Ghost Reaper Episode 1

GHOST REAPER

Episode 1 (A Serial
Novel)

by

Drew Adams

(Tune in for new episodes every 21
days)

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2013 by Drew Adams

Cover
design by Melinda Merrell Designs.

All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic
or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author,
except where permitted by law and for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

Use of this e-book is limited
to personal, non-commercial use. All rights. No transmission, publication or
exploitation of the e-book in part or in whole is permitted without the prior
written permission of the author, Drew Adams. The book may not be resold or
uploaded for distribution to others.

Printed in the United States
of America.

Dedicated to
Daddy Ray and Wanda Juanita Homan. Thanks Mom and Dad, your support was beyond
words, and I have no words for how much I miss you.

A
squeal of tires, whiff of smoke, guardrails, then nothing. Chad knew what lay
beyond the guardrails. A canyon, cliffs, boulders, all on his list of things he
did not want to crash into. The sun was attempting to set, painting a pinkish
hue through the deep valley floor his car was hurtling towards.
 

The
sluggish flight, doomed to last only seconds, hinged Chadwick Alan Dowdry
between fascination and terror. He knew he was about to die. He feared it but
at the same time was thrilled by the surreal mystery of the descent.

A
large boulder whizzed by in real time. For Chad it was slow enough to observe
the pits and crevices. Then open space with only a ledge jutting out from the
canyon wall threatening to interrupt his plummet into the abyss.

The
ledge proved to be enough, Chad's slow motion plunge lacked the trajectory to
escape it. The steering wheel he tugged on turned tires gripping only air.

On
cue, time caught up.

The
rocky shelf raced towards him.

He
shut his eyes. Braced for impact.

A
concussive jolt jarred the car, conducting a massive wave of destructive energy
through the frame of the car into his body from every possible direction.
Diamonds of shattered shatterproof glass exploded towards him, ripping into
clothing and flesh. The silence of the fall was replaced with the shrieking and
groaning of twisted metal joined by the thunderous report of mass and velocity
colliding. Chad didn't see his life flash before his eyes, and he didn't see a
bright light.

He
was just lying on the ledge, peering over it, watching his demolished vehicle
continue the journey. It struck the canyon floor and burst into flames. Chad
watched with obsessive awe, grateful to be alive, overjoyed to not be in that
car. He stood up and brushed dust from his shirt and jeans. He appeared to have
no injuries, none of the glass remained in his skin. With care he ran his hands
through his hair, finding no debris. He felt his pulse, expecting it to be out
of control, but found that it plodded along as if none of the past eight
seconds had happened.

I’m
not out of the woods yet.

Above,
the wall of the canyon, a sheer rocky precipice loomed upward without any break
except the large boulder he had admired on the way down. Climbable, yes, but
not without equipment, and certainly not with darkness following the already
deepening shadows. He was stuck between trying to escape the ledge, or finding
some shelter to endure the night. Spring here in Wyoming meant freezing nights
when good weather prevailed. There was a front, he remembered, approaching from
the northwest, but it wasn’t supposed to get here until sometime tomorrow
evening.

Or
was it this evening?

Already
a chill seemed to rise from below where his car still burned. He blew breath
into his hand, but noted no frost. To his right the ledge stretched about a
quarter of a mile, disappearing around a bend, and relatively level. There was
vegetation cropping up, sparse at first, then denser as it curved past the
corner. To his left, a sheer drop.

 
“Guess that makes my mind up,” he mused
out loud.

As
he headed towards the thicket, he scanned the terrain for firewood or anything
else that might be useful, stuffed a couple of sharp-edged rocks into his
pockets, picked up a discarded beer carton and filled it with twigs he found as
he made his way. Light was fading fast, much quicker than he had anticipated.
The chill was still with him, not getting worse, but seemed to encompass his
whole body, inside and out.

At
the curve at last, Chad whistled.

