Despite his terror and overwhelming disgust, Paul remembered a newspaper article he’d read several years ago, about a government agent—ATF or FBI, he couldn’t remember which. The man had been staking out a group of domestic terrorists in the backwoods of West Virginia.
His cover got blown. When they caught him, the group killed the agent by drowning him in an outhouse. Paul couldn’t think of a worse way to die than drowning in shit.
“Help,” he screamed. “Somebody help me!”
His voice echoed back to him from somewhere to his left. Paul shined the light in that direction and gasped. There was a stone ledge rising several feet above the pool. Beyond it was a vast chamber that seemed to be a natural cavern. Limestone glinted in the flashlight beam.
Gagging, Paul swam for the ledge. His fingers slipped on the stone as he tried to pull himself up. Inch by inch, he worked his way free, making squelching noises as the slime sucked at his shoulders, waist, and legs. When he’d finally freed himself, Paul collapsed on the ledge, sobbing.
The stone felt cool against his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Filth bubbled out of his nose and ran out of the corners of his mouth. He retched, but was unable to vomit. He desperately wanted to, if only to clear his system of the foulness he’d ingested. Paul opened his eyes again and groaned. The cave seemed to be spinning. Paul thought that he might pass out.
Then something grabbed him, and he did pass out, but not before he got a glimpse of it.
He was still screaming when his consciousness faded.
ELEVEN
Kerri, Heather, Javier, and Brett crawled through the stifling horizontal shaft. Javier was in the lead. He had Brett’s belt coiled around his clenched fist and kept the buckle beneath his fingers so it wouldn’t jingle. Javier was followed closely by Heather. Kerri squirmed along behind her. Brett brought up the rear, struggling to keep up with them. They kept stopping so he could catch up, but then he’d quietly urge them to keep going. Kerri supposed that Brett knew just how serious his situation was. He was trying to sound brave, but the fear in his voice was still there. He left a bloody trail in his wake.
The crawlspace tunnel was snug, and the walls brushed against their shoulders and hips as they crawled forward. The air smelled stale and was thick with the smell of feces. Not the nasty odor of rat droppings—that was bad enough, but this was far worse. It was a cloying, nauseating stench. Kerri tried to figure out what the crawlspace had been used for, but she couldn’t come up with any rational explanation. It was made of wood rather than metal, so it couldn’t be ductwork for heating or air-conditioning. The shaft appeared newer than the surrounding building materials. She wondered if it had been constructed more recently than the house, and if so, by whom. And again, for what? Had the midgets built it, just to drop down on unsuspecting victims after they’d trapped them in the hallway below? Kerri shivered. If so, how many other people had been in this situation? How many people had died in this place?
She lost track of how far they crawled. At one point, she caught a faint hint of vomit in the air and assumed they must be over the spot where she’d thrown up. They moved slowly and in silence, speaking only when they stopped for Brett, and then, communicating in hushed, short whispers and frantic hand signals.
When a door slammed below them, Kerri nearly shrieked. All four of them froze. They kept their cell phones open, so that they could see and had adjusted the backlight options so that they wouldn’t turn off suddenly. Without that meager illumination, the tunnel would have been completely dark. Kerri wondered, however, if they should close the phones. What if the light shined down through the ceiling, or what if one of them suddenly got a signal and it rang while they were hiding? Then those thoughts vanished, replaced with more immediate fears. She heard the sounds of heavy, thudding footsteps coming from below. Kerri held her breath, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d cry out. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose up as she contemplated what might be making the noises. She had a pretty good idea. The footsteps sounded just like those of the man—thing—who had killed Tyler and Stephanie. Brett had told them its name was Noigel. She didn’t know what kind of a name that was, but she was certain it was him down there. And when Heather turned around and glanced at her, wide-eyed and trembling in the cell phone’s garish glow, Kerri knew that her friend suspected it, as well. Kerri shuddered, remembering his garbage-bag clothing and that swollen, infected penis that had dripped pus all over the place.
