Mojave Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  Agent Allen could not stand the thought of the rat taking her by surprise from behind. She let Agent Kline continue ahead, carrying Mr. C, while she twisted to point her gun down the stairs. She ran sideways as fast as she could without losing her balance. As she made her way, she listened for any sound of the approaching rat. The stairway was dark. Nothing was visible. All she could hear was Agent Kline moving farther and farther ahead of her up the stairs.

  It wasn’t with her ears that she first detected the rat. It was with her nose. A tidal wave of horrible, rotten-egg smell burst up the stairwell and enveloped her. It smelled so bad, so overpowering, she felt sure that if there had been light she would see a green gaseous cloud attacking her. The rat must be almost on her. She gagged and fired a single shot down the stairwell into the blackness.

  “Allen! Where are you?” Agent Kline called. “We’re at the top! Hurry!”

  Agent Allen continued running sideways up the stairs. “I’m coming.”

  “We have to close the door. We can’t wait.” That was Mr. C.

  Was he going to shut her in with the rat?

  “I’m coming!” Panic tinged her voice.

  She quickened her pace, but continued pointing her gun down the stairs. The smell was so overpowering it was difficult to breathe. Whatever happened, she did not want to be caught unaware and taken in the dark. It occurred to her that a bullet fired at the correct angle might ricochet down the spiral staircase.

  Pointing the gun at an angle roughly equal to the descending stairs, she let a bullet fly. The muzzle flash briefly lit the passage way. It was less than a second, but in that small fraction of time she saw it. She saw the rat. Its nose and front paws were just visible around the interior wall. She had fired above it.

  Quickening her pace, she fired another shot where she thought it should be. The light of the muzzle flash showed the rat had disappeared. She continued firing every few seconds, hoping to hold it at bay. Before she knew it, her weapon clicked, signaling an empty magazine. Now, however, she was close enough to the top that light penetrated down to her level.

  Without slowing her pace, she ejected the empty magazine and pulled another magazine from her coat pocket, jamming it smoothly into her weapon. With no wasted motion, she cocked the gun, placing a live round into its firing chamber, and then released the safety.

  The rat’s nose appeared around the inner wall, so she fired again. She thought she hit it, but the shot did not intimidate the beast. Instead of backing off, it jumped forward. As it drew closer, its stink increased sharply, making breathing impossible.

  Agent Allen now stared down its long brackish nose and directly into its furious red eyes. Below the nose, its elongated, pointed fangs dripped green foam. Its lip curled to one side as if it were snarling. It matched her pace up the stairs, so she fired again and again, directly into its face, even into its eyes. The shots seemed to irritate it, but not slow it down. Suddenly, her gun clicked again. It was empty. She had no more magazines, no more bullets.

  Running faster, she knew with certainty, Now it will pounce on me.

  Cal jumped to his feet, swinging the extinguished torch this way and that with his left hand. He now held the .357 in his right hand, pointing it into the darkness. The snakes did not advance. In fact, Cal could no longer see or hear them. With another flash of lightning, Cal saw the sidewinders had all continued down the ravine. They were all heading away from Cal and Lenny as fast as they could go.

  “Dude, where are the snakes?” Lenny’s comment startled Cal. Lenny had gotten up off the ground and was now standing close by.

  Cal pointed his charred branch down the trail. “They kept going. I guess they weren’t chasing us after all.”

  Lenny’s eyes widened. “Dude, what were they chasing?”

  Cal rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, man.”

  He looked up the hill from where they had run. A strong wind was blowing down on them, carrying the heavy scent of rain. At this lower altitude, the narrow valley had been swallowed up into a very steep and deep ravine. Cal looked at the nearby stream. It was running more forcefully now. He knew this ravine carried on for several hundred yards and ended in a large sandy basin, where the water from the stream disappeared into the ground.

  “Maybe,” Cal speculated. “Maybe, they weren’t running after anything. Maybe they were running from something.”

