Trail of Terror
ALSO BY JOHN WEST
The Mahdi’s Pathogen – Part 1
The Mahdi’s Pathogen – Part 2
The Aedes Plague
The Doomsday Prophet
The Survivors
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by John West
All rights reserved.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
ISBN: 978-1-5-4398735-5
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
ALSO BY JOHN WEST
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
QUOTATION
PRINCIPLE CHARACTERS
PROLOGUE
PART 1
RACHEL AND MARCY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
PART 2
JOE BIRD
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
PART 3
THE FIRST BODY
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
PART 4
ON THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
PART 5
THE SECOND BODY
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
PART 6
THE ATTACK
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
PART 7
THE STORM
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
For Cleo, Virginia and Robert Fisher
Gone, But Not Forgotten
QUOTATION
“The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”
Albert Einstein
PRINCIPLE CHARACTERS
North Carolina
Joe Bird – NPS Wilderness Ranger - Special Agent in the Investigative Services Branch (Main Character)
Jesse Bird – Employee at Harrah’s Cherokee Valley River Hotel & Casino (Joe’s Father)
Maise Bird – Midwife on Eastern Cherokee Indian Nation Reservation (Joe’s Mother)
Ancil Bird – Personal Injury Attorney (Joe’s Brother)
Robert Huang – Chief Medical Examiner (Last Name Pronounced “Wong”)
Martin West – Special Agent, North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation (SBI)
Darwin Brewer – Sheriff of Cherokee County
Buddy Mills – Sheriff of Macon County
Archie Wahnetah – NPS Ranger for Graham, Swain and Hayward Counties (Joe Bird’s Cousin)
Rodney WalkingStick – Criminal Investigator for Eastern Cherokee Nation Police
Daemon Bailey – The Murderer
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Rachel Robinson – Medical School Graduate
Henry Robinson – Businessman (Rachel’s Father)
Betty Robinson – Teacher (Rachel’s Mother)
Clint Robinson – Assistant District Attorney (Rachel’s Older Brother)
Marcy Thomas – Real Estate Broker (Rachel’s Childhood Friend)
Joseph Thomas – Businessman (Marcy’s Father)
Vivian Thomas – Housewife (Marcy’s Mother)
James Moon – Director, National Park Service (NPS) - Southeast Region
PROLOGUE
THE YOUNG WOMAN OPENED her eyes slowly, her vision a blurry combination of sky, trees and shadows. She couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened, only that she had camped for the night off the hiking trail and someone had assaulted her while she lay asleep in her sleeping bag. She recalled someone covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. Then he choked her until she was unconscious.
Slowly as she regained consciousness, she saw a figure of a man standing above her, grinning.
Like a picture from hell, his face came into focus and she tried to scream, but she couldn’t…she was gagged with duct tape. His cruel eyes. His misshapen yellow teeth. She was certain she’d seen that face before, watching her. She tried to move but couldn’t, she was stretched spread-eagle on her back, her hands and feet were tied to stakes driven in the ground.
She couldn’t move. That’s when the realization struck her like a thunderclap that she was totally helpless. For the first time in her life.
Then she realized he had removed her T-shirt and bra, her hiking shorts and underwear and was going to rape her. She was certain of it and began to cry. He probably wanted her awake so he could enjoy himself…and every part of his sick fantasy that followed.
Oh, God no. He’s smiling and humming as if he were playing a game. His head was tilted to one side.
“Time to meet Satan, my dear,” the killer snickered. He looked curiously at the fear on her face and tears falling from her eyes — that aroused him sexually, and he slowly removed his own clothing until he was stark naked. His erection was full. His chest was completely covered in an ugly satanic tattoo…the image of the devil with its tongue sticking out and red horns adorning his head in a completely horrendous and ghastly manner.
She began to whimper. He was evil personified.
He grabbed his hunting knife, dropped down on his knees between her legs and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. His breath felt like fire and he was foul smelling — like rotted eggs and death — she started to gag.
“You’re just like my whore mother…now you have to pay, that’s why you were chosen,” he hissed in a quiet modulated voice. He pressed the sharp knife against her throat so hard that it broke the skin. Tiny droplets of blood formed on her neck.
That’s when the woman panicked because she knew she had been very wrong. She wasn’t about to be only raped. She was about to be raped, tortured and murdered.
