Threshold

by Jeremy Robinson

  He looked back and saw a huge, perpetually clenched fist flying toward his body. With the mud working against an ascending escape, he allowed gravity and the slick ground to save his life. He slid down the slope as the golem’s fist punched into the mound, impaling several feet of dirt and buried temple. Knight came to a stop at the golem’s feet.

  He looked up and saw it looking down at him. It tried to yank free, but its arm was held tight.

  Trapped.

  But not immobile. The golem picked its foot off the ground and tried to step on Knight. But he saw it coming and ran between its legs, stopping safely behind it.

  Just as he was feeling the fight was over, the golem put its whole body into pulling the arm free. But it didn’t come free of the temple mound. Stonelike sinews stretched out where the shoulder met torso. With a grinding crunch the arm tore free.

  Showing no signs of pain, the golem turned on him, its ghastly expression still frozen on its face. But all it saw of Knight was his back, quickly shrinking as he ran around the temple, hoping to make up the distance between him and Ridley before he reached the camp.

  With a healthy head start on the golem, Knight couldn’t feel its thunderous footfalls, but he could hear the trees in its path snapping. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the one-armed golem fifty feet back, running straight for him. Trees shattered and fell as the giant cleared a path.

  Knight had no such luxury. As the jungle grew dense, he had to weave his way through trees and over large root systems that spread out like Medusa’s mane of snakes.

  But he could see Ridley ahead once more.

  And the camp beyond, glowing with artificial light.

  Suddenly he was through the trees and in a clearing. Willing his body to move faster despite the burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs, Knight closed to within shooting distance once again.

  A grove of trees separated the clearing from the camp where an unknown number of researchers hid from the weather. He needed to stop Ridley now.

  Taking aim, Knight ignored the loud crack of trees behind him as the golem entered the clearing. He ignored Ridley’s phony shouts for help. The rain. The lightning. The thunder. All his attention was on his aim. In the fraction of a second when his running body reached the top of a step he pulled the trigger. The bullet spun out of the gun barrel, cut through the rain, and covered the distance to Ridley.

  A large chunk of flesh exploded from Ridley’s kneecap. He stumbled, lurching forward. It was the pause Knight was hoping for. He stopped running and took careful aim.

  The golem charged across the clearing. Geysers of mud burst into the air around its heavy, stumplike feet. It reached out.

  Knight unloaded a full clip of ammo into Ridley, striking his legs and head several times.

  Ridley fell in a heap, landing in a patch of grass.

  The golem fell with him.

  It landed facedown with a boom that rivaled the thunder. Carried forward by its momentum, it slid through the grass and mud, pushing up a mound in front of it. It stopped only feet from Knight’s position with a pile of earth half covering its head.

  Knight looked back at the golem, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

  Lightning lit the scene.

  The golem was immobile and in pieces.

  And Ridley was …

  Knight ran to the flattened grass that marked Ridley’s fall. Something was there, but it wasn’t Ridley’s body. He knelt down, turning on his flashlight. A gray mass in the shape of a man’s body rest atop the grass.

  “What the…”

  Knight put his fingers in the material. It was cold and wet. He scooped some up and rubbed it between his fingers. Then he smelled it. The scent brought back memories of digging the stuff out of river bottoms as a child. He knew what it was, and what it meant.

  Hearing Bishop and Queen arrive behind him, he turned to them.

  “Did you get him?” Queen asked, catching her breath.

  Knight stepped aside, showing them the mass of wet, gray material. “It’s clay,” he said. “This wasn’t Ridley. It was a golem.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Wiltshire, England

  THE STINK HIT King first—a mixture of copper, feces, and something unidentifiable but equally grotesque. Before he saw the disemboweled corpse, he knew it was there. A man wearing a baseball hat and a camera around his neck lay ten feet away. His body had been folded backward—head resting on heels—and his gut had split open. King drew his weapon and surveyed the parking lot.

