June 17, 2021â A team of firefighters traverses an Arizona ghost town. They enter the old townâs mine to conduct a routine exercise only to discover a plot that brings them face to face with an army of the dead. Time running out, their survival hinges on their ability to work together to escape the mine before dawn. Unexpectedly aided by a group of local bandits who must decipher their past, they battle the dead deep inside the dark catacombs of the mine. Their lone hope lies in the hands of a local police officer determined to set things right. Can they stop the uprising?
June 17, 2021â A team of firefighters traverses an Arizona ghost town. They enter the old townâs mine to conduct a routine exercise only to discover a plot that brings them face to face with an army of the dead. Time running out, their survival hinges on their ability to work together to escape the mine before dawn. Unexpectedly aided by a group of local bandits who must decipher their past, they battle the dead deep inside the dark catacombs of the mine. Their lone hope lies in the hands of a local police officer determined to set things right. Can they stop the uprising?
Jacob Harlow woke each morning at six a.m. brewed his coffee, and heated chicken noodle soup. He put them in their respective thermos bottles, kissed his wife Faith goodbye, climbed into his 1966 Chevy truck, and drove to the Remnant Silver Mine.
The thirty-one-year-old father thought of his precocious daughter and listened to the Trading Post on KIKO 1340 AM, along the way. Taking the usual parking spot, he decided to forego on some chewing gum and departed his vehicle as the sun came up over the Pinal Mountains.
He tipped his hard hat to a few of his co-workers then made his way to the elevator platform. Setting foot in the elevator, he descended to his workstationâand plunged twenty-five hundred feet.
He never had a chance.
The cage he was in shot off the track and hurtled downward at such a rate he didnât have time to brace himself. The force pushed his face into the door, and his feet were swept out from under him.
Thoughts of his family ran through his mind, and he tried to pray, but all he had time to say was, âJesus!â The carriage slammed into the ground, ejecting him headlong and throwing his body two hundred feet into the uneven, rocky floor. It took rescuers more than three days to find his remains.
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Annika Harlow opened her eyes and prepared to face another day without her father. She felt the grief in the pit of her stomach, made fresh from another of the nightmares that began April 12, 2007, the night she lost him. The nightmares made her hate seeing the night come now, and she spent each day dreading the moment sheâd experience the loss all over again.
She was seven years old when the accident happened, yet she still remembered the day vividly. Her mother picked her up from school and, at first, the ride felt like a special treat. But when they got home, her mother sat her down and held her close. Thatâs when Annika found out her daddy wouldnât be coming home that night.
She recalled how the routine at home changed. She didnât smell his aftershave lingering in the air before breakfast. She didnât know how to act around her friends and family, especially when they told her how sorry they were and offered their condolences. Everything felt strange.
Then there were the daily trips to the mortuary that week. The first time, she waited outside the morticianâs door as her mother confirmed his identity. Annika stood very still, hoping against hope it wasnât him lying dead in a heap in that room. Sheâd never heard her mom wail the way she did when she opened the door and hurried off to the car.
Another visit came after his mangled body was reconfigured the best it could be. This time, she went in to see him, and she wondered how they got him back together. She was irritated because he looked so swollen like all his parts had just been stuffed and sewn up into the stiff brown suit heâd always hated. Irritated because he was lying in a casket that would undoubtedly cause him to turn in his grave if he knew how much theyâd paid for it.
Throughout the entire ordeal, she didnât shed a tear for her father. Maybe it was the shock or even denial that kept the tears at bay. Whatever it was, Annika still felt bad about it. She learned quickly that not crying when youâre supposed to cry is worse than doing the opposite. But when the tears finally came, they were unrelenting. The shower was her favorite place to cry. She turned the water on full blast and let her tears outpace the streaming water on her face.
She thought she was all cried out until the day of his funeral. The paralyzing realization sheâd never see him again, in any earthly state, set in as they lowered his coffin into the freshly dug hole. She saw the cruel irony, her father being lowered underground every day to make a living, then spending his last moment being lowered underground on the way to being crushed to death, only to be lowered underground once again to decompose.
She found the tears to be a relief from the numbing mental anguish. They eased how it felt to lose somebody and were the only peace she found to balance out the suffering that came with conjuring up his memory. The painful suffering brought on by thoughts of her father stopped her in her tracks, no matter what she was doing, and sometimes, brought her to her knees.
To this day, she can hear her fatherâs voice in her head. She remembers how strong his arms were and how sheâd rest her head in them and get lost in them. They felt like gigantic pillows as her pigtails hung over his biceps.
She loved reflecting on the little time she shared with her deceased father. She wished sheâd had a chance to create a similar trove of memories of her grandfather, Percy. He died in the same mine, a week shy of his fiftieth birthday, during a collapse in November 1986.
