Area 51_Nosferatu

by Robert Doherty

  “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I took too much.”

  Nekhbet shook her head, slowly opening her eyes, but the dark pupils had difficulty focusing. “It is all right. You need the strength.”

  “If you do not act now, you will die,” Donnchadh pressed.

  Nekhbet let go first, running a hand across Nosferatu’s face. “My love, we must do as she says. It is our only chance. We must free the others.”

  Reluctantly, Nosferatu let go of Nekhbet. He followed Donnchadh out into the corridor, where her partner had already opened the door to the next cell.

  “And who are you?” Nosferatu asked him.

  The warrior glanced at him. “My name means nothing to you. Gwalcmai I was called long ago. I have had other names and will have others in the future.” Nosferatu and Nekhbet followed Donnchadh into the cell while her partner remained outside. The twins Vampyr and Lilith were held here. Male and female, they had been brought into the darkness nearly seventy years before, as best Nosferatu had been able to determine. Nosferatu watched as the woman opened their tubes, noting which of the hexagonals she pressed. He shushed the twins’ questions, working swiftly to free them from their chains, and they moved to the third cell and released Mosegi and Chatha, the youngest of the six, another male-female pair, chained up and entombed for only about twenty years. There were six half-breeds in total, one for each of the six Gods who desired the pleasure of drinking their blood.

  As soon as the last were free of their tubes, the strange woman, Donnchadh, turned toward the exit to the last cell. “I will leave you to do what you must.”

  Nosferatu put a hand out, stopping her. “Tell me more of the Gods. Why do they need to do this?” He lightly touched the shunt in his neck.

  “As I have said. They do it for pleasure. It is an elixir for them. They prefer it over pure human blood.”

  “That is all?” Nosferatu had always held on to the belief that at least he served the purpose of keeping the Gods alive.

  “Do you not relish the feeding you receive?” Donnchadh asked.

  Nosferatu nodded.

  “And was not her”—Donnchadh pointed at Nekhbet—“blood so much more?” “Yes.”

  “Then you should understand.”

  “We exist only for their pleasure?” Vampyr was holding his twin’s arm, keeping Lilith upright while she learned to use her legs once more. “Yes.” It was obvious Donnchadh was not interested in talking.

  “It is said the Gods are immortal,” Nosferatu pressed.

  Gwalcmai was restless in the corridor. “We must hurry.”

  “In a sense,” Donnchadh said, “they are.”

  “Then am I immortal?” Nosferatu had shied away from that possibility, knowing it would mean an eternity chained to the wall.

  Donnchadh shook her head. “No. But if you continue to drink human blood to feed the alien part of your blood—and don’t get drained of any more of the blood you have—you can live a very, very long time. You can also go into the tube and use the deep sleep to let time pass without aging.” Her eyes grew distant. “I have seen it before. Where I came from. They did the same to my people.”

  “Where are you from?” Nosferatu asked.

  Donnchadh shook her head. “You would not understand.” She pointed to the end of the short corridor. “You can go to the right and get out a secret door near the Nile. The ceremony will start shortly in the Sphinx pit. Wait until the Gods who will oversee the ceremony appear, then follow them down the main Road of Rostau.”

  “But—” Nosferatu wanted to know more but Donnchadh was moving away, then was gone to the left, her companion with her.

  The other five looked at him, waiting.

  “Follow me.”

  • • •

  Prostrated before the massive paws of the Black Sphinx were fifty priests, chanting in an alien tongue the same prayers their ancestors on Atlantis had sung: “We serve for the promise of eternal life from the Grail. We serve for the promise of the great truth. We serve as our fathers have served, our father’s fathers, and through the ages from the first days of the rule of the God who brought us up out of the darkness. We serve because in serving there is the greater good for all.”

  The chanting echoed and looped, reverberating off smooth stone walls surrounding the Black Sphinx. The Sphinx was over two hundred feet below the surface of the plateau, reachable only by a set of stairs cut in the stone wall. Just below the chest of the beast, a dark opening was cut into the rock beneath the paws, forming one of the entranceways to the sacred Roads, where only the select high priests were allowed to go.

