The Edge of Hell: Gods of the Undead A Post-Apocalyptic Epic

by Peter Meredith

  She’s going to kick me out of here in five minutes, if I’m not careful, Jack thought. “I’m sorry about the lies, but there’s a lot going on. I think some of it is illegal. I don’t know which parts or how I got involved, but I am and I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “So Detective Richards tells me,” Cyn said, which had Jack spluttering again, this time for real. Cyn seemed to enjoy it. She wore her devilish smirk as she went on: “Yes, the police have been all over the place asking about you. There’s a rumor running around that you have the key to a previously unknown Poly Heiro-Sumerian script.”

  When Jack could breathe, he asked: “What are the police asking about?”

  She was no one’s fool. “First tell me about the script.”

  “It’s trouble,” he said after a long pause. “It may have been what got my parents killed and my grandfather, too for all I know.” And my great-grandfather, he could’ve added, but didn’t. “My father left it for my mother when he died. It was a scroll; an ancient papyrus. If I had to guess by the writing, I’d say it’s first dynasty at the least.”

  Again her intelligent eyes narrowed, taking in his ragged jeans and his tired hand-me-down boots. “It would be worth a small fortune. Why didn’t you sell it?”

  Jack shrugged. “I doubt it was worth all that much. It’s not a long piece, only three-hundred and seventy characters, about ten lines all together. And yes, I know it’s worth something, but my dad left a note with it asking to keep it safe and hidden.”

  “Do you think it was stolen from someone else’s dig?” Cyn asked.

  “That’s what I used to think,” Jack answered. It was what made most sense. Throughout history the question as to who actually owns the items excavated from archeological sites had always been ambiguous. Generally, the host country owns the items but allows the financial backers of the discovering team initial access in order to defray the cost of the dig.

  It was a good guess that a man in possession of an artifact like the papyrus hadn’t come by it legally. Jack knew that he should have turned it over long ago. When he first discovered it at seventeen he hadn’t realized the repercussions of owning such an item. At twenty-one when he could no longer claim ignorance of the law, he was caught up in the intrigue of deciphering it.

  After all, there had been the cryptic message that his father left—his mind had swarmed with the idea that the text was a clue to an even greater treasure. By the time he was twenty-two and had, with great disappointment, discovered it to be just another funeral text, he was already in the master’s program at NYU and if it was discovered that he’d been in possession of a looted item, where would that put him?

  Out on his ass, likely.

  But, there was more to the text than met the eye. Clearly, it had never been completely secret and what was even more clear was the fact that what was written on it was far more dangerous than just a run of the mill funeral text.

  “Used to think?” Cyn asked. “What do you think now?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was...” He paused, wondering how much he wanted to say. What he had seen and felt wasn’t possible and he was sure that any explanation would only make him look crazy...or crazier, if that was possible. Cyn’s question came back to him: Who walks around New York in ten-degree weather, in nothing but a short-sleeved shirt and carrying only a sword?

  “I guess I just don’t know what to think,” Jack answered. Her brows went up. “Really, I don’t so don’t look at me like that. It was just a funeral text. That’s all.” Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something unpleasant and he shrugged. “Yeah, likely part of a longer text.”

  At the Brooklyn Museum there had been other glyphs, six others to be precise, intermingled with the twenty-eight glyph alphabet that made up the cross-bred language that had been on the papyrus. Two of the glyphs were apt to be uncommon characters—the equivalent of Q or X in English. The four others were almost certainly names. All of this suggested that there existed more of the strange writing.

  Cyn was quiet, thinking. Jack interrupted: “So, the police? What did they want? What did they ask you?”

  “They wanted to know about you and our good cousin, Robert. They wanted to know if you two had ever worked together. I told them that I didn’t know. They also asked about the glyphs found at the crime scene. They wanted to know if anyone could decipher them, but no one could. That was about it.”

  “Good,” Jack said, feeling somewhat relieved. He’d been afraid that she was going to mention magic or creatures of the night. He shivered at the thought and then went to the window and stared out.

  Behind him, Cyn clucked her tongue in annoyance. “It’s not good. It’s never good for the police to come interview all of your prospective employers. How do you expect to show your face at the new exhibit tomorrow?”

  “The what? Oh, yeah, the new Desert King display.” Along with his invitation to the Christmas Party, he had been invited to the unveiling of a new exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The entire tomb of the “Double Falcon” had been lifted piece by piece out of Egypt and brought to the museum.

  It wasn’t a large tomb by any stretch; however it was an important one. By definition, Double Falcon, as he was called because of the two facing falcons that made up his serekh—an early form of a heraldic crest, was the very first person in history. No name predates his, making everyone who lived before him, in essence, prehistoric.

  “I haven’t really given it much thought,” Jack said. “I had planned on it but, now? I don’t know.” Actually, he did know. He decided on the spot that he wasn’t going anywhere near where there was a mummy, not until he had answers and witnesses and a gun.

  “What?” Cyn demanded. “You have to go. This is our history. This is one of the tombs our great-great grandfather discovered.” Jack gave her a blank look that she read accurately. “Our great-great grandfather was Robert Montgomery, the Earl of Blackburn. He was very famous in his time.”

