Concave by Doug Donnan

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor/GTNW

goodtimesnewsweekly

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

*Author's notation: This little 'storyscript' is meant to be

one of my featurettes for an upcoming mini-movie series.

"Concave"

by

Doug Donnan

[  New Mexico // The Black Range Mountains/'El Sierra Diablo' // Circa 1990  ] 

"Clawstrowhatsis?" Gilmartin popped as he studied the bugaboo face of his diminutive 'running partner' just there at the

yawning mouth of the cavern. "What the hell are you talkin' about Martini? There's all hell behind us with bloodhounds

and scatter guns. I think this freakin' cave is a pretty damn good option. Who knows where it goes or may lead to. It might

go on for freakin' miles. Man them damn prison goons with their sniffin' hounds and those prissy state troopers with their Nazi

cop dogs aren't about to venture up into this big ass mountain hole. Man it just might lead us all the way under 'and' across

the damn border into Mexico... comprende?"

"Si, Yo lo conozco senor Gil, pero I have always been deathly afraid of caves and mines and such. Doctors have told me it is a

simple case of claw...stro...phobya. That's why I just had to cut through that barbed wire fence with you back at the prison yard.

I was losing my mind... going loco in that place. Pero, I'm tellin' you Gilly, I just can't go in there with you or I might--"

Not far off in the distance the caterwauling and baying of a brood of prison and police dogs interupted their midnight discussion

there at the foot of the looming mountain. A bright, wide open khaki moon looked down indifferently on the two escaped convicts

as they stood there like cigar store indians dressed in their ill fitting, almost glow-in-the-dark orange jump suits. The law was

getting closer by the minute. There was no more time to discuss Martinez' personal psychological profile.

"Listen up amigo," From Gilmartin as he raised a vertical finger into the chilling night air. "As you hear them comin', hear this.

I don't wanna hear no more about your frijole fears and phobias. We're goin' in there, together. I'll hold your damn hand if you want

me to Martini, but if we don't skedaddle our orange asses right up inside of there 'pronto' the bastards are gonna catch up to us and

their gonna haul you n' me right on back to that freakin' cement cemetery we just broke out of... comprende-vu?"

Martinez stood there for a second pulling down thoughtfully on his little stubby chin. There was, now, growing still closer, the

relentless bellowing calls of the excited impatient law dogs. "Muy bien muchacho," from the now shoulder shrugging and

submissive Martinez. "Vamanos."

So, at that, the two jail jumpers scrambled up the slippery stone and shale incline and soon disappeared into the gaping, craggy

entrance and depths of the coal dark cavern.

*   *   *

"Well fellas," Captain Krauthammer almost sighed as he tried to restrain his yapping, monomaniacal bloodhound. "Ifn' those two

bastards went up inside that damn cave up there. They'll have all damn hell and highwater to pay."

"We gonna go on in after 'em Capn' Kraut?" a young, saucer-hatted prison guard tried as he fought to hold the leash on a duet of

insanely barking, grey-goose hunting dogs.

"Just you say the word sir," another scrawny highway canine cop called out from his back-of-the-pack position as he struggled with

his own frantic black masked and muzzled German Shepherd.

Krauthammer played the beam of his extended, silver Ray-O-Vac all around and about the massive maw of the foreboding cave.

He grimaced slightly, torn between discretion and duty.

"I ain't about to put any of us in 'that' kinda harms way. Hellfire, just gettin' up there on this damn shale and shit would be a

might risky on us and these crazy dogs. Besides, that there cave is said to be haunted. Some folks around this area'll swear to that fact.

It's commonly referred to as El Casa del Diablo... 'the devil's house' in gringo-ese. Those two monkeys ain't gonna last too very long

ifn' they skedaddled up into that damn thing."

"All these dogs we got here seem to be thinkin' that's just what they done Capn'. We just gonna back down n' let those two bastards

get away?" saucer-hat asked with a decidedly cheeky degree of inexperienced impatience.

