by Mel Odom
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Mel Odom
THE DEAD MAN logo is a registered trademark of Adventures in Television Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
eISBN: 9781477898925
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
Freddy Grogan stared at the burning forest in awe, feeling the almost sexual release racing through his body as he watched the flames twist and spiral through the trees. Embers flew high into the air and drifted like shooting stars.
With its aluminized exterior, the proximity suit he wore made him look like he’d been cast in silver. More than that, he felt like a god striding through the forest. A god of fire-breathing dragons. He smiled inside his aluminized helmet and scoured the forest for more targets.
Back in high school, the jocks and the preps had bullied and tormented him. He’d never had a moment’s peace. They’d worked hard to make his life miserable, including saddling him with the nickname “Gorgon.” The assholes hadn’t even understood that a gorgon was a female monster.
The birthmark that obscured the left side of Freddy’s face and pulled his eye into a tight slant was something that couldn’t have been fixed even if Freddy’s parents had had the money. They hadn’t. His father was a junk dealer, owned a junkyard south of Ashland. Freddy had grown up there pulling parts from cars, refrigerators, and vacuum cleaners, all kinds of stuff nobody wanted anymore.
As it turned out, Freddy discovered he was a hell of an inventor with those leftover scraps. Maybe even Peter Parker smart. Not as smart as Tony Stark or Reed Richards or Bruce Banner, but he did okay for himself.
Then he’d gone to his uncle Bob’s funeral. Who knew Freddy’s old man had even had a brother? His old man had gone to his brother’s house sniffing around for some kind of inheritance. Hadn’t gotten anything, though. But Freddy had found out that his uncle had been a fire fighter, which was pretty cool.
What Freddy had really liked, though, was the fire proximity suit his uncle’s old lady had tossed out. Freddy had kept the fire proximity suit, drawn by the silvery gleam of it. He’d rigged up a flamethrower after that, a length of pipe that fed off pressurized propane and natural gas and was capable of laying down a twenty-foot burn. The pipe was harnessed to his shoulder and slung under his arm. When he pulled the trigger, the compressed gas belched out and caught fire like a dragon’s breath.
It was totally cool.
He’d ended up setting fires over the last eighteen months, each one bigger than the last. He’d incinerated squirrels, raccoons, and even a deer he’d managed to catch unawares. Bambi had fled through the forest like a four-legged comet until the flames enveloped him and dropped him like a rock.
That had been totally righteous.
Freddy had intended to do a little hunting tonight. The sheriff’s department and the park rangers had gotten suspicious about the three fires he’d set the last month. Freddy knew he’d have to be careful. Except he couldn’t. It had been only three days since his last fire, and now that he’d started tonight, he just couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Come out and play, little fire god! Come burn the world! Watch it cringe and crisp!
He was just about to retrace his steps to his El Camino when he saw Tyler Ewing’s SUV in the brush ahead. The vehicle was instantly recognizable due to the custom paint job, which ran from ice blue to cherry red, transitioning from one color to the other till it reached the rear bumper.
Go to it, my friend. Release all that pent-up anger. You’ll feel ever so much better when you do.
Freddy couldn’t remember when he’d first started hearing that dark whisper in the back of his mind. Maybe it had always been there and had just gotten louder and louder until he couldn’t help but hear it. He didn’t know, but he was listening now.
Unwilling to stop, drawn by a lust he’d never before known, Freddy crept through the brush. Ten feet from the SUV, he halted and stared into the vehicle.
Tyler Ewing had been a big deal on the high school football field. People were talking like he was gonna be another Eli Manning or something. Big dumb quarterback couldn’t hack it in college, though. His wad had been shot and he hadn’t known it. Of course, daddy still had an office job back at the car dealership for Tyler. So old Tyler had made out just fine for himself, and he was still chasing the chicks at the high school even though he was seven years older than them.
Standing there in the woods, Freddy remembered all the cutting remarks, the shoves, the pushes, the punches that caught him from nowhere when he hadn’t been looking. Tyler Ewing had brought a lot of pain to Freddy’s world.
Tyler wasn’t alone in the SUV. He was making out with some blonde who Freddy also recognized from school. The dashboard lights revealed them both. Cindy something. She was a couple of years younger, a sophomore when they were seniors.
Now her shirt was hiked up, and Freddy had an eyeful of breasts some plastic surgeon had sculpted to perfection. She was married to another guy who had been on the football team. As Freddy remembered, Tyler and Cindy had kind of had a thing for each other for about a minute.
Evidently that thing hadn’t gone away. Inside the SUV, Cindy drew back from Tyler, started pulling her top back into place, and looked alarmed. Freddy realized she’d seen him, and he enjoyed the fact that she’d gotten scared by him. That was kind of cool.
What wasn’t cool was the way Tyler came out of the cab with a tire iron. On his own, Tyler was scary. He stood six feet four and was broad across the shoulders. He’d put on a gut, but that didn’t make him less tough. The tire iron in his fist more than made up for whatever he’d lost in lean and mean.
“Who the hell are you?” Tyler’s voice was loud, threatening.
Only now Freddy wasn’t afraid.
