Untcigahunk: The Complete Little Brothers

by Rick Hautala

  That had been nearly three hours ago, and still—no phone call. Bill was fuming as he glanced at his watch. He had wanted some action now, not five...not three...not even one hour from now. Now!

  He got up and rinsed the remains of his Cheerios down the drain, tossed the muffin into the garbage, then gave the kitchen floor a quick sweep. The nervous energy continued to build up inside him, making him want either to scream until his throat was raw or start slamming and throwing things until the house was a total shambles. When Lori had been killed, he’d had a tough time handling it, but that had been real—too real. He had known what had happened and how to deal with it. But this—with Kip missing—was in many ways much worse simply because he didn’t know what had happened. And not knowing gave him no fucking clue how to handle it.

  Was Kip kidnapped—or killed?

  Maybe Woody, scum of the earth as he that he was, had decided to take a little revenge on Bill and his family. Bill wondered if Woody might have waited until he saw his chance and nabbed Kip. Anyone who could blind-side a cop and put him into the hospital could easily do something like that. As a lawyer, Bill had seen plenty of situations he just couldn’t fathom. Maybe Kip’s broken, battered body was lying somewhere in the woods wherever Woody had disposed of it. Even now, what if flies were crawling into Kip’s nose and eyes, and laying their eggs?

  Or maybe he had an accident. Maybe he had been riding his bike home from a friend’s house and had ricocheted off the bumper of a speeding car. Hit and run. Bill had also seen plenty of cases like that. Too scared of having hurt or killed the person, afraid of a lawsuit or prison, the driver would in the heat of the moment decide to drive away, leaving the person dead or dying in the ditch. Same flies laying the same eggs in the nose and eyes.

  Or maybe Kip had run away, like Marty had suggested at breakfast. The idea seemed a little far-fetched, but it certainly was not out of the question. Bill was painfully aware of how badly Marty treated his little brother. Maybe Kip had finally had enough. That certainly was what Parkman seemed to think. So far, at least, Parkman wasn’t ready to put out an A.P.B. for Woody or a Camaro with a dented fender.

  The worst thing is just not knowing.

  Bill slammed the broom back into place beside the refrigerator and walked into the living room. At the foot of the stairs, he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Hey! Mart!”

  At first, there was no answer from upstairs, but after a second and third yell, Bill heard a groggy, muffled response. It was nothing intelligible, just a faint sign of life from Marty’s bedroom.

  “Mart! I want you to stick around the house today for a bit. Just while I’m gone. Okay?”

  The only response he heard back was a throaty growl.

  “I’m gonna take a spin through town and look for Kip—”

  “He’s not back yet?” Marty sounded more awake now, and maybe a bit panicky.

  “No. Not yet, anyway. I want to drop by Aaron’s and

  Joey’s houses. See if they’ve heard anything from him.

  Maybe they can give me some idea where to start looking. I’m expecting an important call from Parkman, and I want you here to take it, all right?”

  No answer.

  “All right?”

  “Uh—yeah...all right. How long you gonna be?” A dull thump sounded as Marty’s feet hit the floor.

  “Not too long,” Bill yelled as he scooped his car keys from the dish by the phone. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Make sure you get that call if it comes. And don’t forget to take your medicine.”

  “Yeah...yeah,” Marty replied.

  Bill was at the door, about to leave, when the phone rang. He practically dove over the table and snatched up the receiver.

  “Hello,” he said breathlessly.

  “Uh...hi,” said a woman’s voice. “Were you just sitting there waiting for my call?”

  It took Bill a moment or two to recognize Gail’s voice.

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered.

  There was a short pause at the end of the line, and then Gail said softly, “Well, you certainly know how to make a woman feel wanted.”

  Embarrassed, Bill cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean shit, it’s you. I meant, shit, I forgot about our date last night.”

  “Yes, you did,” Gail said tentatively.

  Bill sensed her discomfort and wanted to let her know he had a good reason to forget. At the same time, he didn’t want her to be worried, especially after what had happened to Barkley the other night. No sense getting her all worked up.

  “Look, Gail, I’m really sorry I didn’t call. It totally slipped my mind.” He glanced nervously at his watch, aware that every second on the phone meant Parkman—maybe Kip—might be trying to call and getting a busy signal. “Something really important’s come up. I can’t talk about it right now. I’ll explain later.”

  “So I don’t need to worry about changing my perfume or anything?” Gail said with a light snicker.

  “Absolutely not,” Bill said. “I’ll call you this evening. I promise. I’ve really got to go.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gail’s voice sounded tight.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Bill replied quickly. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay?” He hung up without waiting for a response. Before leaving the house, he considered calling Parkman once more to make sure he hadn’t tried to call in the short time he was on the phone with Gail, but he decided he was wasting time and ran out to the car.

  Marty was halfway down the stairs when the back door slammed shut and the car started up. The gnawing sensation in his stomach felt like hunger, but as he held his arm up and inspected the thick wad of bandage, he wondered what had made such terrible cuts on his arm.

  Maybe, he thought, even as he tried to push the thought aside, there’s something really dangerous out at the Indian Caves.

