Urban Gothic (32 page)

Nature took care of certain things. In the wild, if a malformed cub was born to wolves or bears, it was most likely immediately put to death as a mercy, because life was not kind and certainly did not favor the weak. As the creatures emerged from their dens, Heather understood at last what she’d walked into. The things she had seen before, the ones that had killed her friends and chased them through the house and the caverns, and even the mutated infants from the previous tunnel—all of those had been healthy. Deformed, obviously, but healthy. The creatures that lived here in this festering pit were the things that nature would have killed in the wild. These were the children that could not fend for themselves, the rejects and the weaklings. The mutant mutants. But for whatever reason, they had not been killed.

Heather looked at the squalor around her, caught the scent of rotting filth and decay, glanced down at the bones, and felt a chill work through her whole body.

Not killed. They had been thrown away instead.

Discarded like trash, rather than living beings.

Left to their own devices. Maybe occasionally thrown some scraps of food—or maybe the skeletons just belonged to someone like herself, unlucky enough to escape the house and the caverns unscathed, but then stumble into this part.

The chamber before this one had been a nursery. This place was an orphanage—or a garbage dump. Or both.

Somewhere to her right, one of the castoffs mewled and dropped into the water with a loud splash. She missed its dive but spotted the ripples that radiated from the point of impact.

“You better stay the hell over there if you don’t want to get the crap beat out of you.”

Her shaky voice echoed around the chamber. The things living in the heaps and slithering through the sludge made reciprocal noises. She let her eyes roam around the pit, searching the garbage for anything useful, but saw nothing that she could use. There were ripples spreading out from several places in the water now, and tiny, shadowy forms moved beneath the surface. Her feet were at the very edge of the foul muck, and Heather stepped back, unsettled.

“I mean it,” she shouted. “Keep the hell away from me!”

Again, her voice echoed, and again, the things responded with more whines and chirps. Something rustled above her. Heather glanced upward, shining the light toward the ceiling. She couldn’t see it. It was too high, and the flashlight didn’t penetrate the shadows. The rustling sound was repeated. Dirt fell from above and drifted down, landing in Heather’s eye and bouncing off her cheek. She flinched at the unexpected pain and closed her eye against the irritation. Her eye stung and watered, and she had to resist the urge to put down her flashlight and rub it.

A moment later a larger amount of dirt pattered across the top of her head. Blinking, Heather looked up—

—just as something dropped out of the shadows and landed on her upturned face.

It was about the size of a groundhog and had scaly skin and sharp teeth and claws, but beyond that she had no time to see it clearly before it was upon her. Tiny claws dug into her cheeks and neck, clinging tightly. Tiny, needlelike teeth chomped into her nose. The sudden weight and pain hit her hard and drove Heather to her knees. The flashlight slipped from her grip and rolled toward the murky waters. She grabbed the small creature and tried to pull it off, but its teeth and claws sank deeper. Blinded, Heather stumbled to her feet and beat at the clutching, smothering beast. Too late, she realized she was teetering at the edge of the water. One foot dangled in empty space, and then she fell.

The water was deeper than she’d suspected. She plunged beneath the surface. As the oily sludge covered her head, Heather’s attacker dislodged itself from her face and swam away. She opened her eyes and saw only darkness. Then she remembered what that darkness consisted of—feces and sludge and other nastiness. She clenched her eyes shut again. The taste of raw sewage filled Heather’s mouth and sinuses as she instinctively tried to inhale. Her lungs burned. Her pounding head felt like it would explode. In the blackness, jagged, unseen debris poked her skin and clothes.

Heather kicked for the surface, assuming that it couldn’t be that far above her. Before she could reach it, though, another small hand pressed down on the back of her skull and shoved her farther into the depths. A desperate heat bloomed in Heather’s chest as her oxygen faded and the urge to breathe moved toward desperate. She pushed with her hands, trying to dislodge the thing and failing. It moved above her and then lowered its face onto her scalp. She felt scaly skin and sharp teeth against her head. Heather opened her eyes. The creature tugged her hair and slipped its mouth lower, inching toward her neck, as if it was trying to decide where to kiss her. Heather flailed as she tried again to knock it free. This time she only partially succeeded. The body shifted, but it still clutched her hair.

Something else in the water scraped painfully across her rib cage and the side of her breast. Heather bucked again and twisted her arm behind her back, aiming to hit the thing with her elbow, but the angle was impossible. All she did was strain the muscles in her shoulder and back. But the effort must have frightened the creature, because it suddenly released her hair. She felt the black water surge as it moved. Then something bit into the meat of her other shoulder, drawing blood.

Heather opened her mouth to scream, losing what little air she had in her lungs in the process. More of the foul sludge poured into her throat as she tried to inhale. Violent shudders racked her body. Her head pounded and her ears rang as the vile waters filled her mouth.

Heather fought more frantically, using the last of her strength. The teeth that had ripped into her shoulder came free as she turned and pushed and punched madly, desperate to live, regardless of the agony or damage her struggles caused.

The thing vanished, and Heather’s head broke the surface. At first, she couldn’t see anything. Gasping for breath, she wiped the sewage from her eyes and her vision returned. Her flashlight still lay at the water’s edge. She kicked toward it. Nearby, a small figure glided through the water with decidedly sinuous grace.

“No …” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Retching, she trailed her hands through the sludge, feeling it push between her fingers as she searched for something to defend herself with. This time, she got lucky. Her left hand caught a hard object, slicked with filth, but heavy. A feral grin split her face at that moment.

