by Dennis Yates
The campfire was now a bed of coals. Realizing they were in no immediate danger, Will told Peggy and Connor to help look for any clues they could find.
On an old log bench next to the fire, Peggy discovered a message written in charcoal. She recognized Robert’s shorthand from the shopping lists he always left himself on the refrigerator back home.
“What’s it say?” Will asked.
“He says he’s with three men and they’re all armed. They’ve headed for the glacier.”
“I was afraid of that.”
CHAPTER 57
“That’s them,” Chester said before handing his binoculars over to Marsh, “It looks like they’re almost done too.”
Marsh had untied Robert’s wrists so he could walk easier. Not because he cared much if Robert fell on his face, but he didn’t want him slowing them down either.
The full moon had finally risen—a giant anemic sun that soon turned blood-orange by the smoke of wildfires. It was the biggest lunar display Robert had ever seen. As it glided higher up into the sky, ice crystals on the snowy slopes glistened like red diamonds until the entire mountain was bathed in crimson.
They were climbing a red mountain.
****
“Maybe two to three bags left to go,” Carol told Marco over the radio.
“Excellent. I’ll wait to pull it all up. When I’m done I’ll come down and help the team put our outlaw back where he belongs.”
Marco finished fastening some bags to a sled, then waited for the next tug on the line to let him know the last load was ready to be hauled up. All told, the research party had collected eight bags of gold coin and many gold bars.
It had all been so easy. Marco sat down and opened his pack to check on something. Inside was a small explosive charge, a device he was quite familiar with. He stood up and walked back over to the edge of the crevasse. The upper ten feet of ice was mostly darkened by shadow although the red moonlight seeped in wherever it could. When he peered into the very bottom of the crevasse he could see the phantom blue of glow sticks set out to guide the crew across the treacherous shelf.
Almost done…
He checked the explosive device again. He tried to decide what to set the detonator clock for so he’d have enough time to get away in case of a cave in. Part of him didn’t want to leave Carol behind. Although he knew it would never last, he’d grown to like her. Except there was just one problem. Marco didn’t like to share. And he didn’t like loose ends either…
He was about to start the timer when he thought he’d heard something behind him. At first he didn’t see anything until he noticed a thin beam of light against the snow. He walked toward it and found a flashlight.
What the hell?
He checked to see if it was his own, but his was still attached to his belt. Someone must have dropped it and it rolled away, he thought. One more thing you don’t need to draw any attention. Especially not now. When he bent over to pick it up he noticed a long shadow flickering behind him.
He straightened up quickly and turned around.
“Who’s there?” Marco asked forcefully. He was getting scared. Ever since he first set eyes on the frozen man he’d been having strange sensations of someone following him.
As he swung the light around, he drew his knife and held it out before him.
“Come out you son of a bitch. Let Marco teach you a lesson.”
It might have worked in the toughest barrios back home, but out here he didn’t know with whom he was dealing. There were large black outcroppings of rock the beam couldn’t reach, and for a moment Marco thought he saw a shadow crouching on top of one. He grabbed the sled handle and pulled it closer to him.
“If you don’t want any trouble, go back to where you came from. I’m sure your mama still has some warm milk waiting for you in her big ugly tits.”
Marco stood still, waiting to catch the slightest movement. He was quickly growing tired of this game. He soon convinced himself that the stalker was a figment of his imagination, a product of his growing paranoia.
You’re going to fuck this up if you don’t stay focused...
Marco shrugged the phantoms off with a tight smile. He turned away from the rock outcropping to gaze at the sled packed with gold.
He was going to be rich. Not filthy rich but damn close. A year from now he’d be sitting on a perfect white sand beach with a bucket of Coronas just like they did in the television commercials. He’d be living under a different name and would have almost as many women at hand as he did chilled beers.
Shots rang out, echoing against the rock and ice.
Marco fell forward onto the sled, struck in the back, while blood-tipped feathers from his down jacked took flight into the night air. He rolled over, groaning. He tried to sit up but the pain was too intense. A few minutes later he saw the figures of two men walking up the slope toward him, their faces obscured by puffs of steam.
Who were they?
Marco knew he was dying. Death had been following him, annoying him all day with its dark hands reaching from the edges. He’d dismissed the inky clots in his peripheral vision as something to do with sun glare and tired retinas. Instead of focusing solely and recklessly on the gold he should have paid more attention to his senses. If he had known in time, then maybe he could have protected himself in the way his great aunt had once taught him.
Now it was too late. Maybe back in the barrios of home he would have had a chance to go down with machismo, taken out a couple of murdering thugs with him and left a lasting impression on the neighborhood. But here, high up on a mountain, he wasn’t even going to get the satisfaction. Because in a country he’d so easily charmed his way around, some fucking cabron had decided to shoot him with a rifle.