âRise and shine, sweetie. Itâs seven oâclock,â came her motherâs cheerful voice. She checked in on her daughter and opened the blindsâthe daylight hardly shone through her golden hair and revealed her slight frame. Sheâd gotten slighter through the years, and Annika wondered if she was healthy. âYou better hustle if you want to get to the station by 7:30.â
âMorning, Mom,â Annika said listlessly, trying to smile. She half-heartedly tried to get up, then slumped back onto her bed. âI thought by now my dreams of Daddy wouldnât be so heartbreaking.â
âOh, honey, Iâm sorry.â Faith sighed, turning to look her daughter in the eye.
Before Faithâs eyes, Annika seemed to shrink into a much younger version of herself as she pulled the sheets up over her head and curled into a fetal position.
âTell me the story again about how he always wanted a little boy who was going to be a star quarterback on the Super Bowl team but was never the same after he got a little girl instead,â she beckoned.
Faith chuckled. She sat down on the bed and caressed the clump of sheets burying her daughter. She wondered if she might need to call a rescue team in to help excavate Annika from her cottony hovel.
âWell, he came from a family of four boys, you know. So, everything he knew was boy, boy, boy. Until the first time he held you,â she paused to pull the sheets down from Annikaâs face. âHe looked into your eyes, and he never once uttered anything about having anybody other than you ever again. You were his little girl.â
She kissed her daughter on the nose and mussed her thick hair.
âThe tragedy was hard on all of us. We were all very close, and not a day goes by I donât think about him,â she said looking at the clock above the doorway.
âHas it gotten better or worse, when you dream about him?â Annika asked.
âItâs never been easy, but my mind knows how it turns out. It took time, but Iâve accepted heâs gone,â Faith replied. âI pray one day soon your mind will also find peace.â
âI hope so, too,â Annika agreed.
âSo,â Faith said, ready to move on from the subject of their shared loss. âWhat do you have on your agenda this Thursday morning?â
âThe fireteam is running eighteen miles out to the old McMillenville ghost town to conduct an exercise later this evening. Weâll be back home on Saturday.â Annikaâs eyes regained their gleam as her focus shifted to the day ahead. Eager to get a jump on the remainder of her second week of training as a firefighter cadet, she threw back the covers and hopped out of bed.
âSounds like an adventure, and nearly a marathon to boot,â Faith exclaimed. âBe sure to pack rain gear. Itâs raining something fierce.â
âYes, maâam,â Annika replied. Her mind began her supply checklist: firefighter equipment, camping equipment, personal protective equipmentâŚ
âWill Langston be there?â Her mom asked coyly. She knew her daughter felt fondly for the young man from the other side of town and had always believed he was a good fit for her.
Annika was surprised she hadnât given a single thought this morning to Langston Angelo. He was nearly through with his first year as a crew member at the townâs fire department and was recently selected to attend the firefighter academy later this year.
âI dunno, he should be,â Annika caught her mind wandering. She shrugged as she drew herself together, quickly donning her running outfit and favorite sneakers. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and hesitated. It felt like a shame there was no time for a touch of makeup.
She looked out the window at the weeping willow her father had planted and tried not to think about him as she finished packing for the weekend.
Her mind pictured Langston and herself in high school. Sheâd always had a little crush on him, and sheâd been sure he felt the same way. Theyâd never had any classes together, so their interactions had been limited to finding nice things to say as they passed each other in the halls.
Neither of them went out very much. The only time she remembered them hanging out was during the annual homecoming weeks when they worked on the class float.
The three years since they left town brought distance between them, but they hadnât forgotten each other. Well, she hadnât forgotten about him anyway.
âI gotta get going,â Annika said, walking out of her bedroom.
Grabbing a quick bite to eat, she headed out the door. The mid-June weather was overcast as the monsoon clouds ensnared the sunlight and left no trace of it anywhere. She grabbed a pair of sunglasses anyway and pulled out of the driveway in her red Honda Civic. She drove west on Ash Street and took a right at an intersection. Cruising past the old Hill Street School, she pushed her luck by going one mile over the posted speed limit in between the Globe Post Office and Leonard Paulâs Pizza.
It wasnât long before she was followed into town by police lieutenant Timeo Neuheisel, whoâd just pulled out from the Old Gila County jail. She hadnât seen him since he left several years ago but had heard he was back in town. Youâve picked the most inopportune time to get reacquainted, Annika thought.
He resisted turning on the carâs lights and siren but followed her closely in town.
She caught a quick glimpse of the time on her phone while she parked her car close to the fire station on the corner of Broad and Cedar streets. Ignoring Tim for the moment, she got out and stopped to check her hair in the old J.C. Penney storefront window on her way to the fire department.
She was glad to discover she wasnât the only one running late when Marcus Covington hastily parked his white Nissan Sentra slightly catawampus in the space between her car and Timâs cruiser. Marcus smiled awkwardly, threw his college hoodie over his unkempt curly, brown hair, and hit the path running with his backpack slung over his shoulder.
