fredbassett | Fic, The Devil's Crowll, Part 7, Stephen/Ryan Series, Slash, 18

Title : The Devil’s Crowll, Part 7
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Lyle, the Creature from the Black Lagoon
Rating : 18 (but in this part only for language)
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle), no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : To the stopes and the levels far below ………
Tags : fic, slash, Lester

The words to The Parys Mountain Mine are owned by Adrian Duncan. Hope you don’t mind me borrowing them! From the CD Karst Fever, by the wonderfully named Dangerous Dick and the Duckbusters. Find it, buy it, enjoy it!

The Devil’s Crowll. 5.45am.

            So let’s all take our headlamp’s glow
            Where the moonlight never shines
            And we’ll sing this song as down we go
            To the stopes and the levels far below
            Where the mud lies thick and the waters flow
            In the Parys Mountain mine.

Lester glanced at his watch. Half an hour had passed. Christ, it felt like a lifetime.

If they hadn’t run into trouble, Lyle and Shaw should be back at the original dive site by now.

He cursed himself for not asking Lyle how long it would take to equalize the air in the bottles. Ten minutes? Half an hour?

He was cold and tired, but sitting and waiting didn’t hold much appeal. Lester slung the assault rifle over one shoulder and started to explore the chamber. Miners had worked here, that was for sure. Had they come in from a lower level, now flooded? Or was there another passage, lying concealed under the rock debris somewhere around the edge of the churn?

Somewhat to his own surprise, considering his normal attire was Savile Row suits, shirts from Jermyn Street and silk ties, Sir James Lester didn’t feel even remotely self-conscious wearing a wet suit and Wellington boots with a rifle hanging at his side, a pistol strapped to his thigh and a diving knife nestled in an arm sheath. But he still didn’t feel safe. It’d take a tank, a rocket-launcher and an entire Special Forces team to make him start to feel safe again. And even with that sort of back-up, he was beginning to realize that safe was only a relative term.

The thought of a rocket-launcher brought back to mind the memory of Cutter’s irritation with the condition of the T. rex corpses and his thin lips curved into a slight smile. When it came to creatures from the past, Lester made no secret of the fact that he generally favoured Ryan’s preferred solutions. Although the seven super-sized carcasses had stretched even the resources of the Home Office to breaking point. And he was reliably informed that the smell from the warehouse was now in danger of permeating the entire county. Which would no doubt lead to more expense. But departmental budgets weren’t exactly high on his list of things to worry about right now.

On a first examination of the churn he found no obvious way out, although a couple of piles of fractured rock looked like they might repay closer examination. He allowed himself five minutes using his head-torch on its most powerful setting to examine the walls and roof, but again he drew a blank. Dimming the light he went back to an examination of the edges of the chamber. On this setting, Lyle had told him he had enough light for 40 hours. With probably another five hours from his back-up diving lights if needed.

The rock slammed backwards into one of the boulders with a sharp, splintering crack. Lester stood up, straightening up his aching back and grunting slightly with the unaccustomed effort. He was barely fit enough for caving, and he certainly wasn’t fit enough for digging, but the exercise had taken his mind off the waiting and had helped to drive the memories of the dive away, for a while, at least.

Over the noise of his own breathing and the thumping of his heart something else insinuated its way into his consciousness. Snuffling. And the sucking slide of something heavy moving in mud.

Fuck.

He turned, slowly and carefully, reaching round for the rifle, hoping he could remember the instructions for releasing the safety catch and simultaneously cursing the fact that he’d ignored Lyle’s parting words and put the damn thing on in the first place.

Dave Shaw had been right. The creature was an ugly fucker. It was now completely out of the water, squatting on short bow-legs and staring at him with small round eyes. It was difficult not to anthropomorphize the eyes but even if the malice he saw there was only a figment of his adrenaline fueled imagination, the eyes certainly weren’t bloody friendly either, that was for sure.

