Chapter Twenty-Seven
Officer Jane Levy fought to breathe. Her stomach felt like it had steel rebar poking through it. For some reason, she giggled.
The action brought with it waves of white-hot agony.
She was dying. Her wounds were mortal ones. Plain and simple.
No starting over, girl! a
voice said.
Now if you were in a video game,
it continued,
you'd be fine. You might have to restart the levelâwhat a pain in the ass that always isâbut at least you'd get to live again.
She never imagined how she would die, but if she had, it would never be from a fucking mystical creature. Damn ugly shit had stuck her like pig.
But she hadn't squealed like a pig. No, sir. She was tough, like her momma. Her momma had raised her well. One of the main things her momma had instilled in her daughter when she was about twelve-years-old was not to be a pussy. Taking shit from others and backing down when you didn't need to was for the weak.
Her momma had been weak. For a while, at least. But then one day, she stepped up and made a decision, a good decision, and killed Jane's dad. It was a clean and honest kill. A kill that made the world a bit better.
The man had been holding a broken bottle to little Jane's throat, like that damn goblin had held its claw to her throat just a short time ago. Her father had been drunk at the time.
When wasn't he drunk, giiiiiiiirrrrrrrrl?
“Drunk as a skunk,” her mother used to say whenever her father came home late from the bars, which was more often than not. The man was a mean drunk, too.
“When we see a skunk,” her mom had said, “we don't go near it, do we?”
Jane shook her head. “No, Momma.”
“We don't stick around it neither,” her mother said. “We go in the opposite direction. Skunks have a way of spraying large areas and you don't want to get caught in its spray. It could take weeks before the damage is gone.”
Her father was a drunk skunk a lot. So when the skunk that was drunk came home, little Jane went away from him. Usually up to her room where she stayed QUIET on her bed and read a book. Sometimes though, she would hide UNDER her bed if she heard her father's HEAVY footsteps coming up the stairs. On occasion, he'd be angry with her for leaving a toy out or not being there to greet him. Her momma said all the reasons he gave when he was drunk as a skunk didn't count. They were meaningless, and she should pay them no mind. Her momma always said her daddy loved her, but little Jane didn't think so. Jane asked IF Daddy loved Momma. Momma said, “Of course.” But Jane never BELIEVED her.
Jane's momma was ALWAYS hurting, both physically and mentally, though as a child, Jane didn't understand the mental part. It took until she was twelve to fully grasp what her mother had gone through.
Her daddy HIT her momma A LOT. Jane couldn't count the number of times she'd have to listen to them fighting. Screaming, yelling and cursing each other until Daddy HURT Momma so she'd SHUT UP. The sound of SMACKing and THUDding penetrated the floor and into Jane's bones.
But her momma was TOUGH and survived it all. Protected Jane always. Distracted her daddy when he set his mind on her.
Jane loved all animals, but had learned to HATE the skunk. When she got her license and saw one crossing the road, she'd sped up and ran it over. After doing so, she cried. She imagined the skunk was her daddy, returned from the grave in true form. She wanted to KILL him, even though she knew he was already dead. As a little girl, she'd wished him dead many times. Wished she was MEAN enough to do it. But a little girl like her didn't stand a chance against SUCH a big, mean man. She'd kept a lot of pent up ANGER about her father. So the skunk took the brunt of her fantasy that day, and she felt badly afterward. She allowed the smell to remain on her vehicle as PUNISHMENT for what she'd done.
Jane never got counseling. She didn't need it. Lots of kids grew up with drunken, mean fathers and turned out fine. She was tough, and no shrink was going to PROBE her mind and fuck it up worse. She knew the signs of a BAD relationship. Of a drinker. An ABUSER. Sure, they could be sneaky, but she was a cop and a good cop that could sniff out the dregs of society. She knew the stories of little girls who grew up with drunken fathers and wound up FALLING into the same boat as she grew up in.
LIKE momma LIKE daughter.
