The Hollows, page 35
What had she fallen on? It felt sharp and brittle, like dead wood, although there seemed to be fallen earth there too. A heavy thump and a yelp of pain sounded nearby; someone else landed beside her.
There was a sound like sawing wood; Ellie realised it was breathing. Her own, that of others. But there was also light. It glowed a couple of feet away – one of the torches, half-buried in the pile or heap they’d landed on.
A pile or heap. Groping for the torch, she realised what had broken their fall. It was dead all right, but it wasn’t wood. It wasn’t wood at all.
Ellie picked the torch up, hand shaking. “Is everybody all right?” she said, and shone the torch around.
They were still alive.
A few yards from the gaping hole where the ground had opened under Ellie and the others, Liz Harper lay blinking in the dust, wiping her coat-sleeve across her mouth.
“Is everyone okay?” she heard Ellie Cheetham say again. “Charlotte? Mad? Jess?”
Liz had thought the shaft bottomless, or at least deep enough to kill them on impact, but the voices sounded as though they came from no more than twenty feet below.
There was still a round in the shotgun’s chamber; Liz loaded two more into the magazine. She’d got Judas Jess at least, blown her scraggy little chest apart; she’d seen it. That left three to kill.
Ellie shone the torch over the scattered remains. The shaft was seven or eight feet wide, with a floor of impacted bones and soil. Other remnants were scattered here and there – a miner’s lamp, a hiker’s boot, a broken, rusted sword. You’re not the first to come down here, for whatever reason. And none of these poor bastards got out either.
Madeleine lay groaning on her side, face grey. Charlotte helped her sit upright. “It’s all right,” the vicar said. “It’s all right.” There was a rank smell in the shaft, fresher and fouler than anything that could have emanated from the bones: the smell from the dying woman in the hospital again, only worse. “Think some of me stitches broke.”
Ellie, Charlotte, Madeleine – “Jess?” said Ellie.
“Jess?” Charlotte, half-turning. “You – oh fuck.”
Jess lay crumpled on the far side of the shaft, eyes glassy, mouth agape, red froth on her lips. Her chest was bloody and shattered, and now all Ellie could hear was her breathing – a tortured, wheezing noise.
“Oh fuck.” Charlotte was crying. “Oh fuck, no.”
“Shit. Jess. Jess.” Ellie moved to the girl’s side, wiping blood from her face with her sleeve. She should prop her up – help her breathe if her lungs were injured – but what else might be damaged, and made worse if the girl were moved?
She heard movement overhead a second before Charlotte yelled a warning, and threw herself sideways. The shotgun roared a second later; the bone-heap’s surface erupted in a hail of splinters. Above her, Liz Harper worked the slide of her gun, screaming “Fucking die.” Ellie fumbled for the Ithaca, but it was the tunnel all over again: she was too slow, too off-guard.
A dazzle of red light erupted in the pit, then streaked upwards with a whoosh. Liz screeched and dropped the shotgun, clawing at the air. Fire and smoke spewed out of her left eye; her face was a red-glowing, screaming mask. Then she dropped over the edge of the pit and landed with a crash among the scattered bones.
Jess slumped backwards; the flare pistol still locked in one small hand. Ellie was afraid she’d died, till she saw that fresh blood was still bubbling on the girl’s lips. Charlotte crawled to her side.
“Charlotte, give me a hand,” Madeleine said. Ellie heard a clink and clatter of bones.
“What?” Charlotte turned towards the vicar. “Help us!”
“We can’t stay here,” Madeleine said. “Got to get out and fast.”
“What?”
“This isn’t the bottom of the shaft,” said Madeleine. She was pulling skeins of cobweb from the wall, revealing the mouth of another tunnel. “It’s a blockage. Too many people fell down here over the years. Something got wedged and the rest piled up on top. This shaft goes a lot further down.”
