Older and Fouler Things (Jed Horn Supernatural Thrillers Book 4)

by Peter Nealen

  I was shooting as fast as I could work the lever by then. I’d have been more concerned about accidentally shooting one of my friends, or Trudeau or Miller, but the creatures were getting so close that target identification wasn’t too hard, no matter how dark and murky it had gotten. It was point and shoot, when I didn’t have to beat one off just to get enough room to shoot it, point blank. And that wasn’t easy, either. They were strong, and shrugged off hits that would have knocked a grown man to his knees.

  Eryn was right behind me, her back pressed against mine, her shotgun blasting almost as fast as my rifle. Somehow, without any actual coordination, we had managed to form a small, tight perimeter, and were fighting in every direction as the weird, croaking creatures swarmed us.

  “We’re going to run out of ammo pretty quick!” Frank yelled. “We need to find a better position!”

  Even as he spoke, my rifle ran dry. Too close to the creatures to reload, I held it in my off hand, drew my .45, and shot the nearest one in the face from about an arm’s length away. “If you see a way to a better spot, lead on!” I yelled, as I transitioned to the next froggy face and blasted that one through one gaping, luminous eye. Head shots are harder and riskier than body shots, but they were the only sure kills with these things, whatever they were, and they were getting close enough that it was becoming hard to miss.

  “Come on!” Ray yelled. “I think they’re thinner up here! Stay close!”

  My pistol locked back on an empty mag, and I holstered it, reverting to using my Winchester like a club. I remembered many an old Western I’d seen, where the frontiersman was reduced to using his rifle at melee range. I’d never expected to find myself in a similar situation, but a Winchester 1886 is a big, heavy chunk of steel and wood, and makes for a very respectable war club. I bashed a creature’s skull in like splitting a melon, then cracked another one between the eyes with a buttstroke that would have made my old combatives instructor proud. It rocked it, but it quickly recovered and grabbed the buttstock, nearly wrenching the weapon out of my grip. I moved with its pull, twisting the rifle free, then hit it three times rapidly in the face. It finally fell away into the murk.

  Slowly, a step at a time, we moved with Ray. I couldn’t look back to watch where we were going; I had to concentrate on the things trying to tear us limb from limb. I had gotten a bit more elbow room along the way, and was actually doing a bit better job swinging the Winchester than I had shooting; after the first one went down on the first blow, its skull crunching hideously under a full line-drive swing of the rifle’s buttstock, none of the rest of them really wanted to get within swinging range of that weapon.

  Footing was not easy. I nearly stumbled more than once, especially since I was practically walking backward. Eryn caught me the first time, pushing against me with her back, keeping me upright. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if one of us fell while we were still surrounded.

  The ground began to rise as we moved, and the rock got slicker. Ray was leading us up a great, mounded formation, a stalagmite hill. I got part way up and my boot slipped.

  Eryn cried out as I fell, but couldn’t catch me in time. My tailbone hit the rock painfully, and one of the creatures surged forward, its wide mouth gaping in a hideous, fang-laden grin, its spear held high.

  I had thrown one hand out to try to arrest my fall, so I only had one hand on the Winchester. It’s a heavy beast, but desperation lends a man strength that he didn’t know he had. Surging up off the ground, I swung the rifle and caught the thing alongside its head with the buttstock.

  It wasn’t quite as powerful a blow as I might have managed if I’d had both hands on the barrel, but it was almost enough. The impact made a sickening thock sound and the creature reeled back for a moment, letting out a creaking groan, but then it was lunging for me again. It was too close, and I was in the wrong position, to swing the rifle. So I yanked out my Bowie and stabbed it.

  The big blade sank into its neck, even as it tried to wrap its long, grasping fingers around mine. Blood spurted, and it tried to twist away, but I sawed frantically, as I got spattered with the nasty ichor it was bleeding, until it reared away and spun off into the press of its fellows. The rest eased back, giving me enough space to get my feet back under me.

