Primal Fear

by Boucher, Brad

  “No,” Harry breathed. “Oh, please, no . . .”

  Because he thought he knew what was coming, thought he understood the awful transformation that Charlie was just beginning to undergo. A moment later, his suspicions were confirmed as a ghostly, twisted hand suddenly erupted from Charlie’s throat. Its fingers were grotesquely long, its translucent claws coated in Charlie’s blood.

  Charlie screamed then, a single agonizing plea for help. He fell to his knees and Harry went with him, trying to help. But he already knew there was nothing he could do. The last of the Jhe-rhatta had been hidden away in Charlie’s body, biding its time, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. It was the first of the creatures that had arisen from the bodies of the children, the one Charlie had lost track of before Harry had even reached him in the tunnels. It hadn’t run off; instead it had somehow invaded Charlie’s body, against his will, against his knowledge.

  And now it was coming out.

  A second hand appeared, this time bursting through the skin of Charlie’s right cheek. It was slick with blood, too, dripping with mucous, and Harry felt a terrible moment of understanding as the two hands continued to claw at the raw air around them. The surface of Charlie’s flesh was still unharmed, just as the birthing of the creatures in the cavern hadn’t produced any permanent exit wounds on the bodies of the children. But beneath the flesh, in the intricate network of muscles and arteries, the damage was irreparable. The Jhe-rhatta was physically digging its way out of Charlie’s body, leaving the outer layers of skin undisturbed while inside it was tearing him to shreds.

  Charlie tried to scream again, but couldn’t. A fresh gout of blood spilled from his mouth when he somehow forced it open. His eyes rolled back in his skull, exposing the whites, his hands rising to claw uselessly at his chest.

  The creature’s head and shoulders appeared then, breaking free from Charlie’s throat, forcing his head back on his neck at an impossible angle as it pushed its way out.

  Harry heard the sound of bones snapping, the sickening crunch of Charlie’s neck breaking. A second later, Charlie’s body slumped backwards, his limbs slack and lifeless. He fell back into the snow, just beyond the reach of Harry’s clutching hands. The creature freed itself completely, standing triumphantly in the middle of Charlie’s chest, its entire body covered in the young man’s precious blood.

  Harry was too stunned to react at first, kneeling silently in the snow beside his fallen comrade while the Jhe-rhatta stared defiantly back at him. His mind felt as if it was about to come apart at the seams, reeling from what he’d just witnessed, his thoughts retreating at the futility of what they were up against. One of his hands reached automatically for his gun, guided by a detached form of instinct that he couldn’t have identified if he’d wanted to. His holster was empty, the gun lost somewhere along the treacherous route he and John had traveled in their pursuit of the demon. He could have lost it in the tunnels, maybe even in the Jeep’s crash . . . it didn’t seem to matter now.

  He was only partially aware that John was still deep in his trance behind him, speaking the secret words that would surrender his soul, that would open the sky in time for the explosives to send the demon back where it had come from . . .

  Something scratched at Harry’s spiraling thoughts, a hint of urgency that pulled at his senses, tugging his mind slowly back to the present. Something about the explosives, about the gateway to the other side of the sky . . . He struggled with the notion, trying to capture the logic of it, the importance of it. And then it came to him all at once, a flash of realization that pushed back the cobwebs of doubt completely.

  The explosives hadn’t gone off yet, and the tupilaq was still rising from the debris. Something had gone wrong, something with the detonator or the explosives themselves. Or, worst of all, something had happened to Laurie.

  Harry looked up just in time to see a moving blur of white, coming straight at him from Charlie’s fallen body. It was the Jhe-rhatta, finally making its move, coming in swiftly for its attack. Harry braced himself, searching for a weapon, anything that could buy him a little time against the creature’s vicious assault.

  But it never came.

  The creature skirted deftly around him, making its way straight towards John, launching itself in an unstoppable path towards his exposed throat. It caught the young Aleut in mid-sentence, at a point in his ritual that Harry couldn’t identify but must have been vital.

