The Vanishing (44 page)

The creatures actually seemed to be moving with purpose now, picking things up off the ground, touching their hands to the walls of the huts, walking about in precise ordered steps almost like a ritualized dance. No one knew
what
they were doing—but they were doing something.

Between the trees that formed the boundary to the village appeared more dead animals, big ones, as well as living plants more than capable of doing serious harm to a human being.

‘‘What are they doing?’’ Brian asked his dad. ‘‘What’s happening?’’

The old man started to speak, then stopped, frowning, as though he’d suddenly forgotten what he was going to say.

Or how to say it,
Brian thought, and he remembered those letters with their earnest attempts at simple English. Perhaps his dad had forgotten how to write
and
speak after all this time.

Twenty years,
he told himself.

But
he
would not have forgotten how to speak and write after twenty years, or even after eighty. He’d learned the English language, it was imprinted on his brain, a part of who he was, and he didn’t understand how his father could forget such a basic fundamental thing after
any
amount of time.

Then Brian looked around at the plants that were sprouting up between the doorless, windowless huts; at the monsters doing God knew what; at the holes in the earth that appeared to be breathing; at Black Mountain, which loomed over it all, and realized that he had no idea what his dad had gone through. In all likelihood, he would never know, and the horrors to which his father had been submitted would remain forever a mystery, unable to be translated or explained.

One of the females began shimmying toward them down the slight slope. It looked like a partially shaved Bigfoot with the tail of a rat and the face of a gargoyle, but damn it, the thing was still sexy, and though Brian knew it was wrong, he was filled with lust. The reaction was instinctive, involuntary, and he could tell from the suddenly still postures of the men around him that they felt it too.

Todd shot the monster.

‘‘Kill them all!’’ the man named Andrew yelled hysterically. ‘‘The women first!’’

There seemed to be no reaction among the creatures to this killing of one of their own, but seconds later, another female started toward them, her pink pubic area distended, hair that looked like rope hanging down from the top of her white head and from the sides of her leathery body. In the light of the halogens, she looked grotesque.

But sensuous.

Brian felt more than saw his dad’s tension, and when his father let out a painful, guttural yell, Brian somehow knew what was coming next.

‘‘My . . . wife.’’

Even before he had finished saying that, Raul had opened fire and blown her away, thin gruelish liquid spurting out from her mortal wounds like water from a fountain.

Brian reached for his father, but he had already darted away, screaming, and though Garth tried to keep track of him with his light, the old man disappeared into the vegetative darkness almost instantly. Brian started after him, but Carrie grabbed his arm, holding tight. ‘‘No,’’ she said.

He pulled away from her—

And Todd grabbed him by the shoulders, turning to face him. ‘‘No.’’

The other men were gone as well, Brian noticed, having taken the chance to escape, although Andrew remained behind. He was the only one who didn’t seem fully acculturated, and though no one was willing to entirely trust the man yet, the lost and frightened expression on his face told Brian that he was safe, that he wanted only to get out of there and go home.

But not before killing the monsters.

‘‘Shoot them all!’’ Andrew screamed crazily. ‘‘Shoot them down!’’

A top-heavy creature with a lionlike face and gazellelike legs jumped through a bush toward them, and someone shot it down in midstride.

‘‘Practice run,’’ Todd said. ‘‘They’re testing us.’’

‘‘We don’t have enough ammunition to take out all of them,’’ Raul noted.

‘‘Off with your packs,’’ Todd said softly. ‘‘Get your explosives.’’

As the two civilians, neither he nor Carrie were involved in this tactical discussion, and he looked into her face, a hazy alabaster in the darkness. Even without light, he saw worry there and concern. ‘‘Don’t even think about it,’’ she told him.

‘‘I can’t let them kill him.’’

‘‘You might get killed, too.’’

‘‘I might anyway. We all might.’’ He turned away from her. ‘‘Dad!’’ he cried.

‘‘Shut up!’’ Isaiah hissed. ‘‘They’ll know your weakness. They’ll exploit it.’’

‘‘They know it already,’’ Brian said. ‘‘Dad!’’ he called.

Something hit him on the back of the head.

