Midnight's Lair

by Richard Laymon

  He squatted low and ducked beneath the railing. When he was clear, he turned around and felt for Paula. He found her shoulder. She rose up in front of him.

  'This is so weird,' she whispered. He saw the vague shape of her head turn, and he guessed that she needed to comfort herself by looking back at the firelight. 'What if they find out we're gone?'

  'Big deal. You think they'll come looking?'

  'I just wonder if we should be doing this.'

  'Do you want to go back?'

  She was silent.

  She's not going back.

  'I guess not,' she finally said.

  Kyle took her hand. 'Well, if you change your mind, fine. Just tell me. I'm not forcing you into anything.'

  'I know.'

  'I'll go first. Stay in back of me, and hold on.' He turned around. Paula curled her fingers over his shoulders, and he began making his way down the embankment, knees bent, arms out for balance. He could see nothing in front of him. The rock slope felt smooth and somewhat slippery under his shoes. Instead of taking steps, he scooted without lifting his feet.

  When he judged that he must be near the stream, he stopped. He slid a foot forward and tapped a few times with his toe. Hearing no splashes, he moved ahead a little farther and tried again. This time, he heard a soft liquid patter when he tapped.

  'We have to wade across,' he whispered. 'It's only a few inches deep, but out feet'll get wet. I'm going to take off my shoes and socks.'

  'Okay,' Paula said. 'Me, too.'

  They sat down beside each other on the slope. Kyle pulled off his running shoes, peeled his socks off his feet and stuffed them inside the shoes. Paula, he remembered, wore a kilt and knee socks. Without the socks, her legs would be bare.

  Bare all the way up to the panties she must have on beneath the kilt.

  He suddenly pictured Darcy in the grotto, naked except for her panties, clutching her trousers to her breasts. The panties were wet. They were glued to her.

  The memories made him hard.

  Then came a hollow ache as he realized he would probably never see Darcy alive again, never get a chance to touch her or squeeze her or taste her, never ram her with his cock or make her bleed and squirm and cry out like Amy Lawson.

  Others might get to do it. The ones who dwelled beyond the wall. But not Kyle.

  They'll cheat me out of it, he thought.

  But I've got Paula.

  'Okay,' Paula said.

  Holding both his shoes in one hand, Kyle stood. He took her arm, and helped her stand up. She stayed at his side as they eased forward and entered the water.

  She made a hissing sound. 'Christ, it's cold.'

  'Yeah.' His feet felt numb to the ankles. The stream-bed was gritty as if a thin layer of sand and gravel had been sprinkled over its rock floor. He lifted a foot out of the water, took a small step and set it down carefully. Then he did the same with his other foot.

  What if I make her fall? Kyle asked himself. So it looks like an accident. Then her clothes will be all wet and I can get her to take them off when we reach the other side. I'll tell her she can wear my pants, and…

  If she falls, she might yell. The others will hear her, and come looking.

  Forget it.

  There'll be plenty of time to work on her. He'd had her blouse open just before the elevators fell, it shouldn't take much to get her bra off, and after that, who knows?

  His foot came down, finding rock instead of water. 'Here's the shore,' he whispered. 'I'll go first. Get behind me and hang onto my belt.' He released her arm and her fingers pushed under the back of his belt. Crouching, he felt the rocks ahead and began to move forward up the embankment. His shoulder bumped something, probably one of the stalagmites he'd often noticed along this side of the stream. He stepped around it.

  He'd looked across the River Styx countless times, and had even explored over here on several occasions. He knew that the area was cluttered with speleothems that would provide wonderful hiding places, but he couldn't recall the exact details and the dark was disorienting.

  He felt his way along like a blind man stumbling through a maze.

  And stepped on something soft.

  He crouched, stroked the cool cloth surface, and realized what he was touching. 'There's a blanket here,' he said.

  'Geez.'

