Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Page 2

  “Which never got built because we’re too far out. It wouldn’t be profitable.”

  “Just like this old place will never be profitable, no matter how many fancy ads you take out in wedding magazines and tourist guides. We can’t compete with Vegas.”

  “We don’t need to. We’re unique. That counts for something. Besides, it isn’t up to you. I’m the majority owner of this town and the land it sits on. I’m not selling out to some developer for a fraction of what it’s worth so they can capitalize on it and make all the money. No thanks.” Robyn shook her head. “And even if they made us a fair offer—which they never would—I still wouldn’t sell. Those people are nothing but opportunist snakes.”

  “Snakes or not, they had cash, and we don’t.”

  “I have money. How you think I’m doing all this stuff?”

  “By cashing out your retirement account, selling your home in Chicago, and getting into a mountain of debt with the bank, that’s how.”

  “That’s my choice. I haven’t asked you to chip in even though you’ll be taking a third of the profits.”

  “And I’m not going to chip in. If I had a dime, I’d be out of here tomorrow. I’ve had enough of this dust bowl.”

  “Then why don’t you go? Just sell me your share of the town and make yourself a life somewhere else. It’s that simple.” But Robyn knew he wouldn’t sell his interest, at least not to her. If he couldn’t convince her to hand the place over to some developer for pennies on the dollar, then he would stay. And not because he thought the wedding venue was going to be a roaring success he could participate in, but because the decades-old feud with his brothers, which would never end since one of them was already dead, had left him so bitter that he’d rather stay and sabotage his own family than be reasonable and sell her his share. It didn’t help that Carlton’s brother, who had died the previous spring, had bequeathed his share to her. The fact that her own grandfather had gifted her his third of the town, thus making her majority owner, only poured fuel on Carlton’s anger. He was, in short, a bitter old man with nothing better to do than make her life miserable.

  “Bah. You’re going to be the ruin of me.” Carlton waved a dismissive hand and turned his back, then disappeared into the barroom, no doubt to find himself a glass of whiskey.

  Robyn rubbed her temples, behind which a tension headache was throbbing, and walked back out onto the veranda. This time when she looked down the road, she spotted a white quad cab truck, leaving in its wake a billowing trail of dust. The geologists had finally arrived.

  Chapter Two

  William Fenton, who more often than not just went by the simpler name of Bill, brought the quad cab to a halt in front of a ramshackle looking three-story building that was by far the largest structure in the old ghost town known as Haley. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat was Corey McDaniel. Carlos Philippe, the third member of the team, occupied the quad cab’s rear bench. He had been playing with his phone since they left Las Vegas, but now looked up and peered through the side window.

  “What a crap hole,” he said, letting his eyes wander across the row of dilapidated buildings that would have long ago disintegrated into piles of rotten lumber if it weren’t for the sporadic upkeep of the landowners. As it was, several of them looked like they were about to give up the ghost. All except the one in front of them. Its state of restoration stood in stark contrast to its surroundings. His gaze fell upon a slim, attractive woman in her early thirties who was standing hands on hips upon the wraparound porch staring at them. She did not look happy. “Why would anyone want to come and stay out here in this godforsaken wilderness?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Fenton turned the engine off and opened his door. “City folk will pay big money to feel like they’re roughing it. Living the pioneer life for a few days.”

  “Yeah. Just so long as they’ve still got comfortable beds, hot running water, and Wi-Fi,” Corey chuckled, opening his own door and hopping down to the ground.

  “Nothing wrong with a comfortable bed,” Fenton replied. He slammed the truck’s door and mounted the steps to the veranda. When he drew close to the woman, he smiled and held out a hand. “Bill Fenton with Geology Partners, Inc.”

  “Robyn Miller. You’re late.”