  The hole in the sky shivered for a moment, a brilliant flash of light appearing at its center. And then it collapsed completely, leaving behind only the darkness of the storm clouds, the impenetrable field of sky that Harry had always known.

  John screamed, fighting back weakly, his energy spent from the rite he’d just been performing. His arms pushed feebly against the Jhe-rhatta, and Harry could see that he would be no match for the creature’s fury. In moments, if Harry couldn’t find a way to help him, it would all be over for good.

  He looked around for a weapon. The snow was too deep to search through in hope of finding a rock, and by the time he ran to the house and back—a prospect he would consider only as a last resort—it would be too late. John would be dead.

  No, he thought, that’s not right. Because if the creature killed him, wouldn’t the gateway open again? Wouldn’t John’s dying soul have to pass through to the other side of the sky?

  Harry looked back at the creature, saw that it only seemed to be trying to disable John. It had abandoned its attack on his bare throat, concentrating instead on his hands and arms, tearing at his limbs when it could have finished him by now. Somehow it knew not to kill him. Whatever forces were driving it, it knew enough not to murder John on the spot. Instead it just wanted him out of the picture long enough for its master to complete its resurrection.

  And that meant Harry had another few seconds to act, to make a move for a weapon that would make a difference. Not from the house, either, but from a source that his eyes were just coming to rest on.

  The Jeep.

  Its wreckage was still smoking, barely twenty feet away. He ran to it as quickly as he could, his muscles aching in a thousand different places, protesting the sudden flurry of activity with the threat of collapse. But he fought the pain, setting his sights only on what had to be done.

  He reached the Jeep and forced open the twisted remains of its tool box, his fingers closing around the cold steel of a tire iron. He didn’t waste time looking for something better. As primitive as the weapon was, it would have to do.

  By the time he got back to John’s side, he could see the younger man’s struggles had almost ceased completely. He seemed to be losing consciousness, and the creature, somehow sensing the damage it had inflicted was sufficient, had ended its attack. It was just turning itself around on John’s chest—looking for its next target—when Harry approached.

  “Not today, you little bastard,” Harry whispered, and swung the tire iron directly at the creature’s head. The thing didn’t have time to react, couldn’t change back to its invulnerable form. And whatever damage Harry’s first blow had caused was apparently enough to keep it from such a transformation.

  The Jhe-rhatta fell into the snow, writhing in pain beside John’s battered body. Harry stepped over to it, regarding it without mercy, without compassion. He gripped the tire iron in both hands, brought it down like a stake and drove it straight through the creature’s quivering chest. The thing cried out, a horribly childlike sound that made Harry want to scream himself. But then it fell silent, its body going completely still in the carpet of snow.

  * * * * *

  Laurie took ten steps away from the house, her fingers curled carefully around the detonator wire. She’d tied it back on as carefully as she could, praying the task would be completed in time. Now, backing off to the point in the yard where she’d first positioned herself, she had no intention of letting go of the wire until she knew it was fastened securely enough.

  And that had to be now, before a
nything else could go wrong.

  She twisted the detonator’s handle with all her strength, heard it click securely into its armed position.

  For one sickening instant, nothing happened, nothing at all. She remembered Harry worrying that the explosives might be no good, made useless by age and exposure. But then a sudden thump in the carcass of the house pushed away her fear and she turned on her heel as quickly as she could, letting the detonator fall from her hands.

  A second blast came then, this one stronger, rooted closer to the cellar door. The force of the blow lifted her off her feet, hurled her through the air to crash down onto the snow-covered earth five yards away.

  Laurie coughed, gasping for air. She rolled onto her back, staring back at a darkening sky that had suddenly come alive with the orange glow of firelight.