  He tried not to think about it but couldn’t stop himself.

  And what if Kip’s out there?

  He poured himself a bowl of Cheerios and started eating, but the gnawing in his stomach only got worse.

  4

  It hadn’t been half an hour—it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes—since Kip arrived at the Indian Caves, but he felt as though he had been waiting a couple of hours for Watson to show up. He didn’t believe his watch when he looked at it and saw it was only a little after ten o’clock.

  The hike through the woods had been slow because of all the stuff he was carrying, and the more he thought about it, the madder he got at Watson for not offering to bring more when he came. It was a wonder he had made it into the woods with all of his camping gear the day before, but that had all been lightweight, modern stuff. Watson’s antique backpack banged against his back with every step. The metal edge of the gas can jabbed through the thick material into his skin, and the canvas straps cut like razors into his shoulders. His jacket flapped around his knees, but that didn’t help, either. By the time he got to the Indian Caves, he was sweaty and angry.

  While he waited for Watson, he considered going crossing the stream to his former campsite just to convince himself the place had really been destroyed. Since yesterday afternoon, just about everything had taken on the surreal overcast of a dream, and he wondered if he imagined finding his tent and sleeping bag in a shambles. But as he sat in the clearing by the cave, clutching Marty’s hunting knife in his right hand, he noticed a stray fluff of goose down caught in the brush by the side of the path. That was all the evidence he needed.

  He realized, too, that he’d been stewing so much about his campsite because he didn’t want to think about what he and Watson planned to do. The open, black V of the cave entrance seemed almost to taunt him, like a mouth that could have warned him but, instead, was about to swallow him whole. He tried not to look at it, but his gaze kept wandering back mostly to make sure none of those things came out to attack him.

  His grip on the knife got slippery with sweat, and he switched it to his left hand while he wiped his r
ight hand on his pants leg. He tried not to think about how much his hands were shaking. He tried not to think at all.

  All around him, the woods seemed perfectly normal—actually, too normal. Birds were singing. The wind was sighing gently in the branches. Above the treetops, tumbling fair-weather clouds glided smoothly across the bright blue sky. Everything seemed calm and peaceful. Exactly the kind of day he cherished, sitting with his back against a tree and reading Tolkien or Burroughs. A perfect day except he was about to go into the caves and face real danger.

  The peacefulness of the woods was suddenly shattered by the sound of someone approaching, rustling leaves and snapping branches as they walked. Kip squinted and looked around, trying to get a fix on the direction of the sound. Before long, he saw a bright flash of a plaid shirt through the leaves, and then Watson’s sleek black hair framing his smiling face broke into sight.

  “Over here,” Kip called out, standing and waving the knife in the air. Sunlight glinting from the blade caught his eye like a blast of laser fire.

  Watson saw him, then lowered his head as he pushed through the brush to where Kip was waiting. The rope was draped over his shoulder. In one hand he held the one-gallon gas can; in the other hand, he cradled the home-made torch and shotgun. Watson’s pants and shirt pockets bulged with bullets and batteries. Watson grunted as he dropped his load to the ground.

  “Christ, that’s heavy.” Watson rotated his shoulder before he undid his belt and passed a loop through the handle of the gas can. Pulling it tight, he moved the can to rest on his left hip. “You ready?”

  Kip nodded.

  “You ain’t reconsidered, have yah?” Watson asked. He looked at Kip with a piercing, hawk-like stare that made Kip wonder if it was already too late to back down from this crazy adventure. Playing a fantasy adventure was one thing, but they were actually going up against an army of something a lot worse than orcs or trolls.

  “I’m ready,” Kip said, forcing his voice to sound strong in spite of how he was feeling.

  “Let’s go, then,” Watson said.

  He took the shotgun in one hand, the torch in the other, and walked to the mouth of the cave. “Aww, shit,” he said. “One thing we didn’t think of that we need right off is a shovel.”

  “What for?”

  “Years ago, my grandfather and I blocked off this entrance with a big stone. We’re gonna have to dig down a bit before we’ll be able to move it out of the way.”

  “You mean you put that rock there?” Kip was amazed. He’d always assumed that rock had always been there since the cave was formed.

  Watson nodded. “We’ll have to use sticks or something. Let’s check it out first.” He ducked his head and entered the cave with Kip following close behind. After they dropped the equipment onto the worn cave floor, Watson knelt down by the back wall.

  “I always thought that stone didn’t look quite right there,” Kip said, “but I never thought a person put it there.”

  Watson ignored him as he began prodding the ground by the stone with his fingers. “Looks to me like this has shifted a bit since I last checked it. Look here. I’ll bet yah they could slip through this openin’.”

  “You think the untcigahunk moved it? So they could get out?”

  Kip turned on his flashlight and trained it into the opening and peered into the darkness beyond the stone.

  He had done the same thing hundreds of times when he and his friends had played out here, but this time he was really scared because he knew what was behind there. The darkness looked almost solid and swallowed the feeble beam. A sudden chill gripped his stomach when he considered that, after all those times of guessing and scaring themselves about what was behind this rock, he was about to find out.

  “Here. Gimme your knife.” Watson held his hand up without looking at Kip.

