Brush by her head crackled and shifted beneath the creature’s weight.
Instinctually, her eyes opened to see the lower legs and booted feet of the thing moving right by her. It strode deeper into the jungle, waited a moment then broke into a run, dashing off and out of sight.
Quinn let out her breath, her chest heaving and her entire body sore and aching as she rolled out from the side of the stump and crawled onto her hands and knees. She raised her head, watched the section of jungle the creature disappeared into.
It was gone. She was alive, and it was gone.
First she laughed, quietly, but soon came tears, muffled sobs she couldn’t control. Exhausted and completely drained physically and emotionally, Quinn collapsed down into the dirt and brush, and lay there a while.
After a while, she forced herself back to her feet. It was then that she noticed a hole in the ground not far from where the thing had vanished. It had run into the jungle and again gone into the tunnels beneath the island.
Quinn wiped herself off then started back up the slope.
She knew now what she had to do.
***
After finding the ax, Quinn went to one of the larger basins they’d found at the outpost and left out to catch rain, dropped to her knees and drank as much as she could stand. The sun was rising, having burned off all the fog and mist, and the water had already turned lukewarm. She vomited the first several gulps, then went back for more.
Once sated, she looked out at the lagoon. All the blood had washed away.
It was as if Harper had never died there at all, as if she never even existed.
As Quinn made her way back toward the outpost, she noticed Herm’s body had been disturbed. The machete was no longer in his abdomen but laying on the sand next to him. His wig had been left nearby as well. And where his head should’ve been, instead were scraps of flesh and a bloody stump of neck bone and protruding spine.
Feeling nothing now, Quinn bent down, picked up the bloody machete and continued on to the outpost.
Watching the jungle as best she could, and trying to make as little noise as possible, despite her exhaustion, she took hold of one of the large barrels of gasoline from the storage hut and dragged it to the mouth of the tunnel Gino had fallen into.
Using the machete, she wrenched the lid free and tossed it aside. The drums had been sealed all this time, and shielded from the elements inside the hut, so the gasoline likely hadn’t been compromised and would still burn.
Leaning her weight against it and pushing with all her might, she tipped the drum over and watched as the gasoline emptied, rushing down into the tunnel. When it was nearly empty, she grabbed the end and tilted it far as she could until the remaining gas poured free.
Rolling it away, she returned to the hut, and dragged a second drum over to the hole. Once it had emptied into the tunnel, she headed into the officer’s quarters.
Walking through the open doorway, she found Gino just where she’d left him, sitting up and propped against the old file cabinet. His broken leg was drenched in blood, the splint had come undone, and he was sweating profusely, one of the old Japanese rifles they’d found clutched in his hands as if it might somehow protect him.
The WWII food supplies Herm had found were scattered across the floor, as at one point Gino had apparently torn into a couple of tins. One lay on its side, what appeared to be beans of some kind emptied out onto the floor. There were also some hard candies and an open container of tea. Though Quinn hadn’t eaten since the crab the night before last, for the first time since this ordeal began, her hunger was not an issue. Eating was the last thing she wanted to do, but knew going without was sapping what little energy she had left. She scooped up two of the hard candies. They were wrapped in a foil that had partially become stuck to them, but she managed to get them unwrapped and popped them in her mouth. She couldn’t identify the flavor, if there was one, and they felt rough against her tongue. She ate them anyway.
Gino watched her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
In her torn and filthy nylon shorts, equally tattered bikini top, bare feet dirty and bloody in Natalie’s sandals, her short hair mussed and matted, her face and body muddy and scratched and blood-stained, she looked like a crazed feral animal.
“Quinn,” he said softly, “where’s everyone else?”
“There is no everyone else.”
“Jesus.” Gino’s sweat-slick face twisted into a grimace. “Jesus Christ.” He bowed his head. When he looked up again, his eyes were moist. “I—I failed you. I failed all of you. I’m sorry.”
“None of that matters now.”
“I tried to get up,” he said. “I—I tried, Quinn, but I—I can’t feel my leg anymore.”
“I did the best I could,” she told him. “It’s bad.”
“I know, I...”
His voice trailed off, and they were quiet for a while, helpless in the silence.
“This thing,” Quinn finally said, “it uses the tunnels. It hides in them, moves through them to get from one part of the island to another. I think it sleeps down there too. If it sleeps.”
“What the hell is it?”
“I’m not sure. But if we have any chance at all, we can’t wait for it to come to us again. I have to be the predator now.”
“Quinn—”
“It’s the only way.” She gathered up the four grenades they’d found and placed two next to him. “If I don’t make it, use these.”
As Gino struggled to remain conscious, Quinn remembered the dream, holding her husband’s hand as birds fell from the sky in flames.
“I’m going after it. Down into those tunnels.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll kill it.”
“How?”
“With the one thing that kills everything,” she said. “Fire.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beneath an unforgiving sun, through the blur of heat rising up off the island, her skin scarred and sunburned, battered and bathed in sweat, Quinn stood at the entrance to the tunnels. Having armed herself with the ax and two grenades, she’d ventured back into the jungle and down the slope where she’d fallen, this time negotiating the terrain slowly and carefully, until she’d reached the opening in the ground the creature had last vanished into.