Tyler squinted, and Freddy realized that the light from the forest fires was illuminating the inside of his helmet. Tyler could see him.
“Gorgon? Is that you? You think this is Halloween or something, you freaking pervert?”
Don’t let him get away with that, the voice cooed inside his head. He’s nothing to you tonight. Show ol’ Tyler he’s done messed with the wrong guy. Give ’im a squirt!
Freddy smiled as the fear left him. “No, man. This here’s a cookout.” He triggered the flamethrower and a jet of flames spewed out and flowed across Tyler’s crotch. “Welcome to the wienie roast.”
Tyler screamed hoarsely, dropped the tire iron to the ground, and beat at the flames with both hands while dancing around like… well, like his crotch was burning up. Freddy shot him with another burst of flames, hitting him in the face this time. Tyler’s hair ignited in a rush and his face sprouted blisters and started melting. His screams died the second he inhaled and seared his lungs.
Inside the SUV, Cindy picked up the chorus, screaming louder than Tyler ever could. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then she dove for the door, trying for the handle to lock herself in.
C’mon. Light her up. You know you want to. Give ’er a squirt!
>
Freddy pushed Tyler away, not even feeling the heat of the flames that wrapped the guy. Man, the suit was awesome. Freddy could walk through fire in it. He caught the door before Cindy could pull it shut and yanked it open. He smiled at her.
“Hey, Cindy.”
She couldn’t speak. He liked that; it gave him a warm, cuddly feeling like a soft blanket pulled over him.
“You know, back in school, everybody always thought you were pretty hot. I always thought you were, too, and I even told you that. You just thought I was a creep. Well, let’s see how hot you can really get.” Freddy lifted the flamethrower and filled the SUV’s interior with flames that pressed against the windows and cracked the glass.
As it turned out, Cindy could get a lot hotter. She just couldn’t handle it.
Then the fire filled the cab of the SUV, blocking sight of her, consuming the vehicle. Almost too late, Freddy remembered the vehicle’s gas tanks.
He turned and ran as fast as the proximity suit would allow. Before he’d gone more than twenty strides, the gas tank blew. The explosion knocked him face-first into the dirt.
Fiery debris rained down on Freddy as he lay there stunned for a moment. The fire from the burning truck spread farther and faster than anything he’d ever started before. Man, everything was on fire.
Then he got himself together—You lie here, you’re gonna burn!—and pushed himself to his feet. His torch lay beside him on the ground, the tongue of flame lapping the grass, leaves, and twigs to start a whole new patch of fire that scampered and swirled away when the wind caught it.
On his feet, Freddy ran his hands over his suit. Everything was still in one piece. He laughed. Iron Man ain’t got nothing on me!
He turned back to Tyler’s SUV. Fire burst free of the twisted wreckage and was now claiming everything flammable. The fire had also spread to the trees, scuttling up them like predatory stalkers closing rapidly on prey. A patch of flame broke loose from one of the branches and leapt across the expanse to another tree, soaring for a moment like a low-flying comet.
The ball of fire landed in the next tree and ran for an instant, spreading flames in its wake, then just tumbled from the branch. When it plopped to the ground, Freddy realized that the ball of fire had been a squirrel. Now it was a smoking pile of burned meat and broken bones lying on the ground ten feet away.
The voice in the back of his mind spoke up. Rocky the Flying Squirrel. Watch this, Bullwinkle! Now, here’s something you’ll really like!
Freddy laughed till tears ran down his face.
“That squirrel had some flare, didn’t he?” Someone laughed. “Flare? See what I did there?”
The voice was no longer in Freddy’s head. He looked to his right and saw a lean figure with frizzy hair standing next to a towering elm tree. He wore a park ranger’s uniform, and at first, Freddy thought he was busted.
“Nah, you don’t gotta worry about me, Freddy.” The figure put his hands out towards the burning SUV like he was warming them. “I’m a fan. Big fan. Love your work, buddy.”
“Who are you?” Freddy gripped the flamethrower’s wand and held it ready.
“Ranger Faron Hight. Badge number 451.” The ranger held out a shiny badge that reflected the swirling firelight.
Freddy couldn’t make out the badge because it was too far away, but it looked real enough. “Stay back, man. I’m warning you.”
The ranger nodded towards the SUV. “Guess the warning didn’t work with them.”
“They had it coming.”
“I know. They did.” The ranger shook his head. “Burning them once is way too easy. Wish we could blow them out so you could burn them all over again.” He sighed and stepped forward. “But we can’t.” The firelight lifted his features out of the shadows. Garish makeup turned his shriveled face into a caricature of human. The frizzy hair was bright orange and clashed with the red rubber nose. “You want to see something cool?”
Hypnotized by the sight of the clown, Freddy stood there when he knew he should have been running because the fires were spreading like crazy.
“I got some special balloons. You gotta see these.” As he spoke, the clown walked closer to Freddy. “These are a gas, man.”
He took out a long, skinny blue balloon, stretched it out a couple of times, then put it to his mouth and blew. The balloon swelled along its length till it was full of air.
