The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset: 1-6

by Ethan Cross

  Ackerman surmised that the Yazzie had seen enough demonstrations to realize that he and his brother were specialists in the field of not dying. With that in mind, Yazzie likely had a backup plan and a secondary ambush already set. Ackerman then determined that the exit of the tunnel would be the most likely place for Yazzie to set up camp and wait for someone to step into the light. The submachine gun that he now had in his possession would certainly make quick work of whoever was on the receiving end.

  Now, standing a few feet back inside the tunnel to avoid Yazzie’s aim, Ackerman tried to guess from which direction the attack would come, but without knowing the full layout he was most definitely at a disadvantage, while Yazzie likely knew every inch of these ruins that he had been visiting since he was a boy.

  Still, Ackerman needed to verify his theory. So, removing his dry fit long-sleeve shirt, he slipped the AK-47 through one arm hole to the other. Then, with his makeshift scarecrow in place, he held the rifle by the butt, extended the shirt out in front of him, and started walking forward.

  Yazzie, being armed with a submachine gun and not a sniper rifle, would likely be ready to open fire on the first figure who walked out of the exit. Or at least anyone who wasn’t dressed in a pink shirt like his sister Reyna.

  It wasn’t long before he was rewarded with a series of holes being stitched through his black shirt.

  Ackerman immediately pulled back to cover, having learned Yazzie’s location. With this information in mind, he was able to approach the end of the tunnel without fear of attack from the opposite direction. Moving toward the opening, he called out, “That was my favorite shirt, captain. I regret to inform you that I will now have to end your life. Well, because of the shirt, and the fact that you kidnapped my little sister and shot my brother.”

  From the left of the tunnel’s exit Yazzie called out, “My recently-deceased friend John thought you were the Coyote from Diné mythology.”

  “And what do you think? Do you believe me to be some sort of trickster god?”

  “No, Mr. Ackerman. I believe you’re a man. Flesh and blood. A man who’s about to meet his end.”

  A chuckle formed in Ackerman’s throat, and he was about to respond when he felt a disturbance on the dirt floor of the tunnel beneath him. Then, feeling something snap and tighten around his feet, he was yanked forward over the edge of the third tier and straight out of the tunnel.

  107

  As he flew through the air, Ackerman knew that he had less than a second to react to Yazzie’s latest trap. The snare around his foot had been constructed from some type of nylon rope, which was attached to a weight, that Yazzie had concealed in the dirt of the tunnel’s entrance. When Ackerman was in the proper position, Yazzie must’ve activated his trap by pushing the weighted end into the canyon.

  The first object Ackerman struck on his way down was the sandstone roof of an Anasazi dwelling. He felt something snap with the impact. Luckily, the break was in his left arm, and so he was still able to pull his bone-handled Bowie knife from its sheath with his right. Using the abdominal muscles that he had worked so hard to maintain for just such an instance, he jerked his torso forward and plunged the knife into the ground in front of his feet, severing the rope and releasing his foot from the weight Yazzie had attached. By the time he was able to cut the rope, however, he had been dragged down to the lowest tier of the ruins.

  His feet still tangled in Yazzie’s snare, Ackerman rolled away, leaving his bone-handled bowie knife in the ground. As the world spun, he noticed a large piece of rock where the dome ceiling had broken off and landed halfway between the city of the dead and a precipice of unknown depth beyond the sheltered alcove.

  As he moved, he heard the sound of automatic gunfire and felt the explosions in the dirt close by, but he kept rolling toward cover. As soon as he reached the relative safety of the fallen rocks, Ackerman pulled Yazzie’s pistol and fired two shots in the general direction of his opponent.

  Yazzie drove Ackerman down with a volley of his own and then called out, “They say it’s bad luck to try to kill a man with his own gun.”

  Ackerman was feeling the weight of his injuries in many unsettling and unpleasant ways, and he really wasn’t in the mood for chit chat. But he couldn’t resist. And tactically, it always made sense to keep your enemy talking while you prepared your next attack. Ackerman yelled, “Who are they? And what right do they have to tell me what to do?”

