“I doubt he will answer,” Pallida said, looking around the abandoned mining site. “From what you’ve told me, your friend was probably Varrick’s earliest victim.”
“I still have to try and find him,” Roy replied as he mounted the stairs to the cabin. “His safety is my responsibility.”
“Any sign of him?” Uncle Johnny called from the truck.
Skinner shook his head. “His cot doesn’t look like it’s been slept in.” He hurried back down to join the others. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw something brownish-gold moving out of the corner of his eye. As he turned towards it, his mother-in-law rose up onto her hind legs, her three rows of teats barely visible through the thick fur covering her belly.
“Good morning, Changing Woman,” Roy said evenly. “I see you’ve chosen to join us.”
“Of course. You are my daughter’s mate, werewolf or not. I would not allow you to go into battle alone. And, to speak straight, I have my doubts about your new friend.” She gestured with a talon at Pallida, who was busy talking to Uncle Johnny.
“What about her?”
“I do not trust her. There is a shadow on her soul, one that waxes and wanes like the phases of the moon. Some times her face shines, other times it is in eclipse.”
“Could you say that a little louder? I don’t’ think she can hear you from where she’s standing!” Roy snapped. “Look, if she was going to kill me, she could have done it several times by now. Jesus, Mom—one of these days you’re going to have to learn to trust other species!”
“I remember how this land was before the white man,” she replied curtly. “Speak to me of trusting strangers in another century or two.”
Exasperated, Skinner turned on his heel and went to where the others were gathered, trying to ignore the burning in his ears.
“You’re mother’s right,” Pallida said. There was no trace of anger or insult in her voice. “There is no reason for her to trust me. For all she knows, I’m one of Varrick’s minions leading you into a cleverly orchestrated death trap.”
“Are you?” Skinner asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No,” she replied. “But I could be. You never can tell—whether it’s with people or things that pretend to be people. Now let’s get this show on the road.”
As they neared the mouth of the mine, Uncle Johnny grimaced. “Christ A’ mighty! You smell that?”
“Yeah,” Roy replied through clenched teeth.
“Smell what?” Sis asked, looking confused. “All I smell is dirt and machine oil.”
“Sorry, girl,” Uncle Johnny said. “I forgot your nose isn’t as keen as ours. Even Tully’s picked up on it.” He nodded toward the young ogre, whose nostrils flared like a nervous pony’s.
“Bad. Bad in dark,” Tully rumbled anxiously.
“It’s the odor of nesting undead,” Pallida explained. “That means there’s more than one down there.”
“Ms. Mors and I are going in,” Skinner said grimly. “Uncle Johnny, Changing Woman--I want you to wait here with Sis and Tully. If anything comes out, I want y’all to blast it, understand?”
“Gotcha,” Uncle Johnny said as he broke open his shotgun and slid a couple of cartridges into the breach.
“Whatever you do, make sure you shoot it in the head,” Pallida explained. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re using regular buckshot or the silver loads. If you blow out its brains, it gets dead and stays dead. If you can’t manage a headshot, try for the spine. Cutting them in two won’t kill them, but it’ll slow them down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Uncle Johnny snapped his shotgun back together. “Here, you better take this with you, Skin,” he said, handing Roy a flashlight. “I realize you don’t have much trouble getting around in the dark, but there’s a limit to even werewolf night-vision.”
“Thanks, Johnny,” Roy said, hefting the flashlight in salute.
As they moved towards the yawning mouth of the incline shaft that lead into the mine, King dropped into step behind them. Roy turned and shook his head.
“No! You can’t come with me this time, big guy! You’ve gotta stay here with Uncle Johnny and the others.”
King made a snuffling noise and shook his head, ears flapping like stubby wings.
“You heard me! I said no!” Roy’s tone was stern and loud, as if he was talking to a Labrador Retriever that insisted on following him to school. “You can’t go with me!”
King’s ears drooped and shoulders slumped as the half-wolf plodded back to join the others.
Once inside the mine, the two followed the narrow-gauge tracks that once ran the ore-cars through the tunnels. Skinner glanced over his shoulder and saw the half-wolf framed against the daylight, anxiously watching after them.
