by Sam Witt
He let loose with another ragged wail, and Dick took a quick look over the ledge. He saw a rat’s nest of hair and a pale, filth-streaked face coming out of the chasm’s near wall. The asshole’s mouth was locked to Troy’s calf, and blood was gushing out of the tech. “Fuck you,” Dick snarled, and took aim.
The gun’s roar echoed through the chasm, rolling through the darkness like a thunderclap. Troy shouted again, and Dick held back vomit when he saw the bullet had torn through Troy’s ankle. The freak was still chewing on Troy. Dick took another shot.
This one was on the mark. It caught Troy’s attacker just behind its deformed ear and blew its skull wide open. Greasy white brains sprayed out of the wound, slopping against the wall and falling into the darkness. The attacker sagged against the wall before disappearing, jerked back into the darkness by unseen hands.
Troy scrambled with his good leg, and Amy did her best to help him. Dick shoved the gun back into his waistband, scorching his lower back on the still-hot muzzle. He grabbed Troy by the shoulders and yanked, pulling him up onto the ledge. Dick and Amy slumped back against the wall, sucking in air as the adrenaline in their blood burned away their oxygen. Troy lay on the ledge, weeping and clutching his brutalized leg. Randall stood nearby, camera aimed at the three of them, face invisible in the shadows.
The sisters were gone, Dick couldn’t even see their light glowing in the darkness anymore. While he and Amy had struggled to save Troy, those two bitches had high-tailed it off to who knew where. He wanted to hurt them. He wanted to kill them. You better hope I don’t catch you two anytime soon.
Dick bowed his head and rested it against his knees.
We are so fucked, he thought, and did his best not to cry.
10
The sound of crinkling aluminum foil told Dick all he needed to know about Amy. She was busy stuffing another wad of gum into her stupid face. He didn’t think he could stand the sound of her chomping. He raised his head from his hands and stared at his co-host. “Seriously, Amy?”
She shrugged and blew a bubble. “Albino freaks kidnapped one of my friends and tried to eat another. I chew gum when I’m trying not to freak the fuck out, you asshole.”
Dick didn’t know if Amy was trying to piss him off to get him back on his feet, but it worked. He rolled his neck on his shoulders and winced at the rattling pops from his spine. He felt ancient. Dick eased around Amy to get to Troy, who was still curled into a fetal position with his hands shielding his wounded calf. “Hey, man.”
Troy opened one eye and whimpered through gritted teeth. “Don’t leave me alone, man. Please, promise me you won’t leave me here.”
Dick didn’t know what to say to that. Troy was shit out of luck—his lower leg looked like a pit bull’s chew toy, and there was a puddle of blood around him that did not bode well for his fluid levels. Dick met Troy’s eyes then looked away before he could betray himself. “I’ll help you along. We’ll get Mickey, then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
Troy nodded, relief washing the tension out of his face. “I didn’t slip, you know that, right, man? It grabbed me. Tried to pull me over the edge.”
Dick gave Troy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s get you up.”
They struggled under the camera’s cold, white glare. Troy whimpered and went limp whenever he put any pressure on his leg. Every time Dick thought he had the tech geek up, the little guy would fold up on him. The third time, his collapse was so sudden and complete he almost knocked Dick right off the ledge.
“Okay, that isn’t working.” Dick knelt on the ledge and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m going to try and drag you off this ledge, Troy.
Dick noticed Amy watching them, chewing her gum with steady, even chomps. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, without much real enthusiasm.
“Dandy,” Dick shot back. He hooked his hands under Troy’s armpits and started backing along the ledge, being extra careful to keep his left side up against the wall. It was too easy to imagine Troy flopping around and going over the edge or, worse, knocking Dick off balance and into the abyss. He licked the sweat off his lips and did his best to ignore the shooting pains in his backs and thighs. Dragging Troy was awkward and exhausting work.
Randall suddenly yelped like a chihuahua with its back legs caught under a rocking chair. The camera’s light swung around in a wild arc, flashing like a stroke of lightning over the chasm. The light came back around, accompanied by Randall’s sharp bark of surprise. “Amy,” he started then let out another surprised shout.
