“Heliopolis, Memphis and Thebes were the religious and cultural centers of Egypt,” Winston continued, his face red and agitated, his deep baritone voice booming loudly, echoing off the cavern walls, so loud in fact that the two laborers were cowering away from him. “It is not unusual that Akhenaten would have adopted the symbol as his own. He was the sun worshiper, after all.”
The distant sound of an explosion reached the underground cavern, rocking the ground they stood on. The two laborers fell to their knees chanting hysterically. Dust began to sift down from the cavern ceiling but Winston did not seem to notice.
“The Nazis are thieves!” Winston bellowed. “They stole the symbol and made it their own! It is the ancient Egyptian symbol of ka and it belongs to Akhenaten, I tell you. It has nothing to do with Nazis.”
Joseph and the two chanting laborers cowered as whorls of dust and fragments of debris fell from above.
Chapter 19
The moment the first shots rang out, Colonel Gerhard von Straker realized that he’d made a grave error. To assume that an expedition of this magnitude would not be protected by armed guards was tantamount to lunacy. Von Straker ordered his driver to pull the staff car over near a wooden barrier that had been erected to hold stores for the encampment. This would give them temporary shelter. He and Zimmerman exited the staff car and took cover between the vehicle and the barrier, drawing their weapons as they did so.
Small arms fire seemed to be coming from all points of the compass even as von Straker realized that the majority of it was coming from his own troops. In the light of several large fires he could see that they were running in panic and firing blindly at ghosts. This, at least, was von Straker’s first impression, for these ghostlike men seemed to be materializing up out of the dunes like wraiths. It was as if they’d been buried beneath the sand and had chosen this moment to be resurrected. There were literally hundreds of them, some wearing robes and head cloths; others shrouded in archaic armor, still others were wrapped in linen bands, strands of which trailed behind them like errant confetti. None seemed to be wielding modern weapons, but it seemed obvious that this did not matter. Using swords and long knives they were easily cutting down von Straker’s elite soldiers in harrowing numbers. Bullets seemed to be having little effect on these phantom fighters.
To the east a powerful explosion rocked the earth. Von Straker saw that one of his armored vehicles had been destroyed, followed by another explosion and the destruction of a second vehicle. His infantry soldiers were howling in agony and running away in panic, some of them on fire. Now even they looked like streaking phantoms in the flickering flames and blowing gales.
“What in the name of God is happening here?” asked Zimmerman as comets with long fiery tails fell from the dark sky striking and destroying still more Nazi war machines.
Von Straker did not have an answer for the man so he remained silent. He strained to see through the darkness, but in the light of the fires he could not make any real sense of the chaos. He realized in that moment that there was no sense to be made here. It was all lunacy.
“We need to get this situation under control now!” Zimmerman commanded. His voice was filled with bravado but Von Straker saw that his eyes were scared, like that of a cornered animal.
Without acknowledging his executive officer’s meaningless comment, von Straker opened the door to the staff car, and staying low, grabbed the radio transmitter. After a few moments of trying to raise his squads he gave up and threw the handset away. “Too late,” he said. “Seems I’ve miscalculated the ferocity of our enemy. I believe our troops are all doomed.”
“Schiesdreck! (Bullshit) said the driver as he grabbed his rifle and moved around the barrier of the staff car to wade directly into the heart of the battle.
“Dummkopf!” Zimmerman cried. “Don’t go out there!” But it was too late. In a few short moments the gung ho driver had completely disappeared in the whirling darkness.
“Let him go,” Von Straker said. “He’s young and foolish. He wishes to die a martyr.”
“They are all dying,” an overwrought Zimmerman said.
Von Straker slitted his eyes against the blowing sand. “Ah yes,” he said, “but the cause is a good one.”
Zimmerman’s rage was now palpable. His face was a bright red beacon. “The cause?” he said. “What cause? Gerhard, I believe you have lost your mind!”
