The Mountain King (16 page)

Not at all. 

She imagined that there were dully glowing eyes glaring at her from out of the darkness through every window. She wished she knew something about guns so she could load one of Mark’s rifles—just in case— but she didn’t, so even though it was much too early to go to bed, she went upstairs and shut herself in her bedroom. 

Chapter Twenty-five
 

Into the Cave 

Before Mark could get a fix on the voice calling for help, it stopped, fading away like a vagrant breeze. He was fairly certain that it had sounded from up above, but there was no way he could be sure. As soon as the mountainside was silent again, he wondered if he had heard anything at all . . . or if he had, if it was Phil or some other lost hiker. Was he imagining things, or could someone be trapped somewhere underneath any of these boulders? 

Mark called out several times, but his echo was the only answer. Maybe the stress and excitement of his encounter with the beast was making him imagine things. 

Maybe he was starting to lose it. 

But of one thing he was positive: there
was
some kind of creature, a creature unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of in the wild before, and it was lying dead on the rocks at the base of Katherine’s Leap. And from what he could figure, it was
not
the same creature he had been stalking since yesterday afternoon. He was positive that one had a serious wound in the left shoulder. The only wounds on this one were the entry and exit points of the three bullets he had just fired, and none of them had been in the beast’s shoulder. 

At first, Mark couldn’t see how he was going to scale the sheer cliff to get up onto the overhanging ledge. And until he got up there, there was no telling how wide or narrow it was. 

Once again, as he had earlier that morning, he started walking back and forth at the base of the cliff, carefully examining the steep sides. Whatever else had happened, the creature had definitely attacked him from above. That had to mean, if there was a way down, there was a way up. 

The bright sky hurt his eyes as he looked up at the side of the cliff. The sun was just skimming over the angled surface of the rock. Even the tiniest bump made a shadow several inches long. With the light angled like this, Mark noticed for the first time many grooves and notches in the side of the cliff which hadn’t appeared when the rock was shrouded in shadow. They looked as if they might even provide enough of a handhold to climb, but there sure as hell was not going to be an easy way up . . . not without ropes and climbing equipment. 

Although it would be much more time-consuming, Mark knew he could hike around to the east side of the mountain and then scale down The Zipper to the top of Katherine’s Leap. He could mark the location below with the remains of Phil’s backpack so it would be easy enough to find from above. 

But the voice he had heard—if it had been there at all—had sounded desperate and in pain. Mark didn’t want to waste most of the day climbing around to the more accessible side of Agiochook. 

No. One way or another, he had to scale this rock wall now. 

His frustration rose steadily as he studied the narrow overhang on the cliff. Like the rest of the cliff, it was basically featureless, but the sunlight was angled just right so it illuminated a narrow channel, what mountain climbers called a chimney, running straight up to the top of Katherine’s Leap. The chimney passed within a foot or so of the right edge of the overhang. Inside the funnel of the chimney, the rock looked like it was worn much smoother than the rest of the cliff side. 

“Bingo,” Mark said softly. 

He realized that the erosion could be the result of the weather and rock slides, but something told him it was more than that. 

Maybe it had been worn smooth by the creatures climbing up and down it countless times over the years. 

Maybe this was how the creatures got up and down the cliff. Last night in the moonlight, he thought he had seen the beast climbing up Katherine’s Leap before it disappeared halfway up. If it hadn’t been an illusion, this must be where it had gone. 

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Mark settled his day pack on his shoulders, and then braced his hands and feet along the inside of the shallow indentation. By applying steady outward pressure with both arms and legs, he was able to shinny up the steep cliff. 

His progress was frustratingly slow. It didn’t take long for the muscles in his arms, legs, and back to start burning with exhaustion. It seemed to take forever to get even ten feet off the ground. He kept glancing up at the shelf of rock above him, but struggle as he might to inch himself upward, it seemed to be getting no closer. 

But that wasn’t his major concern. Nagging at his mind was the thought that if there was another one of those creatures up there and it attacked him now, he would be helpless, unable even to unsling his rifle before the thing was on top of him. 

In spite of the chilly mountain air, sweat broke out on his brow and ran down into his eyes. He repeatedly tried to wipe his eyes on his shoulder, but that only smeared the moisture and made it worse. 

He was making his way closer to the overhanging rock, inch by painful inch, but all he could think was, even if another one of the creatures didn’t attack right now, every boost higher was only going to make the landing all that much more painful if he lost his footing and fell. 

By the time he was halfway up to the overhang, about forty feet above the ground, the muscles in his shoulders and back were knotted with pain. Every time he slid his feet up, grit would make them slide out from under him, and he would have to press back all the harder against the rock to keep from falling. His breath came in short, painful gulps. Every inhalation was like fire in his lungs. He tried not to look down at the rocks and imagine himself lying there, helpless with his legs or back broken as dozens of creatures closed in on him from all sides. 

Waves of pain racked his body. His arms and legs throbbed with every movement, but he could see that he was getting steadily closer to the overhang. His rifle kept banging against the cliff. Every time he leaned back against the rock, the bolt action would dig into his back just above his kidney; but it was too late to shift its position now. 

He
had
to get up to the ledge. 

Once he was there he could worry about what to do next. 

Grunting and swearing under his breath, he hiked himself upward until—thank God!—the overhang was only a few feet above him, almost within reach. As soon as it was eye level, he wished to hell he dared to make a grab for it, if only to relieve the pressure and pain in his body, but he knew it wasn’t time. Not yet. His feet had to be level with the overhang before he could chance making a grab like that. 