When he came to, he was lying on the ground and Carrie was crouched worriedly next to him, bending over and touching her cool hand to his forehead. His skull felt as though it had been pierced with an ice pick, but when he felt around he could find no blood. He sat up. He had probably been out only a couple of minutes, but somehow several of the mercenaries were gone. All of them, in fact, save Isaiah, who stood behind Carrie, his light dimmed and pointing at the ground.

‘‘Sorry I had to do that,’’ Isaiah said. ‘‘But I did.’’ He motioned toward the threatening vegetation that surrounded them and already blocked off several views of the village. ‘‘Let’s go. We need to get you up and get past that, out in the open so we can see what we’re doing.’’

‘‘Are Todd and—’’

‘‘Already out there,’’ Isaiah told him.

But when they moved past the still-growing plants, Isaiah shooting one of the whipping vines and using a knife to slice through a writhing sinewy stalk that dripped blood when he cut it, they saw that the rest of the men had not progressed any farther, but were standing together, facing a virtual wall of creatures, several dozen thick, training their lights and weapons on the monsters in what looked like an impasse.

‘‘What’s this?’’ Isaiah asked.

‘‘Custer’s Last Stand,’’ Christian said.

No one commented. The comparison hit a little too close to home.

‘‘They’re watching us,’’ Todd said. ‘‘We can’t get past them.’’ He shone his light to the right, at the bodies of three dead monsters lying on the ground amid thick blades of waving grass. ‘‘Garth tried to go around and they attacked. We took them out and regrouped.’’ He looked at Brian. ‘‘Any ideas?’’

‘‘Rhymes,’’ Brian told him. ‘‘Nursery rhymes.’’

‘‘What?’’ Raul said incredulously.

‘‘Kirk said that they like nursery rhymes. I’m thinking we could use that to maybe distract them, hold their attention while the rest of you go out and . . . do what you’re going to do.’’ He met Todd’s gaze. ‘‘What
are
you going to do?’’

Todd lowered his voice. ‘‘We’re dropping explosives in the holes and slapping some on the buildings. Best-case scenario? We kill a whole bunch of them and scare the rest enough that they’re running around like chickens with their heads cut off, so we can pick them off in the chaos. Worst case? We can’t even get out there and they kill us here where we stand. In case you haven’t noticed, we are slightly outnumbered.’’ He took a deep breath. ‘‘Nursery rhymes, huh?’’

Brian nodded.

‘‘Any ideas what kind?’’

Brian shook his head.

It was Andrew who began chanting, ‘‘Fee fie foe fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman.’’ He repeated it over and over again at the top of his lungs. Brian had not known what to expect, but the line of creatures suddenly shrunk as it closed in around them, moving into the beams of the searchlights, hundreds of misshapen eyes focused directly on Andrew. Behind them, those creatures still working at whatever tasks they were trying to complete stopped what they were doing and came forward. A stray beam shone over the heads of the monsters and over the village, its last dim traces hitting Black Mountain, revealing more creatures still coming down.

How many of them were there? Hundreds?

Andrew was screaming. ‘‘Fee fie foe fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman!’’

All of them took up the mantra, and the monsters seemed to move as one, dazed and mesmerized.

‘‘It’s working!’’ Brian said quickly between lines.

Todd nodded, grabbing Garth, the first man scheduled to go out. ‘‘You know how to time it, right?’’

Garth nodded.

‘‘Set it for ten. Go!’’

The rest of them continued to chant.

‘‘
Fee fie foe fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman!’’

With a few quick instructions, Todd sent out the next man, Isaiah, who ran to the left, past the edge of the line of monsters, then dashed forward into the village unmolested.

‘‘
Fee fie foe fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman!’’

Christian screwed up. He was not paying attention to what he was saying or his mind was wandering somewhere else, but instead of ‘‘fum’’ he said ‘‘fuck,’’ and the change was instantaneous.
All
of the monsters stopped where they were, and the air was suddenly filled with a strange keening sound. In the light of the overlapping beams, the females started dancing in place, gyrating to unheard music, while the males stood where they were and began mindlessly playing with themselves.

