Slimy Underbelly

by Kevin J. Anderson

  When I finally got close enough to the concrete basin, I could see it was half-full of a thick red liquid. Frog demons were busy filling the sacrificial bath with—I suddenly realized it—virgin’s blood! That was what Ah’Chulhu had demanded of Fletcher Knowles, who had refused him. That was why the gripping tentacles had killed Fletcher. Ah’Chulhu needed virgin’s blood for his ceremony.

  I turned to Thunder Dick as I understood something else. “You didn’t create that sinkhole under the blood bar, did you? And neither did Alastair Cumulus.”

  He blinked at me. “Of course not. Weather wizards don’t do sinkholes. Our magic isn’t grounded.”

  Ah’Chulhu must have undermined the structures beneath the new Talbot & Knowles boutique blood bar to drop the building down into the catacombs. It hadn’t been an accident or a natural tragedy. It was a robbery. The half-demon real-estate agent had found a way to steal all the virgin’s blood he needed for his dramatic End of Days ceremony.

  Unfortunately, virgin’s blood was a new specialty item at the blood bars—very expensive and not sold in bulk. It was packaged in small, single-serve pouches, no more than a shot each, barely larger than a to-go packet of ketchup.

  Frog-demon henchmen surrounded the stone basin, tearing open the tiny pouches and squeezing bright red blood into the basin, an ounce at a time. They discarded the empty wrappers and took up more packets. They spilled as much on their ceremonial robes as they poured into the basin. I got the impression they had been at it for some time, and they were showing signs of impatience. The crowd was also getting restless.

  Ah’Chulhu distracted his minions, bellowing out in his heavy Australian accent, “All right, mates! No dramas. We’ll get this bonzer show on the road.” He scolded two rambunctious front-row reptiles who hopped about in extreme impatience. “Crikey, keep it down in front.”

  In his well-tailored business suit, Ah’Chulhu stood on the edge of the stage and shouted, “You’re all here for the big show, and you’ll get it! Tonight, the sewers will rise again—with your kind support. What goes down must come up. We will create a dimensional doorway and open the floodgates, unleash all the sewage of the Netherworld into the Unnatural Quarter.” He paused, and the audience began to applaud on cue. “We will pour forth enough fertilizer to transform the entire world.” His facial tentacles quivered with glee. “Oh, my parents will be so proud!”

  “He is kind of cute, don’t you think?” Thunder Dick said in an oddly wistful tone.

  I shot him a glare, still trying to plumb the depths of this plan. It was far more nefarious than any shenanigans in the Wuwufo campaign.

  Ah’Chulhu glanced at the stone basin and the waiting altar. “Are we ready yet?”

  The busy frog demons continued draining tiny packets of blood, one at a time. “Not yet, boss. We’ve got about another inch to go.”

  With a sigh, Ah’Chulhu turned back to his audience. “Thank you all for your patience. The show will begin momentarily. And now . . . the Phantom has more music to entertain you.” He gestured over to the gigantic pipe organ.

  The Phantom adjusted his mask. “Here’s something from the revival of Cats that’ll be opening at the opera house in a few weeks. You all know this one.” He began to play “Memory.”

  Thunder Dick hung his head. “Cats.” He sighed. “If this really is the End of Days, I wish Morris could be here.”

  Around the grotto, I heard sizzling, crackling sounds, electrical arcs skittering around upthrust wires, like some of the off-the-shelf equipment that Dr. Neumann Wenkmann, M.a.D., had installed in Jody’s lab. Tall, metallic devices generated glowing fields that pulsed into nebulous chemical mists charged with static electricity.

  While the Phantom continued to play his musical interlude, Ah’Chulhu directed the final preparations. “Are all the shields and wards operating effectively? Those are prototype devices, but I want to be sure we’re protected. We don’t want anything unexpected to come through.”

  Now I understood. Ah’Chulhu had been buying up the patents of magical-enhancement devices and protective equipment. He wanted to be reunited with his monstrous parents, but maybe he was afraid his spell could backfire. In case the Senior Citizen Gods weren’t exactly thrilled to see their long-lost offspring, it probably was a good idea for Ah’Chulhu to be cautious. I could imagine a lot of things that might go wrong when trying to back up all the sewage of the Netherworld.

