by Rick Hautala
“How are you going to manage that?” Phil asked. He slapped his useless legs. “I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna be much help.”
“First tell me what I’m up against,” Mark said. “How many are there? Have you noticed any pattern to their activities?”
Phil shrugged. “I’m not precisely sure of their numbers. It’s hard to distinguish them, but I’m pretty sure there are only six of them.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “There’s six by my reckoning, too.”
“Three females, I know that,” Phil said, “and at least three males—two older and one young one.”
“What the hell are they?” Mark asked.
“I have no idea what they are,” Phil said, “but I agree with Jack. They’re intelligent as hell, no doubt about it. I don’t know. My guess is they might be some kind of human throwback or something, you know? Like maybe a tribe of Neanderthals or something that—somehow—have survived into the twentieth century without being discovered.”
“How can that be?” Mark asked, shaking his head in amazement.
“You got a better idea?” Phil snapped.
“No.” Mark shifted uncomfortably and glanced back at the cave opening, “but it just doesn’t seem possible. I mean, they can’t have been up here all this time and never be discovered.”
“Maybe they have. Maybe that’s why there’s all those rumors and legends about this mountain being haunted. Remember? You were telling me about that Indian monster. What was it called? Pomoola? Christ, since I’ve been here, I’ve had plenty of time to think about how there could be all sorts of superstitions about these things.”
“Yeah ... maybe,” Mark said, scratching his chin. “It just doesn’t seem possible that they could have remained undiscovered for all these years. Is it possible they’ve been here even as far back as prehistoric times?”
Phil shrugged. “Beats the shit out of me.”
“But you say they can make fire,” Mark went on. “And it’s obvious, from the way they’ve constructed this fence and tied all of you up, that they know what they’re doing. Obviously they can make plans and execute those plans. That would take some level of intelligence and communication between them. They had to drag all this timber quite a ways up the mountain, and I saw a stack of what must be firewood out in the front chamber. Do they have any kind of language?”
“Nothing I can understand,” Phil said.
“Me neither,” Jack added. He was leaning back against the stone with his eyes closed, as if the glow of the flashlight was too painful. “They howl and grunt all the time. I don’t know if it’s actually language, but they sure as hell seem to communicate, at least amongst themselves.”
“So where are they now?” Mark asked, glancing over at Jack. “Do they leave you alone like this often?”
Phil shook his head. “This is the first time since I’ve been here that they’ve all left at the same time.”
Mark glanced at Jack, who was nodding with his eyes still closed as though he was now used to darkness and wanted to keep it that way. “First time since we’ve been here, too,” he said wearily. “They’ve never all been gone at the same time before.”
“So what do you think they’re doing?”
Phil regarded Mark for a moment, then said softly, “I think they’re looking for you.”
“What—?”
Phil shrugged. “Ever since I’ve been here, especially after last night, they’ve been taking a real keen interest in me. Jack’s even commented on how they spend a lot more time with me, knocking me around and grunting at me, obviously trying to communicate something to me. And they’re always sniffing me, too, like—I don’t know, like bloodhounds, trying to pick up a scent or something.”
“And last night—when that one male that was wounded came back to the cave,” Jack said softly. “I think he died during the night. I heard some pretty awful sounds coming from the outer chamber. Who knows? Maybe they’re all out giving him a funeral or something.”
“That must have been the one I wounded yesterday when it attacked me down at the trail head,” Mark said. “I hit him in the shoulder with my rifle, and he was bleeding pretty bad.”
Jack shook his head. “He got that wound a couple of days ago. Looks to me like he got shot.”
Mark hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the cave opening. “Well, then, that means there’s two of ‘em dead, because I shot another one down at the base of this cliff.”
“We heard the shots,” Phil said. “That’s when we started calling to you. That was the one who had stayed behind to guard us. He must have heard you coming and went to get you. We heard three rifle shots. When you didn’t answer me, I figured you either didn’t hear me or else the bastard had gotten you.”
“Well,” Mark said, glancing quickly at his watch, “it’s getting late. If I don’t get you out of here soon, it’s going to be dark before I can get you off the mountain.”
“I don’t mean to be a bummer, Mark, but how the hell are you gonna get three people who can’t even walk out of here?”
As if proof were needed, Phil struggled for a moment to stand, then sagged back down, exhausted.
“We can tie some of these vines together, and I can lower you down, one by one.”
“With four or five of these things still out there?” Jack said.
“Shit, you’re right,” Mark said. “I only have three bullets left.”
The three men were silent for a lengthening moment. Mark kept glancing over at Mary, who looked as though, now that rescue was so imminent, she had lost what little grip she had on reality. Her head was thrown back, hanging to one side. Her eyes were staring unblinkingly up at the rocky ceiling.
