The Loch (48 page)

The heavy propeller assembly fell away from my shoulders and crashed behind me, the noise sending several of the Anguilla wriggling across the rocks.

Now I was down to one dull light.

With trembling hands, I forced open the snaps on the latches securing the two sections of the Newt Suit together.

Retracting my arms from the metal sleeves, I pushed up on the inside of my headgear. With a
hiss
, the upper torso of the dive suit gave way, separating from the lower half.

Sucking in a few breaths, I stood in the suit, shoulder-pressing the weight of the ADS's upper torso off my shoulders, then carefully laying it on the ground next to me in case I chose a hasty retreat.

Inhaling a dank breath of air, I climbed out of the lower half of the ADS, then snatched up my handheld light, scanning the perimeter.

The eels gurgled at me from the shadows, their bright eyes luminescent in my beam.

I was terrified and totally exposed. The air in the chamber was stale and acrid, making it almost impossible to breathe without coughing.

The light flickered and dimmed to half its remaining candlepower.

My blood seemed to chill within my veins.

The eels slithered toward me from the shadows.

I started choking uncontrollably, the chamber spinning in my head. Shining my handheld light on the broken backpack, I tore away a canister of air, holding it up to my face to breathe.

The Anguilla eels close to the water's edge scrambled for cover as the Guivre emerged from the river, its gruesome collection of teeth dripping lengths of saliva.

A thick coat of slime coated its head, mane, and serpent's neck, and in the dimming circle of light I saw the colors of the spectrum briefly shimmer.

Colors?

I inhaled deeply, confirming the heavy scent.

It was oil! And it was everywhere, dripping down from the ceiling, coating the river.

I searched the ground for the utility belt…
where the hell was it? There, beneath the upper portion of the Newt Suit!

My light blinked off, and I desperately banged it, momentarily resuscitating the beam.

The monster's head rose higher, the creature using its forward pectoral fins to glide its snakelike torso from out of the stagnant waters, while the eels slithered out from the crags of rocks behind me!

I kicked bones and rock at one hissing eel as I tore a G-SHOK cylinder and cap from the belt. Snapping them together, I tossed the armed explosive at the stagnant pool of water, then ducked.

Wa-boosh!

A flash of white light, and then a wave of searing heat scorched my face as I was slammed backward against the rock face.

For a long moment I remained curled in a ball, my throbbing head ringing like a bell.

Get up, dipshit! Open your eyes!

I shook the cobwebs from my brain and sat up, choking on the thick air. Anguilla eels were darting this way and that, and through my blurred vision, I could see a few of their dark hides blazing in flames.

The pool of water was on fire, as was the ceiling, and the fissure above the collapsed section of tunnel on my far left belched blue flames.

The Guivre was gone, but I could see its telltale air bubbles and current as it glided underwater, moving toward the opposite shore.

The blaze began to extinguish, all but that one precious blue flame that burned along the ceiling above the dam of rubble. Somewhere high above the fractured geology was a broken pipeline, and it was leaking crude down into the aquifer, poisoning the lifeblood of the Great Glen and her largest inhabitant.

So much oil had poured into the aquifer that it was now seeping out of the passage and into Loch Ness. It had to be flushed out.

I knew what I had to do.

Tying the belt of explosives around my waist, I began climbing over piles of rocks, making my way quickly toward the eastern end of the chamber. There were animal bones everywhere, some of them fossilized, others still covered by clumps of meat and fur. I stumbled upon a rotting pile of rags and flesh, wedged between two large rocks, and I gagged at its stench.

"Oh, Jesus—"

The victim's face was ashen gray and purple, the remains of the body—twisted and broken. Massive teeth marks riddled the corpse, resembling black tarry holes the size of my fist. Both arms were gone, chewed down to the bone, and the legs had been taken just above the knees. The lower vertebrae of the spinal column protruded hideously out the back of the ebony-colored Italian silk shirt and matching Armani sports jacket, the corpse's cream-colored tie still knotted.

The stitched red monogram was clearly visible along the left hand sleeve:
J. S. C.

John Cialino.