  Jack remembered the name Lord Blackburn, a very well-known financier of archeological digs. He had no idea that his real name was Robert Montgomery. “So, our cousin Robert is his direct descendent? That must mean he’s royalty of sorts...are you royalty, too?”

  She laughed. “No and neither is Robert. Our great-great grandfather was a life peer, meaning he had a title, but it wasn’t hereditary. I know Robert wishes it had been a traditional peerage and yes, he’d be the heir. Earl Blackburn had three children and each had but a single child and so on until there’s just you, me and Robert. Strange, I’d say.”

  It was more than strange to Jack. “With everything that’s happened, I don’t know if I can go. I don’t mean to intrude, but do you mind if I crash here? On the couch, I mean.”

  Another laugh escaped her; this one derisive. “There is no possible way I’d let you stay here.”

  Chapter 6

  Manhattan, New York

  Jack’s mouth came open in disbelief. “What happened to all that talk about family?”

  Cyn shrugged and then turned her back on him, going to one of the high-backed antique chairs. Next to it on an end table was a phone; she picked it up and held a finger over one of the buttons. “I do believe in family, but I also believe in protecting myself. You haven’t really told me anything, but even a blind person can see that you are mixed up with something dangerous. For example, the police asked more than once about ritualistic sacrifices. It’s a good guess that somebody died, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Jack answered. “I don’t know who it was. He was cut wide open and the glyphs were written in his blood, but I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” she said, her finger edging closer to the buttons. “I can call the police with one move. I don’t want to, but I will. Now, tell me everything...all of it or get out.”

  Jack saw that for a woman who was barely out of her teens, she had a spine of steel. She would kick him out into the cold if she had to—an
d she probably would once she heard his tale. Again, he turned to the window. The city, even on Christmas was bright and wonderful…and deadly cold. He had nowhere to go. There were homeless shelters scattered about the city, but where they were located, he had no idea. It wasn’t a good choice either way. He’d heard that they were dangerous places and, perhaps worse, they filled up fast when the temperature dropped so low.

  His only other option was to chance riding the subways for the rest of the night, but what would he do once morning came? Where would he go? He grimaced and caught the ghost of his reflection in the window; he was truly pathetic looking. “Fine,” he said.

  For the next twenty minutes, he told her everything: from the moment he had seen the papyrus right up until he fled his building. She didn’t interrupt once, but the second he was done speaking she pressed a button on the phone. The simple jab of her finger was like being stabbed in the back.

  It wasn’t the cops who she called. “Good evening,” she said into the phone. “I had a guest visit me earlier this evening…yes, the one with the sword, and speaking of which, I need it brought up to my room. Of course, I understand about hotel policy and in most cases it would be a wise policy, however the sword in question has some significance to it. I need to examine it. No, no sir, I’m not in danger. In fact, it would please me for you to accompany the weapon into my room, personally.”

  She hung up and then stared evenly at Jack. “Before you ask, I don’t know what to believe. You rattled off that story so quickly that it’s obvious that you believe what you said. The goosebumps on your arms attest to that.” He started to relax and then she added: “Of course you could be insane, there is that.”

  He noted that her hand had not come off the phone; she could still dial the police in a quarter of a second. The hand remained there until a knock sounded on the door. She backed to it, keeping her blue eyes full on Jack. He hadn’t budged.

  The front desk clerk, officious as always, came in holding the saber by the blade; he wore gloves. When he handed it to Cyn, he didn’t make a move to leave, but only stood there, eyeing Jack coldly as Cyn inspected the sword. From an outside point of view, the two of them were being foolish. The clerk was just that, a clerk. His authority rested in his rather meager rank. He was pudgy about the middle and had a soft face with just the beginning of a double chin, while Cyn was stylishly thin—Jack had more strength in his right arm than she did in her entire body.

  But Jack wasn’t a killer and he was only dangerous when threatened. He stood, meekly, trying his best to look like an innocent bystander who had been pulled into something terrible.

  Cyn held the saber gingerly with a frown creasing her otherwise smooth face. “Do you smell that?” she asked the clerk, holding up the sword. He gave it a sniff and the lingering odor was enough to make his left eye jitter in an involuntary quadruple wink. With a cough, he pulled back.

  “That is disgusting,” he declared. “What the hell did you rub that in?” Jack remained quiet. There was no adequate answer that he could give—the smell was literally unearthly and just thinking about the source caused a fresh crop of goosebumps to break out on his arms.

  “And the edge is blackened,” Cyn said, turning the saber to the light. “That’s not possible.” It was possible…possible just not believable. Cyn put the sword down on one of the end tables, glanced once at her palm before wiping it on her jeans, her face squirming with disgust. For a long sweep of the clock, the room was quiet.

  Jack said nothing, hoping that she was well on her way to believing that which could not be believed. The clerk stood there in the uncomfortable silence with his face marred by a lingering disgust over the smell and confusion over the entire situation, which had to be unique. The confusion spiked when Cyn suddenly ordered: “Take off your boots.”

  “My boots?” Jack asked. The demand, though unexpected was not onerous, especially since he had been fully expecting her to point at the door and order him out. He pulled his boots off and offered them to her. She didn’t take them.

