Crota

by Goingback, Owl

  Randy considered the suggestion. “What about falling through?”

  “We’ll stick to the outer edges, that way we’ll actually be walking on top of the walls.”

  Randy nodded. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

  With the city terraced as it was, they had only to scale a five-foot wall to gain access to the roofs of the second-tier dwellings. From their new vantage point the ancient city looked like a gigantic beehive. Randy noticed that some of the buildings were not roofed, or were only half-roofed. Maybe it was deliberate, for many of the buildings had no doorways in their outer walls. Entrance into those particular habitats could be made only by climbing onto the roof of an adjoining building.

  The first three buildings they crossed didn’t present a problem, but the fourth was roofless. Though the walls were wide enough to walk on, Randy felt his mouth go dry as he started his trek to the other side. It was all he could do to keep from staring down into the room below. A slip would probably result in at least one broken bone, maybe two.

  Three more of the roofed structures followed and then they came to the end of the block. Here they were faced with the problem of either climbing down, crossing the intersecting alleyway and climbing back up the wall on the other side or attempting to jump across from roof to roof. It was at least fifteen feet to the street below, which meant they would have to use a rope to make the descent, wasting valuable time. In addition, once down, there was no guarantee they would be able to climb back up to rooftop-level again. However, the alley was only about five feet wide and not much of an obstacle to jump across, provided nothing went wrong.

  They decided to jump.

  Steven Fuller went first, making the jump look easy as he landed lightly on the opposite side. Randy had suspected all along that the professor was half mountain goat. Still, his ego would not allow him to be outdone. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to follow.

  “Here goes!” Randy shouted.

  Steven backed up to give him room.

  Sprinting to the edge of the building, Randy pushed off with a groan. His takeoff was good, but his effort was only halfhearted. He landed close to the edge on the opposite building. Too close. A stone in the rock wall shifted and gave way. Loose stones clattered to the rocky alleyway below.

  Randy, feeling the weight shift under him, pinwheeled his arms, trying to keep his balance. The wall crumbled beneath his feet; he felt himself falling. Professor Fuller made a mad grab for him. He caught about two inches of fabric on the front of Randy’s coveralls. The fabric stretched, ripped, and tore free.

  Randy screamed as he fell backwards. Steven Fuller, eyes wide with fright, stood on the roof’s edge, clutching the torn piece of fabric. Randy had a brief glimpse of the alleyway rushing up to meet him. Darkness followed.

  Chapter 19

  Skip stopped by his office long enough to pick up his revolver and to question the dispatcher further about the whereabouts of Lloyd and the other members of the department. Vicky couldn’t provide any more information, except to say that none of the officers taking part in the Devil’s Boot expedition had reported in yet. That tidbit of knowledge only added to the growing shadow of concern tugging at the back of Skip’s mind.

  Turning off Cemetery Road, he drove as far as possible along the rocky path to the cave. He might have gotten a little closer, but the way was blocked by three patrol cars not equipped for roughing it like his Bronco. Calling the station to let them know he was going to be out of his vehicle, he locked the door and continued on foot. Five minutes later, he reached the cave’s entrance.

  Seeing Skip, Hays jumped up from his chair. “Sheriff!...I thought you were still in the hospital. When did you get out?”

  Skip pushed past the deputy and grabbed the microphone. “How long have they been down there?”

  “A couple of hours...maybe longer.”

  “What call sign is Lloyd answering to?”

  “Unit One. We’re Base.”

  Skip nodded and keyed the microphone. “Unit One, this is Base. Come in, One. Over.”

  There was no answer.

  Skip repeated the message. “Unit One, this is Base. Come in, One. Over.” The silence hung heavy between the two men.

  “God damn it, Lloyd, answer the fucking radio!”

  The only answer was the quiet hum of the amp.

  “Maybe he can’t hear you,” the deputy said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to.”

  Chapter 20

  ”Oh my God!” Lloyd whispered, his breath burning. Deputy Greg Ferguson took one look and retched.

