Desert Heat: Creature from the Past

By Barry Ray

There was something very strange going on in the High Desert of Southern California, and it was a thing that no one living had ever before witnessed. At first, Zachary Magary and Ben Eagle were getting only glimpses of a large, darting figure, but as time passed, this peculiar oddity became more and more brazen; and though not recognizable to either of these placer miners, Ben Eagle, the Indian among them, remembered stories from his youth having to do with an ancient, blood sucking creature of Indian mythology.
Zachary Magary was handsome, bold and daring, and at age forty showed no signs of slowing down. He was a big man, and his rowdy adventures in local bars, as well as his antics involving the opposite sex, were notorious. He had only one true friend in the world, and that was Ben Eagle, an ageless, Mojave Indian with a warrior heritage.
Ben Eagle was a short, stout, powerful man that lived in a luxurious mobile home on his gold claim in the Mojave, high desert of Southern California. He had befriended Zachary when he was but a child, riding his dirt bike all over Bens once serine desert. Ben decided it would be better to befriend this pain in the butt, then just silencing him the way that had entered his mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491809525

Barry Ray

Look for these books also by Barry Ray: Farrago, Hidden Valley, Cully and B A D. Barry and his wife Dee now reside in Southern California.

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2013 by Barry Ray. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/16/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0951-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0952-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914843

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife Dee, as always. Also dedicated to my eldest daughter

Tamra Lynn, who I originally wrote it for, in an attempt to give her a good scare. It didn’t work.

CHAPTER 1

T he Mojave Desert might not be the largest or most remote place on the face of the Planet Earth. There are many deserts just as remote and even larger, but the majority of those are almost totally uninhabitable, while the Mojave teams with a multitude of animal species and an abundance of spectacular plant life.

The high desert country of Southern California is startling in its ambiguities. It is first of all, stark and lonely; secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it is mysteriously lovely and enchanting, while frightening to many.

The summers in the high desert of the Mojave can reach temperatures of one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, with little shade to be found. In winter, the frigid nights can dip below freezing, and in some winters, even snow falls on this seemingly barren landscape, creating a panorama beautiful beyond description.

The Joshua trees alone bring people from all parts of this great country just to stand and stare at their mysterious and majestic configurations. And how they achieve this majesty with a bare minimum of the life giving substance water is almost as miraculous as their existence itself.

Wildlife is more plentiful than the average person might imagine. Coyotes, rattle snakes, rabbits, ground squirrels, mice of every kind; the ubiquitous crow, the slow but tenacious desert tortoise and even an occasional burro decorate this landscape. The majority of these creatures are night stalkers and make things in your home that go bump in the night, pale by comparison.

Most who visit this untamed land would chalk up their uneasiness at night to imagination, but they would be newcomers to the high desert, because there is something out there that is not so readily explainable.

This is the land that Zachary Magary had frequented since early youth, in his relentless search for the golden element listed simply in the periodic table of elements as Au. By his forty-fifth birthday, Zachary had prospected all of California in search of this elusive commodity, but he always seemed to return to the high desert just north and east of Barstow. Something tugged at his very soul, and finding gold was the least of it.

He had for years been a successful prospector. He had found gold on both the Russian and the American rivers, and sufficient nuggets on almost every other river and stream in the California, Mother-load Country to sustain him for life. He had worked at many things and had been successful in all of his ventures, but the only thing he truly enjoyed, was the search for gold.

For some years now, he had kept a residence in Anaheim, California and spent every other month in the high desert. He had never understood why he was constantly drawn to this arid land, since he had made his fortune much further north in the state, and the gold on his claim just off Coolgardie Road in the desolate region just twenty miles from Barstow, was minimal at best.

How he recovered even these small portions of gold was a measure of his tenacity, but the fact that he always returned, yet was continuously frightened out of his scull, was a mystery so fascinating he pondered it for hours at a time. And this while searching the sky and observing hundreds of billions of brightly shining stars that no city boy would ever experience.

Something was out their, he thought, but could not for the life of him determine what; it was just a feeling, a bad feeling.

"You’re scarin’ the hell outta’ yourself, butt-hole. Keep it up and you’ll be running home to mama," he would often verbally chastise himself.

Then the strangest thing he had ever experienced happened. Something strange darted across his vision, and it was much too large to be human, and too tall to be any animal he was aware of in the high desert. And this, whatever it was, was moving at a rate of speed far in excess of anything alive he’d ever even heard of.

What the hell! he exclaimed. Than he continued in a calmer voice, Come on, Zach. Knock it off. This desert loves you and you love it back. Hell! You’ve been riding motorcycles across these hills and gullies since you were a child. Nobody in the world can survive here the way you can. Not even that crazy Indian that taught you everything he knows. You can find water where there isn’t any, and it’s almost always fresh and clean enough to drink. You can catch rabbits in your snares, though jackrabbit taste like shit. And you always know where to find rattlesnakes, whose flesh you prefer to a good steak.

Then he laughed out loud, and continued, You damn fool. You spend too much time alone. You don’t just talk to yourself, you answer. Then he did exactly that, by stating, Damn straight I do. That’s the only time I ever get a halfway intelligent response.

He began to pack his gear with the thought of leaving this area immediately. He had decided he had been here too long and would now go visit an establishment he frequented on a regular basis; a bar in Anaheim owned by lovely twin sisters, and appropriately named; The Sin Twisters.

Though Zachary Magary spent a goodly amount of his time alone and admittedly talked too much to himself, he was not a morose person or any kind of a hermit. In fact, he not only enjoyed the company of others on occasion, he actually required it. However, he was a born scrapper, and although at one time or another he’d been thrown out of most of the bars in two counties for brawling, he always fought with a smile on his face and was usually welcomed back.

