Necroscope: Invaders

by Brian Lumley

CHAPTER TWO

  Dark DenizensLiz had squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate effort to locate the padlock. Now she opened them . . . . . . And it was there, it was there! Its face, caught in the upward-slanting beam of yellow light from the torch in her arm-pit, looked down on her! And:

  'Ahhh!' It  -  or he, the 'creechur'  -  sighed. 'A girl. No, a woooman. And a fresh one. How very good to meet you here. ' How very . . . provident. AM!' And as simply as that his cold, cold hands took the padlock from hers, freed it from the chains, and let it fall with a clank to the dirt floor . . .

  Meanwhile, Jake Cutter had proceeded maybe a hundred yards down the gradually sloping shaft, deep into the earth. The shaft was quite obviously the entrance to an old mine; the walls and roof were timbered, and there were sleepers and rusty, narrow-gauge rails in the fairly uneven floor. In places there was some evidence of past cave-ins, where holes in the ceiling and boulders on the floor told their own story. Since the surviving supports seemed stout enough, Jake wasn't worried for his safety in that respect.

  But in one other respect, he was. And he kept finding himself wishing that right now he wasn't somewhere but rather someone else  -  despite that he would usually prefer not to be! All very confusing and paradoxical, but it was something which had only ever' happened twice, and then in the most extreme of circumstances. And for the time being Jake was only Jake Cutter.

  Such were his thoughts when the narrow but adequate beam of his pencil-slim pocket torch picked out the first of several side tunnels, shafts that radiated off from the main, the original mineshaft. Until now the floor had borne a thick coating of dust and sand, much of which had settled against the walls. Towards the centre, however, and between the rails, most of this had beenscuffed away, presumably by the recent passage of several or many persons. But persons going where? Of course, the old proprietor might be using this place as a warehouse or stock room; indeed, back where the shaft opened into the shack that fronted the mine Jake had passed a jumble of old crates and cardboard boxes, and labels on the latter had declared their contents as wiper blades, fuses, various grades of motor oil, spark plugs, and spare parts and vehicle accessories in general. Naturally, he would have expected as much that close to the entrance. But all these signs of recent disturbance  -  or of occupation?  -  all this way back here? Why would anyone want to come back here, except perhaps on exploratory forays; maybe someone who was curious about old mine shafts? But recently? And how many someones? It was beginning to look like this might be the place. In which case he and Liz should never have split up and gone their own ways. Oh, he knew why she'd done it, all right, but now . . . . . . Now what was that? Jake froze. The side shafts weren't recent diggings; they were probably old exploratory digs from the days when prospectors sought an ultimately elusive 'mother lode. ' Certainly quartz was present in the walls where the subsidiary tunnels had been hewn or blasted from the rock. It was here, too, that the scuff marks on the floor -  in places actual footprints  -  were most in evidence, and it was from the first of these lesser branching diggings that the sound had issued. A sound like a sigh or a yawn, like someone waking up. Jake knew that by now it would be night in the valley in the Gibson Desert, dark in the outside world. But not nearly as dark as it was in here. And Liz was back there somewhere, alone with the old man. Or maybe not alone. And hadn't his 'Orstrylian' accent been a little too thick, and hadn't there been something -  maybe just a trace  -  of the Gypsy about him?

  Jesus! Jake was now aware of fumbling movements from the side tunnels  -  from more than one of them  -  and was

  immediately galvanized to action. But at a time and in a place such as this there was only one action he could take: flight!

  Behind him, the main tunnel curved, however slightly, back towards the entrance. Setting off at a loping run, Jake played his torch beam on the ceiling in order to avoid the jagged ends of dangling timbers in a number of places where pressured beams had popped. And as he went he felt for his pager, making ready to send out his distress call. Not that he felt panicked or in immediate danger himself, but Liz might well be. If she wasn't already aware of the danger, the beeper would give her advance warning. He wouldn't use it just yet, though, because to do so would be to alert whoever she was with that he was on his way, perhaps precipitating some undesired activity.

