And now Michele was one of them. Granted, she was only a first level adept, and she was still in the midst of her ninety-day probationary period, but just to have made it this far was reason enough to be proud—and she was. They’d recruited her two weeks before she’d graduated from college (she’d been majoring in education). Michele learned that they had been aware of her abilities for years, and had been monitoring her. Once they explained everything, she said goodbye to thoughts of a career teaching elementary school and hadn’t looked back. Now she worked in the Remote Viewing and Astral Projection Department.
Her shoes echoed on the tile floor. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A dark-skinned man in a crisp black suit passed by her and nodded. Michele returned the greeting. She turned left and entered the break room. She bought a candy bar and a bottle of water from the vending machines, wolfed them down, and then proceeded back down the hall.
She passed by two more people—a man and a women—and overheard a snatch of conversation.
“…Clickers. We intercepted a call from a Doctor Alfred Post to his superiors, and then to the Department of the Interior. More reports are coming in hourly. President Genova has been made aware by now, but on this level, they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”
“Surely the President has dreamed of them, at the very least? He’s one of the Seven, across all levels. Many of his other selves would most likely have had experience with them.”
“I don’t know. We should just be grateful that in this reality, the Dark Ones became extinct thousands of years ago. Otherwise, it would be a lot worse. If they…”
Michele rounded a corner, and the voices faded. She frowned, wondering what they’d been discussing. Clickers? Levels? She hadn’t seen anything about them in her employee manual. And what was all that about President Genova?
She’d forgotten about it by the time she reached her destination—a room at the end of the corridor. She knelt by a panel in the door and allowed her retina to be scanned. Then she entered a four-digit number and the door slid open with a hiss. Michele entered a dark, circular room. The only furnishings were seven black chairs, each one thickly upholstered with luxuriant leather and facing back-to-back in a circle. Each of the chairs was hooked up to an array of cables which ran to a computer and printer in the corner. Runes and symbols covered the floor. Six of the chairs were occupied by her fellow employees. Each one appeared to be asleep, but Michele knew better. All of them had a number of leads and wires connected to their heads and fingertips.
Her supervisor, Clark Arroyo, stood by the computer, monitoring the data as it streamed across the monitor. With a click of the mouse, he switched to a different stream of data. Then he turned as Michele approached.
“I’m really sorry about being late,” she said. “There was—”
“A lot of traffic on the bridge,” he said, finishing her sentence.
“It made the news?”
“No.” Clark smiled. “It’s on the surface of your thoughts. No worries, Michele. I’m just glad you’re here. We’ve got a busy shift ahead of us. Morgan is monitoring some current events occurring deep beneath the surface of Mars. Thompson is spying on the Kwan, and it’s taxing his abilities, I’m afraid. James is observing a ritual being conducted in Brazil. Colbert is currently eavesdropping on the White House. Atkins has the same duty, but at the Kremlin. And Abigail is, of course, on guard for breaches to this level.”
“Wow. You weren’t kidding. We are busy.”
Clark nodded. “Luckily, this isn’t the organization’s only remote viewing site.”
Michele slid into her seat and Clark began to attach wires to her.
“So what am I doing tonight, sir?”
“Walden, Virginia. I want you to focus on a guy there that’s been giving us some trouble lately. His name is Dez. I have a photograph you can use to focus. He’s—”
And that was when Abigail began to scream. Her eyes snapped open, wide but unseeing anything in the room. Her attention was focused on something far away. Her fingers dug into the plush arms of the chair with such force that her fingernails pierced the leather. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing gums and teeth. Spittle flew from her open mouth and mucous ran from her nose. The woman’s body began to jerk and twitch.
“She’s having a seizure,” Michele cried. “We’ve got to get her out of that chair.”
“Don’t touch her!” Clark rushed to Abigail’s side and pulled a digital voice recorder from his pocket.
“But, Mr. Arroyo—”
“Stay back, Michele. That’s an order. She’s still viewing. We pull her out of it now and we could kill her.”
