The ball of fog still churned behind her, and she longed to run back into it. Would it take her home? She had to believe that it would.
She started circling the ball, and a man came into view. It was a cultist, a man, running away over the hills, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder. Colleen took another step around the ball, eyes scanning for the source of the man's terror. Something moved just beyond the ball of mist. She took another step, and the blood seemed to freeze in her veins.
There were creatures at the edge of the fog. Her brain refused to process what she saw. Wolves, she told herself, but they were alien, horrible, unlike any wolf that had ever walked the Earth. They stared into the fog, and one of them turned to face her. Except "face" wasn't the word. The creature had no face, no head, just a gaping mouth where a neck should have been, and a writhing, squirming mass of tentacles.
"Carter!" She heard the hysteria in her voice, couldn't control it. The nearest creature came toward her, the pistol bucked in her hand, more of the creatures came at her, and she plunged into the ball of mist.
She didn't realize she was through until something caught her foot and she fell full-length in the grass. Soft, green, living grass, and she felt some of the horror leave her as she realized she was back from wherever she had been.
Her hand was empty, and she scrabbled convulsively for the pistol. It was on the grass near her head, and she closed her hand over the butt.
And a foot came down on her wrist.
She twisted her head to look up. A cultist stood over her, a teenage boy, his face a mask of wide-eyed madness. There was no compassion in his eyes, no humanity, just an unholy glee as he sighted down the barrel of an enormous nickel-plated automatic. She saw his knuckle tighten on the trigger.
There was a blur of motion behind him, and he vanished. Colleen sprang to her feet. The boy was face-down in the grass, screaming, with a hideous creature on top of him. Colleen had a quick impression of claws, tentacles, and tearing limbs. Then the boy stopped screaming and she wrenched her eyes away.
The ball of mist drew her eye. Something was moving in the fog, a dark shape, impossibly vast. A black tentacle broke the surface of the fog, an appendage as thick as a horse, and Colleen dropped her gaze. There was a rectangular shape in the grass by her feet. She had tripped over a portal stone. With a convulsive movement she squirmed around, grabbed the stone, and hurled it across the grass.
The ball of mist vanished instantly. A section of black tentacle ten feet long dropped to the grass, where it twitched and thrashed for a moment, and then went still.
Maggie's scream blended with the sound of gunfire, and Colleen's head whipped around. The nightmare creature was loping toward Maggie, apparently unaffected as she fired bullet after bullet into its body. Maggie turned and sprinted for the trees, the creature running behind her. It had a long, low-slung body and a bizarre collection of limbs, too many legs with too many joints. It was the size of a lion, but slow, moving no faster than Maggie as she fled.
Maggie reached the trees, the creature four or five seconds behind her. Colleen watched them go, numbly aware that if she followed she would be too late to help. The tentacle on the ground by her feet was a grim reminder that there were higher stakes. She stuffed her pistol into the back of her waistband and picked up the nearest portal stone. Then she set off for the trees.
She could see O'Reilly on the grass to one side, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. Jameson was nowhere in sight. She hoped he was all right. She reached the trees and stumbled through, moving as quickly as she could in the darkness.
Finally the trees ended and she found the road stretching before her. The cars were off to the right, and she headed that way. She dumped the portal stone in the back seat of the government-issue Model T they'd arrived in, then looked out at the dark expanse of trees.
Branches crackled and broke. Maggie and the creature were not far away. Colleen considered running into the trees, but if the creature was impervious to bullets, what could she do? Instead, she got into the driver's seat. She hadn't driven before, but cars fascinated her and she'd watched carefully every time she'd been in one. She checked the throttle and spark advance, pulled the choke out a bit, turned the ignition to "battery," and stepped on the starter.
The engine rumbled to life. She adjusted the spark advance until the engine ran smoothly, then turned on the headlights and leaned on the horn.
Maggie burst from the trees, the creature right on her heels. She dove flat and rolled under the green Packard, and the creature shoved itself against the side of the car, trying to reach her. The Packard rocked back and forth, and Maggie popped up on the other side. She stumbled to the passenger door of the Model T and flopped onto the seat beside Colleen.
For an awful instant Colleen stared helplessly at the car's controls, her mind blank with terror. Then she grabbed the clutch lever, put the car in neutral, and stomped on the reverse pedal. The car rolled backward, maddeningly slow, and the creature came at them. It lunged against the driver's side door, and the car rocked. Colleen fought panic as she turned, backing onto the road.
The car rocked again, a dull thud echoing from the door, and the side window cracked. Colleen stepped on the brake pedal, pushed the clutch lever into drive, and stepped on the clutch pedal. The car rolled forward, barely moving, and Colleen swore.
"Let up on the clutch," Maggie said. "You're in low gear."
Colleen lifted her foot. There was a surge of power, the car picked up speed, and the creature flung itself against the side of the hood. The car lurched sideways and slid into the ditch. There was a jarring impact, the steering wheel slammed into Colleen like a hammer and she bounced back, her shoulders slamming into the seat. The car came to a stop at an angle, the left tires on the road, the right tires in the ditch. Colleen slid down the bench seat, coming to rest pressed against Maggie.
