VALHALLA UNLEASHED

  Garry Charles

  Cover image courtesy of Adrian Chappell

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright Garry Charles 2010

  Published by Garry Charles at Smashwords

  License Notes

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  Thank you for your support.

  ****

  VALHALLA UNLEASHED

  *THIS MORNING*

  “You gotta be fucking joking?” Michael Jenkins shook his head in disbelief. “Someone’s pulling your leg.”

  Michael listened as Brandon ranted at the other end of the line, his voice reaching an excited pitch as he explained the find wasn’t a joke in any way, shape or form.

  “OK, I’ll go with you but it’s just not possible.” Michael had never heard of such a discovery in all his time as an archaeologist.

  “Well, can you explain how a Viking long boat would be found in a coal mine so far inland?” He paused and waited for an answer. “I didn’t think so.” Brandon cut in and Michael scribbled down notes as he listened.

  “Just send me the fax over and I’ll meet you there in about three hours.” Michael hung up before Brandon could argue.

  Michael stared at the scrawled, short hand notes he’d made and, once again, shook his head. It was supposed to be his weekend away from work, time to catch up with Suzy and show her he was serious about their relationship. She wasn’t going to take the news of a cancelled dinner date lightly. Michael decided to ring her later. He hoped to prove the claim as a fake before then and try and keep the date. No point in causing himself grief until he had to. His thoughts of dating and romance were broken by the shrill warble of the fax machine.

  Michael spun the seat around and faced the fax, tapping his pen against the desk top impatiently. The warble was replaced by the whirring of mechanisms and the first of ten printed sheets began to feed into the out-tray. Michael’s tapping grew faster, matching the irritation that was building in his mind and his gut.

  The very idea of finding a Viking long boat in a UK coal mine over sixty miles from the coast was ridiculous. It beggared belief that Brandon had even bothered to involve Michael. It had to be a hoax.

  Michael leaned forward and watched more intently as hi-res photos were printed out in quick succession.

  “Jesus Christ.” He scooped them up and flicked through them one at a time. “A Viking longboat.” He whistled, throwing the photos down and grabbing his coat. “I still can’t believe it.” If it was a hoax it was a fucking good one.

  *12 HOURS AGO*

  Dan Hardwick hated his job, always had and always would. But it was the family tradition. His grandfather had worked down the mines, so had his father and his uncles. Now it was his turn to serve a life sentence of breathing in dust. Not that it was the dust that bothered him, nor the unbearable heat and the stale air. Dan’s main problem was the feeling of being smothered in the close confines of the coal face.

  It felt like he’d spent an eternity crouched over at the waist, marching up and down with the cutting machine churning its way through metres upon metres of coal. Dan knew that if there was a hell it wouldn’t be far different from how he’d spent the last fifteen years of his life.

  He’d promised himself, more than once, that he was going to get out of the mining industry and take a job that would keep him out in the open. He dreamed every night of working under a cloudless sky, breathing fresh air as the sun tickled his skin.

  It was a promise he would never keep. He knew he could never earn the same money elsewhere and that kept him doing what he did best, cutting coal day in and day out.

  With his mind on other matters he absent mindedly manoeuvred the cutting boom up into the ceiling of the face line and then brought it back down. The repetitiveness of the job had made each action second nature and required little, if any attention from Dan. You know what they say about familiarity breeding contempt.

  As Dan prepared to move forward once again he was deafened by the sound of creaking coal and splitting rock. At first he ignored the sound, so used to the earth shattering noises of the gob collapsing behind them that he showed little concern. It was just another reason to hate his job. If Dan had been taking more notice he would’ve seen the roof above the coal face moving, falling in a solid slab of black.

  The shock wave of the falling ceiling was enough to knock Dan onto his back. He hit the back of the hydraulic roof support and stars danced before his eyes, stars mixed with a blinding cloud of thick, choking coal dust.

  Dan heard the shouts of his workmates, but remained still as the dust settled around him. He looked around; rubbing his eyes, and could see the flicker of cap lamps further along the face line.

  “Dan. Are you OK?” He recognised Sid Gyler, but couldn’t make him out.

  “I’m fine,” he yelled back, his throat raw and dry.

  “We can’t see a fucking thing.”

  “Just wait until its safe,” Dan coughed. “I’m …” the sentence was left hanging as he saw the object tilting from the upper half of the coal face.

  “Dan?”

  “I’m fine; just give me a fucking minute.” Dan stared at the wooden structure as it came into view through the settling dust.

  He pulled himself from the back of the roof support and clambered onto the cutting rig, running his gaze across the thing that had no right to be there.

  “The papers are gonna pay good for my story.” Dan knew an opportunity when he saw one.

  “Dan!”

  “Stay back,” Dan shouted. “Let me check it’s secure.” He needed to move fast.

  He stood upright on top of the cutting machine and stretched up, gazing over the side of the wooden boat. He was sure it was a boat. What else could it be?

