Dead Easy

by Mark William Simmons

  "Nemo." I said. "Latin for 'no one'."

  We both looked up, suddenly conscious of the spill of light from the adjoining Library. Irena Pantera stood in the doorway at the end of the grand salon. "I couldn't sleep," she said, stretching, her shirt riding up to show off her taut brown belly. "Mind if I come in to watch the fish?" She began walking toward us without waiting for an answer. Tousled hair and puffy lips, she was a sleepy-eyed vision of pillow sexuality and the hip action in her walk was telegraphing all sorts of messages.

  The last thing I needed tonight was to have her pheromone-driven lust put on display in front of our unpredictable host so my best bet was to redirect her back to the cabin with Suki and Samm.

  Subtly.

  So I stretched in turn. "You know," I said, "actually I'm pretty bushed. I think I'll go lie down for awhile and we can continue our conversation in the morning."

  I said a hurried goodnight so that Irena could turn right around and follow me back out. It was smoothly executed: she didn't even get the opportunity to lay an inappropriate hand on me as I rounded the other side of the fountain and crossed to the door. I opened the door and held it for her like a gentleman—no fanny grabs for me, thank you—but she wasn't there behind me. She was over at the view port, talking quietly with Captain Nemo.

  I closed the door quietly on my way out.

  * * *

  Samm was already asleep when I returned to the cabin and I crept carefully into an upper bunk so as not to wake her. I was exhausted and should have slept like a rock but for the nightmare.

  I dreamt of the pyramids. Only these were nightmare pyramids. Gigantic, misshapen, cancerous buildings of basalt, obsidian, and dark metal. Far below, tiny legions of slaves dragged a gigantic block across the desert floor under a distant blue star. Slowly the hundreds behind the giant black slab pushed while a thousand before strained against hundreds of harnesses to pull their stony cargo forward. Foot by foot, yard by yard, mile by mile, they dragged their immense burden on its epic journey.

  In the wrong direction.

  I dreamt of a funeral. A great dark coffin being borne through the streets of New Orleans. The band played its customary dirge, Big Easy style. But the musicians were dead, their faces bloated and fish belly white; the music distant and far away. Underwater. A siren-call to lure others to their deaths.

  I awoke in sweat-soaked sheets with Samm's face hovering close to mine.

  "Where's Irena?" she asked.

  I looked over the edge of the bed. Her bunk had not been slept in. "She couldn't sleep last night," I answered, yawning. "I think she tried some tiger balm."

  * * *

  Nobody made any direct mention of last night's sleeping arrangements at the captain's mess that morning.

  The talk started off on the business of the remaining coordinates from Marie Laveau's altar: the two presumed sets for the lost city of R'lyeh scribbled in the margins of the Al Azif. We were still five days out from the Lovecraft set and would then travel to the Derleth coordinates if we came up empty there.

  Nemo—or Dakkar, since that was what Irena was calling him this morning and he was making no attempt to correct her—was telling us stories of how he had recruited an army to fight the Deep Ones. It was one of the three secrets that Vishnu had bestowed upon him before returning him to his third life and this mission to save the world for gods and men.

  Apparently his little turtle-monkeys were called kappas. They were suijen or water kami, typically dwelling in lakes, rivers, and streams in Japan. Even Dakkar could not explain the siren call that had bade them swim to the sea and seek out his submarine hidden under an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They were there, however, when he awakened to this third life and obedient foot-soldiers to the cause.

  The second secret that Vishnu had imparted was a mixture of magic and science in rehabbing the Nautilus.

  A more efficient way of converting seawater into energy was revealed and an engine to harness that power more effectively. Modifications to other technologies like the wireless were less radical. Two, largely external torpedo tubes were retrofitted to the undercarriage as Dakkar had foresworn the ramming of other vessels ever again. But the strangest modification was the craft that replaced the simple dingy that once nestled in the recessed berth atop the submarine.

