A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  The commander struggled as the hollow snout pulled him from his feet and lifted him into the air. Slowly, it rolled him in its grasp and Hendrix found himself staring down at the armored front of the juggernaut. The flawless plating of ebony hardness abruptly split and a gruesome maw appeared. Rows of spiky gray teeth lined the wet black gums of the inner mouth. Beyond that was a dark tongue lolling hungrily within the slimy pit of its gullet.

  I won’t scream! The proclamation reaffirmed itself again and again in Frag Hendrix’s mind, but somehow the message didn’t quite reach his throat, which opened up and shrieked with the abandon of a horrified child. The snout angled inward, depositing him into the damp cave of the dark mouth. The mercenary thrashed and screamed for a frantic moment, but no amount of struggling could liberate him from that hellish imprisonment. Then the gray incisors flashed downward with gnashing fury, ending his horror and slicing his body into bite-sized morsels, which then slid into the fetid darkness of the beast’s ravenous belly.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Thirty minutes after leaving the golden cavern in the center of Pale Dove Mountain, Jackson Dellhart, Jenny Brice, and Vincent Russ emerged from the opening at the top of the rocky peak. They stepped from the darkness and shielded their eyes against the brilliance of the afternoon sun. Soon, their vision grew accustomed to the sunshine. The two men searched the sky for the Huey Cobras that had patrolled the air before the operation began, but the helicopters were nowhere to be seen. There was smoke billowing up from several points on the mountain’s northern side, giving them the impression that the choppers might have encountered some unforeseen threat and, unable to defend themselves properly, had crashed and burned.

  Russ held the struggling woman, while Dellhart unclipped his walkie-talkie and tried to call up Frag Hendrix. He received no answer from the scar-faced commander. He also tried to raise each of the team leaders, but Khiem, Jatual, and Lopez were also silent. When he tried to contact the surviving pilots, the only one who responded was Hollinger, who had left the clearing on the southern side moments before and was already heading toward the northern face of the mountain.

  “Hollinger, this is Jackson Dellhart speaking,” he told the pilot. “I’m on the top of Pale Dove Mountain. We need some quick taxi service up here…pronto.”

  The mercenary pilot sounded a little shaken over the radio. “I’m on my way. But watch yourselves up there or you might end up like everyone else on this crazy suicide mission.”

  After the pilot had signed off, Russ eyed his boss uneasily. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

  “What do you think he meant?” snapped Jenny. “He was talking about the Dark’Un. It seems like your little army-for-hire found out that this wasn’t the easy assignment they thought it would be. And it looks like you made the same mistake. You should have given some thought to those warnings before coming up here.”

  A flash of uncertainty shone in Jackson Dellhart’s eyes for a fleeting instant, then was quickly conquered by his customary confidence. “We’ll just see about that. Now move your pretty butt up to the top of that peak. The chopper won’t be able to land up here, so we’ll have to board it while it’s still in the air.”

  By the time they reached the rocky point of Pale Dove Mountain, they could hear the stuttering roar of a helicopter coming toward them. A moment later, the surviving copter of the mercenary squadron appeared and tediously positioned itself over the tip of the peak, lowering its skids as close to the climbers as possible. Carefully, Russ reached the open bay door of the Bell first and then helped Jenny inside, despite her unwillingness to cooperate. The last one to mount the runners was Jackson Dellhart, brandishing the .44 Magnum. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here,” he called to the pilot as he climbed inside and took the bench seat opposite his beautiful hostage.

  “Just tell me which way you want to go,” said Hollinger. He lifted the transport and let it drift into a lazy spin, waiting for Dellhart’s instructions.

  “Do you have enough fuel to take us all the way to Memphis?”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed the pilot. “If I’d been buzzing around with the other choppers, it would’ve been a different story. But since I was parked down in that clearing, I have more than enough.”

  “Good. If you get us there without any problem, I’ll throw in a ten-thousand-dollar bonus, in addition to the money already owed to you.”

  “You’ve got a deal, boss man,” agreed Hollinger. He pointed the Bell toward the northwest and pushed the stick forward.

