Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

"Yeah," Tanner said, pulling a small, snub-nose Beretta from an ankle holster, "It’s my sister’s piece. I feel naked without a gun, so she loaned me this one."

"Let’s check this place out, shall we?" Ronnie said, coming to a stop in front of the machine barn and pulling his police issued side arm out of it’s holster. He grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and stuck it in his belt, too.

"Whew!" Colt whispered, walking toward the barn, "Something bad is in here, Ronnie."

Deep in his gut, Ronnie Benson was suddenly very afraid of what was inside the barn. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, but then wished he hadn’t. The air all around the barn carried the coppery scent of old blood.

The two men cautiously entered the barn, each holding their weapons at ready. They worked as a team, creeping up either side of the long building, toward a couple of machines in the back.

"No one’s here," Colt said, moving toward the thresher. The smell grew stronger and both men realized it was coming from the large machine. "Cover me, Benson. Doesn’t look like anyone’s around, but I don’t want to take any chances." Ronnie nodded and turned his back to Tanner, glancing up and down the long barn toward the two doors.

Colt climbed up the side of the machine and reaching the top, peered inside. There wasn’t much to see, but something had been there. At first, Colt thought an animal, possible a large raccoon, had met its demise in the still thresher blades, but then something caught his eye. The sheriff reached across the deadly looking blades and tugged on a piece of fabric caught there. He looked at the tattered, bloody fabric and felt a chill run the length of his spine. He tucked the fabric in his shirt pocket.

Just then, both barn doors slammed shut with a resounding bang. Ronnie jumped and began running toward the closer, rear door, but tripped over a large garbage bag on the floor.

Colt Tanner was startled by the bang and lost his footing. Tanner let out a startled cry as he fell into the threshing machine.

* * *

"I don’t like it," Fenton stated, rubbing his chin, "Do you know where the Hiller Ranch is, Miss Watson?"

"Yes," the woman replied, "Here, let me give you the directions." She quickly jotted a few notes and handed the paper to Fenton.

"Maybe I should go with you," Becky stated, staring at the man.

"I don’t think so," Fenton tried to give her a reassuring smile, "My boys and I will just take a run out there and make sure Ronnie and Colt are okay."

"Why don’t you head on home, Miss Watson?" Frank added, "We’ll have Deputy Benson call you as soon as we see him."

Five minutes later, the Hardy men were driving to the Hiller Ranch.

"Dad," Joe suddenly spoke up, "I think we need to go faster."

"Why?" questioned the elder Hardy.

"According to these directions, the ranch is over there to the north," Joe answered, then pointed, "and it looks like something’s on fire over there."

Against the blackness of the Colorado night sky, a distinct orange glow was growing brighter, the nearer they got to the Hiller Ranch.

* * *

Ronnie Benson groaned as he struggled to sit up. Where was he? The Hiller Ranch...the machine barn. The floor was littered with straw and...what? Raw garbage? The contents of the bag he had tripped over had spilt and lay strewn on the floor. It was too dark to see what it was. Where was Tanner?

Ronnie rose to his feet and felt for his flashlight. He flipped the switch on and cast the glow to the floor where the garbage bag lay. Ronnie gagged and swayed on his feet. In moments he was on the floor retching. Amidst the straw were human remains. Most were barely distinguishable, but the light from Ronnie’s flashlight had fallen on a human hand, severed at the wrist.

Ronnie Benson’s gagging and retching soon turned to coughing. He could hardly catch his breath. Smoke? The barn was filling with smoke!

His nausea forgotten, the officer staggered back to his feet. "Tanner! Colt! Where are you?" He coughed as the smoke became thicker, swirling around him as he walked. He headed toward the thresher, the last place he’d seen Tanner.

He walked around the machine, but there was no sign of the Wyoming sheriff. Where had Tanner been when the doors closed? Realization dawned on the young deputy and he quickly climbed up the side of the thresher.

Colt Tanner had felt himself falling toward the blood soaked blades of the thresher. He reached out with both hands, grasping for anything to hold on to. The fingers of his left hand caught on a gear under the hood. The rest of his body was pulled by gravity toward the blades.

The scream of pain tore from his throat as his right ankle came in contact with one of the blades. The ankle caught on the edge of the blade, tearing through flesh and sinew, but stopping the momentum of his fall.

Colt hung on, praying that he wouldn’t pass out. If he let go, he would die. He tried to block the pain, focusing on his grip. Where was Benson? Hadn’t he heard him cry out?

Colt suddenly heard his name being called. He tried to call back, but was too weak. It was taking all his strength to hold on. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly hold on another second, Ronnie Benson was holding Colt Tanner’s wrist in a lifesaving grip.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.