The remains of Johnny C.'s flesh was not bloated like a drowning victim; he had clearly died as a result of his attack.

The revelation that Angus had been telling the truth seemed to both sicken and invigorate me. I was the guilty party, not he. If there was a way out of this hellhole, then I had to find it, if only to prove my father's innocence.

I inhaled deeply, coughed, then dragged Cialino's corpse out from between the rocks.

The stench was overwhelming.

I hurried over the outcropping to the dam, my body trembling with adrenaline and fear. With Cialino's ghastly corpse tucked under my left arm, I reached out with my right, felt for a secure handhold, then stepped carefully out along the pile of boulders and debris that were blocking the underground river.

The going was treacherous, the rock slick with oil. Step by careful step, I made my way across the obstruction, praying the dying flames above my head would burn just a little bit longer. Hugging a boulder, I inched my right leg around some debris, searching for a foothold, when I slipped, my right hand grabbing blindly overhead, finding a cold, flat piece of metal.

I held on, then pulled myself to a more secure position. I had grabbed onto an iron bar, rusted and ancient, part of what looked like an immense gate buried beneath the rubble.

What was it doing here?

The cavern darkened. Looking over my shoulder, I caught sight of the last pockets of fire, simmering into smoke along the water.

Only the blue flame above my head illuminated the chamber.

Come on, Wallace, finish the job before you end up like Johnny C.

Reaching the dam's halfway point, I quickly set the remaining eleven explosives with three-minute fuses, then dropped each of the ticking cylinders into crevices of rubble and rock.

In my haste, I realized that I should have kept at least a few.

Too late… keep moving!

Continuing on, I half-slid, half-climbed over the remaining boulders with Johnny C.'s remains until I found myself looking down upon the opposite shoreline.

"Oh, hell …"

By the ceiling's flickering flame I could see two immense shadows. Conger eels, the saltwater relative of the Anguilla. The insane beasts, each well over two hundred pounds, hissed at me like cobras.

Another thirty seconds, maybe less. Get off the dam!

"Yah! Get outta here!" I grabbed a few stones and threw them at the predatory fish, chasing them back several feet.

Go!

Tossing Cialino's remains as far onto the shoreline as I could, I jumped down from the rubble, desperate to distance myself from the dam.

Too late.

My brain seemed to spin in my skull as multiple explosions detonated behind me like dominoes, igniting the darkness in brilliant orange flames. Shrapnel struck my back and head, and a concussion wave blasted me off my feet and into the black river.

The
booms
deadened underwater. For a moment I remained in this near-freezing environment, allowing the pain to subside, then remembering the Guivre, I kicked to the surface, gasping for air in the smoke-filled, flaming cavern, desperate to climb ashore.

As I tried to drag myself out of the water, all hell broke loose.

Rolling thunder roared through the chamber as seventy years and two hundred tons of debris collapsed upon itself in an avalanche of rock and water and flame. The aquifer's long-stagnant waters became a slowly moving river, and then the remains of the dam flushed free, and an ungodly current grabbed me, dragging me backwards into the raging abyss.

Helpless, I was swept away, tumbling underwater in the darkness, my arms thrashing, groping blindly for anything to grab hold of… when something grabbed
me
, impaling the left side of my body, and I dangled from its teeth like a kitten taken by the nape of its neck.

The Guivre!

I spun around against the blackness and lashed out at the beast, my right hand slipping between the iron bars of the ancient gate.

The current had pinned me against the grillwork, one of its bent spikes lancing my left hip and thigh. Though my right arm was free of the water, my left knee and arm were pinched between two iron slats. Try as I might, I could not gain enough leverage with my free hand to raise my head above the swiftly moving current.

Metal screeched underwater—I could feel the gate bending with the torrent, but still I could not release myself from its embrace.
Hold on, Zachary.

My chest was on fire now, my inflamed lungs demanding relief. Experience urged me to remain calm while my right foot and knee fought against the current, searching for a foothold to gain leverage… something… anything to lift myself higher.

But the river was timeless, and my muscles were lead.

I was drowning.

Again!

