The Thing In The Mine

by J. R. Ayers

“Never heard of dead men killin’ people,” Gaston said, trying hard not to sound sarcastic. Joe spread his hands and shrugged.

  “I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you,” he said. “He attacked a Raleigh County deputy too. You can ask him. Then there’s Jackie Hobbs.”

  Gaston chewed his lip and thought for a while. Nash had seemed solid enough when they had met two days earlier. And he did come highly recommended by his Captain. Still, this was a pretty wild tale he was spinning. Besides, wasn’t he suspended?

  “Aren’t you suspended?” he asked Joe.

  “Yeah, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with this.”

  “It could have a lot to do with it. A suspended trooper has no business chasing a suspect, especially by himself.”

  “Put Covey and Goins on it then,” Joe said. “I can show them where he went into the river.” Major Gaston shook his head.

  “You can tell them, but you’re not showing them. You ain’t going anywhere.”

  While Gaston and the other troopers went to the back office to exam Emily Morton’s murder scene, Doctor Collier bandaged up Joe’s ankle and gave him a doze of Hydrocodone for the pain. He was writing a prescription for more when Lori Mackay walked in the office. “Joe, what happened?” she asked. Joe looked at the doctor, who suddenly became very interested in his computer screen.

  “Buddy Sayers isn’t dead,” Joe said. “At least not dead like we know dead to be. He killed a morgue attendant, stole an ambulance and took off out of town. I followed him and he turned off on a gravel road. I think he was heading back to the mine. Anyway he wrecked and I chased him through the woods until I twisted my ankle. A hunter came along in time to shoot him with an arrow before he could club me with a big ass rock. Then he fell into the river and we lost track of him. I think that about cover’s it.”

  “But how can that be?” Lori asked, looking first at Joe, and then Doctor Collier then back to Joe.

  “We don’t know,” Joe said quickly. “The important thing is someone needs to go look for him. I doubt he’s incapacitated. Judging by the look in his eyes, I’d say he’s alive and well, and dangerous as hell.”

  Major Gaston came to the door and crooked a finger in Lori’s direction. “You’ll want to be in on this,” he said. “I know I relieved you of your duties, but it’s your jurisdiction; we’re just here to help until you get up and running again. I need for you to cordon off the entire morgue area with crime barrier tape. I’ll make the call requesting a forensics team myself. Then I’d like to meet over at the courthouse to get a plan together on how we’re going to deal with this new situation.”

  “Can I be there?” Joe asked. Gaston thought it over for a while, then said,

  “I guess so. But you just listen and offer suggestions if you have any. Officially, you’re off the clock Sergeant.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Buddy wasn’t in much of a hurry to get to Stephenson. It would be pitch dark in less than an hour and he figured he’d have more success carrying out his plan under the cover of darkness. “Everything goes better in the dark,” the Thing reminded him as Buddy pulled off the highway about a quarter of a mile before the Stephenson turn off.

  He leaned back in the seat, opened another Budweiser and tried to think. Normal methods of thinking had long ago disappeared; the Thing did almost all of the brain work now. But every once in a while a fragmented memory would edge into Buddy’s thoughts and he would struggle with all his might to hold onto it longer than a second or two. In particular, he remembered being dead; how cold it was, how isolated and how utterly hopeless he felt as he drifted there in total blackness. He’d sensed that there something there in that darkness, but it never got closer enough to see or touch. See? Touch? Do dead people see and touch?

  He was aware that there was something utterly evil living inside him, but he also knew there nothing he could do about it. More superstitious types might define his condition as being possessed. But, the question was, possessed by what?

  The Thing wouldn’t allow him to further ponder the subject. It sank ghostly talons into his mind and squeezed. “Think about what you’re going to do to those people,” it whispered in his brain. “Think about that cop, the one who shot us and robbed us of our strength. And don’t forget the girl cop. We’re going to fuck her until there’s nothing left to fuck And then we’re gonna fuck her some more.”

