by Ron Ripley
“Yeah, fine,” Kevin grumbled. “I’ll even try out the new emergency kit they slapped together.”
“I still don’t like this,” Guillermo said. “We should be sitting with you.”
“He’ll shoot us,” Anthony said, and after a moment of shocked surprise, the three of them laughed. The tension vanished.
“Huh,” Guillermo said and muttered something in Spanish. Then, continuing in English, he added, “I’m afraid you’re right about that, Anthony.”
“Damn straight,” Kevin chuckled. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll see you in the mess hall later. You idiots can buy me some beer and help me forget about this stupidity.”
“Sounds good,” Anthony said, and the two men waved as they walked away.
Grumbling and wincing, Kevin limped along their back trail. He kept the fence on his left, moving toward the new house where Miguel lay dead. It took him several long, painful minutes, but when he reached it, he felt better. He stopped near the hidden gate, switched his radio to the proper channel, and said, “Alpha One Tertiary requesting evac for injury, copy?”
“Base copies Alpha One Tertiary,” came the response a heartbeat later. “Location?”
“Exterior of new house. ETA?” Kevin asked.
“Fifteen, maybe twenty Mikes, copy?”
“I copy,” Kevin answered. “Out.”
He sighed and looked at the house. None of the lights were on, and the mid-morning sun made the building appear more depressing than sinister. Kevin slung his rifle and peered through the wrought iron fence. Miguel’s body, he knew, was on the far side of the house, half-buried beneath the snow from the previous evening.
Without thinking, Kevin limped to the gate and opened it.
He remained outside the perimeter, looking in.
Can I make it in? he wondered. Could I get around the house and bring him out? Would anyone notice?
Kevin glanced at the cameras positioned on various center posts. They were hardwired, and the malfunction was corrected. Which means I can’t get in without being seen.
That’s not the real issue, though. Not at all. He shook his head. No, the real issue is getting in without the dead figuring out I’m there. Hell, they don’t even have a cause of death. Or at least they’re not telling us anything about it.
Kevin sighed angrily. A dissatisfaction for the job was growing in him. Life had been easier when the company was in Afghanistan, hunting down Mujahideen for private companies.
Hell, we took fewer casualties then, Kevin thought, frowning bitterly.
“Hello,” a woman said from behind him.
Kevin spun around, put too much weight on his sore knee and collapsed on his backside.
An attractive young woman stood in front of him. Her expression was one of mild curiosity. She was dressed in light clothing, and although there was a slight wind blowing, neither her clothes nor her hair was bothered by it.
Dead, Kevin thought, bringing his shotgun into position. She frowned as he squeezed the trigger. The weapon roared, and the dead woman vanished.
“Alpha One Tertiary, we have report of a shot fired. Status?” Command demanded.
“One female ghost, disrupted,” Kevin said. Something struck him in the back of the helmet, knocking him forward into the snow. The blow was followed by more, and he let out a scream of pain as one landed against the back of his injured knee.
Laughter filled the air as he twisted around, trying to get his shotgun free from beneath him. Shots rang out, and the dead woman vanished again, dropping the length of wood she had been using as a bludgeon.
“Foolish.” The word came from behind him again, and Kevin twisted, tried to find a target, and failed. A second later, the board appeared in his peripheral vision. It smashed through his visor, driving safety glass into his eyes as the wood shattered his nose and broke his front teeth.
More shots were fired as Kevin collapsed to one knee, dropping his shotgun before trying to claw the glass out of his face.
He felt cold air rush around him, and then he screamed as pain exploded in his forehead. It felt as though someone was driving frozen nails into his skull, and he shuddered as he fell back. Unable to stand up, Kevin lay on his back, blind to the world as the nails were twisted back and forth in his head. He tried to focus, tried to think about anything, but all he heard was the firing rifles and a soft, satisfied sigh from the dead woman.
Chapter 10: Hermano
Guillermo Hernandez de Los Angeles wandered toward the perimeter of the new wrought iron fence. The installation of the additional barrier progressed slowly, and there were those among Alfor’s contingent who doubted the work would be completed in time to save any lives.
Guillermo counted himself among the doubters.
As did you, Miguel, Guillermo thought. He paused, lit a cigarette, and then continued along his stroll. He had finished his shift, then his report, and finally his debriefing with Armand and their liaison, David.
A three-man patrol passed by, and Guillermo raised his hand in greeting. The men did the same as they continued on their way. We are by trade, Guillermo thought, dealers in death.
He came to a stop, finished his cigarette, and then dropped the butt into the snow, where it quickly sank from view. When it was gone, he pulled on his helmet, adjusted the strap, and lowered the visor. He wanted a closer look at where his brother and Kevin had died. Guillermo loosened his pistol in its holster. It was an old habit, one that died hard, and he grinned at his foolishness.
The grin faded as he remembered his purpose, and he set out with long strides toward the new house. In the towers around him, men turned their weapons toward the house. They knew where he was going, although they did not know why.