 
“Damn... this would have been a good day
to be in Vegas.”

A
lot of people, he figured, would not consider driving off a cliff particularly
lucky, but when you considered he survived without a scratch, and now was
looking at a shallow cave tunneled out of the rock, that fortune was on his
side.

Okay...gotta
crib for the night. Now for a few homey touches.

He
hacked at some bushes with the sharp rocks managing to cut several of them and
layering them across the mouth of his cave. It was only about three feet in
height, close to seven in length and the depth about two feet of habitable
space that decreased into a mysterious crack.
 

Rattlers
in there probably...but when you’re on a roll, keep throwing the dice.

The
beer carton and twigs plus the lighter in his pocket would provide fire. He
noted a dead tree close by, reached into his left pocket, but found only one of
the rocks he had picked up.

 
“Shit...” he shouted... “I know I had
it.” A search of his other pockets turned up nothing. No lighter to flick.

The
daylight was all but gone. Chad wasn’t about to start rubbing sticks together.

Guess
I’ll just curl up and take it. Still feel like my glass is half full.

He
squeezed into the shelter and huddled his arms and legs into a fetal position.
His thoughts weren’t about snakes in the crevice, or the damp cold, or even his
close brush with the grim reaper. What filled his mind and escorted him into
slumber was wondering why he felt so damn good.

Chad
slept, if you could call it that. Dreams intruded, from his classes at the
seminary to the horrific crash. He could see himself inside the vehicle, blue
eyes staring into space, his dark hair matted with blood. Each dream featured
montage after montage, all playing out in the hurdling car. Jenny appeared,
sometimes in the car, sometimes standing besides him on the ledge, sometimes
harping on the problems in their relationship. He would wake up, but slumber
was quick to reclaim him. The last was the worst. This time it was Jenny whose
blue eyes stared and dark hair was matted with blood. Her eyes weren’t
lifeless, they penetrated him, accused him.

Morning
had arrived, but no light. Chad attempted to stretch out of his cramped
position, but found the wall of brush he had constructed pressing close in on
him. Snow had filtered through but enough caught in the structure to form a matted
solid wall.
 

"The
damn front came in last night," he muttered.

An
urge to escape the icy coffin shuddered through him. He resisted, calming
himself by considering the harsh conditions that surely existed outside. The
chill he had felt yesterday had changed little. It was a wonder that he had not
froze to death during the night.

Guess
those two weeks I was a boy scout came in handy. If I stay though, I'll die.

He
turned towards the snow laden brush wall and pushed. It didn't budge. He
pressed harder, his back against the rocky ledge and put everything he had into
it. Still no success.
 

It
can't be that solid.

Towards
his feet he could see a hint of light where maybe the snow was not as thick.
With as much force as the cramped quarters would allow he lashed out with a
kick. Snow tumbled, covering his feet and a shaft of light hurried into his
shelter. With a sigh of relief, he laid his head back. Not out yet, he thought,
but it's a start. Again he stomped at the light; more snow busting away; more
sunlight flooding in.

The
hole looked small, but he began worming his way feet first through the opening.
He was right. It was small, too small. His legs wedged at mid-thigh. A try at
scissoring his legs to widen the space again demonstrated how sturdy the packed
snow had made his wall. Twisting and turning, hitting the outer edge with his
knees, and hitting the wall with his fist loosened some snow. Hips were stuck
now. More worming and he managed to free them.

At
last he backed out of the shelter, freeing his head, and looked up at blue
skies.
 
It was cold, but the chill
that had been with him had not increased. His panting produced no condensing
mist.
 

"Strange,"
he wondered out loud.

Around
the curve, the terrain sloped upward, relatively gentle compared to the sheer
walls back where his unfortunate accident occurred. There were plenty of shrubs
and small trees. Welcome hand holds he hoped would get him to the road.