  Kneeling, he crawled on the blanket. It was doubled over, giving it a double thickness. It seemed to be about a yard wide and six feet long. When he reached its far end, his sweeping hand crushed a slick, springy mound that he guessed might be a pillow. He explored it with his fingers - and realized it must be a sleeping bag in a stuff sack. He picked it up and heard a muffled clank of glass. Reaching down, he found a bottle. It was heavy. Liquid sloshed inside. He twisted off the cap and sniffed. There was a pungent odour of alcohol. Though he didn't know much about such things, he guessed that it must be a bottle of Scotch or Bourbon.

  'Pretty neat,' Paula whispered from behind him.

  'There's a sleeping bag.'

  'You're kidding.'

  'And a bottle of booze.'

  'Really?'

  He turned around on his knees and eased the bottle in her direction.

  'I can smell it,' Paula said.

  'Take a sip. It'll warm you up.'

  'I don't know.'

  'I won't tell.'

  'Where'd it come from?'

  'Right here.'

  'Is this stuff yours?'

  'Sure isn't.'

  'You took us right to it.'

  'Glad I did, too. But it isn't mine. I didn't even know anything was here.'

  'If it isn't yours, where'd it come from?'

  'God, I don't know. Somebody must've… maybe it's a make-out place.' Turning his head, he saw only black. He reached out. Just past the edge of the blanket was a barrier of rock. Rising, he saw the distant shapes backlit by the elevator fires. 'This is great,' he said. He sat down again. 'Think I'll give it a taste.'

  'Maybe you shouldn't. If you don't know whose it is…'

  'Must belong to somebody who works here. Maybe Tom. Maybe he comes over here with one of the guides.' Darcy? he wondered. Had she spent time here with Tom, hidden among the rocks, drinking and fucking?

  He imagined her naked inside the sleeping bag, writhing and gasping, but not with Tom. It was Kyle in the bag with her, squeezing her breasts, thrusting deep into her wet heat.

  Maybe they would sneak down here at night. Or even hide here during the day, out of sight as tours went by.

  Not Darcy, though.

  Probably Lynn. Lynn and Tom.

  Lynn was such a slut, he wouldn't put anything past her.

  'You think it's sanitary?' Paula asked.

  'Sure.' He lifted the bottle to his lips, and tilted it up. The liquid took a moment to reach his mouth, so he figured the bottle was about three-quarters full. He sipped. Some kind of whisky, all right. He swallowed and the heat rushed through him. Shuddering slightly, he said, 'Good. Try some.'

  He held the bottle out and felt it being taken from his hand. There came a quiet sloshing sound, then 'Whoo.'

  'Like it?'

  'It's all right.'

  'Want to get in the sleeping bag?'

  She was silent for a few seconds. 'I don't know. I don't think so.'

  'I'll get it out, anyway. We can sit on it.'

  'Okay.'

  He opened the drawstring, pulled out the sleeping bag, and spread it over the blanket.

  They sat on it, side by side in the darkness. Kyle wrapped an arm around Paula's back. She snuggled against him. He heard her take another drink. Then she nudged his chest with the bottle. He found it, and drank.

  'Wouldn't it be something,' Paula whispered, 'if we both got smashed? We'd go staggering out of here, blasted out of our gourds.'

  'Sounds like a good idea.'

  'I was just kidding.'

  'Have you ever been drunk?'

  'No. How about you?'

  'Me neither,' Kyle said. 'But
this seems like a good time to try it.'

  'I don't know. You wouldn't try any funny stuff, would you?'

  'No. Promise. No funny stuff. Cross my heart and hope to die.'

  ***

  Beth, screaming, had leaped off the boat while her husband's legs were still in the air. The soles of his shoes vanished through the hole at the same instant water flew up from Beth's splash.

  'No!' Greg shouted at her.

  She lunged through the chest-high water, left hand swiping the air in front of her, right hand waving the flashlight. The beam jerked and jumped over the cavern wall, jittering all around the hole.

  She hadn't taken two steps before Greg swung Darcy out of his way and threw himself off the boat. Darcy staggered. The edge of the seat caught her behind the knees. She dropped backwards, grabbed a gunnel, pulled herself up and twisted onto her side in time to see Greg hook an arm around Beth. His other arm reached out. He grabbed her forearm as if he feared she might lose the flashlight. The woman struggled against him, trying to pull free.

