by Anna Lowe
Why would Tina want to meet him at Diablo Mine and not at the ranch? A thousand possible scenarios ran through his mind as he fired up his pickup and set off on the drive. He didn’t notice the dog trying to follow until about a mile down the road, when he caught a glimpse of the dejected mutt panting wildly in the rearview mirror. He was about to pull over to wait, but by then Tex had given up, so he drove on alone. No time to wait now, because his veins were itching with urgency. More and more with every mile of the long and lonely road up into the hills. Something was wrong.
The whole thing felt strange. Tina, texting but not calling? Meeting him at a place like this?
He parked the car at the top of Dead Horse Bluff, his least favorite place in the world, and looked around. Nothing. Nobody. He sat behind the wheel, stroking a thumb against his chest for a good minute after shutting the engine off.
Not a thing, except maybe buzzards and ghosts.
He got out and eyed the cliff. Wondered for the hundredth time about his father’s death. Wondered why Tina would ever meet him in a godforsaken place like this.
Maybe she was still on her way. He looked around, hoping to see a plume of rising dust that signaled the approach of a car on these back roads. But there was nothing. Nothing but him, a thousand square miles of slumbering desert, and that leaden feeling in his gut.
Must talk to you. Urgent!
His eyes wandered to the boarded-up entrance to the mine, and he did a double take. The couple of old boards that had blocked the mine entrance lay discarded on the ground, and a black hole yawned.
Why was the mine open?
His stride grew longer, more urgent, then shortened again as he approached the mine.
Never go near there, you understand? It’s a bad, bad place. His father’s warnings rang in his ears.
Would Tina venture in there? Would she dare?
“Hello?” he called quietly into the darkness.
-ello… -llo, came the ghostly echo.
He listened. Nothing. “Tina?”
-ina… -ina…
A shiver rippled down his spine.
No. No way would Tina venture down there. Why would she? Why would anyone come to this godforsaken place? The only person who’d been up here lately was Dale and—
His thoughts screeched to a halt, spinning wildly. So wildly, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him before it was too late.
“Looking for someone?”
He spun and there on his blind side was Dale. Dale and a double-barreled shotgun, pointed at his chest.
Dale spat a wad of tobacco on the ground and grinned. A twisted, ugly grin of blackened teeth behind cracked lips.
“Dale,” Rick grunted, slowly raising his hands.
“No one up here but you, me, and the crows,” Dale chuckled.
Rick held perfectly still, though his eyes darted around.
“Looking for this?” Dale held out a phone. Tina’s phone. How did he get his hands on that?
Rick stared at him. Dale sent the text? Then where was Tina?
The panic must have been written on his face, because Dale laughed. “Nah, she ain’t here. But maybe I ought to invite her up here later. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I could use your phone for that…” Rick could see the gears spinning in Dale’s head as the wicked smile stretched. “Maybe I’ll invite the little lady up here to peek over the edge of the cliff. What do you think about that?”
Rick froze at the triumphant tone in the man’s voice.
Dale’s smile turned into a sneer. “Accidents do happen, you know.”
Dale might as well have run cold steel through Rick’s gut.
“You did it. You killed my father.” His voice was the only thing that felt steady right now. Why would anyone want that gentle soul dead?
Dale shrugged. “Not my fault he came snooping around here.”
The cold air of the mine tickled Rick’s back as his mind raced. So many thoughts and emotions at one time, it was all a flash of colors. Blazing red was for the rage shaking his bones. The sinking black hole in his gut was grief. And the ivory blur was fear. Not for himself, but for Tina. What if Dale really did lure her up here?
“You killed my father over some leftover gold?” Who would do such a thing?
Dale cackled. “Like this mine’s got any gold that’s worth my time.”
Worth his time? How much did Dale reckon a washed-up cowboy’s time was worth?
Dale worked up a glob of phlegm and spat before ranting on. “This is why you’re such a shitty manager. Don’t know nothing about the value of the land. The land under this ranch.”
