“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”
53
United States:
(Risk, Ltd.)
They fetched Professor Thaddeus Baxter from the asylum in Arkham, and since he suffered from an extreme form of agoraphobia, they blindfolded him to take him to the Pierce Arrow. They all piled in, and Rith pulled shut the passenger compartment shades to close out the sight of open spaces before removing the cloth from the professor’s eyes. Trendel drove the thirty miles back to the manor in Boston, and all the way there, Thaddeus repeatedly whispered as if to keep from being overheard, “You must to go to Cold Point, Cold Point. Where there’s one there has to be more. Kill them all; wipe out the nest; kill them all.”
And now in the study of the house on the hill, they sipped on a fine Burgundy and supped on tenderloin sandwiches on French bread, all made by Antoine, Thaddeus’s personal cook. Arik sighed and said, “I know you want us to go to Cold Point, but we’ve got to find Lyssa’s body, Thaddeus.”
“Yes yes yes yes.” Thaddeus flinched away from something only he could see, then he looked apologetically across the room at Lyssa’s glowing form, tendrils and wisps of ectoplasm streaming, drifting, and going to wherever such ethereal substance goes, fading away as it went.
“I don’t know,” said Arik. “Rith is on the phone now.”
When Trendel translated this for Thaddeus, the professor said, “Oh, yes, yes, that’s good, good.”
Ky set down her goblet of wine and asked, “Just where is this Cold Point?”
“North, north, and east, east, it’s one of the easternmost points of Maine, of Main. Cold Point: just a small town, a village, more or less, more or less, along the cliffs above the entry to the Bay of Fundy. They were going to put up a lighthouse there, but the workers kept disappearing. Drunk and fell, some said, and the great tides took them away, away. But I know better, better. Horrible, horrible.” Thaddeus clutched his two flintlock pistols to his chest and looked about, as if seeking some evil thing to shoot. “They were there when I was there with Harold and Jefferson.”
Marion Claymore, Thaddeus’s personal physician came into the room. Red haired, green eyed, standing five five, and raised as she was in her mother’s Chicago bordello, the attractive doctor was somewhat wild at times. She sedately entered, black bag in hand, and greeted them all. And as the others looked away in a pretense of privacy, Marion gave Thaddeus his “calming shot.”
After Marion left, Ky said, “Will you tell us what happened at Cold Point?”
Thaddeus took a deep breath, and set aside his flintlocks, though close at hand, just in case some horror came bursting in.
In that moment Rith entered the room, but seeing that Thaddeus was about to tell his tale, she held her news to herself, and took a seat where her sandwich and goblet of Burgundy sat on a side table at her chair.
“Make sure no one is at the window listening,” said Thaddeus.
Kane sighed, for Thaddeus always expected spies and cultists and other such to be listening. Kane barely pulled the edge of the permanently closed drape away and peered out. “All clear, Professor.”
“Good. Good.” Thaddeus took a sip of his Burgundy. “It was back in ’92, back in my halcyon days at Miskatonic U. Benjamin Harrison was President, but Grover Cleveland was set to run again to govern our forty-four states and six territories. We thought we were the kings of the world, but that was before I found out that we were nothing but vermin, nought but fodder to the One Who Lives Under the Sea.”
With a shaking hand, Thaddeus took up his wine, but he needed two hands to steady it for a sip. As he set the goblet back, he said, “During the summer break, Harold Rainwater, Jefferson Allen, and I decided that it would be pleasant to spend the time on the rocky coast of Maine, specifically on the cliffs above the Bay of Fundy. Study the tides, you see. Highest in the world. An enormous amount of water flows into and out of the Bay on the tide, twice a day, with its rip-currents and seething up-wellings and swirling whirlpools, and a tidal range reaching fifty, sixty feet at the head of the Bay, though where we were it was about thirty feet from low to high. The swirling currents also create caves along the face of the cliff, one being just below where the three of us settled down for the season.
