Issue 4: "The Verdant Darkness Affair, Part One"

Last time, on the Danger Trail...

...Cyril “Speed” Saunders, independent adventurer; Hans Von Hammer, legendary Enemy Ace; King Faraday, government agent; and the Man Called Midnight found themselves tangled up with the Queen of Blood, Mary Seward, and the Dragon Queen of Japan; lovers who had united their secret societies in a dangerous scheme to create vampire minions with no weaknesses! Aided by the tortured vampire Andrew Bennett, the target of the united cult of the Blood Red Moon and the Black Dragon Society, the adventurers gained control of the mysterious Ineffable Libram, smashed the villains’ hidden base, and saw Bennett himself run his wife Mary through, to destroy them both in a funeral pyre that consumed the whole temple!

And now, step on...

The Danger Trail!

Issue #4: “The Verdant Darkness Affair, Part One”
Written by: Don Walsh
Cover by: Jayson Myrick
Edited by: Mark Bowers[/center]

The jungles of British Guiana
23^rd May 1935

It was another quiet, desolate scene, the third of its kind, and this just made the woman nervous. She carefully padded through the small jungle village, peering into huts and glancing at all the usual areas where the work of the day would be done. And she found no one in any of them.

She moved though the emptied village as quietly as her surroundings, bare feet making no noise to give her away. Her body, small and slender, was taut, each well-shaped, compact muscle wound tight and prepared for anything.

When nothing happened to uncoil the readied muscles, it only put Rima at more unease. She swept a dark lock of hair from her brow and stared hard at the scene. She moved to the far north of the village, in haste but still silent as the shadows. Dark eyes scanned the paths leading from the village and found the trails she had expected to find when she came across the abandoned homes.

Three tribes, all gone within the last week. All headed north. Every last one of them, down to the last old man and baby daughter. She had seen the signs of work stopped midway, and then left behind. She found no sign of distress, no sign of fear or battle. It was if they all just chose, as one and at once, to leave their homes, and march north. Already, she was far from her own territory. This village was as far north as she had ever gone. This information made her body even more tense.

For a long time, she stared at the trails that led north. They taunted her, with their secrets and their veiled and so-very-subtle threats. Her brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip nervously, and wrung her hands. And then, her svelte leg stepped forward. Then, like water through a burst dam, Rima was storming up the path, determination set in her whole body.

Socorro, Texas
15^th June 1935

“Enough with the heat, already,” Midnight growled under his breath as he hurtled down the narrow asphalt strip that connected the small town of Socorro to the sprawling city of El Paso just north. It was night, nearing his namesake hour, and he hunched over the wheel of his borrowed roadster. For some reason, the heat of the day hadn’t dissipated like normal, and ominous clouds lurked on the horizon, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. He’d discarded his jacket, and his black tie hung loose around his unbuttoned shirt collar as he sped along the roadway.

He knew he was racing the clock. He’d been at this investigation for a week with very little to show for it, and that with the heat combined to leave him bitterly frustrated. He shouldn’t even be down here, so far from home, but Juan Diego, he’d asked this favor of David Clark, and so here he was. Juan was one of the better effects men in the radio business, and he and Dave had gotten to be good friends in the last couple of months. Midnight sighed as his mind’s eye replayed the conversation that got him stuck down here.

”What’s wrong, buddy?” David Clark asked as he plopped heavily into the chair opposite the older, spare-looking gentleman of Hispanic descent. Gaunt cheeks and dark, dull eyes looked up from a weathered face at the radio personality, and he slid a photograph across the table.

“His name is Manuel. My nephew. My only family, outside of his mother,” Juan Diego answered as he watched Dave pick up the small picture in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. “He went missing the other day. And he’s not alone, Dave.”

The younger man sipped at his beer and looked over at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“He’s the fifth. In two weeks, all down where my sister lives,” he said softly. “The police are stumped. They’ve been no use.”

“That’s a raw deal, pal,” Dave said as he tried to hand the picture back. “Wish I could do something for you.”

Juan waved the picture off, making Dave keep it. “You can though. I know you can. Or at least, someone a lot like you, Dave.”

“Not sure I catch your drift, Juan,” Dave replied warily now, taking a longer pull of his beer.

“Please. This will kill his mother. They’re all I have left.” His eyes stared up and met Dave’s and the bulky man felt his heart melt. He nodded his head as he pocketed the picture.

“Now I have a lead,” he muttered to himself. “Some lead. Activity in Cordova Island.” He again growled low as he took a sudden left. He had learned that a woman was responsible; several women he suspected, because they could be found over a long stretch of the U.S.-Mexican border in far too short a time. The woman sounded very similar in each instance, and several people mentioned seeing gringo children in Cordova Island with the woman. At least briefly.

“Of course, where the hell is there an island in Texas?” Midnight asked no one in particular. No, for days I’ve been trying to find a damned island. It’s not an island. No, it’s worse than that.

