In the blackness, his elbow bumped into something.
With his gun hand, he reached out gingerly, touched a surface that felt rough and scaly. Was it the high-pressure hoses? But it didnt feel like a hose. It felt like something else.
But there was nothing else that should feel like that; not up here in the Evisceration Area.
He bit his lip, suppressed a sob of terror.
It was the blackness that was making him act this way. He wasnt used to utter blackness. If he fired his gun, maybe he could see long enough to orient himself. One shot toward the roof wouldnt hurt anything.
He raised his piece and fired upward.
The brief flash revealed a figure, standing next to him, looking at him, smiling. The image was so unexpected, so strange and horrifying, that Tad could not even scream.
But the figure screamed for him: a hoarse, guttural ululation of surprise and anger at the gunshot.
Tad ran. He found the ladder and half fell, half scrambled down it, banging his knees cruelly against the metal rungs. He got tangled near the bottom and fell crashing to the floor, on top of his broken arm. And now he found he could scream, in both pain and terror. But at least he was back on the main floor of the plant. He scrambled to his feet, nauseous from pain and sobbing with terror, ran, tripped again, scrambled back to his feet. And that was when he realized his piece was still clutched desperately in his hand. He could use it, and hewould use it. He reached back and fired, once, twice, blindlyand each time, the muzzle flashes revealing that thething was scuttling toward him, pink mouth yawning wide, arms outstretched.
Muh!
He had to aim the gun,aim it, not just fire wildly. Two more rounds, and each flash showed it coming closer, closer. Tad scrambled backwards, still screaming, and fired twice more, his hand shaking wildly.
Muh! Muh!
It was almost on him. He couldnt miss now. He aimed point-blank, pulled.
The hammer fell on an empty cylinder. He fumbled for his extra clip, but a second terrible blow struck him in the gut and he fell, unable to breathe, the gun skittering away across the floor. A third blow, this one to his gun arm. He found his wind, thrashing desperately, screaming and kicking, trying to slide himself backwards, but it was impossible with both his arms unusable.
Muh! Muh! Muh!
Tad shrieked again and twisted wildly away, sliding on his back, kicking in the direction of the sound.
And then the thing caught his flailing leg. Tad felt a terrible pressure on his ankle, then a sudden give, accompanied by the snap of bone.His bone.
A moment later, a huge weight pressed down on his chest and something rough and hard gripped his face. There was a smell of earth, and mold, and something fainter but far worse. For a moment it seemed as if the grasp would be gentle, comforting, reassuring.
But then it tightened with a terrible, unforgiving pressure. And then, with ferocious speed, his entire face was twisted in the direction of the floor.
There was a grinding click; a burst of fire at the base of his neck; and then the terrible darkness became bright, so very, very bright . . .
Fifty-Three
Corrie lay in the putrid dark. In this terrible and disorienting blackness, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed sincehe had left. An hour? A day? It seemed like forever. Her whole body ached, and her neck was sore from where he had squeezed it.
And yet he had not killed her. No: hed meant to torture her instead. And yet torture didnt seem to be quite the right word. It was almost as if he was toying with her,playing with her, in some horrible, inexplicable way . . .
But guessing about the killer was pointless. There was no way she could understand something so alien, so broken, so foreign to her own experience. She reminded herself that nobody was going to rescue her way back in this cave system. Nobody knew she was there. If she were to live, she had to do something herself. She had to do it before he came back.
She struggled once again to loosen the cords, succeeding only in chafing and tearing her wrists. The ropes had been tied wet and the knots were as hard as walnuts.
. . . When wouldhe come back? The thought sent a wave of panic through her.
Corrie, get a grip.
She lay still a moment, focusing on her breathing. Then, slowly, with her hands tied behind her, she half crawled, half rolled over the sloping floor of the cave, exploring. The floor was relatively smooth here, but now and then she noticed rough rocks projecting in clusters from the floor of the cave. She stopped to feel one formation more closely with her fingers. Crystals, maybe.
