Mists of Dawn (81 page)

It
started
forward.

Tlaxcan
threw
his
feeble
torch
with
all
his
strength at
the
padding
figure
of
darkness,
and
the
thing
snarled hideously,
its
yellow
eyes
gleaming.
It
hesitated, brushing
the
flame
aside.

“Now,”
hissed
Mark.
“Back
together.”

To
have
only
one
direction
from
which
to
defend themselves,
they
backed
rapidly
into
a
corner,
with Mark
holding
the
torch
high
in
the
gloomy
air.
Fang growled
deep
in
his
throat,
no
longer
afraid
now
that the
danger
was
real.
He
knew
that
he
did
not
have
a chance
against
the
monster
before
him,
but
he
was determined
to
die
fighting.

The
thing
roared
again,
its
voice
wet
and
ugly.

“Whatever
we’re
going
to
do,
we’ll
have
to
do
it quick,”
Tlaxcan
said
evenly.
“We
need
these
torches to
get
out
of
here.”

They
had
their
backs
to
the
wall,
with
no
room
to maneuver.
Their
supply
of
light
was
going
up
in
smoke. When
the
light
gave
out,
and
left
them
alone
in
the darkness
with
that
monster—Mark
tried
not
to
think about
it.

They
would
have
to
act,
and
act
now.
But
that
thing 
in
the
cave
was
not
going
to
sit
“back
and
smile
indulgently
while
they
figured
out
some
way
to
dispose
of
it. They
would
have
to
kill
it
instantly
or
not
at
all.
A mere
wound
would
simply
madden
it
into
a
headlong charge
after
its
tormentor,
and
anything
fifteen
feet high
was
apt
to
take
a
lot
of
killing.

They
had
no
choice.
Tlaxcan
had
evidently
figured things
out
the
same
way
Mark
had,
and
it
was
characteristic
of
the
man
that
he
did
not
even
consult
his friend
to
see
who
would
risk
his
life
first.
With
a
faint smile
on
his
proud
face,
Tlaxcan
stepped
forward
to do
battle
against
the
towering
monster
with
a
bow and
arrow.

Tlaxcan
!”
Mark
reached
out
and
bodily
pulled
his, friend
back
into
the
relative
safety
of
the
corner., Tlaxcan
tensed,
and
eyed
Mark
with
the
questioning
look
of
one
who
thinks
his
companion
insane. “You
have
no
weapons,”
Tlaxcan
pointed
out
reasonably.
“Your
job
must
be
to
hold
the
light
steady.” “You
are
mistaken,”
Mark
replied.
“I
have
this.” Mark
drew
his
.45
and
showed
it
to
Tlaxcan.
Before them
in
the
cave
the
monster-thing
shuffled
its
huge invisible
feet
and
snarled
an
angry
warning.
Fang growled
back
at
him,
making
up
in
heart
for
what he
lacked
in
size.

Tlaxcan
smiled
patiently.
“You
are
brave,
my
friend,” he
said,
“but
bravery
is
sometimes
ill-advised.
You
cannot
possibly
harm
the
Dweller
with
that
tiny
weapon; you
could
not
even
get
close
enough
to
use
it.”

Mark
wasted
no
time
trying
to
explain
to
Tlaxcan the
principle
of
firearms.
“This
weapon
is
magic,”
he said
instead.
“With
it
I
have
killed
the
Mroxor,
and
it will
not
fail
us.
Let
me
try,
at
least.
I
will
not
have to
move
from
this
spot.” Tlaxcan
hesitated.
He
knew
that
his
friend
had
the 
reputation
of
having
strong
medicine,
and
he
knew too
that
his
chances
against
the
thing
in
the
cave
with a
bow
and
arrow
were
slim
almost
to
the
vanishing point.

“You
hold
the
light,”
Mark
said,
thrusting
the
torch into
his
hand.
“I
will
try
my
magic.”

Tlaxcan
held
the
torch
aloft,
and
with
his
other hand
he
gripped
his
bow.
Magic
was
all
very
well,
he knew
from
experience,
but
it
had
a
tendency
to
be
undependable.
Sometimes
it
worked,
sometimes
it
did not.
It
never
hurt
to
have
something
in
reserve.

Mark
himself
was
far
from
feeling
as
confident
as he
sounded.
To
be
sure,
his
.45
with
its
three
bullets was
a
more
effective
weapon
than
a
bow
and
arrow could
be,
even
when
the
more
primitive
weapon
was handled
by
such
an
expert
as
Tlaxcan.
But
a
pistol,
for all
his
talk
about
magic,
could
not
perform
miracles.
A .45
packed
a
formidable
wallop,
but
it
was
not
accurate
even
at
close
range.
What
he
needed
was
a
high-powered
rifle
with
rapid-fire
action,
and
even
then
he would
not
have
felt
completely
secure.
He
was
under no
illusions
that
one
shot
from
the
.45
would
knock the
monster
over
like
a
rabbit.
That
thing
had
bulk, and
he
felt
oddly
like
someone
trying
to
stop
a
tank with
an
air
rifle.
The
thing
roared
again,
deafeningly. It
started
forward.

It
was
now
or
never.
Mark’s
nerves
were
steady,
and he
managed
to
think
of
the
nightmare
creature
simply as
a
target.
He
ignored
the
roaring
sound
and
aimed carefully
at
the
thing’s
yellow
eye.
He
tried
to
breathe evenly,
and
he
remembered
to
squeeze
the
trigger gently,
so
as
not
to
throw
the
weapon
off
its
aim.
He could
feel
cold
sweat
dripping
down
his
body.

Mark
fired.
The
.45
went
off
with
a
slamming
blast in
the
still
air
of
the
cave,
and
Mark
had
a
wild
fear that
the
vibrations
from
the
shot
might
start
a
landslide,
sealing
them
in
forever
or
burying
them
under tons
of
rock.
The
gun
kicked
back
against
his
hand, and
one
yellow
eye
winked
out.

A
terrible
roar
of
pain
filled
the
cave
and
Mark
knew that
his
shot
had
struck
home.
But
the
thing
was
not dead;
all
Mark
could
see
now
was
one
yellow
eye
and the
vast
bulk
of
darkness
beneath
it.
The
monster screamed
in
agony,
and
launched
itself
at
them
like an
avalanche.

Mark
did
not
fire
wildly.
He
aimed
for
the
other
eye and
squeezed
the
trigger
again.
The
shot
boomed
out when
Mark
could
already
feel
the
thing’s
fetid
breath upon
him,
smell
the
underground
monster’s
terrible nearness.
Dimly,
he
was
aware
of
Tlaxcan
dropping the
torch
and
loosing
an
arrow
into
the
black
bulk. Fang
growled
deep
in
his
throat
and
charged
to
meet the
attack.

But
it
was
not
enough.
The
warm
and
stinking
mass of
the
monster
kept
coming,
and
before
Mark
had
time to
fire
his
last
shot
it
was
upon
him.
He
thrust
out
his hands
futilely
and
was
thrown
back
against
the
cave wall,
dropping
his
gun
in
spite
of
himself.
He
closed his
eyes,
waiting
for
the
crush
of
unseen
jaws,
feeling the
terrific
weight
of
the
thing
against
him.