by Dennis Yates
Robert stared at his friend after he’d finished.
“Let me tell you what I know about my great grandfather.”
CHAPTER 39
Charlie Maynard gave up the idea of returning home and exacting his revenge upon the cruel sea captain who’d shanghaied him. The need had vanished. Instead, he’d grown fond of the islanders who’d once tried to kill him. Had his master not received a powerful vision of Charlie coming back from the dead to learn the ancient ways, he would not have survived.
He no longer saw the people he lived with as savages. Despite having an irrational fear toward a spirit world they believed woven intricately with their own, Maynard witnessed great flashes of intelligence and wisdom in his fellow tribesmen. It wasn’t until he’d learned the skills of his master, however, that he too became familiar with the deeper source of their fear.
The witch doctor’s name was Oman, and his ebony skin was the darkest of any African Maynard had seen during his travels. In contrast, the elderly man’s hair was as white as the necklace of bleached bones hanging from his neck. He smiled often, even when he was angry. Old pink scars would swell and writhe while he performed his most difficult tasks.
Maynard learned that while Oman’s grandfather and father had been fishermen their whole lives, his great grandfather had also been a shaman. The leaping forward of two generations was no accident, but followed an ancient custom. If the tradition was ever violated, the power entrusted to the shaman would be lost forever.
When it came time to find the shaman’s successor his great grandsons would be called together for the ancient rite. They called it climbing a red mountain, and the one who survived their bloody trials would become the next shaman. Thirty years ago Oman had climbed the red mountain, and the ugly scars covering his entire body were his constant reminders.
CHAPTER 40
One morning a group of explorers accidentally discovered the island after a storm had blown them far off course. Since Maynard was the only white man on the island, the roguish crew of English seamen gravitated toward him for help, fearful of the company he kept and offering to take him with them as soon as they repaired their boat and replenished their lost supplies. They were shocked to find Maynard so content among the savages, that he preferred the loincloth and shell necklaces to the spare clothes they’d found on board for him.
The crew was only supposed to stay for a week after they made their vessel ready, but it soon turned into three weeks and then stretched to over a month. It was a welcome diversion from their hard life at sea and they didn’t want to leave. They made wine from the fruits and flowers they found growing abundantly up in the surrounding hills and fed nightly on wild boar. Many members of the tribe began to drink with them, and soon terrible fights were started, mostly over the women or imagined thefts of property.
When one of the crewmen was found screaming as he hung suspended above a bed of hot coals for attempting to force his lustful desires on a young native girl, the island exploded with violence. Natives were cut down with machetes or shot by muskets. When Oman tried to rescue his two grandsons and their mother from a burning hut, the crewmen tied him to a tree and made him watch as they slit his belly open and his insides spilled out in a shiny mass.
“Read your future in that,” spat the sailor who’d done the cutting.
At the time Charlie was paddling across the island’s hidden black lagoon after gathering herbs and other plants to use for healing purposes. He smelled smoke and turned around to see what was happening. Great flames were coming from the village and he heard distant screams. He pulled up to shore and ran to see what was happening. When he got to the village he found Oman half alive, trying desperately to wind his intestines around his wrist so he could shove them back into his gaping abdomen.
Oman knew he was dying but insisted that Maynard allow it to happen, even despite the possibility he might still be saved by their ancient practice.
“The ritual to heal me takes too long,” the old man said, pushing Maynard away. “The invaders need to be stopped before all is lost.”
“They won’t survive, Oman. They’re outnumbered, and those who swim for their ship are covered with blood that will be smelled by our brothers the sharks. They will be eaten alive...”
Oman stared at him with fading eyes and a wide smile. He could no longer speak to Maynard through his mouth but that didn’t stop him from communicating in his special way, mind to mind.
“You don’t know this. One of those devils could still escape and return later with hundreds of his kind... You must make certain this won’t happen and do what’s best for the tribe. My family has been taken away from me and there’s nothing left but my sorry bag of bones… That is the reason you were sent to this island. It is why I had the vision. The spirits knew this day would come...”
Oman bent forward and a stream of blood flowed from his mouth. Maynard helped lower him next to the trunk of the tree. The old shaman grabbed his water flask and rinsed his face. His dark skin had turned into a purplish hue.
“Only you can be my successor. You must find others that can be trusted with the knowledge. Take the gifts I’ve taught you and find some giant land where you can begin to reseed.”
Maynard’s face was slicked with tears. “But I have no family of my own.”
“Then you must create one, or find one whose heart is truly open to yours. Now leave me. I must die alone.”
“Please don’t send me away Oman.”
“It is what you must do, my friend. Don’t cry for me. My spirit will return to this island after I make my journey. Perhaps one day a seed of yours will return here to converse with me. But remember one thing before you go, Charlie. Do not allow your soul to house the two devils of hatred and revenge for very long. You must purify as soon as possible. We may need to live in the dark when it is absolutely necessary, but we must always return to the house of light after we’ve completed what was needed.”
