“Whoa,” Chase says. “Hold on a second, Moses—”
“Mac!”
“Whatever!” Chase squints, pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting back a headache. “You’re saying that a tribe of Indians has risen from the dead to hunt down random people as payback for some sort of century-old PTSD?”
Mac throws his head back, laughs once again. My grip tightens around the shotgun. How dare this jerk-off make light of this whole situation? Laughing about those who’d lost their lives, both in the past . . .
And present.
“This is just one big joke to you, isn’t it?” I level the shotgun at Mac’s face, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Relax, Romeo,” Mac says. “I’m laughing because your buddy pretty much nailed it, all right?” He lowers his arms. “Well . . . I mean . . . except for a few things.”
“Like…?”
“Like . . . well . . . they don’t like to be called Indians. Kind of derogatory, ya know? They are Kenneh’wah—”
I gesture with the shotgun that I’ve had enough of his antics. He puts his arms up in protest. “Get to the point!”
“OK! OK!”
“We haven’t got all night.”
“You’re right about that.” Another little giggle escapes Mac, and I jam the butt of the shotgun down on his foot as though I were nailing it to the floor. He cries out, pulls his leg up close to his body. “SHEEEEEITTTT!” His face turns red, veins bulging along his temples, holding back the rush of pain as he blurts out, “For Pete’s sake, I ain’t getting any replacement bones in this lifetime, so stop breaking the ones I got!”
“You'll be all right,” I say without an ounce of pity in my voice.
“What are you, a doctor? Doctor Rodney?”
“Finish what you were saying, Mac!” Kylie snaps. I shoot her a look of surprise, and she shrugs. Under her breath, “Old fart’s got an ADHD problem.”
Mac takes a deep breath, doing his best to suppress the pain as he goes on. “Look . . . them hunting ya . . . it ain’t personal. The Kenneh’wah simply see you as chek-tah.”
“Chek-tah. Yeah, we keep hearing that,” Chase says. “What’s that mean?”
Mac spits out the word. “Invader.”
“Invader?”
“Yeah, pretty boy. You’re invading their land, and you’re not welcome.”
“Really?” Chase jumps to his feet, points at himself. “For the record, I didn’t ask to be here! None of us did.”
“But you did.” Mac’s eyes darken. He stretches his leg out and lets out a grunt. “You all did.” All pain seems to evaporate from the old man’s face, replaced by something sinister. His nostrils flare, his eyelids narrow, and he bares his rotten teeth as he goes on. “The moment you all started thinking about killing yourselves, the shaman picked up on your intention like a bogey on a psychic radar.”
Chase makes a face, pulling his chin inward and shaking his head as if he just tasted something foul. He mutters, “I never wanted to kill myself.”
Mac eyes him with the stoic gaze of a judge who’s heard this story one too many times.
Chase glances over at Kylie and me, searching our expressions. All I read from him is fear and shame. He turns back to Mac. “I love my life. I love what I do. I’m a happy man, and I’ll be happier once I’m out of this fucking nightmare!”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself is fine by me.” Mac leans back in his chair, shoulders relaxing. “The shaman picked up on your energy. Subconsciously guide you here. Hell . . . you might have even met the man and didn’t even know it.”
“Bullshit!” Chase shouts. “No voodoo magic curse brought us here. No witch doctors or suicidal intentions. None of that crap. You and your sicko friends did that.” There’s a quiver in his tone that betrays his words. As if he is unsure he believes in what he’s saying himself.
“Well, yeah. They’re the other half of the formula.” Mac turns to me. “Mind if I have a smoke now?”
“How about I give you one of your throw pillows to huff on?” I ask. “There’s enough nicotine in it to kill a cow.”
“Oh sure,” Mac mumbles under his breath. “Pick on an innocent old man.”
“Innocent? Are you serious? You’re a part of this game.”
“You’re not so innocent, yourself . . . Rodney.” There’s a snarky grin on his face as he asks, “Tell me . . . what does the barrel of Berretta taste like?”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
How the hell?