  'Jim! Jim! Come back!'

  'Stop it!' Greg snapped. 'Beth, he's gone. Let's…'

  The back of her head struck Greg's chin. Darcy heard the thud, heard his teeth clash together, saw his head jerk. He dropped backwards. As he went under, Darcy pushed herself up and crouched to dive and glimpsed something off to the side.

  Pale movement.

  She looked and saw Beth wading. The flashlight beam skittered all over the wall, not settling on the hole but flicking across it. And as it skimmed past the hole, Darcy glimpsed someone coming out head first.

  For an instant, she thought it was Jim coming back. (Just an hallucination, seeing him stabbed through the mouth and yanked into the hole.) He was okay after all. Now, he was coming back.

  It wasn't Jim.

  No way was that hairy, bearded thing Jim!

  Seeing Greg come to the surface, she dived. In midair, she heard Helen squeal and Carol say, 'Oh Jesus God!' Then she hit the water. The cold swarmed around her, but it didn't matter. She was still underwater when her hand pushed against Greg. His hip. She stood and grabbed his arm as he began to wade towards Beth. He was shaking his head, apparently still dazed from the blow.

  She turned and moved with him.

  Beth, a yard in front of them, made a whoof and began to double over. Then she was hurled up. One of her kicking feet brushed Darcy's forehead. She was hoisted above the lake, writhing and flapping, a dim bearded shape rising up beneath her. Not touching her. Throwing her high and over his head with something knobbed at the end like the handle of a baseball bat (a bone?). As she tumbled over him, he jerked the weapon out. The flashlight, still in Beth's hand as she somersaulted, lit the weapon - a bone, more than a foot long, sharp at one end, a shimmer with blood.

  Beth hit the water behind the man.

  The flashlight went down with her. It stayed on, but the cavern suddenly fell dark. As dark as a moonless night, but not black. Darcy could almost see Greg blend with the man. She heard grunts, growls, splashes, and felt the water churning against her body. She was knocked aside as Greg stumbled backward. The two men went under.

  She waded toward the flashlight. It lay on the bottom of the lake, its beam pushing a short tunnel through the water. Ducking down she grabbed the cylinder. She brought the flashlight up in time to see a person crouched on the edge of the hole in Ely's Wall.

  Another one?

  Her stomach went cold and tight.

  The stranger's arms were out against the sides of the hole. Darcy's eyes were drawn to the thin bone it held in one hand. Something shiny at its end.

  Scissors.

  Toe-nail scissors?

  They were somehow fixed to the end of the bone, their tiny blades forming a point for the bizarre weapon.

  Long hair hung over the stranger's face. The face looked dead white. The teeth were bared with a snarl. Pointed teeth. In the instant before it sprang at Darcy, she saw that it wore a blood-smeared white turtleneck sweater. Jeans.

  Large breasts swayed inside the sweater as the woman leaped from her perch.

  Darcy swung the flashlight.

  A jolt went up her arm as the head of the cylinder smashed against the woman's face.

  The light went out.

  The body hit her, driving Darcy backwards and down. The water closed over her. Though she expected a savage assault, no hands clutched at her, no scissor points dug into her flesh. She realized, vaguely, that the blow from the flashlight must've stunned the woman. She rolled out from under her. Wrapped an arm around the head. Got to her feet and pulled the head up out of the water and, hugging the wet face to her cheek, hammered the head with the flashlight. With each impact, the face jerked against her.

  She heard the sounds of Greg's struggle off to her side.

  One last blow.

  Five.

  Then a sixth for good measure. Then she let go of the woman's head. The body slid down against her. She kneed it away, turned sluggishly in the water and waded toward the gasping, choking, splashing noises.

  Heard quick whispers to her left. Helen and Carol.

  A heavy thud and spatter in the lake behind her.

  A third invader from behind Ely's Wall?

  She heard herself whimper. Don't worry about more, she told herself. Worry about the one Greg's fighting. Thank God they're still at it.

  She neared the turmoil.

  Heard splashes off to the side. Had Carol and Helen left the boat?

