by John Ringo
“Okay,” Mike said. “You have to take point. But there are more issues than safety. Restrictions can be a stone bitch. I looked at the one on the hill. That’s what we call about a three. It’s tight, but you can go straight in. Restrictions go up to seven. At about a five, you’ve got to suck in your breath and then go through something that looks like a corkscrew. Please forgive me, ma’am, but you are…well built. Just those…issues alone are going to make any restriction over a four an issue for you. If I go first, I can usually figure out a way for big people to fit. If not…”
“I get stuck and you pull me out,” Barb said.
“Restrictions can be long,” one of the helpers said. “You might be too far in to pull out. That’s the point. We know when to back out. You don’t. And, yes, people die that way.”
“If there’s a serious restriction issue, we may have to turn over point,” Barb said reluctantly. “By the same token, if you think you are near the perpetrator, you need to get out of there as if all the hounds of hell were on your tail. Do you absolutely and positively understand me?”
“Listen to the lady,” Graham said.
“I hear you,” Mike said, looking puzzled. “But you’re not really telling me why.”
“Because you don’t get to know why,” Diller said. “You just have to get the ladies to the perpetrator and then get the hell away.” He looked at the team leader and frowned. “Look, if I was leading the penetration, that would be how I’d handle it. Cut and run. These ladies may not look like it, but they are professionals at this. You get them to the perp, let them handle it from there. And if you have any questions afterwards, don’t ask them.”
“Including ‘where’s the perpetrator?’” Graham said. “The perp is unlikely to be coming back. And that does not leave this investigation.”
“So what are you ladies?” Mike asked, looking askance. “The FBI’s La Femme Nikitas?”
“If we near the perpetrator, there will probably be a foul stench, like rotting bodies,” Barb said. “If you smell it particularly strongly, back off. Then let us take over.”
“He keeps his bodies in the cave?” one of the assistants asked.
“We’ll probably be able to track him by the smell,” Barb continued.
“Which is good because caves go every which-a-way,” Mike said. “And we both asked questions.”
“Which she is ignoring,” Agent Graham said. “What else do they have to know?”
“We’ll brief them in on lights and gear at the site,” Mike said, shrugging. “You want to go all super-spook on us, fine. But what you ladies have to worry about is the cave.”
“That is correct,” Barb said. “But what you have to worry about is what is in the cave.”
“These ought to fit you.”
Mongo One’s name turned out to be Thane Dale. Twenty-six, brown hair and eyes, and six foot four inches, he was a college student at University of Kentucky where Mike Argyll was a geology professor. Mongo Two, six two and blond, was Cedar Blackburn, a geology grad student at same.
The suits Thane was holding out looked something like wet suits with a slick exterior. And far too small.
“That’s going to be really tight,” Janea said, holding it up. “Tight is fine up to a point, but…”
“That’s the point,” Cedar said. “They are supposed to be constricting. They’re going to, sorry, flatten you two ladies out. They do the same for beer guts.”
“I don’t know if I can get that flat,” Barb said, holding up the suit.
“Try,” Argyll said, coming around the back of the van. He was already suited up. “If you can’t, you’re barely going to be able to make it through the exterior restriction. And we’re going to have to brief on climbing, rappel, and belay. Not to mention lights, lines and various other issues. So if you could kindly get ready.”
It took about two hours to get fully prepared for the penetration. Besides the helmet light, Barb had been issued four more. Three lights was considered a minimum, five was about right. Thane carried seven as well as backup batteries. Cedar was burdened with ropes, climbing gear and a bag of what Barb had referred to as her “necessaries,” and was carrying reels of thin line so they could find their way back. All of them were in the slick suits, hard hats with lights, and pads on elbows and knees.
“You want to try this?” Argyll said, pointing at the hole.
Barb was already sweating up a storm in the suit, and the hole looked far too small to fit through. But…
“I might as well start learning now,” she said, getting down on her knees. “Any suggestions?”
“Turn your head to the side, stick your arms in and pull,” Argyll said.
Lazarus gave her a look like “what’s the problem” and walked into the hole.
“That cat your familiar or something?”
“Something like that,” Barb said, then did as she was told and slid into the hole like a reversal of birth.
“Ow,” she muttered as she entered a slightly larger area. The smell was distinct but not strong. The Shambler had gone deeper.
“What happened?” Argyll asked.
“Scraped my cheek on the rock,” Barb said. “There’s enough room in here for you and me. I think.”
“Plenty,” Argyll said, sliding past her and looking around. There was a faint light from the exterior but his helmet light lit it like day. “Two openings,” he added, using a handlight to point them out.
“Restrictions,” Barb said, sliding over on her belly. There was no standing in the cavern; the ceiling was less than three feet.
She sniffed at the one to the right but didn’t smell anything except, possibly, a faint animal musk. There were some small bones on the floor, and she realized they were probably in a bear’s winter den.
The one to the left, however, had some distinct drag marks. She realized it was going to be hard to track the Shambler based on ichor because, surprisingly, the walls of the cave were black. Lazarus was standing by the opening as if wondering what was taking her so long.