‘‘Quick!’’ Brian yelled. ‘‘What rhymes with ‘fuck’?’’

‘‘Suck!’’ Carrie said.

‘‘Fee fie foe fuck. On a cock you like to suck.’’ He raised his hands as if directing a chorus, and they all started chanting. ‘‘Fee fie foe fuck! On a cock you like to suck!’’

The creatures seemed pacified momentarily, but they also appeared to be building themselves into a frenzy, and Brian saw a few of them looking furtively around as though searching for something to . . . fuck.

Yes, that was it exactly, and he was about to tell Todd, but the team leader must have figured it out for himself, because now all of the mercenaries were running out, crouching low as they spread out to different parts of the scattered village, explosives in hand. They had gone without lights, leaving their handheld halogens on the ground, pointing outward in a semicircle. Only three of them were left—Carrie, Andrew and himself— and they chanted the rhyme in unison as loudly as they could.

Illuminated by the static beams in what was now the darkness of true night, the rising moon providing a blue-tinged backdrop, the monsters appeared even more grotesque, their terrifying faces and hideous physical attributes combining with the lurid sexuality of their movements to create a repulsive tableau.

And yet . . .

Brian pressed down on his erection as he chanted.

Garth was the first one to return. ‘‘There was gold in those holes,’’ he said breathlessly. ‘‘I could see it in the moonlight as I set my explosives. Must be millions of dollars’ worth in there.’’

Raul followed almost immediately on his heels. ‘‘That place is a fucking gold mine.’’

Brian waved his arms, encouraging them to chant, and they joined in.

Todd and Isaiah made it back safely, but as Christian ran around the gathered creatures who now seemed numerous enough to populate a high school football stadium, one of the females jumped him. It was screeching, shrieking, in that harsh, guttural and unbelievably loud way that Brian was now starting to think was their language, and it grabbed him, shoving his head against its pink fleshy vulva and grinding its crotch into his face as it cried out frenziedly. Christian’s arms were flailing, but he couldn’t shoot and neither could anyone else, for fear of hitting him.

An explosion rocked the village with a flash as bright as the sun, and one of the huts blasted apart, chunks of bone and dried mud flying into the air so far that some of them hit the crowd of monsters.

With a horrible cry almost as loud as the explosion, the female dropped Christian and began screaming, running in circles like a robot that had short-circuited. Dozens of others were doing the same, and the creatures surrounding them or close by them were staggering in different directions as though drunk.

In quick succession, three more explosions went off. Then a fourth and a fifth. The mercenaries had grabbed their lights again and were standing with automatic weapons at the ready.

The guns weren’t needed.

As explosion after explosion detonated in hole and hut, the ground shaking, phosphorescent light flashing in the darkness, hunks of dirt and rock and plant and bone flying up and falling down, the ranks of monsters were decimated. They seemed connected to this place somehow, their very existence intertwined with the fate of this land, and as the village was destroyed, they began to self-destruct.

It was a terrible thing to see. Some of them fell to the ground, thrashing furiously about until they expired. Others ran around crazily, bumping into trees or one another or even getting caught in the last of the explosions before finally dropping dead. Still others appeared to decompose before their very eyes,
melting
into the ground as though they were made of wax.

But that wasn’t the most remarkable consequence of the bombing campaign. It was enough, and far more than Brian or any of them had expected, but what happened next was enormous.

Black Mountain disappeared.

The final explosion went off in one of the holes, and with a rumble that seemed to shake the world, the mountain sank in on itself. The air was filled with the overpowering stench of rot and decay. In the moonlight, Brian saw the peak drop, felt the hard quaking of the ground as the mountain seemed to deflate and collapse, and he braced himself, waiting for the end, expecting to be engulfed by a tsunami of rock and dirt—or whatever the mountain was made out of.

But it didn’t happen.

The mountain subsided into the earth with a final massive
whomp
, and then it was gone, an entire half of the sky suddenly visible from where they stood. Within seconds, all of the holes in the ground, even the expanded ones made by the explosives, were filled from within, blackness welling up inside each of the cavities and rising until there
were
no holes, only slightly darkened sections of ground.