Blood Lust: A Supernatural Horror (49 page)

My leg was on fire, as was my arm, but I could
n’t
slow down nor could I succumb to
my
mounting fever. Soon,
the infection would render me
helpless and the creature would have me
at its mercy or, I suspected, its lack of mercy
. I hoped the lingering effects of the antibiotics I had taken on the other occasions of infection would strengthen my immune system
and keep me going
long enough to kill the bastard.
I limped down the tunnel after it.

From f
arther down the tunnel, I heard the sound of pounding on one of the steel doors and smiled. The creature
had
discover
ed
I had sealed it
in.
I let out a
whoop of laughter
loud enough
for it to hear
.
T
he creature,
now aware of its
entrapment
, would want to kill me as soon as possible and search for another exit.
I stood my ground and waited.

2
6

Oliver McNeil waited impatiently at the main ventilator shaft
.
He checked his watch for the tenth time and swore.

“He’s been down there over
four
hours
.
”
His complaint was directed at
Jack Walmsley, shop foreman and one of the four men he had chosen to
accompany him
, but
he saw
Joria
Alvarez
’s
reaction and felt a twinge of sympathy for her
.
She had been pacing
nervously
, staring
eagerly
into the
depths of the airshaft since their arrival
hours earlier
. He still wasn’t sure why
Hardin had brought her, but he considered himself a good judge of character and he could
n’t
bring himself to trust her.
He thought maybe it had something to do with the way she would not look him in the eyes.
He
h
arbored
doubts that all of her concern was for Hardin’s welfare.

On the other hand, h
e knew
he could count on
Walmsley
.
They had started out together as mere boys swinging pick axes.
Walmsley’s thin frame belied his strength and steadfastness.
He had equal confidence in his other three companions.
He held out the
walkie-talkie
and scowled
. “
This thing is useless.
We’ve heard nothing since
what
might have been shots.
That was an hour ago.
”

“That cloud of dust came from a cave in
,” Walmsley
piped up
.
“
I could smell the clay.
The earth is rotten down there. He might be trapped.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” McNeil admitted. “I let the boy go down there alone and I
should have
kn
own
better.”

“So what do we do?” Walmsley asked.

“We have to go help him,” Joria interjected. “He’s in trouble.”

McNeil
considered her suggestion
.
His
gut told him Hardin needed help but he distrusted her eagerness to enter the tunnel.
Was he making a mistake?
Better safe than sorry
.
He turned to Walmsley.
“Do you have your rifle in your truck?”

Walmsley, an avid hunter smiled.
“Of course. A pistol, too.” His prized .367 Mauser hung from his gun rack and his .357 Magnum was in the glove box
, along with a box of ammunition
.

McNeil made his decision. “Go get them. We’re going down to check on
Hardin
.
” He looked at
Joria
. “I
know you want to go. Hardin said you’re some kind of expert, so I guess I’ll need you, but it could be dangerous down there.
”
He didn’t know how to interpret her enigmatic smile.
He
spoke to the others. “I
need someone to go with us. Any volunteers?”
One man held up his hand.
“You sure, Johnson?”
he questioned.

Sid
Johnson smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure. I work in an office all day. I need to see what it’s like down there.”

“Okay. You come with us.
Gonzalez
,
Finch
. You
can wait here
to keep watch
and
to
operate the basket.”

McNeil stared into the depths of the shaft, head cocked to one side listening for any sign of life. He was worried about Hardin.
He had read the newspaper accounts about the so-called vampire that had been killing the
girls and only half believed them until he had spoken with Hardin. If such a creature existed and was haunting his tunnels, it was his responsibility to eliminate it. He should have insisted on accompanying Hardin in the beginning. Hardin seemed like a good man, but he was too close to the creature
, determined to wage a one
-
man war against it and maybe
that
had cost him his life.

He had attempted to question Joria Alvarez about the creature and
had been
surprised to learn that she held a Doctorate in Cry
ptozoology. That was about all she had revealed. Her reticence to
divulge
anything concerned him.

Walmsley came back with the rifle strapped over his shoulder and a hunting knife hung from a scabbard on his belt. He handed the .357 and holster to McNeil.

