Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2)

by Gary Williams

  Tolen considered what Fawn had witnessed. When the Serpent attacked Reggie Tinney and regurgitated the man’s remains onto the dock, they were steaming.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Bar remarked.

  “I had already assumed he was dead.”

  “Well, I bet you didn’t know this: Dr. Falls’ boat was discovered on the outskirts of Green Cove Springs. It was in the woods, found by a couple of hunters. There were traces of body lymph and blood on the back floorboard. The coroner has confirmed they’re the remains of Kira Compton.”

  “Have you been able to reach that FWC officer, Melanie Canstar?”

  “No, and neither has anyone at the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.”

  Tolen was aware of Curt staring at him from across the room. “Bar, hold one moment.” Tolen cupped the phone and turned to Curt. “Your ex-wife’s boat was found in the woods outside of town. There was blood on the floorboard. It belonged to the graduate assistant, Kira Compton.”

  “There was no blood in the boat when Officer Canstar brought it to the dock. You saw it.” Curt put his hand to his head. “Wait, the back floorboard was covered by tarp, and there was a smell. Why would an FWC officer hide evidence?”

  “An FWC officer wouldn’t,” Tolen returned to the call. “Bar, I need you to look for any commonalities between the victims in the area whose remains were found; specifically, Clarence Little, Kira Compton, Jack Turner, Joe Redman, and Reggie Tinney.” Tolen turned toward the window and spoke low so that Curt wouldn’t hear him mention his ex-wife’s name. “Contrast this group to the second group whose remains have not been found: Dr. Lila Falls, Tonya Turner, Rufus Tinney, and Barton Rifold.”

  “Tolen, what in the hell are you dealing with down there?”

  “Something I’m still trying to wrap my mind around.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Tolen had just hung up from speaking with Tiffany Bar when she called back.

  “Tolen, I may have found something of interest. I had a tech review thermal satellite photos of the Green Cove Springs area recorded last night. She found what appears to be a camp north of you. It’s on a narrow creek off the St. Johns River. This could be your Cult of the End buddies.”

  “How do you know it’s not just some hunters or fishermen?”

  “Based on the size of the campfire and the number of people, it looks like there are no less than twelve.”

  “Still not conclusive, Bar.”

  “You’re a hard sell, Tolen,” Tiffany mused. “Okay, how about the fact that they had four men posted on the edge of camp. In each picture, they were repositioned, as if they were sentinels guarding the perimeter of the camp the entire night while the others slept?”

  “Now, you’ve convinced me. Please send the coordinates to my phone.”

  Tolen hung up and grabbed his keys off the counter. “I may have a lead on the location of the Cult of the End. I’ll be back,” he said to Curt and Fawn. Tolen happened to glance out the back window again. He stopped, staring at the river.

  That can’t be.

  “What’s the matter?” Curt asked.

  Tolen didn’t answer. His mind was searching for a plausible explanation for what he saw. He walked out the back door, vaguely aware that Curt and Fawn followed him. Tolen moved through the grass, keeping his eyes locked. When he reached the ramp leading to the dock, he didn’t slow until he had walked to the end of the short dock. He looked at the piles of the adjacent boat lift.

  He still couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

  “Tolen, are you going to let us in on what has your attention?” Curt asked.

  He pointed to the waterline on the pile. “The tide is rising.”

  “The St. Johns is a tidal river,” Fawn remarked.

  “It reached high tide two hours ago,” Tolen said looking at his watch. “It should be falling.”

  “The tide falls for about six and a half hours after reaching high tide. It can’t possibly be coming back in after only two hours,” Curt said.

  “Exactly,” Tolen said.

  CHAPTER 54

  Scott’s concern had risen to near panic. Relentlessly, he drove the local neighborhoods, called hospitals and Kay’s cell phone. It was as if they had vanished off the face of the earth. He had called the police department and asked them to be on the lookout for Kay’s license plate.

  So far, there had been nothing.

  Scott had come to a stop sign at an intersection in one of the quiet nearby neighborhoods. He looked down at the oversized, bulky envelope the mailman had delivered. It was addressed to “The Marks” in handwriting with no return address. Curiously, he grabbed it and ripped it open. He reached inside and felt a hard round object, which he withdrew.

  He was surprised by what he pulled out. It appeared to be a large emerald. He held it up at eye level to examine it. Sunlight dipped in through the front windshield, sending green flecks of light reflecting off the stone into Scott’s eyes. He blinked and lowered it. Could this be the stone that Curt mentioned the cult was after?

  Scott checked the envelope. It was empty. He had no idea who had sent him the stone or why.

  Just then, his cell phone rang. He felt instant relief when he saw the number. It was Kay calling. “Where have you guys been?” he answered. “The riverhome was ransacked, and I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “That’s touching. Really,” a male voice said nonchalantly. “Now listen to me, do exactly as I say, and you will see your family alive. You deviate from my instructions, and I’ll personally slit the throats of all three of them.”

  Scott’s rage erupted. “You sonofabitch! Who are you, and what have you done with them?”

  “That’s a useless question. Use your head, Mr. Marks. Are you going to allow your unchecked emotions to be the reason your family perishes?”