Guillermo followed a path trodden by the patrols, and soon he was there, only a short distance from the house. The gate was closed, and it was theorized that the dead woman did not know about the other exits near her. Places where the Indians slipped through to make their kills.
He grimaced at the thought of the dead men. Their attacks were unpredictable and violent. Sometimes, it was done singly, and other times the Indians attacked in groups as large as thirty.
No one ever knew what would come next, or where it might come from. It left each member of Alfor on edge when they were patrolling, and Guillermo was thankful they were not fighting in a village or town. Guerilla tactics often resulted in rapid reactions which left civilians dead.
When he felt he was close enough, Guillermo stopped and drew his weapon. He knew the snipers would assist, as would anyone working on the new wrought iron fence, but he had no desire to die because he hadn’t drawn his pistol. Guillermo examined the small house and wondered where the dead woman was, and what would be needed to finish her off. It was forbidden to destroy a ghost, but Guillermo didn’t care. The dead woman had murdered his brother and his friend.
He had every intention of paying her back.
“Guillermo.”
Frowning, Guillermo turned to the left, to see the speaker, and he froze in place, horrified at what he saw.
Miguel stood before him, his helmet off and his face a ghastly pale color.
“Guillermo,” his brother whispered in a terrified voice. “Oh, Guillermo, I think I’m dead.”
Chapter 11: Expectations
“Place is bigger than it looks,” Tom said, glancing around and nodding his approval.
Joyce looked at the teenager and smiled.
Tom smiled back and asked, “What is it?”
“You remind me of Alex,” she said, then a wave a sadness washed over her. Ellen came up and put a light hand on Joyce’s shoulder.
“It’s all good, Joyce,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”
Joyce nodded.
Victor entered the main room of the small house and asked, “Is everyone all right?”
“Yeah,” Joyce said, sighing. “Just worried about everything.”
“Completely understandable,” Victor said with a s
ympathetic smile. “We will do all we can. First, though, we need to get our living arrangements taken care of. After that, we’ll start to formulate a plan of action.”
“I know,” Joyce said. “I’m going to go upstairs for a minute.”
The others nodded as she left the room, trying not to limp. Her knee bothered her, twinges of sharp, almost electric pain lancing through her leg from the damaged joint. Halfway up the stairs, she paused, gripping the handrail tightly, grinding her teeth together. Images of Warren, her useless dead husband, raced through her mind.
I hate you, she told his memory, straightening up and forcing herself to continue up the stairs. You turned into a monster, Warren. An absolute, damned animal.
Her anger propelled her to the second floor, where she paused for a second and caught her breath. The pain settled back to its normal, dull throb, and she limped to the bedroom on the right. Two air-mattresses were on the floor, new, plain white linens, still in their packaging, sat on each bed. Heavy blankets were there as well, topped with pillows.
Joyce took everything in and leaned against the doorframe. Worry for Alex and Marcus sprang up, and she closed her eyes. She pictured the two of them, sitting at the table, Elaine drifting through the room.
They’d better be okay, Joyce thought. I better be able to save them both.
She opened her eyes, limped to her bed, and considered all the different ways she would kill Professor Abel Worthe if either Alex or Marcus were dead.
***
Money and charm were the most effective tools Benny Washman ever employed.
He stepped into the small real-estate office and smiled kindly at the middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk. Her hair was cut short, the dark brown highlighted with streaks of blonde and gentle reds. It was an expensive haircut, one appropriate for a woman who sold and rented houses to people who vacationed for weeks at a time, skiing and tramping through the wilds. Her makeup was well-applied, and she wore name-brand clothing, each piece tailored.
When she saw Benny, her face flushed beneath her concealer and her pupils dilated. Benny saw all the physical identifiers of attraction and smiled sweetly at her.
“Denise,” he said softly, pitching his voice in a low, pleasant tone. He saw her swallow nervously and slip a stray strand of hair behind her left ear. “How are you? I was so pleased to receive your text earlier. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. The traction on my rental is not nearly what they promised me.”
“Hello, Benny,” she said, standing up and smoothing out the knee-length black skirt she wore. The woman was attractive; not the slim, tiny women Benny preferred, but he could ignore such trivialities when the job required it.
“How are you, Denise? If I remember, you were fighting a cold last week,” Benny said. He nodded to a chair across from her desk and asked, “May I?”
“Yes, please do,” she said, and they sat down simultaneously. “I am feeling better, thank you. My kids, they bring all sorts of colds home.”
“You have two, don’t you?” Benny asked. “Seven and nine? And your husband, he’s not sick, either?”
“I do, and they are. No,” she said, “my husband’s not sick, either.”
“Good,” Benny said. “I can’t imagine how you do it.”
“Do what?” she asked with a slightly embarrassed smile.
Benny grinned at her, pleased to see how she enjoyed the flattery. It made his work much easier.
“You’re a mother,” he said. “A wife. I’m positive you keep the house running efficiently. Children going to school, playdates, sporting events and such. Then, of course, as my mother used to say, a husband is nothing more than another child. One you didn’t plan on having or raising.”
