Creepy Crawly

by Andrew Lowe

  He crawled for what seemed like hours, until the channel grew wider and taller and he was able to stand, at a crouch. His joints throbbed with the effort and he found it harder to catch his breath. He shivered as he stood: something he had never experienced before. In one of the dryer sections of the channel, he had laid down his head and felt the tug of sleep, but jolted himself awake just in time.

  He took out the survey map and saw that his current position was at the far end of a long tunnel with branching pathways behind, as Walden had described. Ahead, a smaller chamber, or ‘vault’ according to the map, led to two further passages that could be taken at a walking crouch. He pushed forward and emerged into the gaping black of the open chamber. As he fiddled in vain with the dial on his headtorch, hoping to find a brighter setting, he accidentally switched it off.

  Sawyer crouched there, in silence, aghast at the nothingness. This was a terrible new pitch of dark: unpolluted, unfathomable.

  And that’s when he heard it.

  A voice, up ahead. Low pitched.

  And the response. High pitched.

  He switched the headtorch back on and moved forward, towards the sounds.

  He shuffled through the right hand passage. There was light ahead now, too. Diffuse, but more than just a headtorch. He turned off his switch and inched forward, now able to navigate by the incoming light.

  Staying close to the wall, Sawyer moved around into the larger chamber. Two lanterns burned at opposite ends of the space, casting fluttering shadows. There were buckets, backpacks. A large man was crouched down by a cooking stove, with his back to Sawyer. Luka Strickland lay on a thin sleeping bag, beneath one of the lanterns. He was wearing a leg manacle, chained to an outcrop of tall, thin rock.

  As Sawyer shifted further into the chamber, he stepped down too hard into a pile of small rocks, and they fell apart with a clatter.

  The man flinched and turned his head. ‘Who goes there?’ His tone was curious.

  It was Dennis Crawley. The man from the hospital. The man in the CCTV pictures. His hair had grown out a little, and he was already stubbled, almost bearded. He wore a helmet with an unlit headtorch, and a black oversuit with a utility belt.

  He squinted towards Sawyer and dazzled him with a hand lamp. ‘Who could that be?’ His keen blue eyes flared in the torchlight. ‘Mr Sawyer? Detective Inspector, isn’t it?’

  Sawyer stood upright. ‘Found your voice, then, Dennis? Expanded your vocabulary?’

  Crawley smiled. ‘How the fuck did you find me? Are you the only one crazy enough to come looking?’ His speaking voice was already deep, but the cave echo gave it added resonance.

  ‘Pretty much.’ Sawyer stepped forward and stopped a few feet from the stove. Crawley stood to face him. Up close, he was big. Sawyer kept his eye on the heavy-looking hand lamp.

  ‘Jake?’ Luka called over.

  ‘Hey, Luka. You okay?’

  Luka turned away from him on the sleeping bag and shrugged. ‘Yeah. Have you come to take me home?’

  Sawyer trained his green eyes into Crawley’s blues. ‘Yes. Your mum is worried. She’s okay, but she needs you home now, Luka.’

  ‘First name terms,’ said Crawley. ‘Did you meet at the hospital?’

  Sawyer took another step forward.

  Crawley held his ground. He was hard to read; he seemed to be staring through Sawyer. ‘Do you know where I got the idea from? For the hospital? I read about a lizard. Bearded dragon. The vet declared it dead, so its owner buried it in a cardboard box, and it clawed its way out. They found it alive in the garden, five weeks later.’

  Sawyer glanced at Crawley’s hand; he was wearing the tooth ring. ‘I know about Irene, Dennis. Your mother. In a way, she’s with us now, isn’t she?’

  Crawley broke eye contact, and—slowly—looked Sawyer up and down. ‘Not a good fit. Your oversuit. You’re not a caver.’ He half closed his eyes, pondering. ‘Uncle Jim isn’t back there with you, is he?’ He backed away and sat down on a flat rock. He lowered his head, but kept his eyes up, on Sawyer. ‘That’s also like caving. The lizard story. Digging into the earth, burying yourself. I bet this is your first time, Mr Sawyer. How are you coping with the claustrophobia? That feeling of everything above pressing down on you? No chance of immediate relief. Caving is the least glamorous of all the outdoor pursuits. Rock climbers are seen as rugged, and fell runners have the allure of stamina. Cavers are seen as odd, weird. That’s followed me around all my life. I take it you’re aware of my school nickname?’ He shifted his position. ‘You know what it is about caving? Climbers. Mountaineers. Even divers. They all know what they’re in for, what to expect. That’s not true for cavers. Caving isn’t about conquering something external. Climbing to the top and planting a fucking flag. It’s about fear. Overcoming it. The deepest fear of all. The fear of the unknown.’