I glance back at Kylie. There’s an expression of surprise in those beautiful eyes of hers. Before I can utter a word in defense, Mac chimes in again. “Your sister saved your ass, didn’t she?”
I spin around to face him. “How did you know that?”
“The shaman picked up on your thoughts. As soon as you wanted to kill yourself—and meant it—he picked up on your intent, fed on it, and was able to subconsciously influence those related to you—including your sister—and bring you right to us.”
“What?” This is too much to process. “No way. Becky wouldn’t do that!” My gaze falls to the floor, mind sputtering like an engine low on gas. “I agree with Chase. This is . . . this is bullshit.”
Mac waves his good hand in the air. “Yet here you all are . . . running for your lives.”
Trying to sort through this is too much to handle in one night. Besides, we’re not here to solve a mystery. We’re here to find a way out.
Snapping out of my stupor, I ask, “Who is this shaman?”
“A reluctant participant who owes Baxter a lot of money, so this is his penance.”
“Baxter?”
Mac makes a face like he said too much. Sucks in his lips as if trying to physically inhale the name he let escape his mouth.
I grab him by his shirt and lift him out of his chair. He barely weighs anything, he’s as light as a stinky bag of feathers. “Who’s Baxter?”
The darkness in Mac’s eyes is now replaced worry.
“WHO . . . IS . . . BAXTER?”
Mac slowly brings a finger to his lips. Then points upward.
“Forget about the stupid rats! You’ve got bigger problems now.”
The old man nods. “I know.” He gestures for me to come closer. I hesitate, not sure what he’s up to, but Mac squints at me . . . almost as if he’s trying to communicate something. Reluctantly I bring my head close to his. He whispers in my ear, “He can hear us.”
I pull back, shoot him a look. “Who?”
Mac leans close to my ear. “Baxter. I shouldn’t have said his name, but it slipped. Actually, I said too darn much. Haven’t had company in a while.” He looks over Kylie like she’s dessert. “Especially company so lovely. Maybe that’s why I’m blabbering.” His gaze drifts to the floor. “And now he’s gonna kill me.”
“No one is killing anyone else right now,” I say loud enough so that this Baxter can hear me, too.
“Too late.” Mac brings his hand up to cover my mouth, tears forming at the corners of his eyes—but I pull away, not sure what he’s doing. He jumps up and down and makes flapping motions with his hands.
It’s as if he’s the only one playing charades.
“Grandpa’s a damn nutcase.” Chase cuts in between us, pushing us apart. “Shaman, psychic voodoo bullshit spells. Who gives a damn how we got here?” He points down at the floor. “I say we park our happy asses right here and wait until morning. I mean, you heard him. Those things can’t come into the RV park.”
Mac is full on jumping up and down, waving his arms like a madman.
“On second thought, maybe Grandpa’s been stalling,” Chase says as he leans close to Mac, sizing him up as if he wants to punch the old man out. Mac freezes. Glares back. “Maybe Grandpa here’s been buying time for his boss to kill us himself. Especially since we’ve gotten this far and all.”
Chase does make a good point.
“I said too much,” Mac mumbles. “Said too damn much. But the game’s
going to change! It’s OK. The game is already changing—”
“Shut up!” Chase stomps his foot to make the point that he’s had enough.
“Chase!” I shout.
“Screw this nutjob.” Chase turns to me. “Let’s tie him to the chair and stay here until this whole thing blows over in the morning.” To Mac, “Those things don’t hunt during the day, do they?”
“The game’s gonna change . . .” Mac mutters once more.
“Aw, come on, you worthless piece of shit.” Chase shoves Mac, and the old man nearly falls over. “Answer me.”
“Chase, stop it!” Kylie says, getting to her feet. “You’re not helping!”
“Answer me!” Chase asks Mac once more. “They don’t hunt during the day, do they? That’s why we have to make it until morning, isn’t that right?”
Mac goes stiff. “Yes . . . that’s right. But you can’t stay here until morning.”
Kylie and I trade looks.
“Oh yeah?” Chase asks. “And why’s that?”