  If it wasn’t for the gum wrapper lying in the doorway they would have walked past the building, for it looked no different from all the rest. But the wrapper had caught Lloyd’s attention. Entering the unadorned building, they discovered an entrance to a basement room...a room with walls covered in exotic murals, and a floor splattered with blood.

  They lowered themselves into the room by means of a climbing rope, left behind and anchored to the floor by one of the other members of the expedition. As they descended, their lights swept across the body of Sergeant Mitchell lying on an ebony altar.

  Eric Mitchell was naked, the tattered pieces of his uniform scattered about the altar like pieces of brown crepe paper. He lay on his back, eyes staring, his mouth open in a silent scream. The sergeant’s head ended just above his eyebrows in the front, and just below his ears in the back. The skull was empty, his brain removed by whoever had killed him.

  Lloyd glanced down. Bloody footprints criss-crossed the floor. Big footprints, each measuring about fifteen inches long and five inches wide. The creature that left the tracks had to be enormous. The prints led from the center of the room to the altar, back to the tunnel on the opposite side of the room, and back again to the doorway beyond the altar.

  As he stood studying the footprints, the words of Jay Little Hawk came rushing back to him. It would be stupid to continue believing they were dealing with a bear. There wasn’t a bear on earth that left a track that big.

  Sickened by the sight before him, Lloyd stepped away from the altar. Behind him, Deputy Ferguson had quit throwing up and was now sobbing uncontrollably.

  Lloyd had just reached the center of the room when something changed in the air about him. Maybe it was only the tension of the situation, but he could have sworn the air was suddenly electrified. Looking around, he tried to determine where the sensation was coming from.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked, turning to the deputy.

  Greg Ferguson nodded.

  Knowing whatever killed Mitchell might still be nearby, Lloyd turned and faced the doorway beyond the altar. With his flashlight held against the left side of his shotgun, he braced himself for what might appear from the darkness. The electric intensity in the room grew.

  “L-Lloyd!”

  Startled, he spun back around.

  Because of the tracks, Lloyd had assumed that the creature exited the room through the doorway behind the altar. Maybe it had. If so, then the damn thing had circled around to come up behind them.

  His body trembling in terror, Deputy Ferguson slowly backed across the room. His slow, shuffling movements were watched closely by a living, breathing nightmare. A nightmare with eyes of yellow fire.

  Skip was right, so was Jay Little Hawk. It was true, all of it. There wasn’t a bear, never had been. What there was instead was something almost incomprehensible, something straight out of a science-fiction movie. Only this was no movie. The creature was real.

  The Crota shifted its gaze from Ferguson to Lloyd, then back to Ferguson. The creature was hunched, tensed, like a cat ready to spring, its hands slowly opening and closing in anticipation. The scraping of its claws sent chills up and down Lloyd’s back.

  He raised his shotgun and aimed at the monster, but his hands shook so badly he didn’t dare fire for fear of hitting Deputy Ferguson.

  “Get the fuck out of the way, Ferguson!” Lloyd hissed between clenched teeth.
>
  The deputy didn’t reply, didn’t move. He stood there, looking up at the monster before him. His tremblings reached spasm level. Flecks of spittle flaked his lips.

  “Damn you, Ferguson. Don’t you dare go south on me now. Not now.”

  The deputy’s flashlight fell from limp fingers. The shotgun followed.

  Lloyd’s finger tightened on the trigger of his shotgun. ``Get...out...of...the...way.”

  Deputy Ferguson moaned. The sound started soft, grew louder, building into a scream.

  “AaayyyeeeEEEE...”

  The deputy’s head tipped back. The scream climbed in volume, reaching the level of an air raid siren. Black claws sliced the air, seeking the source of the shrill noise.

  “EEEEEEE--”

  The scream stopped. A bubbling gurgle replaced it.

  Deputy Ferguson’s head pivoted backwards, fell back until it touched his backbone, hung upside down by a single thread of flesh. His eyes stared, unblinking; his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. A heartbeat later, the deputy’s body fell in on itself like a deflating balloon.

