First 4 chapters from
SORROW'S ECHO
Prelude
The helicopter carrying the survivors rose toward the stars. Its flashing signal lights briefly came into view in the sliver of night sky visible from the bottom of the canyon, then it was gone. The broken, dying man on the canyon floor raised a feeble, blood-streaked arm to signal them, but there was no way they could see him, no way for them to know he was still alive, and no way for them to reach him in time. He dropped his arm and continued to watch, hoping for another glimpse of the aircraft.
The glimpse never came.
A gust of wind blew over the top of the canyon, sending a deep, penetrating moan echoing down the sandstone walls. The man shuddered, suddenly cold in the desert night. He groaned.
A faint scrape and clatter of rocks echoed from somewhere up the canyon. The man froze, his heart thudding painfully as he strained to hear over the wind. For an interminable moment, he heard nothing out of place, but then, far up the canyon, there came the soft chittering of insect-like clicks.
Ice shot through him, and he trembled. It had found him. He drew a sharp, trembling breath, every fiber of his being screaming for him to run.
Desperate, the man reached for the canyon wall with his good arm. The tips of his fingers caught hold of a crack in the sandstone, and he pulled. Hot agony lanced through him, but he still strained.
He moved an inch then another. Hope blossomed in his chest. His fingers slipped, scraping against the stone, and he collapsed back to the earth, slamming his head against the hard ground. He screamed.
The clicking came again, louder and closer than before. He flinched, trying to push himself against the cliff, as if he could vanish into it. He whimpered as his eyes scanned the shadows that encased the far end of the chamber-like space where he had fallen in the canyon. There was nothing but darkness.
Still trembling, he thought of the helicopter. He wondered how many had survived. One? Two? What about Liz?
The wind moaned again. The deep, sorrowful sound filled the chamber-like space. He shuddered again.
Another scrape against the rocks, closer this time, brought him back to the moment. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, struggling to think of something he could do to escape, hide, or warn others, but there was nothing. Nothing!
Or perhaps… The whisper of an idea formed in his mind. It was a long shot—a million to one—but he didn’t have anything to lose.
He reached down and fumbled at the pocket of his shorts. Spots flashed at the edge of his vision as he found his phone and slid it out. Panting from the effort, he lifted it and peered at the small screen.
A spiderweb of cracks crisscrossed the glass face. Shaking, he pressed the power button. The screen sprang to life, its glare painful in the darkness.
He didn’t bother to check for a signal. There would be none. He hadn’t planned on making a call anyway.
Another moan of the wind. Another clatter of rocks. Another series of clicks.
Hurry! Fumbling with the tiny icons, he managed to open the camera app and set it to selfie-video mode. He pressed record. The timing indicator ticked upward.
For a moment, he just stared at the shattered image of himself displayed on the screen. The whole left side of his face was bruised and swollen, his eye unable to open. Blood was smeared across his forehead and dripped from a gash on his temple into his unkempt six-day stubble.
He drew a breath and spoke, his dry throat unable to muster more than a broken whisper.
“My name is… is Paul Lambert. My wife… Liz… and I were part of a group. We… were attacked. Something…” He paused and closed his eye against the memories of the horror that had struck at them from the shadows. When he opened it again, his eye stung with tears.
“The rest are dead. I… don’t know how many survived.”
Clattering rocks echoed down the canyon. He shuddered, his heart beating even faster.
“I won’t survive,” he whispered to the camera. “If you see this message, get out of here. It isn’t safe.”
He paused, his mind swimming with confused words and phrases. They slipped from his grasp, but one remained.
“Liz,” he whispered, “I love you. You have always been the best part of my life. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your… not your…”
Blackness formed at the edge of his vision, and a tremor of pain shot through him. He flinched, losing his grip on the phone. It tumbled from his fingers and clattered onto the rocks, its pale glow lighting the canyon.
Rocks scraped just over his head. Panting, the man looked up. In the phone’s dim light, a shadow moved.
