Necropolis

by James Axler

  Even though he and the others suspected that the Nagah prince might have been listening in on their communications, Kane still had to force himself to speak the man’s name.

  “Durga?”

  * * *

  LYTA WAS STUCK ONCE MORE in the role of babysitting an ancient artifact. This was to keep it from falling into the wrong hands and to give her something to deal with any of the vampiric monstrosities stalking the forest. As well, she had a treasure horde of equipment left behind by Kane. Spare guns, electronics, ammunition, grenades, much recovered from their parked truck, the rest cobbled together from the remnants of the Mashonan militia’s base. Enough to equip a company of troops and an arsenal that could hold off nearly any threat she could imagine.

  The trouble was, she was alone under the camouflage tarp, a ghillie blanket with which she’d hidden from Neekra’s amorphous children as they’d spread out, either in their blob forms or wearing the corpses of dead militiamen. There were two others up here, Nathan and Thurpa, who’d come to the surface, escaping the underground necropolis, but they’d had to take cover, hiding themselves only twenty yards distant from her yet a continent away for all intents and purposes.

  The Panthers of Mashona had arrived, in force. A full column of trucks and jeeps pulled up, each vehicle bristling with armed dark men. Headlights blazed, at once giving Lyta an idea of the extent of the force arriving while forcing her to squint at the glare. Voices barked orders, and soldiers disembarked from their vehicles.

  She’d warned Kane and the others below, using a hand radio that he’d left her, keyed into their Commtact frequencies, along with a secondary channel with which she’d be able to converse with the other two tagalongs, if they had the equipment handy, which she heard that they did. She grimaced, wishing that they’d been able to get farther from the underground entrance before the militia showed up. At the very least, they could have hidden together, and there’d be extra hands to wield weapons if and when this pirate band of marauders discovered them.

  Watching from her hiding spot, she could tell that the militiamen were furious as they looked over their looted brethren’s corpses. These men had lost contact with this unit at least a day and a half before, but now their search had ended with the loss of comrades and equipment. She could see the frustration writhing on their faces like possessive demons, flickering rage flashing in eyes that reflected the headlamps on their vehicles.

  “There has to be someone left,” one of the officers called out. “Spread out and find him!”

  “Unless we were called by a ghost,” remarked one of a pair of troops stalking by. “We showed up as big as day. How could anyone miss our approach?”

  “Maybe he’s hurt somewhere,” the other soldier answered him before they faded out of earshot.

  There was more than sufficient racket among the assembled group that she risked turning frequencies. “Nathan? Thurpa?”

  “We read,” the exotic accents of Thurpa answered. “Are you all right?”

  “Safe and sound,” Lyta said. “I have you in my line of sight. I want you to come to me.”

  “Why not come over here?” Nathan butted in.

  “Because I don’t want to drag a ton of guns and ammunition around where the militia can see me,” Lyta hissed.

  “Makes sense,” Thurpa chimed in.

  She could almost hear the young man roll his eyes.

  “I might be able to walk around unnoticed, but Thurpa’s another matter,” Nathan countered. “It’s dark, but his cobra hood and scales are going to still stand out.”

  “So would a woman among this bunch,” Thurpa said. “I can be sneaky.”

  “Kane told us to stay put,” Nathan grumbled. “And things are coming topside that—”

  The keening of the gelatinous horrors broke through even the racket of the assembled militia, and it made the gunmen pause, wondering what was making the sound.

  “Screw that,” Nathan snapped. “Come on—we’re not taking those things on again.”

  Lyta rose to a kneeling position. Neekra’s spawn were present, and they unleashed their battle cry for all to hear. Even though she’d already been to battle with them once before, even though she’d heard the terrible song of their rage, a chilling jolt ran icicles up and down her spine. Lyta didn’t want to see what these things did to feed or to occupy human bodies, and she wasn’t going to sit idly by when they went after two of the people who had come to her rescue.

  She snatched up the rifle at her side and held it, finger off the trigger to prevent sending an errant round into the ground and giving away her position. The two young men moved from their hiding spot. Lyta saw that Nathan had put himself between Thurpa and the rest of the group, the two of them jogging along, with purpose, looking as if they belonged. Thurpa moved as naturally as he could, staying out of the spill of headlights, sidestepping toward the nearest shadows as soon as it was safe to.

  Good boy, Lyta thought. Even so, she was on edge. She knew not to shoulder the weapon, because the temptation to open fire at the slightest trouble would be unbearable. The two of them had navigated halfway across the column of men, keeping to the outskirts of the group and behind the bulk of vehicles.

  Of course, when they were out of her direct line of sight, she was at her most nervous. They could be discovered, and with a truck between her and her young allies, there’d be no way she could cover them, protect them.

  They could be gunned down, and if they got captured...

  Stripped of weapons, tied up, Neekra’s spawn would eat them alive.

  Come on, you two, Lyta thought. The tendons in her neck were drawn taut, as if their tension could somehow trigger a force field or a cloak of invisibility to fall across Nathan and Thurpa. Each second was either a footstep toward her or a moment in captivity.

