Ignoring Ken’s comment, Jean tiptoed over to the door. Delicately placing her hand on the knob, she slowly turned it until it was open. Looking back at Ken, she motioned for him to stay down and get cover. Ken responded by picking up his gun and nodding as if to say: There’s no way you’re going in alone.
“Okay,” Jean mouthed. “One… Two… Three!” She threw open the door, and they both whirled out and fired two quick shots each at the lone figure in the hallway.
“What the hell?!” Caraway shouted as he ducked down to the floor, the bullets barely missing him.
“Oh God!” Jean exclaimed, her heart jumping to her throat. “You okay?!”
“Why the hell were you shooting at me?!” Caraway barked.
“Why are we shooting at Caraway?!” Ken exclaimed.
“I thought he was a Deep One!” Jean cried to Ken. “You told me yourself the Deep Ones control the water. If any were left standing after the ritual, they might be coming after us.”
Ken grimaced in confusion. “What are you talking about? Up until two days ago I didn’t even know those things existed.”
“I—No, I mean,” Jean stammered. “I’m sorry,” she said, dashing down the hall.
• • •
“It is a very terrifying thing, death,” Heydrich said as he shoved his eye back into its socket. “It isn’t anything like you might think. Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. There is no beam of light or your ancestors calling you forward. There isn’t even a man in a toga looking up your name in a book, nor do you meet the great Satan himself.” He paused when his jaw fell loose. He forced it up until it clicked into place. There was no point in him dressing the wounds, or even trying to hide them; the time for pretense was over. They had all seen it, watched in shock as the Farrell woman blasted two bullets into his brain, then watched him walk away, as if it were nothing but a scratch. He continued. “There is just darkness, never ending darkness. And you are alone. Alone in the darkness, for all time. Is it any wonder, then, that I would prefer this horror to the alternative?” he asked, waving at his shattered skull. “When I first died, there was still so much work to be done, so many things I had to accomplish for the Reich. I could not let death stand in my way.” Heydrich looked over to Gottschalk, standing in the shadows across the room. “There’s no reason to hide from me, Herr Obergruppenführer, I will not bite. Despite my appearance, I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me.”
Gottschalk took a hesitant step forward. “What are you?”
Heydrich frowned with what was left of his lips. “Did I not just say? I am a patriotic German, sir, like you and the Oberführer,” he said, indicating Gan seated across from him.
“Are you even alive?” Gan asked.
“Somewhere in between,” he said with a smile.
Gottschalk took off his hat and scratched the balding patch at the back of his head. “Herr Doktor Hammond, I must confess this is all a little too much—”
“No, no, please, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Heydrich said with a wave of his hand. “Please, call me by the name my mother gave me. Karl Heydrich.”
“No, but, but, I don’t under— ” Gottschalk stuttered. “You’re Heydrich?”
“In the flesh,” Heydrich said, touching a hand to his chest and bowing. “What little there is left.”
“Why the deception, then?” Gan asked.
“Ask yourself, Herr Oberführer, if I had returned from Tibet after my failure, impossibly alive despite all evidence to the contrary, how do you believe that would have seemed to our commanders, to the Führer, hm? No, it was better to work incognito.”
Gan leaned forward. “And what of your allegiance to that creature?”
“A means to an end,” Heydrich replied. “Whatever he is, he is helping us play out a prophecy that will give us the Ultimate Power. You have seen the power held within the Shard. Imagine what lies within the Tablets, within R’lyeh!”
“But at what cost, Herr Heydrich?” Gan slammed his palm on to the table. “Hirsch is dead, and despite all the creature’s—and your—promises, we have yet to obtain a single Tablet. We have been in league with demons. More and more this journey seems like a fool’s errand. How do we know we are not being played as rubes to service that monster’s real motives?”
“Prophecy does not play out cleanly and simply just as you would like, Herr Oberführer,” Heydrich retorted. “Like any game of chess, pieces must be moved around the board, and yes, occasionally lost until the King is in check. And while I would love to sit here and answer every question you might have, perhaps the Obergruppenführer would like hear why it is that Jethro Dumont showed up at the sacrifice after you yourself told us he had died.”
