The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5) (3 page)

“Was it just
me, or was that one creepy threesome?” Winn asked.

“Pligs
always creep me out,” David replied. “But that guy was different. Mega creep.”

“Looked like
a villain right out of a movie,” Winn said, starting up the Jeep.

“Yeah, with
two bizarre henchmen.”

“Oh no,”
Carma said, her hands coming together quickly to begin wringing. “Oh dear.”

Winn sat on a
chair in Carma’s sitting room, taking an iced tea from the tray Carma had
prepared.

“Tell me
again,” Carma said. “Be specific.”

David
grabbed an iced tea and fell onto the couch. They all avoided the chair that
Deem preferred — it seemed wrong to sit in it while she was gone.

“One man,
two women,” Winn said.

“And the two
women were his wives, I guess,” David said. “Wearing plig clothes.”

“How was
their hair done?” Carma asked.

“Braids,”
Winn replied.

“And the
man?” Carma asked.

“Black from
head to toe,” David said. “Except his tie. And his hat seemed a light shade of
grey.”

“How tall
was he?” Carma asked.

“Six foot
three?” Winn guessed. “Somewhere around there. Tall. Thin.”

“Creepy,”
David added.

“Oh, no!”
Carma repeated, sitting on the edge of a chair, the wringing of her hands
picking up speed.

“What?” Winn
asked.

“I had hoped
the rumors weren’t true,” she muttered, looking to her side.

“What
rumors?” Winn asked.

“We’d heard
through the grapevine that they were using The Fist,” Carma replied. “But his
name gets thrown around a lot, so we discounted it. I guess we were wrong.”

“The Fist?”
David asked, sitting up on the couch. “He’s called The Fist?”

“The Fist of
God,” Carma said. “Lives on the outskirts of Hildale, just north of Colorado
City. He’s shunned by the fundamentalist leaders there, but he’s often used by
others to get dirty work done. He’s ruthless, and so are his wives. I was
hoping the reports of their involvement were false.”

“Involvement?”
David asked. “He’s working with Dayton?”

“If it was
him picking up the drop, then yes, he’s involved,” Carma said, tapping a finger
against her leg nervously while she thought. “They’ve gone for the big guns.”

“Aside from
the getup, they didn’t seem all that impressive to me,” Winn said, taking a
gulp of his iced tea. “Just an old polygamist and his wives.”

“No, he’s
not just that,” Carma said. “He’s gifted, and so are the women. What they see,
he sees. He’s got some kind of special connection to them. I know people like
to look down on the fundamentalists around here, but it’s a mistake to think
they’re deficient in some way. Just because they have multiple wives doesn’t
mean they aren’t smart. Or, in his case, diabolically malevolent.”

“I don’t
care about the multiple wives,” David said. “Grown adults can do what they
want. It’s the marrying of underage girls I object to.”

“And the
mindless following of a leader,” Winn added.

“There’s a
lot of that in the world,” Carma said, “not just here. That’s not my point.
This man has a reputation that goes back generations. The gifteds who use him
gave him the nickname ‘The Fist of God’ years ago because he’s so ruthless and
effective. I’m afraid this tips the scales a little.”

“His wives
didn’t look that tough,” David observed.

“They are, I
assure you,” Carma replied. “It’s a huge mistake to underestimate them based on
their looks. They’re all seasoned, well-exercised gifteds who can make the
River work to their advantage. We need to be very careful going forward. Many
people believe that a huge number of unexplained deaths around here are
attributable to them.” Carma paused. “Never connected to them, of course.”

Winn
produced the iced tea bottle that contained the liquid he transferred. He
showed it to Carma.

“This was
the drop,” Winn said, handing it to her. “Once I smelled it and realized what
it was, I decided to keep most of it in the original bottle and leave it there.
If they go back to look for it again, they’ll find it.”

“Smart!” Carma
said, the look of worry on her face diminishing slightly. “That keeps things in
play for a while longer. Quick thinking.”

She took the
bottle from Winn and looked at it, then unscrewed its cap and sniffed at it.

“Oh, yes!”
she said. “I’ll get this down to Lyman. He has filters that’ll lift the words
quickly.”

“So there’s
a message in that liquid?” David asked. “Fascinating.”

Carma rose
from her chair. “You can put a message into almost anything if you know how,”
she said, turning to walk to the hallway.

“Speaking of
messages,” Winn said to David, “I’ve got an appointment with Awan in a couple
of hours. Sure you don’t want to come?”

David smiled
back. “If I don’t study for this final, I’m going to flunk the class
altogether. I can’t. I wish I could, though.”

Winn rose. “No
problem,” he replied curtly, following Carma. He descended the stairs behind
her. She stopped when she reached the bottom and turned to him. “Don’t be angry
with him.”

“Angry?” he
replied. “Why would I be angry?”

Carma’s head
tilted at him. “Don’t make me go into it.” She turned and walked through the
dark basement room, on her way to the passage that led to the tunnel.

Winn
followed her, deciding not to continue pretending he didn’t know what she
meant. He was miffed that David would choose a college test over helping him
out, especially since Winn believed the message came from Deem. Winn hadn’t
done well in college, and dropped out almost immediately. As he followed Carma
through the tunnel, he felt resentment of David bubble up, and it wasn’t the
first time. It irritated him.

Rich
college kid,
he
thought, shaking his head.

He knew that
deep inside himself, past all the irritation and anger, he respected David for
having the determination to see it through; something he hadn’t been able to
muster. He suspected if he were being completely honest, he actually admired
David. But it was easier to be pissed, to feel slighted by his lack of loyalty.

I wonder
where his loyalties lie,
he thought.