We might kill her anyway, Michele thought. She stood there, not knowing what to do and feeling helpless and scared. Her fellow remote viewers all remained in their trance-like states, oblivious to what was occurring next to them.
“What do you see, Abigail?” Clark turned on the recorder and held it next to the spasmodic girl’s mouth. “What’s happening? Remember your training.”
“T-they’re…c-coming through!”
“Who? Who is coming through?”
“T-the…the…oh my God, they’ve breached the Void. They’re coming through…the Siqqusim…they who…speak from the head…Ob, the Obot…they’re here, Mr. Arroyo. The Siqqusim are here!”
Michele had no idea what Abigail was talking about, but it had an obvious effect on her supervisor. Clark’s complexion turned gray, and his shoulders slumped. His body sagged for a moment as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. The digital recorder shook in his trembling hand. When he glanced at Michele, she saw that he was visibly shaken.
“Oh no,” he whispered. He grabbed Abigail’s shoulders, shaking her hard, despite the convulsions already wracking her body. “Are you sure, Abigail? Are you absolutely certain it’s them?”
Instead of answering him, Abigail made a choking cry. Her head slammed against the back of the chair hard enough to rock it, even though it was bolted to the floor. Blood streamed from her eyes, nose, mouth and ears. More of it pooled on the seat beneath her. Her complexion turned red, then purple.
“Get her out of there,” Michele screamed. “Please…”
A huge gout of blood flew from Abigail’s mouth, splashing Clark in the face. More of it flew across the room to splatter on the wall and computer console. Clark retched. Both Michele and Abigail shrieked. Then Abigail went limp.
Wiping the blood from his eyes, Clark checked the woman’s pulse.
Michele gaped. “Is she?”
He nodded. “She is. Find me a weapon.”
“W-what?”
“A weapon. A gun. A fire extinguisher. A broom handle. It doesn’t matter what. Anything I can use to bash her head in before she comes back.”
“I don’t understand, sir. She’s dead. Why would you want to—”
“Never mind,” he snapped. “I’ll do it myself. Call security. Right now! Tell them we have a Code Zulu. Do you understand?”
Nodding, Michele hurried across the room and reached for the phone. Behind her, she heard the door hiss open as Clark ran out into the hallway. She quickly consulted a list of extensions hanging on the wall next to the phone and then dialed a number.
“Security.” The voice on the other end of the line was crisp and quick.
Michele gave them her location and a summary of the situation. Before she could say more, the line went dead.
“I hope that means they’re coming,” she muttered.
“Oh, they are coming.”
Michele jumped, startled. She turned to Abigail, who was sitting up and staring at her. The injured woman grinned. Blood dribbled down her chin and matted her long blonde hair.
“Abby? Oh my God, are you okay? We thought you were dead!”
“Abigail is dead, you fool.”
Frowning, Michele slowly hung up the phone. Something was wrong here. First of all, Clark had insisted that Abigail had been dead. Was it possible he’d
been wrong? Secondly, there was something wrong with her voice. She sounded like Abigail, and yet, she also sounded like someone—or something—else.
“Abby. Abigail. Listen. You should lie back until help arrives. Mr. Arroyo—”
“You stupid slab of meat. I told you that Abigail is dead. My name is Ob. Ob, the Obot.”
“I’m sorry…?”
Abigail sighed. “Why is it that your kind no longer remember us? No matter how many Earths we destroy, it’s the same on each one. We are forgotten among your kind. We are nothing more than legends now.”
“Who? Abby, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You’ve been hurt. You’re confused. You saw something during your session. I don’t know what.”
“We are the Siqqusim. We are the abominations that speak from the head. Your kind used to call us demons and djinn. You thought we were spirits of the dead, but we are not. We are among the oldest things in your universe. We existed long before Michael and Lucifer chose sides with their ‘angels.’ They were nothing more than inferior versions of us. We were banished long ago, banished to the Void by the one you call God. But we have returned. Now is the time of the Oberim, what you call ‘the Rising.’ We have laid waste to a dozen versions of your Earth before this. Now it is your Earth’s turn. So many of my brethren wait for release. Our number is more than the stars. More than infinity.”