Ellie was afraid to ask how she knew, just as she was now afraid to look down at the bones and earth she was crouched on, in case doing so broke whatever spell held them in place. Madeleine passed her torch to Charlotte, who shunted it into the tunnel mouth to light her way. “Come on,” the vicar said. “Before –” She left the sentence unfinished.
“Jess,” said Charlotte.
Ellie hesitated. A hard and ruthless part of her wanted to say nothing could be done, that the girl was already dead or good as, that they had neither time nor strength to carry someone in such a state. But if the bone floor gave way, Jess would fall down into the depths and be lost there forever. And she deserved better than that. “Get her up,” said Ellie.
Charlotte unfastened Jess’ backpack, then lifted her into the tunnel entrance and Madeleine’s arms. The floor shifted and cracked, and there was a trickle of dust. “Move,” said Ellie. “Now.”
First Charlotte, then Ellie climbed up into the tunnel. Ellie looked back towards Jess’ backpack, the only thing they’d left behind. Losing it meant one less weapon against the creatures, but even if going back hadn’t been suicidal, none of them could have carried two of the things. Ellie turned away, but something seized her ankle and pulled.
She screamed and kicked out. One of the creatures – one of the creatures was awake, and attacking her. But as she rolled onto her back, Ellie saw that it was Liz Harper, one side of her face a black and red ruin, a gaping socket for an eye, snarling through gritted teeth as she tried to drag Ellie out of the tunnel and herself in. Ellie kicked at the scorched face, but Liz’s grip refused to break, and the sound of dust trickling was joined by the clatter of bones as the bone floor sagged in the middle, then gave way, Jess’ pack tumbled into the hole and vanished into blackness. In the same moment, Liz’s full weight fell on Ellie’s leg, and she was being dragged back out of the tunnel.
Charlotte lunged past Ellie, driving the butt of her shotgun into the crown of Liz’s head, into the ruined face, till Ellie heard things crack. Liz’s grip slackened, and gravity did the rest. Liz clawed and scrabbled for a handhold, but it was too late, especially when Ellie kicked out wildly with both legs. Liz Harper fell backwards into space and was gone, leaving only a scream that might have been terror or rage.
About half the blockage remained in place, anchored by the dried, packed earth. Then it, too, cracked and fell away. A few chunks of bone and earth clung to the shaft’s edges, but otherwise there was only blackness. When Ellie shone her torch down the shaft, she saw only a long stone throat seemingly without an end.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Charlotte.
“Got to go,” said Madeleine. “Haven’t much time left.”
She was already moving down the tunnel, shining her torch ahead. The walls were lined with those now-familiar web-shrouded alcoves, occupied like the others they’d passed. The creatures they’d fought so far could only be a fraction of the army asleep down here. And these were just the advance troops, the attack dogs. The real enemy, the big guns – those were sleeping down here too, waiting to be woken up.
Charlotte looked at Jess, then Madeleine. “Go on,” said Ellie. “I’ll look after her.”
Jess was still breathing, however tormentedly. She looked tiny, and ridiculously young, even more so than she was. Her eyes were closed. There was blood smeared on her cheeks where Charlotte had wiped away the froth, but more of it was accumulating on her lips. Ellie pulled off one of her own sweatshirts and tore it into strips to bandage the chest wound, then picked her up. The poor kid felt so light.
Cradling Jess in her arms, Ellie followed the others along the tunnel, between the alcoves of the still unwoken dead.
Liz Harper tried to move, but every attempt brought crippling shocks of pain.
Her face was a white fire of anguish, with a spike of it drilling through the ruined socket of her eye. Her spine wasn’t broken, at least. Almost a pity, as it might be the only bone in her body that wasn’t. Arms, legs, ribs: she’d caromed off the shaft walls as she fell, which had grown more jagged as she went. A protruding rock had shattered her pelvis like an old china sink, but the final impact had somehow failed to kill her. Her fumbling fingers (not just her spine that was unbroken, then), encountered fragments of ancient, brittle bone that crumbled at her touch. Maybe that had cushioned her fall.
