Untcigahunk: The Complete Little Brothers

by Rick Hautala

  “Lots of ‘em this time,” Watson said. He never took his eyes off the oncoming untcigahunk. “I’m kinda wonderin’ why they don’t just swoop down on us.”

  “Maybe they’ve learned a bit of respect.” Kip replied with a grim smile.

  Watson nodded. “Maybe they have...”

  The corridor filled with the creatures’ high-pitched squealing, but they suddenly fell silent when Watson took aim with his shotgun and cracked off two quick shots. Two untcigahunk in the front squealed as they crumpled to the floor. Brown-tinged blood poured from the holes in their chests.

  “Too bad it ain’t an automatic,” Watson said as he snapped the breach open, letting the two spent shells drop out. He fished two fresh shells from his pants pocket.

  Kip didn’t have time to answer. Suddenly, three more untcigahunk leaped over the two dead ones and, shoulder to shoulder, charged. Kip swung at them with his torch like it was a baseball bat. Sparks exploded when he connected. One of the creatures spun away, clutching the seared flesh of its shoulder, but the other two pressed their charge, forcing Kip the move backwards.

  With a second, wild swing, Kip connected with the head of another creature. This one dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Kip knew it wasn’t dead. It glared up at him with hate-filled eyes. It was just too stunned to move for the moment. On pure reflex, he swung the torch down and jabbed it into the creature’s up-turned face. With a horrible screech and a splattering deep-fry sound, it died.

  “Keep your head down,” Watson shouted, and once again, the shotgun blasted once...twice. Two more untcigahunk dropped to the floor, twitched, and died.

  Kip glanced at Watson and saw the smile on his face.

  Christ, he thought, turning to swing again as more little brothers moved toward them. He’s actually enjoying this!

  Using the torch like a sword, Kip lunged and thrust, forcing the little brothers to give ground. But as they pulled back, he held back, too, figuring they might be trying to lure him into a more open area where they could overwhelm them with their numbers. Like Watson had told him, these weren’t dumb animals.

  Kip was pressing his attack, but his blood suddenly froze when Watson let out a long, pained shout. He turned just in time to see that, somehow, at least one little brother had gotten behind them. He wasn’t sure if it was the one whose face he had burned and left for dead or if it was another one that had come from one of the tunnels behinds them. The creature had landed squarely on Watson’s back and was tearing at his hands. It looked like it was trying to take the shotgun away.

  “Fuck you!” Kip yelled, the sound almost splitting his lungs. He spun around and charged, waving the torch at the little brother but careful not to burn Watson.

  The old man’s knees buckled beneath the weight of the creature as he lurched from side to side, slamming against the walls of the cave. In the flickering light, Watson’s face looked like a vision from hell. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes glazed with pain as the creature’s claws tore away shirtsleeve, muscle, and flesh. Blood sprayed everywhere.

  At last, Watson positioned himself with his back to the wall and then, with a sudden, violent thrust back, smashed the untcigahunk into a projecting ledge. Now it was the creature’s turn to squeal. Its eyes widened with pain and surprise, and a sudden hot wash of blood and vomit spewed from its mouth. Twitching, it dropped to the floor, dead, but as it fell, one of its claws snagged the torn flesh of Watson’s arm, ripping the wound wider.

  “Behind you,” Watson said weakly as he, too, staggered and then fell to the floor, his body draped over the dead untcigahunk. The one-gallon can of gasoline hanging from his belt was dented out of shape, and it looked like it might be leaking.

  Crouching defensively, Kip wheeled around, swinging his torch in as wide an arc as the narrow cave would allow. It connected with the head of a charging creature that fell, its skull crushed, its flesh singed. Kip swung and hit the creature again, but a loud crack sounded as the top of the torch splintered. Flames sputtered and fell to the cave floor as pieces of burning rag dropped.

  “Here,” Watson said, holding the shotgun out to Kip with one hand.

  Kip grabbed the gun and, holding his torch high with one hand, tried to see how many little brothers were left.

  Dark shapes— Those same black shapes from my nightmares!—loomed out of the darkness. As far back as he could see, pairs of eerily glowing eyes stared at him as they closed in.