Legs trembling badly, he dug his heels into the ice and kicked away, forcing his body and the sled over the edge of the crevasse. For even in death Marco did not plan to share…
CHAPTER 58
They could have waited and picked off the thieves as they emerged from the crevasse, but Marsh no longer had the patience. And besides, there weren’t a lot of hours left until sunrise. Using the ropes already set in place by Marco, the four men climbed down to the lighted ice shelf below.
Halfway down into the glacier they found a loaded sled jammed into a tight crevasse. It would take some time pulling out. Chester set about lowering himself down to it so he could attach a line. The other three followed the trail of glow sticks leading to the shrine. Marsh forced Robert to walk in front of them so he could test the safety of the ice.
****
Carol and her crew had heard a crash but assumed it was the glacial ice adjusting itself. The eyes of the man who’d come out of the ice had stared up at her, giving her the creeps before Marco tossed a canvas sheet over him. Carol thought there was something obscene about hacking the corpse out of the ice like they did, despite Marco’s assurances he’d be put back as soon as they were finished.
The whole idea wasn’t setting right with her. Even though she had no idea who the man once was, Carol felt guilty about leaving him behind, as if they were somehow violating his right to be known to the world again. But as Marco had pointed out, the frozen man was dead and they were not. He would never be able to buy a new life with his treasure, but they could.
It made perfect sense. But still…
As much as she liked Marco, Carol had been recently unsure of how much longer she wanted their affair to last. She knew the only way he’d be able to stay in the country would be if she married him, and she wasn’t prepared for that. There were lingering feelings for her ex-husband needing to be sorted out and she didn’t like the fact that Marco still wasn’t as open about his life as she had been with him. He could sometimes be very touchy about his past if she pressed him about it. At first she’d thought it was kind of thrilling to wonder what he was hiding from her. Now it had simply become an annoyance.
“This is the last of it. Let’s get out of here,” one of her stu
dents said as he hoisted on his backpack and lumbered out with the final load of gold. But a few moments later he was backing into the shrine with his arms raised in front of him, pleading with Marsh and Billy not to shoot.
“Just stay calm college boy. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Billy said.
“What’s going on?” Carol shouted. She stepped forward and put herself between her student and the two rifle barrels.
Where the hell was Marco?
“We’re here to take what belongs to us,” Marsh said.
“The gold doesn’t belong to you,” Carol said. “We were here first. Now go away and leave us alone.”
Robert edged between the two men so she could see his face. He saw her eyes sweep over his bruises and scrapes, watched as she realized he couldn’t be there voluntarily. Would she trust him?
“Let them have what they’ve come for,” Robert told her.
“What?” Carol stared at him, confused. Then Marsh whipped around and struck Robert in the face with his rifle stock, causing him to crumple to the ground. Marsh glared down at him and spat on the ice.
“Don’t you ever interfere with my business again, Crain.”
Carol screamed, and the others began to shout at Marsh to stop.
His face a bloody mess, Robert pried his head up from the ice to warn them before he saw the legs of Marsh and Billy move past him and suddenly his ears were deafened by the thunder of rifles exploding, white flashes and the screams of people hopelessly trying to seek cover. Robert covered his face and choked. A cordite cloud hung in the air like fog, burning his eyes and throat.
Robert wasn’t sure how long he’d passed out. It was eerily quiet as the cloud oozed out of the room, revealing the carnage left behind. He felt Marsh and Billy grab him from under his arms and drag him across the shrine through an obstacle course of dead bodies before they dropped him hard onto the bloody mirror of ice.
“Holy shit,” he heard Marsh say after he’d removed the canvass from Maynard’s frozen remains. Robert tried opening his eyes but everything was way too blurry when he attempted to focus. He lowered his head upon the cooling sheet of blood and felt himself begin to drift off once again.
“Sure is an ugly son of a bitch,” Billy said as he moved to get a better look at Maynard. “I wonder how long ago he died down here?”
Marsh stared into the face he sometimes saw when Jared Horn’s ghost was really messing with his head. A grin spread slowly across his blistered mouth while his eyes danced like moths trapped inside a hot lantern.
At last…
“What is it Walker?”
Marsh didn’t hear Billy at all, and glanced around at the ceiling of the shrine, laughing with nervous relief. It was fucking over. After all this bullshit the time had finally come to collect his paycheck and head for Reno, maybe find a plastic surgeon to patch him up before he went on a binge of drinking and whoring. Even god won’t be able to save the world from me now!
Marsh pulled off his hat and spoke politely to the ghost he could not see but felt was close.
“Look Horn, I’ve done what you’ve asked… I’ve lived up to my responsibilities, delivered to you your rightful kin. I’m just going to take what I’m owed now and leave. It’s what was agreed.”
Marsh waited for a response but none came. He could hear the sharp clang of Chester setting hooks in the ice with his hammer and the moan of the wind as it blew across the lip of the crevasse. Marsh didn’t know if it was a sign Horn had completely vacated the premises of his skull for good or was waiting for him to make a punishable mistake. He could never predict when the ghost would be in the mood to inflict pain.
“Speak to me!” Marsh repeated over and over, while Billy slunk around the research team and quietly stole the rings and watches from their stiffening bodies.