Sitting on the edge, she drew a deep breath then slid down into the hole.
It was a drop of several feet, and as she landed, her knees buckled and she found herself sitting on the dirt floor. Before her, the tunnel. And darkness.
The tunnel was just deep enough for her to stand in, but the creature was too tall to be completely upright here. She envisioned it crouched over, moving rapidly through the dirt and darkness, imagined it hidden in the shadows just ahead, waiting for her. Breathing heavily, Quinn pressed forward.
The light from above was still evident, but within seconds it was well behind her and she found herself in total darkness. With each step, perspective became more and more of a challenge, and it was increasingly difficult to differentiate up from down.
She stopped a moment and listened. Air dirty and stale filled her lungs. It was decidedly cooler but terribly claustrophobic beneath the earth, and the tunnel was far narrower than she’d expected it to be. She could touch the dirt walls on either side of her without fully extending her arms. Even had she wanted to, there wasn’t sufficient room to do so. Placing a hand against the side of the tunnel for balance and some sense of where she was, Quinn crept forward. Eyes wide and straining to see something—anything—the darkness conspired with the close tunnel walls and low ceiling to leave her not only blind but feeling like everything was constricting, closing in and strangling her. The uneven terrain only made it worse, and the deeper she went, the more claustrophobic she became.
Following the curve of the wall with her hand pressed flat against it, Quinn felt the tunnel changing direction once, then twice, winding through the underground passages beneath the island
like some giant ant farm. She couldn’t tell for sure but she’d gone several hundred yards and been in complete darkness for several minutes, when something in the distance caught her eye.
Bleeding through the darkness, a light. A flame. Flickering.
She stopped, leaned against the side of the tunnel. Waited. Listened.
Nothing.
Until that awful smell reached her.
The creature was close.
Heart pounding, Quinn gripped the ax tighter and, quietly as she could, moved toward the light. The Japanese hand grenades, unlike the American versions she’d seen in photographs and movies, were squat, with something of a square shape, but outfitted with a typical serrated design which gave them a pineapple-like appearance. Clipped to the waistband of her shorts, the fuse pins were faced outward and away from her body. She reached down and touched them quickly to make sure neither had fallen free, then continued on.
The tunnel narrowed even further, and suddenly emptied into a small chamber. Though the flame was still a good distance away, it provided enough light for her to see glimpses of the uneven floors, and some of the debris that had found its way down there over the decades: dead vegetation and leaves, a good deal of rocks and branches, and the bones of small rodents and even a few birds and bats. Once she’d reached the end of the chamber, Quinn crawled into another narrow passageway.
Light bled closer, filling the darkness.
She stopped, remained hidden in the shadows just beyond its reach. Before her, a larger circular chamber with the same low ceilings but a much wider and open area. On the walls, wood sconces had been positioned every few feet, all the torches within them long extinguished, but for the one burning bright and strong.
My God, she thought, this thing has fire.
Her eyes followed the shadows and pool of flickering light to the chamber floor.
It too was littered with bones. But these were mostly human. Skulls, purposely constructed into piles or simply strewn about like garbage.
Like an old open grave, the smell of death was strong in this terrible place.
The fire crackled, the light dancing across the dirt walls and the curve of the low ceiling. But it was the rest of what the fire revealed that left Quinn wracked with fear. Shaking uncontrollably, she breathed quietly as possible, frozen in terror.
A throne-like chair constructed from human and animal bones sat in the center of the chamber, the creature sitting atop it, eyes closed, the sword laying across its knees and its arms folded across its chest. The throne was adorned with mummified human hands and other body parts, and at the creature’s feet, two piles of human skulls sat on either side of him. Still as a corpse, the thing sat upon its chair, the flame bathing it in an eerie orange glow.
Maybe it does sleep after all, Quinn thought.
Her blood ran cold. Remaining where she was, she watched the thing a while.
It seemed unaware of her presence, and had neither opened its eyes nor moved since she’d come upon it. She couldn’t be certain, but it didn’t appear to be breathing.
What the hell was this thing? What in God’s name was she dealing with?
But there, in the dark, she knew. She knew.
All these years it had waited here, in its kingdom of blood and bone and death, sitting atop its throne deep beneath the earth, a profane abomination conjured from evil born of the darkest corners of existence. Brought forth to wage destruction on anything or anyone that crossed its path, that dared enter its realm—this godforsaken island—it had slithered out from the shadows of Hell to protect this house of horrors from any and all intruders. An ancient and deadly warrior, an evil spirit made whole through rituals of blood and horror, torture, sorrow, unimaginable pain and murder, this was an entity of pure vengeance that would stop at nothing to fulfill its dark and twisted destiny.
She’d been wrong all along. There was such a thing as monsters.
Steeling herself, Quinn stepped into the chamber, into the light. At her feet, more skulls and mummified body parts. But one stopped her dead.
Her husband’s severed head lay among them, his dead eyes still open.
