A shadow crept over Sam’s face, and she shot a glance up at whoever it was, ready to tell him to get the hell out of her light.
The man who’d shot him.
Charly spoke through tight lips. “Would you move?”
“His color’s a little off,” the man remarked, as if commenting on the weather.
“That tends to accompany blood loss.”
Red Elk’s dark eyes appraised her.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Lauren Hays.”
Charly stared at him.
“She was in Temptations and Womb Raider,” Red Elk explained.
“Womb Raider?”
The one named Jesse came forward, his hands shoved in his pockets and the face below his curly hair a mask of embarrassment. “I don’t think she—what’s your name, ma’am?”
“Charly.”
“I don’t think Charly wants to talk about movies right now. She’s—”
“You don’t have the same dark complexion,” Red Elk continued as though Jesse hadn’t spoken, “and your face is nicer, like that other actress…” He glanced at Jesse. “You know the one I mean—she’s in mainstream stuff. Like that cool horror flick about the dude who gets infected with something from space, and his whole body starts to get huge and freakish while they play that Air Supply song—”
“Slither, Elizabeth Banks. Why don’t we make sure the guy here…what’s his name?”
“Sam,” Charly said.
“Sam. Why don’t we make sure Sam’s all right, then we can figure out—”
“Lauren Hays is shorter, too, and she ain’t a blonde,” Red Elk said. “So maybe it’s not such a great comparison. Susan Featherly, maybe. The breasts—”
“Frank,” Jessie nearly shouted.
Sam opened his eyes, rolled them at Red Elk. “Oh Christ.”
Red Elk nodded. “How you been, Sam?”
Charly looked from one to the other. “Wait a minute, how do you two—”
“He’s the one my ex-wife cheated with,” Sam said without heat.
They all looked at Red Elk, who could not suppress a self-satisfied smile.
Sam winced, teeth bared. He picked up the Maglite and aimed it at the wound in his side.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
Jesse said, “A plastic Wonder bread bag.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow at him. “Come again?”
“Your side was leaking like a sumbitch,” Red Elk explained. “We had to cram something in the holes to stopper it.”
Eyeing the bag, Sam said, “Hope you didn’t have to toss out a fresh loaf.”
“Oh, it didn’t have bread in it,” Jesse said. “Just batteries.”
“Batteries,” Sam repeated.
“For the flashlights.”
Sam glanced at Red Elk. “At least tell me the bag was clean.”
Red Elk shrugged. “I couldn’t guarantee it.”
“That’s reassuring,” Sam said. He closed his eyes again, appeared to rest.
Melanie uttered a high-pitched moan.
“What’s up your butt?” Red Elk asked.
“Have any of you considered that the gunshot and that…nuclear bomb these two idiots set off might have gotten the attention of the white monsters?”
Jesse and Red Elk eyed each other in surprise.
“She’s got a point,” Red Elk allowed.
“Let’s go back the way we came,” Melanie said. “Now Flo and Sam are both hurt. I’m worried Flo’s got some kind of infection from that creature.”
Red Elk smiled softly. “Ah, I get it.”
“You get what?” Melanie said.
“The old switcheroo.”
“Excuse me?”
“You wanna scrog your boss here, who by the way doesn’t look very spry,” Red Elk said. “And he’s dyin’ to lay the pipe to you.”
“Hey!”
“And the blonde here has moved on to Sammy Bledsoe.”
“My name’s Charly,” she said.
“And if he’s got half a brain,” Red Elk went on, “he’ll drop everything and make a play for you.”
Unaccountably, Charly felt some of her dislike of the man diminish.
“First of all,” Melanie said, “I don’t want to scrog anybody. I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means fuck,” Jesse told her.
