Running with the Horde (Book 2): Delusions of Monsters

by Joseph K. Richard

  “Hell yeah, Billy Boy, I am the tax man and loving every minute of it! Listen, do you remember my step-son Drew?”

  There was no catching up with Chip Fielding. When he made contact it was as though he had always be in touch. As if they were just picking up wherever their last conversation left off. It didn’t matter if the gap was 10 minutes or 10 years.

  “You don’t remember Drew?” Chip asked again, quieter this time. Bill thought he could detect pain in his voice.

  “Sure, Chip, of course I remember Drew, something change with his case?”

  “You mean did he show up at our door with a sore ass and a poorly remembered alien abduction story? No, nothing like that. Well, mostly nothing like that, as it turns out aliens may have actually been involved. Or at least Area 51.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Bill asked, already getting impatient with this bizarre conversation.

  “Drew!”

  “What’s this about aliens? Seriously, Chip, I don’t understand what you are talking about. Did they find his body or something?” Bill asked, hating the annoyed tone in his voice.

  “No! I think he is still alive!”

  “You think? Based on what?”

  “It’s kind of a long story and I can already tell you aren’t going to believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  So Chip told his story and it was a whopper. As he began relaying the tale of the mysterious shipment of blankets he and his wife had started receiving a handful of years ago Bill began to deeply regret answering the phone in the first place.

  “…was kind of nice the first year or so. Kept Wanda occupied. She really has never been the same since the kid vanished. I mean sure it was weird and all but I just thought it was one of her church lady friends trying to do a nice thing for her. Thing is, she kept insisting they were from Drew. At first it was fine but she wouldn’t let it go, had the damn things spread out all over the living room. It looked like a fucking craft store in there. It was all she talked about. Eventually I tried to get her some help, even had her committed for a while. Anyway, one day while she was away and I was kind of missing the sound of her prattle I go sit down in the living room in my easy chair and that’s when I see it!”

  “See what?” Bill asked.

  “The pattern! I’m sitting there staring at all these fucking blankets and I see the pattern!”

  “I think most of them are patterned, Chip.”

  “Bill, don’t be a fucking smartass, I mean a code. The blankets were all coded, I could see it plain as day once I really looked.”

  “Are you sure Wanda was the one who should’ve been committed?”

  Chip ignored the barb and continued on, “Took me forever but I cracked it!”

  Bill sighed, “You cracked the code you found in the patterns on the blankets?”

  “Yes, and it sounds crazy but I believe Drew is alive and being held prisoner inside of Area 51. They’ve got him working on some kind of super virus. A group called the Syndicate is going to unleash it in the states as part of the Safety First Act.”

  Bill thought about hanging up on Chip but his old friend had clearly lost it and he didn’t have the heart to cut him off like that. “So let me get this straight, you believe your step-son, who was legally declared dead 5 years ago, was actually kidnapped and put to work inside of Area 51 and he’s been there ever since?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And somehow, during that time, he also knitted and coded several blankets and managed to get them shipped to your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “You realize how this sounds, don’t you?”

  “Um, look, I get it. It sounds nuts, especially the blankets and the code part but-“

  “And the Area 51 part,” Bill interrupted, “and the super virus part. You do know that place is nothing more than an Air Force Base, right?”

  Chip was silent on the other end of the line. Bill could just see him conjuring up the words for a counter argument. “You still there, Chip?”

  “I’m here,” he paused, “Bill, I really do hope I’m not losing my marbles and I can’t explain how he did it but I do think Drew made the blankets and managed to get them out undetected. Hell, the kid was always kind of a light weight. Maybe he was inconsolable about his mom and it was a compromise with whoever is keeping him. They just look like regular blankets, this Syndicate group probably figured they were harmless and they were for years until I saw what was right in front of my face.

  “What do you want from me, Chip?”

