by Brian Hodge
He had just enough time to shout, "Aww—shit!" before he skidded down the slope on his ass. The torch fluttered behind him. His ball of string was knocked loose and bounced down beside him. Somehow, he kept hold of the torch and knife. The backpack jabbed into his back. The gasoline sloshed in the can, sounding like a tidal wave rushing up behind him. Sharp stones cut into the backs of his legs and butt as he fell in a swirl of dust and rock. When he reached the bottom of the slope, he pitched forward and landed face first in a thick, spongy mat of bat shit.
Dust from the rotting bat shit filled his nose and mouth, making his gag, and he was only vaguely aware of Watson's barking laughter as he scrambled to his knees, spitting viciously to get the stinking crud out of his mouth. In his panic, he dropped the torch and knife. He wondered if he could get rabies or some other fatal disease from swallowing bat shit. He hurriedly spun off the canteen cap, filled his mouth with water, swished it around, and then spat it out in a noisy spray.
"Oh, boy," Watson said as he crept the rest of the way down the slope. "You are nimble on your feet today." He picked up the torch and waved it in the air to keep it burning brightly.
"Cut the—" Kip said, but then he started to chuckle because he had almost said shit. His voice choked off because his mouth still felt like it was lined with fur, so he took another mouthful of water, swished it around in his mouth, and spit. Then he sat down on the ground and looked up at Watson with wide, glistening eyes.
"The way you're goin', we'll be lucky to get out of here alive even if we don't find any more untcigahunk." Watson's laughter rose louder, echoing from the curved cave walls with a weird Doppler effect.
Kip spit noisily onto the floor. "Cut me some slack, all right?"
"Hey, no harm intended," Watson said. He held his hand out to help Kip to his feet, but Kip ignored it as he stood up on his own. He reached behind and felt the seat of his pants, surprised that the fabric wasn't shredded.
After picking up his ball of string and carefully replacing it on his belt, he took the torch from Watson. He was about to tip the canteen back for another swig of water when the old man touched him on the arm.
"I told yah," he said, softly and firmly. "We gotta go easy on that." In the back of his mind, Watson was irritated that he hadn't picked up that pint when he had the chance. Just one, tiny, little pint of whiskey. What was the harm? He had the money right there in his hands. In fact, he had circled the liquor store three times when he went to fill up the gas cans.
One small pint bottle would cut through any thirst...and Kip could drink all the water he wanted.
"C'mon," Watson said. His voice betrayed his irritation, but Kip wasn't sure why he was upset as they started across the chamber floor, carefully keeping to the thin black trail that had been worn out through the white mat of bat shit.
When they were in the center of the chamber, a sudden panic gripped Kip. It wasn't the bats still spiraling overhead. In a calmer moment, he realized the torchlight would keep them away rather than attract them. And it wasn't that he thought he could feel unseen eyes, glowing dully as they watched these invaders walk further into the caves. It was nothing like that. It was—
When it hit him, the impact was almost physical.
This area was—maybe "city" wasn't the right word, but the untcigahunk had made this. They had carved and chiseled it out of the stone spine of the mountains with their non-human hands. If he and Watson weren't walking through the center of a "town," if those shadowed openings on the tiers above weren't doors leading into rooms, even if the best you could call this was a "nest," whoever or whatever had built this was intelligent... much more intelligent than Kip had assumed they were before now, in spite of everything Watson had told him.
Kip was trying to reconcile this with the glimpse he'd had of the little brothers yesterday when they had opened the doorway in the cellar hole. There, the creatures had looked slow and stupid, like dim-witted animals frozen in surprise by the sudden burst of light.
But this chamber put the lie to all of that. This "nest" looked carefully planned and constructed.
"Are there—" Kip cut himself short when his words rebounded back from the surrounding stone walls. They were so magnified even a whisper sounded like a shout.