  Yazzie’s voice seemed to come from a completely different part of the necropolis when he replied, “I suppose they, in this instance, would be the kind of people likely to kill someone else with their own gun. Someone like me or like you, Mr. Ackerman.”

  He wondered if he had lost consciousness for a second between his question and Yazzie’s reply. His left arm had gone completely numb, and he was unable to move it. Glancing down, he saw a strange bulge on his upper arm that might have been a bone ready to poke through the skin. Ackerman considered setting the broken or dislocated bone himself, but he felt that such a sharp strike would likely cause unconsciousness, which would allow his adversary to get the better of him. Still, he feared that unconsciousness would soon take him either way. And that unconsciousness would likely result in his death.

  Calling out to his opponent, Ackerman asked, “Where do you think we go when we die, Yazzie?”

  Replying from an entirely different part of the ruins, Yazzie said, “According to whose god? From what I know of your white man’s God, I would say the two of us will end up in Hell. But my people don’t believe that way, and my god is lord over death.”

  “My God is the Lord of Lords and King of Kings and my final destination will have nothing to do with the things I’ve done in this life, but rather my faith and trust in Him.”

  “Everything comes back around. Your God will make you pay for every life you’ve taken, but mine, He Who Devours the World will repay me tenfold for every drop of blood I spill in his name.”

  Ackerman couldn’t help but chuckle, which caused a racking cough. Paraphrasing scripture, he called out, “Greater is the one who is in me than he who devours the world.”

  “Every debt has to be paid, Mr. Ackerman. The devil always gets his due, and he’ll be coming to collect from you real soon.”

  Ackerman replied, “My debt is already paid, my friend. I tell you what…you put your gun down, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Yazzie responded by firing another volley of 9mm rounds in his direction. Ackerman had lost count of how many shots Yazzie had fired, which was very uncharacteristic for him. But he did recall that, true to form, his brother had taped an extra magazine on to the MP5’s current magazine, which meant that Yazzie had at least sixty rounds and had fired nowhere near that many. In response, Ackerman fired two shots of his own and then slipped four fresh shells into the Peacemaker. He wished that he had kept hold of the AK-47 and his shirt, but he had lost them somewhere between the first and second tiers of the ruins.

  Yazzie said, “Out in the world, you probably could’ve taken me easily. You’re much faster and stronger than me. But not here. Here among the screams of the dead and the spirits of the Old Ones, here in the temple of my god, under the watchful eye of He Who Devours The World, I’m invincible.”

  Ackerman chuckled. “You just caught me on a bad day, friend.”

  Ackerman examined the wound in his side and found it seeping blood. His left arm felt like it had been severed and lay useless in the dirt of his small spot of concealment.

  Firing another few rounds, Yazzie said, “It’s time to die, Coyote.”

  Ackerman replied, “I’ve always thought of myself as more of a wolf. Or perhaps a lion. Great white shark. Any of those would be fine.”

  He then heard another voice, one coming from a man standing behind him near the drop off into the canyon below. Thomas White, or at least Ackerman’s mental projection of him, said, “I’ve always thought of you as more of a hyena. Or maybe some sort of snake. Always crawling on
your belly in the dirt.”

  Ackerman whispered, “Don’t you start too.”

  His father continued, “You’re about to die, Francis. Your body is shutting down. How sure are you about that final destination? Maybe you should just let me take control and finish this whole thing. I’m sure I could wring the last reserves of strength from you and save your miserable little life.”

  It even hurt for Ackerman to roll his eyes, the inside of the lids feeling as harsh as the desert floor. Ignoring his father and trying to keep Yazzie talking, Ackerman said, “Your god—with a little G—sounds like a bit of a douchebag, Yaz. No offense.”

  “That’s the way of your people. You mock what you do not understand.”

  “My God—with a big G—is the God of love and creation. Yours seems to the lord of hatred and destruction. From what I know of your people, that doesn’t seem to fit at all.”

