The Ninth Floor, Part Four

Catman led the way up the last cramped set of stairs. Keys jingled in his shaking hands as he unlocked the door to the attic.

            With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped through. DeWolfe was next, with Rachel and me behind her. Spears was at the rear, getting all of us from behind.

            In the attic Catman flashed his light around.

            The air smelled stale and musty. Cobwebs covered a maze of cardboard boxes stacked high, leaning precariously, damp and ready to topple over.

            Water dripped from the ceiling.

            I squeezed Rachel’s hand. “You feeling anything?”

            “Just my heart. Still beating.” She squeezed back.

            I nodded. “Let’s keep it that way.”

            We spread out, searching the room in twos. More raccoon and mouse droppings, crumpled balls of newspaper, broken bottles and crushed beer cans . . .

            “Over here.” Peppers.

            Rachel and I stepped through the trash to a corner of the attic. Peppers pointed his flashlight toward the floor.

            A wide hole had been torn through the floorboards.

            Catman leaned forward, aiming his own light and his smartphone.

            Then DeWolfe gasped. “What the hell?”

            I wheeled around. DeWolfe stood next to a large trunk, her candle trembling.

            “Oh god.” Jaime was right next to her.

            Rachel and I came, Spears behind us.

            Jaime turned, hand over her mouth, trying not to throw up. She failed. I jumped away.

            Alan Miller lay on the bloodstained floor. Most of him, anyway.

            Something had been eating him.

            I had to fight the urge to vomit too. DeWolfe backed away on stiff legs. Rachel bumped into Spears as he lurched forward to capture the image.

            “We have to call the cops.” It was a reflex. What I really wanted to say was We need to get out of here.

            Rachel lifted her head—and her candle. “Tom, watch out—”

            Someone’s flashlight lit up the top of a pile of boxes. I grabbed Rachel’s arm to pull her back.

            A creature lurked near the ceiling.

            It had pale, translucent skin stretched tight across sharp, jutting bones. Its arms were long and thin, ending in skinny hands with webbed fingers and hooked claws. Its head was completely bald, its eyes wide like a blind fish, and its wide jaw was filled with jagged, ugly teeth.

            Spears held his smartphone up, trying to keep it steady.

            I pulled Rachel back, bumping into Catman.

            No one breathed.

            Then Peppers turned and ran.

            The stack of boxes toppled over as the creature sprang through the air, like a bat in search of prey. It jumped onto Peppers’ back and sank its fangs into his neck.

            I lurched forward. I’m not brave, but I had the biggest flashlight. I slammed it against the thing’s skull as hard as I could, once, twice, and then I stumbled back, hoping I’d saved Peppers without getting myself killed.

            The creature whirled around, its eyes fixed on me. Rachel clutched my shoulder.

            But instead of attacking me it left Peppers on the floor and charged toward the hole in the corner.

            Unfortunately, Spears was in its way.

            Spears howled as the thing slammed it to the floor. His smartphone went flying as the creature bit a chuck on flesh and bone from his shoulder.

            Catman darted forward. He aimed his flashlight for the creature’s eyes—maybe hoping to blind it—but the thing just leaned back, blood spewing from its lips as it dug its claws into Spears and lifted him from the floor.

            Spears howled in pain as the creature rose and lurched forward. Catman lunged away, somehow holding onto his light and smartphone, but no longer trying to get footage.

            DeWolfe pounded her thick candle against its shoulder, screaming. Jaime Kinsman kicked its leg. The creature ignored them, shoving forward, holding Spears with one arm, his jaws clenched around what was left of his shoulder.

            It reached the edge of the hole and twisted around, as if its spine could swivel 360 degrees. It opened its jaws wide, spitting out parts of Spears’ shoulder, then took a step and dropped down through the gap in the floor, taking Spears with it.

            “Jeremy!” Catman shot forward. “Jeremy!”

            Jaime’s candle rolled across the floor and fell into the hole.

            DeWolfe set her candle down and rushed to Peppers. He was moaning, blood dripping from his neck, but still alive, still conscious.

            DeWolfe pulled off her sweater and pressed it against the wound. “We’ve got to get him out of here!”

            Catman stared at the hole, paralyzed. “Jeremy . . . oh my god . . .”

            I grabbed for Rachel. She pressed her face against my neck and punched my shoulder. “You idiot.”

            Jaime looked around the floor, then picked up a wad of old newspaper.

            She walked forward and pulled a cigarette lighter from her pocket. She flicked it twice, her hand shaking, and held the lighter against the paper until it burst into flame. Then she dropped it down the hole.

            She kicked around the floor, looking for more newspaper. Gathering up an armful, she carried it to the edge of the hole, then lit that up too. She dropped it down. Then she picked up DeWolfe’s candle and sent that down too.

            “Burn, you bastard,” she muttered.

            “Come on!” DeWolfe was trying to lift Peppers. “I need help!”

            Catman blinked. Then he scrambled around the floor, swinging his flashlight until he found Spears’ phone. He jammed both phones into a pocket and hurried over to help DeWolfe and me hoist Peppers up and haul him through the door.

            By the time we reached the ground floor, taking turns with Peppers, we were exhausted. Catman found a first-aid kit, and we bandaged him up as best we could in the lobby.

            “We can’t stay here.” DeWolfe looked through the windows. Still pouring outside. “With that thing roaming around—”

            “It’s not the only one.” Rachel still held her candle. “Remember what I said? One entity, made up of lots of entities. That creature—was only part of the mix.”