At least Judas Jess was dead. Had to be. Liz had got the treacherous little cow in the chest. She’d managed that if nothing else. But Ellie Cheetham and the rest were still alive, and had escaped the trap they’d fallen in.
They wouldn’t succeed, though. Liz had to believe they wouldn’t. They would take care of Ellie Cheetham and her friends –
Something moved in the darkness.
Several somethings.
More than several.
Not her. Not her. She’d served Them. She’d –
But they were all around her, scuttling insect-like in the dark.
This wasn’t fair, she thought. This wasn’t fucking fair.
But thin, clawed fingers were plucking at her, and robes of tattered skin brushed her face.
60.
Fabric flapped and rustled. Milly looked around: all but a tiny handful of folk had retreated inside their tents. What else could they do, after all, other than huddle down and hope to live till sunrise?
Reuben slunk out of hiding and licked Milly’s fingers. Milly moved between Ernie and Noel, who stood with their guns at the ready. She could still feel the flames’ heat, but it was fading. Once the fire in Blackfield Park burned out, they’d be surrounded on that side too.
The creatures crept towards them, silent. Oh God, how many this time? Milly couldn’t count them. For a moment she thought they’d keep coming, light or no – rolling through the camp, smothering the fires with their bodies so the rest of the horde could fall on the survivors in the dark. But the creatures halted at the firelight’s edge and settled back into their waiting crouches; shadows danced and rippled in the folds and hollows of their cowls. The flames bowed and wavered in a gust of wind; their robes and hoods of skin billowed. Otherwise they were still as stone.
The creatures were ranked six or seven deep; if not for the fires they’d engulf the camp in seconds. But so far, they held back.
Wind. The roar and gutter of flames. Milly was afraid the fires would be blown out, but the wind dropped and they brightened again. Still the monsters didn’t move.
The heat on the side of her face faded. Milly dared a glance towards the old church grounds: except for a few dully glowing embers, the fire had burned out. More pallid shapes flowed in from either side, closing the gap.
They have now compassed us in our steps: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth; like as a lion that is greedy of his prey. Milly waited: while they couldn’t venture directly into the firelight, they weren’t short of tricks, but the creatures remained crouching, motionless. She dared hope they might, if capable, be experiencing a glimmer of fear.
The flames dimmed and flared under fresh gusts of wind. Nothing else moved.
Then the things began to moan. It came, at first, from the blackness behind Milly; then the creatures on either side of the camp picked it up, finally those dead ahead.
The sound, neither human nor animal, rose and fell, its pitch shifting apparently at random. It was the howl of lost and wounded things; it was the groaning of things dying, frightened, alone and far from God. It was the wind keening in rocks and trees; it was the grief of all the dead. It was a terrible sound: Milly wanted to flee from it, to cut it off and kill it, but could do neither. Only listen.
The creatures looked different, somehow: Milly moved forwards, closer to the edge of the light.
“Milly –”
“Shurrup, Jones,” she whispered.
The monsters didn’t react. As she reached the perimeter of the lighted area, Milly saw their heads were thrown back, the twin pairs of incisors inside their muzzles splayed outwards as if on hinges. They didn’t pause or even, seemingly, breathe: it was as though they were conduits for a sound that came up from somewhere else – the depths below the peaks and dales, or another, deeper Pit.
Milly was about six feet from the nearest creature, the closest she’d been to one without trying to either escape or fight it. It didn’t seem aware of her; it just crouched and sent its weird call skywards.
The sound vibrated in her belly, sending a wave of nausea through her, and worse. Milly experienced sudden, overwhelming fear: her heart began pounding and she struggled to breathe. This must be how Ellie felt during an anxiety attack, but Milly knew this dread had a single, very specific cause. One which, if she continued listening, she’d clearly perceive.
Part of her wanted that to happen – better to know the worst and face it – and she found herself swaying closer to the edge of the firelight. But then she recoiled, certain suddenly that whatever it was would be too much to bear.
