The Ancient Breed (28 page)

30

A

terrified Mindy Landers awoke in a strange, creepy place. Her wrists and ankles were secured to a ladder-back chair by wide metal cuffs; the chair was bolted securely to the concrete floor. Terror riled her stomach, and a wave of scorching acid surged into her throat. The pain moistened her eyes, blurring her vision for several minutes. When her vision regained its clarity, the view of her prison raised goose bumps on her flesh.

A distant yellow glow revealed the shadowy cubicle surrounding her like a doorless outhouse. The back of her chair was positioned a foot from a moldy cement-block wall. Two plywood walls, extending six feet from the back wall on each side of her, blocked her view in either direction. The unseen, murky unknown heightened her trepidation.
What was this place?

She glanced up. Sagging, water-stained timbers, connected by tangled gossamer webs, supported the fractured, wooden ceiling above her. Gargantuan, fleshy spiders roamed the gauzy highways, continually checking their webbed traps for meals. She quickly looked away and inspected the open area in front of her cubicle. The acid rose into her throat again. Dismembered, human bones were haphazardly stacked in cobwebbed piles below rusted manacles protruding from the facing wall. She swallowed another wave of acid and prayed she wouldn’t puke. In her immobile condition, spraying herself with vomit and being unable to clean away the horrible stench was the last thing she wanted to happen.

The entire area was dank with mold and mildew, and a faint malodor of rot and death assailed her nostrils. The floor was thick with ancient dust, disturbed only by recent shoe imprints that circled her chair. Beyond her three-walled chamber, there were narrow, crisscrossing rat trails. She shuddered and nearly blacked out from the implications. Was she about to become rat food?

Water trickled into a distant puddle, razing the ominous silence with a piercing, tinny echo. An occasional braying of a ship’s horn indicated that she wasn’t far from one of New York’s harbors. Just where was she? And why was she there? Didn’t her kidnapper know that she was merely a homeless bag lady? There was no one who would pay a ransom for her release.
No one!
Even in its muzzy state, her imagination conjured various frightening scenarios. Was she about to become a slasher’s victim? Even worse, a cannibal slasher? Or was she to be tortured and killed by some crazy serial killer?

Suddenly, a high-pitched screech to her left shattered the stillness, like that of a mortally wounded dog. Her goose bumps exploded into violent shivers. She wasn’t alone!

“Hello? Who’s there?” Mindy ventured, her questions barely audible.

The wailing intensified, but there was no response to her inquiry.

“Hello,” Mindy said again, the word more distinct this time.

The wailing mixed with frantic, metallic jangling, suggesting there was another prisoner like her who was struggling to escape.

“Hello?” The word had been spoken to her right. It was a woman’s voice.

Mindy twisted her head in that direction. “Who are you?”

“None of your damn business!” came a curt reply.

The response rankled Mindy. “Then fuck you and the horse you rode in on!”

“Eat shit!”

Mindy reined in her temper. Trading insults with that bitch wasn’t helping her escape. “I’m Mindy,” she offered a few minutes later. “I’m shackled to this goddammed chair. What about you, honey?”

“I ain’t your honey!” the woman snapped.

The wailing to Mindy’s left subsided, displaced by raspy muttering. The words were strident, but unintelligible. Nothing like Mindy had ever heard before. She wondered if there was a human in the cubicle next to hers or a talking ape. Or, maybe something worse. Far worse.

The squeak of an opening door quelled her speculations. The sound was rapidly followed by a menacing thump that jolted the concrete floor. Mindy stiffened, alert and scared out of her wits. Dust dropped from the ceiling with each earthshaking thud and clouded the air like a foul fog. There was another thud, then another.
What on God’s green Earth could possibly be making that horrible noise?
she asked herself.

Each bone-jarring thud grew louder. Closer to Mindy’s cubicle. Perspiration oozed from her uncleansed pores and drenched her body with a squalid stench. Could they be footfalls? Not even her morbid imagination could muster an answer to that question.

Finally, the thudding ceased. Mindy listened to deep, raucous breathing nearby. Too close for comfort. She held her breath, hoping against hope that whatever was out there wouldn’t sense her presence. An earsplitting growl deflated Mindy’s lungs. Her arms and legs quivered badly. She squeezed her eyelids shut and pressed her arms and legs against the chair to prevent her manacles from rattling. A warm wetness spread beneath her, and a strong, fetid odor drifted up to her face. Mindy silently chastised herself for pissing in her pants. Panic triggered another volcanic stomach acid attack that blistered her throat. She clenched her teeth to dam her cries.

