by Steven Welch
Taariq kept running and he didn’t hesitate. Had he heard her fall? Did he see?
Shit.
Elise was back up on her feet fast.
“Are you alright?” she asked. There was no movement from her backpack and it felt lighter.
They were coming. The backpack was lighter.
She looked around frantically.
Where was he?
There. The Octo-Thing had fallen out of the backpack or had been ejected when Elise tripped. He was scrambling along a rubble pile to her left.
The Men of Many Eyes were close and they were making more noise now than ever before. If a noise could be hungry, this was a hungry noise.
“Quick!”
Elise motioned for the Octo-Thing. She ran for him but he flashed a brilliant red and held up two tentacles in a cross sign. Another tentacle jabbed the air in desperation.
He was telling her to run.
“No!”
If Elise did not run now, she could not get away from the things that pursued. But she would not leave her friend.
“Elise!” It was Taariq. He had stopped and was standing down the street. He was waving to her.
Well, I’ll die with my friend, Elise thought, but before she could act the Octo-Thing made a choice.
He flashed white, then red, then white again, then he became the color of the rubble all around and Elise could barely see him as he slithered into the rubble pile then quickly, with shocking speed, up the side of the old building that had once been a Hard Rock Café.
Elise screamed “no” again. She felt heat and movement to her right, turned, and was face to face with one of the Men of Many Eyes. It was smiling and its breath was thick with rot. The thing’s hand was up and on her face so quickly that she could not think, the long fingers as hot as the pavement and so long that the slick, hard palm could muffle her mouth while the fingers reached all the way to the back of her head.
She could not breathe. The pressure increased and the pain was immediate and then there was a gunshot and wetness. The grip that was crushing her skull released and the monster fell back as black blood sprayed from a wound in its head.
Taariq was there. He had jammed his weapon against the thing’s head and fired. He clutched Elise by her vest and pulled her with him. She was disoriented with fear and confusion and panic so she fought him but then looked around and saw there were more of the Men of Many Eyes and if she did not run now, run as fast as she could, there would be no escape.
Her hand went into her vest pocket and a gas grenade came out, hit the ground, sprayed white smoke.
Maybe that would cover them as they escaped. Maybe not. That was her last grenade and it was worth a try to save their lives.
Elise made a noise that was a scream and a sob and she reversed course and ran toward the massive door at the base of the Pyramid of Bone.
They stumbled up the marble steps that led to the door and nearly fell over a foul smelling mound of cloth and trash.
Taariq looked back over his shoulder.
There was no time.
“We need to get through that door or we’re dead.”
THE EYES OF THE OCTO-THING
Let’s be clear. The eyesight of an Octo-Thing is keen and he can detect the outer edges of wavelengths invisible to us. As a creature at home both in water and on land he could use this enhanced visual acuity to hunt, to survive, to learn, to find love, to play musical instruments, and to, well, you get the idea.
So, the Octo-Thing, concealed two stories up the side of a dusty brown and gray building in Cairo, could observe quite clearly as his dearest friend was nearly killed, then was rescued by the untrustworthy man, and how she used the terrible gas to clear an escape path.
He was the color of the building, the dust, the stone. His skin was bumpy and cragged, like the structure itself. This was a talent not just of the Octo-Thing but of many cephalopods, both on Earth and back on its home world of Orcanum. They could change color, shape, texture, so they could become invisible, could become one, could communicate through their skin. When the Man of Many Eyes grabbed Elise by the face the Octo-Thing felt its hearts convulse and it flashed a red so vibrant it glowed. One of the tall black creatures saw the color change and crept toward him but then the Octo-Thing saw the man save Elise and so he forced himself to transform once more into the building all around.
The black demon lost sight of him then was engulfed in the poisonous mist. By that time the Octo-Thing slithered, undetected, higher up the wall until he was tucked beneath a stone ledge at the top of the building.
From there, above the streets, he watched with sadness and hope as his dearest friend and the unpredictable man made their escape back toward the pyramid of black, charred bones in the near distance.
Her cowboy hat was on the street below. She loved that hat, but he knew it would be foolish to try to retrieve it.
But still, she loved that hat.
The air was cooler under the ledge so high above the city. He liked the coolness. This was a comfortable place. His suction cups kept him stuck to the old stone with little effort. This would have been a wonderful place to nap but three of his hearts were still racing and he was worried about his friend. She had saved him many times, and he had saved her a few, and they had traveled together over many miles. This was not his world, this was not his city, but she was his friend and he loved her with all the love in his hearts.
The thoughts of an Octo-Thing are strangely angled and aligned differently than ours so he thought several things at once, each holding precedence for a moment then ceding to the thought below or above it or to the side.
I must save her. This is a safe place. The air is good up here, less dusty. She is my only friend. I love her. The things with many eyes will kill me. Not if I’m quick and clever. She has my violin. Where were we going? I love her but we disagree about music. I must save her hat.
Where was she going? Where was she going? Where was she going?