Hell no! That wasn't going to happen. Skunks had an odor whether they sprayed or not. She would NEVER, ever marry a skunk.
Thinking about her mother as she came back to reality, back to the tunnel, she smiled. The memories were bad. Dark. But she loved her mother so much. The woman had saved her.
Opening her eyes, she saw how dark it was. There was some light, but she couldn't see it too well. Everything was shrouded in a haze.
Aren't you afraid of the dark, girl?
Shit, she was. Or had been. She'd forgotten about the dark. About hating it.
The sounds of people fighting filled her ears again.
“Daddy?” she called out. “Are you here in the dark with me, Daddy?”
Officer Levy was gone again. The woman's mind kept slipping into the past.
Little Jane didn't want to see her daddy. Not tonight. He was mean. A goblin who tried to kill her.
He's here, girl. RUN!
Little Jane wondered if he was drunk as a skunk. If he was, she would kill him this time. Her momma had done so, and if he was back, then she'd do it too.
White.
Hot.
Pain.
Officer Levy came to. She opened her eyes and blinked away the fog. Shit, how long had she been out? She hurt badly and tried to remember what had happened.
Then it came back to her, and the news was bad for her. She was dying and not going to be rescued like the time her momma had saved her.
Hale, her chief. He was alive. He'd tried to save Willows, and then the goblin had killed him. The ugly little shit had made a deal and reneged on it. Like her father had reneged on so many promises of getting sober.
Shit, her mind wasn't all there. She was finding it hard to stay in the present. With reality. She heard sounds of struggle. It wasn't her father back from the dead but her commanding officer. He was in trouble. She may be at death's door, but she hadn't gone through it, yet.
Officer Jane Levy opened her eyes and sat up, groaning through the razor blades in her gut. A wave of blackness threatened to take her, but she refused to let it. The scene before her was blurry, a motion picture of altering shapes.
She willed her vision clear and saw the goblin and Hale fighting. Flames danced as claw hit dagger. The combatants moved in a circular pattern. Then Hale thrust the dagger. The goblin stepped around the strike and whacked Hale in his head with the back of its hand. The chief went down, his weapon falling and skidding away. The goblin was on top of him. Hale grabbed its wrists, preventing it from sinking its claws into his face. Green ooze dripped from the creature's maw.
The goblin's nails moved closer to Hale's face. The Chief of the Manteo police force was clearly struggling. His arms were shaking and looked ready to give. He let out hisses of breath, like a weightlifter bench pressing more pounds than he should. The goblin added another attack and snapped its jaws at Hale, but the creature's head wasn't close enough to reach himâyet.
Looking to her right, Levy saw the shine of her weapon. The bone dagger was calling to her. She reached for it and was rewarded with lightning flashes of pain. The item was out of her reach.
Fuck.
She didn't have much time left. She was cold. So cold. Looking at the ground around her, she saw that she was sitting in a pool of her own blood. It seemed like more was outside her body than in.
Digging deep, she used her left arm and pushed herself away from the wall. She tipped over, landing on her side. Pain flooded her chest, shooting into her groin and legs. Red-hot irons were prodding her.
Close, girl! Those claws were like iron, but not hot at all.
Officer Levy had no idea where the voice had come from. Somewhere deep within her mind. A side effect of dying, she thought.
Lying there, she felt herself fading. She wanted to sleep, but the pain kept her up. Hale needed her. She kept reminding herself of this. He needed to make it out of the tunnel and get help. Maybe even the fucking Marines.
Using her fingers, she spider-walked them through her blood and over the rough cave floor to the bone dagger. Touching it was euphoric. She wrapped her fingers around the handle. Energy flooded into her, the pain racking her body dulled. She sucked in a breath of fetid air much easier than moments ago, and rose to her feet. Her mind was clear.
She marveled at the magical weapon in her hand, never wanting to let it go. It was an impossible thing. But
the proof was in the pudding
as her momma used to say.
