by Greig Beck
“Yeah, not really on my bucket list either.” He lifted his chin. “Appointments?”
“Yep,” she said, beginning to read from the schedule on her screen. “Mrs. Abernathy at 9, John Jamison at 9:30, and Mrs. Oswald is bringing in her son at 11.”
“Good.” He meant it. He needed work as a distraction following Ben’s suicide.
As coroner, he’d checked Ben Wainright over and it was straightforward strangulation. Jumping from a stool doesn’t break the neck, so death doesn’t come quickly; instead, it’s just a slow choking.
Without his hands tied behind his back, it takes real willpower to go through with it. Ben must have really been determined to check out.
He paused. “Hey, how you doing? About Ben, I mean.”
She bobbed her head from side to side for a moment. “A bit bummed. But okay. And you?”
“Yeah, yeah, just…confused more than anything else.”
Shelly’s eyes bulged and she pointed past him to the open window. “Rat!”
“Huh?” Mitch cringed from her shriek and spun to see a large black rat moving along the windowsill to then drop into the garden.
“That thing was huge.”
She snorted. “Yeah, and been here for years. I call him Willard.”
“Well, it’s not a good look for health professionals to have a pet rat on the premises. So, Willard goes.” He looked at her from under lowered brows. “Can you organize…?”
She sighed long and loud. “Yes, I’ll get someone to catch him.”
“Thank you.” Mitch headed into his practice rooms. He recalled that after finding Ben when he had first returned to the practice, he’d found a stack of letters in his desk drawer addressed to many of them—himself, the mayor, Karen, Ralph, and most of the other councillors and town elders. They all contained just two words: forgive me.
Forgive him for what? His suicide? Maybe. Or was there something else? Some other thing he had been carrying around in his head that generated some industrial-grade guilt that had finally overwhelmed him?
Mitch remembered something and turned in his chair to look at the large antique and formidable wooden filing cabinet in the corner. He sat staring at it for several moments. It was the only thing he hadn’t got around to investigating.
He crossed to it and ran his hand over the exterior—oak probably and he bet it weighed 200 pounds and maybe another 100 fully loaded. He pushed it a little and it didn’t budge even a fraction.
He pulled at the top drawer and that also didn’t shift. “Yep.” He stuck his finger in one of the brass keyholes in the drawer face. He knew it’d take a large, old-style Mortise-type key with the rounded barrel. And he’d just found one.
Mitch went back to his desk and opened the top drawer in his desk where the heat tarnished set of keys still sat. He snatched them up and knew before he even tried it that it was going to be the right one.
What secrets was Ben trying to hide? Were they what he was shamed by and sorry for? Mitch went back to the filing cabinet. It is time to find out.
He stuck the key in and turned it. The lock moved slowly but went all the way around—success. He tugged the top drawer open, and it came out way too easy.
“Shit.”
Inside was empty. And the next drawer, and then the last one. He suddenly knew what else was in old Ben’s bonfire.
“Taken to the grave.” He tossed the keys up onto the cabinet top. “Thanks, Ben.”
CHAPTER 09
Red Rock Canyon Creek, Oklahoma
Johnson Nightbird stood on his front porch, hands in his old denim jeans pockets, and looked up at the sky. His once raven wing-black hair was now silver and still hung past his shoulders, but his eyes retained their sharp hawk-like gaze.
He knew it was coming again and also knew he needed some spiritual fortitude before he was called upon to engage the ancient adversary.
It was time. He sighed, stepped off the porch, and walked the track through the forest toward a secret area beside the canyon creek where the water slowed in a belly and where no one ever came.
He easily found the cave even though heavily overgrown and he pushed in past the thick brush to stand in its mouth for a moment. It was known to very few surviving members of the Otoe tribe and he inhaled the cool air that emanated from deep inside. He hadn’t been here for 50 years, but it had left a scar on his spirit that was still as raw as if it were carved there just yesterday.
