Ghere's Inferno Read online

  Ghere's Inferno

  Paul E Cooley

  Contents

  Also by Paul E Cooley

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  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

  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

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Paul E Cooley

  For information about upcoming projects, publishing news, and podcast series, please visit Shadowpublications.com or join Paul’s mailing list.

  The Derelict Saga

  Derelict: Marines (Book 1)

  Derelict: Tomb (Book 2)

  Derelict: Destruction (Book 3) (Q1 2018)

  The Black Series

  The Black

  The Black: Arrival

  The Black: Outbreak

  Children Of Garaaga Series

  Legends of Garaaga

  Daemons of Garaaga

  Other Novels

  Closet Treats

  The Rider (with Scott Sigler)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America

  By Shadowpublications.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Paul E Cooley

  Cover design, cover art, by Scott Pond

  Scott E. Pond Designs, LLC (www.scottpond.com)

  Edited by Sue Baiman

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cooley, Paul Elard

  Ghere’s Inferno//Paul E Cooley. -1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-1-942137-07-8

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  FIRST EDITION: DECEMBER 2017

  For Carolyn Cooley:

  Who taught me how to smile.

  Who taught me to have faith in humanity.

  Who taught me what family means.

  Who always loves.

  For being Mom.

  Chapter 1

  P sat naked on the black asphalt. After days of steamy weather, the blacktop was still warm enough to burn against his balls. He barely noticed; he was too focused on the line of warped and rotting shotgun shacks. Their foundations were falling apart and they listed toward one another like a mouthful of crooked teeth.

  A soft breeze kept the mosquitos away, but did little to alleviate the sticky humidity. A thick layer of moisture-swollen clouds filled the early morning sky, but there would be no rain. The city lights reflected back down, cutting through most of the gloom with a wan glow.

  He lowered a long paintbrush into the red can, twirled his fingers, and slowly pulled it from the liquid. The smell of gasoline stung his nostrils and he grinned.

  He drew the sign on the asphalt, pausing to freshen the brush’s tip with more fuel. When he was finished, he rose and bowed to the sigil. He stepped carefully around it, made his way to the nearest shack, and bowed to it. The swollen wood smiled a crooked smile. His palm itched. He opened it and picked out the wooden match.

  Reaching forward, he struck the match against the side of the shack. His grin widened as it burst into flame. He took a step back, and dropped the match in the slick grass.

  Eager hungry flames licked upward against the soaked wood. He reached down with his left hand and stroked the length of his shaft. When the fire had taken hold and the wood steamed with heat, he quickened the pace.

  Thank you, God whispered.

  His face burned. He felt his chest hair curl. Every cell of his body burned with excitement and the heat. When the roof caught fire, he sprayed his semen into the flames, swooning with the long orgasm.

  Must not linger, God said.

  He nodded, wiped the last drop of cum from the tip of his penis, and headed back to the soft shoulder. He pulled another match from the small box next to the can of fuel. With another quick strike on the ground, he lit the symbol. He smiled as God sighed.

  He stared back at the shotgun shacks. Fluttering teardrops of red, yellow, and blue flicked out from the broken and rotted shingles. A shudder ripped through him and he felt the need to cum again.

  Watch. Remember.

  He sighed as he gathered up his tools and walked quickly to the car. He placed the can and box in the trunk, slid on a pair of shorts and a wife beater, and turned to get into the driver seat. His eyes slid over the burning symbol on the road. The fire was already guttering— God’s eye was closing. No matter. It would open again for him. Anytime he asked. And, anytime It called.

  He shuffled into the car, turned on the ignition, and sped away down the old, broken asphalt. He didn’t need to check the rearview to know the fire was still going. Far away, he could hear the sounds of sirens. But they wouldn’t be for this fire. Not yet. Not here. Soon, though. Soon.

  A few quick turns and he was on the feeder. He joined the traffic on I-45 and kept to the speed limit. In no time, he’d be home. His penis twitched. The fire would make the evening news. His fire. For his God. He and God could commune with the memory. He absently rubbed himself through the gym shorts, grinning as he made his way through the city.

  Chapter 2

  Dawn had kissed the horizon with pink and purple. Emy wiped sweat from her brow, the back of her hand brushing against the scars on her forehead. She’d only been at the site for two hours and already her long, black braid was wet enough to wring.