In the corner of his eye, a sudden scurrying motion of something moving between the shit-covered stones caught his attention. He dropped into a crouch and shifted to one side, staring at the cave floor as he waited for the motion to be repeated. The torchlight cast wavering shadows across the cave floor. The stones looked like they were covered by a smooth blanket of fresh snow. Kip wasn't sure, but it looked as though the entire mat of bat shit was seething and undulating with a subtle waving motion.
Kip cleared his throat and, lowering his voice, asked, "Are there any—you know, any other forms the untcigahunk take? What we saw in the cellar hole yesterday, is that how they always look?"
Watson glanced at Kip with a curious expression on his face.
"Whadda yah mean?" he said.
"You said they're like cicadas that come out every twelve years, right?" Kip started walking slowly forward.
"According to our legends, yeah."
"You know cicadas go through a metamorphosis, like a butterfly. Those ten or twelve years they're under-ground, they're like worms called larvae."
Watson boomed laughter. "'N just what makes you such an expert on this all of a sudden?" He shook his head from side to side as though disgusted.
"We studied it in science class this year," Kip replied.
They were more than halfway across the chamber floor, moving slowly and being careful not to wander off the well-worn trail. The bats fluttered overhead, and every now and then one would swoop down close to them.
Watson didn't seem to notice or, if he did, not to mind, but Kip kept glancing from one side to the other, convinced there was something crawling among the shit-covered rocks. Maybe it was just the wavering shadows cast by the torchlight, but now and again he was sure he caught a glimpse of long, wrist-thick, wormlike creatures burrowing through the shit. When he listened carefully, beneath the tread of their footsteps, he thought he could hear soft, sucking noises as those worm-things tunneled in the bat shit. The chilled air of the cave made him shiver, and he quickened his pace to catch up with Watson.
Up ahead, the floor slanted upward, toward a wide entrance that branched off into several cave mouths that looked dark and foreboding. Kip patted the unspooling ball of string on his belt just for the security of knowing it was still there and still working. He tried not to think about having to find his way back on the run, with or without the string as a guide.
Once they were across the chamber floor, Watson stopped at the base of the incline leading back up into the tunnel. His flashlight beam made an elongated oval on the ground slanting up to the doorway, and the muzzle of his shotgun followed it, ready if any untcigahunk burst out of the darkness.
Kip stopped a few paces behind him. His throat was parched, coated with the dust—the bat shit dust—they had raised while crossing the chamber. He watched as Watson scanned the opening.
"What do you think?" Kip whispered, glancing behind them, just in case. He tried not to think about those sluglike things tunneling in the darkness, but he couldn't forget the sucking noises he'd heard as they burrowed.
"Looks to me as though the cave branches off up there," Watson said. "Which way d'yah think we outta go?" Before Kip could answer, Watson bent over and, skimming his fingertips across the rock to keep his balance, scrambled up the incline. Kip quickly followed.
Once they were at the top of the cliff, they paused, careful to keep their backs to the cave wall. The chamber was once again shrouded in the darkness. The only sound was the soft flutter of bat wings overhead.
"It'd be interesting, come sunset, to see which way those bats go to get out of here," Watson said. "They gotta get outside to eat insects, don't yah think?"
Kip shrugged, not sure what he thoug
ht.
"Well," Watson said, "if that's the case, it must mean I haven't closed off all the exit points. Not if them bats are still gettin' out."
"We aren't going to have to worry about closing all the exit points," Kip said, trying not to let his nervousness show. "Not if we do what we came for."
Watson hacked something up from his chest and spat. "I 'spoze you're right. But you still ain't answered me. Which way should we go?"
Kip looked at each of the openings and shook his head. "One's as good as the other, I 'spoze," he said, consciously adopting one of the old man's expressions just to see how it felt.
Watson snickered. "Well, I always vote Republican, so let's take the tunnel to the right." He started to move that way, but then he stopped short and looked Kip in the eyes. "It still ain't too late to head back while we still got our skin."
Setting his mouth into a firm line, Kip shook his head. "No way. Not 'til I do what I came here to do."
