Their path to the iron door, their route of escape, was completely blocked.
We have no way out.
26
Fred led Sarah away from the tunnel mouth. Charlie was already there, washing beams of light across a small army of demons that danced and capered around the edge of the fiery pit. He was doing enough to keep them at bay, for now.
“Fetch the gas,” Charlie shouted. “As much as you can get, as quick as you can get it.”
Fred headed up the tunnel to where the gas was stored. There was just enough light to see the stacked containers.
Sarah still stood at his side.
“You’ll have to let go of me, darlin’,” he said. “Just for a bit. But I promise, I ain’t going nowhere without you.”
The girl let go, moved away…and started lugging a gas canister, having to half carry, half drag it across the floor. Normally Fred would have helped her out. But Charlie had been insistent.
“Get a move on, lad,” the older man shouted from out in the main cavern. “I ain’t gonna be able to hold them for long.”
Fred looked up the tunnel; the one that they would have to use to escape. The walls showed signs of scorching where the flare had burned and raged, but there were no shifting shadows and no demons.
Not yet.
Fred lifted and carried in three separate short journeys with Sarah at his side. When they got back from the third trip, it was to find Ellen Simmons pouring the gas on the rock at her feet. The liquid slid downhill in a short stream that made a large puddle at the feet of the dancing demons and was already on the verge of overflowing and tumbling into the pit.
“Fire in the hole,” Charlie shouted, and flicked his lighter alit.
Just as he threw it into the stream of gas, they heard high chanting rise from inside the bunker, coming clear even through the iron door.
27
Janet found the ritual in the journal just as the growing pool of gloop on the floor crept within inches of the outer protective circle. She stuttered over the first words, but found a rhythm that seemed apt, and almost sang out the unfamiliar sounds.
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
It was as if they stood inside a giant bell. The chamber rang and resonated, echoing the ritual back at her, amplifying and enhancing it until a whole chorus of voices joined in the chanting. Bill surprised her by lending his own voice to the effort. He moved beside her and put an arm around her waist as they chanted.
The gloop retreated away from the edges of the circle.
This might actually work.
28
The flame ran across the cavern floor and the nearest group of demons went up in a whoosh of heat and light and screaming. Fred felt a burst of burning air in his face, and smelled burnt hair at the same time as he felt his eyebrows curl. He turned his face away as the flash threatened to blind him, and when he looked back, there was no sign of any demons around the crater. Gray smoke rose from burning tissue; all that was left of the things that had stood there seconds earlier.
The chanting from the bunker rose to a new level of volume, so much so that it seemed to echo around them. An answering call came up out of the pit, piteous and wailing.
Weemean.
Charlie kicked over the remaining canisters, sending a flood of fire down over the edge.
The response was instantaneous. The walls shook, dislodging stones and pebbles in a rain around them. A rock struck Fred just above the brow and he felt warm blood run past his ear.
“Time to go,” Charlie said, and headed for the exit. Ellen Simmons followed him without question.
“What about Doc and Big Bill?” Fred said, starting to move for the iron door to the bunker.
Sarah pulled him away.
“She’s buying us time. That’s all she was ever going to do. And she knows it.”
He didn’t get close enough to see inside the bunker, but he heard two voices raised in unison. He felt the chant ring in his mind. It stayed with him as they fled.
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
29
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
The neon lights failed all at once, exploding in a burst of fragments that fell around Janet and Bill and causing the chant to falter and come to a halt.
Silence descended in the chamber. Darkness crept in the corners, and red eyes stared out at them.
Bill washed light from the gun where he could, but as soon as he passed a dark area, the shadows firmed again and demons came forward. He stepped away from Janet, obviously intent on getting closer to the alcoves. She tugged at his shirt.
“Stay in the circle,” Janet said. “We need to start the chant again.”
“We need to get out of here. Right now,” the sheriff replied, and sent a volley of shots towards the bookcase alcove where the shadows were thickest.
