“Aye, about that,” Banks said. “Do you have any idea why our shots to the body had so little effect?”
“Fat, probably,” Seton replied. “Otters, and indeed most aquatic mammals, have a very thick fatty layer. It would be like firing into a big lump of solid lard trying to get to the actual meat, bone, and sinew on the other side of it.”
That made sense of what Banks had seen at the castle site. A direct shot to the head had been the only thing to give the beast pause. He turned to Wiggins.
“Here that, Wiggo? Headshots only.”
“Aye, Cap. Either that or a couple up the jacksie should get the job done.”
Banks looked around for Hynd.
The sergeant was at the far end of the ledge from the tall Pictish cross, looking down over the edge toward the lake surface.
“We’ve got more steps here, Cap,” he said. He had spoken softly but his voice echoed and carried clearly in the cavern. Banks looked up, wondering if they might dislodge some roosting bats, but there didn’t appear to be any life apart from the four men in the whole glimmering cavern. Banks went over to join Hynd and looked down into the lake.
A set of similarly worn stone steps ran down from his feet to the waters’ edge and continued beyond the loch’s surface, deep into the shimmering green depths. Seton spoke at his shoulder.
“A site for ritual, a baptism of some sort I shouldn’t wonder,” he said. “Another thing Christianity has in common with older, more esoteric ways.”
It took Wiggins to get to the heart of the matter at hand.
“Aye, this is all very nice I’m sure,” he said. “But where’s that fucking monster got to? I’m done with chasing it up and down this bloody loch. It killed my pal, and it’s payback time.”
Seton turned to Banks. The old man was looking tired and wan again. The green cast of the luminescence emphasized the shadows under his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks. But his voice was strong enough.
“Let me try. My voice is all I’ll need,” Seton said. “Let me stand at the cross and try the call again. You’ve all seen it work, you know that even wounded, it should respond, here in the place where it was trained. Let me bring it here.”
“And then we shoot the fucker’s head off?” Wiggins said.
Seton looked pained at the thought.
“I was hoping to try to calm it,” he said.
“Aye, that didn’t do Cally any good, did it? And even if I did let you try to keep it under control, and even if you managed it, then what do we do? We can’t exactly get a fucking huge cage down here to cart it off to Edinburgh Zoo, can we?” Banks replied.
“Surely with the Army’s resources at your disposal… ”
Banks stopped him with a laugh that echoed across the lake and whispered around them on its return trip.
“We’re on suspension, our superior officer is at this exact moment getting his arse kicked from one end of Edinburgh to the other, and the only resources we have are what we’ve got with us down here.”
Wiggins interrupted.
“So, does that mean we shoot the fucker’s head off? Because I want to shoot the fucker’s head off.”
Banks smiled thinly.
“Sounds like a plan to me, Wiggo.”
Seton stood by the tall Pictish cross, put a hand on the stone as if trying to leech energy from it, and began the chant. His voice was thin and wheezy at first, but the echoing reverberation in the chamber appeared to amplify each syllable, and also give energy back to the older man, for his voice grew stronger with each repetition.
“Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.
“Ri linn tabhar na breithe Biodh a shith air do theannal fein.
A series of ripples ran across the water’s surface, emanating from the far end from where they stood. Banks was looking directly at it when, over a hundred yards away, the beast’s head came up out of the water, and it let out a bark that rang like a gunshot around the cavern.
- 14 -
Seton continued to chant. The beast moved forward, not straight toward them, but showing all three humps side on, cruising in a zigzag fashion that was bringing it, slowly and cautiously, across the lake. It raised its head only to bark at the last syllable of each repetition of the chant.
Banks saw the strain show on Seton’s face, pain etched in hard lines at the side of his eyes and at his mouth, but the older man kept up the chant in perfect time, and the beast continued to move ever closer, its bark now sounding almost excited. The sheer bulk of it as it swam caused the whole surface of the lake to ripple and sway, sending green and black shadows dancing in the stalactites in time with its languid movements.
Banks turned to the others just before the beast came into range.
“Right, lads, this is it. No hesitation, no fucking about, we take this bastard down fast then we can bugger off home to the mess for that pie and a pint I missed at the start of this shitstorm. Plugs in.”
The three of them shoved the soft plugs that protected their hearing deep into their ears.
“For Cally,” Wiggins shouted, and both Banks and Hynd nodded.
“For Cally.”
Seton’s voice faltered and failed at the last, fresh spittle of blood showing at his lips. But he’d done his job, and the beast had cruised forward so that it was almost directly below them. Banks smelled it strongly now, musk and blood and heat. It looked up, directly at him, and barked, twice, not so much excited now as angry.
“Aim for the head, and fire,” Seton shouted.
Remembering the thing’s reaction to the floodlight at the castle, Banks turned on his gun light and shone it direct at the beast’s eyes. It yelled, a high-pitched squeal, and was still squealing as all three of the squad pumped three rounds each into its head.
Even then it didn’t go down, but using its back legs and tail, launched up toward them, sending a splash of cold water across them from the knees down. It scrambled frantically, tearing chunks of rock from the edge. Banks stepped back and succeeded in putting another two shots above its eyes, but still it came, finally grabbing hold of the ledge with its front feet and hauling its whole length up to loom over them.
“Say goodbye to your bollocks, you wanker,” Wiggins shouted, and shot it three times in the heavy sack that hung, silhouetted and framed against the shimmering of the lake beyond. Banks and Hynd concentrated on the head, even as the maw of its mouth opened, showing the white, six-inch canines. Blood ran from numerous wounds in its face, and its left eye had popped, gore running down its cheek.
It looked straight at Banks, gave out a bark that was more a shriek of anger and pain, and lunged forward, mouth open, thick pink tongue lolling on the left side, dripping bloody saliva. Banks stood still long enough to put three shots down its throat then rolled away, clearing Hynd’s view enough that the sarge was able to put two in its good eye.
The whole cavern, still ringing and echoing with the impact of the shooting, rang again, even louder as the beast gave out one final, piercing shriek, its back legs scrambling for hold on the ledge as its weight shifted.
The three men stood in a line and all put three more shots into the huge head, splattering what was left of the eyes in a spray of fluid and blood. The beast’s head went up, it overbalanced, and finally tumbled backward and into the water with a splash that sent ripples the length of the lake and shadows skittering and running across the walls and roof of the chamber.
Wiggins stepped forward to the edge and sent three more rounds into the beast as it started to sink.