The air got steadily warmer, almost uncomfortably so, and Fred breathed in an acrid tang that immediately brought to mind Charlie’s story of the dump sites he’d found in the shafts.
“Maybe this ain’t such a good idea, Bill,” he said.
The Sheriff slowed, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m starting to think that myself,” the big man replied. “Take a few seconds. I want to try the radio again.”
“Ain’t gonna get no signal down here, boss,” Fred said, and then stopped when he saw the look on the Sheriff’s face. The man needed to try something, anything.
Bill flicked on the handset.
“This is Sheriff Wozniak. If anyone can hear me, come back.”
He pressed the receive button and they waited. There was nothing but the hiss of static. He was about to press it again when the static cleared and a voice Fred had never expected to hear again spoke.
“Is that you, boss?”
Charlie?
“Good to hear you, old man,” the sheriff replied. Where are you?”
“Damned if I know. We fell into the hole; then the rest started coming down on top of us. We’ve been wandering around for a while, and I found another one of the feds’ trucks. That’s where we are now.”
“Anybody else there with you?”
“Got Ellen here. She’s banged up, but walking. There’s some dead folks too.”
“Anything you can use? Weapons?”
“I got a rifle and some light. And tell Doc we’ve got more morphine.”
“Can you get up to safety?”
“Nope.”
That one word spoke volumes. Fred knew Charlie well enough to hear the near despair in it, despite not being able to see the old man’s face.
“Stay put. We’re coming back up,” Bill said.
“Back up? How far down have you got?”
“We found some cart tracks. Reckon we’re in old Hopman’s workings. It certainly smells like it.”
“Then stay put,” Charlie replied. “We passed an exit a couple of minutes ago where I caught a whiff of something I recognized. We’re coming to you. Over and out.”
* * *
They stood, huddled close, waiting for any noise of approach. The sheriff shone the flashlight back up the tunnel and Fred tried to breathe calmly, despite his whole body wanting to either run, or hide…or both. He expected at any instant for a horde of pale figures to advance out of the darkness.
“Fred is dead,” a voice said, but whether it was close or far it was hard to tell in the narrow tunnel.
“I don’t like this one bit, Big Bill,” Fred said. “We can’t stay here.”
Sarah gripped his hand tighter as the sheriff replied.
“We’ll give them a couple of minutes. We can’t just leave them here.”
Why not? We did just that not too long ago.
He immediately felt ashamed of himself for the thought. He dug in his pocket and brought out a crumpled cigarette packet, having to smooth a smoke out before lighting it and sucking in a lungful that immediately dispelled the acrid tang. That, and the fact they were not under immediate attack, managed to give him some kind of control, but he was far from calm, even before the voice came again.
“Weemean.”
Shadows gathered just beyond the range of the sheriff’s light.
“Charlie?” Big Bill shouted. “Is that you?”
“Fred is dead,” a choir of voices replied.
A score of red demons walked forward, stopping at the farthest range of the light.
“Weemean.”
It had come to resemble a chant, rising in a repeated chorus that echoed around them.
“Back,” Bill said. “Head down the tunnel. I’m right behind you.”
Fred tried to lead the way, but Bill had to keep the light on the advancing demons, and Fred was only able to see a few yards ahead. He was forced to walk slowly.
Wouldn’t do to go falling into any holes.
Behind him, Bill cursed, and fired a short volley of bullets back up the tunnel, the sound almost deafening in the confined space.
“We need to go faster,” Doc shouted.
“Then we need some light this way,” Fred replied. “It ain’t safe otherwise.”
Bill fired another short burst back up the corridor, turned and sent a wash of light down the tunnel. It looked safe for at least twenty yards.
“Twenty paces,” he said to Fred. “Then give me a shout, and we’ll do it all again.”
“Yes, boss,” Fred said.
They repeated the twenty-pace routine five times, each time with Bill sending a volley of shots back up the tunnel before turning and lighting the way ahead. Fred, with Sarah still gripping tight to his hand, kept his eyes forward, peering into the gloom.
He felt warmer air on his face, just before the corridor took a sharp turn that opened out—a fact he only knew from the echoes that ran around them.
“Bill, I need some light.”
By now all four of them had entered what proved to be another small chamber, one with two other exits. Bill also shone the light up above, but this wasn’t a collapsed hole; a rock ceiling hung three feet overhead.
The demons’ chant came down the tunnel they had just exited.
“Weemean.”
It was answered from both the other exits, close and getting closer fast.
“Weemean.”
“Get in a group,” Bill shouted, and they moved to huddle together in the center of the chamber, just as the entrances of all three tunnels filled with the press of red demons.
“Weemean.”
* * *
They all moved in rotation as Bill tried to maintain a travelling beam of light that would wash over all three entrances and keep the attack at bay. But there were too many of them; the demons came forward en masse, crowding into the chamber.
Sarah screamed; Bill fired a volley of shots, and the demons chant became almost deafening.
“Weemean. Weemean.”
“We’re going left,” Bill shouted. “In three, two, one. Move!”