It blinked slowly in the light of his head-torch. Would the light attract it or repel it? Lester wished he’d spent more time listening to Temple’s ramblings. The answer was almost certainly buried in there somewhere but his brain was in no fit state to go into information retrieval mode. It was actually doing its best to convince him that flight was a better idea than fight, which just showed how easy it was to forget the whole no way out problem.

The snuffling started again, and the mastodonsaurus took another step forward, eyes still fixed on him. Or on the light. But Lester’s brain had reached one conclusion. He wasn’t turning the light off. No way. He didn’t want to die in the dark. He didn’t actually want to die at all, but he was beginning to think he might not have much of a choice about that.

He lifted one hand, very slowly, very carefully, groping with his fingers for the button to switch the lamp to a higher setting.

The creature blinked again in the extra light, but didn’t back off.

Stalemate.

Go back into the water, just turn round, go away, leave me alone. The words ran round in Lester’s head like a mantra, Get the hell out of here, go away. Closely followed again by, Leave me alone! There was even a tiny part of his brain willing to say Please.

Politeness clearly wasn’t working. It took another two steps forward, snuffling again, this time shaking the huge crocodilian head from side to side and opening its mouth slightly. The long tusks drew down through the skull, but it didn’t make the beast look any prettier nor did its sinus problems improve either. Lester wondered vaguely whether the holes in the skull through which the tusks fitted served as nostrils as well, hence the snuffling. Go away, I am not lending you a handkerchief!

The mastodonsaurus took another few steps forward. Deciding that discretion was definitely the better part of valor Lester began to edge carefully backwards, hoping to get one of the large boulders in the chamber between him and the intruder.

Go away!

Another thought suddenly broke into his struggle for mental control. How much time had passed while he’d been pulling out rocks? Could Lyle be on his way back through the sump now? If this ugly bugger went back into the water now, would it meet Lyle coming the other way?

His hands shook slightly and the wavering of the rifle barrel served to remind Lester that he did have another option. He could follow Ryan’s example not Cutter’s. Could he manage to kill the thing? Or would he just enrage it and make matters worse? Decisions, decisions.

Not the sort of questions a desk job in the Civil Service had trained him to answer.

He risked a glance down at his watch. Oh shit. It had been an hour and a half since Lyle had slid into the water. Easily enough time for the soldier to be on his way back. Heavily laden with four bottles, with only a knife for protection, he’d stand no chance against a predator like this. Or had he already met the bastard thing in the water and suffered the same fate as the other diver? Lester’s stomach churned at the thought.

The triangular head swiveled sideways, staring down at the water. Something was disturbing the surface of the sump pool.

Oh dear God! Talk about timing …………

The glow of a lamp underwater dispelled any notion that a second mastodonsaurus might be arriving to join the party. The creature turned, massive jaws gaping wide, displaying a set of teeth more than capable of biting a man’s head off.

Lester grabbed a rock, and threw it hard over to one side of the chamber, away from the pool, trying to distract the mastodonsaurus from the activity in the water. The beast shuffled forward, but not far enough. And it wasn’t distracted enough either. Movement in its own natural habitat was clearly more interesting than movement on land and it started to turn again.

Time to change tactics. Without giving himself time to think about the advisability of playing the live bait game, Lester abandoned the illusion of safety and edged out from behind the boulder and started to make his way across the churn. Picking up rocks and lobbing them in the direction of the mastodonsaurus, like throwing balls for a dog. Except that this brute could have taken on a whole pack of pitbulls and still emerged the winner.

The rocks served their purpose. The mastodonsaurus opened its mouth even wider and ran. Towards him.

Lester dodged to his right, putting himself between the creature and the water. Between it and Lyle. Giving himself a line of fire that wouldn’t result in him accidentally killing the soldier. Or at least so he hoped.

His finger squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked in his hands. The noise, the muzzle flash and the kick-back scared him to hell and back. He knew almost immediately he’d fired too high. The first shots in the burst had gone right over the creature’s long, low body. The rest had ripped shit out of the roof of the chamber, leaving behind the sharp smells of cordite and fractured rock.