She prayed silently to God as he began to slash her, then she felt herself descending into a gentle peaceful darkness.
+++
HE WAS A WELL-ORGANIZED murderer who plotted his crimes intelligently, skillfully killing in one place and then dumping body parts in other places, so the victims were impossible to identify. He’d acquired a replete understanding of forensic science and procedures so once he finished the grisly job of carefully decapitating her and removing her hands and feet, he placed the five items in his backpack.
He then manipulated the crime scene, covering the decapitated corpse with leaves and debris to hide it and his own tracks, to elude and confuse law enforcement officers. He doubted if the body would be found for days, or even weeks, and what was left of it would have been eaten by animals. He took painstaking efforts to avoid getting captured, and he was also the kind of person who took a great deal of pride in his “handiwork.”
Standing 6-foot-5-inches tall, weighing over 250 pounds and with an IQ of 145, he easily overpowered his victims both mentally and physically. The entire act — the cries, the blood, the agony from his torture
— gave him relaxation and a certain pleasure. Truth be told, in his twisted brain, he saw himself more as a victim rather than a perpetrator.
He prided himself on selecting the most vulnerable members of society to murder, such as runaways, or the homeless, or prostitutes, or lone hikers…always women though. He hated women…they reminded him of his mother.
He carefully sorted through the woman’s possessions, pocketing her money and other valuables, took her food, then stuffed her clothing, sleeping bag and everything else back into her backpack. Taking one last careful survey, he made doubly sure everything was removed from the campsite, then easily walked away carrying the 40-pound load with one hand.
Within minutes, he had walked deep into the mountains, stopping every few minutes to listen to the sounds of the forest, to make certain he was alone. Every time he stopped, his mind would wander back to his volatile childhood, his abusive home — and the feelings of rage and torment that descended into his mind were overpowering.
Like flashbacks in a grade-B horror movie, he remembered everything. His father and mother were both alcoholics; both drunks who physically abused him. Often, so inebriated that they suffered drunken hallucinations and would sometimes talk or argue with people who were not there.
He had been abused terribly as a young child. Since a small child, he was humiliated often — and when his parents meted out discipline, it was unfair, unpredictable, destructive and wicked. Many times, he was forced to dress up as a girl as a form of punishment.
One of the killer’s earliest memories was being beaten so badly with a shovel across the head for wetting his bed, that it knocked him unconscious. By the time he became school age, he began to experience blackouts and when his parents visited him in the hospital, they would call him a “sissy” and a “wimp.” The violent beatings he continued to receive were so severe, he eventually began to suffer from seizures and forms of amnesia.
To make matters worse, he was sexually abused by his uncle, then his parents divorced when he was nine years old and his alcoholic mother blamed him for the divorce. He became so desensitized by age 12 that he began to believe that the emotionally barren world that surrounded him was something normal — he was completely devoid of empathy for others. For a 12-year-old boy, one of the worst things in the world that his mother called him was a “little fag.”
Unlike other children who seemed to thrive on attention and affection, he preferred isolation and disconnection from family and relatives. His home was small, cramped, and tense. Money was scarce and after his father finally left, his mother was left taking care of him without any additional help — she survived as a prostitute, on welfare and they lived on food stamps. Because he was always quiet, he was often left alone, ignored and neglected. His extreme introversion and any developmental issues went unnoticed or were explained by his teachers as a characteristic of being dull-witted and antisocial.
He learned to channel his anger and frustration by dissecting animals in his neighborhood. Those acts of animal cruelty suddenly became his great source of pleasure and he managed to perfect the art completely — later performing the same acts on his human victims. He fantasized killing his own mother and turned to animals to release his frustration. It gave him so much satisfaction, he couldn’t stop killing animals.
By the time he reached high school, he was teased heavily, performed poorly and began having fantasies of killing women. He then dropped out of high school despite having an IQ of 145; only two percent of the population can claim to have an IQ as high as that. But he knew having a high IQ doesn’t necessarily make you smart…one had to be clever if one wanted to succeed in life.
He recalled the school psychologist once told him, “genetics loads the gun, personality and psychology aim it, and life experiences pull the trigger.” He thought the lady was full of shit. He was free to do whatever he wanted — payback time.
