The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5) (14 page)

“Don’t know.
But you can’t get on that plane.”

“I’m
supposed to be in Seattle later today. My uncle’s expecting me.”

“Take a
different flight. No, better — don’t go at all. The message said to not let you
go. You need to stay here. Call your uncle and cancel. Make up something.”

“He’s gonna
be pissed!” David replied.

“The last
message I got warned me to get out of my trailer,” Winn said. “You saw how that
ended.”

“You think
something will happen to the flight?” David asked. “How could Deem know that?”

“Look, the
messages are coming through time differentials. Maybe where she’s at gives her
some ability to detect these things, I don’t know. I only know you shouldn’t
leave.”

Winn saw
David trying to come to terms with the change of plans. He’d always felt
sympathy for David in light of his parents’ awful deaths, but he never had much
of a genuine connection to the kid, even when he helped David to Montana,
trying to figure out what had happened to him at Blackham Mansion. David was in
his early twenties and he acted it sometimes. Winn, on the other hand, was
approaching thirty, and their age difference had always seemed a huge gulf. He
knew David would eventually realize the wisdom of what he was suggesting, but
he also felt a sudden rush of emotion, a desire to express to David that he
couldn’t lose him. He felt as though he’d lost Deem — he couldn’t lose David,
too.

Winn reached
his hand over to David’s and grabbed it, startling him. “Don’t go,” Winn said
gently. “You need to stay.”

David turned
to look at him. He felt David squeezing his hand. “OK,” David said. “Since you
put it that way.” The kid gave him a disarming smile, and Winn pulled his hand
back.

David looked
down at his boarding pass. “Do I just — ignore this?”

“If
something happens to that flight,” Winn said, “we don’t want to get wrapped up
in it. Go back inside, and make sure you miss the boarding. Maybe you get sick
in the bathroom, and when you come out, the plane has already gone. Go to a
ticketing agent and explain what happened, so they rebook you for another
flight.”

“And my
uncle?”

“Call him to
tell him you missed the flight, too, and you’ll let him know when you rebook.”

“Alright,”
David said, opening the door to the Jeep. “I better get back in there. Boarding’s
in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be
back at Carma’s,” Winn said.

“Thanks,”
David said, closing the door and running back into the airport.

Winn started
up his Jeep and drove back to Leeds, hoping to hell that David didn’t change
his mind.

▪ ▪ ▪

Winn and
Carma watched the television as the local channels covered the disaster with
helicopter fly-overs showing jerky footage of the wreckage. Speculation as to
the nature of the airplane’s descent and crash mid-way through its flight from
St. George to Salt Lake City ranged from mechanical failures to terrorism. The
state was in the grip of an air disaster not seen in several decades.

David walked
in from the other room, joining them as they watched.

“Finally
reached my uncle,” David said. “I forgot to call him while I was at the
airport; I was too focused on dealing with the airline people and the
rebooking.”

“When do you
go now?” Carma asked.

“The ticket
is for tonight at 6:30,” David replied. “But I’m not going. He knows I’m going
to cancel.”

“I’m glad to
hear it,” Carma said.

“Thank you,
Winn,” David said. “You saved my life. Again.”

Winn gave
him a smile, and as their eyes connected Winn could sense the genuine gratitude
and affection that David had for him. For the first time, he felt a small
sliver of similar affection surface. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he
tamped it down in his mind.

“You’re
welcome,” he replied.

“How do you
think Deem is detecting these things?” David asked Carma.

“I don’t
know,” Carma replied. “Lyman doesn’t either. Deem is a resourceful person. If
she’s somehow privy to information where she’s at, she’ll make the most of it,
that’s for sure.”

“I’m
indebted to her,” Winn said, his eyes glued to the television. “She’s saved two
of us now.”

The TV
suddenly clicked off. Winn turned to see the remote in Carma’s hands.

“No sense in
dwelling on it,” she said. “I hate how they fixate on things, showing the same
scene over and over.”

“What now?”
David asked. “Is Lyman’s plan still moving forward?”

“It is,”
Carma said, sitting down.

Winn looked
to the shelf; the device was gone. “Carma,” he said, “where’s the mechanism?”