  Brandishing the shotgun, Kip backed up to where Watson was huddled on the fallen.

  “Just shoot the fuckers,” Watson groaned. “I’ll reload if you can hold ‘em off.”

  “How bad are you hurt?” Kip asked. His throat was raw, and he didn’t dare take his eyes off the pairs of lamplike eyes that were slowly approaching them.

  “My arm,” Watson said with a gasp. “It’s purty bad, though.”

  Kip saw that Watson’s right arm was hanging uselessly at his side. With one hand, he braced the shotgun on his hip, aimed, and, pulled the trigger. Pain shot up his back when the gunstock slammed into his leg, but he smiled with satisfaction when another one of the creatures dropped dead, half of its face missing.

  “That’s it, boy,” Watson croaked. “Make every shot count.”

  Kip cracked off another shot and then, holding the torch straight out to keep the creatures at bay, passed the shotgun back to Watson to reload. After a few tense seconds, as the creatures snarled and hissed at them, Watson tapped him gently on the leg and handed him the reloaded shotgun. Kip fired two more times, and two more little brothers died with howls of pain.

  Kip wasn’t sure if it was the flaming torch or the sound of the gunshots, but something was keeping the untcigahunk back. After several more double rounds and reloads, the corridor fell silent. A few survivors, some of them wounded, skittered off into the darkness, leaving their dead behind. The carcasses of dead creatures littered the cave floor. With the shotgun loaded and ready, Kip cautiously approached them to make sure none of them were faking death.

  Most of them were stone cold, but a few had some life left in them. They snarled and hissed, exposing their sharp teeth as they clawed at the ground, still trying as death approached to grab and hold.

  As he edged close to the wounded creatures, Kip drew his knife and then, with quick slashes, slit the throats of all of them, dead and still living. His stomach heaved, and he almost puked as blood gushed from the wounds. As they died, the untcigahunk uttered faint, angry squeals that sounded almost like words. The baleful light in their eyes gradually dimmed as they died, leaving the cave in total silence. It didn’t make Kip feel any better, knowing that he had put them out of their misery. After all, he and Watson had caused the misery in the first place, and if he had his way, he’d inflict a lot more misery on them.

  When he went back to Watson to inspect his wound, his stomach tightened even more, and again he almost vomited. Watson’s shirtsleeve had been torn away, and the untcigahunk’s claws had laid open his arm from shoulder to elbow. Loose flaps of skin hung in pink chunks, and blood was gushing down Watson’s side down to his pant’s cuff. In the center of the wound, Kip could see a pearly knob of elbow bone.

  But it was the glazed look in the old man’s eyes that really worried him. He didn’t know much about medicine, but he would bet Watson was close to being in shock if he wasn’t already.

  “We got enough of them,” Kip said. “I got to get you out of here and to a doctor.” He opened the canteen and splashed water over the wound. In the torchlight, the blood ran in thin pink streams down Watson’s side. The old man’s fingers twitched uncontrollably.

  Propped up against the cave wall, Watson rolled his head from side to side. “No way, Jose,” he said, gasping to take a breath. With his good hand, he grabbed the canteen and chug-a-lugged some water. The last mouthful, he swished in his mouth and spat onto the ground.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Kip said.

  “Who you callin’ stupid, boy?”

/>   “We don’t have to keep going. We taught these bastards a lesson, and if you really want to kill more of them, we can wait until your arm’s better and come back.”

  Again, Watson shook his head. “That place—” His voice choked off with a bubbly sound, and he took another sip of water before continuing. “That place back there was where they used to breed. We gotta find their new nest. We gotta use the gasoline we got to burn ‘em out. Otherwise, they’re gonna be some pissed off, ‘n if they’re pissed, all of ‘em are gonna come out of the caves. Maybe tonight! I don’t wanna think about what could happen to the town if they did that.”

  Kip was shaking his head the whole time Watson was talking.

  “We’ve done what we came to do,” he said. “Let’s get out of here while we still can. Hurt like you are, we’ll be lucky to get out alive.”