Marsh soon tired of Horn’s game of hide and seek. He told Billy they should just get the gold and leave.
“It’s going to be light soon, and god knows how long it’s going to take us to get off this mountain.”
“What about him?” Billy asked.
Marsh toed Robert’s head with a blood soaked boot. He was alive, but barely conscious.
“He’s not our problem anymore.”
****
After Chester secured a line to the sled, he’d had the feeling that someone was watching him. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. When he climbed back up to the ice shelf from a different route than the one he’d come, he found Marco impaled on a giant stalagmite of pure blue ice. The Argentinean was pierced through the stomach, and his arms were wrapped around it as if he’d actually attempted the impossible task of pulling himself up to freedom. Chester observed he’d made it maybe an inch or two before giving out. Quite a feat for a man who’d already been shot in the back first.
Amazing what a man is capable of doing over a bunch of gold, he mused. He’d enjoyed Marco’s brave attempt at scaring them off, had even felt a little sorry for him when Marsh decided he’d had enough and shot him.
The surface of the stalagmite below Marco glowed more pink than blue. His eyes remained opened, and already Chester could see they were beginning to freeze.
****
Robert could hear them coming. As his mind drifted within the cavern of the ice shrine, he’d heard footfalls on the glacier surface far above him echoing down like some kind of weird sonar. The sounds grew louder and soon he was able to make out what he believed to be familiar voices calling his name.
Peggy. Will. Connor.
Am I dead?
There was no way to be sure. How could he verify anything? He felt the frozen man begin to stir his mind. Thoughts of death or his would-be rescuers began to blur and lose significance. The frozen man was preparing a stew within Robert’s head. Dropping in pieces of memory, adding pinches of this and that, until he turned up the heat to bring it all to a raging boil...
Robert’s body became as hot as molten lead, until the ice below him began to give way and he sank into it like a spear through flesh, passing through the mountain’s heart and heading for the core truth of its being.
He forgot about those above who were still calling his name…
****
Peggy and Connor had collapsed on the silt-grayed snow and gulped painfully for air. Will gave them water, told them to try and relax their lungs for awhile. He’d never seen two people so determined in his life. He’d begged them to stay back in Wrath Butte where they’d be warm and safe, even went as far as saying it would be what Robert would want.
But they wouldn’t buy it. They refused to even consider the idea of turning back. And despite the exhaustion racking their muscles and surrounding their eyes with dark circles, Peggy and Connor’s unwavering obsession of finding Robert appeared greater than ever.
Fortunately he’d talked them into stopping in at a sporting goods store on the way up to the mountain. They’d at least been able to find some warm jackets and hats, some bottled water, beef jerky and chocolate bars. Being still the hottest period of summer, the grizzled owner had no gloves in stock, or at least that was his excuse. Will had hoped for some rope and better footwear for Peggy and the boy but he only found flashlights and a couple boxes of matches. They’d shopped frantically while the worried owner stood near the counter with his eyes screwed up hard.
The man didn’t ask them any questions while he rang them up, but he seemed terribly nervous. Peggy was certain she’d seen him pick up his phone once the clang of reindeer bells announced they’d left the store.
“I hope he called the Sheriff,” She’d told him when they were back on the highway. “Maybe it’ll back up the call I made earlier, because I got a bad feeling that dispatcher I talked to thought I was a crank.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Will had said.
Nugget prodded Will’s leg with her nose and eyed the canteen in his hand. Will unscrewed the cap and dribbled some water onto her tongue. He glanced at the dim blue lights further up the glacier.
CHAPTER 59
Few had the constitution to undertake a witch doctor’s teachings. After completing the task of killing two of their great cousins, some men would lose their minds and try to commit suicide. Others would be hurt so badly they could do nothing but curse at their great grandfather and the horrific tradition that had put blood on their hands. The lucky ones were those who hadn’t grown up being friends with their great cousins. The ones that had were the most tortured of all.
Oman had nearly died when some of the most grievous wounds he’d received had become infected. One of the two cousins he’d killed had been a childhood friend. They’d played in the jungle and fished in the bay, unaware their blood connection would one day demand a violent end to one of their lives. Afterwards, Oman had suffered from a great fever, but while he began to hallucinate he started to see how everything fit together—his people and their home on the island and the need to return their thanks with the spilled blood of brave young men. He realized that abandoning the painful tradition would tear his people apart from the very fabric that wove them into the soul of the island.
Maynard’s initiation had been the most brutal anyone on the island could recall. He was the first outsider to have ever been considered. Since he had no great cousins to fight, Oman chose three of the islands most prodigious young men to hunt him down and kill him. But Maynard had learned his way around the island by then, and he had developed many of the island’s skills. Eleven days after the community had seen him disappear into the jungle with three men not far behind, Maynard finally returned late one evening while the tribe was gathered around a giant bonfire, anxious for news. To the shock of everyone he carried with him his hunters’ smoke-cured faces on a long piece of twine.
