Widow Town

by Joe Hart

  Gray surveyed the younger man from beneath the bill of his hat. “Well by God, Joseph, you’re growing up on me.”

  A hint of scarlet flushed the deputy’s cheeks and he nodded once, a small smile on his lips. “It surprised me she said yes.”

  “Joseph, that girl is just as smitten with you as you are with her. I would’ve bet on that before the rain any day.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  “You’re welcome. Now get your ass moving, we have some serious ends to tie up here.”

  “Yes sir.” Ruthers headed for the doorway and stopped shy of the hall. “Sheriff, you think it’s all connected don’t you? Even Miles’s disappearance?”

  Gray glanced out of the window. The shimmering heat shifted on the street in tangent layers. Not a soul occupied the sidewalks. “Yes,” he said, bringing his gaze back to the young man in the doorway. “But I honestly hope I’m wrong.”

  ~

  Gray eased the cruiser off the highway and into an overgrown driveway. Weeds slid against the doors and undercarriage, a snake’s hiss that drowned out the quiet music coming from the speakers. He switched the radio off and peered through the windshield as a fallen tree came into view, blocking the narrow drive. Gray slowed the cruiser and put it in park, sat looking at the obstruction and the surrounding woods.

  The heat soaked into him as he stepped from the car and approached the fallen tree. It was an oak, snapped off several feet from the ground but still attached to its stump. Gray walked its length and studied its dead branches that stretched into the forest. A black line near the upper branches caught his eye and he knelt to examine it. A small steel latch was embedded in the tree’s trunk and crossed the narrow line that looked like a cut. The latch was painted a grayish brown to match the tree’s bark. Gray fingered the latch and flipped it up.

  The tree pivoted toward him, the cut opening like a jaw.

  “Sonofabitch,” Gray said.

  With a slight pull, the tree swung like a gate, leaving its upper branches where they were and opened clear of the driveway. Gray inspected the stump closer and saw a pinion driven through the trunk that allowed the tree to swing.

  He returned to the cruiser and pulled past the gate, not bothering to shut it behind him. Ahead the driveway rose and a narrow clearing opened up. A single story, brick house appeared on the right, its solitary window opaque. The structure was small and square, a single bedroom home at most. A larger building stood behind a row of trees, its front obscured by their wilting leaves.

  Gray parked and got out, watching the woods for movement. A bird flitted between branches, the wind gusted and then fell.

  Quiet.

  His hand on the butt of the Colt, he approached the door, the sensation of reaching toward a high-RPM blade as he knocked. The sound echoed in the clearing as well as inside the house. He waited, moving closer to the side of the door and away from the window.

  “Sheriff’s department,” he said in a raised voice. No response.

  Sliding closer to the window, he glanced inside. Dirt covered the hardwood floor in piles. A scarred table stood to one side of the room and a mound of clothes that might’ve doubled for a bed took up the rest of the space. Several gallon jugs lay interspersed on the floor. He imagined he could smell the refuse from where he stood.

  Gray moved away from the house and around back. There was only the front door, no other way out. A creaking filled the yard with the breeze and he made his way past the stand of trees toward the other structure.

  It was a leaning barn, two stories tall, its boards bleached and dull as old bones. It had no windows that he could see, only a single door that hung partially open, a rusty hinge protesting the wind. Gray moved toward it, his hand still on the Colt, tightening. He stopped beside the door, waited for a draft that pushed it open.

  A smell wafted to him, the harsh bite of chemicals, acrid in the hot air.

  “Sheriff’s department,” he called again. No answer, no sound of movement. Gray nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside.

  Hazy light slanted through a hundred cracks in the walls and roof, the beams catching motes of dancing dust. A matted covering of old straw lined the floor. Several stanchions stood empty to the left but the bulk of the room was occupied by a long bench covered with plastic tubing, glass beakers, and an industrial heating element. Stacks of plastic bags rested beneath the bench along with a pallet of what looked like red bricks wrapped in cellophane. A plastic drum in the corner held a black ichor that bubbled continuously.