She'd been given an extension on her life, however brief it would be. And she wasn't going to waste it. She ran at the goblin, its claws an inch from Hale's face, and plunged the bone dagger deep into its head. The creature let loose a quiet gasp, and then fell limp onto Hale.
He stared at his savior in complete disbelief.
With the goblin dead, the bone dagger was no longer supplying energy. Officer Jane Levy's grasp slipped from the handle. Her legs lost all their strength and she crumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hale thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He had no idea how Levy was still alive, let alone how she had gotten up, walked over to him and stabbed the goblin. He'd thought he was done for. His arms had been about to give out.
He pushed the goblin off him and sat up.
Levy was sprawled on the ground. She'd gone down hard. Her eyes were closed.
Hale reached for his flashlight and positioned it so the light shone on her. Her eyes opened, lids halfway. She looked exhausted. Hale saw her abdominal area and his throat tightened. There was so much blood.
He got close to her and cradled her head.
“Did I get him?” Levy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, you sure as hell did,” Hale said, smiling. He fought back tears.
“That's good,” she said and smiled back as her eyes closed.
He wanted to tell her to stay with him. He'd just seen her up and she had looked well. But he knew it was the magical weapon that had given her temporary reprieve from her injuries. He picked up the dagger and shoved it into her hand, hoping it would help her, but nothing happened. It seemed to only produce power during battle. Somehow, the weapon knew when there was a fight and when the wielder needed strength.
Still, realizing all that, he wasn't ready to let her go.
“Officer Levy,” he said, shaking her. Tears were running down his cheeks now. “I'm ordering you not to leave. Stay with me.” She was a limp form. He checked her for a pulse and found none.
Hale closed his eyes and cried. Through the sobs, he told her how sorry he was. He was proud of her. Proud of them all.
He didn't want to leave her, but he couldn't stay. She was dead and the living needed to get moving, or there were going to be many more casualties.
Hale rose to his feet, flashlight in hand. He picked up his bone dagger too and slid it into his belt. Ready to leave, he realized two magical weapons were better than one and pulled out the dagger piercing the goblin's skull.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The goblin king slammed its fist down when it learned that its surface goblins had been killed. Its fire-filled orbs blazed brighter. Shock waves of its displeasure were felt throughout its kingdom. Goblins shuddered, some running in fear, others ready to go to battle.
The great demon stood and yanked on the chain that draped along the side of its mountainous throne. The naked woman who was manacled to it, flew upward from the cavern's floor as if she weighed less than a grain of sand. She sailed past the goblin king and into the air. When she came down, she landed in his arms like a bride being carried by her groom.
She was beautiful and had been a gift from the devil himself.
The goblin king raised her above its head, gripping her by her upper chest and thighs. Its fiery talons melted the flesh they came in contact with. Roaring, it pulled its arms in opposite directions. The skin along her abdomen split open in multiple places before tearing completely as she came apart. The goblin king opened its mouth as her blood and entrails spilled forth. It gnawed on her opened lower half like it was a chicken bone, leaving nothing but a pair of legs, which it tossed to its two guards to finish. Then it slurped out the organs from the upper part of the woman's corpse, leaving nothing but floppy skin, meaty arms and the head. The demon flung the remains into the middle of his chamber. Nearby goblins dove onto the meat and devoured it down to the bone in seconds.
One more child, and the goblin king could fulfill its right to lead its army to the surface. Two humans knew about its plan. It hadn't worried about the drunk. But the other one, a police officer, was trouble. If the portal was destroyed before the fifth child was turned, the goblin king would have to wait for almost another century to pass before it could return.
The goblin king summoned two of its most dangerous and powerful goblins, then told them to find the humans and kill them. Daylight had broken and they would be weaker than normal, but it had no choice. It needed to stop the humans from destroying the portal before it had a chance of completing the ritual.