  “Come on,” Watson said. Bracing himself, he pushed his back against the wall and slid to a standing position. His blood-soaked shirt left a wide smear of blood on the rock wall. “You carry the shotgun from now on. Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll cover your ass.”

  Kip winced as he looked at the tangle of meat that had been Watson’s right arm. “You sure you can hang in there?”

  Watson forced a tight smile. “Does a frog have a water-tight asshole?” he said gruffly. It was obvious his right arm was useless, but he gripped the flashlight tightly with his good hand. The can of gasoline sloshed at his side.

  “Let’s go,” he said. He walked unsteadily, stepping over the dead untcigahunk, and proceeded down the corridor looking like something out of Night of the Living Dead.

  At the first turn in the cave, Kip realized his ball of string was missing. He swore softly to himself as he looked back the way they’d come, but he didn’t see it. He decided not to mention it to Watson. Let him trust to his compass from now on.

  They followed what looked like the most well-trodden trail and, about a half mile farther along, came to where the cave suddenly sloped down into another wide open area.

  “Holy mother of God,” Kip whispered as he stared into the chamber. This one was different from the one they had previously discovered. Narrower at the top, it spiraled down in a series of tight, concentric rings with exposed ledges. Kip took the flashlight from Watson and directed it into the hole, shocked by what he saw. Perched on the sides of the chamber in tightly-packed groups were, literally, thousands of untcigahunk. Blinking their eyes in the sudden burst of light, they looked up. Their eyes reflected back a shimmering yellow glow as they started chattering angrily. The sound was like dry, rattling bones, but—at least so far—none of them moved to attack.

  “Christ on a cracker, look at ‘em,” Watson said breathlessly. He held the torch over the opening, but they couldn’t begin to count how many there were.

  Kip slung the backpack from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. As he knelt down and began undoing the pouch straps to get out his gas can, a sudden panic rose in his gut. So far, the creatures down below hadn’t moved, but if something set them off, if they decided to attack, they’d swarm out of that chamber like lava, a swirling mass of teeth and claws.

  “Why haven’t any of them moved?” Kip looked at Watson and tried to gauge if he was hanging in there or not. The old man’s face was as pale as marble in the torchlight. His eyes had a distant, lifeless look.

  “These ones look different,” Watson said. “They’re smaller. ‘N did you see what they’re doin?”

  Kip was too frightened to reply, so he concentrated on getting the five-gallon can of gasoline out of the backpack.

  There’s no way this will be enough, he thought. All we’ll do is stir them up, like a nest of hornets. He regretted not forcing Watson to go back to the surface, but what could he do? Watson was the adult, and he was just a kid.

  “Those ones down there are the females,” Watson said. “It must’ve been males we was fighting in the cave. This is where they’re having their young. Look close. Don’t it look like they’re sittin’ in nests or somethin’?”

  “Just what we need. More of them,” Kip said.

  “No fuckin’ way,” Watson said. With his nearly useless arm, he undid his belt and grabbed the gas can before it fell to the ground. He unscrewed the cap, prepared to splash the contents on the creatures below.

  “These things are sittin’ ducks. You ever hear the old expression, ‘shootin’ fish in a barrel?’ Well, boy, this is gonna be easier ‘n that.”

  They huddled together to figure out the details of their plan, but it really was quite simple. Watson gave Kip a quick nod, signaling he was ready. Kip lit a flare to mark the opening and planted it firmly in the ground. Then, when each of them had their gas can ready, they ran around the opening, splashing gasoline down onto the nesting untcigahunk.

  The smell of gasoline rose above the fetid air of the chamber. Hundreds of the untcigahunk looked up as the foul-smelling liquid rained down on them. At first, they seemed confused, but then they suddenly moved as one gigantic, agitated mass. They started moving from side to side to avoid the gasoline, but Kip and Watson covered the perimeter quickly. When his can was empty, Kip lobbed it down into the chamber. As it clattered down the steep stone sides, the little brothers sent up a squealing response.

  “Get back to the opening before we light it,” Kip shouted to Watson. There where several more caves entering the chamber on their level, so on his way back, he lit a few more flares and tossed them down as far as he could, hoping the light would keep back any wandering little brothers who might come at them.

