Explosive Dreams: Dreams and Reality, #4

By Hadena James

A bomber is terrorizing county fairs and one of the SCTU will fall 

Bright midways, rides with loud music and flashing lights, barkers trying to get people to spend money on rigged games; the normal sounds of county fairs everywhere until an explosion rips through the tinny music of the carnival rides. Now the screams are not squeals of delight but the terrified shrieks of the dying. 

The danger is no longer imaginary, something to shrug off when the ride is over. A killer is studying each fair, looking for that special ride that will rain down the most horror. The bombs he sets brings complete destruction. They leave a dirty field covered in broken bodies and crumpled machinery. 

The Serial Crimes Tracking Unit has their hands full searching for his next target and sifting through bodies. Aislinn Cain is having trouble getting into the mindset of the bomber. Her failure to relate makes the body count climb. Then the unimaginable, a member of the SCTU gets cut down. How far will Aislinn go to get justice for her fallen friend and catch the killer? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hadena James
• Release date: May 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513068565

Book preview

Prologue

The carnival ride operator noticed the blue cooler first.  It was small with soft sides, a zippered top and a pocket.  The strap had broken, but it was still a perfectly good cooler.  The ride he operated continued its up and down motion while spinning the screaming riders in a circle.  It was fast, noisy and loud, like all good carnival rides and provided a quick thrill to the riders.

He had been operating it for a couple of years now and the fascination with the ride or the riders had waned.  The cooler interested him more.  What if someone had left beer in it?  It might be getting hot as the riders screamed above him.

But he couldn’t step away until the ride ended and it had only started a few seconds before he noticed the cooler.  It had another seventy-eight seconds, give or take, to go.  The cooler that might contain heaven would have to wait until it ended.  Then he could step away.  If anyone asked, he could say it was a safety hazard where it sat, so near to the platform of the large ride.  Someone could trip over it, hurt themselves, sue the carnival and make all of them unemployed.  He’d be doing the carnival owners a favor by picking up the dangerous cooler.

The Hurricane stood nearly three stories tall.  Six arms each held a single car at the end of them and swung the cars straight up to the full height of the ride and extended almost twenty-five feet out.  As the arms moved up and down, it also spun the cars in a circle.

The ride had reached its apex.  The arms of the massive moving mechanical monster were reaching the top of their arc.  The centrifugal force was at its greatest as the cars attached to the arms spun around at full speed.

There was a loud noise and heat bathed the back of the ride operator for a few seconds before he died.  The mechanical monster was damaged.  The central pillar shook and rumbled loudly as it started to fall to one side.  The arms, contorted in a way they were not meant to be twisted, broke.  This stressed the pins holding on the cars, causing them to shear away.  The cars came apart from the arms.  Now much lighter, they were flung through the air like ammo out of a sling shot.

The screams of the passengers were lost by the loud noises coming from the collapsing ride.  The riders were tossed against each other or hurled from the cars.  Their bodies fell to the earth with loud thuds; also swallowed by the other noises. 

Those on the ground, not directly impacted by the blast, watched as the Hurricane collapsed.  A father, standing with his young son, cotton candy held in their hands, suddenly realized they were standing in the path of the falling tower.  He dropped the fluffy candy and swept his son into his arms.  He ran, with his son screaming and clutching the cotton candy so hard the stick crumbled in his tiny hands.

One car from the hurricane crashed into another ride, the Star Flyer.  The sound of wrenching metal now became intolerable.  Those on the ground, too stunned to run, covered their ears as another ride began a slow collapse.  Chains began to break and tear loose of their fastenings as this swing-set style ride began to whine and groan.  Adults and children were slung into the onlookers, crashing into them.  The riders’ bodies were battered and broken.  Those they crashed into were less fortunate, most dying upon impact.

One of the swings went over the fence that separated the arena from the fair.  It crashed into the back of a grandstand.  The commotion on the grandstand was a horrid spectacle.  Once packed with fans of the truck and tractor pull going on, they were now stampeding for the exits, trampling each other to get away. 

A group of teenagers were standing near the Sizzler.  They backed up, pinning themselves against the fence as one of the swings, rider still in it and chains lashing out like whips, rushed at them.  A few of them ran, the others dove over the fence as the swing crashed into the barrier.  The chains ripped through the fiberglass of a few seats on the Sizzler, shredding them like newspaper.

