Midnight's Lair (19 page)

    With the pick held overhead like a soldier's rifle, he waded alongside the boat, past Darcy, and took a few steps to the left. He stopped in front of Ely's Wall and looked back. 'This'll just take a minute,' he said, smiling.

    'Hope so,' she told him. 'Try not to smash things up below the water.'

    'Aye-aye.' He faced the wall, lowered the pick, lifted it over one shoulder and swung. The blade struck with a deafening metalic clamour that made Darcy flinch. A knob of rock flew off the wall and splashed in front of Greg. Darcy's ears were still ringing when he slammed the pick into the wall a second time.

    'Jesus' Carol's voice.

    'Loud enough to wake the dead,' Beth muttered.

    Greg pounded the wall again and again, striking it high near the area where Ely's rocks met the cavern's smooth, ancient limestone. Chips flew. Chunks fell and thumped the water. Most of his blows seemed directed at the mortar filling the spaces between the rocks. Sometimes, entire blocks came off, hitting the water with such force that Greg's face was sprayed.

    As the opening grew, Darcy expected to see the darkness of the cavern on the other side. Instead, she saw another layer of rock. Greg kept hacking and prying at the outer wall until the opening was large enough to crawl through - if there hadn't been the second layer.

    Breathing heavily, he rested the pick on his shoulder. He shook his head and turned around. 'That Ely… didn't fool around. Wonder how thick he made the damn thing.'

    'Why don't you climb aboard and rest up?' Jim suggested. 'I'll take over for a while.'

    'Think I'll take you up on that.'

    As he returned to the boat, Jim began to undress. Darcy took the pick from Greg. It was warm where his hands had been clutching the haft. The boat wobbled as he climbed over its side. He stood up straight and folded his hands behind his head and panted for air.

    Jim, stripped down to his boxer shorts and shoes, sat down on the gunnel and lowered himself into the water. 'Whoa! Damn!'

    'Start swinging that sucker,' Greg told him, 'and you'll be toasty in no time.'

    Darcy handed the pick down to Jim. He carried it to the wall. Beth holding the light on him, he began to smash at the inner layer of rock.

    Darcy turned to Greg. Helen had apparently given her sweater to him. He was using it like a towel. Picking up his bundle of clothes, Darcy stepped over a seat. She stood at his side, facing him, watching as he bent over and ran the sweater down his legs. When he swung the sweater behind him to dry his back, Darcy set his clothes down. 'I'll get your back,' she offered, speaking loudly to be heard over the clank of the pick.

    He gave the damp sweater to her, and turned around. She mopped his back. Crouching, she rubbed his but tocks, then his legs.

    'What do you know!' Jim called.

    Looking over her shoulder, Darcy saw a patch of blackness in the wall. He'd broken through.

    'Thank God,' Helen muttered.

    The clamour started again.

    'Won't be long, now,' Beth announced over the noise.

    'Then the real fun will start,' Greg said.

    Darcy patted his rump. 'You mean this isn't the real fun?'

    Though she was still drying his legs, he turned around. His groin was at her eye level. She glanced at the bulging front of his briefs, then lowered her eyes and began to rub the sweater on his thighs. He put a hand on her head, he knew, just as she did, that he had already dried the fronts of his legs.

    She looked at Carol. The woman's head was turned. Her eyes were on Jim.

    Darcy slid the sweater up one of Greg's legs and, as if by accident, touched the back of her hand to the damp underside of his pouch. He flinched slightly.

    'Your shorts are sopping,' she said.

    'Is that so?'

    She rubbed them gently, a single layer of the sweater between her open hand and his briefs. She curled a hand under his scrotum, slid her palm up the underside of thick, rigid penis, then stood up, smiled at him and said, 'All done.'

    'Glad it's dark in here,' he said close to her ear. 'Something you wouldn't want the others to see?'

    'How about handing me my pants?'

    'Don't you think you should get out of those yucky, wet shorts?'

    'Oh, I don't think so. Maybe some other time. My pants, please.'

    'I like you better without them.'