  “What about your buddies down there?” Russ asked the pilot. “Are you just going to cut out and leave them behind?”

  “As far as I know, most of them are dead. Yellow, Blue, and Green teams were wasted by that damned monster you sent us up here to find, and my fellow pilots ended up the same way. I’ve been trying to contact Frag, but he doesn’t answer, so I’ve about decided that Red Team has bitten the dust, too.” Hollinger smiled grimly. “As to the question of my loyalty, I only stick with a winning team. Some mercenaries fight for honor and glory, while some fight purely for money. I’m a card-carrying member of the latter variety.”

  They flew on, moving away from the wooded ridge of Pale Dove Mountain. Jenny glared at her captor venomously. “So, what’s to become of me?” she asked, trying to conceal her fear with bravado. “Are you going to toss me out of the helicopter like you said before?”

  Dellhart smiled. “I’m sorry, my dear, but my escape has been guaranteed. My need for insurance is over.” He turned his cool blue eyes on his right-hand man. “Besides, I won’t be doing the dirty deed…Vincent will. I’ll give him the chore of pushing you into the river.”

  Vincent Russ regarded his superior silently. Suddenly, he knew how Dellhart was planning on disposing of him. When he was forced to throw Jenny from the chopper, Russ would feel Dellhart’s palm striking him forcefully between the shoulder blades. He would end up following the girl out the open doorway, and together they would plummet into the watery channel of the Little River.

  Abruptly, the transport copter made a sharp dip earthward. “What’s going on?” demanded Dellhart.

  “We’ve got an unexpected visitor,” said Hollinger. As the Bell made a quick turn and headed back around the western face of the mountain, they peered out the bay door and saw a black and tan police helicopter speeding in from the north. “I don’t know if it’s actually seen us yet,” informed the pilot. But it’s a sure bet that it will, if we don’t do some fancy maneuvering pretty fast.”

  “I can’t afford to be in this helicopter if it ends up being captured,” Dellhart said. There was a thin edge of panic in his voice. “If I’m physically connected to what’s happened here today, both Eco-Plenty and I are done for. Do you think you can outrun it?”

  “No way. That’s a lightweight Hughs Cayuse that the state police are flying and this is a heavy old Bell transport. If they spot us, they’ll catch up to us sooner or later.”

  Russ sat there, letting the prospect of capture and conviction stew in Dellhart’s mind for a frightening moment, then spoke up. “I have an idea. Let us drop down to the southern side of the mountain and let you off at the highway there. You and Miss Brice can head out on foot for a while. We’ll shake this overgrown mosquito off our tail, then swing back down when the coast is clear and pick you up.”

  Dellhart mentally debated the idea and decided that it was probably his only chance to escape detection. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. But remember, if you’re captured, keep your mouths shut about my involvement. If you remain loyal to me, you’re both rich men. But if you screw me over, you’re dead meat. Understand?”

  Both men indicated that they understood quite clearly.

  Hollinger skimmed above the dense treetops of the southern face and leveled off as he reached the valley below. He touched down on the flat surface of Highway 411 and watched the skies as Dellhart and Jenny jumped from the belly of the aircraft.

  `”Leave it to
us, boss,” assured Russ. “We’ll shake this flying pig and pick you up a half-mile down the road.”

  “Come through for me on this, Vincent, and you’ll be in my good graces forever,” promised Dellhart. “You’ll even get a nice share of that goldmine we just discovered.”

  Vincent Russ smiled at the corporate head as the helicopter lifted and rose away from the two-lane highway. “Don’t worry…I’ll do the right thing.” Then they were racing over the trees, watching as Dellhart began to drag his hostage down the roadway.

  Hollinger looked over as Russ left the back of the chopper and took the second seat of the cockpit. “What was all that jazz about a goldmine?”

  “A potential for vast wealth is hidden inside this scrubby mountain,” Russ told him. “The bad thing about the whole matter is that Dellhart will be enjoying the lion’s share of the fortune. That line of bull he gave us about making us rich men was just a false promise. The only way we could benefit from that gold would be to literally take it away from him.” Russ sat back in his seat and smiled slyly. “And luckily, I know exactly how to do that.”