  Bodies were everywhere, torn apart and crushed. King had seen a similar scene before and recognized the work of a merciless golem. Several cars burned. Screams rolled over the hills from the distance. People were still alive, but given the high pitch of their screams they were either being killed or expected to be at any moment. “Let’s go!” King said, running into the lot and heading for their car.

  Before reaching the vehicle he could see something was wrong. The driver’s side tire was bent at an odd angle. When he reached it, he found the whole front end imploded. Something huge had crushed the car.

  The ground shook.

  Something was still out there.

  King closed his eyes in dread. “He wouldn’t…”

  “What is it?”

  King didn’t answer, he just ran for the tunnel that led beneath the road. He entered the tunnel at full speed, made his way through, and rounded the ramp on the far side. At the top he saw his fears realized.

  Stonehenge was missing.

  Circles of large pits were all that remained of the ancient monument. Knowing a golem constructed from the bluestones of Stonehenge wouldn’t be hard to find, King spun around and found the giant much closer than he expected. Standing thirty feet tall, the gray giant was as large as it was featureless. But even without a face of any kind, it glowed with malice. And right then, the target of its rage was a ruby red, double-decker tour bus.

  Lauren.

  Not only was the bus in mortal danger, but it was also their best chance of escape. Realizing this at the same time, both men hopped the chain-link fence and waved down the bus. It screeched to a halt next to them and the doors opened.

  “Get in!” Lauren shouted.

  As Alexander leaped up the steps into the bus, King said, “Let me drive.”

  Lauren complied immediately, closing the doors as King took the driver’s seat, threw the bus into drive, and gunned the gas. Looking in the rearview he could see the golem nearly upon them and gaining. His only chance of escape was to outmaneuver the behemoth.

  Right, King thought, I’m going to outmaneuver this thing in a double-decker bus.

  The bus gained speed quickly as they headed downhill, and maintained it at the bottom, but King saw a new problem ahead. The tunnel they had followed from the Durrington Walls to the tomb hidden beneath Stonehenge had collapsed, creating an impassable sinkhole that stretched the distance.

  “Hang on!” King shouted, yanking the wheel and sending them into a sharp left turn. The driver’s side tires lifted off the ground for a moment, but King turned the wheel the other way and righted them. The bus crashed through the fence that lined the road.

  King saw the large golem pass by behind them, unable to turn as quickly. But it reached out with its long arm and struck the back of the bus. The back half of the upper deck was torn away with a shriek of metal.

  Lauren screamed, ducking with her hands over her head. “What the hell is that thing!”

  King looked back, his view clear thanks to the missing back half of the bus. They had gained ground on the golem, but it hadn’t given up the chase. “You know the story about Merlin using giants to carry the stones to Stonehenge?”

  Lauren looked incredulous. “Yeah?”

  “It’s not a story.” He looked back again. The golem was gaining as the bus fought against the slick soil of the field they were speeding through. “Though I suppose no one needed to carry the stones if they could carry the
mselves.”

  Lauren let out a nervous laugh. “Please just drive.”

  King steered the bus through a second fence and onto a straight dirt road that was part of a large grid crisscrossing through the fields. With a road beneath them, they began distancing themselves from the golem again, taking the large vehicle up to eighty miles per hour. The copious amount of potholes made the drive rough, but it wouldn’t be catching them any time—

  “Incoming!” Alexander shouted.

  King whipped around and saw a large rectangular stone hurtling through the air toward them.

  “It’s throwing parts of itself!” Lauren shouted.

  King watched the stone sail overhead. It crashed into the road, twenty feet ahead. He turned away, plowing into the field. A second stone slammed into the field to their right. King veered back on the road and shouted at the bus as he pushed the gas pedal all the way down. “C’mon you piece of shit! Move!”

  A loud crash rang out as the bus shook violently. King looked back and found one of the small Stonehenge stones hanging impaled in the ceiling. Had it been one of the larger stones, they would all be dead.