The footsteps stopped almost directly beneath them. Then Noigel, if indeed it was him, moaned, deep and mournful. He sounded sad. The moan rose in pitch and volume, turning into an anguished cry. The crawlspace thrummed as Noigel voiced his rage. Brett reached out and squeezed Kerri’s ankle with his good hand. Heather squeezed her eyes shut and chewed on her hair. Javier remained motionless. Kerri caught a whiff of something—that same sour milk mixed with feces and sweat stench that she’d smelled when Noigel attacked them in the foyer. That left no doubt in her mind that Tyler’s killer was directly beneath them, pissed off and intent upon finishing the job. That meant they hadn’t gone very far at all.
Time seemed to halt. The sorrowful, enraged cries continued. Something slammed into the wall, hard. Then it struck the wall again. Kerri realized that Noigel was lashing out. By the sound, he was punching holes through the walls. She heard crumbling plaster and falling dirt and debris. Then the thing below them paused and fell silent. Kerri crossed her fingers, willing him to go away. Instead, Noigel sneezed three times—great, wet explosions that sounded like rifle shots. It followed this with a series of guttural snorts. Then the footsteps began to plod away, while the creature softly cooed to itself. The revolting stench dissipated.
It found the corpse,
Kerri thought.
Noigel found the midget’s corpse and he’s upset. Not that he wasn’t unreasonable to begin with, but now we’re doubly fucked. I killed his friend.
Brett slowly let go of Kerri’s ankles as the thunderous footsteps faded. She turned around and gave him a reassuring smile. He returned the gesture, but his expression was weak and his face had grown paler. Kerri turned back to the others in time to see Heather tap Javier on the foot. He held up his hand, palm outward, indicating for them to stay still and silent.
The waiting was worse than Kerri would have thought possible. Even with Heather, Brett, and Javier right there with her for moral support, all she could do while they crouched in the darkness and waited, was listen to the sounds of the house settling around them. She jumped at every creak and groan, no matter how slight, convinced that each sound was a sign of the killer returning. She knew it hadn’t been long, but it seemed like hours. Her mind swam, overwhelmed with disjointed thoughts and conflicting emotions. She was scared. Angry. Worried about Brett. Distraught over Tyler and Steph. She wanted to scream aloud until the killer found them, if only so he would put her out of her misery. She wanted to run, pushing past her friends, abandoning them if she had to, all in a desperate ploy to live. She wanted to hide—to find a dark nook somewhere in this house of horrors and just stay there until help arrived. Most of all, Kerri wanted to cry.
So she did.
Hot tears rolled down her face and dripped from her chin onto the crawlspace floor. Her shoulders and head shook, but she made no noise, weeping in terrified silence. Brett squeezed her ankle again. Eventually, the tears ceased. Kerri took a deep breath and let her body sag. Her eyes burned from the crying jag, and her face felt hot and tight. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the sight of Tyler dying reared up again. She pushed it away once more, afraid that if she began weeping again, she’d be unable to keep silent. But the image was still there, like an endless echo of things best forgotten.
They waited a few minutes longer. Finally, Brett spoke.
“What now?” he whispered.
Without a word, Javier motioned them forward. They crawled even slower than before, moving cautiously, afraid to make even the slightest sound. The area below them remained quiet. No footsteps or garbled cries or slamming doors. Rats scratched and scampered deep inside the walls, and at one point, Kerri’s palm came down in a pile of tiny, hard mouse droppings. She warned Brett so that he wouldn’t get them in his wounds. There was no telling how many diseases the feces was crawling with.
Eventually, Javier stopped and the others halted behind him. They listened, but the house remained still.
“Dead end ahead,” Javier whispered. “There’s another trapdoor here. I’m gonna open it.”
Kerri heard the creaking of hinges. Then, the shaft was suddenly filled with light. She flinched, shielding her eyes with one hand. Spots danced in her vision.
“We’re on the other side of the barrier,” Javier reported.
“They’ve got the hallway lights turned back on. You guys stay here. I’m going to check it out.”
Squinting against the light, Heather grabbed his ankle. “Don’t.”
“I have to, Heather. If there’s anyone down there, maybe I can get them before they know we made it out of the trap. Or maybe I can lead them away from the rest of you.”