  The pilot regarded his passenger with a conspiratorial grin. “Are you thinking about turning traitor, Russ?”

  “Why not? The world of corporate finance and industry is a cutthroat business, just like the mercenary profession. Some join the rat race out of personal drive and loyalty, hoping to gain wealth by hard work and persistence. Others are drawn to the game by pure old-fashioned greed and ruthlessness. And like you, I’m of that latter fraternity.”

  “My kind of guy!” laughed Hollinger, reaching out and shaking Russ’s hand. The black man piloted the Bell around the eastern side of the mountain at the same time that the police copter took the western route. “It looks like we’re in luck. The cops are heading around the other side and I don’t think they even know we’re here.”

  “Then we’ve got a clear shot,” said Vincent Russ with great satisfaction. He turned to the pilot next to him. “I have a business proposition for you, Mister Hollinger. If you get me safely to Memphis, you may end up gaining more than a mere ten-thousand-dollar bonus. You might be just the man to help put together a plan that I’ve been hatching for several days now. A plan that could make both of us billionaires in a short period of time.”

  “Where did they go?” wondered Glen Tucker. He felt his frustration rise to a maddening pitch as they emerged from their lengthy trek through the mountain tunnel and discovered that Dellhart, Russ, and Jenny were nowhere to be found. Of course, they had gained a good ten or fifteen minute lead over him and Rowdy after pulling that dirty trick and caving in the passageway with the grenade.

  They probably went down the pathway here,” said Rowdy. “Let’s head that way and see if we can spot any sign of them.”

  The two men set off down the narrow mountain trail. They had passed the bordering thicket of thorny bramble and were nearing the picturesque pathway of pale flowers when they stopped dead in their tracks. There were five men marching up the trail toward them—men dressed in camouflage fatigues and berets, carrying enough firepower to orchestrate a small military coup.

  At first, both parties could only stand there and stare at each other. Then the leader of the strike force—a swarthy man with the name JACOBI stenciled on the breast of his flak vest—raised his M-16 into line. “Remember your orders, men,” he called out. “All trespassers are to be eliminated, with no exceptions.”

  Glen and Rowdy weren’t about to be subject to an uneven showdown. They turned and ran back up the pathway as a burst of gunfire chewed the rocky earth around their feet. Rowdy whirled and let loose with a short burst from the MAC-10. The .45-caliber rounds missed Jacobi, but they did hit a soldier carrying an AK-47. The mercenary lurched backward as the slugs stitched across his chest, then hit the ground with deadly finality.

  Moments later, the two were back within the shelter of the cave. They stayed well away from the entranceway, but could still see the remaining four commandos crouched behind boulders with their guns aimed toward them. “What are we gonna do now?” asked Rowdy, breathing hard, partly out of exertion and partly out of shock over having had to actually kill a man.

  Glen saw a soldier make a quick dash from one boulder to another and sighted down the ported barrel of the .357 Magnum. He fired and pegged the commando in the upper thigh a second before he reached cover. “Well, we sure can’t put up a decent fight, that’s for sure. I’ve only got a few more rounds in this revolver, and it won’t be long before your machine gun runs dry if you keep firing it on full auto.”

  Rowdy nodded and flicked the MAC-10’s selector switch to single fire. They ducked farther into the tunnel as the soldiers sent a steady barrage of automatic gunfire toward the entrance. Slugs slammed into the inner walls of the passageway, sending sharp slivers of stone and coal into the air.

  “You might as well come out and face the music,” called Jacobi. “Hiding in that cave won’t help you. We have enough ammunition and explosives to blow you to kingdom come. If you walk out with your hands over your heads, we promise to give you a quick and relatively painless execution.”

  “Screw you!” growled Glen. The thought of Jenny struggling in the grasp of Jackson Dellhart while these mercenaries blocked their way enraged him to no end. He snapped a thunderous shot from the Magnum and chiseled a hunk of granite from the boulder that Jacobi was crouching behind.