  Lloyd didn’t shoot. He ran.

  Chapter 21

  Jay Little Hawk gazed out the tiny window. Somewhere below was the sleeping city of Omaha, though it was doubtful very many of the residents could sleep through the thunderstorm they were having. Bolts of lightning arced across the night sky, lighting up the horizon in a spectacularly fiery display. From thirty-five thousand feet the storm didn’t look very frightening, nor was it much to worry about, especially considering the greater troubles he faced.

  “Sir, would you care for a pillow?”

  Hawk turned his head and nearly got a face full of breast.

  The flight attendant’s name was Julie, at least that was the name on her nametag. She was a tall brunette with a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. Her smile was orthodontically perfect and her personality utterly charming. There was a fresh, clean scent about her guaranteed to wake up a few glands. Another trip, another time maybe, he might have been tempted to flirt a little, maybe even make a pass. But not this time. He knew he wouldn’t be good company for anyone, except maybe for his unusual-looking traveling companion.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine,” he smiled back.

  “Eh...” Her eyes looked past Hawk. “What about him?”

  George Strong Eagle made quite a spectacle among the dark-suited businessmen spaced throughout the red-eye special. He wore faded blue jeans, a brown shirt and moccasins. The tips of his braided hair were wrapped with strips of red cloth. A golden eagle tail feather was tied to the left braid, his blue blanket draped loosely about his shoulders. He sat rigid in his seat, his eyes transfixed on an invisible point out the window. For an old Indian who’d never flown before, let alone been off the reservation, he was doing pretty well. During takeoff, however, he did startle a few passengers when he started singing his death song.

  Hawk turned and asked Eagle in Lakota if he needed a pillow. The old man’s reply made him laugh.

  “He wants to know if you come with it.”

  Julie smiled. “Sorry. If you’d like, I can put this in the overhead compartment--”

  She started to reach for the deerskin-wrapped bundle resting on Eagle’s lap, but his left hand shot out like a snake, intercepting the attendant before she could touch it. She gasped. Hawk spoke quickly in Lakota. Eagle answered back and released the young woman’s wrist.

  Hawk translated: “He says he’s very sorry if he frightened you. He’s a foolish old man. This is the first time he’s ever flown in an airplane, the first time he’s been away from his home. Please forgive his actions, but the bundle on his lap makes him feel less afraid. He would rather hold it.”

  Julie straightened back up. “It’s okay...I understand.”

  There was a noticeable change in her voice. It was more metallic, more artificial than before. There was a white mark around her wrist where Eagle had grabbed her. She refrained from rubbing it, although Hawk could tell she wanted to.

  Hawk sighed as he watched the attendant continue forward between the rows of resting passengers, heading for the galley. No doubt she’d give the rest of the flight crew warning to steer clear of their seats. Just as well; he didn’t need the distractions of fragrant perfumes and pretty legs. He had too much to think about, too many things to plan out. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, probably the busiest day of his entire life. Tilting his seat back, he returned to gazing out the window.

  Chapter 22

  Pain preceded the return to consciousness. At first Randy wasn’t sure whether he was alive or dead, awake or not. Darkness lay before him like a blanket. Surely he must be alive; death was supposed to be painless. But was he awake? He never remembered having dreams of discomfort--nightmares, yes, but never physical discomfort. Perhaps if he tried to move he would be able to determine if he was still among the living. He did so, but very slowly, starting with his right arm. His actions brought a flash of pain intense enough to form colors in the back of his head.

  Upward his probing fingers glided until they reached his face. He was surprised to find a dampened cloth covering his eyes. Everything came rushing back to him. Like a computer summoned on-line, Randy’s memory came alive. He sat up.

  “Professor?”

  Dizziness slammed into him, forcing him back into the supine position. His head sank back into the softness of a pack.

