William Meikle - The Hole

“Good to see you again, old man,” the sheriff said.

“You can thank me later,” Charlie said. Outside in the cavern the flare fizzled and steamed, burning itself out. Shadows grew darker.

“Weemean,” the chorus sounded from the passageways, deep and mournful.

“Time to go,” Charlie replied. He took another flare from the pocket of a flak jacket, pulled the thread and tossed it just past the mouth of the tunnel where they stood. “Lead on, Bill.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Down. As far down as we can go. It’s the only way out that I know of.”

They turned away as the second flare exploded in light. It threw flickering shadows ahead of them as they descended.

There was no time for questions. The sheriff led the way, with Doc at his side. Fred and Sarah, still hand in hand, followed, with Charlie and the Simmons woman bringing up the rear. Charlie barked out directions every time they came to a junction in an authoritative voice that brooked no argument.

They went down.

There was no further sign of the demons, but they heard them well enough, the chant, constant now, coming down the tunnel behind them.

Weemean.

“Shouldn’t we be going up?” Sarah whispered.

Fred didn’t answer. He was remembering an earlier conversation with Charlie, back before everything went to hell. Charlie had been talking about old man Hopman.

He had some kind of operation going on down at the deepest level.

“I think I know where Charlie’s heading,” he finally replied. “But I ain’t too sure we’re going to like what we find there.”

Janet stayed close to Big Bill as they headed down. It was getting warmer, and drier. The air tasted like stale smoke, tickling at the back of her throat. The flickering beam of the rifle-mounted flashlight started to give her a tension headache behind her left eye. She looked down, concentrating on the ground underfoot, following the parallel tracks. They were clearer here, as if used more recently.

It seemed that Charlie was following the same route. Every direction he gave always had a set of tracks at their feet. Janet saw signs that they were in worked tunnels; shoring timbers, tool marks on the rock, and even a small pile of ancient cigarette butts against the wall. And it became even more obvious when they passed through a completely timbered section and walked past an overturned cart that was too rusted up to move.

“Nearly there,” Charlie called out. “Just keep moving.”

Nearly where?

The chanting behind them seemed farther away now, as if whatever had attacked them had given up the chase. Now that there was some distance from the event, Janet’s thoughts turned from immediate survival to trying to rationalize what happened. But no matter how much she wanted it to make sense, a solution continued to elude her. Matters did not become any clearer when they arrived at the destination Charlie had been leading them to.

She knew they were there when Bill stopped suddenly, and swore loudly.

“Shit, Charlie. Where have you brought us?”

They looked out over a larger chamber. The far side was dominated by what looked like a recent collapse. What little light there was came up out of the hole, red and flickering, as if there were flames burning in the deep. Charlie and Ellen Simmons joined the other four at the tunnel mouth, looking out. The older man pointed to the left. There were two further tunnels there.

“The left one is a bunker, I think; old man Hopman’s bolt hole. The right one leads to a storeroom, then up and out to daylight. That’s the way we go.”

“What was over there?” Fred Grant asked, pointing at the smoking hole.

“That was where the old man dumped all the chemical shit. We shouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

Janet almost laughed.

“I wasn’t about to,” she said.

Big Bill looked up the tunnel behind them.

“You take the lead this time, Charlie. You know where you’re going. I’ll watch our backs.”

Janet hung back as the others moved out so that she could stay beside Bill.

Charlie led them around the wall of the cavern. He walked past the leftmost entrance without a glance. When Janet passed it, she glanced into the tunnel mouth. There was indeed a heavy iron door there, less than six feet away. It was closed, and despite her curiosity, she felt no immediate desire to see if it was locked. With Bill at her back she followed the others into the right-hand tunnel.

The walls flickered with dancing shadows on a shifting red background, like a disco in a nightmare. Charlie raised a clenched fist, and went still. The rest took their cue from the older man and stopped. The only sound was a distant crackle of flames.

Then they heard it, coming from straight ahead, the now-feared chant, coming from a multitude of voices.

“Weemean.”

The chant got closer.

Charlie looked around.

“Fight or flight?” he asked. He held two flares in his spare hand, the rifle in the other. “This is all we’ve got.”

“I can’t go back the way we came,” Ellen Simmons said, a note of pleading in her voice. “I just can’t.”

“And for once, I’m with Ellen,” Janet said in reply. “We’ve got to keep going forward.”

Charlie looked to Fred, who in turn looked to Sarah. The girl nodded.

“We girls need to stick together. Onward and upward.”

Bill laughed.

“You heard the womenfolk, Charlie. Lead on.”

Charlie threw Bill a salute.

“Just be ready to fall back if I say so,” the older man replied. “This ain’t the time for heroics, and I ain’t in a hurry to see any more dead folks.”

Without another word Charlie turned and started up the tunnel. Janet was surprised to see Ellen Simmons follow him, almost close enough to touch.

Something has happened there.

She wasn’t given time to think about it. Charlie led them into another open chamber. This one was a storeroom, and one that had been in use up until recently. There were dozens of large barrels of water, stacked containers of gasoline, and boxes of canned and dried food.

“What is this shit?” Fred Grant asked in a whisper.

Charlie turned back.

“I told you. Old Man Hopman had a bunker down here. And it looks like the family kept it stocked over the years since then. I guess paranoia runs in the family.”

Or madness .

She didn’t say it, for just then the chant rose again, coming out of the only other exit from the storeroom. Heavy footsteps, many of them, came closer at a run.

“Weemean.”

“Here we go,” Charlie said. “Get ready to run.” He stepped forward and flooded the tunnel ahead with light. As the first demon appeared he gripped the string on one of the flares, but didn’t pull it. More demons joined the first, then more still until a mass of them started to flood from the tunnel mouth.

“For God’s sake, Charlie!” Ellen Simmons shouted. The old man grinned, blew her a kiss, and pulled the string, in the same movement lobbing the flare into the approaching creatures.

Janet remembered to look away and close her eyes. She still got a bright yellow flash against her eyelids and a blast of heat on her face. There were no screams; no sound from the attackers. But when Janet opened her eyes, there was only an expanding puddle of gloop on the floor.

“Run!” Charlie shouted, and headed for the tunnel. The others didn’t need a second telling. They followed the old man, splashing though the remains underfoot.

They didn’t get far. The tunnel took a sharp turn ten yards in, but even before they reached the turning they heard the chant coming down from above them, and more heavy footsteps on the rock. Charlie strode forward, pulled the string on the last flare and lobbed it round the corner. He turned back almost immediately.