  Watson was moving slowly. He was weakened from so much blood loss, but he got to the entryway before Kip. The red glow of flares filled the chamber with an eerie, flickering light.

  “Toss your can down there, too,” Kip called out, but Watson had a better idea. Handing Kip the torch, he tore off part of his tattered shirt and stuffed one end of it into the top of the gas can.

  “Be ready with that torch,” he said.

  It took Kip a moment to realize what he was doing, but when Watson was ready, he held the loose flap of shirt projecting from the can top out to him. Kip touched it with the flame. As soon as the rag caught fire, he spun around and tossed the torch into the chamber at the same time Watson ran to the edge of the opening and threw the gas can down into the mass of untcigahunk below.

  At first, nothing happened. After what seemed like an impossibly long time, a dull explosion and a loud whooshing sound thundered through the cave. Flames shot up out of the chamber opening, reaching almost all the way to the ceiling. The squealing of the little brothers when they attacked was a mere whisper compared to the tortured wailing sounds that now erupted from down in the chamber. Flames billowed higher and higher as the gasoline ignited, sucking in air with a roaring rush. A wicked orange glow filled the cave, and a wall of heat blasted into Kip’s and Watson’s faces.

  “They’re fuckin’ fried!” Watson cried joyfully. He turned his flashlight beam on Kip, but he didn’t need the light to see. The walls of the chamber were flickering with flames. This was as close to a vision of hell as Kip was ever likely or would ever want to get. All that dried bat shit down there must have ignited,” Watson said. “Lots of gases, methane and stuff, are making it burn even better than I thought.”

  Kip nodded, amazed and frightened by the inferno they’d caused.

  “Take the flashlight and shotgun,” Watson shouted, “and have some more flares ready!”

  Kip turned his back to the burning chamber, relieved not to be facing the searing heat. The rising flames behind him were sucking in the cool air from the caves so fast he felt like he was standing in a flood of cool water. He grabbed the spare torch from his backpack and handed it to Watson. Then he took out a handful of flares. Suddenly, he slapped his hand on the empty scabbard at his side.

  “Oh, shit! Shit! I lost my knife!” He stared frantically at Watson. “I lost my brother’s knife!”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you a n
ew one. A better one,” Watson said as he watched the flames rising from the untcigahunk nest. He had noticed something Kip hadn’t, something that sent shivers racing up his spine in spite of the heat. Several figures, crouching low, were clawing up over the edge of the chamber. The fire had driven them into a frenzy, and they squealed as they darted back and forth, seeking to escape the flames and heat.

  “Behind you!” Watson shouted.

  Kip turned just in time to see two little brothers charging toward him, their arms held high, their hooked claws exposed. He took aim with the shotgun and squeezed the trigger once...twice. The double blast sent both little brothers reeling backward, and they fell over the edge into the swirling flames below. By now, more creatures were scrambling up from the inferno, distorted black silhouettes against the flickering flames.

  “Get that fucking torch lit!” Watson shouted, but he was holding the end of it too close to Kip’s face. Kip backed away and hurriedly struck a match. When he touched it to the gasoline-soaked cloth, it blossomed into a globe of fire. He fumbled to get two new shells into the gun chamber.

  “Let’s get our asses movin’,” Watson snapped.

  All Kip knew as he snapped the gun closed and turned to start down the corridor was that he had a flash-light in one hand and a loaded gun in the other. Somewhere back there—Who knows where?—was Marty’s hunting knife, lost forever.

  Watson showed a surprising burst of energy. In spite of his mutilated arm, which was still seeping blood, he kept pace with Kip as they ran down the corridor, putting as much distance as they could between them and the untcigahunk’s echoing cries of pain and rage. The shrill sound reverberated off the cave walls so loudly it hurt their ears, but it faded the farther away they got.

  Kip thought it was only the wildest stroke of luck that they didn’t get lost without his string to guide them. When they came to the carnage of their last fight with the little brothers, he knew they might stand a chance of getting out of there...as long as the little brothers didn’t close the distance too fast. Surprisingly, they hadn’t gotten lost in all the confusion.