Deadly Days: A Gripping Detective Thriller (Logan Stone Book 1)

by Brad Hart

  “Alright, but keep your voice down to a whisper,” Logan said, holding his finger to his lips. She could barely see him when he did it. “I think we’re about to walk into something wild, and I think it’s best if they aren’t aware of our presence until we’re right up on them.”

  The phone in his pocket belonging to the man he had shot in the back of the house began to ring. “Shit!”

  Logan had switched the phone to silent, but it must have been rigged to override that when someone called. He fumbled in his cargo pockets and brought it out. He swiped the screen and the ringing stopped. He put the phone to his ears. The music had stopped, and deathly silence returned.

  “Hello?”

  “You’ve almost arrived. Keep coming, and we’ll meet you in a few minutes. See you very soon,” a soft voice said, and then the call ended.

  Logan tossed the phone into the distance and it landed with a loud crack on a rock. He thought it over for a second. He could hear Walsh speaking, but he was lost in his own mind. They know we’re here. They know exactly where we are, and they’ve been watching us. But for how long? The entire time?

  “It was them, maybe ‘the master’ himself,” Logan said. “They know we’re here. They know where we are.”

  “What did he say? That’s it?”

  “He said he’ll see us very soon. He’ll meet us in a few minutes.”

  “We’re sitting ducks.”

  “Keep your gun up. I don’t know what the hell we’re walking into. Let’s go another way. If we can’t see them, then they can’t see us,” he coughed on the smoke. “Come on.”

  They went to the right, hurrying fast through the brambles and the few trees that lined the way. The ravine vanished off into the distance behind them, and Logan and Walsh kept their guns pointed ahead of them, ready to fire at almost anything if it approached them. Nothing good could come from these woods, except for one possibility – Brianne Jones - and that was only if she was alive, which was a far-fetched assumption at that point in time.

  Brianne. I’m going to find her. I’m going to save her from this mess, Logan thought to himself as he barged through the mist which was starting to recede. He could hear Walsh close at his side, but he couldn’t see her yet. The air was still thick with smoke, but it was clearing the further they went. Logan stopped abruptly.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Did you hear that?” He turned to the left and held his gun in place, aiming it at the long endless sea of nothingness.

  “Hear what?”

  Before he could reply, they both heard it. The crackling of branches and twigs. The soft patter of footsteps on the hard, barren ground. A soft chuckle and a series of dull, lifeless moans. Walsh wondered if they’d both died back at the cabin. Maybe now they were in purgatory. Maybe this was the hellish landscape they were damned to.

  She pinched herself and winced at the pain. She felt it, and she hoped that meant she was alive. She shook for a moment and listened close. The sounds seemed to come from both directions; behind and in front of them.

  “Get ready, Walsh.”

  An arrow struck the tree beside Logan’s face. Without wasting a moment to let the sudden shock sink in, he ducked for cover and fired off two shots in the distance. Another arrow whizzed past Walsh’s waist before she hopped flat on the ground and started to fire from the direction it came.

  “Shit,” he said. “I can’t see anything.”

  “They can’t either.”

  Logan hunkered up behind the thin tree and felt the swoosh of another arrow as it rocketed past him. Footsteps began to come in the distance, fast and heavy. Running. He took a breath and held his gun tight to his chest, closing his eyes and thinking that this wasn’t going to be the moment he died.

  He wasn’t going to let it happen.

  Just before the footsteps seemed to reach them, Logan twisted himself out and jutted his arms forward. He fired three times at a dark shape up ahead and felt a twinge of pain on his left cheek bone. The fourth shot came from Walsh’s gun, and it made impact. The dark figure clutched at its chest, dropped the bow to the ground and fell forward with a heavy thud on the hard ground.

  The mist cleared as the shape fell, but only for a moment. Walsh squinted to try to see into the distance, but it was a futile attempt. They were blind out here; the only visibility was whatever happened to be ten feet around them at any given time. She nudged Logan from behind and he glanced back. He pointed ahead.

  “Can you make out anything else?”

  “No, it’s too hard to see anything at all. Is he dead?”

  “I’m going to check. Keep your gun up. He’s not going to be the only one out here, we know that.”

  Logan crawled forward, ready to fire at any moment, but when he reached the figure, he saw that it wouldn’t be necessary. Walsh’s shot might have saved his own life, but it had ended the life of the figure who lay on the ground. Its black robe hid the color of blood, but it was obviously soaking wet with it, seeping out from the chest where the bullet had lodged. Logan pulled the hood back and looked at the face.

  “It’s not a he.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a woman, Walsh.”

  She crawled beside him and looked at the face of the person whose life she had ended. It was a woman, and a big one. When standing, Walsh could have sworn she had looked six feet tall, and then lying flat on the ground her long limbs were stretched out and thin as a rail.

  “Damn,” Walsh said. “I thought it was a guy for sure.”

  “She looks like she’s part of a cult or something, with this outfit.”

  “Well, yeah. I think that’s what we’re walking into – a cult.”

  “Not much of a surprise to me.”

  “You’re bleeding,” Walsh said. Logan touched his face and his finger tips came back with a mess of red. He shrugged it off.