  Sawyer crouched, resting his legs, propped up by adrenaline. Luka had raised himself and was watching. ‘Dennis. I know about Irene. And Paul. Danny. I know about Dale.’ Crawley winced at the mention of Strickland. ‘This isn’t the way to punish him.’

  ‘I was going to start with Tracey.’ Crawley’s voice surged in volume; he corrected himself. ‘The one who started it all. But it didn’t feel right. She was a victim, too. Still. You know how it works. Evil triumphs when good people do nothing.’

  ‘You’re projecting adult emotions onto her. She was a kid. Scared of Dale. But Georgina, Toby, Luka? Innocents shouldn’t have to suffer so you can punish the guilty.’

  Crawley lifted his head and let his gaze wander up to the cave roof. ‘Have you ever desired revenge, Mr Sawyer? That craving for brutal justice? Primal retaliation? It gnaws at you, hour by hour, day by day. Eating you alive. That’s the trouble with revenge. Once you’ve enacted it, you’re still left with the pain. You know what? Revenge isn’t a dish best served cold. It’s a stone in a lake. A way of sharing the pain, sending out ripples across generations, delivering it to as many people as possible. All those living and yet to be born. Passing on the justice. It’s a whine of feedback that carries on, long after the original players have left the stage.’

  ‘I get that,’ said Sawyer, nodding. ‘But, careful with the mixed metaphors.’

  Crawley smiled. ‘I can’t change the past. But I can rob my mother’s attackers of a peaceful future. As they did for her. She was murdered. In front of me. The fatal blows were struck that night. It just took her two years to die.’

  Sawyer nodded, slowly. ‘So where to from here, Dennis? What’s in store for Luka? Tracey? Danny? Paul? Dale? What kind of ripples are going to reach them?’

  ‘I was going to hold on to the boy, wait for Dale to get out. I’m sure you know that he’s connected, so…’ Again, Crawley’s gaze drifted; this time to a point above Sawyer’s shoulder. He snapped himself back into the moment. ‘It’s a bit more complicated. More improvisation than I would have liked. I needed the boy alive to get to him.’

  Sawyer stood up. ‘You haven’t thought it through, have you? You’re not a psycho. You’re an innocent, caught up in someone else’s madness. Just like Toby and Georgina. And Luka. How many ripples do you send out, Dennis? How much justice needs to be passed on before it’s enough? And then what? You hand yourself in? Job done?’

  Crawley got up off the rock and walked over to the lantern near Luka. He snuffed it out. A deeper darkness settled over the chamber.

  He walked over to the second lantern and flicked on his headtorch. ‘These helmet lights are fine for the small chambers, but they’re next to useless in the big areas. You have to back them up with knowledge of the passages.’ He snuffed out the second lantern. Sawyer could now only make out his face, helmet and shadowy outline. ‘To answer your question, there’s a lot more to do. A lot more justice to pass on. I’m sorry, Mr Sawyer, but this is all too… inconvenient.’

  Crawley charged: a flurry of shadows, his face distorted beneath the light from his shaking headtorch.

  Sawyer set himself in J
eet Kune Do fighting stance: fists up, side on, feet apart, heels raised. As Crawley closed in, Sawyer stuck to his JKD principles. Rather than wait for his opponent to arrive, he pushed off his back foot and shuffled forward, delivering a straight lead punch to Crawley’s face. The connection was good, with the punch’s power drawn from Sawyer’s pivoting hip and shoulder. But his aim was off in the dark, and the blow crashed into Crawley’s cheek when a chin shot or nose-breaker would have ended it all in one hit.

