Ancient Echoes

Part II





Idaho





Chapter 1



DEREK HAMMILL SNORTED with derision when he saw the two supposed tough guys sitting at a bar in tiny Riggins, Idaho. The dark tavern’s unpainted wood walls were decorated with posters and back-lit fixtures advertising beer and whiskey. A couple of dim amber pendant lights hung over the lacquered bar.

A former Delta Force major, Hammill had the wide shoulders and washboard abs of a weight lifter. He peeled off his sunglasses, revealing deep-set steel blue eyes that peered coldly from narrow slits in a hard, lean face with a heavy jaw. Pale blond hair made his tan appear darker than it was. Hammill’s men never referred to him by anything other than The Hammer.

A private jet had brought Hammill and the other seven members of his team to the McCall airport.

It didn't take long for them to track the stolen satellite phone to Riggins, a few miles east of Hell's Canyon near the confluence of the main Salmon River with one called the Little Salmon. The halfwit who took it must have used it to call just about everyone he knew. The town was small enough that Hammill found his quarry in the second bar he hit. Simply dialing the number and waiting for the phone to ring once told him exactly which of the customers he sought.

Hammill took a stool near Skinny Buck Jewel and ordered a beer. He then motioned the bartender to refill Skinny Buck and Big Kyle’s whiskey glasses. Small talk followed.

After a couple rounds of drinks Hammill convinced the guides to go outside with him to discuss hiring them for some private business. Big Kyle and Skinny Buck suspected that Hammill would propose something illegal, but that had never worried them before.

They sauntered down to the river and along the bank. Once there, Hammill pulled out a 10 mm Smith and Wesson 1076, its bulk making it look lethal. He released the safety. Big Kyle and Skinny Buck stumbled backwards, ready to run. “I wouldn't do that,” Hammill's words were soft, yet deadly. The two froze.

They continued on for nearly a mile to a remote, lonely spot sheltered by pines and thorny hackberry trees.

“The students and professor you stole the camping gear from,” Hammill said, “where are they?”

“What students?” Big Kyle asked innocently.

Hammill didn't bother to respond.

Skinny Buck couldn't tear his eyes from the weapon and broke into a cold sweat. “We don't know!” he said. “They wanted off the rafts after they overturned. We left them on the river bank like they told us to!”

“Without their gear?” Hammill's face contorted with contempt.

“Put the gun down, man.” Big Kyle shifted nervously. “No need for that. Who are you, a relative? Those kids forgot a couple backpacks, that's all. You want them, they're yours.”

“Where did you leave the kids?” Their lies bored Hammill.

“Far from here,” Big Kyle said earnestly. “On the main Salmon, up past the Middle Fork.”

“Where were they headed?”

Big Kyle glanced at Skinny Buck and swallowed hard before answering. “Don’t know.”

“But you know where you left them.”

“Sort of,” Big Kyle said. “But it’s far from here, and I’m sure they’ve moved on.”

Hammill grimaced as another man appeared from the tree-lined bank. “Nose, good timing.”

Brownley, aka Brown Nose or simply Nose, smirked. His hair had been clipped to no more than a quarter inch, his black mustache connected to a goatee that circled large, rubbery purple lips. He held an H&K G36 assault rifle across his chest, the stock nestled under his arm, and one hand on the trigger.

“They aren’t being helpful,” Hammill said.

Nose marched toward Big Kyle. Without hesitation he spun the H&K around and drove the butt into Big Kyle’s mouth and nose. Blood spurted, and the mountain of a man went down flat on his back, his eyes glazed as pain hit. Nose struck two more times.

“Wait! Don’t!” Skinny Buck cried. “No need for that. They were looking for pillars! We can’t take you there ‘cause there’s no such place! We left them on the banks of the Salmon. That’s all. They were fine. Let us go, please, fellas. We didn’t hurt no one.”

Nose turned on him. After two hard blows, Skinny Buck howled like a baboon. His attempts to fight back were pathetic. His nose split open, and blood gushed through his mustache to his mouth and the sides of his face. He lay on the ground whimpering.

Hammill turned to Big Kyle now on his hands and knees. “So they’re wandering around, and you can’t help us.”

Big Kyle’s bruised mouth swelled, his broken nose, and cracked front teeth left his face unrecognizable, but he somehow managed to open his eyes wide and look innocent. “Maybe...maybe I do have some idea where those pillars might be. There was talk, the kind that old timers tell kids. Don't go here. Don't go there. Bad medicine. Bad spirits. Weird, scary animals that nobody never seen before. Folks go there and are never heard from again. But it's all mumbo-jumbo. Not real.”

“Where did they say those pillars were, these old timers whose tales you're just now remembering?”

“Way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. The central wilderness area. Nobody goes out there. Never have. That's the reason for the tales. Heard tell there are some plenty weird animals there, too. Big, dangerous things. Nobody’s ever caught one, but those who survive tell tales that don’t even sound real. That’s why people stay away, even the Indians.”

“You've got a reason for everything, don't you?” Hammill said.

“It's God's own truth!” Big Kyle insisted.

The Hammer grabbed Skinny Buck by the hair, lifted his head up off the ground and held a Blackjack hunting knife against his throat. Skinny Buck's eyes opened wide and he made croaking sounds of terror. “I don't believe you.”

“Tell him!” Skinny Buck croaked, wary of the sharp steel touching his skin.

“All I know,” Big Kyle blubbered, “all I can tell you is the professor wanted to go northwest from Telichpah Flat. To the pillars.”

“That you say don’t exist.”

“I could be wrong! I could find them!”

“I doubt it.” Hammill drew the knife in one slick slice across Skinny Buck's throat, opening his carotid artery and jugular vein. Blood gushed out, splashing Big Kyle.

He crouched down, rocking and shaking so violently he could barely speak. “Please! I'll take you there. I’ll find them.”

Hammill shook his head. “Now you're lying to me.”

Big Kyle cried hard now. “No! I swear it!”

Hammill said, “Nose, you know what we do to liars, don't you?”

Hammill walked back into the forest to the sound of Big Kyle's gurgled screams as the Nose pried open his broken mouth and cut out his tongue, leaving him to drown in his own blood.