And therefore he didn't gasp, didn't even flinch, at the sight that made Chris suck in a harsh breath and hurl herself against him and clutch him like a thrown cat.
Brad came up beside them, took a step ahead of them. He brought the pickaxe down, holding it level with his chest as if prepared to use it as a weapon. Turning slowly, he looked from side to side. 'Jesus,' he muttered. Hank heard him labouring for breath. Then the big man doubled over and vomited.
A stalagmite to the right of the stream had been clothed in a transparent pink nightgown. Arms of bone hung from the sleeve holes. A gleaming white skull was perched on the blunt top of the effigy. The bodice of the nightgown bulged, but not with breasts. Through the sheer fabric, Hank saw a pair of fleshless heads. Someone had stuffed small, human skulls into the gown. Infant skulls.
Chris shook and whimpered against him. He stroked her back with his free hand. Bart was still hunched over, heaving.
Near the effigy, on a lower clump of rock draped with glossy green satin, was a ribcage. A skull inside it seemed to be peering out through bars.
He saw a pelvis beside it with skeleton fingers reaching through its cavity.
He saw fleshless legs, apparently standing on their own, joined at the top to a gape-mouthed skull.
Hank had seen carnage before. He'd seen hideous desecration of corpses. But never anything done with such perverse artistry - the creations of a mad sculptor.
And we're in his gallery, Hank thought.
The glow of the hissing lantern revealed more than a dozen samples of the maniac's work.
And one sculpture, to the left of the stream, far worse than the others.
It wasn't bare bones.
This is the sight, Hank suspected, that had turned Brad's stomach.
A woman. Young. Lashed to a column by a belt around her throat so she appeared to be standing. Long brown hair, neatly brushed, hung to her shoulders. From the look of her face, she'd been beaten, maybe before her death. The body had no arms, no breasts. Most of the skin, from the neck down, was gone. Her torso appeared to have been hollowed out.
She wore blue jeans. From the way they sagged, there was little left of her legs except bones. But the bare feet were intact.
Something about the feet.
Hank realized that they were on the wrong sides of her body. Her legs had been reversed.
'I don't believe this,' Brad muttered. He was facing Hank, but still bent over slightly. 'I don't believe this,' he said again. 'It's… it's…' He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
'I bet,' Hank said, 'it's Amy Lawson.'
The chewing went on. There were sighs, moans, sounds of tearing flesh, crackling gristle. Sometimes, Darcy heard small splashes as if inedible pieces had been tossed into the lake. She wanted to duck below the surface to stop herself from hearing the horrid feast, but she didn't dare move. She stood in the black, hugging Greg and Carol, waiting.
Then came whispers.
'Take her back?'
'Get the others. Take 'em all back. Save 'em up.'
'We don't have to go back.' The woman's voice. The one who had known about the dock and tour boats and elevators. 'We're free. We can get out, maybe.'
'Topside?'
'Yeah, topside.'
'No topside.'
'Where're your balls?'
A sharp smack. The woman gasped.
'Coward,' she said in a shaky voice. 'You're afraid of Ely Mordock.'
'I fear no one.'
'Then come with me. We'll leave the world. We'll kill tin Mordock and live in the sun. It's wonderful up there, you'll see. But we've got to go now. We've killed topside people, and they'll hunt us with guns if we don't get out now.'
There was silence for a few moments. Then the man spoke. 'We go. We kill the others. We take them back to the world, save them up.'
'But you don't under…'
***
Another blow. This one didn't sound like a slap; it might have been a fist striking her face. She grunted. A moment later came a thud as if her head had struck the flooring of the dock. She moaned for a few moments, then squealed from a new silent hurt, and started to whimper. Squealed again. Gasped. 'No, don't. Please. I'm sorry.'
'We go,' the man said.
Darcy heard sounds of movement, then footsteps that passed directly over her head and kept going. The woman still whimpered.
'Lana.'
Moaning, she began to move. There were rubbing sounds, creaking wood, soft bumps. Darcy pictured her rolling over and getting to her knees. Then the woman was up and walking.
