The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset

by Ethan Cross

  This drew a chuckle from the tribal police captain, then with incredible speed, Yazzie snatched the Colt Peacemaker from his side and clinked the barrel hard against the Mason jar, agitating the massive scorpion. Harvey reared back his tail and twitched, readying a venomous strike, while Marcus prepared himself to accept the attack.

  After a few seconds, when the strike didn’t come, Officer Pitka stepped forward and, in a shaking voice, said, “Sir, we can’t do this. He’s a federal agent. And we’re supposed to be cops.”

  Yazzie barely reacted. He didn’t show any signs of anger or yell at his subordinate. Instead, he calmly said, “Ernie, why don’t you go outside and get on the radio. Inform Mr. Canyon that we have Agent Williams here in custody and that we’re questioning him now in regard to the location of the truck.”

  Pitka started to say more, but Yazzie stopped him by spinning the Colt Peacemaker on his finger like a gunslinger from the Old West. As he slid the gun back into its holster, Yazzie said, “Now, Officer Pitka.”

  The scared young man caught Marcus’s eye as if to say that he was sorry, but then he rushed from the room, closing the door behind him.

  The young and naïve Officer Pitka had no way of knowing it, but Marcus didn’t want him in the room. He knew that his chances with one opponent would always be higher than facing down two, even if one was a hesitant participant.

  With Pitka gone, Marcus focused his attention back on the scorpion. The agitated arachnid was still reared back and ready to strike, and so Marcus kept his leg relaxed and maintained a calm heart rate. There was a time when being in proximity to such a creature would have truly frightened him. But ever since his days in his father’s dungeon beneath Leavenworth, Kansas, Marcus couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of much of anything. It wasn’t even close to the extremes that his brother had experienced, but he’d definitely undergone a stark desensitization.

  Light filtered in from the hallway as the young officer exited, giving Marcus a better look at their surroundings. They were in some sort of basement storage room. The walls were cinderblock and two-by-fours. Shelves, occupied by totes labeled in masking tape and marker, lined the inner walls. He noticed one that read, “Christmas,” and another “Easter.”

  Yazzie said, “Did you know that scorpions are fiercely territorial and cannibalistic? It’s quite common for them to devour their mates and offspring.”

  Marcus replied, “If only your mother would’ve learned from their example and did the world a favor.”

  Yazzie leaned close and whispered, “When I was a boy, I lit my mother on fire and watched her burn. I’ve always felt a kinship with animals like this one. Scientists believe that their cannibalistic ways developed because they are faced with many instances when resources are scarce and the only route to survival is to consume their own species. But this has also allowed the scorpion to hold the distinction of being the world’s oldest surviving land animal. They’ve remained virtually unchanged for the last one hundred million years. Specimens preserved in amber thirty million years ago look exactly like this guy here. There’s something amazing and perfect about that. Something we could learn from.”

  Marcus said, “If you feel such a kinship with this creepy critter, why isn’t he crawling around on your leg?”

  “You and your partner certainly are hard men. There’s no denying that. But everyone has a breaking point, Agent Williams. Everyone has a weakness.”

  “You may be right, Captain, but you ain’t got what it takes to get me there. I’ve been tortured by the best, and you ain’t got shit on my father. So you might as well give this up.”

  Yazzie shrugged. “Perhaps, but I think I’ll stick with it a bit longer just to be sure.” Once again retrieving the switchblade knife from his boot, Yazzie sliced a line of blood across Marcus’s exposed thigh, just above the spot where the glass jar held the massive scorpion. Marcus winced involuntarily, but didn’t give Yazzie any more satisfaction than that.

  The police captain continued, “Scorpions are burrowing creatures. I’ve witnessed many times what rodents can do when chewing through and burrowing into human flesh, but I’ve always wondered if a scorpion, with a little prodding, would do the same and dig its way down inside of a person. Why don’t we conduct a little experiment and find out?”

