along, but most of the time they’re set in their ways and they keep performing the same routine over and over.”

  Deem watched Awan as he spoke. Although he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Winn, he seemed to have a deeper level of wisdom than either of them, and she found that when he talked, it calmed her, not unlike when her father would counsel her. She liked the sound of his voice, the calm and measured way that he spoke. And his facial features were handsome, especially when he smiled at the end of a sentence.

  She looked at Winn, who was staring at Awan as well. He seemed taken with Awan too.

  “Pardon me,” Awan said, rising from the booth. “I need to get that cave washed off my hands before the food arrives.” He walked back into the restaurant, looking for the restroom.

  “Is there one or two beds in your room?” Deem asked Winn, once Awan was out of earshot.

  Winn smiled at Deem. “It’s gratifying that you’re always so interested in my sex life. What do you say we just get it over with, and just do it, you and I? Then you’ll know and won’t have to be so obsessed.”

  “I’m not obsessed,” Deem said, “I just saw how you were looking at him.”

  “He does have a way about him,” Winn said. “You gotta love a guy who’s both handsome and smart. I wouldn’t say no.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Deem said.

  “And you’re too laden with your Mormon sexual repression,” Winn said. “Sex is a good thing, not disgusting.”

  “If you sleep with him and it screws up him helping us, I’ll be really pissed,” Deem said.

  “More like jealous,” Winn said. “I saw how you were looking at him. If you sleep with him and it screws things up, I’ll be pissed.”

  “Back,” Awan said, sliding into the booth next to Winn. “Did you miss me?”

  Winn saw Deem blush, and decided to distract Awan so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. “We were just discussing what your next steps would be, back in Indian Springs. You’ve got the ingredients for the blood souring. When do you plan on kidnapping the brothers? Will you need help?”

  “First I have to make the ghost chalk,” Awan said. “I’ll start on that tomorrow, as soon as I get home. It’ll take several days to bake and condense down. If you don’t mind, I’ll give you a call to help plan out how to incapacitate the brothers once that’s ready to go.”

  “Sure,” Deem said, the blood in her face having returned to normal. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “So you need to get back early tomorrow?” Awan said. “I hope you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” Deem said, but a part of her did mind. The issue of her father’s journals was deeply personal, and she had only spoken to Winn and Claude about them. Now she was about to open up to Awan. She decided he was trustworthy.

  “It has nothing to do with the skinrunner,” Deem said, “it’s something else. You mentioned your father’s journal. I assume it’s important to you.”

  “Very,” Awan said, a serious look crossing his face as he replied.

  “Well,” Deem said, “I suspect my father kept journals as well. He was gifted, and he died a while back.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Awan said. “It’s tough when you lose a father, I know. Especially one who trained you. It leaves a big hole in your life.”

  Deem instantly knew Awan had gone through the same loss, and she realized it was safe to tell him more. She felt tears start to form, but she fought them back.

  “He was a high-up in the Mormon church in Mesquite,” Deem said. “So all the more reason to keep a journal, right? Well, I’m beginning to think he was part of a secret group of gifted Mormons who are holding onto his journals.”

  “If he kept journals,” Awan said, “they should go to you.”

  “They won’t give them up,” Deem said, “because they think the journals would break the secrecy of the group. And I can’t join their group because I’m a woman. And I’m not a good Mormon, that too. So I plan on finding the journals and stealing them.”

  Their food arrived, and all three of them began eating.

  “What’s happening tomorrow?” Awan asked.

  “A meeting of this secret council, I think,” Deem said. “Last Sunday of each month; that’s why I need to be back early. I’m going to follow one of them, see where they go.”

  “You need to be careful,” Awan said. “Make sure they don’t know you’re following them. Mormons with secrets can be very dangerous. Are you going with her?” he asked Winn.

  “Yes,” Winn said. “I was planning to.”

  “If they meet somewhere remote,” Awan said, “it will be easy for them to figure out if they’ve been followed. You can’t risk that. I have something better. We’ll stop at my place on the way back tomorrow and I’ll give it to you.”

  “What is it?” Deem asked.

  “A GPS tracker,” Awan said. “Just stick it under the guy’s car. You only need to be within ten miles o
f it to track it. Much safer.”

  Deem smiled at Winn, pleased that she’d confided in Awan. Winn smiled back.