Darcy listened to the footfalls on the planking. Soon, she could no longer hear them.
My God, she thought, they've actually left. They're on the walkway now, heading away.
Carol, who had been rigid in Darcy's arms, began to shake and sob. Darcy stroked her hair. She felt Greg's arm loosen its clamp across her back.
'Okay,' he whispered. 'We're all right.'
'Was that Helen?' Carol asked, her voice quiet and trembling. 'Do you… think that was Helen?'
'I think so,' Darcy said. 'It could've been Beth, but I don't…'
'They ate her. They ate her, didn't they?'
'That's what it sounded like,' Greg admitted.
'Eeeeeeeeeee.'
'Carol, stop it.' Darcy shook her.
'Eeeeeee.'
Darcy pinched the ridge of her ear.
She gasped and stopped making that crazed sound.
'Greg, what'll we…?'
'She was such a prude,' Carol said. 'Frigid, you know? Wouldn't have anything to do with men. They stripped her. Did you hear them strip her? Boy, would she be pissed. Her stepfather used to fuck her, that's why.' Carol's voice came out in a breathy rush. She sounded as eager as a town gossip. 'Hated men. Thought I was dirty 'cause I liked 'em. Not that I was promiscuous or anything, God knows, but all the time she was warning me, you know? Don't let 'em touch you. Don't let 'em touch you. Boy, she sure got touched. Did you hear them strip her? I bet she didn't like that, not one little bit.'
'Carol.'
'Such a prude. Always changed in the bathroom, you know? And I'd go to change and she'd go away. Like it was a big sin, you know, to take off your clothes? God, and they just stripped her naked, didn't they. Tore her clothes right off.' Carol began to squirm, rubbing her pelvis and breasts against Darcy. 'Bet they felt her up, too. Touched her all over. Didn't fuck her, though, did they. Didn't sound like it. They could've, could've all taken turns, you know, and really…'
Darcy thrust the clinging, writhing woman away from the body and pressed her shoulders down, submerging for a few seconds. Carol came up coughing, and began to weep.
'I'm sorry. God. I'm…'
'Calm down, okay?' Darcy said. 'And be quiet.'
'They ate her. They ate Helen.'
'Shhh.'
'What're we gonna do?'
'We'd better not stay here,' Greg said, sounding calm. 'They'll probably come back.'
'Oh God.'
'The way they headed,' Darcy said, 'they'll run into the others.'
'Then they'll probably turn back.'
'Do you think so?'
'They aren't about to go up against a group like that. They're only - what, four of them?'
'I'm not sure,' Darcy said. 'Four or five, I think.'
'They wouldn't go up against thirty.'
'I don't know. God knows what they'd do. They might try. If it's dark when they get there, they might try anything. If the fires are out, they could sneak right in. Nobody'd even know what was going on.'
'So what do you want to do?'
'I'm responsible for those people, Greg. I've already lost three, and…'
'It's not your fault.'
'If we hadn't tried to go through…'
'It's not your fault.'
'I don't want any more to die. We have to do something.'
'Okay.'
'Go after them?'
'No!' Carol cried.
'I guess we'd better. But not…'
'No, please! They'll eat us!'
'Wait here,' Greg said.
'What?'
'I'll get the pickaxe. If we catch up to those bastards, I want to have something to use on them.'
'Can you find it in the dark?'
'I hope so. It was right at the wall before the shit hit the fan.'
'Okay. But hurry.'
He let go of Darcy and brushed against her back.
'Don't leave us,' Carol begged.
'It's all right,' Darcy told her. 'He won't be gone long.'
'What if they come back?'
'We'll just be real quiet.' She turned her head toward the sloshing sounds of Greg's movements. 'Be careful.'
There was a quiet slurp, then silence. Darcy guessed that Greg had gone down to pass under the boat. Moments later, she heard him come up. From the quick noisy splashes, she guessed that he was swimming.
'He'll be back pretty soon.'
Darcy felt Carol embrace her. Remembering the way the woman had squirmed against her earlier, she was tempted to push her away. But there was no hint of erotic frenzy this time. Carol simply hugged her like a terrified child. So Darcy held her and listened to Greg splashing through the lake.
