Dark Moon Crossing

by Sylvia Nobel

  Working my way back from yet another blind alley, I turned a corner, tripped over something, and went sprawling. The flashlight flew from my hand and blinked out. Panic rose up inside me, but I fought it down. Unhurt, but disoriented, I struggled to my feet. I took one step and almost fell over. I’d never experienced such absolute darkness. My equilibrium was all out of whack and I couldn’t tell what was right, what was left, up or down. I dropped to my knees and crawled around, frantically patting the crumbly floor. The flashlight had to be around somewhere! After what seemed like an eternity, my hand finally closed around it, and the flood of relief I felt left me limp.

  With trembling hands, I switched it on and gawked in bewilderment, unsure as to what I was seeing. The medium-sized room I’d crawled into was piled to the ceiling with long metal and rectangular wooden boxes, crates, barrels and piles of square blocks wrapped in plastic. Stenciled on the sides of some boxes was: 9mm cartridges. Another read .308 rifle. There were numbers and symbols on other containers I couldn’t decipher but I sure recognized the word rocket. My skin crawled. There was enough firepower in the room to start World War III!

  More perplexed than ever, I hurried out and wound my way through the maze of tunnels until I saw a pale glow ahead. I doused the flashlight and crept forward. The light grew brighter. Voices. I distinctly heard muted voices. I tried to swallow but it seemed as if my throat was filled with shards of ground glass. I hesitated, fearing what I might find, yet was spurred on by thoughts of Tally. I crawled to the edge of a rocky overhang and looked down into a sunken cavern illuminated in wavering white light. The sight unfolding before me was so gruesome, so unspeakably appalling I could not immediately absorb its significance. One of the bug-like creatures stood hunched over a young Mexican man lying on a gurney, sliced open from his neck to his pelvis. The creature was systematically removing organs, immersing them in some sort of liquid solution and carefully placing them in plastic bags, which he then put into iced-down picnic coolers. The bodies, or rather what was left of the bodies of two dark-haired women, lay on a thick piece of plastic on the floor nearby. There was blood everywhere and a putrid smell I couldn’t really describe.

  Spanning the far side of the ampitheater-like cavern, cages had been set into the wall. I blinked in disbelief. There were people inside. None of them moved. A shudder ran through me remembering Javier’s fear that the creatures would cut him with their ‘sharp claws.’ Fleetingly, I wished to heaven I was actually witnessing extraterrestrials perform medical experiments rather than this cruel reality being perpetrated by fellow human beings.

  Below to my left were four large dog carriers. I almost shouted aloud with relief at the sight of Javier, curled up like a small animal inside one of them. He appeared to be sleeping. There was a baby in the one right next to him. On the brink of hysteria, I scanned the cages looking for Tally, but he wasn’t there. I ducked lower when two more of the monster bug-men entered through an archway to my right. Now that I could view them up close, the alien disguises didn’t look so frightening, but the fact that I knew there were vicious, psychotic people underneath was terrifying.

  I pulled back and looked away, sickened to the depths of my soul and feeling more powerless than I ever had in my entire life. I prayed for courage and strength while trying madly to formulate some sort of rescue plan. How was I going to take on this bunch with only a piece of rebar?‌ The fact that my mind really wasn’t functioning properly came home to me when the next thought popped into my mind. Why hadn’t I taken a gun from the cache of arms in the storage room?‌ But then, would I even know how to load and use one?‌ Why, oh, why hadn’t I taken the time to enroll in the firearms safety course Tally had been bugging me about for months?‌ Too late for recriminations now.

  I almost jumped out of my shoes when a muffled voice shouted, “He’s starting to come around. You wanna do this asshole next?‌”

  “With pleasure. Bring him in.”

  The fuzz on the back of my neck stood on end. Did I recognize the barely audible voice?‌

  “Wooee!” the first creature hooted. “We ought to get enough out of this batch to get us a couple of handheld stinger missiles and maybe some nukes.”

  “Just take the bodies to the pool,” said the first man, his tone clipped.

