Blind Shadows

by James A. Moore

  Anyway, enough of those sorts of thoughts. Time to clamp down on all emotions except one. Anger. Time to think about Jerry Wallace and the other victims of the othersiders. What Griffin needed now was a cold rage. Not the sort of anger that made people reckless, but the kind that gave them a singleness of purpose. Given his nature, it didn’t take much to achieve that.

  Griffin left the living room and went downstairs to the basement. Here he crossed to the far corner where pegboards had once held his tools and lawn care equipment. Some of it was still there, but he had taken what he wanted to the apartment and given much of it away when he had left the house. He hadn’t thought he would be coming back. Not to stay. But he still used the place for storage of certain things.

  Griffin reached behind the pegboard and turned a hidden latch. The pegboard swung away, revealing a recess set into the wall. Here Griffin kept a few weapons that were too big or too dangerous for an apartment. He lifted out a Mossberg semi-auto shotgun, and then stood for a minute, looking at the weapons rack. Did he want a claymore? No. He decided on a couple of fragmentation grenades. Hell, Decamp had made good use of one. For a moment he considered an Uzi, but decided against it. He tended to stay away from machine guns for the most part. They weren’t much use in the kind of covert operations he generally took part in. If he needed that kind of firepower it meant that he had done something wrong to begin with.

  Griffin put the shotgun and the grenades into a big canvas bag and threw in a Gerber hunting knife. He would add the .357 and a bunch of ammo and shotgun shells when he got upstairs. That reminded him that he needed to call Carl and tell him to bring something that would chamber .38 rounds. Decamp had provided plenty of the special bullets. For a moment, Griffin wondered where Decamp was getting that much ammo. Then he decided it was better not to know. Everybody had secrets. Lord knew he had enough of his own.

  * * *

  Carl pulled up at Wade’s place around the same time everything started going to hell. The report about Frank Blackbourne made the radio even as Wade was heading for the car.

  “We have to go! Shit just hit the fan.”

  Wade didn’t question. Instead he nodded and held out a very large canvas bag. “Pop the trunk.”

  Carl nodded and felt the weight of the vehicle shift when Wade set down his package. The truck was riding a bit lower right now. Between the two of them they had enough ordnance to level half of Wellman.

  Wade climbed in on the passenger’s side a moment later, looking as awkward about being on that side of the car as Carl usually felt when someone else was driving. This was easier, frankly. They needed to talk and they needed to decide what the hell they were going to do when they got where they were going. Assuming Frank was still there and kicking, they would need a plan. Assuming that he was gone—far more likely as they were a ways off—they needed to decide how they were handling the whole situation. There was some doubt that the caves were the right place to be, but after having been inside the caves, Carl remained uncertain. It sure as hell felt like there was still something in there, down in that damned well at the center of the cave.

  The sirens went on and the flashers, too. The radio was chattering constantly, letting him know that the situation wasn’t looking great at Mooney’s Bluff.

  * * *

  The busses pulled into the parking lot of the diner amid the hiss of air brakes and the rumble of diesel engines.

  From across the square—half hidden by the decorations and the growing crowd of people—Jolene looked at them and smiled.

  “Oh, does it get better than that? Seriously?” She looked at her cousin Lorne and smiled.

  Lorne didn’t smile back. He seldom smiled and when he did, most wise people ran for the hills.

  “I thought there was only one.”

  “Me too, but isn’t this even better?” She frowned.

  “Be better if I had someone else to drive the second bus.”

  “You always look at the negative, don’t you?”

  “Busses don’t drive themselves, child. And half the family is locked away.”

  Jolene pulled out her cell phone and looked at the time. “Not for much longer.”

  Lorne shook his head. “Let me see if Parson is available.” Without asking he took Jolene’s phone and dialed. She didn’t argue with him. She just wasn’t that foolish.

  “You take care of that.” She smiled and stood up. “I’ll go say hello to Vince.” When she walked the sway in her hips was more pronounced than usual. Not exaggerated so much as more obvious. She was on the prowl.

  Vince Cleburne stood outside of his bus as his passengers disembarked, and he smiled when he saw Jolene. He always smiled when he saw her. It was kind of cute. He was not at all cute, but his expression almost made up for it.

  “Look at you, darlin’.” His voice was a drawl and he took his time drinking her in. Because it was Halloween, Jolene had dressed herself up as a witch, complete with pointy hat and a very short black dress. To help with her modesty there were fishnet stockings and high heeled black boots that she had liberated from her mother’s closet. Siobhan would be far too busy to notice that they were missing.

  One meaty arm wrapped around her shoulders and Jolene put on her best smile. She was good at smiling. She had to be.

  “You like it? I got it just for you.” She poked him in the chest with one black lacquered nail, and let that single digit trail halfway down his stomach. The man practically drooled.

  “Jesus, that’s enough to make me feel a little sick.” The voice came from behind Vince and Jolene had the good sense to step back before Lorne reached forward. Lorne’s hand slid through the driver’s back like it was passing into water. Vince jerked, his mouth stretched in an expression of exquisite pain.

