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    Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3)
    Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3)
    Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3)
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3)

    By C. C. Blake

    ()

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    About this ebook

    On his way home from Chile, Chuck Cave's airline gets hijacked by a supernatural menace. Trapped inside a macabre prison, Cave discovers a solid lead to reuniting with Morven. However, he must escape Hell on Earth if is going to see her again!

    In the action-packed third novella in the Cave and the Vamp series of urban fantasy adventures, C. C. Blake brings you a story of love, longing and bloody thrills.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVampires2 Publishing Company
    Release dateDec 20, 2012
    ISBN9781301726639
    Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3)
    Author

    C. C. Blake

    C.C. Blake has lived across the United States, starting in the suburbs of Detroit, to Massachusetts’ second largest city (Worcester) to the country’s seventh largest city (San Antonio, Texas, that is). He’s has a variety of jobs, working as a substitute teacher, the graveyard shift dishwasher at a haunted Denny’s, lab research monkey and teaching assistant at a second tier college. Currently, he works as an automation consultant for a chemical company on the Northeast side of SAtown (which isn’t as Hellish as it sounds). Blake’s most popular character, irrepressible adventurer Chuck Cave, has appeared in over two dozen stories, including the 2005 Man’s Story 2 Story of the Year Award winner “Chuck Cave and the Vanishing Vixen.” The character’s supernatural thriller stories (which began with the seminal “Cave and the Vamp”) are all being released as a part of Vampires2.com’s initial foray into e-books. These new versions are presented in expanded and revised versions, all are the author’s preferred texts. Be sure to collect them all! In addition to his pulp stories for the 2-Empire (Man’s Story 2, Vampires 2, Androids 2 and Paranormal Romance 2), Blake’s fiction has appeared in several anthologies, including Unparalleled Journeys II (from Journey Books Publishing) and Fearology: Terrifying Tales of Phobias (from Library of Horror Press).

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      Book preview

      Hell on Earth (Cave and the Vamp 3) - C. C. Blake

      Hell on Earth

      Cave and the Camp, Part 3

      By: C. C. Blake

      Copyright C. C. Blake 2012

      Smashwords Edition

      ISBN: 9781301726639

      Published by: Vampires2.com Publishing Company

      S.A. de C.V., Colima, Mexico

      http://www.Vampires2.com

      ~~**~~

      Smashwords License

      This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of this book in violation of the publisher’s and Author’s rights. Purchase only authorized copies. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author, artist and publishing company.

      ~~**~~

      Cover design by: Don SeZuan

      ~~**~~

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Further Reading

      About the Author

      1

      The plane rattled across the sky, threatening to come apart when any of its passengers sneezed too hard. I had serious doubts about its capacity to endure turbulence. The plane was like a toy model built by an impatient tyke: a rush job with as much bubble gum and crazy glue as actual airplane screws.

      It was a cheap flight though, a Chilean Air company that went out of business in 1987. It was still going strong a month or so after the calendar fell midway between 1982 and 1983.

      My seat was three rows behind the wings. I was belted in tight, watching dusk paint the passing clouds a bloody shade. Far below lay an emerald hell, heavy jungle. It reminded me of the kind of stuff the homeward bound troops complained about having to hump through during their tours. To hear them talk, the bush never came so bad or abundant as in The 'Nam.

      I took pains to drink my overpriced vodka shooter with my right hand. My left arm was still throbbing from a close encounter with agents of a secretive, occult organization called Via Noche, centered in Santiago. While Via Noche was inquisitive in much the same way I was, they had not taken kindly to my inquiring about the world they sought to be integral to. Instead of letting me ask my questions, find no answers and move on, which would have been the wisest thing to do, they had decided to play games. Then, they decided to get rough.

      This was not my first encounter with strong arm tactics. Not by a long shot. One thing about the world I was looking into—that side of existence kept hidden from normal day-to-day life—its watchdogs were fierce, but the seekers into its mysteries were even more so.

      Via Noche had sent their best bad guys, and I had gotten rough right back . . . Long story short, I was nursing a supernaturally healed but sore as hell rotator cuff injury, while they were out of business. Score one for me.

      So, there I was: belted into an uncomfortable seat on a claptrap airplane, waiting for my latest dose of painkillers to kick in, wondering about the future, when everything—the rattling chassis, the screeching engines, the noisy passengers, the pretty but useless stewardesses—all vanished, replaced by—

      Iron bars set into an otherwise empty concrete frame. A prison window of some kind, set into the cold, stone wall of an equally cold, stone prison cell. On either wall hung two wooden slats clipped to the wall with cheap brass mounts. On the lowest two slats, a mess of threadbare blankets lay wadded into balls. The floor was wet with a puddle of what might have been rust colored water or a sample of decidedly unhealthy urine.

      Whomever I was looking through did not look toward the last of the walls, choosing instead to lean close to the window. A pair of gnarled hands caught hold of the cold bars, pressing its face up close to them.

      With cheeks against the cold, cold iron, I caught sight of rough looking country and plenty of additional stone walls . . . A prison complex, maybe? It looked like nothing I had ever seen before, resembling something akin to a fantastic castle plunked down in sweltering, Central American jungle than the prisons from the states, those uniform rectangular buildings surrounded by multiple layers of chain link and barbed wire.

      I had seen a castle once in my life, which I had barely managed to escape after a maniac set it ablaze. That had been in eastern Europe, and this was similar to that, but it lacked that place's gritty efficiency. This place looked . . . artificial. What hordes had it been designed to repel? It was ancient Spanish, yet oddly modern Central American. It was a conundrum.

      In one of the many towers thrusting up from the castle's exterior, I saw a strange device. It was barrel shaped, like a telescope, but the end was fitted with horseshoe magnets, tuning forks, thick power cables and such oddities as skulls dangling on leather thongs and blood spattered cages holding twitching animals impaled on wooden lances. The prisoner staring at that device thought of it as something called the Arcane Cannon, and it was currently aimed toward the blinking lights of a passing airplane.

      In a flash, I leapt from one mind to another, crossing the distance from the jail cell to somewhere atop that tower, behind a red plastic seat mounted to the base of the strange device. In this childish chair, jiggling a collection of levers and controls which made different harmonics resonate from the device itself, sat a dwarfish man.

      Someone else stood nearby, overseeing the dwarf's work. I could not see him clearly, he never stepped further into my line of sight than the edge of my field of vision, but I could tell this much: He was a bald man, skinny as a human skeleton. He spoke to the dwarf, saying Shake them up, Reingold. Bring them in. His voice was colder than any Arctic wind.

      At this, the dwarf—Reingold I assumed—cackled and threw switches. The cannon

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