Bleed

by Lori Michelle

  Garza left work about six and drove home, taking Farm Route 181 like always. As he passed the new Methodist Church just south of Bonheim, still a half mile or so from his usual turn off, he saw one of the coyotes with the ratlike gait go bounding across the road in front of him, then disappear into the cedar off to his left.

  He put on the brakes. A feeling had festered in his mind ever since he saw that coyote watching him near Resendez’s church that the coyotes and the flies and the church were somehow connected. His police training had prepared him to look for links between seemingly unrelated people and events, but this felt like a different kind of problem, like it wouldn’t yield to conventional logic. He wasn’t sure what the connection was, only that he believed one existed.

  It was a cool night, and he’d been driving with the windows down. But watching the coyote shook him in a way he couldn’t quite define, and he moved to roll up the windows.

  He got the driver’s side window secured, but when he reached over to roll up the passenger side, he stopped and jerked his hand back in horror. A huge humming mass of black, angry flies covered the whole door frame.

  He backed against the driver’s side door, fumbled blindly for the handle, and spilled out into the street, where he stood gaping at a living black carpet beating against his vehicle. They were actually rocking the truck with their attack.

  After the shock wore off, he pulled out his fire extinguisher and turned it on the flies.

  The chalky spray coated the insects, and they dropped to the road in powdery, white chunks. Their swollen bodies and still twitching wings disgusted him, but he mastered his nausea long enough to sweep the remaining flies onto the road with an old, greasy towel.

  Something moved in the grass behind him. He turned, his right hand poised over the thumb snap on his holster, and saw a single coyote running with that familiar ratlike hop across the church lawn. It stopped about fifty feet away and watched him. Off in the distance, he could hear howling, a disconcerting chorus of yaps and long, mournful bays.

  More coyotes came around the side of the building, moving fast. There was no point in pulling his gun. At the speed they moved, he’d probably empty the whole magazine without landing a single shot.

  Instead of firing, he got back in his truck, dropped it into gear, and peeled out down the road as fast as the old Chevy would go.

  When he looked in the rearview mirror, there was nothing but dust behind him.

  ***

  When he arrived home, Linda was standing in the driveway. The look on her face said something was wrong. “She hasn’t come home yet,” Linda said.

  “Sam?”

  Linda nodded, near tears. “She was supposed to be home at four.”

  “Where’d she go?” But he had a sinking feeling that he already knew.

  “She’s out with Jenny and Margaret. They went horseback riding down by the lake.”

  “How long ago?”

  “They left after lunch. I don’t know.”

  Garza jumped back in his truck.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Call Chief Delgado,” he told her. “Have him bring shotguns and a couple of his men. Tell him to meet me on Resendez’s property down by the lake.”

  “Robert—”

  “Go!” he said. “Hurry.”

  He dropped the truck in gear and sped away.

  ***

  Garza raced down to the lake on a narrow dirt road he and Resendez had cut with a tractor the summer before. He took it as far as he could, then cut through the brush toward the church, his truck ripping through overhanging cedar branches the whole way.

  He reached a large limestone outcropping and had to slow so he could work the truck around it. When he did he heard Sam and Resendez’s daughters screaming for help.

  Their voices came from the trails above the church, and it sounded like they were getting closer.

  Not thinking about anything except his daughter, he punched the gas and took the truck straight through the cedar and down the slope of the limestone outcropping. The old Chevy yawed in midair, making him feel weightless for a painful, prolonged moment, and then hit the ground with a tremendous impact.

  The truck bottomed out and stalled. It wouldn’t start again. He jumped out, gun in hand, and scanned the trails on the hillside above the church.

  “Daddy, Daddy,” Sam screamed at him. He saw his little girl holding on to the horse for dear life. Resendez’s daughters came up behind her.

  He ran a few steps that way and stopped. Coyotes bounded down the hill on either side of the girls, moving through the brush so easily they seemed more like shadows than animals. In the gaps between the cedar trees he could see them snapping at the bellies of the horses.