You’re an
asshole,
his better
self replied.
You know where his loyalties lie. He’s been tested. He’s on
your side. If you were on his side, you’d want him to succeed in college.
You’re the asshole.

Carma led
him past the small wooden table that used to be the point at which they’d
always stop and wait for Lyman to appear. “The fact of the matter is, both of
your hearts are in the right place,” she said, passing through another small
tunnel and into the dark cave that housed Lyman’s work area. “So don’t be too
hard on him, or yourself.”

About ten
paces inside the cave, Winn stopped and let himself drop into the River. The
darkness dissolved into an eerie glow that illuminated all of Lyman’s tables
and projects. He drifted to a corner where his reason for following Carma lay
stretched out on a table: Deem.

She looked
the same as the last time he’d come down to check on her: stretched out like a
body on a slab, her chest slowly rising and falling. Her face was still covered
by the gelatinous glob that was somehow keeping her alive. He could remember
how part of it forced its way into Deem’s mouth and nose as Lyman had applied
it many weeks ago. He felt his body shake with the willies in response to the
memory.

She’s the
same,
Lyman said
from behind, coming up to Winn and placing a hand on his shoulder. Lyman’s hand
felt insubstantial and light, and it made Winn wonder just how effective he
might be at saving Deem’s life. He turned to look at the man by his side, and
seeing Lyman’s young, sixteen-year-old face didn’t help.

She’s
still OK?
Winn
asked.

Well, as
OK as she can be, considering where she’s at,
Lyman replied, removing his hand from Winn’s shoulder
and drifting to the other side of the table.

Tell me
again why you have to leave her in that horrible place?
Winn said.
I know you’ve told me
before. I guess I’m hoping that the story will be different.

It’s not,
Lyman replied.
The weapon you
used to capture Willard Bingham was the same weapon I used many times in the
past to round up a large number of evil, degenerate entities. When you misfired
and hit Deem with it, she was transferred to the soul cage with the others.

Didn’t
misfire,
Winn
muttered.
She stepped in front of me. Of it.

Yes,
Lyman replied.
However it
happened, she’s in there with hundreds of malevolent people. When I open the
soul cage, they’ll all come out, including Deem. I can’t release them until I’m
ready to use them. I’d be wasting decades of work.

You
wouldn’t do that for her?
Winn asked.
I know she’s important to you.

Winn watched
as Lyman looked down at Deem. He could see the man’s face soften; he knew Deem
reminded him of a former love, someone from a hundred and fifty years ago that
he’d cared about very much. Then he saw Lyman’s face slowly harden.
She’s
important,
Lyman said.
But she’s fine, for now. I can’t discard all of
the work I’ve labored so hard to complete.

And what
is that?
Winn asked.
What’s the plan?

Lyman turned
to look at him. He didn’t reply.

I know
you have a plan,
Winn
said.
Why won’t you tell me?

Some of
the worst setbacks I’ve suffered came from people I trusted,
Lyman answered, looking down at
Deem.
I’ve found it’s best to share knowledge when there’s a reason to, not
before. I’m asking both you and Deem to be patient.

Winn felt
himself sigh. It was probably the fourth or fifth time he’d approached Lyman,
hoping the man would let him in on things and give him some idea of how Deem
would finally be freed, but to no avail. Lyman kept his cards close to his
chest and never let anyone see them until the last moment. It was frustrating,
but what could he do? Deem’s body was alive for now, thanks to the creature Lyman
had slathered over her face; without it, Winn suspected her physical body would
have died long ago. He had no choice but to trust Lyman and wait.

I have to
go,
Winn said,
turning.

Winn?
Lyman said, stopping him. Winn
turned to face the ghost of the young man, staring at his features, waiting.
Although it was unwrinkled, it showed signs of maturity and weariness.
It
will be soon,
Lyman said.

Winn tried
to force a smile in return, but between the irritation with David and the stonewalling
from Lyman, he wasn’t feeling capable of delivering a false emotion, and it
resulted in a half-hearted smirk that looked anything but appreciative.

▪ ▪ ▪

Awan
instructed Winn where to park his Jeep behind the abandoned brick building, a
spot where it wouldn’t be noticed by passersby. The young Paiute hopped out of
the passenger seat, and the warm desert air lifted his long black hair as he
walked to the building.

“Looks
deserted,” Winn said.

“It usually
is,” Awan replied. “The owner renovated it several years ago. I guess he
thought the town was going to pick up again, but as you can see, it hasn’t.”

Awan led him
to a fire escape that hung ten feet in the air above them. “How’s your upper
body strength?” Awan asked.

Winn rolled
his shoulders, wondering what Awan had in mind. “OK, I guess.”

“If I hang
from there, can you pull yourself up over me?”

Winn looked
up at the metal bar overhead. “Not sure.”

Awan knelt
down. “Then I’ll do it. Here, let me boost you up. Just hang from the bar until
I climb over you, then I’ll pull you up.”

Winn placed
the toe of his boot into Awan’s hands and stepped. He felt himself thrown
upward remarkably fast, and within seconds he had his hands wrapped around the
metal bar.

Before he
knew it, Awan had jumped to his legs and was climbing up his body. He thought
for a moment that the weight might cause him to lose his grip and they’d both
fall to the ground, but Awan moved so quickly he realized he didn’t have time
to let go. The Paiute’s lean frame passed in front of his face as he climbed.
Winn felt a little thrill as his chest and waist moved past, but it was over
within seconds.

He felt
Awan’s hand above him, grabbing at his wrist. “Let go,” Awan said.

Winn looked
up at him, unsure if Awan had a firm enough grip that he wouldn’t fall if he
released his hold on the bar.

Awan smiled
at him. “I’ve got you!”

Winn
released his hold, and instantly Awan pulled him up to the metal grating of the
fire escape.