Abigail removed the wires and leads connected to her and slowly rose from the chair. She stretched out her arms and looked at them, as if seeing them for the first time. Then she put her hands on her hips and wriggled back and forth.
“Yes,” she said. “This body will suffice, for now.”
“What are you doing?” Michele backed up against the wall.
“I told you. My brethren wait at the threshold. I must get about the business of finding them hosts. We are free to walk the levels again, as we did long ago. As your kind dies, we replace you here. When your spirit departs, we enter your bodies. We reside in your brain. We control your flesh. But to do that, you have to die. And so, without further ado…”
Abigail circled the other remote viewers, studying each of them. She paused in front of Thompson. Then she leaned forward, as if to kiss him.
“A search of my host’s memories tell me that this man is named Thompson. Did you know the one you call Abigail had a crush on him? Probably not, nor does it matter. What does matter is that according to her memories, this Thompson is monitoring a renegade occult group known as the Kwan. I have interest in them, so we’ll start with Thompson first.”
Then Abigail leaned even closer, undid the top buttons of Thompson’s shirt, opened her mouth, and bit into his throat. Thompson immediately came out of his trance. His eyes snapped open. He tried to scream, tried to sit upright, but when he did, Abigail shook her head like a dog and his throat ripped free. Shreds of flesh hung from Abigail’s crimson mouth. Blood jetted from Thompson’s throat. He clawed at the wound with his fingers and more blood sprayed between them in geysers, showering both Abigail and himself. Laughing, Abigail raised his arms, turned her face to the flow, and bathed in the gore. Then Thompson slumped over, dead.
Michele screamed, but Abigail ignored her. Michele glanced around for something to defend herself with, saw nothing, and opted to escape instead. She ran for the door as Abigail opened Morgan’s throat in a similar manner.
“Where are you going, Michele? Don’t worry. Stick around. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Still screaming, Michele dived for the controls to the door. Before she could jab the button, the door opened from the outside, and Clark dashed into the room, holding a fire extinguisher over his head. He slid to a halt, gaping at the carnage taking place. As he and Michele watched, Thompson and Morgan’s corpses sat up and ripped the wires from their bodies, while Abigail killed Colbert and Atkins.
“Hail, Lord Ob,” Thompson croaked, raising his hand in greeting. “I await your orders.”
“Engastrimathos,” Morgan said. “Du aba paren tares! Hail!”
“Welcome brothers,” Abigail roared. “We are in the base of operations for a division of Black Lodge. You know what to do.”
“The hell you will,” Clark said. He charged at them, extinguisher held high, and tried to bash Abigail in the head. She ducked the blow and stepped to the side. Morgan backhanded Clark, knocking him off his feet, and leaving a bright-red handprint on the supervisor’s face. As Clark toppled to the floor, the newly resurrected Colbert climbed out of his seat and picked up the fire extinguisher.
“Kill that one,” Abigail told Colbert, pointing at Clark.
“Lord,” Thompson said, “my host body was conducting psychic surveillance on the Kwan. I have their location.”
“Excellent,” Abigail replied. “We will need to target them next, as well as Genova and the rest of the Seven, Levi Stoltzfus, all divisions of Black Lodge, and anyone else who might disrupt our destruction of this level. As always, if we destroy them first, this world will fall just like the others.”
While the others talked, Colbert squeezed the handle on the fire extinguisher and blasted Clark in the face with a stream of foam. Sputtering, Clark crab-walked on his hands, trying to escape. The others surrounded him.
“Leave him alone,” Michele shouted from the doorway. She was terrified and felt helpless and confused.
“I’ll see to the girl,” Abigail said. “The rest of you finish with this one. I know you are hungry, but remember to leave enough of him intact that the corpse has no mobility difficulties when it reanimates.”
