Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #14

“‘The Worms of the Earth’...thet’s whut the Indians call ‘em in the old tales. They were supposed tuh be older’n mankind, more advanced, an’ they tried tuh enslave some of the early tribes. The Indians fought back an’ drove ‘em underground, which is where they stayed ‘til white folks began homesteadin’ on Indian land. The Worms rose up again, so me an’ a bunch of fellas had tuh whup ‘em so’s they’d quit eatin’ up cattle an’ people an’ such.”

Jonah and Greg were sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck, with the animal carrier holding the mutilated carcass of the Worm on the ground before them. Earlier, they’d locked the Lopez brothers in the back of the delivery truck (their best option since they had no squad car), then Greg called the station in Warpath and asked for a crew to be sent out while Jonah retrieved their motorcycles. With nothing else to do but wait, Greg had Jonah fill him in on this “Worm” business, though he wasn’t too fond of what he was hearing. “Did you just say they eat people?”

“Eat the men an’ rape the women, if’n yuh want tuh pick nits. Hell, from whut Ah heard, they’d rape anything they could get their claws on, ‘specially the ones thet were half-Worm.”

“You mean like half human and half that?” Greg pointed towards the carcass.

“Yep...an’ the result is just as ugly as yuh think it is. Looks like this fella here is all Worm, though, so maybe they ain’t gotten busy again yet.” As Jonah spoke, he began to rub his palms against the sleeves of his dark gray shirt, like he was cold. “‘Course, whut’s really got me puzzled is how the damn thing is even here. We killed the big Mama Worm whut birthed ‘em, so they should’ve died out ages ago.”

“Maybe they’re a long-lived species, or this one could be from another group of Worms.”

“The latter seems likely. The ones we fought were up in the Texas Panhandle, an’ presumably the Los Magos fella brought this one from Mexico. Ah know Worms are good at burrowin’, but there’s gotta be at least five hunnert miles between here an’ there.”

A silence fell between them as they each mulled over the situation, then Greg began to sing under his breath in Spanish, “They fought the dragons deep in their lair...”

“Whut’re yuh goin’ on about, Saunders?”

“It’s from a narcocorrido...a song written about drug cartel or kingpin. It’s like Mexican gangsta rap...and you have no idea what that is so why am I botherin’ to explain it that way.” Greg sighed, then said, “You remember how some outlaws like the James gang or Billy the Kid would become folk heroes? It’s kinda the same thing, only in this case, the cartels usually hire the musicians to write these songs in their honor. When dragon sweat began hittin’ the area, I tracked down the musician Los Magos favored and convinced him to do some spy work for me.”

“He’s the contact yuh were talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yep. Tonight’s lead was the first solid one he ever gave me. Anyhow, I was thinkin’ that...” He paused and looked at Jonah, who was now wringing his hands together. “Are you okay there?”

“Thet gunk won’t come off. Don’t remember Worms bein’ so slimy.”

“Yeah, it is kinda gross.” Greg examined his own hands and said, “Glad I wear gloves with my costume...gonna have to clean ‘em when we get home.” He peeled off the gloves so they were inside out, then stuffed them in his back pocket. “I brought some water along, maybe you can wash the slime off.” He eased himself off of the tailgate, hobbled over to the motorcycles, and pulled a bottle of spring water out of the saddlebag attached to the back of his cycle. As he walked over to Jonah again, he saw that his friend was now tearing at the skin with his fingernails, to the point where droplets of blood were falling onto his jeans. “What in...Jonah, stop it!” He dropped the bottle and tried to grab Jonah by the wrists, but the man jerked away so hard that he fell off the tailgate. “What the Hell is wrong with you?” Greg asked, but Jonah didn’t seem to hear, as he kept on tearing at his bloody hands, all the while muttering something incoherent. Greg had no idea what was causing this behavior, but getting Jonah to quit injuring himself seemed like a good plan of action, so Greg once again made a grab for his wrists, this time succeeding. “Dammit, Hex, quit fightin’ me!” Greg yelled as he pinned the man to the ground. “Tell me what’s goin’ on!”

Jonah stared right through Greg as he gasped, “Crawlin’...‘side me...eatin’...” He suddenly cried out and banged his head on the dry earth. “Nnngh...God! Geddout!”