  Yazzie said, “One day, all people will be of one mind and will be remade into the image of He Who Devours.”

  “He’s merely a god of your own making, isn’t he? A spiritual explanation for your every carnal desire.”

  “He came to me in a vision and chose me to be his emissary. To prepare the way on this plane.” This time, Yazzie’s reply came the first tier, growing closer and closer.

  Ackerman squeezed off a shot in Yazzie’s direction, warning him to stay back.

  Yazzie’s voice changed position again, and Ackerman wondered if it was really the captain moving around the ruins with such great speed or if his own senses were playing tricks on him. And was that a different caliber weapon? He couldn’t be sure of anything now. He could barely stave off unconsciousness.

  Yazzie said, “My people are dead. They just don’t know it yet. Your government caged us and slowly eroded our spirits, but that wasn’t enough. So they also left us to wonder every day how much longer before the radioactive materials from their uranium mines will result in cancers overtaking our bodies. For most of us, it’s really not a question of if but when. I’m actually at the upper edge of my life expectancy now. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some sort of stage four tumor gestating in me as we speak. But soon, many of your people will also know what it’s like to live on borrowed time.”

  “We’re all living on borrowed time, my friend. And I’m not a fan of the government either. In fact, I’ve never paid taxes in my life.”

  “But you work for them?”

  “No, I work with them. I work for myself.”

  “Your people killed generations of mine. And now, with the help of your belegana greed, I’ve repaid the favor.”

  Ackerman wasn’t sure as to what Yazzie was referring, but at the moment, he had more pressing concerns. One of those concerns was the fact that Yazzie kept getting closer and closer, which likely meant that he was using his knowledge of the landscape to perform some sort of flanking maneuver. Ackerman’s second most pressing concern was that he really wanted to take a nap. In fact, he desired sleep more than he ever had in his life.

  The latter won out, and Ackerman allowed his head to fall to the dirt floor of the cavern, unconsciousness taking him in less than a second.

  108

  The blood in her veins had become like lava. She felt dead inside and yet more alive than ever. She was a heatseeking missile. She was on fire and full of adrenaline, and yet, she was also somehow detached, as if standing outside herself. Nothing felt real. Everything was accelerated and yet so crystal clear. She wondered if any of the recent events had even taken place. Had she imagined Marcus and Ackerman as well? Perhaps she was still down in the pit suffering the effects of carbon dioxide poisoning or dehydration.

  Either way, whether this was real or imagined, Maggie was sure of two things.

  The first was that Jamie Ramirez was truly her baby brother. The more she thought of his facial features, the more she now saw a grown-up version of the brother for whom she had spent her life searching. He was alive but wounded, still waiting for her to find him.

  The second thing was that Xavier Yazzie needed to die.

  In her right hand, Maggie held the Beretta pistol. In her left, the sharpened splinter of bone, which she intended to drive into Yazzie’s neck. The only thoughts that could fill her mind, the only treatment for the wounds on her soul, was to find her brother and take the life of the Taker.

  She followed the ancient corridors until the point where she saw a dim light and heard voices ahead.

  The Anasazi ruins reminded Maggie of an amphitheater or coliseum with the tiny dwellings shaped in a semi-circle around a central area. As she reached the third tier of the ruins, she saw that the performers for the day were Ackerman and the object of her hate, Yazzie.

  Ackerman appeared to be passed out behind a pile of stones, and Yazzie was bent over him, removing his gun belt. Maggie sighted in with the Beretta, but it wasn’t a great weapon for distance, and her hands were shaking so badly that she wasn’t sure if she could make the shot from only a few yards away. She needed to get closer.

  Finding the stone stairs, she descended, hoping that Ackerman was merely unconscious and not dead. She had nearly lost one brother to Yazzie. She didn’t intend to lose her adopted brother as well.

  But either way, Yazzie had to die.