Mac points down at the floor, then puts his hands together, then makes an exploding sound as he opens his hands.
“Cut the charades, Grandpa!” Chase mimics Mac’s gestures as he asks, “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I say, feeling a sudden chill run through me, “that this place is rigged with explosives.”
Mac nods up and down.
The color drains from Chase’s face.
“Stay. Leave. No matter what you decide to do, you’ll all die tonight.” A sneer stretches across Mac’s weathered face. “Stay, and this place goes up in one gigantic mushroom cloud. Leave, and you all know who’s waiting for you in the woods.”
“And what if we keep heading east?” Kylie asks.
Mac looks over at her. “Well then, sweetie, you’ll be traveling through the field of the dead.”
“The what?” I ask.
“The field of the dead. The site where the Kenneh’wah village was that burned down. It’s where the angriest of the tribe sleep. And I use the term sleep loosely.” Mac wrinkles his nose as he flicks his tongue across his cavity-riddled teeth.
Chase goes white. An expression of pure dread is plastered all over his pasty skin. I see the wheels of fear turning in his head and share his sentiment.
“You guys are so dead,” Mac says with a giggle. That twinkle of glee returning to his eyes. “You’ll be recycled. Your soul will give way to theirs, and you’ll be joining the ranks soon enough. Nothing more than fresh bodies for their age-old army.”
I want to knock Mac out, but Chase beats me to it.
“Screw you, man!” Chase goes for Mac—but the old man moves surprisingly quick. Kicks Chase in the groin and pushes him back into me.
The two of us go tumbling onto the floor.
I hear Kylie shout, “Mac—stop!”
Mac just runs out of the trailer.
We get to our feet, move to the window.
Outside, Mac is sprinting surprisingly fast given his age and condition. He’s waving his arms in the air as he heads straight for the forest.
“I’m one of you! Don’t kill me!” he screams into the waiting darkness of the woods. “I’m not chek-tah! Don’t kill me!”
“Should we go after him?” Chase asks.
“You mean, head back into those woods?” I shake my head. “No thank you.”
“Good point.”
Kylie asks, “Think he was telling the truth?”
“About what?”
“About the shaman? The bomb? I don’t know . . . all of it?”
“After what we’ve been through tonight, I don’t know what to believe. But we can’t stay here. Explosives or no explosives.”
Mac passes under the light pole at the outer edge of the RV camp. Arms still up in the air, he’s screaming that we’re in the park, that we were holding him captive—
Something moves with the swiftness of a cheetah.
Runs right in front of Mac, wielding something in its hands.
Mac lets out a whimper, clutches his neck, drops to his knees, and then collapses, landing hard on the side of his head. The silhouette of a Kenneh’wah hunter stands above him. We watch as the hunter’s eyes and teeth come to life, flickering like distant candles. He raises one arm, brandishing one of those bone knives, and screams out, “Chek-taaaaaaaah!”
“Jesus . . .” Chase says in a hoarse whisper. “They’ll kill their own men.”
“Mac wasn’t one of their own,” I say. “He’s one of Baxter’s. And to the Kenneh’wah, it seems that we’re all chek-tah.” I turn to Chase and Kylie as I say, “We’re all invaders.”
“OK, so now for the question of the evening, guys . . .” Kylie asks, “What do we do?”
“I say screw what that geriatric psycho said,” Chase says, plopping himself down on the couch, “and let’s camp our asses here for the night.”
“You mean take our chances that Mac was bluffing?” I ask.
“As opposed to our alternative?” Chase points out the window. “Did you not just see him get his throat slit?”
“Oh my God . . .” Kylie says with a gasp. She’s staring off toward the edge of the camp.
Mac is back on his feet again.
He turns toward the RV park, toward us, eyes and teeth aglow just like the other hunters. With both arms in the air, he lets out a raspy, “Chek-tah!” Then louder. “CHEK-TAAAAAAAAH!”
“It’s a never-ending undead army from Hell,” Kylie whispers under her breath, gaze fixed on the old man as he sways from side to side, drunk on whatever bloodlust is running through his reanimated veins.
