The Dead Woman

She hesitated, clearly still unsure whether to trust him completely, but the idea of being stuck out here must have overcome her nervousness. She turned her head and said, 'Andrew, why don't you let this man take a look at it?'

So she wasn't alone after all. The man she called Andrew muttered something and stepped around the front of the truck where Matt could see him.

The man was about forty, broad-shouldered and sandy-haired, wearing a khaki shirt and blue jeans. Rotting skin peeled away from his broad forehead, and where his nose should have been was only a festering, oozing hole in his face.

CHAPTER TWO

Not here, Matt thought. Please, not here, too.

And yet he wasn't the least bit surprised. Nearly everywhere he had gone since leaving Washington, he had encountered these manifestations of evil. Most of the time he believed that was why he had been brought back from death. Some unknown force was guiding his steps to them.

Matt didn't show any reaction to the grotesque sight that met his eyes. He had gotten used to hiding his feelings. And the woman didn't react to the terrible sores on her companion's face, of course, because she couldn't see them.

Matt was the only one who could.

'It didn't overheat,' the man said, drawing Matt's attention back to the truck. 'It just stopped.'

That seemed like a pretty mundane concern for a guy who was slowly being consumed by evil. Matt's pulse hammered faster as he moved forward and said, 'I'll take a look at it.'

He watched the man from the corner of his eye as he circled around to the front of the truck. If either of them noticed his caution, they gave no sign of it.

The truck was built high off the ground, on big tires. Matt stepped up onto the front bumper so he could get a better look into the engine. He came from a family where the men were expected to be able to work on just about anything mechanical and often did. He checked the wiring first and saw the problem right away.

'You've got a loose wire on your alternator,' he said. 'You've been running on your battery. Didn't you notice that on the gauge?'

The man scoffed. 'I'm not a mechanic. The man who should be taking care of such things quit on us, otherwise I wouldn't be driving this behemoth back out to the mesa.'

They were on their way to the mesa? The same mesa that had drawn him to hike up this desolate road?

Considering the rot that he saw on the man's face, Matt wasn't surprised there was a connection.

'Your battery finally went dead,' he said. 'I can hook up the alternator again, but without any juice to start the engine, you're still stuck.'

The woman said, 'I think there's another battery in the back. Our driver . . . our former driver . . . said it was a good idea to bring along a spare, since we'd be so far from anywhere at the mesa. Come on, let's take a look.'

She seemed to have decided that he wasn't a psycho killer. He followed her to the back of the truck, where she pulled the canvas cover aside and held it for him while he climbed in. The truck bed held a number of bags and boxes that appeared to be full of supplies, and sure enough, in the front corner, a spare battery.

'You're in luck,' Matt told her. 'I'll need some wrenches.'

'There's a tool kit behind the seat.'

In a matter of minutes, he had taken off the dead battery and replaced it with the spare, as well as hooking up the wire that had come loose on the alternator. The work was hard enough in this heat that it caused beads of sweat to break out on his face.

Better than what was breaking out on Andrew's face, Matt thought as he sleeved away some of the sweat.

'All right, try it now,' he said.

Andrew climbed into the truck and turned the key. The engine turned over for a moment, then caught. Matt jumped down from the bumper and went to the open door. In other circumstances he might have stepped up onto the running board and leaned in past Andrew to check the gauges, but he didn't want to get that close to the rotting man.

Instead he said, 'Leave it running and let me take a look.'

He stepped back to give Andrew plenty of room as the man climbed out.

'Looks good,' Matt said after he'd peered in at the gauges. 'You ought to get where you're going now.'

The woman said, 'Obviously you have experience with trucks like this.'

Matt shrugged. 'I used to work at a sawmill. I drove a few trucks back there.'

'Would you be interested in a job?'

Andrew said, 'Wait a minute. We don't know anything about this man, even his name.'

'It's Matt Cahill,' Matt said.

'I'm Dr. Veronica Dupre,' the woman said. 'This is Dr. Andrew Hammond.'

So they weren't married. Matt had figured as much from the lack of wedding rings.

'As I mentioned, the man we hired to be our driver and mechanic decided to quit without any warning. We dropped him off in Gallup when we were picking up supplies. We could use a replacement.'

Matt was hoping she would say that. They were going to the mesa, and ever since he'd seen it from the interstate, something about it had reached out to him with an undenable compulsion.

Not only that, but the festering sores on Dr. Andrew Hammond's face told him that something bad was probably going to happen on top of that mesa.

Unless he could stop it somehow.

Matt cleared his throat and said, 'And I could use a job. I accept.'

Hammond frowned, which made more pus ooze from the sores on his forehead, and said, 'Ronnie, I'm still not sure about this.'

'Do you want to drive the truck and keep all the equipment working?' she asked him.

For a moment, Hammond didn't say anything. Then he snapped, 'Fine. Consider yourself hired, Cahill. The job doesn't pay that much, though.'

'I'm not worried about that,' Matt said, which was true.

His real reward would be the opportunity to cross swords with the evil that he stalked.

And that stalked him.

If you liked David McAfee's THE DEAD WOMAN, you'll want to read his acclaimed and wildly inventive horror epic 33 A.D., now available as an ebook and as a trade paperback. Here's the first chapter…

CHAPTER ONE

Jerusalem, 33A.D.

Ephraim darted around his modest wood-and-mortar home in the Upper City, grabbing as many of his possessions as he could carry – mostly clothing and a few personal items – and shoving them into a large burlap pack. Every now and then his brown eyes shifted to the door, waiting for a knock. Or worse, no sound whatsoever. The latter worried him the most because it would mean the servants of the Council had found him. A Psalm of Silence only carried for about twenty paces, so if the world around him went suddenly quiet, he would know those who hunted him were very, very close.

As an Enforcer, or at least a former Enforcer, Ephraim knew the inevitable result of breaking the laws of his