  Once again completely dominated by the Thing, Buddy bobbed his head like a funhouse clown. “You bet your ass we are,” he said grinning. “Then we’re gonna eat that State Trooper for supper.”

  Every cop in town gathered in the Records Office at six p.m. and Major Gaston got down to business. “I know it sounds crazy as hell, but I’ve been told that a dead man got up and walked out of the morgue,” he said, by way of starting the meeting. “Personally I thought Trooper Nash was mistaken when he told me about this Sayers character, but after talking to Deputy Cole, it appears that Sayers must not have been dead after all.”

  “I shot him twice in the chest,” Joe said. “The medics on scene pronounced him dead. Doc Collier checked him and concluded the same thing. Then a hunter put two razor tipped arrows in him. Look, I don’t know anymore than anyone else about what happened here. I just know it was Buddy Sayers in that ambulance I was pursing. Either that or his twin brother.”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore about dead men waking up,” Gaston said firmly. “What we need to do is get a team together and go find him. Nash, you said he went into the river about three miles up the Logan mine access road. We’ll start there. Covey, take one of the deputies with you and start your search somewhere around that location. Goins you take another guy and start working along the riverbank a mile or two south of there. Nash says Sayers was hit in the back with an arrow, so I fully expect you to find his corpse floating in shallow water or possibly washed up on a sandbar somewhere below the Maple Fork rapids.”

  “What about me?” Lori interjected.

  “I’d prefer you stay here and work with forensics on the morgue tech’s murder,” Gaston said. “There’s a lot of blood and other DNA in that room and we need to collect it as soon as possible.”

  “I can help with that,” Joe said.

  “You can help by staying out of the way,” Gaston said. “Why haven’t you gone home anyway?”

  “Stayed for the funerals,” Joe said. “Then, had a late lunch.” He glanced coyly at Lori, who lowered her eyes to the floor.

  “Well, there’s no reason why you can’t head on home now,” Gaston said. “I’m sure Captain Ross has some paperwork or something for you to do at the office while you’re waiting for the investigation to be completed.”

  Joe felt like arguing his point, but he concluded that now was not the right time or place. He just nodded slowly and took a seat by the door.

  “Good, Gaston said. Now, let’s figure out a patrol schedule for the rest of you guys.”

  The door to the Records Office opened and Glen Harper walked in. Lori could tell by his troubled countenance that something was wrong. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I need to speak to Lori for a moment if I could.”

  She excused herself and followed Glen out into the hallway. “What is it?” she asked dreading the answer. “Is it. . . is it Kevin?” Glen shook his head.

  “It’s Ed. I’m sorry Lori, but he passed away an hour ago. Kara just called me and let me know. Helen was in no shape to talk.” Tears started in Lori’s eyes and she slumped against the wall.

  “That’s awful,” she said. “I had hopes that he would pull through. I prayed; we prayed. It’s awful, just awful.”

  “He never did regain consciousness,” Glen said softly. “His lungs were too damaged. The doctors think he had a massive stroke. Not enough oxygen to the brain for too long a time. He was basically brain dead when they got him out of the mine. I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

  She put her face against his chest and he held her close while she wept. After a mo
ment he said, “Kevin’s still the same. No change. They don’t know if he’ll ever come out of the coma or not. We just have to keep pray—”

  “I’m done prayin’ for a while,” Lori said her voice muffled by Glen’s shirt.

  “Lori, please, don’t be irreverent.”

  “I don’t mean to be,” she said. I don’t know much of anything anymore.”

  “Time to roll, dude.”

  Buddy had been dozing and when the Thing forced him awake, he felt needles of pain shooting through his back and buttocks. He groaned and leaned over on his side to take the pressure off the arrows still protruding from his body. “Pull the damn things out, idiot!” the Thing yelled in his head.

  Gritting his teeth, Buddy reached behind him, grabbed the bent arrow shaft and pulled the arrowhead out of his body. Then he pulled the one out of his buttock, wincing as the tri-tipped arrowhead cut muscle and bone on the way out. “Feel better?” the Thing asked. Buddy wiped dark, clotted blood from his hand and reached for the gearshift lever. “Good, now let’s go do this thing.”

