Jack pointed out the front window. “Somewhere under those mountains.”
Carson raised an eyebrow and produced a small notepad from his belt and a pen from his shirt pocket. “So why don’t you start from the beginning.”
Jack was hesitant at first but started to relate the story of his expedition. He decided to leave out the details about his father but told the rest exactly as it had happened. To hear himself tell the tale, Jack decided it all sounded too incredible to believe. Ancient Indian legends, giant millipedes and beetles, and enormous carnivorous spiders… like something out of a bad science fiction movie.
Then when Jack got to the part about the N’watu, he was sure they would think he was psychotic. But instead they all listened quietly, and when Jack had finished, no one said a word for a long moment.
Carson stared at Jack from under the brim of his hat. “You’re saying there’s a tribe of Indians living inside this cave too?”
Jack nodded. “I don’t know exactly how many of them there are, or if they actually
“And you came out here to study them?” Carson said.
Jack sighed. He was growing weary of all the questions. “Look, I… I know this all sounds crazy, but I’m telling you, I saw them—and those spider things—with my own eyes.”
Carson leaned close. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No—I told you, I just managed to find my way out of the cave. You’re the first people I’ve seen since I got out of there.”
“All right…” Carson drew in a long breath as he paced around the room. “Where’d you say you parked your vehicle?”
Jack shrugged. “I… I don’t know exactly. It was near a bridge where we picked up the trail.”
“This trail to the waterfall at the head of White Eagle Creek?”
Jack was starting to get a headache. “Can we please contact the state patrol or whoever we need to contact? My best friend died in that cave, and I have to tell his family.”
Carson cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll contact the authorities. I think right now you just need medical attention.”
Jack blinked and shook his head. “I’m
Henderson spoke up. “Listen, you’ve obviously been through some major psychological trauma—not to mention physical. I think it would be best for you to get some rest and—”
“I don’t want to rest.” Jack stood, his anger coming to a head. “I need to get out of here and find a phone!”
Carson stood by the doorway, tapping his holster and shaking his head. “Well, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere.”
“What?” Jack’s face flushed with anger but then quickly faded. The three men just stared at him, their expressions darker now and more menacing.
Jack backed away from them. “What’s going on? Who are you people?”
A chill of fear rose inside his chest. What kind of town was this?
Part II
ELINA
Each man must grant himself the emotions that he needs and the morality that suits him.
Chapter 16
Western Wyoming
One day earlier
Deep down, Elina Gutierrez knew she was going to die. But she also knew she wasn’t going down without a fight.
She dashed through the woods clutching her Browning .40-caliber pistol as the rain beat down on her in waves, drenching her short dark hair and clothes. Her feet slipped on the muddy slope and she stumbled across the uneven terrain, slamming into a tree trunk. She slumped to the ground, groaning and sucking in the thin mountain air with agonizing breaths.
Somewhere in the woods behind her, she could hear the voices.
They were getting closer.
She pushed herself to her feet and continued on, weaving between tree trunks, ducking beneath some branches and cursing as others slapped across her face, slicing off bits of flesh. She fought to keep her balance over rain-slicked rocks and gnarled tree roots. Then she spotted something through the mist and trees ahead: a smooth, flat strip of asphalt cutting laterally across the slope.
The road!
Heart pounding, head spinning, and ribs throbbing, Elina could feel herself on the verge of losing consciousness. But she couldn’t now. Not here. She had to keep moving.
She had to get off this mountain.
She’d arrived in Wyoming two days earlier looking for answers but had only found more questions. For the last eight hours she’d camped out on the wooded bluff, peering through a telephoto lens into the windows of a massive, rustic lodge some 250 yards away.
The brooding mansion jutted out of the mountainside like a great diadem of log and stone. Perched in the shadow of the jagged peak, its weathered timbers appeared to have borne the brunt of many winters. The central hall extended out to the edge of a cliff, where its huge windows overlooked the little town huddled at the base of the mountain and the rough, rolling countryside beyond.
But what Elina hadn’t known was that while she had been busy watching the occupants of the lodge,
It was just after noon when she heard the first echoes of voices over the rain and knew she had been found out. She jammed her gear into her backpack, abandoned her makeshift rain shelter, and scurried down the mountainside.
Now she could hear the voices echoing in the woods behind her, barking out orders to each other. They were hunting her.
But if she could reach the highway, she’d be able to get to her car.
The sound of heavy footsteps came pounding through the mud directly behind her, and a husky voice called out, “Here she is!”
Elina turned and raised her Browning as a large silhouette burst through the trees. He came into focus: a big man wearing a dark-green nylon jacket and a black cap, with a short-barrel shotgun in his grasp. Elina gritted her teeth and squeezed off two shots.
Her pursuer lurched backward with a look of surprise on his face. His shotgun fired wide, and Elina heard the pellets crack through the branches beside her head. His feet slipped into the air, and he landed on his back in the mud.
Time seemed to slow as Elina stared at the man writhing on the ground. He groaned and wheezed, pushing his feet against the mud. Then his body shuddered and went limp. Elina knew she had hit him square in the chest.
