Goblins

by David Bernstein

  Hale thought about running from the place, but knew if he did, Levy would come inside. She wasn’t leaving Keller’s badge behind. Shaking, he forced in breaths of the fetid air and somehow got control of himself. But if he didn’t hurry, he might grow too exhausted to even leave.

  He continued to shine the light around, praying to see the badge. But all he saw was carnage. He nudged body parts over, the squishy sounds of him stepping on flesh and blood nauseating.

  Keller’s torso was mostly intact and too heavy to move without actually lifting it and turning it over. Hale couldn’t tell if he was looking at the man’s frontal region or back. The uniform shirt was a mixture of tattered cloth and blood. He was about to flip the large chunk of meat over, when he saw a nipple and knew he was looking at the chest. There was no badge pinned to it though. Then he noticed the left breast—where badges were displayed—was missing, the area resembling fresh, uncooked salmon. He glanced around the torso for the item, but didn’t find it. The goblin had devoured it.

  Hale exited the cave and slowly shook his head when he met Levy’s eyes.

  “You didn’t find it?” she asked.

  He looked at the dead goblin at his feet, the one whose den he’d just departed from.

  Levy’s nostrils flared. Her lips formed into a line. Hale saw anger flourishing into rage. Before he could stop her, she was on her knees and slicing the dead goblin’s belly open.

  Hale took a step back. He wasn’t going to stop her.

  “I need light,” she said, and Hale shined the flashlight beam directly on the creature’s stomach. Levy dropped the bone knife, stuck her hands into the incision and pried the flesh apart. She sifted around in the cavity, pulling out guts until she held the badge in her hand. She wiped it on her grimy pants and stood, then spit on the goblin’s corpse. She looked at it for a moment and Hale thought she might break down. But she shoved it into her pocket, picked up the dagger and said, “Now we can go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Crud dragged the policeman by his right ankle like a kid pulling along his favorite blanky. A trail of blood lay behind. The man’s back was slowly being torn away by the rough tunnel floor, the backside of his uniform already gone.

  Crud had hoped the man would wake from the pain, which he thought must be of the burning variety. To watch him shed tears, struggle and beg for mercy would have been music to his ears. He guessed he had hit the man’s head too hard. But the human was still alive. If any serious damage had been done, it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

  Crud planned on presenting his prisoner to the goblin king, whether for his master to dine upon, make a slave or turn into a goblin. A human with such fighting prowess would surely make for a great goblin warrior and wonderful addition to the king’s army. Above all—for Crud always looked out for Crud—the goblin hoped to be rewarded for such a find.

  The man started coming around. He mumbled something, his words indecipherable. Crud stopped and let go of his ankle. When it hit the ground, the prisoner moaned in pain and his eyelids fluttered open.

  Annoyed, Crud huffed as he stepped up to the man’s head. As much as he wanted to hear the man’s discomfort and keep him conscious, he bent down, lifted the cop’s head off the ground and slammed it back down. The human fell unconscious again.

  The goblin remained there, his hand clamped to the man’s head. He was finding it difficult not to smash it again and again. Or maybe he’d just tear it clean off and wear it atop his head. He thought about how great it would be to crack the head open like an egg and slurp up the mushy brain. He’d see if he could suck out the eyes through the back of the sockets, something not always as easy as it seemed.

  But he knew if he presented the human to the king, he’d receive three times the bounty in return. Meat from a number of his personal slaves. Lesser individuals, but just as tasty, as long as they weren’t ill or too old.

  And though he wanted to keep dragging the man, get his flesh down to the ribcage, he thought his king would prefer the offering with the most meat possible.

  Crud sighed, something he rarely did and readied to heft the man onto his back and carry him the rest of the way, when he heard footfalls ahead. Not the clickety-clack of clawed feet, but the scuffing of human footwear. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and caught human scent mixed with goblin blood and juices.

  One voice was female, the other male. The female sounded like she was in distress. Crud wondered where the other three humans were. Dead most likely? If so, then how were two still alive? They had surely reached the dens. But then they should all be dead. Had they managed to kill the guards? Every last one?

