The Mountain King (19 page)

You bastards! You bloody thirsty, rotten, motherfucking bastards!
Mark thought. 

He wanted to jump up and scream his rage and misery, but heavy pressure was closing off his throat. He wished he could close his eyes and forget everything he had just seen, but he couldn’t. Numb with terror, he had to watch as the creatures fell upon his daughter and with their horrible clawed hands, ripped off her clothes and raked the flesh away from her bones in large chunks which they stuffed into their mouths. Loud smacking sounds filled the cave as all five creatures feasted on the raw, human flesh. 

Mark was numb to everything as he silently watched the horrible scene being enacted below him. He huddled on the rock ledge, sobbing and shivering. His only daughter had been killed right in front of his eyes, mutilated, and was being eaten by these bloodthirsty beasts! 

You bastards! You’ll pay for this! You’ll all pay!
 

He watched in stunned horror as three of the creatures grabbed Sandy’s other arm and two legs and pulled away from each other. Her limbs were torn free with the sounds of cracking bones and horrible tearing noises as her body split open. Dark blood gushed everywhere, splattering the creatures’ bodies, driving them into a ferocious frenzy. Internal organs dropped to the cave floor with juicy, slapping sounds, only to be snatched up and shoved into hungry maws. One of the beasts smashed Sandy’s head repeatedly against the cave floor until it split open like a ripe coconut. Then, sitting back on its haunches, the creature scooped out and feasted on the pale jelly of her brains, smacking its lips with horrible satisfaction. The cave walls reverberated with the creatures’ hideous shrieks that now sounded all too much like bestial laughter. The horrible scene went on unabated until there was nothing left of Sandy except cracked bones and tangles of pink, stringy flesh. 

Once the five creatures finished their grisly meal, two of them scooped up all that remained of Sandy, including her smashed skull, and casually tossed the pieces onto the pile of animal carcasses inside the corral beside the other captives. For a while the creatures squatted on their haunches, burping and grunting with satisfaction, but before long they all settled down to sleep. 

Mark had lost all sense of time as he watched in horror from his hiding place. The firelight faded to an angry red glow. At some point, he closed his eyes and blocked his ears, but he knew he could never forget the sounds of the gruesome, brutal feast. Racked and shaken with tears of rage and grief, he slid down the angled rock until he came to rest against the cold stone wall. Long after the feast was over and the cave had descended into darkness and silence, his mind echoed with the last, agonized scream his daughter had made before she died. 

Chapter Twenty-nine
 

Vow 

Something moved inside the cave, bringing Mark to instant alertness. 

The dim afterglow of the campfire illuminated the cave. Mark had no way of knowing whether it was day or night. What he remembered of the events of last night seemed now like fragments from some horrible nightmare, but the cold knot in his stomach and the stinging memory of Sandy’s final, terrified scream convinced him that he had imagined nothing. 

Sandy was dead. 

Mark’s mind raged and ached; his heart beat with a cold, steady knocking against his ribs, convincing him that it had been all too horribly real. 

The cave was in near total darkness as the creatures, sleeping on piles of leaves and moss piled up in the corners, began to stir. One of them—Mark couldn’t distinguish which one; he saw only that this one didn’t have a wounded left shoulder—went over to the fire, piled on a few pieces of wood, and blew on the coals until flames erupted in a snapping blaze. 

Mark watched as the creature shuffled about the cave, bending over and sniffing the other sleeping creatures until they, too, began to stir. He tried to focus on what he had to do today to get Phil and the others out of here alive, but his mind kept drawing a blank. All he could think was, Sandy was dead! Tortured and mutilated! No amount of anger or grief or
anything
would bring her back. 

She was gone, and he had been helpless to stop it. 

Hunkering down on the rock ledge, Mark watched silently as the creatures roused themselves. One of them picked up a long bone from the cave floor, sniffed it, and then splintered it on a rock and ran one finger along the inside to scoop out the fresh marrow. Mark’s body went cold with the thought that this was Sandy’s leg bone. He slid his rifle up, fighting the almost overpowering urge to take aim and shoot the creature, but he held his fire, knowing that he and Phil and the other lost hikers wouldn’t survive the creatures’ wrath. 