  “Shhh...I’m here,” came a whispered reply from off to his left. A flashlight switched on long enough to allow Randy to see the professor’s silhouette. He was sitting against a nearby wall, his ear pressed tightly against the radio.

  “Don’t try to move so fast. You took a nasty fall. Anything broken?”

  Randy ran a quick mental check of all his body parts. “My back hurts.”

  “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  With great effort he could. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s not broken, only sprained.”

  Cautiously, he probed along the back of his head to the source of the painful throbbing. His head was bandaged; several wraps of gauze held a large patch in place. The hair around that patch was sticky with blood.

  “I think some of my brains leaked out,” Randy stated as he drew his hand away.

  “No such luck,” Steven Fuller replied dourly. “I scooped them up and packed them back in. I may have gotten them scrambled around and backwards, but they’re still there. Can you walk?”

  “No,” Randy replied, picturing the professor packing his head like a suitcase.

  “Come, come, I was only kidding about the brains. Lucky for you, you have an extremely hard head. You may have suffered a concussion. Nothing more.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. How long have I been out?”

  “About thirty minutes.”

  “Jesus...” Randy made it to his elbows. “I have to get in touch with Lloyd.”

  Steven came over and kneeled by him. Randy could hear the hissing static of the radio.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said. “It seems Lloyd has keyed his radio to the On position. There’s no way to get through to him.”

  “Are you sure it’s Lloyd? Maybe one of the others--”

  “There are no others.”

  The professor’s words were like a sucker punch to the stomach.

  “What?” Randy asked in astonishment.

  “There are no others,” Steven repeated slowly. “We’re the only ones left.”

  “That’s impossible,” Randy argued. “How? What?”

  “Lloyd’s radio was keyed, so I heard everything. Something killed Deputy Ferguson. I don’t know what it was, but I heard Lloyd yelling for the deputy to get out of the way so he could shoot it. I heard Ferguson scream.”

  “What about Mitchell and Brown?”

  “You heard the scream earlier. It had to be one of them. And they didn’t respond to any of the calls.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re dead!”
>
  “No, it doesn’t,” Steven agreed. “But we can’t stick around here to find out. There’s something terrible walking around out there. What it is, I don’t know, but it’s not a bear. That much I’m sure of. You’d never find a bear this far underground: too deep, too dark, not enough food. Whatever this thing is, it lives here...probably has for years.”

  “What about Lloyd?” Randy interrupted. “You said his microphone is keyed. He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with the static. Sometimes I think I hear something, other times I’m not so sure. If he is alive, he’s not talking. And there’s no way to get through to him. Maybe he dropped the radio and what I’m hearing is only my imagination. Now do you see why we should get out of here?”

  “I don’t think I can make it.”

  “I’ll carry you if I have to,” Steven said. “I’m a caver, a history teacher. Nothing more. I did not agree to fight monsters, and you are no longer in any shape to do so. Once we get out of here we can send in the marines.”

  Bending over, the professor grabbed Randy under the arms and helped him into a sitting position. Randy nearly passed out from the pain. But gritting his teeth, he was able to stand up. He started to pick up the pack his head had rested on.

  “Leave it,” Steven ordered. “We’re traveling light. I have more than enough gear for the both of us.” He handed Randy a flashlight. “You’re going to need this: you broke yours in the fall.”

  “What about my helmet?”

  “Forget it. Your head survived, your helmet did not.” He gave Randy back his shotgun.

  “We’re not going to cross any more rooftops, are we?” Randy asked.

  “It’s the quickest way. It’s also the safest. Too many blind spots and hiding places along the alleys. Up topside we’ll be in the open, less chance of anything sneaking up on us.”

  Reaching rooftop-level again was fairly simple. Locating a narrow passageway between two buildings, Steven made the ascent by chimneying upwards. He supported his back against the wall of one building while firmly planting his legs against the wall opposite it. Squirming upwards in small steps, he was on the roof in less than three minutes. Once up, he lowered a rope for Randy, anchoring the other end with a screw.