  Harry looked back at the house just in time to witness the first blast. It reached him on a rolling wave of hot air, strong enough to push him flat onto his back beside John. He covered his eyes, trying to shut out the blinding light of the flash, hearing the second and third explosions before the echo of the first had even died away in his ears.

  The explosions came in quick succession, each one shaking the ground beneath him. The wind blew hot with each concussion, warming his face, blinding his eyes.

  But he looked up anyway and watched the flames grow higher against the darkening sky.

  He stared into the heart of the blaze, centering his gaze on the flames, on what was burning within them. Harry sensed movement there, a hint of life beyond the wall of fire. He squinted against the glare, his eyes spitting tears, his body protesting against the sudden flux of heat.

  The tupilaq rose into view, its body engulfed in flames, wood and bone burning as equals. It took another lumbering step towards the edge of the blaze, its body still intact, its movement unimpeded.

  And then it stepped out of the wreckage and into the yard, leaving the debris behind just as the house collapsed completely into the bowels of the cellar with the final explosion.

  It was coming for them, and there wasn’t a thing that Harry could do to stop it.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Harry stared back at the advancing demon, for the moment unable to even form a coherent thought, let alone a plan of escape. Something about the image of the beast—its towering form clothed in flames, approaching relentlessly through the swirling snowfall—made him understand the terror Jha-Laman’s enemies must have felt when they first saw this thing bearing down on them more than two centuries ago.

  He turned to John, fell to his knees beside him in the snow and shook him.

  John didn’t respond immediately, his wounds so severe that for a moment Harry was sure he’d never come out of it at all. He’d go to the hospital this way, unconscious, unmoving, and that was how he would die.

  But then John’s eyes fluttered open and focused on Harry. His expression was laced with pain, his face streaked with blood.

  “What happened? Did we do it?”

  Harry shook his head. “It’s coming. It’s coming for us right now. Look.”

  He lifted John’s head, leaning back just enough to give John a glimpse of the approaching beast.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, holy shit is right. What can we do? What’s left to try?”

  “There’s nothing. Nothing we . . . can do.”

  “John, listen to me, there’s got to be something we haven’t tried, something you haven’t thought of yet—”

  “No. If I had . . . had the time, I might . . . be able to find something . . .”

  “If you’re going to find something, you’d better find it now. In a couple of minutes it’ll be right on top of us.”

  Harry’s anger was starting to flare. He’d been through too much in the past few days to let it end this way. There was no way in hell he was going to give up now.

  “Listen to me,” he said, “I know you don’t have your bag of tricks to back you up, but I still think you’ve got it in you to fight this thing. You said yourself that sometimes true belief can be stronger than any magic. Let’s see it. Otherwise, you’d better start saying your prayers.”

  “True belief . . . without the strength to support it . . . it’s still only true belief, Harry. My father believed his whole life and in the end . . .”

  John seemed to lose his stream of thought, as if something had distracted him. Harry prayed that it wasn’t the shock of his wounds, or that his body wasn’t giving up on him.

  But then he spotted something in John’s eyes, the spark of an idea, perhaps, or maybe the faintest glimmer of hope.

  “You okay?”

  “My father,” John whispered. “I saw him . . . I saw his face . . .”

  Harry frowned. John was losing it, slipping into delirium.

  He looked over his shoulder, back toward the burning house, toward the monstrous shadow that moved in front of it.

  John let the thought come slowly, understanding that if he tried to seize it too quickly, it would slip away. It had already threatened to do just that, spinning wildly away toward the blackness that seemed to be creeping in from every side.

  His father’s face, just as he’d seen it in the vision Mahuk had shown him in his hospital room. The image of it floated in his mind’s eye, the familiar features draped in shadow, the lips moving around words John couldn’t hear, couldn’t make out. At first he’d thought it was only one of his own memories, a glimpse into his past, born of guilt, inspired by his confusion at Mahuk’s bedside. But now it made a terrible, simple form of sense, one that seemed obvious to him in a sudden flash of perfect understanding.

