by Chris Fox
“Blair, did you solve it? We have to open the…” Steve mumbled, lurching into a pool of light. His dark hair was matted to the side of his face, greasy with sweat. The clothing draping his skeletal form was crusted from weeks of wear, and the pungent odor of the long homeless wafted through the room.
Steve’s gaze focused as he noticed Jordan, Bridget, and Sheila. His face twisted, spittle flying as he roared, “Why did you bring them? They’re not of the blood. They don’t belong here. Their very presence taints this holy place. The whelps will be punished for this insolence.”
He lunged for Blair, hissing like a snake. There was nothing left of the man he’d known, only a shell of rage and madness. Blair stumbled backward, shielding himself with his arms. Then Jordan glided forward, jerking the butt of his pistol down on the back of Steve’s skull. He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, falling limply at Blair’s feet.
“Steve,” Bridget shrieked, her headlamp bobbing as she hurried down the ramp. She knelt next to Steve, raising two fingers to his throat. She turned a glare at Jordan. “He’ll live, but I’m betting he’s got a concussion. We should carry him up. He’ll need medical attention.”
“He’s dying of radiation poisoning. A concussion is the least of his worries. Yuri, restrain the man in case he’s still agitated when he wakes,” Jordan ordered, dismissing Bridget with a wave as he holstered his pistol. Sheila gave a squawk of protest as she finally entered the room, but Jordan silenced her with a look. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself, but as I still need your cooperation, I will make a final exception. We’ve entered a combat situation. Dr. Galk was a threat to Professor Smith. Professor Smith is our best chance of finding this secret chamber, so I eliminated the threat. I will do the same to any other threat without hesitation. Now, let’s get in and out as quickly as possible. Unless you all want to end up just like the poor doctor.”
Yuri knelt next to Steve, rolling him onto his stomach. The Russian gave a snort of disgust, removing a white zip tie from his pocket and binding Steve’s wrists together. He repeated the process with the ankles leaving Steve trussed and bleeding on the marble. Part of Blair was horrified, but he mostly felt relieved. Whatever Steve had become terrified him.
Blair moved to the floodlights that had been carted in, flipping the heavy red lever to crank the generator from medium to high. It read Aziz in bright green letters, shiny enough that the thing could have been made yesterday. Light flooded the chamber as the generator roared to life. The stench of gasoline and carbon monoxide belched from the motor, but the chamber was large enough that airflow wasn’t a problem.
The light didn’t quite banish the shadows, but it did reveal the reason they’d come. A nine-foot statue stood at the far side of the room near the south wall, its right hand extended in a gesture that might have been friendly had it not been for the statue’s bestial countenance. The nobility, the exquisite detail with which the obviously feminine features had been crafted, once again struck Blair. It made the Egyptians’ finest work look like the macaroni pictures hung on your fridge. The statue also confirmed his earlier observation. Except for the gender, this was Wepwawet. An indisputable connection to ancient Egypt, on a continent thousands of miles away.
Blair strode through the lingering darkness, standing beneath the magnificent statue. He glanced behind himself as booted steps echoed dully. Jordan stepped up next to him, with Bridget and Sheila just a few paces behind. Yuri scanned the darkness, rifle in a death grip.
“So how do we activate it?” Jordan asked. He stood coiled, like a snake ready to strike. Blair was strangely comforted by his presence, though he doubted anything he did here would require armed intervention from the soldiers.
“I don’t know,” Blair said. He placed his palm against the statue’s. “There might be a lever or a way t—“
The statue’s hand tightened around his, locking it in an implacable grip. The hand didn’t grind or move like stone. The way it twisted had been just like a living person’s.
“Smith?” Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow as he inspected the statue.
“The grip isn’t painful, but my hand is stuck. Hold on a sec; the stone is getting warm,” he explained. An odd blend of curiosity and unease settled over him.
“Yuri, do you have the bolt cutters?” Jordan called over his shoulder.