  “Samantha,” he yelled. “This way. Come on. This way!”

  The poor girl was barely holding on. She wasn’t half the rider Resendez’s daughters were, and as the horses jumped from the slope to the grassy ledge of limestone on the far side of the church, she nearly popped out of the saddle.

  The coyotes snapped at her feet and at the horse’s belly, but Garza couldn’t risk a shot. Hitting a running dog-sized target at sixty yards with a pistol would be next to impossible, and he stood a better chance of hitting one of the girls by mistake.

  “Make for that cottage,” he yelled at her, and ran that way himself. It only had three walls, but it would have to do. At least that way the coyotes could only come at them from one side.

  The girls raced for him and they met at the busted cottage wall. Garza shot at the coyote snapping at the horse’s hooves. He missed the first shot and fired three more times. The last two shots sent the animal tumbling backwards over itself.

  More coyotes raced across the grass, coming for them. He yanked Sam down and folded her into his arms while the other two girls jumped off their horses.

  “Inside here,” he said, packing them into the cottage. “Hurry.”

  He glanced inside the cottage as he pushed them inside and did a double take. Most of the floor was grown over with meadow grasses and wildflowers, but toward the back wall, someone had dug up fresh earth. There was a large mound of gray dirt and rock there, and a sizeable hole in the ground beyond it.

  “There,” he said.

  “Daddy—”

  “Go,” he told her, and turned back just in time to see at least thirty coyotes going after the horses. The horses neighed and kicked. They punched the air with their hooves, their eyes rolling wildly, their lips pulled back, slinging long ropes of spit.

  The coyotes tore the belly out of one of the horses and Garza couldn’t look anymore. Its dying screams were enough. He backed into the cottage, moving toward the girls, who were already getting into the hole.

  “Mr. Garza,” Jenny said, “there’s a tunnel down here.”

  “Get in,” he said. “All of you.”

  “Daddy—”

  “Go, Sam. I’m right behind you, baby.”

  They got down on their bellies and crawled into the darkness. He went after them, backing himself in just as one of the coyotes appeared at the rim.

  In the fading evening light, all he saw was the jagged rows of its fangs. He fired with one-hand, killing it. He backed further into the hole. Behind him he could hear the girls whimpering, saying his name. Sam tried to hold on to him. A coyote silhouette appeared at the entrance to the tunnel and more gathered behind it. He fired, putting it down, the bark of the Glock sounding like a cannon inside the tunnel.

  “Get out of here!” he screamed at the snarling animals. “Get the hell away!”

  He fired two more times. The coyotes outside the hole snapped and grabbed at their dead brethren blocking the entrance, and rather than drag the carcasses out of the way, they seemed more intent on ripping their way through.

  But suddenly the cannibalistic tearing of flesh and the snarling growls stopped, and everything was silent save for the panicked shallow breathing of the girls behind him.

  “Daddy,”
Sam said.

  “Shhh, baby. Keep quiet.”

  He listened. From somewhere above him he heard voices shouting and men running. Then, like thunder, shotgun blasts. Several of them. A battle raged above them. And then, after a long time, that noise too went silent.

  They huddled together in the dark, the girls crowding as close as they could to him. The moment seemed to go on forever.

  Then, from the entrance, a thick Texas drawl: “Sergeant Garza, it’s Officer Boller with the Bonheim Police Department. Ya’ll all right down there, sir?”

  ***

  It was getting dark when they came out of the tunnel. Resendez stood there, a smoking shotgun in his hands. Chief Delgado was there, too. He had three of his officers with him. Resendez threw the shotgun on the ground and hugged his daughters. He steered them away from what was left of their horses, and then made arrangements for one of Delgado’ officers to take them home.

