Looking up, I saw a single Reanimated blocking the tunnel passage that led to my associates. I could see the light of our campsite beyond. This Reanimated was different from the others. First of all, it was headless. Wearing the tattered remnants of a Pre-Rising military uniform that looked like it had been old when the world ended, it held its own mummified head in its hands.
“I am the Major,” the figure said, its voice like a baritone from Azathoth’s eternal symphony. “I speak for the Dead.”
“I am alive,” I said, continuing crawling.
“Yes,” the figure said. “Why, though? Death is the fate of humanity and it is a blessed release from the horrors beyond. The Dark consumes all and provides peace for the mistake of nature we call consciousness. Gh’targh Gh’targh Oroarchan. The Unimaginable Horror shall consume this world and bring peace to the universe.”
“Oroarchan can kiss my ass.” I was surprised the Great Old One who destroyed the Kastro’vaal was the same as the Unimaginable Horror.
The figure let out an amused chuckle. “I see the future for you, John. A dead world, every single being on it destroyed, and you left to inherit the empty graveyard this world will become.”
“That’s my past.”
The Major didn’t answer and faded away, revealing itself to be nothing more than a psychic projection.
Or I was hallucinating. I couldn’t tell which. I was getting a lot of that lately.
I was about ready to pass out when I saw someone most unexpected looking down at me. Thom crouched down and stared at me.
“Yep, he’s still alive.”
“It doesn’t work that way!” Mercury shouted.
“Back the hell off, Thom!” Jessica added.
I laughed, then fell unconscious.
Chapter Seventeen
I woke up again in the back of our Hummer, laid out on a bedspread in the modified vehicle’s back. We were moving again, the sky dark and full of stars. Most of the supplies that had been stored where I was resting had been moved into the back seat on the passenger’s side.
Bobbie was up front, alone. Beside me were August and Mercury, both of them tending to me with the medical equipment supplied by the Yithians. I felt like shit, half- off my mind on Wasteland meds and still shuddering from the terrible things I’d witnessed fighting the Reanimated.
My leg was treated, but given that the creature had bitten down to the muscle, there was little they could do. Ironically, if I’d lived in the Pre-Rising era, I might have been crippled forever, but there were magics that could be employed now.
Dark ones.
“Where am I?” I asked, moaning.
“On our way to Insmaw,” August said, staring at John. “The lightning storm stopped a few hours ago.”
“Is everyone alive?” I asked, my voice dry.
Mercury handed me an old plastic bottle filled with filtered water. “Amazingly, yes. I don’t know what you did but the zombie horde abandoned attacking us right after the enhanced barrier went down. Then most of them died … again.”
“Emphasis on most of them,” August repeated my earlier thoughts. “The ones in the back turned around to attack us again. That’s why it took us so long to get to you, even though we heard your gunshots and screams.”
“We also had to convince Thom to come with us,” Mercury said, smirking. “At gunpoint.”
“Which wasn’t necessary,” August said, frowning. “He’ll remember that.”
“I’m not afraid of Thom Braddock.” Mercury snorted.
“You should be,” August said. “His shooting is not natural. I say that in the most literal-and-you-should-take-my-word-for-it-because-I’m-a-wizard way possible. Every bullet was a headshot and some of them curved.”
“Trick shooting is the least impressive thing I’ve seen all day,” Mercury argued. “Besides, it was John who—”
“The Faceless Ones are working for the Unimaginable Horror,” I said, “or Marcus Whateley. I don’t know if you can work for a Great Old One any more than a priest can for God. The Unimaginable Horror, Oroarchan is its name, is linked to the Reanimated somehow. I don’t think it’s imprisoned as much as the Yithians think it is.”
August nodded. “That makes sense. Cthulhu was bound in the sunken city of R’lyeh for millions of years before the city rose, flooding the Old World’s coastal cities. Even before he rose, though, his psychic dreams created millions of cults to him. The Unimaginable Horror, Oroarchan, may be equally influential despite his bound state.”
“He came with the oceans,” I muttered, thinking feverish thoughts. “Humans are sixty-five percent water.”
“I don’t think that’s relevant.” August looked at me like I was babbling, which admittedly I was.
“The Dead rising, all because …” I trailed off, visions of the dead rising by the millions to slaughter humanity and hustle along the awakening of the Great Old Ones.
The psychic disturbances helped to create a suitable environment to awaken them. The Unimaginable Horror had been killing and raising the dead since humanity first evolved, feeding on mankind’s suffering to erode the bonds the Yithians had placed on it. Untold atrocities, wars, and murders had been instigated by its will the way a farmer plants crops.
I just knew it.
Mercury put her hand on my shoulder. “Booth?”
I blinked, coming out of it. “Words cannot express what a shit night I’ve been having.”
“I can tell,” August said, poking my leg and causing me to grimace. “The Faceless Ones have been watching a lot of old movies because the bite here was poisoned. If you were still human, it would have killed you.”
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“I can heal it tomorrow with an animal sacrifice or I can use your life energy to do it now,” he said, looking at me. “There will be consequences, though.”
“How much?”
“Five years off your life,” August said, his voice plain and direct.
