Untcigahunk: The Complete Little Brothers

by Rick Hautala

  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, underlit 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 w
as 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.

  Kip acted fast. He took three flares from his backpack and quickly lit one. The tunnel instantly filled with baleful red light, and the response from the gathered untcigahunk was immediate; they let out angry hisses and squeals as they shied back.

  Watson looked over his shoulder at Kip, his face split by a wide grin. Kip had the impression that, for the first time in Watson’s life, he felt truly alive. The ecstasy of battle made the old Indian’s face positively beam with pleasure.

  “Good move,” he said as he slammed his shotgun shut, took aim, and cracked off two more shots. Two more black shapes curled up and dropped, their claws grasping futilely at the gaping holes in their chests.

  “Lob one at ‘em,” Watson said. “See what happens.”

  Kip cocked his arm back and threw the flare at the mass of creatures. It spun end over end, then dropped into the middle of them. The effect was even better than Watson or Kip could have hoped for. Screeching with pain, the untcigahunk scurried away into the recesses of the cave. The wild, gibbering sounds of their hasty retreat echoed along the corridor and slowly faded.

  Watson and Kip were left alone; and if it hadn’t been for the stench of burned flesh, the smoke from the flares, and the bodies of seven dead untcigahunk on the floor, neither one of them would have been able to accept what they had just been through as real. The flickering red glow of the dying flare was the only remnant of their vision of hell...and hell, Kip thought, is where we are heading!

  “Well,” Watson said, using his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face, “what ‘d yah think of that?”

  Kip stood in the middle of the corridor, thoroughly exhausted. He shook his head from side to side, unable to get rid of the feeling that all of this was some elaborate nightmare—that maybe when he finally woke up, he’d find that everything...maybe all the way back to when his mother had died...had been a nightmare. He’d wake up, no longer twelve years old, but a trembling seven-year- old, being comforted in his bed by his mother.

  Watson held out his hand to Kip. “A splash of water might not be such a bad idea now, huh?” he said. His fingers were trembling.

  Afraid his knees were going to buckle, Kip leaned against the cave wall. Numbly he slung the canteen off his shoulder and handed it to Watson, who unscrewed the cap, tilted back his head, and took a generous swig. Smacking his lips, he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the fiery sting of whiskey as the lukewarm water trickled down his throat.

  It took them several minutes to re-organize, but at last, with shotgun reloaded, the flashlight, knife and torch in hand, they started down the corridor. The flare Kip had tossed lay sputtering in the dirt. Its dull red light cast weird, twisted shadows on the wall as they went by it.

  As he stepped over the dead creatures, Kip couldn’t help but stare at their faces. They lay on the floor where they had fallen, their bodies twisted in awkward positions, their mouths wide open in silent death screams. The dull, angry glow had gone from their eyes, but there was still a...an evilness was the only word that came to his mind. He felt fear and revulsion twist in his gut like hot bile. He wanted to run, screaming, away from them; but at the same time, he wanted to pause and look closely at the faces of his mother’s killers, to burn them into his memory so he could finish what he had set out to do.

  The corridor was eerily silent as they made their way down the narrow, stone throat, deeper into the earth. They kept pausing and looking backward and forward, determined not to let the untcigahunk catch them the slightest bit off guard. At last, they came to a place where the corridor branched off.

  “Well?” Kip said, craning his neck to look down each of the passageways.

  Watson positioned himself with his back to the wall and then shined the flashlight down on his compass. He looked up at Kip and smiled weakly. “Your choice this time,” he said.

  Without hesitating, Kip nodded at the corridor to the right. “Let’s try this one for a bit,” he said, and, raising his torch high, led the way.

  As they followed the twisting corridor, the cave sloped gradually upward for quite a distance, and there were no other corridors branching off. Kip and Watson both began to suspect this was one of the passageways to the surface, not the way to the underground “nest.”

  At last, Kip halted. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Watson shrugged and took another glance at his compass. “In spite of all the turns in the tunnel, we’re goin’ basically in one direction, ‘n by my figurin’, this seems to be leadin’ us to the cellar hole in your father ’s building.”

  Kip swallowed hard, trying to force down the dry lump that had formed in his throat, but the idea that he was in the same tunnel they had taken five years ago to get to the surface—the same tunnel they had come through when they killed his mother—was too much for him.

  It might have just been the curved walls of the cave, but Kip was flooded by the sudden fear that the blackness was returning and closing in on his mind from all sides. He made a strangled, whimpering sound in his throat and had to catch himself from falling.

  “Whoa, there.You all right?” Watson said. He darted forward and grabbed Kip by the arm.

  The torchlight and the beam of Watson’s flashlight shattered into spinning, watery circles as Kip’s eyes widened with fear. His breath caught in his lungs like bubbling water, and a cry would have come tearing from his mouth if it hadn’t been blocked in his constricted throat.

  “Probably you’re getting—what’s the word for bein’ scared of closed places?” Watson said. “Claustrophobia. Maybe that’s what’s gettin’ to yah.”

  Kip regarded the old man, trying to find an anchor of security in his craggy face.

  Maybe, he thought, this old man really is crazy—both of us are crazy for even thinking we could do this and get out of it alive.

  And, he thought, his terror mounting until it felt like lava, about to bubble over the top, maybe that’s the bottom line; I—and maybe Watson, too, for his own crazy reasons—want to die!

  Tears welled up in his eyes, making the lights in the tunnel blur. It was all so goddamned crazy! No matter how many Dr. Fieldings or John Watsons he dealt with, and no matter how many little brothers they killed, he was never...never going to get rid of that swirling darkness that nibbled at the edges of his mind.

  “Come on!” Watson said. He slung the s
hotgun in the crook of his arm and heartily clapped Kip on the shoulder. “This ain’t the time to fall apart, you know. I’m dependin’ on yah.”

  Kip tried to say something...anything. He opened his mouth, but nothing even came close to coming out.

  Watson’s face creased with concern, and—Kip wondered—was that love and respect written on his features? Could he really count on this man? Could he really call him his...friend?

  That, after all, might be the craziest part of this whole thing—that when Kip needed a real friend, he hadn’t turned to his buddies, or to his father, or even—as a last resort—to Marty; he had hooked up with a drunken, old Indian who was probably as dangerous as a rattlesnake.

  “Come on, boy,” Watson said, his grip on Kip’s arms tightening until it hurt. “We’re in it all the way now, ‘n there’s no sense fallin’ apart.”

  “I...I know,” Kip managed to say, but the words came out forced and feeble.

  “Maybe, when this is all over, when we’re outta here, we can both fall apart.”

  In his mind, he pictured himself falling back onto his couch, a pint of whiskey—hell, make it a fifth— gripped tightly in his hand.

  “But not now,” he added. “Not when there’s a job to do.”

  The waves of darkness and fear began to subside...just a little; either that or, Kip thought, he was just plain old getting used to living with that blackness on the edge of his mind. He slowly nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath of the damp cave air.

  “Yeah,” he said, still fighting to control his voice. “Yeah...I’m okay...now.”

  “Good, then,” Watson said as he let his hand fall away from the boy’s shoulder. He gripped the shotgun and gave it a firm shake. “There’s no sense following this tunnel ‘cause I don’t want to go back above ground. Not yet, anyway. You with me?”

  He turned and started back down the corridor the way they had come. The flames on the torch fluttered as Kip hurried to close the distance behind them.