The Cabin Is Always Hungry

Arc 2 | Finders Keepers (4)

FINDERS KEEPERS

Part 4

Eddie took a deep breath in the van and glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He frowned and swiveled the mirror to the other side. Grabbing his knife, he climbed out of the van and stabbed the front tire, which let out an audible hiss.

“Trying not to get them to follow you?” I commented, amused. Let’s see how that worked out for him. I thought he could hotwire the van, but he didn’t know how.

Eddie ran toward the visitor’s center before taking the path into the woods; his footsteps were quick and impressively quiet. But he stopped a foot into the tree line, catching sight of the docks and the tempting stacks of metal dinghies and canoes on the shore, reflecting the moonlight.

I looked over his shoulder to the Goliath standing merely twenty feet away from him, breathing quietly behind the mask, gripping tightly on the axe’s handle and ready to strike if need be.

Eddie eyed the lake’s pristine waters hungrily. Out of the men inside the cabin, Leo could definitely track him into the woods. He’s a former Marine. God only knew what that fucker could do once he’s chucked into his element. If he went over the water, he could lose them there. By the time he’s on the other side of the lake, he might be able to find a trail back to the highway or a trailhead, steal a working car, or maybe hitchhike his way to the meeting point. Of course, this wasn’t what he was thinking (I’m not a mind reader…yet), but it was evident on his face.

Then he eyed the lit cabin across the lake before I shut off the lights.

Even he realized that someone must be home.

I also realized that if someone was home, they had a working car and phone.

I shook my head. “I’m only going to disappoint you, dude. Don’t do it. You’re going to die if you go over there. There are traps. There are monsters.” I had two hours to kill waiting for Maxine to come back. I might have added deadlier encounters along the way before these fuckers arrive in the camp. “Oh, and a lot of shit you don’t want to deal with. Most of all, don’t go in the freaking water. There’s a merma—”

Eddie left the tree line and took the branching trail toward the shore.

“Ah, fuck. I forgot you can’t hear me. Hey, man. It’s your funeral.”

By then, A slew of shouts and curses emanated inside the visitor’s center. I spied inside the office and found Art grumbling on the floor as Leo shook him awake and John pacing worriedly around the room.

“Find him!” John shouted and hoisted Art from the floor. “We’re screwed if he gets away.”

“Jesus, Johnny, Art’s hurt. Give him time to wake up,” Leo said.

“We won’t have one, Leo, if that fat fuck gets away! Where’s my brother?” He grabbed Art by the collar and pushed him against the wall. “Did he take him? Is he hurt?”

“He…he went to the bathroom…!” Art mumbled and forced a cough.

“He’s probably in the outhouse,” Leo added.

“Shit. My throat hurts,” Art complained, massaging his neck. “Thought I was gonna die, ma.”

“Suck it up. Eddie must still be in the camp. Spread out. I’m gonna get my brother.”

“What do we do once we find him?” Leo asked.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Bash his skull. Kill him. Doesn’t make a difference.”

“Mercer said—”

“—Change of plans, Leo. We’re killing the bastard. He’s a dead man walking anyway. It doesn’t matter if we kill him now or four hours later.”

Leo paused, clenching his teeth. “Alright, boss. Understood.”

I returned to Eddie, who already reached the shore, dragging a dinghy (surprisingly in excellent condition) into the water. He climbed in, grabbed the paddle, and rowed toward the cabin. Watching him paddle that fast was fascinating, but I’d do the same thing when my life was on the line.

After a few minutes of watching him row the boat, John stomped out of the visitor’s center, spotted the only outhouse nearby, and marched toward it, calling out Scottie’s name. Scottie hurriedly grabbed an old toilet paper still inside a plastic cubby against the wall.

“I’m coming! Jeez! If you want to use the toilet that bad—”

“Eddie escaped!” John said behind the door, the gun already in his hand. “Get the fuck out of here and help us look for him.”

It took a minute for Scottie to finish and get out of the outhouse when John pushed him against the door, almost loosening it from the hinges. “You were supposed to watch him.”

Scottie’s eyes bulged. “I—I had to go to the bathroom—” John punched him in the chest. Hard. “Ow! What the fuck, bro!”

“I told you you weren’t ready.”