  “Let me see the treads,” she said. Again, a strange demand, but he acquiesced and flipped them over. On the bottom of the right one was a discoloration. She gave it a sniff and her fair skin went a shade green. The clerk gave it a sniff and shivered. That seemed to be the clincher for his cousin.

  “Ok,” she said to the clerk. “I believe that will be all.” He’d been dismissed; he glanced once at the sword, perhaps thinking that due to the hotel’s policy he should take it back, but Cyn had an imperious, regal air that was hard not to knuckle under to. He left and again there was a silence between them until she said: “I believe you.”

  She sounded reluctant to admit it. Jack was just as reluctant to nod in reply.

  “What were they?” she asked, suddenly looking her age, suddenly looking vulnerable; the regality gone. “Ghouls? I mean, I suppose I know they were mummies, but living ones? How…or why? Or…” She broke off, shaking her head.

  “I don’t have a clue why,” he answered. But was that true? He had experienced the magic surrounding Hor first hand. As a scientist that was empirical evidence of the existence of said magic i.e. a power that was superhuman…a power that some people craved. His cousin Robert Montgomery seemed like the kind of man who would crave that sort of power.

  “I think someone is after power,” Jack said. “Magical power, I guess.”

  She laughed without any sort of happiness or mirth behind it. “Power? Oh, my Lord. Maybe, this isn’t real. Maybe you are crazy. That makes much more sense and it’s much easier to believe, but...but the sword suggests otherwise.” She went to the saber and picked it up. “You can feel it,” she said in awe. “You can feel something very bad about this sword. It’s like it’s been dipped in something…something evil.” Her shoulders twitched as she put the sword down and for a second time she wiped her hands on her jeans.

  “I’m having trouble believing it, too and I lived through it.” He walked over to the saber and put his hand just over it. There was an ugly feel coming off the blade that reminded Jack of the powerful fear that he’d been feeling. Stepping back, he found that he was grinning and didn’t know why; it made him feel as though he was just on the edge of raving, as if the tight grin was holding back a much worse lunacy.

  Cyn gave another shudder and said: “Maybe a good night’s sleep will…I don’t know, make everything a little more sane.” This moment of wishful thinking on her part was followed by a long silence between the two.

  Finally, Jack said: “I should go somewhere else.” This was his problem, his very crazy problem, and there was no need to dunk Cyn in the black depths of it. “If you could lend me like, fifty dollars, I’ll get a room or something. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  Her chin started going up and down just the tiniest bit as though a big part of her, a part suppressed wanted to agree that it was indeed best if he left and never looked back. However, she said: “No. That wouldn’t be right. Either you’re crazy and thus in need of looking after, or you’re telling the truth and…”

  “And you should stay far away from me,” he filled in. “Really, either way, crazy or truth, it would be best if you kept far away from me.” He began to struggle his boots back on his feet when she stopped him.

  “No, we’re family. It’s a thin bond, but it’s a bond of blood and distance won’t break it. There’s something bad happening, something that is very likely greater than what we know. If Robert has somehow brought these creatures back to life…my Lord, it’s crazy even thinking it, but if he has done something, then we may be the only ones who can stop him.”

  Jack’s hands were in the midst of struggling with his knotted laces; they froze as he asked: “How is that?”

  Cyn pointed to the sword as though it was Exhibit A. “First off, we’re the only ones who have a clue that something supernatural is occurring. By the time the authorities figure it out, it’ll be too late.” Jack shrugged, suggesting the logic was weak, but not ac
tually incorrect. She went on: “Secondly, you’ve already fought the mummies. Yes, they seem to be invulnerable; however, you know things that no one else does. A strong logical mind can overcome the fear and the smell, and will allow a person to defend themselves.”

  “Defend themselves for a time,” Jack acknowledged. “But not forever.”

  She began pacing, acting as though she didn’t hear his negativity. “And third: we know who’s behind this and we’re not hampered by the rule of law as the police are. We can do something about this.”

  Jack’s eyes went to squints at the word: something. “Ok, now it’s my turn to get a little nervous. You are jumping into this a little too quickly, don’t you think? If someone had come to me with this story a week ago I would have laughed him right out of my room.”

  “I doubt that,” she answered. “The sword alone suggests something unnatural occurred. And your boot and...” She broke off so suddenly that Jack felt that his suspicions were vindicated.

  “And what? You know something, don’t you? You know more about what’s going on than you are telling me.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Your papyrus was not one of a kind. My mother received one from her mother. It had the same cryptic message attached. When I turned twenty, my mother showed it to me. I was excited just as you were. I figured it had to be directions to another tomb, or to a treasure, or a lost city of gold.”

  Jack grinned, remembering how he had thought the same thing and how it had filled him with excitement—right up until he deciphered them. “I was pretty crushed when my papyrus turned out to be only funeral texts. What did yours say?”

  Cyn shrugged. “We never deciphered them. I guess I shouldn’t say we; I never tried. I’m only now mastering hieroglyphics and I haven’t even started on Sumerian cuneiform.”

  “But your mom should’ve been able to; there was a primer with your text, right?”