The Rocko-Plane suffered structural damage as a piece of debris fell into the motor.  It ground to a halt, stranding riders in cages, some turned upside down.  They screamed for help, but help didn’t make it in time. 

A piece of the Hurricane, still tearing itself apart as it slammed into the ground, flew up and hit one of the cages.  The force from the metal crashing into the cage, dented it.  The riders screamed louder.  The bolts that held the cage on were old and the impact caused them to shimmy.  The riders’ frantic movements loosened them more.  The cage, located at the side of the ride, near the top, broke from its framework and began to fall.  It slammed into another cage, sending it into a wild spinning frenzy.  The passengers threw up a second before their own cage broke loose.  The first cage hit the ground and split apart, sending the passengers sprawling across the ground.  The second cage fell on top of the first and any survivors in the first cage were lost.  Pieces of metal erupted into dagger-sharp spikes in the second cage, piercing a rider and pinning him into the seat. 

The Rocko-Plane, now unbalanced by the loss of two cages, and suffering damage from the impact, tottered forward.  Again, the frantic passengers’ frenzied movements sent the ride past the tipping point.  It fell forward in slow motion.  Dust, metal and blood sprayed up from the decimated ride.  Chunks of metal flew through the fairgrounds, taking out whatever they hit.

The top cage hit the carousel.  It crashed through the top and into the carousel animals.  The carousel bucked and jerked as its motor caught fire and smoke began to pour into the air.  A piece of fiberglass animal flew off and collided with the bumper cars.  A metal pole from the carousel sheared off and was driven into a group of people running from the disaster. 

The pole hit one man in the head, sending him sprawling.  He fell on a gate and toppled over onto the side nearest a ride.  The pole changed trajectory and hit the small roller coaster meant for children.  The ride had already been stopped by the emergency button, but the pole hit a supporting beam of the track.  The track collapsed and the cars rolled off onto the ground, collapsing the fence that barricaded it from onlookers. 

The Ferris wheel took a direct hit from the swing-set ride.  A chain wrapped over one of the spokes as the seat and rider crashed into the spoke below.  The gondola style seat swung viciously from side to side.  The passengers were holding on for dear life as the ride operator tried desperately to get the ride emptied.

The passengers were at the mercy of the swinging gondola.  They shrieked and cried.  The operator moved the ride, trying to get to that gondola.  As it came down, the violent swinging didn’t cease.  The car rammed the operator and the operator’s controls.  The Ferris wheel began spinning again, faster, turning in its circular route with more speed than it had ever experienced before.  Several of the gondolas began to swing wildly.  Another operator rushed over to stop the ride.  He shouted for the passengers to stop moving.  They couldn’t hear him over their own terrified screams.  The gondolas whizzed past him as he hit the emergency stop.  Nothing happened.  The other emergency stop was on the backside of the ride.  He dashed from the platform, dodging flying debris and was hit by the fence as the roller coaster cars slid from their tracks.  The fence and cars pinned his legs.

Helplessly, he watched as the weakened arm of the Ferris wheel buckled under the wild swing of the gondolas and increased speed of the ride.  The frame buckled, then cracked with a deafening boom.  A few more feet and the frame gave out, one side breaking, wrenching the bolts from the supporting struts.  The gondola at the top flipped sideways, throwing its passengers into the path of the other seats.  They smashed into them with brutalizing force.  Then the gondola fell.  The entire Ferris wheel collapsed in on itself.  The motor shut off as the last car fell onto the emergency stop button on the rear of the ride.

It took forty-five minutes for the carnage to stop.  When it was over, almost every ride had been damaged and the larger thrill rides were ruined wrecks that had wreaked havoc all across the fairgrounds.  Not a single one of them stood. 

Inhuman screams had replaced the grinding, whirring, screeching machine noises.  Spots on the ground had become saturated with blood and other fluids and squelched beneath the feet of the emergency personnel.  They searched for survivors, both on the fairgrounds and in the grandstand.

Most of the uninjured were in such a state of shock, they only made small noises or sobbed.  Their eyes looked hollow.  Their skin had lost its color, making them look grey and ashen, like zombies.  They moved like cattle, allowing themselves to be herded away from the devastation.

The emergency personnel and a few bystanders that were not shell-shocked, searched the rubble for survivors.  They followed the sound of screams.  Some of them had pieces of metal jutting out of them.  Others had limbs at odd angles or were missing limbs altogether.  Some had been burned by the fires that had erupted.  The attempts of rescuers to free some of the trapped did more harm than good. 

