“He most likely introduced something into your body,” Carma replied.
“He said, ‘vengeance is mine’ just before he did it,” Winn muttered.
“Well,” Carma replied, “that doesn’t sound too promising.”
“So, what, I’ve been poisoned?”
“There was some poison involved, certainly,” Carma answered. “I think I’ve removed all of that. There’s a chance, however, that something else is still inside you.”
“Something else?” Winn said, feeling panic rise in his throat. “Like what?”
“Impossible to say,” Carma replied. “It could be any number of elements, viruses, germs, infections, all designed to do different things. Without the handle I have no idea.”
“You mean I have some kind of disease?”
“There’s a strong possibility of that,” Carma replied.
“What can I do about it?”
“Without knowing what you’re infected with, I’m afraid you can only keep it at bay with some defensive powders.”
“The symbols!” Winn said, suddenly remembering what he’d seen as he collapsed in the room at the inn. “He had papers with the symbols! The one’s I’ve been seeing!”
Carma look surprised. “You’re sure?”
“Yes!” Winn replied. “I fell to the ground, and papers fell with me. I remember seeing them before I passed out. They were the same symbols I saw before the trailer exploded.”
“Oh, my,” Carma said, sitting down on the sofa. “What an evil, evil man. He killed all those people…” she muttered, piecing it together. “All those poor, innocent people...”
Winn felt the rest of what he half-realized while in the inn flood into him; they weren’t messages from Deem. They were never from Deem.
“He used the first two messages to gain my confidence,” Winn said, “so I’d believe the third and smash the device? That was his goal?” He turned to Carma. “But I didn’t have the device with the first message.”
“I suspect they knew Deem’s family had it,” Carma replied. “I’ll bet they were trying to flush it out.”
“That could be,” David added. “It fits. They didn’t blow up your trailer until after you deciphered the first message. They wanted you to find the mechanism and translate it so you’d begin to trust them.”
“And they knew you’d stop David from getting on the plane,” Carma said. “Killing all those innocent people to solidify your trust. How horrible!”
“Daniel said it was very expensive,” Winn replied. “And its power is obvious. If they suspected Deem’s family of having one, it would make sense to try and flush it out, so they could either steal it or eliminate it.”
“Turns out the mechanism wound up giving Lyman what he needed to act against them,” David said. “Flushing it out worked to their disadvantage.”
“If you hadn’t stopped me,” Winn said to Carma, “I would have destroyed it. I was convinced.”
“Believe me when I tell you that you must trust Lyman,” she replied. “His methods might seem clandestine or extreme, but he has a massive master plan than goes much further than any of us understand. And he has many enemies who will try every method to stop him.”
“Including using us,” David said. “I suppose if one of us had died in the process, that would have been a bonus for them.”
“Yes,” Carma answered. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You must understand, though, it’s not about you, per se. They’re after Lyman.”
“The Mountain Meadows ghosts,” Winn said. “They’re still marching toward Caliente?”
“They are,” Carma replied. “And should be there within a couple of hours. Do you feel well enough to take on a final task? A task that Lyman needs you to perform?”
Winn looked up at David. The two exchanged a quick glance. Winn could tell David was up for anything.
“Yes,” Winn answered. “I can’t feel the wound at all. I feel fine.”
“The wound is gone,” Carma said, leading them to the stairwell. “It’s what he put inside you that I’m worried about. We’ll have to figure that out later. Right now Lyman will teach you how to use some mesh, and then you need to go pick up a trailer.”
▪ ▪ ▪
Deem could see the lights of the small town crest over the horizon and sensed excitement running through her compatriots as a result. They were nearing their goal, now only moments from releasing a century and a half of stalled retribution.
She felt heat begin to emanate from her hands, which were swinging gently at her sides. She lifted her palm to her face, examining it; it was warm. Something radiated from inside it, wanting to come out. Something powerful.
She glanced to her side where Marion was walking.
You feel that? she asked.
Yes, Marion answered, in my hands. It’s burning. I don’t like it.
Deem turned to watch Paul, still walking ahead of them, focused and intent upon reaching Caliente along with the dozens of others marching along with them. A dazzling blue dagger slowly descended from the man’s palms, glowing in the darkness, pulsing slightly with energy. It stopped when it reached six inches, its sharp tip swaying as he walked. She saw more of them appearing in the palms of the others around her, gradually forming in the night like glowing weapons.
Weapons, she thought. That’s exactly what they are.
She raised her hand once again and saw the blue tip attempting to emerge from her hand. She knew the woman inside her shared the group’s mutual hatred of their murderers, but she didn’t feel the compulsion to wield the blade. She tried suppressing it; the tip sunk into her hand and disappeared.
Is this how it will be done? Marion asked, examining the blue blade that had emerged from her own palm. These will be the instruments of our revenge?
You don’t have to, Deem replied, holding her palm up for Marion to see. I stopped mine.
Marion turned to her hands again, and Deem saw her concentrate on them. Slowly the daggers sunk back into her, disappearing completely.
Marion looked around. I think we’re the only two who are having second thoughts, she said. The rest of them seem ready to use the blades.
