Shoggoth 2- Rise of the Elders

by Byron Craft

  Now besides a shoggoth behind Noah and Madison, the roar of a cave-in was at their backs. To Noah it would be a humungous risk to travel at a greater rate of speed, navigating over the rough cave floor. They could easily spill. It was a gamble that he had to take. The bike was in fifth gear, and he pegged the throttle as far as it would go. Noah chanced a quick look at the speedometer; it read ninety miles per hour. Madison squealed.

  ***

  Gideon feared that the kid and the redhead left behind had run out of time. Ironwood ran toward the cave opening hollering that he was, “going back in to get them out!”

  “Forget it, Ironwood,” Gideon countered. “I can run faster than you can.” Before he could sprint two strides, the tunnel opening erupted spewing two teens on a motorbike ahead of a cannon shot of dirt and rock debris.

  The Magician and its two occupants, becoming airborne, arched over the ground level for approximately twenty-five yards, bounced three times along the desert sand and skidded sidewise to a stop.

  ***

  Covered with dirt from head to toe, still perched upon the bike, Noah and Madison rocked with nervous, excited laughter. Noah looked around. Outside the old miner’s cave, the two men and the woman they met, looked astonished. Nearby was a white F-150 pick-up truck. His uncle, Lieutenant Jason Riggs leaned against the truck’s bed with his hands on his hips, a stern expression on his face.

  “Boy, am I in trouble,” Noah declared.

  Chapter 18

  - Rise of the Elders -

  Ironwood stood outside his house. It was midsummer, and a raven was gracefully riding the thermals. He looked up and watched; the raven screeched as if to say, “look at me, look at me!” A slender tendril shot skyward snatching the ebony bird, retracting swiftly with its prey into the shoggoth tower.

  It had been a month since the remainder of tunnel explorers had escaped and the world had changed forever. After slumbering in darkness for millions of years, thousands of the Elder Beings emerged into daylight. They should have permanently closed the only access left to the subterranean realm, inside Victor Nash’s old miner’s shack, but Gideon, Pemba, Amy and the Professor all agreed to leave it open sharing the hope that Sergeant Moses Jones may have survived. Even so, speculated Ironwood, aware of the Great Race’s radical technology, it probably would have been only a matter of time before they would have engineered their exodus.

  The conical beings exited the mouth of the cave, within the shack, in what appeared as an endless single file. They basked in the sunlight, embracing the faint memory of a world they once ruled. A score of warrior shoggoths flanked the Elder Beings, hideous parodies of Earthly guard dogs. Once charged by the rays of the sun the shoggoths no longer seemed intent on ravaging every living thing. If the legends of the Elder Race were true, Ironwood ventured, then the aggressive behavior of the beasts would only be triggered by thought commands from their masters. Commands driven by the need for self-defense, he conjectured, and hopefully not prompting offensive measures.

  On day three of the exodus, they were pleased to discover that Moses Jones was alive. Gideon and Pemba had stayed on at Ironwood’s place. The two had become intimate and why not, reasoned Professor Ironwood when the world’s situation appeared so impermanent. They had stocked up on provisions, that would last them months, and along with Amy Murchison, the four of them had formed a communal outpost to observe, report, and maybe, discover some way to undo the origin of the alien invasion.

  Jones had appeared on Ironwood’s doorstep, the afternoon of day three, looking worse for wear. The Sergeant had reported that he had killed the three Elder Beings, after the door sealed shut, with close quarters headshots. Not having the keys to the JLTV he stuffed a backpack with munitions and rations and ran for his life. It turned out to be a good move on his part because in a short while the iris door re-opened and a handful of freshly manufactured shoggoths came slithering, a pack of grotesque bloodhounds intent on locating the human invaders. Jones took the first adjacent tunnel branch he came to and discovered that it terminated at a pile of rubble. With the shoggoths hot on his trail he buried himself and the backpack in the debris. He disassembled his M16, using its barrel for a breathing tube. The Sergeant snorkeled air for two and one-half days only occasionally risking movement toward his backpack for moisture and sustenance. He heard the progression of aliens shuffle by and eventually decided that the coast was most likely clear.