  Officers barked orders to the militiamen, and the Mashonan marauders set up a defensive perimeter, awaiting whatever enemies had made the cries she knew all too well. Of course, now that the riflemen were organized, that meant there was less slack, less wiggle room for Nathan and Thurpa to appear as normal.

  Lyta could tell that the things were in a circle around the column of men, each of them screeching, a hellish cry that was getting to her just as much as it was unsettling the dozens of armed soldiers. These men, who were normally the feared predators in this part of Africa, now knew what it was like to be prey.

  She saw a militiaman shout toward Thurpa and Nathan. Even as the rifleman spoke, Thurpa turned, pistol in hand. Lyta saw the look of horror on the man’s face, the moment of hesitation.

  That might have been more than enough for her to act, but that instant of vulnerability exploded into horror.

  One of Neekra’s amorphous children lunged from the shadows, its tentacles lashing around the Panther of Mashona’s head. His scream was muffled, but a blaze of gunfire erupted from his rifle. Nathan let out a shout as his legs buckled beneath him.

  Automatic weapons roared and shimmering, rubbery figures leaped through the night.

  Chapter 21

  Neekra, residing in the ever-withering skin of Gamal, former warlord of the Panthers of Mashona, felt the world around her through her spawn. Of course, these creatures were no more children than she was puny enough to be confined in the mere flesh of a human being. The “children” were actually tumors she’d produced, semiaware drones that could act and think enough to protect themselves or hunt but were always just a thought from her complete dominion. They would not act on hunger unless she willed it, despite the fact that she kept that thirst for human blood still hard coded into their existence.

  The blob-like entities were mostly cytoplasm, with superstrings of proteins acting as the motors that shaped the organism into some form of gigantic amoeba or a hunting octopus. There were two clumps within the creature. One of them acted as a br
ain, storing data and targeting victims as necessary, processing the devoured biomass of their victims’ brains to add to Neekra’s own psychic strength. The other was a clump of protein cells that had configured themselves into a natural, organic transmitter, a telepathic organ that kept them in contact with their mistress.

  The useless sacs that Neekra had molded into female-looking breasts were themselves copies of that same telepathic organ—one that formed the link between Gamal’s carcass, the other as the central hub from which she commanded her “vampire army.” More than once, she recalled the old visual pun of a human male playing with the breasts of his woman, “tuning in Tokyo.” Little did the fleshy monkeys realize that their joke carried more truth than they could ever hope to realize.

  That was the one weakness in the structure of the otherwise invulnerable beings. The proper force could rupture those bio-organic computer complexes, destroying the amorphous horrors’ sole form of sentience. Normally they could escape harm, even if a bullet passed through the redundant “circuitry.” But a shank transfixing one of those constructs, either metal or the cellulose to which her imperfect spawn were allergic, shorted out their brains.

  Neekra’s own true children weren’t as sensitive to intense light or to wood. That was why she hated being so crippled and hindered by being stuck in this carcass. That was why she needed Kane so badly. Without him, and without Durga, there was no way she could break through the tomb where Enlil had cast her eons ago.

  So far, the spawn had been feeding Gamal back the biomass he’d lost in birthing them, feasting on the fresh corpses above and hunting down the remnants of the militia for fresh blood. That influx of vital, still warm juices kept Neekra from totally depleting Gamal’s body, though the production of polyp children and the birthing process were agony to the submerged, imprisoned psyche. Neekra didn’t know if she wanted the former warlord to live after she abandoned him, but she could easily assume, listening to his sensations of pain and the terror burning through overtaxed neurons, that he’d welcome the black void of eternal death.

  Even hell would be a respite after this existence.

  Such was the fate of those who let the ancient goddess down.

  “I’ve made you my bitch, Gamal,” she said aloud, chuckling as her sensations of his suffering filtered into her, tickling her. His discomfort was better than the nothingness she’d normally feel. She was used to a greater cacophony of sensory input, and only the extreme torture she put Gamal’s cells through gave her any semblance of contact with the world as she was used to it.

  The trouble was, she was quickly running down the span and utility of this body.

  Fresh bodies arriving would give her meat puppet some relief, some extension of its life span.

  She turned to Durga. “Thank you, my prince.”

  The cobra man nodded. “I shall need to withdraw from this city. I have to replenish my forces.”

  Neekra narrowed her eyes. “They are dead?”

  “All but two have been slain by the escaping prisoners and by Kane’s assault on the necropolis, and one of those two is wounded,” Durga explained.

  “I could have—” Neekra began. She stepped closer, brushing her fingers across his chest scales.

  “You’re already spread thin enough...at least Gamal is,” Durga replied. He grasped her fingers gently, full of concern. “And I want my own people with me. Not your puppets.”

  Neekra nodded. “So willful.”

  “So lonely,” Durga returned. “Besides, would you trust my minions under your command? We’ve been tense, distrusting of late. And I’ve delivered proof of my concern for you, my queen.”

  “You have,” she told him. She rewarded him with a smile. “Once the militia has been reaped, and my army filled out, I shall meet you anon?”