  “Something’s happening,” Lauren shouted.

  Looking back, King saw the golem fall to its knees, still reaching out for them but unable to move. Then it fell to pieces, reducing Stonehenge to an unceremonious pile of giant stones. King had no doubt the stones could be returned to their proper place, but the destruction of a national treasure such as this would draw unwanted attention. “We need to get out of the country,” he said to Alexander.

  Alexander opened his cell phone and dialed a number. “Ready the plane,” he said, and then hung up.

  Lauren looked back and forth at the two men. “Who the bloody hell are you two?”

  King drove the bus onto a main road and pulled over. “It’s better if you don’t know who we are,” King said. “And it’s better if you never remember seeing us … for your sake.”

  Lauren gave a quick nod. “Just be glad I’m insured or I would have killed you both myself.”

  As a car drove up and stopped, King and Alexander both exited the bus. King drew his weapon. “Out of the car!”

  The man inside went wide-eyed. He turned the car off and exited, the keys held in a raised shaking hand. King took the man’s keys and said, “I’ll make sure you get the car back.”

  The man bobbed his head to acknowledge that King had addressed him and stepped away.

  King slid into the driver’s seat as Alexander climbed into the passenger’s side.

  Inside the car, King asked, “Where to?”

  Alexander held up a chunk of the Stonehenge bluestone that had impaled the bus. “Back to Israel.”

  “You think Davidson can figure out how to resurrect a golem?”

  “If he can, we might learn how to kill it.”

  The plan made sense to King. When it came to the unknown, research and understanding usually won over brute force. Though he doubted Davidson would be happy to see them again. He steered the car around the bus and gave Lauren a subtle nod of thanks as he passed.

  The stunned driver of the car approached Lauren and looked over her ruined bus. “Who the hell were they?”

  Lauren shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Siberia, Russia

  ROOK’S EYES BLINKED open to the sound of a creaking door. Disoriented from the cold, lack of sleep, and loss of blood, Rook almost called out to the visitor, but came to his senses in time. He drew his .50 caliber Desert Eagle handgun and inched toward the door. He would defend this refuge if need be, but prayed the visitor wasn’t aggressive. He barely had the energy to pull the trigger, let alone find a new place to hide.

  He had run north for days. And the farther north Rook ran, the colder it got. The patrols searching for him had dropped away along with the temperature, but the chill threatened to drain what was left of his strength. After fleeing through woods, across rivers, and over mountains, he had finally evaded the Russian military. Not that the Russians needed to put a bullet into him to kill him. His failing health would do him in on its own. His body shook from cold and fever. His mind spun with each step. If not for the cabin he had found, deep in the pine forest, he would have died from exposure the previous night.

  The cabin, which consisted of three rooms—a living room that also served as a kitchen and dining room, a bathroom, and a small bedroom—was quaint and casually decorated with quilts, a few cracking landscape paintings, and a reindeer head mounted on the wall. White lace curtains hung in the windows. Dried wildflowers sat in a small vase atop a table big enough for two. It smelled of pine, mildew, and animal furs, which covered two chairs in the corner next to a small bookcase.

  He paused at the bedroom door, leaning one hand against the wall for support. With several shotgun pellets still lodged in his side he had to fight to not grunt in pain. He focused on the sounds coming from the living room. He heard the thumping footfalls of a single person walking over the cabin’s wood floor. Then came a dragging noise.

  A body, Rook thought.

  He tensed, sensing the person’s approach. He took a step back from the door, raising his weapon. A floorboard creaked beneath his foot.

  Holding his breath, Rook waited for some sign that he’d been heard. When it came, it wasn’t what he expected.

  “Hello?” said a feminine voice speaking Russian. Given the tone and pitch of the woman’s voice, Rook thought she sounded like his mother, who was sixty-two. Harmless. He quickly tucked his weapon into the back of his pants and speaking Russian, said, “I thought the cabin was abandoned.”

