Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit

by Michael Swanson

  The horrific pain in Lee'd ankle was coming back, as were the rest of Lee's senses.

  "You know about Osia, about Limpkins, don't you?” Lee asked.

  Ridley stopped. “My, you are a smart one, aren't you?"

  Lee didn't feel very smart, he felt like he was going to be sick.

  "You're like them aren't you?"

  Like a nanny would coddle a small child, he reached out and pinched Lee's cheek. He then wiped off a finger full of blood and licked it, the way someone licks their finger who is about to test the wind. Then he said, “Why, my boy, I am them. They are me. We all have fun together."

  He brought the bat back, preparing to swing. “Enough, now! I know you're trying to buy a little time for your girls to escape me, but with that hurricane out there where possibly could they run that I won't find them? I assume you found a passage that led into the room yonder. You know, it'll be easy, even fun finding them.” He cupped his free hand to his mouth and called out insanely, “Olly Olly Oxen Free. Come out, come out wherever you are.” Then he tittered, obviously tremendously pleased with himself.

  Ridley reached out again with one hand and cupped Lee's chin. “I'm afraid I've decided I'm not going to let you watch after all.” He tried to look sad and serious. “I'm afraid this is going to be all for you."

  Lee looked to the bat and back to Ridley. The man's one real eye had turned completely yellow, filled with that same wicked shine he'd seen before. Lee knew right now, Osia and Limpkins were looking at him and enjoying themselves immensely.

  Ridley let Lee's chin go and brought the bat back.

  Lee steeled himself, knowing he couldn't run. But he was going to try. Already he was gauging how best to go for Ridley's throat.

  Surprising them both, Phoebe burst into the room, slipping and hanging onto the door frame with one hand to keep from falling.

  Ridley kept the bat raised but didn't swing. “Oh how, delightful, you've decided to come back. You're just in time. I'm going to splatter this boy's head."

  Lee was still foggy, but he thought it was odd that Phoebe was slimy, soaking wet, and all out of breath. “Drop—that—bat,” she said one word at a time. “Step back, or else."

  "Or else what?” Ridley's voice was so self-satisfied and petulant he almost squealed.

  Phoebe raised the pistol. “Or else this."

  She pulled the trigger, and the confines of the little room exploded with the terrific report of the gun. Ridley Ballard took it in the upper chest, tumbling back, the bat appearing to hang motionless in the air for a moment then clattering to the floor.

  Phoebe passed Lee by, still grimly holding the pistol extended way out in front with both hands.

  Lee couldn't hear a thing except for the siren going off in his ears. But he did stumble forward, grabbing the doorframe with both hands to hold himself up.

  Ridley Ballard was crawling on all fours, the red crack of his flaccid butt staring up at Phoebe. At the top of his left shoulder was a truly impressive exit wound, gaping and ragged.

  Phoebe kicked him in the ass.

  Vaguely, Lee thought he heard her say: “This is for Evie, you son of a bitch."

  She moved around and kicked him in the side. He collapsed over and then rolled completely over on his back. There was nice, dark round hole centered between the clavicle and the nipple. Ridley was gasping, the one eye still fiercely yellow.

  Dimly, Lee heard him cough, “You can't really kill me. You'll only make it worse on yourselves; you have no idea.” He spit some blood. “It's your boyfriend there who unleashed it when he found my eye and it's all come together with Osia's spearhead. Do you think this storm's arrival was an accident? Do you think any of this was an accident?"

  In Ridley's ghastly face the glass eye moved around independently of the other, peering at Lee and then back to Phoebe. In the instant of eye contact, Lee could see down into the dark iris. What was in there was alive.

  Phoebe kicked him again.

  Ridley groaned and spat more blood, but looked up at Phoebe with such a terrible malevolence. “Go ahead,” he growled. “But whatever you do to me, no matter what, it will get dark again. And as soon as the lights go out I'll be back."

  He spat again, and Limpkin's eye focused evilly on Phoebe. “Your little Evie was a tasty little treat.” He laughed and the blood gurgled at his lips. “She was a screamer, too. But such sweet meat. When I first bit her on the—"

  Phoebe knelt down and stuck the pistol in his mouth, jamming it between his teeth and shutting him up.