  Hidden in the shadows along the edge of the depression, amid a pile of discarded building stone, watching the chanting priests, were a half dozen figures—Nosferatu and the other five half-breeds. They clutched the sharp daggers the strange human woman had given them in sweaty hands. It was the Ceremony of the Summer Solstice, and the priests were thanking the Gods for a bountiful crop produced by the rich soil along the banks of the Nile and for keeping away the floods that occasionally ravaged the land.

  It had occurred to Nosferatu during his long time underground that humans had never thought to question the power of the Gods when the floods did come. They would blame themselves, believing they had transgressed against the Gods in some manner, and pray even harder. The entire concept of worship and religion was something he found strange and most convenient for the Airlia. Behind it all was the tantalizing promise the Airlia had made so long ago on Atlantis—that the true believers would one day be granted immortality via the Grail. It had not happened yet, but again, the high priests told the people that was because they had not believed hard enough and been faithful enough.

  Now the six waited, hunched over among the stones, for the ceremony to be finished. They were patient because their goal was the ultimate prize, that which generations of priests such as these had prayed for but which the six of them had decided to seize this night: eternal life. They had escaped from the Roads via an entrance on the bank of the Nile and made their way back here under the cover of darkness. For Nosferatu every breath of the fresh night air was a revelation, the canopy of stars overhead a wonderment to his eyes. The gifts of his Airlia genes combined with years of living in the pitch-black of his tube allowed him to see in the starlight as if it were daylight. He wondered what else he had gained from the Airlia that made him different from humans. “Will the Gods be here?” Nosferatu asked.

  “Isis and Osiris have come to give the final blessing every year as long as any can remember,” Vampyr whispered in reply. “I saw them myself at this ceremony before I was taken below with my sister.”

  Isis and Osiris were the two principal Gods. There were four other Airlia—Horus, Amun, Khons, and Seb—but they appeared even more rarely. It had been many years since all six had been seen together on the surface. For many years Nosferatu had only been visited by one of the Gods. When others showed up, perhaps coming out of the deep sleep that Donnchadh had mentioned, the others like him were made and imprisoned.

  Nosferatu’s mother had told him that his father was Horus and Nosferatu believed it to be true because that was the only one of the five that did not take blood from him during the feedings. In the same manner, Nekhbet’s father had never taken from her.

  The chanting paused as two figures appeared in the dark entryway. They were tall, thin, and unnaturally proportioned. From the forms it was obvious they were male and female but as they pulled back their hoods it was also obvious they were not human. Catlike red eyes peered down at the priests. White alabaster skin glistened in the glow of the torches. Elongated ears drooped on either side of their narrow heads. And when the male of the pair raised his right hand in acknowledgment of the priests’ prayers, six long fingers, festooned with jewels, waved their blessings.

  Nosferatu recognized them from the thousands of times they had come to his cell and fed from Nekhbet and him. They were Isis and Osiris, the Goddess and the High Protector of Egy
pt, who had ruled from beneath the ground for over two thousand years. Egypt had prospered under their reign, the borders expanding down the green belt of the Nile and west and east to the edges of the desert. It was the cradle of civilization, the place where the majority of the survivors of the fall of Atlantis had been brought by the Gods. Beyond the borders of the Gods’ reign, there were humans, but they lived like animals according to what the high priests said.

  Unseen by Nosferatu’s group, the priests, or the Gods, there was a fourth party in the depression, not far from them. A man named Kajilil, covered with a gray cloak that blended with the stone, tucked into a slight crack in the rock wall. He saw the priests, the Gods Isis and Osiris, and the group of six hiding on the opposite side. He was as still as the rock that surrounded him and as patient. He was one of the Wedjat, a Watcher, the fifty-second of his line, sworn to observe the Giza Plateau and the Gods. His line had watched from the very beginning, when the Gods had first arrived with the survivors of Atlantis.