  Gray approached the lab and pulled up his shirt collar to cover his mouth and nose. The chemical bite in the air became so strong near the bench it watered his eyes. Slowly, he backed away, drawing his handgun. He glanced upward into the vacant loft and turned toward the rear of the barn.

  The light waned the farther back he went, his feet padding on the crushed straw the only sound. An ancient motorcycle leaned on a bent kickstand, a layer of dust covering its black seat. Another short stanchion grew from the opposite wall and when Gray rounded its boards he pulled up short, taking in the sight.

  A five gallon pail full of long knives and hatchets sat off to one side, their blades speckled with dark stains. A multi-legged chain hung from a solid beam mounted in back of the stanchion, half a dozen glinting hooks dangling from its ends. The hook’s polished steel was marred with blackened crimson, beads of it dried in suspended drips. On the floor lay a pair of soiled, men’s underwear, their edges frayed and torn.

  In the distance a dog barked.

  The door to the barn flew open and something hit the back wall above his head. Gray ducked and swung the Colt up, centering its sight on the door. A hissing whine came from his left and when he looked down he saw a canister the size of a coffee cup, white smoke issuing from one end. Catching a whiff of it, he coughed, the smoke singeing the insides of his mouth and throat.

  The door opened again and another canister flew through the air, landing a half dozen steps from the lab. The white smoke spurted from its end and obscured the only exit in the building. The door slammed shut again.

  Gray coughed and moved away from the first gas bomb, shielding his nose and mouth as he’d done earlier. He kept the pistol aimed at the door he couldn’t see anymore and turned in a circle. The boards lining the walls faced him on both sides, the smoke creeping toward him at an even pace. He lunged to the right, flinging his foot out at a particularly rotted board. It cracked and a piece flew free, dragging his foot with it. Sunlight poured inside, making the growing clouds of smoke even brighter. The dog barked again, sounding closer than before. Hurried footsteps approached the hole he’d made and Gray yanked his leg inside just as a thick-bladed axe slammed into the wood where his flesh had been moments before.

  With a deep breath that stung to the bottom of his lungs, he inhaled and held the tainted air as he barreled forward in the direction of the door. His head spun and all was blinding whiteness, a blizzard indoors.

  There was nothing but the fray of movement and cataract air until at last his shoulder met with solid wood. There was a snapping shriek as old nails and boards gave way, and then he was outside, falling on the hot, dry grass, its touch more welcome than any other he’d ever known. Gray hacked, sucking in the clean breaths that tasted like velvet honey on his tongue. The air bubbled with black spots and he blinked, trying to clear his vision.

  The dog yapped somewhere nearby but the sound shifted, melding with the wind nuzzling his face as a bearded man carrying an axe rounded the corner of the barn. Gray had a half second to register the manic flicker in the man’s eyes as well as the open sores on his face before he raised the axe over one shoulder and charged.

  Gray brought the Colt up and fired.

  A red spatter appeared on the barn wall behind the other man’s head. The sound of the pistol shot was detached and came a moment later, thunder beneath the clear sky.

  The man jerked once and pitched forward, the axe coming down. Gray rolled t
o the side as the blade bit into the ground where he’d been. The man’s weight landed on his legs, no movement from him, just heaviness. Gray kicked him once, rolling the body away before collapsing into a fit of coughing so deep, his entire core ached with it. His lungs were on fire, burning with each breath. The oxygen was fueling it.

  The dog barked, closer, very close.

  He heaved and vomited into the dry grass. The falling night at the corners of his vision became deeper as the sun winked out in a supernova of darkness.

  Chapter 20

  Gray opened his eyes to a white ceiling he didn’t know.

  He blinked, letting his mind spool back, the memories unwinding like a Celtic knot coming undone. He tried breathing deeply and encountered the sensation of a cement block resting on his chest. He wheezed.

