The Deathless Quadrilogy

by Chris Fox

  “I’m going for a walk,” Sheila announced, rising suddenly to her feet. She just couldn’t be around these people and their lingering looks.

  “Can I go with you?” Bridget asked hesitantly, glancing up with swollen eyes.

  That took Sheila aback. The two hadn’t been friends for almost three years. They weren’t active enemies, but their decade-old friendship had died the moment Bridget betrayed Blair. The man had never been the same. Right up until the end, she’d seen the pain in his gaze whenever it landed on her former friend. Horrible bitch.

  “Why not?” Sheila agreed, surprising herself. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone. Or maybe she wanted to be with someone who knew Blair as well as she did. Or, maybe, she just wanted to get Bridget alone so she could choke the smugness out of her.

  The pair left the pavilion in silence, neither speaking of a destination. It wasn’t long before they found themselves on the western side of the pyramid. The ancient structure was bathed in moonlight and would have been beautiful under other circumstances. Almost luminescent, the stone drank in the light. The workmanship was incredible, as were the pictographs, all fantastic colors and bold symbols. Yet it no longer held any joy for her.

  “I want to go back inside,” Sheila said, not sure if that would help but desperate for anything that might salve the wound. She started forward without waiting for Bridget’s reply.

  “Sheila, wait.” Bridget grabbed her shoulder. She pointed at the mouth of the tunnel leading into the pyramid’s cavernous depths. “Jordan left Yuri to guard the entrance. He isn’t just going to let us inside. You know that.”

  “Sure, he is,” Sheila growled, plunging forward with quick, deliberate strides. No ignorant soldier was going to stop her.

  The shorter woman fell wordlessly into step beside her as they stepped beneath the oppressive stone tunnel. Yuri lurked in the darkness near the doors, arms clasped behind his back. His submachine gun dangled from a strap over his shoulder, and he still wore his sunglasses. Who wore sunglasses at night? Especially when they were on guard duty.

  “Should not be here,” he rumbled, taking a step toward them as they approached. A slight red glow came from behind his glasses. Apparently they were more than they appeared. “Return to the camp site. Pyramid off limits.”

  “No it isn’t,” Sheila said, moving around him, toward the doorway. He stepped into her path, raising a hand to stop her. Sheila batted his hand aside, taking a step backward. “Don’t touch me. I’m going inside. So is Bridget. You might be able to stop one of us, but not both. Not unless you’re willing to shoot us. Are you?”

  Yuri looked decidedly uncomfortable, raising a hand to adjust his glasses as he considered the answer. “Is dangerous inside. Why go?”

  “Because our friends’ bodies are down there, discarded like garbage. Steve and Blair deserve better than that. They deserve a funeral,” Bridget interrupted, stepping up to join Sheila. She thrust a finger up at Yuri. “If you want to run back and tell Jordan, go right ahead. We’ll be inside, but unless you’re going to physically restrain us, you can’t stop us. We know this is a signal dead zone, so it’s not like you can use a radio.” Bridget plunged past him into the darkness, leaving the bemused soldier in her wake. Sheila smiled grimly and followed.

  “Wait,” Yuri called. Sheila paused, turning to face the man. “Ten minutes. Get down, find bodies, come back. Smith was good man. You’re right. Deserved better.” Maybe he was human after all.

  The air was slightly warmer inside, making the hair stand up on Sheila’s arms for some reason. Something was different. The air was charged, like the night sky just before a bolt of lightning, or just after. What did it mean? She considered asking Bridget, but anger kept the words firmly lodged in her throat.

  “You hate me, don’t you?” Bridget asked, bracing as if she were expecting a blow as they advanced up the corridor. Their footsteps echoed dully around them, the only sounds as Sheila considered her reply.

  “Yes. I hated you before, and I hate you more now that he’s dead,” she admitted, eyeing the shorter woman’s silhouette in the shadows cast by the headlamp. Bridget winced. Good. “Does that surprise you? Do you even know why?”

  “I can guess.”

  “Then guess. I want to hear it from you,” Sheila demanded, burying her grief in anger.

