Or killed.
“Harrison,” Dad whispers, scaring the crap out of me. I stop and glance over my shoulder, covered in goosebumps. I watch as he limps towards me.
Whatever he wants to say, I squelch it. “Help Yasin,” I say quietly, “Get to the surface and call in the cavalry.”
I don’t wait for Dad to reply. I don’t need him to say something that will deter me from doing what needs to be done. I just step into the shadows crisscrossing the pillars and hope Abe shoots the man before I have to.
“This is the house of the king,” Hamza says, his words full of venom. “I am charged with its secrecy. You must die.”
“Well,” I say, purposely keeping his attention to me instead of Abe, “we’re here. Get over it.” I snap my gun and light around the closest pillar. Nothing. “And we’re gonna tell everyone, maybe even sell his body off as firewood.”
Silence. Good. Well, sort of good. Whatever gives Abe an advantage and some extra time.
But I need him to keep talking.
“How are you feeling by the way?” I ask. “You starting to feel feverish yet? I puked twice already and dry heaved another. Whatever your weak-willed king had, it’s a fast-moving virus of some kind. The dude couldn’t take it and instead of fighting the illness, he offed himself like a coward.”
“He was not weak!” Hamza shouts, making me smile. “I know what kind of man he was.”
I peek around another pillar and find the other side vacant.
“Only what you were told,” I say, keeping up the badgering. “I saw him with my own eyes, how he drove the dagger into his own heart. Only the feeble kill themselves.”
A growl spins me around and I duck the outstretched blade. It scrapes across the pillar just barely missing the top of my head. Reflexively, I dive to the side and come up weapon drawn, light forward.
More nothing.
Damn.
Chancing a glance behind me, my face falls when I can’t find Abe’s light. Is the other man dead already or is he cleverly using my diversion like I hoped he would?
Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be a—
My inner monologue is interrupted as something slams into me from behind, shoving me straight into the next pillar. A hand reaches under my left arm pit and latches onto the front of my shirt. That’s when I decide to use it to my advantage, grabbing it and rolling. We fall together, right into the massive piece of cut stone. As we hit, I dip my shoulder and half-flip, half-ram Hamza home.
We collide together but he takes most of the hit. The audible sound of bones breaking makes my stomach lurch but I’m so dried out that I can’t vomit. The feeling of the impending sickness makes me dizzy and I stumble, seeing three of everything.
Dammit, not now.
I fall to the ground and watch as Hamza painfully clutches his broken arm, using the pillar for support. In my light, I see what I had hoped would happen. He’s sweating a lot, feeling the flu-like symptoms that I am. The beginning was the worst and it seems to be hitting him harder than me. I smile inwardly remembering the flu shot I got a month ago.
Hamza’s body is trying to fight it naturally.
“You feel it?” I ask, shuffling away, struggling to speak. “You—you feel the disease eating away at your body?”
“You will be the death of me—of everyone.”
Grunting, I stand, feeling like my insides are boiling. Whatever resistance I’ve formed is gone. Now, I can literally feel my body giving out.
“No,” I say, “not everyone…” I step forward. “Just us.”
Hamza’s eyes go wide, and honestly, I don’t blame him. Even I’m amazed at the finality of my words. I’ve never claimed to be a hero, not unless it was some kid wanting to be a ballplayer growing up or something. I looked up to some pretty amazing ones myself but that’s not what this is. This is me being okay with death if it means the world above is safe.
Maybe I’ll see Mom again.
Stuck in the memory of her face, I don’t notice Hamza leaping into the air. I don’t see the dagger thrusting at my stomach either.
When I do, it’s too late.
14
As Hamza lands and the dagger thrust forward, it pierces my shirt and continues forward. My body reacts in an odd way—and it’s not to the attack. It’s a natural reaction to having a nasty stomach bug. I hurl, lurching forward as I do. The bending over motion pushes my stomach out of the way far enough that I only take the smallest of nicks. It stings like hell and grosses me out. I mean, it’s been stuck in a dead guy for several millennia. It’s bad enough that I already slashed my hand on it. This is just the tip of the disgusting iceberg.
I shove out with both hands, losing my gun in the process. Hamza stumbles back, also looking sick to his stomach. If he’d been healthy, there’s no way I’d have survived. But, like me, his movements are slower and sloppier.
And his vomit wetter.
He loses his lunch, making me jump back. When I touch down, my legs give out and I fall again.
“Harrison!”
Dad and Ben come around the corner, stopping when they see, and smell, Hamza and me. Ben’s nostrils flare in the men’s combined illumination. Bracing himself against the closest pillar, Hamza grips the dagger and steadies himself.
“Get…” I say, my head spinning, “the gun…”
I drag myself over to the next closest pillar and try to use it to stand. I get to one knee but drop, plopping down against it instead. Dad shouts as he’s cut with the dagger.
No!
And then Ben.
Great…
I’ve been infected a lot longer than Hamza and have been pushing myself as hard as I could. Eventually, he’ll be in my situation but Dad and Ben don’t have that kind of time.