They all moved as one. Fred had to tug Sarah sharply towards him as two pairs of arms reached for her, and the shift of weight almost threw them both off their feet. Fred staggered, almost fell, and then was running just behind Bill and Doc, Sarah still gripping tight to his hand. The sound of the rifle boomed around them, along with an accompanying roar of defiance from both Bill and, joining him almost immediately, Doc.
The passageway directly ahead was filled with red bodies, melting away under the strength of the light and the force of the bullets.
More demons pressed behind the fallen.
Big Bill kept running, trying to reload the weapon as he did so. Sarah tripped again, and Fred had to drag her to her feet, and swing her away from more grasping hands. The demons were right behind them.
We’re not going to make it.
Another burst of rifle fire sounded out, and Fred was confused at first, for Bill was still trying to reload.
“Close your eyes,” a well-known voice shouted, and seconds later the chamber flared into blazing light. Fred saw yellow spots in front of his eyes, felt fresh heat on his face.
“Over here,” the voice called. Charlie, with Ellen Simmons at his side, stood in one of the cave entrances, his feet covered in sloughing gloop. A rescue flare burned in the chamber just off to the left. “Come on,” Charlie shouted. “It won’t burn forever.”
Fred led Sarah into the tunnel, feet splashing among what was left of the demons, half-blind from the aftereffects of the flare burst. Doc followed. Bill stopped beside Charlie.
“Good to see you again, old man,” the sheriff said.
“You can thank me later,” Charlie said. Outside in the cavern the flare fizzled and steamed, burning itself out. Shadows grew darker.
“Weemean,” the chorus sounded from the passageways, deep and mournful.
“Time to go,” Charlie replied. He took another flare from the pocket
of a flak jacket, pulled the thread and tossed it just past the mouth of the tunnel where they stood. “Lead on, Bill.”
“Where are we headed?”
“Down. As far down as we can go. It’s the only way out that I know of.”
They turned away as the second flare exploded in light. It threw flickering shadows ahead of them as they descended.
There was no time for questions. The sheriff led the way, with Doc at his side. Fred and Sarah, still hand in hand, followed, with Charlie and the Simmons woman bringing up the rear. Charlie barked out directions every time they came to a junction in an authoritative voice that brooked no argument.
They went down.
There was no further sign of the demons, but they heard them well enough, the chant, constant now, coming down the tunnel behind them.
Weemean.
“Shouldn’t we be going up?” Sarah whispered.
Fred didn’t answer. He was remembering an earlier conversation with Charlie, back before everything went to hell. Charlie had been talking about old man Hopman.
He had some kind of operation going on down at the deepest level.
“I think I know where Charlie’s heading,” he finally replied. “But I ain’t too sure we’re going to like what we find there.”
23
Janet stayed close to Big Bill as they headed down. It was getting warmer, and drier. The air tasted like stale smoke, tickling at the back of her throat. The flickering beam of the rifle-mounted flashlight started to give her a tension headache behind her left eye. She looked down, concentrating on the ground underfoot, following the parallel tracks. They were clearer here, as if used more recently.
It seemed that Charlie was following the same route. Every direction he gave always had a set of tracks at their feet. Janet saw signs that they were in worked tunnels; shoring timbers, tool marks on the rock, and even a small pile of ancient cigarette butts against the wall. And it became even more obvious when they passed through a completely timbered section and walked past an overturned cart that was too rusted up to move.
“Nearly there,” Charlie called out. “Just keep moving.”
Nearly where?
The chanting behind them seemed farther away now, as if whatever had attacked them had given up the chase. Now that there was some distance from the event, Janet’s thoughts turned from immediate survival to trying to rationalize what happened. But no matter how much she wanted it to make sense, a solution continued to elude her. Matters did not become any clearer when they arrived at the destination Charlie had been leading them to.
She knew they were there when Bill stopped suddenly, and swore loudly.
“Shit, Charlie. Where have you brought us?”
They looked out over a larger chamber. The far side was dominated by what looked like a recent collapse. What little light there was came up out of the hole, red and flickering, as if there were flames burning in the deep. Charlie and Ellen Simmons joined the other four at the tunnel mouth, looking out. The older man pointed to the left. There were two further tunnels there.
“The left one is a bunker, I think; old man Hopman’s bolt hole. The right one leads to a storeroom, then up and out to daylight. That’s the way we go.”
“What was over there?” Fred Grant asked, pointing at the smoking hole.
“That was where the old man dumped all the chemical shit. We shouldn’t go anywhere near it.”
Janet almost laughed.
“I wasn’t about to,” she said.
Big Bill looked up the tunnel behind them.
“You take the lead this time, Charlie. You know where you’re going. I’ll watch our backs.”
Janet hung back as the others moved out so that she could stay beside Bill.
Charlie led them around the wall of the cavern. He walked past the leftmost entrance without a glance. When Janet passed it, she glanced into the tunnel mouth. There was indeed a heavy iron door there, less than six feet away. It was closed, and despite her curiosity, she felt no immediate desire to see if it was locked. With Bill at her back she followed the others into the right-hand tunnel.