  “You always liked Blair. I mean romantically,” Bridget whispered, hair screening her face. It was an image the men loved.

  “God, no. You couldn’t have it more backward. I had a thing for Steve, especially in the beginning. You remember how confident he was, how he kept court in the lecture hall during lunch,” Sheila said slowly, to keep the anger in check. “When you chose Blair, I figured I had a shot. We actually started to get close for a while there, spent a lot of time together.”

  “Then I ruined that, just like I do everything else.”

  “Yeah, you did. Good thing for me, though. I guess I dodged a bullet. I had no idea what Steve was really like,” Sheila said. She wasn’t going to sugar coat this. “I still remember when you had the affair. You two did it right under his nose. He was the very last to know. Why, Bridget? Blair wasn’t enough for you?”

  “You have no idea what it was like,” Bridget said, meeting Sheila’s gaze with a sudden ferocity. She paused, headlamp casting odd shadows in the corridor. “He was completely wrapped up in his work. He didn’t come to bed. I barely saw him for months. Steve was there. Whatever I needed, he dropped his work to make it happen. One day…well, it just sort of happened.”

  “Happened to destroy Blair,” Sheila barked, starting down the corridor again. Bridget could come or not; she didn’t care. “He was never the same. You know you’re the reason he quit fieldwork, right? And that he hasn’t been in a long-term relationship since?”

  “I didn’t,” Bridget answered, sudden fire apparently sapped by guilt.

  “You broke his heart and took away his best friend in a single day. What did you think was going to happen? Then you show up here and start fawning over him, acting like Steve is dead. Did you really think you could have them both? God, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sheila said, finally having an outlet for the anger that had been building for three years. “What did you think your flirting with Blair would do? Did you even stop to think how it might affect him? Or Steve?”

  “You’re right. I’m a horrible person,” Bridget said so softly the soft wind whistling through the tunnel nearly stole the words. “I never meant for any of it to happen like it did. I loved them both, you know. I feel like I’ve lost them.”

  “You didn’t deserve either of them, you miserable bitch,” Sheila hissed. She was lashing out, but damn if the woman didn’t deserve it.

  “Don’t you think I know that? Blair only came on the dig because I asked him to. He’s dead because of me, Sheila. I killed him as much as anything in that pyramid,” Bridget said, voice cracking as tears blazed a trail down her dust-caked cheeks. She sagged to her knees in the middle of the corridor, sobs wracking the tiny woman.

  Sheila couldn’t explain why she did what she did next, but she sank to her knees and gathered Bridget into her arms. She let Bridget sob into her shoulder, and before she knew it, she was crying too. They poured out their grief in a cathartic release, trembling and crying as they clung to each other. Somehow it bridged the gap between them, beginning the healing that might mend their friendship.

  It made Sheila vulnerable, and she almost confessed her secret to Bridget, that a disease was eating away at her. Every day the HIV made it harder to get out of bed.

  The moment was broken as a feral and panicked shriek echoed up from the bowels of the pyramid. The sound rolled down her spine with icy fingers, reaching into the primitive animal that ruled all mankind. Run, it said. Run fast and far, and do not look back.

  “What was that?” Bridget asked. They pulled away from each other, touching gazes under the thin illumination of the headlamps.

  “It must have bee
n Steve. We should go see if he’s okay…” Sheila trailed off as a bestial howl rolled up from the depths. It was raw and visceral, like that of a wolf circling its prey, only much, much deeper. As if it were coming from the throat of a considerably larger creature.

  “Run,” Bridget screeched, lurching back the way they’d come. She stumbled, head careening into the wall. Bridget’s headlamp clattered to the stone, casting crazy shadows as she scrambled back up the corridor.

  Sheila froze. She wanted to follow, but she couldn’t move. Some corner of her mind cataloged and labeled the emotional response. Her brain’s limbic system was cutting off the flow of blood to her pre-frontal cortex. Her animal instinct had taken control and was tending to her survival. It knew that if she moved, she might advertise her presence. But Sheila knew it was wrong. She had to move.

  Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she began to tremble. Something was moving down in the darkness, in the central chamber. She’d been in enough tombs to sense such things, to feel the flow of the air. The thing was moving quickly. Sheila scanned her immediate surroundings with her headlamp. The walls were lined with large statues, anthropomorphic gods from a bygone age. It was her only chance.

  She dove at the wall, huddling beneath the protective arms of a statue. Her trembling hand rose of its own accord, switching off the headlamp and plunging the corridor into near darkness. All that remained was Bridget’s discarded headlamp some twenty feet closer to the exit. The lamp cast a steady beam of light against the wall next to it, creating a puddle of illumination.

  Something clicked against stone with a steady cadence, tapping its way closer. Movement. A massive shadow flitted by her hiding place. Sheila wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but even that small freedom was denied her by the terror. She couldn’t even breathe. The noise might be the end of her, slight as it would be. With the grace of a predator the shadow landed near the headlamp.

  It had to be eight feet tall. Its frame was heavily muscled and thick with dark fur. An alarming mix of wolf and man shaped its head, adorned with an elongated snout but clearly human eyes. A word existed to describe such a creature, but her mind refused to allow it. This wasn’t a movie.

  The creature picked up the headlamp, examining it with terrible purpose. It seemed puzzled by the light, shining it up and down the hallway. The beam splashed within a few inches of Sheila’s right foot. She shrank in on herself, becoming a part of the wall. Lack of oxygen was making her lightheaded, but she didn’t dare breathe.

  The beast stared in her direction, scanning the darkness, searching. Its grey fur made it eerily similar to the Egyptian god Wepwawet Blair had mentioned, the wolf-headed warrior son of Anubis. But this was far, far more terrifying than any hieroglyph or statue. The blood and gore slicking its neck and chest gave voice to that fact.

  The audible click of the headlamp’s switch being flipped ushered the hallway into sudden darkness. Heavy breathing broke the silence, broken by a few huffs as the creature sought a scent—her scent. How much longer could she hold her breath?

  15

  The Beast

  The beast stirred from the sleep of ages, reborn into a time far removed from its own. It rose gracefully on powerful legs, uncurling fur-covered limbs corded with muscle. Clawed fingers flexed experimentally as it tested its new body. This vessel was suffused with power, far more than it should have contained this early in the cycle. That could only mean that its host had lingered near a source.

  The beast was aware of the host’s consciousness, fluttering like a trapped bird. It would grow stronger with time, but for now the beast's control was total. It had the freedom to accomplish the tasks for which it had been created, uninterrupted by whatever morals or confusion its host might be afflicted with.

  A careful survey of its surroundings revealed the Mother’s rejuvenation chamber. It was in many ways the very heart of the Ark. Her slumbering form was still shielded by the rejuvenator, which emitted wave after wave of energy from the array of gems scattered across its surface. The beast basked in their glow for several minutes, filling its reserves until its fur nearly glowed. It had no idea how abundant such energy would be outside the Ark, so every scrap could be vital.

  The beast raised its muzzle, drinking in a dozen interwoven scents through wet, black nostrils. Unblooded had been here recently, perhaps a half dozen in total. One scent overpowered the others, thick and pungent. It was masculine but sickly. That would make sense if the fool had been in the antechamber for any length of time. The energy here was many times more intense than the trickle provided by the moon. An unblooded would die in a matter of weeks from prolonged exposure.

  The beast stalked through the doorway into the much larger antechamber, padding silently past the dormant obelisks despite its incredible size. Such grace came naturally, a gift from its creator. The room was cloaked in shadow, but the beast's keen vision spotted a huddled form in the far corner. This wretch was the source of the stench. The fool’s hands and feet were bound. Had it been left as a sacrifice? That seemed unlikely. The beast flexed both hands. It unlimbered claws that itched to rend.

  “Blair?” a scratchy voice called. The beast plucked the word from the sheaf of memories fluttering through its host’s imprisoned consciousness. The word was significant. It was the host’s name. Perhaps the limp form was a friend or colleague of the host. Not that it mattered. The pathetic mortal was in the final throws of energy sickness, mere hours from an agonizing death. “Is t-that you? Have you seen the inner chamber? It’s wonderful. The Mother, she’s beautiful…so beautiful. We must wake her…”

  The beast rose to its full height, looming over the pitiful wretch. The man’s gaze cleared like the sky after a storm as he twisted in his bonds to stare up at the instrument of his execution. In a moment of lucidity, he seemed to realize exactly what he was looking at. The light of understanding filled his gaze.