  In a matter of twenty seconds or so, when he was in sight of the bead-curtained rear entrance to the shack, Jake skidded to a halt. A figure, momentarily silhouetted by the light from the shack, had appeared on the other side of the curtain; Jake recognized it as that of the old proprietor. Switching off his torch, he flattened himself to the wall behind a support beam, took out his 9mm Browning and soundlessly armed it. And none too soon. Grumbling to himself in his fashion, the old man came on through the curtains and made straight for Jake; there was no other way he could go. But as he blotted out some of the light from the shack, so Jake noticed that his movements weren't any longer those of an old man! He came on at a sprightly, almost youthful lope, and his previously dim eyes were no longer hidden in wrinkled folds. Instead they were a glowing, feral yellow, and in their cores burned red as fire!Jake needed no further warning or convincing. He now knew for a certainty what this place was, if not exactly what he was up against. Going into a professional shooting stance, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. But the other had seen or sensed Jake in the moment that he fired; seeming to flow to one side, he moved closer to the wall. Jake knew he'd missed and got off a second shot; the bullet whined where it ricochetted from the shaft's wall, hurling sparks and splinters of rock at the 'old' man's face and neck. He jerked at the impact of the stony fragments, then stood up straighter and stepped out into full view. And putting up a hand to his neck under the ear, he glanced at it almost curiously and said, 'Blood?' That was all, 'blood? But his voice was no longer old, and his furnace eyes had turned uniformly crimson. Knowing he couldn't afford to miss a third time, Jake moved forward. Behind him there was real activity now: voices calling out wailing questions, and the sounds of stumbling feet. And:'Lead, is it?' said that low, growling, dangerous voice as the distance narrowed between them. 'Oh, ha! Ha! Ha! Then come on, son, fire away. For as you'll discover, I've something of an appetite for lead. ''How about silver?' Jake said, squeezing the trigger again. His words were pure bravado for he was by no means sure of himself, but it was a nice line. And perhaps in that last second the vampire sensed that his opponent had the advantage. Whichever, he once more caused himself to relocate, used that weird flowing motion to move to one side. But not quickly and not far enough. The silver bullet hit him in the right shoulder, spun him around and slammed his back against the wall. With a gurgling cry of (Ah! Ah!' he clawed at his shoulder and fell to his right knee, and Jake leaped around him to carry on headlong through the bead curtains, taking them with him in a jangling tangle. Maybe he should have stayed to finish the job. Certainly he would have if he had been that someone else  -  or half of someone else  -  but despite the danger Jake was still only Jake Cutter; he hadn't yet reached that point of uttermost desperation.

  Free of the curtains he crashed through the makeshift bar and sent the plank flying from its barrel supports, and without pause he rushed out into the night, wheeling left to go sprinting towards the second shack. That was where the alleged 'creechur' was, and Jake could scarcely doubt but that was where he would find Liz, too . . . where the lying, scheming, undead proprietor of this terrible place had left her. As he went, so he reached into his pocket to activate his pager . . . The thing's cold hands on Liz's hands . . . the beeper continuing to issue its endlessly repeating mayday (or its cry of warning, she couldn't say which, but in any case the latter was far too late now) . . . and this thing from her worst nightmares, smiling at her through the stout iron bars. But bars that might as well be of paper, because the door in the cage stood ajar. The creature freed her right hand, pushed at the door.
Liz stood frozen; she let him get that far  -  but in the next moment was shaken from her paralysis on hearing Jake's shout of, 'Liz! Liz! Where in hell are you?' He was dead right: that was exactly where she was! But she guessed he already knew that. All was total darkness now, all bar the glow of her monstrous adversary's eyes. Off-balance as the door swung squealingly open on her, carrying her with it, still Liz managed to snatch the Baby Browning from her pocket. Ramming it between the bars, she gritted her teeth and fired.