Oman’s head fell against his shoulder and he died with his smile still on his face and his eyes turned toward his pupil as if he’d just posed a final riddle. His fist released his intestines and they uncoiled onto the ground like a restless snake.
Maynard wiped the tears from his eyes, kissed his tutor on the forehead and then took off running toward the beach where he could hear men shouting as they struggled to swim past the rough surf to their ship anchored in the bay.
CHAPTER 41
Years of living on the island had turned Charlie into a strong swimmer and it didn’t take him long to catch up with the retreating Englishmen. He carried an ivory blade between his teeth. Thick tendrils of smoke stretched out over the water, providing only brief periods of visibility. As soon as he came close enough behind his prey he’d dive beneath the surface of the foamy water and stroke as fast as he could, then shoot up below and lay the knife across the man’s throat without being seen.
The emerald green lagoon soon blossomed with concentrations of red. Sharks swam to the victims as they sank bleeding to the bottom holding their throats and ate them while they were still conscious. Others were able to make it to the boat and crawl inside, gasping for air. When Charlie finally swam up to the side of the boat he felt his heart sink.
Many more men had made it to the boat than he had anticipated. It would be impossible to kill them all, at least at this point in time. Charlie had no choice but to drop his knife before they saw it. Hands reached down and helped him aboard. The men stared at him suspiciously, and he saw some raise their weapons although it was obvious he was unarmed.
“What do you want here?” asked one of the men Charlie had seen setting fires to the huts. The man wore a patch over one eye.
“I want to go with you. I want to return to the civilized world.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not a heathen?”
“Aye. It was purely a matter of survival. If I had not adopted their ways my head would have been set on the end of a pike.”
“He�
�s lying!” said another man who looked anxious to cut him down with a long blade. “And even if he convinces you he’s not, he will still bring us bad luck if we take him back with us.”
“Let’s kill him!” cried a voice from the back of the crowd. But the man with the patch on his eye turned and motioned them to quiet down.
“Must I remind you I am the captain of this vessel now?” He turned back to Maynard. “Perhaps you can be of use to us. It appears our best navigator has been killed. If you can guide us through these murderous reefs then I will see to your safe passage.”
Maynard took the man’s hand without hesitation and shook it. “Then we have an accord, sir.”
Two weeks later the vessel sailed into an English port to be restocked with supplies. Those who recognized the ship thought something odd had happened to her crew. Other than the one-eyed captain and his strange American companion, no one else had left the ship.
Some passersby reported seeing strange hooded figures pacing the ship’s decks late at night. Serious attention came when a drunken sailor was found dying from stab wounds he claimed to have received from a hooded figure when he’d boarded the ship without permission. Even more remarkable about the sailor’s story was his insistence that his attacker was not a living man at all but the reanimated corpse of an old friend.
The truth, however, would remain elusive. By the time suspicions of some foul occurrence had reached the point where a local magistrate was awakened to the news, the ship had slipped quietly out of the harbor under a blanket of soupy fog, bound for the American Northwest.
CHAPTER 42
Except for Peggy, the other women and children had been rounded up and locked in the tool shed. It was hot in there, with its corrugated metal blistering to the touch. Marsh could hear their muffled cries for help. He took immense pleasure leading Peggy past them with a rifle barrel ground against her already throbbing skull.
She’ll do anything for me now. Anything she can to see her boy again...
When they came to the barn he opened the door and waved at her to go inside.
“It’s time for our little hayride, darling. Hope you’re up for a good time.”
Crying, Peggy froze in the doorway until he shoved her inside and shut the door behind them. He led her deeper into the barn where he tied her to a post covered with old horseshoes hanging from nails. Before leaving, he squeezed one of her breasts through her shirt. She shuddered and another hot wave of tears flowed from her face and pitted the dirt floor.
“Don’t you worry baby, I’ll be right back. Give you some time to get all hot and juicy.”
With the aid of his pickup and a length of rope, Marsh next pulled Wilbur around to the back of the barn where he wouldn’t be seen out in the open. The big man had tried his best. He’d stood up bravely to Marsh although it had been short lived. Now he was unconscious from two strikes to the head from Marsh’s rifle butt, but not before he’d been ordered to tie Peggy’s hands behind her back with his leather belt.
Marsh decided it was too early to kill the man. He’d gagged and tied him to a tree instead.
Stupid hick might still be useful later, he thought.
On his way back to the barn he stopped and drank some water from a rubber hose. He was thirsty as hell, and the cool water felt good over his burns. Then he remembered something he’d put in his shirt pocket and smiled as he pulled it out. It was the free boner pills he’d gotten in the mail. He’d been saving them for a special occasion just like this.
He popped the pills into his mouth and guzzled some more water. As he walked toward the barn, the cries coming from the tool shed made him grin. He felt a rush of heat to his crotch, the sense that his pants were tightening.