  "Fuck you!” she said, then pulled the trigger twice.

  Lee was aware that Patty had come up from behind. She was holding Flapjack.

  Patty jumped at the loud reports of the pistol, letting go of the duck to cover her ears. Then she looked up at her brother. “Oh Lee!” she called out. “You're hurt. Phoebe, Lee's hurt."

  Phoebe came to the door, still holding the pistol. She had bits of bone and spatters of blood and brain all over her ruined pretty blue dress.

  The two girls led Lee over to the couch and helped him to sit down.

  "Get some water and a towel,” Phoebe ordered urgently.

  Patty stepped over Ridley's corpse, looking back at it all the way as she walked to the kitchen.

  A thick pool of blood was spreading over the floor from where the top of his bald head had been. The combed over hair was hanging off to the side, but the dead right eye was still, bright and yellow.

  Lee started to lie down.

  "Oh no you don't,” Phoebe cautioned. “Lee Coombs you're not going to go to sleep on me, do you hear? If you fall asleep you may not wake up.” She clapped her hands together sharply. “Lee! Wake up!"

  Lee stuck a finger in his ear and tried to grin. “I can't hear a thing. Somebody fired off a cannon in a closet."

  Patty was back quickly. Coming back she had avoided Ridley's corpse entirely, going around the other side of the room. But Flapjack was over there sniffing the body, stretching his neck out and straining in, his tail feathers waggling curiously.

  "You went back for the pistol?” Lee asked, as Phoebe gently dabbed around his head.

  She nodded and a slight trace of her grin crept out. “Good thing I was luckier at finding it in the cave than I was at finding you shorts in the river."

  Lee couldn't return her smile; it hurt too much. He did lean up to take a couple gulps from the glass and knew that he had to be coming around as his ankle was throbbing much stronger than his head. Looking around he noticed there was a clock on the wall, reading 1:45, and then he noticed Patty was standing by herself, staring down at Ridley's body.

  He motioned to Phoebe, and she got up. “You sit tight, Lee. I'm going to drag this garbage into the other room, before it begins to stink."

  When Phoebe walked over she gently touched Patty on the back of the head. “Go over and help your brother. You don't need to be looking at this.” Then she grabbed Ridley by the heels and left behind a long smear as she dragged him out of the room. Flapjack stared curiously at some of the residue, but after a few sniffs, left it alone.

  Phoebe came back and fell onto the sofa.

  "You're going to ruin the upholstery,” Lee shouted, loudly. When he spoke it sounded as though he had cotton in his ears.

  Phoebe picked up at the front of her dress. “And look at my best dress. It's ruined, too."

  Patty, curious as always, was poking about the kitchen, opening cabinets, and finally the refrigerator. “Hey! There's Cokes in here!” she called back.

  After two am, Lee felt much better. Lee found it an amazing testament to Patty's resiliency as she was munching on some cheese and crackers, but with seeing what he'd seen, he couldn't think of eating, especially with Ridley's head all over the room. But the cold caffeine from the soft drink had done him a world of good.

  He was sitting up. “We'll have to go up and see what it's like above."

  "Let's wait until its light,” Phoebe suggested.

&nbs
p; Lee nodded, though it felt like someone was bouncing a basketball off the inside of his skull if he moved at all.

  Patty was snuggled in next to Phoebe. She looked up at Phoebe with sincere honesty. “You shot that bad man didn't you?"

  Phoebe locked her lips for a moment, then said, “I didn't have any choice. He killed Evie, and he was going to kill Lee."

  "Do you think he's really dead?” Patty asked quietly.

  "Yes Patty, he's dead,” Phoebe replied. But she did cast a quick glance at the gun sitting on the table.

  Lee didn't want to say anything, but he wasn't all so sure. The bottom line was he'd feel a whole lot better once they got out of here.

  Patty turned her face down, not looking at either Lee or Phoebe as tears welled out of her eyes. “My Momma and Daddy are dead too, aren't they?"

