Kane #10

Kane: Rogue Creek

by
Brent Towns
Kane #10

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Some places swallow the lost…and Kane is about to walk straight into hell.

John “Reaper” Kane has seen the darkest corners of Australia—but nothing like this. When the Australian Federal Police tap him for a quiet recon job, it sounds simple enough: investigate a stretch of northern desert where people vanish without a trace. Locals call it the Bermuda Triangle of the Outback. A place even seasoned officers refuse to enter. A place called Rogue Creek.

What Kane finds is a ghost town buried under sand, secrets, and something far deadlier than any outlaw he’s faced. Rogue Creek isn’t abandoned…it’s waiting. And those who control it will do anything to keep their empire hidden.

Cut off from support and surrounded by enemies who strike like phantoms, Kane must fight through a nightmare landscape where every shadow holds a threat and every step could be his last.

In Rogue Creek, the only law is survival…and the Reaper is ready to collect.

Preview: The Plane

It came out of the clear blue sky at a low altitude. Below it, in a blur of color, passed the harsh West Australian desert. Marcus Haines glanced at his instruments to make sure his height and heading were still correct. The flight itself had originated from Indonesia, where twenty passengers had climbed aboard for the last leg of their journey.

Haines had been paid fifty grand to make the trip. It was enough to keep the bank at bay from taking his charter business. He knew what he was doing was highly illegal, but desperate times and all that.

Going by his calculations, he was ten minutes from his destination. The plane hit some turbulence and Haines held his breath. To drop any height whatsoever from the altitude the plane was at meant certain death. And out here, no one would know anything about it.

From the cabin, one of the passengers came forward. “How much longer?”

“Just under ten minutes. You’d better take your seat. This could be a little dicey.”

The man disappeared back to his seat and Haines breathed a little easier. There was something about these guys that put him on edge. The sooner they were off his plane, the better. 

The man who organized the flight said there would be someone there to meet him when he landed. 

Off to his left, an orange-faced escarpment rose from the desert. It was topped with acacia and eucalyptus. From among the rocks, a wallaby watched curiously as the big white bird roared past.

The plane bounced again. Up ahead, a small dot came into view. Then he saw the strip. At least his navigation was right.

Haines called over his shoulder, “We’ve made it.”

He passed low over the gravel strip. Below, there was a small bus just off the runway. Haines put the plane into a tight turn and lined it up with the center of the landing strip. He put the wheels and flaps down and put the plane on the deck.

It shuddered as the wheels touched down. The runway felt good for what it was. By the time the plane had reached the bus, it had slowed down completely, and then it stopped. 

Haines cut the engines and the propellers slowed as the sound fell away. Then, when they stopped, Haines moved to open the door. 

Soon the steps were down and he waited at the bottom for his passengers to climb out.

“Any trouble?” a voice asked from behind him.

Haines turned. The man who asked the question was solid built, running to fat. He had a beard and tattoos and wore a leather jacket. “No, nothing. I came in low all the way from Indonesia. Fucking hairy at that height.”

“You were paid for it.”

“I was paid half. I was told I was to get the rest when I landed.”

The man nodded. “That’s right.”

There was movement behind the pilot, and suddenly he felt his head being tipped back. Then came the searing pain across his throat, and warm fluid exploded forward. It never really occurred to Haines that he was dying. Even when he fell to his knees. Soon, he was on his face in the dirt, the harsh West Australian desert drank deeply.