Mark glanced over at the corral but couldn’t see the captives clearly. They were three dark shapes, slouching against the cave wall. He had three bullets left. Perhaps the merciful thing to do would be to use them to end Phil’s, Jack’s, and Mary’s misery. Then the creatures could finish him off in a frenzy, and it would be over with. What was the sense of living, now that Sandy—his only child—was dead? 

He had nothing to look forward to. 

When—and if—he got out of here, life at home was never going to be the same. Better yet, why not end it all right now with a single shot to his head and let the others fend for themselves? 

Why the fuck not? 

He fingered the trigger and, closing his eyes a moment, visualized raising the rifle to his head, pressing the cold metal barrel against his temple, and squeezing the trigger. 

It would all be over in an instant. 

Why not do it and be done with the pain and suffering? Sandy’s death was going to leave a vacuum in his life that would never be filled. 

Why not end it all now, with one clean shot? 

He honestly wanted to do it, but then he thought that if he died now, it would leave these things still alive. Sandy’s death would go unavenged, and that meant next year more hikers would disappear and end up here in this cave with their legs broken, waiting to die. 

No, Mark decided as he opened his eyes and glared at the creatures as they shuffled around the cave. He imagined himself kneeling over the mangled corpse of his daughter as he vowed that those creatures were going to have to die! 

He was going to wipe out
all
of them! 

After a breakfast of raw meat from the pile of carcasses inside the corral, four of the five creatures departed from the cave, leaving behind one—the one with the wounded shoulder—to tend the fire and guard the captives. 

Mark waited a long time, mentally counting the minutes until he was sure the creatures were far enough away from the cave before making his move. A gunshot echoing from inside the cave would certainly bring them all back. While he waited, Mark studied the one remaining creature and actually found himself thinking of it in almost human terms. It was the creature’s eyes and expressions that struck him as most human, but even its movements and actions as it settled with its back against the cave wall seemed intelligent beyond what little experience he’d had observing monkeys and gorillas in a zoo. 

“She’s dead, you know!” someone shouted. 

The sudden voice echoed like a gunshot off the cave walls. The guarding creature roused itself, glared over at the corral, and snorted viciously. 

“She’s dead! Mary died last night!” 

It was Phil’s voice, ringing out strong and clear, no doubt to let Mark know that he, at least, was still holding out. 

“She couldn’t take it anymore, you lousy son-of-a-bitch!” Phil yelled, his voice starting to edge up into hysteria. “She couldn’t take it anymore.
None of us can take it anymore!”
 

The creature shifted to its feet and started over toward the captives. As soon as its back was to him, Mark raised himself into a crouch. He supported his arm on one knee and drew a careful bead on the back of the creature’s head, carefully tracking the creature’s movements. Holding his breath for a second, he was just about to squeeze the trigger when he remembered that he didn’t have enough bullets. If he used one now, it might well prove to be the one he would need later. One on one, he just might have a chance. 

Keeping as quiet as possible, he slid down from the ledge and, resting his rifle back behind his shoulder, dashed across the cave floor toward the creature. As soon as Phil saw what Mark was doing, he started yelling again, hoping to mask the sound of his friend’s approach and draw the creature’s attention. 

“Are we next?”
Phil hollered.
“Is
that it? Which one of us is going to be supper tonight, huh? Tell me that!”
 

The creature grunted angrily, keeping his eyes on Phil as Mark rapidly closed the gap between them. At the very last instant, the beast sensed approaching danger. Letting loose a wild roar, it spun around just as Mark swung the rifle around in a wide arc. 

“You motherfucking bastard!” 

The butt of the rifle smashed the side of the creature’s head with an impact that shattered the skull and blew a red spray of blood into the air. Without another sound, the creature spun around in its tracks, took a couple of wobbly steps backward, and then dropped to the ground. Its body twitched for a second or two, and then lay still. 

“Awright! One for the good guys!” Phil shouted hoarsely. 

Mark straddled the creature’s corpse and then, shouting with every hit, slammed his rifle butt into the creature’s face enough times to turn it into a bloody pulp. He was lost in a whirlwind of finally being able to release his rage. Sweat dripped from his face, and his whole body was trembling when he finally realized that there was nothing recognizable left of the creature’s head. Stepping back, he let the rifle drop from his hands. 