  It hadn’t only been meant to represent his father. The vision had meant more than that. It was his lineage he was thinking of now, his people, the strength of their belief. The power of their complete conviction in what they’d been taught, what they’d been raised to believe without question. Just as he’d been raised.

  “My father,” he whispered. “My people . . .”

  He looked up and saw Harry watching him. “I know what to do,” John told him. “There’s one thing left to try . . .”

  * * * * *

  Harry stared at John, surprised he’d managed to pull himself back from the brink once again. He was clearly well beyond the task Harry expected of him, his broken body incapable of anything more than the simplest movements. Worst of all, they both knew it. But despite the pain, despite the hopelessness of their situation, there seemed to be a new spark of determination in John’s eyes. There was a flash of confidence burning in them now, as if John had just come upon a path they’d previously overlooked.

  “How strong are your own beliefs, Harry?” he asked softly. “Are you . . . willing to put as much stock in them as you . . . want me to put in mine? No guns. No weapons. No trinkets.”

  “Yeah. I’m willing.” Harry considered the question, looking into his own heart, measuring his own sense of self-doubt. “Is that what it comes down to?”

  “I think . . . that’s what it’s always come down to. And I’m finally starting to understand that.”

  Behind them, the demon began to howl, a sound unlike anything Harry had ever heard before. He felt the short hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, his scalp tingling with fear as he realized the demon would be upon them in just a few minutes.

  John seemed to realize this as well and went to work. Gripping both of Harry’s hands as tightly as he could, he closed his eyes and began a slow murmuring chant. The words themselves were meaningless to Harry, but all at once he thought he knew what John was up to.

  He let his own eyes fall closed, hoping the simple act of his concentration would help. If there was any magic to be shared in their effort, he silently prayed that it would be enough.

  “Atae,” John called softly. “T’lun yte jul’an Atae . . .”

  Harry felt a sudden darkness cross his thoughts, but he didn’t fight it, didn’t try to push it away. This time, he let it come.

>   John’s eyes snapped open. They glittered with strength, with a fierce intelligence that Harry knew could not be human. Whatever peered out now from behind his eyes was far more powerful than any mortal man could ever hope to be. And it stared back at him for what seemed like forever, sizing him up, staring into the deepest currents of his soul.

  His first instinct was to back away, to close his thoughts to this terrible invasion, just as John had told him to at the edge of the quarry while he’d held the P’oh Tarhei for the very first time. But he resisted his own fear, letting down his defenses.

  He felt a sudden warmth in his hands, flowing out of John’s body like the sweet power of life. It swept up along his arms, his skin prickling as the sensation spread. He felt his doubt ebbing, his fears driven away like smoke in the wind. And through it all, a tiny part of his mind remained completely aware of his own presence here.

  There was something moving into him, stretching out within him, trying on his skin like a new article of clothing. It bristled with inhuman strength, but it didn’t overwhelm him. Instead, it shared his thoughts and instincts, merging perfectly with his own emotions, reinforcing his own strengths while his weaknesses melted away. Never again would he feel such perfect fortitude, he knew, once this force abandoned him. Never again would his thoughts ring with such clarity or his mind see with such clear vision.

  But none of that mattered. Not here. Not now.

  Now was the moment of possession. Now was the time of merging. Ancient power to modern flesh, timeless belief to contemporary faith, tempered in the fire of his heart to fight an evil created by nature and set loose by man.

  Harry stared back at John, saw that the brightness was leaving his eyes, the power he’d summoned leaving his broken body to enter Harry’s.

  John smiled, a tired grin of triumph.

  “Atae,” he whispered, “help us . . .”

  Deep inside, Harry felt something respond, a shifting of limitless power, and he let it command him completely. Words filled his head, words from a language he’d never known before but didn’t challenge now. Their power swept through him, touching every cell, every fiber of his being. He surrendered himself to them, letting them guide his limbs, his thoughts.