  Eryn had scrambled down after me, and was pulling me up as I rose, though she was struggling with her own footing on the sloped, knobby, wet rock. Fortunately, we’d killed or maimed enough of the creatures that they seemed to have decided that just rushing us wasn’t a great idea. They were circling us now, watching us with those awful, bulging eyes, looking for a weakness.

  Their caution meant I had time to reload, as Eryn and I scrambled up on top of the gigantic hump of stone. I hastily shoved rounds into the Winchester’s loading gate, worked the lever, then slung the rifle while I quickly reloaded my pistol. Then the .45 went back in its holster, and I brought the Winchester to bear again.

  “Karen?” Miller asked suddenly. The things down below started chuckling, though it took a second to realize that that horrible, bubbling, rasping sound was laughter. “Karen, where are you?”

  There was no reply. I spared a quick glance around our little circle. Trudeau was nowhere to be seen.

  “Somebody get a light pointed down where we came from,” I said. I’d have done it myself, except that my own light was still lost in the dark somewhere. The fact that I hadn’t found it when we’d gotten to the bottom of the mine shaft told me that it had probably been shattered in the fall. “If she’s down there, we’re going to have to go get her.”

  That prompted another ripple of sick laughter from the goggle-eyed things around us. If we were being honest, I doubted that there was any hope that Trudeau was still alive. If she had fallen and gotten left behind as we’d retreated up the little hill, then those things would have more than likely torn her apart.

  The fog or smoke that had obscured everything was just as thick as ever, and the paltry lights that Frank and Eryn shone down the slope didn’t seem to reach very far. But there was no sign of Trudeau, alive or dead. That didn’t mean she wasn’t down there somewhere; there were a few short stalagmites between us and where we’d been when the creatures had attacked. Or were there? Was that the spot, or was it over there? It was hard to tell in the shifting, gloomy murk.

  Lifting my rifle to my shoulder, I took a step forward. The rifle was smeared with the same ichor that had spattered on me when I’d stabbed that thing, and it stank, almost making me gag. But I kept my gorge down and took another step. “Let’s go,” I said. “If she’s down there, then we need to find her.” Frank and Eryn followed me. The things let out another wave of gurgling laughter.

  I didn’t like Trudeau. I suspected that if she’d fallen away, she’d brought it on herself, especially after that little performance in the narrow spot of the tunnel. But it didn’t matter if I liked her or not. I was a Witch Hunter. I had certain responsibilities, and I couldn’t leave even the nastiest human being to the mercies of those frog-like things in the gloom.

  Step by careful step, we advanced back the way we’d come. The troglodytes, whatever they were, gave ground, grudgingly, a half-step at a time, but they didn’t want to rush right into the teeth of our gunfire, either. We’d done enough damage to make them respect us, at least. But I could see that they were moving back and forth, cunning in the glinting luminosity of their too-large eyes, their wide mouths stretched in evil grins, slaver dripping from fangs that didn’t look like they belonged to the rest of their features. They were plotting, trying to see an opening where they could jump us and overwhelm us in a tide of slimy bodies.

  One suddenly darted forward, a croaking war cry on its lips. I snapped my rifle toward it and blew a massive hole through its skull. Its cry died suddenly and it dropped to the cave floor, its spear clattering from its hand. The rest muttered and hopped back, shifting from foot to foot, watching and hissing.

  I spared a glance down at the rocky ground beneath us.
There was still no sign of Trudeau. Where was she?

  I suddenly imagined her being grabbed by dozens of long-fingered, gray-green hands and dragged off into the darkness. I had to suppress a shudder. That would not be a pretty fate. But if she had been taken, why hadn’t she made a sound?

  I felt a sudden unease as I remembered the strange way she had been acting. Had she been taken? Or had something already gotten to her in the quiet of her mind, and she had defected?

  That wasn’t a good thought. I doubted that she had willingly gone with these troglodytes, but what if something else had whispered to her, and she had slipped away in the chaos of the fight? She was clever, no matter what else I thought about her. It was possible.