Oh this is going to be fun…
The faint light seeping into the barn reminded Marsh of twilight. He inhaled the rich aromas of cut hay and manure, reminding him of the first time he’d taken a woman into a barn back when he was still a senior in high school. She’d been a hitchhiker, to be exact. And there hadn’t been anyone around for miles to hear a thing on that stormy night, no one to worry about what had happened to the truck stop whore some had seen him give a ride to that afternoon...
This one he’d treat differently though. She was worth a taste first. Like a delicious new cigar he’d roll her around in his mouth and get her good and moist before he brought on the flame. Hell, she might even turn out to like it.
Before he untied her hands, he fastened the dog collar around her neck and attached it to a chain. The collar was still damp with the blood of Wilbur’s dog. After he was finished, Marsh knocked Peggy forward onto a pile of hay. She rolled over on her back and screamed while he glowered above her with the rifle.
“As soon as you’re finished I’ll need you to strip.”
CHAPTER 43
The highway sign told them Wrath Butte was another fifty miles. Having fallen asleep again, Robert awoke to Will holding a cup of coffee under his nose. He winced as he tried straightening up in his seat. Places other than just his hip were on fire now.
“Take those first,” Will said, pointing to two pills lying in the empty ashtray.
“What are they?”
“They’ll take care of the pain, but they won’t knock you out.”
Robert threw them into his mouth and then took the cup of coffee from Will’s hand. It wasn’t very hot anymore, but the bitterness gave him a nice jolt and sent the pills down his dry throat.
“Do you have any idea of where this farmhouse is we’re going to?”
Will pulled out a map he’d printed off and handed it over to Robert to look. “I had Mr. Frosty point out the area for me. It’s actually a little before Wrath Butte, so we don’t have a lot further to go.”
“Do you know the size of our welcoming party?” Robert asked.
“From what Frosty told me, not a lot. I figure we’ll have Marsh and maybe a couple guards to worry about.”
“That’s if Mr. Frosty was telling you the truth.”
“Oh, I think he was. He wasn’t too sure if I was ever going to pull him out of the freezer. I told him he’d better let me know everything before you woke up from your nap. The threat of dealing with you again seemed to work.”
“Did you get him to tell you what this was all about?”
“Not exactly. But I got the sense Marsh had promised him and the others some big payout if they kept working for him. He wasn’t exactly in the loop on most things.”
“Do you have any idea what we might expect?”
“Since Mr. Frosty has most likely tipped off Marsh already, I think they’ll be ready for us. How do you suppose we should do this?”
Robert drained his cup of coffee and studied the map spread out on his knees. “I think we should circle in a bit slowly and get a handle on what’s happening. It’s going to take more time than I want but it’s the best way I can think of.”
“And if Peggy and Connor are still there?”
“Then we’ll have to weigh our options.”
CHAPTER 44
Marsh pressed his burned face between Peggy’s breasts and moaned. His skin felt like a mask of hardened plastic. He reached down with his hand and slipped it under her panties. Then his fingers began to walk slowly over her pubic hair until they came to the cleft between her legs where they began to slide around in large coaxing circles.
Instead of trying to shut down her senses to what was happening to her, Peggy concentrated on every move the man made. She dug her hands down into the dry hay and felt around with her fingertips. When Marsh lowered his mouth over her nipple she felt his body relax as he got more lost in what he was doing.
As he sucked harder he removed his hand from between her legs and tried tugging down her panties. Peggy didn’t lift her waist to help him with the task and the panties came to a halt against her hipbones. Marsh tried pinching the fabric between his fingers and pulling down but his hands kept slipping. He lifted his head from her breast and slid over to he
r side and stared at her.
“Going to play hard to get, huh?” Pieces of straw stuck to the broken blisters on his face.
Peggy shook her head and closed her eyes. Her fingers had found the thing she’d been looking for in the straw. She grasped it tightly and waited…
Marsh’s hand went back down to complete the task of pulling off her panties. He turned his head and watched the veil of silk inch tantalizingly over her pubis, groaning with delight until Peggy’s hand shot up from behind and cracked him in the temple with a rusted horseshoe.
“You bitch!” Marsh screamed. He made the mistake of turning his head around to face her. This time Peggy smashed him between the eyes before she lost her grip on the horseshoe.
When Marsh sat up electrical sparks swirled at the corners of his vision and every beat of his heart brought with it another shade of darkness. He gazed down at several Peggy’s lying naked on the hay below him and got lost in the shifting kaleidoscope. He clasped his hands together to form an anvil and swung it down with all his weight behind it.
And hit only the bed of straw below him…
Peggy had acted fast. She was swimming across the golden pool of hay now in a shiny pink blur.
Marsh saw the leather leash trailing behind her and reached down and grabbed it. He heard her choke as it snapped back her head. But she didn’t stop moving, not even as the dog collar bit into her skin and the strap of leather burst hotly through Marsh’s hand, taking with it a layer of his palm.
Unable to comprehend what had just happened, Marsh held his hand up to his face and stared at the raw bloody patch. He heard a sound and looked up. Peggy was aiming his rifle at his head.
Is this how the show ends?