“Hold on; let’s not be hasty,” Blair said, waving his free hand. “We want to get inside, don’t we? This might be part of the process.”
“Or it could be a trap,” Bridget countered, moving from Steve’s side to inspect the statue. She shot him a worried glance. “I don’t see a way to loosen it. We’ll have to break the hand off. Jordan is right about the bolt cutters.”
“You might be right. It’s getting hot now. Really hot,” Blair grunted, tugging as hard as he could. The statue held him fast. He gave Bridget an earnest look. “Just be careful. I write with this hand.” Sweat flowed freely down his face. The generator’s acrid exhaust stung his eyes. His nerves were jagged glass, like the early stages of a migraine.
“Have bolt cutters, but stone too thick,” Yuri explained, gesturing with a two-and-a-half-foot tool. “Explosives, maybe. Or bullets if desperate.”
Jordan moved behind the statue, examining the wrist. “I can shatter this with a few well-placed shots. Marble is tough, but it can’t handle this kind of ordnance.”
“Are we that stupid now?” Sheila said, muscling her way past Jordan to the statue. “If you fire at that arm, the bullet will ricochet through the room. Even if it didn’t, it’s going to send chips of high-velocity stone right at Blair. Not to mention damaging the most priceless archeological find in history. No, what we need to do is—“
The statue grew hot, as if it had been left in the afternoon sun for the weight of the day. Blair twitched and flopped, fire flowing up his arm and into his chest. It surged through his body like flame over gasoline, obliterating all except the pain, a deep, white agony. Even his eyes were thick with it.
In the first instant, he longed for death. What felt like an eternity later, he knew death had betrayed him, unwilling to free him from the pain. So he endured. The inferno rampaged through him as though he were a dry forest. When its fury was finally spent, he found himself huddled at the base of the statue.
“Commander, south wall. Ten o’clock,” Yuri barked, ducking behind an obelisk.
“Handle it,” Jordan called back, looming over Blair with outstretched hands. The Commander’s eyes had widened. So odd, that tiny gesture. The man had a level of control Blair had never witnessed, yet something he’d just seen had rattled him. The soldier was shocked. Shock. Blair was in shock, wasn’t he?
“Blair?” Bridget called. She seemed a hundred miles away. She knelt next to him, her clean fragrance a welcome balm to the echoes of pain haunting his limbs. “Look at me. I think you’ve just been electrocuted. Can you tell me your name?”
She seized his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. Such pretty eyes. Pools of brown. Some of his happiest memories dwelt there.
“Gash. Abnat,” Blair said, shaking his head to clear it. A distant part of his mind recognized the aphasia, but he was powerless to articulate that.
“Jordan, how quickly can you get a doctor out here?” Bridget asked, looking up at Jordan.
Something rumbled behind him, but Blair was too weak to find out what. The best he could manage was to loll his head to the side. Instantly alert, Jordan and Yuri snapped their rifles up. Sheila had stumbled backward, both hands clasped over her mouth. Clean white light burst all around Blair, overpowering the sad stand lamps.
Bridget squatted next to him, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re going to be all right. We’ll get you out of here.”
“No,” Blair croaked, pausing as he gathered another breath. “I want to…to see. Show me.”
“Jordan?” Bridget called. Her voice was further away now. “Jordan, can you carry him inside?”
Inside? I
nside where? Jordan’s daunting arms were suddenly around him, hoisting him effortlessly into the air. Blair’s vision spun, finally coming to rest on a wide chamber where the wall had been moments before. It was the single greatest discovery in history, more momentous than the cave paintings the Cro-Magnon left in France thirty millennia earlier. It changed everything.
The clean white light emanated from the room’s ceiling, clearly illuminating the brilliant hieroglyphs lining every wall. Unlike the others, these were quicksilver, each symbol flowing and alive. Seven sarcophagi radiated around the room from a central point, each a pure block of glass inset with rubies and emeralds and diamonds. Pulses of light flowed between the gems in precise lines.