  “Fuck me,” he gasped as his cap lamp illuminated the interior.

  Dan swept the beam of the lamp from left to right and counted at least twelve corpses, the decayed forms clad in rotted fur. The deck of the vessel was littered with rusted weapons. But it wasn’t the weapons that interested Dan. He was more concerned with the scattered coins that reflected back yellow in the dim light.

  “I’m gonna be rich.” Without thinking he pulled himself up and over the side of the boat. “Rich.”

  Dan was half in, half out when he heard the throaty groan and turned to his left. The last thing he saw was the skeletal face moving towards him. Then he felt the blinding pain of teeth tearing through his throat and sinking into his windpipe.

  Dan Hardwick tried to scream, but the sound was no more than a wet gurgle as he drowned in his own blood.

  *NINE HOURS AGO*

  “What do you mean close down the face?” Chris Harper, the mine manager slammed his fist against the desk. “We’ve already lost thousands in production.” He looked at the faces in the room and realised his mistake. “We’ve also lost a man and that is a terrible thing.” Harper tried to salvage the situation. “Hardwick came from a long line of miners and he’d have wanted us to carry on.”

  “What about the boat?” Someone asked.

  “Fuck it.” Harper snapped.

  “You can’t do that,” Simon Fletcher stood up and made his presence known.

  “And who the hell are you?” Harper glared at the stranger. “And what are you doing in my office?”

  “My name is Simon Fletcher and I’m from the University.” Fletcher stepped forward, his hand outstretched in greeting.

  “That’s all good and fine,” Harper growled. “But it doesn’t explain your presence here.”

  “I think it explains everything, Mr Harper,” Fletcher cut in. “If this is a Viking longboat then some very important questions need to be asked.” Everyone in the room was now looking at Fletcher.

  “The only question I need answering is when can production start?” Harper’s face was red, his cheeks flushed with anger.

  “It could be months before investigations are finished,” Fletcher answered coolly. He hated these management types who only saw everything as another pound sign. Monetary gain was all that interested them. Fletcher had seen Harper’s type so many times before that he bored of them.

  “Months!? You must be out of your fucking mind.” Harper almost choked on his tongue.

  “Shouldn’t you be showing more concern to your dead employee and his family?” Fletcher kept his voice level.

  Harper sneered at the University interloper, knowing he’d lost. As far as Harper was concerned the dead man’s family could go piss into the wind, but he couldn’t admit that in front of so many people. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

  “I’ll deal with the family,” Harper said. “What do you need to start your investigation?” The word investigation was coated with sarcasm.

  Fletcher smiled knowingly.

  *NOW*

  “Yes, I saw the photos but I still don’t believe it’s what you think it is.” Michael had arrived at the Westow Colliery site in not the best of moods.

  “What else could it be?” Fletcher looked at the pictures again.

  “I won’t be able to answer that until I get down there,” Michael replied dryly.

  “Team One has already started work and are waiting for you.” Fletcher glanced up from the pictures to gauge Michael’s response.

  “Team One?”

  “Yeah. Brandon and his group went down after he spoke to you on the phone earlier.” Fletcher took no pleasure from the pained look on Michael’s face.

  “He was already here?” Michael asked.

  “One of the first to arrive and down there when he rang you.” Fletcher knew Michael would be pissed. “Who do you think took the photos?”

  “But why send him down?” Michael stammered. “He’s a rough handed bastard and you know it.”

  “I needed a team on site asap and he was here.” Fletcher defended his decision. “You weren’t.”

  “What are they doing?” Michael asked.

  “We’re not sure.”

  “What do you mean? Not sure?” Michael frowned.

  “We lost contact with them about an hour ago.”

  “How soon can I go down?” Michael was already throwing paperwork into his bag.

  “They’re ready for you now.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Michael stormed out of the room, eager to put a halt to the damage Brandon would already be causing.

  *ONE HOUR AGO*

  Brandon had hoped that Michael wouldn’t come, but he’d sent one of the team and a member of the mine staff back to the main shaft to greet him. They were on orders from Fletcher to touch nothing else until Michael was on site to supervise.

  Now the rest of the team were, having retreated to the fresh air of the intake roadway, taking a break. The mine workers sent to assist had wasted little time in finding comfort on the stalled conveyor belts, snoring and farting as they took advantage of the situation.

  Brandon’s five person team had chosen to sit and were discussing what they’d seen already.

  “It’s definitely Viking,” Amanda Golden stated.

  “But what’s it doing down here?” Eric Jackson was still sceptical. “It’s probably a hoax put on by the mine.

  “And they just happened to behead one of their workmates to make it look authentic.” Amanda argued.

  “Dan was a good man.” One of the miners looked up from his place of rest. “Don’t be bad mouthing him, sweetness.” He gave Amanda a wink.

  “God, you’d think they’d never seen a woman before.”

