The Mountain King (18 page)

“Then I’m going to have to go down the mountain and get help,” Mark said. “I can have a dozen or more men back here with rifles, ropes, medical supplies, and anything else we might need. It was a full moon last night. If I can convince the authorities, maybe we can land a helicopter up here on the ledge above and lower some men down.” 

Before they could discuss the relative merits of this plan any further, a loud, keening wail sounded from outside the cave. It rose to a high-pitched note that warbled up and down like a frantic siren. The tunnel throat of the cave reverberated with the eerie sound. The woman didn’t respond at all, but the three men turned and looked in horror at the cave entrance. 

“Shit!”
Mark muttered. “They must have found the one I killed.” 

Chapter Twenty-seven  

Breaking In 

The night was alive with cricket song. A just-past-full moon was riding high in the sky, casting a cold silver light over the yard. Sandy was standing in the dappled shadow of a maple tree at the foot of the driveway. She shivered as she pulled her jacket collar tightly around her neck and looked up at the house. 

All the lights were off. Polly must have gone to bed. 

Good!
she thought, her hands clenching into fists. 

Moving swiftly and silently, Sandy cut across the front lawn and up the back stairs to the kitchen door. She knew what she was doing was foolish, but in her hurry to get out of the house earlier that afternoon, she had forgotten to pick up her school books. Now, a little before midnight, she had come back to get them. 

She probably should have called earlier and told Polly that she was coming by, but she couldn’t stand the thought of hearing Polly’s voice, much less seeing her. So once the Bishops had settled down for the night, she had snuck out of the house, intent on getting what she needed for school the next day. With luck, she’d be back at the Bishops’ within an hour, and no one would even know that she had been gone. 

Her hand trembled as she grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The doorknob jiggled a little, then stopped. She twisted it back and forth again a few times. 

“Damn it!” she whispered, her breath a small cloud that quickly dissipated in the night. 

Scooching down and ignoring her fear of spiders and other unseen dangers that might be lurking, she fished around under the edge of the stoop until she found the spare key that hung there on a nail. She quickly fitted the key into the lock, turned the knob, and opened the door, being careful to swing the door slowly so the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Knowing she’d be right back out, she left the key sticking out of the lock. 

The house was silent and dark. Not wanting—or daring—to turn on any lights, she felt her way around the kitchen like a blind person. She hissed with disappointment when she realized that her backpack wasn’t by the laundry where she usually dropped it when she got home. 

Why am I even doing this?
she wondered.
What the hell am I afraid of? This is my own damned house!
 

She walked across the kitchen floor on tiptoes, grimacing every time a floorboard creaked. She was racking her brain, trying to think where her backpack might be. She had no idea. Things had been so confusing lately, and she had been so shaken up by the accident with the Jeep, she was surprised she could even remember how to tie her own sneakers. Knowing her luck, Polly had probably taken the backpack upstairs and thrown it into her bedroom. 

The bright glow of moonlight from outside made the interior of the house all the darker as Sandy finished her hasty search of the kitchen and then moved into the hallway. She checked beside the coat rack and inside the front hall closet but still didn’t find what she was looking for. Finally, after not finding it in the living room or dining room, she was convinced that she had to go upstairs and check her bedroom. 

She paused at the foot of the stairs, her hand resting lightly on the polished banister as she looked up at the top landing. Her breath came light and fast. A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. It was going to be one hell of a challenge to get up there and back without waking up Polly. 

This is absolutely crazy!
she told herself. 

She knew she should just walk right up there, bold as can be, and get what she wanted. Maybe she should even
try
to wake up Polly and have a little talk with her. Maybe she should even go so far as to apologize to her for the things she’d said. At the very least, she shouldn’t be acting like a criminal in her own goddamned house! 

But she didn’t dare turn on the hall light before starting up the stairs. She tiptoed up the stairs, wincing at every step that creaked beneath her weight. Even the tiniest noise sounded as loud as gunfire, but she told herself that everything was magnified in the dark, that Polly was sleeping soundly and wouldn’t hear a thing. 

And so what if she does? 

The upstairs lights were off. Once Sandy got to the top of the stairs, she couldn’t resist peeking into Polly’s bedroom before going down to her own room. She opened the door ever so slowly and saw her stepmother, an indistinct, gray lump underneath her bed covers. Holding her breath, Sandy watched for a moment, then moved as quickly and as silently as she could down to her own bedroom. 

A soft wash of moonlight was shining through the curtains, illuminating her bed and a small square of the floor. She glanced around the room, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. 

There it was! 

Her backpack was slung over the back of the chair by her desk, right where she had left it, she now recalled. She went over and picked it up, then shrugged her arms into the straps, being careful not to swing the pack around in case something inside might make a noise or fall out. Once the pack was positioned comfortably over her shoulders, she went quickly back down the hallway to the stairs. 