Only one sarcophagus was occupied, yet Blair couldn’t make out much about the occupant. Darkness ate at the edges of his vision. His heartbeat had slowed, awarding a grudging beat every few moments. Every breath was a battle, a ragged gasp for whatever oxygen he could find.
“My God,” Sheila said, staggering toward the sarcophagus. She planted her palms against the glass, ignoring the pulses of light that flowed around her. “It’s not possible. She’s breathing. This woman is alive.”
Blair fought for another breath, but this time his lungs refused to obey. He waited for another thud, but his heart was stubbornly silent. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he didn’t need to be to understand the darkening of his vision. Blair was dying, poisoned by whatever the statue had done.
“Blair? Blaaair!” Bridget screamed.
12
Blair's Dead
Jordan compartmentalized the situation, allowing his training to take over in the face of the incomprehensible. He knelt swiftly, laying Smith on the ground just outside the chamber they’d discovered. Blair’s eyes were closed, his chest unmoving. Jordan feared the worst. He applied two fingers to the man’s throat, giving a long count to ten. Nothing.
“Yuri, get the scientists topside. Radio HQ and tell the director we’re initiating containment protocol. We need a team here ASAP,” he barked, shrugging out of his windbreaker and laying it gently over Smith’s limp body.
“What are you doing?” Bridget shrieked, dropping beside him and yanking the jacket away. “Blair? Blair, can you hear me?” She shook the man, but there was no response.
“Yuri,” Jordan barked, shooting the man a glare.
The beefy Russian gathered Bridget in a tight grip, hauling the woman to her feet and away from the body. She resisted violently, fists beating against Yuri’s chest as she raged. “Let me go. You can’t do this!”
“He might still be alive,” Sheila pleaded, eyes shining with unshed tears. “There might be something we can do.”
“You know there isn’t,” Jordan countered, replacing the windbreaker. Smith deserved some peace. “We have no idea what killed him, but make no mistake. This man is dead. I understand he was a friend and colleague, but that doesn’t change my job. I have to protect the rest of the team. Whatever killed him could be contagious.”
“Then we’re all exposed,” Sheila roared, balling her fists. “We should all be quarantined, which means there’s no reason not to stay down here and see if we can do anything for Blair.”
“You can’t just give up on him,” Bridget said, finally calming. Yuri still held her, but his grip had relaxed.
“We don’t have a choice,” Jordan replied, shaking his head. “The radiation was bad down here before. Opening that chamber dramatically increased it. Right now we’re facing an unknown threat, and that calls for a tactical retreat. We’ll have a containment team here in twelve hours, and then we can find some answers.”
“Blair will be dead by then,” Bridget said, eyes flashing. It was the first time Jordan had seen her truly angry. She hadn’t shown nearly so much emotion for Dr. Galk.
“He’s dead now. I understand you don’t agree with my decision. I don’t care. You can grieve topside,” he said, seizing Sheila by the arm. He shoved her toward the ramp leading to the surface. “Move. Now. I’d rather leave you your dignity, but I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to.”
“What about Steve?” Bridget asked.
Jordan considered his answer carefully. Dr. Galk was dying, his mind deteriorated past use. There was no point in wasting resources trying to save him. “He’s already received a lethal dose. We don’t have to be doctors to see it. Even if he hadn’t, I can’t risk spreading a potential contagion. It could be radiation, but if whatever’s killing him is communicable, we’re all in danger. He stays down here.”
Sheila and Bridget looked at each other, apparently coming to a silent understanding. Neither resisted as they were herded up the ramp, Yuri in front and Jordan bringing up the rear.
Jordan paused at the edge of the central chamber, giving the new room a final look. If that woman really was alive, she’d survived for ten millennia or more. These people possessed technology that vastly eclipsed their own. What the hell had they unleashed on the world when they’d opened this place? More importantly, what had happened to the creature they’d found within?