  Scott struggled to maintain his composure, but remained silent.

  “Good. Now, I know you have the stone. There’s no use denying it. Lawton Sawyer told us he mailed it to you. Bring the stone to Trout Creek this evening at 8 p.m. Come by boat, and come alone. If you violate anything I say, I promise you these three will become crab fodder.”

  Before Scott could respond, the line went dead.

  A car horn behind startled him. Scott was still sitting at the stop sign. He floored the gas pedal and turned into a nearby driveway, waited for the vehicle behind to pass, then turned around. He gunned the engine, turned onto the main road without slowing, and headed in the direction of the riverhome.

  With a shaking hand, Scott called Curt.

  “Any luck finding Kay and the kids?” Curt asked as he answered.

  “They have them, Curt. I can’t believe they have them,” his voice was weak. Scott was in agony.

  “Who? The Cult of the End?”

  “I think so.”

  “Why? What do they want?”

  “They want the stone, the emerald. I have it, Curt. It came in the mail to my house today. For some reason, Lawton Sawyer mailed it to me,” Scott drove at a frenetic pace, passing cars as he spoke. His stomach was in knots.

  “The cult must have been looking for it when they trashed Taylor Barton’s house…and when they killed Lawton Sawyer. Scott, don’t let sunlight hit it. We believe that everyone struck by the reflection of light off the stone becomes a target of the creature that attacked Rifold, the Turners, and the others.”

  Scott swallowed hard. “Now you tell me.”

  “Oh, crap, Scott.”

  Scott’s mind was locked on one task. He didn’t have time to consider that he might be in danger. “I’ve got to give it to them to get Kay, Cody, and Tina back alive.”

  “Where is the meeting point? I’ll get Tolen, and we’ll go there with you.”

  Scott thought for a
long second but did not respond.

  “Scott, you can’t go there alone. They’ll kill you. They don’t want witnesses. What they did to Lawton Sawyer was…brutal.”

  Then Scott did something he didn’t think he’d ever do to his friend. He hung up on Curt.

  ****

  “Scott? Scott?” Curt said. All he heard was dead air, and then the dial tone. He quickly called Scott back, but it went unanswered. He tried a second, then a third time.

  “He hung up on me, and now he’s not answering my call,” Curt said in surprise. He looked to Fawn. “The cult has his wife and son and a friend’s daughter. Scott has the emerald. Sawyer mailed it to him. Unfortunately, he was also struck by sunlight reflecting off it. The cult wants to exchange the emerald as ransom, but he wouldn’t tell me where. He’s going there alone.”

  “These are not men to be messed with,” Fawn mused.

  “Tell me about it,” Curt said with chagrin.

  “Curt, why did Lawton Sawyer mail the emerald to Scott?”

  The answer came to him immediately. “As we discovered from all the pictures stored away in Sawyer’s upstairs bedroom, he was a member of the Blue Council, and Scott and I tangled with them last year in St. Augustine. We were the ones who drained what remained of their pool. It’s clear to me that Sawyer wanted revenge. He set Scott up by using his past relationship with Scott’s grandfather to get him, and me, intrigued in the search for the caves on Bayard Point. Then, by mailing Scott the emerald, he effectively made Scott a target of the Serpent, that bastard.”

  “How did Sawyer know there was a letter from Ed Leedskalnin in the dead-letter box at the church which held the emerald?”

  “My guess is that he knew there was a letter, but didn’t know it contained the emerald. Someone at the church had probably told Sawyer the letter was there, but it wasn’t until he was at Spring Park on Friday, saw the water turn red and Clarence Little’s organs floating out, that he thought about Ed Leedskalnin’s warning when he was a child. Then, several hours later, he went to the church while the food drive was under way. The incident at the Spring Run had him curious about the letter Ed had mailed to his mother 60 years ago. That’s when he discovered the envelope held the emerald, and that’s when the sunlight reflected off it, creating targets for the Serpent. Sawyer must have realized this almost immediately. That’s when he decided to mail it to Scott.”

  “And now the Cult of the End wants the emerald,” Fawn said. “Do you think they realize the danger of having it? Are they after it for its monetary worth…or something more?”

  Curt shrugged. His thoughts had turned to Sherri Falco. Should he call her and tell her that her only daughter, Tina, was in mortal danger?

  CHAPTER 55

  The evening light had just faded. Tony Miserie was making a fourth pass over the 14 fishmeal patties. The bait, in three feet of water running parallel to the bank off Pacetti Point, was spread apart and marked by five-foot-tall cane poles he had planted into the mud bottom.

  It was late summer, and the shrimp should be running, but the take tonight had been dismal. Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was wrong with the river.

  Taking a brief respite, Tony opened the Styrofoam ice chest. He had caught a total of two dozen small shrimp. He could only shake his head in disbelief at his bad luck. One more pass. That was all he was going to give it; no use in wasting time and energy if the shrimp simply weren’t here. Besides, the tables showed he was in the middle of the outgoing tide, which was not a good time for fishing or shrimping.