If he finds the pickaxe, she thought, he won't be able to swim back with it. He'll have to wade. That would take a while.
The longer it takes, the less chance of catching up with those savages. They already had a headstart.
Hotter if we don't.
She felt a stir of guilt. There were kids among the tourists. The little girl, the fat boy, Paula, the son of that creep in the trucker hat. Kyle.
Big loss if they nail Kyle.
That pregnant woman.
Quite a few men, though. Maybe the men would be able to handle the situation. But if the elevator fires are out…
Confusion. Nobody knowing what's going on, who to fight. There could be a slaughter in the darkness.
I don't have to wait for Greg, she thought. I could go on ahead and try to warn them.
She imagined herself being grabbed along the walkway, thrown down. She felt hands ripping at her clothes. Tore her clothes right off… Touched her all over. Felt the hands on her bare skin. Coming from every direction. Clutching, probing. Fingernails digging in. Then teeth. Teeth sinking into her arms and thighs and belly and breasts. Felt them tugging ripping. Heard the wet sounds of chewing.
It happened to Helen, it could happen to me.
Go off by myself, try to warn them, it really might happen.
You owe them a try.
Not my life. God, no.
Enough of a try, waiting for Greg and going after them with the pick. We'd stand a chance that way. Won't help anyone if I run on ahead and get nailed.
'Ugh!' The splashing stopped.
Carol stiffened.
Darcy wanted to call out, but she feared that she might be heard by the savages. No telling how far they'd gone, and sounds could carry a long way in the cavern.
Then she heard Greg resume swimming.
Maybe he'd run into a body, she thought. A nasty surprise like that could've made him gasp and stop short.
Three bodies in the lake. Maybe. The woman who threw herself at Darcy, the guy who killed Beth, and Beth. All floating around near Ely's Wall.
'He must be just about there,' Darcy whispered.
She felt Carol nod, the woman's face sliding against her cheek.
The sounds of the swimming stopped.
Carol, tight against Darcy, rammed her backwards, breath exploding out, fingers digging into her back. Darcy felt a hot stab. She went down, Carol on top of her, pinned to her. Darcy jammed a hand between their bodies. Felt the slick shaft joining them: it jutted out of Carol and entered Darcy just below her ribcage on the right. As she clutched it, the shaft was driven forward. It started to penetrate deeper. She twisted away, shoving at Carol, and felt the point rip free of its hole and skid across her skin.
Then she was clear. She rolled and rolled through the water, trying to put distance between herself and the attacker.
She burned where the point had entered her. It hadn't gone in very deep, she thought, or it wouldn't have pulled out so easily. Half an inch, maybe less.
A bone weapon like the other guy had used on Beth?
Must've speared Carol through the back.
Darcy's side bumped a wall. Rolling, she pressed herself to the rocks and held herself motionless. Currents stirred against her. She heard splashing nearby, and ink-red if the attacker was still with Carol. She needed it. Hoping the sounds of the turmoil would cover any sounds she might make, she eased herself upward until her head broke the surface.
As she took a shallow breath, she heard splashing nearby. Harsh breathing. Grunting sounds. The savage still wasn't approaching her.
More splashing in the distance. Those sounds had to come from Greg. He knew there was trouble, was swimming back.
A sigh under the dock. Then quiet sloshing.
He's coming for me.
Darcy held her breath.
If he can't hear me, he can't find me.
Her heart thudded. Her wound pulsed fire.
He seemed to be heading straight for her.
Maybe he hears my heart.
Smells my blood.
Pressed fiat against the wall, she felt the flashlight pushing into her side. Greg, she remembered, had slipped it into the pocket of her windbreaker. She eased it out.
What now? she wondered.
Whirl around and try to bash him with it?
If he's got that pointed bone…
Darcy still didn't know what to do, but the wading sounds were little more than a yard behind her, now, she let herself drift backward away from the wall, then brought the flashlight out of the water.