Amy’s scream echoed Randall’s alarmed hollering. Dick saw her jump back from the ledge then dart forward again, raising her foot and stomping down hard. An inhuman screech rose from the chasm, and a pale, damaged hand spasmed under Amy’s heel. She ground down hard, twisting her heel until blood spurted onto the stone. She hopped back and stomped again then again. The hand disappeared back over the ledge, leaving behind a red smear and a pair of cracked fingernails that had peeled off like cheap decals. She ran toward Dick and Troy, mouth open wide as she screamed, “Go!”
The groping hand reappeared and slapped bloody handprints along the ledge. Dick dragged Troy back from the thing, but it was gaining on them. He tried to go faster, but his feet slipped and caught on one another.
The hand was three yards away and closing.
Dick switched his grip on Troy. He grabbed the young man’s skinny wrist and turned so he could watch where he was walking. He improved his pace, but every step wrenched a pained cry from Troy. Blood spurted from his injured leg, puddled on the uneven stone, and drooled over the ledge.
Two yards away, close enough for Dick to see the long fingernails chipping against the stone with every swipe.
“You’re killing me,” Troy wailed.
Anger flared in Dick’s heart. He thought about just letting go, dumping Troy and letting the hand have him. Then he remembered the camera on him and how fucking awesome this was going to look in prime time. “Hang on, Troy, we’re going to make it.”
One yard away, and Dick realized he wasn’t going to make it. They were only halfway across the ledge, and the hand was too fast. He dropped Troy’s hand.
Troy twisted at the waist and stared up at Dick. “Don’t leave me,” he choked.
Dick wrenched the pistol out of his waistband and thumbed the hammer back. He lowered the barrel, swinging it down toward Troy. He stared down the sight, eyes cold and still. He took a deep breath, held it.
The hand slapped down inches from Troy’s foot.
Dick squeezed the trigger.
Troy screamed. Blood flew into the air, spritzing the wall and the ledge. It was startlingly red in the camera’s dead white light, glistening against the dark stone.
A trio of mangled fingers twitched on the ledge, just beyond Troy’s foot. The technician stared up at Dick, eyes bulging, mouth hanging open. “You could have shot me.”
Dick shoved the gun into the back pocket of his jeans, careful not to burn his back again. He crouched down, wincing at the pain in his back and hooked his hands under Troy’s arms. “Already did that today.”
Troy laughed, a long, crazy sound, and Dick joined in with him. They made it across the ledge without incident; the groping hand vanished back into the darkness to nurse its wounds.
When they reached safer ground, Dick released Troy and sank onto his haunches. His back ached as if he’d just been through a tug-of-war with an NFL team. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his knees. He needed to rest, for a couple of years at least. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath sawed its way in and out of his lungs.
He smelled bubblegum and opened his eyes. Amy was grinning at him, a stick of the pink stuff extended toward him from between her fingers. “Have some gum,” she chomped on each word, “trust me.”
Dick snorted, but took the gum. It tasted like plastic, but its smell reminded him of autumn carnivals, of cotton candy and pink lemonade. He was surprised to find it worked, that the me
chanical act of grinding the gum between his molars helped settle his nerves and relaxed the snarl of his thoughts. He hated to admit it, but Amy was on to something. “Thanks,” he said and went back to chomping on the gum.
They sat in silence, the four of them lined up against the wall, looking out over the chasm, listening to each other breathe. Dick knew they were waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to tell them where to go.
The only problem was he had nothing to say. He didn’t know how far they could drag Troy, didn’t know where to drag him. The freak could have taken Mickey anywhere. There was no convenient blood trail or footprint to show them where the bad guys had gone.
Worse, he didn’t know how much longer they could survive the ambushes. He didn’t think there were more than a few of the freaks, but they seemed able to come from anywhere they wanted. They’d already taken Mickey, and nearly killed Troy. Anywhere the lights weren’t, the pale arms could come and snatch someone away, gnashing teeth could come and bite chunks out of the unwary. He let that last thought roll around in the emptiness of his skull until it bumped up against another idea. He leaned over to Randall and whispered his idea into the big man’s ear.
