The Walking Dead (Sucking Pit Series)

by Guy N Smith

  She hesitated, dark orbs flickering, glancing beyond the girl she addressed, saw the figure running towards them down the slope. An intake of breath followed by a piercing cry.‘He comes, Cornelius. Do you see him? It is Latimer. He is yours, remember what he did to you, to all of us. Now our hour of vengeance is nigh! We shall live whilst these others die!’

  Samantha was still and silent, her expression vacant, seeing Carl Wickers but no longer recognising him. Hearing Latimer approaching but his coming meant nothing to her. She was here to serve, to obey, had not Jenny Lawson commanded her thus? She would not question the other.

  Cornelius moved with surprising agility for his size, his swarthy features creasing into a grin, yet his eyes blazed a merciless hate. Only too well he remembered, had never believed that this night was possible. For a decade he had suffered the agonies of a tortured hell-imprisoned soul and now the moment of freedom was upon him. Freedom and revenge.

  Chris Latimer halted, jerked his head to one side so that he did not meet Jenny Lawson's eyes, screamed at himself. ‘In the name of God, don't look at her!’

  ‘Lat-imer,’ Cornelius spoke softly, hands flexed in anticipation. ‘You have come as I was promised.’ His long greasy locks swung like the pendulum of a clock in time with that single earring.

  ‘I want Carl Wickers.’ Latimer's tone was even, low. ‘And Samantha. Give them back to us and we'll go. I promise I won't trouble you again.’

  ‘Just like that, eh?’ A sneer.

  ‘Just like that.’

  Silence, the two men eyeing each other, both of them remembering the last time they had met; an identical setting, this foul pool giving off its evil vapours, an icy mist that fingered the body, stroked it. Just one difference: then they had both been mortal and Chris Latimer had had a gun.

  A snort like an angry bull and Cornelius ripped his shirt open, displayed a muscular torso. White flesh that had once been matted with thick hair only now that hair had withered and died, revealing skin that had a perforated appearance, pockmarks that had festered, still oozed yellow fluid.

  ‘You did that.’ The Romany tapped his chest, flinched. ‘Four blasts it took to kill me but I have risen again!’

  Latimer caught his breath. No quarter asked or given, only this time he could not kill the other because Cornelius was already one of the living dead; as they all would be soon.

  ‘What do you want Carl Wickers for?’ he asked.

  ‘We need him. He knows the old ballads, words and music which enable us to live again because the old ones hear him.’

  ‘Take me and let Carl and Samantha go.’ Clutching at straws now. He wondered about Pamela. She could flee, steal away from here and they would not see her go. But he knew that she would not leave.

  ‘Nobody goes.’ A grunt, another step closer. ‘Soon you will learn what it is like to live in death, Latimer.’

  A peal of thunder directly above them. Cornelius checked, glanced upwards: the sky was illuminated by a vivid flash of lightning, and for the first time Chris Latimer saw Jenny Lawson's features clearly. Shock, revulsion as he recalled how once they had been in love before that fateful day when she had gone to stay with her Uncle Tom here in this very wood. From then onwards everything had changed. He saw her as she used to be, the petite figure with long dark hair falling tantalisingly below her shoulders, immaculate in every detail. Saw her now … oh God, it wiped out everything he had ever felt for her. Sensuous in silhouette, but when you saw her clearly you noted how that face had become haggard, creamy flesh turned deathly white, translucent in places as if it had already begun to decompose. Eyes sunken deep into dark sockets, the mouth a black cavity when she opened it. Not slim, wasted. A corpse risen from its watery grave, bent on revenge and destruction.

  ‘Finish him, Cornelius.’ A harsh cackle that might have come from the aged Roon. ‘Then we can truly live again.’

  Cornelius came on. Perhaps he remembered how things had once been between himself and Jenny, that the man facing him posed more than just a threat to their resurrection, old wounds smarting in dead flesh to remind him, to rekindle the fury.

  Latimer glanced once at the watchers. A gladiator cast to the lions, there could be only one possible outcome. Carl and Samantha staring vacantly, uncomprehendingly.