Chapter Thirty
Hale fell for the second time since he exited the tunnel, landing on muddy ground this time. The soft earth made for an easier impact than the one he'd taken a few minutes ago. He needed to slow down and watch the terrain better, but his desire to reach reinforcements was too strong.
Since emerging from the tunnel, he had been running at full speed. Seeing the brightly lit sky was a welcoming sight, something he was never sure he'd see again. His tired and battered body was recharged, his vigor back.
He was surprised not to see Don and a party of cops waiting for him. Maybe the hunter couldn't get his dogs to cooperate after they had become uneasy, and sent the officers in on their own. He wondered where they were, if they had gone off course. If they were nearby, they were being ultra-quiet. He heard nothingânot the chatter of voices, the shuffling of forest debris or the snapping of twigs and branches. Nothing. Out here, a person couldn't help but be noticed.
He snatched the radio from his belt and went to make a call, but the walkie-talkie wasn't working. He checked it and saw a chunk of the plastic had broken off. Shredded wires lay inside. He tossed the useless device aside and pulled out his cell phone. No service. He wasn't surprised not to find a signal at his current location.
Replacing the phone to his pocket, he cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and called out. “Hello, is anyone there?” His voice didn't travel far before it died. “This is Marcus Hale.” If someone was relatively near, they would've heard him. But, it looked like he was on his own.
Without wasting another second of his newfound energy, he took off running into the woods. He followed the trail of broken branches, shoe and paw prints back the way they had come. A couple of times he lost the trail, but was able to pick it back up relatively easily. On the way into the forest, the group of cops had broken plenty of branches, leaving a rather simple trail for Hale to follow and find his way back to the dead end road. The brush was no less thick, but Hale rushed through it and accepted the pokes and scratches he received from the surrounding branches and shrubbery.
Pushing himself up from the ground where he had just fallen, he saw that his already badly stained uniform was plastered with mud. He didn't care and took off running again, until he entered a small clearing and almost ran into two severed Bloodhound heads that were hanging by entrails from a tree branch. Their eyes were missing. Below the canine heads was their owner's head. Don's eyes had been plucked out too, leaving gaping black and bloodied sockets. Hale glanced around for the bodies, but didn't see any.
Another set of casualties that were on him.
If Hale allowed himself, he'd spiral into madness. Or perhaps a state of absolute depression. One he'd never fully come out of. He'd watched his subordinates, noâhis friends die. But he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything that might hinder his mission. He needed to have a one-track mind. Be a cop more than ever.
He ran past the heads and continued onward, ignoring the pain in his body. A few minutes later, he could see he was nearing the dead end road he'd come in on. Relief flooded through him and he felt the stirrings of laughter within his belly. It gave him the push he required.
Hale's legs worked harder. He was like a man who had been wandering the desert for days with no food or water that had come upon a village. He knew he should slow up and save his energy. There was a lot to still do and no time to rest.
The chief had tunnel vision now, only seeing the road ahead. A police car was there. No, two police cars. He smiled, ready to burst with hysterical laughter. Thirty more feet andâ
Hale tripped over something and went down.
He pushed himself up, ready to call out that he was there, when he came face to face with a corpse wearing a Manteo police uniform. It was Gil Andrews. The young cop was missing both his arms and one eye. Spaghetti-like strings dangled from the socket. Behind Andrews' body was the corpse of a sheriff's deputy, the man's golden star protruding halfway out of his mouth. A gaping hole took up his chest where his heart had been. Looking around, Hale saw six more bodies, all of them law enforcement. He staggered backward and nearly fell when he tripped over something. Turning around, he saw a leg poking out of a blueberry bush. From the tan pants, he knew it was a sheriff's deputy.
Hale hoped to find someone alive, but knew it was a ridiculous notion. The goblins had made sure no one lived. Considering the lack of bloodshed, when compared to other goblin kill sites, Hale guessed the little creatures had moved quickly so they could get back to the tunnel. Officer Willows must have taken them out when he was watching the tunnel's entrance, which was why Hale and the others hadn't run into them. There was also the chance the goblins were heading to town, ready to run amuck. Stealing more children or simply out on a killing spree. The truth was Hale had no idea where they were and if they were alive. He hadn't seen any dead goblin bodies outside the cave. But that didn't mean anything. The little fuckers disintegrated when they died, or shortly thereafter. At least the one at the coroner's office had.