“Oh,” she
replied, “Lyman has it, downstairs. I hope you don’t mind. He wanted to
double-check some estimates. Last I heard, the resurrection merge should happen
around sunrise tomorrow morning.”

“And then?”
David asked.

“They start
walking,” she replied. “Dayton’s conference in Caliente starts at 7PM tonight,
and there’s a second session tomorrow morning at 10AM. They’ll all stay the
night at that motel, the one Warren Jeffs used for marriages. That’s where they
always stay.”

“Mountain
Meadows to Caliente is a long way to walk,” David replied.

“Not to those
pioneers it isn’t,” Carma replied. “Lyman was using your device, Winn, to
calculate when they’d arrive, and it should be around midnight or 1 AM.”

“And what
will happen then?” Winn asked. “How does this attack actually happen? Dayton
and his people are gifted and experienced. They’re not going to be very
impressed by a group of angry ghosts.”

“That’s
where Lyman’s planning changes things,” she replied. “They’re far from just
angry ghosts. The merge brings a certain physicality to them, turns their
desire for vengeance into a weapon. I don’t understand how exactly, but I know
that’s why Lyman had them in the soul cage for so long. That, and he had to
build up their numbers. Each of the people he trapped there had to be a certain
type of soul — monstrously evil, but capable of exhibiting the physicality to
destroy the living.”

“I can’t
imagine Deem trapped in there with them,” Winn muttered. “What a hell she must
be going through.”

“And in
spite of it, she found a way to communicate with us,” David added. “Do you
think she knows what is about to happen? The resurrection merge?”

“No one can
know,” Carma replied. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens, how she
comes out of it. In the meantime, Lyman and I are worried about our visitor
from Hildale.”

“The Fist of
God?” Winn asked.

“We think
Dayton’s group might have commissioned another execution,” Carma replied, “and
that they want it done before the conference in Caliente starts up. I need
someone to stake out The Fist and keep an eye on him today. I was going to ask
you to do it, Winn, since David was going to Seattle. Maybe now the two of you
could take shifts, trade off the work.”

Winn turned
to David. “Don’t see why not.” David nodded his ascent, and Winn turned back to
Carma to collect the details.

Lorenzo?
Deem called, but she knew she wasn’t
in a place where Lorenzo could hear her; she had the sense of moving rapidly
over ground, though she couldn’t see it clearly. She was encircled by souls
that felt sick and diseased, surrounding her on all sides. They were moving en
masse toward some destination, finally free of the soul cage but not really
free, not able to control their movement. Something was pulling her and the
others, something that could not be resisted. Her fear of what might be coming
was balanced by her relief to be out of the cage, to have a change in
surroundings, even if it was just this sense of movement, of flying — of
temporary freedom, even if she really wasn’t yet free.

It was
nearing sunrise and the ground below was beginning to show the first signs of
ambient light, the first sun her eyes had seen in months. It hurt to look, but
she forced herself, watching the ground rush by under her.
I know this
place!
she thought, seeing a large outdoor amphitheater pass by.
We’re
in the canyon. Snow Canyon.

But it
wasn’t just her. She could feel the others with her, above, below, to her left
and right. She was just one of a hundred flying through the air, propelled
toward something they couldn’t control.

He’s
released the cage,
she thought.
Lyman has released us all. But for what?

She felt
herself dropping as the ground rose quickly to meet her. Nothing she could do
would stop the descent, even as her mind raced for a way to brake, to slow
things down before she hit the earth. She saw the field ahead, where her
trajectory would take her and the others.

That’s
what I’ve been feeling,
she thought.
That ground. That dirt. I’m connected to it somehow.

It was
filled with ghostly blue heads, primed and awakened, their eyes turned upward,
awaiting the arrival. As she approached, she felt herself directed toward one
of the bodies; the upper half of a woman, wearing a dirty pioneer dress. She
caught a glimpse of the woman’s face; it was a mixture of shock and sadness, a
frozen moment from a hundred and seventy years ago.
She’s just seen
something horrible happen,
Deem thought.
She’s in the depths of despair.