  Lenny gave him a perplexed look. “Dude?”

  At that moment, another bolt of lightning struck across the sky. With the loud clap of thunder came an instant downpour. It didn’t start with a drop or two. It just poured hard with rain drops so large and cold, they felt like liquid marbles pelting Cal’s naked torso. In seconds, they were both totally soaked.

  More flashes followed in quick succession. The storm had overtaken them in its full force. Almost hidden by the thunder, Cal heard another noise. It was a rumbling, like a distant stampede. Muted at first, the volume of the rumbling quickly increased.

  As the realization of what was happening hit Cal, Lenny grabbed him, looking at him with surprise and consternation written all over his face. “Dude!”

  There was no mistaking his meaning this time. The snakes hadn’t been chasing them. The coiled one had probably thought they were chasing it. Its actions had been defensive. No, the snakes hadn’t been chasing anything. They had been running from the coming flash flood, which was now almost on top of Cal and Lenny.

  As one flash of lightning quickly followed the next, the roiling, tumbling wall of water approached as if in a stop action film. It was a bubbling, boiling wave of white and black, sticks and debris, eating up everything in its path. The rumble was so loud now, they could feel it. There was no time for even another “Dude” comment.

  Shoving the .357 into his pocket, Cal dropped the branch with his burned-up shirt still tied to the end. Both he and Lenny began a frantic scramble up the side of the ravine. The ravine walls were steep and unstable, making any ascent difficult. In the dark, it was almost impossible. Hand and footholds were sparse. Any rock they grabbed came loose from the sandy sides. For all their desperate efforts, their progress was excruciatingly slow.

  They were just over half way up when the first wave of the flood hit their feet. A couple steps took them higher, but the next wave came to their waists. Now, they were frantically grabbing for handholds not just to pull themselves up higher, but to cling to anything that would keep them from being swept away in the muddy, gurgling water.

  As Lenny’s footing washed out from underneath him, he cried, “Dude!”

  At the same time, Cal managed to thrust himself up far enough to grab a tangle of sagebrush roots hanging from the side of the ravine. Sliding down into the water, Lenny managed to grab hold of Cal’s leg.

  The flood rose higher, and Lenny’s head went under water. Straining every muscle, Cal struggled to hang on. Branches and debris struck his body as the black water swirled around him. Lenny’s head bobbed above the waves, and he managed to catch a few gasping breaths before he went back under. The water pulled and sucked at Lenny, who was pulling Cal down with him.

  Cal refused to let go of the roots, but the rushing current was washing the dirt out from under his feet. Before he knew it, Cal lost his footing. The only thing keeping them both from joining the jetsam downstream was Cal’s grip on the scrawny sagebrush roots.

  The water level was now up to Cal’s chest, and Lenny was completely submerged. With everything he had, Cal pulled himself higher, reaching up hand over hand for more roots, bringing Lenny’s head just above water.

  Cal’s biceps strained against the skin as he held his position. Lenny, gasping for breath, held onto Cal with one hand as he grasped above him with the other, searching for a handhold. Both were battered and bashed by the water and everything the flood carried down the hill with it. They were weakening quickly.

  With his last ounce of strength, Cal found the muscle to pull them both up another six inches out of the flood. One foot fou
nd a rocky ledge that seemed to hold, so he pushed up even more. Lenny grabbed a handful of roots with his free hand. For the moment, both rested, feeling they had finally reached a solid position.

  They didn’t rest long. Before either could move another inch, the sagebrush roots Cal had been holding came out of the hillside in a tangle. Cal lost his footing, and the water slammed him into Lenny. The roots Lenny was holding broke loose under their combined weight. The swirling flood grabbed them both. Down with the rest of the debris they went, completely at the mercy of the frenzied deluge.