  I edged another look over the rim of the rocks and as I checked out the room a second time, certainty jabbed me in the gut like a sharp-toed boot. There was a long table piled with boxes, pans of surgical instruments, bottles and vials. The cages looked as if they’d come from a veterinary hospital. Was it possible that the man beneath the monster suit was Twyla’s brother, Dean Pierce?‌ The more I thought about it the more obvious it became. Was there anyone else experienced or qualified enough to perform this type of surgery?‌ But, still, my mind rebelled. The day we met, I had sensed his antipathy for the never-ending tide of aliens washing across his property, seen the rage reflected in his eyes as Champ was being carted off to jail, but somehow he hadn’t struck me as a man who could do something so horrendous. This was a man who aided sick and injured animals. But then, a vague memory pushed its way to the front of my mind. Hadn’t there been ice chests piled on the shelf in the room with Marmalade?‌

  “This friggin’ monkey suit is hot,” one of the men complained, pulling at the face covering. Even with the mask on, I recognized Jason’s whiny tone.

  “They stay on until we’re finished, like always.”

  He blew out a sigh of annoyance, turned, and re-entered the adjoining room with the other man. They reappeared almost instantly, one of them pushing, the other pulling a second gurney into the room, and carelessly parked it beside the first one. When they moved away, I almost choked when I recognized Tally’s lean form. Apparently drugged like the others, he lay perfectly still. I had to summon every ounce of willpower I possessed not to scream in terror and leap down from the ledge. With extreme difficulty, I kept my cool while the two men grasped the ends of the plastic sheeting containing the mutilated torsos of the women, and carried it through another opening on the opposite end of the big room. The head honcho bug man was alone, busily slicing out the young man’s heart. My stomach quaked with nausea and it was difficult not to retch. Inhaling deep calming breaths, I primed for action. I scooted along the perimeter of the ledge until I came to a well-worn footpath that led down to the floor of the cavern. With measured steps, I crept down and sneaked up behind him, my pulse racing so fast I felt dizzy. I’d have only one good shot at him. Grasping the rebar like a baseball bat, I drew back and slammed him in the side of his head. The scalpel flew from his gloved hand as he lurched sideways. But I hadn’t hit him hard enough because he righted himself, turned, and staggered towards me. Staring at the creepy bug-face mask, it was hard not to cut and run, but before he could regain his footing I whacked him again. This time he dropped to the floor. I inhaled a shuddery breath and stood poised, ready to strike him again if necessary. When he didn’t move, I turned around and shook Tally. “Wake up,” I pleaded. “Please!”

  He didn’t respond. I set the rebar on the floor and tried to pull him to a sitting position but he fell back limply. I shot a worried look towards the archway where Jason and the other guy had gone. Somehow, I had to get Tally out of here before they returned.

  I patted his cheeks. “Come on, Sweetie, wake up!” I whispered fiercely. His lids blinked open and he stared at me uncomprehending, his pupils still dilated from whatever drug they’d administered. Damn it.

  My eyes swept the room again, stopping at the gallon jugs of water sitting on the floor beside a series of giant batteries that apparently powered the generator and the lights. I grabbed a jug, tore the top off, splashed some water on his face and patted his cheeks again. He mumbled something and I placed a finger on his lips. “Shhhh. Keep quiet.” He seemed to be coming around, but I doubted he’d be up to walking anytime soon. And then it hit me. Why not just roll him out of here on the gurney?‌ My mind raced ahead. How to accomplish that was
the big question. The floor of the main cave was fairly smooth, but how would the wheels handle the sandy surface of the tunnels?‌ I heard movement behind me and swung around just as the creature grabbed my free hand and yanked me to the floor. In silent horror, I struggled to escape from his grasp, fumbling for the rebar, but he knocked it away and pinned me to the floor. With his monstrous face only inches from my own, I yelped, “Tally, help me!”

  “Let her go!” commanded a loud voice from above.

  He jerked, loosened his grip on me and together we looked up. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Russell Greene was standing on the ledge above, his rifle trained on us. Attila, his trusty Doberman, waited by his side, teeth bared and growling. “If I don’t get you the dog will,” he warned, easing his finger onto the trigger. I took advantage of my assailant’s hesitation and shoved with all my strength. He fell against the gurney and the inert body of the young Mexican landed on top of him.