Thankfully, we aren’t the only ones here.
Yasin and Abe come flying out of nowhere, tackling our assailant to the ground. But it’s not enough. Hamza has lost his mind and is literally moving like a man possessed. He’s dying and doesn’t care what happens to him. I, on the other hand, kinda want to live. Hamza’s life is in ruins and he could care less who he takes with him.
Yasin shrieks in pain, taking the dagger blade across his face. I’m not sure if he’ll lose his eye but he’s definitely out of the fight, clutching his face in agony.
So, besides me, now Hamza, Dad, Ben, and Yasin are infected with the supposed planet killing scourge. This has gone from bad to really bad.
“Stop, Hamza!” Abe shouts, leveling his gun at the zealot.
Growling in anger, he turns and faces his father’s keeper. He’s ten feet away but in no shape to take on Abe physically, even though the older man is bleeding heavy himself. Unless Hamza gets off a lucky dagger throw, he’s done for.
And he knows it.
Hamza takes a shaking step towards Abe.
“I said, stop!”
Another step.
Abe grips his gun harder and grinds his teeth. I can tell that he doesn’t want to kill Hamza, even though he killed his brother. His duty as the police chief and his belief in what it means is even more powerful than his pent-up vengeance.
But Hamza takes another step forward.
“I spoke to your father!” Abe shouts, thankfully starting to backpedal, putting the distance between both men back to ten feet. The sentence stops Hamza’s movements but it also angers him further. “He apologized for killing my Sara. He regrets what he did. This doesn’t have to end like this.”
“He…is weak…” Hamza utters, trying to fight the sickness.
For someone who has spent his entire life believing in one central thing, Hamza has completely unraveled. It started as a noble cause, defending humanity from an evil. But he only made things worse by murdering who knows how many people. He, along with so many throughout history, have killed in the name of something they believed in. Whether it’s their god, freedom, or king and country, humanity for some reason always goes the route of taking another’s life to preserve t
heir own.
Can’t we all just get along? The obscure Jack Nicholson quote is more meaningful now than ever.
Seeing that Abe won’t shoot him, Hamza stops his zombie-like advance and stands upright. Then, with a cry in a language I don’t know, he raises the dagger over his head and jams it into his own stomach. Blood pours from the wound as he clutches the hilt harder and harder, driving it deeper and deeper. Then, like someone flicked the on switch to off, his eyes go still and he slumps over, falling to the ground.
Hamza is dead and with him Zill Allah.
My eyes meet Abe’s and I see a single tear roll down his cheek. Everything he’s been through—his wife and brother’s murders—have all led up to this moment. The Abdul-Sharif bloodline of guardians is gone. One dead and the other behind bars forever.
The last thing I see is him holstering his pistol before my vision fades. I can still hear the world around me but it’s like everything is being filtered, sounding very much like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher.
“Stay with us, Hank!” a voice shouts.
Hands grope and lift me, dragging me away. I try to lift my head to see where I’m being taken but can’t. I’m not even sure if my eyes are open or not. It’s like I’m dreaming but not. Whatever the virus is, it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before.
“Hang on!” another deep, slow motion voice says.
The voice sounds like my father’s but I’m not completely sure. Next, I hear someone grunt as I’m lifted higher and higher. They’re still moving me but now it’s up a bumpy slope.
Stairs?
“No signal… Need to reach the surface…”
Signal, what signal? Cell phone?
It won’t matter… I’m going to die.
Then, the world around me goes dark.
* * *
“Calm down, young one.”
If I could physically get frightened at the moment, I would, but my body doesn’t react. It can’t. Do I even have a body? The last voice didn’t come from one of the people that were just around me a few seconds ago. It came from within my own mind.
Um, hello?
“You are strong.”
Oh-kay…thanks…
The voice doesn’t respond.
Am I talking to myself?
“In a matter of speaking, yes, you are.”
Why do you sound like Jack Nicholson?
“I am not sure. It was one of the last things you were thinking about before…”
Right, before all this started happening.
Not one to usually believe in this sort of thing, I try to block out the obvious hallucination. There’s absolutely no way that a dagger can give me the ability to speak with someone telepathically. Then again, I’m also the one who normally tries to think outside of the box.
Still…
Okay, fine, I’m game. Who are you?
No answer.
Duh. It’s because this isn’t real. My mind is warped from the toxin still coursing through it.
So, instead of focusing on the voice of ‘Gangster Joker,’ I try to feel what’s going on around me. I still can’t see anything and every few seconds the things surrounding me get muted. I can only pick up bits and pieces, and even then, it’s barely anything.
We aren’t traveling up the stairs anymore, but we are still moving up some type of incline. Recalling how a lot of the ancient burial sites are built, I believe we’re in some kind of passageway in between chambers. It was how they got the heavy sarcophagi in. Sliding them down ramps was much easier than carrying them down stairs. The stairs we were on earlier weren’t a part of the known burial site—that much I’m sure of. They must’ve been added on at another date, a part of the hidden way to the sub-basement level.
“You are correct.”