Rick studied Dale. There was that water drilling issue the Hawthornes were so worried about. Was Dale behind that, too? “You killed my father over water rights?”
Dale grimaced. “Water! You think this is about water? Not even his life was worth that little.”
The only thing that kept Rick from charging and throttling the man was the rifle pointed at his chest.
The barrel swung briefly toward the mine shaft then back at Rick. “The water is just the start. Uranium is where the big money is.”
Rick froze. There’d been talk of uranium among local ranchers for years, but the Seymours had always been dead set against it.
Don’t you know what terrible things uranium is used for? Lucy used to protest, pressing a hand against her chest.
The Seymours had been strong enough to resist trading their morals for big money. Dale, on the other hand…
The older man’s face twisted into a frown. “Back up.” He jerked the barrel of the gun. “Back up.”
Rick didn’t have much choice but to pick his way backward. Slowly, while his mind raced to come up with some survival plan. Would Dale really shoot him? The answer was in the man’s bloodshot eyes. Rick had heard that murder was easier the second time around. And if he was the second, the third time would be even easier, and that would be Tina.
He shook his head. Think! Think!
Delay. He needed to delay Dale while thinking up some plan.
“What would make my father snoop around here at all?” he asked.
Dale aimed between his eyes. “Just back up.”
Another step, and now he was in the shade of the mine entrance. One more, and the outside world was already a tunnel, far, far away. He wondered if his father had overheard a phone call, or maybe caught a glimpse of a map. Asked an innocent question and set off a nightmare.
A nightmare a lot like this. Rick eyed the beams supporting the mine shaft. All of them were hand-hewn timbers from another age. Could he grab one and take a swing at Dale?
Right, and collapse the mine on top of yourself. Try again.
His foot rolled over a loose stone. Maybe that. He wasn’t much of a pitcher, but he sure as hell could hurl one of those if he needed to.
“Golden boy thinks he can just waltz back home and take charge,” Dale started to rant. “Well, I got news for you. This ranch is mine, and I’m not gonna sit around while you ruin—”
An ungodly moan came up from the depths of the mine. A moan that stretched into a low, continuous growl just like that of the previous night.
Rick’s heart rate jumped into triple time as he whipped around to squint into the darkness.
“What the…” Dale muttered.
Shale crunched under Dale’s boots as he backed toward daylight.
“Nuh-uh,” the foreman jerked the rifle back up when Rick followed. “You stay right there.”
The growl deepened and grew nearer. If the beast had been miles down in the maze of darkness before, it felt much closer now. As in, just-around-the-bend close.
Rick stepped toward Dale, ignoring the gun.
“I said—” Dale started. The syllables echoed down the mine, but all Rick heard was the growl. The growl that had just cleared a corner, along with two glowing red eyes. Every nerve in Rick’s body stretched to the breaking point as he fought the instinct to flee.
“Shit,” Dal
e blurted, raising the barrel of his shotgun.
Jesus, what had Dale unleashed in reopening this mine?
An engine sounded outside—another vehicle pulling up. It screeched to a stop and a door slammed.
A voice called into the mine. “Rick?”
He could have screamed. Tina. No! Not here! Not now!
“Rick?” she called again. He could see her silhouette in the entrance, backlit by the sun.
“Get away, Tina! Get away!”
The angry growl deepened as the beast coiled to spring. Rick could sense it even in the dark. Another horrible bellow sounded, followed by a shuffling, angry step.
Prepare to die, the beast might as well have announced.
Click-click. Dale cocked the rifle.
“Don’t!” Rick shouted as the tight-lipped growl became a bared-teeth snarl. Shooting whatever it was seemed about as smart as shooting a charging grizzly.
“Rick!” Tina screamed.
“Don’t!” Rick yelled, waving at Dale.
Dale raised the rifle and squinted down the barrel exactly as the beast leaped.
Boom! The rifleshot thundered through the mine.
Rick leaped aside just as searing heat ripped across his shoulder.