“I thought these were limestone,” she said, pointing to the wall.
“That’s a slime mold that covers just about every cave wall in the world,” Argyll said. “That’s how you know it’s a pristine cave, it’s got black walls. But something’s been through here,” he added, pointing to the drag marks.
“And that would be the way we have to go,” Barb said, looking at the restriction. It was tighter than the entrance, but shining her light in, she could see an open area beyond. She tilted her head back and forth.
Lazarus looked at her again and just walked into the cave ahead of her.
“Get on your back,” Mike said, shining his light in. “Head to the side again. I’ll brace your boots. Grab on and pull up and to the left as you’re looking, my right. Yo, Cedar! Next victim!”
Barb had been slithering and poking and sliding for what seemed like days and was, in fact, four hours when she finally got to a spot where she stopped.
“I can’t fit through that,” she said.
Barb’s impression of caves, she had realized, came from the mine in Snow White. Caves were supposed to be high things where you walked through going “ooo” and “ah!” at the pretty stalactites reflecting the light from your torches.
Caves were not supposed to be barely negotiable, narrow, dark and nasty tunnels. They had slid through mud twice, ducked under a “sump,” which was a restriction filled with water, and only been able to stand upright in two caverns. And those had neither stalactites nor happy, singing dwarves. And now this.
The irregular opening was barely a foot across and high. Or so it looked.
“Eh, you’d be surprised,” Argyll said, cocking his head from side to side. The cave before the opening was no great shakes, being barely two feet high, but it was wide enough the entire team had crowded in. “What I don’t get is, who the hell is this guy? He dragged this girl through all this? Why? How?”
They’d found not o
nly more scraps of hair but bits of clothing along the way. There was no question at this point that they were on the trail of Loren Cowper. But Barb didn’t expect to find her alive and had made that very clear to the party.
“Hope you don’t find out,” Janea said. “You seriously think we can fit through there?”
“I’ve gotten through worse,” Thane said. “Want me to show them?”
“No, I’ve got it,” Argyll said. “I’ll make sure it’s doable then you ladies can follow. Better tie me off, though.”
Shane reached forward and slid a rope around the team lead’s ankle.
“Ready to yank,” Shane said.
Lazarus looked at her and yowled.
“Professor,” Barb said, looking at Lazarus. “If it’s doable, maybe I should go first. Heck, maybe Laz should go first.”
At that, Laz yowled again as if saying, “Not on your life.”
“No. It’s fine. Right,” Argyll said, folding his shoulders inwards. “You ladies are going to have to do this different, but…gimme a push.”
Cedar grasped his ankles and slid him forward, and the geology professor slid into the hole like a piston.
“Right, pull me out, this is a reverse entry,” Argyll said after a moment. He slid out, then flipped on his back. “We’re going up again.”
Cedar slid him back into the hole to the maximum extent of his arms, then pulled back out.
“Right,” Argyll said, his voice muffled. “Gonna have to wriggle this one. Ladies, the way that you’re going to have to do this is…” He paused for a moment, then screamed as the rope started flying through Thane’s hands.
“What the hell?” Thane shouted, grabbing on. But it continued to slide through his gloves.
The screams sounding from the hole echoed through the cave and were magnified until they cut off abruptly. There was a crunching sound from above and then a stream of blood gushed onto the floor of the cave.
“Oh, my God,” Cedar said, rolling to the side and retching.
“I think we found the perpetrator,” Barb said, looking at the hole. “I’m going to need my necessaries.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Now, you understand these things don’t respond to the normal God stuff,” Janea said worriedly.
“The Lord has dominion over all things, seen and unseen,” Barb replied, looking askance at the opening. The much smaller professor had barely fit. She wasn’t looking forward to trying to slide up the slot. Much less fighting at the top. Or possibly not even at the top. “I’m more worried about sliding up that damned hole. Refresh me on cold steel.”
“Shamblers can normally be cut,” Janea said. “But they regenerate tentacles like mad. Cut one, you just get ichor all over you for your trouble.”
“Thane, I need my bag. Then there’s this chant thing.”
“A-ku-surgo, ka-ka-gree,” Janea repeated gutturally. “You’ve got to get the inflection on the gree.”
“Sounds like demon Tongues to me,” Barb said, looking over at the assistant. Thane was pressed against the back wall of the cave, wide-eyed. Cedar had disappeared, probably halfway back to the entrance. “Thane!” Barb slid across the slick floor and grabbed the assistant’s face, pulling it to look at her. “Eye contact! I need you to focus for me!”
“Sure…” the student said, his eyes still wide. He was shaking from head to foot.
“I need my bag,” Barb said. “You are sitting on it. You sure power of light won’t stop it?” she added to Janea.
“With you, no,” Janea said. “But generally you can throw Bibles and holy water at these things all day and nothing happens. They’re not strictly demons. They’re, like, some sort of remnant being. Maybe they were demons for dinosaurs. Who knows. But they sort of predate gods.”