Just as she was passing Polly’s bedroom door, her stepmother moaned in her sleep and rolled over, muttering something that Sandy couldn’t quite make out. Sandy froze, her hand poised above the banister. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she waited several seconds, praying that Polly wouldn’t wake up and see her there. The steady hammering of her pulse in her ears sped up, and an aching pressure started to build inside her bladder. 

Go on! Just get the hell out of here!
she commanded herself, telling herself that Polly might be half-asleep and not even remember their argument; she might think Sandy was just getting up to go to the bathroom. But she didn’t dare to move ... not yet. 

But it doesn’t matter! This is my house, too, so just get moving!
 

She lowered her foot down onto the first step. Dizzying waves of tension threatened to knock her over as she forced herself, ever so slowly, to take each step one at a time and not start running. Her backpack felt like it was loaded with bricks as it bounced painfully against her kidneys, reminding her of how badly she had to go to the bathroom. 

She hardly dared to breathe until she reached the bottom step and was heading back into the kitchen. Shaking all over, she opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the night. Then, for the first time since she had entered the house, she took a deep breath, letting her lungs expand to their limit. The night air surrounded her like a cold blanket, making her shiver, but all she could feel was relief that she was out of there. 

She quietly eased the kitchen door shut and turned the key in the lock to relock it. She resisted the sudden impulse to shout for joy as she jumped off the steps down to the driveway. Glancing upward, she was relieved to see that no lights had come on in the house. Polly was still sleeping peacefully. 

At least the two-timing little slut is alone tonight,
Sandy thought bitterly. 

The flat stretch of lawn in the backyard glowed eerily in the moonlight. The distant fringe of trees shifted as a light breeze wafted their leaves. Inky shadows clung to the eaves of the house and along the side of the garage. Sandy was too elated with her success to notice that one of the shadows close to the garage shifted as she bent down and felt up under the stairs to replace the hidden key. Just as she was straightening up, though, some primitive sense warned her of imminent danger. She stood up and was just turning around when a huge, dark shape loomed above her, blocking out the night sky. 

A tiny squeak escaped from her throat, but her throat closed off as two powerful hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. She tried to resist but couldn’t as thick, muscled arms spun her around, wrapped around her chest, and started to squeeze with a steady, unrelenting pressure. 

No! No!
her mind screamed. 

She couldn’t make the slightest sound. The arms forced the air out of her lungs. Bright, trailing spirals of light filled her vision as the crushing strength increased. Her head felt hot and heavy, and was throbbing with pressure. She had the brief impression that she was floating, flying away when she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Her feet kicked wildly, making her think of a frantic swimmer who was trying her best to stay afloat. 

This can’t be happening! . . . This can’t be happening!
 

The night suddenly erupted as trailing red and yellow bursts of light shot across her vision. She could hear nothing but the heavy drumbeat of her pulse, slamming in her ears as her body was shaken back and forth, first one way, then the other. The powerful hands locked together across her chest and pulled inward, crunching her rib cage and collapsing her lungs. 

Then other sounds filled Sandy’s head. 

First came a rapid series of
pops
that sounded like a string of firecrackers exploding in the distance. Then a searing jolt of pain accompanied by a single, loud
crack
close to her ears, sounding like an old board that had snapped beneath an enormous weight. Bright, intense pain roared like a hurricane inside her head, billowing in flashes of searing white heat. 

Sandy never realized that her backbone had snapped in half. Thankfully, she was unconscious by then. 

Chapter Twenty-eight
 

Bloody Feast 

The beastly howl was still echoing through the cave when Mark sprang into action. After checking to make sure there was a bullet in the rifle chamber, he hurriedly glanced around, looking for someplace to hide. His first thought was to crawl underneath the pile of animal carcasses inside the corral, but the thought of lying there, buried under all that rotting meat with maggots and grubs crawling around, nauseated him. 

Huge rocks were strewn around on the cave floor, any one of which Mark could have hidden behind, but he had no idea where these creatures might go once they entered their cave. If Phil and Jack’s count was accurate, and there were four or five of the creatures left, he didn’t have enough bullets to kill them all, even if he could take out each one with a single shot. And if he kept his flashlight off so he wouldn’t reveal himself, how was he even going to see? He had to do something, fast. 

Sweeping the flashlight beam around, he noticed at the back of the cave a shelf of rock about ten feet above the cave floor with a jumble of rocks below it. He quickly decided that it would be the best place to hide, at least until he could think of something else. Even if the creatures found him there, he’d be able to defend himself better, being above their heads with his back against a solid rock wall. 