  And suddenly he heard Pamela's scream, frantic splashing footsteps as she forged her way through the marshy grass. ‘Chris. Chris, run. Don't fight him!’ She, too, had been lured down here, spurned her chance to escape. The evil ones had cast their net and the haul was complete.

  A diversion but it could only be temporary, an extension of life by a few minutes at the most.

  ‘Go back!’ He knew it was useless but he yelled it just the same.

  The Romany giant hesitated, saw the onrushing girl. But it was Jenny Lawson who beat him to it, seemed to glide forward like a white water wraith into Pamela's path, arm upraised in that commanding gesture again.

  Pamela stumbled, slithered to a halt. Her mouth was open to shout again, but she closed it. Gone was the headlong panic, the desperation. Her features became impassive, eyes staring straight ahead of her, not even seeing Chris now.

  Cornelius was upon Latimer, hands reaching out for him. Retaliation rather than hope, a wildly swung punch, a final gesture of defiance; Chris felt his fist strike solid flesh, the impact jarring his shoulder and causing him to grunt with pain, revolted by the icy coldness of that contact like touching a slimy reptile. Throughout his life he had had a fear of coldblooded creatures and now that terror was brought to the ultimate climax.

  Cornelius had him in a bone-crushing grip, a crooked arm threatening to snap his neck, the other pinioning his arms behind his back. Powerless, an infant caught playing truant and being forcibly returned to school by his form master. If it had not been for the pressure on his throat he would have screamed. Kill me, Cornelius, and get it over with!

  ‘I could kill you in a second.’ The Romany seemed to read his thoughts. ‘But it would be too quick, Latimer. I have not forgotten how you sent me to the depths, bleeding from a score or more wounds. Down there, if you still live, you see things which drive you mad and even insanity does not dull your terror. I want you to go down there alive, let them kill you and make you one of us. Then you will serve us for eternity!’

  ‘And this wench, too, Cornelius,’ Jenny Lawson's raucous hate-filled voice cut in. ‘Throw them both in, give them an unholy baptism together!’

  In one sweeping move the Romany released his neckgrip on Chris Latimer, swung him under his arm, that child still being carried back to school, shifted to a more comfortable position. The other arm swept up Pamela, and with an unbelievable demonstration of sheer inhuman strength he lumbered off with them in the direction of the Sucking Pit.

  Latimer's brain reeled, struggled against hypnotic forces; perhaps it would be better to concede, to go to those foul depths mindlessly.

  There was a roaring in his ears like a thousand waterfalls, other sounds trying to penetrate. Voices, chanting. Somebody was singing a tuneless ballad:

  ‘Take me back, deep waters.’

  ‘To the old ones that I left at home.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Chris Latimer hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, a dark chasm seeming to yawn beneath him. He fought against it, desperately clinging to those last few moments of life.

  A drowning man's whole life was supposed to flash before him; he wondered if that would happen down in the Sucking Pit, or would he be shown a glimpse of the living death which was to be his fate?

  The roaring in his ears was louder still, drowning Carl Wickers' ballad. He couldn't hear the gypsies' funeral chant either. Oh God, any second now and he would feel the icy water close over him, claim him. Pamela, too.

  His thoughts switched to her. She was too beautiful to die like this, snatched from his grasp by an ancient curse. He tried to struggle but his captor's grip was too firm, the strength of three ordinary men. Death had not changed C
ornelius.

  Blackness seared by flashing light, the storm was building up to its peak. Cascading water, icy cold, thunder crashing as though huge cannons were opening up in the heavens above. You felt their force, their power, realised just how weak you were.

  Cornelius had stopped. Latimer opened his eyes but it was too dark to make out his surroundings. Wait for the next flash of lightning; like one of those old Frankenstein films they repeatedly showed on late-night TV. Wait for the lightning, we can't begin without it. Corny until it happened to you.

  They must be on the edge of the Sucking Pit, the end of the road. Tensing in anticipation, preparing for the shock of cold black water claiming him. Fighting, trying to reach Pamela before they were sucked down. Facing the end together. For God's sake get it over with!

