(1995) The Oath (41 page)

Suddenly he tensed. A rustling.

His eyes darted to the spot, apparently on the route he had taken, about a hundred yards down the slope and far to the left. There was no movement.

Wait—he had been wrong. A small pine stirred as something scraped past it. The rocks behind the pine shimmered and wavered as if distorted by heat waves.

Farther along, another small tree bent . . . and then it broke in the middle, the top half lagging behind.

“That’s it,” Steve whispered.

He concentrated on that area and just ahead of it, waiting for another indication of the creature’s presence. All his senses were on alert.

Then on the ground he saw something. A shadow, just a shadow, with nothing there to cast it. It slithered eerily along the rocks like a thin black film, up, down, rippling with the terrain, sometimes disappearing behind obstructions.

Steve had the
30.06
ready. But what could he shoot at? He could see only the shadow. From that, he could estimate where the creature was, but where would the vital organs be? Without a clear shot at the heart and lungs or the head, he couldn’t be sure of a kill. He might nick the creature, or wound it, and he might rile it. If he didn’t kill it when he shot he would be giving away his position and risking his own life.

He could feel panic starting to well up, but he forced himself to overcome it. He remained where he was, just sitting, waiting, watching.

The shadow was gone now, invisible beyond a rise in the terrain. But Steve saw the tops of some small trees wiggling. The forest just beyond them seemed distorted.

For only an instant, he could see a distinct area of distortion pass in front of a stand of trees like a bubble bending the light, like a long, elliptical lens. He was using his imagination, he knew, but he could almost make out a long, slithery shape, a lizardlike creature with a gracefully arching spine.

Then he saw nothing. He’d lost contact.

He sat and waited. He listened, he watched.

Then some treetops quivered almost directly below him, but farther down in the forest, nowhere near his original route. The creature had diverted downhill. It may have lost his trail, he didn’t know, but now some rustlings and cracklings from dry branches came wafting up the slope, and he had another fix on the dragon’s position. It was definitely moving away.

“Huh-uh, Mr. Dragon. You won’t get away that easily.”

Steve left his hiding place and set off down the mountain as quietly as he could, trying to keep the creature’s movements and sounds within sight and earshot. It was moving quickly; he’d have to hurry.

He quickstepped down over a rockslide until he reached the edge of the forest. The trees and brush were sparse here, which meant he still had a chance of seeing the dragon before it evaded him entirely. He could still hear it moving farther down the mountain. Trees and undergrowth hissed and cracked as the creature brushed by them, but as heavy as that beast had to be, Steve could neither hear footfalls nor feel any vibration of the ground. Steve followed the rustling sounds, moving quickly while trying to gauge how much cover remained between the dragon and himself.

His eye caught a familiar distortion against some trees and brush downhill and to the right. He dropped to a crouch, hoping some brambles would hide his own outline.

He could see an old, sun-bleached snag leaning toward the valley below. He watched in stunned amazement as it seemed to break into two sections, the upper part clear and motionless, the lower part rippling and warping, as if the dragon’s slender tail was passing by it. Then the apparition was gone, and the snag was one complete trunk again.

Steve moved again, vaulting over logs and hurrying through the trees. He reached the snag and checked the ground for signs. Amazingly, he found none of the things he expected. There were no footprints in the soil here, no broken branches, nothing to indicate that a massive creature had walked through this area only minutes before. He stared through the forest, looking in the direction the thing had gone. How could any creature that size move so delicately?

Then he heard a strange sound up ahead, and he stood, his whole body rigid, as he listened. It was a long, steady sound, like something sliding.

Then it hit him. That thing wasn’t walking, it was slithering, moving almost silently, leaving no footprints, disbursing its weight throughout the length of its body!

Steve felt he had to be absolutely nuts to be following this monster, but he could not help himself. He was terrified, but he was also fascinated. He moved stealthily from tree to log to tree to thicket, eyes wide open, heart pounding, a viselike grip on his rifle, his instincts screaming danger.

