Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (33 page)

“Light,” Kimmel muttered. “Use the light.”

Petrov thought about it for a second, unsure if Kimmel was delirious or not. “I’m sorry,” he said, then stood and ran from the chamber, leaving Kimmel screaming as the creature’s appendages began reaching out for him once more.

Petrov ran up the tunnel, feeling his way, struggling to understand what was happening or what he was dealing with. Breathing was becoming difficult, the air thick, the taste of rot making him gag. He would go for help, he reasoned, trying to convince himself. He would go, and come back with more men, more firepower. More lights. Definitely more lights. He moved through the altar room, remembering how the effigy had first spooked him, something which seemed almost laughable now after the horror he had seen back there. He knew the surface was just ahead, the blessed relief of freedom.

Then he paused.

He stood in the gloom, trying to catch his breath, torn between leaving and staying. He knew that if he ran, he wouldn’t come back, despite telling himself otherwise. He had to end it. Petrov tried to focus, relying on his training, on the analytical mind that had seen him rise through the ranks so quickly. An idea, or at least the basis of one, came to him. Something that may or may not work but was worth trying. Although it took a supreme effort of will, he turned away from the tantalizing taste of freedom and headed back toward the awful thing lurking below.

II

Back on the surface, Melody was inconsolable. Her screams had died away, but her sobs and shaking persisted. Even Dane, a man who had no emotional attachment to any of them, could feel her anguish, and it cut him deeper than he expected. A low rumble emanated from the ground, shaking the topsoil. Dane lurched to his feet, staring at the earth along with the others, wondering what was coming next.

Something pushed through the ground by Isaac’s foot; something wet and pink. It hesitated, tasting the air, and continued to push upwards. Another joined it, then a third and a fourth, all of them emerging around Isaac’s body.

“What’s that? What the fuck is that?” Dane said, his voice too high, too shrill.

“It’s come for him,” Mrs. Alma said. “It wants its prize.”

“Don’t let it take him. Don’t you let it take my baby,” Melody screamed, eyes wide, somewhere in a place far beyond fear.

The tentacles were already on Isaac, wrapping around his arms and legs. They watched in horror as a larger one joined them, this one thick and strong. It began to clamber over Isaac’s stomach, pulling him down into the soft earth.

“Re-form the circle, quickly!” Mrs. Alma said.

The others began linking hands, and she shook her head. “No. around the boy.”

Dane was about to join them when Mrs. Alma held up a hand. “Not you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not part of this. You need to go to your brother. Ensure he doesn’t interfere. Even now, he wakes.”

Dane saw that she was right. Henry was on his hands and knees, blood streaming down his face from where Dane had hit him. Nodding to Mrs. Alma, he went to his brother, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to his feet. It was the move Henry had been waiting for. He tackled Dane to the ground, snarling and snapping, biting at his brother with his lethal dagger teeth.

“You won’t deny them, you won’t deny me!” he roared, blood and drool spilling from his mouth. Caught off guard by both the ferocity of the attack and the feral look in his brother’s eyes, Dane froze, not reacting until Henry bit his forearm, shredding flesh and exposing fatty muscle. Dane fought back then, his eyes frantically searching for his gun while he tried to hold his brother at bay.

III

Mrs. Alma closed the circle, the four of them linking hands around Isaac’s body. As the link was made, the tentacles seemed to flex, as if in pain, then doubled their efforts, pulling Isaac deeper into the dirt. Melody stared at her son, guilt and rage surging in equal measure.

I failed him.

It was an idea she couldn’t escape from.

Isaac was pulled lower, his midriff now almost under the dirt. His head lolled to one side, and his dead eyes landed on her. She was certain she could feel the accusation within them; the pain. The lack of understanding of why they’d been separated.

“I won’t let you take him!” she screamed, breaking the bond and falling to her knees. She pulled at his arm and grabbed around his chest, wrestling to keep him above ground.

“You mustn’t break the circle,” Mrs. Alma said, trying to yank Melody to her feet.

“I won’t let it take him. I have nothing left!”

“He’s already gone.”

“I won’t accept that. I won’t.”

“We need you, Mrs. Samson. We can end it, but not this way.”

Melody stopped pulling at her son, the fight knocked out of her. Mrs. Alma took her hand and pulled her to her feet, and Emma grasped her other hand and reformed the link around the boy. Once again, the tentacles shuddered and flinched.

Across the clearing, the Marshall brothers continued to fight. Henry snapped and snarled at Dane, who in turn was still looking for his weapon. Dane rolled, getting Henry underneath him, and from his new vantage point, he saw his gun in the dirt nearby. He scrambled for it, risking putting his back to Henry for the few seconds it would take to retrieve it, and reached out, snatched it up and turned it on Henry.

“Stay where you are, Henry. I don’t want to do this, but I will if I have to.”

Henry glared at Dane, and then at the others grouping around Isaac’s body. “I won’t let them stop me, nor you,” he growled, slowly getting to his feet.

“I told you not to move. Don’t think I won’t use this just because you’re my brother.”

Henry grinned maliciously, closing the distance between himself and Dane. “Then why don’t you stop me?”

“Henry.”

“Do it, Dane. Shoot me. You know what I intend to do.” He showed Dane what was in his hand. A palm-sized rock he’d picked up from the ground. “I’m going to use this to beat your brains in, Dane. Then I’m going to use it on them and stop them taking our prize.”

“I swear, I’ll do it,” Dane said, hands trembling, the pain from the bite Henry had inflicted excruciating.

“No you won’t. If you’d intended to, you would have done it already.”

There was no distance between them now. Henry walked right up to the gun, pushing his chest into the barrel. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. “If you don’t shoot me right now, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m not bluffing, Henry.”

“Neither am I.”