  Durga bowed to her in deference. “At your prison? Nothing can keep me from your awakening.”

  Neekra probed, but his thoughts were slick, agile, as elusive to her as quicksilver. She couldn’t quite trust him, but deep in his convictions, he was being honest about finding her immortal prison. Whether that was to forever seal her in—or destroy her—or to release her and somehow take advantage of her bid to conquer the world...that was the question.

  Neekra would keep her guard up, but, for now, she’d let Durga leave and roam freely. One saving grace was that he had to stay put while her spawn took on the marauding militia known as the Panthers of Mashona. She could trust her minions, but the humans were likely to shoot at anything that didn’t look human. Durga might not have been a rubbery blob man, but he also was notably alien.

  Not a single one of those raiders would have thought twice about emptying magazines into his flesh. Durga might have been resurrected by the power of the ancient artifact Nehushtan; he was not immortal. Indeed, while he was as fit as he’d ever been, his chest and stomach scales were no match for automatic weapons blazing away.

  “Sir, they’re coming!” a voice spoke from aside. Neekra turned and saw it was one of Durga’s cloned soldiers. He clutched an injured side, blood seeping over his scaled fingers. “They’re coming.”

  Durga frowned.

  “I thought that they would have lasted longer against Kane and his allies,” he muttered. She could feel the disappointment flowing off of him. The other of Durga’s scaled sentinels glanced to him with more than a bit of concern.

  “Help him,” Durga grumbled finally, answering the unspoken question.

  Neekra was surprised at his concern for what was nothing more than a blank slate of biomass given humanoid form. And yet these creatures had displayed a modicum of skill and cleverness in their protection of the necropolis, driving Kane out into the vast grave plain. They’d proven their worth, failing only in the face of a flanking force with equal strength and firepower.

  Durga turned to her. “I’m going to need to get moving. How are things going topside?”

  “The militia is putting up a good fight,” Neekra said. She could feel bodies squirming against her spawn, inputting the sensations of fresh blood flowing in through capillary hooks that slurped vital juices from humans. The amorphous minions feasted, but not all of them were in good condition. Some had been stunned by bursts of automatic rifle fire, and others had suffered pain and distress as bayonets and machetes were pressed into action. Here and there, one of her bloodthirsty issues blanked out, a lucky stab or slash destroying one of its mental organs.

  “Too good of a fight,” Neekra continued.

  Durga’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “I said, some of them know how to protect themselves,” Neekra replied.

  “Pull back!” Durga impelled her.

  Neekra’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what if they bring their knowledge down here? They’ll destroy everything!”

  “Not necessarily,” Durga said. “We’re caught between two armies.”

  Neekra frowned. “There are just three of them.”

  “Armed with the same equipment which I supplied to my guards,” Durga responded. “The guards who they wiped out with much less preparation and firepower.”

  Neekra regarded her ally. “Then...where would I go?”

  “Do you need to be here?” Durga asked.

  Neekra wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to betray her purpose for being in the necropolis; all she needed was just a little more time. Time she could buy for herself simply by stepping aside and letting two enemies slug it out.

  She could feel the ones who’d seized bodies above. They were on the run, avoiding direct combat or playing dead while allowing their brethren to attack. She decided to let the ones converted to her puppets play wounded, falling back and joining with the militia that stayed behind. The amorphous entities were to retreat, drawing them down into the necropolis. Down into the cross fire with Kane and his allies.

 
She’d seen what the man could do, she’d seen what his allies could do, as well.

  Durga had the right plan.

  And with that, Durga took her hand, leading toward a back door that she had forgotten about. One that he’d planned to use all along.

  * * *

  DURGA WISHED HE COULD have picked up the surprise on Kane’s face when he cut in on their Commtact frequency. The small communicator that had been slipped into Thurpa’s pocket was three by five by two inches and composed of some of the very best electronics that the Nagah people had access to. The device itself had miles of monomolecular antenna coil, which allowed it to pierce through even the depth of stone that this necropolis had been built beneath. The hand unit, however, was in direct connection with an even larger computer system, set up in the remnants of the Republic of South Africa, where Durga’s ship had come into port.

  The system was another of the many Continuity of Government underground redoubts that had been put together in anticipation of a global catastrophe. The communications and computer equipment installed in the facility were able to figure out the frequency and encryption of the Commtacts with some small assistance from Austin Fargo and his brain-dwelling interface. It was an ace in the hole that Durga wanted to keep just in case things went south.

  “So why are you talking to us now?” Brigid asked over her comm.

  “Because I need to warn you of what she is up to,” Durga answered.

  “She’s looking for something down here,” Brigid stated. “Obviously it’s some form of key that she requires to escape her imprisonment.”

  “I’m not certain of the details, but that’s the gist of what seems to be going on,” Durga responded.

  “Since we’re aware of what she’s up to, why are you telling us?” Kane asked. “It’s not as if you want to do us any good.”

  “I want power. And that power is not going to be worth shit if there’s an alien god rampaging across the planet,” Durga explained. “I’m still trying to figure out what she needs.”