Gan sat back, keeping his eyes on Heydrich’s destroyed face. “I saw him go down with the car along with Johann,” he said with confidence. “How he escaped I do not know. Perhaps there is more to Dumont than we knew.”
“Perhaps there is,” Heydrich reiterated. He turned to Gottschalk. “Sir, you might recall the Oberführer’s report from New York, which detailed, in part, his encounters with the costumed vigilante known as the Green Lama…”
• • •
Vasili screamed. Everything was pain, radiating through his body, threatening to tear him apart. Nightmares, horrific images filled his mind, ravishing his sanity. Thrashing, he found his arms and leg bound to a small bed. The room was pitch black; the sound of an engine thrumming echoed around him. He screamed again, out of fear, confusion, and madness.
“Ah, Vasili, you’re awake!” Alexei said pleasantly from the shadows. “You had been asleep so long I thought you’d never wake up.”
Vasili tried to turn his head but found it braced. “Sir? Are you there? Where am I? Why am I tied up?”
“You are on a U-boat, my dear boy,” Alexei said with a laugh, his voice seeming to come from all directions. “One of many marvels of modern times. You are secured for your own protection. You’ve been having some very bad dreams, Vasili. We were afraid you were going to hurt yourself.”
“How did we—?” he cut himself off, unable to finish the question, his head buzzing terribly. “Sir, are you okay? You sound hurt.”
Alexei chuckled. “Nothing that won’t heal. Calm down, son, you’ve been through quite a lot recently and you still need your rest.”
“Could you loosen the bindings, please?” Vasili begged, shifting uncomfortably.
“All in good time,” he said, patting the back of Vasili’s hand. His skin was cold, like marble. “Tell me, Vasili, what is the last thing you remember?”
Vasili squeezed his eyes shut, working through the buzzing that rang out from the back of his skull. “Petros,” he said eventually. “He was hurt.”
“Yes,” Alexei replied. “And your nightmares, do you remember any of them?”
“How are the others?” Vasili asked, licking his chapped lips. His memories were fragments, broken shards of glass spread across the ocean floor. “The foreigners? And Sotiria…?”
“Don’t concern yourself with them,” Alexei said, soothing, running a hand through Vasili’s hair, a father calming his son. “Your nightmares, Vasili, tell me ”
Vasili saw the flash of a green dagger in his mind’s eye, followed by a torrent of blood. “Sotiria,” he weakly asked. “Is she okay?”
“Your nightmares, Vasili,” Alexei reiterated, his voice beginning to steam with anger.
A wave of pain rolled down his spine. Gritting his teeth, Vasili sputtered, “I saw—I was in a city.”
“Good,” Alexei said with muted glee. “Describe it to me.”
“Why do you want to know, sir?” Vasili asked, quaking with fear. Violent images shot through his head, the sound of screams filling his ears. “Please just tell me, is Sotiria okay?”
“Tell me your visions, now, Vasili,” he commanded, his voice resonating. He pressed an ink black finger against Vasili’s forehead, causing the young man’s eyes to glaze over. “Tell me wha
t you saw.”
“The ground was wet, the air pungent,” Vasili began in monotone. “It hadn’t tasted daylight in millennia. The walls, they turned at the wrong angles. It all looked grown… like coral. The shadows moved. We were walking together, all of us, toward a building at the center of the city. It was…It was a temple. The Temple. We went inside and it—” he paused, his voice cracking. Blinking back tears, he continued. “And there was an altar overlooking the darkness, and something beyond, something terrible.”
“Yes, and tell me on the altar…Who was sacrificed?”
“Sacrificed?” Vasili’s eyes regained their focus. “Wait, there was another sacrifice…I…Sotiria…” The shards began to reform in his mind and he began to remember. He gasped. “Oh God. Sotiria.”
“Tell me who will be sacrificed!” Alexei screamed, leaning into the light, grabbing Vasili’s face with his black clawlike hand.
“Jethro,” Vasili whimpered, his mind snapping as he looked into the wormlike obsidian face of the Crawling Chaos. “Jethro Dumont.”