He continued along the mountain’s flank until he saw dark gray and rust through the trees. He stopped. It must be a rock formation, perhaps a cliff.

Perhaps it was the dragon. He took a few steps, studying that surface carefully. Careful, he told himself.

He could see no distortions. Nothing changed as he approached in a zigzag formation, trying to get something to emerge, aware as he did so, that by trying to get the creature to move, he might be risking his own life.

He came closer, rifle aimed, his finger on the trigger. His palms were greasy with sweat, and a drop trickled down his forehead and burned one eye.

He got through the trees that blocked his view and found himself at the base of a towering cliff. Sharp-edged boulders lay scattered on the mountain slope below. Off to his left and around the curve of the cliff, he could just spot a sizable apron of loose gravel and fine shards of rock, very much like the mine tailings he’d seen.

Possibly, just possibly, there’d been some digging under the cliff and he was seeing the waste. It could be just another mine, and yet . . .

Possibly, just possibly, he’d found the creature’s den.

He listened for a sound, looked for a movement, but found nothing. By now it wouldn’t take much to persuade him to return with a good-size army. But even he didn’t believe what he was stalking. How would anyone else believe it?

What he needed to do, whether or not anyone believed him, was to establish if he’d actually found the creature’s den.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and palms. He knew he was broadcasting human scent like an alarm. If one little breeze passed over his body and into that den there would be no more secrets.

He edged along the base of the cliff, craning his neck to see what was around the other side.

He could see the mound of waste clearly now. It didn’t look like a natural rockslide; it had to have been put there.

A few more steps. The face of the cliff was curling inward. It could be the mouth of a cave.

He edged closer.

He’d come to the mouth of a cave. It was about ten feet wide, and about his height, not a vast opening. But it was big enough to accommodate the local dragon. Scratchings, tracks, and a furrow, perhaps cut by a long, slender tail, marked the loose soil and gravel on the floor of the entrance.

The dragon had come home.

He rested against the rough stone. What now? His mind was almost coming apart with conflict. Part of him wanted nothing more than to flee from that place in a blind panic, satisfied just to be alive. But another part of him couldn’t give up. He’d come so far, he’d come so close, he wanted that dragon.

He had to know more, see more.

His heart was pounding almost audibly, and it was only by blocking certain thoughts and images from his mind—the size of those footprints, Charlie’s scorched and mangled car, the reported size of this beast—that he could keep his hands steady. With his left hand he carefully, quietly took the flashlight from his belt then edged around the corner and started down that seemingly bottomless pit. His back to the wall, he advanced slowly, peering in every direction. He didn’t want to use the flashlight unless absolutely necessary.

The dragon has the advantage, his logical mind insisted. The dragon has the advantage.

I want him, his soul answered.

He can see in here, you can’t; he knows these tunnels, you don’t; he could corner you so easily!

I’ll be careful, he argued. The fact that he was terrified was beside the point.

The cave entrance immediately opened into a room that at first seemed limitless. From the light coming from outside, Steve could make out a domed ceiling, arcing down to the sandy floor.

There seemed to be an object on the floor in the center of the room. Steve stayed by the wall and didn’t move. His eyes still needed to adjust to the darkness. He’d give them time.

The object looked like a piece of clothing, but in the semidarkness Steve couldn’t tell. He listened, smelled, watched. Nothing. The dragon must have continued deep into the heart of the mountain. Like Jules Cryor said, these tunnels went for miles.

Without stirring from his position, he shifted the rifle to his left hand and the flashlight to his right. He aimed the light low, clicked it on, then slowly moved the beam outward across the room until it found the object.

It was cloth, perhaps a shirt.

He dared to move the light farther across the room, then around the walls, exploring the room’s limits. Except for the one object in the center of the floor, the room was empty. Directly across the room from where he stood Steve saw a tunnel. He kept his eye on that tunnel as he crossed the cave floor to take a look at the shirt or whatever it was.

Yes. Half a flannel shirt, dark with blood, torn and perforated.