“Perhaps so, my friend. But that does not take away from the importance of the mission. My orders are clear.”
“Did you know this was going to happen?”
“How could anyone know such a thing, Max? I am as surprised as you are at this strange turn of events.”
Zimmerman had pulled a scarf around his mouth and nose to block out the blowing sand. He had to shout now to be heard above the noise around them. “Exactly what were your orders, Gerhard?”
“To find an artifact, Max. But you already know that.”
Zimmerman made a rude noise. “Yes, colonel, I am well aware of your quest for an elusive artifact. But I have always been suspicious of this. It seems preposterous that we have come all this way and suffered such a humiliating defeat for a mere artifact.”
“I understand how you must feel, my friend. But alas, the grave nature of my assignment and the enormity of consequences if I should fail have kept me from revealing the true nature of my mission.”
“Ah, yes, I thought as much,” Zimmerman said with satisfaction. “Now the truth. Tell me Gerhard, what is the true nature of your mission?”
“That I give the Führer what he most desires.”
Zimmerman grunted his displeasure. “You’re talking in circles, Gerhard. For once be straight with me.”
“Yes, I can now do that, Max, when you consider that providence has saved me a great deal of trouble. What once made no sense at all is now starting to make a great deal of sense.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I still do not understand.”
“The Führer was quite clear in his wishes that there be no witnesses to the events of this ill fated mission.”
Zimmerman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but in them Von Straker saw a cast of uncertainty, perhaps even a small shimmer of fear. “What are you saying, Gerhard?”
“I am saying goodbye, Max.” With that, Colonel Gerhard von Straker lifted his gun and fired a bullet between Max Zimmerman’s astonished eyes.
Chapter 20
Through the gales of twisting sand Alex could see the flames of several burning vehicles. Men in German army uniforms were running in and out of the streaking spirals of flame and firing at phantoms. This, at least, was Alex’s first impression of the chaos around him. What he observed next astonished him. The phantoms appeared to be whole and substantial beings, but not beings from this time in history. Some were dressed in archaic armor, others in sheets of tattered rags; others were wrapped in linen bands like bound mummies. These phantom fighters were battling hand to hand with the heavily armed German soldiers, using swords as weapons against bullets and bayonets. And they were succeeding mightily, cutting down the Nazis as if they were nothing more than toy soldiers. The modern weapons of the German Army appeared to be useless against them.
All around him laborers ran for cover, screaming and ululating even as ever increasing numbers of ghost warriors overran them and cut them down along with the Nazi soldiers.
And then, from out of the sky, hurling through a sand-filled atmosphere and lighting the entire encampment, flaming comets fell, landing on tents and vehicles and exploding in huge plumes of fire and shattered debris. In a matter of a few short moments the entire encampment had become an inferno.
Directly into the center of the chaos Nazi war machines rumbled, but even as they moved they were being struck by flaming comets and exploding in plumes of fiery debris.
The tent directly across from where Alex stood burst suddenly into flames as if from spontaneous combustion. He watched transfixed as the frail skin of canvas was
consumed in a matter of a few short seconds, the hot wind blowing its tattered remnants off into the desert.
Alex had seen enough, and although he didn’t understand what was happening here or why, he knew he needed to get his son as far away from the destruction as quickly as possible. He ducked back into his tent where Anwar sat holding his newborn son, an expression of complete and utter disbelief on his face.
“I want you to take the child away from here,” he told Anwar.
“But where, master? How?”
Alex grabbed one of the linen blankets he’d used to cover Camille and wrapped the child up in it, but not before gazing into its beautiful face, making sure that it was actually alive and vital. The infant opened its eyes and stared directly at Alex with an intelligence that belied its age. Something about the look both enchanted and bothered Alex. He understood that newborns were not supposed to be able to open their eyes, let alone focus them. But this child was most certainly doing both, focusing directly on his father as if trying to convey a message. Alex felt the child’s strong heartbeat pulsing rhythmically through the heavy linen blanket. And in that moment Alex knew exactly what he was supposed to do.
