Blind Sight Read online

  The thought of her family inside that tomb was enough to get her on her feet. She hefted the pack and shuffled to the entrance of the mine. The sun illuminated a perfect rectangle of light inside, but it only stretched a few feet. Beyond that stretched perfect darkness. Jordan dug out the flashlight, pressing the button to turn it on. Nothing. The batteries were dead.

  “Dammit!” she hissed, tossing the useless thing back into the bag. She had no choice; she would have to go in blind.

  She had no idea how long she’d been walking. The air smelled old, stale. Jordan shivered in the inky darkness. It was chilly enough to need a jacket and she had no idea where she was in this maze of craziness. Her fingertips brushed against the stone wall, rough and abrading. Gently gliding her hand along the passage, she moved in very small steps and wished with all her might for a flashlight that worked. God, she was so stupid to have left hers at the cabin! She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  A few more steps and the stench of something very dead and decomposing reached her. The further she went, the worse it became until she gagged and covered her nose with the collar of her t-shirt. Just as she was beginning to think it couldn’t get any worse, something squelched under her boots. A wild animal – maybe a coon or possum – had gotten trapped in here, died, and she just stepped in what was left of it.

  “Oh, gross! Oh, gross! Oh, gross!” It became a chant she whispered with every careful step, pushing her along, sheltering her mind, as she tiptoed her way around the dead animal, mindful of the tracks that ran in the center of the passage.

  Once she felt dry stone underneath her feet again, Jordan slid to her left until her hand found the wall. A few more steps and a puff of fresher air drifted across her face. The wall curved gradually and she followed it, seeing flickering light up ahead.

  Closer still, and voices surrounded her on the cold breeze, sweeping her up in a whirlwind of confusion. There was a shout, followed by the unmistakable sound of ripping flesh...a grunt of pain as someone hit the floor. Jordan reached for her knife.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the source of the light. Just like in those bad dreams where a hallway stretches on forever and the destination never gets any closer, each step she took hardly made a difference. Her boots felt heavy, as if treading through molasses.

  For one brief second, Jordan considered turning back. In her heart, she knew she didn’t want to see what was around that corner. It was more than a creature that needed to be killed. No, this was a different kind of evil. It was a monster that would change her life forever…and she was going to lose this fight. She was going to lose everyone who meant anything to her and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

  A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. Like a marionette, her legs moved forward on invisible strings. She had no control, even when her mind pleaded for them to stop. Slowly, the flickering light grew brighter. The ghastly sounds grew louder. A low growl chilled Jordan’s blood – and then Uncle Case screamed.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t go fast enough. Her heart fell to her stomach and she rounded the corner at top speed, hugging the wall to keep her feet from flying out from under her, all the while knowing that she couldn’t save him. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the sickly yellow gas lights set inside the walls. Though weak, they dimly revealed the cavernous room and the nightmare it contained.

  Like some sort of twisted science experiment gone horribly wrong, the Kongamato stood in all its deformed glory. It knew Jordan was there – it had to after all the noise she made. She’d entered the cavern like a bull in a china shop. And yet, instead of attacking, it chose to stay still, letting her take it in. It wanted her to be afraid, for the fear build inside of her until she was a gasping, pleading mess on the floor, begging for her life and the lives of her loved ones. She wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. Besides, she’d already seen it in her vision.

  Dark, leathery wings spread slowly, as if it were showing them off. It pushed them up and down and they sliced through the air. The draft they stirred smelled worse than anything Jordan had ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot for someone who was once covered in the guts of a thousand-year-old vampire. (Yes, they do exist and they don’t sparkle in the sunlight).

  When she didn’t flinch, the Kongamato opened its grotesque mouth and screamed. AhOOOoool! Goosebumps appeared on her arm -- that sound could raise the dead. It was a cross between the shrill scream of a wild cat and fingernails down a chalk board. Its face was indescribable. Although it had primate features (picture a gibbon on steroids), the mouth was all wrong. It stretched as wide as a shark’s and was filled with rows of needle-sharp teeth that seemed too long for its lips to ever meet.

