Thrilled to Death

by James Byron Huggins

  Nothing moves without leaving a sign ...

  Hunter turned back to the tunnel they had just quit. There was only darkness there, and he had followed the blood trail into the cavern. He walked slowly back toward the corridor, and with each step felt a rising fear—a sharpened instinct that told him to beware. He halted twenty feet distant of the entrance, staring into the circle of blackness. Experience and instinct decided for him, and he went with it.

  “It’s backtracking on us,” he said to the rest, not removing his eyes from the corridor.

  Chaney’s voice boomed from across the room. “What?”

  “I said it’s circling!” Hunter shouted, taking a hesitant step as he cast a careful glance at another darkened corridor. “All these passageways interconnect! It’s trying to come up behind us!”

  Takakura scowled. “I thought you said it came in here!”

  “Oh, it came in here, all right,” Hunter answered more quietly, moving to the side as he searched another tunnel, rifle leveled. “It couldn’t fake that. It just didn’t stay long. It went back into the tunnels to come up behind us.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Bobbi Jo asked incredulously. “It was hurt pretty bad, Hunter. I don’t think it could have gotten very far. Not bleeding like that.”

  “It didn’t have to.” He shook his head, maintaining their location by voice. “It wouldn’t have taken it more than thirty seconds to backtrack into the tunnel and let us pass it by. Then it turned around and went back the way we came.” He stared. “Yeah, that’s what it’s done. It’s scared now. Knows it’s hurt. It’s waiting for us to come to it. But it won’t fight us again if we’re together. It senses that it could lose, so it laid low while we passed it.”

  “We could flush it out again,” Chaney said, disturbed.

  “No,” Hunter responded with certainty. “It won’t do that this time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it learns from its mistakes, Chaney. It’s savage, but it’s not stupid. This time it’ll keep moving, trying to avoid a trap. We have to cut off its lines of escape.”

  “Cut off its lines of escape?” Chaney answered. “Hunter, that’ll mean splitting up! We can’t split up with the thing out there! Hell, even together we might not be able to put it down!”

  “It’s either that or we lose it!” Hunter turned his head into the words, then calmed. “Listen,” he continued, “there’s only one way to corner this thing, and that’s by cutting off every line of retreat simultaneously. It’s like driving a tiger. You beat the bush until you’ve driven it from hiding and into a kill zone! And remember: this is that thing’s home ground! It may have come here on instinct, but by now it knows this cave like the back of its hand! So if we’re gonna get another shot at it, we have to force it into the open!”

  An uneasy stillness settled over them.

  Bobbi Jo was the first to lift her rifle. “I say we go for it. We’ve come too far to walk away now.” The entire front portion of her uniform was blackened with blood.

  “We’ll split into two teams,” Hunter said. “Me and Bobbi Jo will take the passage we just quit.” He nodded to Chaney. “You and Takakura take the bigger passage that runs to the right. We’ll meet where they converge. Remember that we have to check all the ledges. We can’t give that thing the slightest chance to come up behind us.”

  They nodded together.

  “All right,” Hunter finished, “let’s move. If you can get it on the run, drive it into this room, we can kill it. It won’t survive another exchange like that last one.”

  Bobbi Jo advanced beside Hunter as they neared the passageway. Then they were submerged once more in the enveloping blackness, walking silently. The flares revealed them but they didn’t want the sounds of their own footsteps to muffle the stealthy approach of a rear attack. Within minutes they stood at the intersection of the first passage.

  Perilously fatigued, Bobbi Jo wiped sweat from her face. Hunter stared as she leaned her back against a wall, recovering breath in the intense humidity and thick air of the cavern. He knew the accelerating blood loss was also draining her strength, but he didn’t know what he could do for her at the moment.

  “Good God, Hunter,” she gasped. “This thing has got to be hurting. ‘Cause we’re dying.”

  Grim, Hunter nodded. “It’s dying, Bobbi.”

  She swallowed hard. “How do you know?”

  “I just know, darlin’.”

  “Tell me how,” she grimaced,” ‘cause I could use the encouragement.”