  “Arrow grazed me. Come on, we need to move fast.”

  They heard something in the woods. Logan raised his gun and started to creep forward. Walsh followed beside him. The sound of sniffling was audible to them both. It was the faint noise of a woman crying or trying to hold in laughter. Logan stopped and put his arm out to block Walsh from going any further.

  He stared straight ahead and felt uneasy with the sensation that a third person was right around them, somewhere in the mist. He could feel it. Then he heard a woman sobbing. He turned to his left and saw Brianne Jones sitting against a tree, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at him with big eyes that looked like they hadn’t seen a wink of sleep in days. Her lip quivered, and her hands trembled as she reached to cover her face. She peered at Logan and Walsh through her finger tips.

  “Are you all good guys?”

  “Yes,” Logan said.

  “How can you prove it?”

  “Your dad hired me to track you down,” Logan said, pulling out his business card and tossing it down to her. “I’m a Private investigator. You okay?”

  “So, you’re the good guys, then. And she’s police?” Brianne waved a hand at Walsh.

  “Yes,” Walsh said. “I’m from the San Feliz Police Department, honey.”

  “Don’t worry,” Logan said.

  “Then get me out of here,” she said, standing up and frantically clutching onto Logan’s shoulders. “They’ll kill us all.”

  “Is anyone else with you?” Walsh asked.

  “No, I’m alone,” Brianne said with a voice that sounded more like a trembling squeak.

  “Where did you come from?” Logan asked.

  “In the woods. They kept me there. I just ran and someone was looking for me. I saw you kill her.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They’re here, somewhere.”

  “Close?”

  “Yeah, so that means we need to freaking go. Like, now! Please get me out of here, please,” she began to cry.

  Logan grabbed her by the back of her gown and pulled her forward.
“Come on, we’re going to get you out of here and to a safe place, okay?” The three of them turned and retraced their footsteps back from the direction they had come.

  “Logan,” Walsh said. “Let’s go to the left a little way and then head back the way we came. I don’t like the idea of staying on the same path we just took here considering the phone call you just got. They could already be straight ahead, waiting for us.”

  “She’s right,” Brianne whispered. “I don’t want to meet them again. If they see us, then they’ll slaughter us. There’s no way to get away once they’ve seen you.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think most of them are here now, though, at the camp. It’s not far from here, but we can’t go there. You can’t stop them, I’m serious,” she broke down again and fell to her knees. “And now they got my dad. He’s so stupid he ran into the woods and they got him. He should have known not to come in here. He should have known!”

  “Honey,” Walsh said, glancing at Logan. Brianne Jones didn’t know what her father had been up to, but Walsh didn’t feel like it would be right to tell her about it at that moment, and neither did Logan.

  “We’re seriously wasting time. Come on,” Logan said, and motioned for them to follow with a swift movement of his arm. He led the way through the misty land toward the ravine, until a single gunshot rang out.

  The three of them stopped dead in their tracks. They had been caught.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chief Frank Walker woke up dizzily in a coughing fit to the crackling heat of a fire burning within ten feet of him. It took him a moment to regain his senses, and when he realized what had happened, he spun around as he checked his holster for the gun. Of course, it was empty. The gun had been taken, and he wasn’t alone.

  Surrounding him was a small group. They wore cloaks with hoods. He didn’t know what had happened but remembered feeling a heavy pressure on his skull before he fell to his knees. He could smell whatever it was they had rubbed over his nose, although it had faded a bit and been replaced by the smell of burning pine. He coughed again and rolled over onto his hands, gagging and feeling sick to his stomach.

  “Where am I?”

  A hand clamped over his mouth. He started to moan, trying to scream through the vicious, stinking grip, but he couldn’t. He stared with wide eyes at the face of the drugged-out junkie he had been looking for; the nasty one in the rusty beater of a car.

  So, this is what I get for not bringing back up. Stupid, stupid bastard.

  “You’re at home now. Home with us,” the junkie said. His pupils were so large that Walker couldn’t even make out the color of his eyes despite being within six inches of his nasty, oily face. The man dropped him back onto the ground and then stood with the others.

  “Pigs are best when roasted above a strong flame,” a man said, and stepped out from the center. He was holding Walker’s gun. “I think even you can agree to that, pig,” the man’s eyes wandered from Walker and up to the massive, scorching flames. He looked like he was on something as well – something strong.

  Walker stared at the man and then followed his gaze to the fire. Above the flame was a split, which would normally be used for a large pig. He wasn’t a stupid guy, and the meaning of the split dawned on him as soon as he laid eyes on it. He gulped fast and turned to fight, but he felt too drugged up to do much of any moving.

  “Not yet. You still have a while yet to live,” the man said as he reached down to silence Walker with a dirty hand clamping over his mouth.

  “Fuck you,” Walker mumbled through his grip.

  “Don’t try to fight us. It will just make it worse. We’re not going to eat you – do we look crazy to you, or something? We’re just going to roast you up on that split, like a pig – which is what you are. So, don’t you quite simply belong up there? What’s the problem, then?”