  54

  True to his word, Frank seemed to enjoy the procedure as he made several mewling noises that reminded Liana of a cat being scratched in just the right spot. But eventually he passed out and was so unresponsive that Liana checked his pulse multiple times while she sucked out the shrapnel using the homemade electromagnet like a vacuum and then packed his wound with the gunpowder.

  She tried to warn him of what was about to happen, but he wouldn’t acknowledge her nudging. After checking his pulse again, she decided to move forward. As she lit the gunpowder, it sparked into a bright mushroom cloud and filled the air with the smell of sizzling meat. Frank only issued a small groan of pleasure, as if the pain coincided perfectly with something he was dreaming.

  She tried again to wake him, hoping he would eat or drink something, but he was still unresponsive. She knew that he needed time to heal, but he also needed food and liquids to help with that process. Luckily, the agents had come prepared with an ample food supply and gallon jugs of water, all the resources necessary for a long and bloody siege.

  The scent of burned flesh still hanging in the air, Liana rolled Frank over and tilted his head forward. Then she forced some water down his throat, using a collapsible cup she had found among their supplies. She was no doctor, but she had had some EMT training and recognized that Frank had to be beyond dehydrated. She needed to get his blood sugar up, but most importantly, she needed to keep the water flowing so that his body could rebuild its blood supply.

  He accepted the offered liquid, but he never seemed to rouse from his slumber. Deciding to let Frank rest, Liana moved to the front room, where she proceeded to pace a hole in the floor and chew her fingernails down to nubs. She kept reminding herself that she was a trained officer of the law and to remain calm, but another part of her kept yelling that this was far beyond anything she had learned at the academy. Her life was officially off the rails. She was no longer a police officer. She wasn’t sure what she was. All she really did know was that, for whatever reason, she felt safer in this room next to an unconscious Frank than she did out there. Than she had earlier in the night out there with John Canyon. Her pacing and chewing was cut short as the tiny speaker on Frank’s handheld radio squawked to life and the tinny-sounding voice of John Canyon said, “Don’t shoot. I’m walking up the lane, and I’m waving the white flag. I want to make sure that my boy’s okay, and then I want to make a deal.”

  Liana rushed to the window and snatched up the binoculars. Through them, she saw a solitary figure slowly walking up the gravel path toward the old trading post. Rushing back to Frank, she tried to shake him awake again. Her teeth chattered as she repeated over and over, “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

  But just as before, Frank responded with only a few small mewling sounds. Taking a deep breath, Liana steeled herself, knowing that she was now on her own.

  55

  25 years earlier…

  Eventually, Momma’s illness afflicted her to the point where she could not even work on her back. Luckily, the boy was a smooth operator and was able to come up with other means to pay the rent and keep food on the table. Not to mention the fact that Reyna was becoming a beautiful teenager, and she wanted to look the part. It was a needless expense, but one that he himself enjoyed. He liked to see her beautiful. He liked to see her happy. One of the best ways he had found to make some extra cash was by visiting the ruins of the Old Ones. Or the Anasazi, as the belegana archeologists called them.

  He had recently found a remote site among the New Mexican hills that appeared to be a completely undiscovered location. He had been out climbing one day by himself, something he loved to do. He would go up into the canyons and walk i
n the footsteps of his ancestors. Sometimes, he would sacrifice a small animal to some dark god of the Anasazi now lost to time. But of course, he never received any kind of answer. Until, one day, he stumbled upon the motherlode.

  Xavier had several irons in the fire as far as making money and several seeds that he had planted that would soon be growing to fruition. But all of his ideas had their issues. They all had barriers that would need to be overcome and variables for which he couldn’t account. That was why it was so important to diversify.

  The problem with a big discovery like the one he had made, high in a canyon north of Shiprock, was that he would need help with hauling out the artifacts. When he had first discovered the remote site, he had been climbing freestyle and had noticed a small path cut into the rock and some ancient handholds. This led him up to what appeared to be a remote religious temple of the lost people.