            “Plus, the hotel could knock us out again,” I said.

            Rachel punched me. “Mr. Optimistic.”

            DeWolfe poured some water into Pepper’s mouth. “Hang on, Martin. We’re going to—”

            Jaime lifted her head and sniffed. “Smoke.”

            I smelled it too. Rachel’s nod confirmed it. The burning newspapers had started a fire somewhere.

            “Let’s go.” Tired as I was, I helped pull Peppers to his feet again. He could walk, but not too fast. The bleeding looked done.

            Rachel opened the front door. The freezing rain whipped our faces like a shower of knives. I couldn’t even see my Honda parked out front.

            I looked back. “Everyone got their keys?”

            Catman patted his pocket. Jaime looked as if she didn’t understand the question. DeWolfe shifted her shoulder under Pepper’s arm.

            Then the door behind the counter burst open, and a dozen creatures raced forward.

            I only got a glimpse. Some of them were larger than the thing we’d fought in the attic. Some had shorter arms. Others scuttled forward on multiple legs, clicking their claws like angry crabs. The rest . . .

            We didn’t stop to take video. I managed to keep Peppers moving with DeWolfe’s help, out across the porch and into the driving rain. In an instant I was socked to my socks. Catman pushed us toward a big SUV, clicking a key to unlock the doors.

            We pushed Peppers inside. Then I ran to my rented Prius, where Rachel had already opened the doors.

            “Are you all right?” I slammed and locked the doors, trying not to hyperventilate as I hit the Start button. We wouldn’t get far in all this mud, but at least maybe we’d get a couple of miles away from the hotel—

            “Look.” Rachel pointed. “Turn on the lights.”

            My headlights light up the porch. The creatures prowled back and forth, jumping up and down like chimpanzees aching for a fight. Or maybe just defending their territory. They stayed near the door.

            Flames flickered in the windows on the ground floor, and dark smoke seeped through the cracks. But the creatures didn’t charge us. After a few minutes they reared up and then plunged back inside, some through the door, others smashing through the front window.

            The fire started bursting through windows on the second floor. From a few candles and newspapers? The place must have been a firetrap waiting to happen.

            I sank back in my seat, soaked to the bone. “I guess none of us is going to get 5 million dollars.”

            Rachel slugged my shoulder. “See if your phone works.”

The rain turned to a slow drizzle by morning, and Catman got his battery-powered wi-fi router working so we could use our phones again. A helicopter came in to take Martin Peppers to the nearest hospital. DeWolfe insisted on flying with him.

            The rest of us stood in the mud, watching the Carrington smolder as gray clouds hung in the sky. The smoke pouring through the broken windows was thick, and we could see flames spark through some of the upper windows. The walls looked as if they’d collapse any minute now.

Catman leaned against his SUV. “What were they?”

            Rachel hugged her arms in her denim jacket. “No idea. All I got . . . they’re maybe leftovers from a long time ago. Living underneath. Evolving—or mutating—a different way. Not the wrong way, but physically, mentally . . .” She shook her head. “The hive mind.”

            “I thought . . .” Catman hung his head. “We just figured it was a haunted house. Spooky stuff, knocking on the walls.” He looked at the smoke. “Jeremy found the house. Goddamn it . . .” He turned away.

            Jaime Kinsman stomped a cigarette out in the soggy ground. “I hope they’re all dead. I hope this place burns to the ground.” She opened the door on her Hyundai. “See you.”

            She pulled the car back, turned around, and headed down the road.

            “They’re not dead.” Rachel’s voice was a whisper only I could hear. “They’re hiding.”

            Great. “Just a minute.”

            I walked up to Catman. “Duane, what happened in season two?”

            He blinked at me. Then he looked away at the cloudy horizon. “We found one of them.”

            What the hell—“You knew they were there?”

            “We thought it was the only one! And it was dead when we found it.” He glanced toward the hotel. “We buried it in back.”

            “And that’s what got season two canned?” It didn’t make sense.

            “The network thought we faked it. They refused to air it. That’s why we had to come back.”

            “To see if there were more?”

            He nodded, his eyelids drooping. “We had to know.”

            I could understand curiosity. I used to be a reporter, after all. But he’d risked our lives—and Alan Miller and Jeremy Spears were dead.

            “Are you going to release this?”

            “I don’t know!” He turned on me. “Jeremy’s dead, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to release any of this! Or if there’s going to be a third season! Or the money, or . . . anything.”

            He started to cry. “Sorry . . . sorry . . .”

            Damn it. “Okay.” I patted his shoulder. “Spears was  . . . a nice guy.”

            “Yeah.” He pulled himself up. “I can’t promise anything about the money.”

            I’d already written that off. In the meantime . . . I hesitated. “If this ever gets to air, I might be willing to do—what? Commentary?” I liked the idea of being on TV. “If there’s any money involved.”

            Catman wiped his eyes and looked at Rachel. “What about her?”

            I rolled my eyes. “We’ll have to talk.”

            In the car Rachel punched me. “What was that?”

            “I might be able to get you on TV. If the deal’s right.” I shifted gears. “You might have to dress in something sexy.”

            Rachel laughed. “Oh, Tom Jurgen, you know how to do the sweet talk.”

            I managed to turn the car around and find the road. “Let’s just go home.”

# # #