  Lorne was especially good at murder. He was actually in town as a favor to Jolene, because she needed someone who could drive the bus, but he was very good at other things, too. His pale white hand came out of Vince’s back covered in a thick stream of red. Without a moment’s consideration, he started licking the blood away like a cat cleaning his paw.

  “I was gonna play with him.” Jolene pouted and stomped her foot.

  Lorne looked at her in the semi-darkness, his eyes glowing against his pale skin. “He stinks. Besides, we’re on a schedule.”

  “Did you get Parson?” As soon as she realized pouting wasn’t going to get her anywhere, Jolene turned off the attempt and shook her head.

  “He’s coming. He’ll be here in five minutes.”

  “That gives us about ten minutes to handle the other driver.” Jolene looked toward the diner. She didn’t know the other man at all. He was probably reassigned just for the overflow.

  Two busses. Her mother would be so pleased.

  Maybe that would make up for the fact that she stole the boots.

  Jolene spotted a couple of men she’d never seen before. They were pretty and they looked to have money. “You need me for anything else or have you got this?”

  Lorne looked her way. “What? You’re not coming along?”

  She gave him a look that said she’d just smelled something nasty. “No. Momma won’t let me. Says I’ll just cause trouble.”

  Lorne smiled and revealed a mouthful of teeth that looked capable of chewing through bone. “You? Where would she get that notion?”

  She gave him a one finger salute and headed for the strangers. They were both looking around for some trouble to get into. She knew the type very well. The good news for them was that she wanted to get into a little trouble, too.

  The maybe not as good news? She was very, very good at getting into trouble.

  By the time she’d introduced herself to the two men and convinced them that they had, in fact, introduced themselves to her, Lorne and Parson were climbing aboard the busses.

  She was glad she got to miss Parson. He was a creepy bastard at the best of times.

  * * *

  Griffin had seen some carnage in his time. More th
an most people. As a result he didn’t feel queasy, as many would have, when confronted with the separated upper and lower halves of one of Carl’s deputies. He felt regret, yes, and amazement at the sheer strength of whoever had done this.

  Carl was a different story. These were his men. His face, already haggard, had taken on a kind of grim determination. He knelt by a second body. This one seemed to have had his skull shattered from the front. There was little now left that resembled a human face. Carl looked up at Griffin and said, “This stops now, Wade. Whatever it takes.”

  “Agreed. You figure it was Frank Blackbourne who did this?”

  “Had to be. I’ve never seen anyone that strong.”

  Griffin’s next remark was cut off by the arrival of two cruisers and an ambulance. A young deputy with curly brown hair approached the bodies and promptly turned and threw up in the bushes.

  Carl said. “You men help the paramedics get these bodies back to town. And show some respect, damn it. These were brother officers.”

  The kid who had lost his lunch looked ashamed as well as green, and he hurried to help the other officers. Griffin said, “Frank appears to be gone, but let’s be sure. He could have gone into the caves.”

  “Don’t know that he’d fit,” Carl said, “And I doubt that makeshift ladder the boys rigged would hold him. Still, better have a look.”

  Griffin began to attach a flashlight to the top of the Mossberg. “You got those shells I gave you loaded?”

  Carl hefted his own shotgun, a Beretta gas operated semi-auto. “Yeah and the .38s are in my sidearm. What’s in them?”

  “Stuff that kills monsters. At least the ones that are in our dimension.”

  “Works for me.” Carl looked back at his men. He said, “No one follows us in. You get the bodies together and get out of here. And if a guy about the size of a beer truck shows up, you do not engage him. Do not. Get the hell away from him. Is that clear?

  There was a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and Carl nodded. “Good.” He snapped a flashlight onto his shotgun and disengaged the safety. “Let’s get going.”

  Without another word, Griffin went up the shaky ladder. It looked like it had once belonged to the Wellman Fire Dept. He reached the top, ducked his head, and stepped into the cave mouth. Carl was right behind him. Griffin thumbed the flashlight on and held the shotgun at the ready. Beside him Carl was also in target acquisition stance. It was strangely like the days when they were cops together, and though it had been years since they had been partners, they fell into their usual positions as if they had just cleared a crack house together days ago.

  The tunnel was low and just wide enough that two men could walk side by side. Griffin saw a side tunnel branching off ahead. He nodded at Carl, then shone his light down the tunnel, keeping his body clear of the opening. He thought he caught some movement way down the tunnel, but a moment later it was gone. They passed the tunnel and moved deeper into the main shaft.

  “Doesn’t look like Frank’s been this way,” Griffin said.

  “No,” said Carl, “But the tunnel widens out into a big chamber and he could be in there. Watch yourself. There’s a big hole in the middle of the floor.”

  Griffin stepped into the wide chamber and turned his light on the floor. He said, “This looks like the hole I found inside the Blackbourne house. There’s a draft blowing up out of it, which means it leads somewhere.”

  “Looks pretty deep,’ said Carl.

  “Yeah, I can see bottom but it’s too far to jump. If we want to check it out, we’ll have to come back with some climbing gear.”