  There were very few individuals in the world who Xavier trusted. One of those was his sister, but she would only be of so much help in carrying the artifacts down the cliff face. He had gone ahead and set up several rope ladders at points where expert climbing would be involved, and Reyna had always been a hard worker. But he would need someone else to assist as well. Someone with a strong back and a dim wit.

  The first person who came to mind was a boy from his class named Eugene Bernally. Although Eugene was technically two years older than him, they were in the same grade because Eugene had been held back twice. Xavier had been grooming Eugene to work for him for some time because he knew that Eugene was the kind of guy who would take the cut he was given and never question whether or not it was the correct amount. Not to mention that Eugene was also a very capable climber, despite being overweight. With the promise of adventure and payment, it was easy to get Eugene onboard. Reyna, however, was a different matter, but he always got his way with her in the end.

  After all, Momma would soon be gone, and then, all they would have was each other.

  Not only was Reyna upset that she had to go on their little scavenger hunt, but she hated being stuck in the middle seat of the old short-bed Cheyenne pickup truck as it rumbled over the hard-packed desert road. She had to sit with the gear shifter between her legs, which caused Xavier to reach over between them to shift, usually allowing a bit of touching as well. And to her right sat Eugene, who had a way of being extra creepy around pretty girls.

  Xavier pulled the old truck to the side of the road, parking behind some scrub brush and juniper trees, and said, “We go on foot from here.”

  They stepped out and adorned their backpacks. Each satchel was loaded with rations to eat once they reached the top. Then they would fill the empty bags with artifacts for the climb down. Spurred forward by either greed or fear, the trio hiked into the hills and ascended the red rock canyons. Xavier had often wondered why the Old Ones built their dwellings in such inaccessible places. They had often constructed villages high in the cliffs under natural stone canopies that were far from necessary resources like water and food.

  Xavier led the way and showed the others where the best handholds were. He kept Reyna in the middle, so that he could help his sister and make sure she reached the top safely. Eugene brought up the rear and eyed Reyna hungrily for most of the climb.

  It was a grueling climb even with the aid of the ropes he had installed, and this was the easy part. Going down with backpacks weighted with fragile potsherds and artifacts would be the hard part. He had considered lowering the bags of artifacts down the cliff face by rope, but he didn’t have enough to reach the bottom. Perhaps with the money they made from this trip, he could finance better equipment for the next.

  Finally they reached the top. The ruins were concealed beneath a massive rock canopy that made them impossible to see from above, and the way that the opening was slanted made it completely invisible from below as well. Normally, when the Diné people found a site like this, they would document it but leave everything exactly as it was. The belegana archeologists, whom they called dirt diggers, liked to remove the artifacts and haul them off to museums. Most of the larger sites had already been raided by the diggers and scavengers who wanted to make a quick buck by stealing his people’s history. And this place was rich with history. Xavier could feel it all around them. He could feel the ghosts. He knew from the first moment that he saw the ruins, that this was somewhere very special.

  56

  Harvey, the grandfather of all Arizona bark scorpions, didn’t seem to like all the blood. In fact, it seemed to scare the crap out of him. Thanks to late night Discovery channel, Marcus knew that scorpions only stung as a last resort. It could sometimes take weeks for the arachnid to replenish its venom, and so pincers were its weapon of choice. But, as the trail of blood grew closer and closer to the arachnid, as it tried to flee up the side of the Mason jar, it was clear to Marcus that Harvey had reached his limit, and so he braced himself accordingly.

  Still, nothing could have prepared Marcus for the speed and power of the attack. With a blur of movement so fast it caused Marcus to jump, the scorpion’s tail lashed out like the whip of a lion tamer, struck Marcus’s flesh, and came back covered in the already flowing blood.

  At first, Marcus felt ice shoot out from the impact site, but the ice turned to fire as the venom spread. Next came pain. Then numbness.

  Yazzie laughed. “There you go, little fella. But don’t overexert yourself yet. We’re just getting started. And don’t worry, you’ll only need pincers for this part.” He then produced a Zippo lighter from his pocket, held it up to the Mason jar, and struck the flame. Harvey spun to face the new threat, and Marcus could already feel the tiny legs digging into the knife wound on his thigh.