Chad
guessed that close to a foot of snow covered the treacherous incline ahead of
him. Some dark rock outcroppings peeped through the white blanket, giving the
climb an appearance of being a smooth ramp twisting up the side of the canyon.
He was sure this was not the case. Being an avid hiker and fair rock climber,
he knew that each step could easily become a misstep, that would send him
tumbling down an embankment that had already tried to welcome his death.
Shivers flowed through him like electric currents, but no different than
before. A brisk breeze pushed against brush sticking out of the snow,
disturbing them just enough to announce its presence. There was no way he could
dismiss the fact that the intense cold, wind chill or not, was not affecting
him, no way he could explain the lack of steam forming from his breath, and
number one on his list of hits.

I
still can't believe how freakin’ good I feel.

A
procrastinator for many aspects of his life, he commonly followed a philosophy
of not doing today what he could put off until tomorrow.
 
Of course this applied to things that
he wasn't real keen on doing in the first place. The endeavor facing him fit
into that category. In fact, it topped his list.

I
really ... really ... really... don't want to do this.

"Shit!"

"To
stay is to die..." he spoke out loud. To himself he said
to leave is to die more horribly.

Equipped
with a staff he wrestled from the shelter, Chad put one foot ahead of the other
and began his climb to salvation.

A
third of the way up Chad stopped for a breather, though he was not tired or out
of breath. The snow was packed harder than he had imagined, supporting his
weight without so much as a hint of failing.
 
Behind him, his tracks left shallow impressions, more like
you would expect on firmly packed soil. The brush he grasped to support his
ascent seemed unperturbed. In fact, his only complaint was the increasing
weight of the stick he carried. It was not the weight he realized, more like
the effort. A lot of little inconsistencies were starting to pile up, demanding
further thought, more consideration. A hint of anxiety plagued the calm he was
accustomed to feeling.

It's
not like you're the recent survivor of a certain fatal car crash, and I can't
imagine why the possibility of hypothermia would make you nervous.

The
chill wasn't any worse, but then again it wasn't any better. He resumed his
upward trek, his confidence increasing, yet not keeping pace with his growing
apprehension. Another break wasn't necessary, but the last 40 feet was nearly
vertical.
 

"Damn...I
wished I had some rope. Climbing shoes would be nice too. Ah hell...might as
well throw in a rock hammer and some carabineers."

He
scanned the cliff top to bottom and mapped out a course that gave him the best
chance for a safe climb. His love of climbing was tempered by the lack of
equipment and the relentless uneasiness that threatened his confidence.
Cockiness wasn't necessarily a compliment to scaling sheer walls. A healthy
respect for nature, heights and Murphy's law is a better recipe. Still, a lack
of confidence can be a death sentence.

"Oh
well..." he grunted under his breath "...nothing to it the way we do
it."

With
a smile he felt was unwarranted, Chad left the staff behind and began to scale
what he figured was the last hurdle.

Lots
of nooks and crannies in the first eight feet or so. He rested on a perch
knowing that there was not much directly above him that would provide grip. A
horizontal transverse would be best. The surprising thing was how little the
climb was affecting him. At one point he could not believe an affliction of
 
'Elvis' had not struck him.

Sure
don't need my legs shakin’, especially since I don't have any gear.

He
reached left for an outcrop of rock and pulled himself from his safe perch. His
foot found a nook and he gripped a slight bump of the cliff wall with his other
hand. Fingers were all that kept him from falling back, and he wasn't sure he
had enough purchase with his feet to propel him further. Most likely his feet
would slip before enough force was exerted. "A belay would be real
assuring right now," he muttered. There was no room to bend his knees, so
he pushed left with his feet and stretched for the next hand hold.

He
got it, but lost his other three perches and found himself swinging by one
hand, facing a screamer down the face of the cliff. With total expectation of
failure he swung stretching with everything he had.

Missed!

Above
him the cliff he now faced stood stark, mocking him, gloating over the life it
would claim.

Not
today, bitch!