  When they were gone, Garza retrieved a flashlight from one of the other officers and pointed it down the tunnel where he and the girls had taken refuge. The light didn’t reach the end of the tunnel. When he’d fired his pistol down there, the sound had carried a long ways, and now he knew the actual distance was farther than he thought.

  Probably much farther.

  The hole was fresh, the ground just recently overturned, but the tunnel was obviously much older. The earth was packed tight and dry. He crumbled it in his fist. It occurred to him the tunnel was probably the same age as the cottages and church.

  He went back to the clearing between the buildings. Resendez stood there with Delgado and the other two officers. Delgado clearly had no idea what the hell was going on, but Resendez’s face was set and unreadable.

  “This tunnel connects all these buildings, doesn’t it?” Garza asked.

  Resendez nodded.

  “How long have you know about this?”

  Resendez looked away for a second, then said, “Since yesterday afternoon.”

  “And you didn’t say anything about it?”

  Resendez looked away again.

  Delgado said, “Them coyotes. I’ve never seen so many in one place before. They’re not supposed to act that way. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a coyote going after anything bigger than a rabbit.”

  Garza glanced at him, but didn’t respond. To Resendez he said, “What did you do?”

  Resendez was silent.

  “Answer me,” Garza hissed. “What did you do?”

  Delgado cocked his head in surprise. He glanced back and forth between the two of them.

  “Watch your tone of voice with me, Sergeant,” Resendez said, his face a mystery in the settling dark.

  “Bullshit!” Garza shot back. “Don’t you dare try to pull your rank on me. Not after what I just went through. Now you tell me what you fucking did.”

  Resendez glanced around. He drew a heavy breath and seemed to weigh the cost of telling what he knew. “There’s a network of tunnels underneath here,” he finally said. “They connect under the church. That seems to be the hub.”

  “What are they for?” Garza asked. “Do they go anywhere?”

  Resendez nodded. “There’s an entrance beneath the church.”

  “An entrance to what?”

  Resendez just shook his head.

  “It’s that book, isn’t it? It’s all true.”

  Resendez hung his head in resigned acquiescence. The genie was out of the bottle, and they both knew it.

  “What are ya’ll talkin’ about?” Delgado said.

  Garza turned to him. “Do your men have enough flashlights and shotguns for all of us?”

  Delgado still seemed uncertain. He looked to Resendez for guidance, but Resendez wouldn’t look back.

  Finally, Delgado said. “Yes, sir. We got plenty of fire power.” He turned to one of the officers and said, “Bert, go and get the shotguns. Plenty of shells, too.”

  “What are you going to do?” Resendez asked.

  “We’re going down there. All of us.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “I don’t know,” Garza said. “I really don’t. But I think the book and those coyotes and these buildings are all connected, and I think whatever it is we’re dealing with here is waiting for us down there beneath that church.”

  ***

  Resendez had done a lot of work in a short time. He’d peeled away the plank boards that made the floor of the altar and exposed a gaping pit leading down into darkness. Delgado and a young redheaded officer named Sturgis tried to light it up with flashlights, but only succeeded in casting an eerie, buttery glow on the ancient limestone steps.

  “What are you fellas hoping to find down there?” Delgado asked.

  Garza racked the shotgun, chambering a shell. “Let’s go,” he said. “Everybody stay sharp.”

  He climbed down the steps and made his way into the darkness, not even bothering to see if the others followed. The steps went down maybe thirty feet before leveling off into a tunnel. The flashlight beam hinted at other tunnels a short distance off, opening off the main passageway. Dried timbers were embedded into the walls like ribs, and he traced them with the light. Supports, Garza guessed, like the box frames miners use to prevent cave-ins. There was a faint, foul odor, like something lingering in the still air.

  “Where do these tunnels lead?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “The side tunnels on the right have collapsed,” Resendez said. “I don’t know how far back the main tunnel leads.”