Scottie rubbed his chest. “I’m sorry, okay? He looked fucked up—”

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses.” He shoved a walkie-talkie into his hands and walked away. “Should’ve brought more guns. Shouldn’t have brought you.”

Scottie glared at his back as he followed after him. “Look, I’m sorry, Johnny. We’re going to find him, okay? Don’t worry about that. He couldn’t have gotten far—”

John stopped in his tracks. “Not a word, Scott. If Mercer finds out that his piece of shit cousin escaped, do you think he’s just going to let us walk? You know what happened to Romero last time he fucked up?”

“But that was an accident—”

“It wasn't, Scottie. Do you think he just happened to hang a picture frame, fell down the stairs, and cracked his head open? Nah. Mercer sent someone to kill him. If we fucked up, we won’t be able to get out of Portland.”

Scottie rolled his eyes. “Where? To Chicago? You’re still set on that?”

“Just help me look for him, man.” John walked away, shaking his head.

In pure universal luck, Scottie huffed, put his hands on his hips, and turned to face the lake.

Under the moonlight, Eddie’s faint form and incessant paddling were obvious. The dinghy broke the twinkling surface of the water.

Scottie laughed. “Ah, dude…I fucking found him.”

John whirled around. “What?”

“He’s right fucking there, man.” Scottie let out another bellied laugh. “Holy shit. This motherfucker.”

John followed where Scottie was pointing, but he didn’t join in laughing. He grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt. “Guys, we found him. Come by the docks. Eddie’s on a boat.”

“A boat?” Art asked from the other line. “Uh, copy that. We’re on our way

John and Scottie ran to the wooden docks and stopped by the edge. John scratched his head, thinking about what he should do.

“Hey, Eddie! Come back, man!” John shouted, waving his arms around. Eddie never bothered to turn around. He just paddled faster once he heard their voices. “If you keep paddling like that, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack!”

Eddie grimaced. “Fuck you, Johnny! You’re a dick!”

“Well, that’s nice.” John snorted. “Yep. He’s going to have a heart attack.”

“What are you doing?” Scottie reached for John’s gun. “Just shoot him.”

“Are you crazy?” John stepped away from his reach. “There are people across the lake. If they hear gunshots, they’ll call the cops.”

“I thought we were alone out here.”

“Nah. There’s a cabin across the lake. Leo and I saw the lights before they turned it off. Eddie might have seen it, too.”

Scottie heaved a sigh. “Okay, and? Even if they did, Eddie’s dead already, and we can get the fuck out of here.”

“I can’t shoot him from three hundred yards away, can you?”

“Leo can. He’s dead; then we drive away. Take the I-5 and be gone with minutes to spare before the cops show up.”

“Mercer wants proof that we killed him. He wants pictures, and then we gotta bury him before they trace it back to him or us.”

Scottie crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Eddie!” John called out again. “We’re gonna talk this over! Come back!”

Still, Eddie refused to turn around. He’s already blending into the darkness, his gaze focused on the other side of the lake.

A minute later, Leo and Art ran down the trail, footsteps beating against the dock’s old, rotting floorboards when Art stepped on the wrong section and fell halfway into the water. He screamed. He must have sprained his arms and shoulder blades when he caught his fall.

“Shit, that’s cold!” Art exclaimed.

“Help him out of there, damn it!” John ordered. Scottie and Leo dragged Art out of the hole. “This night just keeps getting better and better!”nove(l)bi(n.)com

“I’m sorry, John! This isn’t exactly the Four Seasons!” Art blurted out. “I’m trying over here, man. Give me a break.”

“Next time, watch your step.” John pointed Eddie out to the others. “He’s over there.”

Leo let out a whistle. “Damn. He moves fast.”

“I think he’s heading for the cabin.”

“I think so, too.”

“Come on. We can cut him off with the van. I remember seeing a dirt road heading that way. Maybe it’s the way to the cabin.”

“Um, yeah, that’s gonna be a problem,” Art said. “Eddie slashed our tire.”

“What?”

Art raised his hands. “But, good news, we got a spare out back. It’ll just take time to put it on—”

“Eddie, you motherfucker!” John screamed out of frustration. “You’re fucking dead.”

Leo grunted. “I reckon the van’s not yours?”