The wailing and metallic jangling in the next cubicle was louder now. Frenzied! The wailing escalated to violent screams. The prisoner thrashed wildly in the chair as the heavy-footed arrival attacked the wailer with a predator’s roar. The victim’s screams rose to an unearthly crescendo for a split second before abruptly dying away.

Mindy tried to block out the disgusting, flesh-ripping sounds that were followed by a series of sharp snaps, like fracturing dry turkey wishbones on the day after Thanksgiving, but she couldn’t. She swooned once but caught herself before she rattled her manacles. Suddenly, she saw an indistinct shape sail across the gloom in front of her cubicle and splatter against the wall with a splintering thump. It dropped on the existing bone piles.

Mindy squinted into the dusty air. Her mouth flew open, and a cry escaped her quivering lips. The shredded and twisted body of the poor soul from the next cubicle was now a blood-washed, lifeless lump.

Without a head!

The concealed killer nudged the thin plywood partition separating it and Mindy; the wood groaned and bowed toward her. Her eyes rolled to white cue balls as her mind plummeted into a black, yawning pit.

31

C

row arranged a privately chartered flight to Sioux City, and then hopped aboard a helicopter to cover the final thirty miles to the Omaha Indian Reservation, tucked in the northeast corner of Nebraska. To the west, he watched as angry swirls of charcoal and white merged into a nasty squall front. Stormy stalactites drooped below the darkening sky like a parade of swollen udders inside a reservation milking barn.

Crow slid into the rented Santa Fe that awaited him at Walthill, squealed onto Route 94, and headed east toward Grandfather’s modest rural home near the Missouri River. His small farm was situated on twenty-four gently undulating, wooded acres inside the Reservation’s 2,594 square miles that easily accommodated the Omaha Tribe’s five thousand residents.

Crow’s chest was tight and his mouth dry. He prayed that he would arrive in time to save the old man and Blossom, but he couldn’t shake the bad vibes that eroded his hope. He drove faster.

Grandfather’s single-story dwelling sat atop a modest rise and concealed the opening to an ancient tunnel system where sacred tribal powwows and other traditional tribal ceremonies had taken place for centuries. Grandfather knew the tunnel maze like the back his hand. He inherited the family responsibility of keeping the site safe and intact. The tribe bestowed the title of medicine man on every male elder in his family, along with the necessary magical powers to ward off evil spirits from the holy site. Grandfather might have the opportunity to test the strength of his powers today if Crow didn’t get Grandfather and Blossom to Duneden before the demon guardian made its appearance.

Earlier that morning, Blossom felt a tremor of trepidation as she followed Grandfather into the tunnel. She was about to be the first woman to visit the sacred tribal ceremonial site.

The tunnel was damp and cool, and smelled of earth and smoke. Torches exploded into flames ahead of them and dispelled some of the oppressive darkness. Her nerves short-circuited each time they passed a murky entrance to an adjoining tunnel. Where did all those foreboding passages lead, and what kind of secret ceremonies took place there? Her imagination conjured images that chilled her flesh, so she ignored the other intersections. She really didn’t want to know what went on in there.

They walked silently, each with their own thoughts and concerns. Blossom realized from the start that this was not going to be a guided tour. Grandfather didn’t identify curious wall markings and paintings they passed, or explain their significance. This was strictly business. Life and death. No frills. No merriment. She wasn’t that little girl of long ago who visited her grandfather and grandmother for a fun vacation.

As they descended deeper into that ghostly realm, Blossom’s fond childhood memories became more troubling. She sensed that this might be the end of her close, warm relationship with Grandfather, and just the thought of enduring that enormous emptiness brought her to tears.

At last, they came upon a vast chamber with an enormous ceremonial fire pit in the center below a ventilation shaft. Small rocks formed three concentric circles about the fire pit, and the site reminded Blossom of a large bull’s-eye. Grandfather turned and faced his granddaughter for the first time since they had entered the tunnels.

His expression was solemn. “Blossom, I am going to hide you away in a connecting chamber where no evil can touch you,” he announced. “I, alone, will challenge the great demon beast that’s tracking you, and hopefully my powers will be strong enough to destroy it.”

Blossom went to him and hugged him tightly. “I won’t leave you here alone,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll fight the demon with you.”