• • •
Jean stood at the bow of the ship, the cool sea air blowing back her hair. She clung to the railing, the ice-cold metal reminding her that this, right now, was real.
“You know, we first met on a ship,” Jethro said a she walked up besides her.
A small smile pierced her sour expression, but she refused to face him. “You were dressed up like Dr. Pali, so technically that doesn’t really count, Dumont.”
“No,” Jethro frowned, “I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Nice shiner,” she said, indicating the large black-and-blue welt on Jethro’s face. “Where’d ya get that?”
He reached for his jaw, wincing at the throbbing bruise. “I may have indirectly told Caraway that I was the Green Lama,” he told her reluctantly. “He was less than pleased by the revelation.”
Jean gave him a terse laugh. “Have I ever mentioned how much I agree with his methods? Boy, I would’ve paid money to see that.”
“You’re concern for me is almost touching, Ne-tso-hbum,” he said.
“You know me. All heart.”
Jethro leaned on the railing and laced his fingers together. “What brought you here, on a cold night like this? That is if you don’t mind me asking.”
Jean pursed her lips. “Almost shot Caraway. Thought he was a Deep
One.” She paused to consider this. “Boy, he’s having a really rough week, isn’t he?”
“And you?” Jethro asked.
Jean’s gaze fell to the breaking waves below, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip on the railing. “I’ve had better. Wish I could say I’ve had worse. Though it feels more like a lifetime. Take it from me, Dumont, time travel is highly overrated.”
“There’s still a lot you haven’t told me about what you saw.”
“And there’s a reason for that,” she said curtly.
Jethro chewed the inside of his cheek as he contemplated his next statement. Hesitating, he said: “Gan told me that Brickman foretold my—”
“For what it’s worth, Jethro,” Jean cut in, “we are doing better than before.”
“But will it be enough?” he asked.
Jean raised an eyebrow. “Worried about your karma, Dumont?”
Jethro gave her a wry look. “Always, but in this case I’m more concerned about this world than the next. No matter the cost, I will not fail.”
“‘No matter the cost, ’” she whispered. She blinked her eyes quickly and turned her head up to the stars. “The creatures from the Bartlett and Prometheus both called me the ‘Keystone.’ Keystone… Like I’m at the center of it all.”
“They would not be the first to believe you are the most important person in the world,” Jethro said softly.
“But I’m not,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m not. I’m just a girl from Montana, good with a gun and probably too quick of a draw at that. I used to—I once thought I was supposed to be a movie star. That was the dream; the one they sold us on the silver screen, at least. Damn if I didn’t go and fight for it. But then… Then I met you and now all I can ever think about is… What I can do, how many lives I can save. I’m happiest when I’m with the Green—when I’m with you. But this… This is too much. I’m not like you, Jethro, I’m not—”
He placed his hand on hers. “No. You’re stronger.”
Jean glanced down at their hands and bit her lip to fight back the smile. “Always keep it interesting, don’t we?”
“I suppose we do,” he said with a sad smile.
A tear streamed down Jean’s face. Jethro reached up to brush it away and found his hand holding her cheek. Her emeralds eyes stared into his. He leaned closer.
“Dumont!” something hissed behind them. They spun to face the deck, Jean’s gun instantly drawn.
“What was that?” Jean breathed.
There was a guttural roar as a scarred Deep One shot out of the darkness, brandishing its claws.
“Get down!” Jethro shouted.
“Like hell I will,” Jean snarled, shooting at the attacking creature. But the Deep One was quicker than she expected, ducking a split second before she fired. Knocking the gun out of her hand, the creature grabbed her and threw her over the side of the ship.
“No!” Jethro screamed as Jean tumbled away. Before he could react the Deep One was on him, throwing him onto the deck as it sliced at his abdomen. Jethro quickly pulled his legs up to his chest and kicked the soft member hanging between the creature’s ropey legs. The Deep One howled in pain and stumbled back. With little time, Jethro rushed to the railings, his heart pounding against his chest as he shouted,” ean!”
Desperately peering over the edge he let out a small gasp of relief when he found her precariously holding on to a narrow ledge.