It was just a matter of time ... and effort. 

He kept pushing himself up until the ledge was level with his shoulders, then his hips, then his knees, and—finally—his feet. His arm and leg muscles were trembling violently from the strain. Convinced that he couldn’t hang on another second, he held his breath, shot one foot out onto the ledge and, at the same instant, pushed himself away from the cliff side. 

For a sickening instant, he felt himself suspended in the air, but then he landed, hard, and rolled onto the rocky shelf. After a few tumbles, he came to rest on his back. Lying there, looking up at the sky, he let out an exhausted sigh. For several seconds he just lay there until his hammering pulse gradually began to slow. Finally, he found the strength to sit up, wipe the sweat from his face, and check out where he was. 

The cliff was no more than eight feet wide and fifteen to twenty feet long. Bright sunlight washed the rock with a lemon glow and stretched his shadow out over the edge and down along the slanting cliff face. As he looked down, Mark experienced a moment of vertigo. Far below he could see the small, bright specks that were Phil’s backpack and jacket. A light breeze was blowing up the side of the cliff, straight into his face. It swirled around him like frigid water. The muscle tremors in his shoulders still hadn’t stopped, but he knew he had to inspect every inch of this ledge before he could drop his guard. And then he wanted to rest a while before deciding how he was going to get either all the way up to the top of Katherine’s Leap or back down. 

He walked to the other side of the overhang and couldn’t repress a grunt of surprise when he saw that one large chunk of rock was angled outward, and behind it there was a narrow, triangular opening that looked like it led into a cave. 

Stepping back and studying it for a moment, Mark realized that the opening was located just right so it would be difficult if not impossible to see from the ground except—maybe—from an extreme angle. As far as he knew, no one had ever reported a cave on the ledge halfway down Katherine’s Leap. The cave mouth was easily wide enough to admit his body. In fact, it was large enough so that the creature could have squeezed through it. 

Is this where these things live?
 

He unslung his rifle, bolted it, and took a few cautious steps forward. Then he crouched down on one knee and aimed into the opening. After clearing his throat, he called out, “Hey! Anyone there?” 

His voice echoed weirdly from inside the stony fissure. He could tell by the odd reverberation that this was not just a shallow niche in the cliff; there was a fairly large space inside. 

His hands tightened on the rifle stock as he aimed into the darkness and waited. After a few heartbeats, the distant, echoing voice came again, rustling like dead leaves in the gutter. 

“They’re gone now. Please . . . help us. Hurry.” 

Mark swallowed with difficulty and was unable to reply for a moment. Remembering that he had a flashlight in his day pack, he quickly unzipped the bag, took out the flashlight, clicked it on, and shined it into the opening. Dumbfounded and wondering what the hell was going on, he inched forward and stuck his head into the cool, moist darkness. 

“Who—? . . . Who are you?” Mark called in a ragged whisper. 

“You have to hurry . . . they might come back soon.” 

The voice reverberated in the darkness. 

Mark swept the flashlight beam back and forth along the angled stone walls. The rasping sound of his breath was oddly magnified as he inched further into the cool darkness, keeping his rifle braced in one hand, his flashlight in the other. 

He found himself in a narrow passageway that angled back into the mountain about twenty feet before it curved sharply to the left. The interior walls met at a peak about fifteen feet above his head. A track along the middle of the floor had buffed the stone to a dull gloss. Small stones and other debris, including large piles of wood, littered both sides of the entrance. 

Mark hesitated, wondering if it was possible that this might, in fact, be another one of the creatures calling to him. Had they learned how to mimic human speech, and were luring him into a trap? 

“Who are you?” he called out, forcing strength into his voice which he didn’t really feel. 

“Mark . . . ? Jesus Christ, man! Is that really you?” called the voice, which now sounded vaguely familiar. “For Christ’s sake, it’s me ... Phil. Please ... hurry!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Mark whispered. 

He started forward at a brisk walk, following the twisting cavern back into the bowels of Mount Agiochook. Rough angles of rock made numerous niches and ledges deep inside the cave’s recesses, but the major route was clearly marked by the scuff marks on the floor. Mark had the impression that feet had worn the stone smooth over the years—over centuries, perhaps. The cave twisted to the left, then opened up into a roughly triangular chamber. For a minute or two, Mark surveyed the area, but he saw no one there. A choking, rotten smell tainted the air, almost making him gag. He wondered if his ears had been playing tricks on him, if he was imagining all of this, but then the voice—now sounding exactly like Phil Sawyer’s voice—called to him again. 

“Where are you, Mark? Are you still outside?” 

“No,” Mark replied. “I—I’m in some kind of chamber.” 

“Keep coming. We’re all the way in back here.” 

The echoing voice sounded as if it were coming from ten different directions at once. Mark swept the flashlight beam from the uneven floor into dozens of narrow nooks and crannies in the walls. On the right side of the far wall, he noticed a narrow passage. Crossing the floor quickly, he scrambled through the narrow passage and came out into an even larger space. 

“What the hell—?” he said. No matter what he had been expecting, he wasn’t ready for what he saw. 

The cave opened up into a gigantic interior chamber that looked to be at least a couple of hundred feet square. The ceiling was a good fifty or sixty feet above him, shrouded with dense shadows which his flashlight couldn’t push aside. The floor was littered with large boulders that looked as if they had been purposely rearranged. Several flat stone were covered with piles of dried leaves, moss, and worn fur pelts.