  Crawley staggered. Sawyer shuffled to the side and snapped back into fighting stance. Crawley came again, raising his hand. He had grabbed a fist-sized chunk of rock and swung it at Sawyer’s head. Sawyer disrupted the swing with a pak sau block: an open palm slapped into Crawley’s forearm, near the elbow. Crawley’s arm jerked to the side and he dropped the rock. Sawyer moved inside, on the centreline, hoping to unbalance Crawley with a jab to set him up for a more decisive blow. But the darkness had concealed Crawley’s other hand, which held a heavy ball-peen hammer. He swung it round and connected with Sawyer’s helmet, shattering the headtorch and robbing him of his own light source.

  The blow was loud and heavy, and jolted Sawyer’s head into the cave wall. The contact was absorbed by the helmet, but the impact dizzied him, and he dropped to his knee, steadying himself with a hand on the ground. Crawley was on him, pushing him onto his back. Sawyer regained his senses and tried to roll, hoping to pitch Crawley to the side. But it was too late; Crawley straddled his chest, and he was pinned beneath the bigger man’s weight.

  Crawley raised the hammer, but Sawyer wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, drawing his head down close, restricting the angle of the swing. The hammer ground into rock near Sawyer’s ear.

  He pulled Crawley’s head down to his right side, and slotted his forearm into the crook of his arm, preventing any punches or hammer blows. He bent his knees and planted his feet on the ground, blocking Crawley from climbing to one side and immobilising Sawyer’s upper body. Sawyer interlocked his fingers and dug his right foot into the ground. He pushed off and rolled Crawley, using his locked hands to grapple his neck and keep Crawley’s hands from reaching his eyes.

  Now, Sawyer was on top. He used his cheek to force Crawley’s head down low, and pushed off, rolling him again, squeezing hard on the back of his neck. Crawley coughed and heaved. Starved of air, his grapple loosened, and Sawyer pushed him off and stumbled free. As he turned, Crawley scrambled away and dashed into the entrance passage. Sawyer tracked the movement of light from his headtorch, but in a few seconds, he was gone, and the chamber was a void of suffocating dark.

  He reached up to his helmet and pulled out the small back-up torch, slotted into a clip at the side. It gave off a faint, pale white light; just enough to see a few feet ahead.

  ‘Luka? You okay?’ He limped to the sleeping bag and crouched down, moving the dim light across the scene, inch by inch. Empty Coke bottles, crisp wrappers, books, a handheld game console.

  Luka tried to stand, but the chain restricted his movement. ‘Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for coming to get me.’

  Sawyer looked over the padlock on the leg manacle. ‘No problem. I had no choice, really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I promised your mum.’ Sawyer cast the torch over Luka. Vans trainers, dark jeans, padded jacket. It all looked new. His face was grubby and his eyelids drooped, probably from lack of sleep. ‘Has he hurt you?’

  Luka forced a smile. ‘He took out one of my teeth. One of the baby ones at the top. Numbed up my gums first. Like at the dentist. It didn’t hurt, though!’

  A tooth for a tooth. Sawyer breathed out. ‘You’ve been very brave, Luka. Have you eaten?’

  ‘There’s food in the backpack. Sandwiches. Not hungry.’

  Sawyer clipped the torch back onto the side of his helmet. He opened the Velcro pocket, took out the hairpins, and set to work on the lock.

  Luka watched him. ‘Can you get in like that? Are the police allowed?’

  ‘Luka, have you heard the phrase, “with great power comes great responsibility”?’

  ‘Yeah. Spider-Man.’

  ‘Well, I’m responsible for you, and I’m a policeman with great power.’ He smiled. ‘So, yeah. It’s allowed.’

  ‘My mouth aches a bit. He gave me a bit of cloth to bite on.’

  Sawyer nodded. ‘Forms a blood clot. Stops infection getting in. Where’s the tooth?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘He was probably going to send it to your dad.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sawyer paused. ‘To prove you’re still okay.’

  ‘He could have just taken a picture.’

  Sawyer twisted the bent section of hairpin. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll grow a new tooth. I’ll give you a pound for the old one later.’

  Luka snorted. ‘My head still hurts, and I have to go to the toilet in the buckets. It’s horrible. Smells rank.’

  ‘You had an accident. You weren’t fully recovered. We’ll get you out of here, then you can properly rest.’