  Frank Walker screamed through the grip. The man stared down at him with lifeless eyes and a blank face. There was no smile on his lips and no frown. There was nothing but a blank, emotionless slate of flesh. He shoved Walker down hard, making the back of his skull slam against the dirt, and then he resumed his place.

  “We’re waiting for our phones to ring. We’re waiting for a sign from the master himself… And then we can show him what we’re doing on camera.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Walker clutched his aching head.

  “The master is particular. He doesn’t want to miss a show, but unfortunately, he couldn’t be around for this one… But he’ll get the next best thing, oh yes, he will indeed – he’ll get to see a live version on video… Perhaps it’s better that way because the master isn’t a fan of the scent of burning flesh… But us? Well heck, we don’t mind it. We know it serves the greater good of our group, which grows by the minute. A little bad smell never hurt anyone, isn’t that right, children?”

  “Yes!” The group chanted in unison.

  “Now, we’ll just wait on his call, so hold your horses and be as patient as you can be,” the man said, finally letting his lips show some sign of life. He grinned. “The master might be busy with other matters right now. In fact, I just received an alert that said he might be very busy… With one of your own officers, Walker.”

  It dawned on Walker then, like a nauseating bad dream coming to fruition. He watched the gleeful expression grow on the hooded man’s pale, lean face as the ugly truth hit him. He realized then and there, why she hadn’t answered his calls. He realized that she was likely to be in a situation as perilous and bleak as his own. Maybe even worse.

  “Kristen,” he said through clenched teeth.

  **

  Hundreds of miles and many hours away, Officer Kristen Walsh found herself being led into the depths of the ugly forest until the thickness of the billowing smoke grew to an unbearable level. Her hands were tied behind her back with shoe string and she was disarmed, except for the knife in her boot which she had borrowed earlier from Logan.

  They had searched him more thoroughly and had found his extra knife, which left him with no protection. Not that Walsh’s knife was going to do her any good considering she couldn’t move her arms in any direction other than side to side. She felt defeated, and Logan walked behind her slumped down with his face to the ground.

  Like her, his hands had been tied behind his back, but even worse than that was the fact that they had wrapped a rope around his neck and were pulling him like a dog through the woods. He lurched forward as a cloaked man tugged and laughed. He turned his head as much as he could without choking to stare at the girl beside him – the girl he had come all this way to save.

  She was alive, alright. She was alive and well from her appearance. She seemed brave enough, and it appeared as if the group of cloaked men trusted her enough to walk around with unbound hands and no choker around her neck. Either that or they knew she wasn’t stupid enough to run again. She glanced sideways for a moment but quickly looked away after briefly locking eyes with Logan.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, face going red. “It’s my fault you all are here. Now we’re going to die,” she began to cry again.

  “It’s not your fault,” Logan said. “It’s your father’s. You know you shouldn’t waste any time trying to save him, right? I want you to know that if we get out of this, I’m not going to spare an ounce of breath trying to get that asshole out with us – I’m here to find you, and that’s it.”

  She paused for a long time. “I know it was him. I just didn’t want to believe it. They already told me what he did. But then he hired you, so maybe he changed his mind, right? Maybe he felt bad about it and wanted to rescue me.”

  “That makes it okay, then? That makes it acceptable?” Logan said.

  She looked ashamed. Logan didn’t want her to feel that way. It must have been hell for her to know that her Father was the cause of the whole thing – the death of her mother, and now probably the death of herself. Logan did
n’t want her to die, and he didn’t want to die himself. Not yet. Death, while inevitable, was something he wasn’t looking forward to for a while.

  He was young enough that he felt as if he still had a great many years to go, and that was all about to be torn away in the blink of an eye by some freaks wearing robes and playing dress up. Logan cringed at the sight of them. Some had wandered off ahead of the group, but three remained, and one was pulling the rope fastened to Logan’s neck with great amusement in his black, beady eyes.

  “Faster,” he said like a snake, peering back at Logan. “The man behind the mask is waiting for us all. Today we’re finally going to be able to see his face.”

  “Great,” Logan said, and meant it. He wanted nothing more than to see the face of the man who, from what he understood, was behind it all. The murders, the cult, the madness. He wanted nothing more than to see the identity of the perpetrator before he took him down personally.

  He’d give the guy two choices. A quick bullet that led to the grave, or obedience. When Logan looked around at his new company, he doubted there would be much obedience, least of all given to him. The master as they so lovingly called him would be the only one to obey.

  Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to obey him. He wouldn’t even pretend to. He was angry, and the urge for a drink made him even angrier. He felt like grabbing the man when he met him and screaming in his face, ‘You see what you did to me? You made me the thing I hate. A drunk. Nothing but a pathetic drunk seething to get his fix.’

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to do that because of his bound wrists, and he knew that if he could, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The man would probably laugh if he was anything like a normal human being with a sense of humor regarding absurd outbursts. Logan himself figured he’d laugh too if someone grabbed him and babbled that into his own face. On top of it all, the master of such a cult would undoubtedly be a man without reason or much sanity left, if there ever was any. In all likelihood, Logan understood that the man would probably get off at the idea of tormenting someone’s psyche, especially the psyche of the detective who had been trying to bring him down.