“Here, you take this.
”

McNeil took the offered pistol and buckled the holster around his waist. He felt like one of the old time sheriffs in the westerns he was fond of watching – Wyatt E
ar
p, maybe.

“Open it up,” he called out to
Gonzalez and Finch
.

They lifted the heavy grate from the opening.
McNeil
, Walmsl
e
y
,
Johnson
and Joria
entered the open bucket and McNeil signaled Gon
zalez, the crane operator
,
to lower them into the hole.

“Lock it behind us,” he called out
to them
.

Warm air swept around them as the open mesh bucket descended
slowly into
the shaft.
No one spoke.
He took a secret delight in seeing the look of distress on Joria’s face as she clung to the sides of the bucket.
Familiar sme
lls – grease, the
metallic
odor of hot metal from brakes, earth,
rusty
steel – reminded McNeil of his early years
with the company
;
first
as a laborer, then
a
subway
motorman
on the north
-
south run
, eight trips daily,
and
finally
four years of night school paid for by the company to become a mining engineer.
He loved dirt. He loved the smell of it, the feel of it
on his fingers
. He could take a fistful of soil and tell you where in the tunnels it had come from
just by the differences in texture
.

The main airshaft was ten feet wide and just over one hundred and
fifty
feet deep. When they reached bottom and disembarked from the bucket. McNeil watched it disappear back up the shaft
with trepidation
.
He couldn’t back out now.
He waited until he heard the sound of the
door in the massive steel grate
as his men lowered and locked it
before looking around. There was still a lot of dust in the air
;
another indication there had been a cave in.
Dust motes twinkled in the beam of their flashlights.
He tried the
walkie-talkie
again, hoping to reach Hardin.

“Detective Hardin,
t
his is McNeil. Do you read? Over.” He waited a
full
minute, listening
but heard n
othing
but static
. He waved the others to follow
him
.

The main airshaft
’s
design
allowed sufficient
air
f
low in the
two tunnels
to keep the air, if not fresh, at least breathable
.
It was a distance of
over
ten
miles between stations and
hazardous amounts of
carbon monoxide and other gases could accumulate in the dead space
if not properly ventilated
.
The shaft was
a six-foot square
horizontal
tunnel
running from the vertical air vent
to the main line, a distance of four hundred feet. Their booted steps echoed
eerily
down the concrete lined tunnel.
When they reached the old
subway
tunnel,
McNeil eyed the
service door built into the floor of the tunnel.
It had not been moved. Hardin had not made it that far.
Beyond it, the massive ventilator fan whirred
dutifully
, drowning out any attempts at conversation, though no one seemed eager to talk
. P
erhaps
like McNeil, they
thinking about what they might encounter
in the tunnel
.
The fan
was set into the floor of the shaft, covered by heavy steel mesh bolted to the fan’s frame
that
could be removed for maintenance.
A
walkway
cross
ing
the gap
provided
access to
a second
identical
fan above the main
subway
l
i
ne
.

Walmsley wiped the accumulated dirt off the trapd
o
or
and lifted it
, fighting
the suction caused by the fan. He motioned for Johnson to hold the door while he descended the ladder first.
McNeil watched Walmsley’s head disappear through the opening, and then
helped Joria onto the ladder. He went last, closing the door behind him
. He coughed
as he entered the tunnel. Dust drifted in clouds, moving in eddies as the fan
fought
to remove it. There was a second odor too, a
musty
animal smell.
He noticed that Joria seemed to recognize the odor.

“What is it?” he questioned.

She jerked her head to point down the tunnel. “The
Chupacabra
,” she replied.

Her voice betrayed her awe of the creature. McNeil decided he would keep a close eye on her.

With Walmsley leading the way with his rifle, the
four of them
marched
down the tunnel. McNeil
noted the
nonfunctioning
lights and
made a mental note to get a crew
down
to replace the
m
.
His mind immediately weighed the cost of replacing them against bringing in portable lights
when needed.
H
is mother had raised him
to be thrifty and it had carried over into his job.
His actions to save money and curtail costs as a junior engineer had gotten him noticed by management and
fueled
the promotions that followed.

“I think the cave in occurred somewhere
toward the east end of the
tunnel,” Walmsley suggested
, noting the movement of the dust
.