  "Go ahead and cry, baby,” Phoebe pulled her in closely. “I think we all need a good cry."

  It must have been contagious, as within a brief span, Phoebe had joined in. Though Lee tried to avoid it, he ended up turning his head and crying harder than he could remember for a long, long time.

  Little by little, whether it was the emotional release or simply the passing minutes, Lee began to feel himself coming back to reality. All the while though, he couldn't help staring up at the ceiling and wondering what was going on up above.

  Finally, despite Phoebe, he tried to get up. Luckily he found that the ankle, though terribly stiff, wasn't quite as bad as he'd feared. Still, Phoebe commanded him to sit down and let her take care of whatever he wanted.

  Pushing himself up and hobbling toward an obvious door, he informed Phoebe that he doubted she could take care of what it was he needed to do. Once in the tiny bathroom, Lee took one glance into the mirror, but was horrified by what he saw. The worst of it was where Ridley had caught him on the side of the head with the bat. His ear was black and caked blood had dried all inside. The entire side of his head was swollen up and purple, and blood was also all matted in his hair and down his neck. Lee washed up a little, but it hurt so badly to touch himself he didn't do much good. And when he returned to the main room, it was amazingly to the sound of country music coming from a radio on a shelf by the kitchen.

  "I tried the T.V.,” Phoebe offered, “But I didn't get anything. But the radio works."

  Patty was curled up on the sofa asleep, so Lee took the chair by the wall. He checked the clock again, and then cast a nervous glance at the doorway which led into the bedroom where Ridley and Betty's bodies lay. “It'll be light about six. I think we should try to go up and see what's going on as early as we can."

  Phoebe nodded.

  Lee touched his head, feeling about the huge knot, and gazing wonderingly at Phoebe.

  "What?” she asked.

  He tried to give her what he hoped was a grin. “You're a mess."

  She'd gotten up and walking around opening cabinets and poking into things. “You're not going to win any beauty prizes either, buster,” she came back.

  There was a mirror against the wall by the bathroom door. Phoebe stood back and looked at herself. The blue dress was smeared with mud and torn under the arm and down the right side. Her pretty strawberry blonde hair was matted with mud and tangled to the point that scissors would probably work better than a brush. She reached down and rubbed at a long, fat, red scratch running down one knee. “You know, this is a bomb shelter,” she said, turning back to face Lee. “They've surely got to have some clothes and stuff."

  Lee watched while she tore the place apart. It was amazing the things she did find. There was a flare gun, boxes and boxes of army rations, bourbon whiskey, board games, mosquito netting and even a surplus, self-inflating raft, but no clothes. Ridley's antique-looking suit was hanging neatly on a hook near the entrance, but that was all.

  Lee thought of it first, then decided against it and finally said, “There's Betty's clothes hanging up in there. I bet they'll fit."

  Rather than reacting horrified at the idea Phoebe nodded. “Great idea,” she said, walking into the back bedroom. When she disappeared into that room Lee found a sharp pang of worry washed through him. But in a few minutes she came out. She was wearing the jeans and pink top that had been hanging on the wall. She must have read Lee's mind, as she said flat out, “Yes, I did change into the underwear, too. You didn't expect me to put on clean clothes and still wear soggy, dirty underwear did you?"

  "What'd I say,” he came back. “I didn't say a thing about your underwear."

  She sat down in the opposite chair and leaned forward, balancing the flashlight standing, it up on end. “I know you.” She pressed her finger to her temple. “I can read your mind."

  Lee closed his eyes and squinted, then reopened them. “Did you read that?"

  Phoebe gave him her limp-wristed shove. “Loud and clear."

  He grinned. “Well?"

  She smiled. “I would, but Patty's here."

  Lee laughed, but the way his head throbbed it reminded him it'd was much better to be still.

  The lights began to flicker.

  Phoebe and Lee sat up.

  The hum from the generator, something Lee had forgotten to even notice any longer, was becoming ragged.

  After sputtering, coughing, and catching briefly, it ceased altogether. The lights dimmed and went out.

  The radio, a battery operated model, continued to play.

  Phoebe switched on the flashlight.

