Nocturnal

Bloodhound

Bryan couldn’t see the smell, but it might as well have been a glowing rope hanging in the still air. There wasn’t much circulation down here — what had been barely detectable in the train tunnel now filled his nose and mind. The scent called to him at a base level, made him want to kill anything that might harm the source. It was so powerful; Bryan hoped he didn’t find that source somewhere down here — if he did, he didn’t know what he might do.

After leaving the booby-trapped pillars behind, they moved faster — as fast as he could through a narrow tunnel made of dirt and broken brick, chipped concrete, bits of rusted metal and charred wood.

Then, noises. Faint, nothing but a whisper at first, a whisper that was lost in the sounds of Bryan’s movement. He stopped, made the others stand still. He listened and understood: it was the sound of a crowd, tinny and thin from traveling some length down the tunnel.

Aggie had said this tunnel led to the arena with the shipwreck.

Bryan faced the others.

“We’re close,” he said. “Turn off the flashlights. Stay close to the person in front of you. Move careful, but move fast. And from this moment on, not another word.”

He turned off his flashlight and slid it into an inside pocket of his peacoat. One by one, the other flashlights blinked out. Darkness filled the tunnel.

They weren’t far away. He was going to get Marie’s Children for what they had done to Robin, for what they had done to Pookie.

Monster, human, alien, angel or demon — whatever was down here, Bryan Clauser was going to make it pay.