  Thunder again but no lightning. Funny, it sounded somehow different, muffled like an underground explosion; taking longer to die away this time. Latimer felt the vibrations, a shuddering that came up at him, had his entire body quivering. Crying out because it hurt, hearing Pamela's scream but it was drowned in the roar of another rumbling; building up instead of subsiding, every bone seeming to quiver, shake. And again, more powerful this time.

  Suddenly Latimer was falling, called on every reflex to brace himself. No, that was wrong, you should relax, soften the impact. Any second he would hit the water, go under. Strike out, search for Pamela immediately. Another fear, suppose she couldn't swim. It wouldn't make any difference because they were both going to drown anyway. He'd read somewhere that drowning was a pleasant way to die.

  Impact, jarring his shoulder. Something was wrong; his brain had slowed up and it took him a second or two to work it out. There wasn't any water, he was lying in sodden marsh grass, still able to breathe, not even having to swim and cling despairingly to the last few seconds of life!

  Wallowing in mud, so dark he could not see what was happening. Where was Cornelius? And Pamela? Why had they not been thrown into the Sucking Pit?

  Torrential rain lashed his face as he clambered to his knees, sensed those tremendous vibrations again, a quivering that began in his legs and travelled upwards, electric shock treatment on full voltage, numbing mind and body. Oh God, where was Pamela?

  Thunder, but nothing when compared with the rumblings and shakings that came from below ground. He staggered to his feet and it was all he could do to keep his balance. Swaying, groping for something to hold on to. Then his hand touched living human flesh, fingers that gripped and clutched him and he gave a shout of relief.

  ‘Pamela!’

  ‘Chris!’ She was holding on to him, yelling something, but the tearing gale whipped her words away before they reached him. Latimer stepped forward, feeling his way, fighting against the elements, afraid that at any second they might blunder into the Sucking Pit, totally disorientated. What had happened to Cornelius?

  A blinding flash of sheet lightning illuminated the scene, a second of heavenly neon lighting that had them shielding their eyes but it was enough to tell them all they wanted to know, seeing but still not believing; staring aghast.

  Cornelius was gone, as was that watching group of gypsies, nor was there any sign of Jenny Lawson. Nor Carl and Samantha. Nobody; gone as surely as if the forces that had lured them here had whisked them away. Just Chris Latimer and Pamela, floundering in a wasteland that was already awash and flooding fast.

  The sand mounds to their right were disintegrating, breaking up arid avalanching as the rain lashed them, turning them into rivulets that ran red and fast as though with a bloody carnage. The ground shook, cracks were appearing and swallowing the gushing torrents, filling up and then opening still further to take the volume of water. And beneath their feet the sodden surface shook as though hundreds of pneumatic drills were at work, boring upwards from the bowels of the earth.

  Chris Latimer held on to Pamela, dragged her along with him, now had a sense of direction. Their only chance of survival lay to the left but they had to hurry. Even now they might not make it to higher ground before the inevitable landslide caught up with them.

  It was impossible to rim. Once they sank into a bog up to their knees, almost panicked as they fought to extricate themselves. Water swirled around them, gurgling as though with triumph at having caught them, but they dragged themselves free and splashed on their way.

  Another vivid flash, vicious forked lightning this time, zigzagging down out of the sky, spluttering and fusing as it struck water, hissing angrily as though it had met with the demons in the Sucking Pit. The wind howled, cries of anguish from the damned, howls of despair from hell itself.

  Chris felt himself tiring, only his determination, the will to live, driving him on, for Pamela's sake; he did not even know if she was still conscious. At any second the ground might split open, catapult them down into a deep abyss, bury them as surely as the Sucking Pit would have done. The surface was shaking more violently now, the water from the quarries flowing faster and faster. A tremendous crashing sound; that had to be the big mound going, yielding to a mightier force.

  Running, summoning his very last reserves of strength, half-carrying his companion, trailing her legs. Oh please God, it isn't far now. The surface heaved up, settled back down again, and suddenly the ground beneath their feet was firm and hard. Walking, staggering, their feet no longer sinking in, scraping on bare rock. Keep going, you can't afford to stop. You're not clear yet; stop here and you die.