    'This is a hell of a time for you to get horny.'

    'Me?' Darcy asked. 'You're the one with the…'

    'All right!' Jim called. 'That should do it!'

    Darcy looked around. He was holding the pick at his side, stepping close to the wall.

    The hole in front of him was about two feet across and nearly a yard high - plenty large enough for them to crawl through.

    The bottom edge of the gap was just above the surface of the lake. Jim's chest pushed against it as he leaned forward to peer into the darkness.

    'What do you see?' Beth asked.

    'Surely you jest.'

    The flashlight's beam was at such an angle that, even had Jim not been in the way, it wouldn't have penetrated the opening.

    Jim said, 'It's just as black as…' He staggered backwards a step and Darcy glimpsed a thick, pale shaft protruding from his mouth. It came out and Jim started to slump.

    An arm darted through the hole, clutched his hair, and yanked him forward. His head went into the darkness. Beth started to scream.

    Darcy gazed, stunned, as Jim's body slid up out of the water and disappeared through the opening in Ely's Wall.

    

    

    When the sound of the first dank reached them, Kyle heard snatches of conversation from those gathered in front of the elevators.

    'All right.'

    'They made it.'

    'They're starting in.'

    Kyle felt a shiver of dread, and pressed Paula more tightly against his side.

    The sounds went on. Nobody spoke now. Everyone seemed to be listening to the quiet metallic clanking that came ringing up the tunnel of the cavern from Ely's Wall. The distant clamour, though faint, was distinct through the soft crackle and pop of the elevator fires.

    
Maybe something will happen,
Kyle told himself. Maybe the pick handle will break and they'll have to quit and come back. Maybe the wall's just too hard, and they won't be able to break through it.

    He couldn't convince himself.

    He remembered the giggles, the moans, the mad hushed voices he'd heard coming up from the chute. Six or eight people down there, Dad had told him.

    Crazy people. Living in the blackness, nothing to eat except what was dropped down the chute to them.

    Amy Lawson. They ate her.

    And now, no matter where those crazies might be within their sealed length of cavern, they had to be hearing the pick as it clashed against the wall.

    He could see them moving blindly towards the noise.

    Maybe they won't go towards it, he thought. They might not understand what's going on. Maybe they'll be frightened, and hide. Maybe they'll stay hidden the whole time, and Darcy and her bunch will never even guess they're around.

    It could happen that way.

    Soon, the far-off pounding ceased.

    Paula turned her head and looked up at Kyle, the firelight flashing on her glasses. 'They must've gotten through,' she said.

    Kyle heard others.

    'They did it.'

    'Didn't take long.'

    'The thing was probably old and falling apart, anyway.'

    Kyle, feeling as if his bowels were being squeezed, let go of Paula and sank to a crouch.

    Then the pounding came again.

    'Damn.'

    'They were probably just taking a rest.'

    'Maybe they busted through, but only just decided they oughta make the hole bigger.'

    'Whatever, it won't be long now.'

    'Shhh. I can't hear.'

    'Who gives a hot fuck if you can hear?'

    'Cool out, Slick.'

    'Up yours, Callllvin.'

    The pounding stopped again. So did the voices of those clustered with Kyle around the elevator fires.

    Kyle's guts felt knotted. Paula, standing beside him, brushed her hand through his hair. And suddenly clenched his hair as the shrill of a scream floated in from the distance.

    Heart slamming, he sprang to his feet. Paula released his hair. He gaped at her. She looked stunned.

    The scream went on and on.

    Nearby, a girl made terrified whiny sounds.

    'It's all right, honey.'

    'Jesus H. Christ,' someone muttered.

    'What'n hell's going on?'

    Kyle knew what was going on. The crazies beyond the wall hadn't hidden, they'd attacked. He felt as if snakes were squirming up and down his back.

    

    

    The screaming stopped.

    Though no one had moved from in front of the fire, nearly every head was turned, facing the darkness. The whining kid, a girl of about seven, was clutching her mother.

    Tom said, 'I'm sure everything's all right.'

    'Like hell it is.'