"Com'on, then," Watson said, "but stick close, and keep your eyes open."
2
Bill had never considered how seriously out of shape he was until he started running across the field, heading toward the woods. It wasn't long before his breathing came in ragged gulps that filled his lungs with fire. He slowed his pace to a jog when he entered the cool shade of the woods.
He had only a vague idea where the Indian Caves were. Several years ago, when Kip was old enough to play outside on his own, he and Lori had heard about the caves and gone out to check them over, to see if it was "safe" for Kip to play there with his friends. Bill knew Kip would have gone out there regardless of what they said, but he was glad now because he had a general idea which way to go in the winding maze of paths.
Once he was in the woods, though, he was so winded he had to slow down to a walk, no matter how anxious he was about finding Kip. After all, what were the chances Kip would even be at the caves? Marty had seen him heading out there, but that didn't mean he was there now. If something really bad had happened to him, wandering around in the woods looking for the Indian Caves wasn't going to help.
The peace of the woods was in sharp contrast to the agitation and worry he was feeling. But the sense of loss that filled him was only partially because of Kip. Thinking of coming out here with Lori so many years ago made him start remembering other things. Too many other things. And try as he might to keep those thoughts at bay, his sense of loss was like a thick, dark cloud shifting in front of the sun.
The further he went into the woods, the less familiar the path seemed, and it was only by sheer luck that he didn't lose his way. He was swatting his way through some low overhanging branches when, up ahead, he caught sight of the dark V-shaped opening in the side of the hill. His throat closed off, and his heart started thumping in his chest like a cold fist. He ran the rest of the way to the cave opening and, when he got there, breathlessly called out, "Kip!... Hey, Kip!"
His voice echoed back from the sheer rock wall. Off in the distance, a crow cawed as a light breeze stirred Bill's hair, sending chills racing up his spine. The clearing in front of the cave had an eerie loneliness, and Bill found himself earnestly hoping that he didn't find Kip out here.
"Kip! Are you here?" he called, cupping his hands to his mouth and directing his voice at the cave opening.
The only reply was the sound of the wind, fluttering the leaves overhead.
Bill scanned the clearing, wondering if Kip might be hiding from him. Maybe Parkman was right. Maybe Kip had run away from home for some reason. He could be hiding anywhere in the woods, watching him.
Moving slowly, cautiously, Bill approached the cave opening. It was obvious this place was well used. The grass at the entrance was worn down to thin tufts, and there was the litter of cigarette and candy wrappers, and soda and beer cans strewn all around. Placing one hand on either side of the opening, Bill leaned his head into the shadow of the cave.
The air was dank and cool. Even before his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could tell there had been recent activity in here. Freshly dug dirt was evidence that someone had moved the large stone by the back wall, probably within the past couple of hours, considering that the coolness of the cave would have kept it fresh looking.
Bill shivered as he entered the cave and walked over to where the stone had been removed to expose a tunnel. He tripped on something, and bending down, saw a piece of string wrapped around the base of the stone. One end of the string led off into the darkness of the tunnel, and something told Bill had to be Kip's handiwork.
"Damn!" he muttered as he gave the string a gentle tug. He wondered where it led. It wasn't tied tightly, wherever it went. Someone, obviously, was using this as a guide out of the cave, but who?
And why?
Bill didn't consider for very long. He knew it had to be Kip. If only he'd had the foresight to bring a flashlight. But it was too late for that. If Kip had tied this string, if he was somewhere down that tunnel, then his not showing up at home last night certainly meant he could be in trouble.
"Goddammit," Bill whispered. Not wanting to lose any more time, he wheeled around and ran from the cave. His feet made soft thumping sounds on the well-beaten path as he ran back home. Even as out of shape as he was, he figured he could get home, grab a flashlight, and be back here within thirty minutes.
