The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5)

by Michael Richan

  They watched as Carma walked around the table and into the hallway. Once Winn heard her heading down the stairs to the basement, he turned to David.

  “I guess we should leave here at 1, just to be safe,” he said.

  “Yeah, that should give us more than enough time,” David replied.

  Winn looked down at the ebony box between them. “Any idea what’s inside?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Carma seemed a little skittish.”

  “She did.”

  “I think she made up having to talk to Lyman just now. I think she was uncomfortable talking to us, and wanted to leave.”

  David stood and reached out to lift the box. “It’s light,” he said. “That’s a plus.”

  “Be careful with it,” Winn warned. “I’ve known Lyman to deal with explosives. The cannery, remember?”

  David held the box at arm’s length and slowly placed it back on the table. “Carma asked me to intercept another drop off from Warren,” he said, looking at his watch. “That’s in an hour. Plenty of time for a nap after that before we go out to do this thing. Want to come along?”

  “Sure,” Winn replied, standing up. “Do you have enough time for me to get cleaned up a little?”

  “If you’re quick. It’s at Quail Lake.”

  Winn walked out of the room and upstairs, heading for the shower.

  Chapter Nine

  It had been twenty minutes since they parked in a spot overlooking the picnic area next to the lake.

  “He’s late,” David said.

  “I don’t like this setup,” Winn said. “Too open. Anyone could see us.”

  “That might be why they’re using it,” David replied. “Suspicious about the dumpster. Let’s give it a few more minutes.”

  “Even if he shows up, you can’t just walk down to one of those benches and retrieve it. You’ll be seen.”

  “Yeah,” David agreed, looking out the windshield. “You’re right. This isn’t a good setup.”

  David’s phone began to buzz inside his pocket, and Winn watched as he fished it out.

  “Whoa,” David said, looking at the phone. “It’s Carma.”

  “Carma?” Winn replied. “She never calls.”

  “Hello?” David said into the phone. “Carma?”

  Winn waited while David listened.

  “OK, got it.” David put his phone away. “Drop location moved. Head into St. George.”

  Winn started up his Jeep. “Where in St. George?”

  “Behind the Seven Wives Inn,” David replied. “Next to the Brigham Young home.”

  Winn made his way back to the entrance of the picnic area and left Quail Lake for the highway to St. George.

  “This monument we’re going to tonight,” Winn said.

  “The Mountain Meadows Massacre?” David said.

  “Sounds ominous. I wonder why Lyman’s got us going there?”

  “Beats me. You trust Lyman, right?”

  Winn paused for a moment. “I think I do. He’s the only hope for getting Deem back, I know that.”

  “Then I guess we need to follow Carma’s instructions,” David replied. “From what Lyman described, she’s in a pretty terrible place.”

  “Yeah,” Winn said, feeling a pang of guilt once again. She stepped in the way, he thought. He was tired of thinking it. It was easier to just feel guilty.

  “What’s the deal with the Mountain Meadows Massacre, anyway?” Winn asked, wanting to change the subject away from Deem.

  “You know, the whole Indian thing.”

  “No, I don’t know,” Winn replied. “I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t really know why there’s a memorial there, or what actually happened.”

  “There was an immigrant wagon train passing through Utah on its way to California,” David said. “A party of families from Arkansas named Baker and Fancher. Mormons dressed up as Indians and slaughtered them all. Except for a few kids.”

  “What?” Winn asked, shocked. “Really?”

  “Yup. Something like a hundred people killed. Men, women, and children.”

  “When was this?”

  “A hundred and fifty years ago,” David replied. “1850, 1860, something like that.”

  Winn shook his head. “Why?”

  “Well, there’s never a good reason for mass murder, right?” David replied. “The story I remember from history class was that the Mormons around Cedar City were really paranoid at the time. There was talk about a war with the United States, and anybody passing through the area was viewed with suspicion. They saddled the whole thing on John D. Lee, who claimed the go-ahead to kill the immigrants came from Brigham Young.”

  “No shit!” Winn said.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never heard this story,” David said. “Didn’t you grow up around here?”

  “I grew up near Tucson,” Winn replied. “Never heard anything about it.”

  “Well, the church always liked to play it down,” David replied. “I mean, if what John D. Lee said was true, the stake president from Cedar City was in on the whole thing. Didn’t look good for the church. They executed Lee for it, but many people considered him a scapegoat.”

  “So there’s a monument out there?”

  “There was a ratty one for years,” David continued. “About a decade ago they fixed it up, made it more respectable.”

  “Why does Carma want us to go out there now?” Winn asked, almost to himself. “What does Lyman have planned?”

  He took the exit for St. George and they made their way down the main boulevard until they reached Ancestor Square, where Winn made a turn and they found themselves at the winter home of Brigham Young. Winn pulled his Jeep to the curb and left the motor running.

  “Creeps me out, hearing your story,” Winn said as he looked at the mansion. Signs out front with the familiar church logo invited visitors inside for a tour.

