Blood Lust

by JE Gurley

  “Thanks. Make sure no one opens these doors after I go in unless I yell out.”

  He shrugged. “It’s your show. I wish you would let me come with you. I know every inch of that tunnel.”

  “You’ve done enough. If things go badly, contact Captain Bledsoe. Maybe they can flood the tunnels with poison gas and kill this creature if I fail.”

  McNeil crossed himself. “Saints be with you.”

  I’ve never been very religious, but I was touched. I checked the batteries on my cell phone and saw I had no reception. That wasn’t good. I had planned keeping contact with Joria through McNeil’s cell phone. McNeil noted my look of consternation and handed me a walkie-talkie.

  “Cell phones don’t work down here for some reason. The walkie-talkies don’t half the time, but it’s better than nothing. If you get in trouble, yell out. I’ll send in the cavalry.”

  I shoved the walkie-talkie in my back pocket, my only link with the outside and it was iffy. “Thanks.” I turned to Joria. “Stay with McNeil. If I need some info, I’ll use the walkie-talkie.”

  “Let me come with you,” she pleaded. “I know the Chupacabra. I can talk to it. Reason with it.”

  I refrained from telling her that was the reason I didn’t want her with me. Instead, I said, “The time for talk is over. It has to die.”

  She nodded mutely but looked unconvinced. After a long pause, she grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me. I was anxious to get started but I waited long enough to respond in kind. With my lips crushing hers, it was easy to imagine that she loved me. A part of me, the lonely part, wanted it very badly to be so, but the past was difficult to forget. She had sided with the Chupacabra, perhaps even aided it. I wasn’t certain just where her loyalties lay.

  “Don’t die,” she whispered when our lips parted.

  “That’s my goal,” I said smiling. “Watch out for her,” I said to McNeil. As if guessing my hidden meaning, he nodded.

  He handed me a bottle of water. “You might need this.”

  I graciously accepted his gift, having forgotten to bring any along, sticking it in my pocket. Facing the dark access tunnel, I switched on my flashlight and stepped inside. The darkness seemed to recede forever. The sound of the steel door slamming behind me sounded like a crypt door closing or a death row cell door clanging shut. I jumped involuntarily when the steel bar dropped across the door with a loud thud of finality. I had good cause to be jumpy. I was alone, cut off from the outside world, hoping I was sharing my confinement with a creature from hell.

  As I stared down the pitch-black tunnel, my vertigo tried to deceive me into believing I was falling down a deep, dark well. I reached out and caressed the walls of the tunnel to reassure myself that down was below my feet. None of the lights set at intervals along the wall were working. I was glad for my flashlight. It looked as if no one had used the tunnel in years. An inch of dust cushioned my steps, billowing at each footfall, powdering my face. I brushed cobwebs out of my hair hoping their weavers weren’t climbing over my back. The air tasted stale and musty. I was glad when the tunnel ended and I reached the old subway line.

  To my surprise and utter delight, a few electric lights still illuminated small areas of the tunnel. I doubted they had remained on all these years. I thanked McNeil for his foresight in restoring electricity to the old tunnel. These pools of pale luminance dotted the darkness, disappearing into the distance. A pair of rusty tracks too narrow for subway trains ran along the tunnel for work carts and hauling debris.

  I had to backtrack to the end of the tunnel to assure myself I was not leaving the creature behind me. A heavy, wooden timber wall sealed the tunnel where the new subway line veered away from the original abandoned line. I prodded the wood with a steel rod I found nearby checking for weakness but the ancient timbers were still solid. Unlike the newer subway tunnel’s concrete casing, the older tunnel had only a lining of wooden boards reinforced in places with more substantial wooden beams. Small piles and drifts of dirt and gravel that had sifted through gaps in the wooden lining lay scattered along the tracks.

  As I walked along the gently upward sloping tunnel, I encountered several small rooms that had served as tool sheds and meal areas for the work crews. I quickly checked out each of these in turn, finding nothing but a few abandoned tools and rusty lockers. My eagerness to confront and kill the Chupacabra quickened my steps. I was drunk with righteous anger and the desire for revenge. In the distance, I heard a dull thud as McNeil’s men sealed the remaining access door. The severity of my position alone in the tunnel quickly sobered me.