  Impossible!

  However unlikely, it had to be the case. There was no other explanation.

  The goblin king had been correct. The humans were growing more powerful, each generation stronger and more advanced than the previous. Still, they would never be a match for the goblin king’s army.

  Crud would finish off the two remaining humans. They had to be haggard and weak. Out of ammo, their guns—which was what made them dangerous—useless now.

  Eager to make their acquaintance, the goblin left his prisoner in the middle of the tunnel. He found a crevice a foot away where he hid, blending in almost perfectly with the rocky tunnel wall.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Despite his leg paining him from the goblin bite, Hale offered to carry Levy piggyback style for as long as he could, but she refused. Her leg was hurting more and more the farther they went and the bleeding had gotten worse again. Each step brought with it a grimace and limp. Her stride was lessening, their progress slowing. But she wasn’t near crawling yet. Hale told her she was being silly, to let him help. He kept offering assistance, but after the last time he had, she said, “You may be my boss, but if you don’t stop bothering me, I’m going to knock you out and drag your ass out of here.” Hale was speechless after that and hadn’t offered again.

  Jane Levy was one tough lady.

  Still, he didn’t stop worrying about her. The gash was bone deep and bleeding a lot. She was going to need a heavy dose of antibiotics and probably surgery, or at least stitches. Hell, they both were going to need antibiotics and stitches. Hale’s forearm had been sliced open and his leg was lined with puncture wounds. Both injuries were bleeding, but neither had gouged bone. They were also covered in green goblin fluids, blood, saliva and who knew what else. He hoped the stuff wasn’t infectious, especially due to the fact that they both had open wounds along with a multitude of cuts and scrapes. For all Hale knew, the goblins carried hepatitis C or some other diseases to boot.

  The two officers trudged on, making good headway considering Levy’s wound. Just as he started to feel better about her, she nearly stumbled to the ground. Hale grabbed her and stood her up.

  “Let’s take a break,” he said. “Just for a minute.”

  She didn’t argue and leaned against the wall. Hale took a seat opposite her, in the tunnel at one of its narrower points. Levy wouldn’t look at him directly. From between smears of goblin blood and grime, he saw that the color of her face was off. The pale skin practically glowed in the soft light. She was sweaty too, but then again, so was he. Still, he didn’t think she was doing as well as she let on.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Really.”

  “Stop fussing over me,” she said. “I’m fine. You’d be a little sore too if you’d had your shin ripped open.”

  After about thirty seconds of silence, she shoved away from the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Hale asked.

  “I’m good to go,” she said, and as she shined her light ahead, she stopped.

  As Hale got to his feet, he did the same.

  A body was lying in the middle of the tunnel, the bottoms of its shoes in their direction. They looked at each other, then, with bone daggers in hand, moved forward and ke
pt their eyes peeled for movement.

  “It’s Willows,” Levy said and started to rush-limp forward.

  Hale gripped her shoulder. “Wait.”

  Levy didn’t fight him and stopped.

  “Listen,” Hale commanded, his voice barely audible.

  Silence filled the air around them, but it didn’t mean they were alone.

  From where Hale was standing, Willows looked intact. But the ground was shiny leading up to him. It was the man’s blood. Willows had been dragged.

  “He’s breathing,” Levy said.

  Hale focused on the man’s chest and saw it moving. Relief fell over him. “We don’t know how he got there, but it certainly looks like it wasn’t of his own accord.”

  “Yeah, I see the blood trail,” Levy said, her beam of light following the crimson stain until it faded in the distance. “But the immediate area looks clear. We need to help him.”

  Hale was only able to come up with two reasons Willows had been left in the tunnel. The first: a trap. The second: whatever had been dragging him had taken off when it heard Levy and him approaching. Seeing that the area was clear of any goblins, he decided that the latter must be the case.

  “All right,” Hale said. “You’ve got more medical training than I do so I’ll keep watch.”