  'Gah!?' said that shuddersome voice, sounding mildly surprised. And as the thing released his hold on her, she slammed the door shut again on its rusty hinges, and on him, turned and groped fumblingly towards the inner door to the shack. She came across it, found the doorknob and yanked it open. But the creature was behind her; she could feel its hot, fetid breath on her neck, its oppressive strength gathering in the darkness. Then:

  'Liz?' came Jake's voice again. He'd heard her shot, came to a halt beyond the locked screen door. She heard him cursing, rattling the lock, until: 'Stand back!' he called out.

  She should stand back? When right behind her something was rumbling, 'Urgh  -  ah!  -  argh!' even now? And:

  'Christ!' Liz said, quickly turning and firing again, and then a third time. Until the grotesque black shadow of the creature was lifted from its feet and hurled bodily away, flailing its arms and spitting blood, back into the shack's more natural shadows  -  where it collided with yet more shadows that Liz hadn't been aware of until now/Her shot had come simultaneously with Jake's as he blew the lock off the outer door. And a moment later she was out of the place, stumbling into his arms. He steadied her, breathlessly told her, 'This place. This is it! It's what we were looking for. ''Do you think I don't rucking know that?' she gasped. And then they were running, both of them, heading for the 'Rover, for safety, and for sanity. But as yet safety, and especially sanity, seemed a long way off. Behind them, the smaller shack was spewing stumbling, dazed-seeming, zombie-like figures into the night. A handful of them, four or five at least. While ahead of them . . . 'God almighty/' Jake breathed with difficulty. The moon was up, a waxing moon that gave good light. Likewise the stars, very bright in a sky that was now black as jet and banded with varying degrees of purple on the hills. And so by moon and starlight the pair saw what waited for them close to their vehicle. 'We're in it up to here,' Liz panted, choked. And: 'God, I can't breathe/''Me neither,' Jake told her. 'But don't panic and keep the plugs in. This isn't over yet. Our beepers will have been heard by the others. They'll be on their way. ''We . . . we can't run forever/ she answered, veering away with him towards the track back to the road. 'How'11 we get to the 'Rover with those damned things waiting for us?''Split up,' Jake answered. 'You head for the road . . . keep running like hell, north. . . I'll try to lead the bulk of these bloody monsters on a wild goose chase. '

  Behind them the vampires were taking it easy. They weren't running; they ambled, arms hanging loose, some with their hands in their pockets, eyes aglow, kicking pebbles aside as they followed their intended prey. There was no great hurry  -  nowhere out here to hide that couldn't be sniffed out. The girl would be easier to handle when she was tired; they wouldn't have to damage her in order to have her one by one  -  or maybe two or three at a time  -  before they had her blood. As for the man: his blood would be good, strong. But he'd caused Bruce Trennier no small amount of pain, and Bruce would be wanting him first. Oh, this one would be missing an arm or leg or both, before Bruce gave him up to the rest of them. And the would-be 'Lord' Trennier would wax fat on meat and marrow, while the hole in his shoulder slowly but surely healed. But:Silver! came Trennier's voice in their minds, where they tracked the humans across the false plateau at the foot of the knoll. These people are more than they appear to be. Their Indicts are silver, which could mean danger for some of us in the short term, and for all of us in the long. Which in turn means I have to talk to them, question them. So be sure to take them alive, and do it quickly! There was pain in his mental voice, quite a lot of it. But. . . silver bullets? That took something of the arrogance out of the pursuit, while the rest of Trennier's sending served to speed it up. Liz had almost reached the top of the ramp. Cut from the side of the plateau, the ramp would take her down to the road. But one of her pursuers had somehow managed to flank her, was drawing ahead. He would get there first, and the way was simply too narrow to avoid him. She cut right, heading for where she'd last seen Jake.

  Meanwhile someone  -  or something  -  back at the shack had started up the Land Rover. Its lights came on, cutting a bright swath through the darkness as it bumped over the rough terrain. Whoever was at the wheel, Liz guessed he'd be looking for Jake. Since hiding or disguising her talent was no longer of benefit, finally she opened her mind to seek her partner's thoughts and perhaps discover his whereabouts.