3
The next untcigahunk came at Kip and Watson from behind, and after it was over, Kip was beginning to think they'd never make it out of there alive. The creatures seemed to be coming from the front when he led and from the behind when he was picking up the rear. Was it coincidence, or were they after him? Maybe they were avoiding Watson because he was an Indian.
After they left the chamber—the "nest," as Kip insisted on calling it—they decided the best thing they could do for their own protection was to leave a lighted flare in the mouths of any tunnels they didn't follow. This way, they figured, the burning red light might scare any little brothers from using the cave to head them off on their retreat.
In theory, that was good, but either they had missed one or more branches off the tunnel, or the untcigahunk weren't afraid of the flare. Either way, one of them—bigger, it seemed, than the first one they encountered—got behind them somehow. Claws upraised, the thing came squealing at them down the corridor.
Kip heard it first, but only a second before Watson did. The tunnel was too narrow for them to stand side by side, so Kip jabbed at the creature with his lighted torch, keeping him at bay while Watson moved into position.
The cave walls magnified the shrill shrieks of the creature, and in the firelight, its eyes took on a wicked red glow. Skinning back its lips revealed a row of needle-sharp teeth and a tongue that darted, wormlike, around its mouth. Kip thought again of the worms he'd seen burrowing in the bat shit.
"The bastard don't seem to like your fire, huh Kip?" Watson said. He hadn't shot yet and was taking a moment to study the creature in action.
Kip wanted to scream. As far as he was concerned, this face leering at him from the darkness, under-lit by his torch, was an image from a nightmare come true. He waved the fire at the little brother and waited, cringing, for the sharp report of Watson's gun that would end this thing's ear-piercing squealing.
When the gunshot didn't come, Kip began to panic. In spite of the thing's apparent fear, it still hadn't let up on trying to get at him. He turned and was just about to yell at Watson to shoot when he saw something in the tunnel ahead of them. Ice water filled his veins when he realized there was at least one more little brother coming at them from the other side.
"That one's yours," Watson said, and then he cracked off one shot—then another.
Kip faced his own attacker and swung at it with the torch, hoping this time to hit it. The untcigahunk ducked backward out of harm's way, anger flashing like lightning to reload his shotgun as the sounds of more approaching untcigahunk filled the cave.
Kip kept swinging at the creature, hoping if not to kill it at least to
scare it off, but every time his swing came around, the thing would duck back and then, just as quickly, dart forward, trying to rake him with its hooked claws. The sounds of more untcigahunk approaching got louder.
"How many?" Watson asked, and Kip felt him bump back into him.
"So far just this one," Kip snapped. His knife was slippery in his hand, and he was just waiting for the little brother to close in so he could use it.
"Come on, you bastard," Kip hissed between clenched teeth.
"I think I've got a few more than that," Watson said calmly.
Kip heard the shotgun snap shut, but his question "How many?" was lost in the shattering explosion of two more rapid shots.
The tunnel vibrated from the shrieks of the dying creatures. Watson laughed aloud and cried out, "Two less, anyway."
"Just great," Kip said. He was going to ask Watson to re-load and take care of the one menacing him, but before he could, the little brother suddenly lunged at him.
Kip was ready, though. He dodged to one side and, swinging the torch like a Louisville Slugger, gave the untcigahunk a solid crack on the back of the head. Flames sputtered, and burning shreds of cloth fell onto the creature, who cried out in pain and rage as it sprawled on the floor. Before he could think what he was doing, Kip raised the hunting knife over his head and, in one vicious swoop, brought the blade down into the back of the creature's neck.
Sticky, hot blood spurted from the wound, covering Kip's arm to the elbow. The creature's claws and feet scrambled in the dirt, trying to get enough purchase to rise, but Kip dropped his weight onto its back, withdrew the knife, and brought it down again and again until the untcigahunk lay still.
When he was sure it was dead, Kip looked up to see how Watson was faring, and his first impression was that things weren't good. The tunnel was packed with a moving mass of the untcigahunk. There were enough so, no matter how fast Watson reloaded, Kip thought he'd never live long enough to get them all.
