Stewart was almost unrecognizable when he shuffled around the corner. He was covered in filth, and his feet moved in short jerks and slides through the guano on the tunnel floor. His pants were stained beyond salvation, and his shirt was in even worse condition. Its most prominent feature was the large, dark stain of dried blood at the collar and on his chest. I kept my gun up and watched as he moved into the full beam of my flashlight. He gave no indication that he knew that I was there as he stayed close to the far side of the tunnel with one hand against the wall for support.
I lowered my gun and called to him. “Stewart!” He didn’t react. How was he on his feet, I wondered. Just 10 minutes before, Detective Klutch and I had examined the man’s corpse. He’d been lifeless and cold to the touch like a man who’d been dead for hours.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Klutch stirred at my feet. He groaned and lifted a hand to his head. He winced as his fingers found the wound there and then he tried to sit up.
I heard a noise and glanced back up to see that Stewart had slumped against the wall of the tunnel. He’d moved closer, but had trouble standing. “Stewart, just stay right there,” I called to him. “I’m coming to help you.”
It was then that he looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t said a word, and I could see that his face was too pale from blood loss.
I made a step in his direction, and something grabbed my leg. It was Klutch.
“McMorn,” he said, his voice weak, and I saw that he’d managed to sit up. “Where’s my gun?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “I think you dropped it in the dark. I looked for it a while ago and couldn’t find it.”
He reached toward me with an empty hand. “Give me yours,” he ordered. “And keep your light on that thing.”
Without question, I passed him my gun grip first and he took it. It looked small in his large fist, and he glanced at it for a moment before he raised his arm and emptied the gun into Stewart’s slumped body.
The noise was so loud that I wondered if it would bring the roof down on our heads like a collapsing mine shaft. I jumped involuntarily at the unexpected gunfire, and it was all I could do to keep the light steady.
Klutch had fired from a seated position, and he’d missed only once. Five rounds his Stewart center mass, but the final round struck the wall to his left. A fist-sized piece of the tunnel wall broke loose and fell to the tunnel floor at Stewart’s feet.
Stewart yowled like an animal, but didn’t go down. He grimaced and brought his right hand up to the tight group of five fresh bullet holes that now punctuating his grimy dress shirt. I watched as his hand came away bloodless and figured that there were several reasons he was still standing. At a distance of 50 feet, he’d been standing too far away for the small-caliber rounds to have much punch and that he was wearing a bulletproof vest.
Klutch lowered his firing arm and the barrel of his empty gun clanged against the iron track at his side. “McMorn, we’ve got to hurry,” he said. I glanced down and watched the detective produce another small handgun, the throwaway I’d looked for earlier, from the small of his back. It was identical to the small revolver that I carried for protection, the gun he’d just emptied into the police department’s photographer.
“Come here,” he said. “Hurry.” I moved to his side and he handed me the throwaway. “You’ve got to finish him.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pressed the gun into my hand. “It’s no time for questions,” he said. “I’ll explain everything later. For now, you’ve got to finish him before he completely turns. Empty this into his head if you have to, just don’t let him leave the tunnel.”
His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes as he slumped back to the floor of the tunnel. I made several attempts to rouse the big detective, but he’d slipped back into unconsciousness. I could hear Stewart moving far off, headed out of the tunnel, so I stood and went after him with the gun.
I had no intention of killing him. I was sure that he’d never been dead in the first place, only unconscious or perhaps catatonic. If Klutch didn’t want him to leave the tunnel then I’d catch him and stop him from leaving. I’d tie him up maybe. That way I could walk back to Klutch’s car and radio for help. Something wasn’t right, and they both needed medical attention.
My flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other, I set off after Stewart. I followed the railroad tracks in his direction and had walked about 100 feet around the bend when my light came to rest on Stewart. He was slouched against the wall on one side of the tunnel. His knees were bent and his back was to the wall. His arms were crossed over the tops of his knees and his face was buried in his arms.
I was struck once more by the filth that clung to him and his clothes. The tunnel was by far the dirtiest place I’ve ever been, and I wondered how I would look in front of a full-length mirror. My gun hung down by my side, but my light was up. I lowered it a bit so as not to blind Stewart and in hopes that he would be able to see my face if he looked up.
“Stewart!” I called from about 10 yards away.
He raised his head, but didn’t look in my direction. He didn’t look dangerous, so I went to him and knelt by his side.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I said from his side, my free hand on his shoulder. His skin was fish-belly white, with an almost bloodless aspect, like an old marble tombstone. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he seemed to be staring at something on the other side of the tunnel.
A feeling of uneasiness settled over me, and when I turned to look I expected to see someone standing there. Instead, my eyes settled on Stewart’s old camera bag. For some reason, he’d returned to the place where we’d first found his body not long ago. I remembered that the bag actually contained no camera at all, only a weird assortment of other items.
A second later, I turned my attention back to Stewart and was shocked by the change in his demeanor. In place of the man who a few seconds ago looked insensible and detached, something altogether different sat before me now. He was looking me full in the face now, and there was a light and intelligent malice in his eyes that hadn’t been there a few seconds before.
My fingers tightened on the grip of Klutch’s gun and remembered his instructions to empty it into Stewart’s head. In that moment of truth, I could bring myself to do it. I would be the one who would have to answer for it, and I knew when help eventually arrived I would be left to explain why I’d unloaded a handgun into the skull of the police department’s injured and unarmed photographer.
I raised my flashlight, and the beam played eerily across his face. It seemed to bother him, and he tried to stand. How could I restrain him, I wondered, wishing that Klutch had given me a set of handcuffs or some zip ties.
Before I could finish that line of thought, Stewart fell on me with the strength and fury of a rabid dog. He shoved me hard across the tunnel, and I landed hard across the tracks. I crashed hard into Stewart’s camera bag, and it’s contents flew in all directions.
Before I could get up, Stewart was on top of me. His strength seemed incredible for a man his size. He held me down with ease as I bucked and kicked beneath him.
My flashlight fell from my hand and skittered to a stop at the base of the tunnel wall. In the faint light cast by its beam I saw Stewart’s ghastly face. He loomed over me, and his lips parted in a murderous smile. It was in that moment that he hissed like a cat and displayed a full set of teeth that included two, great protruding fangs.
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