    A man who stood with his hands on the shoulders of the frightened girl said, 'Maybe we'd better… some of us should go and find out what happened. They might need help.'

    'I'm with you, pardner,' said the old cowboy, Calvin.

    'Sure does sound like they might've run into a spot of trouble.' That was the fat old guy who'd volunteered to go with Darcy in the first place.

    'Count me in,' said the man with the pregnant wife.

    'Oh, no you don't,' she protested. 'You're not going anywhere.'

    'But…'

    'I think we should all stay here,' Tom told them. He fingered the bandaged side of his head. 'A bunch of you go running off into the dark… I don't know. I think we should stay together. Since we don't know what happened…'

    'One of the gals probably just got spooked.' That was the guy Calvin always called Slick. 'Saw a bat or something.'

    'There aren't any bats,' Tom pointed out.

    'Could've been anything. These bitches'll shriek their heads off at the drop of a hat.'

    One of the thin men in the matching goatees said, 'I think we should go and investigate, nonetheless.'

    'Well just go ahead,' Slick said. 'Swish on down there.'

    'Redneck trash.'

    'I'll "redneck" you, you goddamn butt-fucker.'

    'Dad, you shouldn't…'

    Slick backhanded his son across the face. The kid stumbled backward. The father of the little girl caught him before he fell.

    'Hey, buddy, that's no way to act.'

    'Wanta make something of it?' He brought up his fists.

    The other guy rubbed his hands on his jeans and lumbered toward him.

    'Wayne, don't!'

    'C'mon, c'mon.' Slick flapped a hand, beckoning to him.

    'He's mine,' said the goateed man, stepping in the way of Wayne.

    'I'll take y'both. C'mon, c'mon.'

    'Stop this!' Tom shouted. 'I'm in charge here, and I won't have you people…'

    'Shut the fuck up.'

    The gay guy pushed Wayne back, then turned to face Slick, who grinned and kissed the knuckles of his right fist, then cocked the fist back, ready to smash the man.

    And didn't see Calvin beside him.

    'Hey there, you son of a whore. Didn't I warn you?'

    Slick whirled to face Calvin.

    He was still whirling when the wiry old cowboy jabbed with his walking stick. The brass end of the cane flashed golden in the firelight. It sank into Slick's belly. Whoofing, Slick started to double. Calvin let go of the cane with one hand, took a single step forward as Slick was buckling, and smashed a fist into the side of the man's face. Spittle flew from Slick's mouth and his head snapped sideways. The blow sent him stumbling towards an elevator. People gasped. He fell inside the car, and yelled as he crashed down on burning debris. Sparks flew up around him.

    The two men with goatees rushed in, grabbed him up by his jacket, and dragged him out.

    His hat was gone, his hair on fire.

    The man he'd called a 'butt-fucker' slapped his head and snuffed the flames.

    They let go of him. He dropped to his knees, sobbing, and clutched his smoking scalp.

    'Should've let the low-lifer burn,' Calvin said.

    Slick's son threw himself down and hugged the whimpering man. 'Dad?' he asked. 'Are you okay? Dad?'

    Slick shoved the boy away.

    'You're some kinda work,' Calvin said, and bashed the guy's head with his cane.

    Slick crumbled and lay still.

    'You old fool, you've killed him!'

    'Don't get yourself all riled up, May. I didn't kill the sidewinder, though it might've been a boon to humanity if I had.'

    A few people applauded.

    Calvin tipped his Stetson to them.

    The guy who'd put out Slick's burning hair crouched down, felt his pulse, and nodded. 'He's not dead.'

    'Ah,' said his friend, 'but I should think he'll have a frightful headache.'

    'His brains needed a good scrambling,' Calvin said. 'I reckon he'll be better off for it.'

    The old fat guy handed Calvin a cigar.

    'Much obliged.'

    'Fellow's nothing short of a bum,' the fat man said, turning away from Calvin and addressing the whole group. 'He had a good point, though, about the scream. Could've been pretty much anything made one of those ladies haul off and scream her head off like that.'