Randall rubbed his chin then nodded.
Dick struggled back to his feet and spat the wad of tasteless gum into the chasm. “Come on, kids. No more lollygagging. Amy, give me a hand with our boy here.”
Between the two of them, they were able to get Troy onto his good foot. He held his injured leg up, bent at the knee, and hopped along with them. It was a hell of a lot better than dragging him, but Dick was still worried about Troy. He was pale and sweating like crazy despite the chill air of the tunnel. His leg wasn’t gushing blood, but he was losing the red stuff at a steady drip. Troy caught Dick’s look of concern and forced a weak smile. “I’m good, man. Let’s find Mickey.”
They started walking, and Dick almost felt bad about using Troy as bait.
11
The ledge widened as it arched up and around the chasm, allowing Amy, Troy, and Dick to walk alongside one another with plenty of room to spare. Randall brought up the rear, keeping the camera on his friends while he shone the light ahead of them to shred the darkness from their path.
Dick licked his lips and tasted nervous sweat. He liked Troy, and he was going to feel like shit if he got him killed.
Not that he didn’t already feel like shit for what he’d done to Troy and the others. It had all seemed like such an easy out—use the credit cards to finance the shows, sell the shows, pay off everything and get back in the black. But every pilot piece ended in the same disappointing nothing that kept them from drumming up any interest. “I’m going to get us out of this,” Dick said to his crew.
Amy puffed a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes. “You fucking better.”
The ticking noise was back, insistent and erratic. It seemed to come from all around them, but quit anytime they stopped walking to listen for it.
The tunnel corkscrewed down, branching and twisting its way into a maze. Dick was choosing paths almost at random, stopping only long enough to let Amy unwrap stick after stick of chewing gum. He lost count after the twentieth time she spat out her old gum and replaced it with a new wad. She caught him staring at her and shrugged. “Chewing gum’s my vice. Ripping off your friends and shanghaiing them into cannibal cave country is yours. Guess who isn’t winning the friend of the year award?”
They were standing in a little bulb-shaped cavern with just one way in and one way out. Dick motioned to the wall, “Let’s take a break.”
Troy groaned in agreement, and they eased him back against the wall, with his legs splayed out in front of him. His eyes were glassy and blank, and Dick didn’t like the chill temperature of his skin. They needed to get out of here before Troy bled out.
Dick paced, knuckling his aching back. “This isn’t what I wanted to happen,” he started.
Amy snapped her gum. “Yet here we are.”
Randall took Dick’s side. “He was trying to get us ahead,” he said. “He was trying to keep the dream alive.”
Dick nodded at Randall’s words. He needed them to understand, to see how he’d ended up dragging them into this world of shit. “We were so close, so many times. I just kept thinking we needed to stick with it. We needed to have a new camera, or better sound gear. Something to give us an edge.”
Troy’s head nodded, and he slurred his words. “It’s okay, man.”
But Amy just shook her head. “You know you fucked up. You can’t talk your way out of it. Even if this thing works out, how are we ever going to trust you again?”
“How could you not?” Dick scraped his scalp with his fingernails. “I bet on you even when you were too afraid to bet on yourselves. If—when—we get out of here, we’ll be successful because I had faith in us.”
Amy’s eyes narrowed to thin, angry slits. “You can’t spin that line of shit on me.”
Dick snapped his fingers, and the big camera light died.
He sipped his breaths, taking the smallest, shallowest inhalations he could manage. He needed to be able to hear if this was going to work.
Click.
Dick tried to pinpoint the sound, but the echoes confused him. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from ahead of him or behind him. His pulse quickened. He’d fucked up. He hadn’t planned on it going down like this.
Click.
It was definitely closer, but he couldn’t tell how much closer. Dick blinked away nervous sweat and clenched his fingers tighter around the pistol’s handle. He had to make this work.
Clickclick.