  After almost an hour of walking, the muted whump-whump-whump of a ventilator fan broke the unnerving silence. I approached it cautiously. The massive fan was set in the roof of the tunnel in an airshaft running crosswise above the two tunnels, connecting to the main ventilator airshaft, which McNeil had sealed. The ten-foot diameter fan sucked a large volume of air through the tunnel but still could not entirely rid it of its stale odor, especially with the emergency doors shut. A tangle of dirty tattered cobwebs waved in the breeze. A wooden ladder against the wall provided access to a trap door used by the maintenance crew to access the airshaft beyond the fan. This was my emergency way out. My legs wanted to carry me up the ladder to freedom but I persevered. I had a job to do, one too long overdue.

  My growing skepticism began to gnaw at me. The noise of the fan would mask any sound the creature made, but its keen ears could probably detect my movements. I was beginning to wonder what I had been thinking when I conceived my half-baked plan. I had been searching for two hours and was nearly halfway down the tunnel but had not encountered the creature. Had we inadvertently locked the creature out of its den instead of confining it? Waiting another day to destroy the creature meant the possibility of another girl’s death. I could not consider this gloomy option. It had to end today.

  My first clue that I was not alone came in the form of a horde of rats racing down the tunnel toward me, stirred up by something farther down the tunnel. The hairy throng materialized in a pool of light cast by a functioning electric light, leaping over each other in their frenzy. They were upon me in an instant, loudly squeaking their anger and fright as they brushed against my boots and attempted to scale my legs, their tiny claws digging painfully into my flesh. I kicked at them madly and slapped at the ones covering my body. I did not think I had a fear of rodents until faced with such an enraged mass. Dozens of stinking creatures clung to my pants and my arms. I feared they would bring me to the ground and I would become rat chow or wind up with the Black Plague or some other hideous disease, but they were too frightened to attack. They were more concerned with escape. Escape from what, I wondered. Almost as quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared behind me. I found that odd. I could see more lights farther back down the tunnel the way I had come but the rodent horde did not reach them. I decided to backtrack in case I had missed an opening in which the creature could hide.

  I moved more cautiously, scanning the walls for any possible hiding place. My light chanced upon a small opening, a crack in the wooden wall near the floor, a mere four-inch split in a board. Beyond the wall, I saw dirt and darkness. Crouching, I thrust my light as far as it would go and saw that the opening in the wall became a larger cavity extending directly below me. By listening carefully, I could hear running water some distance away. Perhaps this crack led to one of the caverns about which McNeil had informed me. I lay down on the ground for a better look at the hole.

  The entire tunnel began to shudder. Dust and rock cascaded from the ceiling. I realized a subway train was passing in the adjacent tunnel. Perhaps this was what had frightened the rats. Suddenly, the ground beneath me gave way and I plunged headfirst down the opening. I held onto my weapon, sliding down a chute barely wider than my body. I slid for less than fifteen seconds, but it seemed an interminable amount of time amid fears I would become a permanent cork in the narrow opening. Thankfully, or perhaps regretfully, my slide ended in ic
y cold water.

  I clung to my weapon as I fought my way to the surface, chagrined to discover I was in water only waste deep. My flashlight reflected from the rocky walls of an underground river twenty feet wide and ten feet above the water level. I had stumbled upon the missing river that had once run alongside the monastery’s mill, diverted by some geologic fault that had driven its course deep underground. I activated a glow stick and sent it floating downstream. I spotted my missing rodent friends running along a small ledge beside the river.

  I now faced two choices: Either follow the river downstream and look for the exit the rats were running toward or head upstream in hopes that it led to the cavern system and a way back into the tunnel. I chose upstream.