Another wailing cry sounded from outside the cave, this time much louder and getting closer. However many creatures there were, they were returning to the cave. After a moment, Mark heard a low grunting sound and the heavy shuffling of padded feet on stone. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to Phil, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll get all of us out of here, I promise.” 

Before either of the crippled men could reply, Mark leapt over the corral railing and ran to the back of the cave. Getting up onto the shelf of rock wasn’t as easy as it had looked, but once he was settled up there, he realized the place was perfect. No more than six feet wide, it slanted back about eight or ten feet. The back of the enclosure was solid rock, as if this place had purposely been chiseled out of the rock. He felt some comfort knowing that nothing was going to be able to sneak up on him from behind. 

As the sounds of shuffling feet and angry snarls rang louder in the cave, Mark switched off his flashlight and flattened himself against the rock. As soon as it was pitch dark, he started worrying that the creatures might have extraordinary eyesight in the dark, or that they might pick up his scent. He had to hope that they needed at least a glimmer of light to see, and that the stench of rotting flesh filling the cave would mask his scent. 

The next several minutes were sheer terror for him as he lay there waiting, surrounded by total darkness, his face pressed against the cold, gritty stone. The sounds made by the creatures grew steadily louder until Mark was positive they were inside the cave chamber. He could hear heavy breathing and the shifting of bodies back and forth across the rock floor. 

As he lay there, clutching his rifle, Mark had to admit that, although at first the noises they made could have been taken for nothing more than wild animal grunts and snorts, they did seem to have a pattern. The creatures could be communicating. He was reminded of a tape he had heard of the “songs” of humpback whales. These creatures’ voices, like those of the whales, seemed to repeat in definite patterns that very well could be relating simple information. 

They sounded almost sad—especially one voice, Mark thought, listening to their high, keening wails and abrupt, grunting snorts. He couldn’t help but think they might be grieving for the one he killed outside the cave. 

But Mark didn’t feel the slightest trace of pity or regret. These creatures had done far worse than
kill
human beings. By the way things looked in the cave, this wasn’t the first time they had captured and tortured humans. Mark remembered all the instances he had heard about over the years of hikers and campers disappearing on or around Agiochook. The presence of these creatures would go a long way in explaining some of those disappearances. He shuddered, thinking what he might find if he carefully inspected the pile of remains. 

But why are they doing it now? 

Are Phil and these other two campers part of the food supply? Are they fresh meat “on the hoof,” stockpiled for the coming winter? 

Or is there some other explanation? 

Are the creatures keeping human captives as some kind of pet, or are they being held for . . . for some other purpose? 

These and other unnerving questions filled Mark’s mind as he waited in the total darkness, listening to the creatures grumble and snort as they moved around in the pitch-dark cave. 

How can they move around without bumping into rocks and walls? Mark wondered. 

Can they see in the dark? 

What if they already knew where he was hiding and—right now—they were shifting silently toward him in the darkness? 

Mark concentrated his attention on relaxing, on slowing his breathing and pushing aside such thoughts. The cave echoed with low, rhythmic whimpers that reminded him of the sound a hurt dog would make. 

Was it possible one of these creatures was actually crying? 

Why don’t they light a fire? It must be already dark outside. Have they come in to settle down for the night? How many are there? Should he risk turning on his flashlight, locating them, and then shooting— at least until he ran out of bullets? Or would that only end up getting him and the other hikers killed? Although all three captives were physically and, in the case of Mary, mentally damaged, at least they all were still alive .. . ... so far. 

Although it made absolutely no difference, Mark closed his eyes and rested his head against the rock, focusing his attention on his hearing as he listened to try to determine if the creatures knew he was there. He realized that he was going to have to wait for one of two things—either all of the creatures were going to leave the cave again, or else one of them would start a fire, and he would be able to see exactly what he was up against. 

Either way, it was going to be one hell of a long wait. 

Some time later—he had no way of knowing how long—Mark awoke from the fitful sleep into which he had drifted. 

Something was happening in the cave. 

The creatures had all settled down, apparently to sleep, but now they were awakened by a loud screech from outside the cave. In an instant, the cave echoed with a chorus of loud, yapping cries that echoed weirdly in the cave’s recesses. 

Mark eased himself forward until he felt the edge of the rock and looked out into total darkness. He heard a heavy thump, as though one of them had fallen down or dropped something onto the floor. Their cries rose louder, sounding like rabid wolves, howling at the moon. 

“Hey! What the hell’s going on over there?” someone yelled. 

The suddenness of a human voice startled Mark, but then he realized that it was Phil, calling out, no doubt, just to reassure Mark. The desire to call back to his friend was intense, but Mark knew it would be fatal. 