  “Fortunately, the Professor’s brainstorm of ‘hare and hounds’ guided me out of that hell hole,” Jones later testified. “The paper trail he left behind was visible by my light, and I was able to trace my way topside.”

  Sergeant Jones was made comfortable and well fed at the residence of Professor Thomas Ironwood until he decided that it was time for him to return to the Naval Weapons Center for re-assignment.

  An orifice opened in the top of the multi-storied shoggoth tower and the captive raven flew toward the blue bowl of a sky. Interesting, thought Ironwood. They didn’t kill or consume it. Probably wanted to examine the bird for some reason. Perhaps they had no desire to eat crow. The living organism that they had dubbed, “the tower,” had miraculously appeared on the morning of day four of the ascension. Whether it was the result of an alien seeding or activity fostered beneath the earth, the center of Darwin, littered with derelict cars and abandoned shacks, mutated overnight into a massive living skyscraper reminiscent of Jack’s beanstalk.

  It was shortly after sunrise that they witnessed the monstrous organism. Military helicopters and drones from the Naval Weapons Center buzzed the towering horror. Somehow the thing was able to excrete a slimy fluid residue over its protracted form despite the dry desert heat. Shaggy, hairy cilia and rope-like feelers continually waved then contracted and then expanded back out again to undulate in the morning breeze.

  The four of them retreated indoors, barring entry and “locked and loaded” warned Gideon, against whatever might come. An hour later Vice Admiral Jack Hawkins pounded on their door with an entourage of master-at-arms. “What the hell is that!” he demanded.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” replied the Professor.

  They withdrew to the Professor’s dining room and sat around the long table. The MA’s remained standing behind the Admiral. De-briefed by Ironwood and his house guests, Hawkins drummed his fingers on the table top mulling over his next move.

  “I take full responsibility for the release of those creatures, Admiral,” volunteered Gideon. “I was careless, and my actions were the cause of their liberation.”

  “I will not accept your accountability for your actions, Mr. Ward. You, the Professor, two covert operators, and this young lady were in a race to stop a person, that will remain nameless, from releasing these beings.” The Admiral leaned back in his chair and gave a sideward glance at his U.S. Navy law enforcement detail behind him. Ironwood harkened back to when his friend, the Admiral, told him that Neville Stream had spies everywhere.

  “If you hadn’t set the creatures free, our person of interest surely would have done the deed,” Hawkins continued. “The only orders I have from the Pentagon, so far, is, ‘to proceed with caution.’ Everything is political nowadays. No one wants to risk a decision. Even though my instructions are vague, I have decided to cordon off the town and lay siege around this tower of yours with a platoon of marines. Their orders are to only observe and to report back any irregularities. My eyes in the sky will keep a watchful presence as well. I have also given the command to block off the road to Darwin.”

  ***

  Admiral Hawkins’ roadblock was not erected in time to bar the media. A white panel van parked in front of Ironwood’s home, telescoping a satellite dish skyward. Painted on its sides were the letters, “HUN,” the acronym for Heads Up News. Ironwood, his house guests, and their visitors from the NWC watched through the living room window. A young lady, looking like a fashion model, stepped out of the van, followed by a cameraman. A frail, middle-aged man, with spiked hair,
exited the rear double doors, handed her a microphone, and patted her nose with a powder puff.

  “You better come and see this,” bid Amy. She had turned on the television, and the HUN logo rotated on the screen above the words, “Breaking News.”

  “Carl Pursell, Heads Up News reporting,” said a man with a full pate of pure white hair.

  “Are we, right now, being visited by aliens from another planet? Not exactly! It has been leaked to me, Carl Pursell, from a reliable source, that a research team exploring tunnels below a Top-Secret navy base have discovered space alien creatures, intelligent life forms. It is alleged that they have been in suspended animation for centuries and they are alive! Our own Jessica Esterhazy is live on the scene. We take you to Darwin, California. Good afternoon Jessica.”

