Operation: Yukon by William Meikle

Author:William Meikle [Meikle, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2021-01-20T22:00:00+00:00

-11-

The lads got the vault door code cracked fifteen minutes later. The cap spun the big wheel and the door came open with a faint hiss of escaping air. The smell hit me immediately, a musky, heavy odor of animal with a faint underlay of piss and shite. And with it came the memory of another cave and a charnel-house in Siberia. My legs didn't want me to go any farther and I had to force myself to step in after the cap once the door was fully open.

Fluorescent tubes lit a set of metal steps going down at a sharp angle in a rock tunnel with hastily whitewashed walls. The stench came up in a warm draft from below, making me breathe carefully through my mouth as we descended. The cap went first, with the sheriff behind me and Davies bringing up the rear; we left Wilko at the vault door covering our backs in case the wolves were feeling extra sneaky.

We descended in silence, a couple of dozen steps until we reached bottom and stood in a roughly hewn cave, more fluorescent lights buzzing above us. It was a prison, of sorts, three cells again roughly cut into the rock on either side, each with a very hefty iron grille across the front stout enough to contain the strongest of men. But what was inside were no men.

I'd seen them before so was ready for the sight but the sheriff let out an involuntary yelp and had taken three steps back towards the stairs before she gathered herself. Young Davies looked like he'd join her in flight given half a chance and I can't say I blamed him. On our left-hand side two sullen male Alma stood at the grilles of their respective cages, inspecting us as we were inspecting them. These were paler than the ones in Siberia, almost white to match the snow outside. They stood more than seven feet tall on slightly bowed legs with barrel chests and noticeable pot-bellies, the matted fur hanging like a kilt around their waist, their slightly conical heads almost scraping the roof of their cells. Their hands were the size of shovels, with slate-gray fingernails long and pointed; I knew from experience they could rend flesh like knives through butter. Above shaggy beards that hung on their chests their mouths were full of teeth and their dark brown, almost black, eyes full of anger. And somehow their silence only made them appear all that much more intimidating.

"Fuck me," Davies said.

"Don't go giving them any ideas, lad," I answered. "They've been locked up for a while and might take you at your word."

The sheriff had turned away, but now she let out another yelp of surprise.

"There's another one over here."

On the other side of the cave, in the middle of the three cells, we found a third Alma. This one wasn't standing to watch us but was instead lying on a bed of straw near the rear. I had to

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