• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Spiff, the kid, bent over and called down the hole, “Think you’re pretty smart? Well, you’ll see—you’ll see!”

From up here, Murph could barely make the fish out. Only light down there came from topside through the hole. Made it more dramatic-like, Eddie’d said. Murph decided that when he took over, he’d make the hole bigger. It was more fun to see the whole thing. Electrical wires hung around near her, dangling from the ceiling. Murph figured that whoever was in the station before Eddie set up here had taken a bunch of the equipment and the fixtures with ’em, leaving a lot of loose wires hanging around. Luckily, there wasn’t no power to any of ’em.

The fish looked around, and she saw the bones of her predecessors. Usually that was when they got all freaked out, but this fish was a cool customer. She just stared at the human remains for a second, like she saw skeletons every day (and who knew, maybe she did), and then looked around some more. Murph supposed that shouldn’t’ve been all that surprising, since she was cold as ice when she killed Eddie.

But he figured that’d just make for a better show.

Margie walked up to the edge of the pit and dropped down the keys to the cuffs, which Eddie thought was overdoing it a little. “There you go, bitch,” Margie said as the keys hit the floor with a jangle. “Wouldn’t want it to be over too fast.”

Murph was about to object but then conceded the point. Besides, if this woman could do what she did to Eddie while tied up, she’d probably put up a good fight, and it’d be better if she had full use of her hands.

The fish started crabwalking backward toward the keys. She moved pretty good for a lady all handcuffed. Usually—and Murph had experience in this regard—folks could barely stand up right, much less move, once their hands were behind their backs. It was why handcuffs was so effective that nobody’d ever changed how you manacled prisoners since back to Roman times, that’s what Daddy’d always said. Murph didn’t know if Daddy was right—somehow, Murph couldn’t picture Roman soldiers in their sissy skirts and brushy-top helmets actually cuffing some guy in a toga—but he definitely believed in the power of the handcuff.

With a clanging sound, the fish backed up against what she probably thought was a wall. Murph smiled. He loved this part.

A snarling face with a bloody snout rammed into the cage, startling the fish. She backed away right quick.

Murph muttered, “Was startin’ to wonder if anything’d spook her.”

“Don’t worry,” Margie said. “She’ll be spooked enough in a minute.”

“Damn right.” He looked over to Spiff and Avi. “Let ’em loose!”

The pair started pulling on the ropes that were attached by pulleys to the gates that kept the pooches in check.

With a whining sound, the rusty metal gates opened, and Murph heard the sound that never failed to give him a thrill: the clacking of sharp paws on concrete.

When they first got here, Eddie had five of the pooches. They were like the plague-ridden people, except they moved a lot faster, and they were, y’know, dogs. One of ’em died three months back when one of the fishes managed to snap its neck. That was the same fish who busted Avi’s leg, and Avi’d been limping something fierce ever since.

Murph had no idea how Eddie’d managed to capture the pooches, but he did, and they’d been the source of entertainment for all of them for goin’ on a year now. Watchin’ them chew up the fishes was almost as much fun as NASCAR.

The four that were left looked like hell, but that just made it more fun. The first one that came out was showin’ its entire rib cage, and its teeth were half broken and also covered in blood. At the right angle, you could see clean through its body, though the intestines got in the way of the full view.

Next one to come out was even bigger, and missin’ more skin, but that didn’t stop it from clickity-clacking on the concrete toward the fish, who was scrambling with the keys Margie’d thrown down and stepping on bones with her boots.

“That’s