  Liz couldn't send, could only receive, but she knew that other minds  -  and especially enhanced vampire minds  -  might be able to detect her presence if not read her thoughts: this was a result of the germ of telepathy that was present in a majority of them. Thus vampires were frequently 'spotters. ' Indeed, the best (or worst) of them could smell out an entirely human being in much the same way as could a great hound. But what the hell. . . they already knew she was here. Jake's mind was immediately accessible: Fuck! he was thinking. Oh, Jesus, they've got the vehicle! They're after me! And yet even now there was very little of any real panic in him. He'd been in too many tight spots before. But: Do it! Liz tried to send, to will him into action. Do it now, for Cod's sake! (Or if not for His sake, for Liz's, most definitely. ') He couldn't hear her, of course not, but surely the other Jake, that other facet, would have to emerge now? Well, apparently not. And behind Liz her pursuer's footfalls sounded loud and clear, as did the clatter of pebbles squirting out from under his pounding feet. She put on speed (one final burst, for her strength was on the wane now), took in great gulping draughts of air through her mouth, headed in the rough direction of Jake's thoughts, where they had led her to believe he was . . . Jake, too, was feeling stressed, but obviously insufficiently as yet. The nose plugs were killing him, but he'd been warned about the dangers of removing them. All well and good, but his throat was raw from drinking in dry, dust-laden air, and since he'd probably been splashed with blood it seemed likely he was already contaminated. God, how he could use a beer now, even a warm one  -  except he probably wouldn't have time to drink it!

  The 'Rover was on his tail, right behind him, when Jake saw a flat-topped boulder. He spun to one side and the vehicle skidded and threw up a cloud of dust as its driver hauled the wheel over. Jake knew that if he had failed to get out of the way

  the 'Rover would have hit him. Not hard enough to kill him, maybe, but hard enough to put him out of business, certainly. This big boulder was his only chance. Leaping onto the rim of the rock, he scrambled to its flat surface as the Land Rover came to a halt. There were two men in the vehicle; he could think of them as men, anyway. One seemed a little dazed: he must be a recent convert, recruit or thrall. But the other, the driver . . . that one wore a grin like Satan himself. A lieutenant? Jake couldn't even even hazard a guess. This was Jake's first time. In at the fucking deep end!The driver was out of the vehicle in a flash, ducking and disappearing beneath the rim of the boulder before Jake could get a bead on him. The other was slower and Jake's first shot hit him in the head. Well, who or whatever he was he wouldn't be getting back up on his feet again. As for Jake:Even with his record, still he felt sick knowing that he'd killed another man. Except this one hadn't been a man, not any longer. But the sight of the vampire's head exploding like that  -  the red wet spray, and whatever other colours there had been  -  just so much black slop in the moonlight. . .

  . . . And then Jake asked himself, what moonlight? A cloud, just one damn cloud in an otherwise clear night sky, had drifted across the
moon's three-quarters grimace. Just as quickly as that, the night was black as pitch, and the 'Rover's headlight beams were pointing the wrong way. Darkness favours the vampire, and Jake knew he must make his move now.

  There was room for just two short paces along the flat surface of the boulder. Jake took them, lifted his feet and hurled himself up and outwards towards the 'Rover, his arms stretched forward for balance. But even as he cleared the boulder's rim a powerful arm and hand shot up, grabbed his left foot. Jake's impetus carried him forward, his balled-up body turning like a pendulum at the end of that oh-so-strong arm. And when he hit all the wind was knocked out of him. He felt his nose plugs eject, trailing streamers of gritty snot, as his Browning flew from momentarily nerveless fingers. Then that nightmare figure was standing over him, leering down at him, going to one knee and reaching for his throat with long, mantrap hands. 'That's it/ the thing that had been a man said. 'The fun and games are over, friend. Well, yours are, for sure/ With which he drew Jake effortlessly to his feet. 'But yours first/' said a small but resolute female voice. The moonlight came back, and Jake saw the vampire's yellow eyes go wide. As Liz stepped closer, the monster snarled and turned his awful head towards her. The muzzle of Liz's tiny weapon was almost in his astonished, gaping mouth when she pulled the trigger. In that same moment Jake turned his face away, but in any case the debris went the other way. 'The . 'Rover!' Liz was pale as a ghost, stumbling in the moonlight that picked out her softly feminine curves. She managed to run a few paces, but Jake caught up with her at the vehicle and almost threw her into the passenger seat. He had seen a handful of silent, flame-eyed figures approaching from the direction of the shack. They were the most immediate problem, obviously, but as yet Jake wasn't aware of the lone pursuer tracking Liz. She knew she hadn't lost him, however, and continued to urge Jake: 'Let's go. ' Let'sg0/','Seat belts/ he snapped. 'It's going to be bumpy. " Then the engine was roaring, the gears grinding, the Land Rover kicking up dirt as it wheeled for the service road. Which was when Liz's lone pursuer came aboard. '