As the killer walked deeper into the forest, he rationalized to himself, “I was cheated out of my childhood. When I was a boy, I never had a friend in the world. I’ve never really done anything more serious than driving without a license. The women I’ve killed were all drunks and prostitutes, in fact, I’m doing society a big favor, somebody ought to thank me.”
As he approached a flowing river, the killer smiled with self-satisfaction: he truly believed he was a powerful demon from Hell. He enjoyed the power that he held over others more than anything else. He wholeheartedly believed that he was acting in line with the dark lord’s will. In fact, Satan even spoke to him, ordering him to murder someone. He knew Satan would help him avoid responsibility; he’d made many sacrifices to him. He’d tried as a young child to turn to God, but it didn’t bring him any relief or happiness.
Once he began praying to Satan, things improved. He had killed his own mother years ago, then he became whole.
Having disposed of her body parts and tossing the woman’s possessions in the deep rapids of the river, he cautiously looked around the riverbank in all directions, then walked silently into the woods back to the safety of the mountains…to his safe place in his cave, another successful kill completed.
He experienced a deep sense of peace once again.
PART 1
RACHEL AND MARCY
CHAPTER 1
JOSEPH AND VIVIAN THOMAS strolled leisurely down the sidewalk, beneath the canopies of stately centuries-old magnolia, tulip poplar and hickory trees, with their daughter Marcy. Fortunately, it was a sunny Saturday and a gentle breeze was blowing; it was a typical hot muggy overcast late mid-April afternoon in Atlanta, Georgia. Not sweltering like it would be in July and August. They both loved living in Atlanta, it was similar to Seattle, Washington culturally, but it had an East Coast twist, and just a hint of Southern-ness.
They had to park their Mercedes a block away from their destination because both sides of the residential street were clogged with parked cars, SUVs and pickup trucks of every type imaginable. They were headed to the house of their longtime friends, Henry and Betty Robinson, on McLendon street in Lake Claire to attend the graduation party in honor of their daughter Rachel. She had just graduated earlier in the day from four grueling years study at the Medical College of Georgia in Augusta, simply referred to as “MCG,” the flagship medical school of the University System of Georgia; the state’s only public medical school, and one of the top 10 largest medical schools in the United States.
Lake Claire was an old upper-middle-class neighborhood on the east side of Atlanta, comprised of approximately 1,200 homes. It was situated entirely in the DeKalb County side of the city, east of Candler Park, north of Kirkwood, and west of Decatur. The thing that made Lake Claire so highly desirable was the low crime and urban feel — there were a lot of restaurants, coffee shops, and parks within walking distance. Most of the people living there were families, business owners and professionals, they owned their own homes and the residents tended to be conservative. They also tended to be wealthy. The public schools in Lake Claire were way above average and most graduating seniors drove BMWs, Audis and Lexus’s, and went on to college.
The Thomas’s were second generation owners and Co-Presidents of the family owned and operated Waldemere Real Estate Company, which was founded by her father, Walter Jacobson, in 1972. Joseph was Co-President and Chief Executive Officer of Waldemere and responsible for the core infrastructure functions and franchise expansion of the growing company. He was staunchly Republican, small in stature and dressed like Pee-Wee Herman. His wife Vivian oversaw the operational support, systems, and programs to more than 200 franchises. She was all about the task; getting things done and getting them done right. The bossy, classic American stereotype…a Roseanne Barr type-woman who could be the poster child for assertiveness.
Their 26-year-old daughter Marcy helped run six family-owned offices throughout Atlanta, Athens, Augusta, Savannah, Columbus, and Macon. She inherited much of her mother’s outspoken personality, including her penchant for fast food.
The Robinson and Thomas families had been close friends for nearly 30 years, they often vacationed and camped together, it was only natural that their daughters Rachel and Marcy had grown up as best friends, becoming almost inseparable. The two girl’s early childhood years were spent together participating in Girl Scouts, summer camps and high school sports activities together. They’d even gone to Emory University and roomed together. Rachel attended on a track scholarship and was ranked in the top ten of the NCAA 400-meter women hurdlers for four straight years. She was nose-to-the-grindstone and attractive enough that she’d been offered a professional modeling job — but turned it down. Marcy spent most of her four years as a zany party animal, quirky as ever, rocking it. Despite their different personalities and approaches to academia, they both received their undergraduate degrees on the same day four years earlier — Rachel a degree in chemistry, Marcy a degree in marketing.