And as Deem
neared the body, she saw the bloodstain on the dress, the hole made in her
side, the wound that had brought the woman down. Deem tried to resist, but the
pull was inescapable.

She’s a
ghost,
Deem thought,
and I’m about to enter her.

A second
later Deem felt the pain in her side, a physical agony exceeded only by the
fresh horror in her mind that her sister and father were dead. She could still
picture the shot that hit her father’s face, sending part of his cheek flying
into the air behind him, blood spraying the ground.

And her
sister, her dear younger sister, Marion, lying on the grass, her life draining
from her body as it seeped from the gash in her throat. She replayed the moment
again, unable to stop it…the Indian approached her from behind, pulled her hair
back, exposing her delicate white neck. The blade was pulled roughly across her
flesh, and Deem recoiled as the crimson line of blood quickly turned to a river
of red, splashing down the front of Marion’s dress, her eyes registering her
last moments as she fell to the ground.

And Deem
remembered looking up at her sister’s killer, wanting to memorize the features
of the Indian who had taken Marion’s life.

It was no
Indian,
she thought,
just as the searing heat of the bullet passed through her side, striking
internal organs, making her fall backward. Deem reached for the wound to touch
the hole the bullet had made, feeling her body shutting down from the shock of
it all. When she lifted her hand to her face, it was dripping with blood — her blood.

My
father’s blood. Marion’s blood. My blood.

The faux
Indian’s face appeared above her, staring down. He seemed satisfied with the
result, and moved on.

Not an
Indian,
she thought.
A white man dressed as an Indian.

And for the
first time, Deem understood what was meant by the phrase
their blood cries
out from the ground
. She could feel her own blood crying now, wanting to
survive, not just to keep living, but to right the wrong that had just occurred
out here in the wilderness, where there was a good chance no one would ever
know what had happened.

They
carried white flags,
she
thought.
They guaranteed our safety. It was all a lie, an ambush.

Just as she
felt herself about to lose consciousness, Deem lifted herself from the ground
and looked around.

Kate?
came a small voice, weak but loud
enough to catch her attention.
Is that you, Kate?

She turned.
Five feet from her, where just moments before she had watched her sister cut
down, Marion was now standing, looking down at her. Dark, wet stains matted the
front of her dress, and the wound in her neck was still there — but no longer
bleeding.

All the
blood has gone,
Deem
thought.
Into the ground.

She felt an
arm at her side, and suddenly she was lifted to a standing position. She
turned, and a thick, sturdy man a good foot taller than herself stood behind
her. The flesh was still gone from his cheek, but he, too, had finished
bleeding, the only remnant the dark, dried blood that had run down his neck and
onto his shirt.

Katherine!
he said, instantly pulling her to
him, his arms wrapping around her.
Father!
Deem thought, and for a
moment it reminded her of the last time her own father had been able to hug
her, a strong embrace that she’d never forgotten, even though she knew her
father was sick and close to death when he did it.

But this
isn’t my father,
Deem thought.
It is, but it isn’t.

And
Marion!
the man
said, releasing her and turning to her sister, who ran into his arms. As they
hugged, Deem felt like crying. It was a reunion that had taken a long time to
occur, an opportunity to communicate and feel the other person that had been
denied to them in the midst of the massacre.

The
massacre,
Deem
thought.
The Mountain Meadows Massacre.

She looked
down at her clothing, examining the bullet hole in her side that no longer
burned. The blood had dried; she moved her fingers over the wound, fascinated
with the realization that it didn’t hurt.

Suddenly
Marion was in her arms, and she felt herself responding, hugging her sister
back, feeling emotions overwhelm her. Marion released her grip and held her at arm’s
length. They looked at each other.

She knows
I’m not her sister,
Deem
thought.
She knows.

Come on,
their father said, beginning to
walk.
We’ve got work to do.

Deem held
Marion’s gaze.
She knows, and yet she isn’t saying anything. Maybe it’s the
disorientation of rising from the grave after so long.

The edge of
Marion’s mouth curved up a little, and Deem recognized it as one of her
sister’s ways to communicate, a secret signal they’d used for years.

It isn’t
her either,
Deem
thought.
I’m not her sister, and she knows that. She isn’t Marion either,
not completely.