“Do it,” I said.
“John!” Mercury said, appalled.
“If I’m not in fighting shape when we reach Insmaw, a few extra years at the end of my lifespan won’t matter,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The odds of any of us living to old age have always been dicey anyway.”
Mercury gave me an accusing look. She’d thought we’d have the chance to grow old together. I felt guilty for denying her that opportunity, but I didn’t change my decision.
“All right,” August said, nodding. “This is going to hurt.”
“When doesn’t it?” I stared at him.
August gave an amused snort.
Mercury put a piece of plastic in my mouth so I wouldn’t bite my tongue off. I bit down on it hard. Placing his hands on my wound, August began muttering a chant, which Mercury paid rapt attention to. I couldn’t hear any of the words because I was too busy screaming in agony. The agony was like having a wound cauterized, only much, much worse. I passed out again but woke up a few minutes later.
“Remind me to never do that again,” I muttered, seeing the room spin for several seconds.
“Don’t get attacked by cannibal undead,” August replied, shrugging.
“I find that to be good advice in general.”
Mercury said, “John, is there anything I can get you?”
“Marcus Whateley’s head on a plate?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re working on it,” Mercury said. “I mean in the meantime.”
“Just water,” I said, breathing slowly. I couldn’t describe to her the psychological damage I’d suffered seeing the horrifying things I had with the Reanimated. They were only one of many foul memories now, but the world didn’t allow you to retreat from them. Not if you wanted to survive. I also knew Mercury had seen just as many terrible things, being forced by the Remnant government to torture men to death as part of their method of ensuing compliance.
Just knowing she cared was enough.
Mercury handed me the bottle
and I took another sip, drinking it down in under a minute. “Thank you.”
“I admit to being impressed. You two are quite the team,” August said, looking between us. “I am not a man given to such sentiments either.”
“I didn’t used to be very impressive,” Mercury said, sighing. “But after I ended up kidnapped by Deep Ones, I vowed to never be a victim again.”
“You stopped being a victim a long time before that,” I said, remembering how she’d escaped her abusive marriage.
Mercury smiled. “Still, I’m not where I want to be yet. As much as I’ve learned in the past year, it’s nowhere near enough. Magic is a tool I have to master if I’m ever going to make a difference.”
We had a copy of the Necronomicon but while it provided a vast amount of eldritch lore, it wasn’t a source of all the magic a sorcerer could learn. Indeed, many of their spells required reference material which no longer existed.
August smiled. “That is the nature and trap of our profession, Doctor Halsey. Personal power is never so literal a drug as when it comes from the power of the Great Old Ones, gods, and dream-spirits. That’s not even getting to using the so-called ‘technology of the mind’ they’ve overlaid the universe with.”
“It’s a godsend,” Mercury said, showing how her opinion of magic had changed.
“A fair warning from one professional to another,” August said, his smile leaving his face. “There is no limit to the power of magic, but there is to the amount a human can wield. To truly wield Earth-shattering powers, the oldest and strongest of our kind sacrifice their humanity. Blood, flesh, and will are the fuel for sorcery. Whole civilizations have had their populations sacrificed on altars to provide just a momentary boost of power to sorcerer-kings. All in the feeble attempt to be like the Old Ones.”
Mercury stared. “That’s not going to happen to me.”
“Of course not,” August said, shrugging. “I, for one, take a more scientific approach to my magic, even if I am more mystical than Professor Armitage. Logic provides the tools for creating what dreams envision.”
I stared at August. “What’s your story, anyway?”
“Mine?” August seemed surprised we cared. “Nothing of consequence, really. I was born on a farm in Third Boston, much as everyone in Third Boston is. I married the farmer’s son next door. We adopted a group of children. I discovered an old book of spells, used it to become immortal, and found my way to the University.”
“That’s a different definition of ‘no consequence’ than the one I’m familiar with,” Mercury said.
“Immortality is easy,” August said, shrugging. “Living is hard. Professor Armitage and I never got along. Miskatonic and Third Boston settlers have always been at odds. The former believes in chemistry, the latter believes in alchemy, and never the two shall meet. Still, we managed to accomplish a lot together. I attribute that to Marcus. He was always able to balance our two sides out.”
“What was Marcus Whateley like?” Any knowledge we got of him would help us kill him.
“A genius,” August said. “I am one of the smartest men remaining on Earth, no false humility, and Marcus made me look like a simpleton. He understood levels of mathematics Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss would balk at.”
“I assume this Johann guy was good at mathematics?” I asked.
“Yes,” August said, looking at me like I was a fool.
Excuse me all to hell.
“In the end, Marcus withdrew from himself and Armitage became more obsessed with the Yithians. It was Marcus who contacted them via his weird library and brought them to the University. The Great Race gave us an immense amount of knowledge, including many things that had vital day-to-day applications. I never liked them, though, because they always seemed a little too selfless. We’re an endangered species to them and one they’re trying to preserve as a curiosity. Not real people.”
“Then Marcus left,” I said, adding this to my picture of the man.
