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       "Peter," she called again and inched forwards.

       "Megan," Harrison snapped.

       The young woman heard the order and slowly turned her head, searching the crowd blindly for the origin. Her head swayed from left to right, recognition finally coming to her eyes as she found Harrison. She stared at Harrison and a small, sad, smile was still forming on her lips when the figure staggered out of the tent.

       "Megan!" Harrison yelled again, but the warning was too late.

The figure grasped at Megan, taking hold of her jacket collar in both hands. A wet gurgle came from the his throat, but it formed no words. Megan tried to step away but the he refused to release her, dragging her down to the mulched floor as it dropped to its knees.

       He doubled over, retching violently. The vomit was hot and thick, covering Megan's jeans in stinking, semi-digested food. He coughed and spat before turning to look up into Megan's face.

       "Monsters," he muttered through gore and vomit caked lips.

       "Peter?" Megan cried.

       "Monsters." He slumped unconscious in her arms.

       "Kaci, help her." Harrison pointed at Megan, stepping around her as he did so. He should have stopped and offered her comfort but he had to find Green.

       
Green and whatever monsters were lurking.

       Talk of monsters had the crowd murmuring about craziness and insanity, anything to take their minds off the situation they found themselves in. Harrison took the idea of creatures and demons in his stride. He thought about the drawings in the journal, drawings he'd spent many hours staring at. Maybe they were real; maybe they had taken his family. Maybe he would find them and look them in the eye. If the truth proved to be that monsters were real they would soon discover what fear truly meant.

       Harrison ignored the fevered mutterings and pushed through the sodden opening of the tent. He stepped inside and gagged afresh at what was waiting for him. The smell hit first, the moist aroma of copper tinged with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Harrison took in the ruined interior with a trained eye, logging the destruction with a single glance.

       The rear of the tent appeared to have been slashed open roughly, a ragged doorway that flapped slightly from a gentle wind outside. Harrison was thankful of the cool air in his face, but it was gone all too soon and replaced with the foetid warmth that filled the tent. The edge of the rip was smeared in dirty red and the floor was soaked, the hard earth now soft and bog-like in consistency. It sucked at Harrison's shoes as he moved into the centre, his eyes fixed on the shallow hole in the ground and its morbid contents.

       Harrison crouched, squinting in an attempt to figure out what exactly he was looking at. He'd already guessed that some of it was human. He could clearly make out an arm and a leg, but these were twist amongst other remains that defied identification.

       It had gone quiet outside, the crowd having stopped the hushed whispers. But it was more than that. Harrison tilted his head and listened. Nothing. He couldn't even hear the sound of birdsong. The forest had fallen deathly silent.

       Harrison had already seen the box of protective gloves laid on the floor and he reached back, finding them from memory. He pulled out the top ones carefully and tossed them to one side, taking a clean pair from below and pulling them on. Only then did he return his attention to what he could only describe as an open grave. Harrison cautiously reached out and took hold of the arm by the wrist and lifted. If came free with a soft tearing sound, peeling away from torso underneath. It had been severed from the shoulder, the skin hanging in strips from the wound and the whiteness of bone exposed in the centre. Harrison turned it around, quickly observing the long, finely manicure nails.

       Harrison placed the arm to his left and searched the myriad selection of slaughtered flesh. He started to dig. The arm was followed by the leg, complete from knee to foot. The leg was bare; the skin pierced with strange teeth marks. Marks the same as those found on the bodies of his children. The foot was still clad in sock and shoe, a trainer that Green wouldn't have been seen dead wearing.

       
Dead.

       "Harrison," Megan shouted from outside, finally breaking the silence.

       "Stay out there," Harrison ordered. "Start getting people ready to leave."

       "Come on then" She yelled back, panic evident in her voice.

       "I've got to find Green." Harrison choked as he yanked a head free from the grave, looking at him with wide, empty eye sockets. "I've got to find him."

       "Then look no further," came the voice from the rear of the tent.

       Chappell sat on the examination table of the medical hut and bathed the stitches that held his eyelids closed.

       It had been difficult making his way out of the tunnel. For all that his eyes should have been useless his senses had been barraged with visions of violence. He knew what was happening. He'd done the research and he understood what had been released. He'd known that reading from the book would link him to the creatures held within the pit.

       He was the one who'd studied everything about the find, he probably knew more about what they'd unearthed than his anonymous benefactor. He'd tried to ensure that everything would be ready but the Ministry had caused him to rush. They'd wanted to take the discovery away from him but he couldn't allow that.

       Upon arriving at the site and seeing the destruction Chappell had known that the Slavis were making their first steps towards freedom and he'd been forced to act quickly, leaving the others and heading directly for the chamber.

       Chappell had discovered more than enough from the documents to protect himself from what was coming, but it would mean sacrifice, both personal and moral. He made the decision in less time than it took to thread the cat gut through the needle. He'd known most of his colleagues for years and he felt a small fleck of guilt as he'd pushed the needle through his upper lid and sealed their fates.

       The pain had been like nothing Chappell had ever felt before and tears of agony fell from between the stitches as he completed the second eye. Then, during the second stage of the ritual, the pain became a burning agony. The tip of the ancient dagger seared his flesh, his hand shaking as he carved the long forgotten symbols into his chest, stomach and limbs. He could feel the warmth of his own blood running down his body, each wound a flare of torture.

       Chappell had memorised the lines from the book and he sang them, sitting crossed leg in an ever expanding puddle of crimson. He could hear the clamour and screams coming from the tunnel and he knew the time was almost upon him.

       Darren had been the first to arrive, panting breathlessly, in the chamber. He had seen Chappell and run to him with hopes of help and salvation.

       "Chappell," Darren had cried, kneeling next to his boss.

       "Is it true you are an only child?" Chappell asked without looking up.

       "Yes, but what does that have to do with any…" The question was never finished.

       "It has everything to do with this." Chappell looked up and Darren froze in terror.

       Chappell's mutilated face was the last thing Darren saw before the dagger tore through the bottom of his chin and up into his brain. His vision shimmered with dancing light for a split second and then his world turned black. Chappell lowered the corpse to a sitting position and allowed the blood of the first born to mix with his own, the liquid flowing out over the cracked stone seal that partially covered the pit.

       
Now he was ready.

       Chappell's scientific mind had continued to doubt his actions, but the myths had proved true and he'd walked amongst the Slavis and survived. If the rest of the writings were just as reliable then Chappell had just become the most powerful man alive.