“Anyway, Hal and Jeff and I rented a small house up there, a mile or two north of Cold Point, right along the cliffs. And speaking of Cold Point, the villagers there were hostile. They didn’t want us in town, or at least not during the summer.
“We hadn’t been there more than a few days, when the three of us were sitting along the cliff and watching the great ebb and flow of the water. A man came walking by and said hello. He was tall and handsome and looked to be quite the sportsman, and we struck up a friendship. Harold invited him to dine with us that eve before moving on.
“He accepted.
“Harold prepared the meal—beans and bacon and he baked a fresh loaf of bread—you see, we didn’t have an ice-box, and so we existed mostly on things that would keep in the summer days.
“Regardless, it was twilight growing on night when we sat down to supper, and we gave our guest the place of honor at the head of the table, with Harold at the foot and Jefferson and me across from one another.
“But then a gust of wind blew, and it extinguished all of our candles. And only the faint light of the crescent moon shown in through the western windows.”
At this point in his tale, Thaddeus began panting in remembered horror, and he picked up his goblet but was trembling so hard that wine slopped over the brim. Rith leapt forward and rescued the professor, lifting his glass to his lips. And as he drank, she rubbed his shoulder and back to calm him a bit. “Thank you, dear,” he said. “I believe I’m all right now.
But his voice grew tight and high pitched as he said, “And by the faint light of the moon, that’s when we saw in the darkness, in the dimness, our handsome well-groomed stranger was a hideous giant insect of some kind.
“Screaming in terror, we all leapt backwards, knocking our chairs over. But Jefferson was too slow, and the thing grabbed him, and stabbed a great proboscis into his chest and began sucking him dry.
“Oh, the horror, the horror of it all. Harold and I fled. We ran to the horses and not bothering to saddle them, riding bareback, we galloped away. But we saw the thing, still sucking on Jefferson, scuttle over the edge of the cliff and down. I believe it was heading for the cave below. And in that very same moment, another of the hideous giant insects flew from the west and overhead, with a screaming woman in its clutches. It, too, soared over and down, down to the cave below, I am certain.
“Poor Harold. He went mad. I had to leave him in the asylum at Bangor. I went to the authorities, but they didn’t believe me, the babbling idiot I had become.
“I blotted it out of my mind, and only when in the asylum in Arkham this time did it all come flooding back. Forty-five years after that dreadful event.
“And so that’s why you must go to Cold Point, for I am certain that there is a nest in the cave below the house.”
Thaddeus fell silent, drained by the telling. Trendel said, “Well, you were right about Dr. Stahl. He was one of them. One of the giant insects, and there were many small ones, too. Making a new nest, we think. But we destroyed it and them, by bullets and by fire.”
Arik snapped his fingers and he rummaged through the paper, the Globe of yesterday. “Here it is,” he said. “Disappearances around Bangor. Perhaps that’s what’s going on. These creatures are hunting.”
“Isn’t Bangor quite far from the Bay?” asked Trendel.
“Perhaps they’ve extended their hunting grounds to keep from being detected,” said Arik. “Besides, I suspect that if we lo
ok at New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, and the hinterlands of Maine, we’ll find reports of missing people.”
signaled Lyssa.
“Do we have time to get to Cold Point and back?” asked Trendel.
Rith looked at her notes. “Howard says he’s got an experimental seaplane that’ll get us to the Pole and back. He says it’s a prototype of an even bigger one he’s got on the drawing board. He wants to fly it to the Pole himself; says it will be a good test. He also says Arik is right, that flying from Anchorage is the thing to do. He wants us to take the Lockheed and meet him there in eleven days. Which means, if we hustle, we fly into Bangor, hit the cave, and then take off ’cross Canada for Alaska.”
“We’ll need a car or truck or two to get from Bangor to Cold Point and back,” said Arik.
“And dynamite,” said Kane.
“And if we can get our hands on a flame thrower, that would be nice, too,” said Ky.
“Let’s look at a map,” suggested Rith.
