by Rick Hautala
Before either of the crippled men could reply, Mark leapt over the corral railing and ran to the back of the cave. Getting up onto the shelf of rock wasn’t as easy as it had looked, but once he was settled up there, he realized the place was perfect. No more than six feet wide, it slanted back about eight or ten feet. The back of the enclosure was solid rock, as if this place had purposely been chiseled out of the rock. He felt some comfort knowing that nothing was going to be able to sneak up on him from behind.
As the sounds of shuffling feet and angry snarls rang louder in the cave, Mark switched off his flashlight and flattened himself against the rock. As soon as it was pitch dark, he started worrying that the creatures might have extraordinary eyesight in the dark, or that they might pick up his scent. He had to hope that they needed at least a glimmer of light to see, and that the stench of rotting flesh filling the cave would mask his scent.
The next several minutes were sheer terror for him as he lay there waiting, surrounded by total darkness, his face pressed against the cold, gritty stone. The sounds made by the creatures grew steadily louder until Mark was positive they were inside the cave chamber. He could hear heavy breathing and the shifting of bodies back and forth across the rock floor.
As he lay there, clutching his rifle, Mark had to admit that, although at first the noises they made could have been taken for nothing more than wild animal grunts and snorts, they did seem to have a pattern. The creatures could be communicating. He was reminded of a tape he had heard of the “songs” of humpback whales. These creatures’ voices, like those of the whales, seemed to repeat in definite patterns that very well could be relating simple information.
They sounded almost sad—especially one voice, Mark thought, listening to their high, keening wails and abrupt, grunting snorts. He couldn’t help but think they might be grieving for the one he killed outside the cave.
But Mark didn’t feel the slightest trace of pity or regret. These creatures had done far worse than kill human beings. By the way things looked in the cave, this wasn’t the first time they had captured and tortured humans. Mark remembered all the instances he had heard about over the years of hikers and campers disappearing on or around Agiochook. The presence of these creatures would go a long way in explaining some of those disappearances. He shuddered, thinking what he might find if he carefully inspected the pile of remains.
But why are they doing it now?
Are Phil and these other two campers part of the food supply? Are they fresh meat “on the hoof,” stockpiled for the coming winter?
Or is there some other explanation?
Are the creatures keeping human captives as some kind of pet, or are they being held for . . . for some other purpose?
These and other unnerving questions filled Mark’s mind as he waited in the total darkness, listening to the creatures grumble and snort as they moved around in the pitch-dark cave.
How can they move around without bumping into rocks and walls? Mark wondered.
Can they see in the dark?
What if they already knew where he was hiding and—right now—they were shifting silently toward him in the darkness?
Mark concentrated his attention on relaxing, on slowing his breathing and pushing aside such thoughts. The cave echoed with low, rhythmic whimpers that reminded him of the sound a hurt dog would make.
Was it possible one of these creatures was actually crying?
Why don’t they light a fire? It must be already dark outside. Have they come in to settle down for the night? How many are there? Should he risk turning on his flashlight, locating them, and then shooting— at least until he ran out of bullets? Or would that only end up getting him and the other hikers killed? Although all three captives were physically and, in the case of Mary, mentally damaged, at least they all were still alive .. . ... so far.
Although it made absolutely no difference, Mark closed his eyes and rested his head against the rock, focusing his attention on his hearing as he listened to try to determine if the creatures knew he was there. He realized that he was going to have to wait for one of two things—either all of the creatures were going to leave the cave again, or else one of them would start a fire, and he would be able to see exactly what he was up against.
Either way, it was going to be one hell of a long wait.
Some time later—he had no way of knowing how long—Mark awoke from the fitful sleep into which he had drifted.
Something was happening in the cave.
The creatures had all settled down, apparently to sleep, but now they were awakened by a loud screech from outside the cave. In an instant, the cave echoed with a chorus of loud, yapping cries that echoed weirdly in the cave’s recesses.
Mark eased himself forward until he felt the edge of the rock and looked out into total darkness. He heard a heavy thump, as though one of them had fallen down or dropped something onto the floor. Their cries rose louder, sounding like rabid wolves, howling at the moon.
“Hey! What the hell’s going on over there?” someone yelled.
The suddenness of a human voice startled Mark, but then he realized that it was Phil, calling out, no doubt, just to reassure Mark. The desire to call back to his friend was intense, but Mark knew it would be fatal.
The darkness suddenly exploded with a shower of yellow sparks accompanied by a loud rasping sound. The burst of light, as brief and as weak as it was, stung Mark’s eyes like a splash of cold water. He ducked back down behind the rock edge and closed his eyes, waiting for the trailing afterimages of comets to disappear as he listened to the commotion of heavy bodies shifting about in the darkness. The quick rasping sound was repeated several times, and even with his eyes closed, Mark could see faint flashes of light, like lightning rippling in the distance.
When he finally dared to open his eyes and look again, he saw what was going on. One of the creatures was leaning over a small pile of leaves and twigs, scraping two large stones together to produce sparks. The creature kept working at it until enough sparks had landed, and a small fire began to smolder. Then the creature leaned forward and, puffing gently, blew on the sparks until a thin curl of smoke rose from the faintly glowing bed of tinder. Before long, small tongues of flame crackled on the kindling, lighting up the creature’s face.
