Mirage

By Paul Glanville

Where better for a serial predator to operate than in the Chihuauan and Sonoran deserts that straddle the 2000 mile long U.S./Mexican border from California to Texas? Hundreds of people die there every year as they make the dangerous trek to the Golden North. So, what if that predator collected a few strays, just before they died of exposure?

Later, after he'd had his horrific 'fun' with them, he'd dump them back in the desert. Would the Authorities notice?

And what if the predator used his position as the county's Medical Examiner to officially sweep the collections of nameless bones under the rug? Would the Authorities investigate?

But what if one victim miraculously got away unnoticed and survived?

And what if she wants revenge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Glanville
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386532019

Paul Glanville

Hi. I’m Paul Glanville, and I’m not going to write this bio in third-person. In school, I was indifferent to reading, and refused to read the assigned books and write the book reports – but loved math and science. After serving my K-12 prison sentence, I discovered Science Fiction. I suppose if I had to name a favorite author, it’d be Robert Heinlein. My work since the mid-1970s has been in embedded systems firmware. Consequentially, nearly all my writing has been technical in nature, I often write highly technical instructional material that has to clearly describe to non-technical people what they need to understand with a minimum of mumbo-jumbo fluff. I can be contacted at [e-mail] I’m on Facebook at www.facebook.com/paul.glanvilleauthor Write me. I don’t bite.

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Copyright

This is a work of fiction . Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018, Paul Glanville

All rights reserved

Cover Design: Paul Glanville

Cover photograph © mtilghma – stock.adobe.com

Back cover photograph © steba – stock.adobe.com

Series 0.6

Table of Contents

Copyright

Preface

Acknowledgements

Part One: Lions at the watering hole

Part Two: Strangers in a strange land

Part Three: What goes around...

Epilogue: On The Beach

About the Author, and Notes

Preface

This book is intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY.

It includes scenes describing adult and criminal behavior which is certain to offend some readers. Consider yourself warned.

All characters in this work are adults above the age of consent in your jurisdiction.

Please store your adult content where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Many will find the attitudes expressed by certain characters disturbing, to say the least.

The first character we meet is a serial murderer whose foremost concern is not that he might get caught, but, rather, that someone is poaching his prey. This character doesn't even think of his victims as people, but as animals.

Meanwhile, law enforcement is, and will remain, oblivious to the activity to the end, for reasons that will be made clear.

Again, some will find certain characters' utter disregard for humanity, an attitude which will surface from time to time, repulsive. Consider yourself warned.

To my knowledge, there is no newspaper in Albuquerque named The Telegraph, nor has there ever been. Nor is there an El Dorado County within 100 miles of the U.S./Mexico border along the entire length of either side of that border. If I am mistaken, it is purely unintentional. Kindly inform me and I will make the appropriate changes.

The lyrics of the chorus of Cielito Lindo, an iconic Mexican Ranchero song, popularized by every mariachi band, everywhere, are reproduced here. The song is in the public domain.

Any attributed quotes and/or citations that may be protected by copyrights are sincerely believed to be fair use reproductions. If you are a Rights holder and think me mistaken, please contact me and we can negotiate a mutually satisfactory change.

Acknowledgements

First, and foremost , I thank my wife, who has put up with me and is convinced that this is a great story, even though she’s barely read any of it.

Second, I’d like to thank the folks who have read at least part of Mirage and have left me their comments, suggestions for improvements, and support.

Due to the volatility of the Internet, specifically the fact that some of the sites that this work has been posted on no longer exist, I do not have a complete list of names. That said, I’ve scoured the sites that remain, along with my email logs to come up with the best list I can. No doubt I’ve missed a few.  

If I missed someone, I’m sorry.

Part One: Lions at the watering hole

L ight thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.

– Terry Pratchett

(1) A Desperate Flight

THE GROUP HAD BEEN walking since just before dusk plunged the Chihuahuan Desert into darkness. The temperature had been stifling but it was falling fast as the Last-Quarter moon began to rise. It was the third day of a trip that was expected to take four or five days. The group had been following their guide closely – no one wanted to be left behind in the blackness – but now that there was some light everyone felt relieved; if the person immediately ahead of you missed a step, you (and everyone behind you) wouldn't end up lost in the vast desert.

Pedro Velasquez and his wife, Yolanda, were making the risky trek with their two young sons. Neither child was old enough to keep up so the parents each carried one. The heavy loads were asleep.

Ow! Pedro! Help!

What's the matter?

I stepped on a rock and twisted my ankle. It hurts like Hell.

Pedro ran back to his wife. She was definitely wounded; she couldn't put any weight on her left foot. She hobbled over to a boulder and sat. The migrants behind them shuffled quickly past.

Shit! Pedro looked back at the group; they were ten meters away and receding fast.

Hey, amigos – wait up! he yelled.

Fuck you! came the reply.

He’d expected a polite rejection, but that particular response was unnecessarily crude. Even so, slowing for Yolanda meant more time in the desert, which meant drinking more water, risking running out. And running out of water meant certain death.

They would lose their guide in the darkness in a few minutes. He turned to his wife. Get up!

Pedro, I can't!

You have to. Come on!

His wife cried in agony as she got up. He put her arm around his neck. OK, let's go.

Pedro did the mental arithmetic and it was stark. They were in the middle of the desert, but he thought they were closer to where they were going than to where they started. The best option was to proceed and hope for the best.

They continued, but could not keep up with their group, which was moving at a steady walking pace. Pedro and his wife were struggling to do a crawl and quickly lost sight of the rest of the party.

Pedro was worried. Not about getting lost in the desert; since boyhood, he could tell north from the stars, so he had his bearings. No, that wasn't the problem. Water was the problem. Or, more precisely, the limited amount of it.

They only had twenty half-liter bottles of water left. They'd started with forty – a mere twenty liters – which wasn't really enough for the original trip, and at this pace it would take much longer. He didn't want to think it, but he knew it was true. They were going to run out of water, but they were trapped. They couldn't go back and if they stayed where they were they were dead for sure. They had no choice but to move forward. Maybe if they rationed the water even more strictly...

He was determined not to give up. His family would not vanish from the face of the earth, never to be heard from again, as so many others from his village had.

They managed to advance another ten kilometers by dawn. Another couple of km later and the furnace was coming on. Pedro found a spot that was marginally shaded by some scrawny shrubbery, so they stopped and rested, waiting for the sun to sink and the milder temperatures of the late afternoon.

The next night they only did another ten km. Less than one kilometer per hour. They were exhausted and slowing down. Between the wounded Yolanda and their increasingly dehydrated state, it was becoming progressively more difficult to move.

PEDRO LAY ON HIS BACK. There was no water left; there