The passenger side window shattered, Maggie screamed, and Colleen had a glimpse of writhing tentacles stretching into the car. She drew Falconer's pistol from her shoulder holster, fired twice point-blank into the creature's body, and heard the hammer click on an empty cylinder. She dropped the pistol and grabbed her own gun from her waistband.
Maggie screamed, a high shrill sound of agony, and blood sprayed across the inside of the windshield. Colleen could see the creature's open maw pressed up against the broken window, the tentacles pulling Maggie's arm into that awful circular mouth. Colleen extended her arm, leaning past Maggie to point her gun straight down the creature's throat. Silently hoping she wouldn't hit Maggie's hand, Colleen opened fire, emptying her gun in a long, rolling crash of thunder.
The creature gave a harsh cry and dropped from sight. Colleen reloaded with trembling fingers, then used the steering wheel to drag herself up until she could reach the controls. The engine was still running, and she put the car in neutral, then stepped gingerly on the reverse pedal.
The car rolled backward, and she saw the beast in the glow of the headlights. It was sprawled in a grotesque heap, unmoving.
"Is it dead?" Maggie's voice was a thin quaver, and Colleen looked at her, alarmed. "Yes, it's dead. I think."
Maggie was white-faced, her right arm draped across her lap, the fingers of her left hand gripping a ragged gash that ran from her wrist to her elbow. Blood poured between her fingers and pooled in her lap. She looked terrible, but she gave Colleen a cadaverous grin and said, "Good shooting."
Colleen gave a single, longing glance at the portal stone in the back seat. She desperately wanted to go back to the meadow, try to re-open the portal, and get Carter back if she could. But Maggie was well on her way to bleeding to death. Carter would have to fend for himself for a while longer.
She improvised a bandage from Maggie's head scarf and got the worst of the bleeding under control. Then she manoeuvred the car onto the road, put the clutch in drive, and headed for Washington.
Chapter 5 – The Broken Team
Dawn was breaking by the time Col
leen returned to the meadow. Half a dozen Washington police accompanied her, and a couple of middle-aged men in dark suits. McClane was in his forties, solidly built, with the same hard, calculating eyes Colleen had seen on men like Carter. He was an agent of the Secret Service.
Peabody was ten years older and twenty pounds heavier, a stern, officious man who wore steel-rimmed spectacles and a perpetual suspicious frown. He was President Harding's personal representative, and the only person there besides Colleen who knew the truth about the cult.
McClane sent the police around the perimeter of the meadow, making sure there were no more cultists waiting to strike. Then he accompanied Peabody and Colleen as they walked to the center of the meadow. A circle of grass a dozen feet across was withered and dead. A crude line had been drawn around the dead circle in some dark substance. The bodies lay where they had fallen.
Colleen looked around the meadow and felt her heart sink. The portal stones were gone.
"Well, Miss Garman?" Peabody's voice was suspicious and tinged with annoyance. "Would you like to explain yourself?"
She stared at him, not sure how to respond, and McClane interrupted smoothly. "This is where it happened, Miss?"
She nodded.
"Why don’t you take us through it one more time."
She told them the story from start to finish, pointing out where the ball had appeared, where the portal stones had lain. She could sense their rising skepticism, but she plodded ahead. What did it matter? The stones were gone. The portal couldn't be re-opened. Carter was lost.
When she talked about stepping through into another realm, Peabody said tartly, "I think I've heard quite enough."
Colleen kept her voice even. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to recommend to President Harding that he seriously reconsider the support that he has given to your... occult researches. Something like this could be a significant embarrassment to the administration."
"Significant embarrassment?" She gestured at the tentacle on the grass. "How embarrassed would you be if that thing came through and ran amok in Washington? If we hadn't closed the portal, you would have a lot more to deal with than embarrassment!"
Peabody looked at the tentacle, then shrugged. "Perhaps. At any rate, this portal of yours is closed now. So the matter is concluded."
"No it's not!" Colleen realized she was starting to shout, and forced herself to calm down. "Agent Carter is still out there. He needs to be rescued. We have to re-open the portal."
Peabody gave a pointed glance to the tentacle on the grass. "That hardly seems prudent, Miss Garman."
"We can't just leave him there!"
Peabody's mouth tightened. "And how would you suggest that we get him back, exactly? You say this – portal of yours, it seems to require a large number of these stones, yes? How many do we have? One?"
"We need to find the others," Colleen said. "We need to track down the cultists here in Washington."
"I agree that they must be tracked down," Peabody said. "Government employees have been murdered. The perpetrators will be brought to justice. As for whether your little organization will be permitted to continue," and he took off his spectacles and polished them with a handkerchief, "that will be a discussion for another day."
Exasperation fought with depression in Colleen's mind. She wanted to plant a fist in Peabody's condescending face, but that would hardly be helpful. The problem was, she was starting to think that nothing would help. Carter was beyond rescue, and Colleen was alone.
"I'm not sure that your presence at this crime scene is appropriate," Peabody continued. "You were the team's most junior member, were you not?"
Colleen nodded.
"What was your role again?"
"Canadian liaison."
His eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Then you're not even an American citizen?"