  She was reminded suddenly of a line from Moby Dick, which she hadn’t read since high school. She had taken it on as a project, in order to prove to everyone how smart she was, but had ended up regretting that she hadn’t chosen something short and fun like all the other girls had for their reports. Now, she recalled the way Melville had described Ahab’s hatred for the legendary whale. “…as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.”

  She felt like Ahab now and could definitely relate to his bloodlust. Just like the white whale, Yazzie had taken too much. He had to be stopped, at any cost.

  As she bounded down the stone stairs to reach the first tier of the dwellings, Maggie slid the sharpened bone shiv into the back pocket of her jeans, for easy access. She merely needed to get close enough. Truth be told, she didn’t want to use the gun. She wanted to drive the sharpened splinter of bone into Yazzie’s neck and watch as he bled out. She wondered if she would actually get to witness the moment when Yazzie’s own personal demons showed up to drag him down to hell to meet his god.

  109

  As Maggie reached the first tier of the ruins, she tried to stay out of sight until the very last moment. And apparently, she had succeeded because Yazzie showed no reaction to her approach, which seemed strange for a man so cunning.

  The rage pulsing through her veins pushed her forward despite the growing presence of an almost childlike fear of confronting what was to her the equivalent of the boogeyman. There hadn’t been a day where she hadn’t thought of Tommy and the man who stole him. The man with the black eyes. The man who made her realize that there were monsters in this world. The man who’d stolen her childhood and destroyed her family.

  And now, she suspected that he had intentionally attempted to manipulate her into killing her own brother.

  Facing away from her and standing over Ackerman’s unconscious form, Yazzie slipped the gun belt through the loops of his pants. He had just begun to slide the leather through the buckle when Maggie raised a shaking arm and aimed the Beretta at center mass.

  She debated on simply shooting him in the back, but she needed him to see it coming. She needed him to die on his knees and know exactly who had taken his life.

  In a voice that was half rage and half determination, she screamed, “Put your hands on your head and turn around! Just give me a reason to end you!”

  His eyes still on Ackerman, the faux police captain slowly placed his hands upon his head and turned to face her. Only after following her directions did he redirect his gaze. His eyes were no longer black as they had been on that day—Maggie having learned that the black eyes were the result of colored contacts—but now, his eyes were just as terrifying. She knew that he suffered f
rom ocular albinism in one eye, a condition that resulted in a lack of pigment. But it still gave him a sense of being supernatural and otherworldly and again reduced her to the same trembling child she had been all those years ago.

  Yazzie smiled and said, “Hello, little girl.”

  All of her muscles tensed, one side of her fighting to maintain her aim and one side wanting to curl up into a ball and cry. Rage and determination won the day. Keeping her aim true, she said, “Was it your plan that I would end up killing my own brother? Is that why you sent him up here to set your little traps?”

  Yazzie cocked an eyebrow and said, “I certainly had my hopes that something along these lines would come to pass. But I’ve learned that one can merely calculate and then set events into motion. The results are often very different than what one originally intends. You just have to start the dominoes tumbling, sit back, and hope for a favorable outcome. But yes, in a perfect world, that’s exactly how I hoped things would turn out.”

  “Well, you failed. He’s still alive, probably hiding in the ruins or one of the tunnels. I’m going to find him. Right after I kill you and make sure that you won’t hurt us, or anyone else, ever again.”

  Yazzie smiled and, looking behind her, said, “Shoot her, nephew.”

  Maggie’s breath caught in her throat, but her aim didn’t waver. The “what’s that behind you” ruse might very well have been the oldest trick in the book. She remained frozen until, a few seconds later, a quiet voice said, “Drop the piece, lady.”

  Immediately recognizing the speaker, Maggie raised her hands but kept hold of the Beretta. She slowly turned around and laid eyes upon Jamie Ramirez, the man she now knew to be her long-lost brother. He held the same .30-06 hunting rifle that he had used to shoot Marcus, and she knew that, if she wasn’t careful, he would use it on her as well.

  “I said to shoot her, Jamie!”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “Your name is Jamie Ramirez now, but you weren’t born with that name.”