He continued to drive into a more heavily-built area now. The road became more broken, the buildings low and clustered like they held dark secrets from the masked intruder. People lurked in the corners and down the shadowy alleys, and Midnight took a deep breath. This was Cordova Island, he learned. A part of Mexico, in the States. Effectively leaving it with no law at all. . Perfect for a criminal enterprise like a kidnapping conspiracy. He pulled the car over to the side of a street, before a rundown church, and parked it.

“Now if I could just figure out why all the women look the same. That’s got to be part of it.” He plucked his hat from the passenger seat and plopped it on his head, straightened his tie, and headed out into the dark to get more answers.

Cordova Island
19^th June 1935

It had to be the longest four days Midnight had ever spent on a case. Days of record heat only gave way to nights of record heat as he pounded his way through these crooked, darkened, twisted streets.

A pair of thugs in an alley left broken gave nothing of use.

A garage selling stolen auto parts held three beaten criminals and a hint of some bar.

Broken glass and battered door led into a bar where a half-dozen bruisers were nursing cut lips and blackened eyes, and gave him nothing but a group of racketeers on the far side of the island.

A shabby-looking residence found three battered gangsters and gave up a name at last. Too bad it didn’t provide Midnight with any help. La Llorona.

“The weeping woman?” Midnight muttered as he headed back out into the night, bruised knuckles and a fat lip hinting at the amount of struggle this investigation was offering.

It was the back of a bookstore where a craps game was being run that brought him some more answers.

“Si, la Llorona!” cried the remaining conscious criminal. <“She seeks her own drowned children and makes off with the children of others searching for them!”>

Midnight grinned and nodded. Finally he was getting somewhere. <“Where does this weeping woman haunt?”>

<“Many rivers! All rivers! Anywhere along the Rio Bravo!”>

<“That’s not very helpful,”> Midnight sneered as he pulled the criminal closer to him, nose-to-nose now.

<“It’s all I know, honest! She takes them! But maybe Father Rivera knows; the padre knows lots of this spirit business,”> the man suggested in desperation, just wanting to get home now without having to first wake up like his partners.

<“Rivera?”> Midnight asked and watched the man nod in confirmation. The head of the church where he had left his car parked in front of days ago. He could only chuckle at the news and dropped the criminal to the ground.

Midnight marched from the back of the building and made his way on foot across the breadth of this lawless section of city. He saw the run-down church coming up on the horizon and grinned at the thought of maybe getting a decent clue. Whatever this kidnapping ring was about, clearly the women were using this legend of a weeping woman ghost as a cover.

“Hey there, pal! Long time, no see! Got the time?” Speed Saunders called out from where he sat on the running board of the vigilante’s car. “Get it? Got the time? Midnight?”

King Faraday merely shook his head at the terrible joke as he walked around the rear of the car to move in front of the masked man.

“What are you two doing here?” Midnight asked, surprised to see the pair. He came to a quick stop several steps away from the agent, fists clenched, body taut.

“Calm down, Midnight,” Faraday assured him. “Two of the kids taken were from just over the border, in New Mexico. Made this interstate, and dumped it into the FBI’s jurisdiction. When reports came in of a masked man on the case, I snapped it up.”

“So what’s the scoop? Anything you need help with?” Speed asked as he stood up and approached the vigilante, hand out to shake.

“Yeah, I guess, sure. I mean, it’s more like I should ask if the G-man needs my help, right?” Midnight admitted with a rueful grin, shaking Speed’s hand. He filled the pair in as he led them the rest of the way into the church, and the three paused.

It was dark, as expected. It smelled heavily of old dry wood soaked with incense and smoke from hundreds of masses, mingled with the stale scent of sweat from hundreds of heated ceremonies. The heat almost seemed to coalesce and grow heavy with the dark wooden walls, and the three blinked to adjust to the dim light.

“Father Rivera? Padre?” Midnight called out. “We need to talk to you about a ghost story. La Llorona. Can you help us out?” The three spread out and started down the aisles toward the front of the church.

“Are you here?” Speed added, looking around, absorbed in the dim and worn images that marked the Stations of the Cross. He finally noticed that there was very little noise coming from any of them. Even less than he’d expect, in a creaky, ramshackle building like this.

“Nothing. No one here.” King Faraday paused up at the altar for his partners. “What now?”

“The rectory. Maybe he’s asleep. It is kind of late,” Midnight suggested. The darkness crept in around them, and they all sensed it, looking around and at each other. “This is just eerie.”

“It is getting darker then?” Speed asked and watched the other two nod in response. “Darn. I was really hoping it was my imagination.”

“It wasn’t,” a fourth voice answered now. Walking down the central aisle toward the altar came a figure, fedora low over his face so that his eyes seemed engulfed in shadow. He had a strong jaw and a steady stride, and broad shoulders under the brown trench coat he wore. His hands were jammed deep into the pockets, and King Faraday noted that his left hand seemed to be toying with something inside that garment. He frowned as he watched the newcomer stop only feet away from them. The figure watched Faraday’s own hand reach behind him, most likely for a gun, while Midnight again went taut and ready for a fight. But Speed Saunders only grinned.

“Yes! Yes!” he cried out, the words ringing across the rafters, hanging in the heated air over them all, as three sets of eyes turned to look at the young man. “Doctor Occult! Now I know I’m on the right track!”