Where was that noise coming from? He turned in a slow circle, felt his eyes bulging as they strained to soak up any light. But there was nothing except the deep darkness and—
Clickclickclickclick.
It was right there, so close he could almost feel it. It had to be close for this to work, if it was too far away the whole thing would fall apart. But if he waited too long, there was no telling what might happen. He knew it would go for Troy, the weakest of their number, and he also knew Troy couldn’t survive another attack.
Clickclickclick—
Dick thought he knew where it was, he could see it in his mind’s eyes. His hand flew up to his headlamp and slapped the switch, flooding the darkness with sudden light.
It was crouched over Troy, its body hiding the technician from Dick’s view. His eyes were watering from the abrupt change from darkness to light, but he could see the pale arms, the hunched back, the wild mane of black hair hanging down its back. This was his chance, before the thing reacted to the trap he’d set for it.
He stepped forward and swung the pistol down, both hands locked around its grip. In his entire adult life, Dick had never hit anyone like that. The pistol’s butt slammed down against the back of the thing’s head with a solid thud, like a mallet striking a thick piece of wood. The force of the impact ran up Dick’s arm and vibrated in his skull.
The pale monster fell onto Troy. Blood ran onto the floor, pooling around Troy’s legs, and Dick’s heart sank. He needed the freak alive, not bleeding out through a hole he’d knocked in its skull. He nudged it with his foot then pushed it off Troy.
The thing’s eyes fluttered, and the only blood he could see was smeared around its mouth. “Fuck,” he whispered, “Troy.”
He’d been too late. The thing had latched onto Troy’s throat and torn it clean through. Dick fell to his knees at Troy’s sides, gun dangling from his hand. “Oh, shit, Troy.”
Amy came at Dick with both hands hooked into claws. He tried to rise, but she smashed him to the ground and pounced on him, straddling his chest. “You asshole!” she growled, slashing at his face with her fingernails. She raked open a ragged wound on his cheek then another across the bridge of his nose, and another down his forehead.
Randall called out from behind the camera’s light, confusion and panic at war in his voice. “You guys, stop. You guys.”
Bl
ood roared in Dick’s ears as adrenaline dropped into his bloodstream. He tried to push Amy away, but he didn’t have the leverage and her strength was fueled by raw rage, where he was drained by exhaustion and a deep, soul-sucking sorrow over Troy’s death. He’d had a plan, he’d fucking tried. It wasn’t his fault it had all gone wrong.
She threw a hard backhand slap across his jaw, and for long seconds Dick couldn’t see and his head was filled by a Dopplering whine. His teeth clicked together and sliced away a sliver of his tongue, flooding his mouth with the rusty tang of blood. “Stop,” he moaned, raising his left hand to try and ward off Amy’s attacks.
His attempt to defend himself pushed Amy further into her rage. Her eyes were wild, rolling in their sockets as she grabbed his head in both hands and lifted it off the floor. Dick could feel the depths of her anger, the intensity of it, through her hands. He saw his death as clear as he’d ever seen anything. Amy was going to smash his head against the stone floor until his skull shattered like an egg and his brains sloshed out.
The blow never came. Amy’s head snapped backward, and she flew off Dick, arms and legs flailing as she arced away. She hit the ground with a meaty thud, and Dick heard the air gush from her lungs.
Randall chased Amy with the light, chanting “Ohshitohshitohshit,” as he turned the camera to follow her.
Dick shook the cobwebs off and scrambled to his feet, eyes glued to Amy’s receding form. The freak he’d tried to trap, the freak who’d killed Troy, was hauling her into the darkness.
Dick raised the gun, took a deep breath, and fired.
12
Blood ran down the tunnel’s wall, a crimson trail that dead ended at the pale freak curled on the cold floor. She was young, Dick didn’t figure her to be much more than sixteen, with skin the color of sour milk and wide-set eyes clenched against the unyielding light of Randall’s camera. Her breaths, harsh and shallow, hissed through jagged yellow teeth that curved out past her lips. Dick’s shot had gouged a bloody chunk from her shoulder.