  “Sheriff?”

  Gray turned his head to see Ruthers rise from a chair beside the bed he lay in.

  “Joseph, good to see you.” His voice cracked just above a whisper.

  Ruthers laughed and gripped the bed’s railing. “Holy shit, sir, I thought we’d lost you.”

  “Can’t have my job yet, Joseph.” He swallowed broken glass, winced. “Water?”

  Ruthers nodded and picked up a plastic cup with a straw poking from its top. “Don’t want the job, it’s all yours.” The deputy’s grin seemed to fill up his entire face. He bent the straw toward Gray’s mouth. The water was cold ecstasy sliding down.

  “You got him, sir, you got the killer.”

  Gray finished drinking and Ruthers took the cup away. “It was him?” Gray asked, his voice stronger.

  “It sure looks that way. Dodger and I started out with Tex right where you told us and Tex caught a scent immediately. We started following it and it was leading toward that property you were on. Right before we heard you shoot, Tex tried to pull off to the left toward Wilson Creek but by then we were almost in the yard. It only must’ve been thirty seconds after you passed out that we found you.”

  Gray closed his eyes and then opened them in a long blink. “How long have I been out?”

  “Only four hours or so.”

  “Get me sitting up, Joseph.”

  Ruthers fumbled with the bed’s controls and began to adjust the mattress, raising Gray’s upper body into a sitting position.

  “What do we know so far?” he said, suppressing a cough.

  “The guy’s name was Donald Hudson. He’d been in the system a couple times for minor assault and public intoxication, but nothing major. His property belonged to an uncle that got passed down to him about five years back. Well, and you can see what he decided to do there.”

  “He was brewing Red Rock.”

  Ruthers nodded. “We hauled out two hundred pounds of the stuff. Enough to get every person in the county high twice with some left over.”

  “He was using too, I saw the sores on his face.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, although there wasn’t much left of his face after you shot him. Dr. Swenson’s doing the autopsy as we speak, she’ll be able to tell us for sure.”

  “Have the knives and hooks been analyzed that were in the back of the barn?”

  “Yes sir. They came back with a positive match to Miles along with the Jacobses. There’s some unidentified DNA that the lab is still working on, Dr. Swenson could tell you better than I could. We also found what appears to be the money taken from the Jacobses’ place.”

  Gray tried to breathe deeply again and failed, his chest inflating without the satisfying rush of air.

  “What the hell did he use on me?”

  Ruthers opened his mouth to reply but at that moment the door to the room opened and Dr. Barder walked inside carrying a small box in his hand.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake,” Barder said, walking to Gray’s other side.

  “I know you told me what he inhaled, doctor, but could you repeat it so I don’t get it wrong?” Ruthers said.

  “It was a clever mixture of vaporized formaldehyde and another highly noxious gas called diborane. Whatever else that man was, he was fairly gifted when it came to chemistry.”

  “Glad you’re thoroughly impressed with him, doc, but it feels like I can’t take a full breath here,” Gray said.

  “That’s normal. The compound you inhaled was designed to literally burn the cilia in your lungs away and scar the tissue beneath so that you couldn’t absorb oxygen. Fortunately you inhaled very little of the gas, only enough to do some minor damage to your brachial tube and the upper area of your lungs. One more full breath and your lungs would be smooth as glass. Here,” Barder said, holding out a canister he pulled from the box. “This is a nebulizer that will soothe the airways and speed up your recovery. We gave you a shot when you arrived to neutralize the toxins and flush them from your system.”

  Gray took the inhaler and placed it between his lips before triggering the medicine. An icy wave tasting of peppermint coated the back of his tongue and he coughed once but when he inhaled the air seemed to travel farther into his chest than before.

  “Thanks doc.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, you have to use that every few hours, whether you feel like you need it or not, otherwise the healing will slow.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’ll have a nurse come in and give you something else for the pain.”