  “There’s the inn,” David said, pointing to a collection of buildings kitty-corner from the Brigham Young home. “If you pull over there, we can keep an eye on the back.”

  Winn repositioned the Jeep where the rear of the inn was within eyesight, and rolled down the windows before turning it off. It was beginning to get dark, but the air from outside was still nice and hot.

  They waited another twenty minutes, watching as people came and went from the inn. No one appeared behind the establishment, where a fence separated the property from the other houses on the block.

  “What time was this supposed to happen?” Winn asked.

  David check his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I think it’s a bust.”

  “Let’s wait longer.”

  “What if it happened while we were on our way here? If I was suspicious, I’d switch the location last minute, too. They’re onto us.”

  “Maybe,” David said. “But I don’t want to head back until we’re sure.”

  They waited another ten minutes. Winn adjusted in the seat of the Jeep, feeling his clothes stick to the upholstery. He glanced over to the Brigham Young home and watched as suited workers closed it up for the night. Exterior lights popped on.

  Finally after forty-five minutes of waiting, David threw in the towel.

  “Alright, I guess it’s not happening,” he said. “I hate to go back to Carma empty handed.”

  “Either we missed him, or he’s not coming,” Winn said. “We might have been outplayed on this one.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  They drove back to Leeds and informed Carma of the bad news. She seemed to take it well, though she appeared nervous, drawing long drags from her cigarette as they explained how the evening went.

  “Were you seen?” she asked.

  “At Quail Lake, maybe,” Winn said. “It’s wide open. You can see everything. We didn’t see anyone there at all, so who knows.”

  Carma’s irritation grew. “It’s now more important than ever that your work tonight at the monument go as plan
ned. Promise me you’ll make sure you follow my instructions to the letter!”

  “We will, Carma,” David replied.

  “If they’ve figured out how to avoid us,” Winn said, “we might not be able to intercept any more of Warren’s drops.”

  “It may not matter,” Carma replied, stamping out her cigarette. “If Lyman’s plan executes as intended, it won’t matter at all.”

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  They pulled off the highway onto the short road that led to the monument, only to be met with a metal gate barring the path. Winn turned off the headlights.

  “You used to be able to come out here anytime,” David said. “I guess since they improved the site it now has ‘hours’.”

  “No problem,” Winn said, pulling the Jeep off-road to the right, heading down a small hill into the meadow below. “It might be better to not leave a vehicle in the parking lot of the monument anyway. People might notice. It’s reasonably flat out here. We can off-road it to where we need to be.”

  The Jeep bumped and lurched as they passed over terrain that wasn’t exactly smooth but had no large impediments. After he’d gone a thousand yards, he stopped the Jeep and they turned to look behind them. The monument, resting on a small hill, seemed far away in the distance.

  “Here good?” Winn asked David.

  “Well, she said north and west of it,” he replied. “That’s where we are.”

  “What time is it?”

  “2:05. Three minutes to spare.”

  “Let’s get out and get that box going,” Winn said, turning off the engine.

  Their eyes didn’t take long to adjust to the darkness; a bright, full moon was overhead, radiating a cool glow to the landscape.

  David retrieved the ebony box from the back seat and held it as the two of them walked away from the Jeep and into the meadow.

  “So this is where it happened?” Winn asked. “The Mormons killed all those people?”

  “Yeah,” David replied. “The immigrants had fought them off for days, thinking they were Indians, because that’s how they were dressed. The Mormons realized that some of the immigrants saw through the disguises, and that’s when they decided to kill them all so there would be no witnesses. They lured them out with a truce flag, promising them safe passage, but it was a trap. Killed them all, except for a few little kids they figured wouldn’t remember.”

  David held the ebony box carefully, walking slowly over the ground, moving away from the Jeep. Winn could see the brightness of the moon reflecting on the edges of the box as he walked.

  “What’s supposed to happen?” Winn asked.

  “She said it would vibrate.”

  David took another step and stopped. Winn looked down at the box. The reflection of the moon was shaking back and forth on its surface.

  “You doing that?” Winn asked.

  “Nope,” David said, and took another step. The box began to vibrate even more quickly. David held it away from his body.

  “Don’t drop it!” Winn warned.

  “It’s freaking me out a little,” David said. “Why don’t you open it.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, open it and take out the thing Carma said to plant in the ground.”

  Winn approached the box in David’s hands. It was shaking quickly, as though it might be full of rabid mice. He reached for the lid and lifted, pulling his head back in case something leapt out at him.

  Inside were dozens of small white objects, no more than an inch long, bouncing around. He reached in and removed one, holding it up so both he and David could see it.

  “What is it?” David asked.

  Winn examined it closely. “It’s so small,” he said, noticing a sharp end and two small joints.

  “It kind of looks like the bone of a finger,” David said. “A really small…” He stopped himself.

  Winn had the same realization at the exact moment as David. He looked up at him.

  “A child’s finger?” David asked.

  Winn felt his stomach drop out a little. “Oh, fuck no!” he said, moving to drop it back into the box. David pulled the box back.