  As he prepared to make the fifth, and final, pass, he approached the first cane pole using a flashlight to locate the two-foot section jutting from the water. Then, comfortable with his positioning, he eased the boat near the stob with the electric trolling motor. Standing on the small boat’s bow, he lifted the weighted net to his teeth and bit down. He grabbed the net at midpoint and at the bottom, turned his body, and slung it from the boat. The net opened up into a circle in midair and landed with a splash, sinking quickly into the dark water in front of the cane pole stob.

  Tony was starting to retrieve the net when he noticed the stob, which previously had two feet of length exposed, was now only a foot out of the water. The only explanation was that he had knocked the weighted net into it, sending the post sideways.

  He continued, pulling the net up from the water and into the boat.

  He had nothing; not even bait fish.

  In disgust, he dropped the net to the floorboard of the boat with a loud clank. Screw it, he thought.

  Tony looked out toward the row of stobs, but, with night falling, they had melted into the darkness.

  This was getting ridiculous; time to pull up the stakes and head home.

  Tony raised the flashlight to locate the nearest pole. It would take at least ten minutes to retrieve them all.

  Tony searched the running surface of the water. He guided the light this way and that. To his dismay, they had disappeared.

  What the hell?

  Baffled, Tony kicked the trolling motor on high and moved the boat forward. The motor began to whine, and the small plastic prop choked and cracked, causing the boat to come to a stop. When he tried to lift the tiny motor, it was stuck.

  Tony cut the power, perplexed as to what was going on. He dropped to his stomach, and, lying across the bow, aimed the flashlight into the water. He reached under the surface toward the prop and felt a solid object that was gashed at the end. At first it wouldn’t come free, and when he finally did get it loose, to his surprise he lifted a cane pole into the boat.

  How had he run over one of his stobs? Confused, Tony shined his flashlight again over the water, searching for the other poles, but they were nowhere to be found.

  Then reality set in. Although the tide should be outgoing, the river was rising. Not only that, but it was doing so at an extraordinary rate.

  CHAPTER 56

  Following the coordinates that Tiffany Bar provided, Tolen turned right in his rental car onto a dirt road. Ironically, it was only about three miles north of his house. The road was dark, shadowed by a thick treeline, and Tolen was forced to ease forward using only the vehicle’s parking lights to minimize the risk of being seen. Checking his watch, Tolen confirmed the GPS coordinates and parked several hundred yards away from the campsite that had been identified by satellite photos. He turned his phone on vibrate.

  On foot, he moved stealthily through the woods, guided by a small flashlight. Fortunately, the terrain was solid, the underbrush almost nonexistent. It was just a matter of navigating through the barrage of pine trees. Recalling what Tiffany had told him about the sentinels guarding the camp, he moved with extreme caution.

  Tolen eventually arrived at the edge of the camp, where a series of tents had been erected. A short distance beyond was the creek that led to the main channel of the St. Johns River. Given that it was early evening, he had expected to find a blazing fire going and men moving about, but the grounds were still, the only light coming from the moon’s glow.

  All was quiet. The only smell was that of river water, which Tolen noticed was infringing upon the camp, the tide already reaching the first tent. That the tide was behaving erratically was disturbing, but he didn’t have time to consider it at the moment. He had to find out if anyone was here.

  Realizing he had no affirmation that the camp belonged to the Cult of the End, he had to exercise a combination of caution and practicality. Tolen carefully moved to the nearest tent, unholstering his Springfield. He listened. When he heard no sound inside, he gently drew back the flap and shined the flashlight inside with his pistol raised.

  As he suspected, it was empty. A thorough examination of several other tents proved no one was here. Clothes were still in duffle bags, and camp gear was still lying around. One thing became very apparent. He found nothing to suggest these were either h
unters or fishermen: no firearms, no rods and reels, no camouflage gear.

  Tolen was in the process of checking the last tent when he found a satchel. He withdrew a map and several sheets of printed numbers. One sheet contained aquifer information for the Green Cove Springs area. The other had severe weather data for July 7th of last year. It contained a list of lightning strikes in the area for that day, listed by specific GPS coordinates.

  Tolen knew that lightning strike information of this nature was difficult to come by. Only a few independent companies had the means to track and provide such a detailed report.

  If this is the Cult of the End’s camp, what is so important about July 7th?

  Tolen felt his smartphone vibrate in his pocket.

  “Tolen,” he answered softly, still wary that others might be nearby.

  “This is Curt. Scott’s wife, son, and Tina Falco have been kidnapped by the cult. They want the emerald from the Staff. Sawyer mailed it to Scott, and now he’s taking it to them as a ransom payment.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Yeah, well, neither do I, but he won’t answer my calls now, and I have no idea where he’s meeting them. Tolen, there’s something else. Sunlight reflected off the emerald and struck Scott.”

  “Which now makes him a target of the Serpent,” Tolen said moving outside. He walked down to the waterline. Although the river was now lapping high on shore, threatening to completely overtake the first tent, Tolen could see through the water where hull indentions had been made in the earth by boats being pulled on shore.

  Tolen continued, “The camp is empty, but there were boats here. My guess is that they’ll meet him somewhere on the river.”