  “We won’t know anything solid until we get the samples topside,” added Ged, the youngest of the team.

  “From what I’ve seen I’d agree with Amanda.” Nicholas gave her a smile.

  Jeff reminded silent. He was here to do a job and then go home. He had no time for petty arguments. No point stressing over anything until they knew more. Until then it was a case of take samples and report findings. No more, no less.

  ***

  Brandon left them to it and squeezed his way back onto the face line. He wanted to get a closer look before Michael took over and there was no time like the present. He made his way carefully, head lowered to avoid the intestine-like loops of hydraulic hoses that hampered progress. It also made him feel more secure to have the beam of his cap lamp illuminating the ground around his feet. The terrain wasn’t made for regular traffic and filled with ankle deep divots just waiting for him to stumble.

  Brandon glanced up and stopped in his tracks, the longboat spread out above him in all its glory. He knew that Michael would now get the head line naming on any paper, but to be involved in such a strange find would move them both onto a new academic plateau. He moved the light across the side of the vessel and frowned.

  “What the hell?”

  Brandon picked up his pace, approaching the longboat with less caution than he should have. He began checking the supports they had installed earlier before returning the light to the source of concern.

  Three of the corpses were leaning over the side. The heads, once covered in long hair, where mainly bald with the odd patch of matted hair still clinging to the parchment like skin stretched over the skulls. Their arms dangled loosely, tatters of leathery flesh hanging from the ancient bone beneath.

  Brandon rechecked the supports. If the boat had shifted once it could do so again and he couldn’t afford for it to be lost until they’d finished with it. He had high hopes of shipping it to the surface in sections, but that didn’t mean he wanted it in shattered pieces. He worked quickly but found nothing wrong. He could only conclude that the ground may have shifted. He made a note to post sentries in future. No point in taking unnecessary risks.

  Once finished with the checks Brandon scurried up the scaffold they had erected and carefully stepped onto the longboat, pulling his notebook from his jacket pocket. He jotted down the time and began to list the items on the deck, making sketches to aid in later identification.

  Before venturing underground they had been told about the noises they would encounter and which ones could be ignored. With this in mind Brandon took little heed of the soft creaking from behind him, only looking up when the hand rested on his shoulder.

  “Don’t be sneaking up on…” he turned, expecting to see Amanda or one of the others.

  The Viking corpse looked down at him through hollow eye sockets, the dried flesh of its face cracking as its mouth opened wide. Brandon tried to turn away only to come face to face with another member of the longboat crew. They pushed him to the deck and began to tear at his clothes, joined by others awakened by the smell of fear. Once the clothes were removed they didn’t stop, ripping at Brandon’s flesh and feeding with a hunger that would never be quenched.

  Brandon suffered an agony he’d never known existed. Burning pain as fingers probed his internal organs and then pulled them out through the widening hole in his stomach. He prayed for death just so he didn’t have to witness himself being eaten. The prayer was answered as one of the Vikings plucked out his eyeballs with bony fingers.

  Brandon never saw himself eaten alive, but he felt every bite.

  ***

  Amanda was getting pissed off. Why was it always the woman who gained the unwanted attention? The group of miners had not slept for long and they were now sat in a small group. She could tell from the furtive glances and the dirty laughter that they were talking about her. She’d already heard mention of making her cum and what one lucky man could do for her arse.

  “I’m going to talk to Brandon.” She stood up and turned towards the face line.

  “Hey love, you going for a piss?” shouted one of the mine workers. “Want me to come and dab it dry for you?”

  “Fuck off,” Amanda yelled and the laughter doubled.

  “Your loss, sweetness.”

  She was thankful for the distance she quickly put between herself and the sexist arseholes. The darkness had the strange ability of swallowing sound and soon she could no longer hear their juvenile taunts.

  “Bastards,” she hissed. One because they just were and secondly because they were right. She desperately needed to urinate.

  She’d been alright sitting with the others but, now she'd moved, she couldn’t deny the weight in her bladder. Amanda had almost reached the face line and looked around for somewhere private to relieve herself without unexpectedly being seen. She’d heard the mouthy mine worker talking about taking a shit in the gob and had figured out it was the space behind the roof supports. It couldn’t be the safest area to use as a toilet but she had no other choice.

  Amanda could see the old roadway running behind the supports, the space gradually getting lower and lower as it collapsed behind the workings. The idea of entering filled her with an uncertain dread, but the option of wetting herself was not attractive either. She took a deep breath and ducked under the low hanging rock and into the shadows.

  Amanda wasted no time in shrugging off the mine issue overalls and letting them drop around her ankles. She unbuttoned the khaki shorts she was wearing underneath and pulled them down along with her panties. Before Amanda squat she flicked off her cap lamp to aid the privacy of the manoeuvre. The darkness was like nothing she had ever experienced before, so black it defied description. Not even the light from the face penetrated the thick shadows.

 

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