  But that only made the situation worse. Because we couldn’t just leave her to it, either. She would either come back at us as a direct threat, or she would perish horribly, and we had to try to stop either eventuality from happening.

  We were starting to get away from our terrain advantage, and the creatures were beginning to close in on us again. I was going to have to make the call, sooner or later. We had to break contact with this bunch and regroup.

  But how to break contact when we didn’t know the ground, or even how many of the creatures there were?

  “I don’t see her,” Frank murmured.

  “Neither do I,” Eryn said. “Where could she have gone?”

  That was when a faint, papery laugh sounded overhead. And it wasn’t one of the troglodytes laughing, either.

  “Oh, crap,” Frank breathed. I couldn’t disagree.

  Are you feeling a bit trapped, my little fools? Again, it was impossible to tell for certain if the vampire’s voice was actually sounding in the cave, or only in our heads. There was a weird reverberation to its words that meant it could have been either. I should imagine. Even I do not know just how many of the Worms of the Earth have gathered down here. They are drawn by the Ancient One, you know. It was gnawing at the roots of the mountains even before their first, degraded spawn crawled into a hole in the earth. They worship it, not without cause. It calls to them, and they have slithered their way through the deep places of the world to come here, to be near it, to honor it with the blood of countless victims. Yours will not be the first. Nor will it be the last.

  “Well, they haven’t done a very good job of getting to us, yet,” Ray boomed in reply. His words rolled and echoed through the vast chamber.

  It is only a matter of time, good Raymond, the vampire replied. The fact that it knew his name probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given what Father Ignacio had said about the nature of vampires, but it was a nasty wake up call, nevertheless. There are far more of them than there are of you, and they fear the Ancient One far more than they fear your weapons. They will overwhelm you, eventually. If I do not get to you, first! It laughed again, this time a high, sinister cackle of evil, demented glee. That definitely was a physical sound, as it echoed and bounced off the far walls and ceiling of the cavern much like Ray’s shout.

  “Can you stop me?” it whispered. This time I was sure it was actually speaking, because the sound came from behind us, higher up the rock formation that we had descended to search for Trudeau. There was a faint whooshing sound, and then its voice hissed from ahead of us, behind the line of creatures. “You would have to catch me first.” Again, it shifted, sounding like it was perched directly above us. “But that is unlikely. Impossible, even. I am so far beyond your comprehension that you cannot hope to fight me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, heard it all before,” Frank barked in reply. “The Walker on the Hills was ‘beyond our comprehension,’ too. I still don’t really understand what it was, and I didn’t even have a clue when we were chasing it, but we trapped it well enough. I don’t have to know every detail of who or what you are to kill you.”

  If he was hoping to get under the vampire’s skin, it didn’t work. It just laughed. That was a truly horrible sound. “The Walker on the Hills?” it hissed. “Impressive, if true. But not even in the same league, Francis Tall Bear. You are a mouse boasting that it will kill the serpent.”

  “We must get out of here,” Kolya said, his voice low. “This is bad place to be.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The vampire’s presence seemed to be emboldening the creatures, the “Worms of the Earth,” as the vamp had called them. I thought I’d heard that term before, somewhere, but figuring that out could wait until we weren’t surrounded and being stalked by one of the worst Otherworldly predators on the face of the planet.

  “Back up,” Father Ignacio said. He was a priest, but he wasn’t ignorant of tactics. He’d been along on enough hunts to know the score. “If we can at least keep the high ground, we’ll neutralize some of the Worms’ numbers. And I think I saw a better bit of terrain up there.”

  “We can’t just leave Karen!” Miller protested. “She’s down here somewhere!”

  “And getting ourselves overrun and murdered won’t help her,” Frank pointed out. “Would you go charging into a bunch of narcos with only a pistol if she’d been kidnapped?”

  I couldn’t spare a look at Miller, but I could sense his frustration and fear in the pause that followed. “No,” he bit out.

  “We’ll come back and find her,” I assured him. “But we’re kind of in a bad place right now.” The vampire tittered, a curiously high-pitched and disturbing sound. Like a sort of demented, evil giggle.