  They moved forward, Hale a few steps behind Levy. He kept checking both directions of the tunnel with his flashlight. Not seeing anything coming their way gave him a bit of solace. But there were outcroppings and dark crevices where the wall jutted out and shadows dwelled. He’d keep an eye out.

  “How is he?” Hale asked.

  “He’s got a strong pulse,” Levy said, her voice sounding upbeat for the first time in a while. Then, almost sadly: “But he’s bleeding from a nasty-looking head wound.”

  “Hey, he’s alive,” Hale said. “That’s more than I thought when we first saw him, so I’ll take it.”

  Levy called Willows’ name gently a few times, then massaged his cheek and chest. “He’s not responding.”

  “Then we’ll carry him out,” Hale said. “Help me get him over my shoulder.” He slid the bone dagger into his gun belt along with his flashlight, but kept it turned on. The beam shot off the ceiling and helped illuminate the area. Together, they hefted Willows’ upper body off the floor.

  “Damn, for a slender guy, he’s heavy,” Levy said.

  Hale laughed. “Yeah, he packs a lot in his lean frame.”

  As Levy jostled the man’s arms so Hale could bend and lift him up, she cried out.

  Hale looked up at her, thinking her ankle was barking again. Then he saw the blood dribble from her lips. He didn’t understand what had happened. Maybe she’d suffered an internal injury only now revealing itself. Her body jerked and then her head whipped back and forth. Hale grabbed on to her shoulders, letting Willows slide back to the ground. Levy looked down and Hale followed her gaze. The tips of four claws were poking through her uniform at stomach level. A red flower blossomed around each one. She coughed, speckling his face with dots of crimson.

  “Nooooo!” he yelled, and she flew sideways into the wall. A goblin stood in her place. The creature had snuck up on them, had probably been hiding in one of the shadowy outcroppings. The thing was thick and muscular and uglier than the others he’d seen. Blood, like maple syrup, dripped from its right claw.

  Time seemed to stand still for a moment, neither man nor creature reacting. Hale knew it was because he was in shock.

  The creature was grinning, letting it play out because it was enjoying the human’s inner pain.

  Furious, Hale went to grab the bone dagger from his belt, but the goblin moved faster and backhanded him across the face. He twirled around from the blow like a top and crashed to the floor a few feet away, the unforgiving ground like another wallop. Despite the pain cutting through him, he sat up and crawled to his feet. He wobbled backward, feeling a bit unsteady, but knew he needed to act fast.

  He drew the flashlight and bone dagger simultaneously, expecting a barrage of claws to be upon him, but found that the goblin hadn’t moved from where it stood. The thing was grinning, as if it knew something Hale did not. It raised a finger and pointed it at Willows, then at Levy, who was leaning against the wall, shivering and alive.

  Hale knew it was only a matter of time for her, amazed that she was still holding on. Her flashlight was pointing at the wall, providing light for the area. She was no longer holding the bone dagger.

  “Choose,” the goblin said, its voice sounding as if it were clogged with gobs of phlegm.

  Screw that. Hale wasn’t going to allow the thing to kill one of his people, at least not without a fight. He charged forward, hoping to catch the creature off guard.

  The goblin’s hand shot to Willows’ throat, the razor-sharp claw pressed against his flesh. It had moved with incredible speed.

  Hale skidded to a stop. “Wait.”

  The creature chuckled, then brought its other hand to Willows’ face and covered his nose and mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Hale asked, panicked.

  Willows’ body trembled. He was suffocating. In his condition, it might not take long for brain damage or death to occur.

  “Stop it, you’re killing him,” Hale shouted.

  The goblin tilted its head as it eyed him, its grin spreading.

  Hale knew it was enjoying itself. He felt helpless. “What do you want, damn it?”

  The goblin removed its smothering hand. Willows sucked in a gulp of air and stopped trembling. He remained unconscious.

  “Choose,” the goblin said, still pressing its claw against Willows’ throat. Its other hand flew to Levy’s throat, pointer finger claw threatening.

