Crimson Shore (Agent Pendergast, #15)(91)
“You know quite well I won’t leave you.”
“If you don’t, we’ll both perish. Please do as I tell you.”
“I have my knife.”
“Give it to me.”
She fumbled it out of the folds of her dress and handed it to him.
“I want your promise: you will run past and keep running.”
“Very well,” she lied.
Then, as she was about to lead onward, he hesitated again.
“What is it?” she asked.
“This is a damned awkward time to tell you this, but it must be said.”
She felt her heart accelerate.
“You must be prepared for a confrontation, Constance.”
“I’m ready.”
There was a brief pause. “No. Not this confrontation. Another.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If something should happen to me…assume nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
Pendergast paused in the darkness. “Someone’s been here. Someone I fear that I—that we—know only too well.”
In the dark, Constance felt herself turn cold. “Who?” But from his voice she already had an idea who he meant. The cold abruptly became incendiary.
“I found the creature’s shackles and the lock to his prison door had been tampered with. Most cleverly. Why? There’s a perverse logic at work here…and I’m all too certain I know what that logic is.”
“Does this have to do with the figure in the dunes?”
Pendergast shook away the question. “Yes, but there’s no time to explain. Please listen. I have complete trust in Proctor. If something should happen to me, put yourself in his hands. He’ll be to you all that I am now, your guardian and protector. And I repeat: no matter what happens, no matter how things seem, assume nothing.”
“But, Aloysius—” she began, but fell silent when she felt his finger on her lips.
Pendergast then pressed her hand, directing her to continue down the tunnel.
60
They continued their circuitous route, turn after turn after turn. It wasn’t long until Constance noticed the air was cooler and appeared to have some movement: they must be very close to the entrance now. While fresher, it still had a foul reek to it—the same foul reek that came from the beast.
Pendergast, she realized, must have come to the same conclusion, because he stopped and—using touch alone—directed her to take a position behind him.
Moving slower, in absolute silence, they proceeded. They were now in a long, straight tunnel that, she assumed, led to the outside world. After a minute, she gestured for Pendergast to stop once again so that she could listen.
She could hear labored breathing. The beast was evidently trying to control it, but he couldn’t quite stop the sound of wheezing. He was just ahead. She indicated his presence to Pendergast with a faint touch of hand pressure. Pressure back told her Pendergast had also heard it.
He released her hand and, tracing letters on her palm, spelled out with painstaking slowness:
ON THREE I RUSH
YOU FOLLOW
I ENGAGE
KEEP RUNNING
She squeezed her understanding. He held her hand, tapped out 1, 2, and 3—and then in a flash he seemed to disappear, as silent and quick as a bat in a cave. She followed at a run, blind, hands stretched out in front of her.
A sudden roar split the air right directly before her, followed by the sound of a knife ripping through flesh—a butcher-shop sound—and then the thud and crash of a desperate struggle. She ran past and was about to stop when she heard Pendergast shout: “Keep going, I’m right behind you!”
They sprinted on in the darkness, still blind, while, a moment later, Constance heard the creature renew its pursuit with high-pitched screams. It sounded as if Pendergast had dealt it a savage blow, but it was clearly far from being down.
And then Constance saw a glow of light ahead, and the stone stairs materialized. She stopped and turned to see Pendergast running toward her.
“Keep going!” he cried again, leaping past her, racing up the steps, and ramming open the iron trapdoor with one shoulder. He pivoted and pulled her up and out, slammed the iron door closed, and then hauled her out of the cellar hole and into the ruins of Oldham. As they ran toward the beach, Constance heard the demon burst through the iron door with an unholy screech.
They had just passed the dunes and reached the level beach when the demon caught up; Pendergast turned to face him with the knife, warning Constance to keep going. But instead she stopped and turned to see Pendergast and the demon come together with a violent clash, locking in a fearful embrace: Pendergast with the knife raised, Morax—missing two fingers now—struggling to disarm him, the whole ghastly scene illuminated in the predawn light of morning. The storm had abated but the surf remained violent; great rollers leapt up with blowing spume, then crashed down and swept their way up the beach. The air was full of atomized seawater.
She stared, unable for the moment to react. She saw with horror that Pendergast had been badly hurt. His shirtfront was torn, and one side of his face was cut and bleeding. The demon twisted and turned, the two struggling for dominance; but the huge demon prevailed and finally tore the stiletto away from Pendergast, throwing it into the sea. He swung at Pendergast with a great ropy arm; Pendergast dodged the blow but, clearly weakened by his injuries, was thrown off balance. The demon raked him cruelly with a massive hand, tearing through his clothing and reducing it to bloody tatters.