There were torches ready and a tin of lighter fluid that he squirted on the rag tied at one end. He flicked his small lighter to life and held the flame to the soaked cloth for a moment to ensure it took, then he drew in a deep breath and headed in.
The cave narrowed for 100 feet or so then opened out into a larger cavern, and Nightbird stood at its center and turned slowly. On the walls were ancient images drawn all around him in a mosaic that was laid down by the first people. They were those beyond the ancestors of his own tribe—stories going back over 14,000 years.
The old Native American knelt, held his hands in front of him palm up, and then began to chant loudly, his voice sing-song and echoing in the darkness. He let his eyes run across the images painted on the walls that told of a story that had begun so long ago, it was old even as the first people recorded it.
There were the bound warriors who were being led into the cave and then a descent into the deep darkness, to a fate worse than death. There were horrors that waited deep-down and all held dominion over by the ancient one—the Adotte Sakima.
He didn’t want to go back there but knew he would soon be called. He let his chant fall away and shut his eyes.
Johnson Nightbird was aware his physical strength was ebbing with age but in here, he felt the spirits of the ancestors draw close to him, whisper to him, and fill him with light and strength.
He lifted his head. “One more time,” he muttered and rose to his feet.
CHAPTER 10
Eldon Sparkling Mineral Water Company, Eldon
“Boss, Well 24 has just gone dry. And 25, 26, and 27 are running dirty so we shut ‘em all down.” The engineer looked up from his clipboard. “The quake, most like.”
The tiny Shih Tzu under the desk was going bananas, barking like a mad thing at the intrusion.
“Shit-damn. Knew it.” Harry Reith was owner and president of the company, and there was one thing he hated about working in an area riddled with limestone—it damn moved, and when it did, it sometimes swallowed their water.
He turned to the dog. “Shut up, Pompom.” The other thing he hated was when he had to look after his wife’s damn fart-puff of a dog while she went into town.
He sighed. The quakes opened seams or vents and their water sources could drain away, be cut off, or silted up for years and rendered unusable as it clogged the pumping machines. Though they did significant testing to ensure no contaminants got into the water, like heavy metals, silicates, or composite toxins, the upside of their wells being so deep and so old was there was little chance of water-borne bugs in it.
“What about the new well? Site 30?” Reith asked.
The engineer scoffed quietly. “Funny thing that. When the geologists first identified site 30, it looked to only have a few hundred megaliters of water. But after that little shimmy we just had, they tell me that it now stands at several gigaliters—it’s now more like a damn underground sea.”
“Looks like that’s where all our water went.” Reith shrugged. “So, tap it.”
The engineer tilted his head. “Might be a little dirty.”
“You already tested it, right?” Reith asked.
“Yeah, when we first found it, but…”
“You know what we sell other than water?” Reith half-smiled and didn’t wait for his engineer to respond. “That’s right, nothing. So, pump it up, scrub it, filter it, and let’s go. We got orders to fill.”
The engineers snapped the note board shut. “On it, Chief.”
CHAPTER 11
Benji Powell�
�s pushbike was raising dust as he only just kept pace with his pals. The day was hot, and the four boys and two girls pedaled like demons.
Out front were James and Kenny, followed by Isabella, then him, and at his shoulder was Gemma, and finally lagging behind was big Alf, puffing hard as his stomach bounced as he navigated the small bumps and pits in the old roadway.
It was a brutally hot day, and the small group headed out to the old limestone mine, as there had been stories that had intrigued them following the quake. If true, their summers were about to get a whole lot more fun.
“Here.” James swerved off the road and onto the disused track. The kids all skidded, pedaled on, and stood in their seats to pick up their pace again.
It took another 20 minutes to get to the first fence whose lock had long since corroded away. They headed in, carefully threading their way around old machinery, disused railings, and rusting jerry carts.