Maybe she’d see the giants – because what could the Harpers’ “giants” be but devils? – and the sight of them might strike her dead or drive her mad. Or perhaps, perhaps, it would show her what they were dealing with, and how to defeat it –
“Milly!” Noel grabbed her arm; Milly stumbled backwards. She’d been only two or three feet from the nearest creature: another step would have taken her out into the darkness with them.
“Fuck,” she said at last. “Thanks, Jones.”
“Christ, Milly. Do not do that to me again.”
“Soz.”
“You okay?”
“Think so.”
They moved back, joining Laura and Ernie in the middle of the camp. Ernie eyed the monsters, pale-faced, sweat on his forehead. Milly touched his shoulder. “You okay?”
He looked away from the things, wiping his mouth. “Think so. That sound they make. Does something to your brain.”
“Great,” said Laura. “I mean, this is new, isn’t it? No one else ran into this last night?”
Noel shook her head. “Don’t think so. Not like they needed any secret weapons last night, though, was it? Having a whale of a time, they were.”
“Looks like they’re cranking up the pressure,” Milly said.
“Better go round the camp,” said Ernie. “Check on everyone. Last thing we need’s –”
Someone screamed. There were cries of alarm, shouts, running footsteps. Someone shouted “Hold him,” and a man ran screaming towards Milly and the others. He didn’t see them; his eyes were fixed on the creatures beyond. It was Plant-Pot, though Milly barely recognised him in his terror and rage, charging madly at his tormentors to punch or choke those horrible moans into silence because there was no escaping them and he couldn’t endure them for another moment, even though he’d be killed in seconds. Which was what the beasts wanted, of course: to drive or lure the survivors out of the light.
Phil Robinson got there first, though. Plant-Pot was the bigger of the two, but Phil, while shorter, was heavier. He stepped into Plant-Pot’s path, crouched and turned to catch the running man in the stomach with his shoulder. Plant-Pot doubled up and flew over Phil’s back onto the ground; Phil pivoted and fell on top of him, grabbing his arms and pinning him flat. Plant-Pot struggled hard, but more people ran in and helped hold him steady. Someone clapped Phil on the shoulder. “S’all right, mate. We got him.”
Phil climbed off, shaking, then stumbled away before anyone could speak. Milly saw Julie hug him tightly, and then the Robinsons disappeared inside their tent.
Chris Brailsford and his Mum helped Plant-Pot away. Poor sod, but it wasn’t hard to understand. Good work from Phil, there, and a surprise; Milly had been afraid he’d crack if anyone did.
Although he still might, with that moaning still going on, causing hallucinations, dread and panic. Andy Brailsford would just be the first, unless –
Milly began to sing. She’d a decent voice, thank God; she’d sung in Pastor Matt’s choir. Now her voice rose above the camp:
“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me...”
Kate Beck joined in, to Milly’s surprise; she hadn’t thought the girl was the religious sort. Then again, she was a drama student, so any chance to perform. But that wasn’t a kind thought, whether or not there was any truth in it; besides, it didn’t matter.
“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see...”
Now other voices joined in:
“Oh, Thou who changest not, abide with me.”
Noel began singing too.
“I need Thy presence every passing hour,
What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter’s power?”
Milly could barely hear the creatures’ moaning now.
“Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.”
By now everyone had joined in. Half were singing the bits they could remember and humming the rest, but that didn’t matter:
“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.”
The moaning had died away.
“Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morning breaks, and Earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, Oh Lord, abide with me.”
The song died away; once again, the only sound came from the fires. The beasts remained in the shadows. The blackness beyond them, around the camp, seemed absolute; Milly felt a swirl of dizziness and vertigo, suddenly convinced that they were floating like a raft on an ink-black sea. Fragile, leaky, so easily overturned by a wave or swamped by a storm. And the sea full of sharks and other, more terrible things. Monsters of the deep.
