The Catacombs (A Psychological Suspense Horror Thriller Novel) by Jeremy Bates Read Free Book Online

what’s my dork name?” Rob asked.
    “Rosbif,” Danièle said immediately. “And
you, Will, I do not know yours. I will think about it.”
    A middle-aged man turned the corner at the
end of the street and approached us. He was walking a brown
dachshund on a leash. Pascal clipped a ragged utility belt around
his waist from which dangled a 6D Maglite flashlight and Leatherman
hand tools. He retrieved the last two helmets from the bag, handed
one to Danièle, then tossed the bag back inside the campervan and
locked the door.
    Everyone stepped aside so the man and his
dog could pass. I expected him to stop and ask us what we were
doing. He only nodded politely and continued on his way, tugging
the sausage dog along to keep up.
    “He doesn’t find us strange?” I said when he
was out of earshot. “We look like sewer workers or something.”
    Danièle shrugged. “He is aware of what we
are doing. Many people dressed like us come and go this way.”
    I spotted a covered manhole in the center of
the road. “Is that the entrance?”
    “No, it is this way. Follow me.”
    She started away, her helmet tucked under
one arm. I shrugged my backpack over my shoulder and followed. We
crossed a vacant lot and came to a crumbling dry-stone fence. It
was as high as my chest and thick. I gave Danièle a boost, then
heaved myself up, so I was sitting on the capstone next to her. We
shoved off together, landed on spongy dead leaves, and scrambled
down the slope of a steep, forested ravine. When we burst free of
the vegetation, we were standing among a pair of abandoned railway
tracks.
    “Where are we?” I asked, turning in a
circle, seeing only shadowed foliage surrounding us on all sides.
The earth was carpeted with more dead leaves and lichen. Everything
smelled lush and fresh.
    “The Petite Ceinture,” Danièle said. “It was
a railway track that used to circle Paris, sort of like a defense,
yes? The trains moved the soldiers from one point to the next
quickly. It has not been used for a very long time.”
    I flicked on my headlamp.
    “No, not yet,” Danièle said. “We do not want
to attract attention.”
    I frowned. “Who’s going to see us here?”
    “Not yet,” she repeated.
    I turned off the light just as Rob and
Pascal joined us. Rob was cupping his left eye with his hand,
cursing inventively. “Pissing branch,” he complained.
    Danièle smiled. “You must be more careful,
Rosbif.”
    “Fuck off, Stork the Dork.”
    Still smiling triumphantly, as if she had
been the one to poke Rob in the eye, Danièle headed off along the
tracks. The rest of us fell into line behind her, single file. The
rusted rails and rotted wooden ties were nearly overgrown with
weeds. I began playing a game in which I was only allowed to step
on the ties. If I missed one, and my foot touched the crushed stone
that formed the track ballast, I had to start my count from the
beginning. On my third go I was up to one hundred sixteen when
Danièle stopped suddenly. I bumped into her from behind and saw
several flashlight beams maybe a hundred feet in the distance.
    Pascal brushed past me and conversed with
Danièle in serious tones.
    “Who are they?” I asked.
    “Other cataphiles,” Danièle said.
    “Oh.” I had thought they were the police.
“So what’s the problem?”
    “There is no problem. Most cataphiles are
friendly, but some…” She shrugged. “What you are on the surface,
you are underground.”
    “So a tool’s a tool,” Rob said. “Who gives a
shit? What are they going to do? Looks like there’s only three of
them.”
    Danièle said, “I think we should let them
enter the catacombs first, then we will follow afterward.”
    Rob snorted disapproval. “And what if they
don’t move for an hour? We’re on a schedule, right?”
    Danièle looked at Pascal. He nodded.
    “Okay,” she said. “We will go. But Rosbif,
Will, do not speak English.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “Even friendly cataphiles, they do not