  Patty was still oblivious on the couch. Flapjack, who had tucked his head under his wing, was over in the corner.

  Suddenly, on the radio, the high pitched civil defense warning signal sounded. For a moment Lee thought nothing of it. He'd heard the voice come on so many times after the tone saying: “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. This is only a test.” This time, that didn't happen.

  "This is a Civil Defense news update,” a voice said clearly. “Hurricane Carla made landfall at 11:05 p.m. eastern standard time. Many of you in our listening area are without power, and lines are down all over the southeast. More than twenty inches of rain has fallen in some of our broadcast areas, and winds in excess of one hundred fifty miles an hour have been recorded as far inland as Lenoir in Parsons County. Parsons County appears to be suffering the brunt of the storm, and all communications with that area are down. Weather service predictions report that the eye of Hurricane Carla will pass directly over Parsons County sometime this morning. The Yalahalla River and all surrounding creeks are well out of their banks, and the Southern Civil Defense Authority is recommending that folks stay home and do not under any circumstances attempt to travel. Highway 57 is closed both north and south of the river. If threatened by rising waters it is recommended to seek shelter on a roof or other high place. In case of high winds or tornadoes, stay in a basement or an interior bathroom if no other shelter is available. More information will follow as it is made available. Please stay tuned to this station."

  After a brief silence, Hank Williams began wailing, “You're Cheatin’ Heart."

  "That sounds bad,” Phoebe said.

  Even worse, Lee noticed the flash light was becoming noticeably dim and yellow.

  "It should be light soon.” Lee cast a very nervous glance at the bedroom doorway. “I think maybe now would be a good time to go open that door and get an idea of what to expect."

  Phoebe got up. “You sit still."

  The main door had a metal wheel in the center, like that of a bulkhead in a ship.

  Phoebe put the flash light under an arm and twisted it with both hands. It turned easily. Suddenly, the door moved back on its own, and a great deal of water began pouring in.

  "Lee!” Phoebe called back. “What do I do?"

  Lee jumped up, limping over as quickly as he could.

  Before he could get to the door, the flood subsided, dropping off quickly, leaving only about an inch or two of water on the floor.

  Lee could feel how much cooler it was in the dark passage way, and the air smelled
crisp and sweet compared to what they were breathing inside the shelter. But the sound of the storm was there as well, the wind could be heard howling about with tremendous force.

  Phoebe leaned inside and shone the light upwards.

  "There are some stairs and another door above,” she said to Lee. “There's water trickling in under that door.

  Lee hobbled over and took a look for himself. “I'm surprised there's anything up there. I'd have thought everything was blown away by now."

  From behind, in the dark came a rustling sound.

  The smell was back.

  Like a stab, it hit Lee. He'd felt all this before. Ridley hadn't been fooling. It wasn't over.

  Lee took the flashlight and hobbled back, splashing through the water on the floor to look back in the bedroom. He shone it on the floor and reacted with a start when he saw Ridley Ballard was sitting up. Betty's head was up too, and both her eyes were blazing yellow. From the floor, Ridley was working at her straps and already had one of her feet free.

  Betty grinned at Lee, licking her purple lips.

  Ridley freed the other foot and then using the edge of the table, pulled himself to his knees.

  Finally gaining his feet he turned back to face Lee. “You would have been much better off with Ridley.” Captain Limpkin's New England accent was strong as ever.

  Lee rushed back into the room. “Ridley's alive, and Betty, too!"

  "That can't be!” Phoebe was breathless. “Those two are dead."

  "Can't you feel it?” Lee asked. “That presence?"

  Phoebe gripped his arm. “Like in the caboose."

  To make matters even worse, the water on the floor was visibly rising higher. There was a flow feeding in from two directions. With the main door open water was cascading down the stairs, but a current could be seen coming in from the back bedroom. It wasn't just the water seeping in from under the little house's door, but the cave must have filled, and it was now apparent, no matter what, the bomb shelter was going to flood.

  And the presence was stifling. The heat and the strength of it filled the air. This time, the sheer weight of it revealed it was done toying with any one. It was time, and it was not going to be denied having its way.