  “Suit yourself, hotshot. We can dish out just as much as you want to take.” Jacobi shucked the empty magazine from his rifle and slapped in a fresh one. “Okay, boys, lay it on them hot and heavy.”

  Glen and Rowdy retreated a few yards farther into the passageway, to avoid the bee swarm of gunfire that speared through the peaked opening of the mountain cave. “Where’s the freaking cavalry when you need them?” asked Glen. “Those state troopers in town should have heard all this ruckus by now.”

  “Life ain’t like a John Wayne movie, my friend,” replied Rowdy. “The cowboys don’t always ride off into the sunset. Sometimes the Indians end up winning the battle and going home with their share of bloody scalps.”

  Glen didn’t reply. He knew the hopelessness of the predicament they were in. He and Rowdy certainly couldn’t hold off the seasoned soldiers, not with their limited firepower. He only hoped that Lance LaBlanc might have some idea how to turn the tables when he and the others arrived moments from now. If not, the glorious cavern they had just left might very well turn out to be a golden tomb for them all.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Shortly after he and Jenny Brice had been left on the highway, Jackson Dellhart knew that he had been betrayed.

  It shouldn’t have taken Hollinger more than five or ten minutes to elude the police copter and come back for them, yet fifteen minutes had passed and still there was no sign of the Bell transport. Several times Dellhart had spotted the police’s Cayuse from his vantage point on the roadway. It buzzed around the mountaintop in a steady, searching pace which indicated that they were totally unaware that another chopper had even been in the area.

  “Russ, you lousy bastard!” Dellhart cursed beneath his breath. “Where the hell are you?” But he really didn’t need to ponder that question, did he? He had a pretty good idea exactly where his right-hand man was at that moment. Vincent Russ was winging his way straight to Memphis with the spectacular image of that golden cavern blazing foremost in his mind. But he would never profit from his treachery; Dellhart vowed that. As soon as he reached a telephone, the corporate executive intended to call up one of his mob connections and put a contract on Russ’s head. If he had his way about it, the traitorous crony wouldn’t live to see the following morning.

  “So, your trusty henchman dumped you, didn’t he?” asked Jenny with a spiteful grin.

  Dellhart tightened his grip on the woman’s arm and prodded her with the muzzle of the Magnum. “Just shut up and keep walking.”

  They had walked nearly a half-mile and were now approaching the stretch of
highway that circled the western base of Pale Dove Mountain. Dellhart knew that they needed to find a dependable source of transportation out of the area pretty soon. If he could make it to Knoxville without incident, then he could charter a private plane and reach Memphis before nightfall. He thought of Russ again and his temper flared anew. His backstabbing assistant had spare keys to his office and the combination to his safe, where he kept his most valuable contracts and a considerable amount of cash. Dellhart cursed himself for being so blind. He had always considered Vincent Russ to be nothing but a flunky, a man who was on a much lower scale than he was, both mentally and socially. But now he grudgingly realized that they were predators of equal degree, driven by the pursuit of power and wealth. Although he hated to admit it, he knew that Vincent Russ might even have the advantage on him. He possessed the sly savvy and gritty ruthlessness of a common street criminal, a strength that Dellhart sorely lacked.

  The roar of a diesel engine sounded from the roadway behind them and they turned to find a Greyhound bus approaching from the south. “Okay, this is going to be our ticket out of here,” he told Jenny. He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband and pulled the tail of his sport shirt over it. “Now, I want you to help me flag this guy down. But remember, if you so much as utter a single wrong word, I’ll blow your freaking brains out. You know what I’m capable of, so you know that I mean what I say.”

  Jenny nodded grimly, surrendering to her captor’s threat. She certainly knew the lengths that Jackson Dellhart would go to in order to get his way.

  As the bus neared them, they stepped up to the road and began to wave the vehicle down. The bus began to slow and, with a hiss of air brakes, stopped next to them. The narrow door unfolded and a black driver dressed in a crisp gray uniform smiled down at them from his lofty seat. “You folks need some help?”