She positioned herself and kicked hard at them with her feet. There was a sharp snapping sound as they broke away.
Now she explored with numb fingers until she found a fresh, sharp edge. Positioning herself laboriously over it, she placed her hands against the edge and began rubbing the ropes, back and forth, back and forth.
God, it hurt. Her wrists were raw circles of flesh where the ropes bound her, and she could feel the blood trickling down the insides of her palms as she worked. There was barely any feeling left in her fingers.
But she kept rubbing, pressing harder. The wet rope slipped, the sharp stone cut her hands.
She stifled a cry and kept rubbing. Better to lose her hands than her life. At least the rope was beginning to fray. If she could only get it off, she could . . .
She could what?
. . . When wouldhe come back?
Corrie shivered; a shiver that threatened to become uncontrollable. She had never been so cold and numb and wet in her life. The stench seemed to permeate everything, and she could taste it on her tongue, in her nose.
Focus on the rope.
She rubbed, slipped, cut herself again, and, sobbing aloud, kept scraping and chafing, harder and harder. There was no longer any feeling at all in her fingers, but this just made her rub the harder.
Even if she got free, what would she do without light? She didnt have a match or a lighter. Even if she had a light,he had taken her so far back into the cave that she wondered if she could ever find her way out.
Sobbing, she jammed the rope against the sharp rock again and again. Perversely, the very hopelessness of her situation brought new strength to her limbs.
Suddenly her hands were free.
She lay back, gasping, sucking in air. Pain rushed in like a thousand needles pricking at her palms and fingers. She could feel blood flowing more freely now along her skin.
She tried to move her fingers, without success. With a groan, she leaned to one side, gently rubbing her palms together. She tried moving her fingers a second time and got a little response. They were coming back to life.
Slowly, painfully, she sat up. Propping her legs behind her, she reached down and felt the cords around her ankles. They seemed to be tied in the craziest way, wrapped around and around, with half a dozen crude but effective knots. She tried to pick at them, gasped at the pain, and let her hands drop away. Maybe she could saw them off on the sharp rock shed used for her hands. She felt around for the edge
A sound interrupted her. She paused, dread clutching at her.
He was coming back.
She could hear grunting, huffing noises echoing off the cavern walls not far away. It sounded like he was lugging something. Something heavy.
Hnuff!
Quickly she hid her hands behind her back, lay down on the cold floor, and fell still. Even though it was pitch black, she wasnt going to take the chance that he could see she was no longer tied.
The shuffle of footsteps grew near. New smells, sour smells, were suddenly introduced into the darkness: fresh blood, bile, vomit.
She lay perfectly still. It was so dark, maybe he had forgotten about her.
There was a dragging sound, then the jangling of what sounded like keys. And then something heavy hit the floor of the cave next to her. The stench abruptly grew worse.
She stifled the scream that rose in her throat.
Nowhe began humming and tal
king to himself once again. There was a rattle of metal, the scratch of a match, and suddenly there was light: almost indiscernibly faint, but light just the same. For a moment, Corrie forgot everythingher pain, her desperate conditionas she felt her soul rise toward the dim yellow glow. It seemed to be coming from between the chinks of a strange-looking lantern, very old, with sliding sides of rusted metal. The light was placed in a way that lefthim in shadowjust a dark shape moving, gray against black. He disappeared around a corner, doing something in an alcove, humming and talking to himself.
So he did need light, after all, if only a little bit.
But if hed managed to do so much in utter darknessbring her here, tie her upwhat kind of work would he need light for?
Corrie did not want to follow this train of thought. It was easy to let it go: the instinctual relief of the light made her feel sluggish, torpid. Part of her just wanted to give up, resign herself. She looked around. Dim as it was, the light seemed to reflect back at her in a million crystallike points, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
She waited, motionless, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.