“What are you talkin’ about? Is the ring makin’ you act like this?” But Jonah didn’t answer, he just continued to thrash about as if possessed. Then Greg noticed the foamy line of spittle running out of the corner of Jonah’s mouth. “Can’t be...” Greg muttered, then his eyes darted over to the animal carrier as the pieces all clicked into place. “Jonah, listen to me. You’ve been dosed with dragon sweat. Whatever you’re seein’ isn’t real, it’s just the drug playin’ with your mind. You’re gonna have to ride it out, y’hear?” Even as he said the words, Greg knew it wouldn’t be that simple: a dragon sweat trip could last for hours, sometimes days if the dose was large enough. Once the boys arrived, they’d have to get Jonah to the hospital and try to detox him, or at the very least keep him strapped to a bed until the drug wore off. Greg was silently debating whether he should tie him up during the interim when Jonah suddenly stiffened, then relaxed, the flesh of his body becoming gray and desiccated as he did so. Though Greg was aware of Jonah’s occasional “condition”, this was the first time he’d seen it, and he immediately let go of his friend and backpedaled away from the body, thinking, Oh Christ, it killed him. Then Jonah let out a groan and sat up, cradling his head in his bony hands. Not knowing how else to say it, Greg asked, “Are you gonna be okay, Hex?”

“Think this’ll take a few minutes,” Jonah replied, his voice taking on an unearthly tone that made the hair on the back of Greg’s neck stand up. “Everything was a mite fuzzy there...did yuh say something ‘bout me bein’ drugged?”

“I’m almost positive. You’re probably not familiar with the notion of lickin’ toads to get high, are you?”

“Ah beg yer goddam pardon?”

“I know, who’d think of something like that, but it really is a thing. There’s certain poisonous toads that you can get a buzz off of if you ingest just a little bit of that poison. I’m thinkin’ maybe these Worms of yours have something similar going on.”

“Ah didn’t lick the damn thing.”

“No, but you got slime all over your hands...or more accurately, your skin...while I didn’t get any on me because I was wearing gloves. I know it sounds crazy, but I think the Los Magos boys are makin’ dragon sweat out of that slime.” The majority of Hex’s body had finally reverted back to a living state -- the skin on his hands was still regenerating, but at least the slime was now gone -- so Greg came back over to sit next to him. “Y’know that narcocorrido I was singing? It’s a story about how Los Magos fought against a nest of dragons, cut their bellies open, and drew out piles of gold. I made the connection pretty quick that the ‘dragons’ were probably your Worms, but it didn’t occur to me that this drug might be exactly what its name says it is until you started foamin’ like a rabid dog.”

“Reckon thet explains why the fella killed it. He was hopin’ we wouldn’t figure it out.” Jonah shook his head, both in disbelief and to clear his mind. “Damnation, why would anybody want tuh take something thet makes yuh feel like there’s bugs crawlin’ around inside of yuh?”

“Sounds like you had a bad trip. It can vary from one dose to the next. Just be glad your body was able to flush it out all at once. I was about to hogtie you.”

Jonah sat quietly for a moment, then said, “Ah don’t remember nothin’ like this happenin’ back the first time Ah ran into ‘em. ‘Course, most of them Worms would bite yer arm clean off if’n yuh got close enough tuh touch one.”

“Well, not all toads are poisonous, either. If this is from another group of Worms, then maybe they evolved a little dif’rent.”

“Whut about yer musician friend? If’n he’s been singin’ ‘bout these Worms, then thet means he’s known ‘bout ‘em all this time.”

“I’d like to think he would’ve told me in advance if he’d seen one. It’s more’n likely that Los Magos told him about their finding the ‘dragons’ lair’, and he thought they were speaking figuratively. Hell, that’s what I thought.” Greg saw a light off in the distance and stood up, saying, “Looks like the crew’s rollin’ in.” Jonah followed his gaze to see two SUVs with police markings coming their way, as well as an ambulance and a truck that reminded him of Maggie’s rig, except this one had a long, flat bed like a lumber car. Realizing they’d be here within minutes, Jonah had the ring make him a pair of gloves to cover his still-healing hands. Maybe once he got to know these Warpath lawmen better, he’d let them in on his secret, but certainly not from the get-go.

The vehicles carefully drove through the maze of speaker poles that dotted the drive-in’s landscape until they reached the spot where Jonah and Greg stood. From out of one of the SUVs came a bear of a man, followed by a much-smaller man dressed in blue. “Heard you had a fun night, boss,” the big man said to Greg.