“Thanks,” she spat. She turned to Red Elk. “Secondly, your attitude toward women is shameful. You shoot one of our party, act like it’s no big deal, then you start comparing Charly here to a porn star—”
“Soft porn,” Jesse corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“Well,” Red Elk said expansively, “the production values are completely different, not to mention the lack of penetration—”
“Enough!” Melanie yelled. “Good God, what the hell did we run into? A smart-alecky dork and a sex-crazed Indian? We were better off on our own.”
Red Elk was eyeing Melanie with a speculative gleam. Charly smiled even before Red Elk spoke.
“What do you—” Melanie started before breaking off and shaking her head with emphatic disgust. “Oh don’t you even start—”
“Daneen Boone.”
She tossed her arms in the air. “Just perfect.”
“It took me a while because your hair is darker.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks a million. Can we—”
“Your tits are smaller too.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Oh don’t get me wrong,” Red Elk hastened, “I think you’re mighty cute. Those freckles like to drive a man crazy.”
“Eric,” she said, turning, “could you please do something about this jerk?”
Charly craned her neck around to see what Eric’s response would be, but he was mostly obscured by shadows.
“Eric?” Melanie demanded. “This person is sexually harassing me!”
“This ain’t harassment,” Red Elk said. “I’d have to take out my schlong and waggle it at you for it to be harassment.”
“Schlong?”
“Dick,” Jesse said.
“I know what it means!”
A weary groan drew their attention. Charly looked down at the face in her lap.
Sam’s eyes were open again.
“Do you think you can move?” Charly asked.
He shook his head, wincing. “No, but I’m afraid if we don’t get going soon, Frank and Melanie are gonna kill each other. Help me up.”
Charly got behind Sam, and Jesse jogged over to help. Together they stood him on his feet, and though he swayed a moment and looked as though he might pass out, his eyes soon cleared.
Jesse said to Melanie, “Earlier, you said ‘white monsters’.”
She gave him a petulant scowl. “So? They remind you of porn stars too?”
Jesse glanced at Red Elk. “They haven’t seen the Night Flyers yet.”
Charly felt a chill course down her spine. “Night Flyers?”
“Whoa,” Sam said, and Charly got her arms around him in time to prevent him from collapsing.
“You need to rest,” she told him.
“I do,” he agreed. “But first we need to get downwind of this dust factory. I can’t take a breath without it tasting like someone’s pounding erasers.” He nodded at Jesse. “Plus, it sounds to me like you’ve got something to tell us.”
Jesse opened his mouth.
“Not yet,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “Not till we find a better place to hole up.”
“We can’t hole up for long,” Jesse said. “The girls need us.”
“Well my baby needs me,” Charly said louder than she’d intended. “But we can’t do this without Sam.”
Sam took Charly’s arm from around his back—kindly but firmly—and set off in a straight line.
“Sam?” she said. When he turned, she motioned to her left. “We were heading that way.”
Without argument he changed course and was s
oon lost in the shadows. Jessie trailed Sam, Red Elk behind him. Melanie hung back to wait for Eric.
Charly had started to catch up with the others when she happened, for no reason at all, to glance backward.
What emerged from the murk didn’t look much like her husband.
The figure was both skinnier and more muscular than Eric, with a complexion that reminded her of some sun-bleached reptile. Even more upsettingly, he was three or four inches taller than he was supposed to be. That was impossible, she knew—a growth spurt at age forty. But a cursory check of the cave floor, which was level where Eric and Melanie now stood side-by-side, their arms linked like Dorothy and the Scarecrow, confirmed Charly’s suspicion. Against all logic and possibility, Eric was growing taller.
His greenish eyes pierced the swirling dust and knifed into her brain. I’m going to dine on your viscera, a voice proclaimed. You’re never going to see your baby again.
The taste of copper corroding her throat, Charly hurried forward. She reached Red Elk’s side in a few short moments, but not before one final thought catapulted toward her from Eric’s diseased mind.
The Old One will want Junior for himself, and I’ll not interfere with His plans. But you, Loving Wife, are going to experience what true pain is.
Charly shut her eyes against the voice.