Toss it over to the side, the way guys always did in the movies to mislead the bad guys?
That's the movies.
Might work, though. Might make him think I'm over there.
Not gonna stake my life on a goddamn movie trick.
Darcy spun around, jumped, felt herself rise out of the water to the waist, tucked her chin down hoping her head wouldn't hit the underside of the dock, heard herself growl like a furious dog, and threw the flashlight straight ahead with all her strength. The sound of the impact would've come at once if she'd been on target. It didn't. She twisted her body. As she splashed onto her side, she heard a ringing clamour and realized the flashlight must've struck the side of the moored boat.
Going down, she kicked her way toward the bottom, stroked once hard, then let herself glide forward hoping she was off to his side, hoping to slip past him before he had time to react.
An explosive splash. Something rammed between her legs, searing an inner thigh. She clamped her legs together. Trapped it. Crossed her ankles. Twisted. Felt an instant of resistence. Then it was loose and the momentum of her turn rolled her over. She reached down. Grabbed the pointed end of the bone as her face came out of the water.
She sucked air.
She got her other hand on the shaft.
Then lost hold as her forearm was yanked. She kicked and writhed as the attacker tugged her to him. He jerked her upright. She felt his breath on her face, smelled its fetid stench. She drove a knee up. It struck him, but the blow seemed to have no effect. He clutched the front of her jacket. His other hand hooked her groin. He grunted, and Darcy was hurled upward. The top of her head slammed the floorboards of the dock.
Pain burst through her. She saw bright flashes. Heard tinging in her ears. Smelled the odd, metallic odour she vaguely remembered from times she had bumped her head at the ice skating rink.
Greg, she thought, Maybe Greg…
Through her daze, she realized she was soaring again toward the underside of the dock. She flung her arms up. Her fists were battered between her skull and the planks.
He lowered her again.
Darcy opened her numb fingers. Reached out. Grabbed
hair. Pulled and drove her head forward. Her wide open mouth found flesh. She bit. Her teeth sank in, and the man bellowed. She bit down as hard as she could. Something came off in her mouth. His nose? He was yelling, staggering backward, still clutching her jacket and crotch. She spit the flesh out.
They both went down.
Darcy squirmed lower, tearing at his hair, forcing his head back. Her mouth found the side of his neck. She burrowed in, biting and ripping, and suddenly felt as if a garden hose had been thrust into her mouth, hot water gushing from its nozzle.
Got him, she thought.
Took out the carotid.
Jesus.
His clutching hands jerked against her, fluttered away.
She shut her mouth, but didn't release him. Still clinging to his hair, she wrapped her legs around him. Together, Darcy and the savage rolled slowly beneath the surface of the lake. She felt his body jump with spastic shudders, felt the warm current throbbing against her face. She needed air. Her lungs ached. But she stayed with him until he went limp.
Then she shoved him away and stood up, gasping.
She heard splashes nearby.
'Greg?'
The splashing stopped. 'Darcy? My God, what's going on?'
'Nothing. Anymore.'
'Are you okay?'
'Not exactly.'
'Oh God. What happened?' From the quiet sloshing sounds, he was wading toward her.
'He got Carol.'
'Oh, no.'
'He… stayed behind, I guess. Waited till you were far enough away. Then he… I think Carol's dead. Carol?' she called.
No answer. She hadn't expected one.
'What happened to him? Where is he?'
'Around here someplace. Belly up.'
'You killed him?'
'Yeah.'
'I shouldn't have left you two. I shouldn't…'
Darcy reached out and touched Greg. He moved in against her. His arms went around her. She squeezed herself tight against him and winced at the pressure against the wound below her ribs.
'Did he hurt you?'
'Here and there. I got… poked a couple of times.'
'Stabbed?'
'He had one of those pointed bones. Like the guy who got Beth.'
'Oh Christ. Where'd he get you?'
'It's no big deal,' she said. Her thigh wound didn't hurt much. It felt as if a path had been scraped along her skin. The other wound hurt plenty. It might have had a hot coal stuffed inside it. Her head had a dull ache from striking the dock.