13
The Worst Thief of All
Ahiga leapt skyward, seizing a granite outcrop jutting into the naked sky. He dangled there, sucking in deep breaths as he gazed down at the lush jungle a dizzying distance below his mountain perch. The darker green vein of the River of Life wound through the lighter trees, snaking off into the distance. He’d spent many precious days locating villages along its banks, performing the grisly work that might shield the world from the coming darkness.
A sudden gust of wind dried the sheen of sweat coating his brow, drawing a cool sigh. Climbing was harder than it should have been. Partly that was due to the weak moon, bereft of the life-giving energy he’d known in his day. Yet the greater part had been stolen by the most cunning thief of all, time.
He leapt again, powerful arms propelling him to another outcrop near the mountain’s peak. Mother willing, the going would be easier when he reached the leeward side. He’d forgotten just how massive this continent was, how long it took to travel between jungle and mountains.
Picking up a strange metal canister corroded by rain, Ahiga knelt. What had its purpose been? The memories he’d pilfered allowed him to decipher the odd writing. Coke. That was the word formed by the glyphs used by these moderns. The word meant nothing. He dropped the can with a clink, shaking his head. Mankind had spread like a cancer, leaving refuse in their wake. That would come to an end soon, for good or ill.
Ahiga shielded his eyes from the sun’s harsh rays. Wispy clouds danced below him, wreathing the mountain as if paying homage. He stared past neighboring peaks, toward the distant valley where the Ark lay. He’d managed to brew such a troubling predicament. He must return and wake the Mother. Yet, getting inside would mean battling the soldiers. His strength had waned during his long hibernation. Did enough remain?
A sudden tremor brought him to his knees, spilling his limp body on the ground mere inches from a fall that would kill even him. Ahiga struggled to pull himself away from the abyss, but his body refused to obey. Energy raged through him, a bolt of lightning in reverse. Instead of striking, it departed. A beam of silver poured from his mouth, streaking through the sky, toward the distant Ark. It moved so swiftly that in a single heartbeat it had passed beyond his enhanced vision.
Ka-Dun, it cannot be. The voice of the beast inside him carried more alarm than Ahiga’d ever heard, despite being bonded for centuries. He shared the panic, for the impossible had occurred.
“It cannot, yet it is. Someone has taken the access key,” he said, hot shame pushing back the chill wind. His failure was complete.
Only one of the blood could have wrested the key, and then only if they knew the ritual.
“It is so,” Ahiga agreed, finally rising to his knees. His body felt like a wrung-out wraf. “Someone was found worthy. I am no longer guardian.”
There was only one course now. He must return and find this new guardian, or the Mother
would never awaken. This strange new world would burn.
14
Blair's Funeral
“We shouldn’t have just left him there,” Sheila said. Her hot tears rained on the dry soil. She knew she was hysterical, but didn’t she have a right to be? Blair was dead.
“I understand that,” Jordan replied, his tone thick with uncharacteristic patience. Damn, she hated the man. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We didn’t have a choice. We don’t know what killed him. What if it turns out to be an airborne pathogen? Pulling back was the right thing to do. I’ve already arranged for a team to investigate, and quarantined us from the rest of the soldiers until we know we’re safe to be around. We’ll have you back in the inner chamber inside of forty-eight hours.”
“Is that what you think we care about?” Bridget hissed, rising from her blue canvas camp chair and glaring at the big man. “Blair is dead. We don’t know how or why. He was more than a friend…to all of us.”
“You have my sincere condolences. Professor Smith was a brilliant man, and we all feel his loss. Keenly. I’m not trying to trivialize that. At the same time, I still have a job to do. That job is protecting the living,” Jordan replied, removing his hand from Sheila’s slumped shoulder. Its weight had actually been reassuring. Jordan shook his head, turning from the group and striding off into the night.
Bridget rested in a neighboring chair. Her legs were pulled tight against her chest, and her head was down so her hair screened her face. Alejandro and Dr. Roberts sat at the far side of the pavilion. They conversed in low tones and significant glances. Were they worried that she or Bridget might do something crazy? Good. Let them know a shadow of the pain she labored under. It wasn’t okay.