  Something rammed her thigh. She reached down into the water and grabbed an ankle. She felt a sock under her fingers. Greg wasn't wearing socks. The foot kicked out of her grip.

  Not wanting to lose the flashlight, she stuffed it under the elastic bottom of her windbreaker, then reached down again. She clutched a trouser cuff. (Greg was in his briefs.) Face in the water, she climbed her hands up the leg to the inseam. Drove an arm deep between the legs and rammed it up hard into the crotch. The legs clamped on her arm. She felt the body shudder. Pulling her arm free, she clawed at the man's rump, hooked her fingers into the back pockets of his pants, and tugged, trying to get him off Greg.

  The flopping, bucking body came with her as she stumbled backward.

  She heard a swoosh of water. Coughing. Greg must have come up.

  'Got him,' she whispered.

  Greg didn't answer. He kept coughing.

  'Where are you?' Carol's voice.

  'Go for the dock!' Darcy yelled. 'Get out of here!'

  'Which way?'

  How can I answer that?

  'Just go! And be quiet! There's more of them!'

  The body jerked forward. Darcy yanked the pants pockets, trying to keep it back, then realized that the sudden movement hadn't been the attacker's doing. Greg must be pulling on him. So she relaxed her grip and felt the body dart forward and up. Her fingers slipped out of the pockets.

  There was another thumping splash behind her.

  Another savage entering the lake?

  Soft swashing sounds of someone wading or swimming back there.

  Other such sounds ahead of her.

  A yelp of fright from the front.

  'It's me, just me.' Helen's voice.

  'Thank God.'

  Reaching out, she clutched thick, oily hair. She fumbled under her windbreaker for the flashlight, planning to beat the man with it. But the head rammed violently back against her hand, then went down.

  'Okay,' Greg gasped. 'Okay.'

  Darcy moved towards the sound of his voice, so close in the blackness. The submerged body was in the way. It sank lower and slipped away as she walked over it with her knees. Then her arms were around Greg. She pressed herself against him, felt his heaving chest, his wet cheek, his warm breath brushing her ear.

  There were soft liquid swooshing sounds behind her, in front of her. And breathing sounds. Whimpers nearby, probably from Carol or Helen.

  Darcy, herself, was shaking violently.

  She flinched rigid as she real
ized that someone was very near, approaching her back.

  'Hold your breath,' Greg whispered.

  He pulled her down.

  She crouched. The water closed over her head. Greg eased her away, but held onto her arm. He turned her, pulled her. She left her feet and he towed her along. She felt the chill water streaming over her body. He couldn't be doing this and swimming. She supposed he was wading, squatted low to stay beneath the surface.

  This will work, she thought. We're leaving them behind.

  As long as we stay under, they won't find us. They can only go by what they hear.

  We should've told the women to do it.

  Darcy began to need air. She fought the need, but soon her lungs ached. Then they burned. She wondered if Greg was going up for breaths, if he'd forgotten about her.

  Then he pulled her to a stop. She felt a hand press her mouth. He raised her slowly. When her face was out of the water, he removed his hand. She sucked air into her lungs, but tried to do it quietly.

  She expected Greg to submerge her again quickly. He didn't, though.

  They stood motionless, holding each other.

  Darcy heard her own breathing and the quick thumping of her heart. She heard Greg's too. And a few quiet patters as drops of water fell from them. Nothing else.

  It was as if all movement in the Lake of Charon had ceased.

  It was as if they were alone in the lake.

  What's going on?

  She wished she could hear the others.

  Maybe Carol and Helen are swimming underwater, she thought. Maybe everyone is.

  Or maybe they're all standing motionless, just like us. Carol and Helen hoping their silence will save them. The others hoping for a sound that'll give us away so they can home in on us and nail us.

  Suppose the attackers have left? Went back through their hole to the other end of the cavern?

  We got two of them. Maybe didn't kill them, maybe did, but that might've taken the starch out of the rest.

  No. We weren't under long enough. They wouldn't have had time to get back through the hole.

  Greg touched her chin, which she took as a signal to submerge again. She filled her lungs. His fingers were still on her chin, so he knew when she nodded.