  She had no idea why it wasn’t attacking. It simply stared with those haunting yellow eyes, as if waiting for her to make the first move. She would, in time.

  Movement -- a shadow dancing on the wall for a split second -- drew her attention. In the corner, her uncle and Nathan were propped against the wall like a pair of broken dolls. Long gashes marred Case’s face from his hairline to his chin. If not for the hat perched on his head and the faded flannel shirt, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all. There were no discernible features left. If he was still alive, it was a miracle. Nathan’s face was untouched, but his shirt had been ripped clean away. His barrel chest was crisscrossed with deep lacerations that were bleeding freely. Jordan watched in horrid fascination as his life’s blood pooled into his lap. Dear God, let this be a dream! I want to wake up.

  Nathan groaned. That one sound broke her paralysis. He was alive! Blood soared through her veins as her heart pumped double-time. She started to go to him, wondering what in the hell she could do here in the middle of a mine with no medical supplies. Was Case alive, too? Would the Kongamato attack if she got too close to its still-breathing food source? To hell with it. She didn’t care. If her family didn’t make it, then she’d rather die with them than live alone. Amidst all the chaos she was surrounded with at that moment, Jordan realized that she needed her family and, obviously, they needed her, too. Too bad it took them potentially dying for her to see it. She was a fool.

  An angry whisper and the sound of cursing erupted from an unlit space towards the back of the cavern. The lights only reached so far -- she had no idea just how big this room was. But, there was no mistaking the voice: Quinn.

  “Jordan, run! It’s a trap!”

  Too late.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Wendy left Jordan at the cabin, she had every intention of going home -- going where it was safe. She was going to her room, locking her door, and burying her head in the proverbial sand like she always did when faced with any sort of problem.

  She slammed her hand against the steering wheel. Dammit all to hell! Why couldn’t she be proactive like Jordan was? Sure, she’d gone to Corbett’s, but it wasn’t with any intent to rescue anyone. She was just as surprised to see Jordan strapped to that chair as her friend was to see her – and there had been surprise on her face when Wendy busted in like Rambo. She was just lucky she held onto the crowbar – she’d dropped the damned thing three times before she got to the shed. If Corbett had shown while she was there, Wendy would’ve probably pissed her pants and sobbed like a baby as she begged for her life.

  But, Jordan made her feel…stronger. Not invincible like Milla Jovovich when she plays Alice in the Resident Evil movies, but less of a chubby sap who couldn’t face down the bullies who called her names and tripped her on the playground.

  Wendy shook her head, disgusted. Who was she kidding? When Jordan strapped on weapons and went all G.I. Jane, she looked the part. If Wendy were to do the same, she’d only come across as comical – a skit from Saturday Night Live for sure. Face it, Wendy, she thought, maneuvering her piece-of-crap car around an SUV parked on the shoulder of the road. The only thing you’ve got going for you is your hair and the fact that your face isn’t a giant pimpl
e.

  A monster Chevy truck with wheels as tall as Wendy’s car barreled around the curve taking up both sides of the narrow road. She jerked the wheel hard to the right and barely avoided taking a nose dive into the ditch to keep from being a hood ornament. Corbett never even glanced her way, so focused was he on his destination. She only saw him for a second as he sped by, but the enraged look on his face was unmistakable. He’d found the shed and he knew who did it. He was headed to Jordan’s cabin in hopes of some payback.

  The unforgiving steel of the gun pressed into her back. She’d left the weapon tucked in her jeans like an idiot. It’s a wonder she hadn’t blown one of her butt cheeks off. She watched in the rearview as Corbett’s truck faded from sight, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. She smiled, knowing he wouldn’t find anyone at the cabin. They were all at the mine…thanks to that dipshit. Sweet Mother Mary, Jordan and her entire family were in trouble.