  “I don’t know, Bill, I didn’t know who else to call. The message in the blankets made it seem like the Syndicate had eyes everywhere. For all I know they are monitoring this call. You were always so capable back in the day, I just figured you’d have some ideas, maybe know who to call?”

  “I gotta tell you, Chip, I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Please, Bill, I feel it in my gut, I believe Drew is alive and in trouble. In fact, I think we all are.”

  “I believe that you believe it but the thing is, I don’t. I think your first instinct was correct. Someone was trying to do something nice for Wanda to honor her son and they just let it go too far. They probably have no idea they did more harm than good.”

  “And the code?” Chip asked. Bill didn’t say anything, he really didn’t want to hurt his old friend’s feelings. “Well, shit. You really do think I’ve lost it,” Chip said.

  “No, listen, Chip, I’m-“

  “Save it. Maybe you’re right and I’m as nutty as a circus peanut. Don’t worry about it, I will figure it out on my own. I’ll talk to you another time.”

  “Wait, Chip!” Bill said but it was too late. His friend had already disconnected.

  Bill took a long hard look at the phone and thought about trying to call him back and maybe offer to make a few calls but in the end he decided against it. It wouldn’t do Chip any good if he added any fuel to the fire. The only thing that would dissuade the man of his delusions was time to consider how ridiculous they sounded. Chip was a smart guy and would figure it out eventually. Bill McCloud didn’t give Chip another thought until four days later when news broke on a mass shooting in Virginia.

  Early that Tuesday morning at the IRS office complex, a heavily armed man entered the building and began shooting employees. Eight people were slain and four critically wounded before the assailant was killed by an armed security guard. The newspaper article didn’t list the victims out of respect to their loved ones but after a few discreet phone calls Bill was able to confirm that Chip Fielding had been among the casualties.

  With a heavy heart, Bill regretted blowing Chip off when he’d called. He should have taken him seriously. He should have listened and offered better advice because clearly Chip had been on to something. Bill knew that Chip’s coded blanket discovery and his murder could not have been coincidental.

  He and Chip had been friends but beyond that they’d been brothers in service to a greater cause while they were in the DIA. That meant something. He would do what he could to see Chip’s death and efforts weren’t in vain. If Drew was alive, Bill was going to find him. He picked up his phone and dialed a number with a sigh. The man on the other end picked up on the first ring, he always did. “Derrick, we need to talk,” he said.

  Later that same afternoon, as he and Derrick debriefed on what little he knew of the situation, a priority package the size of a thick magazine arrived at Bill’s office, signature required. The return address said Seymore Buttes and Bill knew Chip had sent it. Enclosed inside were photos of the blankets, the message Chip had decoded and a note from the man himself.

  Dear Bill,

  In spite of our phone call I do hope this additional information will convince you this is all dreadfully real. I regret to inform you that I have located listening devices in my phones as well as high-tech cameras throughout my home. They’ve clearly been in place for a very long time. Someone has been monitoring
Wanda and I. For your own good you should assume they heard our conversation. I suspect they will be coming for me so I am sending you the evidence I have in the hope you can succeed where I have failed.

  All my best,

  Chip

  “Well, we know one thing for sure,” Bill said with a sad smile, “I am a real shitty friend.”

  Chapter 23: The Tunnel

  The Present

  The ball peen hammer was my only weapon, it was tucked snugly into my belt. In my hands I held a homemade torch made from a scrap of the railing. Thanks to the crates of liquor I had a bountiful supply of fuel for it.

  At the mouth of the tunnel I found a faded white X painted on the ground. I assumed this was an indicator that I would find more such symbols to mark the way through the tunnel. This was troubling to me because the symbols would seem to indicate there would be choices to make which in turn made it an almost certainty that I would get myself lost. I felt okay about it though. I had always prided myself on having a strong sense of direction. I was confident I would find my way to the other side of the river.