“You found me, you son of a bitch,” the man whispered.
In time to the rising howl of the wind, the shadow rushed forward. Its angry, insect-like chatter filled the air as it reached for him.
The man’s screams filled the night.
The glimpse never came.
A gust of wind blew over the top of the canyon, sending a deep, penetrating moan echoing down the sandstone walls. The man shuddered, suddenly cold in the desert night. He groaned.
A faint scrape and clatter of rocks echoed from somewhere up the canyon. The man froze, his heart thudding painfully as he strained to hear over the wind. For an interminable moment, he heard nothing out of place, but then, far up the canyon, there came the soft chittering of insect-like clicks.
Ice shot through him, and he trembled. It had found him. He drew a sharp, trembling breath, every fiber of his being screaming for him to run.
Desperate, the man reached for the canyon wall with his good arm. The tips of his fingers caught hold of a crack in the sandstone, and he pulled. Hot agony lanced through him, but he still strained.
He moved an inch then another. Hope blossomed in his chest. His fingers slipped, scraping against the stone, and he collapsed back to the earth, slamming his head against the hard ground. He screamed.
The clicking came again, louder and closer than before. He flinched, trying to push himself against the cliff, as if he could vanish into it. He whimpered as his eyes scanned the shadows that encased the far end of the chamber-like space where he had fallen in the canyon. There was nothing but darkness.
Still trembling, he thought of the helicopter. He wondered how many had survived. One? Two? What about Liz?
The wind moaned again. The deep, sorrowful sound filled the chamber-like space. He shuddered again.
Another scrape against the rocks, closer this time, brought him back to the moment. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, struggling to think of something he could do to escape, hide, or warn others, but there was nothing. Nothing!
Or perhaps… The whisper of an idea formed in his mind. It was a long shot—a million to one—but he didn’t have anything to lose.
He reached down and fumbled at the pocket of his shorts. Spots flashed at the edge of his vision as he found his phone and slid it out. Panting from the effort, he lifted it and peered at the small screen.
A spiderweb of cracks crisscrossed the glass face. Shaking, he pressed the power button. The screen sprang to life, its glare painful in the darkness.
He didn’t bother to check for a signal. There would be none. He hadn’t planned on making a call anyway.
Another moan of the wind. Another clatter of rocks. Another series of clicks.
Hurry! Fumbling with the tiny icons, he managed to open the camera app and set it to selfie-video mode. He pressed record. The timing indicator ticked upward.
For a moment, he just stared at the shattered image of himself displayed on the screen. The whole left side of his face was bruised and swollen, his eye unable to open. Blood was smeared across his forehead and dripped from a gash on his temple into his unkempt six-day stubble.
He drew a breath and spoke, his dry throat unable to muster more than a broken whisper.
“My name is… is Paul Lambert. My wife… Liz… and I were part of a group. We… were attacked. Something…” He paused and closed his eye against the memories of the horror that had struck at them from the shadows. When he opened it again, his eye stung with tears.
“The rest are dead. I… don’t know how many survived.”
Clattering rocks echoed down the canyon. He shuddered, his heart beating even faster.
“I won’t survive,” he whispered to the camera. “If you see this message, get out of here. It isn’t safe.”
He paused, his mind swimming with confused words and phrases. They slipped from his grasp, but one remained.
“Liz,” he whispered, “I love you. You have always been the best part of my life. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your… not your…”
Blackness formed at the edge of his vision, and a tremor of pain shot through him. He flinched, losing his grip on the phone. It tumbled from his fingers and clattered onto the rocks, its pale glow lighting the canyon.
Rocks scraped just over his head. Panting, the man looked up. In the phone’s dim light, a shadow moved.
“You found me, you son of a bitch,” the man whispered.
In time to the rising howl of the wind, the shadow rushed forward. Its angry, insect-like chatter filled the air as it reached for him.
The man’s screams filled the night.