The Hope by James Lovegrove Read Free Book Online Page B

I knew sweet nothing about guns and I missed and damn near broke my wrist on the recoil. The beam arced up vertically and the gun leapt out of my hands. At the same time, Fred scrambled up and over, caught the gun, pumped, fired and pointed at the entrance with his free hand. I saw Tommy appearing, hauling himself over with his face looking like it was thinking about something else, nothing to do with the present. He groped for a handhold, with his body jackknifed over the rim, stomach to the floor of the passage. I saw a flash of light behind me and guessed that Fred had taken out another of the things. I reached for Tommy and pulled at his sleeve, and as he came over I saw Stan’s hands, one clutching his flashlight, a blinding circle.
    Tommy and I did try to pull him up as quickly as possible but we were dazzled and when you’re as scared as we were no part of your body seems to work properly except your bladder. Sounds like I’m making excuses, doesn’t it? In that passage, dark everywhere, the floor wet with blood and water and God knows what, it was a miracle we got Stan out at all.
    He was very calm about it. We pulled and at last he came up from out of the chamber. If we had been quicker, he might have been OK, who can say? But there was one of the things attached to the back of his leg, steel teeth sunk into his flesh and pulling one of his tendons free.
    Tommy produced a bowie knife from his belt and took a slice off the thing’s back. He took two more chunks out of it before it let go and fell off.
    We got to our feet and propped Stan between us. Fred took in the situation at a glance and set off ahead, gun poised. Nobody else was coming out of that chamber, it was obvious. No man, at least. All we could do was follow Big Fred, the man with the gun, and move as fast as possible.
    And if I’d known at that point that Fred had run out of cartridges, I wouldn’t have gone a step further. Fred realised this, I think. At least, he never told us this tiny, unimportant fact – “Uh, sorry guys. No shells.” – until much later.
    For minute after minute we limped on, with every step expecting to feel something fly at our backs or flop on to our heads and bite.
    Fred stopped short. The flashlight was pointed dead in front of him.
    There was the pipe with his oilcloth tied around it and on it squatted one of the things, the biggest one I’d seen yet, coiled over the pipe with its tail end hanging down and twitching and twisting. It was looking at us with all of its eyes, looking at Fred to be exact. From its teeth dangled a large gold earring, with the ear still attached.
    “Kill it! Kill the motherfucker!” I shrieked, knowing Fred couldn’t hear me, knowing also he felt the same way.
    “And this is the weird part,” said Charlie.
    “The weird part?” I exclaimed.
    Fred and the thing weren’t moving, were just staring at each other. I saw Fred’s pus-splattered face and I saw an understanding in his eyes. They were sharing something, our boss and their general. They were facing off. What passed between them wasn’t for ordinary joes like Stan or Tommy or me, and it was a secret which I for one could live without ever learning and be happy.
    The moment ended and the thing dropped Falstaff’s earring and ear at Fred’s feet, the way a dog offers its master a bone, only Fred wasn’t its master (or it a dog). He bent to pick the earring up, found me looking at him, and left it where it was. His eyes were dead.
    The thing slithered along the pipe and up the wall, disappearing into the darkness. Fred signed for us to move on.
    The vibration of the turbines got deeper and louder and for once I was glad to feel it. Stan wasn’t getting any easier to carry and his attempts at walking were pathetic by now. He had lost blood, lots.
    A wedge of weak light appeared in the distance up ahead and it got bigger and brighter and I felt like I was waking up. We got to the hole and Fred slid into it, then we pushed