The figure bucked and jerked and flopped backward to the ground with a clattering sound. I barely heard the faint tinkle of my spent brass over the ringing in my ears.
I fully rounded the corner and approached the body, which lay perfectly still on its back. The feet were bare and marbled purple and black. The jeans were crusted and bloodstained to match the checked western button-down shirt, the bottom of which had risen just enough to reveal the ragged wound on his abdomen. The ends of a long wooden dowel poked out of his sleeves. The entry wounds were plain as day: two roughly circular holes at center mass and a third in the upper chest. No blood flooded to the surface. No puddle expanded beneath the body. I raised my beam to the face and took an involuntary step backward.
The man’s head had been replaced by a coyote’s.
No. A coyote’s head had been skinned to create a mask for the man underneath it. Such care had been taken that it was nearly impossible to tell. The snout and the teeth had been left intact, presumably on the original bony framework. The man’s milky eyes stared up at me through the black-rimmed holes where the coyote’s had once been.
I guess I now had a pretty good idea what he’d done with the heads he’d taken from the dead animals I found in the den yesterday.
I nudged the snout with my foot to lift it from the man’s face. The wound on his neck looked like a great black bedsore through which I could see slimy liquefied flesh. I hadn’t seen his face before and doubt I would have been able to recognize it even if I had. His cheeks were in such an advanced state of decomposition that I could see his bones and teeth through the rotten holes. His skin sagged from his facial architecture and drooped from the left side as though he were having a posthumous stroke. The moment I saw something start to crawl out through the shriveled ring of his severed trachea, I jerked my foot aside and let the mask fall back down.
I could only imagine Ban sitting somewhere nearby, trying to stifle his laughter. Or maybe just running his fingertips along the edge of a sharp blade and summoning his own blood in some sort of painful release.
The shots had undoubtedly given away my location, so I needed to get a move on.
I stepped over the corpse and followed the passage. Slowly. Allowing my light to do the exploring for me. The corridor wound to the left. The walls were choppy, not smooth, as though pieced together from scraps. Dropcloths had been nailed over them to cover whatever holes or seams remained. I imagined my light probably showed through on the other side, but I wasn’t about to give it up. Not until I absolutely had to. I kept walking, letting myself continue to be guided in a wide arch until my light focused on another wall in my way. I felt like I was roughly parallel to the point where I had initially turned left and found the first body. This branch opened to the left, as well.
I tried to envision the maze in my head. I imagined it had likely been built as a replica of the one I had reconstructed from the crime scenes, but I hadn’t paid close enough attention to it to be able to recreate it in my mind. I cursed my lack of foresight.
I slid along the wall to my left and stopped at the turn.
I had an idea.
I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and opened the mirror app. If I held it out and away from my body at the right angle, I could use the forward-facing camera to look around the corner without having to stick my neck out. It obviously wasn’t a perfect solution. The phone would make an easy target for anyone with a weapon, but I’d rather lose my hand than my head. The digital “reflection” was a split-second slow, the tilting movements slightly blurred the image, and it was so dark I could see little more than grainy shades of black and gray. Considering the alternative, though, I figured one remaining hand would be sufficient to pat myself on the back for my ingenuity.
I used my phone to clear the corridor, then ducked around the corner to the left. Slid sideways along the wall with my light sweeping ahead of me. From here, I could only turn right. I held the phone out in my left hand this time and watched the dim, jerky reflection. The passage bent sharply back upon itself. I could see where it terminated roughly ten feet away. Nothing in between. I rounded the bend, flattened myself against the wall to my right, and scooted all the way along it until I reached the end, where my only option was to turn right again. I held out my cell phone—
Someone was standing right there.
I pulled my arm back as fast as I could. My heart was beating so hard and fast it pounded through the high-pitched ringing, which was slowly beginning to diminish. I tried to listen for the sound of breathing from around the corner, but it was a futile proposition. I shined my light at the ground. There were footprints in the dirt. Sporadic partials at best, but I was getting better at picking them out. Large. A man’s footprints. Utilitarian tread. All of them headed deeper into the maze; none coming back. Of course, that didn’t help me in my current situation, either.
If I assumed that each of the five victims was somewhere in here, as both logic and the nauseating smell suggested, then I still had four more to encounter, presumably on my journey to the center of the maze where I’itoi himself waited. Based on the level of decomposition, I was confident that the corpse I had shot was the first. If I was right, then the body around the corner belonged to the second victim, the woman whose murder had initially brought me here. What had Randall said? Knockoff Keds? Small feet.
I stuck out my phone again and tilted it downward. The bare feet were dainty and dangled several inches above the floor. The toenails glimmered subtly with chipped polish.
I retracted my arm and slowed my breathing. I went around the corner low and fast, swinging my light from right to left. No movement. No one else there.
I shined my light on the poor girl’s body. Her sweatpants were torn and stained. Her shirt was crisp with a bib of blood. I could tell by her shape that she was still young, perhaps late teens or early-twenties. Her arms were stretched out to either side. A long wooden dowel had been run in one sleeve, across her back, and out the other. The dowel was fitted to brackets on either wall. The way she’d been hung almost made her look like a scarecrow. The snout of her coyote mask rested against her chest. The ears pointed forward. Her dark eyes looked down at the ground, unblinking.
I had to avert my gaze.
Anger flared inside me and I had to resist the urge to sprint headlong into the darkness to force the confrontation. He wanted me to see these people like this, to know that he had been the one who did it and I hadn’t been able to stop him. He wanted me to see the next three lives that had been snuffed out on my watch. He wanted me to face my failures and realize that I’d been beaten. Over and over and over.
I picked up my pace as I walked, my gun held out in front of me. The passage guided me around to the right until I felt almost like I’d come in a complete circle around the damn cave before I finally encountered the end. I used the mirror function on my phone to clear the area around the bend and then went maybe another dozen feet before the maze doubled back on itself to the left.
Phone. Reflection?
Empty corridor.
Clear.
I went around the corner fast and quickly saw the next turn coming to my left again. Fifteen feet. Flatten my back against the wall. Lead with my light; follow my sight.
Phone. Reflection?
A human silhouette.
Pull back my arm. Blood thundering in my ears.
Wait.
Listen.
No sound. No breathing other than my own.
Footprints? Still only one set. Leading deeper into the warren.
Phone again.