Deem felt the enormity of Lyman’s plan hit her. There was, indeed, a massacre coming. She suspected that the men in Caliente didn’t realize what was about to descend upon them. The potent combination of revenge and depravity that was driving her band of travelers was going to kill everyone there, without mercy.
I don’t know if I can do that, Deem thought, unsure if it was herself or Kate thinking the thought.
I don’t know if I can either, Marion replied. Then again, what they did to father…
Not them, Deem said. Their ancestors. It’s what their ancestors did.
That’s good enough for me! Paul replied, marching ahead of them. They swore oaths of revenge for Carthage, so our revenge for what they did to us is justified by the same God. I’m going to slice every one of those damn Mormons into pieces.
Deem could hear a note of glee in the man’s enthusiasm that chilled her to the bone. She was no fan of Lyman’s enemies — they were her enemies, too. But taking delight in the prospect of killing them? She wasn’t there, wasn’t able to muster the fervor that the others around her were exhibiting.
It’s the soul cage, she thought to herself, trying to wall her thoughts from the others. These people might be entitled to revenge, but it’s the sick souls Lyman put into them that will make it a sadistic blood bath. Whereas normal people might have second thoughts, these insanely violent souls won’t hesitate to shed lives. Lyman made it foolproof.
As the lights of Caliente approached, Deem tried to decide if she would participate or not. If Dayton’s there, I might, she considered, then backtracked. I’m surrounded by bloodthirsty lunatics determined to kill them all, whether I participate or not. I can let them do the work. I know I damn sure can’t stop them.
As they got closer to their target, the buildings of the town came
into view, and the ghosts around her became more and more focused on the acts of revenge about to take place, like dogs becoming excited at the prospect of dinner. I can let them do all the dirty work, Deem repeated, feeling the blue spike in her palm wanting to emerge, but keeping it down. I don’t have to kill these people. I don’t have to participate.
She turned to look at her sister once again. Marion’s hands were free of weapons, too. Apparently Marion had made the same decision.
The old train station was the first building they encountered. Deem felt the group being led by an unseen force, knowing their ultimate destination as if it had been programmed into them in advance. They turned on Main Street and began advancing through the small town, a parade of ghosts slowly advancing through the silent, dark town. No one was out on the streets, and a solitary car approached from ahead, the only movement she could see. The car moved through them, and Deem could see the disturbed look on the driver’s face as he sensed something wrong but couldn’t determine what it was. She turned to see the car’s taillights, receding in the distance.
She turned back. There! she thought, recognizing the structure ahead on the left. That damned motel, the one Warren Jeffs used for his underage marriages. They still use that sick place. What were they thinking?
A line of cars parked in front of each room gave the impression that the motel was full, echoed by the neon “no” on the motel’s sign.
She began to wonder how it would play out. Will they call them out? Have a confrontation in the parking lot, or in the streets of Caliente?
Deem saw the first of the party approach the parked cars, passing through them to the doors of the motel rooms. Within moments they had passed inside.
She shuddered to think what was happening behind the door. The movement of the group was carrying her; they were all passing through the parked cars now, moments from entering their own rooms.
Paul reached the door first and disappeared through it. Deem turned to look at Marion, who still had her dagger at bay.
You going in there? Deem asked.
Just to see, Marion replied. Not to participate.
More ghosts went around them, entering the room that Paul had already entered. Deem turned and followed them.
Inside was grim. Paul attacked one of the sleeping men, slicing his throat and cutting through his abdomen. The light was dim, but she could see the dark red patches spreading on the white sheets, and jets of blood hitting the walls from the severed arteries. Paul continued slashing mercilessly at the body in the bed, over and over, inflicting wound after wound, enjoying every strike. Others around her swarmed the other men in the beds, hacking at them repeatedly, delighting in the carnage. Deem could hear muffled cries coming through the motel’s walls, and she knew similar scenes of horror were happening all around her. She found herself drifting back, wanting to leave the room. The sick souls of the soul cage were clearly in charge here, subsuming any humanity that might have been left in the ghosts of the Fancher party.
As she passed through the door, she was taken by a sudden rush behind her, and she turned to see a man running down the walkway in front of the rooms. He was dressed only in his garments, his bare feet flying over the cement.
Running for his life, Deem thought. He wasn’t running away from the motel, however. He was running for the end of it, to a room at the far corner where the members of the Fancher party had not yet descended.
Deem decided to follow him. Part of her wanted to allow the spikes to emerge and take the man down before he could escape, but she suppressed the idea of killing him in the interest of seeing where he was going.
As they passed room after room, Deem could sense the violence going on inside; members of the wagon train, with whom she’d just walked miles, were slicing at the bodies sleeping inside. Were they all part of Dayton’s control structure? she wondered as she followed the man. Or were there more? Other Daytons from other areas?
He stopped at the final room of the motel and unlocked the door, going inside quickly. She moved through the door, realizing that Marion was no longer with her; Marion was somewhere back near the first room they’d entered.
Inside, she was surprised to find the room was empty.