  She hooded her eyes against the flashing firetruck lights and the powerful mobile halogens. Her eyes felt like the sandman had rubbed diamond dust on her corneas. She walked past her boss to the other end of the site. A path had been set up with plastic sheets so the techs could travel around without destroying evidence. The material was a little slippery, but at least it kept the flat-foots, and her, from contaminating the site.

  When she’d first arrived at the scene, the Houston Fire Department (HFD) had already staunched what was left of the blaze. The air, thick with smoke and the stench of burning wood and plastic, singed her nostrils. The fire hoses had filled the drainage ditches with water, adding to the already punishing humidity.

  Before she’d left the
house, she’d checked the temperature—92° with 72% humidity. The heatwave made the nights ridiculously warm and the days dangerously hot. In the poorer neighborhoods, like this one, the elderly had been dropping dead from heat exhaustion in droves. Without A/C, the houses from the 1930s would easily get into the upper 90s during the night, let alone during the day.

  Blackened, dripping wood lay in heaps. The row of shotgun shacks had abutted one another. When the first one caught fire, the flames spread until they engulfed the entire row, causing the walls of the shacks to fall against one another like dominoes.

  Half-buried wire and spring skeletons of old furniture jutted out from beneath the collapsed roofs and walls. Emy knelt and stared at the nearest jumble of torched and broken wood. “Here,” she said aloud. “This is where it started.”

  She pulled a flashlight from her belt and turned it on. As the light swung across the scorched grass, she saw it—a footprint. Emy reached into the pocket of her Arson jacket and dragged out a collapsible flag. She unfolded it and shoved its end into the ground next to the print.

  Emy swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down her nose. Although the jacket was made for warm conditions, it was stifling. The residual heat of the fire coupled with the ridiculously hot summer morning made it impossible to keep cool.

  She removed a digital camera from her pocket and snapped multiple shots of the footprint. The camera’s bright LED flashed with each button push and wiped away the last of her night vision. She replaced the camera in the pocket and waited for her eyes to clear.

  Blades of once green grass had turned brown and yellow. The heat from the fire had scorched them. Either that or the drought had. She sighed as she scanned the ground near the footprint. There was nothing. No fibers or threads that she could find.

  Emy turned in a slow circle and tried to make out the path leading to the print. Another divot in the dirt was inches away. Her lips turned up in a grim smile.

  By the time she’d followed the path to the street, she’d planted eight separate flags and taken nearly fifty photos. The footprints were of bare feet. They wouldn’t give the forensics team much to work with, but at least they would be able to get a size match and maybe even height/weight. As always, that was a crapshoot.

  Emy stepped out onto the asphalt a few feet away from where the prints began. The sun was over the horizon now and the street was filled with shadows. Using her flashlight, she scanned the asphalt looking for evidence. The blacktop had pebbles, dirt, and the occasional glimmer of glass shards, but no remaining signs of human interaction.

  “Find something?” a lilting voice asked.

  She jumped. “Dammit, Brett.” She rose from her knees and turned to face her boss. “Why do you always do that to me?”

  Brett was smiling. Sweat streamed down from his short, sandy-blonde hair. The lithe man, a shade under six feet tall, looked dapper in his Arson jacket. Unlike Emy, he still had it zipped. “Sorry.”

  “Right,” Emy rolled her eyes. She pointed to the flags she’d planted in the grass. “We have footprints.”

  Brett followed her gaze. “So we do,” he said. “I’ll get the forensics team over here. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He turned back around to face her. “That wall back there? Is that the ignition point?”

  She nodded. “More than likely. I think we have a firebug, boss.”

  “Yeah,” he said and crossed his arms. “Glad I called you in. This doesn’t look…well, accidental.” He walked past her and knelt next to the nearest footprint. “Our bug walked barefoot. Smart.”

  “Or stupid. I think forensics needs to scan the asphalt for blood. He might have cut his feet walking to the grass or on his way back.”

  Brett pulled a small pad from his pocket, slid a pen out from the spiral wires, and jotted down notes. “Right.”

  “How long before the HFD showed up?”

  He finished writing and then clicked the pen to retract its point. “I called you when I got the page. By then, the fire had been going maybe ten minutes?”

  She shook her head as she stared at the row of destroyed structures. “Burned fast.”

  “You know what these were?”

  “Yeah. Some of the original housing for indigent folks back in the thirties.”

  “More than that,” Brett said. “Goddamned historical site.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Crap. Anyone living here?”

