Page 23 of No Man's Land

Bloody idiot. His chest tightened as he stood frozen in place, the beam of his torch wavering in his suddenly shaking hand. Fuck. He scrambled to switch it off, plunging himself into impenetrable darkness. Instantly, he was disorientated, panic rising uncontrollably as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed back against the cold brick.

Think.

Think!

You can’t see them so they can’t see you.With one hand he felt back along the wall the way he’d come, digging the pads of his fingers into the bricks. What was he going to do? Run at the first sign of company? Wasn’t that why he’d come down here in the first place, to find out what the hell was going on? But walking on in the pitch black was beyond foolhardy, and standing there like a lemon, waiting to be discovered, felt just as stupid.

Meanwhile, the footsteps continued their slow progress. Were they getting closer? It was impossible to tell. But now he listened, he could hear that the footsteps were accompanied by a sibilant whisper. A voice. No,voices. More than one, he realised with a jolt, straining to listen over the rasp of his own breathing. He couldn’t make out a word, and the rhythm of the language sounded off, too. Not English, perhaps.

Not human, a panicked part of his mind whispered.

He dismissed that thought irritably and opened his eyes. It made no difference in the suffocating dark, and he felt his chest cramp in claustrophobic panic.

Plenty of air. There was plenty of air.

His heaving lungs didn’t believe it, though, and he found himself gasping. And just like that, he had to get out. He couldn’t stay in the dark a moment longer. Groping along the wall, he stumbled back up the stairs. Fuck, how long were they? He was half running, his chest too tight with panic and his breaths short, making him dizzy. At last, thank fuck, he found the top and felt his way around the corner. But still the voices and slow, steady steps persisted. Were they following him? Could they see him? He should have grabbed that pickaxe. He still could. One hand on the wall, he felt the tunnel sloping upward beneath his feet and finally felt a blessed breath of air against his face.

His relief was immense and lasted less than half a second.

Because the breeze carried with it a dreadful stench. A dreadful, familiar stench of rotting flesh. And up ahead he heard someone breathing, a wet sucking sound like air through a punctured lung.

Josef froze, clamping his jaw. His fingers clenched around his dark torch, too stiff to move. Petrified as stone. The breathing moved closer, the stench overpowering. Josef’s stomach rolled, rose into his throat.

I’m going to die here.

Never in all his months in Flanders had he been so certain, but alone in this black tunnel he knew death approached. It stalked him in the dark. And out of that breathing darkness two points of eerie iridescence appeared not six feet ahead of him. Eyes. Pale blue eyes, like ice.

Crying out, Josef stumbled back. There was nowhere to go but down and no time to run because, with a hiss, those eyes were rushing at him. Josef flung up his arm, shouting in horrorand fear as a heavy weight crashed into him and knocked him back against the wall.

He could see nothing but those unnatural eyes, but Josef had grown up on rough streets and knew how to scrap. Hands, knees, feet—he punched and kicked and tore at his attacker, using his torch as a club. He drove it off, but not for long. It was circling him; Josef could hear the laboured hiss of its breath.

Dear God, whatwasit? A man. A fucking rat queen?

“Fuck off!” he yelled in fury and fear. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Whatever it was, his shouting didn’t intimidate. With a wordless snarl it launched itself at him again, pushing him back against the wall, its hot breath horrifyingly close to his neck. He brought one knee up, rolled them both, and slammed the thing sideways into the tunnel wall. But it didn’t let go. Strong, biting hands clenched on his arms, bearing him backwards. Josef’s feet skidded on the steps, and suddenly, there was nothing behind him, the weight of his assailant pushing him back.

He fell. Hard. His head cracked on the steps, back jarring painfully, breath exploding from his lungs. And the fucking creature was on top of him. Slavering. Light sparked behind Josef’s blind eyes, his ears rang, but he fought with all he had left. Shouting, punching, kicking. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

This was the end. All of it over, and for nothing. Fornothing. He screamed his fear and fury and—

Suddenly, there was light. Bright, blazing light dazzling his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a monstrous face above him—snarling, ravaged,human—before it twisted away to face its new enemy.

Someone shouted in a language Josef didn’t understand, but he recognised the shout as a challenge. Struggling to move his rubbery limbs, he hauled himself up to rest his backagainst the wall, still sprawled halfway down the steps. His head spun viciously, vision blurring and ears ringing. His grip on consciousness slipped, and he sank helplessly down into the dark.

When he opened his eyes again, a shape crouched over him, tearing at the collar of his shirt and coat. Bright light shone in his eyes, and he lashed out wildly against the attack, forearm connecting with a firm shoulder.

“Stop!”

A warm hand gripped his wrist, and he found himself blinking up into a pair of very familiar, very pissed-off eyes.

“Did it bite you?” Alex said.

Josef stared. “What…?”

The fingers on his wrist hardened. “Were you bitten?”

“There’s no time,” said another voice, and Josef looked up into the hard gaze of another man. He stood over them with a lamp held aloft, its light casting shadows over his brown skin and scarlet turban. “It didn’t go far. We should just leave—”

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