  The Cuttlefish was a self-contained vessel that performed all of the functions of the antiquated dingy as well as a mini-submersible. He hinted that there might be other properties that Lord Vishnu had granted but we were interrupted at that moment by the appearance of another human.

  Actually "human" was a premature judgment on my part. The man standing in the doorway had died a long time ago. He had become an undead. And looking into his dead, lifeless eyes, I could see that, as an undead, he had died again.

  Dakkar excused himself from the table and went to the lifeless corpse standing in the doorway. Speaking a few, hushed words, he turned the apparition around and told us that he would return in a moment. He ushered the zombie out and down the corridor.

  I looked down at Suki who had paused at her repast of bloody fresh fish in a bowl on the floor. "Friend of yours?" I asked.

  She merrowed absently as she continued to stare at the closed door.

  Dakkar returned after a few uncomfortable bites and apologized. "When you put together an army, you have to make due with the materials at hand."

  I laid down my fork. "What exactly does that mean?"

  "Where was I? I was speaking of the modifications to the Nautilus. You must understand that even the concussive effects of underwater charges delivered by torpedoes have a limited effectiveness against an army of individual combatants. The kappas are strong, powerful—but they are not infinite in numbers and they can be killed. It was necessary to recruit additional troops to fight an enemy that was breeding and gathering in increasing numbers.

  "We engaged these Deep Ones wherever we found them—primarily along the coasts of North America. And while we were in the Pacific Northwest we discovered evidence of the first of several vampire enclaves located near the ocean."

  Dakkar told an increasingly horrific story of how a chance encounter between a kappa and an unsuspecting undead led to the discovery that a drowned vampire made the perfect foot soldier for his underwater army. They couldn't swim but they couldn't die, either. And, best of all, when they drained a Deep One of its blood and forced their own upon it, it became an undead version of Father Dagon and Mother Hydra.

  And this was the best part, according to Dakkar: the third secret that Vishnu had bestowed upon his reincarnated champion was the power to control the undead that have gone under the seas.

  Since that time he had sent the kappas along the coasts—East, West, the Gulf—and up rivers and tributaries, as press-gangs to drag more undead down into the watery ranks of his army. Militarily, strategically—it was genius.

  I congratulated "Nemo" on this incredible weapon in the arsenal against the forces of Evil that were stirring all about us. Then I excused myself and walked back to the cabin. There I quickly knelt in the head and vomited up all of my breakfast.

  Thank goodness for solid food for a change.

  * * *

  My first visitor was Suki.

  She came scratched at the cabin door until I got up and let her in.

  I laid back down on my bunk and she jumped up beside me. Nestling against me, she laid her chin on my chest.

  "What was it like," I asked her, "to drown and not die? To have your lungs and your belly, your nose and your mouth, everything fill up with water and it never end? To be under someone else's control? All for a good cause of course, but it's not you, anymore? You're being sacrificed but it's not you making the sacrifice?" I reached out and stroked her velvet head. The mange seemed to be disappearing. "Did you want to die?" She closed her eyes. "Do you still want to die?" She began to purr.

  The door opened again and Samm came into the cabin. "So now we know," she said.

 
"You mean you didn't know?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "I didn't know all of it before and I remember less of it now. Damn! I cannot believe how much that bitch took out of me. It will take me years, decades, to get back the kind of—" She looked over her shoulder. "I have no ass! Can you believe that? That bitch made me use up all of my ass!"

  I didn't feel like smiling but I couldn't help a small one. "Stop it," I said quietly.

  "Oh, that's easy for you to say!" she sassed me. "For a white boy you got a little too much ass. First spell I learn when this is all over is a Grab-ass spell. Transfer some of that juice in your caboose to the junk in my trunk!"

  "Now you're just making it sound dirty.

  "I wasn't talkin' dirty! Maybe you were thinkin' dirty! Why else are you back in bed in the middle of the morning, hmmm?

  The door opened again and Irena came in. "What's going on?" she wanted to know.

  "Cséjthe's lying in bed thinking dirty thoughts about me," Samm said.