  Gazing back at her, Hunter smiled. He reached out, touching a stone. He lifted his fingers away, blackened by the diseased blood of the beast.

  “That’s bright blood, Bobbi Jo,” he said. “Somebody hit an artery, and it isn’t healing like it was. We’re finally wearing it out.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s weak. Probably dying. But we still have to finish it. And it ain’t going down easy.”

  She stood away from the wall; the Barrett was beginning at last to wear her down, but she held it firmly. “Then ...let’s finish it,” she gasped. “Before it finishes us.”

  Hunter smiled. Nodded.

  “Whatever made you so tough?” he asked softly.

  She laughed tiredly.

  “It must be the company I keep.”

  Chaney paused, hastily wiping sweat from his brow.

  It was stifling work, working a slow path up the passageway. His entire uniform was drenched black with sweat and blood from a ragged and profusely bleeding cut on his forehead—the chance result, he had surmised, of the shattered stock arching from his hands when the creature had hit the Weatherby. But, although irritating, the wound was not incapacitating, so he continued.

  Takakura, alertly scanning everything, stood on guard as Chaney attempted briefly to adjust his clothing, seeking to find any level of comfort. But the BDUs were so ragged and torn—stretched by perspiration and blood—that it was impossible. Chaney motioned in frustration, straightening.

  “Forget it,” he breathed. “It’s not worth the—”

  Slowly the hands extended behind Takakura, emerging with ghostlike silence from the utter darkness of a crevice. It was a terrible image: demonic claws reaching from blackness only inches from the unknowing Japanese.

  Chaney raised his rifle instantly at the sight but words froze in his throat because, in the wild moment when he had seen and reacted, he didn’t know whether to tell Takakura to leap away or risk a wild shot. Yet the Japanese, a true warrior, somehow realized and in the same breath had moved, diving and rolling forward.

  Chaney’s blast from the Weatherby illuminated the crevice to reveal the beast, its face distorted by a hideous scream. Then Takakura fired. Light again, then in the next second a creature possessed of a prehistoric rage erupted from the dark, instantly beside them.

  Its roar was a physical force, slapping Chaney in the face and chest, and then he was lost in a frantic turning, twisting battle, his rifle erupting again desperately.

  Takakura, rifle flung away wildly at the creature’s first swiping blow, returned a crippling wound with a flashing slash of his sword, hitting it solidly across the chest to draw a sweeping stream of blood that trailed the katana into darkness. Then it turned fully into the Japanese, who met it force to force.

  Chaney shouted as Takakura leaped, hurling the full weight of his body—everything he possessed—in a stabbing lunge that drove the steel blade into the tremendous muscular chest through and through to send a foot of steel out its back.

  It was a blow of artistry, of poetic movement made savage only by the definition of its delivery. Then Takakura—not wasting time or motion to appreciate the perfection of his skill—shouted and turned, viciously jerking the blade clear and spinning. And as he came around the sword again caught it, crossing his earlier blow into its chest. And yet again the Japanese hit as Chan
ey finally reloaded, blasting two deep furrows into its back.

  Takakura leaped forward again, striking for the arm, but it recovered from Chaney’s shots and leaped into the Japanese, furiously blasting the blade aside.

  Its clawed right hand snatched Takakura by the neck as Chaney was hurled wildly back, somehow struck by a backhand. Then the creature ignored Chaney completely as it turned fully into Takakura, viciously driving its hand into a blow that struck the Japanese hard, disappearing into the chest of his torn uniform.

  Dead ...

  Chaney knew it.

  Takakura, standing his ground to the last, was dead.

  Knowing its incredible speed, Chaney was already on his feet and running, hurling his wounded body up the passageway with all his strength. He knew that he retained the revolver and debated turning to fire the remaining rounds, but realized it was futile. Feeling a sudden dissipation of strength as he staggered into the central chamber, the light casting monstrous shadows upon the walls, he careened forward and slid down a slope, crashing to a graveyard of bones that wrapped around him sharp and tangling, tearing at his skin with a thousand clutching claws.

