“But Abe.”
“He can take care of himself, damn it.”
“I’m going on over, mateys,” Captain Frank mumbled. “You can keep my Coleman.” He yanked his knife from the ground and stood up.
“I’ll stay with Janice,” Hardy offered. “I’ll tend to her wounds. Nora, why don’t you go out and see to an ambulance?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Hardy knelt beside Janice. Nora took his hand and placed it against the entry wound. “Keep a firm pressure,” she told him. With her clean hand, she stroked the girl’s forehead. “You’ll be fine, kiddo. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we’ll get you out of here.”
As she rushed toward the cellar steps, Tyler entered the tunnel. In the dim light from the lantern, she stepped around the body of the beast. She followed Captain Frank into the darkness.
Jack, his back to the front door, curled a hand around the knob and tried to turn it. “Locked,” he whispered.
Abe nodded. So they wouldn’t be opening the door to let Lucy in. She was good with a gun. She might’ve been helpful. He considered shooting out the lock, but the noise would give away their presence.
So far, they had checked out the kitchen, the corridor and the dining room. All were lighted blue like the cellar. Though they’d been constantly alert for an attack, so far they’d seen no one. The house seemed deserted.
Maybe everyone had fled. Abe doubted that Kutch and her group could have escaped through the tunnel to Beast House. There may, of course, be another way out—a tunnel at the back, perhaps leading toward the beach. That was possible, though Abe hadn’t noticed any other exit in the cellar.
More likely, they were still in the house.
He gazed up the stairs.
Then, from the left, came a quiet sound like a girl sobbing.
Crouching, Jack edged sideways toward the arched entryway. Abe stayed close to him, stepping silently backward, keeping the rear covered.
The walls of the room were draped, from ceiling to floor, with blue curtains. A chill crawled up Abe’s back. His eyes raced along the heavy folds, searching for bulges, for feet protruding beneath the lower edges. He saw nothing to indicate another presence, but kept scanning the curtains as he followed Jack.
The room was bare of furniture. Its carpet was cluttered with pillows and cushions of shiny blue fabric—some alone, others piled up.
He heard the sobbing again.
It seemed to come from behind a waist-high heap of pillows near the end of the room. Abe aimed his revolver at the center of the mound and sidestepped closer as Jack headed around the far side.
“Over here,” Jack whispered, and knelt out of sight.
Abe sprang past the pile to regain his view of Jack, and saw a girl lying face down on the floor. She was naked. One arm was bent close to her head, the other out of sight beneath her body.
Jack, on one knee near her head, had his .45 aimed down at her. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
The girl sniffed.
Abe kicked into the mounded pillows, sending them flying until he could see the floor.
The girl lifted her face off the carpet. “Help,” she said in a choked voice. “Please. I’m hurt.”
“Get your other hand where I can see it,” Jack said. “It better be empty.”
“Can’t. I…my arm’s broken.”
Abe pivoted for another quick scan of the room, then dropped a knee onto the girl’s spine. Her back arched. Her head jerked back. He slammed the barrel of his revolver against her upper arm, jumped aside as she cried out, and used his left hand to tug the arm out from under her. She held a small caliber semi-automatic. He rapped her knuckles with his barrel. The pistol fell.
Now she was crying for real.
“Bastards!” she gasped. “Stinking bastards!”
“Watch our tails,” Abe said.
Jack straightened up.
Abe shoved his revolver into his pocket. He twisted the girl’s arm up behind her back.
“Let go! Asshole! You’re gonna die!”
He yanked the belt from his trouser loops, forced her other arm up her back, and lashed them together.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“You’ll find out!”
“Upstairs?”
“Fuck you!”
He tugged the revolver from his pocket and picked up the girl’s pistol.
“That belt won’t hold her long,” Jack said.
“If she gives us any more grief, we’ll kill her.” Abe stood up. He planted a foot on her back and shoved. “Did you catch that, Tiger?”
“Fuck you!”
“Let’s go,” Abe said.
“Upstairs?” Jack asked.
“You got it.”
Janice felt the hand go away from her chest. She pushed the palm of her right hand against the wound, and opened her eyes. Gorman Hardy was kneeling over her. “Wha…”
“We’ve got to get out of here, Janice. We’re in danger if we stay.”
“Huh?”
“The beast, I saw it move.”
She turned her head and looked toward the tunnel entrance. All she could see of the creature were its clawed feet. They looked motionless.
A cry leaped from her as Gorman tugged her arms, raising her back off the dirt. She stiffened her neck to stop her head from swaying. The wound burned as if a white-hot poker had been driven through her body and was still there. The sodden rag dropped from under her arm. Warm blood trickled down her breast and side.
She slumped forward, head between her knees. Gorman let go and stepped behind her.
“Try to stand up,” he said.
She felt him against her back. His hands clutched her sides, and she writhed as one of them pressed against claw scratches. He moved his hands lower. “Is this better?” he asked.
She nodded.
She drew her knees up and shoved her sneakers against the dirt as he lifted.
As she straightened, her balance shifted backwards and they both staggered. Gorman gasped behind her. One of his hands flew up and clenched her breast.
“Sorry,” he said, and moved the hand down.
He turned her toward the stairs.
Her legs felt warm and weak, but they held her up as Gorman guided her along. She looked up the steep stairway. “Can’t,” she murmured.
“It’s all right. I’ll hold you. We’ll be up at the top in a jiffy and out of here.”
In a jiffy. He sounded almost cheerful.
With her right hand, she gripped the wooden banister. She placed a foot on the first riser. Gorman clutched her hips, and lifted. She struggled up the first stair, the second. Then a wave of dizziness hit her. Her legs folded. She fell against the railing and hugged it.
“Goddamn it,” Gorman muttered.
“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t. Let me…wait for Nora.”
“Do you want me to leave you here alone with the beast? I tell you, it’s not dead!”
“Don’t leave me.”
She tried to push herself away from the banister. Gorman pulled at her shoulders, and she cried out. He eased her forward onto the stairs. Slowly, bracing herself with her good right arm, she crawled higher.
“That’s good,” Gorman said. “That’s a lot better.” He stepped around Janice and climbed above her. “Almost there,” he said.
Three stairs from the top, another dizzy spell hit her. Her stomach convulsed. She lunged forward, pressing her head between the planks, and vomited through the gap behind them. When she finished, she lay there gasping and sobbing.
“Quick!” Gorman said. “My God, it’s sitting up!”
She jerked her head free and looked down at the tunnel entrance. From this angle, she couldn’t see the beast at all.
Neither, she realized, could Gorman.
She raised her face, blinking tears from her eyes. “You can’t…”