  The door opened slowly. A woman with gray hair tied back in a braid stood on the other side. She held a hunting rifle in her hands, aimed at Rook’s chest. A dead reindeer, drained of blood, lay on the floor behind her.

  Not so harmless, Rook thought. But not yet a threat.

  She looked him up and down, her eyes freezing on his torn-up sweater and the deep, blood-red stains surrounding the wound.

  “You’ve been shot?”

  “Hunting accident.”

  “You did this to yourself?”

  Rook wondered what the best story would be. He needed this woman’s cooperation, but she was clearly a self-sufficient old hermit who might not take kindly to visitors, especially visitors stupid enough to shoot themselves. “No,” he said. “I was hiking in the woods. They must have mistaken me for a deer. After they shot me, I was unconscious. I woke in the back of their truck and overheard them talking about killing me.”

  Rook paused, searching her eyes for some sign that she was buying his story. He saw that her anger had softened and continued. “I jumped from the truck and fled. I came across your cabin last night and took shelter from the cold.”

  She squinted at him and then glanced at the fireplace. “You didn’t make a fire.”

  “I thought they might be looking for me.”

  She pondered this for a moment and then lowered the rifle. “You still have some buckshot in you?”

  Rook nodded, and then lifted up the front of his shirt. His skin was covered in small red wounds that were surrounded by deep purple bruises.

  She inspected the wounds, counting ten. “Could have been worse. Had the shooter been closer or a better shot, you might be dead.”

  Though he hated to admit it, the woman was right. Not only had the Russian military got the jump on him, killing his entire team, but a simple farmer had as well. For him, it was an unforgivable failure.

  As the woman moved to the kitchen area and rummaged through some drawers, she said, “I’m Galya, by the way.”

  Rook came out of his thoughts and replied, “Stanislav. You can call me Stan.”

  Galya returned with a tray, which held a sharp knife, a pair of tweezers, needle and thread, vodka, and a glass. “Now then, Stan, lets take those pellets out of you before they get infected.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Location Unknown

&nbs
p; THOUGH HE WAS never truly alone, Alpha longed for contact from the outside world. He had spent so much time underground that he was beginning to feel like a creature of the underworld. More to the point, he still looked like one. And Adam, who was always present, was just as eager to be freed from their subterranean existence. They both awaited the arrival of the others with great anticipation—for their company, but also for the new puzzle pieces they had uncovered.

  Cainan was the first to arrive. He walked into the stone chamber, eyes wide and a smile on his face. Though his head was as bald as both Alpha’s and Adam’s, it held a tan the other two envied. He looked with awe at the circle of glowing, golf ball–sized orbs that floated around the room like miniature suns. They revealed the ancient circular space that stretched two hundred feet in diameter around them. Like their other dens, Alpha had filled the center of the chamber with lab equipment, ancient resources he’d collected over the years, and specimens of every sort. But this space also contained all the communication equipment they needed to reach the ears of every man, woman, and child on the planet.

  A laptop on the tabletop in the middle of the space, networked to a row of computers hidden on the side of the chamber, would manage the feed, processing the audio and relaying it to every media outlet on earth—from the largest networks to the smallest podcast. Cables snaked out of the room, some descending into the earth where they stretched for miles before connecting with phone and cable landlines. Others rose up into the ceiling, attached to an array of hidden satellite dishes that would only be revealed when the transmission had begun. Once the audio playback was complete they would no longer need to fear discovery. They would emerge from the darkness, reborn into a remade world.

  The room was split into a central atrium. The ceiling looked like a hollowed-out step pyramid, rising one hundred feet at its core. This was surrounded by a ring of ten decorative columns where the ceiling was lowest, though to call them columns was a disservice. They were statues, each with hands raised to the ceiling, as though in supplication; a posture that didn’t quite fit their hulking, grim forms. The outer wall beyond the statues was covered in a combination of hieroglyphs and carvings.