He could feel queasiness setting in and his throat tightening with nausea. This shirt could have been Cliff’s, or maybe Vic Moore’s, or Charlie’s. It could have belonged to another victim no one even knew about. He dropped it and turned away. This was not the time to think about that.

He looked ahead. The tracks clearly led to the tunnel beyond. He shouldered the rifle and took the shotgun in hand. He didn’t know how far he would venture in there, maybe only far enough to gain some knowledge of the cave’s layout. He kept the flashlight beam low and made his way across the room.

The tunnel was slightly smaller than the cave entrance. The dragon’s ability to wriggle through such tight places was impressive, Steve thought. It had to be part snake, all right. It had walked across the large room, but here it appeared to have slithered. The floor of the tunnel was scraped smooth.

He looked over his shoulder, double-checking his escape route. Then he gathered his courage and ventured, step by step, down the tunnel.

It sloped downhill. He kept close to the wall and proceeded slowly, carefully.

What was that? He stopped abruptly, his heart hammering. He had heard some faint, rustling noises.

Everything was silent, and he started forward again—then almost laughed as he realized what the sound had been. It was his jacket, brushing against the wall.

Cautiously he moved deeper into the cave. The sand was still smooth as if a grader had run over it, although in several places it had been pushed aside and was piled in small berms against the cave walls. He had never been bothered by claustrophobia, but he was beginning to feel the weight of the mountain above him. Still, he pressed on.

He saw a corner up ahead. He clicked off his flashlight so that if the creature was on the other side, it wouldn’t see light flickering on the cave walls.

As Steve waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he realized that there was light coming from around the corner. Was it possible? He approached the corner slowly, feeling his way along the wall. Yeah. There was a hint of daylight coming from around the corner. Another entrance?

He pressed tightly against the wall and moved in slow, slow motion until he could peer around the corner with one eye. Now he could see light coming down through a sizable shaft. Yes, there was an opening high above, but it was a nearly impossible climb.

He looked behind him, then ahead, then moved carefully around the corner.

Surprise. The cave ended here. There was just that one shaft, which must have been cut through the rock years before, and nothing else.

No dragon.

No other way out, either, he realized. Just the main entrance. The thought slowly entered his mind; I’ve been in this situation before—

A rock fell down the shaft, rattling against the sides and then thudding into the sandy floor. Steve leapt aside, startled out of his wits, an involuntary cry escaping his throat.

Another rock, this one bigger! Then another, rattling down the shaft, clacking and thudding against the first stones that fell, kicking up a choking dust.

The shaft was breaking up! Caving in!

Or being broken up?

Now huge stones, dust, gravel, and debris were pouring through the hole above. The light was vanishing in chunks, the air filling with dust.

A trap, Steve thought. I’ve been caught in a trap.

Steve clicked on his flashlight and dashed back up the tunnel as gray, choking dust billowed like a wave behind him. He ducked to avoid a low-hanging formation, smashed his shoulder into another, but kept going, retracing his tracks.

Levi, he thought. Bait. Trap. No way out. Gotcha.

How long was this tunnel? he wondered, beginning to panic. He should be back to that room by now, back to the entrance—

Then he saw a faint glimmer of daylight! He clipped the flashlight back on his belt, then lunged out of the tunnel and into the room.

But the room was no longer empty. It was nearly filled with a curled, serpentine shape—and the stench of death.

He gasped, stopped, and turned to dive back into the tunnel. Three monstrous, elongated fingers, claws glistening in the dim light, swatted him. He tumbled in the sand, then righted himself, his eyes darting about the room, his mind screaming for options. A long, tapered tail of silver armor now lay across the cave entrance. He turned toward the tunnel. A large scaly, clawed hand guarded it. He was cornered.

Stretched between the tunnel and the entrance, its scales glistening like highway reflectors in the dim light, its huge golden eyes narrow with malice, crouched a beast the size of a whale, the shape of a lizard, its neck and tail like a serpent. No camouflage now; Steve could see it clearly, every inch of it.