  When she didn’t immediately take the proffered hand, Fenton hesitated. He was about to drop his arm when she finally reciprocated. He put on his best customer service voice, which wasn’t particularly good because he was a geologist. “Yeah, sorry about that. We would’ve been here already, but we were all the way over on the north side near Nellis Air Force Base earlier today, so we had to drive clear across town. Traffic was pretty heavy on the interstate. It didn’t ease until we got past Boulder City.”

  “Nice place you have here,” Carlos said, barely bothering to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He leaned against the truck and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It was early November, a month in which it wasn’t uncommon to see daily temperatures ranging from the mid-fifties to eighty-five degrees or more. Today was on the high end, topping out at almost ninety.

  Fenton ignored his colleague. “We’re ready to start when you are. We just need to grab our gear from the back of the truck and then you can show us the mine.”

  Robyn nodded. “Of course. It’s not far, only about half a mile, but we’ll have to walk. We’re going to widen the trail and pave it to allow easy vehicle access, but we haven’t gotten that far yet. Right now, it’s pretty narrow and overgrown.”

  “Not a problem. We’re used to walking.” Fenton descended the steps again and went to the truck. He dropped the tailgate and removed hardhats with dome-mounted halogen lights, coils of rope, handheld flashlights, and fluorescent jackets. He distributed the gear between his men, then went to the truck’s cab and retrieved a digital SLR camera and a large yellow toolbox. When he turned around, Robyn was standing behind him.

  “What’s that for?” She asked, nodding toward the toolbox.

  “It contains our equipment. We’ll need to measure the air quality in the mine and take temperature readings. That sort of thing.”

  “Air quality?” Robyn looked concerned. “Do you think there will be a problem?”

  “Probably not. If I understand it right, you won’t be going much further than a quarter of a mile in and sticking to one level. We’re just looking at walking tours, correct?”

  “Yes.” Robyn nodded in agreement.

  “You should be fine, then. We’ll need to check though, just to be on the safe side. These old mines are littered with dangers. There might be subsurface water that contains heavy metals. We could find cyanide or mercury compounds up there, not to mention high concentrations of methane, carbon monoxide, or hydrogen sulfide. It’s less likely here, but not unheard of. The mines of the Comstock Lode were notorious for gas buildup. Another hazard we need to watch for is blackdamp.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Its air with low oxygen levels. It leaves only a mix of unbreathable gases like nitrogen and carbon dioxide. It mostly occurs deeper underground than we’re going, but it can be deadly. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s unlikely that there will be any problems with oxygen levels or gas buildup so close to the entrance. Plus, you’ll be keeping close to the adit. That’s the entrance tunnel.”

  “That’s the plan. We don’t want to lose anyone in there.” Robyn led the three men away from the cluster of buildings toward a winding path that led up a slope toward the mountains overlooking the ghost town.

  Halfway up, they passed a rusty truck sitting on the side of the trail amid the bushes. It probably hadn’t moved since the fifties and now sat on bare axles. The glass enclosing the cab was long since gone, as were the boards that once made up the bed of the truck. Its metal skin was red and oxidized without a trace of paint left.

  “Will you look at that,” Corey McDaniel said, speaking for the first time since exiting their own, much newer truck. “I’ll bet this was a
beauty before she ended up here rotting away.”

  “There are relics like that all around the town.” Robyn moved them past the old truck without pause. “There’s even the wreckage of a light aircraft further up the canyon. It crashed in the seventies after developing engine trouble and trying to make an emergency landing. Miraculously, the pilot walked away unscathed.”

  “That’s one lucky guy,” Fenton commented. “I would not want to bring a plane down on this terrain.”

  “That’s probably why he crashed,” Carlos said.

  The mine entrance was in view now. Robyn led them the last few yards and stopped. She glanced toward the jagged hole in the mountain's side, now blocked by a pair of sturdy metal gates she had installed to keep trespassers out after blasting the rubble from the entrance. “Did you want me to wait for you here?”