He looks like a goddamned deranged biker from hell, Mark thought as he studied the low, overhanging brow and the furry face that framed dark, deep-set eyes ... eyes that glowed with an uncanny intelligence. If he hadn’t known it before, Mark knew right then that he wasn’t simply up against a pack of wild animals. These things were intelligent. They had the power of fire.
The creature continued to blow gently, and the flames rose higher, illuminating the cave with a soft, glowing globe of yellow light. The snap of recognition hit Mark hard, like a vision from a bad dream come to life when he saw that the creature starting the fire was the one that had attacked him yesterday. The fur on its left shoulder was stripped away, exposing a patch of raw flesh that was caked and matted with dried blood. Four other creatures stood nearby, watching the fire-maker.
Mark’s pulse raced as he looked around at the shadowy forms lurking in the cave. With the flames underlighting them, they looked like gigantic nightmare creatures, but he saw their expressive faces that looked—he almost didn’t allow himself the thought— almost human!
Projected onto the cave walls by the firelight, their shadows were impossibly huge and distorted. After his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Mark noticed a small shape sprawled on the floor. It took him a moment to realize that it was a human being, lying face-down on the cave floor. One of the creatures was crouching beside it, grunting as it poked and prodded the motionless figure with its forefinger.
Another captive! Mark thought. Another human being to add to their collection!
The fire grew steadily brighter as the creature who had lit it fed it pieces of wood. Mark realized that this new captive was a young woman. After staring at her a moment, he realiz
ed with a sickening drop in his stomach that there was something familiar about her. He stared at the girl’s long, dark hair, spilling like an ink stain onto the rock floor. His heart literally stopped beating for several seconds when the creature rolled her over onto her back, and he saw who it was.
Oh, my God! Oh, Jesus!
Flashing red rage swept through Mark like a brush-fire. His hands squeezed his rifle so hard his arms began to hurt right up to his neck. It was a miracle that he didn’t scream out loud, leap down from his hiding place and, in an insane frenzy, attack all of the creatures, blasting at them with his rifle until he ran out of ammunition, and then flailing at them with the butt of the rifle until either he or they were dead.
But he was paralyzed with shock, frozen into inaction.
A fierce trembling gripped his body as he watched the creature lift Sandy’s limp body from the floor.
Is she already dead? Mark wondered in a frantic flood of fear. Hot tears stung his eyes.
He had no idea what to wish for, whether to hope that Sandy was already dead and past any pain, or merely unconscious from the fear and pain of what had happened to her. Her arms and legs dangled loosely, and her back bent back unnaturally far as the creature turned back and forth facing the others as though displaying a trophy. All of them uttered low sounds as though pleased with this new acquisition.
Mark almost screamed aloud when Sandy’s eyes fluttered open, reflecting the firelight with a glazed, distant pain. Her head lolled back and forth, but he could see her squint with unbearable pain at every motion. She looked dazed, as though caught in the grip of a vivid nightmare.
Using low grunts and snarls, the creatures seemed to address the one holding Sandy as he strutted back and forth across the cave floor. Then one of them stepped forward and grabbed Sandy’s arm. With a snorting grunt, the creature pulled back while the one holding tightly onto Sandy’s arm twisted away. The cave echoed a loud snap. Sandy’s brief scream of pain was cut off by the raw, wet, ripping sound as her arm was pulled out of its socket.
Leaning its head back and staring at the shadowed ceiling of the cave, the creature holding Sandy let loose a loud, keening shriek. The other creature swung Sandy’s severed arm over its head like a flail, gibbering with what sounded like pure animal glee. Then the one holding her body, obviously caught up in the frenzy, wrapped one arm around Sandy’s neck, braced her body against his side, and with a quick jerk and snap of his body, broke her neck. A thick, bubbly sound came from Sandy’s throat as her body went limp. Her eyes instantly glazed over in death and stared sightlessly ahead. They seemed to fix squarely on Mark where he lay, hidden on the ledge.
You bastards! You bloody thirsty, rotten, motherfucking bastards! Mark thought.
He wanted to jump up and scream his rage and misery, but heavy pressure was closing off his throat. He wished he could close his eyes and forget everything he had just seen, but he couldn’t. Numb with terror, he had to watch as the creatures fell upon his daughter and with their horrible clawed hands, ripped off her clothes and raked the flesh away from her bones in large chunks which they stuffed into their mouths. Loud smacking sounds filled the cave as all five creatures feasted on the raw, human flesh.
Mark was numb to everything as he silently watched the horrible scene being enacted below him. He huddled on the rock ledge, sobbing and shivering. His only daughter had been killed right in front of his eyes, mutilated, and was being eaten by these bloodthirsty beasts!
You bastards! You’ll pay for this! You’ll all pay!