She gawked at his blue jeans and hiking boots. He loved layering up his clothing to produce the sauna effect necessary to increase his sweating and workload. Today, she felt he might be overdoing it just a tad.
She still had her eyebrows slightly raised when Tim caught up with her. She swallowed a giggle as he put on a pair of reading glasses and dramatically flipped the pages of his ledger.
âMs. Harlow, you do realize youâre not making it easy on the cityâs new policeman,â Tim pointed out, eagerly referring to the new rank on his lapel. âHowever, you did a remarkable parking job compared to Marcus, so you have that going for you.â
âTimeo! I figured that was you following me in, but I want you to know I was mindful not to go too fast,â she answered, turning quickly to hug him earnestly and give his neck a big squeeze. She loved his strong cheekbones and adored how he always laughed a little when he extended his warmhearted smile. âYou got promoted?! Just kidding! Welcome back, itâs been a minute!â
âYouâre not getting off that easy! To answer your question, it was an overall great experience,â he said. Trying not to smile, he playfully appeared to find the desired form to write her a ticket. âItâs wonderful about my promotion luring me back homeâmore money and all, but Iâm happier to be back. I know you better get going or Chandler will have your hide.â
âYep, I have to run. But Iâll catch you laterâWe really missed you!â she said and trotted away.
âBeat feet, girl. Iâll see you around,â he snapped his ledger closed to punctuate the sentiment. âThe next time I clock you going over the speed limit, Iâm throwing the book at you. After all, the law is the law.â
Tim beamed watching Annika run off to join the group, making it just in time to head off for the ghost town. Thereâs no greater feeling than catching up with an old friend, Tim thought.
He knew most of the firefighter candidates from growing up with them and taking classes together at Globe High School. Theyâd established a rapport around a shared understanding that it was their duty to serve the community. This shared commitment was relatively rare in their town, where resentment once ran rampant in the wake of a series of mine layoffs in 1986.
The Globe-Miami area consists of conjoined communities with a combined population of ten thousand people. Many of Timâs friends claimed nothing ever changed within its borders and were eager to leave town the first chance they could.
That wasnât his view of things. It was ingrained in him as a kid to stay busyâwith sports, work, whateverâanything that would keep him from falling victim to boredom or the sin of not having anything else to do.
He looked over his shoulder at the team, now little dots on the eastern horizon, traversing onward to where the summer sun rose. Today was different, though: Somewhere, the sun was a prisoner in the skyâgoing through its daily motions. It made temporary appearances while fleeing for its life and illuminated the darkness only to be eaten greedily by the thick rain clouds again and again.
###
The thirteen-member firefighter training team had already soldiered through the first quarter of their eighteen-mile path from the Globe turnoff on US60, which veered northeast to the old McMillen townsite. Led by Chief Chandler Driscoll, the five firefighters, and eight candidates would follow the highway for most of the route, passing the location where the old Apache Drive-in Theater used to be, then complete the rest of the course on an uphill half-mile dirt trail.
The pavement was slick, but most of them had little to no problem navigating from the firehouse to the ghost town. It was two weeks into the monsoon season, and the area had already received more than six inches of rain. Since there was no sign of it letting up any time soon, the recruits grew weary of the road. They looked forward to the trail portion at the end of the course that was sure to be treacherous.
Chandler, with his thirty-four years of experience in the local fire department, was in the front of the pack, and he had no intention of relinquishing the lead. He kept a calm disposition but seethed beneath his skin. Theyâd gotten off to a late start due to a couple of members slowing them down. He recalled his time as a recruit when it was instilled in cadets that tardiness was unacceptable.
âWhat am I going to do with this group?â He muttered to himself.
Any hopes they had of making it to the old ghost town by noon were dashed, but his agenda allowed a little flexibility. There would be an impromptu ceremony recognizing a few members for their service between a catered lunch and dinner the chief of police had arranged to build goodwill between the fire and police departments.
Heâd also planned a simulated search-and-rescue exercise later in the evening, but not late enough they wouldnât have sufficient time to recover, before tomorrow morningâs teambuilding exercises.
He knew they were looking forward to an ensuing couple of days before running home Saturday morning and having the remainder of the weekend to themselves.
Chandler was well aware this team hadnât run more than thirteen miles before this grueling endeavor. Itâd eventually become routine for them as they continued to prepare for the upcoming fire season. The local fire departments were accustomed to sending their firefighters throughout the region to combat fires. And this year wouldnât be any different after the recent Mescal and Telegraph Fires ravaged the area.
The department had recently replaced seven members who had either quit or transferred to the other fire departments for personal reasons. Several positions were therefore filled by candidates. He knew many, if not all, of the previous members who left, had issues with the leadership of the team, and that lingered with him because he strived for perfection.