The clown smiled. “I know. Looks perverted, doesn’t it?” Then his hands moved in a swift, intricate pattern. The balloon squeaked painfully as it was contorted, like a mouse in a trap, one leg twisted and broken.
When the clown was finished, a blue balloon giraffe floated slowly up from his hands. A long string trailed up through his fingers. Rocking and bobbing, the giraffe sailed towards the tree canopy, then stopped, anchored by the string in the fingers of its creator.
“Quick. Give ’er a squirt.” The clown held out the end of the string.
Freddy touched the string with the steady flame at the end of the flamethrower wand. The string caught fire immediately. When the clown released the string, the balloon giraffe continued floating, and the flame along the string trailed after it. Hypnotized, Freddy watched the balloon reach the laced branches of the canopy. It bounced from the leaves once, and then the burning string caught up with it.
The balloon exploded in a white-hot rush that filled the immediate surroundings with thunder. Fire spread five feet in all directions.
“Wow!” Freddy delighted in the sudden combustion. “That was freakin’ awesome!”
“Thought you’d like that. I have plenty more.”
Looking back at the clown, Freddy saw that the clown did indeed have a couple dozen more balloon animals. Freddy didn’t know how the clown made so many of them so quickly, but he didn’t care. He loved what they did.
One of the balloons was a red bird. Another was a purple wienie dog. Then there were swords, elephants, horses, flowers, and a few tentacled things that Freddy had never seen before.
The clown handed over the bunch of balloons. “Here. My gift to you. All guaranteed to explode in a way that will warm the cockles of your heart. And burn pretty much everything they touch.”
Freddy took the balloons, mesmerized by the colors and shapes and incendiary promise. “Awesome. Thanks.”
“Also, I’m making you an honorary park ranger.” Taking a badge out of his pocket, the clown affixed it to the proximity suit below Freddy’s hood.
Freddy had to pull the suit out to see it. The badge held an image of the clown’s head, only his hair was fire. “Honorary park ranger?”
“Yep. It’s your job to burn all the deadwood out of the forest. There’s a lot of deadwood.”
Freddy looked around. “Yeah, there is.”
“Also, there’ll probably be a guy who will try to stop you. Big guy probably carrying an ax. When you see him, be sure to give ’im a squirt.”
“Sure.” Freddy marveled at the badge. He’d always wanted to be hall monitor in school. Never had gotten the chance.
The clown held up his right hand. “Gotta swear you in. Hold up your right hand.”
Freddy did, and the wand flared slightly as he held it straight up.
“Swear you’ll burn all the deadwood out of the forest to the best of your ability and fry anything and anybody who gets in your way.”
“I swear.”
The clown briefly hooked pinkies with Freddy. “There. You’re officially an honorary park ranger in charge of fires. Burn, baby, burn.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” The clown reached inside his pocket and took out a lollipop, which he unwrapped and stuck in his mouth. He reached into his pocket again and took out another lollipop. “Pop?”
Freddy couldn’t believe how excited he felt about everything. He’d always gotten off on setting fires, but the rush he was getting tonight was fantastic. He couldn’t wait to get started. Especially now that he had a badge and everything. “Sure.”
/> The clown unwrapped the sucker and held out the lollipop. Freddy lifted his protective hood, opened his mouth, and accepted the treat. An explosion of flavor invaded his mouth at once. The sweet and sour taste was like nothing Freddy had ever had before. It was like he could feel the flavor crawling over his taste buds, burrowing in deep.
“Cool. Thanks.” Freddy nodded back at the fire. “I gotta go. Don’t want to get caught in here.”
“I understand. Have fun.” The clown waved as Freddy trotted back to where he had left his car. He lit one of the balloon strings—this one a purple poodle—and released it as he went. He waited only long enough to watch it explode against the treetops and start another patch of fire. Then he kept moving. He had a job to do.
2
Matt Cahill’s stomach lurched as the helicopter swayed over the burning forest. He clung tightly to the restraints as he peered through the partially open cargo door. Smoke streamed into the cargo area and burned his eyes.
The wildfire looked even worse when the helicopter flew over it, bigger and gaining speed as it chewed through the forest just outside Ashland, Oregon. Embers sailed up into the sky like a whirlpool of stars, then quickly winked out. Below, the flames raged through the trees, spreading through the branches like rampant malignant spirits. A few isolated houses burned now, too, a grim reminder that the fire wasn’t going to stay contained on its own.
Clinging to the netting in the cargo area, Matt felt a familiar chill thrill up his spine. Looking down at the wildfire, he knew the blaze was unreal and unnatural. He’d come to Ashland after learning about the unusual number of fires in the forest. Officials weren’t admitting it on camera or for attribution, but off the record the whisper was that the fires were the work of a serial arsonist.
A serial arsonist alone wouldn’t have caught Matt’s attention. It was the other events that had caught his attention. Immediately prior to, during, and after the fires, the community suffered an unprecedented occurrence of violent acts. After the most recent fire, for instance, the driver of an eighteen-wheeler had deliberately crashed into a diner, mowing down seven people, then got out and started clubbing the survivors with a sledgehammer. Police arrived on the scene, tried to reason with the man, then ended up shooting him.