Great, I think, you again. Mentally rolling my eyes, I let the new voice speak, hoping it will distract me from the lancing pain that shoots through my body at random intervals.
Look…I don’t know who you think you are, or who I think you are, for that matter, but could you please stop talking to me? I’m already losing it as it is, I don’t need a phantom voice speaking to me before I die.
The speaker has the gall to laugh.
“You are not going to perish, Hank Boyd. You are needed for something you cannot possibly understand.”
Huh?
“Never mind it for now. When it happens, you will know.”
Um, yeah, sorry… No comprende, me amigo.
“You may not understand right now, but you will…”
What does that mean?
The dagger! I think, knowing it has to do something with it.
The voice laughs again.
Very good, Hank Boyd. Yes, Menkaure’s dagger is of a special origin, one you’ll become intimately familiar with in due time. But… I feel my head start to spin, you won’t remember any of this so I’m afraid you’ll have to figure it out on your own.
Wait! I mentally shout. Who are you?
“Who I am is unimportant. Who you are... Now, that’s something I’d be curious about if I were you.”
What was on that blade? A virus?
Silence.
Tell me!
“So be it… Yes, the dagger was infected with a virus, unique in abilities and one of a kind.”
Can I be cured?
It laughs again.
Shut the hell up and answer my question!
“You have nothing to fear, Hank Boyd. You are not dying—nor are your friends. Yes, they will feel its effects nut nothing more. You on the other hand…you are being prepared—”
Prepared for what?
Nothing.
Prepared for what!
“To save the world... You have been chosen by the king himself to defend this world against an ancient evil.”
Menkaure chose me?
“No, not Menkaure… I didn’t choose you for anything.”
I? I ask. Wait a sec, you’re Menkaure?
I can almost see him smiling, satisfied in my reaction.
“Yes, but I’ve gone by many names. Menkaure was the last I used before my needed death.”
Needed death?
“A sacrifice to make sure we found you… More answers will come in time, Hank Boyd, I promise this. We are confident you will succeed in the coming years. As for now, I say goodbye…and good luck.”
Wait, I…
The world around me truly goes black and the voices around me return. But now they aren’t as muffled. Either my hearing is improving or we aren’t underground anymore.
* * *
“Harrison?”
“Hank?”
“Mr. Boyd!”
I startle awake, blinking my eyes as I try to focus. It’s dark and cool wherever we are, a relieving sensation. Death is cold. This is just cool. Looking away from the pair of flashlights, I look up and see stars.
Oh, well that explains it.
“You okay?” Dad asks, kneeling in front of me.
Sitting up, I see that they set me up against a large stone just outside the opening of Menkaure’s pyramid, halfway up its northern face.
Menkaure…
The name feels like it should mean more to me but I can’t recall why. Gritting my teeth, I push myself off the ground and stand, getting three and a half sets of stunned eyes on me. Yasin is holding one of his, bleeding heavily from the wound. Dad, Ben, and Abe are looking well and…
I look down at my hands, feeling…good. Actually, I feel fine.
“Huh.”
“Hank,” Ben says, “how are you standing? You looked like you should’ve been close to dying.”
I shrug. “I feel fine, Ben… Dad.” I turn to my father. “I’m okay, really.”
He reaches out and feels my forehead. “He’s…fine. I don’t know how but he is.”
“Me either,” I say, trying to remember what happened between passing out and now but it’s all a blank. I know some people have nightmares when they’re sick enough, hal
lucinating some pretty ridiculous things.
“It’s incredible,” Yasin says. “I think god has a higher purpose for your life—a plan for good. I can feel it.”
Gently, I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.
“I don’t know about that, man…” I look back up to the stars, and marvel at how bright they are, “...but I guess anything is possible.”
A MESSAGE FROM MATTHEW JAMES
Thank you again for supporting me and picking up a copy of this book and anything else I’ve released. I’m still in awe that I get to do this for a living. It’s a grueling task sometimes but I’ve never released a book and regretted the time and energy it took to put together.
The Cursed Pharaoh was a completely different type of story for me to write. Not having a supernatural sci-fi enemy to battle was an oddity for a Hank book but if you’re familiar with the series, you know that the events of Blood & Sand were his first true encounter with anything like that. The end of this particular story was the proverbial cherry on top, setting up the storyline that will ultimately become the Hank Boyd Adventures. I had goosebumps writing it. I hope you enjoyed some of the hints involving B & S too. Those were my favorite part for sure.
By now I hope you’ve familiarized yourself with my Facebook page, Instagram account, website, or even my Twitter feed. On each, I send out the current happenings in my life and what’s next on my agenda. But like most people nowadays, I spend most of my time on Facebook. If you ever have a question/comment, that’ll be the easiest place to find me.
My next project will be a standalone novel called Dark Relic. It’ll center around the strange incidents within the Bermuda Triangle and bring together a few of my favorite genres. The story will be one part archaeological fun, mixed together with some thrilling science fiction and horrifying suspense.
The Cursed Pharaoh (The Hank Boyd Origins Book 1) Page 11