  “No need,” Fenton said. He donned his hardhat. “It’ll probably take us an hour or two to do our job. We’ll go further in than you’ll be taking tourists, just to be on the safe side. We can find our way back down on our own once we’re done.”

  “Perfect. I have a lot to do,” Robyn said. “I’ll be in town, then.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Fenton placed the toolbox on the floor and put on his fluorescent jacket. He opened the toolbox and removed three small yellow boxes with LED screens. He clipped one to his jacket and handed the others to his companions.

  “What are those for?” Robyn asked.

  “Multi-gas detectors,” Fenton replied. “They will alert us instantly if methane or other harmful gasses are present in the mine.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. It’s just a precaution. Like I said, we’re unlikely to encounter much this close to the surface. The air flow should be pretty good, and gasses mostly accumulate deeper underground.”

  He closed the toolbox and waited for the others to activate their detectors, and then made his way to the mine entrance.

  Robyn produced a key and removed the chain and padlock holding the gates closed. She swung them open.

  Fenton turned on his helmet light and checked his equipment. Then he crossed the threshold into the abandoned mine with his colleagues a step behind.

  Chapter Three

  The darkness beyond the Ghost Canyon Mine’s entrance would have been absolute if it were not for the flashlights and lamps attached to the hardhats of the three geologists who now pushed their way deep within the mountain.

  They were probably the first individuals to set foot this far inside the mine for almost a century and a half. Knowing this, they proceeded with caution, picking their way along and playing their flashlights to the left and right, looking for any sign of instability in the tunnels.

  About fifty feet in, old mining carts blocked the passage. These had once been used to transport ore from the deeper sections of the mine back to the surface for processing. The three men edged their way past the decaying equipment and continued on, soon losing sight of the opening through which they’d gained access.

  “This looks like a suitable spot to take some readings,” Fenton said, not long after they passed the ore carts. He stopped and placed the toolbox on the ground and opened it, removing a handheld anemometer. Used to check air temperature and flow, it looked like a chunky TV remote control with a fan on top. Even though the hard rock mine was underground, there was a cool breeze moving through the passageways, a sign that air was entering the mine through passages and ventilation shafts that remained unblocked.

  “How far in do you want to go?” Carlos asked.

  “Half a mile should do it,” Fenton replied, returning the anemometer to the toolbox before starting off along the passage again. “Maybe a bit further if we see anything of concern.”

  “I’m not seeing much so far,” McDaniel said, glancing up at the wooden support beams and timber braces that lined the tunnel walls and ceiling. “It all looks pretty tight for a mine that’s been closed this long.”

  “I agree.” Fenton nodded. He paused, lifted the DSLR camera and took a shot of the tunnel. The automatic flash lit up the rocks in stark relief. He took a few more from different angles before continuing onward. “They’ll have to install permanent monitoring equipment and string lights down here, but it shouldn’t be that big a deal to run tours. It’s all nice and clean.”

  “I don’t get why folk want to pay good money to wander around old mines.” Carlos shook his head. “I can think of better things to do with my cash.”

  “What, like feed it to the slot machines on Fremont Street?” McDaniel chuckled.

  “Everyone needs a hobby.” Carlos adjusted the lamp on his helmet as they continued deeper into the mine. “If you must know, I’ve made a tidy pile of cash playing those slots.”

  “No, you haven’t. You’re always complaining about how much you lost.”

  “Not saying I win all the time, but I have a system. I come out on top in the long run.” Carlos glanced sideways toward his colleague. “Besides, I don’t see you raking in the winnings.”

  “That’s because I’m not stupid enough to waste my money in casinos,” McDaniel retorted. “It’s a mug’s game.”

  “Yeah, well, you do what you want, and I’ll do the same.”

  “I wasn’t getting at you.” McDaniel shook his head. “I don’t care what you do with your money. I was just pointing out that you aren’t some freaking slot genius.”

  “Knock it off, you two,” Fenton growled, glancing back toward his companions. Up ahead, the passageway widened into a small, excavated room with new passages running off at forty-five degrees from each other.