She shook her head, and he tsked.
"No, I don't think that it's appropriate at all." Peabody put his spectacles back on his nose. "Mr. McClane, I will leave this site in your capable hands. Miss Garman, you will come with me."
She plodded behind him as he returned to his car. Every nerve in her body screamed that she should act, but there was simply nothing to do. She got into Peabody's car and watched him start the engine.
"Where can I drop you, Miss Garman?"
"McDougall House, I guess."
His eyebrows climbed his forehead. "I'm not sure that-"
"The President hasn't shut us down yet," she snapped. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Peabody."
He nodded stiffly and backed the car onto the road.
A military policeman stopped them at the driveway of the McDougall estate. He checked their identification before he let Colleen out of the car. "I'll be in touch," Peabody told her, and drove away.
Colleen trudged across the yard. She could see Frederick on the front porch of the house, talking to a clerk. They both looked a bit lost. No one's in charge, Colleen realized. The whole team is gone. There is only me.
It was a crushing thought, and she stopped in the middle of the yard, staring at the house. I don't know how to run an organization. I don't have Maggie's background in management. And I certainly don't know how to track down the cult in Washington. Carter was the investigator. I'm just a clockmaker.
Frederick and the clerk were looking at her, and she saw something like hope in their faces. She frowned and turned away, heading for the carriage house. Don't look at me. I don't want to be in charge. I'm just a clockmaker, that's all. Besides, Peabody's probably going to deport me. You'll have to find someone else to be your leader.
She felt a bit better as soon as she stepped into the workshop. Tools and machinery always behaved according to simple, predictable laws of physics. It was the perfect counterpoint to the perverse, maddening behavior of human beings.
Woody hunched in the center of the room. Yesterday's adventure had been pretty hard on him. One arm was detached, and he had a dent in his chest. She would work on repairing him, she decided. It would give her something to do.
Except, what was the point? Helplessness was like an acid corroding her from inside. She stared at Woody for several minutes, trying to motivate herself to go to work. Then she plodded over to a work table, plunked herself down on a chair, folded her arms on the tabletop, and laid her head down. In minutes she was asleep.
She woke to the sound of clanging. Lifting her head was a chore. Her neck had a savage kink, and she kneaded it as she looked around.
Archie and Tom stood over Woody, lifting the plate that formed his chest. As she watched, they set the plate on the floor. Then Archie peered into Woody's innards while Tom came over to Colleen's table.
"Sorry to disturb you," he said, "but we thought we should get to work. Don't worry, we'll have him up and running in no time."
She blinked at him, trying to clear the grogginess from her brain.
"Susan's not coming back, though." He looked abashed, as if her desertion was his own fault. "She said she never agreed to be shot at."
"She has a point," Colleen told him. "This job is getting dangerous."
Tom shrugged, embarrassed. "Aw, shucks, there's soldiers all over the place now. We'll be fine." When Colleen didn't say anything he rubbed his jaw and said defensively, "I was too young for the war. I couldn't even work in the factories. I don't know exactly what you guys are doing here, but I know it's important. I want to help." He blushed, then gestured over his shoulder. "Archie feels the same way."
Colleen stared at him, speechless, then nodded. He turned away and hurried to help Archie dismantle Woody's shoulder.
Colleen sighed. Why couldn't Peabody be more like Tom? Why couldn't everybody? She watched the two young men stripping Woody apart and felt her earlier hopelessness dissipate and fade. She had a team again. She had a purpose.
"Get him ship-shape and functioning," she told them. "After that, I want you to work on a new set of controls." She thought of the creature that had come through th
e portal. "I need him to be able to fight."
Archie and Tom stopped working, turning to stare at her. "Fight?" said Tom. "What do you mean?"
"Imagine if he had wild animals jumping on him," Colleen said. "I need him to fight them off. Get him to wave his arms, kick his legs, that sort of thing."
The boys exchanged dubious glances. Then Tom's lips tightened, and he nodded. "Sure thing. We'll get right on it."
Colleen walked past them and headed for the house. The first order of business was to clean herself up. She was going to have some persuading to do. She had to look like someone that people would take seriously. She would put on clean pants, she decided. No skirt, though. You had to draw the line somewhere.
When she had herself settled in a big copper bathtub with water up to her chin, she let her mind drift back over her adventures with the cult. She remembered the team that had come ashore in Victoria. They had seemed like a vast, unstoppable force.
By some awful twist of fate she and Rick were the only ones left. Rick headed the Canadian team, and if she'd been north of the border she'd have turned to him immediately. Carter was gone, Smith was institutionalized, Maggie was in the hospital. Garson was dead, and David Parker was on medical leave, fighting to recover from the bullet wound that had nearly killed him.
Carter was the man she really needed. He had the connections, the investigative skills, the leadership ability. With him gone, there was no one else who would know where to look for the cult in Washington.
Except Smith, she supposed. He'd been Carter's partner for years. If anyone might be able to help her, it would be him.
She thought of her visit to the asylum and shivered. She really didn't want to go back. Still, if there was any chance of tracking down the cult, she had to take it. And it wasn't as if she had something better to do.
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