  In that split second I scrambled to my feet. Just when it seemed rescue was at hand, all hell broke loose. Jason and the other man rushed into the room, brandishing handguns. I don’t really know for sure who fired first, but the roar of gunfire was deafening. Amid the shouting and flying bullets, I thought of nothing but Tally’s safety. Grabbing the gurney, I wheeled it into the adjoining room, frantically searching the new cubbyhole for an escape route, but there was no way out except to go back through the main cavern.

  We were sitting ducks. Sick with dread, I wrapped my arms around Tally and laid my head on his chest. “Oh, Tally, I’m so sorry I got you into this mess.” I reached up and brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so dear. “I hope you can forgive me,” I murmured. “I love you. You are the most important person on this planet and there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” Scalding tears stinging my eyes, I squeezed onto the gurney and cuddled next to him, showering his face with wet kisses, waiting in heart-stopping agony for the worst. I probably laid there at least five minutes before I realized that, other than the pitiful whimpering of the dog, no other sounds reached my ears.

  I got up, cautiously peeked around the doorway and recoiled in shock. My attacker was sprawled out face down on the floor beside the overturned gurney, blood oozing from a head wound. Russell Greene lay in a heap beneath the overhang, his dog frantically licking his face. The other two men were gone.

  I rushed to Russell Greene’s side and knelt beside him, appalled by all the blood. He’d been shot in the stomach and I had no idea what to do to help him. “Oh, Mr. Greene,” I cried. I tore off my jacket and pressed it against him, trying to stem the flow. “Hang on, I’m going for help.”

  He blinked a couple of times before locking his intense gaze into mine. “Wait. Please believe that I…didn’t know…about… all this.”

  “I believe you. How did you find us?‌”

  He sucked in a tortured breath and moaned, “Saw your pickup. Followed you.” With what must have taken extreme effort, he moved his hand and wrapped his fingers protectively around the dog’s leg. “Promise me…promise you’ll find a good home for Attila.”

  “Of course, yes! But…you’re going to be all right.” I forced an encouraging smile, knowing on some level that it wasn’t true. There was too much blood and his coloring had faded to ash gray. “Thank you,” I choked, “Thank you for saving our lives.”

  “It’s…it’s okay,” he murmured, his resigned smile matching the glow of serene acceptance filling his eyes. “This must be the reason…God made me stay.”

  It took a couple of anguished seconds for the significance of his words to sink in. “Oh, please don’t die,” I pleaded, thinking that compared to the real monsters of this dreadful night, his ravaged face was truly beautiful.

  “Will you hold my hand for a minute?‌”

  Blinking back tears, I grasped it and held on tight, watching the essence of life fade from his eyes. He coughed and whispered, “Thank you…for…being kind to me.” After a few more uneven breaths, his head rolled to the side and he was still.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered, so overcome with emotion I could hardly breathe. This man, this poor tragic man, had given his life for me, while Jason, the coward, had run for the hills. I felt as if I was in an unending nightmare from which I could not awaken. As I watched Attila lick the face of his dead master, I heard a groan from behind and swung around, my heart locked in my throat. The creature wasn’t dead!

  Molten anger welled up inside me. I picked up the rifle and, carefully avoiding the body of the young Mexican man, pointed it at the man in the blood-spattered costume. I was ninety-nine percent sure it was Dean Pierce, but I had to make sure. I had to see the face of the man responsible for such a heinous crime against humanity.

  Prodding him with the barrel, I warned with more courage than I felt, “Move so much as a hair, you sick bastard, and I’ll blow you away.” With a shiver of distaste, I toed him onto his back. Holding the rifle awkwardly in one hand, I reached down and pulled the monstrous face- mask away. Aghast, I stared into the deranged green eyes of Payton Kleinwort.