  Kip was about to protest that he might ruin the blade by digging in the ground with it, but he placed the knife, handle first, into Watson’s waiting hand without a word. The cave filled with a gritty chopping sound as Watson worked to loosen the packed dirt around the stone.

  “Do you think they’ll hear us and know we’re coming?” Kip asked, cringing as the sound of Watson’s efforts reverberated off the stone walls.

  Watson continued working. “They ain’t dumb, if that’s what you mean. Just remember, these things are almost as smart as you and me.”

  Kip shivered when he remembered the little brothers in the cellar doorway yesterday. They had looked dazed and stupid in the glow of late afternoon sunlight, but he realized the sounds Watson made pulling the boards away must have attracted them. Thankfully, the sunlight, as faint as it had been, had been enough to blind them and make them lethargic.

  “What I’m counting on— You know, you could help by scoopin’ away some of this dirt,” Watson said.

  Kip got down on his hands and knees and started pushing the dirt to one side in huge handfuls. “What are you counting on?” he asked, making sure he kept working while he spoke.

  “I’m counting on our torches holdin’ ‘em off. If we can’t keep ‘em at bay, they’ll be all over us like Airedales on rats. My gun ‘n your knife ain’t gonna hold ‘em back for long.” He looked at Kip over his shoulder. “You ever seen Davy Crockett at the Alamo?”

  Kip shook his head, no.

  “Probably just ‘s well,” Watson said as he bent back to work.

  Kip thought it funny how time seemed to move differently in the cave, but after fifteen or twenty minutes, a lot of dirt had been scraped away, exposing the bottom of the stone. Still, it looked too heavy for just the two of them to move, but Watson insisted he had been Kip’s age when he and his grandfather had first rolled it into place.

  “Ready?” Watson asked. He pushed their equipment to one side and positioned himself so he could reach into the crack and get a good grip on the stone.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kip said. He felt useless, but he braced his feet against the wall and took hold of an exposed edge of the stone.

  “Once we open this up, there’s no turning back,” Watson said. “So this is it. This is your last chance to say no.”

  “Those things killed my mother,” Kip said, struggling to keep his voice even and thinking how hollow and weak it really sounded.

  “Okay, then. Heave away.”

  The cave filled with echoing grunts and the heavy puffing of their breath as they both struggled to move the stone. Watson leaned back, tugging for all he was worth. Kip’s feet scuffed up the cave floor as he pushed.

  “Son—of—a—bitch,” Watson grunted.

  By the little bit of sunlight that filtered into the cave, Kip could see the old man’s face was turning red from the effort. He felt a momentary panic that the old man might have a heart attack or something. That only made him redouble his efforts to get the damned thing to move.

  He pushed as hard as he could until pinwheels of light spiraled across his vision, but the stone had been in place for many years, and it gave way only grudgingly. They got it to shift forward only a foot or so before it came to a sticking point.

  Exhausted, Kip was the first to stop trying. He let out a long exhalation and collapsed onto the ground, leaning his back against the cave wall. Watson also eased up and stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice tight with determination. “We’ll get this son of a bitch to move.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a stick of dynamite,” Kip said.

  Watson laughed as he stretched back, flexing his arms, and then resumed his position. Kip scrambled to his feet, took a breath, positioned himself, and nodded to Watson when he was ready.

  Once again, the cave filled with the sounds of their efforts. At first, it was just like before—the stone wouldn’t yield more than a foot or so. Then, without warning, it suddenly shifted forward. Watson had to scurry out of the way to avoid being crushed against the wall.

  “Damn!” he shoute
d as he snatched his flashlight from his back pocket and shined it into the opening. It was easily big enough for him to pass through. Off to one side, in the space behind the stone, there was a crumpled up paper bag, limp with moisture. In their eagerness to get going, neither of them bothered to inspect it.

  Kip laughed, sweating and smiling with satisfaction. “I think I’m gonna need a long, hot shower after this.” He raised his arm and sniffed his armpit. “I smell like a barnyard.”

  Watson shook his head, squinting as he looked down the tunnel. The beam of light showed a rough rock wall that gently curved to the left and down. It seemed to get narrower as it receded, but that might have been an optical illusion. The old man’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air that wafted from the depths of the earth. It was damp and had a rich, fresh-turned earth smell, but below that was a rancid, decaying odor.

  “We can take a minute or two to rest,” Watson said, smiling with satisfaction at Kip. “If the untcigahunk heard us ‘fore now, they would have been right behind the rock when we moved it. Maybe we’ll catch ‘em by surprise after all.” He held his hand out. “Gimme a swig of that water.”

  They both sat down, leaning against the smooth rock wall next to the cave entrance, careful to keep their eyes on the opening. Watson kept his shotgun cocked and cradled in his lap while Kip held the knife in one hand and one of the flares in the other. They passed the canteen back and forth, drinking until it was nearly empty. Given a choice, Watson would have preferred something a bit stronger.

  After a few minutes, Watson shook the canteen, listening to the hollow sound it made. “Run down to the stream ‘n fill it so’s we can start full,” he said, handing the canteen to Kip. He struggled to stand up.