Midmorning of the second day, Arik, with Trendel in the right-hand seat, landed the Electra in Bangor. They were met by one of Howard’s men, J. J. Jones—“But you can call me Jonesy”—who had a pick-up truck and a Ford sedan waiting for them. As they loaded their gear into the pickup, Jonesy said, “I looked up that record for you. Harold Rainwater disappeared on the day he was released as cured from Bangor Asylum back in 1893. His physician at the time was a Dr. Stahl; some German, I think.”
“I doubt that,” said Rith.
“Regardless, I suppose that answers what happened to Mad Harold,” said Ky.
“Yep,” said Arik.
“I don’t know why you’re going to Cold Point,” said Jonesy, obviously curious. “It’s practically a ghost town, ’cept for a few summer visitors who want to see the one of the farthest east points in the state of Maine.” Jonesy smiled and added, “Now that’s really going down east if you ask me.” He broke into laughter, Ky joining in.
“We’re heading there, Jonesy, because we think there’s a risk nearby to take care of,” said Arik.
“Well, Mr. Hughes said to give you whatever you want, and if you want Cold Point, that’s what you’ll get. It’s a bit over a hundred miles thataway.”
“Then thataway is where we’ll go,” said Rith.
“And as to the Lockheed,” said Jonesy, “I’ll have her gassed and ready to go whenever you return. I’ll put her in the hangar, but I ’spect folks hereabout will want a look at her, she being the same kind of ship as Earhart and Noonan are flying ’round the world.”
“Well, just don’t let them damage anything,” said Trendel, “’cause we have to be in Anchorage in nine days.”
“You might charge them a quarter apiece just to look,” said Ky.
It seems Jonesy, who doubled over laughing, thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
“We’ll be on our way now,” said Arik.
Jonesy saluted, and Kane and Ky hopped into the pickup, Ky driving. Arik and Trendel and Rith got into the sedan, Trendel at the wheel, Arik in the back seat, Rith riding shotgun.
Rith unfolded the map and pointed and said, “Thataway, Jeeves. Thataway.”
Some five hours and a hundred and ten miles of bad road later, they came into Cold Point. The town itself was a tiny, ramshackle, weather-beaten-paint-stripped-from-buildings village. The wood beneath was gray. And it looked as if two or three houses seemed occupied. Well-traveled paths led from those two houses to an equally weather-beaten church, as if parishioners worshipped there often. On the very point of the land stood a partially built structure of some sort, the base round, as if it was the beginnings of the lighthouse Thaddeus had mentioned, the work abandoned long past. The waters of Fundy Bay boomed against the cliff, and icy spray flung itself into the air, as if to escape the cold Atlantic. As Trendel and Ky respectively drove through the town, several citizens remained at their distance and whispered among themselves.
“I am wondering,” said Rith, “if these people have silver-dollar holes at the bases of their skulls.”
“Me too,” said Trendel.
“If they do,” said Arik, “we’ll have to deal with them. We can’t leave any bugs behind.”
“Ah, here’s the turnoff Thaddeus told us about,” said Rith, “and, look, in the distance, there’s the house on the cliffs.”
“What’s the tide?” asked Arik, as Trendel turned off the only street through the village and onto an overgrown lane, more of a footpath than a road.
As they jostled and bumped along, Rith flipped open the 1937 farmer’s almanac. “Let me see. It’s the sixteenth. The dark of the moon— Unh! Sweetie, could you find a few more ruts and bumps to hit? I mean, you’re not making it hard enough on me. I can actually sometimes see the page.”
“Sorry, love,” said Trendel. “It’s the road, not me.”
Rith persevered, and said, “Ah, high tide in Boston is about eleven in the morning and again at eleven at night, so, low tide would be half way in between: about five in the afternoon.”
Arik looked at his watch. “So, we have maybe two hours to the depth of low tide, which means we have about an hour and fifteen minutes to get ready before we begin the descent.”
“Your thinking . . . ?” said Trendel.
“I’m thinking we enter and exit the cave thirty minutes on each side of low tide, in at, say, four thirty and back out at five thirty.”
“All right,” said Trendel. “Sounds like a plan.”