The Octo-Thing did not hear gunshots and he could not see Elise. She was well on her way and she was either safe or dead. The demons did not take captives.
Oh. Well, he thought, save the hat and bring it to her there because that’s where she is going.
This will be hard and I might die in trying but I will save the hat and I will meet Elise again at the Egyptian Museum because I’m an Octo-Thing who can change my shape to move quickly and quietly and without being detected through this awful nest of monsters.
THE EGYPTIAN MUSEUM OF ANTIQUITIES
The pile of old clothing on the steps of the museum moved.
Elise could not see well through the tears brought on by the gas but she aimed her weapon at the mound of filthy rags.
There was brown, dirty skin under the old cloth and trash. Then there were eyes, old eyes.
A withered hand reached up to her. This was a person.
There was no time. The things were coming.
Taariq pulled back the cloth to reveal the face of an old Egyptian man, a face written with lines of time, a mouth open with no teeth, yellow eyes, a man who was barely there, barely alive. He grabbed the bundle of filthy rags and the old man beneath and pulled him away from the door. The man sprawled out onto the marble steps with the sound of flesh on stone.
The gas was clearing and there was movement beyond.
They were coming.
The door could not have been original. It was tall and ancient and a dark brown that didn’t seem to belong to the gleaming white marble on the steps. There was a colossal iron handle thick with rust and barnacles as if it had been under the sea for a thousand years. She grabbed it, the barnacles bit into her hand, and she pulled the massive door open.
The smell was of the ocean shore, of rotten seaweed and dead fish and salt air. A wave of humidity and stench slapped Elise in the face.
There was darkness and dim turquoise shimmers of light beyond.
Taariq was through the door before she could speak.
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Elise turned back to help the old man into the building, to take him with her.
He stood at the bottom of the steps and looked up at Elise. The face was a dirty brown smear barely seen through old robes. His yellow eyes were clouded, but he looked right at her.
“Come with us,” she said. There was more movement behind, through the dissipating gas, black movement that clattered and chittered.
The old man giggled and spit flew from the toothless mouth. Then he screamed and howled.
Elise knew then that the old Egyptian man was mad and there might be no saving him.
The howl stopped. A skeletal brown finger pointed at Elise. The man spoke in Arabic and his voice was a dry rattle.
Elise tried to understand but her Arabic was limited and then the voice came again, this time it came like a wind, a roar from the old toothless mouth and it was not the old man but it came through him, the voice of another, a voice from something distant.
“The fabric bleeds and The Butcher will dance in the ash of your dreams.”
Elise went cold and then saw the Man of Many Eyes that came from behind the old man, she saw the black hand with fingers like razors come down on the old brown neck, and she turned and was through the door but not before a warm spray of blood dashed her face.
She slammed the door behind. There was a long, heavy iron bar that was slick with slime. She brought it down and into place just as there was a pounding and a scratching from the other side. Elise stepped backwards, wiping her hands on her jeans.
It was a thick door, and the bar was strong. It might hold.
She looked up and around through eyes that still stung and wept from the gas.
Taariq stood just before her and he was still.
This was the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities but it was not, it was a vast hall transformed into something else and Elise could not breathe, could not think, could not wrap her head around what she saw. The hall stretched off into the distance and was two stories tall. The Pyramid of Bone that enveloped the exterior extended, protruded, crept into the hall through the walls and the floor. It was as if the bones of thousands of dead had erupted from every pore of the great building. The humidity was oppressive and everything was slick with a black wetness. Vines stretched and wrapped and groped their way from the heights of the ceiling down to the cold marble of the floor. There was light, but it did not come from the windows that were shuttered by curtains of charred bone, no, the light seemed to come from the walls, a shimmering cobalt and sickly green that pulsed as if alive.
And then she saw that the light was a living thing, millions of them, worms the size of her hand that squirmed and clung to surfaces here and there in writhing clumps. They were bioluminescent and glowed like fireflies.
“Glow worm babies,” she said in a low voice. Taariq heard her but did not turn. He could not take his eyes away from the cavernous chamber that stretched out before and above and around.
Somewhere, water dripped and echoed, the echoes bounced off of walls and worms and became spectral voices.
Elise wiped the blood of the old man from her face. The clawing and pounding of The Men of Many Eyes stopped.
Did they give up or was there another way in?
“We need to move. Let’s go.”
“Where? Where the hell are we supposed to go? What is this place?”
“Egyptian Museum.”
“Maybe once but not anymore.”
These were the coordinates. There would be something hidden here, perhaps in plain sight, that would explain why she was sent to deliver the artwork to this place. But this building was transformed. It was as if something from below, something dark and hidden, had burst through and overwhelmed the marble and granite and glass. This was no longer a museum, it was as if they were in the maw of an ancient and horrible whale, a whale from another universe, from another time.
The man named Jack said he would be here, thought Elise. The man that hurt my friends. He could be here, now. So, what the hell am I looking for? She checked her wrist again. The map on the screen was useless.
Get it together, she thought.