Krauthammer snapped his flashlight's piercing light directly over into the man's pallid, questioning face. Time froze for a second just

there at the rocky slideway that led up to the waiting cave. "I don't think you understand son. This here cave is a one way ticket to

the devil's own personal death row. Them ol' boys ain't comin' outa there alive... understand me? We're just gonna let 'em go on about

their suicidal escape clause up in there."

"But, don't ya think that we should--"

"No... I don't," Krauthammer cut in as he yanked back hard and away on the leather leash that connected him to his slobbering hound.

"This here is the end of the line gentlemen. We're foldin' this crazy search party up. It's over. Them cons are in the devil's hands now.

May the Lord have mercy on their two sorry souls."

*   *   *

"C'mon Martini, you just follow me," Gilmartin whispered as the now spelunking twosome did wend there blind-black way through, around

and just beneath row upon treacherous row of hanging and jutting canine-like stalactites and stalagmites. Only every now and then did

Gilmartin risk to try and strike one of his damp and dog-eared Winston pack matches. The flashing bit of phosporescent flame was like

a relieving drink of water for their squinting light-starved eyes. The shivering orange duo were slowly taking a kind of sideways, seashore

sandcrab like approach in their impromptu subterranean escape.   

"Que pasa mi amigo?" Martinez asked from his crouched, humpback position. "Are we... okay then?"

"Well, I don't hear them damn ass hounds anymore," from Gilmartin tentatively, but lightheartedly. "That's a big plus for us amigo."

"Si... pero... do you 'smell' what I 'smell'?

"Smell? Smell... 'what'?"

"I can't say for sure in all this darkness. Kinda' like... sulphur."

Gilmartin raised his lantern jaw slightly and took some hog-like snorts of cave air. "Aw, you're just smellin' the damn match smoke.

C'mon let's keep mov-- wait a second... yeh, I do smell sumthin'. Kinda' strong now too. Seems to be wellin' up from over there someplace.

The two orange men stepped slowly, cautiously over just to their right, in the direction of the odor. As they advanced the cave seemed to

be narrowing, closing down somehow. The freezing subterranean water droplets that dripped from the points and pieces of the hanging

stalactites were now becoming more of a problem for them, almost a sporadic rain or thick mist.

They pressed on.

*   *   *

"Senor Gil," Martinez whispered up ahead to the undaunted point man who was now leading the two party platoon. "Let's turn back from

all this. Let's take our chances on the outside. Esta es something muy mala down in here. This cave... I can't take anymo--

"Aw c'mon Martini," Gilmartin called back just over his hunching shoulder. He struck another match and the little flame gave them a

much welcomed flash of temporary illumination. "Look amigo... it's starting to open up again."

"Pero... I don't like this... at all Gilmarteen. There's something not right, something 'dangerous' in here. Something... 'evil'. I can

feel it... all around us."

"Aw you're plum loco," Gilmartin announced as he stopped there in his soggy tracks just beneath an enormous vaulted concave

section. He waited impatiently for the cowering but coming, wide-eyed and deathly afraid Martinez. "You're just havin' one of your

damn spells of clawstro-whatever-it-is. C'mon, I think our luck is gonna change. Aqui... 'here' amigo," he flipped back the little match

book cover. "I'll strike another match for you so you can see what's up ahe--"

"AIYEEEE! Mira... up there. Up above us... Madre de Dios!"

"Are you crazy? What are you screamin' about? Look at what?" from the straightened Gilmartin. He shook his head and then slightly

swiveled it around, then up. The match's little glow told the tale... silently. They were hanging there with their glowing red eyes staring

down at the two aghast orange prison escapees. Hundreds... thousands of them baring miniature stalagmite and stalactite teeth and fangs.

"Goddam Bats!" Gilmartin shouted out in horror as he threw up his arms defensively.

Martinez whipped a hurried little sign of the cross just in front of his grimacing face. He steadied a mesmerized look at the frozen Gilmartin. 

"No amigo," he whispered in doomed reply. "Not just bats... 'vampire bats'.

They detached themselves from their massive midnight chamber. Only a few at first, then all. They had been disturbed. Now... ravenous.

They swirled.

___ The End ___