  Glaring back, too shocked to be astonished, he saw the creature standing imperiously on the crest of the slope. And, staring upon it, Chaney looked steadily into the glaring red eyes. Although pained, they reflected a purity of purpose—the awesome rage that had fired it to kill so relentlessly, so many times.

  It was a moment of silence, each regarding the other.

  Chaney rose amid the skeletons, refusing fear.

  It smiled.

  Strode slowly down the slope.

  Only a split second for Chaney to notice the bloodied, ravaged wounds marring that monstrous strength—the bestial body, separated fangs, clutching talons. He never glanced again into the laughing red eyes that focused on him with such purity.

  Raising his arm, his finger tightened on the trigger of the Casull. Then twin eruptions—or one; Chaney couldn’t be sure—blazed from behind it to hurl it from the surface of the slope.

  Roaring, it arched painfully in the air. And the attack it had suffered propelled it past Chaney to the cavern floor where it disintegrated in a dune of bones with a cascading, continuing crash.

  Without even a backward glance it rolled, smashing a pathway through the grave mound, scattering bones that lanced the apocalyptic atmosphere like spears. Ducking away reflexively, Chaney avoided most of the projectiles before, stunned, he could turn back to target the creature.

  It had vanished among the debris.

  Hunter changed clips before he reached Chaney, gripping the marshal strongly by an arm.

  “I’m all right,” Chaney gasped. “Takakura ...”

  “We know,” Hunter replied without breath. His expression was heated as he glared out. “It’s wounded! Just kill it on sight! Kill it like an animal!”

  He moved over the skeletons. “Everybody stay close! We’ll have one more—”

  Rising volcanically from a mound of bones it struck out with awesome accuracy at Hunter, and it was only the lion-like reflexes of the tracker that saved him.

  Its first blow was a thunderous sweeping hand that Hunter ducked with pantherish speed. Then it struck with the other taloned hand, aiming to take his head at the shoulders but Hunter threw himself inside the blow, striking it solidly with his shoulder.

  Together, fighting savagely to the death, they rolled down the skeletal slope in a whirlwind of blows and roars, each wounding and being wounded. At the base of the mound, Hunter was first to his feet, feinting a move to the left that it took, and Hunter leaped wide to the right, gaining quick distance.

  Bobbi Jo fell to a knee, centering on it with the Barrett. And as it closed on Hunter she fired two more rounds that ripped wild surges of blood from high in its chest. Chaney was firing every round he had remaining in the Casull, hitting it over and over before he dove madly from the mound, rage carrying him beyond reason in the consuming heat of the battle.

  It saw him descend and turned with clear contempt, a backhand sweeping out to blast him from the air like a fly. Crying out in pain, Chaney devastated a pile of bones as he exploded into a slope, sliding shocked into the skeletons.

  Distracted by the marshal’s meaningless attack, it raised red eyes to Bobbi Jo, who struggled to remove a jammed clip from the Barrett. Growling, it focused on her with special intensity. Then, as if in hated remembrance, it gazed downward at its body, frowning over fangs, and lifted a bloody gaze to her once more.

  Bobbi Jo stared. “Oh my god …”

  Suddenly ignoring Hunter, it took its first ascending step on the mound.

  Its eyes blazed with inhabited darkness, the mouth turned down in a terrible promise of doom. And, electrified by the horrifying image, Bobbi Jo tore fiercely at the magazine. But it was twisted; the metal wouldn’t surrender.

  She hurled the rifle in its face as it reached the crest and leaped away but its long arm lashed out, snatching her back by the hair to hurl her into a heap.

  As it moved over her, hands flexing, she searched for a weapon but in a moment of horror knew there was none ...

  ***

  Knowing the danger, Hunter rose, searching desperately for the rifle, but it was gone. He cast a single glance to see the creature cresting the mound, moving for Bobbi Jo, and then he was moving with it, climbing and reaching inside his belt for what he hoped he would never be forced to use.

  He saw them together as the slope flattened and Bobbi Jo screamed, raising an arm in futile defense. The creature roared in glory and raised a monstrous arm, talons black-red with blood.