“Damn hard-headed beast,” he sighed.
“He’s extremely loyal,” Pallida commented, not without some admiration. “You are lucky to have him as a friend.”
“He’s more than a friend; he’s family,” Roy explained. “And I don’t mean it in the way people usually do when they talk about their pets. He’s a cousin or something. Good Lord—what’s that stink?”
As Skinner swung the flashlight in the direction of the reek, its beam reflected off the peeled skull of a burro.
“That’s Sookie, Silas’s pack animal, or at least what’s left of her.” He grimaced and looked away. “Did—did that Varrick asshole do this?”
“Judging from the puncture wounds on the animal’s throat, I’d say he was responsible for part of it. But most of the damage was done by a ghoul. They’re equal opportunity carnivores. Horses, chickens, pigs, dogs, humans…whatever. They prefer living meat, but they’ll eat the dead if there’s nothing better on hand.” She glanced around at the numerous side tunnels that branched off the main shaft. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the ghoul wasn’t using these passageways to excavate bodies from the local grave yard…”
“He wouldn’t have to go that far,” Skinner replied. “This mine is one huge tomb. There was a cave-in in one of the lower galleries back in the 1930s that trapped at least fifty miners. The company decided it was more cost-effective to leave them there rather than excavate them. Not long after that they closed down the mine for good.”
“How quaint,” Pallida grunted. “No wonder Varrick chose this place to nest in. Vampires are drawn to scenes of human misery like flies to shit.”
As they moved farther into the mine, the incline grew steeper and the atmosphere increasingly close. “God, the air’s stale down here,” Skinner grumbled, coughing into his fist.
“That doesn’t mean much to Varrick. He doesn’t need to breathe like living things do.”
Skinner paused, tilting his head to one side like a hound. “Do you hear that?”
Pallida stood still, lending her ears as well. “Yes,” she whispered in reply. “It’s coming from over there.” She pointed to one of the side-tunnels.
Roy pointed the flashlight, and its beam revealed a nightmare: a pallid figure, naked save for the bushy beard framing its face and the blood and chicken feathers smeared across its chest and thighs, squatted on its haunches in the tunnel, gnawing on a human thighbone.
Roy stepped forward. “Silas--!”
The ghoul bared its teeth at the intruders, spittle and blood dripping from his curled lips.
Pallida grabbed Skinner’s arm, but it was too late. The ghoul leapt at the sheriff, swinging the thighbone like a crazed caveman, knocking the flashlight from Skinner’s hand. The passageway was plunged into darkness deeper than any grave.
The ghoul’s powerful hands closed upon the sheriff’s throat, bearing him to the ground with a strength beyond mere madness.
Suddenly the ghoul’s face contorted in pain. His blood-wet mouth opened wide in an agonized shriek as he was dragged backwards down the tunnel. As Skinner sat up, he saw King attacking Silas, the half-wolf’s powerful jaws locked onto the ghoul’s hind leg. King whipped his massive head back and forth, shaking his captive lik
e a terrier would a rat. The ghoul yowled and plunged the broken end of the thighbone into King’s shoulder.
The half-wolf yelped in pain and let go of his prey. The ghoul quickly got to his feet and disappeared into the darkness, dragging his savaged leg behind him. Pallida dashed after the wounded thing.
“Let him go!” Skinner shouted. “You don’t have a weapon.”
Pallida paused long enough to shoot Skinner a crooked smile before disappearing down the tunnel in pursuit of the fleeing ghoul. “Oh, yes I do!”
Skinner shook his head and turned his attention to King. The half-wolf lay on his side, panting in pain. Skinner gripped the makeshift spear and pulled it free with a single tug. King turned to lick the wound, whimpering like a pup on the tit.
“Damn it, boy! I told you to stay put!” Skinner said as he saw to his friend’s shoulder, tearing a strip of cloth from his own shirt to dress the wound. King licked Skinner’s face as he bandaged him.
“Don’t try making up to me right now!” Roy said sternly, pushing the half-wolf’s muzzle away. “You disobeyed a direct order! Now go back up top and stay there!”
