The Lost Army

by Christopher Golden

  Hellboy had risen at least an hour earlier. Despite his efforts at silence, she had been sleeping lightly enough that he woke her as he left. She fell back to sleep immediately, but missed his warmth. Until the sun rose.

  She scanned the desert for him, and saw Hellboy standing with several members of her team, drinking coffee. Anastasia looked around her tent, curiously, for the body bag containing Lady Catherine’s head, but it was nowhere to be found. Smoothing the wrinkles from the clean shirt she’d pulled on this morning, Anastasia walked over to join them.

  “I don’t remember you being a coffee drinker,” she observed.

  Hellboy raised his mug and nodded. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted her. “Actually, it’s decaf. I’m agitated enough as it is without adding caffeine to my diet.”

  “Well, I’ll take some of the strong stuff, thank you,” she replied. “If there’s any left, that is.”

  After Larry Scott had poured it for her, Anastasia glanced around the immediate area, looking for the body bag again. She turned back toward her tent and still saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  When she had stopped darting her head around, Hellboy stepped closer and said, “What are you looking for?”

  “Your oracle,” she explained quietly. “I thought it might be pretty conspicuous, and I don’t want to upset the team any more than they already have been.”

  “You mean Lady Catherine?” he asked. “She’s right over there.”

  He pointed to a cloth drawstring bag that was cinched at the top. It sat on the sand next to a very large machine which was, essentially, a high-powered metal detector. The massacred archaeological team had used a similar machine to search for the lost army. Of course, they had never found the lost army, Anastasia thought morbidly. Instead, the army had found them. Or at least, a handful of Persian soldiers had.

  Which reminded her of Hellboy’s plans to dive the oasis lake that day.

  “Still going swimming?” she asked.

  “Just waiting for you to wake up,” he answered. “Didn’t want to do anything without your say-so. Figured you’d want to bring some of your team, maybe notify Creaghan and his groupies.”

  The idea of Hellboy diving in that lake alone filled her with anxiety. But she knew he was determined to do it, knew that it made perfect sense. In truth, it was the only logical next step. And, after all, there weren’t a lot of things that could do him any real damage.

  “Well?” he asked, pushing for her authorization.

  It was her investigation. Her team. She had fought over her authority with Creaghan ever since they departed London. And she wanted to get to the bottom of this. Needed answers, closure, and even, perhaps, vengeance of some kind.

  A ripple of self-loathing flowed through Anastasia. She hated herself for her indecisiveness. She was strong, independent, and sensible, and she’d been proving that all her life. To act in any other fashion would be to betray herself, and she’d worked too hard to start doing so now.

  She sucked back the last of her coffee and then gave Hellboy a slight nod. Without any hesitation, she turned to her team.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, pay attention please,” she began.

  Sand flew into her face on a sudden breeze and she sputtered, but otherwise ignored it.

  “We’ve all seen some terrifying and inexplicable things in the past day or so,” she said. “Well, I suspected as much when we began this investigation, thanks largely to the legend of the lost army. That’s why I asked Hellboy to join our team.

  “Now we know what happened to Lady Catherine and her dig crew, but we don’t know how or why or who did it. I’m not going to be satisfied if we leave here without those answers. I’m not leaving without them, and neither is Hellboy. If any of you would like to return to England now, it will not be held against you in the choosing of teams for future investigations, digs, and expeditions.

  “Anyone?”

  Larry Scott, who had been the first to discover the slaughtered archaeological team, stepped forward immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Stacie,” he said, “but I’d love to go home. And I hope I’m not out of line in saying that I think you all should go home as well. Whatever is responsible for yesterday’s atrocity is . . . well, it’s evil. I’m going.”

  “Godspeed, then, Larry,” Anastasia said warmly. “I don’t blame you a bit. Anyone else?”