  Still keeping close together, we retreated back up the mound. But the Worms had beaten us to it.

  Ray’s Gibbs-Summit and Kolya’s Remington roared together as one, blasting the frog-faced troglodyte off the top of the mound of stone. Two more leaped up in the same spot, and got the same treatment, the .45-70 and .35 Whelen blasting big, gory holes through their bodies and smashing them to the stone beneath.

  I was only able to see the fight up there peripherally, because at the same time, the mob below us and in front of me, Eryn, and Frank let out another croaking, ululating war cry, and surged forward. The vampire must have been right about them fearing the wrath of the creature below more than they feared our guns, because they charged us without any heed for casualties.

  I emptied my Winchester’s tube in less than eight seconds, dragging the barrel across the oncoming horde, pausing just long enough to pull the trigger, then working the lever as I moved to the next target before the first had even fallen. They leaped and stomped over their fallen fellows, heedless of the bodies underfoot.

  My eighth shot roared out, accompanied by Frank’s hammering .458 shots and Eryn’s shotgun blasts. Above and behind me, Miller suddenly called out, “There’s a passage over there!”

  “Run!” Ray yelled.

  I drew my .45 and dropped the next closest troglodyte as it leaped at us, then turned and looked toward the others. Ray and Father Ignacio were already leading the way, up a narrow ridge of rippling stone and toward a dark opening in the rock, barely visible in the wavering light of bouncing flashlights. There weren’t any more of the Worms between us and the tunnel, though I immediately distrusted any hole in this place. We could very well find ourselves trapped there.

  But it was either that or get swamped by a tide of stinking, slimy bodies out in the open. And we couldn’t get flanked in a tunnel. I hastily slung my Winchester, grabbed Eryn by the shoulder, spun her around, and pushed her up the slope. “Go!” I yelled. I turned back momentarily while she started scrambling up the slippery stone, and shot another one of the Worms between the eyes from about ten feet.

  I wasn’t going to outpace my wife on the way to safety. No way. I’d stay and die, if it got her out of the killing zone.

  I shot one more that got too close before I turned and followed Eryn and Frank. At that point, the only thing to do was run.

  Sprinting on wet, slick rock that’s anything but flat ain’t fun. But as I’ve said before, desperation can make things possible that wouldn’t seem like a good idea under normal circumstances. Boots skidding and slipping, but someho
w still finding purchase on the weird knobs of the rock formation, I surged up toward the top of the mound and the path to the tunnel ahead.

  It was easier going once we reached the top, though footing was still treacherous. We still made the best speed we could. Ray and Father Ignacio were in the lead, with Miller right on Father’s heels. Kolya was coming up behind Miller, practically dragging Charlie, with Frank, Eryn, and I in a clump at the rear, with about twenty feet between Eryn and Kolya.

  One of the Worms made a prodigious leap to get in front of Eryn, coming up from below the flowstone ridge. It almost didn’t make it, having to drop to all fours to catch itself before it fell backward. Eryn slowed just long enough to shoot it, her 870’s muzzle almost touching its nose when she pulled the trigger. Its brains splashed messily and it slid off the side of the ridge.

  Another one was clambering up the side, getting purchase in places that I couldn’t have, and tried to grab my ankle. I shot it as I ran past. It was a one-handed snap shot, and not nearly as accurate as it could have been, even in the dark, but it let out a bubbling yell of agony and fell away.

  Then we were inside the tunnel mouth, and Frank and I were turning to cover back the way we’d come. “How are you on ammo?” I asked him, between gasps for breath. I wasn’t out of shape, but the air didn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it down there.

  “I’ve got two full mags left,” he said as he reloaded. “It’s not going to be enough for that crowd.”

  No, it wouldn’t be. Nor would my bandolier.

  Once I was sure that he was up, I hastily tac-reloaded my pistol, then shoved it in its holster and reloaded my rifle again.

  The Worms weren’t coming into the tunnel after us, but I didn’t expect that it was anything but a temporary respite. “Everybody all right?” I asked.