He yelled back at them to pick up the pace and continue to pick each other up. His focus for this group was to inspire them to work together. Of all the groups heâd worked with throughout his tenure in the department, this one concerned him the most due to their lack of experience and obvious lack of cohesion.
As this weighed on the chiefâs mind, Matheo Westbrook was fast on his heels, and he had to speed up to keep the kid at bay. Matheo, who recently turned nineteen, was the youngest candidate in the group. He didnât say a whole lot, but rumor had it Matheo had a great memory that functioned as a sports database.
Chandler had been warned more than once that Matheo would tell him more about football than heâd ever want to know. Chandler considered Matheo a great prospect but, at his young age, he still needed some time and hard training to achieve his full potential.
âKeep it up, weâre almost there!â said Houston McPherson, a lean runner who was arguably the fastest of the candidates. Some of the crew were amused by his feigned optimism. They knew very well they hadnât yet reached the halfway point. Theyâd only just passed the perimeter of the town leading into the rocky landscape of the desert hills. âItâs just up around the bend!â
Houston kept up a brilliant façade, masking how disgruntled he was. This training wasnât easy for anyone, but it was especially grueling for someone whoâd rather be working at the local mine. Nevertheless, he made everything he set out to do look easy and was an ace when it came to his training. Not everyone was fooled, however. Chandler felt he lacked charisma and considered him to be the most rebellious in the group. Houstonâs negative attitude toward him percolated throughout the department and Chandler was going to nip that in the bud.
Annika found her colleagues to be entertaining, to say the least. The weather was bringing her down, and she felt she was having an off day. Her mind wandered, and she longed to chat with the guy she fancied. Taking a sip of sports drink, she swallowed some energy gel and focused on her breathing during the next couple of miles.
âI heard McMillen was discovered by accident,â Orion Gamble entertained them. He slowed down each time he got a word out, and his fitness was beginning to suffer for it. He put his head down against the wind and wiped rain droplets from his face.
Orion joined the group while still a part-time student at Gila Community College. The twenty-one-year-old ginger always wanted to be a firefighter and believed his best trait was the ability to adapt to anything. He was the most high-strung of the recruitsâmade clear by his overstuffed backpack.
âMcMillen? Accident? Fireteam members spending the weekend at a desolate wasteland? Well, this all makes sense now!â Marcus quipped as he picked up the pace.
The twenty-two-year-old recruit looked at his Fitbit, then looked at the road up ahead and passed Orion for what had to be the umpteenth time. Orion flexed his jaw at the ambidextrous firefighter running circles around him and wondered why Marcus wasnât running in the front of the pack. But he took it all in stride since he discerned that Marcus pushed himself to be a stronger runner and was probably trying to generate more heat in his heavy, sweaty outfit.
âTrue story, amigos. Two prospectors were going along, and one had a hangover from the night before. So, he had to stop and rest in some shade.â Orion slowed down more to catch his breath while telling his story. âNevertheless, his partner gets upset theyâve stopped. To keep from being bored, he pokes around with his pick and, voilĂ , strikes silver. They filed a claim and dug the Stonewall Jackson mine right there.â
âDo you have a pick in your backpack, Orion? I might get bored and want to strike silver while weâre up here!â Jamir Quick joined the conversation and put on his patented half-smirk. The twenty-four-year-old, no-nonsense, decorated Army reservist was fresh off his fourth deployment to the Middle East. Chandler called on him to help motivate the younger candidates, and Jamir would stop at nothing less than drawing out their best efforts. âBesides, donât believe everything you hearâthere are also all sorts of things that go on out here nobody talks about.â
âWhereâs your sense of adventure, Jamir? Did the Chupacabra come and take it away?â jeered Orion, amusing himself at Jamirâs expense. Jamir stared intensely at him, waiting for him to make his point.
âIâve been to hell and back, and those are still some of the things Iâd rather not talk about,â Jamir growled. Heâd come to regret saying anything to these guys about the time heâd witnessed four of the fabled bloodsuckers from afar. He hadnât recovered from what heâd seen and, now and again, he caught himself scanning the areas around them.
âMy dad told me all about McMillen when I was a kid,â Orion said. He a sip from his camo-style Camelback as rain sprinkled on his freckled face. âThereâs a half-mile hike when we reach the turnoff from the highway in hilly, undeveloped terrain to get there. But itâs a haul I know weâll handle.â
Daniel Kersey ran off the side of the road and tried to vomit. âAll this talk about running and hiking hills, Iâm not sure Iâm gonna make it.â
âYou okay?â Marcus asked, circling back again. âNeed somebody to stay back with you?â
âIâm out of breathâI donât know whatâs wrong. Maybe I canât do this.â Daniel said. Heâd just joined the team last week and was on his first run. He was determined, trying his best to be a team player, but his lack of self-confidence was apparent.
