She kept leafing through the photos, back and forth, concentrating mostly on the marks on the victims’ arms and wrists.
“What in the hell is this reminding me of?” she said musingly. “Why did you guys call SC? And who called it?”
“I did,” Diller said. “When I realized that the victim had been dragged by something that was…amorphous? And dragged into that tiny cave opening.”
“Anyone gone in?”
“It’s too small,” Diller said. “I think the victim could barely fit. Now that you’re here we’ll think about getting in there. But that was the other part…”
“It’s like HazMat,” Janea said.
“Ma’am?” Diller asked as Graham came over with a doll.
“If you’re not trained you don’t even think about entering the area,” Janea said. “First rule of HazMat, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graham said, clearly regaining his composure. “I don’t know if this was her main doll…”
“Understood,” Janea said, taking the doll and concentrating. “Nothing. Send that to FLUF in North Carolina, though. Maybe they’ll get something. Okay, we need to go caving. But I don’t know a damned thing about spelunking.”
“We’ve got a team on the way,” Graham said.
“More spear carriers,” Janea said with a sigh. “Okay, first your in-brief on SC. I have been on four live SC investigations. Quite often what looks to be SC turns out to be something else, so I’ve done way more regular investigations. But on every single SC investigation so far, the agent working with me has died. I don’t like that. Not one damned bit. I really don’t like that they die the same way every time. They try to be heroes. I like heroes. I’m Asatru; we’re all about being a hero. I’m mortally certain that they went to Valhalla. I still don’t like losing them. I get to know them, I get to like them, they play hero and they die. Gentlemen, I’d like to break that streak if you don’t mind.”
“All for it,” Graham said, his face white.
“Be nice,” Diller said, taking off his glasses.
“Here’s how we break it,” Janea said. “Be cowards. Be complete and total cowards. If something seems freaky or creepy, run like ever-loving Hel. Most especially, leave me behind. It’s my job to handle this stuff, not yours. If I say ‘run,’ then run fast. If I run, run faster. If I say ‘Don’t touch the glowy thing,’ don’t touch the glowy thing. If I say ‘I need to go in there by myself,’ don’t follow me! If I get taken out, don’t try to stop whatever took me out! If I can’t, you sure as Hel can’t. Either one of you really incredibly firm believers in any god?”
“No, ma’am,” Graham said.
“Not anymore,” Diller said.
“Interesting answer,” Janea said. “Okay, Number One: Be cowards. Number Two: Don’t think I know everything. I don’t. I’ve been told I didn’t get one agent killed, but I feel like I did because I underestimated the threat. I’m not always right. Number Three: Ah, Hel, it’s all the usual stuff. I want to know what you think. I’m an Adept, not an FBI guy. Sometimes this stuff overlaps in ways you wouldn’t believe. Tell me what you think. That’s about it.”
“Run like hell and don’t trust that you know what you’re talking about,” Graham said. “That’s a hell of a way to run an investigation.”
“Sorry, it’s truth,” Janea said. “An item on the second one is that I have not a clue what this thing is. There’s loads of evidence and I’ve got a funny feeling I should. But I don’t. Talk to me. Seriously, I need thoughts.”
“Uh,” Graham said. “Okay. Well. If this was a thing that carried off the victim to the cave…It’s at least as large as a big cow or a bull.”
“And it can change shape,” Diller said. “This track is six to seven feet wide in most places. The cave entrance is only two-and-a-half wide and less than a foot high.”
“So something like an amoeba?” Janea said, nodding in thought. “More?”
“There are no indications that there were restraints tied to the bed or any surrounding object,” Graham said. “I don’t know what that means, but there’s usually marks.”
“I hate to say this,” Diller said.
“This is brainstorming,” Janea said. “Everything’s on the table.”
“Tentacles?” Diller said.
“Amoeba-like…” Janea said. “Tent…Oh, shit!” she added, slapping her forehead. “I am such a moron!”
“What?” Graham asked, his eyes wide.
“It’s not a demon,” Janea said, nodding. “It’s an Old One.”
“Old One?” Diller said.
“You guys can feel free to think of them as demons,” Janea said, relieved. “They’ve got, from your perspective, a lot of the same attributes. They can instill control over a subject, they can instill fear better. Actually, they freak people out on first sight and tend to induce insanity. The big question is, what kind? Is this a Great Old One or one of its minions?”
She paused and considered the path.
“Not too big, Old Ones can get really huge. Tentacles. Drags along the ground. Shit. Shambler.”
“And a Shambler is…?” Diller asked.
“Uh…” Janea said, thinking. “Basically, it’s nothing but a mass of tentacles. The victims weren’t raped and they weren’t tied. They were held and fed upon. The Shambler stuffs its tentacles in every orifice and sort of sucks the life force out of a person. The victims are going to be a godsend to the SC forensics guys; there hasn’t been a Shambler attack since the advent of modern forensics.”
“Ma’am,” Graham said, blanching. “We have a kidnap victim.”
“Which is probably a snack,” Janea said, her face falling. “It’s unlikely we’ll get her back, and even if we do, she’s probably going to be permanently insane. Bad news: The Shamblers are sometimes called the Night Hunters. This is not going to be the last attack. The attacks are probably going to be at night and it’s probably using the cave system to get around. They can go out in light but they don’t like it. Good news: I’m going to have to get somebody to do some research for me, but they’re not that hard to kill. They’re not susceptible to mundane weapons but fire does a number on them. I don’t think anyone’s ever hit one with a grenade, but it would probably dispel it back to where ever they come from. But the easiest way is to control them with certain words of power and dispel them with a mystic chant. I think there’s a powder or potion that works as well. Once we find it, getting rid of it should be easy.”
“And we can trust that?” Graham asked, an eyebrow raised.
“It’s a Shambler,” Janea said, shrugging. “Like I said, I’ll get someone else to research it. But this should be relatively easy.”
Barb used her key to open up the dojo. As she flipped on the lights and they approached the mat, Yi glanced around the school. He raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow as he slid off his handmade leather loafers and glanced at the American and Japanese flags hanging on the wall. “Japanese,” he muttered under his breath. Barb faced him and they bowed in the Chinese manner.
“I see you remember the courtesies, Laoshi. Let us see if you remember how to dance.”
Yi looked Barb directly in the eyes, and without looking at his target or giving any indication that he was going to move, shot out a low kick to her left ankle while gliding forward and darting two fast fingertip strikes, one at Barb’s left temple and one at the peroneal nerve on the outside of her right thigh. Faced with an attack on a low line, a high line, and a low-middle line, Barb moved backwards in bei hu, crossing her left leg over her right and avoiding the kick as she flowed through the two quick circular parries necessary to deal with the hand strikes. She allowed the hand parrying the strike to the temple to follow the line of the attack and extend it, moving Yi’s arm along the line and exposing his ribs, then, twisting out of the cross-step stance to a front stance, she threw a vertical fist punch to Yi’s unprotected short ribs.
Yi’s left hand flickered like a hummingbird’s wing and his palm flashed under the armpit of his extended right arm to slap Barb’s punch away. His right arm folded in as his stance and weight dropped low, and the point of his elbow arrowed toward Barb’s ribs.
Barb’s palm slapped it away, and for a bare instant they stood, looking almost like mirror images of one
