The Nightmare Within
Page 29
"Shitheel! Get back here, boy."
As soon as he pulled free from the lake, he convulsed, vomiting silt water. He still couldn't see anything, not without taking time to let his eyes readjust. He had no time. No time at all. One man reached the shelf. George crawled like mad, slipping across the muddy shore, mere feet ahead of his pursuer. George's shoulder crashed into his tackle box, but he welcomed the impact. It meant his dad's gun was close. If he could only remember which direction. Fumbling his hands forward, he somehow found the wooden gunstock. He grasped the gun and rolled to his back, bracing the stock against his shoulder.
Water slid down his cheekbones, and even though it hurt his chest, he tried to conceal his breathing.
He waited for any hint of movement.
A shadowy figure loomed above him. As the machete slit the air, he switched the latch on the gun and pulled the trigger. The shotgun jerked in his hands, blasting a hole in the man's chest, sending him head over heel to the water's edge. For a split second, the explosion lit the cavern as the others closed in. They could've been farmers. They all wore bib overalls, denim work shirts. Their faces revealed a grizzled sameness that left them indistinguishable in age, but they all had a farmer's strength, a corn-fed thickness to their arms and torsos.
As the echo tapered off, George heard the man's liquid-wheezing breath. His dying breaths. He'd killed someone. How in the world did the night turn so crazy?
George cradled the over/under and rolled to his feet. He ran as fast as possible through the winding trail, knocking his limbs against jagged outcroppings. He couldn't hear the other men, not with his ears ringing from the shotgun blast, but after killing one of their kind, he had no doubt they'd only redouble their efforts.
Who are you? George wanted to shout. He saved his breath. What did I ever do to you?
He reached the steep incline and scurried through the slick moss. When he reached the cave-in, he scrabbled into the low opening.
Once on the other side, he took a moment to catch his breath. Wheezing with his hands on his knees, a single thought pushed all others aside:
If I hadn't broken the lantern, none of this would've happened. I wouldn't have noticed the candlelight through the tunnel. Jimmy wouldn't have left me.
When he was ready to take off again, a face appeared in the low tunnel. Just the outline of a forehead, a curve of chin. Shadows for eyes. Nothing else. The man grunted, blindly swinging the machete as he crawled through the narrow opening. George switched to the other barrel and fired the shotgun into the man's skull. Something splattered George's face, but he hardly noticed. He turned and fled, desperately feeling for the next turn in the tunnel.
When he reached the last uphill leading to the cave's opening, he threw himself up the incline. The limestone floor transitioning to mud as he hit top soil. He shoved through the grass veil shielding the world from the unholy hell he had encountered below. Not knowing his location in relation to his house, he simply ran. The fog had burned off and the sky was warm with the rising sun. Before he lost sight of the cavern, he glanced back.
The unwounded third man appeared. Once clear of the small opening, another man's arm emerged from inside. Another man pulled free. The man had no face. Blood and clots of brain matter soaked his denim shirt. Once on his feet, the third man reached the opening, and he too climbed out, the mortal wound in his chest exposing his insides to the morning air.
The over/under had its .30 caliber round, but these men still chased him after being shot point-blank with a shotgun. There was no point in using the last round. George tossed the deadweight aside. He'd go back later for it. If he lived through this.
"You're never gonna see another sunset, shitheel!" said the unwounded man. "Don't worry, we'll make it go right-quick!"
The man's shrill voice didn't create an echo. The air was alive with birdsong, buzzing insects, a lush blowing breeze. It was maddening after the cavern's compressed, blunted air. George ran, his adrenaline fighting the mounting fatigue from a sleepless and a seemingly endless night of fear.
In no time, the clamor of pursuit intensified. Glancing back, he couldn't believe his eyes. Loping through clumsy strides, they were still somehow lightning-quick. But their skin… it had begun to sag, having turned to pulp. All three had started to disintegrate, even the man he hadn't shot. Lesions rioted across their exposed skin, gravity pulling the wounds wide. George turned away and crested a small hill, heading toward wetter terrain. The swamps. At least now he knew where he was. He darted down the trail, through wispy trees and rutted ground, unsure of his sanity after seeing such sights.
Behind him, the men kicked through the underbrush, picking up their pace, gaining on him with every stride.
END SAMPLE
About the Author:
I have written two other novels: Where Darkness Dwells, and Nothing Lasting. My short fiction has appeared in publications across three continents for the last decade. Dog Horn Publishing (U.K.) will publish my story collection debut in 2011. I also work as a freelance editor and I'm always on the lookout for interesting writers and publishers to work with. Feel free to let me know what you think of The Nightmare Within, or any other of my works you might come across.
I can be reached at kelcher_2000@yahoo.com. Or, if you prefer, you can find me at http://www.facebook.com/glen.krisch.