  Driving slowly, because the Thing had said to keep the lights off, Buddy took the Stephenson off ramp and headed directly for Main Street. His, or more precisely the Thing’s, plan was to find the State Trooper who’d shot him, kill him, then find the female cop, rape her several times, and then kill her, and. . . well hell, the sky’s the limit after that.

  That was the strategy, but when Buddy saw all the police vehicles lined up like dominos in front of the courthouse, the Thing changed his plan for him. “Let’s burn those fuckers,” it said. “You’ve got a thousand gallons of gasoline sitting right behind you. And that fucking Zippo you stole ain’t doing any good in your pocket. Yeah let’s have a little pig roast; torch all of those asshole cops at the same time.”

  Buddy turned around in Homer’s Day’s parking lot and backed the tanker truck down the street to the front of the courthouse. He stopped behind Lori’s squad car, revved the engine until the tachometer pegged, released the clutch and yelled, “Yee haw!” as the heavy truck slammed into the squad car pushing it out of the way as if it was a Tonka toy.

  Pausing just long enough to catch his breath, Buddy stood on the gas pedal and aimed the rear of the truck at the front door of the courthouse. The rear tandem tires threw up plumes of black smoke as the truck bounced across the walkway and slammed into the door knocking it out of its frame. The impact hurled glass and twisted metal across the lobby damaging the wall separating the lobby and the hallway where Lori and Glen stood talking.

  Buddy jumped out of the truck, went around back and unreeled the hose and nozzle stored on a reel connecter beside the rear bumper.

  Inside the Records office, Joe and the others heard the crash up front and were instantly on their feet. Trooper Covey, with Goins right behind him, made it out of the door ahead of Joe and sprinted down the hallway past Lori and Glen toward the front of the building. Just as Covey opened the door leading out to the lobby, he was greeted by a grinning Buddy Sayers holding a gasoline nozzle in his hand. “Who’s thirsty?” he asked, choking on a giggle. Then he aimed the nozzle at Covey and squeezed the release lever. Raw gasoline spurted from the tip of the nozzle soaking Covey in a matter of seconds. Unaware of what had just happened, Goins ran up behind Covey, service weapon in hand. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on and Buddy doused him with gasoline before he could jump out of the way. “Alright pit masters, start your fires,” the Thing chanted as Buddy held up the Zippo and thumbed a flame to life.

  Covey and Goins tried to retreat backwards before the lighter landed between their feet, but the flame touched off the gasoline before they had a chance to move. Less than a second after the Zippo hit the floor, they were both immediately engulfed in roaring flames.

  By this time, Joe had made it to the hallway and was asking Lori what happened. They both looked up in horror when the two burning troopers came stumbling and lurching down the hallway trailing fire behind them. One of the men was trying to scream, but when he opened his mouth, hot flames rushed down his throat scorching the breath from his lungs. “What the hell!” Joe exclaimed.

  “My good lord,” Glen murmured.

  Lori backed away from the approaching flames as Goins fell to the floor. His service weapon went skittering across the tile floor in her direction. Joe stopped it with his foot, picked it up and tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “We gotta get out of here,” he shouted.

  With Joe leading the way, Lori and Glen hurried down the hallway just as Covey, still burning, fell against the wall and then slumped to the floor beside Goins. The fire was spreading quickly as the cheap wallboard along the hallway began to blister and char. Thick, black smoke hung like a fiery fog above the floor making it impossible to see beyond the doorway to the lobby.

  Major Gaston and the loaner deputies ran out of the Records Office and Joe yelled for them to follow him.

  “Those are my men burning to death,” Gaston yelled back. “What the hell happened anyway?” He had his Berretta in hand and was heading for the other end of the hallway where it split off to the jail facility.

  “I don’t know!” Joe said. “But we need to get out of here. There’s too much fire in that direction, you’d do better following us!”