  Several people stepped forward and, in the end, they were left with a team of just over a dozen members, including Jenny Marcus and Arun Lahiri. Anastasia thought that left somewhere between twenty and twenty-five people in camp, including the MI5 agents and their captain.

  The army was another story entirely. Their convoy had deployed itself into a huge armored camp at the crest of a large dune. Now it simply sat there, an unforgiving metal and cloth monolith, a war machine more than one thousand men strong.

  But the army didn’t even know about the oasis. The army didn’t know why they were here, only that they had the sanction of the highest possible authorities. Anastasia wasn’t about to tell them, and she knew Creaghan wouldn’t either. He obviously hated the commander of the joint allied forces.

  When those who had decided to leave departed to begin packing their things, Anastasia addressed her dwindled team once more.

  “All right, we haven’t had a bath in days, so we’re going to get one now,” she explained. “The . . . soldiers which attacked Hellboy at the oasis yesterday came out of the lake. That’s where we’ll start our search. Hellboy’s going to dive the lake while we wade along the shoreline, seeking underground access tunnels or some such. In the meantime, wash up. We don’t know how frequently the opportunity will arise.

  “Now, Arun, find our copy of that aerial map Lady Catherine’s team was using. And Linda, please ask Captain Creaghan to see me as soon as possible. Let him know our plans.”

  There was a moment of inaction, as the entire team looked to Anastasia for something more. She wasn’t sure what they wanted: reassurance, confidence, some words of comfort. Anastasia didn’t have them to give.

  “Let’s go!” she said, and clapped her hands, exuding the kind of urgency that the confusion of the past few days had not allowed her to feel. Until now.

  As the team scattered to their appointed tasks, Hellboy stepped over to the metal detector and picked up the cloth sack which held the head of Lady Catherine Lambert.

  “Oh, Christ,” Anastasia said, staring at the sack.

  Hellboy looked at her with a mixture of concern and amusement on his face.

  “What in God’s name are we getting ourselves into, here?” she asked, though she was still resolved to continue.

  “Nothing,” Hellboy replied. “We’re already so deep into this thing that it’s too late to go back. Hazred, whoever he is, is powerful enough to prevent us from leaving if he feels like it. Going ahead is the only way now.”

  “I know,” she answered.

  “You know, ’Stasia,” Hellboy said warmly. “You’re something else.”

  The blue oasis water shimmered in the sun, the wind creating ripples on the surface. Anastasia and her team had first bathed, and then began to wade the circumference of the lake in search of some visible clue. Something to hint at the manner in which the archaeological team was abducted, where they were kept, or where the Persian soldiers had come from.

  Hellboy watched them for several minutes, then walked along the lakeshore to the spot where he had battled the dead soldiers the day before. He checked to be certain all the pouches on his belt were snapped closed. Most everything he carried was waterproof, or otherwise unaffected by cold or moisture. Charms, talismans, and the like would probably not be damaged, and the few weapons he had, tiny flare and concussion grenades, for instance, were self-contained and waterproof.

  On the other hand, there was his gun. He unstrapped the holster from his hip, and laid it on the ground. He thought a moment, then removed his flashlight as well. It was supposed to be waterproof,
but he didn’t trust the manufacturer’s claim and didn’t want to test it for no reason.

  Without further hesitation, he stepped into the water. His hooves sank into the soft, sucking sand beneath the surface of the lake. Though the water was only slightly cool, the superheated desert air made the lake seem quite cold indeed. When Hellboy had waded out until the water reached his upper thighs, he began to dread going any further. He knew the chill water would be like a vise grip on his privates.

  “Only one thing to do,” he sighed.

  Hellboy filled his lungs, then dove into the oasis lake, spearing the calm surface and sending huge concentric ripples spiraling outward. He kept his eyes wide open. It was bright above water, and the sand was white beneath the surface. There was quite a bit of light available. But the deeper he swam, the darker it became. As he approached the center of the lake, it was deep enough that he could not even see the bottom.