  Slowly stepping backward, Agent Allen stared into the rat’s furious red eyes, daring it to move. She expected it to pounce any second now. While she stared, the rat crouched back on its haunches. Dropping lower to the ground, it prepared to spring. Agent Allen’s eyes felt hot as they continued to bore into the rat’s eyes, challenging the rat, defying the rat. Her eyes felt as bloodshot as the rat’s eyes looked. Their gazes locked, she continued to step backward.

  Without realizing it, her hand touched the broad stone doorway into the cellar, and she stepped back onto the top stair. Though every muscle had tightened, like a deadly spring, still the rat had not pounced. Agent Allen did not dare look away. Both remained locked in a deadly stare-down, waiting to see who would blink first.

  Mesmerized by the deadly red eyes, Agent Allen tried to take another step up, but her foot hovered in the air. Agent Kline grabbed her with one hand and lifted her bodily through the doorway. With his other hand, he helped Mr. C pull the stone door closed.

  The rat saw the door closing, and finally pounced, trying to reach the doorway while it was still open. Just in time, the door closed with a loud bang as the full weight of the rat hit hard against the other side. Agent Allen heard a click as a locking mechanism secured it closed.

  On the other side of the door, they could hear the rasping of the rat’s foul breath. Before anyone had a chance to relax, there was another click and the door started to creep open.

  Agent Allen rolled her eyes. Of course, it knows how to open the stone door.

  All three pulled on the door to close it. Rough stone edges provided makeshift handles. With their combined strength, the three barely managed to close the door. It clicked shut again.

  The rat had not given up. Again, the door mechanism clicked and the door started to open. The tug-of-war started all over again.

  “How is it doing that?” Agent Allen growled through gritted teeth.

  Mr. C replied between gasps. “It has hold of something on the other side with its mouth.”

  While Agents Allen and Kline strained to hold the stone door closed, Mr. C made a quick survey of the cellar. Suddenly, he picked up a wooden barrel, covered with a dirty sheet, and threw the barrel against the wall, shattering it.

  “What is he doing?” Agent Allen gasped in Agent Kline’s ear as they struggled to keep the door from opening.

  Mr. C gathered up handfuls of the pieces of broken barrel slats and hurried over to the door. He jammed the slats into the crevices between the edge of the stone door and its stone jam. He then stepped back and, with the sole of his shoe, crammed the slats deep into every crevice.

  Surprisingly, at least to Agent Allen, the maneuver worked. The broken slats jammed the door so that it could no longer be unlatched from the inside. Suddenly, they heard a series of loud crashes, which seemed to shake the cellar wall. Repeatedly, the rat threw itself against the other side of the thick stone door. The heavy door remained solid and unmovable.

  A loud screeching wail came from the other side of the door, getting louder, more shrill, until it was a piercing squeal. The sound was hideous, angry, and plaintive, all at the same time.

  Agent Allen backed away from the door. It knows it’s trapped behind a solid stone wall.

  Breathing hard, the three of them sat down on the stone floor. Mr. C’s face was blotchy red as he wheezed and struggled for air. When he could finally gasp out a few words between breaths, he said, “Thank you both.”

  Agent Allen ignored Mr. C. “So, what do we do with it now?”

  Agent Kline looked at her with a sober expression. His huge frame heaved in and out with each breath. “I think we have no choice. We have to kill it.”

  Mr. C was too out of breath to join the conversation. Wheezing, he lay back on the stones in a prone position and worked at catching his breath.

  For some time, they could hear the rat scuffling and scratching on the other side of the stone door. Eventually, everything went quiet.

  XXII

  It listened at the stone door and traced their scents. They had all gone upstairs. It had no doubt they were planning to hurt it. They had hurt it already. Not seriously, but with everything they did, pain was inflicted. It hated them. It hated all humans. It had always hated humans!

  It knew the mansion better than they did. They had carelessly removed the frame. And now, the chain was gone as well. It was almost free!

  It knew how to get out of the mansion. It knew another way. It had only to wait for the darkness of night. It loved the night.