  If Gaston heard what Joe said, he didn’t heed the advice. He continued down the hallway until he reached Covey, ripped off his uniform shirt and began beating at the flames ravaging the Trooper’s body. The flailing action only caused the fire to accelerate, however, and it wasn’t long before the shirt caught fire. One of the deputies stopped briefly in an attempt to convince Gaston to abandon the rescue effort before giving up and running down the hallway toward the sheriff’s office. The other deputy stood frozen in the hallway staring at the burning troopers. But when the flames began climbing up the walls toward the ceiling, he suddenly found his legs and he too hurried down the hallway toward the side exit.

  When it finally dawned on Gaston that he was in trouble, it was too late to escape the flames. A scorched ceiling tile fell from overhead and slammed into his shoulder. Cursing, he turned to make his way out of the hallway but the thick smoke obscured his vision and he stepped on one of the smoldering bodies. For a moment he tottered on a one foot, arms flailing in an attempt to regain his balance, and then fell backwards into the confluence of flames on the floor. The intense heat sucked the breath from his lungs as he cried out in anguish. For a moment he attempted to stand to his feet, but it wasn’t long before he stopped struggling. Two seconds later, he rolled on his back and died as the raging fire claimed his body.

  Buddy stayed in the lobby watching the fire spread for as long as he could stand the heat. Then he walked out to the parking lot and began rifling through the squad cars looking for weapons. He checked Lori’s Ford first, but found nothing but an empty box that once contained nine millimeter rounds. Trooper Goins’ trunk was locked, as was Covey’s, but Buddy did find a Winchester riot gun clipped to a mount in the front seat. He removed the shotgun and checked the load—double ought buck shot; three in the magazine and one in the chamber.

  “Make em’ count,” the Thing said.

  What to do, what to do, Buddy thought as he stood in the parking lot facing the burning building. He figured any survivors of the fire would have to exit the building at either the west end, or from the emergency exit between the Records office and the jail complex. “Flip a coin,” the Thing suggested. Buddy didn’t have a coin so he decided to walk to the west end of the building and wait and see if anyone came out. He was a few yards from the end of the building when a door opened and the two Raleigh county deputies came running out. Buddy shot the first man in the face as soon as he cleared the door frame. The second man tripped over the first and Buddy shot him in the arm as he was falling forward. He yelped in pain, jumped to his feet and took off running toward the gas station across the street. Buddy jacked another round into the chamber, took his time aiming, and shot the deputy in the lower spin
e knocking him completely off his feet. This time he stayed on the ground. “Good job,” the Thing said. “Now let’s go find those other two.”

  While Buddy was busy murdering the two deputies, Joe, Lori and Glen left the burning building through the emergency exit located near the jail facility. As they turned the corner heading for the front parking lot, they heard a series of booms that Joe quickly recognized as shotgun blasts coming from the west side of the building. “Stay here,” he told Lori and Glen

  Then he eased around the corner of the building and looked down the length of the parking lot. He could see Buddy Sayers with a shotgun slung over his shoulder walking directly toward him. Instinctively, he reached for the Berretta semi-automatic pistol he’d picked up off the floor after Trooper Goins went down.

  When Buddy approached within twenty yards, Joe stepped around the corner of the building and crouched into a shooter’s stance. “Drop the shotgun, Sayers!” he growled. Buddy responded by lowering the barrel of the shotgun until it was pointed in Joe’s direction. Joe didn’t hesitate a moment to pull the trigger. He squeezed off three quick rounds, two of which hit Buddy in the stomach with the third striking his upper thigh.

  For a moment it looked as if Buddy was going to fall to the ground. But he took a couple of steps backwards and pointed the shotgun at Joe’s face. Dropping to his knees, Joe emptied the Berretta in Buddy’s torso just as a load of hot double ought buckshot zoomed past his head.

  This time Buddy did go down. He sprawled on his back on the pavement spurting geysers of blood from multiple gunshot wounds. Lori and Glen stepped around the corner of the building and joined Joe in the parking lot. “Thank God you got him,” Lori said.

  Glen’s eyes never left Buddy Sayers and after a moment he said, “I don’t think he’s dead.”