John rolled his eyes. “It’s my uncle’s. He’s going to fucking kill me if it’s broken. I owe that asshole five grand already. Here.” He gave Leo the gun and glanced over to Scottie. He’s going for his younger brother’s idea.

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Shoot the guy. Drag one of the boats over there, and we can, um, drag his boat back to shore and bury him.”

“What about the people from the cabin?”

“It’s the woods. They could be hunters. It could be nothing. Just make a clean shot. One gunshot shouldn’t raise any suspicions.”

Leo shrugged, aimed for a few seconds, and fired.

I heard the unmistakable ding of metal as the bullet bounced off it. Eddie flinched and ducked.

Leo frowned, disappointed. He didn’t like missing a shot, so he tried again. This time, I could smell the coppery scent of blood. Eddie yelped and leaned over to the side as blood poured out of his shoulder, but the dinghy was too small and narrow for his size. It was built with younger kids in mind. He scrambled to take cover behind what little barrier he got, but that merely shifted the weight to one side.

The dinghy tipped over and threw him overboard; his gasp was drowned by the cold rush of water entering his mouth. The boat capsized over his head.

“You got him?” Scottie asked.

“Yeah,” Leo said, unsure. “I might have nicked him a little. Does Eddie know how to swim?”

John nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hm. He’s still alive, then. I might have hit his shoulder.”

“At least he’s injured,” Scottie said.

John breathed through his nose. He glanced across the lake—to the spot where the cabin’s lights were. “You think they heard?”

“Maybe.”

“Can’t you shoot him again?”

“It’s hard to see him now without the boat,” Leo said. He pointed at the dark waters. He’s got a point, I thought. From where I stood, it was hard to tell where Eddie was. The dinghy’s metallic hull faintly reflected the moonlight, which made it easier to spot, but it now slipped under the surface. For a person swimming in the dark of night… that’s almost impossible. Eddie wasn’t exactly wearing any reflective lifevests.

John turned around and started heading back to the trail. “Alright. Art and Scottie, how long until the tire is fixed?”

Art thought for a second. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes?”

“Finish it in ten. Let’s go.” The rest followed him, but I noticed Art had a considerable limp.

Eddie’s head broke through the surface a few seconds later with a loud gasp. He didn’t hear John shouting anymore or the voices of the others. When he thought the coast was clear, he started swimming to the other side of the lake, but he had difficulty moving his left arm. A small, narrow trail of blood followed him.

The Goliath stood at the lake’s edge, hidden amongst the trees, and watched everything unfold. With keen eyes, he spotted Eddie right away, swimming in the middle of the lake. He followed him from the shore and never let him leave his sight.

Eddie swam and swam and never looked like he was about to tire. The cold was biting. His skin paled. His lips were a lighter shade of purple. He tried to ignore the fact that he was swimming in the darkness with the lake’s pitch-black depths right under him, pulling him, going on like an endless void. The deepest part of Cedar Lake was around two hundred feet, and I knew old lava tubes and caverns that bore deep into the Earth beneath the surface. Lots of cave divers had frequented those depths and died in the past.

“Lord God, please, help me,” Eddie muttered, shivering. “I know I haven’t gone to church for twenty fucking years, but please, let me get out of here. Let me see my wife and kids again,” he prayed. “I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything.”

I frowned. Maybe I can…

But then, an invigorating rush filled me as I witnessed his aura emanating out of his body into a lighter orange. I could feel his desperation now—his will. I could taste the cold, salty tears forming in his eyes. Each stroke of his arms as he swam. Each muscle was straining against the frigid waters.

Eddie entered the dungeon and swam deeper into my domain.

As he got closer and closer to shore, and once he caught sight of the small dock I built near the boathouse, a glimmer of hope welled inside him, and his Resolve slowly dissipated from the orange shade to a lighter green.

A faint giggle of a woman echoed in the darkness.

Eddie stopped swimming and listened.

And listened.

And listened.

He tried to control his breathing, but his shivering wasn’t helping. He probably thought he imagined it when he started swimming again.

And then he heard something break through the water, faint but hauntingly audible. He whirled around and held his breath, scanning the horizon to see if someone else was swimming with him. Maybe it was John or Leo.

“Leo?” He whispered.

Makes sense, I thought. Leo’s a Marine, after all.

But I knew it wasn’t Leo Grady swimming underneath him.