“Yes,” August said, sounding sad. “He became more and more obsessed with what he’d seen in the future. He often spoke of comets, dead worlds, ancient masses of the dead, and how Hastur had once worshiped the Unimaginable Horror in a previous universe. Or maybe it was the reverse. I didn’t pay him much attention, and by the time I was ready to, he was gone.”
“And you were banished,” Mercury said.
“That’s an impertinent question,” August said, offended. “But yes, I was banished soon after. The two subjects were unrelated, though.”
“Why?” I asked.
August frowned. “If you must know, I killed a student. We were having an affair and I introduced him to magics he wasn’t ready for. He summoned something he couldn’t put down, and there was a great deal of damage to the University. I put him down to end the spell, but it didn’t matter much in the long run. I’d lost the University’s trust. I was already a figure of discord anyway. I’d earned my reputation as the Summoner doing work to gain personal wealth as well as protect the University from threats I deemed actionable.”
“You still with your husband?” Mercury asked.
“Yes,” August said, frowning. “I’m not proud of what I did. It was a mistake born from needing human comfort in a world where you are too often required to forgo it. However, love is something which endures.”
“If you loved him, you wouldn’t have cheated on him.” Mercury looked away.
I grimaced. Yeah, this wasn’t going to go well. August noticed my look and raised an eyebrow. I turned away from Mercury. The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. A new range of mountains had been raised by something large, so we’d had to take a detour, which added another fourteen hours to our trip. But the biggest result was we got to do some sightseeing. We passed by an ever-changing mansion that stood alone in the desert, beckoning travelers with sickening but beautiful music played by an unseen violinist. We traveled through a fog-shrouded town where I could hear the sounds of my former victims begging me to stop. We deftly avoided being eaten in a mutant-filled city that still bore the scars of when the United States government had dropped an atomic bomb on it.
Along the way, we helped a group of travelers from Kingsport fight off a group of ravenous undead, bought supplies from merchants hailing from Providence, and refilled our water tanks in a disturbingly peaceful town where there was no sign of anyone over the age of eighteen. We avoided staying the night in the latter town, despite the fact they offered us soft beds, food, and other enticements. There was such a thing as being too friendly in the Wasteland.
When we finally got close to Insmaw, our radio crackled to life. The crooning of Pre-Rising music played in the background, a guitar strumming as the singer talked about pale lights in the West. It was a rather surprising sign of civilization and I had to wonder how advanced Insmaw was. I got my answer when I saw the lengthy fenced-in farms with rows of corn, wheat, fruit trees, and other abundance that was difficult to look upon without envy. The last time I’d seen such successful farmland was the Remnant’s own massive “food towns,” and they were managed to brutal military discipline. This place seemed almost serene with little sign of the horrors that existed just outside their borders.
We drove for some time past pleasant two- and four-story houses, seeing children at play and adults attending them. The locals were a mixture of human, Hybrid, and Deep One with no attempt to hide their intermixing. Every farm maintained a small lake and I wondered if they all connected to some sort of greater underwater cavern system. Certainly, the subject of fresh water seemed to be a small issue, and I had to wonder how such a paradise survived here.
“It’s a wonder no one has come here to murder them and take their possessions,” August said, looking out the windows.
“Maybe they know how to protect themselves,” Bobbie suggested.
“No one can protect themselves. That is the one truism of the world now,” August said, frowning. “You survive by sheer dumb luck.”
I wanted to argue
with August but couldn’t.
Heading to the center of town, I saw the ocean on the horizon. We were inland but not too far. The black waters of the transformed ocean loomed menacingly. Life had begun in the oceans, but knowing they were a product of the Unimaginable Horror, I now felt a curious sense of dread about them.
Little did I know how prophetic that feeling would prove.
Chapter Eighteen
Our vehicles came to a stop in the middle of the picturesque town. Something about the atmosphere was disorienting.
The city of Insmaw was formed of glass-window shops, two-story townhouses, a public library, and a large stone courthouse which looked like a new construction rather than a converted Pre-Rising building. A bronze statue of a nude woman with six arms stretched outward and a depiction of the sun for a head was in the village square.
I recognized this as a depiction of the Great Old One Vastarara, identified by some occult scholars as another face of Cthugha and by the Dunwych as a daughter of Shub-Niggurath. It was a wrathful fire-deity whose cultists engaged in orgiastic excesses and bacchanalia. Here, Vastarara seemed to have taken the role of a peaceful harvest goddess since there was no sign of the blood-stained altars, burning hearts, or writhing sensual mystics that so characterized my memories of the deity. That was the real trick of the Great Old Ones, though. Ninety percent, and that was lowballing it, of what people knew about them was delusion or lies.
People made up stories about the millions of strange godlike aliens throughout the cosmos and sought to impose some order or reason to it all. They made up tales of how Cthulhu, Cthugha, or Azathoth cared about what color skin you had or what hand you wiped your bum. I was a religious man and thus not unaware of the hypocrisy, but it offended me on some level to see yet another monster deified. The real Vastarara, if she existed at all, was in all likelihood some sort of vampiric monstrosity who incinerated people and ate their ashes. That was the sort of world we lived in. There was nothing romantic or beautiful about the Great Old Ones, unless you wished to admire their sheer power and immortality.
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