Without benefit of further thought, he passed the child to Anwar and fashioned a linen strap around his assistant’s neck to be used as a sling. “There you are,” he said when he’d finished. “You will need both hands for what is ahead and the sling will help to protect the child.” He took the linen wrapped child from Anwar’s arms and placed it into the sling, adjusting it until he was satisfied that it would hold.
Next Alex picked up the knife he’d used to operate on Camille. Her blood was still warm and wet on its handle and the grief of losing her nearly took Alex to his knees. But he knew that if he was going to accomplish the business at hand he had to put Camille from his mind now and forever. With a renewed sense of determination Alex moved swiftly to the back of the tent and sliced an opening from floor to ceiling. “I want you to make your way to the mess tent and stock up on supplies,” he told Anwar. “The child will need sustenance. Afterward take him to the river. Find a good hiding place and wait there. Do you hear me?”
“But—”
“No, Anwar, there’s no time for argument. Just do as I tell you.”
“What about you, Master Alex?”
“There’s something I need to do. No more questions. Just go! And do not let anyone near the child.”
“But what is it that you need to do, Alex?”
“I said no more questions.”
“Tell me!”
“Someone is coming for the child. Don’t ask me how I know this, I just do. The point is, I need to kill him before he can get to him.”
Chapter 21
A series of massive explosions erupted somewhere on the surface. Their concussive blasts could be felt even this far below ground.
Without warning the tomb began to crumble. The floor and walls shook. A jigsaw of hairline cracks ran across the huge limestone blocks. Bits and pieces of debris and rock-dust fell from the ceiling, raining down onto the sarcophagus and the shroud-wrapped figure within. Larger stones rattled down onto the other treasures like hailstones. The floor heaved violently enough to drop both Winston and Joseph to their knees.
Winston’s mustache and eyebrows were white with dust, his face gritty and scratched. The tomb continued to wobble dangerously.
“Noooo!” Winston howled in astonishment. “This is not possible! My beautiful treasure.”
“We must go at once, master,” Joseph said urgently, “or be buried alive. It is a curse I tell you.”
“Hurry, you men.” Winston cried. “Take a piece of treasure as you go. I must have proof of my discovery.” He picked up the heavy funeral mask and thrust it towards Joseph. “Take this,” he said.
“No, master, we must leave it here. The treasure was not meant to be found.”
Winston blinked, straining at Joseph through the dusty glare. The wall before him had fragmented into thousands of tiny interconnected cracks. At the top where the wall met the ceiling, a massive crack was tearing like a ripped piece of fabric, zigzagging as it went, and rivulets of dark red fluid streamed down the wall like blood from some monstrous wound. At the sight of it, the two workers began to exit the tomb, screaming in mortal terror.
Whole sections of walls were crumbling now, and crashing to the floor. “There isn’t time, Master,” Joseph screamed. “We will surely die in here.”
The ripping sound grew louder. Winston looked down at his feet as a huge crack crawled across the floor throwing jagged pieces of stone skyward with popping sounds like gallery gunshots. The floor pitched at an angle that threw him off balance. Plates of limestone rubbed together with a noise like grinding jaws. The tomb shook violently. Winston went down, the death mask falling from his hands and clattering across the floor. Joseph went down next, striking the floor, painfully twisting his arm behind him in the process. His torch fell from his hand and rolled away. He scrambled over his master in pursuit of it, fearful of losing the only source of light now left in the chamber. He was on his belly, reaching for the torch when he heard a scream, and as he twisted back around he saw one of the Egyptian workers fall through a jagged crevice that had opened in the floor. The laborer had become caught below the rim and his hand flailed skyward, feeling frantically for purchase. The fingers grasped the edge of the chasm and tightened, then suddenly, the two limestone plates closed like giant bricks coming together and Joseph stared in horror as a jet of liquid body matter exited the crevice like a geyser.
