SEVEN THE CLOSING
The Hairy Man filled the entrance, wounded and furious. It carried no one now. Its muzzle was wet with dark blood. Behind it, the first gray light of dawn touched the ridge.
Tomas rang the bell again.
The creature staggered. Arlo grabbed the red cord and looped it around a support beam. Cawley fired his last round into the ground at the creature’s feet, buying a second of hesitation.
The Walker lunged from the tunnel.
The Hairy Man caught it by the throat.
For one extraordinary moment, the two creatures fought in the mine entrance, teeth, claws, and fur blurring in the blue predawn light. The watcher shrieked overhead. The sound drove blood from Cawley’s ears.
“Now,” Tomas said.
Arlo pulled the cord.
The black stone sank into the membrane. The shaft snapped shut with a sound like a mountain cracking. A blast of wind tore through the mine, dragging dust, loose tools, and screaming shapes toward the sealed opening.
The Walker went first.
The watcher folded into itself and vanished.
The Hairy Man dug its hands into the shale. Tomas caught Arlo by the collar and threw him clear as the thing was pulled backward into the dark.
Then the tunnel collapsed.
When the dust settled, sunlight touched the mine mouth.
Tomas was gone.
Only the iron bell remained, half-buried in the shale.
Outside, the basin was quiet again. Not peaceful. Quiet.
They found Chenoa alive at Luanne’s house. She remembered the smell of pine resin, the pressure of the creature’s arm around her ribs, and a man with gold eyes walking nearby them through the trees.
“He told it no, not to hurt me, but it wouldn’t listen” she whispered.
Arlo said nothing.