  28

  When the incredible story of Payton Kleinwort’s unthinkable treachery finally caught the attention of the national news three days later, the media descended on the Sundog Ranch like hawks on road kill. Print and cable news reporters from other states donned fancy western gear and clamored for interviews from anyone even remotely connected to the case. Luckily for me, I’d scooped the whole lot of them. But then I’d had a running start and a unique vantage point. Unexpectedly, I’d gained access to Twyla’s computer and was able to file my front-page story with the wire services, and in time for a special edition of the Sun on Saturday, a full day ahead of the pack.

  Following Jason and Cutter’s capture and arrest Thursday morning, Twyla Beaumont, reduced to hysterics, was confined to her room under heavy sedation. With Champ still behind bars, plus Rob and Sloan being detained as possible accessories to murder, Tally made the magnanimous decision to stay and help out the shell-shocked family. Also brought in for questioning were Border Patrol agent Hank Breslow, Froggy McQueen, and several other members of the Knights of Right crew. Being right there on the front lines, having access to sheriff’s deputies and savvy Border Patrol officials, had given me two days to gather additional data to support the biggest story of my career to date.

  While Tally was out heading up a trail ride for the guests, I made good use of the time, sequestering myself in the corner of the kitchen at the computer. Sitting there in borrowed clothing that Lin Su had kindly appropriated from somewhere, I frantically typed from memory, still lamenting the loss of all my notes, tapes, and laptop.

  The price of landing this story had been higher than I’d ever imagined. I was still reeling with shock over the entire stomach-turning episode, including the senseless death of Russell Greene. Both Tally and I had been profoundly affected by his ultimate sacrifice.

  As details of the horrifying discovery spread throughout the surrounding communities, I thought how ironic it was that the Beaumonts’ wish for publicity had come true. Even though it was negative, it had nevertheless put them on the map in a big way.

  A distressed and chastened Bethany, forced to stand in for the ailing Twyla, was swamped with calls from people wanting to come to the site of the worst serial killing spree in the history of the United States. One local entrepreneur even started jeep tours to Morita so tourists could experience the macabre thrill of being close to the heavily guarded location where the debauchery had taken place.

  Payton’s demonic scheme to sell organs harvested from the perpetual tide of migrants crossing the border, and then using the proceeds to buy weapons for the Knights of Right’s planned overthrow of the Mexican government, was actually quite brilliant and amazingly well orchestrated, considering the number of accomplices involved.

  Even now, I can’t begin to describe the mind-boggling shock of seeing Payton lying on the floor of the cavern, b
lood oozing from the nasty gash in the side of his head and the bullet wound in the chest. Shaken, and wondering what to do next, I’d felt a profound sense of relief when Tally suddenly appeared in the archway of the adjacent room. I don’t think I’ll ever forget his look of total bewilderment. Having no clue as to what had transpired since he’d been struck from behind and knocked cold during his vain search for me, his mouth sagged with disbelief during my breathless summation. After a tense discussion concerning the best course of action, we’d agreed that I would be the one to go for help. But the stark fear that one or more of Payton’s accomplices might return, made me reluctant to leave him.

  “Go on,” he’d urged, giving me a confident thumbs up. “Attila and I will hold the fort until you get back with the posse,” he said, training the rifle squarely at Payton’s forehead. On my way out, I opened the doors to the cages containing the migrant prisoners, including Javier, and then headed into the dark tunnels once again. It seemed to take forever to reach the mouth of the cave, but once I got out into the moon-streaked meadow, I ran faster than I ever had in my entire life back to Champ’s truck. Driving like a madwoman, I reached Dean’s ranch in less than twenty minutes. Within an hour I’d returned, followed by DPS officers, Border Patrol agents and members of the Tohono O’odham Tribal Police. It was only then that I realized that the long-established crossing point was actually a small section of reservation land.

  It had been my sad duty to call Lupe and give her the devastating news that it was more than likely her uncle and younger brother were among the gruesome pile of bodies that divers had discovered at the bottom of the deep spring inside the cavern. Forensic experts were hopeful that, because of the cold temperature of the water, tissue samples would be relatively well preserved, making DNA identification possible in some cases. But sheriff’s deputies cautioned that it could be months before all the bodies were discovered, if ever.