Denise laughed, a sweet sound, and she nodded. “Your mother put her finger right on it. Yes, my husband is often just a big kid. Doesn’t do what’s necessary at times.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benny said sincerely. Then, gently, he said, “You’ve found a house for me?”
“I have,” she said, and added, “there’s also a small place that’s been rented by the person, um, you might be looking for.”
“Really?” Benny asked, allowing his eyes to widen with surprise and his voice to echo the same. “I thought my brother was being facetious. There really is a woman like the one I told you about.”
“Yes, a woman with a heavy limp, looking for a place to stay,” Denise said. “I heard from one of my colleagues. Um, why is your brother looking for her again?”
Benny heard the doubt in her voice. The fear that it was Benny who was looking for the woman and not his fictitious brother. Jealous of a woman she has never seen, Benny thought, and he repressed a triumphant smile.
“Evidently,” Benny said, “she’s a possible accomplice to a break-in at his home in Boston. He had hired her as a security guard, she even came highly recommended. The police believe she has an addiction to opioids.”
“Why aren’t they up here?” Denise said, frowning.
“Because she’s only a possible accomplice,” Benny said. He sighed and shook his head. “Well, if you could write the address down for me, I can send it to my brother, and he can take it from there. As for myself, I am extremely interested in this house you have for me.”
Again, Denise blushed as she wrote down the information on one of her business cards and handed it to him. Benny didn’t look at the address. Instead, he took out his billfold and slipped it in.
She cleared her throat, smiled, and said, “So, would you like to see the house?”
“I would like nothing better than to see the house,” Benny replied, pitching his voice low again. “I’d like to take my time, though. If you have an hour or two to spare?”
Denise licked her lips, nodded, and said in a husky voice. “Yes, I certainly do.”
“Excellent,” Benny said, standing up. “Let’s go inspect the house. I’m particularly interested in the bedrooms.”
***
Benny sat in the hotel room, the lease agreement for the house on the bed beside him. He dialed Armand’s number, and a moment later the man answered.
“Benny, how are you?” Armand asked in French.
“Successful,” Benny replied in the same tongue. “I have a base of operations ready for staffing and a location for the missing subject.”
Armand laughed and said, “How pretty was the person you obtained all this from?”
“She was pretty enough,” Benny said, chuckling. “But, then again, aren’t they all?”
“No, Benny, they are not,” Armand said. “I am pleased to hear of your success, however. Tell me, have you looked at the subject’s location?”
“I have not,” Benny said. “I would like some assistance for the task. At least three others. If she is as dangerous as reported, then we need to present a low profile. We don’t need her identifying and killing us.”
“You don’t think she’d run?” Armand asked.
“Not at all,” Benny said. “The fact she has taken a house nearby speaks volumes, don’t you agree?”
“Hm, I suppose you are correct,” Armand muttered. “Well, you will have four. I’ll dispatch them shortly. Stay at the hotel for one more night. They should arrive by morning. I would like you to brief them there, then you can make your way to the new home separately.”
“Understood,” Benny said.
They ended the call, and Benny stood up. He walked to the window, looked out over the expanse of snow and trees, and found he was bored.
Smiling, Benny took his phone out and texted Denise, asking if she would like to show him the house again.
Chapter 12: A New Friend
Alex walked along the cobblestone road, smiling at the dead he passed. Most of them were Hurons. A few were Frenchmen. He spotted some of the remaining ghosts who resided within the houses, but they kept their distance from him.
As he wandered toward the chapel and the cemetery, Alex pursed his lips and tried to whis
tle. Only a faint sound came out of his mouth, and he shrugged and gave up the effort. Soon, he was tromping through the snow, waving at a trio of dead Hurons who were busy eyeing one of the towers.
“How go your travels, little one?” one of the dead men asked.
“Good,” Alex replied. “I’m going to look at the new house.”
The same Huron shook his head and said, “Be cautious. She is far stronger than she looks.”
Alex stopped, looked at the dead men, and asked, “How strong?”
“More than I can say,” the speaker replied. “That is all.”
Alex considered asking him another question, then he shrugged and said, “Thanks!”
The men chuckled and went back to their business. Alex angled toward the new house. The one from Connecticut, where Marcus’ friend was. He had listened to Marcus talk with Timmy about the girl, Gwen. Philip had told Alex about her killing the new guard.
When he was around a hundred feet from the house, Alex saw a new ghost wandering in front of it. The ghost wasn’t a woman, but a man. A man wearing the black armor and clothing of Worthe’s troops.
Alex stopped and frowned. The dead man looked confused and distraught, and as much as Alex despised the men while they were alive, he couldn’t hate them dead.
“Hello!” Alex yelled, waving his hand.
The dead man stopped, looked around, then back to Alex. In a voice filled with incredulity, the ghost asked, “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, laughing. He resumed walking toward the ghost. “Who else?”
The dead man took a nervous step closer. “Are you dead, too?”
“No,” Alex said with a grin. “I’m alive. My name is Alex, what’s yours?”
“Miguel,” the man said. He said something else in a language Alex didn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “Could you say that again for me please?”