  The basin was nearly filled with virgin’s blood; the exhausted and frustrated henchmen had almost finished emptying their boxes of single-serve packets. Soon, it would be too late, and the crowd was so packed I could barely move forward. I had to do something to flush out this evil half demon.

  I needed to be extremely bold and completely unexpected.

  Maybe it would only buy us a few minutes of time, but I removed my fedora and waved it high in the air, shouting, “Stop! All of you stop! This is an emergency order from the fire marshal.” I whipped out my wallet and flashed my private investigator’s license. “This chamber has exceeded its capacity. You are required to evacuate immediately. This is a fire hazard.”

  Considering how stupid the gator-guys were with their reptilian brains, I thought the fire marshal ploy might be convincing enough. After all, in a place like these enclosed sewer tunnels, judging from the smell, methane would be a serious hazard. I remembered that McGoo had once convinced me to light our farts when we were stupid college-age kids. A fire down here would be much worse.

  Several robed gator-guys hurried dutifully toward the exits, as instructed. The Phantom stopped playing, the chanting ceased, and the crowd looked over at me. We had their full attention now, but if Ah’Chulhu’s followers broke into a chaotic panic, then Thunder Dick and I might be trampled underfoot, under tentacle, and under flipper.

  “Do you have a Plan B?” Thunder Dick asked as we backed away. The crowd churned, not knowing what to do.

  “I hadn’t actually assigned letters to the plans,” I said.

  Ah’Chulhu was outraged by the interruption. “It’s just a trick, you idiots—there is no bloody fire hazard.” He waved his human hands toward us and shouted (as all decent villains do at one point or another), “Seize them!”

  The gator-guys followed their master’s command. Hissing, opening their fang-filled jaws in very threatening yawns, they stalked toward us like bargain-basement dragons. The red-robed special ceremonial assistant gator-guys stood around the dais, looking confused.

  As the crowd churned and the reptilian lieutenants/ associates/escorts pressed closer to us, I pulled out my .38 and fired a shot into the air (thereby demonstrating the lack of a methane fire hazard). The loud boom echoed around the grotto, and several of the amphibious spectators ducked out of the way. The ricocheting bullet pinged into one of the Phantom’s organ pipes, sounding a dissonant note.

  Thinking of the fate of the world before we were all buried under an outpouring of Netherworld effluent, I shot twice more, trying to strike the poured-stone basin full of virgin’s blood. White starbursts of chipped concrete spattered off, but the basin remained intact.

  Ah’Chulhu rose from his porcelain throne. “Crikey, you morons didn’t take away his gun when you captured him and put him in the cell?”

  The gator-guy henchmen paused, looked at one another, then turned back to the business-suited half demon. Their fanged jaws hung open. “You didn’t tell us to do that,” said one.

  Ah’Chulhu muttered, “Destroying and re-creating the world isn’t supposed to be a solo job.”

  I told Thunder Dick, “Now would be a good time to call down some lightning strikes. Or summon a tornado. A big one.”

  “Sorry.” He clutched at his chest where the talisman should be. “I could maybe manage a sprinkle, if I have a chance to concentrate.”

  The Phantom blatted a few dramatic notes on his organ, but couldn’t find the melody.

  Impatient with his reptilian henchmen, Ah’Chulhu grabbed at his face, yanked off two chin te
ntacles, and tossed the squirming appendages down from the dais. They were already swelling, growing, and grasping as they struck the puddled water.

  Thunder Dick and I tried to run, but the restless crowd was too dense, although they did make way for the ever-enlarging independent tentacles.

  I fired two more shots, aiming carefully to hit the tentacles instead of innocent bystanders (although anyone attending a ceremony to end the world had to be at least tangentially evil). The fat tentacles twitched as the bullets struck, and I saw Ah’Chulhu on his high dais wince as if someone had poked him with a needle.

  The squirming appendages were undeterred by bullets, however. One of them whipped out and encircled Thunder Dick, lifting him in the air and squeezing. Trying to rescue him, I hammered at the tentacle with my fist, but it didn’t do any good.

  A second tentacle wrapped around me in a crushing grip, lifting me above the crowds. Thunder Dick gasped out, “I have nothing against tentacles—in fact, I’ve always found them rather attractive—but this is not how I wanted to spend my evening.”