“Then I’m going to have to go down the mountain and get help,” Mark said. “I can have a dozen or more men back here with rifles, ropes, medical supplies, and anything else we might need. It was a full moon last night. If I can convince the authorities, maybe we can land a helicopter up here on the ledge above and lower some men down.”
Before they could discuss the relative merits of this plan any further, a loud, keening wail sounded from outside the cave. It rose to a high-pitched note that warbled up and down like a frantic siren. The tunnel throat of the cave reverberated with the eerie sound. The woman didn’t respond at all, but the three men turned and looked in horror at the cave entrance.
“Shit!” Mark muttered. “They must have found the one I killed.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Breaking In
The night was alive with cricket song. A just-past-full moon was riding high in the sky, casting a cold silver light over the yard. Sandy was standing in the dappled shadow of a maple tree at the foot of the driveway. She shivered as she pulled her jacket collar tightly around her neck and looked up at the house.
All the lights were off. Polly must have gone to bed.
Good! she thought, her hands clenching into fists.
Moving swiftly and silently, Sandy cut across the front lawn and up the back stairs to the kitchen door. She knew what she was doing was foolish, but in her hurry to get out of the house earlier that afternoon, she had forgotten to pick up her school books. Now, a little before midnight, she had come back to get them.
She probably should have called earlier and told Polly that she was coming by, but she couldn’t stand the thought of hearing Polly’s voice, much less seeing her. So once the Bishops had settled down for the night, she had snuck out of the house, intent on getting what she needed for school the next day. With luck, she’d be back at the Bishops’ within an hour, and no one would even know that she had been gone.
Her hand trembled as she grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The doorknob jiggled a little, then stopped. She twisted it back and forth again a few times.
“Damn it!” she whispered, her breath a small cloud that quickly dissipated in the night.
Scooching down and ignoring her fear of spiders and other unseen dangers that might be lurking, she f
ished around under the edge of the stoop until she found the spare key that hung there on a nail. She quickly fitted the key into the lock, turned the knob, and opened the door, being careful to swing the door slowly so the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Knowing she’d be right back out, she left the key sticking out of the lock.
The house was silent and dark. Not wanting—or daring—to turn on any lights, she felt her way around the kitchen like a blind person. She hissed with disappointment when she realized that her backpack wasn’t by the laundry where she usually dropped it when she got home.
Why am I even doing this? she wondered. What the hell am I afraid of? This is my own damned house!
She walked across the kitchen floor on tiptoes, grimacing every time a floorboard creaked. She was racking her brain, trying to think where her backpack might be. She had no idea. Things had been so confusing lately, and she had been so shaken up by the accident with the Jeep, she was surprised she could even remember how to tie her own sneakers. Knowing her luck, Polly had probably taken the backpack upstairs and thrown it into her bedroom.
The bright glow of moonlight from outside made the interior of the house all the darker as Sandy finished her hasty search of the kitchen and then moved into the hallway. She checked beside the coat rack and inside the front hall closet but still didn’t find what she was looking for. Finally, after not finding it in the living room or dining room, she was convinced that she had to go upstairs and check her bedroom.
She paused at the foot of the stairs, her hand resting lightly on the polished banister as she looked up at the top landing. Her breath came light and fast. A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. It was going to be one hell of a challenge to get up there and back without waking up Polly.
This is absolutely crazy! she told herself.
She knew she should just walk right up there, bold as can be, and get what she wanted. Maybe she should even try to wake up Polly and have a little talk with her. Maybe she should even go so far as to apologize to her for the things she’d said. At the very least, she shouldn’t be acting like a criminal in her own goddamned house!
But she didn’t dare turn on the hall light before starting up the stairs. She tiptoed up the stairs, wincing at every step that creaked beneath her weight. Even the tiniest noise sounded as loud as gunfire, but she told herself that everything was magnified in the dark, that Polly was sleeping soundly and wouldn’t hear a thing.
And so what if she does?
The upstairs lights were off. Once Sandy got to the top of the stairs, she couldn’t resist peeking into Polly’s bedroom before going down to her own room. She opened the door ever so slowly and saw her stepmother, an indistinct, gray lump underneath her bed covers. Holding her breath, Sandy watched for a moment, then moved as quickly and as silently as she could down to her own bedroom.
A soft wash of moonlight was shining through the curtains, illuminating her bed and a small square of the floor. She glanced around the room, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
There it was!
Her backpack was slung over the back of the chair by her desk, right where she had left it, she now recalled. She went over and picked it up, then shrugged her arms into the straps, being careful not to swing the pack around in case something inside might make a noise or fall out. Once the pack was positioned comfortably over her shoulders, she went quickly back down the hallway to the stairs.