It seemed like a normal motel room, made up and ready for an occupant…but there was something slightly off about it. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what made her feel that way. Something was disjointed, not right. Deem moved around the space, looking, searching…the man had vanished.
Deem! she heard, the familiar voice coming through loud and clear. Deem! Can you hear me?
Lorenzo! she cried. Are you there? Yes, I can hear you!
Look carefully, Deem! Lorenzo called. Wherever you are, it’s special. It’s important.
This room? Deem asked. This room is important?
It’s very important, Lorenzo answered. It’s why I can talk to you. It’s different. Find out why it’s different.
She studied the room. There’s nothing unusual here, Lorenzo. It’s just a motel room. The man ran in here, but I can’t find him…
In the distance she heard Marion scream, and Kate rose to take control, driving her from the room, abandoning the search Lorenzo had suggested. She was suddenly in the night air, returning quickly over the cement walkway to her sister who was still inside the first room they’d entered.
Marion was holding her arm, tears on her face.
What happened? Kate asked.
They attacked me! Marion replied, showing Kate her arm.
They? Kate asked.
One of our party! Marion replied. I think it was Jonas. After they finished with the bodies, they were in a furious rage. They turned on me!
Kate looked up at the room. Blood was everywhere; bodies sliced and cut, pieces of them tossed from the beds, lying on the floor. The horror of it caused Kate to recede, and Deem took control again. She wanted to return to the room at the end of the motel, to talk to Lorenzo again and figure out what he was trying to say, but she found herself suddenly immobile, unable to move.
Winn? she thought, watching as Winn and David entered the room, walking to one of the bodies on the bed. She glanced to the open doorway; no one else was there. The other ghosts were gone, as though they had finished their work and were now no longer needed.
Marion! Deem felt Kate cry, wanting a final word. Marion was gone.
She turned her gaze back to the bed and watched as Winn activated a small metal band near the neck of one of the recently butchered men. A thin line shot out from it, wrapping around the neck. It duplicated downward, forming a mesh that quickly enveloped the body.
She felt as though she wanted to vomit, but couldn’t. Something was down her throat, something had violated her and was extended deep down inside. She grabbed at her face, feeling a soft, gelatinous mass, horrified at how she couldn’t breathe and how her face seemed to be missing, replaced by something soft and squishy.
The blood disappeared from the walls as she watched David helping Winn lift the encased body from the bed, and suddenly everything dimmed. She could feel it rising out of her, something pulling up through her mouth and nose, something foreign that had decided to release her.
Her eyes flew open, and in the dim light of Lyman’s underground cave, she saw three faces looking down at her: Lyman, Carma…and Warren.
Then she felt the slimy substance slip down the side of her face, landing on the wood of the table next to her ear, and she worried that whatever had been down her nose and throat might try to re-enter her ear canal. She sat up quickly, startling the group.
“Whoa,” Warren said. “Take it easy!”
She could feel Carma’s hands on her back, steadying her. My dear, you’ve been lying on the table for months. You need to be careful. Things might not work right for a little while.
They butchered them all, she weakly croaked, the words hard to speak.
You saw it, then? Lyman asked. The massacre at Caliente? The payback for Mountain Meadows?
Worse than payback, Deem said. It was a bloodbath.
Lyman smiled. And what happened to the Fancher party in 1857 wasn’t?
Deem remembered the vision she’d had when first leaving the soul cage; Marion’s throat cut, her father’s face destroyed. Not my father, she thought. Kate’s father. Was it worse than what she’d just seen?
She felt the horror of witnessing her sister die in front of her as she relived the bullet entering her own body. Not worse, she thought. Just as bad. A massacre is a massacre.
She tried to stand, but her legs couldn’t support her. Before she fell, she felt Warren’s arms catching her, lifting her up. His arms felt good, and she resisted her natural impulse to try and fight the help, to try and stand on her own.
They were moving through the caves, making their way back to the house. Deem saw the overhead lights as they went, single bare bulbs hanging from the rocky surface of the tunnel.
The massacre of Caliente, she thought. Lyman did it. He killed them all. Not himself, of course. His plan. He arranged it, he made it happen.
“Did Dayton die?” she asked.
“What?” Warren asked, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her.
She cleared her throat. “Did Dayton die? Is he dead?”
“We don’t know,” Carma replied behind her. “We’re waiting to hear from Winn. We’ll see.”
“Winn!” Deem said. “I saw him. He was there, with David.”
“Hush now,” Carma said. “We’re going upstairs, and we’ll get some tea down you. Then you’re going to rest until your strength returns.”
Warren carried her upstairs and placed her on the sofa in the sitting room. Deem felt her head land on a pillow, and she instantly wanted to close her eyes and sleep. Instead, Carma appeared with a mug, insisting that she drink.
The tea was soothing. Her scratchy throat instantly relaxed and she felt energy returning to her limbs. More tea, she thought, moving her lips forward toward the mug.
“Don’t gulp it,” Carma warned. “Just sip. It’s potent, you won’t need a lot. You just need to be patient while it works.”
The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5) Page 15