Elise walked forward. The marble steps, now dark and slick with slime, muffled her boots. She reached out to a railing that was once metal but was now completely shrouded in the glowing worms.
She picked up one of the creatures and dangled it in front of Taariq.
“I’ve seen these things before. They came through in The Turn and they stayed. They’re harmless and they give us some light, otherwise we’d be wandering around here trying to see using a flashlight and that would suck so let’s not freak out. We can’t go back the way we came so the only thing we can do is go forward.”
The entrance lobby of the museum opened up beyond them into a two-story hall jammed with Egyptian history. The treasures and remains of civilizations thousands of years old were here, from tiny wooden models of chariots to towering statues of the gods.
“We’ll find him. I’ll help you find your friend,” said Taariq. His eyes flashed with emotion and that was something she really hadn’t seen from him. She’d seen fear, yes, and some confusion, but now there was something else. He looked angry.
“Yes, he’s my friend and you’re damned right I’ll find him. Or he’ll find me. He’s pretty amazing for something so small. He’s not as soft as he looks. Not at all.”
They walked forward into the museum. The air was stale and smelled of the years. Their boot steps and softly spoken voices echoed along the stone walls and marble floors.
“Those black things, the monsters that chased us,” said Taariq. Elise interrupted him with a wave of her hand. The glow worm baby swung in her fingers like a worm and squirted a little jolt of bioluminescence as if startled or annoyed. She let it fall to the floor.
“That was the first living thing I saw when I woke up after The Turn. The tall black thing. In Paris. It came after me. I got away. I thought all of them were dead. They were all supposed to be dead,” said Elise.
“Never seen one but heard about them. There were armies of them when The Turn began. What are they?”
“I really don’t know. Long story. Thought they were dead. They come from a place far away and they should all be gone.”
Taariq watched Elise as they walked, stealing a glance when he could. Her face was dirty and smeared with old sweat and the blood of the black thing. Still, he did not see the dirt. He saw the mission, the legend, the girl he would kill, and he thought she looked beautiful in the light of the glow worms.
She was beautiful and this is the place and soon I’ll kill her, he thought. That’s the agreement.
“So, what are we looking for?” he asked again and his voice sounded hollow to him.
“No clue but maybe I can ask.” She twisted the knob on her wrist device and softly asked, “What is your name?”
“Jules Valiance, of course,” came the recorded response, the man with the thick French accent.
“What is my name?”
While the first response sounded natural, the next came out like the voice of an automated bank teller, stitched and digitally manipulated.
“You are Elise St. Jacques.”
She had learned from practice that the computer and the programmed responses were only worthwhile if you were accurate in the phrasing and words of your question. Elise found that a few prompt questions helped her transform the thing from a toy into something useful.
“Who invented break-dancing?”
“I, Jules Valiance, gifted the world with the physical art of break-dancing due to an unfortunate incident with an amorous sea wasp. This was unintentional, excruciating, and ultimately, liberating. Please see my book, The French B-Boys Guide to Pop and Lock.”
Elise smiled despite the situation. Taariq just stared at her.
“Who was the first man on the moon?”
“Ah, yes, the moon question. To the world at large the first man to step foot on the surface of Earth’s moon was Neil Arm
strong. As known by Les Scaphandriers and a handful of enthusiasts, the first man on the moon was actually a woman. The Mayan princess Monja and her pet rooster Kifi is the true answer and their story is told in episode fifty two of my radio show, The Astonishing Aquanauts and the Golden Cock. Say the words Golden Cock to hear the story.”
That never failed to make Elise laugh, so she did. Taariq shook his head.
“What are you doing?”
She waved him off and continued.
“What is special about the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities in Cairo?”
There was a beat of silence before the response.
“Please ask again?”
“Cairo Museum?”
Nothing.
“Egyptian Museum?”
The answer was long and detailed and contained nothing but dry information about the museum. There was nothing special or enlightening so Elise pushed a button on her wrist to shut off the response.
Damn.
“Why don’t we just look around?” asked Taariq.
Elise ignored him. What would Jules Valiance ask? She considered for a moment then spoke again into her wrist.
“I brought treasure to Cairo. Now what do I do?”
She’d heard many responses from the voice in her wrist over the years. She’d asked it many questions, some silly and some serious and some that made her cry. She thought she’d nearly worked her way through all the possible recorded answers. She hadn’t, though, not at all.
“So, you are Les Scaphandriers, or one of our agents. Welcome to Project Aladdin. Deposit your treasure in The Vault. Ramses is not what he seems so go to him and there you’ll find the way. Just don’t take pictures. Photography is strictly forbidden. The guards become quite upset and will take your camera. Bon chance, mon ami.”
“Do you know what that means?” asked Taariq.
“Yes, I think so. We need to find the mummy of Ramesses II.”
“I don’t understand.”
Elise looked around. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim bioluminescent light and she could see more than she could when they’d entered. The slickness of the walls of bone, the towering monuments that had been carved from their homes and brought into this place, the countless treasures in cases, some glass broken some still intact, the way-finding signs.