“Take this with you when you go.”
Roy was startled by Pallida’s sudden reappearance. One second she wasn’t there, the next she was standing at his elbow, holding Silas’s severed head by the hair like a lantern. She tossed the gruesome souvenir between the half-wolf’s paws. King eagerly snatched it up, careful not to tear the skin with his fangs, and trotted off like a dog with a new chew toy.
“It was a quick enough death, as such things go,” she reassured him. “Your friend felt very little, assuming anything of him remained inside that creature. Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” he wheezed, massaging his bruised throat.
“We’re close to the nest. I can feel it,” she said. “I can take over from here. You go back up top with King.”
“No. This is my town. I am the law here. It is my responsibility to see that justice is done.”
“Nobody would think less of you for letting me take care of this, Sheriff. You have a wife and kids depending on you.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t turn tail.”
Pallida nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Suit yourself, Sheriff. It’s your jurisdiction.”
“Which way do we go, then?”
“This way,” Pallida said, gesturing in the direction the ghoul had fled. “Wounded minions invariably head for their masters. For some deluded reason they think they’ll protect them.”
“Do they?”
“Nah. Usually they just kill them.”
“Do you think he knows we’re down here?”
“Oh, he knows, alright. They always know when you kill one of their posse. So be on your toes.”
The narrow passageway eventually opened onto a large gallery, the solid rock ceiling of which had been carved into the rough semblance of a cathedral. The air was foul and heavy with moisture from the seeping walls.
“How far—how far down do you think we are?” Roy gasped, bending over to catch his breath.
“I’d say at least four, maybe five thousand feet,” she replied. “And I don’t care if you swore a blood oath on a stack of Bibles ten feet tall; I’m not taking you any farther than this. You need air: Varrick doesn’t.”
“What about you?”
Pallida shrugged her shoulders. “I can take it or leave it.”
There was a sound of loose pebbles sliding underfoot. Skinner froze.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” she replied. “They’re close.”
“Sheriff...” The voice was frail and querulous, sounding frightened and lost in the darkness. “Help me, Roy...”
“That’s Daisy Connors! She’s still alive!” Skinner said, his voice tinged with hope.
Pallida shook her head. “It just sounds like her.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” he shot back. “Besides, doesn’t it take three days and nights for a human to resurrect as a vampire?”
“Who told you that? Peter Cushing?” Pallida spat in disgust. “We’re not talking a set of rules like Monopoly! Sometimes it only takes a few hours for the host body to be taken over.”
The scrambling sound returned as a figure dressed in a filthy, tattered housecoat lurched out of one of the connecting tunnels. The old woman groped her way through the darkness, her arms extended in front of her like a child playing blind man’s bluff.
“Sheriff Skinner...where are you? It’s so dark...I can’t see anything...! Where am I? I’m afraid! Please...I want to go home!”
“It’s okay, Daisy.” Skinner smiled comfortingly at the old woman, even though there was no way she could possibly see it in the darkness. “You’re safe now.”
The look of fear and confusion on Mrs. Connors’ face disappeared, replaced by a demonic grin. Her eyes gleamed in the dark like those of a sewer rat as her dentures flew out of her mouth, displaced by fangs that popped from her barren gums like spring-loaded darts.
“God damn it!” Pallida snarled as she pulled the werewolf free of the vampire’s clutches.
The white-clad vampire hunter threw her arms around Mrs. Connors, hugging her like a long lost friend. There was a brief burst of pure, white light, and for a moment it seemed to Roy as if a sunbeam had somehow found its way into the depths of the mine. Mrs. Connors gave an inhuman screech and dropped to the ground, where she twitched and flopped like a shark on a hook. The old woman’s torso began to smolder, and then abruptly burst into flame. Within seconds the body was consumed by the fire, leaving only her head and extremities untouched. As Skinner watched, the vampire’s face turned once more into that of the kindly old woman he once knew.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Pallida said, genuine regret in her voice. “I realize she was a friend. Normally they just turn to ash, but there’s not enough oxygen down here for her to be truly consumed.”