  Wendy pulled into Buck’s store and shut off the ignition. Carla Light, another employee, was working today, but Wendy didn’t plan on going inside. Instead, she sat in the sweltering heat, listening to the car’s ancient engine ping and tick as it cooled.

  She thought about Jordan. She never met her family, but it wasn’t hard for Wendy to imagine her mother, Buck, or Mrs. Janus taken by some hideous devil and ripped apart. If Jordan hadn’t interfered, that very well could have been Buck’s fate. If Corbett wasn’t stopped, they could all end up in the belly of some beast he conjured up.

  She slumped against the door, enjoying the breeze. Sweat trickled down her hairline, dripping onto her shirt, collecting under her arms. She wanted a shower and a clean pair of shorts. Why was she sitting in a hot car?

  Outside, a little boy no older than three with messy hair and chubby cheeks smiled and waved at her before following his father into the store. Two girls around her age walked by with beach towels and perfect bodies. They were obviously on their way to the lake to work on their skin cancer. Pretty soon, every person Wendy saw replayed on a loop in her mind. Instead of whole, healthy people, she saw them bitten and clawed. Listless eyes stared out from bloody faces. She gripped the wheel, hard. These people had no idea the danger they were in. They strolled around the campground, oblivious to the fact that there was a paranormal beasty in their midst and they could be next on his menu. Was it really only yesterday that she was as clueless as they were? She sighed, watching as the toddler and his father came back out of the store.

  That little boy could be a future president of the United States. One of those girls with the perfect “ten” figure could be a mother with a family of her own one day. Everyone’s life had value and no person had the right to take it away. Corbett was playing God and, as far as she knew, that job was already taken.

  What about her life? What was it worth? She was an overweight teenager who could take decent pictures and had three friends – four if she counted her mother. She’d never done anything special and probably never would. People born in Cold Grove, Tennessee, rarely left. Small town inertia held them in a strong grip. It was hard to wiggle out. Wendy leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, blocking out the sun and people. It all came down to one simple question: would she risk her life if it meant saving others?

  Jordan would. Wendy wasn’t too clear on exactly what her friend and her family did for a living, but from what Jordan let on, this wasn’t their first rodeo. She’d bet her Nikon that they risked their lives to save people all the time. But could she? Corbett was at Jordan’s cabin right now, probably tearing it apart and throwing a tantrum.

  I could go there, she thought, massaging her temples to try to ward off the headache she could feel coming on. I could go there and demand he stop all this craziness and send that thing – whatever it is – back to Hell where it came from. If he didn’t, I would…

  What would she do? Pull the gun from her waistband and take his life in cold blood? She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t even advocate for anything she believed in. When it came down to brass tacks, she was a mouse with a backbone of Jello. It was time to go home – time to hide. God, Wendy, you’re pathetic. She cranked up the car and pulled out of the lot, thankful that the old clunker’s engine was loud enough to drown out the sound of her sobs.

  Wendy had just opened the front door and walked inside the house when her cell phone rang. She fumbled it from her pocket, almost dropping it in her haste to press the answer button. She prayed with all of her being that Jordan would be on the other end. Instead, it was her mother.

  “Hi, hon, what are you up to? I thought you and Jordan were coming by the store today.”

  Wendy had left a note for her mother to find when she left this morning. She had lied and said that she and Jordan were going for an early breakfast and then on a hike to take some pictures. She hated lying to her mother. All they had was each other. Her father died in a car accident when she was two. The drunk driver never even saw her father’s truck. He passed out a few seconds before he crossed the yellow line. Wendy’s dad died on impact. She liked to think he didn’t feel anything. Yeah, she was good at pretend.

  “Sorry, Mom. We were coming by, but Jordan’s uncle made plans for them this afternoon. She hopes to come by tomorrow.” I hope she’ll be alive tomorrow.

  “No problem. I know family comes first. They are on vacation, after all.”

