Devils Den by Leonard D. Hilley II

Author:Leonard D. Hilley II
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Zombies, Voodoo, FBI Investigation, Dark Fantasy, Wizards
Publisher: Deimosweb Publishing
Published: 2015-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

HOPKINS STOPPED WALKING when he discovered the large pool of blood that coated dry pine needles. Meeks’ gun lay on the ground. The loss of blood was too much for someone to survive. His deputy’s body had to be nearby.

He shook his head in disbelief, stooped down, and picked up the gun with his handkerchief. The safety was still on.

“Damn, never got a shot off.”

“Dispatch,” Hopkins said via transmitter while watching the swamp. “Contact Deputy Shannons and all other available officers. Send them to John McKnight’s pasture where Devils Den is. We have a deputy missing. I believe he’s dead. Over.”

“Copy that.”

He followed the blood trail to the black swampy water. Two narrow lines of needles were mangled and swept aside where Meeks’ feet had been dragged. The path had blood splotches. Whoever had killed Meeks had dragged him into the water. At the edge of the bank was a large bare footprint in the mud. Hopkins tucked his deputy’s gun into his belt and pulled his own. The footprint had to belong to the same person. No coincidence. They were dealing with a serial killer.

Hopkins studied the trail and tried to see the forest line on the other side of the swamp, but the massive tree in the center of the water prevented a clear view. He couldn’t tell if the perpetrator had emerged from the water or was hiding behind the tree.

Near the tree, large bubbles broke the water’s surface. Hopkins released the safety and waited for something to emerge near the tree. He hoped that whoever or whatever had hidden Meeks’ body and possibly taken Justin would reveal itself so he could kill it.

Ripples edged across the water and slowly reduced in strength. Once they disappeared, the swamp was dead and still.

Hopkins listened for movement in the wooded area. Crows cawed. Insects chummed. In the far distance the familiar sound of a helicopter approached. Within a minute the low-flying chopper passed overhead. It was barely a few feet above the treetops.

FBI was painted across the sides and the underside of the chopper.

He holstered his gun and turned to see the helicopter hover and descend to a flat area of the pasture. He didn’t know why the FBI had been notified, but he was thankful for their help and possible insight.

As Hopkins walked to the smoldering campfire, the chopper blades slowed and a large man dressed in a dark suit stepped out. He ducked his head and jogged out of the blades’ perimeter.

“Who’s that?” John asked.

Hopkins shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Marshall carried a briefcase and hurried to meet Hopkins.

“Sheriff,” Marshall said, extending his huge right hand. He towered over Hopkins and his hand seemed to swallow the sheriff’s as they shook hands. He smiled and said in his deep voice, “I’m FBI special agent Marshall Jackson.”

“Sheriff Hopkins.”

“Good to meet you.”

Hopkins frowned. “You’re here because of the missing teenager?”

“That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“The murder?”

Marshall smiled. “The murderer. I’m here to stop him.”

Rita stepped closer. “You know who did it?”

“I’m more than confident who the perpetrator is.

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