  Nearly seven minutes after he submerged himself, Hellboy finally surfaced for air. He scanned the banks, trying to situate himself. Anastasia and her team were still wading along the shore in search of some clue, but they were on the other side of the lake, more than one hundred yards away. Nevertheless, Hellboy waved to let her know that everything was all right thus far. When she waved back, he smiled to himself. She was concerned for his safety, and was watching him like a hawk. There wasn’t a lot Anastasia could do if he got into serious trouble, but he felt comforted just the same.

  He breathed deeply, and went under again. Straight down, he swam, sweeping the water up and behind him with extraordinarily powerful strokes. Digging himself a hole in the lake water. As it grew darker, his eyes adjusted rapidly. Still, he concentrated on his hands as he drew himself down, expecting at any moment to touch bottom.

  His fingers dug into featureless sand before his eyes recognized that he had reached the bottom of the lake. Kicking his hooves did not provide as much propulsion as human feet might have, but Hellboy made do. Pulling himself along the sandy floor of the oasis lake, he grabbed hold of several unusual stone outcroppings. Underwater flora swayed as he passed, and he scanned the lake bottom for some clue.

  The soldiers had come from the lake. No question about it. But from where? There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary — as far as Hellboy would have recognized such an indication. It simply didn’t make sense.

  His lungs began to burn and his eyes to bulge. The pressure had built up within him and he knew it would be only moments before he had to take another breath. Ignoring his body’s distress, Hellboy continued his search. He pulled himself along toward shore, clawing the sand, his stone hand throwing up a swirling cloud.

  But he was only putting off the inevitable. Hellboy decided he must surface before he endangered his life. He planted his hooves on the lake bottom and pushed off, rocketing himself toward sun and fresh air.

  Hellboy grunted with pain as something clamped around his ankle, digging into his flesh, and dragged him back down. With his stone right hand as ballast, he flipped around in the water. Metal glinted in the little light that reached down to the floor of the lake, then something stung his side. He felt a cool rush and looked down to see blood mixing with water, hanging like red liquid spider webs in the water then floating away.

  A sword. A face almost bare to the bone but for scraps of rotting flesh and one pale, white eyeball as gelatinous and colorless as a boiled scallop. Yet it stared at Hellboy with malevolent fury.

  Finally, his hooves dug into the sandy bottom and he got his bearings. The Persian soldier was half-buried in the sand. Apparently it had been burrowed there beneath the lake bottom until his own passing had disturbed or awakened it. Now it wanted to kill him. Whether it was attacking of its own instinctual volition or if it was driven by the sorceror Hazred’s commands, Hellboy didn’t know.

  But at the moment, he didn’t much care, either. His air was running out and he didn’t have time to fight dead men at the bottom of an oasis lake.

  The soldier’s sword slid through the water toward Hellboy’s throat. Hellboy grabbed the Persian warrior’s wrist with his left hand, stopping the sword from finding its mark. He tore the arm from its socket, a deadly, slow-motion, underwater dance.

  Hellboy reached down with his right hand, clamped the stone fingers around the dead man’s skull, which he crushed in his palm like ancient plaster. The lake water suddenly swirled with sand as the dead man dissolved to nothing.

  The veins in Hellboy’s head were throbbing, near to bursting with the pressure and the lack of air. He shoved off the bottom and pulled himself toward the surface with powerful strokes of his arms. He was near unconsciousness from oxygen deprivation when he shattered the surface of the lake.

  Heaving great gasps of air, he lay on the water’s surface for a moment before he registered the sound of someone shouting in the distance. Hellboy glanced around and saw Anastasia, much closer now than she had been, waving her arms to get his attention.

  She didn’t need his help, though. That was his first thought. Rather, she had been anxious for him and wanted to make sure he was okay. Suddenly, he realized that he still held the zombie soldier’s dead arm, undisintegrated, in his left hand. With his right, he plucked the gleaming sword from the dead hand, and the arm swirled away to nothing, leaving him holding a scrap of torn cloth.