He pulled out his cell phone, saw it had a signal, and called dispatch.
“Is that you, Hale?” The voice belonged to Sherri Mills. Hale would recognize her sweet southern voice anywhere. He wondered how in the hell she knew it was him, then remembered the new Caller ID system they had installed.
“Yeah, Sherri, it's me,” Hale said.
“Thank goodness. What in the blazes is going on out there? I can't get anyone on their radios or phones.”
They're all dead, pretty lady
, he thought and felt himself wilt on the inside.
He was the last cop left, or close to it. He was sure there were still a few of the sheriff's department people around. Maybe a Manteo cop or two. He hadn't spent much time trying to identify the slaughtered bodies back in the woods. He wasn't able to. Couldn't. Not then. When things got back to normal, he'd make sure every dead cop was identified and given a proper burial. But right now, he was the island's last hope. Calling in a few deputies was only going to get them killed.
“Sherri, I need you to do something for me, you hear?” Hale asked.
“Hale, please tell me what's going on,” Sherri said, her voice desperate. “Is it terrorists? Are we under attack?”
“No. Not in the sense you'd think,” Hale said. “I want you to get off the island. Pack up a few essentials, grab your family and leave until I get in touch with you. Tell as many people as you can. Hell, call everyone. Just don't stick around to do it. Call as you're leaving the island and then whenever you get somewhere.”
“Oh my goodness,” Sherri said. “This is bad, isn't it, Hale? Real bad?”
“Everything's going to be all right if you do as I say. Tell people there are toxic fumes heading toward the island from a ship offshore, and evacuation is a must. Call the radio stations and tell them to broadcast it. Don't mention terrorists or some of them country boys might want to stick around and fight.”
Hale knew the story was preposterous, but with the current climate of goings on in the world, the public would air on the side of caution and believe it.
“Okay, Hale,” Sherri said. “I'll do it. But I'm really scared.”
“Just take care of the calls as you move, and get off the island,” he said and ended the call.
Hale thought about alerting Special Agent Howard. Tell him everything and get reinforcements. Have the man send at least one hundred agents. More if possible. But he knew that wouldn't happen. The FBI would send a couple at most to investigate, even if he told them his entire police force had been wiped out. There'd be confusion and issues. He'd most likely be relieved of duty until the whole mess was sorted out. Sure, Special Agent Howard might buy the goblin story, but would his superiors? Unlikely. Not until it was too late. So he decided not to involve them, yet.
Before leaving the woods, Hale went back to each corpse and collected the dead officers' ammo magazines, along with another 9mm Glock, a .45 and a .357 Magnum. Doing this forced him to identify the dead. Officers Miller, Sacks and Gomez were from the Manteo Police Department. The rest were Sheriff Department deputies, all men Hale had known or at least talk to before. He felt the anxiety of loss coming on and crushed it. He wouldn't crack now. Wouldn't think about them. Not now.
Loaded up, his pockets bulging and arms full, he walked to the road where the law enforcement vehicles were parked. Hale found the Manteo police car with its doors unlocked and dumped the guns and all but one of the 9mm magazines onto the back seat. He then loaded the magazine he kept into his own gun.
About to climb into the driver seat, Hale realized he didn't have the vehicle's keys. He had to go back to the bodies. He pounded the Ford Interceptor's steering wheel in frustration.
Getting out of the car, he returned to the scene of the slaughter and rifled through Miller's, then Sacks' pockets, where he found the Ford's keys.
Thirty seconds later, he was back behind the wheel of the Interceptor. He shoved the key in and brought the engine to life. He slammed the car into Drive and peeled away.