“No,” Janet said softly. “The chant is the only thing stopping it. If we leave now, it wins. We need to buy the others time to escape.”
She started to chant again, feeling her throat tear, but putting everything into it, almost a scream this time.
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
Bill looked her in the eye.
“Janet. We need to go.”
He put out a hand. She took it, and pulled him close. She couldn’t stop the chant; she knew to do so would be the end of them all. Bill pulled against her, but not for long. She saw it in his eyes first before she felt his body relax.
He’s staying.
The sheriff joined his voice to hers and once again the chamber rang with a chorus of chanting. Demons crowded all around the circle, red eyes flaring.
But none would cross the lines in the rock.
The encroaching figures moaned.
Weemean.
The floor underfoot shook, threatening to throw them off balance. Dust, then pebbles fell from the roof as the tremors increased. Janet kept chanting.
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
30
Fred and Sarah ran, hand in hand, just behind Charlie and Ellen Simmons. They met no resistance in the form of demons, but had more than enough to cope with from falling debris, shifting footing and a blast of noise from below that threatened to deafen them.
Weemean. Weemean.
It was only good luck and Charlie’s foreknowledge that brought them up and out into tunnels that were in better shape, better able to cope with what seemed to be an imminent collapse.
A new tremor hit, a big one, causing Sarah to stumble and fall against him. As he helped her up, she looked him in the eye, then kissed him, hard, on the lips.
“You’re stuck with me now, you know that, right?”
Fred kissed her back.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling. Let’s get out of here and get our lives started.”
They fled upward, into the light. Behind them the whole mine system began to collapse in on itself. They turned a final corner and emerged into watery morning sun, just as the tunnel fell in behind them with a soft crump and a puff of dust.
31
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.”
Janet’s voice faltered, her throat unable to take any more wounding, but Bill made up for it, bellowing out the chant at the top of his voice.
It feels like we’re in church. And in a way, maybe we are.
More rock fell from the roof. The iron door collapsed off its hinges as the rock supporting it fell away, and a sudden slip of rock left their position in the circle open, giving them a clear view to the pit outside. Where before the p
it had been filled with smoke and flame, now it was a rolling mass of tissue; the same material Janet was coming to know so well. It swayed and swelled, like a heavy sea. A dome formed in the center, rising up and taking shape, a tall figure, ten, twelve, sixteen feet tall, red wings sprouting from the back and unfolding until the wingtips touched the shaking walls on either side of the pit. Eyes the size of plates stared at them.
Weemean.
Janet had one last look at the journal, making sure she remembered the final phrase, the last act of the binding ritual.
“I love you,” she said to Bill. Then, with the last of her voice, called out, “Dhumna Ort!”
The last thing she saw was the demon collapse in on itself. Bill pulled her close as the roof fell in on them, and everything went away.
32
A chopper spotted them on the side of a collapse some twenty minutes later, and ten minutes after that they were in the air. Sarah leaned against Fred, her head on his shoulder. He patted her hair, but most of his attention was on the view out of the window.
At first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at; it took him several seconds to get his bearings. Then he saw the church, or rather what was left of it. It was now little more than a pile of rubble in the middle of what looked like a heavily ploughed field. Around it lay the remains of the town, now reduced to a series of fresh holes and collapsed houses. He was going to remark on it, but turned to see Charlie and Ellen in each other’s arms in a warm embrace.
Fred turned back to the window, and allowed himself a small smile before remembering what had been lost, and especially the companions they had so recently left in the mine.
Is it over? Is it really over?
The chopper brought them down on the edge of a makeshift hospital some way to the east of town. They were headed for the tents when they heard the distant rumble as bombs went off.
“Sounds like the army boys finally got their fingers out their asses,” Charlie said.