  “Luther!” Hunter roared.

  Utter stillness held.

  The creature did not initially move, and then clawed hand relaxed and, glaring with red eyes, it turned.

  A wall of flame rumbled behind Hunter.

  Darkness highlighted the might and fury of the beast as it beheld him. Cold and contemptuous, it dropped Bobbi Jo to the bones, advancing into the challenge.

  Stepping to the side, angling on the dune of bleached bones, Hunter held the titanium tendril behind his back. And it matched him step for step, walking slowly forward, squaring.

  “You are a fool,” it growled.

  “Who’s the fool, Luther?” Hunter shouted, still angling. “Somebody who sacrificed their humanity for this?” He flung out an arm. “Look! Look around you! What do you see! You sacrificed your humanity for nothing!”

  Hands clenching, the beast took a step forward.

  “Never call me Luther,” it snarled. “Luther is dead.”

  Hunter shifted his hand on the handle, the snare.

  “Your immortals killed themselves, Luther!” Hunter said as he retreated a half-step, trying to draw it from Bobbi Jo and Chaney. “There’s nothing left! That’s what you traded your life for! So who’s the fool! You were a man! And you gave it up for nothing! For nothing!”

  “We ruled this world!” it bellowed as it advanced a wide space in a breath. And at the move Hunter reflexively bent, preparing. His mind raced as he circled to his right.

  “You returned to a graveyard, Luther!” he said. “Everything you thought was glory! Look! You’ve returned to hell, Luther! They’re gone! You’re the only one! So how long will you last? A week? A month? A year before they hunt you down?”

  It roared—a soul-searing rage extending from greatly distended white fangs—and it suddenly seemed to stand closer and more terrible and infinitely more threatening. Monstrous taloned hands clenched as it slowly advanced.

  “I’ll kill you for this!”

  “For what, Luther? For showing you the truth?”

  “For challenging me!”

  Hunter cast a glance at Bobbi Jo to see her still trying to dislodge the clip; no time for it.

  He stopped retreating, knowing he had t
o move now or it would move for him. Steadying, he focused on it, shifting his stance for perfect balance. Behind him, he felt the heat of flames. Beyond the creature, only darkness. No more games.

  “You were doomed to lose, Luther.”

  Luther raged, “I am immortal!”

  Hunter shook his head. “Nobody lives forever.”

  It leaped upon Hunter as he angled smoothly to the side. In his wounded condition he should have been struck but the beast was not so fast as before, injured as it was with open wounds shedding that titanic strength into the grave.

  It was over him but Hunter was already wide of the impact and he twisted back on the skeletal hill toward its hurtling bestial form. Then his arm uncoiled with smooth skill that sent a flashing silver thread through raging red air.

  And what he had hidden for so long was unleashed ...

  Staring in horror, Bobbi Jo saw the charge and leaped to her feet. And then Hunter was outside it and she saw a silver line lashing through flame.

  It was almost beautiful in its symmetry—reaching, spiraling out in a white, waving line that straightened and tensed at the last moment. It hovered almost magically before it settled in a noose that descended smoothly over the neck of the beast.

  Hunter twisted his arm; it closed.

  Twisting powerfully, he hauled backward and the monstrosity straightened, clawed hands reaching instantly for its neck, but Hunter wasn’t finished. Again he whirled to heave the creature off balance atop the haphazard heap of bones.

  Hunter’s next explosive twist sent it over his shoulder, and as the creature crashed on the bluff it tore at the restraint and hauled, and Hunter was suddenly airborne. He hit the creature squarely and together they tumbled down the slope, with the beast grasping at the sinewy strand snared so tightly around its thick neck.

  As it reached the base it angrily regained balance and turned into its greatest enemy, grabbing the noose that it could not escape and whirling to send Hunter crashing into a skeletal hill.

  Bones scattered spectacularly at the impact, raking the cavern in ribbons of white. But Hunter used the momentum to his advantage, turning once more into the defiant contest of strength and skill to hurl it beyond himself yet again.