  He came from the side, came vaulting into the rear seats in the moment before Jake picked up speed. And, off balance, he staggered there, his eyes like hot coals in the night. Jake and Liz had seen him; Liz twisted her body, tried to fire her Baby Browning point-blank, and heard the click as the firing-pin fell on a dud. ' The vampire grinned and reached for her, and Jake cursed, changed down and floored the accelerator. In the back,

  the vampire was taken by surprise and thrown off balance again, if only for a moment. Then, falling to his knees on the back seat, he leaned forward, put his head between theirs, grinned first at Liz, then at Jake  -  before taking the backs of their necks one in each hand. Which was exactly what Jake had hoped he would do. And:'Hang on!' Jake yelled, and literally stood on the brakes. Mercifully Liz had seen it coming; she leaned to the right even as Jake leaned left. And the loathsome thing gurgled, 'Eh? What?' But the explanation was already forthcoming. As he flew between them, he released their necks, tried to bring his hands forward to protect his face, didn't even nearly make it. With his arms forming a 'V behind him, he hurtled forward and smashed face first through the windshield. 'Godawful  -  damn  -  thing!' Jake choked, slamming the 'Rover into first and crunching forward over something that was trying to stand up. They heard its body grinding and thumping, mangled between the 'Rover's underside and the stony rubble of the terrain. Then:'My God!' Liz gasped. 'I think we might actually make it!''Never doubted it/ her partner told her, lying for all he was worth. Just as they turned onto the service track and headed for the ramp, a light commenced flashing on the dash. 'Radio/ Liz said, reaching under the dash to grab a hidden mike. Thumbing the transmit button, she said, 'Hunter One for Zero. What kept you?''This is Zero One/ a gravelly voice answered in a stutter of static to match the sudden throb of a chopper's rotors. 'Is that you mobile down there?' And a searchlight beam swept down from above.

  Jake leaned over and spat into the speaker, 'Only fucking just! Zero  -  Trask, is that you?  -  we could use some help. '

  'Do you have a target?''If it's behind us and it's moving, it's a target/ Jake said, I straightening up in time to avoid a pothole. And as the adrenalin began to recede and his skin stopped prickling, he eased up a little so as not to send the Land Rover nosediving off the rim of the ramp. Then Liz said, 'Stop!' 'Stop?''Stop the vehicle. I want to see. ''Feeling bloodthirsty?' Jake looked at her, frowning as he cautiously applied the brakes. 'Not me. ' She shook her head, shuddered her relief as she thumbed her nostrils one after the other to blow out her plugs. Then she half-turned her head, inclined it to indicate the dark shelf of rock that they'd left behind. 'And not them, not after this. ' And now her voice was a sigh. They looked up and back. First at a sleek, black dragonfly shape under the gleaming blur of its fan, a shape that blotted the stars in its passing and turned the night to a whirling dervish dust-devil with its downdraught as it sped overhead, then at the torpedo-shapes that tumbled lazily, -end over end, down from its belly like so many elongated eggs. 'Jesus!' Jake's sigh matched Liz's. And: 'Let there be light!' she said. And there was light. The napalm hit a little way back from the top of the ramp. It lit up a widening path all the way back to the knoll, roared with the thunder of its all-consuming passion, washed the wall of the outcrop like a tsunami of fire. In the space of a few short seconds the scene might well have been that in the caldera of an active volcano: a small mountain burned in the night, with man-made lava flowing down its flanks.