Exquisite pain, my dear.
She finally reached Sam.
“You okay?” he asked.
Exquisite.
“Not yet,” she said. “Not until I get Jake back.”
Chapter Five
As they walked, Jesse and Red Elk tried to explain the Night Flyers to Charly and the rest. Charly gave them a brief account of how her party came to be in the caves, as well as a description—though it obviously cost her an effort—of how her baby was abducted.
Red Elk was double checking to make sure the guns weren’t safetied when a noise made them all turn. Jesse was the closest, so it was his helmet light that picked out the pair on the ground first. Melanie was on her knees curled over Eric Florence, and though Jesse couldn’t see the man’s face, he could see well enough the way his feet drummed on the damp rock floor, the hands balled into white-knuckled fists.
A lingering glance at those freakishly long fingers with the pallid, membranous skin made Jesse suddenly very grateful he couldn’t see Florence’s face.
Melanie squinted up into the blaring beams of light, her pretty face messy with tears.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked in a tight voice.
“Like you give a damn,” she spat, her words half-slurred with distress.
“No time for that stuff,” Red Elk said, stepping closer. “He’s either well or he isn’t.”
Jesse’s money was on “he isn’t.”
“Or what?” Melanie asked, her pretty lips thinning. “What’ll you do if he isn’t okay? Shoot him the way you did Sam?”
Red Elk brandished the Ruger. “He won’t walk away like Sam did.”
“You’ll have to kill me too, then,” she said.
“She wants to stay, that’s her business,” Charly said. “We’re getting Jake.”
“It’s not that simple,” Red Elk said. “We had one turn Night Flyer on us earlier, and it cost us dearly. It’s safer to shoot him now, save ourselves the trouble.”
Melanie wrapped her arms around Eric Florence, met Red Elk’s gaze with fierce defiance. “You’re not gonna shoot anybody. And I’m staying right here until he’s better.”
“Take him,” Charly answered and surprised them all by walking away.
Sam and Red Elk discussed something quietly. As Bledsoe jerked a thumb toward the others, he cringed and bent double.
Maybe the sandwich bag’s not doing the trick, Jesse thought and felt a moment’s hopelessness. He realized with a species of shame how much he’d relied on the absent members of their party for courage. Clevenger, despite being the oldest by a good margin, had acquitted himself admirably. Emma had been tough too, but not as tough as Colleen. It was she, Jesse now realized with dawning amazement, who had proven the backbone of their little party. Without Colleen, he would have died a hideous death back on that playground. Without her, they wouldn’t have rescued Emma. And they almost certainly would not have gotten from the RV park to Red Elk’s house without her stalwart presence. Even in the tunnel she’d been a warrior, blasting those grinning monsters like some video game heroine.
And now she was gone.
Last night he’d considered her an occasionally funny but just as often irritating accessory to the girl he had a crush on. Now he missed her almost as much as Emma.
Almost.
Now here they were, he thought, casting a dreary glance around the cave: a pipsqueak newspaper photographer, a housewife half out of her mind with maternal terror, a contractor who might be worth something if he hadn’t been shot, and a Native American soft-porn aficionado on whom they were all counting to lead a suicidal rescue mission.
Jesse had an image of a snowball in hell.
Red Elk shook his head, spat. “I don’t like leaving them here, but I guess we go on.”
“You lead,” Sam said.
Red Elk appraised Sam a moment. “We interested in settling old scores, Sammy?”
“We might be. But that’s not why I want you to lead.”
“Enlighten me.”
“No one’s shot you in the side, for one thing.”
“There’s that.”
“Secondly, you’re better with a gun than any of us.”
“How you know that?”
“You got me, didn’t you?”
“Just luck.”
“Some luck,” Sam said. “I need to give a third reason?”
“What, my Indian blood makes my eyes keener or something?”
“Only thing you’re keen on is tits and ass.”