âWe got it, Marcus, go on ahead,â Jamir said. He ran up to the pair and half-heartedly tended to Daniel. Marcus rechecked his Fitbit and adjusted it before removing it from one wrist and placing it on the other. Continuing down the road, he glanced over and smiled affably at Annika. He had an uncanny penchant for being quirky, and she always caught him at his quirkiest. He asked her if she had any extra energy gelsâShe fashioned a couple of gels and gave him one.
âWe got it, Marcus, go on ahead,â Jamir said. He ran up to the pair and half-heartedly tended to Daniel. Marcus rechecked his Fitbit and adjusted it before removing it from one wrist and placing it on the other. Continuing down the road, he glanced over and smiled affably at Annika, asking her if she had any extra energy gelâShe happened to have a few more and gave him one. He had an uncanny penchant for being quirky, and she always caught him at his quirkiest.
âPick it up, Daniel. Do what you have to do to get back with the group,â Jamir directed him. He tolerated most of the team, but Danielâs low self-esteem drew his ire. Jamir felt this activity would do him some good and move his progress forward by increasing his endurance. He felt Daniel needed some structure, and the last thing he wanted to see him do was to quit.
âYou got this! We all gotta carry our weight. Youâd be amazed what you can do when you push yourself,â Orion said, running in place next to Daniel. Whereas Orion might normally bribe a team member with beer, he had to improvise with Daniel, who was a recovering alcoholic and hadnât had a drink in more than three years. âIâve got sweet tea and sâmores in my backpack for everybody when we get there.â
Daniel fought the desire to quit and got back on the road. He resisted another urge to vomit, then gradually caught up with the rest of the crew.
âTry one of these,â Annika handed Daniel an energy gel. âTheyâre not the most delicious thing on the planet, but theyâve been working for me.â
âWe could use a jody right now,â Jamir called out. âYou all get ready for a cadence to help some of us who are slowing down back here!â
Chandler nodded in response. It invigorated him to observe how they responded to Jamir. Turns out, they needed leadership from among their members after all. He knew this group would have to form a brotherhood one way or the other, and heâd been wondering when heâd finally see it.
A few of the experienced members pulled forward or drifted back accordingly, offering support to ensure the group stayed together.
Annika looked around them and saw Langston running with Houston, obviously keeping their pace respectable as a team. She wondered when heâd get around to running with her. She tormented herself with the thought he might be over her and didnât want to pay any attention to her.
She was happy to see Daniel had regained his form and ran strong among the others. She also realized she was going to have to quash any thoughts of Langston if she was going to make it through the next part of this course. But he sure was a lot of fun to think about.
Zoya Yarbrough, the nineteen-year-old lanky blonde woman with a keen sense of humor and effervescent personality, noticed one of her mates was sore after a recent procedure. âI bet that meniscectomy recovery feels really good about now,â she said, attempting to boost the morale of Quint Figueroa, a four-year fire equipment operator. His stride became a hobble.
âHe hasnât told you about his âprocedureâ, yet?â Houston winked and barged in on their conversation.
âDo tell!â Zoya chuckled and feigned her interest, all the while looking at Quint, amazed he was holding up so well. âYou mean thereâs something to that story?â
âItâs been all over Facebook,â Houston teased.
âWait a minute, I see it right here,â Zoya responded, pretending to look at her phone. âItâs got over sixty likes and ten shares. Quint, youâre so brave!â
âCouldâve done without the photos, though,â Houston kidded him.
Quint took a deep breath and considered pushing farther ahead of them. The seasoned firefighter was oblivious to what his rookie friends were talking about. He normally blew these runs out of the water, but today, he struggled with each step. It felt like his joints were being crushed and sharp daggers were being thrust between his knees and ankles. The results of a recent MRI had revealed Quint needed surgery on his left ankle for a torn ligament, but he decided to hold off the surgery. Chandler had no idea, and Quint didnât know how to tell him.
 âYou guys sure know how to cheer a guy up.â Quint decided to play along, and then gently change the subject. He needed to get them to quiet down so he could focus on keeping a positive mindset. âIâm cool. Iâll just need a cold beer and an ice pack after this.â
Zoya laughed with Quint and cheered him on. âItâs okay, we got you. Bad leg and all!â
Captain Sophia Espinoza ran past the group and scolded them for not taking the activity seriously. She was the most experienced and well-conditioned of the firefighters. Second in rank only to Chandler at the fire station, she understood why Chandler held a negative opinion of this crew. She took it upon herself to ask the trio to refrain from their horseplay for the remainder of the run.
Houston tried his best to straighten up and hide his face behind his canteen. Taking a deep, hydrating sip, he nearly spit it out in his failed attempt to contain his laughter.
âKeep your bearing, thatâs all I ask,â Sophia said and shot Houston a look. Sheâd seen a lot of recruits come and go, and the current crop had a lack of discipline that annoyed her.
Quint acknowledged Sophia and focused on putting one foot in front of the other until they reached their destination.