“That’s okay,” Roy said as he swallowed the bile crowding the back of his throat. “She’s at peace now.” He glanced at Pallida’s pristine white duster, shaking his head in disbelief. “At least she didn’t ruin your clothes.”
“My clothes are always this white,” Pallida replied matter-of-factly. “No matter what color I put on.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled defiantly at the surrounding darkness. “Screw this sneaking around in the dark!” the vampire hunter snarled. “We know he’s down here, he knows we’re down here, and he knows that we know he’s down here!” She threw back her head, arms opened wide, as if inviting attack, and shouted at the cathedral-like dome overhead. “Varrick!”
The vampire’s name echoed throughout the tunnels honeycombing the mountainside.
“Show yourself, you bastard!”
Suddenly a voice spoke in the darkness, although it was impossible for Roy to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from.
“I see you brought the local law with you. I’m quaking in my boots.”
“You better be!” Skinner growled. “Now show yourself like the lady asked!”
“As you wish, Sheriff,” Varrick chuckled.
A tall, gaunt figure dressed in the tattered remains of a fashionable Italian suit, now grimed with mud and gore, stepped out from behind a nearby outcropping. Varrick’s face was as pale as a winter moon, save for his lips, which were full and wetly red, as if he had just feasted on fresh raspberries. His cheekbones were as sharp as the blade of a knife and he wore his dark hair in a pigtail that was so long it was coiled about his shoulders like a pet python. As Varrick nervously dry-washed his hands, Skinner could see the vampire’s fingernails were as long as knitting needles.
“Your little escape plan didn’t turn out as planned,” Pallida said. “You’ve got more than me to contend with now.”
“When are you going to grow weary of chasing me, woman?” Varrick snarled.
“I’ll stop chasing you when you stop running away, Varrick,” she replied.
�
�� ‘Run away?’ I’m no more scared of you than I am the pathetic human you’ve dragged down here to his death!” the vampire sneered, gesturing to Skinner.
Pallida gave a humorless laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Take a gander at my buddy again.”
Varrick frowned, baffled by Pallida’s response, and took another, longer look at Skinner. The vampire’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm and he hissed like a frightened cat. “Werewolf!”
“That’s right, Varrick!” Pallida grinned. “You queered your own game before it had a chance to get started! You brought your sick little road show into the middle of pack territory! There’s only room in this county for one species of super-predator—and these guys call dibs!”
Varrick stepped back, a look of angry disbelief on his sallow features. “Kill them!” he shouted at no one in particular. “Destroy them!”
The cavern floor underneath Skinner’s feet exploded in a shower of dirt as a hand, the fingers as white as grubs, burst through the soil and grabbed his shin. As the loose dirt sloughed away, Skinner saw Neal McClain’s pale face grinning up at him. The rancher’s eyes were red as traffic lights and his canines were as long and curved as a wild cat’s.
“Let go of him!” Pallida snarled, punting Neal McClain’s head like a place-kicker going for a goal, her boot smashing the vampire’s skull as if it was a rotten watermelon.
A second figure, dressed in the half-shell helmet and elbow-pads of an extreme sports biker, lurched from one of the other tunnels, fangs bared. Pallida once again threw her arms around the newborn vampire. The former mountain biker bleated like a frightened goat and collapsed into a pile of twitching, smoking limbs.
As she spun to face Varrick, the vampire shrieked and disappeared into one of the many passageways. Pallida bounded after him like a hound after a fox, pursuing him through the perpetual midnight of the tunnels until the passageway opened onto yet another underground gallery.
Pallida looked around, but there was no sign of her prey. As she moved farther into the gallery her foot struck something made of metal. She looked down and spotted a pickaxe and a large canvas bag lying on the ground. ‘Property Of Silas Samuels’ was stenciled across the bag in big block letters. She frowned and gave the bag a tentative kick. As Pallida stared in surprise at the contents that spilled from the prospector’s sample bag, Varrick dropped behind her from the ceiling and put her in a hammerlock.
Nancy A Collins - 2010 - Population - 666 Page 5