  XXIII

  Camm sat on the edge of the rock ledge that served as her bed in her little rock alcove, nibbling on the last of the meager meal the old man had brought her. He had stayed to watch her eat, his gray eyes following her hand each time she brought a morsel to her lips. His scrutiny made her nervous, but she had been hungry enough to keep eating.

  This guy needs to get out more if watching me eat is so fascinating.

  Once she had been able to explore her surroundings, Camm realized she was not in a mine, but in a natural cave that seemed to extend far back under the mountains. Since she was not in a mine, she did not need to worry about vertical shafts or mine dust, but she still wondered about the old man and why he was living in the cave. Growing up in Trona, she had never heard anything about an old hermit living this close to town. She wondered how he had managed to stay hidden for so long.

  She cleared her throat. “Thanks for the food.”

  He bobbed his head, but remained silent.

  “I’m Camm. What’s your name.”

  His face crinkled in amusement. “J.R.” He giggled, as if it were some inside joke. Then he went back to staring at her with a straight face.

  She tried again. “What is this cave we’re in? Do you live here?”

  “Before my patriarch, it was the switching point, but not always, for at times the V. ready seer pans was the switching point, but roaming. And then the switching point changed by design, and ‘it’ was there. These came to assist, but not knowing, they were mortified.”

  He swept out his only hand, indicating the three dead bodies that were Camm’s roommates in her stone alcove. All stood solemnly against one wall of her little room, secured with spikes like the one at the cave opening.

  “But now, we are at the switching point, but not always.”

  Giving her a vague smile, he reached for her empty plate and water cup and ambled out of the room, leaving behind the short stubby candle he had placed on a narrow ledge for light.

  Camm leaned back against the rock wall and took a deep breath. “Whoa! I think we speak the same language, but I didn’t understand a thing he just said.”

  For the next couple days, Camm stayed in the cave mainly because she was afraid of getting caught if she left. But she also had a nagging sense that somehow all this weirdness was connected with the mansion and the rat, maybe even the snake.

  The old man gave her food and water, and he seemed to like having her around. He didn’t ask her to leave. But he talked in riddles and circles, which made getting information out of him difficult. And some things, like the mansion, he just wouldn’t talk about at all.

  Needing someone to think things through with, Camm began conversing with her three dead roommates. Unfortunately, they weren’t very talkative, and no matter how she twisted what she knew in her head with what the old man was saying, only vague connections emerged.

  �
��Curly, you are no help at all,” Camm said matter-of-factly. She cocked her head at the dead body in the middle as if waiting for a reply.

  She knew giving the bodies names was stupid, and it made her feel a little foolish, but it also made her feel more at ease with them. Curly was completely bald and had a frozen expression on his face that made him look like he died in the act of laughing.

  The body on Curly’s right wore an angry expression on his face with a few long strands of black hair hanging off his head. He was Moe. By default, the third body, with blonde hair, closed eyes, and wearing a calm expression, was Larry.

  To keep with her theme, Camm had considered calling the body by the entrance Shemp, but at that point it all became too ridiculous. She settled for calling him the sentry.

  J.R. came twice a day to bring Camm food. On one of those visits, she asked about the mummified dead bodies.

  “They came from here, and went over there to help, but they didn’t know how, so they were mortified.” Pointing at Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe, he said, “These three were of a legionnaire type, but not aware of the power and the scope, nor did they understand the dimensional switching, and ultimately ‘it’ did them in. How mortifying! I brought them here so that when switching switched they could come here, and not be there, although if switching switches again, they could be back there.”

  “What about the guy standing guard in the cave opening,” Camm asked, hoping to keep the old man talking long enough to actually say something she understood.

  J. R. shook his head. “He came not by agreement, but by coincident, and though he needed assistance, he would not be persuaded. Panic and foolishness caused his undoing, and I brought him here, like the others, to watch and keep them of the tribe away.”

  Staring at J.R. in confusion, Camm asked him to be more clear. He just repeated what he had already told her. Little of it made sense.