Authors: David Seltzer
Jennings fumbled with the door handle and moved stiffly into the night, staggering to a nearby stand of bushes to urinate. It was near dawn, the sky was beginning to show the first signs of light. Jennings blinked hard, trying to make out his surroundings. He slowly realized that they'd arrived at Cerveteri. Before him stood a spiked iron fence, and just beyond it, tombstones silhouetted against the faintly lightening sky.
He moved back to the cab and stared in at Thorn, then glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to five. Walking quietly to the driver's door he reached in and removed the keys from the ignition, then went to the trunk, carefully unlocking it and lifting the lid. It rose with a squeal but the sound did not awaken the two within. Jennings rummaged in the darkness for his camera case and loaded a fresh roll of film. He then tested his flash attachment. It went off into his eyes, blinding him for a moment and causing him to stagger. He waited for his vision to clear, then hefted his equipment onto his shoulder, pausing as his eyes fell upon a tire iron nestled among oil-soaked rags in a corner of the trunk. He reached in and took it, tucking it into his belt, then slowly closed the lid and walked silently to the rusted iron fence. The ground was wet and Jennings was cold; he shivered as he moved along the fence, searching for a point of entry. There was none. Securing his equipment, he scaled the fence with the aid of a nearby tree, losing his footing for an instant and ripping his coat as he tumbled to the ground on the other side. Then, regaining his footing and adjusting his cameras, he headed off into the interior of the cemetery. The sky was getting lighter now and he could make out the details of the tombstones and crumbling statuary around him. They were elaborate and ornate, though disfigured with decay; gargoyle-like faces with broken expressions, crypts, some half collapsed, with rodents moving, unconcerned by his presence, in and out of the hollowed and darkened in-sides.
Though chilled, Jennings felt himself perspiring. He glanced about uneasily as he plodded forward through the heavy growth. He felt as though he were being watched; the vacant eyes of the gargoyles seemed to follow him as he passed. He paused, trying to quiet his uneasiness, and his eyes moved upward, riveted to what they saw. It was a giant stone idol staring down from above, its face frozen in anger, as though outraged by his trespass. Jennings' breath became shallow as he stared upward; the idol's bulging eyes seemed to demand that he retreat. Its face was human, its expression animal: a deeply furrowed forehead and bulbous nose, a gaping, fleshy mouth stretched open as though in rage. Jennings fought down a swell of fear and managed to raise his camera, snapping off three , shots with his flash attachment, assaulting the stone face like a sudden stroke of lightning.
Within the cab Thorn's eyes slowly opened as he became aware that Jennings was gone. He moved out of the car, seeing the graveyard before him, its broken statuary now illuminated by the first rays of the dawn.
". . . Jennings . . . ?"
There was no reply. Thorn moved to the fence and called again. He was answered with a distant sound. It was the sound of movement within the graveyard, as though someone were walking toward him. Thorn gripped the slippery bars and, with effort, hefted himself over the fence, dropping heavily to the ground on the other side.
". . . Jennings?"
The sound of movement had ended. Thorn searched through the maze of broken statuary ahead. Forcing himself to move, he walked slowly forward, his shoes gurgling as they sank into mud. The half-headed gargoyles came into view, and Thorn was unnerved as he eyed them. There was a kind of stillness here that he had experienced before, a suspended silence as though the atmosphere itself were holding its breath. It was at Pereford that he had first felt it, the night he saw the eyes staring back from the forest. He paused now, fearing he was once again being watched. His eyes scanned the statuary, coming to rest on a massive cross planted upside down in the ground. He stiffened. From somewhere behind the cross came the sound. It was the sound of movement again, but this time it was coming fast, heading directly toward him. Thorn wanted to run but was rooted, his eyes widening as the sound crashed heavily down.
"Thorn!"
It was Jennings, breathless and wild-eyed as he exploded through a stand of bushes. Thorn's breath rushed out as he stood shaking; Jennings quickly moved forward with the tire iron grasped in his hand.
"I found it!" he gasped. "I found it!!"
"Found what?"
"Come here. Come with me!"
They moved at a run through the undergrowth,
Jennings dodging gravestones like a soldier running an obstacle course, Thorn struggling to keep up behind.
"There!" exclaimed Jennings as he stopped in a clearing. "Take a look. They're the ones!"