  I slogged along maybe a quarter mile before the river tunnel opened up into a larger cavern. I clambered out of the frigid water onto dry land and removed my clothes to wring out the excess moisture. My feet were cold and wet. I remembered the safety flares I carried and struck the end on the hard ground, filling the underground cavity with light. The cavern was ancient, carved over the eons by the river’s relentless passage. Smooth, scalloped-edged walls traced the many changes in water level. Slender stalactites hung from the ceiling and needle-thin stalagmites thrust upwards to meet them. Delicate winding sheets of white crystalline gypsum festooned the roof of the cavern like my grandmother’s lace curtains. The sputtering light of the flare reflected from the crystal-clear surface of the pool in a scintillating light. The river bubbled up in a ledge-lined pool in the center of the cavern with a pleasant fountain sound. It was a small piece of paradise deep underground, but I could not linger.

  Nor could I wait for my clothes to dry. I gave myself half an hour’s respite, then donned my still damp pants and shirt and soaking wet boots. Another opening marked the far end of the cavern. The opening looked dark and uninviting, but it was my only choice. I followed the winding passage. It narrowed slowly until it became a mere fracture in the rock ten feet high and less than three feet in width. I squeezed through it, scraping elbows, knees and shoulders in the process. The fracture twisted and meandered until I lost all sense of direction. I stopped once to drink from my water bottle and to rest by leaning against the rock wall.

  I had resisted the urge to urinate until it became a compelling notion. My bladder was about to burst. Mentally haranguing myself for not taking the opportunity to urinate in the cavern, I unzipped and relieved myself along the path I had come. The odor of my urine reminded me of the heavy ammonia smell of the creature’s urine, which I had yet to detect. Could I be wrong about the creature choice of a lair?

  I zipped up and sucked in my stomach to squeeze through a particularly narrow spot, hoping that I would not have to retrace my steps. It was with great relief when a half an hour later my flashlight shone on weathered wooden boards. I beat at them enthusiastically with the butt of the elephant gun until I broke through into the far end of the old tunnel, the point at which all digging had halted.

  I took a minute to catch my breath and survey my surroundings. Much of the old abandoned equipment and tools lying around were relics from when the tunnel work had stopped – rusty picks and shovels, air-powered jackhammers, cobweb-covered wenches and decaying wooden carts with railroad wheels used to move men and equipment along the rails. There was no sign of my prey. Now, I faced the possibility of pursuing my quarry, if it was here at all, to the far end of the tunnel, a prospect I did not relish.

  I located the last steel door, or, in this case, the first. It was securely sealed. A hundred yards back up the tunnel, I caught the unmistakable odor of ammonia. The creature or its lair was nearby. I felt relief tempered with apprehension. I moved as silently as I could, knowing the creature’s superior hearing and excellent night vision probably would alert it to my presence long before I became aware of it. I stopped each time my foot dislodged a rock or struck a wooden tie, listening for a response.

  In spite of all my wariness, the creature was upon me, peeling from the wall like a shadow almost before I could react. I dropped to the ground, barely avoiding the rake of its sharp talons. I turned and fired. The blast of the elephant gun shook the walls and ceiling, bringing down an inundation of dirt. I hoped I didn’t inadvertently collapse the entire tunnel in my eagerness to kill the creature.

  My shot went wild. I heard the creature clucking its contempt from the shadows. I swung the light around but could not find it. The echo of the tunnel masked it voice.

  “You were warned, human,” it screamed at me. “Yet you chose to come after me. For this you will die slowly.”

  “You’ve got nowhere to go,” I yelled back. “The entrances are all sealed. It’s just you and me. Even if you win, you lose.”

  “I have all the time in the world to find a way out. Much more time than you have to live.”

  “Bring it on!” I yelled.

  The flapping of wings broke the stillness and I steeled myself for another assault. The confines of the tunnel did not allow me much room in which to maneuver. As the creature soared at me out of the darkness, I swept my flashlight across its body and fired. Flashing talons scored a hit to my left bicep, grabbed my shirtsleeve and jerked me upwards, but my shot connected. The creature screamed and twisted in midair, landing heavily on its side a few yards behind me as I crashed to my knees. I twirled to fire again, but my gun was empty. As I reloaded, the creature dove into an alcove. A trail of yellowish blood led into the dark opening.

  “Gotcha!” I whooped, ignoring the pain in my arm.

  “I will soon heal. Will you arm heal as quickly? I think not.”