The dead were even worse.  Their bodies were broken and lifeless among the carnage.  Most of them were unrecognizable as being human.

A fireman grabbed an arm and it broke off the man he was trying to rescue.  He held the arm for a moment before turning his head and vomiting.  Several other rescuers were having similar problems.

In the back of all their minds was the question of how a small, county fair in Missouri had ended up a killing field, soaked with blood and covered with death.

Chapter One

Boxes shouldn’t bleed.  This one was.  Gabriel and I stared at it, knowing that there was some sort of gruesome body part inside.  My birthday was in two days.  I didn’t need the card to know who had sent it.

It had been delivered to the gatehouse.  Captain Yosh had removed the wrapping paper to discover wax paper, cellophane and blood. 

This bloody present would be the first time The Butcher had actually sent proof of his crime.  In some ways, I found that reassuring.  In other ways, it proved that The Butcher was exactly what he said he was, which was terrifying, because we really didn’t have any more clues after nearly fifteen years than we did after the first birthday card.

Yosh, whose past was very colorful from what I had been told, was as reluctant as the rest of us about opening the oozing package.  He was taking an exceptionally long time putting on gloves.  Once those were on, he picked up very large tweezers. 

The inside of the box was also lined in plastic.  Yosh paled ever so slightly.  He shook his head.

I peered over the edge of the box.  It wasn’t a body part.  It was a dead prairie dog.  The thing had been decapitated. 

That’s, Gabriel paused.  What is that?

That is a Plague carrier, I told him.  Possibly infected.

What?  Yosh dropped the tweezers into the box.

Well, if The Butcher is who he claims to be, then sending me an infected prairie dog would fit the bill, I said.

Damn, Gabriel picked up Yosh’s radio.  We need to quarantine the entire neighborhood.

Especially pets, I added, starting to check myself for flea bites.

It’s dead, can it still spread a Plague?  Yosh asked.

Not a Plague, I said.  The Plague.  The Bubonic Plague to be exact and I haven’t a clue what happens to the bacteria when the host dies.  My guess is that the bacteria dies with it.  However, I also think it very probable that any fleas that might have been in that container are now free and looking for a meal.

I thought you knew everything about the Plague, Gabriel smirked.

Nope, I’m not that kind of doctor, I pointed out, hinting that another call might be necessary.

Gabriel called Xavier.  Xavier’s voice sounded strained as he answered back.  He didn’t seem to like the idea of coming to the possibly contaminated guard house.

However, it didn’t take him long to arrive.  He and Lucas both walked through the door.  Lucas shut it tight behind him and leaned against it. 

It’s a prairie dog, not a rat, I told him.

Good to know, Lucas said, not moving.

What am I looking for exactly?  Xavier peered into the box.

Is it infected?  Yosh asked him.

I’m a doctor not a vet, Xavier said.  If you were infected, I could tell you, but symptoms take a few days to set in and some people have a-typical symptoms.  Seeing as how it’s a dead prairie dog, I’d bet the fleas jumped ship long before it arrived here.

The box was well sealed, I told him.

Oh, Xavier stood up.  We’ll need to do a necropsy and it will need an expert.  I can tell you if rats died of arsenic poisoning, but I can’t tell you if a prairie dog was infected with a bacteria caring Bubonic Plague.

What’s your suggestion?  Gabriel asked.

We treat it like it is, Xavier put on some gloves.  Although, why The Butcher would send Ace a Plague carrying prairie dog is beyond me.

He wouldn’t, Lucas said.  Plague is risky, at best.  It might kill her.  He doesn’t want her dead.  He wants her to be tormented.

With that thought in mind, I grabbed the card.  On the front was my address in the federal neighborhood.  There was no return address and the postage was actually twenty-seven Forever Stamps issued by the postal service.

Forever Stamps are self-adhesive, but there was a possibility we would get DNA off of them.  We never had in the past, but there was always a first time. 

The card read Happy Birthday to My Favorite Girl.  I frowned.  The Butcher sent cards, but they were flowery, love letter type cards.  The ones with intimate sayings and rambling poems on the front with flowers and butterflies and all that female stuff that went with romance that I didn’t understand.  This was more like a card for a kid.  The front had a clown on it, which was creepy in its own right, holding onto a bunch of balloons.  My mind instantly thought of John Wayne Gacy and dismissed it.  He was dead and had died long before I had become popular.  I couldn’t think of any killer clowns currently stalking me, but that didn’t mean much.