At his feet were two graves; dug close together, side by side. Unlike the others in the cemetery these were fairly recent; one full-sized, the other small, the headstones unadorned, bearing only names and dates.
"See the dates?" asked Jennings excitedly. "June sixth. June sixth! Four years ago. A mother and a child."
Thorn approached slowly and stood beside him, staring down at the mounds.
"They're the only recent ones in the whole place," said Jennings proudly. "The others are so old you can't even read them."
Unanswering, Thorn knelt, wiping dirt from the headstones to see what was inscribed.
". . . Maria Avedici Santora . . ." he read. "Bambino Santoya ... In Morte et in Nate Amplexarantur Generationes."
"What does it mean?"
"It's Latin."
"What does it say?"
". . . In death . . • and birth . . . generations embrace."
"Quite a find, I'd say."
Jennings knelt beside Thorn, surprised to find his companion in tears. Thorn bowed his head and openly wept; Jennings waited for the tears to subside.
"This is it," Thorn moaned. "I know it. My child is buried here."
"And probably the woman who gave birth to the one you're raising."
Thorn looked into Jennings' eyes.
"Maria Santoya," said Jennings, pointing to the headstone. "There's a mother here and a child."
Thorn shook his head, trying to make sense of it.
"Look," said Jennings. "You demanded Spilletto tell you where the mother was. This is the mother. And this is probably your child."
"But why here? Why in this place?"
"I don't know."
"Why in this terrible place?"
Jennings watched Thorn, sharing his confusion.
"There's only one way to find out, Thorn. We've come all this way, we might as well do it."
He raised the tire iron, plunging it forcefully into the earth. It stopped with a dull thud, buried to the hilt.
"It's easy enough. They're only a foot or so under."
He began to dig with the tire iron, loosening the caked dirt and, with his hands, scraping it away.
"You going to help with this?" he asked Thorn, and Thorn reluctantly participated, his fingers numbed with cold as he clawed at the dirt.
Within half an hour they were covered with soot and perspiration, clearing the last bits of earth from two cement covers. They sat back on their knees and stared at them, assessing what had to be done next.
"Smell it?" asked Jennings.
"Yes."
"Must have been a hasty job. Not exactly up to health standards."
Thorn didn't respond; his face was gripped with anguish.
"Which one first?" asked Jennings.
"Do we need to do this?"
"Yes."
"It seems wrong."
"If you want, I'll go get the cabdriver."
Thorn gritted his teeth, then shook his head.
"Let's go then," said Jennings. "Do the big one first."
Jennings struck hard with his tire iron, wedging it against the side of the large cement lid. Then, with great effort, he pried it upward until he could get his fingers underneath.
"Come on, goddamnit!" he shouted at Thorn, and Thorn responded quickly, his arms shaking with exertion as he struggled with Jennings to raise the heavy lid.
"Weighs a bloody ton ... !" Jennings groaned. As he threw his weight against it, the lid came up slowly; both of them strained with full force to hold it in place as their eyes searched the darkened chamber below.
"My God!" Jennings gasped.
It was the carcass of a jackal. Maggots and flies abounded in the decay, wriggling through bits of leathered flesh that somehow still clung to the bones.
His mouth flying open, Thorn lurched backward, the cement slipping from his grip and crashing downward, breaking into pieces in the crypt below. A horde of flies billowed upward; Jennings moved in sudden terror, slipping in mud, as he grabbed Thorn, trying to pull him away.
"No!!" cried Thorn.
"Let's go!"
"No!" gasped Thorn. "The other one!"
"What for? We've seen what we need!"
"No, the other one," Thorn moaned desperately. "Maybe it's an animal, too!"
"So what?!"
"Then maybe my child's alive somewhere!"
Jennings paused, held by the agony in Thorn's eyes. Quickly retrieving the tire iron, he jammed it against the smaller lid; Thorn moved quickly beside him, getting his fingers beneath the lid as Jennings fiercely pried up. In a single movement it was off and Thorn's face contorted with grief. Within the small casket were the remains of a human child, its delicate skull smashed to pieces.
"Its head ..." sobbed Thorn.
"... God ..."
"They killed it!"
"Let's get out of here."