Rage, horror and sorrow exploded, churning deep inside her like a dust devil. All sanity was gone in that nightmare moment. She was nothing but a rabid, dangerous predator now, the same savage that had killed Herm.
With furious anger, Quinn stepped around the skulls and closed on the throne.
The thing opened its red eyes.
She swung the ax with every bit of strength she possessed.
The creature raised an arm to block the blow, but the blade hit it in the shoulder. Bringing it back around, she crashed the ax into the thing again, and this time it did damage, smashing the armor along its left arm and shoulder.
Stumbling on the follow-through and off-balance, Quinn quickly righted herself.
With a disturbing creaking sound, the creature rose from its throne, the metal armor clacking as it stepped down and leveled its sword at her.
Herm’s bald head fell free from its lap and rolled into darkness, as Quinn swung again, this time for its massive chest. It connected, knocking the being back, but only a few steps. Seemingly unaffected, it looked at her with its horrible crimson eyes, cocking its head as if baffled by her attack.
Then it lunged for her.
Wheeling away into the shadows from which she’d come, Quinn scrambled for the passageway. Turning back, she pulled a grenade free of her waistband, yanked the pin out and rolled it along the dirt floor toward the throne.
It came to a stop at the samurai’s feet. The creature looked down at it, as if unsure of what it was.
Quinn dropped, rolled away into darkness and braced herself.
But no explosion came.
The thing stalked across the chamber after her. The grenade was a dud. Were it going to work, it would’ve by then. Maybe they were too old to detonate, or maybe she’d simply gotten one that malfunctioned, she couldn’t know for sure. All she did know, was that her plan had backfired, and the creature was closing on her.
Standing, she swung the ax again, but missed.
The creature responded with a backhand that connected with the side of Quinn’s head and took her off her feet.
She flew across the chamber, landing hard on her back, several feet away near the entrance to the passageway.
Jaw aching and head spinning, she retreated into the tunnels, stumbling back into the pitch-black as fast as her legs would carry her. Enveloped again in darkness absolute, she had no idea in which direction she was headed. Her only hope was that she’d gotten it right, that she’d emerge from the tunnels at least close to where she’d planned to, but there was no time to reconsider, no way to be certain. The only thing she was aware of in those terrifying moments was her instinctual need for flight.
She vaulted through the narrow tunnels.
The creature gave chase.
Lost in darkness and dizzy from the blow to her head, all sense of place and time abandoned her. She felt as if she were freefalling through an empty black void with no beginning or end, an astronaut broken free of her tether, tumbling away through a dark expanse of deep, endless space.
And then she smelled something above the creature’s nauseating stench.
Fresh air.
Something behind her brushed her bare leg, and she screamed out but never slowed her pace, throwing herself through the tunnel. To her left—light—a small hole of it punched in the darkness just up ahead. She hurried toward it, the sounds of the creature’s footfalls trailing close behind her.
Quinn saw the opening well before she’d reached it, and prepared herself for what she had to do. Once within reach of it, without slowing, she jumped, launching herself up and through the tunnel opening. As she emerged, exploding into the daylight, she threw the ax out ahead of her and quickly grabbed the ground on either side of the hole, struggling to pull herself up before sliding back down into the tunnel.
Snatching at vines
and anything else she could get hold of, Quinn kicked with her legs and pulled with her arms, struggling up and out.
A cold dead hand clamped onto her ankle with tremendous force.
Halfway out of the opening now, she kicked with her free leg as hard as she could. Once. Twice. A third time, and then a fourth. Each blow connected with the being, but it felt as if she were kicking a cement wall. By the fifth kick, the hand released her, sliding down and tearing the sandal from her foot as Quinn crawled the rest of the way out and scrambled for the ax.
The last grenade she had fell free. She reached back for it just as the creature emerged. Snatching it up, she regained her feet and took off through the jungle, unsure of where she was on the island.
Everything flew past her in a frantic blur.
With only one sandal on, her gait was uneven and awkward, so she hopped a few steps, pulled the other sandal off, tossed it aside and broke back into a full run. Ignoring the pain blasting into the soles of her feet, the burning in her lungs, the aches and soreness throughout her body, the slightly blurred vision and throbbing in her jaw and head, she sped through the jungle. What little she could make sense of didn’t help, because wherever she was, this part of the island did not look familiar at all.
Moving up and over an incline, she came to a halt and looked back. Not far behind her, walking rather than running through the jungle, its stride steady and purposeful, came the spirit warrior, an impossible demon of aged iron and decayed flesh, worn leather and tarnished metal, steel horns and fiery, subhuman eyes.
Quinn ran. Without any idea where she was or where she was headed, she ran.
She raised the ax and held it out in front of her, hoping to shield her eyes and block some of the sharper vines and branches stabbing at her as she crashed through the jungle. Pure adrenaline increased her speed, and as she closed on a particularly thick area of brush, she jumped into the air in an attempt to burst through it without having to slow down.
Her body punched through, the jungle tore open and she sailed into the air.
Suddenly there was nothing but vast and beautiful sky before her. The ground was no more, and though she was still running, it was in midair, flailing.
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