“Yep, damn shame you missed it.” As the newcomers walked over, Greg made a sweeping gesture with his hand, saying, “Boys, I’d like you to meet Jonah Hex...he’s the freelancer I was telling you about. Jonah, this here’s Silver and Henry.”

They shook hands all around, with Silver saying to him, “Welcome to the Wild Bunch.”

“Wild Bunch?” Jonah echoed, giving Greg a sideways glance.

“It’s just a nickname some of the boys gave themselves after a crazy incident a few years back. I’ll explain some other time.”

“Yuh’d best do thet.” So far as Jonah could remember, the name ‘Wild Bunch’ was associated with a couple of outlaw gangs in the 1890s -- not exactly fitting for a group of (presumably) respectable lawmen.

Henry was leaning over to take a look inside the animal carrier. “What the heck is in here? It stinks like one of Trevor’s socks.”

“Don’t touch it!” Greg ordered, then said loudly so all the other officers around could hear, “Everybody put on gloves before you handle anything in the area, including the vehicles, and don’t your bare skin brush anything. There’s a good chance that some of this stuff might have dragon sweat on it. We’ve already had one close call tonight, and I don’t want another.”

“What’s going on?” Silver asked.

“We think that thing in there is the source of dragon sweat,” Greg said, pointing at the carrier, “and if you’re not careful, you could get a contact buzz from it.”

Henry backed away from the carrier, hands held high. “If I’d known, I would’ve brought a hazmat suit. I don’t want to end up like one of those droolers.”

“If you put on some gloves, you should be fine,” he replied. “Go find a tarp or something to wrap that carrier in before you put it in the SUV. I want you guys to run it over to Saint James Medical so Trece can look it over. I already called ahead.”

“Ain’t nothin’ tuh look at. Damn thing’s dead,” Jonah said to Greg.

“Yeah, but we’ll need concrete proof that it’s the source of the drug if we want to use it as evidence.” He began to walk over to the ambulance so one of the EMTs could look at his injured leg, and Jonah followed. “If we can’t prove it, then all we’ve got is possible animal cruelty charges, and that sure as Hell won’t net us the rest of Los Magos.”

“Whut about them Lopez boys?” Jonah hitched a thumb at the delivery truck.

Greg stopped and muttered, “Damn, I almost forgot about ‘em. Tag an officer to help you hustle them into the other SUV. And remember: No rough stuff. They’ve got rights.”

Jonah grunted, but did as ordered. He hadn’t been at this “freelance” job for a day yet, and already the rules and regulations were chafing him. But he was going to keep at it, at least until this matter with the Worms was resolved...not that he relished the notion of facing those monsters again. The first time he’d fought them roughly a hundred and thirty-five years ago had been bad enough, but now he would have to contend with both Worms and crazy drug-running Mexicans, and he didn’t know which was worse.

His discomfort over the whole situation was stirring up the black ring. As Jonah waited over by the motorcycles for Greg and his fellow officers to wrap things up, the ring asked him, [Jonah Hex of Earth is at peace?] It had done this repeatedly ever since he’d been accidentally dosed, and each time he’d silently told it he was fine. Unfortunately, the ring knew that wasn’t the case and continued to pester him. “Ah don’t think Ah’m gonna be at peace fer a while yet,” he finally told the ring under his breath. “Maybe thet’s a good thing, ‘cause if’n these Worms are as nasty as the ones Ah ran into all them years ago, bein’ peaceable ain’t gonna help one bit.”

Hours later, Greg came up to his office to find Jonah tilted back in the desk chair, a light snore coming from beneath the hat pulled over his face. “Hey, wake up, old man,” Greg said, and jostled Jonah’s shoulder. The bounty hunter mumbled something, then pushed his hat back as he sat up. “At least one of us got some rest,” Greg mused.

“Time is it?” Jonah asked, still half-asleep.

“Quarter ‘til six.” He cocked his head slightly. “You feelin’ okay? You look a mite peaked again.”

“Dreamin’ ‘bout Ears.”

“Do you normally dream about body parts?”

“No, no...Ears was a person. Had big ol’ jug handles.” Jonah put his hands on either side of his head and pulled his ears to they stuck out. “First time Ah saw a Worm was when it bit Ears in half. Ate everything from the waist up ‘cept them ears of his.”

Greg got a concerned look on his face for a moment, then said, “Maybe I should just send you home. This Worm stuff is too personal for you.”