"They murdered my son!" Thorn screamed, and the lid slammed shut, the two men's eyes locked in horror. 'They murdered him!" wailed Thorn. "They killed my son!"
Jennings pulled Thorn to his feet, physically dragging him away. But then he stopped; his body jarred with sudden terror. "Thorn."
Thorn turned to follow his gaze and saw, dead ahead, the head of a black German shepherd. Its eyes were close-set and glinting; saliva dripped from its half-open mouth as a vicious growl arose from somewhere within. Thorn and Jennings stood motionless as the animal slowly inched forward from the foliage until its full body could be seen. It was thin and scarred, an open wound festering amid clotted patches of hair on its side. The bushes beside it began to rustle and another dog's head appeared; this one gray, its muzzle disfigured and dripping. Then another appeared, and another, the cemetery coming alive with motion as the darkened figures emerged from everywhere, a pack of at least ten, insane and ravenous, their mouths dripping in a continual drool.
Jennings and Thorn were frozen in place, fearing any movement, even that of looking at one another, as the growling pack held them at bay.
They smell ... the carcasses . . ." Jennings whispered. "Just. . . move . . . back."
Barely breathing, the two men began to back up; the dogs immediately moved forward, heads held low as though stalking prey. Thorn faltered and an involuntary sound rose abruptly from his gut; Jennings gripped him, trying to restore calm.
"Don't run . . . they just want ... the corpses . . ."
But as they passed to two opened graves, the dogs kept coming; their advance unceasing, eyes riveted only on the men. They were closing the gap now, their fluid motion bringing them closer, while Jennings desperately searched for the fence, seeing it was still a hundred yards away. Thorn stumbled again and clung tightly to Jennings, both men shaking as they struggled to back away. Then their backs hit something solid and Thorn shuddered. They were at the base of the great stone idol, trapped there as the dogs spread slowly around them, blocking any chance of escape. For an. awful moment all remained frozen, predators and prey, the circle of dripping teeth holding them at bay. The sun was out now, casting a reddish glow upon the headstones; the dogs and men were held in place as though awaiting a signal to set them into motion. The seconds passed and they coiled tighter; the men rigid, the dogs crouched, ready to spring.
Emitting a shrill war cry, Jennings hurled his tire iron at the lead dog as the entire pack exploded into motion. The dogs sprang into the air, hurling themselves on the men as they turned to run; Jennings was brought down immediately as the animals lunged for his neck. He rolled as they attacked him, his camera straps wrapping tightly about his neck, tearing into it, as the animals danced around him, trying to reach the flesh below. Flailing helplessly against them, he felt his camera beneath his chin, its lens shattering as teeth viciously slashed at it, trying to rip it away.
They had let Thorn run farther, but as he neared the fence a large animal leapt upon him, its jaws connecting squarely with the flesh of his back. Thorn struggled to continue, but the animal hung on, its front legs dangling in the air. Thorn fell to his knees, straining to pull himself forward, while others descended upon him, blocking his view. Teeth flashed and saliva spewed into the air, Thorn crying out as he fought desperately against them, still trying to make it to the fence. But it was no use. He rolled into a ball; feeling hot, stinging pains as their teeth sank into his back. For a moment, he saw Jennings, spinning and rolling, the dogs repeatedly lunging for his neck. Thorn no longer felt pain, only the fierce need to escape. He raised himself on all fours again, the dogs hanging onto his back as he inched his way toward the fence. His hand came down on something cold. It was the tire iron that Jennings had thrown; he gripped it tightly, jamming it down behind him toward the animals tearing his back. From the wail of agony he knew he'd hit a mark, a gush of blood spurting over his head as a dog spun before him, its eyeball hanging by bloody threads from the socket. It gave Thorn courage; he jabbed hard again, then began swinging the tire iron with both hands as he struggled to regain his footing.
Jennings rolled over and over until he reached the base of a tree, fighting to pull himself upward as the dogs raged about him, still striking at the camera and straps wound about his neck. As he fought them, the flash attachment went off, and the animals cowered before the blinding spark of light.
Thorn was on his feet now, swinging wildly with the tire iron, connecting with heads and muzzles as he staggered backward toward the fence. Jennings had leapt from the tree, holding the flash attachment in front of him, triggering it each time the dogs advanced, driving them back until he too had made it to the fence.