She was in a smallish cavern. Its walls were covered with feathery white crystals that gleamed in the faint glow of the dark-lantern, and countless stalactites hung from the ceiling. From each stalactite hung a bizarre little ornament of sticks and bones, lashed together with twine. For a long time, her eyes traveled back and forth across them, uncomprehending. Eventually her eyes moved to the walls, scanned slowly across them, and then at last fell to the surrounding floor.
A body lay beside her.
She stifled a cry. Horror and fear surged through her again. How could the mere relief of vision, of the lack of blackness, have allowed her to forget, even for a moment . . . ?
She shut her eyes. But the renewed dark was even worse. Shehad to know.
At first, there was so much blood on the face that she couldnt make it out. And then, slowly, the outlines seemed to resolve themselves. It was the ruined face of Tad Franklin: staring back at her, open-mouthed.
She turned her head violently away; heard herself scream, then scream again.
There was a grunt and she now sawhim for the first time, coming around the corner and advancing toward her, a long, bloody knife in one hand, something wet and red in the other.
He was smiling and singing to himself.
The scream died as her throat closed involuntarily at the sight.
That face!
Fifty-Four
Hazen stood before the assembled law enforcement officers. What he had to say wouldnt take long: it was a good crew, and they had a good plan. McFelty wouldnt stand a chance.
There was only one problem. Tad hadnt yet returned from the plant, and radio communications were down. Hazen would have preferred to hand off control directly before leaving, but he could wait no longer. Medicine Creek was well secured and properly hunkered down: Tad had clearly seen to that already. It was already a few minutes to ten. He didnt want McFelty slipping away under cover of the storm. They had to go. Tad would know what to do.
Wheres the dogs? he asked.
Hank Larssen spoke up. Theyre bringing them straight to the Kraus place. Meeting us there.
I hope to hell they got us some real dogs this time. Did you ask for that special breed theyve been training up in Dodge, those Spanish dogs, what are they called?
Presa canarios, Larssen said. I did. They said their training wasnt complete, but I insisted.
Good. Im through playing around with lap dogs. Whos the handler?
Same as last time. Lefty Weeks. Hes their best.
Hazen scowled, shucked out a cigarette, lit it.
Now he raked the group with his gaze. You all know the drill, so Ill be brief. The dogs go first, then the handlerLeftythen me and Raskovich. He pointed at the KSU security chief with his cigarette.
Raskovich nodded, his jaw tightening with the gravity of the situation.
Raskovich, you know how to use a twelve-gauge?
Yes, sir.
Then Ill issue you one. Behind us, as backup, therell be Cole, Brast, and Sheriff Larssen. He nodded to two state troopers dressed in full raid wear: black BDU pants bloused over Hi-Tec boots, blacked-out bulletproof vests. No more Boy Scout hatsthis was going to be the real thing. Then he turned back to Larssen. That okay with you, Hank?
The Deeper sheriff nodded.
Hazen knew it was important to play the political game, keep Hank in the loop, make sure he was part of the team. Hank clearly wasnt happy about it, but there wasnt much he could do: this was Hazens turf, and until the operation was finished and outside communication was restored, it was completely his show. In the end Hazen would make sure Larssen looked good. Theyd all share creditRaskovich, tooand there wouldnt be any backstabbing when it came to trial.
The rules of engagement are simple. Youve all got riot guns, but dont use them unless your life isdirectly threatened. Is that absolutely crystal clear?
Everyone nodded.
Were taking our man outalive andunhurt. Were going in nice and easy, disarm the guy, bring him out shackled and cuffed, but with kid gloves. Hes our star witness. If he panics and starts shooting, youstay back and let the dogs take care of him. And dogs like these can take a major round or two and still work.
Silence, nods.
If any of yous thinking of coming out a hero, forget it. Ill arrest you myself. We work together.
He glared at each one in turn. It was Raskovich he was most worried about, but so far the man had been cool. It was worth taking the chance. Hell, he was willing to let Raskovich take all the damn credit if it meant the experimental field came to Medicine Creek.