A tall plume of dust and smoke rose over the horizon. The ground underfoot trembled and shook, and Fred found that he was holding his breath, waiting for the vibration, the hum that would signal a fresh collapse. His heart raced, and all he wanted to do was run. Sarah gripped his hand, tight enough to bring pain.
The rumble receded, and the plume of smoke dispersed in the wind.
* * *
They spent several hours in the makeshift hospital as doctors and scientists prodded and poked and took more samples.
At one point Charlie looked over at Fred and winked.
“Looks like we both got lucky,” he said, pulling Ellen close to him and kissing her full on the lips. Fred could do little else but laugh.
“Yeah. But what I really need is a beer.”
He knew as he said it that he didn’t really mean it. What he needed was right next to him. He pulled Sarah close, and she snuggled against him. Suddenly beer was the farthest thing from his mind.
“What say we blow this place and find a bar?” Ellen said, and that got a laugh from all four of them.
Fred was feeling almost mellow, but the mood didn’t last. A uniformed officer came into the tent and walked purposefully towards them.
“Come with me,” he said, without a word of explanation.
“What if we don’t want to?” Ellen replied, showing the first sign in a while of the woman she had been before.
The man’s only reply was to put his hand on his pistol.
Charlie sighed.
“Looks like the beer will have to wait. Let’s see what’s in store for us now, shall we?”
They followed the army man out. A jeep waited outside the tent, and the officer motioned that they should get in.
“The general needs your opinion on something,” he said as they climbed into the seats. Then nobody spoke as they drove off through what was left of the town, taking detours around holes and collapsed buildings. The scale of what had happened shocked them all into silence for the whole length of the journey.
When the jeep stopped, Fred realized he was home; or as close to it as he was likely to get. He got out of the jeep and stood amid the ruin of the trailer park. They had come to a halt at the edge of a deep hole.
Is it the same one?
He didn’t want to get any closer, not knowing what he’d do if he looked down…and saw a mop of blonde hair down there in the dark. Wind whispered in his ears.
Weemean.
He almost jumped, but the others showed no signs of having heard anything.
“This is what the general wanted you to see,” the army man said, and motioned them over to peer down into the hole.
Fred followed the others reluctantly to the edge and looked over.
There was a forest of pods lining the walls, going down into the dark as far as they could see. Each pod was long and elongated, almost like a head of corn. And inside each a figure, barely formed, writhed and twisted, all of them eager to be born.
Fred turned away, trying not to vomit.
“Why don’t you just bomb the shit out of them too?” Charlie asked.
“The general needs to know,” the army man said, his voice soft. “Are these the townsfolk? The missing people?”
Charlie spat at the man’s feet.
“Do they look like people to you? You tell your general to get on with his slash and burn…and to do it right quick, before this spreads as far as County.”
It was only then that Fred noticed the worry lining the officer’s face.
“County have got enough problems,” he whispered. “Seems like everybody in the state is coming down with headaches and nosebleeds.”
* * *
The officer drove them back to the edge of town. No one spoke until they were once again outside the tents of the makeshift hospital. The soft crump of explosions sounded, and more smoke rose over the town.
Fred looked to Charlie. The older man appeared deep in thought.
“It is over, isn’t it?” Ellen Simmons asked.
Charlie spat on the ground.
“Maybe; and maybe not. But I’ve been thinking about what Doc said about sacrifices. And nobody knows just how far the old tunnels spread below here. We can only hope the army know what they’re doing. But I’ll tell you something…”
He looked at Fred and winked.
“Ain’t no way in hell I’m cleaning this mess up.”
* * *
Together, the four of them walked out of the disaster zone.
As they approached an armed barricade, one of the guards sneezed into a handkerchief, soaking it with fresh blood.
Fred tensed, but no one stopped them as they passed through.
They walked on. Neither he nor the others looked back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with fifteen novels published in the genre press and over 250 short story credits in thirteen countries. His work has appeared in a number of professional anthologies and magazines. He lives in Newfoundland with whales, bald eagles and icebergs for company.
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