  Yeah, some vacation. It wasn’t every day that families got to experience monsters and mutilations. Wendy heard the whir of her mother’s sewing machine in the background. “I thought you were taking today off. Are you working?”

  Her mother laughed. “It’s therapeutic. You know I can’t stay away from my sewing for long.” More background noise, the sound of scissors. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? Around 7:00?”

  Wendy didn’t feel like going out and she sure as hell didn’t feel like eating, but it was rare that she and her mom got to do anything together. They both worked so hard that they usually spent a few precious moments together at night before bed. She couldn’t say no. At least she would have time for a shower and nap. She was emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, if she slept, she couldn’t think about Jordan and what she and her family were going through.

  “Sounds great, Mom. I’ll be ready.”

  Wendy dragged her body up the stairs and into the bathroom. Her mind, however, was with Jordan. She turned on the hot water and let it warm while she stripped out of her nasty clothes. She laid the gun carefully on the counter, making sure the bathroom door was locked. All she needed was her mother coming home early, barging into the bathroom (they only had one) and collapsing with a heart attack from seeing a gun lying beside the decorative soaps.

  The hot water felt good, but Wendy couldn’t enjoy it. All she could think about was Jordan’s blood-soaked bra and the fact that she couldn’t take a shower because the thing she was going to hunt -- the monster who’d taken three lives -- might smell the soap on her. Here she was using a loofah and strawberry shampoo while her friend was either fighting for her life or already dead. She shut the water off.

  After drying, she wrapped herself in a thick, butter-yellow robe – a Christmas gift from Buck and Janus. Her mother had embellished it with the words, Perchance to Dream. She hoped not. After looking at the gun for several minutes, she dropped it into the robe’s ample pockets, intending to hide it in her room.

  Her mind was preoccupied, a slurry of worry, guilt, and anxiety. She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in her room until it was too late. A fist the size of Jupiter slammed into the side of her head and she went sprawling.

  “Hello, Wendy.”

  Corbett’s voice broke through her pain-induced haze. The room was spinning with enough centrifugal force to suck her up to the ceiling. Wendy felt her gorge rising and swallowed back bile. Throwing up right now would definitely not help her situation any.

  Corbett leaned down into her personal space. His face seemed to float in front of her, fading in a
nd out with the waves of pain crashing through her head like a tsunami. He was smiling – his mouth stretched to impossible lengths. Huh. Maybe she was dreaming.

  “Did you enjoy your shower? You sure took a long time. I was beginning to think I’d be sitting here in your room all day and I have so much to do.”

  Wendy rose slightly, causing the vise grip across her head to tighten. She bit her tongue to keep from moaning and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. “What are you doing in my house?” She meant to sound strong, a force to be reckoned with. What came out was a grandma on her death bed, weak and fragile – the definition of her entire life.

  Corbett put his hands under her arms and pulled her to a standing position as if she weighed nothing. Wendy swayed in his arms, hating herself for it, but unable to push him away. His warm breath, smelling of corn and vinegar, assaulted her nasal passages. He’d been drinking.

  “I came to ask you two very important questions.” He shoved her against the desk and pressed up against her, putting his arms to either side. Wendy had nowhere to go. “Did you help that bitch escape, and if so, which one of you put the match to my shed?”

  Wendy opened her mouth to tell him she had no idea what he was talking about, but before she could, Corbett grabbed her face and squeezed, his fingers disappearing into her flesh.

  “Before you start bawling out a denial, you might want to take a look at this.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Even through the tears and wrinkles, Wendy knew what it was – the picture she’d given Jordan. Her signature in black ink may as well have been a flashing sign saying GUILTY!

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Jordan, run! It’s a trap!”

  She hadn’t even processed Quinn’s words before two men grabbed her arms. She immediately went into a defensive mode, sticking a foot behind one as she pushed into him, causing him to trip. He didn’t fall, but he did free her arm and she took advantage of it by thrusting her palm upward and into the other guy’s nose. Blood splattered and cartilage crackled like cellophane.