  As the swaying tentacle waved me back and forth, I could see the basin of virgin’s blood and the adjacent altar with its carved magical symbols. Ah’Chulhu stood at the edge of the wide stage, looking powerful and impressive as he commanded his minions.

  Oddly, though, as I thrashed and hammered at the tentacle around my waist, I saw one of the red-robed ceremonial assistants leave the others and move to the side of the porcelain throne. He fished in the pocket of his robe and withdrew a set of black horn-rimmed glasses. He fumbled to place them over his eyes. While Ah’Chulhu’s attention was diverted, the robed gator-guy bent closer to the boxes and lockers stacked next to the throne, peering through the spectacles as if searching for something. He stared with such intensity that he seemed to be looking right through the solid strongboxes.

  “Do you have a Plan C?” Thunder Dick asked me in a hoarse voice.

  “I told you I haven’t assigned letters,” I said.

  Concentrating hard, Ah’Chulhu scrunched his face tight, looking like a half demon who had been struggling with intestinal difficulties for a week, and the tentacles tightened around me like a vise. Embalming fluid rushed in my ears as the slimy appendage continued to squeeze. Any second now, I was going to pop like an overripe zit.

  Our night had definitely gone into the toilet.

  CHAPTER 43

  Suddenly, the background noise in the ceremonial chamber was shattered by a loud baritone voice. “Help! Someone has stolen my voice. If found, please call the police.”

  The crowd whirled, and a frog hopped into the chamber, splashing in the puddles. He seemed right at home in the sewers. Stentor’s loud voice bellowed out from its mouth, “Help! Someone has stolen my voice. If found, please call the police.”

  There’s nothing better than an irrelevant distraction at a pivotal point in a crisis. The tentacle twitched as Ah’Chulhu’s concentration flickered, and he lost control of his remote appendage. With marginally more elbow room, I managed to squirm out of my sport jacket, thus slipping out of the slimy embrace and dropping to the floor.

  As Stentor’s frog hopped among the audience, calling out in the ogre’s voice and demanding assistance, I wasn’t the only one using the distraction. The mysterious red-robed gator-guy adjusted his black-rimmed glasses as he studied the stacked containers beside the porcelain throne, then he tossed the spectacles away in triumph.

  I suddenly realized what they were—X-ray Spex!

  The gator-guy fumbled with scaly hands to tear at his head and neck. With a loud, sucking sound, he peeled off a bulky alligator mask to reveal a freckle-faced, red-headed kid with sparkling blue eyes and an impish smile.

  Jody Caligari in disguise!

  Now that my arms were free, I could fire my pistol again. I’m a good shot, and I had to make it count. I had to shatter that basin, spill the virgin’s blood, and end that End of Days spell.

  But when I pulled the trigger, the gun made only the disappointing hollow click of an empty chamber. I considered throwing the empty gun at Ah’Chulhu, but I knew from enough old Superman episodes that such a show of defiance would be completely ineffective, and I would also lose an otherwise-reliable firearm for later cases (provided I survived this one).

  I turned to help Thunder Dick and hammered, pounded, and poked at the tentacle with the gun, then used my hands to grip the slimy appendage, trying to free the weather wizard. I had to do something.

  Ah’Chulhu noticed Jody and whirled. His remaining facial tentacles thrashed in annoyance. “G’day, mate! What are you doing here? Hey, and where’s my rent?”

  Seeing that Ah’Chulhu was distracted, I redoubled my efforts and managed to loosen the tentacle, finally freeing Thunder Dick from its crushing grip. I pulled him out of the muck, and the weather wizard sprawled on his face, gasping for breath.

  With the heavy reptilian mask tossed to one side, Jody hurriedly fumbled with the locker he had identified before anyone could catch him. I realized that the box must contain everything Ah’Chulhu had stolen from the kid’s junior mad scientist lab—all of Jody’s confiscated prototypes. He tore off the cumbersome gator gloves and finally managed to open the latch.

  In the midst of all the drama, the Phantom played an ominous three notes on his organ, then adjusted several of the pipes, still not satisfied with the sound.