Just as she was passing Polly’s bedroom door, her stepmother moaned in her sleep and rolled over, muttering something that Sandy couldn’t quite make out. Sandy froze, her hand poised above the banister. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she waited several seconds, praying that Polly wouldn’t wake up and see her there. The steady hammering of her pulse in her ears sped up, and an aching pressure started to build inside her bladder.
Go on! Just get the hell out of here! she commanded herself, telling herself that Polly might be half-asleep and not even remember their argument; she might think Sandy was just getting up to go to the bathroom. But she didn’t dare to move ... not yet.
But it doesn’t matter! This is my house, too, so just get moving!
She lowered her foot down onto the first step. Dizzying waves of tension threatened to knock her over as she forced herself, ever so slowly, to take each step one at a time and not start running. Her backpack felt like it was loaded with bricks as it bounced painfully against her kidneys, reminding her of how badly she had to go to the bathroom.
She hardly dared to breathe until she reached the bottom step and was heading back into the kitchen. Shaking all over, she opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the night. Then, for the first time since she had entered the house, she took a deep breath, letting her lungs expand to their limit. The night air surrounded her like a cold blanket, making her shiver, but all she could feel was relief that she was out of there.
She quietly eased the kitchen door shut and turned the key in the lock to relock it. She resisted the sudden impulse to shout for joy as she jumped off the steps down to the driveway. Glancing upward, she was relieved to see that no lights had come on in the house. Polly was still sleeping peacefully.
At least the two-timing little slut is alone tonight, Sandy thought bitterly.
The flat stretch of lawn in the backyard glowed eerily in the moonlight. The distant fringe of trees shifted as a light breeze wafted their leaves. Inky shadows clung to the eaves of the house and along the side of the garage. Sandy was too elated with her success to notice that one of the shadows close to the garage shifted as she bent down and felt up under the stairs to replace the hidden key. Just as she was straightening up, though, some primitive sense warned her of imminent danger. She stood up and was just turning around when a huge, dark shape loomed above her, blocking out the night sky.
A tiny squeak escaped from her throat, but her throat closed off as two powerful hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. She tried to resist but couldn’t as thick, muscled arms spun her around, wrapped around her chest, and started to squeeze with a steady, unrelenting pressure.
No! No! her mind screamed.
She couldn’t make the slightest sound. The arms forced the air out of her lungs. Bright, trailing spirals of light filled her vision as the crushing strength increased. Her head felt hot and heavy, and was throbbing with pressure. She had the brief impression that she was floating, flying away when she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Her feet kicked wildly, making her think of a frantic swimmer who was trying her best to stay afloat.
This can’t be happening! . . . This can’t be happening!
The night suddenly erupted as trailing red and yellow bursts of light shot across her vision. She could hear nothing but the heavy drumbeat of her pulse, slamming in her ears as her body was shaken back and forth, first one way, then the other. The powerful hands locked together across her chest and pulled inward, crunching her rib cage and collapsing her lungs.
Then other sounds filled Sandy’s head.
First came a rapid series of pops that sounded like a string of firecrackers exploding in the distance. Then a searing jolt of pain accompanied by a single, loud crack close to her ears, sounding like an old board that had snapped beneath an enormous weight. Bright, intense pain roared like a hurricane inside her head, billowing in flashes of searing white heat.
Sandy never realized that her backbone had snapped in half. Thankfully, she was unconscious by then.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Bloody Feast
The beastly howl was still echoing through the cave when Mark sprang into action. After checking to make sure there was a bullet in the rifle chamber, he hurriedly glanced around, looking for someplace to hide. His first thought was to crawl underneath the pile of animal carcasses inside the corral, but the thought of lying there, buried under all that rotting meat with maggots and grubs crawling around, nauseated him.
Huge rocks were strewn around on the cave floor, any one o
f which Mark could have hidden behind, but he had no idea where these creatures might go once they entered their cave. If Phil and Jack’s count was accurate, and there were four or five of the creatures left, he didn’t have enough bullets to kill them all, even if he could take out each one with a single shot. And if he kept his flashlight off so he wouldn’t reveal himself, how was he even going to see? He had to do something, fast.
Sweeping the flashlight beam around, he noticed at the back of the cave a shelf of rock about ten feet above the cave floor with a jumble of rocks below it. He quickly decided that it would be the best place to hide, at least until he could think of something else. Even if the creatures found him there, he’d be able to defend himself better, being above their heads with his back against a solid rock wall.
Another wailing cry sounded from outside the cave, this time much louder and getting closer. However many creatures there were, they were returning to the cave. After a moment, Mark heard a low grunting sound and the heavy shuffling of padded feet on stone.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered to Phil, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll get all of us out of here, I promise.”
