The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5) (4 page)

Some kind
of muscles on this guy,
Winn thought.

While Awan
looked up, Winn looked down. “How is someone supposed to use this thing to
escape?” he asked. “They have to jump from this point?”

“I think
they removed the sliding ladder since the building is unoccupied,” Awan said,
beginning to climb the fire escape. “Unoccupied except for Jackson, I mean.”

Winn
followed Awan, looking up occasionally to be met with Awan’s jeans-covered ass.
It wasn’t a view he minded.

As they
reached the top of the four-story building, Awan gave Winn a hand, scaling over
the side and onto the flat roof. It had been recently resurfaced, and several
shiny new air conditioning units were positioned at various points. Awan led
him to a door that lifted open from the flat surface of the roof, exposing a
metal ladder leading down. Winn noticed a broken, discarded lock resting on the
roof a couple of feet from the door.

“After you,”
Awan said, holding the door open.

Winn started
down the ladder, and after fifteen rungs found himself standing in a corridor
lined with two-by-fours. The last of the day’s light streamed into the windows,
which were easy to see as no walls obstructed the view. He heard Awan closing
the roof hatch overhead; he was soon standing next to him. “They didn’t finish
this section,” Awan said, walking forward down the hallway. “Must have run out
of money. Come on, Jackson’s on the third floor.”

Winn
followed Awan through the building, coming to a set of stairs at the far end.
They walked down together, the wood of the staircase occasionally creaking
under them. On the floor below, new sheetrock had been hung but not finished.
Their steps didn’t echo quite the way they had on the top floor, where things
were more open.

Awan snaked
down a short hallway and then turned, walking until he came to the end of it. A
closed door was on the left; Awan grabbed its handle and opened it.

Inside was
an empty hotel room, about four hundred square feet. Winn could tell Awan had
already dropped into the River, so he joined him.

The room
changed; it was covered in fancy wallpaper. A bed sat against one wall, and on
another was a table with a large pitcher and basin. In one corner was a desk,
piled high with books and objects. Next to the window was a man, dressed in
clothes from the mid-nineteenth century, staring out the window, a perplexed expression
on his face. He turned to look at the two men who had just entered. He smiled
briefly at them, then turned to look out the window once again.

Winn saw the
man raise his hand to the holster at his waist, letting his fingers grip the
handle of the revolver there. He didn’t remove the gun, but he held onto it as
his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the ground outside.

Goddamn
top floor!
the man
muttered.
I wanted the top floor so I could see them coming. This floor
ain’t high enough.

Who’s
coming?
Winn
whispered to Awan.

It’s a
long story,
Awan
replied.
It was a hundred and fifty years ago. He jumped a claim, and he’s
paranoid.

Awan turned
to the man and approached him.
Jackson?
he asked.
Jackson? It’s me,
Awan. You remember me?

The man
turned from the window to face them. He had a short beard that was well
groomed, and thinning blond hair on his head that was cut well above his ears.

Blue
eyes!
Winn thought
to himself.
You don’t often see eye color with ghosts.

The man’s
face expressed confusion for a moment, and he returned to looking out the
window. Awan called to him again, and the man turned back, squinting. Suddenly his
eyes widened.
Awan!
he said, smiling.
Thank god you’ve come! There’s
a pistol in the nightstand by the bed. Grab it and join me here at the window.

Awan walked
to the small nightstand and opened a drawer. Inside were three revolvers. He
took one and walked to Jackson.

When they
come, they’ll come from the north,
Jackson said, pointing out the window.
Two of ’em, Richie
and Dale Sorensen. Brothers. The most disreputable sons o’bitches ever born.
We’ll take ’em down from here, as soon as they round that bank on the corner.

Alright,
Awan said, looking out the window,
playing along.
Jackson, I want you to meet my friend Winn.

Jackson
turned from the window.
Is that short for Winthrop?
he asked.

It is,
Winn replied.

Help
yourself to one of the pistols,
Jackson said, turning back to the window.
Hot damn, with
three of us armed, they’re outnumbered!

Winn looked
at Awan, who gave him a wide grin and shrugged. Winn walked to the nightstand
and took out a revolver, half enjoying the ghost’s cycle.

Jackson,
you know all kinds of symbols, right?
Awan asked, turning to face the man.

Keep your
eyes down the road!
Jackson ordered, and Awan turned to face north, looking out the window.

Symbols,
Jackson,
Awan repeated.
You know a lot about them, right?

I do,
Jackson replied.
Some say I’m an
expert at them. I don’t claim to be, though.

But it
was symbols that led you to the Cole Mountain find, wasn’t it?

It was,
Jackson replied, his voice filling
with pride.
Huge find, made the papers in St. Louis.

You
deciphered something on petroglyphs, right?

Ancient
symbols, yes, left there by your progenitors hundreds of years ago. Told me
right where to find the entrance.

So, my
friend Winn here, he has some symbols we need to figure out. We were hoping
you’d take a look at them.

Jackson
turned from the window to face Winn.
Sure!
he said enthusiastically, his
concern for the window abandoned.