  As gator-guys rushed up the steps toward him, Jody rummaged frantically in the locker, found what he wanted, and yanked out a wad of slithery black fabric. It looked like Spandex made out of midnight shadows, and in the center was emblazoned a white circle, some kind of emblem, with three bright yellow exclamation points.

  “I summon Dr. Darkness!!!” Jody yelled, as if imagining his voice would sound loud and portentous, but a prepubescent kid could accomplish only so much. When he finished his command, I half-expected him to say, “Golly gee!”

  Ah’Chulhu bellowed to the red-robed gator-guys who were not, I presumed, other junior mad scientists in disguise. “Stop him! Don’t let him don that evil suit.”

  I pulled Thunder Dick to his feet, and he groaned. “Never had a cracked rib before, but at least my spine is aligned now.”

  “We need to get to the altar stone before that virgin’s blood gets spilled,” I said, then added, “and causes the end of the world.” It really wasn’t an afterthought.

  Fortunately, Ah’Chulhu had a potential supervillain to worry about, for the time being. Jody tossed the black fabric over his head like a bedsheet, and the Dr. Darkness!!! suit took on a life of its own, like an oil slick, twitching and probing, covering the kid’s body as he struggled to shuck his red ceremonial robe. I was impressed by the special automated donning feature he had bragged about.

  Then, as if there weren’t enough going on already, another commotion occurred at the entrance to the grotto—shouts, splashes, footsteps. McGoo and an entire squad of uniformed policemen sloshed in with their service revolvers drawn. In front of them, C.H. bobbed up and down on his fingers, pointing the way.

  “All right, everyone—put your hands up!” McGoo shouted. “Or any similar appendages.”

  With a wheeze of exasperation as he dealt with too many distractions at once, Ah’Chulhu’s evil, otherworldly eyes blazed crimson. “How am I supposed to get anything done?” He recalled his detached facial tentacles, and they shrank down and wriggled back through the crowd. The police fanned out to impose order on all of the participants at the end-of-the-world ceremony.

  I saw my chance to rush toward the altar, and Thunder Dick followed me, eager to help or maybe just afraid to be left behind.

  As the police cleared a path, McGoo saw me and made his way toward the front. I shouted through the din, “McGoo! We have to stop the spell. Wreck the altar stone.”

  He caught up with me and the weathermancer just in time to run into three burly, hissing gator-guys—why did they always come in threes? The big reptiles tried to stop us, and we resorted to good o
ld-fashioned fisticuffs, slugging the elongated snouts. I landed an uppercut to a scaly chin and heard rows of fangs clack together. The gator-guys snapped their jaws, but McGoo ducked, punched one in the abdomen, and nearly broke his knuckles against an armored underbelly.

  That was enough time for me to duck between two of the reptiles, though, and I lunged toward the altar stone, hoping to topple, shatter, or maybe just misalign it somehow. If I could spill the virgin’s blood off to the side, it would take hours and hours to refill the basin one tiny packet at a time, even if the demon had enough supplies in a back room.

  But Ah’Chulhu also knew he was out of time. Ignoring Jody, he bounded to the blood-filled basin, and his hideous eyes locked on mine. “Too late, Chambeaux!” He grabbed the edge of the blood-filled container, shoving with all his strength. “Crikey, this is heavy!”

  I reached the edge of the engraved altar just as Ah’Chulhu dumped the pterodactyl bath onto the ceremonial stone, with its preprinted doomsday spell. “I will not disappoint my parents!”

  Blood ran in rivulets through the incised sorcerous symbols. I couldn’t stop it, though I certainly made a mess trying. Ah’Chulhu just laughed at me.

  Mounted near the wall, the anti-evil protective machinery crackled and sputtered as it began to overload. A dimness penetrated the air, as if the light itself were being wrung out of the chamber.

  Ah’Chulhu cried out, “Open the effluent gates!”

  CHAPTER 44

  Blood swirled in the deeply cut designs, raced like scarlet fire along the tracks, and glowed as Ah’Chulhu’s powerful spell pulled together the cosmic energy.

  Panting and just a second behind me, McGoo arrived, but the blood was already spilled, much of it all over my hands and jacket. Too late. “No use crying over spilled blood,” I said.

  Ah’Chulhu laughed so hard that his remaining face tentacles wiggled. “You can’t stop the flood!”