How many bullets did the magazine hold? He had no idea how many shots he’d fired so far, but when he ran out, that was it. He hadn’t a clue how to reload or whether he even had any more ammunition, so he’d better make the next ones count.

The long tail whipped from side to side and the mastodonsaurus shuffled first backwards and then forwards, dragging its heavy body through the mud, clearly uncertain whether to take to the water again or not.

Movement at the edge of the pool drew its attention away from Lester.

Lyle was doing his best to drag himself out of the sump pool, reaching up to try and haul his body out of the water, hampered hugely by the pull of four air cylinders at his waist. Heavy. Unmanouverable. Potentially deadly. Lyle’s eyes, hidden behind the diving mask, had already assessed the threat and Lester saw one pale hand fumble with the belt catch, struggling to release the bottles.

The mastodonsaurus clearly decided that the black thing, half in, half out of the water was a bigger threat that the other black think on land. Water was the predator’s own territory and a challenge from there couldn’t go unanswered. Powerful legs started to carry it forward in a fast scuttle.

There was no time left for over-refining on his shooting technique, or rather lack of it. But he was still scared shitless of hitting Lyle. Get closer, less likely to miss that way. If I survive this, I’ll never grumble about a desk job again! This time he was expecting the noise and the flash of spitting fire and he held the gun down hard, ready for it to buck in his hands. The first bullets tore into the mud but the second burst found their target.

The mastodonsaurus jerked and thrashed, twisting, biting the air, seemingly more furious than hurt. It headed towards the water. And towards the diver. Lyle was trying to scramble clear of the kit, trying to ignore several tons of enraged amphibian heading towards him with an open mouth and probably an equally open mind on the subject of its food supply.

Lester threw himself between Lyle and the creature, desperate to try and buy the soldier enough time to shed the gear. His finger tightened on the trigger again and the gun spat out a third burst of bullets, then something hard and heavy swiped against his legs, brushing him aside like nothing more than an irritating insect.

As he struggled back to his feet, floundering on the slippery, uneven floor, he thought, for a brief and terrifying second, that the mastodonsaurus had Lyle in its jaws then he realized that the beast had actually hurled itself over the other man, trampling him and sending equipment flying in several directions at once. Jaws closed on a steel diving bottle and Lester cringed against what he thought might be a sudden bang, but instead the amphibian shook its head, like a dog with a stick, and the bottle crashed against a boulder by the water’s side. The mastodonsaurus grabbed another and repeated its trick.

Lyle was rolling now, free of the heavy kit belt, free of the bottles, his hand reaching to the pistol holstered at his thigh. Two heavy caliber bullets took the beast through the jaw but it still wasn’t a killing shot. Lyle didn’t hang around for a third close quarter shot. He rolled again, throwing himself up the slope, grabbing with his left hand for something anything to help him get a purchase on the slippery mud.

He’d managed to rip one flipper off a boot, but he was still hampered by the other and movement was difficult. Then strong fingers gripped his and yanked hard, dragging him unceremoniously up the slippery bank of thick red mud.

Something heavy drove his left foot painfully into the mud, flipper and all, then he felt himself showered with water and the noise of a loud splash found its way through the neoprene diving hood. Then everything went very, very still and quiet and all he could hear was the hammering of his own heart.

Lester watched the mastodonsaurus hurl itself into the water, spraying mud, blood and kit around in its wake. Had it gone for good? He fucking hoped so. His nerves were now stretched to breaking point and beyond, his breathing ragged and his hands trembling. He had just enough sense not to touch the rifle, still dangling from the strap around his shoulder.

Lyle reached up and pulled his diving mask down. The soldier’s face was corpse white, but his hazel eyes glittered with life and even a hint of amusement as he gasped, “Hi, honey, I’m home!”

Panic started to drain away, leaving Lester feeling strangely calm and detached. The kit was fucked, it didn’t take close examination to tell that, but they were both alive. They’d worry about the rest later.