  The ceiling looked to be around eight feet tall. As long as that stayed true I would be able to stand the whole time which was an added bonus. In truth it wouldn’t have mattered if I had to crawl on my hands and knees through a series of animal nests. A lost tunnel under a major metropolitan city was probably the neatest thing I could have imagined for myself so I was going through it no matter what. I cinched up my trousers, adjusted the torch in my hand and spit twice over my right shoulder for absolutely no reason and stepped into my grand adventure.

  The path in front of me appeared to be part of a system of naturally formed caves with patches of manmade support evident in places where the tunnel seemed unsafe to pass through. The light thrown off by my torch gave my journey an ominous feel as I walked under rotting support beams thick with ancient cob webs. Some were so large I had to duck or crawl under to avoid them. I came to the first fork in the path and was relieved to find another X branching off to the right. The air grew colder and the sound of rushing water over my head grew louder as the tunnel wound its way deeper into the Earth. Everything beyond my small circle of light was pitch black. Evidence of human and animal presence was strewn about on the stone floor. I stumbled over tiny bones and early 20th century garbage. I wondered if I was the first person to traverse this path in almost a hundred years.

  I successfully navigated through three more tunnel intersections finding the marker each time in approximately the same position. By this time the adventure had worn thin. I was getting very nervous wandering through these abandoned tunnels all alone. The endless black made it seem like the walls were closing in though I knew that had to be a trick my cruel mind was playing on me.

  Eventually I came to larger intersection where I stood dumbfounded in the middle of a junction connecting four different tunnels. Holding my lantern near the ground I searched for some sign of faded white paint. My pulse quickened and my breath grew short as I inspected the mouths of the three new openings. If there had been a marker, it was long since gone. I debated going back the way I’d come but I knew the Creep was back there somewhere and there was still no way I could get out of that cellar.

  The paths all looked the same. I considered the pattern my journey had taken me thus far. The first tunnel had been marked on the path to the right. The second path had been marked on the left and the third back to the right. To me this seemed like a logical trail under the river to the city crisscrossing from right to left. But this fourth junction presented no marker and three choices. Logically I should choose the middle path which by all rights should lead farther south across the Mississippi River. So, of course, I chose the path to the right.

  After a few dozen steps I came to the first tripwire. I was lucky, if I hadn’t been studying the ground in front of me so intently looking for spiders, I would have missed the wire. Instead, I saw it, a razor thin strand gleaming in my torchlight. I considered turning around right then and going back to the middle tunnel but decided to move forward. This was, after all, a clear sign that someone had passed through this tunnel at some point. The tripwire was there for a reason.

  Gingerly, I stepped over it, my sphincter clenched up tight. I had no desire to see what happened if the wire was broken. My imagination ran wild with poison darts and giant rolling boulders. Needless to say my progress slowed considerably in lieu of other potential booby traps. I tiptoed over another wire approximately a hundred paces from the first and ducked under a third a few steps further in. By this point I was so upset I just wanted to run. I was almost glad Mandy wasn’t with me or we would have both been toast. I pushed back my fear and panic and pressed on.

  One quarter of a thrilling mile later my tunnel ended at the mouth of a cobweb covered cave. I checked for traps and tripwires at the entrance but found none so I did a spider check, brushed the webs away and stepped inside.

  The cave was about the size of a small room with no outlet aside from the entrance I stood in. My light illuminated several barrels and a few wooden crates. I was irritated that I had come to a dead end but the treasure hunter in me was a little excited to see what all those tripwires had been guarding.

  I set my torch down carefully by the entrance, leaning it against the stone wall where it made the room dance in strange shadows. I pulled the flashlight out and made for the merchandise. The barrels contained some type of murky sludge. To my untrained nose it smelled like oil. The boxes had been sealed but time and moisture had done the heavy lifting for me. I didn’t even have to pull out my hammer to pry the lids off. They just popped up in my hands when I pulled. Inside were stacks of oily cylindrical metal cartridges full of bullets. I recognized them as the kind that fit into tommy-guns. I then realized I had stumbled into the gun depot for whatever mob outfit had been operating down here during Eva’s time.