They’d all been out here many times in the past, but back then it was dry as chalk dust and just as uninteresting. There had been a few gnarled stumps of weird-looking rock trees and dust covering everything. They’d tried to venture into the mine once, but after only a few dozen feet they gave up, as the darkness had creeped the shit out of them.
Back then, they’d settled for throwing rocks into the old mine mouth and listening as they bounced away into the impenetrable darkness. But this time, when the small group arrived at their destination and stopped in a line, their mouths dropped open. And then slowly curved up into grins.
“It’s like one of those places in the desert…you know,” Alf wheezed.
“Yeah, an oasis.” Benji let his eyes move slowly over the landscape.
The once dry and scrabbly ground out front of the mouth of the mine was set in a shallow depression a few hundred feet across and just two to three deep. It had been dry, cough-inducing, and boring. But not anymore.
Now the depression in the ground was filled with a huge pool of sparkling water. It had a slight greenish tinge, but in the hot sunshine it was so inviting, it screamed at you to come on in.
The quake had only happened a few days ago, but amazingly, the surrounding plants had already improved. The twisted trees didn’t have leaves, but their bark was ribbed, glossy and fuller, and more, muscular looking. There were also patches of thick grass that had sprung up and even small fern fronds touched on the edge of the water.
Benji smiled and softly repeated the word: “Oasis.” And that’s exactly what it was.
James got off his bike and let it fall with a clatter. He started to pull off his shirt. “I’m in there.”
“Wait, what?” Isabella pointed to the rusting sign with barely legible writing. “You saw that contamination sign, right?”
“No, yeah, whatever. That was 100 years ago or sumthin’.” He pointed. “Besides, look at the birds.”
Benji and Isabella turned. There were several birds perched on the edge of the pond dipping their beaks into the greenish water and then tipping their heads back.
“If it’s okay for them, then it’s okay for us. Nature knows best, right?” James’ narrow chest was now bared to the sunshine and he began to undo his jeans. “C’mon everyone… c’mon.”
James, Kenny, Gemma, and Alf walked carefully across the scrabble until they made it to a grass verge. Benji shook his head as he saw Big Alf’s jelly belly bounce as he walked to the water’s edge. The only things he wore were his tighty-whities, and around his neck a bottle cap-sized silver Saint Christopher medal his dad gave him when he was about five.
Kenny was already in and surfaced spitting a stream of water from his mouth. He spat again. “Tastes weird.” He grinned. “But feels great. Come on!”
James turned back to where Isabella and Benji still sat astride their bikes.
“Chickens.” He tucked his fists under his arms and flapped stunted wings for a second or two before turning back to the magnificent water, finding a deeper spot, and leaping in.
CHAPTER 12
Harry Reith was down in the Eldon Spring Water testing facilities and didn’t like that his scientists looked concerned. And if they looked concerned, then he was concerned.
“Looks a little…green.” He held Pompom under one arm and in the other hand he held the glass of water up to eyeball it for a moment before sniffing the top. “And there’s an odor. What is it?” He looked to Pete Coughlin, his lead production manager, from under lowered brows.
Coughlin took the glass from him. “Zero bacterial count, normal mineral count, and been run through various filters leaving nothing toxic behind.” He sniffed the glass as well. “It just seems to be some sort of plant residue. Might be organic and might not be, but probably safe though.”
Reith exhaled through his nose and raised an eyebrow at his technician. “Let me be frank; it stinks like shit. I wouldn’t drink it.” He looked up. “And this is from the new well, site 30, right?”
“Yep. I’m thinking the tremor stirred it up a little.” Coughlin shrugged.
“A little? It’s fucking soup,” Reith scoffed. “Doesn’t look like mountain spring water to me and more like something you’d get from draining a fish farm.”
“We could put it through micron filters or use evaporation methodology to take out any of the residual microscopics, but that’s time-consuming and expensive. It’ll cost you more than what you can sell the water for. From a commercial perspective, for now, I’m pretty sure that’s as good as it gets.” Coughlin stuck both hands in his coat pockets.