  “We’ll have to check into that, wait for the cops to tell us. But,” he said and pointed down the block to the large crowd gathered behind crime scene tape, “I would say they were black, Hispanic, or Vietnamese. But I haven’t heard tell of any bodies.”

  The crowd was dressed in pajamas, wife-beaters, robes, anything but jeans and collared shirts. The fire trucks and ambulances had woken everyone within a several block radius. Emy wondered how long it would be before they started crowding in to get a better look at the devastation.

  “Third ward,” she said. “Can’t wait to read the police reports.”

  Brett grunted. “It’ll be the same old song and dance, Emy. ‘I saw nothing. I saw no one.’ If anyone knows who did it, we’ll be the last to find out.” He pulled a partially soaked handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Any ideas on accelerant?”

  She shrugged. “We need to get out the chemistry set. I took some photos of the wall, but we’ll have to wait and get our hands on the official CSU photos and video.” She nodded toward the other side of the street. A woman dressed in khakis and a dark blue jacket panned an HD camera around the site. “I can model the fire when we get those. But as far as ignition?” She shook her head. “Chromatograph time.”

  Brett nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell CSU it’s definitely arson and make sure they preserve the wood from that wall. We’ll get the evidence later this morning and we can play with molecules.”

  Emy smiled. “My favorite.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Brett returned his stare to the footprint. “What is it with heat waves and bugs?”

  “Dunno, boss. Ask the shrinks.”

  “Right. Because they’re always helpful.”

  She chuckled. “I’m going to take some more pics and walk the other side of the perimeter. I want to make sure the flatfoots don’t destroy anything else.”

  He raised a brow. “Else?”

  “Yeah. I think they already contaminated the area near the street.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She pointed at a chubby man in an HPD uniform. “That ole boy there spilled his coffee in the grass.”

  Brett growled. “Okay. Good work, Emy. I’m going to chew some ass and make an initial report. Tick off anything useful.”

  “I didn’t think you were into fat-guys?”

  “Not my preference,” he admitted. “But I’m going to take a piece of that one.” Brett smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “Let’s get to it.”

  Her boss swung on his heel and made a bee-line for the cop. Emy watched his angry steps and felt a pang of sympathy for the poor flatfoot. Brett was a kind, caring man. But, if you pissed him off, he’d let you know in the most polite, yet savage way possible.

  She clicked off her flashlight. The sun was fully over the horizon now and the shadows had all but disappeared. She turned to head to the other side of the perimeter and then stopped. Emy looked back at the asphalt near the last footprint. There was a mark.

  She walked to it and knelt down. The asphalt was discolored. There was a shape there. She lowered herself further and stared at the spot until the rest of the world went out of focus. It was an arc. She duckwalked around its edge. There was more to the shape than a simple arc—it was a circle. The lines were very faint, but there also seemed to be something inside the circle. Emy grinned. “Bug with a signature,” she said aloud. “Your ass is mine.”

  She peeled off the jacket and tossed it atop the washer. It hit the metal with a wet fwap. Emy sighed and pulled h
er t-shirt over her head. The fabric clung to her skin and she had to wrestle it off. As she placed it beside the jacket, something bumped her in the ass.

  “Dammit, Luna.” She turned and faced a grinning, white dog. The pit bull mix wagged its tail in a propeller motion, pink polka-dotted ears twitching. Emy pursed her lips. “Look, you,” she scratched behind the dog’s ears, “I have to clean up. Go behave yourself.”

  The dog snorted at her, turned, and left the small laundry room. Emy unhooked the belt of her jeans and they fell to the hardwood. The denim was moist from sweat. She was suddenly very glad Brett had encouraged her to go home and get a shower before heading to the office.

  Once she had placed her panties and bra alongside the other wet clothes, she stepped out of the laundry room and headed toward the master bath. Luna appeared from the kitchen and followed her, a squeaky ball in her mouth.

  Emy ignored the animal and approached the counter. She didn’t look in the mirror as she unhooked her necklace and placed it on the white faux marble. Emy had worn the necklace, a family heirloom given to her when she was four, since she was old enough to take care of it. Three chains, each progressively longer than the last, joined together to form a loop. Polished, brilliant lapis lazuli stones adorned the smaller chains. Well, most of them were blue. Two of the stones had drained of their color, turning a milky white as though sucked by a gem vampire.