'Get that mask offa him. Let's see who the hell it is,' Francis said.
'Hold on a minute,' Maisie said, leaning in, knife held out as if she knew the killer was about to strike. Which is exactly what he did. She lashed out with her weapon, but Connor was much faster and snatched at her forearm with a hand that encompassed it easily. Reacting entirely on instinct, Francis thrust his spear forward, straight into Maisie's back as Connor yanked her sidewards, using her to shield the blow. She wailed as Connor pulled the hunting knife from her weakening grip and jabbed it forward, skewering Franco's throat. Connor released his grip, leaving it there, flush against the perverts Adam's apple. Francis let out a shrill, wheezing howl as both he and Maise fell down. Dead.
Some of the braver acolytes rushed in, knives and clubs drawn. They set about Connor, opening him up, spilling his blood, but if he felt the pain from the attacks he was not showing it. He reeled from the force of the blows, but as soon as he lay his hands on someone they were dispatched with a ferocious efficiency. He drove his forehead into their faces, causing their noses and eyes to erupt, speckling his mask with gore. He wrung necks and lashed bodies over into the quarry where the faint sound of them striking the cold waters barely broke through the cacophony of screams and yells of the melee.
Behind her, Annie heard Montrose swearing to himself and then the pattering of feet as he turned tail and fled. The ropes around her wrists were sufficiently worn, so with a surge of energy she ripped her hands apart, freeing herself. She snatched up the knife and followed Montrose, leaving Connor to his slaughter.
The wails of agony faded as she crept down the steep path, through the rocky canyon as she trailed her human quarry.
Montrose was already across their makeshift car park. His police cruiser was parked near a fallen pine, its petrified branches raking at the air around it. He was fumbling with his robes, trying to find the correct pocket that housed his keys. He was panicking and in shock after finally having to face the death he had been trying so hard to cheat. Annie dropped to a squat and advanced, sneaking from car to car, then bush to bush as she drew upon her victim. All that lay between them now was the fallen tree. She wanted to carve Donovan's name onto the bastard's heart. She'd gut him and force feed him his own entrails. She'd...
'Who's there?' Montrose called out, spinning around, raising his gun. Annie fell down low and hid from his eyeline below the bulk of the tree. She caught a glimpse of the gun as Montrose aimed it over the trunk. Had he reloaded? How many rounds were left in the pistol's chambers? She couldn't tell. He'd been behind her when he had fired at Connor, and after the first round was fired she had been deafened to a point where the other rounds had not registered.
'Kathleen?' he whispered, his voice low, but hopeful.
Annie began to crawl, making her way further up the tree and then picking her way over the trunk, through its leafless branches. Montrose was still looking back, towards the path to the quarry. Annie took her place behind the tail end of the cruiser and gripped the knife in two hands.
'Kathleen? We fucked up? Anyone there? We fucked up.'
He turned back to the car and placed the key into the lock. Lowering his gun.
Annie raised the knife and charged, swinging her arms around in a wide arc, striking him in the back. The blade sank deep and Montrose cried out as he span around, knocking Annie away, her fingers slipping from the knife, leaving it within him. Montrose panic fired, squeezing the trigger over and over. Only two shots came though, both of them wide of their mark. Annie got up and charged again, trying to tackle him but, outweighing her by over a hundred pounds, Montrose took the blow then responded with his own. Punching Annie square in the face with a straight right.
Blood gushing from her nose, Annie fell backwards. Montrose let out another haughty scream. Each movement was tearing the wound in his back open further and further and his eyes began to droop. She wasn't sure if she had hit anything vital or if the night's horrors had just taken their toll on him and he was ready to crash. Either way his hand still fumbled beneath his robes, looking for more ammunition for his gun.
Agony was blooming across her face and her head span, but the faces of her lost loved ones kept her focused and she barrelled towards Montrose again, and again he tried to stop her. However he was starting to slow, the pain and the blood loss taking their toll. He took Annie's full weight to the gut as she speared him, knocking him back, and he twisted and fell against the fallen tree.
A large branch erupted through his side just below his lungs bringing with it a spray of blood. He began to thrash and shake, but he was held in place. He coughed, his mouth turning red instantly. He tried to compose himself before attempting to once again reload his gun, but Annie simply kicked the revolver from his enfeebled grip.