“Shee-it.” Reith exhaled through clenched teeth. Looks like he had three choices: overpriced clean water, dirty water, or no water. He sighed. “We’ll need to find another goddamn well. We’ll miss our delivery dates.”
Coughlin began to grin.
Reith scowled. “Okay, smartass, what?”
“Well, I was just thinking that seeing as we’re pretty sure it’s safe to drink, so for all we know the unknown residue might be good for you.” He shrugged. “It’s just a little stain and a little smell. So what? We can mask the odor with a few drops of lemon flavoring. Then we sell it as a mineral health drink.”
Reith’s brows unknitted and slowly began to rise. “But no artificial stuff, right? Pure health tonic.”
Coughlin nodded. “Of course. We use citral—comes straight from lemon oil extracted from the peel. Natural as your granny used to make.”
Reith rubbed his chin for several seconds and let his vision turn inward for a moment. “And you’re sure it’s safe?”
“I’m betting as safe as any of our products. And as safe as our testing can assure us.” Coughlin lifted his chin, looking confident.
Reith thought about the implications, and then the opportunities. He spun back. “Brilliant. Make it happen.” He headed for the door. “I’ll be up in marketing getting the guys to knock up some labeling.” He turned as he got to the exit. “If this sells, I’ll give you a bonus that’ll put a smile on your face bigger than Texas.”
“Thank you, sir.” Coughlin gave a small bow and then turned to clap his hands. “All right, people, we’ve got some work to do.”
PART 2 – THE ANGELS RETURN
CHAPTER 13
Eldon, the Adams’ residence
“I’ve got a headache…and a sore throat.” 10-year-old Kenny Hatfield grimaced as he demonstrated swallowing for his mom.
Andrea lifted the small flashlight again. “Say ahh.” He did so and she peered in. “It’s very red in there.” She gently laid a hand on his forehead.
He winced. “Ow.”
She pulled her hand away. “That hurts?”
He nodded and swallowed again. This time, she actually heard it make a dry clicking sound in his throat.
Her brows knitted together. “Does your head hurt on the inside or outside?”
“Both.”
She shone the light in his eyes, and he screwed them shut. His forehead hadn’t felt hot to the touch, but she did see some odd bumps and marks appearing like
the beginning of a pebbly rash. “Okay, no school tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He settled back into his soft pillow.
Andrea paused at the door. “But that doesn’t mean a day playing computer games. You’ll do extra homework, okay?”
“Aww.” Kenny rolled away. “Might as well go to school.” He briefly rolled back. “Only kidding, I’m sick.”
Andrea’s lips curled into a smile. A day off school cures everything, she thought.
*****
Hours later and Kenny Hatfield still couldn’t sleep. His head throbbed like there was a big ole hammer beating in it; plus, he had the worst taste in his mouth. He reached up to trail his fingers over the top of his sore head.
“Lumpy,” he said softly as he felt the knobby things over his skull and dropping his hand, he saw his fingers come away covered in hair. He didn’t know what it meant, but it scared him a little.
“Mom!” he yelled.
Shouting made his head throb even more. He raked his hand over his head again and drew an even bigger clump of hair.
“Mo-oooooom….!”
The door opened and his mother came straight in and flicked on the bedside lamp. The sudden burst of light was like a dagger into both eyes that penetrated his brain.
He screwed his eyes shut tight, expecting them to water, but there seemed no fluid in them at all. Keeping his eyes closed, he just held up his hand.
“What happened to your hair?” Andrea reached forward to grab his head and run her hands over it. “Does it hurt?”
“Just my eyes. Turn the lamp off, please,” he asked.
She did and then hugged him. “Get dressed and I’ll take you down to see the new doctor.”
“No,” he said quickly. “Just tired now.”
She seemed to think for a moment. “Well then, we’ll see him first thing, okay?”
“’Kay.” He nodded, distracted. “Goodnight.”