  When the priests got stiffly to their feet and shuffled away from the Black Sphinx toward their stone temple near the Nile, the Watcher remained still, eyes on the small group of half-breeds across the way. Only one man remained in the open, the high priest, standing in the entranceway to the Roads of Rostau between the Black Sphinx’s paws, waiting for the last of the supplicants to clear the area. As the high priest turned to follow Isis and Osiris into the depths, the group sprang into action, Nosferatu in the lead.

  The high priest was reaching for an emblem around his neck to shut the stone door to the entranceway when Nosferatu leapt at him, dagger point in the lead. The tip of the blade punctured the side of the high priest’s throat, and Nosferatu pulled the handle hard to the side, severing the man’s jugular and preventing him from crying out a warning to the two Gods who were ahead of him.

  The blood from the high priest’s still-beating heart sprayed over Nosferatu, drenching his face and chest. Nosferatu’s tongue snaked out, tasting the blood. He blinked, staggered, and felt a new surge of power. He leaned forward, mouth open wide, and drank in the weakening surges of arterial blood until the high priest died and there was no more. The blood coming from a living human was much more exhilarating than what he had always been fed secondhand from a flask, but not quite the same as what Nekhbet had shared with him.

  With his free hand Nosferatu removed the emblem from the high priest’s neck.

  Etched on it was an image of an eye within a triangle. Nosferatu moved into the tunnel, Nekhbet right behind him, the other four carefully stepping over the body of the high priest.

  And behind them, like a shadow, the Watcher followed, keeping low to the ground and moving silently.

  Nosferatu ran on the balls of his feet, his bare feet making no sound on the smooth stone. He felt powerful, stronger than he could ever remember feeling. He caught a glimpse of the tall figures of Isis and Osiris as he came around a bend in the tunnel and skidded to a halt, trying to control his breathing, sure the Gods would hear him in pursuit, but they continued around another bend, out of sight. He glanced over his shoulder. Nekhbet was right behind, and at his glance, she reached up and touched his shoulder lightly. He felt a wave of confidence from her touch. If they succeeded tonight, she would be at his side for eternity.

  When the other four caught up, Nosferatu continued the pursuit, blood-soaked dagger at the ready. He heard the rumble of a large stone moving and picked up the pace, knowing the Gods had secret passageways that even the high priests knew nothing of. Doors that appeared out of solid rock and disappeared just as quickly.

  He dashed around the bend in the tunnel. A stone was beginning to slide down at the end of the corridor twenty feet away. Nosferatu was prepared for this. He dived forward, sliding along the smooth stone, the piece of black metal the strange woman had carried now in his off-dagger hand. He stuck it in the way of the descending door, one end on the floor, the other up. The bottom edge hit the metal and the door shuddered for a moment, pressing hard on the metal, then halted, leaving a gap.

  Nosferatu let out a sigh of relief. Looking under the door he could see the two flickering shadows of Osiris and Isis on the left side of the wall. And then they disappeared. He glanced back. Nekhbet was near his feet, the others crowded behind her, daggers grasped tight in their hands.

  He knew that it was not the time to hesitate. He slid forward, underneath the door, into the lair of the Gods. Nosferatu got to his feet, peering about. There was light ahead, around a curve to the right, which explained the shadows he had seen. The only sound was the scrape of cloth on stone as Nekhbet slid through, then the others. He waited a minute, letting his eyes adjust as much as possible; but the light hurt, and he kept his eyelids closed to slits to protect his sensitive pupils.

  Nosferatu began moving down the corridor, dagger held out in front. He pressed his back against the left-side wall and edged along the corridor, trying to peer around the bend. The stone walls were cut perfectly smooth, the work of the Gods, not human hands.

  The priests said the Gods had built the Roads of Rostau in the very beginning after arriving from beyond the Middle Sea. And that there were six duats (chambers) where the Gods lived and kept their secret sources of power. Wondrous things were said to be hidden in the duats of which there were only whispers and vague memories of an earlier time when the Gods walked the Earth openly and flew about in the sky in golden round chariots. Now the Gods hid down here, ruling through the priests, rarely seen, as if they were hiding from something, but what could Gods be hiding from? Nosferatu often wondered. There was only one answer—other, more powerful Gods. As a child, he had heard the stories of the Great Civil War, when God had battled God and Atlantis had been destroyed. To him that meant one thing—they were vulnerable.