He turned slightly to the right, looking directly at where the summer camp should be, and peered into the dark. His eyes narrowed at a particular spot a hundred feet ahead before his Resolve turned back to orange.

As a lone cloud moved away from blocking the moon, moonlight reflected the lake once again…and cast a shape of a humanoid head floating inches above the water’s surface, staring right back at him.

Eddie probably thought it was just a trick of the light when the head went underwater.

Eddie’s eyes widened, and he swam faster to the dock three hundred feet away. He wasn’t trying to swim as quietly as possible, but a frantic explosion of arms and legs, desperate to get out of the water.

As I hovered and watched fifty feet above the surface, a trailing, subtle wake dispersed from where the head disappeared, drawn toward Eddie’s movement and went after him. A large dark blue caudal fin gracefully broke through the water before slipping under, revealing a slender tail of a massive fish.

Eddie yelped as something yanked his foot. He went under the water for a couple of seconds, bursting out in pleading cries, and swam faster toward the dock. “Please, no! Please, no!”

The creature beneath left him alone for a minute or more, waiting (and watching) as his Resolve turned a darker orange. Occasionally, it swam under and merely graced his belly gently, sometimes tickling his hip or violently pulling his ankles and keeping him under the water for several seconds. I lost count of how often I felt Eddie drink the water between his screams. As the creature played with him, his Resolve never went red.

Just like the old man, Ennis Blunden, from Green Hill. That took Maxine a long time to drain.

But finally, he reached the dock’s edge and grabbed hold of the wooden ladder when the creature grasped his legs and pulled.

Eddie almost fell onto the water but held on to the ladder’s rails for dear life in the nick of time.

And then he screamed, penetrating through the night’s silence. Not a scream you would often hear. It was painful. Guttural. Savage. Of someone being eaten alive.

Below, the waters roiled like a boiling pot and, with it, a crimson streak.

“God, please! Mama! Mama!” He wailed and wailed and wailed. His Resolve never went red.

With a quick wave, the creature unlatched its teeth and swam away. Eddie, whimpering, pushed himself up to the dock and crawled out to the boathouse’s sliding doors. He put as much distance between himself and the dark water as possible.

Then, he looked at his left lower leg.

A chunk of it was missing.

Eddie sobbed and gently poked at the exposed flesh. Pain radiated through his body.

“Okay. Have to get out, Ed. Gotta get the fuck out of here,” he shivered. He propped himself against the door handle and hoisted himself up.

“Help!” He screamed to the cliff—to the cabin standing beyond it. “Help me!”

No one answered.

He limped off the docks and toward the lone trail leading to the top of the shallow cliff. He checked his belt and realized he lost his knife during the scuffle. He took another fearful glance at the lake, looking confused at what had just attacked him. He drew enough strength to put a little weight on his injured leg and continued walking over the rough gravel and gray sand.

The Goliath stepped out of the tree line.

Eddie paused, squinting his eyes. “Uh, hello! Sir! You gotta help—” And then he noticed the double-sided axe the Goliath carried.

The Goliath turned to me for orders since he watched me save him. But there was a familiar twinkle in his eyes as if anticipating something I was not privy to. The demon gave me the same look through Maxine when she sounded disappointed for killing Mr. Blunden in the shed.

Worthy? The Goliath wanted to ask, but he couldn’t speak.

“Hey, look, man, I…I just got attacked. And… I’ll get out. I’ll find the road, and I’ll be on my way. I apologize for trespassing,” Eddie begged.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” I muttered.

I’ve only been a Dungeon Core for twenty-four hours. I didn’t know most of the rules. But the hunger I felt for Eddie’s essence was overpowering. All I could think about was that he would be a challenge.

A good challenge.

And if he failed, the essence he would shed would be delicious.

I welcomed it, suppressing the temptation and the guilt to open the exit door and let him leave with his life (and most of his body) intact.

“Knock him out,” I ordered.

The Goliath grunted and slowly trudged toward Eddie.

“Y—You don’t have to do this,” Eddie begged.

The Goliath kept moving.

Eddie started backing away when the Goliath suddenly sprinted toward him. “No, no, no, no!” He tried to turn around to run but twisted his ankle and fell on his ass instead.

The Goliath stepped over him, raised the axe, and slammed the butt of the handle over his head.