Red Elk gave the slightest of grins, then handed Jesse a pocketknife. “This is better than nothing.”
Jesse took it, but he had his doubts. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. God, he’d never been thirstier in his life.
Red Elk held out the revolver to Sam. “You carry this. Two shots left.”
Sam accepted it without comment.
“What do I do?” Charly asked. “Shake my pom-poms?”
Red Elk’s eyes lowered. “They’re nice pom-poms.”
“That’s all you’ll ever see of them,” Charly said.
“Never know. Sam’s women have a way of crossing enemy lines.”
“That what you figure I am?” Charly asked. “Sam’s woman?”
“Aren’t you?”
“If he’ll have me,” she said.
She didn’t look at Sam, but Jesse did. He was sweating like hell, and his face had gone a sallow, olive hue. But the emotion in his eyes at Charly’s words was unmistakable. Charly hooked an arm around Sam’s waist.
Red Elk watched the pair, his dark face expressionless. “Well that was touching.”
The others started forward, but Jesse hung back, examining the pocketknife and telling himself he wasn’t stalling.
“Something on your mind?” Sam asked.
Before he knew what would come out of his mouth, he heard himself saying, “Emma and I saw something earlier. The rain was heavy, but it looked a lot bigger than the other Children.”
Red Elk heaved a deep sigh. “I hope you’re wrong.”
“What was it?” Charly asked, eyes suddenly very large.
Red Elk shook his head, his expression dour and perhaps a little fearful. “They say that all the things that live down here were created by the same infernal being.” He laughed mirthlessly, studied the ceiling of the cavern. “It’s all turned out to be real so far, but for our sake I hope you just saw some sort of mirage.”
Charly shook her head. “You’re not telling us what—”
“The Old One,” Red Elk said flatly. “Many tribes called it the Wendigo, though I’ve heard other names too, like Witiko and Kokodjo. Around here they a
lways just called it the Old One.”
Sam was eyeing Jesse. “You sure you two saw something?”
Jesse caught an afterimage of the stilt-like legs, the impossibly tall figure stooping toward something on the ground.
“I’m sure of it,” Jesse said.
They regarded him in silence for a long moment.
Then Sam said, “It doesn’t change anything.”
Wordlessly, they started down the rugged decline. Jesse cast one final glance at Melanie and Florence, and what he saw made his steps quicken. Eyes closed with worry, she was still cradling the coach’s sweat-soaked head like some wartime nurse comforting a dying soldier. Florence’s body was unmoving like a dying soldier, too, but that’s where all resemblance ceased.
For on the coach’s face was the most hideous grin Jesse had ever seen.
Chapter Six
Eric waited until the voices had disappeared entirely. Then he waited another five minutes. He wouldn’t have been capable of that before the change; he’d never been a patient man.
But now he was…different.
His sense of smell was immeasurably keener. He could still scent the dank cave walls, but now the odor was three-dimensional, contained dozens of other elements as well. The smell of the rainfall that had so altered the landscape these past several weeks was pungent down here. He could detect the crisp, natural minerals in the rainwater. He could also taste the chemicals, the taint of man.
This displeased him in a fundamental way.
Beneath the scents of the downpour he tasted the alkaline in the soil, the fetor of rotting vegetation. Somewhere, he noted with displeasure, a fox or even a wild cat had gotten swept away in one of the storms and had ended up starving to death down here in the caves. He smelled the animal’s maggot-infested flesh, as well as the numberless microscopic creatures breaking down its body. Stronger than this, thankfully, was the fragrance of the Den. He’d never seen it with his current body, yet some race memory allowed him a glimpse of it.
It was glorious.
The others would soon be upon it, and when they did arrive there, many new aromas would permeate the Den.
The smell of the Indian’s marrow being licked out of his cracked femurs. The astringent tang of that little newsboy’s piss as it dribbled down his legs. The full, radiant fragrance of Sam Bledsoe’s blood as a hundred creatures lapped at his writhing body.
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