He dropped his hands to his sides in submission and Annie fell back, leaning against the car, both of their chests heaving as they tried to calm their breathing, though that task was nigh impossible for Montrose. He coughed.
'So what now? You going to watch me bleed out or kill me?'
Annie walked over to a nearby branch and kicked it loose. She picked up the makeshift spear and levelled it at Montrose, ready to run it through his chest.
'I deserve this,' he said. 'I fucked up. Do it fast,'
Movement caught her eyes across the lot. A lumbering figure marching towards them. Drenched in blood, oozing wounds littering his body, and a pale death's head mask locked on them. Connor had finished off the rest of the zealots and had his sights set on mopping up the survivors.
Sanity took back control of Annie's senses and she dropped the stake and turned to the cruiser, opening the door and slipping the keys into the ignition. She was amazed with herself at how easy it was. Not once did she fumble or shake and the car started first time, engine rumbling healthily into life.
She pulled away just as Connor drew down on them, but the ghoulish killer paid her no heed and made a beeline straight for Montrose. She took one look back in the rear view mirror and heard the piercing screams drown out the car's engine. She'd leave them to it. Leave the valley to its own horrendous ends. She had driven this path before with her late Donovan. She began to laugh and cry and gibber madly as she drove back down to the campsite, and past it. She drove on, out of the valley and past the bar and diner that would join their siblings in being boarded up and left abandoned now that their owners were dead. She drove on into a new dawn, forever changed. Away from the mountains, away from the valley, away from the madness there and most importantly away from her dreams of ever, EVER setting foot in the woods again.
Epilogue
Drawing his thumbs from the now empty sockets he gazed down at his handiwork. The sheriff continued to kick and twitch as he attempted to scream. The jellied remains of his eyes sluiced down his cheeks and past his silent mouth, as he'd torn his vocal cords almost as soon as Connor had started his work.
The killer watched on for a moment, contemplating his next move, then returned his thumbs to the gaping holes in Montrose's skull. He pushed harder until the back of the orbital cavity cracked inwards, driving shards of skull into the brain, finally killing the cult leader.
Connor rose again and turned his face to the moon. Light still refusing to reveal his true eyes.
Sight unseen he closed them and listened.
Past the sound of the waterfall he could hear the engine of the car fading fast into the night and within it, the thundering heartbeat of the girl who drove. She would be out of the valley long before he could stop her and on any other night it would have been sacrilege, an insult of the highest order, but he'd spilt plenty of blood already, caused enough pain.
As well as the engine he could hear the other cultists. The smart ones who had fled when he had appeared. He would hunt them down over the course of the next few days.
He left the corpse of Montrose and made his way back up to the quarry floor. The slaughter here had left the ground slick with blood. The bodies were strewn ab
out, ravaged and desecrated. They had spilt his blood in order to sate the thirst of the ones they considered to be their masters, but none of them heard the call the way he did. None of them knew how to truly serve. He kicked one of the pretenders aside and found what he was looking for.
The idol.
He held it up to his face, the one he'd made from fabric and blood. The one he hoped mirrored the face on the statue well enough to show his devotion to it. He locked his dark eyes with those of the effigy and they stood in silent appreciation of each other. Their work had only just begun.
This was only the beginning.
CONNOR FINLAYSON WILL RETURN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Charlesworth is a horror author from Liverpool, England. The city is perhaps most famously known for giving the world Clive Barker, Ramsey Campbell and a band that swept the globe with their broad popularity and musical genius... “Dead or Alive”.
He is a born and bred horror fan and was raised on George Romero films, the Friday the 13th franchise and most terrifyingly of all, the Inspector Gadget cartoon. He studied art and design in school and college until he realised that he couldn't draw and turned his hand to writing instead. He mostly works within the Splatterpunk subgenre of Horror, writing the slasher series, “Death Head Valley” but he also dabbles with “Cosmic Horror”, despite being warned about the negative effects it can have on ones mental health.
He still lives in Liverpool and says he will never leave. His hobbies are writing, drinking and drinking.
Death Head Valley Page 10