“Well, he sure as shit ain’t going anywhere,” Phil said. 

Mark was panting heavily as he smiled grimly over at his friend. Then he quickly vaulted the fence and went over to where Mary lay. 

“Did you mean what you said, Phil? Is she really—” 

He stopped himself short when he saw that Mary was slumped against the rock, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. Her unblinking eyes were glazed over as though she were staring far into the distance. 

“Shit!” Mark whispered. 

Tears formed in his eyes, but he knew the cold, hollow grief that filled him was for Sandy, not Mary. He knelt beside the woman, gently closed her eyes, and composed her stiffening hands in her lap. 

“I—I’m awfully sorry,” he said, turning to Jack. His voice was little more than a tattered gasp. 

“I don’t think she could have lived with the pain anymore,” Jack said, sounding barely able to speak himself. “She—I think she just gave up—after seeing what they did to that girl—last night,” Jack said. 

“That was my .. . daughter,” Mark said, surprised that he could speak at all. 

After a moment, Jack closed his eyes and said, “I— I’m awfully sorry.” Fat tears, which he didn’t even try to wipe away, streaked the thick grime on his face. 

Trembling inside, Mark stood up and brushed his hands on his legs as he looked at Phil. 

“Jesus, Mark!” Phil said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t even recognize her.” 

Mark forced himself to look over at the stinking pile of offal, knowing that, mixed in somewhere with the rotting flesh of deer and other animals were the last human remains of his daughter. He was shaking, nearly blind with grief as he walked over toward the pile. The smell of death and rotting flesh assailed his nostrils, making him gag. He saw, resting on its left cheek amongst the stripped bones, decaying flesh, and rotting pelts, his daughter’s ruined head. Framed by her dark hair, her smashed face was chalky white and streaked with splashes of dried blood. Her eyes were wide open, staring, as though a photographic flash had caught her by surprise. The raw, red stump of her neck ended with a short length of spine protruding from the base. The sight of it twisted Mark’s stomach. He fell to his knees and dry-heaved. 

“Mark! Listen to me, Mark,” Phil called out. 

“There’s—there’s—nothing—you can—say,” Mark whispered as he doubled over, clenching his arms over his stomach, and fought against the waves of sour acid that were bubbling up out of him. 

“Come on, Mark! Don’t look at it! You—you have to remember her for who she was, not . . . not like
that!”
 

“I swear to Christ,” Mark said. His fists were clenched and shaking, and his voice was low and thrumming as he straightened up. Tears were pouring from his eyes, but he wiped them on his sleeve as he looked up into the dark recesses of the cave ceiling and listened to the vibrating echo of his voice as it rose louder and louder. “You know—” 

“. . .
know . .
.” his voice echoed. 

“I think they did it—” 

“. . . did it . . .”
 

“out of revenge.” 

“. . .
revenge . .
.” 

“Come on, Mark. You’re talking crazy now,” Phil said. 

“No, I really think so. I think all along they’ve been hunting me, maybe ever since that day you fell off The Zipper. I think they tracked me back to my house. I think one of them, maybe the one that was looking for me, killed Dennis Cross, thinking it was me. And I think—I think they went back down there and took Sandy out of pure spite because they hadn’t found me.” 

“I don’t blame you for freaking out, all right?” Phil said. “But don’t you think you’re giving them a little too much credit? If they had been—” 

“I don’t
care
what you think, so just shut the fuck up! It doesn’t fucking matter! Sandy’s
dead,
and I swear to God—” He shook his clenched fists wildly over his head. “I swear on the bones of my
daughter
that I’m going to hunt down every last one of these bastards—whatever the
hell they are—and I’m going to kill them all, with my bare hands if I have to!” 

Turning to Phil, he lowered his voice and said, “I gave my word that I’d come up here and not leave until I found you, and I’ve done that. But once I get you and Jack and—” his voice choked off, and he had to force himself to continue “—and come back for Mary and what’s left of Sandy, I promise you I’m not going to rest until I see every one of these bastards dead!” 

A shiver rippled through him when his last word echoed hollowly from the ceiling of the cave— 

“...
dead! .
. .’”