  For long moments there were running, leaping, screaming figures in the roiling smoke, blackly silhouetted against terrible balls of fire that seemed to roll across the shelf of the rocky outcrop with lives of their own. The spidery figures were there . . . and they were gone, cindered, rolled under . . .

  The unit was made up of two choppers, a giant support truck and various smaller vehicles, mainly 'Rovers. The truck and lesser vehicles wouldn't get here for some time yet. They had miles of rough road to cover. The choppers landed on the shelf itself, one to the north and the other to the south. In half an hour their combat-suited, gas-masked, heavily-armed special forces crews were moving forward into the scorched zone. Meanwhile Jake and Liz had joined up with Ben Trask, in charge of operations, also with lan Goodly, his 2I/C, and a 'civilian/ Peter Miller, of Australia's Rudall River National Park Administration  -  or 'Mister' Miller, as he insisted on being called. Obviously Miller hadn't been told too much, which was perfectly understandable; it was all on a need-to-know basis, and when E-Branch went out into the world it was standard procedure to avoid unnecessary rumour-mongering and the panic that might ensue. Miller was small, round and bouncy as a rubber ball; he was very excitable and utterly confused. And like many another small, insignificant man in a position of assumed 'authority/ he made a lot of noise. Right now he raved on at the tall, unflappable beanpole that was lan Goodly, who kept steering him away from Ben Trask so that Trask could talk to Liz and Jake. But still Miller's yappy, little-dog voice could be heard over just about everything else that was going on. Right now he was flapping his arms, yelping аbout:

  '. . . This uttermost devastation? Damn it all, Mr Goodly, I know that this is a wasteland, a useless desert region that you can't damage any worse than Nature herself has. But . . . there were men in that blaze! I saw men burning in those hell-fires! What was that stuff, napalm? But in any case, what does it matter? What happened here tonight was sheer murder! There is no other word for it. I. . . I still can't believe what I witnessed here . . . cold-blooded murder, Goodly! And someone will be called to answer for it. In fact, I demand an answer right here and now!'

  'Who is he?' Liz asked.

  And Trask frowned. 'He's supposed to be our local liaison officer for the Western Deserts Region. A handful of top men in the Aussie Government know what we're doing, just how important our work is. Even so, they couldn't simply let us l
oose, give us carte blanche to get on with things. We were obliged to accept an observer. But that doesn't make him one of us, and I've managed to keep him out of it. . . well, until tonight. Even now I don't intend to waste time with him on long explanations. What we're doing is impossible to explain, anyway  -  not if we expect to be believed. But whether we want Miller or not we've got him, and maybe the best way to keep him quiet will be to let him see for himself something of what's going on. ''Well, he's seen it,' Jake growled. 'But he isn't quiet. ' 'He hasn't seen everything. ' Trask's face was grim. And to Liz, 'What do you reckon?'Knowing what he meant, she opened her mind, gazed intently through the smoke of the remaining fires at the burning shacks where they slumped in the lee of the knoll. And as lines of concentration formed on her brow, she said, 'The worst of them  -  the "old man," Bruce Trennier?  -  is still alive. Alive, afraid, and angry. He's still very dangerous, very clever, too. Despite that he tries to hide his thoughts, maybe because of it, I know he's there. His  -  what, mindsmog?  -  is as thick as the mist on a swamp, and it stinks a lot worse/ He's the boss, but he isn't alone. Back where the fire couldn't reach, in the depths of the old mine, there's a handful of others. They're waiting for us. '

  Trask nodded. 'Well, let's not keep them,' he said, his lips twisting in a cold, cruel grimace, and his eyes lighting with a vengeful fire of their own. And: 'Mr Miller,' he called for the small and small-minded official. 'If you will please accompany me? I hope to be able to answer some of your questions . . . '