  They went on silently, Garza in the lead, the others following. The tunnel opened up to a large, rectangular chamber, and there they stopped. Wooden platforms, the supports black with mold, ran along both side walls. In the middle of the chamber was a round stone wall, about knee-high, and inside boiled a dark, oily liquid. Toward the back of the chamber stood an altar, and as Garza looked around, Resendez made his way to it.

  Once Resendez mounted the altar he turned and looked out over the chamber. As he did, a shudder spread through the air. They all sensed it. Garza staggered to one side. Flies buzzed in his ears. He swatted at them, but nothing was there. He felt dizzy, suddenly nauseous, and he thought he could see the ghostlike shapes of men and women and even children standing on the platforms, their eyes pointed at Resendez. He shook his head and blinked, trying to clear his mind, but couldn’t. What at first he had taken for flies buzzing in his ears now sounded like voices. Slowly, those voices became a chorus that filled the air, and when Garza strained to listen, he found their cadence familiar. He knew the words they were chanting from the book Resendez had found.

  The shotgun fell from Resendez’s fingertips and clattered to the ground. His hands spread wide, as though in benediction. The ghostlike visions around him became more solid. The room seemed to brighten. The voices grew louder. Resendez muttered along with them, and Garza too felt a familiar rush pounding in his veins. The words were ancient, powerful. Garza yelled at Resendez from across the chamber, his voice unable to punch through the hazy veil that had enveloped them.

  Resendez went on chanting. The words moved through him, so powerful they shook the walls.

  The oil in the pit began to boil, and flies crawled out of the muck, taking to the air and attacking Delgado and Sturgis. Garza felt himself lensing in and out between two worlds, the world of Delgado and Sturgis screaming in pain on the one side, and the ghost world of the voices and Resendez on the other. The part of him that watched from the ghost world filled with the awe and love of the zealot. Yet that other part, the part still attached to the corporeal world, sensed an overpowering stench rising from the depths of the pit, and was nearly overcome by it.

  He could sense the ghost world gaining strength, and as he looked out over the strangely similar faces of the men, women, and children of the Kretschmer family, he could see their fiercely penetrating blue eyes staring back at him.

  Their cadence grew stronger. The room shook, and clods of earth and stone crashe
d down around them. Something vast rose from the depths of the pit, something old and powerful. Garza could sense it pushing its way up through the earth.

  On the altar, Resendez was shaking. The man he had been now gone, something different stared back from his mad eyes.

  Garza grabbed the man’s shoulders, but Resendez shook him off. Any moment now and the thing rising up through the earth would be free. De Vermis, Garza thought. He had to break whatever had a hold on his friend, but there didn’t seem to be any way to reach him. Flies yawned out of the pit by the thousands. Their buzzing made Garza’s skin vibrate. He yelled at Resendez, and though their faces were almost touching, they were miles away.

  Garza grabbed the shotgun his friend had dropped and punched Resendez with it. Resendez seemed to hardly feel the blow at first, but then, as he looked up at Garza, pain entered his expression.

  Garza pulled him up to his feet and wrapped Resendez’s arm around his shoulders.

  “Come on, man, we have to get out of here!”

  As Garza led him down from the altar, he saw blurry shapes he knew were Delgado and his men standing by the pit.

  He yelled a warning they didn’t hear.

  The stone wall collapsed and the boiling, oily liquid in the pit spilled over the ground. Garza yelled again, but not in time. Sturgis was snatched off his feet and pulled into the pit by a huge, blackened tentacle.

  Delgado fell backwards, a scream dying on his lips.

  “Move!” Garza shouted, and ran down from the altar with Resendez on his arm. “Move man! Move!”

  He stopped long enough to grab Delgado’s shirt and pull him to his feet. Then he pushed him to the door.

  The three men ran for the surface.

  From behind them, like thunder under the earth, something ancient struggled to break free.

  ***

  They worked most of the night, packing the entrance beneath the church’s altar with dynamite that Delgado and one of his men got from a nearby quarry. By morning they were ready to light the fuse.