With a nervous laugh, Chase adds, “Well he did say he was one of them . . . just before they offed him.”
“How’s this possible?” I ask, staring at Mac and his creepy glowing eyes.
“Does it matter? Not really,” Chase says, still lounging on the chair like some cat, oblivious to the wild world outside. “All that matters is that Mac just made my case. Not only did he get killed, but the old raisin also came back as one of those Kenneh-whatever hunters.”
“But if we stay here, and if what Mac said is true, we’re dead for certain,” I say, turning back to Chase and Kylie.
“Unless that’s just a ploy to get us back out into the game,” Kylie says. “What if Mac was bluffing?”
“Maybe, but then being that this sounds like Baxter’s game, the man is probably not going to want to lose. And according to Mac, we did make it farther than anyone else has,” I remind them. “Maybe Baxter gets pissed that we stayed the night in hotel RV here and flattens the camp out of frustration. Seems to be no shortage of those emotions here.”
Outside Mac continues to chant check-tah as if taunting us to come out and face him.
“Rod, seriously. Wake up, man. If we go out there, we die. How much simpler can it be?” Chase hops to his feet, gestures outside toward Mac. “Look at him!”
Mac sways from side to side, screaming incoherently.
“He’s just waiting for us out there.”
“Yeah, I got it,” I say. “So, we don’t go that way.”
Chase shrugs me off. “Oh? So where do we go then, genius?” He makes quotes with his fingers as he says in a mocking tone, “The field of the fucking dead?”
“Exactly,” I say. “We keep heading east.”
Chapter 16—Human Radios & The Jumper
“That sounds like a terrible idea!” Chase turns to Kylie, a skeptical look on his face. “Don’t tell me that you’re thinking of going back out there, too?”
Kylie steps away from the window and glares at him.
“Sooooooo?” Chase gestures for her to spit out an answer.
“Being that Rodney didn’t take off running, and you did . . .” She nods in my direction. “I’m sticking with him.”
“Awwww, come on!” Chase throws his hands up in the air. “I ran because I was scared shitless.”
Kylie folds her arms across her chest.
&nbs
p; “Don’t tell me you’ve never been afraid, princess. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of emotional instability yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. We’ve all got one thing in common, and apparently, it ain’t a zest for living!”
“Slow your roll,” Kylie says, holding a hand up.
“Uh-huh.” Chase smirks. “You just made my point,” he says as he glances down at the razor scars on her wrists.
She slaps Chase, knocking his head to one side.
Chase cups his cheek. “What the crap?” Opens and closes his jaw just to make sure it still works.
“How dare you judge me?” she says. “I’m sure you didn’t grow up in a screwed up home like I did.”
“Yeah, I did.” Chase rubs his cheek.
“Oh? Really?” Kylie says. “Tell me about it.”
Chase shrugs. Throws his hands in the air. “Yeah, my parents were super hard on me. Wanted me to get perfect grades. Make the soccer team. Get into Harvard or Yale.” He chuckles, then says, “I settled for Columbia.”
“And you just made my point,” Kylie says. “Completely different childhoods.” She leans forward, and Chase cringes, realizing his big mouth just opened a can of worms.
“My parents couldn’t give a rat’s ass if my sister, Casey, and I made it through middle school. In fact, my mom walked out on us by the time I had my first period. And not that you would understand this, since you’re a guy, but going through puberty with an abusive asshole of a father sucked.” She exhales deeply, closes her eyes for a moment as if reliving the pain. When she finally opens them, she tells us, “My father, Abe, was only good for two things: beating us and blaming us for Mom leaving.”
“So,” I ask cautiously, “why did your mom leave?”
“Because she couldn’t handle that Casey and I were . . . special.”
“Special?” Chase asks.
“We had these powers.” She makes a face as she struggles to explain. “Powers as in the ability to express voices, thoughts, and even mimic gestures that weren’t our own.”
Chase raises an eyebrow. “You mean you guys were possessed?”
The Death Wish Game Page 9