Krokodil Tears

by Jack Yeovil

  “Never die, never die, never die,” chanted the Pyramid People.

  It was a pity Bronson Manolo was dead. This was one wave he would have given anything to be on top of.

  Raging against the Adversary, the Jibbenainosay dwindled, its matter being compressed in on itself. The process introduced it to the concept of agony. It felt the whole physical universe pressing against it, and yet knew there was no way back with honour into the Outer Darkness. The Ancient Adversary squeezed.

  “This is Lola Stechkin, interrupting your scheduled broadcast to ask the question that’s on everybody’s lips this afternoon, October 8th, 1998. Just what the freak is happening? Later, we’ll be going over to our weather bureau, our correspondents in Washington, Moscow, Tokyo and Rome, to our espers and to experts from the Universities of the world. And we’ll be asking you to interface with your datanets to give us your suggestions. But first, here’s a message from GenTech…”

  … and squeezed…

  “Musterr Banks, Musterr Banks, ’tis turruble, turruble, turruble. Wullie the Whale’s alive, alive, alive. And the Bolivian ambassadurr’s burruthdae partie’s still on insaide hus stummuch! We’re doomed, doomed!”

  “Freak off, Jock, I’m counting money.”

  … and squeezed…

  “Chantal, it’s Father O’Shaughnessy…”

  “Father, I’m pleased to hear from you. I’ve been working through those Glenzugge theorems, and I’ve had some thoughts.”

  “Papa Georgi wants to see you. It’s important.”

  “I’ll be there directly.” [2]

  … and squeezed…

  Dr Proctor stumbled through the sand. He had lost one of his shoes, and was leaving bloody footprints. He pushed on, the desert swallowing him.

  … and squeezed…

  Nguyen Seth convulsed, and his eyes shot open.

  “Roger, we’ve lost.”

  That couldn’t be.

  … and squeezed…

  Hawk-That-Settles had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Now, he snapped awake. The horseman was gone, but his wounds were bound. He felt better. The storm had passed.

  … and squeezed…

  The Ancient Adversary held the collapsed mass of the Jibbenainosay in its aura, and felt the Dark One lose its grip on the universe. The wormhole opened up, and the Jibbenainosay was sucked back through it, its being unravelling as it jetted back up the funnel into the Outer Darkness. There, Ba’alberith, the Mythwrhyn and Nyarlathotep would be awaiting it, waiting to chastise it for its failure. Strengthened by its victory, the Ancient Adversary allowed itself to shrink, to recede, to spiral down.

  Krokodil stood alone in the vast space of the desert. The remains of the monastery of Santa de Nogueira were a mile or so in the distance.

  She was tired, but unhurt. The thing she had found in herself, and let loose, was coiled safe in her chest again.

  At her feet was a lump of crystal, clear but shot through with threads of red. She picked it up, and was transported…

  … she floated in the midst of an eternal Darkness, sensing titanic presences, witnessing their eternal struggles. Aeons passed, and the course of the battle swept across the expanse of the Multiple Creation and back, but nothing really changed. The Dark Ones and the Nullifiers still struggled, but there was no victory, nor did either side truly desire the destruction of the other…

  … she dropped the crystal, and it sank into the sands.

  That was not an experience she wanted to repeat in a hurry.

  “No,” Seth said, “we haven’t lost. Yet. The Dark Ones are angry, but their wrath is for one of their number. We are excused. The Great Work still goes on. Roger, we must prepare to summon a demon. Quickly. You must nurture this one with your blood. We must strike.”

  Seth stood up, and straightened his mirror shades. Inside, he could still hear the tick-tock of the crocodile.

  He raised the knuckle of his right forefinger to his mouth, and bit. The finger came off and fell away. A feeble spurt of blood splashed on the table, and he drew a sign of protection with it.

  He sucked the stump. The finger would grow back soon.

  Hawk-That-Settles sat up, and sang his song of life. He felt no triumph, for he had not truly overcome anything. But he was alive, when he had had no chance of survival. From now on, his life was blessed, the gift of the manitou. He must be careful with it.

  Krokodil heard him and walked across the sand to find him.

  See “Route 666” in the Route 666 anthology for more background on the Spanish Fork Massacre. ↩

  For more on Sister Chantal’s mission, see Demon Download by Jack Yeovil. ↩

  Table of Contents

  Part One: Jazzbeaux

  Part Two: The Sandrat

  Part Three: Jessamyn

  Part Four: Jesse Frankenstein’s Daughter

  Part Five: Krokodil