Story #2: El Infierno Zona

July 9th, 1849. The Mexican government mysteriously lost contact with 4 towns in the Chihuahuan Desert. A lone government special agent is sent to investigate. Garth Silverstone, an expert in tracking, hunting, and demonic spirits. He has traveled from the capitol, Washington DC, upon order of the president of the United States. Silverstone was a criminal you see, he was locked up for having an affair with an unnamed witch. She was tried and hung. Silverstone was imprisoned until further questioning. He was known as the local demon slayer of a town out in West Virginia. The president has promised a full pardon if he did this one last mission. Just a reconnaissance, investigate what has happened, after all it was the least they could do since the end of the war. The Mexican government reports that they lost contact months ago, they sent couriers and soldiers to investigate, no one has returned. The area has gone under quarantined.
Garth stepped off a train just outside of Ciudad Juarez, border town. He looked around, silence, and darkness everywhere. The dead of night the sky cloudless and starry. The city in the distant background, only a dim glow could be seen in the far horizon. It was on the border of what was known as.... el infierno zona "the hell zone". In front of him was an abandoned train station. As he walked inside, the train took off south. A dirt road took off in one direction of the station - east. The west had been cleared out, rocks and cacti laid in it's path, as if the road was wiped off. Garth started walking down the dirt road, as he began to pace himself, as he was eager to get to the next town before sunrise to catch some strange sightings he looked up into the sky. He stopped suddenly, not even at half a mile away from the station, there was a clear change. The skies were pitch black, there were no stars, and there were no signs of clouds either. Garth could only feel intrigue at what could be awaiting him in the next few miles ahead. He continued walking, a black horse stood nearby. On the side of the horse hung a sheet with an emblem belonging to the Mexican army. Who ever it was that came here before him, is gone now. He climbed on, and rode eastward into the darkness. As he went further the skies and terrain grew darker, he could barely see the trail now. There was no wind. No sound. No sign of life. Even the galloping of the horse grew more quiet as he got deeper into the zone.

After many hours he came to a stop in front of a tree. It was dead, even the branches begun falling off. The tree appeared to be covered in char, as if a huge fireball consumed it, and a wind blew it out. Garth grabbed one of the larger branches lying on the ground. Tore the sheet of cloth off the horse and wrapped it around the stick. He lit it on fire and waved it around to see the surroundings more clearer. There were no foot prints, the ones him and his horse made were gone. All he could see were the imprints he had made from standing there for some time. He took a step to see if the imprints would stay. They did, but there was no trail to tell him the way out. He grabbed on to the rope of the horse so it wouldn't go anywhere. A glimmer in the distance, like a mirror reflecting off the light that was burning. Garth hopped back on to continue his journey. As he reached the shinny object, he could see that there was more in the distance. It a piece of shingle from a roof top. Gazing forward he could see a field littered with shingles, as if something exploded inside a building and scattered the shingles all across the dessert. Garth continued riding to find the source. The horse galloped over the shingles making a cracking noise, Garth noticed how frequent they got, he must be close.

He finally reached the first town Ilusionado. What the hell am I doing here, he thought. It just hit him, that he should be running for his life. The town was like a ghost town. Abandoned, the roofs on every bidding torn off to shreds like strong gust of wind just brushed over them. No wind can do such a thing, he'd never heard of one that did at least. Suddenly a noise like foot steps in the sand came from one of the buildings. Garth startled, drew out his gun, and the other hand held the torch up firmly. He slowly creped towards the building. "Who's there?" he shouted. Advancing forward, carefully, he could hear nothing more than the sound of his own breathing, the flames, and his footsteps. As he approached the building, he could see the torn down sign. It was a saloon. He stepped inside to investigate. The torch was burning out. Garth tossed it aside. It was pitch dark once more. However, one of the back doors seemed to have a sliver of light shining through the bottom. Garth carefully approached it. He opened to find a stairway leading down into a cellar with a door where a bright light shined through. Garth walked toward the door, still with his gun pointed ahead. The door was unlocked, he opened it to find a tunnel lit with one lantern, and a gate at the other side. I know whatever's on the other side of that gate I probably don't want to find out, he thought. He grabbed the lantern and walked toward the gate. It was locked. He tried knocking. No answer. A moment passed as he stood and stared at it for a while. As he turned around to walk away, a creaking noise came from the door. It started opening. A man stood with another lantern. "Hello Garth," he said. The man was skinny perhaps almost malnourished and dressed in blue garments and jeans. He looked Mexican, but had this eery fluent English accent. "Who the hell are you?" Garth asked. "What a funny thing to ask," said the man, "because on the other side of this door...," the man paused for a second, "let's just say, welcome to hell."