Still Life With Crows

“I really don’t think this is the way they went,” Larssen said.

The sentence fell away into silence.

“Well?” Larssen looked from Cole to Brast. The two state troopers almost looked like twins: fit, wiry, crew-cut, taut jawlines, steely eyes. Or rather, once-steely eyes. Now, even in the pale wash of the night-vision goggles they looked confused and uncertain. It had been a mistake, he realized, to leave the huge cavern of limestone pillars looking for Hazen. The barking of the dogs had gone suddenly silent, and they’d taken off down one of the countless side passages in what seemed like the direction of retreating footsteps. But the passage had divided, once, then twice, before turning into a confusing welter of crisscrossing tunnels. Once he thought he’d heard Hazen calling out his name. But there had been no more sounds for the last ten minutes, at least. It was going to be a real chore just to find their way back out.

He wondered how he’d become the de facto leader of this happy little picnic. Cole and Brast were both part of the much-vaunted “high-risk entry team” and had trained for special situations like this. At the state police HQ they had a gym, workout facilities, a pool, shooting range, special training seminars, and weekend retreats. Larssen sure hoped he wasn’t going to have to hand-hold these guys.

“Wake up, you two. Did you hear me? I said, I don’t think this is the way they went.”

“I don’t know,” said Brast. “It seems right to me.”

“It seems right to you,” Larssen repeated sarcastically. “And you, Cole?”

Cole just shook his head.

“All right, that settles it. We turn around and get out of here.”

“What about Hazen?” Cole said. “Weeks?”

“Sheriff Hazen and Officer Weeks are trained law enforcement personnel who can take care of themselves.”

The two troopers just looked at him.

“Are we all in agreement on this?” Larssen asked, raising his voice. Damned idiots.

“I’m with you,” Brast said with evident relief.

“Cole?”

“I don’t like leaving people down here,” said Cole.

A real hero,thought Larssen. “Sergeant Cole, it’s pointless to wander around down here any longer. We can go for backup. They could be anywhere in this maze. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already on their way out.”

Cole licked his lips. “All right,” he said.

“Then let’s go.”

They had been circling their way back toward the limestone forest for five minutes and had reached an unfamiliar-looking crossroads when Larssen first heard the sound. The others must have heard it, too, because they spun around with him. It was faint, but unmistakable: the sound of running footsteps, approaching at high speed. But not human, no: the tattoo of heavy footfalls was too rapid for that.

It was something big.

“Weapons!” shouted Larssen, dropping to one knee and raising the riot gun to his shoulder. He took aim down the intersecting tunnel.

The running came closer, accompanied by a metallic clanking. And now a big reddish form materialized out of the darkness. Whatever it was, it was huge.

“Ready!”

The thing bore down on them with terrible speed. It tore through a shallow puddle, raising a curtain of droplets in its wake.

“Wait!” Larssen said abruptly. “Hold your fire!”

It was one of the dogs.

The animal hurtled toward them, utterly heedless of their presence, the wide wild eyes staring fixedly ahead. The only sound it made was the drumming of its huge paws against the stone. As it flashed past, Larssen saw that the animal was covered with blood, and that one of the ears was torn away, as well as part of the lower jaw. Big black lips and tongue flapped loosely, dripping foam and blood.

In another second it was gone, the sound of its flight fading away. Then silence returned. It had all happened so quickly that Larssen almost wondered if he’d imagined it. “What thefuck? ” Brast whispered. “Did you see—?”

Larssen swallowed, but no moisture came. His mouth felt dry as sawdust. “He must’ve slipped, fallen.”

“Bullshit,” said Cole, his voice unnaturally loud in the confined space. “You don’t lose half your jaw in a fall. Someone attacked that dog.”

“Or something, ” Brast muttered.

“For chrissakes, Brast,” said Larssen, “show some backbone.”

“Why was he running like that? That dog was scared shitless.”

Larssen said, “Let’s just get out of here.”

“No argument there.”

They turned back, Larssen keeping his eyes on the damp tracks of the dog. They could probably follow those