Sophia pondered how much longer she wanted to stay at this station. Sheâd stuck around as a favor to Chandler, but he knew she was looking to transfer eventually. She had a knack for molding groups of individuals into teams. She knew sheâd crack this latest bunch of misfits, but her job here would never be finished. Itâd only be a matter of time before the next batch of egos and attitudes showed up at the station to strain her passion for the job all over again. Maybe one more yearâŚ
Sophiaâs attention snapped toward a vehicle approaching them. Nobody else noticed it, so she kept her guard to ensure they steered clear of its trajectory.
As they drove by, Sophia vaguely recognized the two-tone blue Chevy. She just couldnât put her finger on it. The truck carried members of Los Reyes, a local Mexican band. She saw four people in the cab but couldnât make out who they were. Three other people were seated in the back against the cab.
No one in the group acknowledged the fireteam as they passed, which was odd, not only because it defied common courtesy in a small town like Globe, but also because the band had played at the departmentâs Christmas party. Several people running with her knew all the band members.
They appeared to have other things on their mindâSophia observed everyone in the truck had an extreme sense of urgency about something. Maintaining her pace, she turned and watched the truck drive by. She saw two men seated there, with a third leaning motionless against one of them. She vaguely made them out, but it occurred to her, sheâd never seen one of the seated men and wondered if he was part of their band.
She hoped not. Just looking in the old manâs direction gave her a bad vibe.
As if heâd heard her thoughts, he looked up and returned her gaze. She was imprisoned in his icy stare and felt like they were all alone. His long gray hair blew upward and circled his head. He continued his hollow glare, hate carved deeply in his scowl.
He must be close to a hundred years old, Sophia thought. Before she finished taking her mental notes, she saw something in the reflection of his eyes.
She saw herself die.
The shock of the vision broke Sophia out of her trance while the truck receded into the distance. She turned back around and picked up her pace.
âHe dared to stare me down,â she said out loud. For the first time, she felt worried about being out on the street, vulnerable.
âYou okay?â Quint asked.
âThat old man gave me the creeps,â she said.
Houston looked over and asked, âWhat old man?â
âThat creepy old man Los Reyesâ had in the back of the truck. He just eyeballed me,â Sophia explained. âItâŚwasnât right.â
âYou said they were driving a truck? Los Reyes doesnât drive a truckâŚ.â Quint said before he was interrupted.
âCaptain, we havenât seen another soul out here in nearly fifteen minutes,â Houston said. âYou sure youâre okay?â
âThey just drove by! I saw them with my own eyes!â Sophia said. She insisted it seemed so real and pondered if something, or someone, arranged it so only she saw the oncoming truck. âIt looked like most of the band was in the truck, and one creepy old man sitting in the back. He stared right through meâŚLike he was devouring me,â her voice grew distant.
âAre you sure it was just now, Captain?â Zoya asked getting a little concerned. âBecause I didnât see anything, either.â
âI know what I saw! It was a two-tone blue Chevy, there was a weird old man in the back, and he wanted to make me uncomfortable,â Sophia said.
âDo you remember seeing anything else? You said all of Los Reyes was in the truck?â Quint chimed in. âWhich one of them was doing the driving?â
âFrom what I saw, the truck contained most of the band. I didnât see who was driving,â she recalled. âI recognized the one leaning against the old man. Iâm sure it was Vic Torres. Heâs the one I always see in the gym. He was so sick he was pale white like he was already dead.â
Zoya ran up beside Sophia and patted her shoulder. Sophia wondered if the run was getting to her and if she was, indeed, seeing things. âIâm sure thereâs an explanation,â Zoya said. âSometimes people see things others donât, like a premonition.â
Houston, Zoya, and Quint shared a confused look. They faced the road ahead, hoping their other teammates wouldnât see the trepidation on their faces.
###
Tim meandered one block toward the police department, amazed at how little had changed in his one-streetlight town. A good percentage of homes and businesses in Globe date back to the early- to mid-1900s, and many were built on hills. An officer could get a good workout in just going on foot patrol Tim thought.
He missed this old town and its relics. He once took for granted sites like the old Gila County Courthouse, the Holy Angels Catholic Church, and the Arizona Eastern Railroad depot.
Though time had changed the façade of downtown, heâd grown up hearing stories about some of the legendary establishments. How he wished fervently the Old Dominion Library and Old Dominion Hotel had never burned down. The latter was where President Theodore Roosevelt stayed before he embarked on his trip to host a dedication ceremony at the Roosevelt Lake Dam in 1911. They just donât build things like they used to, Tim thought.
He marveled at the big beige coffee cup attached to the front side of the La Luz Del Dia restaurant and made a mental note to stop in for breakfast sometime. He couldnât wait to chat it up with the townsfolk again. He remembered how sad it made him when the town lost both the Pioneer Hotel and old movie theater to another fire in 2005.