“That’s crazy.”
“No, crazy is a rundown Victorian-style home in the middle of the hood with a bunch of sick fucks inside trapping and killing innocent people. Now stay here and be quiet.”
The light in the crawlspace dimmed again as Javier squeezed through the trapdoor. After he’d dropped down to the floor, it got even brighter in the cramped space. The dazzling brilliance gave Kerri a headache.
“Javier,” Heather whispered. “Do you see anything?”
His response was an angry hiss. Heather fell silent. Kerri listened to Javier creep down the hall. She could tell by his tread that he was trying to be stealthy, but she could still hear him. She wondered if anything else could, as well. Eventually, they heard his footsteps returning.
“I think the coast is clear,” he called in hushed tones. “No sign of Noigel or anyone else. We’re in a different part of the house, but near where we went into the last hallway. Come on down, but keep quiet.”
Heather went first, followed by Kerri. Javier helped both of them out of the crawlspace. Then the three of them aided Brett’s descent. Kerri was taken aback by his appearance. Under the fluorescent lights, he seemed more dead than alive. He swayed on his feet, smiling slightly.
Then Kerri realized that it wasn’t a smile, but a grimace. His complexion was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His ruined hand was swollen and bruised, and his entire arm was soaked with blood, except where the sweat had washed it away. Despite their crawl through the shaft overhead, he was the only one sweating. Kerri wondered if that was a symptom of shock, and if so, what they could do about it, other than getting him some medical attention soon. She had applied the tourniquet competently enough, especially under pressure, but most of her medical knowledge came from watching
House
.
She realized that she wasn’t the only one staring at Brett with concern. They all were. Brett must have noticed, too, because he shook his head ruefully.
“Jesus, guys,” he murmured. “I’m not dead yet. Don’t look at me like that.”
Javier placed a hand on Brett’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Don’t worry, dude. We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“I know you will.”
“Listen,” Javier continued, “what I said earlier about this being your fault and everything—I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean it. You’re smart. Always looking at things logically. I’m glad you’re with us right now, because we might need that brain of yours to get out of this place. So again, I’m sorry.”
Brett winced in pain. “It’s okay, man. Seriously. You were scared and upset. We all are. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“So we’re all right?”
“Everything is copacetic.”
Nodding, Javier turned to the girls. “Let’s go, before Noigel or his friends come back. Kerri, you bring up the rear. Watch behind us. Keep an ear out in case they try to sneak up behind us. Brett, you stay between us, okay?”
Kerri took a deep breath and gripped her club tighter. The dwarf’s congealing blood glinted on the nail sticking out of the wood. She glanced around the room. Like the others, it was devoid of furnishings. There was a single door, splattered with what looked like old blood and rat holes in the walls and baseboards. Black mold climbed the corners, spreading from the floor to the ceiling in grotesque spiral patterns. Dead flies and rat feces carpeted the bare floor. She’d had hopes that there might be a chair or even a table lying around, something they could have used for another weapon, something better than the belt, but there was nothing. She supposed that it was possible they could peel some wainscoting from the gouged, water-stained walls, but even that wouldn’t make much of a weapon.
Javier opened a door with his left hand. The hinges squealed in protest, and he frowned at the noise. His right hand was drawn back, the belt wrapped into his fingers and the buckle dangling down like a short bullwhip. They hurried down the hallway, moving as quickly but quietly as possible, retracing their steps through the house. As they passed the room where Javier had killed the first midget, he ducked inside. When he emerged again, his expression was troubled.
“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.
“The body is missing.”
“What body?”
“The midget. The one we killed before Brett found us. I hid it in there, back in the shadows, and now it’s gone.”
“Maybe it was still alive,” Brett suggested.
Javier shook his head. “No. No way. I made sure it was dead. Noigel or one of the others must have found it.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Kerri said.
“How the hell can it be a good thing?”
Kerri’s voice grew excited. “Noigel knows we’ve killed at least two of his friends. Maybe he’ll decide that makes us even. Maybe he’ll decide we’re more dangerous than their average prey, and he’ll let us go.”