  The lock clicked and opened.

  Luka sat upright. ‘Sick!’

  Sawyer opened the manacle and freed Luka’s foot. The ankle was bruised but otherwise fine. He glanced at Luka. ‘By “sick”, you mean, “very good”, right?’

  Luka rubbed at his ankle. ‘Sorry. I forgot that old people don’t talk properly.’

  ‘Do you have a suit? Waterproofs?’

  ‘No waterproofs. Got a helmet, though. With a torch. And he bought some wellies. In that bag over there. Never worn them, though. I’ve been here for ages. Where has Dennis gone, Mr Sawyer?’

  ‘We’ll worry about that later. Let’s get you home. Are there matches? Spare torches?’

  Luka shook his head. ‘Only the small torch, like the one you’ve got. He let me use it for reading. I can’t see well without my glasses, though.’

  Sawyer took the waterproof bag from his Velcro pocket and opened the oblong case containing a pair of red-framed glasses. Luka’s eyes widened. He snatched them up and put them on.

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘You’re welcome. I got your spare pair from your mum. Not much to see here, though. Now grab your helmet and get your wellies on. I’ve got a promise to keep.’

  63

  Together they retraced Sawyer’s steps back through the adjoining chamber. Sawyer went first, into the long crawl passage, with Luka close behind. It was unlikely that Crawley would wait for them; he’d be more interested in getting away now. But Sawyer had to stay prepared. The weak emergency torch provided little light, but Luka’s headtorch behind was a decent back-up, and the tunnel offered only one option, anyway: forward.

  They emerged into the chamber with the iron ladder. As Sawyer approached it, his stomach twisted into a knot of anger. Crawley had climbed the ladder and then hacked or stomped away its wall brackets. It now lay flat on the ground of the chamber: useless.

  He studied the survey map. It was barely possible to relate the diagrams to the space itself, let alone work out an alternative route.

  ‘Luka, did you come in this way? Down a ladder?’

  ‘No. I had to crawl through a tiny passage. It was like a slope. Dennis couldn’t fit, so he came another way. He met me at the other end. Don’t know where, though. He said he’d hurt me if I turned back.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t know about the ladder. Or he wanted to do it the hard way.’

  Sawyer studied the wall where the ladder had been fixed. It was effectively a vast, broad pillar of rock in the centre of the chamber, connected to the entrance section above. He followed it round to a tall back wall, pitted with several entrances to tight passages: all too small, apart from one which could accommodate Luka, but not himself.

  Luka shone his headtorch onto the entrances. ‘That’s where I came from! I had to come. I was going to go back and trick him, but then I remembered he’d locked the entrance bit. When we get out, will you show me how you do the lock-picking thing?’

&n
bsp; Sawyer smiled, nodded. ‘As long as you don’t tell your mum. Or show it to your dad.’

  Luka’s head dropped. ‘I don’t see my dad much.’

  ‘Are you sad about that?’

  ‘No!’ Defensive. An anger rose in his eyes. ‘Don’t really want to see him. He always makes my mum cry.’ He looked at Sawyer. ‘You were talking about him, to Dennis. You said his name. Dale. Has he done something to upset Dennis?’

  ‘I think so, yes. When he was younger. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I want to focus on getting you above the ground. Shine your light on the walls over here. Dennis must have come in from somewhere.’

  Luka crouched and trained the light from his headtorch on the rock wall. ‘What about this?’

  There was a jagged entrance to a passage blasted open at the base of the wall.

  Sawyer peered inside. It was only accessible by diving into a section of freezing water and, hopefully, coming up for air further along. It looked wide enough inside; he would be able to dive in, swim along, and swim back if there was no way to surface. It seemed like the only option to connect back up to the passages that led to the entrance.

  ‘Luka. Can you crawl back through the passage you used before, and get up to the other side?’

  Luka shrugged. ‘No problem. Are you going in there?’

  ‘I’ll have to. You get through, then wait for me. Come out at the other end and stay there. Okay? I might make it before you, so call for me.’

  Sawyer helped Luka into the tight passage and watched him wriggle out of sight, taking most of the light with him.

  He looked down at the swirling, brackish water in the broader channel.

  He gulped in a breath, held it, and dived in.