“You don’t possess the skill to survive such a confrontation. You must go into the safe chamber,” he replied firmly.

Blossom folded her arms across her chest. “And what if I won’t go?”

“Then you will die.”

Her defiance softened a bit. “Dying doesn’t scare me,” she said, but the old man saw through her brave facade.

“I am old and have lived a full, rich life. You are young and have everything to live for.”

She stepped away. “I have nothing to live for! Clay’s dead, and if you die, I’ll be completely alone. I’d rather be dead than live like that.”

“There’s always Crow. He loves you as much as your parents did.”

“My parents. They died before I was ten. I hardly remember them.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “You’re the only one who means anything to me, Grandfather. I won’t let you face that demon alone, and that’s that.”

Grandfather pulled her to him. “What if I tell you that your precious Clay is still alive?” he whispered into her ear.

She pushed him away. “How could you lie to me like that, Grandfather? Clay’s dead, and you know it!”

The old man shook his head. “It was Nick’s idea to falsely publicize Clay’s death, and it was a good idea. That would keep your old beau, Jay Walkingman, from finding Clay and murdering his only witness.”

“Really? This isn’t a ploy to get me into the safe room?” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and spilled onto the stony floor.

“It is the truth, Granddaughter. Now please, for your man and me, go inside the safe room. You have everything to live for now.”

Blossom gave him a final hug and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Grandfather. Be careful. Promise me you’ll be okay.”

He hesitated. “I promise. Now go.”

He led her to a section of wall covered with a beautiful but faded mural of a buffalo hunt. He touched his hand to the hunter’s spearhead, and the rock slid back. Blossom stepped inside.

“I love you, Grandfather.”

“I know, Blossom.”

The rock moved back into place, and the old medicine man conjured a blazing fire in the pit. He was alone now, except for the ghostly company of long-departed friends.

The Santa Fe careened onto the private gravel road that led to Grandfather’s farm. A minute later, Crow spotted Grandfather’s house on the gray horizon. The wind whipped the tops of the cottonwood trees as the SUV fishtailed down the narrow road, leaving yellow dust clouds billowing in its wake. He had to hurry. The storm and demon were drawing near.

Suddenly, a monstrous gray form materialized on Grandfather’s front lawn. The demon swiveled its long neck, glared at the approaching SUV, and curled its lips back in a hostile snarl. It turned toward the house, tightened its muscles into intimidating knots beneath its pale-gray skin, and crashed through the front of the house.

Crow stomped on the brake pedal, and the Santa Fe skidded to a sideways stop. He jumped from the SUV, opened the rear hatchback door, and armed himself with the weapons he requested from Rance before he boarded the charter plane - a flamethrower, stun grenades, and an electrical prod powerful enough to stun and drop an elephant. Crow had learned from Nick’s previous battle with the demon: Rocket launchers didn’t do the trick.

Crow ignored the welcome mat and door and entered the house through the massive hole left in the front wall by the demon guardian. He encountered a crater in the living room floor where the demon entered the tunnels below. Crow ran to the back bedroom, located the ponderous, oak trap door beneath a brightly colored, braided rug, and tugged it open. He quickly descended the ladder down to the black tunnels. He waved his arms, and torches exploded into flame along the main passage. That was the extent of his magical ability.

The monster’s distant, godless roar echoed back to Crow, and a shiver raked his spine. He took several deep breaths, and then, with a single, rowdy war whoop, he charged through the flickering shadows toward the main ceremonial chamber.

Grandfather felt the demon’s presence long before its angry roar shook the tunnels. Armed with an ancient spear of polished oak that dripped eagle feathers, he waved the spearhead in circles above his head. The spearhead was deftly crafted from a magical stone. Grandfather chanted, stepped inside the concentric circles surrounding the fire pit, and awaited the advancing evil.

The Omaha medicine man tossed a handful of white powder into the roaring fire, and a monstrous jade flame erupted to the ceiling, curling and gyrating like a charmed cobra. Furious hissing and crackling filled the chamber and joined Grandfather’s wailing chants as his arthritic body danced around the sizzling serpent to the rhythmic beat of his voice.

The jade inferno dissolved to cobalt, and then burst into a swirling scarlet tornado. Grandfather stopped behind the fiery maelstrom and faced the chamber entrance. He raised the spear above his head, and the raging inferno crept from the pit and engulfed him. The temperature inside the conflagration swelled above 2,000 degrees, but Grandfather appeared impervious to it.