Henry swung the rock, the smooth surface smashing into the side of Dane’s head. He went down hard, gun skittering across the ground, and lay there motionless as Henry stood above him. “I’m going to make you suffer for all the times you made me suffer when we were young. But first, I have to kill your friends.”

Henry turned and started to walk toward the group as the chanting from the trees began again.

CHAPTER 45

Petrov reentered the chamber where the gelatinous creature dwelled, once again reeling at both the sight and stench of it. His hope had been to save Kimmel, but he saw that it was already too late. The lower half of him had been taken in by the creature, numerous small tentacles further feeding him into the mass. He was considering how relieved he was that Kimmel wasn’t suffering anymore when the General moaned, and blinked, wide eyed and pleading. Petrov set down the fuel can and torch, ran to him and grabbed him under the arms, trying to pull him free. Kimmel attempted to speak, blood welling up in his mouth.

“Shut up and let me help you,” Petrov screamed, planting his feet on the ground and pulling with every ounce of strength he could muster.

There was a sound; a brittle, wet crunch as Kimmel’s upper torso came free, intestines snaking. An impossible quantity of blood gushed out across the floor and was quickly set upon by the smaller tendrils at the creature’s base. Petrov fell back, dragging the upper half of Kimmel on top of him, at first unsure of what had happened.

He scrambled aside, pushing Kimmel’s body away and watching in morbid fascination as the jelly-like creature flexed and stretched toward him, keen not to lose the rest of its meal.

Petrov turned back to the task at hand and his eyes focused on the fuel can he’d retrieved from the upper tunnel. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside before splashing the contents on the creature. When the liquid made contact, the creature convulsed and rolled. It began to flatten its mass, extending around the walls, inching toward the exit. Petrov glanced over his shoulder, seeing what it intended to do. He set the remainder of the fuel down by Kimmel’s upper torso, sparing another glance at the exit, hoping that when he put flame to the creature it would retract, allowing him time to escape.

He searched his pockets, hands trembling as he looked for his matches. He found them with his cigarettes in his jacket, distantly thinking how much he wanted to smoke, how he would love to just be somewhere outside in the fresh air where he could lie down and stare at the sky and smoke in peace and quiet.

Later. He could smoke later. Right now, he had a different purpose. He pulled out a match and struck it, the head fizzling briefly into life and then dying, its blackened head leaving a wispy trail of smoke. His panic was starting to increase, and he flicked another quick glance towards the exit. The creature had almost completely sealed the way out, its slick flesh meeting as it closed off the top third of the door.

Petrov took another match, placed the head against the phosphorous strip on the side of the box and dragged it across. This time the flame held, and he almost screamed in excitement. The creature quivered, closing the gap around the door even more. He touched the live match to the others in the pack, each igniting its neighbor until they were all ablaze. The flames licked higher, sending orange shadows dancing along the walls. Petrov drew his arm back and threw the fiery box at the creature, a guttural scream escaping from his lips as he did.

He wasn’t sure what happened next. A sound, like the distant echo of laughter, filled the air, and Petrov watched in horror as the matchbox lifted above the creature on a motionless breeze. The flames fought for life for a few moments before ebbing away to nothing more than an orange glow. He stood there, eyes fixed on the box as the glow faded and it slowly dropped to the ground, its contents withered and cold.

It was over.

Petrov fell to the floor, staring at the creature as it continued to burrow into the roof. There was no escape. Not anymore. He wondered how long it had been down here, if it was older than humanity itself. He thought Kimmel might have known, and he glanced over to the general’s body, staring at the remains, wishing there was more he could have done to help him at the end. Something caught his eye. He scrambled over to Kimmel’s butchered upper half, stomping on the few tentacles that were already probing against the hollow where his stomach had once been. There was something in his hand, something catching the dim light generated by the creature. Petrov peeled back Kimmel’s fingers and felt a moment of such elation he almost forgot how much danger he was in. He snatched the gold lighter out of the general’s hand and hoped it would be as lucky for him.

With renewed hope, Petrov stood, took a step toward the torch, and fell, pitching over and landing on his knees. He stared at the tentacle wrapped around his ankle and the sense of elation faded. The torch was hopelessly out of reach, but he stretched for it anyway, pulling against his restraint, unable to believe just how strong the creature was. It was no good. Even at full stretch, he was still at least four feet from the torch. He scrambled back, staring at the tentacle, barely reacting as others inched forward. The fuel can at his side mocked him; half the solution to the problem, but a meaningless half without the torch. At least that would withstand any attempt to extinguish it, unlike the lighter. He could feel the tentacle pulling him, dragging him toward the larger mass of the creature. He stared at it and wondered how it would feel to be digested, how long he would suffer. He glanced at Kimmel again and was suddenly jealous that his suffering was over.

You know what you need to do.

It was the rational voice, the one he relied on when investigating homicides. It hadn’t had much call to be used during the horrors he’d endured so far. Now though, it had something to say.

Do what needs to be done. You know the answer.

He did. He had known from the second it grabbed him; it was just that the idea of it terrified him.

It has to be better
. The voice in his head told him.
Has to be better than the alternative.

He stared at the convulsing mass, knowing the suffering he would endure by it would be far worse than the relatively quick end he could provide for himself.

And quick it would have to be because he could feel the creature pulling him closer, drawing him in. Petrov tucked the lighter into his pocket and stood up, pulling on the creature, using it as leverage. After all, it didn’t matter now. He grabbed the fuel can and lifted it above his head, dousing himself and the creature with the rest of the can’s contents. With the fumes burning his nostrils, the reality of what he was about to do became clear. He thought of his wife. How she would be expecting him home later. How she would wait by the window when he didn’t return, desperate for news. How that news would never come.