  “Good afternoon, Carl. I am standing in front of Professor Thomas Ironwood’s house, the man, along with his colleagues, it is alleged, are responsible for releasing these aliens on the unsuspecting populous of this tiny desert town.”

  Ironwood and his friends gawked at the full 4K view of his sunken house. One of the MA’s was still peering out the living room window, and you could clearly make his face out on the TV screen. “Get away from there!” bellowed Hawkins.

  Ironwood turned to the Admiral and offered, “It looks like ‘you know who’ has already started his campaign of disinformation.”

  The Admiral nodded his head in agreement, “For God sakes Thomas, I’ve got to stop her.”

  “As unbelievable as it may seem the proof is in the viewing,” her broadcast continued. The camera panned 180 degrees revealing the shoggoth tower. A remote-controlled drone circled the vertical monstrosity. Windows, resembling oversized portholes, opened in the fortified organism. Cone-shaped Elder Beings scrutinized downward into the camera lens.

  Was the world prepared to view such a thing, wondered Ironwood. It could be a catastrophic cultural shock. It was too late for speculation. In seconds the news of it would be all over the world, satellite broadcasts, the internet, social media, good Lord, YouTube!

  Ironwood was distracted from the broadcast by the Admiral talking on his cell phone. “Shut her down,” was all the base commander said. Outside a caravan of military Humvees pulled to a stop behind the television crew’s van. A marine jumped out of the lead vehicle and entered through the rear double doors of the van. Another ran up to the reporter, removed the microphone from her hand, and shook his head, “No.”

  The living room TV flat screen digital image fluttered and broke apart. Carl Pursell appeared holding a hand to his right ear. “We have lost Jessica momentarily; once the connection is resumed, we will . . .” Amy touched the “Power” icon on the remote, and the screen went black.

  “Enough of him,” Amy added with finality.

  “Yes,” replied Ironwood remorsefully, “but the damage has already begun.”

  ***

  Jessica Esterhazy sat passenger side next to the driver of the van. The driver also doubled as her cameraman. “Those bastards cut us off mid-broadcast,” he fumed. They were forced to leave Darwin and were traveling on highway 190 East away from town. Ahead was the newly formed military roadblock. Two vans, like theirs, were stopped by uniformed armed guards and made to turn around. One of the vans had a CNN logo painted on its side, and the other belonged to NBC.

  “Don’t fret, Joe,” Jessica consoled her driver cameraman. “We’ve scooped them all and what better feed could we have than U.S. Marines shutting down our broadcast, trampling on the freedom of the press. I can milk this story for a solid month. I’ll be a star.”

  ***

  Gideon answered a knock at the door. A Marine on the stoop held a small cardboard box. “UPS left this at the roadblock for you Sir,” said the serviceman handing it over. The box was marked amazon.

  “Thank you,” replied Gideon.

  “What is that,” Pemba asked, entering the foyer.

  Gideon put his arm around her and whispered in her ear. “It's a Mark One counter surveillance device for detecting bugs and hidden cameras. I had one in my truck, but it is no longer accessible. The Professor indicated that we must be careful what we say around here because of the snoopy politician. I’m going to sweep this joint for any eavesdropping devices.”

  “I did not know that you could buy such things online.”

  “This is America, Sweetheart,” he smiled, “you can purchase anything by way of the internet, providing the country doesn’t become a dictatorship.”

  ***

  The four of them sat around the Professor’s desk in the office trailer. An unbelievable newscast transfixed Ironwood, Amy, Gideon, and Pemba on the computer monitor. It had become apparent, by then, that not all the Elder Beings occupied the shoggoth tower. Weeks after their ascension they witnessed the conical beings taking to the air on living flying machines. Aircraft of amazing grace, darkly feathered fowl with articulated wings, gross parodies of earthly birds. Quite possibly, pondered Ironwood, the reason they examined the raven. At the end of the Cretaceous Period, before the asteroid hit the Earth, their atmosphere was substantially different than today's. Denser? Thinner? Archeologists and scientists can only hazard a guess. Whatever the atmospheric conditions were, the creatures from that time most likely had to adjust their archaic knowledge of aviation science to meet modern day. Modern day? He deliberated the term; maybe we will end up being akin to Native Americans’ first encounter with the white man’s technical advantage.

