The Deadliest Strain

Chapter Four

Boynton Canyon consisted of a dry, rugged landscape boxed in by distant buttes and cliffs of varying shades of red rock. Because of its close proximity to Sedona and the paved roads that added to its accessibility, the canyon crawled with visitors who loved walking its trails. In recent years, the beautiful scenery wasn't the only thing that drew the tourists. Boynton Canyon's popularity had grown tenfold since it was included on a flyer identifying it as a local vortex — a sort of energy field emanating from the inner earth. Whether or not one believed in this bit of modern mysticism, locals and tourists alike agreed that some sort of powerful feeling could be experienced here among the buttes, the crimson cliffs and the natural desert gardens.

It was one of those locals who'd called the police at six in the morning about a red pickup truck sitting in a gully beyond the barricades, not too far off the hiking trail.

In twenty minutes a police cruiser skirted a luxury resort and drove past the signs and around the barricades to the canyon floor to a spot designated for emergency vehicles. Last night, there'd been the report of a stolen red pickup truck from the front of the movie theater. It would be too good if this were the stolen vehicle.

The driver of the cruiser radioed in their location as a young officer stepped out of the vehicle. The sky was overcast, giving the cliffs a grayish hue. This was Sedona's rainy season, but nothing kept the tourists away. In another hour, there'd be quite a few out hiking the trail.

"See anything?" The driver opened the door and stood beside the car.

The younger cop glanced back at him. "The caller mentioned he'd seen it from the Kachina Woman rock formation." He looked down. Tire treads were visible, leading off through the brush. He pointed them out to his partner. "You wanna drive it or hike?"

"Let's walk," the driver replied with a grin. "If we have a couple of lovebirds out there, we don't want to shake 'em up too bad."

"Shake 'em up." The younger cop shook his head. "Who're you kidding? You're just hopin' to see a little skin, Floyd, I know you."

The older cop laughed, and the two started following the tracks. They didn't have to go too far to spot the vehicle in a gully edged by scrubby ponderosa pines. As they moved closer, two coyotes, which looked up at them from the far side of the ditch, turned and trotted off into the brush.

"If somebody's sleeping in that truck," Floyd said, "they don't know nothing about the flash floods out here."

The younger cop nodded. "Starting to look like teenagers took it for a joyride last night and dumped it here."

"Long walk back to town," Floyd replied.

The men approached the vehicle cautiously. In a moment, they were close enough to see the license plate.

"It matches," Floyd said, checking it against the notebook he'd taken out of his shirt pocket.

From some twenty or so yards away, no one appeared to be inside the truck. It looked as if the driver had just run it straight down into the ditch. It was hard up against a pine on one side. Both of the windows were open.

"The driver wouldn't be able to open his door," the younger officer noted.

"He might have got out the other way or just climbed through the window."

Both men approached the truck more cautiously.

"What's that stink?" Floyd asked, looking around.

The younger officer approached the passenger side and then froze, his face going white. A second later, he turned away from the truck and emptied the contents of his stomach into the gully.

"What is it?" Floyd asked, approaching the truck and looking through the open window.

The odor was foul, but the sight was worse. The older cop had never seen anything like this. Two partially decomposed bodies were slouched next to each other on the seat.

Both still had their seat belts on.