  Irena blinked and looked at me. "Really?"

  "No," I growled. "She's just trying to distract me."

  Irena blinked again and looked at her. "Really?"

  "Sure I am," the former juju woman replied. "Why don't you give me some pointers? Tell me how you kept Mister Frosted Flakes distracted last night?"

  Irena looked a little flustered. "What do you mean?"

  "What do I mean?" Samm turned and leaned into her. "What do I mean? You are gone all night, your bed is not slept in, and you expect us to believe that you spent the entire time in front of that viewing window, looking at the little fishies?"

  The Pantera girl was not easily intimidated. "What's your complaint? The way you were acting I figured you'd be happy to have me out of the cabin for the rest of the night if you know what I mean and I think you do? Besides, I'm studying to be a Marine Biologist, if you'll kindly remember, and this was the opportunity of a lifetime! I saw things last night I'll bet no human being has ever seen in all of history—may never see in my lifetime!"

  "Like what?" Samm challenged, seemingly not inclined to give ground without a fight.

  That caught Irena off guard: she hadn't realized there would be sworn testimony to be given. "We saw some cephalopods—unusual varieties. And there were these Goblin sharks—"

  "Goblin sharks? You're making this up!"

  "No, really! They're grey, long-nosed sharks and they're really rare! They're called living fossils!"

  I sighed and closed my eyes as Irena went on about how Dakkar had taken the Nautilus down along the ocean floor and they'd discovered these mysterious patterns in the dirt and silt. Three more days, I thought, maybe four. Then we kill this Cthulhu or it kills us and it will all be over. And then what? What happens to all those drowned undead things?

  " . . . looked like something big and heavy had been dragged across the ocean floor," she was saying. "The thousands of tiny pits actually looked a little like footprints . . ."

  If Dakkar survived, he'd have an underwater army at his command. Would he just disband it and send it home? Assuming he had the option. What would the Deep Ones do? Assuming they'd been around for awhile maybe they were only a problem when the Great Old S.O.B.s stirred them up . . .

  Something . . .

  Wait . . .

  I sat straight up and banged my head on the ceiling.

  Rolling off the bunk, I hit the floor holding my head and cursing a blue streak. Even the nanos need a little time to work and I couldn't see the door for the tears in my eyes. "Open the door," I said, clutching my head, "open the damn door!"

  Someone was a little slow. Then they were still in the way and we had to do that little dance until I could get around the other side and out into the corridor. By that time my vision was clearing and I started running the length the ship—boat, dammit, boat—yelling for Nemo. I found him in his quarters from which he emerged after a moment's pounding on the farthermost door of the grand salon.

  "We've got to turn this boat around," I told him. "We're going the wrong direction!"

  "What do you mean, Mr. Cséjthe? The coordinates—"

  I shook my head like a man possessed. "Cthulhu isn't in R'lyeh anymore! He's on his way to New Orleans!"

  "What do you mean?

  "There's more than a thousand Deep Ones on the march from R'lyeh! They've been traveling for months! It's a combination army and funeral procession: they're bringing the stone sarcophagus of their sleeping god with them!"

  The black terror of my nightmares seemed ten times worse now that they were dragged forth into the waking world, joined together and given their true meaning.

  "And when he is brought to his new throne, he will awaken, the Herald of the Great Old Ones! And then world will end in terror and madness!

  Chapter Twenty

  "You don't approve of what I've done."

  I looked out over the waves and thought about oblivion. Why struggle? Why fight? The job was half done. The world was a mess according to every newspaper, magazine, and media outlet I watched or listened to. New Orleans was already gone with about a third of the state of Louisiana. At least my family was clear. Why fight? Why even argue?

  "It's an age old question," I said. "If we become as ruthless as our enemies, do we become our enemies?"

  We were cruising along the surface, taking in fresh air for another prolonged excursion beneath the water. The Nautilus could travel faster fully submerged but those pesky old lungs would be wanting their oxygen. If we didn't surface every so often to recycle the air supply, we wouldn't be going at all.