“I was beginning to think you’d stood me up, lieutenant.” His eyes slid down to Lyle’s leg and the unmistakable print of a huge mastodonsaurus pressed into the mud on either side of his ankle. “Stay still until I get that flipper off. Then we can see if anything’s broken.”

“Do me one favour first, sir,” said Lyle, sounding surprisingly composed for a man who’d just been run over, quite literally, by something almost twice the size and weight of a Nile Crocodile. In response to Lester’s questioning look, he added, “Put the fucking safety catch back on, please.”

Lester laughed, somewhat shakily, then obliged, conscious of the tremors that still ran through his fingers, leaving his hands feeling like he’d just grabbed hold of an electric wire. He set the gun down carefully and went back to checking the soldier’s leg. After a minute of careful toe wiggling, Lyle declared his leg and foot to be intact, but by tacit agreement, they left the boot on to contain any swelling, knowing that if it came off, the chances were it wouldn’t go back on again.

Lyle’s sharp eyes took in the state of what was left of the diving kit. One bottle lay half in and half out of the water, the pillar valve twisted at an impossible angle. The second had a deep gouge running down its length and the valve had been sapped off entirely. The diving line had clearly been broken but even without that, with two bottles destroyed, there was no way they had enough air for the return trip.

His eyes slid over to Lester. The civil servant was ice-white and his hands still shook as helped Lyle out of the remainder of the diving kit, depositing the weight belt into the mud, then holding his helmet while Lyle dragged off the hood and ran muddy fingers through his short hair, glad to be free of it’s confines, and to be able to hear properly again. He settled the helmet back in place again, knowing he needed to try and stand up, but not looking forward to discovering how badly damaged he’d been by Mr. I’ve Got Tusks Sticking Up My Nose. What the hell had he ever seen in these things as a kid? What was wrong with hamsters anyway?

With Lester’s help, he struggled upright and limped over to the far side of the churn, away from the water. He set the rifle down on a boulder and sank down onto drier, firmer mud, allowing himself the momentary luxury of putting his head between his knees and closing his eyes, giving himself time to get used to the fact that he’d just survived three dives in the Devil’s Crowll, plus an encounter with the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

The loss of the diving kit was a bugger and meant they’d be stuck here for a least a day, maybe two, but that by itself was unlikely to prove fatal, and it wasn’t in Lyle’s nature to look back on what might have been. Not when the present still demanded all of his attention.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder. Lester was holding out half of an energy bar. Lyle took it without protest. They both needed something to help stave off shock. He also noticed that Lester had methodically gathered up all the kit that was left and spread it out on the flat-topped boulder. Fortunately it included the box with the food bars, the emergency foil blankets and the spare ammunition. Things were looking up.

“Food, then rest,” said the civil servant in the sort of voice that made his underlings scurry for cover.

Lyle didn’t feel inclined to argue. He was just too fucking knackered.

Lester spread one of the survival-blankets on floor of the chamber. He knew that if they were to survive until help arrived, they would need to conserve body heat. Hypothermia was now their biggest enemy, and it would kill as surely as an enraged prehistoric amphibian, just not as fast. He sat down carefully on the thin, strong foil, making sure it was between him and the cave floor and walls as much as possible. He then unpacked the second blanket and gave Lyle a prod with his booted foot.

“Time for a cuddle, sweetie,” he said, keeping his voice light.

Lyle’s grin hovered just short of total exhaustion. Lester was right. Sharing body heat was the only sensible thing to do in these circumstances. He settled down in front of the other man, maneuvering carefully between his thighs and leaning back gratefully against a chest that suddenly felt as almost as comfortable and welcoming as one of the hotel sofas.

With the other foil blanket tucked around them, and his rifle no more than six inches from his hand, Lieutenant Jon Lyle let himself slide without protest into his first moments of sleep for over twenty four hours.

Lester settled his arms around him under the survival blankets.

The soldier made an unlikely teddy bear, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.