Abigail took a step toward Michele. Michele backed out into the hall. The others began raining kicks and blows on Clark. Just then, Michele heard booted footsteps thundering down the corridor. She turned to the right and saw a security detail bearing down on her. They were armed with rifles and wore black body armor and helmets.
“Move,” they bellowed, shoving Michele aside, and charging into the room. “Down, down, down! Everyone down now.”
“More meat,” Abigail laughed. “Brothers, let us feast!”
“Don’t move,” one of the security officers shouted.
The emergency response team ventured further into the room, and Michele backed down the hall until she could no longer see inside. A moment later there was gunfire, followed by screaming. The shots echoed loudly, making her ears ring, and the corridor filled up with smoke. More screams, and then Clark crawled out into the hall on his hands and knees. He glanced over his shoulder, back into the room, and his eyes widened.
“They’re Siqqusim. You’ve got to shoot them in the head, god damn it. The head! Center of mass shots won’t work.”
Another round of staccato gunfire greeted this, followed by more shrieks and then a terrible, cruel laughter.
“Look,” Abigail called. “Don’t his intestines make a lovely necklace?”
“Damn it,” Clark yelled. “They are incorporeal spirits and reside in the brain of their host body. The only way to stop them is to destroy the brain. Shoot them in the fucking head!”
There was another short burst of gunfire, but then it was overwhelmed by shrieks and the sounds of tearing flesh.
“Mr. Arroyo,” Michele called.
Clark turned to her, then jumped to his feet and rushed to her side.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled.
“Where are we going? What’s happening in there, sir?”
Before he could answer her, one of the security men stumbled out into the hallway. Shrieking, he rolled around on the floor, clawing at his face. Michele noticed that his eyes and nose were missing.
Clark urged her forward, pushing and pulling until they reached the lobby. He ran over to the receptionist.
“Seal the building. We’ve got a Class Zulu emergency.”
“The entity, sir? Do we have a name?”
“More than one.”
The receptionist blinked. “Pardon?”
“Siqqusim. We’ve got Siqqusim inside
the fucking building.”
“Oh my God…”
“That’s right. Worse, Ob himself is here. Now seal the goddamn thing and alert the other divisions. Tell the council that I’m on my way to try to shut the door.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Arroyo. Right away.”
The receptionist simultaneously spoke into her headset and pressed some keys on her computer. Michele noticed that the woman’s hands were severely trembling. That scared Michele more than anything else she’d witnessed. The receptionist was a fourth level adept. For her and Mr. Arroyo to be so afraid…
“Come on,” Clark said, ushering her out onto the sidewalk.
The heat and sunlight felt strange on her face. People bustled by, oblivious to what was going on inside the building. They were clueless. Michele knew how they felt.
“I parked in the garage a block down,” Clark said. “We’ll have to hurry.”
“Where are we going?” Michele asked.
Clark paused, as if thinking about it. “I’m not sure, yet. Mount Shasta or Bodega Bay. Whichever is closer. I’ll find out once we reach my car and turn on the GPS. If it’s still working.”
“Why wouldn’t it be working?”
Clark turned to her. His expression was grave.
“Because, Michele, unless somebody acts quickly, civilization will begin to collapse within the next few hours. And that’s just the beginning. Within a few short weeks—maybe even sooner if the Siqqusim have improved their methods—we’ll be looking at the absolute certain extinction of every life form on Earth.”
The Pacific Basin
Three hundred miles south of Fiji, the USS Sterling was moving at a north east trajectory heading toward Hawaii. First Lieutenant Dan Pearce noticed the blip on his radar screen and called out to Seaman Lance Fisher. “Got some unusual activity out there!” Meanwhile, a hundred feet above deck, Second Lieutenant Kerry Richards was the first to confirm visually what Lieutenant Pearce had just reported over the system. He couldn’t tear his eyes off his binoculars. “What the hell is this shit?” he muttered.
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