  “We’ve got to plant it!” David said. “You heard Carma! Getting Deem back depends on it!”

  “This isn’t just a child’s finger,” Winn said, holding it up for David to see. “It’s an infant’s. A toddler. Not a ten year old. A baby. Look how small it is.”

  “If that’s what it is,” David said.

  “Well, what else could it be?” Winn asked, exasperated.

  “Who knows?” David replied. “It’s Lyman, it could be anything.”

  “Including baby fingers,” Winn said. “You’re holding a box full of baby finger bones. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Incredibly,” David said. “If it’s true. I don’t know. You don’t know. I only know you need to plant it, right here. Just do it.”

  Winn looked down at the ground. It was covered in a light grass and low weeds. He knelt next to David, reaching for a bare spot. He turned the small white bone so that its tip was pointed toward the earth, and he dropped into the River, feeling the atmosphere of the place change dramatically. He stopped for a moment to look around; a dark mist covered the ground everywhere, and an oppressive feeling descended upon him, something he had encountered before in his life, but couldn’t quite identify. He turned his attention back to the bone and pressed down gently. It sunk into the soil easily, and Winn kept pressing until his own finger sunk an inch into the ground, burying the bone completely. He dropped from the River, and the mist around them disappeared.

  “It stopped!” David said. Winn looked up. The box in David’s hands was now motionless. “I’m going to take that to mean you planted it successfully.” David began to walk again, although Winn stayed in place, looking down where he’d shoved the finger into the ground.

  “Come on!” David said. “We’ve got to plant as many of these as we can, and we’ve only got a half hour!”

  Winn wasn’t sure he shared David’s enthusiasm for the task. He doesn’t have to touch the things, he thought. I’ll finish this, but I don’t like it.

  David walked slowly, waiting for the box to signal another spot. After walking another five yards, it began to shake once again.

  “Here’s another,” David said, and Winn opened the box to remove a bone. Not wanting to touch it any longer than necessary, he knelt down, searching for a good spot to place the sharp, pointed tip. He dropped into the River and pressed, and as his finger sunk into the earth, he felt something move along the skin of his palm.

  Fuck! Winn exclaimed, falling back. In the ground below him he saw movement, something snaking away and out of sight. He dropped from the River. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” asked David, looking down. “See what?”

  “Something’s down there,” Winn said, pointing to the spot where he’d pressed the bone into the ground. “It touched me.” He felt himself begin to shake involuntarily, as though a goose had walked over his grave.

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “Well, it was there!” Winn replied emphatically.

  “I believe you,” David answered. “Keep your voice down!”

  Winn turned over his hand, exposing his palm to David. “It touched me here,” he said, running his finger along his skin as if he was conducting an examination of his life line.

  “What touched you?”

  “I don’t know. It was cold.” He shuddered again.

  “Did the finger get pushed down far enough? Carma said none of it could be left exposed.”

  “Yes, yes,” Winn replied. “It’s deep enough.”

  David resumed walking until he landed on a spot where the ebony box began to vibrate once again. “Here’s one,” he said.

  Winn reached into the box and removed another. He dropped into the River and positioned the bone, but before he could press it into the ground he saw fingers emerging from the ground, reaching for his hand.

  He tried to
press the bone quickly, but the soil seemed a little harder at the spot he’d chosen, and the bone bent and snapped. As the fingers of the hand wrapped around his wrist, he could feel the cold, clammy flesh of it, and as they pressed down harder on his arm, he could feel the meat of the fingers dissolving, becoming mush.

  He yanked his arm away, but the hand from the ground held on, the meat on its bones quickly scraping off as Winn twisted and yanked, trying to escape its grip. The gore dripped from his hand, chunks of dead flesh falling to the ground, covering the spot where he’d tried to press the tiny white bone into the ground.

  He saw David take a step back and realized his friend had entered the River too. Winn reached with his other hand, prying the fingers from around his wrist, and after a moment of struggle the bones relaxed and allowed Winn to pull away.

  You see it!? Winn asked.

  I do, David replied.

  They watched as the hand rose another foot from the ground, half of its forearm exposed, reaching, its fingers searching for anything to grab. It flailed in the air for a moment more, then began to slowly sink back into the ground until they could only see the tips of the fingers.

  Carma didn’t say anything about that, David said.

  No she didn’t, Winn repeated, irritated.

  What did it feel like?

  Cold, Winn replied. Cold and dead.

  We gotta finish this, Winn, David said. You know how important it is. The box in his hand still shook, indicating there hadn’t been a successful planting below them.

  Winn reached inside the box again and removed another finger. He quickly dropped to the ground and selected a spot about a foot away from where he’d seen the fingertips descend. He pressed the tip of the bone downward with as much speed as he felt he could use without breaking it, and as his finger descended into the earth to press it deep enough, he saw the hand re-emerge next to him, reaching out to find him, its flesh restored.

  Jesus! David cried out as he jumped back, watching as Winn quickly finished with the deposit and pulled away from the emerging arm.

  I might have the hang of this, Winn said, irritation still lacing his words. Let’s try another.