“Rick!” Tina screamed.
The beast roared. The beams supporting the roof creaked. Rick flattened himself against a wall as the beast hurtled through his blind spot and out into the daylight.
Another shout rang out. A second thunderbolt of a shot.
Rick staggered to his feet as horrible screams sounded outside as the beast tore into its prey.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The beast had pushed Dale out into the daylight, and Rick had no choice but to stumble along in its wake. Tina was out there, too, and somehow, he had to get her to safety. The fire in his shoulder didn’t matter. The beast didn’t matter. Only Tina did.
The whole world zoomed down to the light at the end of that mine shaft, and he staggered toward it.
An overhead beam groaned. The roof shook, raining dirt as Rick ran in a crouch.
Dale screamed in a desperate, barely human voice as the beast ripped into his flesh.
“Rick!” Tina’s higher voice cried.
Overhead beams screeched in agony as the roof caved in.
Rick shot forward, half an inch ahead of a collapsing beam. His ears filled with the sounds of a hellstorm: crashing timbers, rumbling earth, the tearing of sharp teeth into mortal flesh. Dale screamed horribly, then whimpered, and finally moaned.
Rick’s eyes seared in the sudden daylight. The fire in his shoulder flared. Everything blurred, including the grunting, angry shape that must have been the beast, finishing off Dale.
Tina? Where was Tina?
“Rick!” An urgent whisper reached his ears. A thin hand closed around his. “Quick!”
A warm rush filled his veins, because it was Tina, and that meant there was hope. For her, for him. For them.
She yanked him in the direction of her car.
“Tina!” He spun to catch her as she sprawled over one of the discarded planks that should have been boarding up the mine.
The second he pulled her to her feet, everything went silent. Deathly silent. They both froze and turned at the same time.
The beast rose slowly from Dale’s limp body. Its muzzle was flecked with blood and foam as if it were rabid, except rabid animals didn’t have eyes that glowed in broad daylight. It moved slowly, confidently, honing in on them. Stopping when it located them. Focusing.
Rick’s eyes found their focus, too, and he almost wished he hadn’t.
“Hellhound,” Tina whispered.
Rick just nodded, because even if he’d never believed in the old stories about demons, he sure believed now. It was a wolf, though not quite a wolf, because it was big and black and crooked, and fire blazed in its eyes. Hair stuck out in all directions from a pelt that might have been dragged through a sooty creek.
The hellhound’s teeth parted in a bloody grin. The red-stained jaws clacked once. Twice. You’re next.
If Rick had been alone, he might have panicked. But next was fine with him, because it meant Tina might just be spared.
Act! Save her! Fast!
On instinct, he dipped to grab one of the loose pieces of wood. A two-by-four which felt satisfyingly familiar in his hand. He straightened in the same fluid motion and pushed Tina behind him, toward the car. Bared his own teeth at the hellhound, because this wasn’t time for calm and cool and rational, the way he’d always stepped up to the plate. Who cared if his shoulder screamed with every movement?
Mine! Rick let his whole body roar the message. He stood, swinging his makeshift club in defiance.
“Rick! Don’t!” Tina cried, tugging at his shirt.
He shoved her—really shoved, and it hurt just to think he had to do that to her. But if he didn’t, she would die.
“Get to the car,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Lock yourself in.”
The beast growled and advanced one carefully measured step.
That’s right, you mangy mutt. Rick weighed the two-by-four in his hands. Come right this way.
The hellhound’s snarls hit a dangerously low pitch as it advanced, step by step.
“Rick, don’t!” Tina tried.
He shook his head. “Get to the—”
The rest was garbled, because the hound leaped, hurtling right at his throat, lightning fast.
Good thing he was faster. Rick swung that two-by-four with every muscle in his body, putting his hips into the rotation, plus his shoulders and elbows and everything else, and swung like he’d never swung before. There was a resounding crack and a surprised yelp as the wood connected and the beast crashed into the ground.