  Hellboy looked back up at Anastasia, who was still waving, apparently awaiting some sign that he was all right. Squinting against the shimmer of sunlight off the water, he held up the sword in his right hand and gave her a thumbs up with his left. He wanted her to know he’d found something, but that he was okay.

  A light breeze feathered the surface of the lake, and Hellboy inhaled the scent of the oasis, the trees, and the lake. He forgot, for a moment, that he was in the middle of the Sahara desert, that war loomed just over the horizon. Then the moment had passed, and he became dreadfully aware of the horrors that might lurk below him, in the darkness at the bottom of the lake.

  So there were some more dead soldiers down there. But that didn’t explain where Lady Catherine’s archaeological team had been taken after their abduction. All he had discovered thus far was more questions.

  Hellboy wanted answers. He took several deep breaths, held the last one, and went under once again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  —

  Up to his waist in the lake, Arun Lahiri stared into the water in search of some sign or clue. They had already covered the shoreline, without finding any indication that Lady Catherine’s expedition had been transported or marched along — or in or out of — the lake. And Arun didn’t think they would find any.

  It didn’t make sense.

  On the other hand, there were several odd things about the lake itself, and the oasis.

  “Any luck, Arun?” Anastasia asked.

  She stood in the water several yards behind him. While he scanned the lake bottom just about where his feet dug into the loose sand, Anastasia was examining the shore more closely.

  “It’s a mystery,” he replied. “One of several.”

  “Oh?” Anastasia asked, and looked at him quizzically. It was the first time they had paid any attention to one another in at least fifteen minutes.

  “What are the other mysteries?” she asked.

  “Well,” he began, “I could be reading more into this than is really there, but my observations indicate that there was once a village or at least a long-term encampment here at the oasis.”

  Anastasia nodded. “We’ve thought that all along,” she agreed. “The perfect roundness of that clearing, the crude tools we found. Why, given the size of the oasis alone, it would be folly to believe there had not been some kind of civilization here.”

  “Indeed,” Arun responded. “But where did they go, and why?”

  When Anastasia raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to one side, Arun felt suddenly very insecure. She had the power to do that to him, a woman of her beauty and intelligence. But he would not be cowed by her
skepticism. He found the whole situation exceedingly odd.

  “They died out,” Anastasia replied. “Or they moved on, became nomads, or settled somewhere else.”

  Arun looked across the lake to the other side of the oasis, scanned the water for some sign of Hellboy, then went back to wading along the shore.

  “If you say so,” he muttered noncommittally.

  “What’s the problem, Arun?” she asked. “I’ve known you too long not to know when you’re being insincere.”

  “Have you?” Arun asked, amused at the thought. If Anastasia knew even half of what he was thinking at any given time, she’d probably have him arrested. Especially when those thoughts were about her.

  “Spill it,” she demanded.

  He tried to see her eyes past the dark sunglasses she wore. The breeze momentarily buffeted both of them, plastering Anastasia’s button-down cotton shirt to her body for a moment, then billowing it out instead. It was a distraction, but Arun had learned to live with the distraction that was Anastasia Bransfield. Every moment with her was distraction, and temptation.

  “Okay,” he sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been leaning over in direct sun for nearly an hour, and his neck was already beginning to burn.

  “If the lost army disappeared — or at least most of them, since some of them are now accounted for — and Lady Catherine’s expedition disappeared for a time, it only stands to reason that the same thing happened to the oasis people.”

  He looked at Anastasia, who held up her palm to urge him on.

  “Well, if there was a village here, we haven’t found any real physical evidence of it. Still, there had to be, right? Without any animals, they had to eat the fruit of the oasis, as well as whatever they could grow. But that wouldn’t be enough. There had to have been fish.”

  As Arun watched, Anastasia blanched.

  “Dear God, I hadn’t even noticed,” she confessed, then turned and scanned the lake. “There are no fish.”