He watched in stunned horror as three of the creatures grabbed Sandy’s other arm and two legs and pulled away from each other. Her limbs were torn free with the sounds of cracking bones and horrible tearing noises as her body split open. Dark blood gushed everywhere, splattering the creatures’ bodies, driving them into a ferocious frenzy. Internal organs dropped to the cave floor with juicy, slapping sounds, only to be snatched up and shoved into hungry maws. One of the beasts smashed Sandy’s head repeatedly against the cave floor until it split open like a ripe coconut. Then, sitting back on its haunches, the creature scooped out and feasted on the pale jelly of her brains, smacking its lips with horrible satisfaction. The cave walls reverberated with the creatures’ hideous shrieks that now sounded all too much like bestial laughter. The horrible scene went on unabated until there was nothing left of Sandy except cracked bones and tangles of pink, stringy flesh.
Once the five creatures finished their grisly meal, two of them scooped up all that remained of Sandy, including her smashed skull, and casually tossed the pieces onto the pile of animal carcasses inside the corral beside the other captives. For a while the creatures squatted on their haunches, burping and grunting with satisfaction, but before long they all settled down to sleep.
Mark had lost all sense of time as he watched in horror from his hiding place. The firelight faded to an angry red glow. At some point, he closed his eyes and blocked his ears, but he knew he could never forget the sounds of the gruesome, brutal feast. Racked and shaken with tears of rage and grief, he slid down the angled rock until he came to rest against the cold stone wall. Long after the feast was over and the cave had descended into darkness and silence, his mind echoed with the last, agonized scream his daughter had made before she died.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Vow
Something moved inside the cave, bringing Mark to instant alertness.
The dim afterglow of the campfire illuminated the cave. Mark had no way of knowing whether it was day or night. What he remembered of the events of last night seemed now like fragments from some horrible nightmare, but the cold knot in his stomach and the stinging memory of Sandy’s final, terrified scream convinced him that he had imagined nothing.
Sandy was dead.
Mark’s mind raged and ached; his heart beat with a cold, steady knocking against his ribs, convincing him that it had been all too horribly real.
The cave was in near total darkness as the creatures, sleeping on piles of leaves and moss piled up in the corners, began to stir. One of them—Mark couldn’t distinguish which one; he saw only that this one didn’t have a wounded left shoulder—went over to the fire, piled on a few pieces of wood, and blew on the coals until flames erupted in a snapping blaze.
Mark watched as the creature shuffled about the cave, bending over and sniffing the other sleeping creatures until they, too, began to stir. He tried to focus on what he had to do today to get Phil and the others out of here alive, but his mind kept drawing a blank. All he could think was, Sandy was dead! Tortured and mutilated! No amount of anger or grief or anything would bring her back.
She was gone, and he had been helpless to stop it.
Hunkering down on the rock ledge, Mark watched silently as the creatures roused themselves. One of them picked up a long bone from the cave floor, sniffed it, and then splintered it on a rock and ran one finger along the inside to scoop out the fresh marrow. Mark’s body went cold with the thought that this was Sandy’s leg bone. He slid his rifle up, fighting the almost overpowering urge to take aim and shoot the creature, but he held his fire, knowing that he and Phil and the other lost hikers wouldn’t survive the creatures’ wrath.
Mark glanced over at the corral but couldn’t see the captives clearly. They were three dark shapes, slouching against the cave wall. He had three bullets left. Perhaps the merciful thing to do would be to use them to end Phil’s, Jack’s, and Mary’s misery. Then the creatures could finish him off in a frenzy, and it would be over with. What was the sense of living, now that Sandy—his only child—was dead?
He had nothing to look forward to.
When—and if—he got out of here, life at home was never going to be the same. Better yet, why not end it all right now with a single shot to his head and let the others fend for themselves?
Why the fuck not?
He fingered the trigger and, closing his eyes a moment, visualized raising the rifle to his head, pressing the cold metal b
arrel against his temple, and squeezing the trigger.
It would all be over in an instant.
Why not do it and be done with the pain and suffering? Sandy’s death was going to leave a vacuum in his life that would never be filled.
Why not end it all now, with one clean shot?
He honestly wanted to do it, but then he thought that if he died now, it would leave these things still alive. Sandy’s death would go unavenged, and that meant next year more hikers would disappear and end up here in this cave with their legs broken, waiting to die.
No, Mark decided as he opened his eyes and glared at the creatures as they shuffled around the cave. He imagined himself kneeling over the mangled corpse of his daughter as he vowed that those creatures were going to have to die!
He was going to wipe out all of them!
After a breakfast of raw meat from the pile of carcasses inside the corral, four of the five creatures departed from the cave, leaving behind one—the one with the wounded shoulder—to tend the fire and guard the captives.
Mark waited a long time, mentally counting the minutes until he was sure the creatures were far enough away from the cave before making his move. A gunshot echoing from inside the cave would certainly bring them all back. While he waited, Mark studied the one remaining creature and actually found himself thinking of it in almost human terms. It was the creature’s eyes and expressions that struck him as most human, but even its movements and actions as it settled with its back against the cave wall seemed intelligent beyond what little experience he’d had observing monkeys and gorillas in a zoo.