“Run!” Janet shouted.
Luckily the other pair didn’t need to be told twice.
The sheriff chose a passageway and headed for it. All four of them reached it at the same time and together they fled into darkness lit only by the swinging beam from the flashlight on the rifle. A sound followed them, a high cry, almost mournful, from a choir of voices.
Weemean.
22
The sheriff led them at a flat run for several hundred yards in a tunnel that dipped slightly downward before bringing them to a halt at another junction.
“We’re going the wrong way,” Big Bill said. They were all breathing heavily and Fred had worked up a sweat that tricked down the back of his shirt.
“I ain’t going back,” Sarah said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
She gripped Fred’s hand and squeezed, tight.
“I’m with her,” Fred said. “We need to keep going. It’s got to lead somewhere.”
Doc was looking at the ground.
“Shine that light over here, Bill. We’ve got something.”
The sheriff did as he was asked and shone the light on the floor of the tunnel. A parallel set of lines led off into the distance.
Tracks. Like those of a cart?
“I think we’ve found one of old man Hopman’s tunnels,” Doc said.
The sheriff agreed.
“And where there’s tracks, there’s a starting point… and maybe a way out.”
“But it’s going down,” Sarah said. “Ain’t we supposed to be going up?”
Before Big Bill could answer, sounds of padding footsteps echoed down the tunnel from behind them.
“Weemean,” a chorus of voices shouted, the echoes in the confined space making it sound like there was a massed throng coming through the dark towards their position.
Big Bill didn’t hesitate.
“Follow me,” he said.
It ain’t like we’ve got much choice.
Doc went in the middle behind Bill.
“You should go ahead a bit,” Fred said to Sarah, “I’ll watch our backs.”
She laughed. “And what do you plan to do if there’s anything there? Use harsh language?”
Fred managed a rueful grin. “You never know…”
Sarah kept a tight grip on his hand as they followed the sheriff’s bobbing and swaying flashlight down the tracks. “I can swear real loud,” she said, still smiling. “Just say when.”
Fred hoped he wouldn’t have to.
He looked over his shoulder every twenty seconds for a while, but there was only a blackness that his imagination was only too happy to fill with ghostly miners and grasping hands. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and following Bill’s lead as they went down ever deeper.
The air got steadily warmer, almost uncomfortably so, and Fred breathed in an acrid tang that immediately brought to mind Charlie’s story of the dump sites he’d found in the shafts.
“Maybe this ain’t such a good idea, Bill,” he said.
The Sheriff slowed, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m starting to think that myself,” the big man replied. “Take a few seconds. I want to try the radio again.”
“Ain’t gonna get no signal down here, boss,” Fred said, and then stopped when he saw the look on the Sheriff’s face. The man needed to try something, anything.
Bill flicked on the handset.
“This is Sheriff Wozniak. If anyone can hear me, come back.”
He pressed the receive button and they waited. There was nothing but the hiss of static. He was about to press it again when the static cleared and a voice Fred had never expected to hear again spoke.
“Is that you, boss?”
Charlie?
“Good to hear you, old man,” the sheriff replied. Where are you?”
“Damned if I know. We fell into the hole; then the rest started coming down on top of us. We’ve been wandering around for a while, and I found another one of the feds’ trucks. That’s where we are now.”
“Anybody else there with you?”
“Got Ellen here. She’s banged up, but walking. There’s some dead folks too.”
“Anything you can use? Weapons?”
“I got a rifle and some light. And tell Doc we’ve got more morphine.”
“Can you get up to safety?”
“Nope.”
That one word spoke volumes. Fred knew Charlie well enough to hear the near despair in it, despite not being able to see the old man’s face.
“Stay put. We’re coming back up,” Bill said.
“Back up? How far down have you got?”
“We found some cart tracks. Reckon we’re in old Hopman’s workings. It certainly smells like it.”
“Then stay put,” Charlie replied. “We passed an exit a couple of minutes ago where I caught a whiff of something I recognized. We’re coming to you. Over and out.”
They stood, huddled close, waiting for any noise of approach. The sheriff shone the flashlight back up the tunnel and Fred tried to breathe calmly, despite his whole body wanting to either run, or hide… or both. He expected at any instant for a horde of pale figures to advance out of the darkness.
“Fred is dead,” a voice said, but whether it was close or far it was hard to tell in the narrow tunnel.
“I don’t like this one bit, Big Bill,” Fred said. “We can’t stay here.”
Sarah gripped his hand tighter as the sheriff replied.
“We’ll give them a couple of minutes. We can’t just leave them here.”
Why not? We did just that not too long ago.
He immediately felt ashamed of himself for the thought. He dug in his pocket and brought out a crumpled cigarette packet, having to smooth a smoke out before lighting it and sucking in a lungful that immediately dispelled the acrid tang. That, and the fact they were not under immediate attack, managed to give him some kind of control, but he was far from calm, even before the voice came again.
“Weemean.”
Shadows gathered just beyond the range of the sheriff’s light.
“Charlie?” Big Bill shouted. “Is that you?”
“Fred is dead,” a choir of voices replied.
A score of red demons walked forward, stopping at the farthest range of the light.
“Weemean.”
It had come to resemble a chant, rising in a repeated chorus that echoed around them.
“Back,” Bill said. “Head down the tunnel. I’m right behind you.”
Fred tried to lead the way, but Bill had to keep the light on the advancing demons, and Fred was only able to see a few yards ahead. He was forced to walk slowly.
Wouldn’t do to go falling into any holes.
Behind him, Bill cursed, and fired a short volley of bullets back up the tunnel, the sound almost deafening in the confined space.
“We need to go faster,” Doc shouted.
“Then we need some light this way,” Fred replied. “It ain’t safe otherwise.”
Bill fired another short burst back up the corridor, turned and sent a wash of light down the tunnel. It looked safe for at least twenty yards.
“Twenty paces,” he said to Fred. “Then give me a shout, and we’ll do it all again.”
“Yes, boss,” Fred said.
They repeated the twenty-pace routine five times, each time with Bill sending a volley of shots back up the tunnel before turning and lighting the way ahead. Fred, with Sarah still gripping tight to his hand, kept his eyes forward, peering into the gloom.
He felt warmer air on his face, just before the corridor took a sharp turn that opened out—a fact he only knew from the echoes that ran around them.
“Bill, I need some light.”
By now all four of them had entered what proved to be another small chamber, one with two other exits. Bill also shone the light up above, but this wasn’t a collapsed hole; a rock ceiling hung three feet overhead.