  “No need, I’ve got things to do.” Gray hoisted himself up farther and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Hold on, Sheriff, you can’t go anywhere, you’ve had major trauma to your upper respiratory system.”

  “I appreciate the concern but I’m feeling better. I’ll give this thing a pull every so often like you said. I like the taste of it anyway, might hit you up for a few month’s supply.”

  Barder’s frown was almost comical and after a moment he shook his head and laughed. Ruthers stepped forward and gripped Gray’s upper arm, steadying him as he stood.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, doc,” Ruthers said.

  “Yeah, Joseph here has me on a tight leash.”

  Barder laughed again and tilted his head. “Okay, if you’re able to move under your own power I’m not going to stop you from leaving.”

  “Good man.”

  “There is one thing I wanted to ask you though,” Barder said, glancing at the closed door. “The man that attacked you, you think he’s the one that killed the others?”

  “We’re not sure of anything yet,” Gray said, throwing a look at Ruthers.

  Barder nodded. “I understand, it’s just scary since he lived so close to me and my sons. If he was the one responsible, I’m glad you did what you did.”

  Barder reached out a hand and Gray shook it. “I’m sure there’ll be more information soon, doctor. By the way, how’s Miles doing?”

  “The same as this morning, catatonic. We’ve cleaned all his wounds and we’re keeping him sedated to help him rest. Other than that we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “There’s a guard outside his door?”

  “Yes there is.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business,” Barder said and moved into the hallway shutting the door behind him.

  “Thank you for waiting here with me, Joseph. I’m beginning to think you have a crush on me.”

  Ruthers laughed. “You’re welcome, sir. But I wasn’t your only visitor.”

  “Really?”

  “Nope. Lynn came to see you as soon as she got word.”

  Gray sighed, leaning on the bed. “I forgot to change my emergency contacts. I’m assuming she left as soon as she saw you were here with me?”

  “No, she asked me to step outside for a bit. I, ah—” Ruthers made an uncomfortable movement with his hands. “I heard her talking to you through the door.”

  “Great. The one time the woman actually speaks to me and I’m unconscious.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, all this?”
r />   “It’s not your fault, Joseph. Don’t go taking blame for things you didn’t do, we crucified the last man that did that.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Gray stood away from the bed and swayed, dizziness reeling him on his feet.

  “Sheriff, you sure you’re up to leaving so soon?” Ruthers said, handing Gray a bag containing his clothes after he’d steadied himself.

  Gray took another pull from the nebulizer and smiled. “We’re not going far, Joseph, just to the basement to see our killer.”

  Chapter 21

  The morgue smelled of fresh blood and old disinfectant.

  Gray made his way inside, his breathing feeling almost normal one second and strangled the next. When the door shut behind them, Tilly looked up from where she stooped over an examination table.

  “Sure keeping you busy, Tilly,” Gray called as he walked as steady as he could to the far end of the room. Tilly gave him a long stare behind her protective glasses and then stood, pulling down the mask she wore over her mouth.

  “You’re one lucky bastard, Mac.”

  “You see Joseph, no one ever gives me credit for anything. It’s always luck.”

  Tilly shook her head and moved closer to them. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing out of bed. This sicko hit you with some nasty stuff.”

  Gray waggled the inhaler at her. “Got some magic peppermint, I’m all better.”

  Tilly made an exasperated sound and turned back to the table. “What do you want, Mac?”

  “Seems like people are always asking me that. I’m beginning to feel needy.”

  Tilly only looked at him.

  “Well, I’d like to start with what you’ve found out about our friend here.”

  Tilly regarded the partially dissected body on the table. “Male, age forty-six. Toxicology report came back with extremely high levels of Phenocartal.”

  “Red Rock,” Gray said.

  “Yes, Red Rock. The guy was in the late stages of addiction from what I can tell. His circulatory system looks like a series of rusty culverts and the upper dermis was decaying nicely.”