Seed of Evil by Greig Beck (great reads .txt) 📕

He knew he was taking a gamble as he had no way to locate the ancient Native American, or even find out if he was still alive. But he knew being here in the place that was the reservation of the Missouria Otoe Native Americans, and the last place he had be known to inhabit, then if he wasn’t here, he probably wouldn’t find him anywhere.

Mitch hefted his single bag onto his shoulder and headed into the inn’s gleaming marble and glass reservation area.

The man’s grin behind the counter was a mile wide and he was greeted like an old friend, and immediately given a room upgrade when he identified himself as a doctor.

As he waited for his room key, his phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the name.

“Hi, Greg, you got here okay? I’m at the Holiday Inn, where are you at?” Mitch was handed his room key, nodded his thanks, and turned to look out through the glass doors.

“Hey, Stitch, I’m at the Wyndam Perry, about half a mile down the road from you,” Greg replied. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m just checking in, then I’ll grab a quick shower and we should meet up. What’s your bar look like?” Mitch looked along the corridor to the small open area of the Holiday Inn bar. He swore he saw tumbleweeds blowing through it.

“Not bad, plus I think I see free bar snacks.” Greg chuckled. “Also…”

“Stop there, you had me at free bar snacks.” Mitch checked his watch. “Be there in under an hour.” He started up the steps to his room but paused. He jogged back to the desk.

The cheery-faced check-in clerk raised his eyebrows and continued to smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, maybe. Do you know a Native American man by the name of Johnson Nightbird?”

His smile widened. “What’s he done now?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, and also that he’s still alive.” Mitch felt relieved. “I’m a doctor from Eldon and just wanted to ask him some questions about some consulting work he did for our museum a while back. Might need his services again.”

The clerk pulled out a notepad. “I’m Otoe too. Old ‘J.N.’ is a legend around these parts. Knows everything about everything.” He leaned forward. “He’s a shaman, you know.”

“A wizard?” Mitch asked.

“More like a spirit talker and wise man. But he’s a powerful one.” He began to write on the notepad but paused to look up. “You’ve got a car, right?”

Mitch nodded.

“Good, then you turn right on the 64, then left onto the 77 and stay on that for about 12 miles until you get to the 15.” He drew a detailed diagram as he spoke. “Then you head along that toward the settlement of Red Rock itself. But, most importantly, just before you get there, turn left onto the 160.”

Mitch traced the route with his finger and nodded, following it easily. The clerk went on.

“About half a mile along the 160, you’ll come to a small turn-off with a mailbox that has a carved eagle on top. Take it and follow that all the way to Johnson Nightbird’s place. It’s right on the edge of Red Rock Canyon Creek.”

The clerk straightened, smiling. “He doesn’t have a phone and is a little short-tempered these days. So, if you don’t get shot in the first few seconds, remember to say hello to him from Jimmy at the Inn.”

Mitch chuckled. “You’re joking, right?”

Jimmy continued to smile.

*****

“Cheers. To good days.” Greg clinked his beer glass up against Mitch’s.

“And even better ones to come,” Mitch replied, and then they both sipped.

“So how are you these days, Mitch? I mean, really?” Greg watched him.

Mitch knew what he was getting at. After Syria, he had carried around a lot of guilt, blaming himself for walking his team into an ambush and also for the loss of the Kurdish woman.

Then Cindy lifted him out of his dark days only to die of cancer. His depression came down on him like a ton of bricks, and he began to believe he had poison touch syndrome, where anyone he loved would die.

“I’m good. In fact, real good these days. Eldon has, ah, exceeded my expectations.” He lifted his glass in a toast.

Greg grinned. “Oh, that good, huh? Who is she then?”

“No one really. Just the vice mayor, is all.” He chuckled. “We’re just friends, but, who knows, she’s pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool or pretty hot?” Greg pressed.

Mitch nodded. “Both.”

“I look forward to meeting her.” He put his glass down. “Now tell me why you raced out of Eldon like your hair was on fire. What’s the rush, and what the hell is with those people back in the seventies that suffered some weird, never heard of before, disfiguring infection?”

“That’s just it—I think it has been heard of before. Maybe many times. We just didn’t recognise it, or the time span was too great,” Mitch replied. He sat forward, talking softer. “And in fact, I think whatever this infection is, it has happened many times in our history.”

“And what does that have to do with Red Rock?” Greg asked.

“There’s someone here who knows more about it than we do.” Mitch pulled out his phone with the picture of the people becoming petrified and turned it around. “This is Angel Syndrome, which as far as I know hasn’t affected anyone here just yet. Or at least none that I know of. But it did back in the seventies. And I believe it also happened long ago.”

“The museum artifacts?” Greg’s brows went up.

“Yeah, these guys.” Mitch changed the picture to the petrified people in the museum. “This image of a family group was found in the depths of some caves below the town.” Mitch handed Greg the phone.

Greg frowned as he swiped between the ancient statues and the people in the CDC images.

“Almost identical.” He looked up. “When?”

“They were found at the turn of the century. But the real kicker is they’ve been dated to around 12,000 years ago.” Mitch scoffed