Another
resurrected man met with her father for a moment and they talked. Deem heard
the other man refer to her father as Paul.

Both men
turned.
Come on, you two. We need to head west.
The two men turned and began
walking, the light from the new day beginning to illuminate the ground ahead of
them.

What is
it?
Deem heard
Marion ask. She hadn’t said it in a way that others would hear; it was somehow
a communication between just the two of them.

I’m not…
Deem started, unsure how to finish.
I’m not this person. I’m someone else.

Me
either,
Marion
replied.
There’s someone inside me.

That’s
how I feel, too,
Deem
replied.
How are we talking, but the others aren’t hearing us?

Kate!
Marion!
their father
called from ahead.
Pick up your feet. We have ground to cover!

Deem turned
and began walking. Marion followed her.
We’ve always been able to talk
privately,
Marion said.
’Cause of our gift.

Our gift?
Deem repeated.
Do you mean the
River?

Don’t
know what you mean,
Marion replied.
We’ve always done it. Daddy doesn’t have the gift, so he’s
never been able to talk this way.

Where are
we going?
Deem
asked.

West,
Marion replied.
Like before. We’re
going to live in California.

No,
Deem replied.
We’re not going
west to live, Marion. We’re dead.

She saw her
sister’s brow furrow as she considered what Deem was saying.
You’re right,
Marion replied.
We are dead. We’re going west for some other reason. Let’s
ask Father.

Before Deem
could stop her, Marion had run ahead to where Paul and a couple of other men
were marching forward.

Father?
Marion asked.
Why are we walking
west? We’re dead.

That we
are,
Paul replied,
not stopping.
Don’t you feel it, Marion? The call? The urge in your blood?

Marion
looked down at her dress.
No, I don’t feel it. Do you?

I do,
Paul replied.
I feel it very
strongly. It speaks to me. It speaks to all of us.

What is
it telling you?
Marion asked.

That the
people who murdered us in cold blood are waiting ahead, unaware that we are
coming. We are going to have our revenge, Marion.

Marion
stopped walking and Deem quickly caught up with her.

You heard
that?
Marion asked.

I did,
Deem replied.
Sounds to me like
another massacre is coming.

▪ ▪ ▪

“Do you
think Deem will be alright?” David asked, eating a burger in the front seat of
Winn’s Jeep. David’s car was parked right behind Winn so the two of them could
trade off, but for now they were enjoying a fast food meal between them.

“Lyman and
Carma seem to think so,” Winn replied.

“I wish
there was something we could do.”

“I don’t
think we have many options other than to trust them,” Winn replied, remembering
the feeling of the ghost’s fingers upon his own as he pressed the bones into
the earth. He’d felt a strong anger in that touch, an anger that wanted to be
released. If Deem was now inside one of those ghosts — the idea of it chilled
him.

“Do you
think she’s walking to Caliente with the rest of them?” David said, swallowing
down fries and following it with a sip of soda. “Lyman said her personality was
strong enough to resist them. What’s she doing, just wandering around out there
in the meadow? Should we go out there and see?”

“I don’t know
how that would change anything,” Winn replied. “Whatever it is Lyman has cooked
up, it has to play out before he’ll release them and Deem will be free. We’ll
have to trust that Deem is smart enough to know what to do. And besides, Carma
thinks this guy is about to assassinate someone. We’ve got to stay here and
keep an eye on him.”

“If they’re
even still in there,” David said.

“They’re in
there. We saw the wives earlier.”

“But we
haven’t seen them for hours,” David said, checking his watch.

“They’re in
there. Surveillance is patience. You might be too young to understand that.”

“I’m not
going to get pissed at you about insulting my age on the same day you saved me
from a midair explosion. If you say they’re in there, I believe you.”

“This might
go on for a while, you know,” Winn said. “If we have to keep it up all night,
we’re going to need to trade off. One of us needs to get some sleep so they can
take over for the other in the middle of the night.”

“You go,”
David said. “I’ll go back to my car and keep watching.”

Winn balled
up the wrapper from his burger and tossed it into the backseat. “Alright. We’ll
switch off around 2, how’s that? Call me if anything happens between now and
then.”