  “Thank you, Awan,” Deem said. “I appreciate that.”

  “You should have your father’s journals,” Awan said, slipping a forkful of enchilada into his mouth. “There’s things in there he wrote just for you, as my father wrote just for me.”

  “That’s the feeling I can’t shake,” Deem said. “There’s something in them that’s intended for me, I just know it.”

  “Not just intended,” Awan said. “They’re part of your future. What’s in his journals will change you. Part of your future self is missing until you get them.”

  “Hadn’t thought of it that way,” Deem said.

  “Trust me,” Awan said, “I know. My father’s journals changed me. I’m a different person. They will change you, too.”

  Deem took another bite of her chile relleno and thought about Awan’s words. It made her double her commitment to locate her father’s writings.

  Chapter Nine

  Winn followed Deem back to Mesquite, offering to drive her around town as she looked for Dayton. Deem was worried that Dayton might recognize her truck, but he’d not give a moment’s notice to Winn’s Jeep.

  They arrived at Dayton’s house mid-afternoon. It was in the middle of a large subdivision of new houses. There was an SUV in the driveway.

  “That’s his wife’s,” Deem said. “Uses it to haul their five kids around town. He won’t take that to wherever he’s going, he’ll have to leave it here for her to use in case she needs it in an emergency. He’s driving his BMW.”

  “It’s not here,” Winn observed.

  “Of course not,” Deem said. “It’s Sunday. It’ll be at the stake center. That’s where he spends most of Sunday.”

  Winn followed Deem’s directions to the large Mormon church that served as a gathering place for several of the local congregations. The parking lot was full and no one was outside. Winn slowly maneuvered through the lot as Deem turned on the two devices Awan had given her.

  “Where’s your cigarette lighter?” Deem asked Winn, who pulled the lighter out of the center console and dropped it into his cup holder. Deem plugged the cord from the flat panel display into the outlet and turned on the unit. A map popped up with a blinking blue dot exactly where they were driving.

  The second part of the unit was a square plastic box about the size of a pack of cigarettes. It was magnetized along one side and had a three inch plastic antenna coming out of one end.

  “Hope this works,” Deem said.

  “Awan said it’d stick to the underside of the car and not fall off?” Winn asked.

  “That’s what he said,” Deem answered.

  “What if he goes through rough terrain? Can it be knocked off?”

  “If something hits it on the underside, I can’t see why it wouldn’t fall off,” Deem said. “We’ll just have to hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “Wait,” Winn said. He placed the Jeep in park and jumped out of his door, running around to the back, where he rummaged through some items. When he returned to the driver’s seat, he handed Deem a roll of duct tape.

  “Insurance,” he said. “There’s no one out here. Once we find the car, you should have plenty of time to tape it into place, just to be sure.”

  “Thanks, Winn,” Deem said, scanning the cars in the lot as they slowly moved up and down the aisles.

  “What color is it?” Winn asked.

  “Black,” Deem said. “And I’ll bet it’ll be around back, by the back entrance. All the offices are back there. Since he’s in the stake presidency, he gets here early and I’ll bet he goes for the closest parking space to that entrance.”

  Winn turned into the back parking lot of the building and sure enough, the black BMW was parked next to a cement sidewalk that led straight into the back entrance of the building.

  “Park in that empty space there,” Deem said, pointing to a vacant spot a few cars away. “Then I’ll go plant it.”

  Winn pulled into the parking spot and turned off the motor. He rolled down his window. “If someone comes out, I’m going to whistle,” he said. “Stay under the car until I give you an ‘all clear,’ alright?”

  “Good,” Deem said. “I’ll be fast. If we’re close to a meeting letting out, a hundred people could come streaming out those doors.”

  Deem jumped out of the passenger side of the Jeep, tracking device in one hand, duct tape in the other. She walked over to the BMW and looked under it. The hot pavement was reflecting the day’s heat and she felt it intensify the closer her face got to the ground. She stretched out and slid under the car, looking for a spot to attach the tracker. She tried a couple of places, but it didn’t sit flush. She finally found a spot that seemed flat enough to hold it, not perfectly, but the best she was going to get. She ripped off piece after piece of duct tape, pressing the long strips against the metal surrounding the device. Soon the entire device was covered, with duct tape radiating out in all directions, the small three inch antenna poking out. She tested the tape, tugging slightly on the device. It seemed firm.