* * *
The walls flickered with dancing shadows on a shifting red background, like a disco in a nightmare. Charlie raised a clenched fist, and went still. The rest took their cue from the older man and stopped. The only sound was a distant crackle of flames.
Then they heard it, coming from straight ahead, the now-feared chant, coming from a multitude of voices.
“Weemean.”
The chant got closer.
Charlie looked around.
“Fight or flight?” he asked. He held two flares in his spare hand, the rifle in the other. “This is all we’ve got.”
“I can’t go back the way we came,” Ellen Simmons said, a note of pleading in her voice. “I just can’t.”
“And for once, I’m with Ellen,” Janet said in reply. “We’ve got to keep going forward.”
Charlie looked to Fred, who in turn looked to Sarah. The girl nodded.
“We girls need to stick together. Onward and upward.”
Bill laughed.
“You heard the womenfolk, Charlie. Lead on.”
Charlie threw Bill a salute.
“Just be ready to fall back if I say so,” the older man replied. “This ain’t the time for heroics, and I ain’t in a hurry to see any more dead folks.”
Without another word Charlie turned and started up the tunnel. Janet was surprised to see Ellen Simmons follow him, almost close enough to touch.
Something has happened there.
She wasn’t given time to think about it. Charlie led them into another open chamber. This one was a storeroom, and one that had been in use up until recently. There were dozens of large barrels of water, stacked containers of gasoline, and boxes of canned and dried food.
“What is this shit?” Fred Grant asked in a whisper.
Charlie turned back.
“I told you. Old Man Hopman had a bunker down here. And it looks like the family kept it stocked over the years since then. I guess paranoia runs in the family.”
Or madness.
She didn’t say it, for just then the chant rose again, coming out of the only other exit from the storeroom. Heavy footsteps, many of them, came closer at a run.
“Weemean.”
“Here we go,” Charlie said. “Get ready to run.” He stepped forward and flooded the tunnel ahead with light. As the first demon appeared he gripped the string on one of the flares, but didn’t pull it. More demons joined the first, then more still until a mass of them started to flood from the tunnel mouth.
“For God’s sake, Charlie!” Ellen Simmons shouted. The old man grinned, blew her a kiss, and pulled the string, in the same movement lobbing the flare into the approaching creatures.
Janet remembered to look away and close her eyes. She still got a bright yellow flash against her eyelids and a blast of heat on her face. There were no screams; no sound from the attackers. But when Janet opened her eyes, there was only an expanding puddle of gloop on the floor.
“Run!” Charlie shouted, and headed for the tunnel. The others didn’t need a second telling. They followed the old man, splashing though the remains underfoot.
They didn’t get far. The tunnel took a sharp turn ten yards in, but even before they reached the turning they heard the chant coming down from above them, and more heavy footsteps on the rock. Charlie strode forward, pulled the string on the last flare and lobbed it round the corner. He turned back almost immediately.
“There’s no way out that way. Back the way we came. It’s our only hope.”
They retreated back as far as the cavern with the smoking pit, only to find that way too was blocked, as more demons streamed out to the tunnel they needed to take.
Charlie immediately moved to the only option available to them; the entrance leading to the iron door.
“What if it’s locked?” Ellen Simmons said.
‘Then we figh
t,” Charlie said grimly.
“Whatever you’re going to do, make it fast,” Bill said, as the six of them crammed into the space in front of the large door. Bill kept his weapon trained on the opening. The chant from beyond got louder again.
“Weemean.”
Charlie turned the handle on the door. Iron creaked and complained, and for a long second Janet thought it wasn’t going to open; then Charlie put his shoulder into it and the door swung open. They all but fell inside, slamming the door shut behind them just as the first of the demons slammed against it from the outside.
“Light. We need light,” Janet shouted.
Bill obliged by lighting up the door. A demon showed its face in the portal window and just as quickly dropped away as the beam hit it.
“Got it,” Charlie shouted. There was the sound of a switch being flicked, and suddenly everything got so bright that Janet’s eyes took seconds to adjust. When they did, she got her first look at Hopman’s bunker.
* * *
When Charlie had mentioned a bunker, Janet’s first thought was of a concrete subterranean dwelling, like a nuclear shelter, with maybe some retro-styled fittings from the Cold War era, but at least with some creature comforts.
What was in front of her was far from modern. It was little more than a modified cave, lit by neon tubes overhead. There were several alcoves; one with a camp bed, one with a basic stove and sink arrangement, and one with a writing desk and bookcase. But the floor space was totally dominated by the carving etched directly into the rock. She had to stand back to get a sense of what she was seeing, and her heart sank as she understood.
More of Bill’s demonic shit.
It was a pentagram, straight out of a Hollywood fantasy of satanic ritual, a five-pointed star with two external circles carved in a Cyrillic script Janet couldn’t read. Skulls, all too human, sat at each point of the star, and thick wax candles sat in the valleys between the points. The whole diagram was some ten feet across.
The Hole Page 17