The darkness suddenly exploded with a shower of yellow sparks accompanied by a loud rasping sound. The burst of light, as brief and as weak as it was, stung Mark’s eyes like a splash of cold water. He ducked back down behind the rock edge and closed his eyes, waiting for the trailing afterimages of comets to disappear as he listened to the commotion of heavy bodies shifting about in the darkness. The quick rasping sound was repeated several times, and even with his eyes closed, Mark could see faint flashes of light, like lightning rippling in the distance. 

When he finally dared to open his eyes and look again, he saw what was going on. One of the creatures was leaning over a small pile of leaves and twigs, scraping two large stones together to produce sparks. The creature kept working at it until enough sparks had landed, and a small fire began to smolder. Then the creature leaned forward and, puffing gently, blew on the sparks until a thin curl of smoke rose from the faintly glowing bed of tinder. Before long, small tongues of flame crackled on the kindling, lighting up the creature’s face. 

He looks like a goddamned deranged biker from hell,
Mark thought as he studied the low, overhanging brow and the furry face that framed dark, deep-set eyes ... eyes that glowed with an uncanny intelligence. If he hadn’t known it before, Mark knew right then that he wasn’t simply up against a pack of wild animals. These things were intelligent. They had the power of fire. 

The creature continued to blow gently, and the flames rose higher, illuminating the cave with a soft, glowing globe of yellow light. The snap of recognition hit Mark hard, like a vision from a bad dream come to life when he saw that the creature starting the fire was the one that had attacked him yesterday. The fur on its left shoulder was stripped away, exposing a patch of raw flesh that was caked and matted with dried blood. Four other creatures stood nearby, watching the fire-maker. 

Mark’s pulse raced as he looked around at the shadowy forms lurking in the cave. With the flames underlighting them, they looked like gigantic nightmare creatures, but he saw their expressive faces that looked—he almost didn’t allow himself the thought— almost
human!
 

Projected onto the cave walls by the firelight, their shadows were impossibly huge and distorted. After his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Mark noticed a small shape sprawled on the floor. It took him a moment to realize that it was a human being, lying face-down on the cave floor. One of the creatures was crouching beside it, grunting as it poked and prodded the motionless figure with its forefinger. 

Another captive!
Mark thought.
Another human being to add to their collection!
 

The fire grew steadily brighter as the creature who had lit it fed it pieces of wood. Mark realized that this new captive was a young woman. After staring at her a moment, he realized with a sickening drop in his stomach that there was something familiar about her. He stared at the girl’s long, dark hair, spilling like an ink stain onto the rock floor. His heart literally stopped beating for several seconds when the creature rolled her over onto her back, and he saw who it was. 

Oh, my God! Oh, Jesus! 

Flashing red rage swept through Mark like a brush-fire. His hands squeezed his rifle so hard his arms began to hurt right up to his neck. It was a miracle that he didn’t scream out loud, leap down from his hiding place and, in an insane frenzy, attack all of the creatures, blasting at them with his rifle until he ran out of ammunition, and then flailing at them with the butt of the rifle until either he or they were dead. 

But he was paralyzed with shock, frozen into inaction. 

A fierce trembling gripped his body as he watched the creature lift Sandy’s limp body from the floor. 

Is she already dead?
Mark wondered in a frantic flood of fear. Hot tears stung his eyes. 

He had no idea what to wish for, whether to hope that Sandy was already dead and past any pain, or merely unconscious from the fear and pain of what had happened to her. Her arms and legs dangled loosely, and her back bent back unnaturally far as the creature turned back and forth facing the others as though displaying a trophy. All of them uttered low sounds as though pleased with this new acquisition. 

Mark almost screamed aloud when Sandy’s eyes fluttered open, reflecting the firelight with a glazed, distant pain. Her head lolled back and forth, but he could see her squint with unbearable pain at every motion. She looked dazed, as though caught in the grip of a vivid nightmare. 

Using low grunts and snarls, the creatures seemed to address the one holding Sandy as he strutted back and forth across the cave floor. Then one of them stepped forward and grabbed Sandy’s arm. With a snorting grunt, the creature pulled back while the one holding tightly onto Sandy’s arm twisted away. The cave echoed a loud snap. Sandy’s brief scream of pain was cut off by the raw, wet, ripping sound as her arm was pulled out of its socket. 

Leaning its head back and staring at the shadowed ceiling of the cave, the creature holding Sandy let loose a loud, keening shriek. The other creature swung Sandy’s severed arm over its head like a flail, gibbering with what sounded like pure animal glee. Then the one holding her body, obviously caught up in the frenzy, wrapped one arm around Sandy’s neck, braced her body against his side, and with a quick jerk and snap of his body, broke her neck. A thick, bubbly sound came from Sandy’s throat as her body went limp. Her eyes instantly glazed over in death and stared sightlessly ahead. They seemed to fix squarely on Mark where he lay, hidden on the ledge.