“Ain’t goin’ home.” Jonah stood up and rolled his shoulders, making his back crack. “Ah’m gonna see this thing through. Yuh want tuh revoke thet whole ‘freelance’ deal with me once we’re done, fine, but Ah want tuh be sure these Worms are wiped out fer good this time.”

“I never considered revokin’ the deal, but I do think you’re better out there than in here.” Greg smirked. “The ‘out there’ part is more fun anyways. Less paperwork.”

“Amen tuh thet.” He rubbed hand over his face and said, “So, did them Lopez boys talk with their damn lawyer or not?”

“They did, and as I suspected, she convinced them to tell us everything they knew in exchange for some of the charges being dropped.”

“Yuh mean we gotta let them go?”

“Not right away.” Greg sat on the edge of the desk as he told Jonah, “They’ll do a little jail time, but nowhere near as much as they would’ve if they hadn’t cooperated. Problem is, they didn’t know a whole lot. Los Magos contacted them via the Internet about distributin’ dragon sweat, and they’d never met any members of the cartel until tonight. They didn’t even have a way to get a hold of Los Magos: the cartel always initiated the contacts, and the brothers claim both the email and IP addresses Los Magos used were masked.” He waved a hand when he saw the blank look on Jonah’s face. “Never mind, it’s technical junk. Rusty’s workin’ on their smartphones right now to see if maybe there’s some trick Los Magos might’ve missed.”

“Whut about the Worm? Do they know where it came from?”

“According to them, they didn’t know the ‘dragon’ they were coming to pick up was real until they saw the thing in the back of the truck. It’s like I was saying before about the narcocorrido: You hear the words, but you don’t think they’re being literal. Sure, we live in a world full of aliens and people that can fly, but that doesn’t mean folks believe right off the bat that everything fanciful is real.”

“Like thet musician fella yuh was talkin’ about,” Jonah said. “Speakin’ of which, why cain’t he tell us where Los Magos is hidin’?”

“Because the guys in Los Magos don’t fully trust him, either. Their whole gig is based on secrecy: Always wearin’ masks, never usin’ their real names, this stupid business with the Internet. He’s known Los Magos for about three years now, going back to when they just smuggled people across the border, so he has been to their hideout quite a few times. Trouble is, they always blindfold him on both the trip in and out, the same as they’ve done with the people they smuggled. They also keep him under guard while he’s there, won’t even let him bring his phone along. All the guy can tell me for sure is that it’s in a cavern somewhere. They’ve got it all tricked out, but it’s a cavern nonetheless.”

“The dragons’ lair,” Jonah said under his breath. He remembered descending into the tunnel system that the Worms had dug in order to fight them on their own turf. Some of the tunnels appeared to go on for miles, and they were all infested with the murderous creatures. Once again, the prospect of repeating such acts was not appealing.

His ruminations were cut off by the ringing of Greg’s cell phone. The lawman pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, then tapped a few buttons. “Looks like it’s time to saddle up again,” he told Hex.

“Whut’s goin’ on?”

“Got a text from the doc,” said Greg, who was already walking out of the office. “She found something of interest on your little Worm friend that she wants to show us.”

The reservation in question belonged to the Tohono O’odham tribe, and straddled the U.S. and Mexico. Thanks to its sovereign-nation status and small police force, it had been the favored stomping ground of smugglers for years, and as Greg and the others saw once they pulled up the phone’s GPS map, the entrance to the cave lay just within a mile of the O’odham border. Needless to say, this was a little outside of their jurisdiction, so Greg had to call in a few favors. By the time the clock crept towards 10 A.M., he’d assembled a team of a dozen officers (counting himself and Jonah) to make a raid on the Los Magos hideout. The smuggler’s truck had been pressed back into service to lead the caravan out there, with an officer behind the wheel wearing a devil mask and clothes similar to the Los Magos man’s -- should there be a lookout, it was hoped they would spot this truck first before the other vehicles trailing a half-mile behind.

Jonah rode in the back of one of the SUVs, with Greg up front in the passenger seat and a federal marshal named Smythe driving. The marshal had worked with the Warpath P.D. before on a case, so Greg had asked for him specifically to act as liaison for both the O’odham tribal police and (since this involved illegal border crossings) U.S. Homeland Security. As they drove down a rutted back road, Smythe asked, “So, you any relation to that other Jonah Hex? The bounty hunter? I’d read somewhere that he had kids that became lawmen...”