  Allowing the fire to lick the glass while moving it closer and closer to the increasingly agitated scorpion, Yazzie continued, “Scorpions have an amazing will to survive, and they’re almost impossible to keep out of your home because of their ability to slide into nearly any space and burrow their way into any sanctuary. They’ll eat their own children to survive. I don’t think it will take much coercing for our little friend here to find his way inside your skin. As the air in the jar grows hotter and hotter, the alternative is going to seem more and more appealing… Or you can tell me where you hid the truck?”

  Marcus felt woozy from the venom coursing through his system. That gave him an idea. When he was a boy, Marcus and been forced to learn how to control his own gag reflex. He pretty much had to learn how to control all of his senses. At a young age, smells and textures were overwhelming for him. And sounds carried with them all of those connected sensory inputs. The result was that hearing someone blow their nose caused Marcus and his mind to travel up the sound and into the smell and texture of the mucus. It was the same with foods that he didn’t like or ones that reminded him of bodily secretions. Eventually, this forced him to be able to control his own gag reflex to the point that he could choose to throw up or not throw up on command. He hadn’t been eating much lately, but he knew that there was something in his stomach. And so, this was one of those times when he chose the latter.

  Yazzie had been about to speak when Marcus vomited all over him. The police captain jumped back, appalled, looking down at his soiled uniform with disgust written on every line of his face. Which placed him in the exact position that Marcus wanted. The captain’s quick-draw abilities were a problem. They made Yazzie a formidable opponent, and so Marcus surmised he would need to knock the captain off his game a bit before attacking.

  Now, with Yazzie sufficiently distracted and in the proper position, Marcus placed his feet flat on the ground, shifted forward, and pivoted with his left foot to spin his entire body weight along with the wooden chair like a baseball bat directed at Yazzie’s skull. The old wood of the chair collided with a wet “thwap.” But Marcus knew that his opponent was far from incapacitated yet. So, as he had planned, he backpedaled himself and the chair into Yazzie, pushing the police captain back against the one wall comprised of nothing but bare cinder
block. Marcus maneuvered his body so that the back of the chair was pressed into Yazzie’s throat.

  Still disoriented from the blow to his head, Yazzie tried to push himself free, but it was too late. The back of the chair pressed into his extremities, and the pressure on his throat was slowly cutting off the blood flow to his brain.

  After a moment of fighting and wheezing, Yazzie was unconscious, and Marcus allowed the police captain to fall limply to the floor as he put all four legs of the chair back on the ground.

  The scorpion venom combined with the physical stress of what he had just done made Marcus’s world spin and forced him to the brink of passing out himself. He heard the skittering of tiny legs and looked down to see a broken Mason jar and Harvey crawling off into a dark corner of the room.

  Marcus said, “Good idea, Harvey. You go get help.”

  As he waited for the world to stop spinning again, he allowed himself to vomit once more. The violent heaving kept him from passing out. He waited a few seconds and listened to hear if Pitka was coming to assist. But he heard nothing. The young officer must’ve been outside, radioing John Canyon as he had been instructed.

  Numb and nauseous with a migraine throbbing against the back of his eyelids, Marcus tested his restraints, trying to find a weakness. He thought of the switchblade in Yazzie’s boot, but getting to it would be near impossible and time-consuming. He cracked his neck to the side and growled deep in his throat. There was only one way he was going to free himself from the chair in the time he had. And it was going to be very painful.

  Taking several deep breaths in preparation while forcing some blood flow into the proper muscles, Marcus leaned forward again. But this time, with violent and reckless abandon, he threw all of his weight into a roll, which sent him spinning end over end with all his weight crashing down onto the legs and backing of the chair. The wood impacted with the concrete and separated at its joints with a symphony of snaps and pops. Marcus felt the collision throughout his whole body, deep inside, all the way to his spine and down to his heels. The pain, with a little help from scorpion venom, again pushed him to the edge of a blackout.