Winn removed
the paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it, handing it to Jackson. Jackson
took it and held it up to the light.

Hmm,
he said.
Let me just check
something.

Jackson
walked to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a cigarette from a small
gold case and slipped it into his mouth. A second later he struck a match
against the side of the desk, lit the cigarette, and dropped the match into an
ashtray. He took two long drags, holding the smoke in his lungs each time.

Care for
any?
he offered,
extending the cigarette to Awan.

No, thank
you,
Awan replied.

Aww, come
on, this is medicine to you people, isn’t it?
Jackson asked, taking another large lungful.

Yes,
Awan replied.
But I can’t take
medicine right now.

Well,
Jackson said, tamping the cigarette
out in the ashtray,
let me just take another glance at these symbols.
He
sat down in a chair next to the desk and studied the paper Winn had given to
him. His eyes narrowed and went wide several times, and he moved the paper back
and forth, holding it at an angle.

Ah, there
we go,
he said. He
handed the paper back to Winn.

Well?
Awan asked.

Your
symbols are untranslatable in this timeframe,
Jackson replied, leaning back in his chair, his
eyelids drooping.

What does
that mean?
Winn
asked.

It means
you’d have to view them in a different timeframe to understand them,
Jackson replied, slurring his words
a little.

He’s
baked!
Winn said to
Awan.

Yes,
Awan replied.
Seems so.

Great,
Winn replied.
How does this help?

Marijuana
is how I determined that your little message is timeshifted, young man,
Jackson replied, raising his feet to
place them crossed on the bed.
Marijuana allows enough of a time slip to
detect it, if you’re an expert like me.

Then how
can we decipher it?
Winn asked.
Do I have to get high?

You’re
welcome to,
Jackson
said, pointing to the ashtray.
But no, you won’t be able to decipher it that
way. It only allowed me to confirm that my suspicion was right.

How can
it be deciphered, then?
Winn asked.
It’s important.

Simple,
you have to time shift to the same differential of the person who created it. Then
it’ll appear in whatever language or symbols the original composer intended.
Jackson lowered his feet from the
bed and swung around in his chair to face his desk. He began looking through
the books.
Here, let me give you an example. Pick up that cigarette and take
a few puffs.

Winn looked
up at Awan, who only smiled in reply. He walked to the desk where Jackson was
seated, and lifted the partially used blunt from the ashtray, then pulled a match
from the supply in a small shot glass on the desk. He had it lit within seconds
and took a long drag.

I didn’t
know you could take this stuff while in the River,
he said to Awan. Within seconds he
felt his head begin to swim, and he replaced the cigarette in the ashtray.
Whoa!
he said, reaching out to steady himself. He felt Awan grab him and maneuverer
him to the bed near where Jackson was sitting.

Once he felt
himself sitting on the bed, Winn reached out to grab the bedcovers at his
sides.
That’s strong stuff,
he said. He tried to stand up again, but
Awan pushed his shoulders back down.

You
better sit,
Awan
said, the words sounding as though they were echoing down a long tunnel.
You’re
kinda shaky. Just sit.

Jackson
turned around in his chair, a book open to a page of markings that reminded him
vaguely of Celtic lettering. The figures swam on the page, moving up and down.

Now, this
one’s a simple one,
Jackson said.
See how these look? Now watch.

Jackson
turned the book so that Winn was viewing the symbols at an angle. Winn watched as
the lettering began to glow, as though it was burning. It dissolved, leaving
new letters in its place.
‘This is one,’
Winn read aloud.

One,
Jackson repeated.
One
one-thousandth of a second shifted from reality. Close enough that you can read
it without shifting very far. Being in the River with a good hit of the
marijuana is enough to allow you to translate them.

Let me
see my symbols,
Winn
said, pointing to the paper on Jackson’s desk.

Isn’t
going to work,
Jackson replied.

Let me
see!
Winn insisted.

Jackson
placed the book on his desk and handed Winn the paper that contained the
symbols he’d seen as he neared sleep. He held the paper at an angle, trying to
make it out.

Won’t
work,
Jackson
repeated.

Why not?
Winn asked, tilting the paper back
and forth, trying to get a result.

Because
this wasn’t written with a one one-thousandth time differential, which is all
you can make out this way. Marijuana alters perception of time in a very, very
slight manner. It’s not enough for this,
Jackson said, pointing at Winn’s paper.

How can
we translate it, then?
Winn asked.
Is there a way?

You’re
asking the wrong man,
Jackson replied.
I know symbols, not time differentials.

You knew
how to do this!
Winn
replied, pointing at Jackson’s book.

Only
because it was in the book!
Jackson replied.
I’m not a time specialist. You should
talk to someone with more knowledge about it.

Know of
anyone?
Awan asked.

Jackson
rubbed his chin.
Now that you mention it, maybe I do. A friend of mine from
Tonopah said they’re having some kind of ghost convention at the hotel up there.
He was excited to attend because a time expert from Spokane had driven down,
and was going to speak and put on some kind of demonstration. He thought very
highly of the guy, and was all excited about it.

Do you
know the time expert’s name?
Winn asked.