“He’s a distant relation,” Greg answered for him, to Jonah’s relief. He hadn't given much thought yet as to what to do if somebody made the connection between his past life and his current one.

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Smythe said as he looked at Jonah in the rearview mirror, “there certainly isn’t a family resemblance.” The marshal chuckled, as did Greg, while Jonah just stared out the window at the mesquite growing alongside the road.

As they reached the area where the cave was located, Greg signaled down the line for the caravan to stop, and let the decoy truck go on ahead alone. The plan was for the driver -- along with the officer hiding in the back of the truck -- to find the cave entrance using the GPS coordinates they’d found, then report back to Greg if the way was clear. As they waited, Greg called the station to see if Rusty had made any progress in cracking the memory on the Los Magos man’s phone. There was only one entrance marker loaded into the map, and they were under the impression that there were multiple entrances on the U.S. side at least. Unfortunately, they couldn’t wait around in the hope that they’d find and block off every possible escape route: it had been over ten hours since Greg and Jonah had nixed the exchange, and the remaining members of the cartel were sure to be on high alert since their man never returned. If they delayed the operation any longer, there was a good chance Los Magos would be long gone before they even got there.

Nearly twenty minutes passed between the truck dropping out of sight and the call coming in over the walkie-talkie. Not wanting to waste another second, Greg gave the “forward” signal as soon as the officer told him there was no one in sight. The caravan proceeded through the foothills until they saw the truck parked beside a rocky slope, with their disguised officer standing nearby and waving the devil mask like a flag. “Where’s Davis?” Greg asked as he climbed out of the SUV.

“Down there,” the officer said, his English accent contrasting against Greg’s drawl. “It’s just a hole in between some rocks. We had to roll a few aside to even get into it.”

Jonah peered down the slope at the collection of boulders indicated. “Ah was expectin’ something big enough tuh drive thet truck through.”

“Probably had one of his buddies help him haul the Worm through the caves, with the truck already parked on this side,” Greg replied. “The check we ran on the plates said it was stolen two days ago.” He turned to the officer, who was lighting up a smoke. “Trevor, pick out a couple of guys to stand guard with you topside. We don’t know if anyone from Los Magos has gone out searchin’ for their comrade, and I don’t want them sneakin’ up on us.”

Trevor sketched off a salute. “You got it, mate.”

“Everybody else, gets your butts down the slope. And make sure you’ve all got on protective gear...that means bulletproof vests and gloves of some kind. You’ve all been briefed on these creatures, and I don’t want anybody going goofy on me because they stuck their hand in some slime.” Greg began to head down the slope, favoring his wounded leg as best he could -- a sensible man would’ve stayed topside, but he’d suffered worse injuries as the Vigilante, and wasn’t going to let a little thing like a stab wound hinder him. When they got to the hole, Greg looked at Jonah and said, “You’ve got the experience...wanna take the lead?”

“Yo’re all heart.” Jonah slipped feet-first into the hole. The cave beyond was only about four feet in height, so Jonah had to crouch as he moved away from the entrance. The floor sloped sharply downward, and he soon found that he could stand upright, though the passage remained narrow -- ridges had been carved into the floor to help with footing. The others soon filed in, each of them producing a flashlight as they advanced into the darkness. “Where’s thet Davis fella?” Jonah said as they moved further down into the cave.

“Over here.” A light bobbed into view before them, illuminating a bend in the path. As the group reached it, they saw it opened onto a new chamber, this one about ten feet across and at least as tall. A path had been worn into the cave floor, leading off to parts unknown. “Lots of footprints down here,” Davis told them, “but no other signs of life.”

Greg said to Jonah, “What about you? See anything out of the ordinary?”

Jonah searched the walls. The black ring granted him perfect night vision, but it couldn’t show him something that just plain wasn’t there. “Nothin’. Place is a damn tomb.”

“There’s a lovely thought,” Silver muttered nearby.

“Okay, we proceed as planned. I want weapons drawn, but nobody fires without my orders. We don’t need to be shootin’ at shadows.” Greg pulled his own Peacemaker and began to follow the path, saying to Jonah under his breath, “It’s open season for ring-slingin’, though. Just keep it non-lethal.”

“Gotcha,” Jonah replied, silently adding, But if’n Ah see a Worm, Ah’m goin’ full-bore.