  I cursed. The creature was right. Soon, the fever would rack my body, leaving me vulnerable. I had to end this soon. I strode boldly to the alcove and played my light across the walls. The creature wasn’t there! I spun around searching for it and spotted it on the ceiling behind me across the tunnel. It had scampered out of the alcove and across the ceiling as it had taunted me. I fired both barrels, missing the creature but the .50 caliber slugs ripped into the wooden boards supporting the tunnel’s roof, splintering them. With the groan of an overwhelmed Atlas, a large section of roof collapsed. Dirt and rock poured through the wooden planking in a torrent, creating a cloud of dust that billowed up, filling the tunnel. I tried to move away, choking on the dust, and slammed into the wall, dropping the elephant gun. Blind and panicked, I scrambled on hands and knees to find it, but the dust was too thick. I cowered with my back against the wall to wait until the dust cleared sufficiently to see again.

  For long minutes, the roof poured through the opening. Wooden support beams and the wooden ceiling creaked and moaned but held. I had fears that the entire tunnel might collapse around me, but luck was with me. When I could see again, the creature was struggling to free itself from beneath a pile of dirt and debris. The collapsing roof had caught it. I couldn’t find the elephant gun, but I spotted a rusty pickaxe leaning against the wall. I grabbed it, held it over my head and rushed at the creature. I brought the pick down as hard as I could, but the creature had managed to free one leg. It swept its talons painfully across my left leg, forcing my blow to miss its head by inches. The axe embedded in the creature’s wing, pinning it to the ground but I couldn’t get close enough because of its frenetic flailing to finish it off. I backed off to search for my elephant gun. I frantically raked through piles of loose earth near the wall. Finally, a gleam of light shone through the rubble, the flashlight. I yanked it out of the dirt but the creature had already freed itself, winging down the tunnel. I shook the dirt out of the barrel and reloaded, damning myself for missing my chance.

  My leg was on fire, as was my arm, but I couldn’t slow down nor could I succumb to my mounting fever. Soon, the infection would render me helpless and the creature would have me at its mercy or, I suspected, its lack of mercy. I hoped the lingering effects of the antibiotics I had taken on the other occasions of infection would strengthen my immune system and keep me going long enough to kill the bastard. I
limped down the tunnel after it.

  From farther down the tunnel, I heard the sound of pounding on one of the steel doors and smiled. The creature had discovered I had sealed it in. I let out a whoop of laughter loud enough for it to hear. The creature, now aware of its entrapment, would want to kill me as soon as possible and search for another exit. I stood my ground and waited.

  26

  Oliver McNeil waited impatiently at the main ventilator shaft. He checked his watch for the tenth time and swore.

  “He’s been down there over four hours.” His complaint was directed at Jack Walmsley, shop foreman and one of the four men he had chosen to accompany him, but he saw Joria Alvarez’s reaction and felt a twinge of sympathy for her. She had been pacing nervously, staring eagerly into the depths of the airshaft since their arrival hours earlier. He still wasn’t sure why Hardin had brought her, but he considered himself a good judge of character and he couldn’t bring himself to trust her. He thought maybe it had something to do with the way she would not look him in the eyes. He harbored doubts that all of her concern was for Hardin’s welfare.

  On the other hand, he knew he could count on Walmsley. They had started out together as mere boys swinging pick axes. Walmsley’s thin frame belied his strength and steadfastness. He had equal confidence in his other three companions. He held out the walkie-talkie and scowled. “This thing is useless. We’ve heard nothing since what might have been shots. That was an hour ago.”

  “That cloud of dust came from a cave in,” Walmsley piped up. “I could smell the clay. The earth is rotten down there. He might be trapped.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” McNeil admitted. “I let the boy go down there alone and I should have known better.”

  “So what do we do?” Walmsley asked.

  “We have to go help him,” Joria interjected. “He’s in trouble.”

  McNeil considered her suggestion. His gut told him Hardin needed help but he distrusted her eagerness to enter the tunnel. Was he making a mistake? Better safe than sorry. He turned to Walmsley. “Do you have your rifle in your truck?”