“That’s easy to say, but have you ever killed a man before?”
“Yes,” she told him, and this stopped him cold. She gestured to her scar. “The man who gave me this.”
Pope was silent. Put away his phone.
“So does this mean you want me to get lost, too?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Just back this fucking thing up and drive, okay?”
They asked the gun shop owner how to get to Big Mountain.
Although you could see the place looming in the distance, they had quickly learned that the city was a jigsaw puzzle, and an access road wasn’t readily apparent.
“Once you get to Marigold,” he told them, “just take a left on Johnson, a right on Haywood, and go straight. You’ll find it. But the city don’t like trespassers, and they sure as hell don’t allow target practice.”
“I won’t be practicing,” Anna said.
Pope drove again, following the gun shop owner’s directions, and before they knew it they were traveling down a dusty, weed-infested road lined with bullet-riddled NO TRESSPASSING signs.
It was a little past 3:00 p.m. when they reached the entrance, but for Anna, it might as well have been midnight. Darkness had settled into her heart, and into that single scrap of Chavi’s soul she still carried.
She was on a mission now.
She wanted what was rightfully hers.
The entrance to Big Mountain was blocked by a tall aluminum gate, topped with barbed wire. More bullet- riddled signs adorned it, warning people to KEEP OUT. DANGER. The gate was fastened by several heavy-duty padlocks, which would have been impossible to breach if Anna hadn’t thought to buy a bolt cutter in the gun shop’s “Handy Hardware” section.
She snipped through them, then swung the gate open, and the two of them traveled by foot across a tumbleweed-strewn parking lot, Pope now armed with the Mossberg 590 shotgun they’d bought.
They came to a set of dilapidated ticket booths and rusted turnstiles that fronted the place. A sun-bleached sign above the turnstiles read: HAVE A NICE BIG MOUNTAIN DAY! — and if this was an example of the amount of imagination that had gone into the place, it was no wonder it had been a dismal failure.
The pavement was weatherworn and full of cracks, desert weeds sprouting up between them, some of which had grown waist high. And just beyond the turnstiles was Traveler’s Trail, or at least what was left of it, a crumbling yellow sidewalk that led into a wide tunnel carved into the side of a fake rock wall.
Sitting atop the wall, on rusted railway tracks, were the remnants of a three-car passenger train, the Big Mountain Express, scarred by neglect and the heat of many summers.
As they worked their way into the darkness of the tunnel, Anna kept the heel of her hand resting on her Glock, which was now holstered on her right hip. She was waiting for her sixth sense to kick in, to warn her of any danger ahead, but it never did. And as they emerged on the other side, they were presented with the full ruined glory of Big Mountain Amusement Park.
Traveler’s Trail now split into two, wrapping around the enormous plaster mountain that stood at the center of the park. Near the top of the mountain, a large hole was cut into its side, to allow the passage of sky cars, one of which hung precariously from a broken cable.
There was a faux log cabin structure to the right, the words GENERAL STORE carved above it. A lone, empty postcard rack lay overturned in its doorway, a tumbleweed caught beneath it.
To the left, along the trail, was a sign that read LOGGER’S LODE, which, to Anna’s mind, was an unfortunate name for a ride. But the structure itself was so overgrown with weeds that it was hard to tell what kind of ride it had been.
At the fork of the trail was a small kiosk made of fake logs. Mounted at its center was a shattered glass case, a tattered and faded map inside.
The map was full of cartoon-like representations of the rides, showing their locations relative to where Anna and Pope now stood. All of the standard low-rent amusement park rides were there, but with new names to reflect the Big Mountain theme.
The roller coaster was called The Avalanche, the Ferris wheel had been renamed The Old Mill Wheel, and the bumper cars were Log Jammers. Even on paper this couldn’t have sounded like much of an idea.
The Miner’s Magic Mirror Maze was located at the northeast corner of the lot near the roller coaster, in an area labeled: MINER’S COVE. Anna studied the map, then squinted toward the trail, trying to gauge the distance, and it suddenly occurred to her that, despite her bravado, she had no real plan in place, no specific approach to take.
“What do you think?” she said to Pope.
“This is your show, remember?”
She nodded and pointed to the map. “Let’s come around from the side here. That should give us a sweep of the area, then put us here, near the roller coaster, across from the entrance.”
“And then what?” Pope asked.
“Then I go inside.”
The avalanche had looked big enough from the highway, but up close and personal it was a rickety, rust- rotted behemoth that towered over everything in its vicinity. The cars, retooled to look like coal wagons, had been disconnected and piled up against the aluminum fence, home to at least one family of rats.
Anna and Pope were crouched nearby, in the thick weeds beneath the first dip, their gazes on the mirror maze, which stood in the shadow of the roller coaster. Another faux log cabin structure, it was larger than Anna had expected.
A quick surveillance of the area behind the building had revealed a tear in the aluminum fence, just room enough for a man to fit through.
Parked beyond it, in an overgrown field, was a rusted-out Ford pickup that may or may not have been functional. There was a door in the rear of the building, but it was locked, and there was no way to tell if it had recently been accessed. They had searched for signs of blood, but found none.
Out front, the mirror maze’s double-doored entrance was padlocked, more NO TRESSPASSING and KEEP OUT signs adorning it. The words DANGER-BROKIN GLAS were spray-painted above them.
Anna and Pope stayed crouched there for quite some time, watching and waiting, but there was no movement, no indication that anyone was inside.
Keeping his voice low, Pope said, “This is a waste. He isn’t here.”
But Anna didn’t believe that. Her sixth sense was kicking in now and she knew this was exactly where she was meant to be.
“He’s here,” she said. “I can feel him. But Madam Zala was wrong.”
“About what?”
“He’s knows I’m coming. He’s waiting for me.”
“Jesus,” Pope said. “You’re giving me the creeps.”
“He’s hurt and he’s weak, and he wants this over with as much as I do. One way or the other.”
“And you know this how?”
“I’m the gypsy witch, remember?” She tapped her temple. “I have the gift.”
She was only half-kidding, but Pope gave her a look. “You know I’m not gonna let you do this, right? I told you, I don’t want to lose you.”
“This isn’t your call,” she said, “so don’t even start.”
Pope said nothing, but she could feel his resistance. She touched his cheek. “I love you, Danny. I do. But I’ve got to do this. You know that.”
“There’s some other way. There has to be.”
She kissed him. “You’re not gonna talk me out of it.”
“Then at least let me go in with you.”
“No. I told you. It’s between him and me.”
He gestured to the 590. “Then what the hell did I bring this for?”
“Your own protection.”
