Creepers (32 page)

He leaned weakly against the door frame and examined the room. There were scraps of newspapers scattered around the floor, and in a corner, a pile of aged human feces. In another corner a stack of ancient boxes and cartons stood sentinel over nothing. Corelli moved into the room, swinging the light before him. He had been chasing ghosts! There was nothing here for him. Nothing except a foul smell. Corelli inhaled and almost gagged. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of putrefaction. It closed in around him with its flabby arm. He shook his head, pulled out a handkerchief, and quickly put it over his nose. Jesus, he'd never smelled anything like this before.

At the farthest corners of the room, on either side of the derelict token booth, stairways led back and away from the platform, then up toward the street level. There was space there to hide...to be hidden. It was his last hope. He mounted the first stair, praying he wasn't too late, that maybe this nightmare might have a happy ending, that he might find Louise and break the horrible pattern of his love life.

The stairs were covered with bones. They lay stacked in neat piles according to size. It didn't take much thought to guess that they were human bones, and as Frank shone the light upward, that guess was proven true: a stack of human skulls crowned the top stair, their hollow eyes and dead, mirthless grins proof that this part of his quest, at least, was a success. He'd found the lair of the creepers. But success? Corelli sneered at the very idea.

A rustling sound behind him sent Frank spinning around in terror. But the room was still empty. Something had moved, he was certain of it. Something had rustled over near the wall. His light caught and held the packing cases. Of course. How stupid he'd been. These creepers were clever. They'd remained hidden from sight for generations. Of course they would be hiding here on their home ground. Had he really expected to waltz into their headquarters and find them waiting, their arms outstretched in anticipation of the handcuffs? Christ, what had he been thinking?

Cautiously, one step at a time, service revolver drawn, Corelli backed down the stairs and walked to the center of the room. He paused, listened, then moved to the edge of the boxes, and, with one quick kick, his revolver cocked, Frank toppled the boxes and leaped aside . . . landing inches from Louise's head.

"My God!" he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. "I thought you were dead." He slipped his arms under her and pulled her up to him, nearly crushing her with his strength. He ungagged her and kissed her.

"They're coming back," she gulped through his embraces. "They went out for fresh food. We've got to get out of here." Her eyes were wide with terror.

"Let me untie you and..." He now saw the small body next to him. "What the hell?"

"It's Lisa," Louise cried softly. "She's unconscious, but still alive. Oh, Frank, you've got to get us out of here."

He'd already begun working on the knots at Louise's wrists when the platform door flew open and slammed against the wall. Corelli froze. His breathing thickened and his hands once again wrapped around the cold comfort of his gun. He stood up suddenly and flashed his light out into the room.

There were six of them huddled together. They stood around the mangled body of a TA cop whose shredded uniform exposed craters of blood where hunks of flesh had once been. Corelli felt the fear rise in his throat, but it didn't stop him from acting. Blinded by anger at what the creepers had put Louise through, Frank leaped onto one of the crates and challenged the creepers. "Okay, you sons-of-bitches, come and get me." He brandished the gun, hoping to bait one or all of the creatures.

They were far more grotesque than Frank imagined they'd be, but they didn't look all that dangerous. He surmised they depended on the element of surprise, the element of fear when they gathered "food." Their claw-like hands certainly could rip out a throat, but only a throat at close range. Corelli had the advantage of size, agility, distance... and the gun, of course. This time he had them licked.

"Frank, look out," Louise screamed as one of the creepers who had hidden in the stairwell slithered along the wall toward him.

Corelli turned toward the creature, but it was too late. The creature uncoiled its powerful leg muscles and leaped onto Corelli's back, knocking the gun from his hand. The instant it clattered to the floor, the other creepers attacked.

Louise screamed until she couldn't scream any more.

Lieutenant Tom Larabee plucked his walkie-talkie from its holster-type holder and punched the Communicate button. "Larabee, here."

"It's Dolchik," the captain's voice crackled over the receiver. "All the trains have been stopped. You and your men start moving as of right now."

"Got it, sir," Larabee said quickly. He loved being in command almost as much as he loved the idea of killing.

"And remember--"

"Kill everything that isn't in uniform. Got it, sir. Over and out." Larabee rammed the receiver into its holder and signaled the thirty men under his command to start moving. As they passed, he nodded in silent approval. Larabee didn't know what they were after, but an order to kill meant it was big game. That was good, for Tom didn't really care what they were chasing as long as they could wipe them out, as long as he could squeeze the trigger and end a life. That's what counted.

As the last of his men marched past him along the subway tracks, Larabee strapped a tank of jellied petroleum on his back, ignited the gaping porous mouth of the flamethrower, and followed the team down into the subway tunnel. Lieutenant Tom Larabee was going hunting tonight, and God help anyone before him who wasn't wearing a uniform.

Willie kept close to the subway wall, pressing his body against the sticky, dirty surface. Without the trains, being alone here was more frightening than usual. He longed for the rattle and crashing sounds. That, at least, would take his mind off the loud sound of his heart beating in his ears. Willie was scared shitless, more scared than he'd ever been in his life. But it was too late to turn back now.

He'd brought a flashlight, but didn't need to use it now. Besides, if he met up with a creeper, he didn't want it to have advance warning of his presence. The flashlight was for later--for running, escaping. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light, but his imagination played tricks on him. With every step he saw something move; a low shape scampering along the wall or across the tracks was the usual mirage. But when he strained his ears to verify what he saw, there was always nothing, nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing.

The deep, dark recess of the abandoned station loomed into view. Willie halted, remembering this was where he'd found Ted Slade. This was where he'd stumbled over the crumpled, mutilated body of his friend. For a moment Hoyte closed his eyes to vanquish the phantom image of the body on the tracks. And when he reopened them, he was no longer alone.