“God created the world and all in it,” Barb said, taking the bag from the student. She slid towards the opening and slid the bag open, considering her choices. First she pulled out her H amp;K and buckled it on. It would make moving up the hole harder, but she wasn’t going to face this thing without a gun at least available. Then she pulled out two wakizashi, short, slightly curved Japanese folded steel swords. Last she pulled out a tanto knife of similar design.
“Except yours, I guess,” Janea said. “But don’t count on God helping you with this one. He rarely gets involved with Old Ones.”
“Ladies, are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Thane asked.
“That’s why I was supposed to be taking point,” Barb said, flicking both of the sheathed swords to the side so the sheaths clattered against the wall. She took one in either hand, and a deep breath. Closer to the hole she could smell the stink of the Old One. The professor must have been so caught up in his role of expert he hadn’t noticed. Or was it getting…?
“Is that a…slithering sound?” Janea asked.
“Looks like we get to depend on your pronunciation,” Barb said, backing up. “Now would be a good time!”
The creature emerging in the helmet lights was pure nightmare. Its very form was hard to determine. Mostly a mass of writhing tentacles, there were suckers and pseudopods extending in chaotic order, and everywhere there were eyes that were oddly human. The color was not black but a nauseous, leprous green that shaded to black and purple in places as if the entire being was one mass of gangrenous corruption.
Janea hefted the battery-powered sprayer and showered the mass with a yellow powder.
“A-ku-surgo, ka-ka-gree!” Janea shouted triumphantly, then grimaced. The tentacles were continuing to creep into the room. The thing, fortunately, wasn’t moving fast. As if it wanted to maximize the terror.
“Isn’t working,” Barb commented, still backing up. There wasn’t much more to back to.
“I noticed,” Janea said. “A-ku-surgo, ka-ka-gree!”
“Right,” Barb said, flipping onto her back. “Let’s try this my way. Lord, send me Your aid in battle against evil and I will in Your name kick some unholy ass!”
With her back on the floor, she pushed off of a notched spot in the ceiling and slid towards the monster on her back, wakizashi crossed.
Over the years Barb had studied practically every form found in the East. Traveling from place to place, the one constant was that as soon as they arrived, her father would use his contacts as an FAO to find not only a martial arts studio but the very best that would take a female. As time went on, and Barb’s ability improved, the word would usually precede them.
But there was never, or rarely, the same style available at the best facility at the next posting. Hong Kong, it was Wah Lum; Singapore, Mantis; Thailand, kickboxing and krabi krabong; Japan, bushido and karate; Okinawa, tuete, and so on. All of them had combined into a personal style that Barb mentally dubbed Barb-do-kicki. Which translated as: “whatever works.”
Fighting a multitentacled demon from nightmare was never part of any of the training. But she’d fought up to six students of centipede who were used to working together, so it was close. The position was centipede, the sword work krabi krabong, the swords Japanese. Barb-do-kicki at its essence.
The only problem being that the swords bounced right off the tentacles.
“Janea, find another chant or something,” Barb said, spinning around and slamming a tentacle with a round kick. The tentacle tried to grab her leg but slid off of the slippery suit. Spinning again, she slapped two more away with the swords and flicked a point into one of the thousands of eyes. That, at least, sunk home.
“God, now would be a really nice time to prove the Priestess wrong,” Barb said, concentrating on her channel. Finally, she felt a surge of power. “Thank you, Lord,” Barb said, slicing a tentacle off at the tip.
The thing keened a loud cry and redoubled its efforts to get through the spinning swords and legs. It pulled itself fully into the chamber, revealing a bulbous body at the center that was no more pleasant than the rest of it.
Janea was chanting a series of prayers, some of them in languages Barb
actually recognized.
“Was that Tibetan?” Barb asked.
“Yes,” Janea said, desperately. “I don’t know what this thing is! If I don’t know what it is I don’t know which dispel to use!”
“Fine,” Barb said, her eyes lighting as the swords began to glow. “We’ll do this my way.”
She slid forward again, the wakizashi crossing in a butterfly pattern and shredding tentacles as she went. They did regrow, and were covering her in pumped ichor, but the important thing was that they were opening up a hole to get to the body of the creature.
One finally managed to wrap around her arm, but she countered by rewrapping multiple times, reeling herself rapidly into close quarters with the Old One.
Once there, a single stab of a glowing wakizashi drove deep into the amorphous body of the creature. As the sword reached its vitals she felt a massive wave of power pass through her, and the thing exploded like a pus-filled water balloon, drenching the chamber in ichor and an unholy stench.
“Ack!” Barb said, rolling onto her stomach and blowing out ichor. There was more in her nose than her mouth, but it was foul either way. And it stung the eyes like acid. “Yuck! Ptui!”
“Okay, so I guess The White God does get involved with Old Ones,” Janea said, shaking the ichor-covered mass of papers in her hand. “And… yuck!”
“Lord,” Barb said, rolling to her knees and bowing her head. “Thank you for Your assistance with defeating evil this day. May Your Name be glorified in company with Your Son, Jesus Christ. Bring comfort to the soul of Professor Argyll and take him into Your arms. Whatever his sins of this life, he died in battle against evil in Your Name. Amen. Okay, Thane, how do I…” Barb paused and shook her head. “Sugar.”