  Whatever the outcome, the Elder Beings were now around the world. They were in North America, Europe, Asia, even the Philippines. Russia, so far, had kept them from crossing their borders. Japan remained isolated from them as well.

  GBS, the General Broadcasting System, issued the latest report on “Elderphobia” over the Professor’s monitor. “Edinburgh University officials have launched an inquiry into comments made by Gavin Travers, 22, who allegedly committed a ‘hate crime’ when he mocked the Great Race while wearing a tee-shirt displaying one of the Elder’s upside down in a pile of what looked like dung, the Times of London reported. Meanwhile, a British University student, who is a member of a radical extremist group and supports Gavin Travers, has been subjected to an investigation for putting ‘Elder Beings at risk’ after he ridiculed them on social media.” Ironwood muted his PC.

  “Are they all afraid to say anything negative about the Elder Beings or to speculate on what they might be up to?” enquired Amy.

  “It’s the media,” answered Ironwood thinking that it was all that needed to be said. Then realizing that it wasn’t, added, “They have an agenda, and I am pretty sure who is behind it.”

  Gideon rose to his feet and removed three small electronic devices from his shirt pocket. “Your trailer is the last place I swept,” he said, turning to Ironwood. Two were black, wireless remote micro stick voice activated recorders, and the third was similar in appearance except for a miniature camera lens at one end. “Your suspicions were correct, Sir," Gideon acknowledge dropping them to the trailer floor. He lifted his foot and crushed each, one at a time, under the heal of his boot. “We can now avert caution and mention that bastard Neville Stream’s name.”

  They bugged my house; Ironwood silently seethed, probably when they stole the page out of the Necronomicon photocopy.

  ***

  Inside a mountain, at an undisclosed location, Neville Stream was at his worst. His refuge was lead and steel lined. The latest anti-surveillance and counter surveillance equipment fortified the installation. The entry to his lair was draped in observational resistant camouflage fabric. Here he could let his hair down.

  Money came easily to the Congressman; power was hard. His family wealth and the appropriation of campaign funds formed the assets needed for the construction of his hidey-hole. His need was greater than a steel asylum. Neville Stream craved influence and authority.

  “Decode, translate, torture, I don’t care, just get the info out of the damn thing ASAP!” he yelled at the little ma
n shivering in tan loafers. Things weren’t going exactly as planned. The dumbass populous were welcoming the cone-beasts. Cults had formed worshiping the aliens. “Star Gods” they were calling them. The shoggoths had become docile. He needed chaos, mayhem, a massive slaughter of citizens would help to move his election in the right direction. That info-babe Jessica Esterhazy, was on the right track though, shifting the blame to Ironwood and next to the Naval Weapons Center. Maybe, when he had the time, he’d have her up to his hotel room, and see what she was made of.

  “We are working day and night, Congressman Stream, their language is unlike anything we have ever encountered,” pleaded Loafers.

  “You’re supposed to be the country’s top code breakers. I got tired of your whining and got you three of the best foreign language experts to transcribe, translate and interpret! Get the job done, damn it!”

  “Yes sir, but they communicate with a series of whistles followed by clicks with those lobster claws of theirs. Applying the principles and methods of linguistics for a systematic analysis of a language, so far, has not produced results.”

  “Then apply more force and reward the correct answer. You’ve been too easy on the animal. We are not going to wait for results through months of waterboarding. Turn up the juice and when you get an informative reply, recompense with something it likes. Penalty versus reward, it works every time. I need to know how to make a shoggoth.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied apprehensively. The little man signaled two others that awaited orders.

  A nine-foot-tall Elder Being was shackled at its two clawed arms and appendage tentacle with heavy chain attached to electrodes bolted to the wall. One of the men that had been given the nod flicked a switch and turned a dial on a rheostat. An electrical current traveled the chains. The creature from stasis let loose with an earsplitting whistle.