The mere thought was so humiliating… so exasperating—yet it filled me with a strange sense of relief, for I knew the monster could smell me and was closing in, and drowning was a far better way to die… better than Sir William Wallace, who had been drawn and quartered, better than Johnny C.

And so I opened my mouth and inhaled the acidic, bitter waters of Loch Ness, letting it take me.

My body convulsed as my mind shattered, my thoughts poisoned with dark, desperate images from my first drowning, intertwined with subliminal flashes of my second death in the Sargasso Sea.

My life was a Greek tragedy, and I laughed at the Grim Reaper as he circled me, for what was I to be scared of.

And then the pain and cold were shunted, and the visions washed away, replaced by my lifeless body, lying on a rocky shelf.

The image from my dreams.

Hold on, Zachary. Hold on… Zachary.
Zachary. Zachary…

* * *

"Zachary!"

I opened my eyes. Belched up water. Gagged. Then heaved a breath of life.

I was staring into my father's face.

"Are ye a' right, son?"

I tried to speak but instead ejected a bellyful of icy water tainted with oil. Rolling over, I gagged and wretched some more.

"That's it, son, let it a' come oot o' ye. Ye're gonnae be fine. Christ knows ye've got mair lives than a cat. Still, if I were ye, I'd take up somethin' safer. Like skydiving. Or maybe alligator wrestlin'."

I sat up, my left side bleeding and sore from where the iron gate's spike had caught me. Above our heads, flames rolled along the ceiling like wisps of orange fog, casting the cavern in a surreal hellish glow.

I coughed and spit until I could speak. "How? How'd you find me? How'd you get out of jail?"

"All guid questions, but first… where's the monster?"

I shook my head and pointed. "The passage opened. It was in the water. Probably in the North Sea by now."

"No' this one." He aimed the powerful beam of his flashlight at the swiftly flowing river. "Where are ye, demon? Come oot an' show me yer yellow eyes. I want tae see them once mair afore I blast ye back tae hell."

"Dad, what are you doing?"

He smiled. "Dad? Ye never call me that."

"You never liked it."

"Now I do. I see ye found Johnny's remains."

"You were right. I'm sorry… I should have believed you."

"Save it." He turned and yelled, "Alban MacDonald, where are ye, auld man?"

"Back here!"

I looked behind my father, surprised to find the Crabbit, preoccupied with digging through piles of rubble along the southern wall.

"Alban, my son's hurt. Take him back through the access tunnel, I've business tae tend tae."

"So dae I. Take him yersel'."

"Damn ye, Crabbit… come on, laddie." Angus helped me to my feet, then pointed to a small hole set among debris along the far wall. "Crawl through that tunnel, it'll lead back tae a chasm an' a manual lift. Be quick aboot it, the air here's no' fit tae breathe."

"I'm not going without you."

The dark river belched, the ten-ton Guivre circling somewhere below, readying its next attack.

"Ha! I see ye, de'il, I kent ye couldnae leave!"

"It's an animal, dad, let it be. It's brain's been poisoned, can't you smell the oil? It's everywhere, seeping in from some busted pipeline above our heads."

"Aye. It's originatin' frae one o' Johnny's auld wells."

"You knew?"

""Course. Bastard's been pollutin' the Great Glen for years. Been payin' off officials in Glasgow in order tae keep things quiet."

"And that's why you hit him?"

"Nah. I hit him "cause he struck Theresa, an' that's no' acceptable, no' tae me. Didnae ken the dragon wis close by at the time, though I shouldae suspected it, wi' a' the dynamitin' they were daen' that day. Anyway, Johnny got his, now this freak o' nature'll get hers."

"Why?"

"Call it revenge. Now go, afore it surfaces."

Alban hurried over. "I need help, I've no' found it yet!"

"Probably buried among the rubble," Angus spat back. "I need a' oor eyes tae find it."

"Take the lad, I'm no' movin'."

Alban grabbed my arm, dragging me back toward the southern wall as he mumbled incoherently. "It wis here, laddie, set within a crevice by this wall. Help me find it!"

"Find what? What're we looking for?"

"A casket… a silver casket, aboot the size o' a grapefruit. It wis set here, within this wall."