Joseph had the torch in his hand now and was clawing his way to his feet, helping Winston up. “Come, master,” he said. “It is now or we die.”
“So be it then,” Winston said resignedly. “If I cannot prove my discovery then I will perish with it.”
Joseph grabbed hold of Winston’s arm and tried dragging the big man from the tomb. “No, you stubborn old man,” he cried. “I will not let it end like this.” They were being pelted with bits of plaster and limestone. The entire chamber was in violent motion. Still Winston resisted. He was much larger and stronger than Joseph and the servant could not budge him. Winston reached into the sarcophagus and grabbed hold of the amulet which lay against the mummy’s chest. He gave it a yank. The gold chain broke and the amulet came away in his hand. He closed his fist around it and held on tightly.
His feet finally came unglued from the floor and together he and Joseph made for the tunnel, Joseph half dragging the big man behind him. Whole sections of floor were collapsing before them now, leaving gaping fissures that fell away into darkness. Joseph let go of Winston’s tattered shirt and leapt towards the door over a crevice that had opened in his path. Winston tried to jump but did not make it. His huge form sprawled half in, half out of the cleft, his heavy bulk being held aloft only by his elbows. His breathing had become shallow and he was trying with all his might to lift himself above the rim.
“I don’t think my heart can hold out, Joseph.” Winston began to sag into the crevice. Now he was holding onto the edge with one arm while the hand that held the amulet was clutched tightly against his aching chest.
“Yes, it must, master,” Joseph cried, scratching his way back through the dust and rubble. He leaned over and grasped hold of the old man’s arms but could not pull him above the rim. His own strength was quickly ebbing.
The noise around them was deafening as the corridor shook, walls veining with jagged cracks opening into yawning fissures. Huge slabs of rock crashed down around them. Winston was hanging onto his servant for his life. From up ahead came a wail of terror. They caught sight of the second laborer just as he disappeared in a whirlwind of black dust not unlike what they’d seen exit the mummy’s mouth. The cyclone spun the worker’s burning torch into a vortex of trailing fire, the man’s terrified screams echoing down the length of the corridor like some macabre mountain yodeler. The tunnel pitched violently and yawed like a ship in heavy seas. Joseph hung onto Winston with al
l of his strength, but he was weakening, and very afraid that he was not strong enough to hold the big man for much longer. A twisting storm of black dust mixed with rubble was blowing toward them down the length of the corridor now.
“The Breath of Life,” Joseph whispered in awe. “Dear God, the Breath of Life. It is real.” He dropped the torch and shielded his head in the crook of one arm while helping to suspend Winston’s weight with the other. A small offspring of the strange dust-storm broke free and blew past Joseph, ignoring him and settling around Winston’s head. The man began to scream and kick. Joseph batted at it, trying to chase the loathsome thing away as if it were a swarm of vile insects. His efforts were moot, however. Each time he parted the dervish it abraded the skin from his hand and reformed. The tiny dust devil was filleting the very flesh from Winston’s skull, and Joseph, horrified, was powerless to do anything about it.
“Noooo!” Joseph screamed, batting at the thing again and again until his free hand was raw and bleeding and numb.
All around them there was nothing but chaos, a cacophony of thunderously falling limestone.
The tiny dervish finally dissipated, but the damage it had done to Winston was irreparable. His lolling head was a knot of blood and gore. His eyelids were gone, the eyeballs protruding exaggeratedly as though they were large glass marbles threatening to pop from his skull.
Joseph’s torch was still burning, but barely, the flame guttering there on the floor, threatening to go out altogether. There was just too much dust, no oxygen left to feed the fire, and he could barely breathe. His chest was weighed down with dust. He was choking on it. He did not know how much longer he could hold on. He struggled to lift the now dead weight of his master above the rim, but it was a futile effort. He collapsed with the burden, and Winston’s life was quickly flowing out of him.
Servants of Darkness (Thirteen Creepy Tales) Page 18