The creeper was crouched on the platform of the station. Willie couldn't quite make out its shape, but he knew it was what he was looking for. He sucked in his breath and held it; his hand automatically went to the cross at his throat. The creeper sat on its haunches at the edge of the platform. Without warning, it leaped straight out six feet onto the downtown-express track. It paused a moment, then scuttled off into the darkness.

Willie swallowed hard and tasted the bitter gall of fear. Nothing Corelli had told him prepared Willie emotionally for a confrontation with the reality of the creepers. It was one thing to sit in his mother's homey kitchen discussing these subterraneans, it was quite another to be alone in the dark subway tunnel with the true terror of the creepers within reach. Willie wanted to run out into the streets. But he owed Corelli, so he stayed.

He crept to the edge of the platform and eased himself up onto it, pulling himself over into a dark corner. If there was one of those things here, there were bound to be more. He slid his hand along his thigh and down his leg, feeling the knife sheath he'd strapped to his calf. Inside was a hunting knife with a mean nine-inch blade. Unlike so many of his friends, Willie wasn't a real expert with a blade, but he knew how to handle it. And when the chips were down, he'd be okay. Now all he had to do was decide where to start.

The platform was slippery with dirt, and it smelled of shit . . . and of his own fear. Willie moved toward a thin shaft of pale light that spilled out through what appeared to be a door cut in the wooden wall. He pressed his eye up to a crack and peered in. Corelli lay directly before him on the floor. He was bound and gagged, and he looked conscious but dazed. The hair on the right side of his head was matted with a thick, slimy dark substance; Willie didn't have to look twice to see it was blood. Louise knelt next to Corelli, attempting to comfort him, but each time she did, the largest of the creepers pulled her away with a distinctly proprietary air.

Willie moved back from the door and returned to his dark corner. There were five creepers and only one Willie Hoyte. Corelli was out of commission, and Louise couldn't be counted on to help. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? The problem wasn't so much a matter of getting Corelli and Louise out as it was a matter of getting the creepers to abandon their lair long enough to get Willie Hoyte in. But how the hell could he do that?

Willie shifted his weight, and his foot scattered some ancient newspapers that lay on the floor. He thought a moment, then came up with a plan; it wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but it was the only one he had now--so it'd have to do. Ever aware that any sound would tip off the creepers to his presence, Willie moved stealthily as he collected a handful of newspapers. Shards of wood and pieces of heavy cardboard blown onto the platform from years of passing trains completed the necessary material. He piled the refuse far enough away from the makeshift door so that when it swung open it wouldn't be scattered.

You're one smart sonofabitch, Willie complimented himself as he flicked his cigarette lighter and touched its burning tip to the sides of the pile. The dry paper and wood went up like a gasoline-soaked rag. Within seconds roiling clouds of black smoke covered the platform. Willie cautiously pushed the wooden door, managing to open it six or so inches, and began fanning the smoke into the station. An inward draft, created by a fault in the room's ceiling, greedily sucked the smoke inside. A second later the room was in suffocating darkness.

Willie crouched at the door, holding the hunting knife tightly in his hand. The creepers scampered out, low to the ground, their high-pitched screeching sounding more like angry mice than cannibals. Their sound didn't fool Willie; he knew what they were capable of. One of them saw him and leaped onto his chest, knocking Willie over, its hands wrapped around his throat Willie choked with disgust and swung his knife hand around, driving the entire blade into the thing's spine; then he twisted and pulled the blade out. A fountain of blood cascaded across the floor, and the creeper released him with an unearthly shriek.

The cry alerted the others. Through the smoke they saw Willie and immediately formed a semicircle across the platform in front of him. Willie was backed up against the wall, trapped, literally cornered. The knife now felt light and useless in his hands. But it was his only protection, so he gripped it tighter and waited. The four creepers started in unison to move toward him, their bodies rolling and undulating as if they'd been hobbled. Their eyes were wide with anger, and they held their hands out before them, flexing their fingers in such a way that Willie saw only the deadly nails. They bared their teeth, as a rabid dog does, and opened their mouths wide, stretching and loosening the jaw muscles to accommodate flesh. Thick, dark tongues darted over their teeth and flickered out into the air like snakes testing the outside temperature.

As if some unheard signal had commanded them, the creepers all leaped at once without warning. The impact of the four bodies threw Willie against the wall, but he was prepared for the attack and immediately responded by lashing out with the knife. He caught one creeper in the abdomen. With a howl of pain the creature tumbled back and fell off the ledge onto the tracks.

The others ignored their companion with an enraged animal determination to kill his killer. One of them slipped partway behind Willie and fastened its teeth deep into the muscle of his thigh. Willie tried to wrench the monster off, but it had locked itself onto him like a leech. But right now he had other problems--one of the other two creepers rocked back on its haunches, then jumped forward and landed on Willie's chest, baring its teeth, then biting into the vulnerable muscles of his right shoulder.

The pain so stunned Willie that he almost dropped his knife, but he knew that meant death. And through the torrent of agony he held the knife and swung it up and around the back of the creeper until he held it in an embrace, the knife tip touching his own throat. Then suddenly Willie drew the vicious blade back around the creeper's neck and across the spine from the jugular vein to the carotid artery. The creeper immediately released him and fell back, grappling with his neck in a vain effort to stem the gushing tide of blood. It staggered a few feet, then fell facedown on the floor.

In response the creeper that still gnawed at Willie's leg drove its teeth deeper. Willie screamed and raised the gory blade over his head, and with every last bit of strength he had, drove the blade up to the hilt into the creeper's head, crushing the skull and piercing its brain. He withdrew the knife and attacked--again and again and again, until the blade was slimy with blood and bits of brain. Dead, the creature fell away like the last leaf of autumn.