Arik snapped his fingers. “Oh rats, that means we won’t have Lyssa with us.”
“We could wait,” said Rith, “and let Lyss do it alone.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know if she can drain these things,” said Trendel.
“Nor do we know what they might be able to do to her,” added Arik.
“Well, then, she can take care of the people in the village, if need be,” said Rith.
“Right,” said Arik.
They pulled up to the house on the cliffs, and as they piled out, Arik said, “Trendel, can you see through water?”
“I can.”
“Then go find that damn cave, while we get set.”
“Right.”
As Trendel walked toward the edge of the sheer cliff, Arik and Kane and Ky and Rith unloaded the weaponry from the pickup. Shotguns, .45s, Tommy gun, well-cushioned dynamite and even better cushioned blasting caps, and several yards of fuse. Then Kane unloaded the prize: a German Flammenwerfer, the latest in flamethrowers. Where Jonesy had gotten it, they didn’t know, but gotten it he had. And now Kane fitted the straps to himself. Ky had wanted to try it, but it was just too much for her tiny size, for, although she could carry it, she could not move at any sort of fast pace at all, given its weight.
Rith bundled together sticks of dynamite, and she cut fuses of various lengths, set for various times. She made several packages, each in waterproof oilskin, and stuffed them into backpacks.
Trendel came back and said, “There are two caves, or at least two entrances about twenty feet apart, and fifty feet below the rim of the cliff. The northernmost one is slightly higher than the southernmost one. The entrances are fully exposed now, though waves throw spray up and in.”
“You mean we can go now?” asked Ky.
“I do.”
“Well, then, lets get cracking.”
“Is the gear ready? The dynamite?”
“All we have left to do is wrap the shotguns and pistols and the Tommy gun and extra shells and clips in oilskin,” said Arik, “and then we’re good to go.”
And within fifteen minutes and everyone with .45s strapped on and wearing miners’ hats, they rappelled down to the northernmost entrance: Ky, with her darksight, darksword, and darkbolt capabilities went first; Kane, with the flamethrower and a slung shotgun hesitated, his hands sweating, his heart pounding, his breath coming in short gasps, for he was looking down the face of a sheer cliff, and in spite of strong ropes an
d sturdy climbing gear still an irrational dread filled him, but gritting his teeth, he finally went and easily made it to the opening; Rith with her sound control slid down third; then Trendel with his darksight came next; and Arik, champing at the bit and carrying the Tommy gun, rappelled last.
The ocean spray was frigid, but they were wearing fisherman’s gear: suspender-supported fly-fisherman’s waders up to the chest, and oilskin jackets, Ky’s outfit extra small, the others in the usual ranges for men and women.
They entered the opening to find a dark passage before them. All clicked on their headlamps, and they unwrapped their weapons, and made ready to fight, should it come to that. “Let’s go,” said Arik. And, as planned, Rith went first, with Kane at her side, as through a wet stone passage they fared, plashing through water in pools, at times wading in deeper places up to Ky’s waist. At these deep pools it was Arik who hesitated, plagued by an irrational fear, for he could not see what might be lurking under the surface.
Rith in the lead used echolocation soundings, and at one juncture said, “This leads to the southernmost opening in the cliff.”
Onward they went, the path ever rising and winding through a honeycombed and labyrinthine maze carved out by swirling tides over millennia. But with Rith to guide them they forged ahead and soon came to a large chamber with picked-clean human bones stacked to each side. “I think,” said Rith, “that after the bugs suck their victims dry, they put them in hollows where the water still covers everything at high tide. Then the fishes do their work.”
On they went, Rith emitting inaudible sounds and listening carefully. They passed through several more cavities containing more human bones.
“Oh, lord,” said Ky, “there must have been thousands of people dragged into here.”
“I would guess you are right,” said Kane, “but I believe we’ve only seen a smattering of the whole.”
“That’s correct,” said Rith, and on they went.
Finally Rith said, “Somewhere ahead is a central chamber, higher up.”
Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure Page 26