The sound of her own laughter shocked her. She pulled the object out of the water, ignoring the reek of sewage that permeated the air and waited for her opponent. She glanced around, searching for it in the dim light. The sound of water shifting was her only warning.

Heather held tight to her weapon and slid her other hand along the uneven shaft, ignoring the odd slippery spots as she cocked the club back.

Three heartbeats, and the splashing sounds were closer.

Two, and she could feel the water surge around her as the abomination approached.

One, and she put her weight behind the swing, listened to the sound of whistling air and then the satisfying crack of her weapon against flesh and bone. The impact ran up her hands, and then her wrists and forearms before terminating in her shoulders. Her breasts swayed and heaved with the effort.

The mutant yelped in a high and jittery voice. She brought her club down again in a hard, violent arc. The impact numbed her hands and left her fingers throbbing in counterpoint. Sludge and sewage splashed her arms and face. Then something else sprayed, as well. Heather pulled back and felt the splatter of warm blood rise with her weapon, felt it christen her face in a baptism of blood and shit. She screamed her anger into the darkness, and listened to her voice echo as she shook with adrenaline and rage.

The next thing that attacked her swam in low and struck her hip. She bobbed beneath the surface for a moment before surging up again. Heather brought the club down in a hard thrust, striking a solid blow against the new opponent. Despite her attack, the thing wrapped a long, thin arm around her ass, and she felt spidery fingers clawing at her jeans underwater. Heather screamed again and prodded at the off ending limb with her weapon until it withdrew. She swung again at where she thought the rest of the thing might be, but missed completely. The creature broke off the attack. Heather heard it swimming away.

Turning again, she focused on the shore as she coughed and forced herself to take deep breaths, eagerly taking in oxygen and expelling the vile taste of filth. Her lungs felt like they’d been splashed with acid, and her muscles felt like they had been replaced with live wires that shook and jittered but refused to work properly. Her face hovered barely an inch above the surface as she continued coughing and did her best to reach the edge. She grasped at the hard stone surface. For one panicked moment, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to pull herself out of the pit, but then she heard more mewling cries and splashes. The noises were coming from all over the place, too many directions for her to even guess at their location. Spurred on by fear, she pushed herself up on her hands and pulled her lower half free of the muck. Then she collapsed, turned her head to the side, and vomited. Wet sludge dripped and ran from her body, pooling around her. The stench was incredible.

In the waters behind her, the sounds of activity increased again. Heather vomited again and then sat up, wiping her mouth and reaching for the flashlight. She shined it out over the pit and saw the waters churning. She grimaced in understanding. The mutant offspring were no longer interested in her. They were eating their brothers and sisters—the ones she had killed or injured. Heather smiled at the realization.

Good,
she thought
, let them eat each other instead of me.

She watched them feast and retched a few more times. Then, satisfied that she’d live for at least the time being, Heather turned to search for a way out.

She collided with Scug, who was standing silently behind her.

“Bitch,” he spat, slapping her face with the back of his hand. “I should have known I’d find you down here with all the other trash.”

Heather didn’t utter a sound as she swung the flashlight around and smashed him in the side of the head. Grunting, Scug stumbled backward, swaying on his feet.

“No more, you fucker,” she said, her voice low and predatory. “No more of this shit. It’s my turn now. My turn!”

She struck him again, rocking his head back even harder. The air rushed from his lungs. Scug swayed more. For a second, she thought he might fall, but he maintained his balance. Heather darted in for a third blow, but Scug straightened up, rubbed the side of his head and stared at her, grinning. She faltered, halting in midswing.

“You think so?” he asked.

Heather felt her anger waver. Doubt crept back in. Her fear bloomed anew.

Scug’s smile grew larger. “Do you
really
think so?”

“I m-mean it,” she stammered. “Stay the fuck away from me, you sick freak.”

“Come on, girlie. Give it your best shot.”

Screaming, Heather charged. Rather than dodging or trying to block her attack, Scug met it head-on, stepping toward her. He caught her swing with one hand. His other arm grabbed her left breast and squeezed. Heather’s enraged cry turned into a shriek of pain. Still twisting her breast, Scug wrenched her arm downward and twisted it at the same time. The flashlight slipped from Heather’s grip and clattered onto the floor. The lens shattered, and the flashlight rolled away, plunging into the water.

Scug hissed. His foul breath was hot and humid on her face. His fingernails dug into her wrist and through her shirt into the meat of her breast as he squeezed harder, forcing her down to her knees until she was eye-level with the horrid penis sticking out of the leathery vagina he wore at his waist.

“You’re not good enough for a new suit of clothes,” he spat. “You’re no good for anything. You’re just another piece of garbage, washed down to us from above. You’re trash.”

“Please,” Heather pleaded. “Please please please please …”

Scug laughed, his face hidden in shadow. “You gonna beg now? You gonna offer to suck my dick or something if I promise not to kill you?”

Heather choked out a sob, unable to respond. Scug’s penis twitched, coming to life.

“Is that what you’re gonna do? You gonna beg for it?”

Behind her, Heather heard a great commotion in the water—splashing and a chorus of tiny, hungry voices. Her thoughts turned to Javier and the rest of her friends. She wondered where they were now, and if any of them were still alive.

“Well, guess what?” Scug let go of her breast and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He jerked it hard, and Heather screamed again. “I wouldn’t let you put your mouth on me. What do you think of that? You’re not good enough for it. Not good enough to eat. Not good enough to wear. Like I said, you’re just another piece of garbage from up above. And down here, we throw our garbage away.”