He was six feet tall and weighed a never fluctuating two hundred and twenty pounds, with the density of a weight lifter, which he just happened to be. With his dark curly hair and his wide set, deep brown eyes, in conjunction with a pure, clear white around those superb iris’, the unknowing might assume him to be a teetotaler, nothing could be further from the truth.

Zach was one of those unassuming young men that draw women like moths to a flame. He had no idea why, but was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It might have had something to do with his gift of gab, along with the comfort he felt in the presence of women. But his once broken nose, sensuous lips and strong chin might also have had something to do with his compelling magnetism.

He was full in his cups at the present time, and attempting to con a lovely young thing to accompany him into the desert to dig for gold. She was very close to succumbing to his charm, and when he guaranteed they would dig less than make love, she was not just ready, but almost dragged him out to his own car in order to make the trip immediately.

Zachary had several ways to negotiate the high desert. He could take his 1986 Ford Tempo with all of his equipment stacked inside, including his tent. He could borrow a van from a friend, or do it the way he liked best. This time he decided to travel the way he preferred, and in comfort.

He stopped by the storage yard to pick up his 1979, fully rebuilt and reconditioned Rollalong. This was a twenty-five foot mini-motor home on a one-ton Ford van chassis, with a powerful, Ford four-sixty cubic inch engine. Zach had been known to declare that this sucker could climb a tree.

Though he loved the comfort of the motor home, he did not ordinarily take this vehicle to his claim, because of the washboard condition of both Copper City and Coolgardie roads. He had already had to replace both black and gray water tanks twice in the last year, and that to the tune of six hundred and fifty dollars each time. But with pretty little Nikki along as company, he opted to risk damage to his tanks just so they might shower of an evening in the event he got lucky.

Within the last year, Zach had spent two weeks digging in the desert on three separate occasions, with three different guys, men he believed he could get along with for that lengthy a period of time, and interestingly enough he had never seen any of those erstwhile companions again. He was beginning to get a complex, even though he knew for a fact that he and all three had gotten along famously. He had returned them all to the parking lot of the bar in which they’d met, and that was the last he’d seen of any of them. He smiled, and thought, better do something about my breath, I reckon.

It was a two-hour trip to Barstow and another one and a half to the claim, and Zach was forced to physically restrain his traveling companion to prevent her from attempting to make love to him while he drove. He finally told her where the one hundred proof vodka was, and though he was himself a beer drinker, indulged in a couple of shots so Nikki would partake in order to mellow out, or pass out, either one would suit him just fine. Maybe, he thought, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

Sometime later, as Nikki sat in the companion chair next to him, he observed her with her mouth slack, and curly blonde locks tumbling over her face, and had to admit that though when he met her he was drunk out of his gourd, this was not one of those that tempted you to gnaw off your arm under her head to get away the morning after. In fact, he thought further, this was a keeper. She had a small but magnificently proportioned body. And a tiny pert nose covered with freckles, along with soft, full lips and a disarming pink tongue lulling from her perfect mouth between those same inviting lips. Observing her vulnerability made Zach want to protect her from all the despicable things he knew were out and about in this imperfect world.

At long last, they reached Zach’s claim. It was early morning on a day in July; not the hottest day in these climes, but with an over one hundred degree temperature, the weather should have satisfied the staunchest of sun worshipers, as it did Zachary Magary who loved the desert heat.

Zach, in his fascination with gold, set up his dry washer a mechanism he lovingly referred to as the demon from hell, because of its insatiable appetite for dirt. He grabbed his shovel, stripped off his shirt and began to dig.

He had long since decided to allow his sleeping beauty to continue in her alcohol-induced repose. He was perspiring profusely while feeding desert sand to his insatiate machine that ran on batteries, detesting the engine driven devises that so disturbed the quietude and serenity of the peaceful setting that made him believe that nothing existed in the world but him, his shovel and this greedy, devil machine. He began to reflect on his initial meeting with the young lady now occupying a front seat in his motor home.

He prided himself in having never started a fight, but he supposed that to ogle a lady on the arm of another man did make you some responsible for whatever confrontation was forthcoming, and as to ogling this pretty little blonde, he would have to plead guilty.

Early that night in the bar, the arm to which Nikki was clinging, belonged to a massive individual with one earring dangling almost to his shoulder and an intentionally shaved pate. In Zachary’s mind, the epitome of a ruthless brute, which was just his cup of tea when it came to a good old-fashioned fistfight.

The brute, noticing the attention Zach was paying to his feminine companion, didn’t just disengage from his woman, but actually shoved her away unceremoniously, and approached this ogler sitting at the bar, with fire in his eyes and the certainty of destruction in his attitude. Zach saw the aberration coming and intentionally turned back to the bar and ordered another beer, hoping beyond hope, that this large, unkempt fellow would go on about his business.

It was however, not to be, as the bald one laid a heavy hand on Zach’s left shoulder and spun him around so that they were face to face.

You’ve got eyes for my lady, he said, and I don’t tolerate that crap.

You’re absolutely right. And I apologize, sir, stated a contrite Zachary Magary.

The behemoth was so confused he began to sputter, as Zach took the opportunity to further remark, But you have to admit, she is one foxy lady, or is the new vernacular hot? Anyway, you being so damned ugly, it’s almost impossible to imagine that she would be anywhere near you, let alone, with you."

Then before the giant could get his limited, mental mechanism in gear to respond to this obvious challenge, Zach brought his right arm straight up so the palm of that gnarled and weather-beaten hand could engage the younger, bigger man’s jutting chin. And behind that blow was every ounce of two hundred and twenty muscled pounds.

The Hippie hulk