Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1) Read Free Page B

several large gaping wounds; her breasts were gone!
    When Emma first heard the loud scream, she did not realize it was coming from her lips. Even when she did, it was hard to stop them.
    The man, standing behind the one wielding the axe, raised his arm and pointed toward her, mumbling something she could not understand. When she saw the gun in his hand, she almost screamed again, but clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle herself.
    The man with the axe turned, looked at her and then moved toward her. Nearly frozen from fear, Emma almost fainted. Finally, she came to her senses and ran, darting back in the direction she had come.
    After taking three or four steps, Emma heard the first shot. She began running as fast as she could. She ran, zigzagging through wisteria vines and honeysuckle frapped undergrowth that grew thick beneath the mature pines, maples, and birches alongside the river.
    The huge vines had a stranglehold on the forest and getting through them was not an easy task. Several times, Emma tripped over one of the massive vines, almost falling face first. Luckily, she caught herself and kept moving.
    The chase continued until Emma crawled up into the hollowed out tree.
    Now, as she huddled in what she prayed was a safe haven, all she could see in her mind was the bloodied corpses and the gruesome figure holding the axe. His face was twisted in grotesque pleasure, and the fellow with the gun was just plain weird. Emma had never witnessed anything so frightening or bizarre in her life.
    The looks on their blood-splattered faces was so grotesquely odd that it haunted her soul, but in some odd way, it fascinated her too.
    She wondered how anyone could take such pleasure in the mutilation of a human. The glazed look in their eyes, as though each were experiencing some sort of orgasmic rush. They were actually glorifying in the gore!
    She would bet good money that they would probably get naked and wallow in the blood once they were done; then dance around the fire and howl at the moon.They must be sadistic maniacs, relishing the slaughter of human beings the way they were, thought Emma. She began to shiver uncontrollably.
    I need to get out of here, thought Emma. I have to try to get to town. If I get to town, I can report this.
    Emma decided to leave the security of the hollow tree. She wanted to try to make it to the main highway, but then she thought about trying to loop back to her tent. Parked beside her tent, was her trusty moped.
    Which direction is toward the tent? Emma’s heart pounded with uncertainty.
    She stuck her head out to listen, but trying to hear over the thump of her rapidly beating heart, was impossible. It was also getting harder to see where she was at; a fog was settling in.
    Emma took several deep breaths of air, trying to remain calm. Once the blood stopped pounding through her ears, the surrounding forest grew deathly quiet.
    Emma did not hear anything. No bullfrogs croaking, or locusts either. There were no sounds coming through the murky fog that had settled around her. Not even a cricket chirped; it was just that quiet. It was very odd.
    Emma sat still, listening. As she listened, she tried to remember some of the stories her grandfather had told her when she was younger. She felt they would calm her and give her strength. His great-grandfather, her great-great-grandfather, was Goyaa łé, the great leader of the Chiricahua Apache. He was nicknamed Geronimo by Mexican soldiers he had fought against in the mid 1800’s.
    The United States Calvary was never able to capture him; he always managed to elude them. Geronimo’s greatest regret was his surrender. Once he surrendered, he was paraded across the country by railroad, held at various encampments, and then displayed as a sideshow attraction.
    During the time Geronimo was held at Mount Vernon Barracks, in Alabama, was when he fathered Walełé. Walełé grew up to marry Samuel Crabtree. They were the grandparents of Emma’s