The stroll downtown made him long to see his dad, Wes Neuheisel. âOh, to be a kid again, without a care in the world,â he remembered his father used to say.
Then he remembered his friends and how he missed them more than anything. When you come from a small town, the bonds you forge stand the test of time. Youâd leave a dusty old place like this for many years, then come back and pick up right where you left off as youâd never been gone.
He knew that had both positive and negative effects, but his experiences with the people in town had been positive. He wouldnât give anything in the world to have grown up anywhere else.
Tim was ready to get back to work for the people and make a difference in the community. He headed to the precinct and opened the familiar metal doors, which still squeaked under the slightest amount of pressure. He started down the short, narrow corridor with its police chain of command photos lining both sides. Dating back to the 1950s, the photos were almost stacked on top of each other in the tight space. He paused in front of the photo labeled: POLICE CHIEF 2000â2004, WES NEUHEISEL.
He literally strolled down memory lane. Though years had passed since Chief Neuheisel was killed in a drug bust, Tim had never lost sight of the goals his father had laid out for him. They were challenging goals but, ultimately, he was thankful for the roadmap they provided him: finish college in Tucson, work on his MBA in Criminal Justice and, someday, follow in his dadâs footsteps.
Tim was diagnosed with ADHD and had yet to start a family, but he stuck with his studies at the University of Arizona and achieved success. It wasnât lost on him to be grateful for the little things, like how the building smelled of freshly mopped floors blended with the air-conditioned environment. It was a unique smell that went hand in hand with a building that was almost sixty years old.
âHave you forgotten to report in for duty?!â Lincoln Montgomeryâs voice rose from the police chiefâs office. Such a voice might have sent a shiver down his spine as a recruit, but Tim had prepared himself to run into Lincoln, whoâd been the chief of police since Wes passed away on New Yearâs Eve in 2004.
âI was just getting reacquainted with my old haunting ground, looking at these scowling mugs in the hallway, when it occurred to me Iâd better get to your office on the double, sir!â Tim said while walking into Lincolnâs office. He broke into his smile while holding out his hand.
âBy that, I hope you arenât referring to this handsome face right here,â Lincoln said smugly.
âOh, y-your pictureâs out there? I didnât see it,â Tim tried to be serious and he proceeded to walk back out. âLet me confirm if your picture is indeed on said wall.â
âGet back here! As I live and breathe, Iâd swear I was in the presence of Wes Neuheisel himself,â Lincoln took Timâs outstretched hand, clasped it in both of his hands, and shook it earnestly to welcome him back. Lincoln had compiled thirty-five years on the force, all of it spent in Globe. âA chip off the old block. Youâre even more of a smart alecâI know heâd be proud of you.â
Tim headed to his office down the hall, took a seat at his desk, and scanned the precinct office. Everything about it was more cluttered than he remembered. The walls had been repainted ecru and were chipping. What he yearned for was a window to look out of during the long days and nights. He loved this community, and it bothered him to know his predecessors tended to just punch the clock.
Lincoln knocked on the door and peeked in as he broke through to Tim. âI see already youâre always in a zone, I love that. You know, I often think how nice itâd be to have your dad backâbut I see himâŚwhen I see you. Youâre the spitting image, kid.â
Lincoln was always squared away and looked after everybody. Heâd grown quite comfortable filling the role of department chief. âIâm going out on patrol. You want me to bring you back any lunch?â
âI think Iâll be okay. Iâll grab a bite a little later,â Tim responded. He glanced at the chief and noticed something hanging around Lincolnâs neck: an amulet. Tim recalled his father wore an amulet just like it. âThatâs a nice amulet. Mind if I ask you how much it set you back?â
âThis old thing? I found it at a flea market in Mesa. Iâll keep a lookout for another one if youâd like me to.â
âMesa, huh? Looks very antiquated and authentic,â Tim said, observing the Apache-style necklace with large metal beads and cracked leather. âAlmost too good for a flea market.â âGlad you like it,â Lincoln said, tucking it into his shirt. âGood seeing you back, kidâWeâll chat more when I get back later.â
###
The windâs crescendo came to a peak as the light rain beat upon each crew memberâs face. This run proved to be more grueling than theyâd plannedâthey knew in their hearts they had to be fit to perform their jobs.
They pushed themselves and focused on what this training meant: The running would increase their endurance when they had to navigate in the field under the weight of their gearâThis run would help them save someoneâs life someday.
Lieutenant Gabriel Sawyer, the second-most-experienced firefighter of the group, started to lag. Chandler yelled over his shoulder and urged him to pick up the pace.
âForget about her,â Chandler chided Gabe when he looked back at him. âYou need to pick it up and get over this domestic issue.â
âIâm not thinking about my divorce,â Gabe said, pumping his heavily-laden tattooed arms. Chandler noticed brand-new tribal tattoos on both arms barely covered by his short-sleeve shirt. âI told you when I took this gig, Iâd have my mind together. Iâm with it!.â
âThatâs good, but youâre seriously dragging. Step it up,â Chandler grumbled and ran ahead.