  The three men came to a halt.

  “Which way, boss?” Carlos asked, absentmindedly scratching his chin.

  “Let’s take the right-hand passage first and see what we have, then we can come back and explore the other one.”

  “What if the passages keep branching?” Carlos asked. “You know what these old mines are like. There could be a hundred miles of tunnels and shafts down here. Surely, we’ve gone far enough. They aren’t going to bring tourists further in than this and I’d like to get back to town.”

  “What have you got going on that’s so damned important?” McDaniel asked.

  “Never you mind,” Carlos said, as Fenton and McDaniel started off into the right-hand passage. He cursed under his breath and glanced down the passage to his left. He was about to turn and follow the others, when he noticed an object laying half-buried in the loose gravel floor. It glinted white under his flashlight’s beam. His eyes widened with surprise. “Hey, guys, hold up. You might want to see this.”

  “What now?” Fenton returned with a scowl on his face.

  “There’s something in that passageway.” Carlos nodded toward the narrow tunnel that ran off to the left. “Looks like a bone. You see it?”

  “I don’t see anything,” Fenton snapped, shining his flashlight across the ground ahead of him. But then he saw it. A sliver of white against the dark brown gravel that lined the passage floor. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “What is that?”

  “I’m telling you, it’s a bone,” Carlos said.

  “If it is, then it probably belongs to a hapless mule, or maybe some poor wild animal that got stuck in here and died,” Fenton replied as they drew close to the object. He kicked at it with his foot, nudging it free.

  “That’s not from a mule,” McDaniel said, wide-eyed.

  “No, it’s not.” A shudder ran through Fenton as he looked down at the uncovered bone, which comprised a long shaft with bulbous ends.

  “That looks like someone’s leg.” There was a tremor in McDaniel’s voice.

  “I think it’s human,” Carlos said in a low voice. “Why would that be here?”

  “We don’t know that it’s human,” Fenton replied, but deep down he suspected Carlos was right. Sensing that they had stumbled upon something important, he fired off a couple of quick photos, zooming in close for the last one. “This complicates things. We’ll need to get
the sheriff up here. Those tours might not be happening anytime soon.”

  “Even if it is human, it’s probably been down here for a century or more.”

  “Or it could belong to a murder victim.” Fenton trained his flashlight further down the tunnel, noting that it curved out of sight some thirty feet distant. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone hid a body inside an abandoned mine.”

  “I don’t see how.” McDaniel shook his head. “They only blasted the entrance a few weeks ago.”

  “Doesn’t mean there isn’t another way in.” Fenton started off down the passageway toward the curve. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anything else.”

  “I’d sooner leave that to the sheriff,” Carlos replied, but he tagged along behind, anyway.

  “Aren’t you curious?” Fenton said as they approached the bend.

  “Not really.” Carlos glanced back at the exposed bone and made the sign of the cross, even though he hadn’t attended church in twenty years.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” McDaniel said, but when they rounded the bend, he came to a halt and now it was his turn to feel afraid.

  The tunnel ended not far beyond where they were standing. Pickaxes and other tools leaned against the walls. Others lay scattered across the floor, as if the miners excavating here had simply abandoned them. To their left a wide seam of quartz ran through the rock, within which they could see glittering ribbons of gold. But this wasn’t what frightened them so. It was the three corpses that sat with their backs to the roughly hewn rock, still wearing the tattered remains of the clothes that were on their backs when they walked into the mine. Their skin was brown like tanned leather and so shriveled that the miner’s skeletons were easily discernible. They stared back at the newcomers from dead eyes that hadn’t witnessed a living person since Ulysses S. Grant occupied the White House.

  “¡Dios mío!, what are they doing here?” Carlos backed up, shocked. His gaze fell to a symbol scratched into the floor in front of the miners. A circle with two arrows facing inward toward a central dot. “And what’s that?”