Free Quarrel with the Moon by J.C. Conaway Page B

together in the arms of sweet Morpheus. That's one thing he had liked so much about Gracie. It wasn't just the sex, it was the cuddling. When they had slept together they slept close, almost as one. He hoisted an imaginary glass in the air. "Here's to you, kiddo, wherever you are."
    The moon was swallowed by a bank of clouds. The wind shifted and brought with it a scent so wretched that Harry gagged. It was an odor he recognized instantly. He had been in Korea. It was the overpowering stench of death. Despite the alcohol, he was suddenly alert. He turned in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree angle, his eyes wide and staring at the blanket of darkness which surrounded him. He picked up his lamp and a pickaxe and carefully made his way across the boards which served as walkways over the dome of the mound, heading for the rickety wooden ladder which Ted had made from tree branches.
    As he descended, Harry cursed the ladder's hurried construction. Halfway down it began to shudder and Harry jumped. He landed on his heels and fell on his buttocks with a grunt. The lantern flew out of his hand, its wavering beam highlighting a set of strange prints at the base of the mound. There were four toe prints and the form of a large, soft pad. But they were too large to belong to a dog, or even to a wolf. The hairs stood on the back of his neck.
    Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbed the light and looked for more prints. He found them. They were fresh. No doubt about it. And they were circling the mound. He felt a clammy, wet fear crawl across his skin. His head was buzzing and he was having trouble keeping his eyes in focus, and he was completely unaware that he was whimpering.
    Gripping the pickaxe, Harry began following the prints around the mound. Each step was like an eternity, and the only sound he heard was his own ragged breathing. He was halfway around when he thought he heard a movement in the nearby underbrush. He flashed the light against a clump of rhododendron. The leaves were shivering. Was it the wind, or something else? Harry stood there transfixed, trying to see between the graceful waxen leaves. Suddenly he swung around. He hadn't been thinking. What if the ... animal ... had circled all the way around the mound and was behind him? He took several steps backward, flashing the light wildly from left to right. He saw nothing but his own footprints. And the others.
    He continued following the path dictated by the prints. Within minutes he had completely circled the mound. The prints continued on from where they had started. Was he stalking it, or was it stalking him?
    Harry grabbed the makeshift ladder and steadied it, then quickly climbed back up onto the mound. At least there he could see if something were coming after him. Some parts of the mound had been weakened by the digging. On the edge of the mound, flanking the forest, there was a deep wedge cut into the structure where he and Ted had been working to gain access to the third vault. Harry gingerly made his way across the board back to the center and stood there staring at the ladder, knees trembling, sweat trickling down his arms.
    The moon reappeared and lent a sinister light to the semi-darkness. The tips of the ladder were trembling. The way they did beneath someone's or something's weight. He turned his face to the indigo sky and squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, God, please, please."
    The figure sprang into full view. Harry gulped and nearly swallowed his tongue. It threw back its head and howled, then hurtled forward across the boards. Others, clawing away the dirt at the sides of the mound, found footage. Harry saw them materialize over the edge of the dome. He was surrounded.
    Growling and snarling, they advanced. Harry was only aware of teeth and slathering open mouths. One crept closer than the rest and bit deep into Harry's thigh. He screamed, yanked himself free and rushed across the mound toward an open space. The dirt gave way beneath his feet, and Harry felt