Gloves, Gabriel said as I went to open it.

Good grief, Xavier rolled his eyes.  After nearly a year, I still forgot the gloves.  I set down the card, put on the gloves while mentally explaining why they were a huge waste of time, and opened the card back up.

The handwriting was unfamiliar to me.  It was definitely not the beautiful penmanship of The Butcher.  The letters were strange and blocky.  It was signed With Love. 

Um, yeah, not my stalker, I said.

Then who?  Gabriel asked.

Beats the hell out of me, the With Love part was creepier than the clown.  I preferred notes from The Butcher.

Who knows you have a Plague obsession?  Lucas asked.

Everyone, I said.  My degree is in Medieval Europe.  Sure, I focused on torture, but unless you intend to sleep through the 14th century, it was hard not to study the Black Death.  I thought for a moment.  That’s a line from a book.

What is?  Gabriel asked.

Sleeping through the 14th century.  I know I read that somewhere, my brain continued racking itself for clues about the book.

Is the book as important as figuring out who would want to send you a Plague infested prairie dog?  Yosh asked.

Probably not, I admitted.  However, if it’s from a book, the book might become important.

Only because you might want to read it again, Lucas said.  Moving on from the book.  Have you met any new people that raised your hackles?

Really?  I frowned at him.  Everyone raises my hackles.  For example, a few weeks ago, I was forced to attend a barbecue at some asshole’s house with his asshole ex-brother-in-law.  The ex-brother-in-law really raised my hackles.  I would have gladly shoved him into a tumble dryer and turned it on high.

Ace, Gabriel chided me.  It had been his barbecue and then we’d been forced into the desert.  Death Valley to be exact, chasing a serial killer who used mercury to kill and make works of art.  After that we’d stuck around Las Vegas for a few days, taking in the sites, while Lucas had Trevor’s favorite painting removed from the house because it was by said artist.  Trevor was still upset about it.  He seemed to logically understand why they couldn’t own the painting, but was emotionally still stinging from the actual removal of it from the house.

You’re thinking, Lucas said.

Did I meet anyone in Las Vegas?  I asked.  During the case or after the case, that might have been extra odd?

Extra odd?  Yosh asked.  He had gotten used to some of my eccentricities, but not all of them.  There were also things he didn’t know or need to know about me.  I liked the man, I didn’t want him to die because we were buddies.  You don’t remember?

Well, I shrugged.  Not so much. 

My brain was running through the faces I had seen, the names I had heard; there had been the lovely coroner.  She was nice, didn’t really take a shine to me, but that was to be expected.  I couldn’t see her sending me a prairie dog.  However, there were probably others.  I attracted psychopaths like honey attracted Winnie-the-Pooh.

We hadn’t worked any cases since coming back a little over a month ago.  The Marshals Service had insisted on a vacation for the five of us.  They had said something about psychological recovery time.  Since none of us were exactly stable, I didn’t know how we were supposed to recover. 

January had been busy and the months that followed had been just as hectic.  Running from city to city.  Dealing with extreme weather conditions.  Enduring seriously gruesome cases that included beheadings, electrocutions, and disembowelings.  So far we hadn’t had a good, ol’ fashioned shooting or stabbing serial killer this year.  However, it was only July, there was still hope.

We have a vet and a HAZMAT unit on their way, Gabriel said.

Great, I took a seat at a small table.  The room was barren, more like a security room or interrogation room than a place to hang out all day.  I imagined the guards didn’t spend a lot of time in the room. 

Chapter Two

The HAZMAT unit arrived first.  They secured the scene and began doing blood tests on all of us.  These must have been for comparison purposes later, because if we had been exposed, an hour was definitely not enough incubation time for Bubonic Plague.

Someone with a gruff voice and large hands told me to take a position against the table.  He wanted my right hip for an injection.  I was seriously opposed to this, I didn’t want to be pumped full of antibiotics that might not do anything except wreck my immune system.

Uh, no, I told him.

It’s a prophylactic injection of ciprofloxacin, he told me.

Then definitely not, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the hooded figure.  His mask was tinted, obscuring his features.  My imagination had him