  Levy’s eyes kept closing. She didn’t seem to notice or care what was happening. She was dying, so it made no difference if the goblin ended her life a few minutes sooner. Hale wondered if it might be more merciful than to let her suffer. A quick slash and the pain would be gone.

  “Save Willows,” she muttered, her words surprising Hale. She was paying attention. Aware of everything.

  Hale couldn’t choose. He wouldn’t give the evil fuck the satisfaction.

  “I’m dying…Chief,” Levy said. “Save the living.” She coughed up more blood.

  “Both die if no choose,” the goblin said.

  “Okay, okay,” Hale said, gesturing with his arms for the goblin to hold on. “Her. Take the woman.” His gut churned at hearing his own words.

  The goblin nodded, then lifted its hand from Willows’ neck and motioned to strike Levy down.

  Hale didn’t want to watch, but had to. Though she would have been dead soon anyway, he’d been the one to sentence her end. He wished his gun had a bullet left. One single bullet. He’d shoot the thing and be done with this nastiness.

  The goblin waited. Hale knew it was prolonging his turmoil. He should move. Do something. Attack and take a chance. But it wasn’t the best option. If there was a possibility to save Willows, he had to take it. The goblin had left the man alive for a reason. Maybe it couldn’t kill him. Wasn’t permitted by some goblin law. Or maybe it was going to use the man for a ritual.

  The goblin snickered, and Hale saw he’d made a mistake. The thing sank two of its claws into Willows’ eye sockets, burying them completely. The action produced a wet, sloshing sound. Willows convulsed, his arms and legs flailing.

  “Nooooo!” Hale screamed and lunged at the goblin.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Officer Jane Levy fought to breathe. Her stomach felt like it had steel rebar poking through it. For some reason, she giggled.

  The action brought with it waves of white-hot agony.

  She was dying. Her wounds were mortal ones. Plain and simple.

  No starting over, girl! a voice said. Now if you were in a video game, it continued, you’d be
fine. You might have to restart the level—what a pain in the ass that always is—but at least you’d get to live again.

  She never imagined how she would die, but if she had, it would never be from a fucking mystical creature. Damn ugly shit had stuck her like pig.

  But she hadn’t squealed like a pig. No, sir. She was tough, like her momma. Her momma had raised her well. One of the main things her momma had instilled in her daughter when she was about twelve-years-old was not to be a pussy. Taking shit from others and backing down when you didn’t need to was for the weak.

  Her momma had been weak. For a while, at least. But then one day, she stepped up and made a decision, a good decision, and killed Jane’s dad. It was a clean and honest kill. A kill that made the world a bit better.

  The man had been holding a broken bottle to little Jane’s throat, like that damn goblin had held its claw to her throat just a short time ago. Her father had been drunk at the time.

  When wasn’t he drunk, giiiiiiiirrrrrrrrl?

  “Drunk as a skunk,” her mother used to say whenever her father came home late from the bars, which was more often than not. The man was a mean drunk, too.

  “When we see a skunk,” her mom had said, “we don’t go near it, do we?”

  Jane shook her head. “No, Momma.”

  “We don’t stick around it neither,” her mother said. “We go in the opposite direction. Skunks have a way of spraying large areas and you don’t want to get caught in its spray. It could take weeks before the damage is gone.”

  Her father was a drunk skunk a lot. So when the skunk that was drunk came home, little Jane went away from him. Usually up to her room where she stayed QUIET on her bed and read a book. Sometimes though, she would hide UNDER her bed if she heard her father’s HEAVY footsteps coming up the stairs. On occasion, he’d be angry with her for leaving a toy out or not being there to greet him. Her momma said all the reasons he gave when he was drunk as a skunk didn’t count. They were meaningless, and she should pay them no mind. Her momma always said her daddy loved her, but little Jane didn’t think so. Jane asked IF Daddy loved Momma. Momma said, “Of course.” But Jane never BELIEVED her.