Shurte and Williams, you two will stake out the cave entrance. I want you to give yourself a good field of action, which means no lounging in the entrance where you could be surprised. If we flush McFelty and he tries to take off, you need to be ready to take him. You, Rheinbeck, youre going into the Kraus mansion to serve the warrant and drink tea with Winifred. Be prepared to back up Shurte and Williams if they need it.
Rheinbecks face betrayed nothing, just a faint twitching along the jawline.
I know, Rheinbeck, its a tough assignment, but the old ladys bound to be upset. We dont want any heart attacks, right?
Rheinbeck nodded.
Remember, well have no communication to the outside world down there. And if we get separated, there wont be any communication between us, either. So we stay together. Got it?
He looked around. They got it.
All right, Coles going to tell us about the night-vision goggles.
Cole stepped forward. He was Mr. State Police himself, tall, muscular, crew-cut, deadpan face. Funny how the Staties were never fat. Maybe it was a rule. He was carrying a gray helmet with a large set of goggles fastened beneath it.
In a cave, he said, theres no light at all. None. For that reason normal NVGs wont work. So were going in with infrared illumination. The infrared light works just like a flashlight. This is the bulb, right here, on the front of the helmet. Heres the switch. Its got to be turned on to work, just like a regular flashlight. You cant see the light with the naked eye, but when you put the NVGs on youll see a reddish illumination. If your infrared headlamp goes off, your goggles go black. Understand?
Everyone nodded.
The purpose of the NVGs is so we dont make ourselves targets by carrying flashlights. He cant see us. Well keep the overhead lights off and go in silent, and he wont know how many we are.
Is there a map of the cave or something? It was Raskovich.
Good question, said Hazen. No, there isnt. A wooden walkways been erected through most of it. There are a few rooms in the back, two or three at most, beyond. One of these rooms has the old still in it, and thats probably where well find our man. This isnt Carlsbad Caverns were talking about. Just exercise common sense, stay close, and youll be all right.
The security chief nodded.
Hazen went to the weapon
s locker, removed a shotgun, broke it open, loaded it, slapped it closed with a flick of his wrist, and handed it to Raskovich. Youve all checked your weapons?
There was a general shuffling, a murmur of assent. Hazen did a final check of his service belt, counterclockwise: extra magazines, asp baton, cuffs, pepper spray, sidearm all in place. He took a breath, snugged his armored vest up tight beneath his chin.
At that moment the lights in the office flickered, brightened, and went out. A chorus of groans and murmurs went up.
Hazen glanced out the window. No lights on the main drag, or anywhere else for that matter. Medicine Creek was blacked out from front to back. No surprise, really.
This doesnt change a thing, he said. Lets go.
He opened the door and they stepped out into the howling night.
Fifty-Five
As he pulled into Medicine Creek, Special Agent Pendergast slowed the big Rolls, then plucked his cell phone from his pocket and made another attempt to call Corrie Swanson.
The only reply was a steady beeping, no longer even a recorded message. The relay stations were down.
He replaced the phone. The police radio was also down and the lights of the town were out. Medicine Creek was effectively cut off from the outside world.
He drove along Main Street. The trees were lashing back and forth in a frenzy under the angry wind. Sheets of rain swept across the streets, forming muddy whirlpools in drains that a few hours before had been choked with dust. The town was locked down tight: shades drawn, shutters closed. The only activity seemed to be at the sheriffs office. Several state police cars were parked outside, and the sheriff and state police were moving around outside, loading equipment into a state police van and getting into squad cars. It looked like some operation was afoot, something more than the usual storm detail.
He continued on, turning into the gates of Wyndham Parke Estates. Within, the windows of the mobile homes were heavily taped, and large rocks had been placed on many of the roofs. Everything was dark, except for the occasional glimmer of a candle or flashlight beam glimpsed through a taped window. The wind tore through the narrow dirt lanes, rocking the trailers, pulling pebbles from the ground and throwing them against the aluminum sidings. In a nearby yard the swings of a childs playset were whipping crazily, as if propelled by manic ghosts.
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