  Climbing on bare wet ground but it was solid. Dragging themselves along a yard at a time until finally they could go no further. Arms around each other they sank down, weeping their relief unashamedly.

  Once again the elements revealed to them the scene below, had them gasping their disbelief and trying to tell themselves that they hadn't really been down there. The ultimate in desolation, a whole landscape being washed away, avalanching, flattening. Burying the Sucking Pit!

  It had stopped raining; the wind had dropped, the storm had moved on elsewhere and the moon had ventured out again, almost apologetically casting its ethereal glow over the area. A trickle of running water somewhere, but no other sound. So peaceful.

  ‘What .. happened?’ Pamela's white face was streaked with sandy mud and she knew that she would not be able to stand without Chris's help. Mentally and physically drained, too exhausted to comprehend clearly. Perhaps it was better that way, sparing her the anguish.

  ‘Subsidence.’ He found himself whispering. ‘At least, that's what the surveyors' findings will be, land quarried until it couldn't take any more, undermined and weakened. And all that was needed to cause it to collapse was one tremendous thunderstorm.’

  ‘But the trees and …’

  ‘In our own minds -’ he looked away. ‘- like Cornelius and Jenny Lawson. Something we'll never, ever know. Gone, just as the Sucking Pit is gone, destroyed for ever. We got caught up in it but we were spared. Why, I don't know.’

  ‘Carl and Samantha …’ Pamela's voice quavered. ‘They … they're buried down there too.’

  ‘I'm afraid so. Maybe they were already dead before, the living dead, because they looked into the eyes of a witch by the name of Jenny Lawson. We'll never know, perhaps it's best not to. Neither can we tell what we've seen tonight unless we want a lengthy spell in a mental hospital. We just have to leave everybody else to figure it out, try and come to their own conclusions. And nobody will even remotely guess the truth. The only people who have won are the villagers. They've got their land back and it won't be built on now. It'll just be left to Nature to repair the damage.’

  His arm came around Pamela, pulled her close. Tonight had been a nightmare, tomorrow they must try to forget it, not that they ever would. The Sucking Pit had risen, spread violence and death, and now it was buried again. They prayed that it would stay that way, interred in its own grave, the spirits of the evil Romanies laid in their final resting place.

  Two people walking out of Hopwas Wood in the moonlight; the only survivors. They wouldn't be going b
ack. Ever.

  * * *

  [i] See The Sucking Pit (Book Details)

  [ii] See The Sucking Pit (Book Details)

  [iii] See The Sucking Pit (Book Details)

  The End

  Thank you for purchasing this ebook.

  I hope you enjoyed the read!.

  Guy.

  This ebook is the thirty-fourth book to be published as part of a project to convert Guy's entire back catalogue to ebook format. Beginning July 2010 it is expected to have all books available by the end of 2012.

  The list of books so far published is :

  1. Werewolf by Moonlight.

  2. The Sucking Pit.

  3. The Slime Beast.

  4. Night of the Crabs.

  5. The Truckers 1 - The Black Knights.

  6. The Truckers 2 - Hi-Jack!.

  7. Return of the Werewolf.

  8. Bamboo Guerillas.

  9. Killer Crabs.

  10. Bats Out of Hell.

  11. The Son of the Werewolf.

  12. Locusts.

  13. The Origin of the Crabs.

  14. Caracal.

  15. Thirst.

  16. Deathbell.

  17. Satan's Snowdrop.

  18. Doomflight.

  19. Warhead.

  20. Manitou Doll.

  21. Wolfcurse.

  22. Crabs On The Rampage.

  23. The Pluto Pact.

  24. Entombed.

  25. The Lurkers.

  26. Sabat 1: The Graveyard Vultures.

  27. Sabat 2: The Blood Merchants.

  28. Sabat 3: Cannibal Cult.

  29. Blood Circuit.

  30. Accursed.

  31. Sabat 4: The Druid Connection.

  32. The Undead.