  "I think you're anthropomorphizing," he said mildly, relighting his pipe. "Vampires aren't human beings."

  I lifted a foot and shook it as a wave rolled over the deck of the Nautilus. "People in this country used to say the same thing about their black slaves."

  "Mmm." He took a pull on the pipe and the seaweed substitute in the bowl glowed briefly like a devil's eye. "People in this country say the same thing today about their unborn babies."

  "Yeah. The politics of convenience."

  "Or inconvenience. Look," he said, "it's all about survival. War is hell. No one gets out of this world alive. Hands get dirty. Blood gets spilled. Promises get broken. Extraordinary young men become ordinary old men. The good die young. And you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."

  "And what does all of that mean?"

  "You think it's wrong to use vampires because vampires are monsters."

  "You're a monster," I said. "You said so, yourself. Rakshasa: demon, unclean spirit. Not judging here because I'm a bit of a monster, too."

  He nodded. "And we're signed up to the death."

  "What about Irena? She's a lycanthrope."

  Dakkar shook his head. "The Panteras are not lycanthropes."

  I shook my head right back at him. "Sorry, I've known her longer. She's a were-panther."

  "Actually, she's not. Irena and certain others of her clan are what you might call—for the want of a better word or phrase—'Cat People'."

  "Not gettin' the distinction."

  "Lycanthropy is a disease and a curse that is transmitted from one carrier to another via infection. A werewolf creates another werewolf and so on."

  "I think I know the basics," I muttered. Lupé's loss was still fresh and sharp and I was blocking those thoughts and memories for all I was worth.

  "Apparently Irena's ancestors shared a village in South America with some brujas whose dabbling in the black arts brought down a curse on several family lines. Such things have been documented in other countries and with other bloodlines—most notably the Dubrovnas in Serbia and the Galliers in France. It's a genetic and generational curse and tends to favor the females though it can appear among offspring of both sexes. It is not transmitted by bite or claw. It is hereditary. Totally different."

  "Oh," I said. "Doesn't change my point. If Irena's a monster—"

  Dakkar help up his hand. "You bandy about the term 'monster' like it is synonymo
us with evil. Like 'we are all monsters' therefore 'we are all the same'. We're not."

  "Well, actually, that's kind of my point," I said. "Thanks for making it for me."

  "But the point that I am making," he continued, "is that vampires are different because they're all the same. This is war and there are going to be casualties. People—monsters—soldiers—innocent bystanders—are going to be hurt. Are going to be killed."

  "So who died and made you God?" I asked.

  "They did," he answered with a sweep of his arm. "The people who became vampires. They were people. They were alive. Then they died. Their lives ended. Everyone's life ends eventually. I don't determine that. Only Shiva or Vishnu or the U.S. Army or the narcissistic jerk talking on his cell phone while driving to work or that two-pack or three-egg-a-day habit you had for the past thirty years. Or that vampire lurking in the alleyway.

  "So you tell me, my friend. When it comes to putting foot soldiers on the front lines—and there will be people on the front lines, either by design or by chaos—would you prefer someone young and vibrant and still on their first and only life like Irena? Or something that has had a life, lived it, and died once?"

  If there was a hole in the logic of his argument, I couldn't find it for the moment.

  But I still didn't like it.

  We couldn't follow the trail back to New Orleans with travel with any real speed. The Nautilus, for all of its Gada upgrades, wasn't rigged for sonar or underwater video. We would have to cruise beside the disturbed terrain, close enough to see it and yet compensate for the viewing angle while trying to steer and avoid regular obstacles. It was still very much an 19th Century vessel. For all we knew, the Funeral Party was rolling Squidhead's coffin across the submerged Mississippi riverbed right now.

  So the decision was made to head straight for the city of New Orleans, itself. Find the site of the throne. Destroy it. And start working our way back out from there.

  And, in the meantime, figure out just how I was supposed to take on a sleeping god who was a destroyer of worlds.