“Jethro, watch out!” she shrieked as the Deep One came up from behind and grabbed him by the throat.
“You kill Roe’qua!” Ke’ta growled, digging its nails into Jethro’s larynx. “You make Master kill my brother!”
Choking, Jethro struck his elbow into the Deep One’s massive eye. The creature growled in pain, but only tightened his grip on Jethro’s neck.
“Jethro!” Jean screamed, her fingers slipping. “I can’t hold on much longer!”
Stars burst behind his eyes as the Deep One continued to squeeze. A loud whirring sounded above them, filling the night as a spotlight suddenly shone down them. “Dumont!” a familiar voice boomed from the air. “Get down, now!”
Jethro kicked his legs out from beneath him and dropped to the deck, leaving Ke’ta’s scarred head open. A deafening POW! resounded over them and Ke’ta’s head exploded, showering Jethro in blood, bone and brains.
Prying himself free of Ke’ta’s limp hands, Jethro stumbled back over to the railings.
“Jean!” he called, leaning over the side. “Reach for my hand!”
“I think I can,” she said as she tried to pull herself up, lifting a hand toward Jethro’s.
“Almost,” Jethro grunted, leaning further forward, his fingers brushing against hers. “Just a little further…”
“Jethro, I can’t—” Jean said, just as her hold slipped and she fell into the black waters below.
CHAPTER 16
A SAVAGE APPROACH
There were twenty of them, armed with a variety of swords and guns, each bigger than the last. For the past month they had raided the local villages, stealing food and livestock, killing the men, raping the women, and butchering the children. Witnessing the proof of their destruction was almost too much to bear. It had taken Jethro two weeks to find the thugs’ hideout, a hidden cave beneath the shadows of the mountains.
“I only ask that you leave the villagers in peace,” Jethro said in Tibetan, resolute as they began to encircle him. “The lamasery can aid you in your efforts to find food and livestock. There will be no need to resort to violence anymore.”
“Ah, but what if we don’t want to st
op, Lama?” the leader, a wiry stump of a man, asked. “What if it’s just too much fun?”
“I promise there is more to life than this. We can find a peaceful way to—”
The leader laughed. “There is no peace here, Lama! Only death.”
A blade flew out at Jethro. Catching it easily, he threw it back at the leader’s feet, the metal wobbling as it stuck out from ground. “Violence begets violence. Please do not misinterpret my peaceful offerings, I will not allow you to harm any more people. If you strike me I will respond in kind.”
“I see through your lies, Lama!”
“A lama never lies,” Jethro said with a slight bow. “He only promises.”
“Kill him!” the leader shouted as the cabal began to attack.
• • •
“Man overboard!” Jethro shouted as he dived after her, hitting the water without so much as a splash. Swimming through the black waters to her unconscious form, Jethro wrapped his arms around Jean and pulled her to the surface and clear of the oncoming ship. Holding up her head, he could see she wasn’t breathing. “Ne-tso-hbum… Please, no.”
A spotlight in the air moved onto them. Looking up into the blinding light, Jethro waved for help.
“Hang in there, Dumont!” the voice called. “I’m sendin’ down a ladder! Grab on and I’ll pull you up!” Seconds later a rope ladder dropped down in front of them. Paddling over, Jethro placed Jean between him and the ladder, then wrapped his arms around her, twisting the rungs around his forearms so they were secure. Tugging down against the ladder, they were swiftly lifted out of the water and swung back over onto the ship’s deck where Caraway, Ken, and Captain Harris were running over toward them.
“We heard shouting,” Ken said. “You guys okay?”
“Jean,” Jethro gasped as he placed her on the deck. “She’s not breathing.”
“What in holy hell?” Captain Harris exclaimed at the sight of the decapitated Deep One. “What the hell did you bring on my ship?”
Jethro ignored Captain Harris. Tilting Jean’s head back, he lifted her chin and listened for a faint indication she was breathing. When none came, he pinched her nose and placed his lips over hers and gave her two quick breaths, her chest rising. When she didn’t regain consciousness he placed his hands on her sternum and began to compress. Once, twice, then again. Seconds felt like hours before Jean coughed up water.
The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) Page 23