  “Champion,” he whispered, wiggling into a prostrated position. He pressed his forehead to the cool marble floor. “I am ready for the sacrifice. Judge me.”

  Interesting. The beast had not expected any supplicants. How was such a thing possible? It considered for long moments, squatting next to the sacrifice. If this poor fool had lingered near the Mother for any length of time, her mind could have imparted memories. She was that strong. That must be it.

  It was a pity there weren’t more like him, but the beast hadn’t expected there to be. That would have been far too easy. No, he would have to hunt them. He would find their villages even if they were buried in the heart of the jungles choking much of this continent. Then he would blaze through them in a raging inferno. They would resist, of course, but that would merely hone long-dormant skills in preparation for the true battle.

  The beast seized the man by the neck, claws sinking into his soft flesh. Hot, coppery blood rained to the floor as he hefted the supplicant. The beast’s mouth filled with saliva. It hungered. The man let out an ear-piercing shriek that echoed through the chamber. Apparently, his faith was a flimsy thing in the face of pain.

  The beast lunged for the man’s throat, ending the tortured shriek. It bathed in the sweet, tangy blood as it tore loose head and spine. The limp form slumped to the ground, blessedly silent. The beast let out a low howl of victory, reveling in the coming slaughter. Then it fed for the first time.

  16

  It's Back

  “Commander,” Yuri panted, skidding up to the pavilion in a shower of dust. His chest heaved under his bulky black Kevlar vest, but he didn’t let that delay his report. “Yuri disobeyed orders. Allowed Sheila and Bridget to enter pyramid.”

  “You let them in?” Jordan growled, rising from his perch on the edge of a large black crate. He set his tablet down, forgetting a half-written message to the Director. “You had strict orders. No one inside without my direct authorization.”

  “Is true, but Yuri ordered not to use force against noncoms. Women go inside unless Yuri stop. Besides, they wish to retrieve Smith.
What they do is right. Smith deserves burial,” Yuri said, snapping to attention. He wasn’t offering excuses, just reporting the facts. He knew he’d be punished, but he reported his own crime anyway. The man had such an odd sense of honor.

  Jordan would probably be forced to mete out something unpleasant since a direct order had been disobeyed. That would come later. For now he had to recover those women. “How long ago?”

  “Four minutes, twenty-four seconds,” Yuri answered. His breathing had eased, but his pale face was slick with sweat.

  Jordan considered the best tactical response. They had no idea how Smith had died or what potential risks had been unleashed. He didn’t believe in curses, but he did worry about a virus or disease that modern humans had no resistance to. It was unlikely, but if he was wrong, the cost could be more lives than he’d be able to overcome losing and still sleep at night.

  Going back in presented the significant risk of spreading a contagion. Should he write the women off? He stowed the human drive to protect, forcing himself to consider only logic. They were experts in their field, and that made them the best chance of learning more about this place. Losing such skilled assets would be painful, but replacements could be found.

  “Commander, what’s going on?” Alejandro asked from his tense perch in one of the folding chairs at the neighboring pavilion.

  “Sheila and Bridget went back inside the structure,” he admitted. No sense hiding the facts. “We’re going to quarantine them there. No one else will be allowed to enter or exit until Mohn’s science team arrives.”

  “And how long will that be?” Dr. Roberts demanded. He rose from the chair next to Alejandro’s, crossing to Jordan’s pavilion like he was spoiling for a fight.

  “I’m going to guess tomorrow afternoon sometime. They’ll arrive by chopper. It will be a team with hazmat suits to scan every inch of that chamber. A field lab will be constructed on-site, and they’ll begin processing data within hours,” Jordan replied, rising and taking a single step toward Roberts. He loomed over the stubborn geologist, but the man didn’t seem deterred.