  Carl said, “Back to the entrance then. Once we’re out, I’ll call dispatch and see if there’s been any further sign of Frank.”

  As they moved back up the tunnel, Griffin said, “Can you believe we went to school with some of this family? Were they always this weird?”

  “Some of them. Others were no stranger than anyone else. At least not that I could tell. The men always seemed to be more odd than the women.”

  “Yeah, my uncle Paul used to go on about some Blackbourne girl he knew in school.”

  Looking back, Griffin could forgive himself for becoming distracted. He and Carl had more or less cleared the tunnel on the way in. But in the casual conversation with an old friend, Griffin had forgotten the movement he thought he had seen down the side tunnel, so when 300 or so pounds of dead white flesh came hurtling out of that tunnel he was caught flatfooted. A fist the size of a gallon jug slammed into him, sending him flying. The shotgun clattered away.

  Carl raised his own shotgun, but the pale one slapped the barrel upward and the charge went into the ceiling, bringing a rain of rocks and dust. The pale one locked one giant hand around Carl’s gun and ripped it away. In the light from the dropped gun, Griffin got a good look at their attacker. Unlike most of the pale folk he had seen so far, who were gaunt to the point of emaciation, this one was wide and thick, with massive shoulders and huge arms. One of those arms was about half again as long as the other.

  His skull was misshapen, so that he seemed to have very little cranium above his eyes, giving him the look of a Neanderthal returned from the past. A giant, white Neanderthal with mottled skin and eyes that glowed like foxfire. Like all the others Griffin had met, he smelled like he had been dead for a couple of weeks.

  Carl shoulder-rushed the pale one, gaining enough room to throw a decent punch to the thing’s jaw. The Moon-Eye staggered back and Carl hit him in the gut. The Moon-Eye grunted and backhanded Carl, knocking him off his feet. Griffin was up and he reached the two just as the pale one was trying to stomp Carl’s head. Griffin shuffled in and slammed his elbow into the thing’s head, knocking it away from Carl.

  The Moon-Eye swung its longer arm, fingers extended, claw-like nails raking for Griffin’s eyes. Griffin rolled his shoulder up, taking the blow there, then he lunged in with a low, straight kick to the Moon-Eye’s knee. There was a loud, snapping sound and Griffin felt the shock run up his leg as the pale one’s massive knee popped out of joint. The thing fell, but it wasn’t done. Howling, it lurched forward, grabbing at Griffin and trying to pull him down. Just then, Carl stepped up, put his .38 against the pale one’s temple and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.

  “Freeze,” said Carl to the dead Moon-Eye, “This is the police.”

  * * *

  “You know, Wade,” Carl said. “I’m getting a little tired of being used as a punching bag.”

  “We got caught off guard. We have to do better or we won’t make it through this.” He could still feel the adrenaline high from the fight and from getting a good look at the thing that had attacked them. It had been even less human looking than he had originally thought. Its longer arm seemed to have two elbow joints and its hips had been oddly wide as well. Decamp had told him that the original Moon-Eyes, the ones left from the old days, were primarily humanoid in shape. But the others he and Carl had run into seemed to be mutations of some sort. Were they closer to the actual inhabitants of the other side, whatever the hell that was?

  The two men were sitting on the tailgate of Carl’s truck, still in sight of the cave. They had taken the time to make a full sweep of the side tunnel after the Moon-Eye’s attack, but it was a dead end and there were no other signs of pale folk or anyone else. Still, they had decided it best to wait outside the cave, and they had pulled the ladder away for good measure.

  Griffin checked his watch. It was a little before seven in the evening. “Be dark soon.”

  Carl said, “Yep and things seem to have calmed down, at least here on the bluff. I haven’t heard anyone screaming in a while, anyway.”

  Griffin ignored his friend’s grim jest. “Yeah, well sundown means it’s for sure All Hallow’s Eve.”

  “Thought your buddy Decamp said we probably had until the late night.”

  “He did, but he did say probably. He also mentioned that something seems to be different this time with the othersider’s plans. As u
sual I got the feeling he knew something he wasn’t telling me”

  Carl said, “Seems to be his pattern. I don’t know what else we can do. We can try and keep them from using the bluff for their ceremony, but that doesn’t guarantee they don’t have an alternate location. No word from Decamp on that, I guess?”

  Griffin shook his head. “Checked my phone once we were out of the cave. No calls.”

  “Well, I got close to a hundred men spread out between the Hollow and this spot. If anything gets past them they still have to get past you and me.”

  “Comforting thought.”

  “Isn’t it just.”

  * * *

  Crawford’s Hollow was a desolate place that day as the sun set. Not desolate in location, but desolate in feeling. The locals were still recovering from the massive number of the arrests that had taken place and while there were a good number of deserved incarcerations, a few people might have protested that they’d done little or nothing wrong—the law is sometimes gray for people, especially when they find themselves on the wrong side of it.

  Those that could posted bail. In Crawford’s Hollow, where the average income was south of impoverished and slightly north of financially destitute, that wasn’t very many. By and large the people who lived in the Hollow weren’t there by choice, the sole exception being most of the Blackbournes.