  Walking over to one of the barrels, I tried to push it over. I had no desire to stick my arm into the oil but I couldn’t budge it. Moving against the rear wall to use it as leverage I braced my back and put both feet on the side of the barrel and gave it a mighty shove. Much like the crates, the wood in the barrels was also rotten. My feet cracked right through the wood with a dull pop. I fell to the ground on my ass and cursed as oil began spilling over my legs. The damaged barrel gave up the ghost with a series of cracks as I scrambled out of the way to the racket of clattering metal hitting the ground in a pile.

  Soaked with oil and irritated I inspected the pile of guns to find I had been correct. There were tommy-guns along with a handful of Luger pistols. Thirty minutes later I had located the ammo for the pistols and had two of them loaded and stuffed into my wet pants. The tommy-gun I selected looked almost new glistening with oil. Affixing the ammo cartridge to it took a while to figure out but I got there eventually.

  I had no pack to carry additional cartridges in. They were bulky and heavy as shit but I wanted to bring as many as I could so I removed my jacket and pulled off my hooded sweatshirt to make an improvised sack out of it. I was able to carry four more cartridges and tie it around my neck like a sling. Additional bullets for the pistols went into my jacket pockets. I considered firing off a few rounds to see if the guns and ammo were still functional but I was worried what that might do to the infrastructure of the tunnel and didn’t want to risk a cave in. It would have to be a surprise if they worked. I left the hidden gun depot looking and feeling like a badass, homeless, gangster marine soaked in grime, blood and oil.

  Each step I took as I retraced my steps echoed through the tunnels like a coin-counting machine. If there were others making their way through the tunnel system the sound had to be terrifying or at least confusing. I trudged along holding my torch way out in front of my body so I wouldn’t light myself on fire. I ducked under the first trip wire and stepped over the other two until I made it back to the four way junction. I stood in silence for a moment but heard nothing. For the time being, I was still alone in the tunnels.


  This time I choose the more logical middle path to my immediate right. On and on the tunnel went, my light illuminating only the precious couple of feet in front of me. After the first few hundred yards I stopped worrying about booby traps and picked up the pace, anxious to get out of the tunnels altogether.

  At times the path dove steeply into the earth and then skyrocketed back up. There were large pools of murky water to slog through and the cavern walls were sweating with slime. At one point the air was cold enough for me to see my breath. The journey was arduous to say the least. I was exhausted, freezing, sore and ready to be done hiking. To make matters worse the tommy-gun and ammo grew heavier with every step I took.

  The noise of the river began to diminish as the path took quite a dip. I lost my footing and practically rolled down the incline, the torch flying out of my grasp. It sizzled out as it came to rest in the puddle of stagnant water pooled in the valley of the cave floor. I dropped to my knees next to it with a groan. I was sick to my stomach as I contemplated finishing the rest of my journey in darkness.

  I was deep into the throes of a serious tantrum when I realized I could still actually see the burned out torch lying in the puddle. I could see the puddle as well and my knees and the path. There was light! I glanced up the crest of the path to ascertain the source. There was a soft glow emanating from the top.

  I hauled myself up, adjusted the ammo sling so both the gun and the reserve ammo canisters now rested on my back and began climbing to the top. The tunnel at this point was steep enough that I needed my hands as well. Large spikes had been drilled into the rock at some point in time, so ancient they were rusty. The only way up was to use the spikes like a makeshift ladder. Taking care not to cut myself I used them to pull myself up a few feet at a time. This clearly wasn’t the original design as there were large gaps between some of the spikes.

  As I was nearing the top, the walls of the tunnel began shaking and a moment later a muffled whumpf reached my ears. The shaking continued as chunks of rock dislodged from above and all around me. The larger pieces miraculously missed me but I was pelted by more than my fair share of smaller stones. My feet slipped as a spike I’d been standing on snapped off. I was hanging by my right arm, the large rusty nail digging painfully into my fingers.