  None of the six noticed the figure that silently followed them. The Watcher slid under the door, then halted as a hatch on the top of the tunnel slid open. Kajilil froze, covering himself with the gray cloak, and watched with wide eyes what came out of the small space and headed down the corridor in pursuit of the intruders.

  Nosferatu came around a corner and bumped into Osiris, Isis being ahead of her partner. It was hard to say who was more startled, but Nosferatu was the quicker to react. He jabbed with the knife, the point puncturing Osiris’s chest. Nosferatu continued his momentum, throwing all his weight behind the shaft of metal.

  Osiris grabbed Nosferatu’s throat with his six-fingered hands, squeezing, lifting him off the floor with inhuman strength. Nosferatu twisted the blade in the God’s chest, ripping through flesh, piercing the heart. Red eyes went wide in shock, then life faded from them and Nosferatu was released. Isis finally reacted, jumping to her partner’s defense but she was swarmed by the other five half-breeds, their daggers rising and falling with the deadly blows they rained down on her body. Decades, centuries of imprisonment, spewed forth, and over fifty blows punctured her skin. Blood spattered over all and tongues snaked out, tasting the God’s blood.

  They couldn’t help themselves. Their plan disintegrated into a feast of blood as all six lay atop of the two bodies, licking, tasting, and tearing at exposed flesh to get to veins. They even suckled at Osiris’s corpse, drawing the still blood from him as best they could.

  And that was when the strange beast Kajilil had seen appear came upon them from behind.

  Only Nosferatu had enough awareness. He spun about from Osiris’s body in time to see the thing come around the curve. A glowing gold orb, two feet in diameter with black, pointed legs all around, scuttling along the floor. Mosegi was the last in the party and the first to die as the strange creature reached him. Two metal legs, razor-sharp at the tip, struck, punched into Mosegi’s chest, and came out the back. They scissored together and Mosegi’s body was sliced in half, falling to the ground.

  Blood upon blood. Death upon death. Nosferatu sprang to his feet, dagger at the ready, knowing instinctively it would not stop the beast.

  But something did. The thi
ng poised, two arms up, the sharp ends dripping Mosegi’s blood pointed at Nekhbet, but not striking. Suddenly a bolt of gold hit Chatha in the chest, knocking her back unconscious. The other four Gods appeared in the corridor behind the beast, three holding long spears in their hands. The fourth held a small black sphere with which it controlled the beast. Another bolt came from the tip of Horus’s spear and hit Lilith with the same result. Vampyr reached for his sister but a bolt of gold struck just in front of him, causing him to pull back.

  “Come.” Nosferatu reached for Nekhbet. Too late, as she was struck and knocked into him. He and Vampyr pulled her body back along the corridor, away from the site of the murders. Two of the Gods halted there, checking the bodies, while the other two pursued. A door rumbled open in the floor in front of Nosferatu and he almost fell into the black hole that had suddenly appeared. A human hand beckoned. Vampyr slithered into the hole without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Come,” a man’s voice called as Nosferatu paused, something he would regret for thousands of years. Horus and Amun arrived, spears ready. Nosferatu dived into the hole, pulling Nekhbet with him as Horus struck. The spear blade sliced cleanly through Nekhbet’s wrist.

  Nosferatu fell with her severed hand clutched in his, slamming into the sidewall of the tunnel, tumbling, sliding, the reality of what had just happened not sinking in until he hit the bottom of a cross tunnel.

  “Come.” The same figure was urging him to move. Vampyr was next to the human, gesturing for Nosferatu to follow.

  Nosferatu remained still, feeling the rapidly cooling flesh clutched in his hand, his mind replaying what had happened. He scrambled to his feet, looking up the passageway down which he had slid, reaching up with his free hand to grab hold of the lip and pull himself in.

  “No,” the voice hissed. Vampyr reached up and grabbed Nosferatu around the waist, stopping him.

  Then Nosferatu heard the clatter of metal on stone and knew the beast was coming down after them.