  Winn whistled.

  She slid further under the car, looking around to see if she was as covered as possible. She tilted her head up and saw several sets of feet walking toward her. A child was screaming hysterically. The feet marched up to the minivan parked next to the BMW. Deem could see a woman’s shoes and at least five sets of children’s feet of various sizes. One by one the feet lifted from the ground and into the minivan. The woman’s feet circled the vehicle, arranging the children inside.

  Leaving early, Deem thought. Sounds like one of the kids threw a tantrum and she had to take them out.

  It seemed to take forever for the woman to finish packing in all the kids. One of the children kept screaming at the top of their lungs the entire time.

  Finally Deem heard the sliding door of the minivan close. Instantly the screaming muffled. The woman walked around to the driver’s side. She paused at the door and sighed before she opened it, releasing the sound of the tantrum once again into the parking lot. She slid into the vehicle and closed the door.

  I’ll never have kids, Deem thought to herself.

  The minivan roared to life and slowly backed out of the parking space. Deem slid a little more to the side opposite, hoping the woman wouldn’t be able to see under the BMW when she had the minivan pulled all the way back.

  She probably is too busy dealing with the kids to notice anyway, Deem thought.

  The minivan pulled away and the parking lot returned to normal. She heard Winn say, “All clear!”

  Deem slid out of the BMW and stood up. She walked over to Winn’s Jeep and jumped back into the passenger side. The moment she closed the door to the Jeep, the doors of the church opened and a stream of people began to emerge.

  “Just in time,” Winn said, watching as men in white shirts and ties emerged. Some of them tugged at their ties the moment they stepped out of the building, loosening them and unbuttoning the top of their shirts. Women emerged with them, all in knee length dresses. Children swarmed around both, and as family after family emerged it became impossible to tell whose kids belonged to whom.

  “Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of kids,” Winn said. “Do you think Dayton will be coming out? There’s too many people behind my car right now for me to back out. Too many kids, I’m afraid I might hit one.”

  “No,” Deem said, “he’ll be one of the last ones out.”

  As the words came out of her mouth, Deem saw Dayton walk through the door and into the sunlight. She shrunk down in her seat.

  “That’s him!” she said to Winn.

  “Who?” Winn asked, looking at the crowd.

  “The guy in the suit!”

  “They’re all in suits!” Winn replied.

  “Brown suit, red tie, balding,” Deem said.

  “That narrows it down by half,” Winn said. He watched to see which of the men would
walk to the BMW.

  “Shit!” Deem said.

  “What?”

  “The duct tape! I must have left it under the car!”

  “Are you sure?” Winn asked.

  “That woman with the kids distracted me,” Deem said. “I think I set it down and I forgot to take it with me when I slid out.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t notice it when he backs out,” Winn said. “He’s started his car. He can’t really leave yet, too many people walking behind it. He seems to be in a hurry.”

  Winn watched as Dayton tried to pull out. People moved away from his car as it slowly slid from the parking space. Parents wrangled their children, taking them by the hand so that they wouldn’t dart into the path of the slowly moving car.

  As Winn watched, a family began to load into the car that was parked on the other side of the BMW. A boy of about twelve noticed the duct tape on the ground. He bent to pick it up.

  “Damn,” Winn said. “A kid found the tape.”

  The child looked up at the BMW, which had finished backing out and was starting to move forward down the parking lot.

  “President Dayton!” the boy yelled, holding up the duct tape.

  The BMW continued to pull away, moving through the crowd. People in front of the car stepped aside to let the BMW through, most of them recognizing the occupant and deferring to authority.

  The boy ran behind the BMW, desperately trying to return the duct tape, calling “President Dayton! President Dayton!”

  The boy’s father yelled for him to come back, and the kid stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at his father.

  “Get in this car!” the father called.

  “President Dayton forgot this!” the boy said to his dad, returning to the family vehicle. The BMW was now on the other side of the parking lot, nearing the exit.

  “You can give it to him the next time you see him,” the father said. “Get inside.”

  The boy got into the backseat of the car, and the father got into the driver’s seat and began backing out.

  “Crisis averted,” Winn said. “The kid has the duct tape. Dayton is gone.”

  Deem sat back up in her seat and turned on the flat panel. She watched as the blue dot moved on the screen.