Orion saw Gabe shaking his head. âHeâs wound up pretty tight!â
Gabe wiped the rain from his face. âHeâs okay. He gets fired up by breaking in the recruits. And he wonât hesitate to break the rest of us in, either.â Ever the consummate professional who had always been sought after for his expertise, skilled training, and mentorship, he was also very shy and didnât say a whole lot unless it was job-related.
âI donât mean to pry,â Orion said. âBut if you need someone to talk to, or if I can be of any help, you can count on me.â
âThanks, I appreciate it, recruit.â Gabe smiled a little trying to make light of his disposition. âIâm okay. Iâve been looking forward to this runâIâve had it circled on the calendar for a while.â
###
Tim read over some reports at his desk when Neela Huxley walked in with what looked like a ton of files.
âWelcome home! I was told you wanted to get started on these right away,â the police dispatcher said while, clearing her throat and approaching him. âWhereâll I set them?â
Neela was the same age as Tim and just as easy-going. Sheâd been at the precinct since graduating from Miami High School six years ago. She hadnât changed a bit since the last time heâd seen her at the Besh-Ba-Gowah Indian Ruins at the Globe Community Center. As teenagers, theyâd frequent the same local hangouts near Pipeline and Copper Hills. Heâd been in the building an hour and already heard her famously pronounce her hometown as âMy-am-uh,â which warmed his heart.
âHey, long time no seeâWhoa! Whatâre all these?â Tim asked, standing to greet her.
âOnly the latest reports on all the missing and deceased victims in the community,â she said in her singsong voice. âThis is only half of them. Are you sure you want to go through all these on your first day back?â
âI have a little time before lunch.â Taking the files from her arms, he set them on the center of his desk and turned to meet her embrace. She leaned in and gave him quite the homecoming hug.
The last time she hugged him like that was on high school graduation night after she thanked him for a quarter she used to make a call on the payphone next to Connieâs Liquor Store. Her Love Spell perfume lingered long after theyâd pulled away, invigorating him to get to work as he thought about how heâd arrange the files neatly in his desk drawers.
Sheâd seen her share of cops come and go since sheâd been on the force. Too many of them had the kind of work ethic that resulted in the stack of cold cases just piled high in her arms. She already sensed his work ethic would devour them all within his first week on the job.
The files nearly slid off his desk while she piled more on top of them. Arranging the files neatly into five stacks, he looked at the cover of the first file. Then the nextâuntil he made it through the first stack. It struck him all the cases occurred sometime after April 1986.
âOn second thought,â Tim said loud enough for her to hear him down the hall. âWhat say we head over to the Burger House around noon?â
She peeked in and piqued Timâs curiosity when she told him Ramon Navarro and Xavi Urbina stopped in earlier today to see if heâd returned from Tucson.
âThey wanted to talk to you,â she said, clicking her tongue and got his attentionâHe adored it when she did that. âI never thought Iâd see them walk in here without a pair of handcuffs on in a hundred years.â
I am always on the hunt for my next horror read, and upon reading the synopsis for Ambush Dawn, I knew I was in for a treat. My favorite horror reads are those in which extraordinary events occur in ordinary circumstances to ordinary people. Upon reading the first page of Ambush Dawn, I became connected to the first character to be introduced, and my heart was broken only a few short paragraphs later. It has been a long time since an author has been able to affect me in such a way, and I knew that I was dedicated to Ambush Dawn for the long haul.Â
Ambush Dawn follows a team of firefighters who enter a mine and are confronted with an army of the dead. They were only going in for a routine exercise but find themselves in the middle of a horrific battle deep within the mine. Soon they find that their only hope is in that of a local police officer, and their lives have been changed forever.Â
RK Hazelettâs writing is immediately compelling, and each word is essential to the story. Sometimes I find that substantial portions of novels feel like filler, but this was not the case with Ambush Dawn. I found myself gobbling up word after word, as though I could not read the story fast enough. Each character is so well presented and developed that they just about become ingrained within your mind. The horror aspects of the story were also so subtle that they interwove together to instill a deep sense of fear and dread within me. I felt a building sense of dread as I continued reading, and this feeling has stayed with me long after I finished the novel.Â
Unfortunately, there were some grammar and editing errors that detracted from the story in various areas. I gave Ambush Dawn a 4/5 rather than a 5/5 due to these errors, but I did rather enjoy the novel despite the errors. It is just something to note if this is an issue for other readers.Â
Hazelett is a clear and talented author who deeply understands the horror genre. Ambush Dawn will stick with me for quite a long time, and I will surely recommend it to other horror lovers. If you are seeking a scare, then look no further. Horror lovers across the literary world are surely in for a spook.