CHAPTER EIGHT

Dawn under the mountain was not signaled by light, but by scent. The dew moistened the air, cooling it and driving it underground where it would remain before the afternoon's warmth lifted it out, creating the sighs and moans that those above believed to be the ghosts that haunted these tunnels.

The dweller knew that those tricks of the wind were only tricks and nothing more. The ghosts here spoke, but not with sound. The dweller felt them as an impression, a pull or a push in the right direction. Not everyone could feel those pushes. In fact, the dweller was firmly convinced that none but himself knew what the wraiths of this place wanted.

At the moment, though, it wasn't the will of the wraiths that led him but the scent of the girl he had kidnapped. Like most people, she wore a combination of perfumes, makeups and deodorants that all but shouted her presence to any of the predators lurking nearby.

The dweller knew of several of those predators—bears, cougars and coyotes—that hunted nearby, but none, not even the bears, entered the caves. Even if they did, they would have no reason to attack a prey so worthless as the girl. They had far larger and more nutritious animals to worry about.

The dweller, though, hunted not for food but for justice. That was worth the effort he had to expend to follow the girl through the endless maze of tunnels and caverns and shafts that man and nature had conspired to build.

He moves calmly, occasionally stopping to pick up the echoes of her footfalls or sniffing the air to ensure he followed the freshest scent and avoided backtracking through tunnels he'd already navigated.

He heard the echo of a cry from a nearby tunnel and headed toward it. He sniffed and recognized this tunnel as the one where he'd left the last trespasser. A smile stretched his lips. She had found his body, it seemed.

Footfalls echoed through the tunnel. The dweller stopped to listen, focusing on every sound that filtered through to his ears. His hearing, like his sense of smell, had sharpened to inhuman levels after twenty years living underground, and he was able to determine the exact tunnel the latest trespasser was taking.

She was doing better than the one before her. The man had simply run in circles before finally giving up and collapsing to the floor. The dweller almost waited to kill him. It was a mercy more than a judgment to end the life of someone so pathetic.

This one was not nearly so pathetic. She was wandering certainly, but each turn brought her closer and closer to the exit. If he let her, she would find her way out and escape.

Of course, he couldn't let her escape. She had trespassed. She had defiled this place. Still, a part of him wished that he could show mercy. It was truly impressive when one of the outsiders managed to find their way out of his dwelling place.

He listened a moment longer to determine her route, then turned around. He didn't hurry. He had no reason to. He knew the tunnels intimately. He could have worn a blindfold himself and been perfectly fine weaving his way through the web of paths available to him.

He walked toward a ventilation shaft and hoisted himself upward, shimmying through the narrow hole and working his way toward the surface. He was a few yards from the entrance when he detected another smell and stopped.

A dog. Not a coyote, but a dog. Dogs gave off a cleaner odor, closer to that of an outsider than that of a coyote.

The police were looking for him. Well, not him, specifically. They had no way of knowing who he was. They were looking for the killer, however, and if he shimmied out of a ventilation shaft and walked back into the caverns via another entrance as he planned, they would deduce who he was easily enough.

He made a noise halfway between a growl and a click, a sign of irritation. The noise was soft enough that not even the dog would have heard it, but it was the dog's nose and not his ears that he needed to be wary of.

He fell silent and let his ears and nose work. There were two people with the dog, a man and a woman. They spoke to each other, but even with his sharp ears, he couldn't make out what was said.

He focused on the other sound, the footfalls of the trespasser. She was moving quickly, more quickly than he had anticipated.

He would need to hurry after all.

He shimmied his way back down the shaft. When he reached the tunnel, he began to sprint, weaving his way through the mine toward the natural caverns where the trespasser was nearing the surface.

He found her just as she reached one of the cave network's many openings. She cried out with relief, and the dweller growled again. If she alerted the police, it would mean real trouble. He rushed her, and just before she left the cavern, he grabbed her and pulled her back. She opened her mouth to scream, and he slammed her head into the cave wall. It made a sound like a pumpkin splitting, and the trespasser fell silent and slumped. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her deeper, heart pounding.

He fell silent again, listening and sniffing. The dog and his handlers remained where they were. He detected no sign that they had heard him. Slowly, he relaxed, and when he was certain that he wouldn't be followed, he stood and dragged the trespasser deeper into the dark.