Rick had exactly one half-second to feel the triumph before the beast rolled and turned those twin fireballs on him.
You die.
Rick’s lungs tightened just a little bit, making his next breath shaky, but he stood his ground. Brought the two-by-four to his shoulder with a taunting little shake that would have rattled the most seasoned pitcher in the league.
The beast roared and jumped again.
He swung, and this time, the crack was louder.
The beast rolled and batted away the broken half of two-by-four that had splintered in Rick’s hands.
Shit.
Tina lunged to his side and started pulling him away. With an ear-splitting bellow, the beast sprung. Not at Rick. At Tina, as if the creature knew how to get him where it counted most.
Something roared in Rick’s ears—maybe even his own voice—as he dove and pushed her out of the way. He came to a slamming halt against a rock, and his vision blurred and split into two. He saw two Tinas, scrambling to her feet. Two hellhounds, baring a hell of lot of teeth. Four blazing eyes that promised a painful death. Red-stained muzzles still dripping Dale’s blood.
It leaped at him, and he threw an arm up in defense. The beast took the target in its jaws and clamped down.
Fireworks rocketed through his body in a flash of pain. One startlingly calm part of his brain calculated that the beast would rip that arm right out of its socket if he didn’t do something fast. It’d rip his arm off, then tear out his throat, then go for Tina.
Not happening, he told himself. Just not happening.
A sliver of saliva dropped from the beast’s gums, searing his skin like acid. Telling him to give up and give in.
Never giving in.
With a mighty heave, he flipped the hound away and rolled free. Grabbed another piece of wood with his good hand, because the arm bitten by the hellhound hung limp and useless at his hip.
The hound’s jaws parted. You see? I said you will die.
He growled right back. Yes, he’d die. But not before he knew Tina was safe.
“Get to the car!” he muttered to Tina, and damn it, he meant it this time.
He raised the wood, ready at bat, and smiled a crazy smile at the nails sticking
out of the end. Yeah, that would hurt the mutt when it connected.
The hellhound showed its teeth and jumped. The weight of the beast sent Rick flying.
Everything melted together: the sights, the smells, the sounds. The patchy black fur of the beast, the glow of its eyes. The molten lava breath. The roar of the beast from two inches away. Tina’s shrill scream…
For an awful, piercing minute, he thought the beast had gotten to her, because her voice went from a scream to a grumble, then built back to a roar. It went from high-pitched and feminine to gritty and mean. But Tina had to be safe, because the hellhound was on top of him, not her, and he’d wrestle the thing straight into tomorrow if it meant she could get away.
Still, something was happening where Tina stood. But he didn’t dare glance her way, because the beast had his injured arm again. Rick worked his good arm up and clamped his fingers around the beast’s throat, watching with satisfaction as the animal’s eyes widened, registering the pain. He might die at the jaws of this beast, but a least he’d have the satisfaction of not backing down.
The hound’s claws raked his chest, drawing blood. A lot of blood—he could feel it seep into his shirt, all sticky and warm. The eyes glowed brighter, like the beast knew he was going to win, and the jaws closed in on his neck.
Inevitable, the beast’s eyes said. I said I would win.
Well, the fucker hadn’t won yet. Rick shoved with everything he had left, and the beast tumbled over his shoulder, leaving him to blink at the sky. The endless blue sky of Arizona, pale and shimmery and oh so beautiful, now that he was looking at it for the last time. He flopped his head right, hoping to see Tina jumping into the car, ready to make her escape. Surely, he’d bought her enough time. Surely, she’d get away. Or maybe her family would swoop in like the cavalry right about now, armed to the teeth with a dozen shotguns to blast the hellhound into a thousand tiny bits.
He looked at Tina, then let his eyes slide shut to refocus, because something was wrong. He was all mixed up, because he was seeing a coyote where Tina should have been. No, bigger than a coyote—a wolf. A trim, black-brown wolf.
Goddamn eyesight, playing tricks on him again.
