Free Something of the Night by Paul Cave Page A

about them snapping at bare skin with icy teeth.
The engine roared and gears ground together as it struggled to carry its load. With
a shifting of gears the truck rolled to an abrupt halt.
    A squeal of rusty hinges
sounded. The driver opened his door and climbed out. He dropped down from the
cabin. He bent against the wind, and then quickly made his way towards a nearby
tree. His hand closed around a protruding nodule. With a twist of his wrist he
turned the knob clockwise. Then the driver returned to the truck. The
oppressive darkness pushed heavily against his back until he had reached the
safety of the truck. He climbed inside, shutting the door quickly, in an
attempt to hold the night and all its horrors at bay.
    A few seconds passed before
an audible hiss of compressed air sounded from underneath the truck. The
vehicle dropped suddenly forwards as the ground around it began to tilt away.
Huge pistons hissed with expelled pressure as the mechanical platform dropped
the vehicle and its occupants into the earth. Within moments the truck had
disappeared underground.
    The driver switched on the
headlights to reveal a huge cavern. After a slow descent the ramp reached the
carved rock. The driver popped the truck into gear and then drove off the
platform. Once the back wheels had cleared the ramp, the platform began to
ascend. Within minutes the slab of rock had sealed the hole above. The engine
cut and the cavern dropped into an eerie silence.
    Six bedraggled figures
climbed down from the back of the truck. Five out of the six were male. A
single female stood just to the side of the main group. After a moment’s pause,
three figures approached the group from the opposite end of the loading bay.
Their footfalls echoed loudly throughout the cavern.
    As the three approached, the newly
arrived woman carefully examined each individually. The person to the right was
an overweight, middle-aged man. A dark beard covered the lower half of his
face. Dressed in black robes, he was clearly a man of religion. The figure
flanking the left was half the holy man’s age, handsome, and walked with an
aura of self-assured confidence. In his hands, he carried a lethal looking
machinegun. The woman turned her attention to the central figure. Dressed in a
worn-out army uniform, he walked with authority and was obviously the leader of
the small party. The woman allowed a brief grin to brush itself against her
lips.
    Major Patterson reached the
bedraggled group first. “Welcome home,” he said, spreading his hands.
    Most of the people before him
shifted awkwardly as they fell under his steely gaze. Yet, as he looked upon
the woman, he was met with a friendly nod. His weathered face folded itself
into a warm smile.
    His face, however, then turned
into a mask of surprise when the woman sprung suddenly forwards.
    The woman reached out with
both hands. She lunged towards Major Patterson. Her hands fell short, though,
and she collapsed instead to the floor. There, she began to twitch and thrash
on the rocky surface. For a second nobody moved. Surprised by the unexpected
movement.
    Father looked at the flutter
of eyelids. “She’s having a fit.”
    One of the newcomers moved to
help.
    “Hold it!” Daniel commanded,
raising his machinegun threateningly.
    The would-be helper stopped
dead.
    “Back in line,” Daniel
ordered, stepping forwards to cover Major Patterson.
    Once Daniel had the small
group held back, Father dropped to his knees before placing his hand to the
woman’s face. “She’s cold,” he said. He reached over and tried to hold her
steady. Her arms thrashed wildly about. After a brief struggle, her hands
became entangled in the folds of his robe. “Easy … easy …” he calmed. The
woman’s body relaxed and eventually she went still.
    “That’s it. Good,” Father
soothed. His hand returned to her face. He felt a mask of cold and clammy skin
beneath his fingertips. “I think she’s suffering from hypothermia.”
    “Then