If God Doesn't Show

by R. Thomas Riley

  “Sir?”

  Wendell looked over the soldiers. He knew if he ordered the pilot to land, they would gladly fight to the last man. They wanted to kill something, anything, if only to feel like they were doing something, anything. Wendell knew the other bunkers would most likely be in the same state as this one, if survivors had made it to them.

  Wendell turned to Woodrow. “What do you think, Major?”

  Major Woodrow was busy studying a file that he’d retrieved from the Football. “If anyone’s at the other designated bunkers, they’ll probably be in the same state.”

  “Yes, I figured as much.”

  “There is one other option. There’s a bunker just north of here. It was decommissioned in 91, but there’s still a caretaker crew in place.”

  “How many?”

  “No more than twenty.”

  One of the soldiers spoke up, “Them’s good odds.”

  “How far?”

  “About a hundred miles.”

  Wendell addressed the pilot. “Can we make it that far?”

  “Maybe. We’ll be landing on fumes. If we get there, and it’s like this one…” The pilot shrugged, as if merely commenting on the weather. “We’ll have no choice but to land.”

  Wendell weighed his options. They were pretty slim, but he had to make a decision. He glanced around the interior of the cabin. These men were counting on him, and he could be leading them to their deaths. So many had died today. He wasn’t going to lose any more, if he could help it. He nodded, and said in an icy tone, “Head for Raven Rock. We’ll take our chances.”

  The SAT phone chirped, and Major Woodrow and the rest of the men all froze, staring at the pulsing light on the phone. Wendell motioned for his major to answer and leaned in closer.

  “Major Darren Woodrow.”

  “Major, this is Secretary Carling. We’ve made it to Outlook safely. Aback Denoug Maki Nin M’faly…”

  Woodrow went rigid and his face drained of all its color.

  “What’s wrong?” Wendell was startled by the change washing over the man.

  Woodrow turned and looked at Wendell, but it was if he didn’t recognize the president. Slowly, he reached for his gun and slid it from its holster.

  Wendell recoiled in his seat and shouted, “What the hell are you doing?” Something large and dark passed by his peripheral vision. Wendell jerked his head in that direction, gasping when he saw the shadow creature swoop towards the helicopter.

  Shots rang out in the cabin as Woodrow opened fire on the soldiers. Caught unaware, the soldiers didn’t have a chance. The pilot cursed as he caught sight of the shadow creature and jerked the stick. Wendell’s stomach leapt into his throat as the helicopter dove. The sudden course correction saved Wendell, as Woodrow turned the gun in his direction and fired. Wendell fell to the floor. The bullet shredded the headrest where his head had been just a few seconds prior.

  “Please, stop me!” Woodrow screamed as he fired shot after shot.

  The helicopter lurched once more, and the pilot slumped forward as a ricochet blew out the back of his skull. As the chopper went into an uncontrolled tailspin, Woodrow turned the pistol on himself. He grasped his right arm with his left hand and struggled to pull the gun from his mouth. Wendell watched in horror as the man fought for his life against a body that was no longer his own. “Please,” Woodrow said around a mouthful of barrel. “Please, no. I’m sorry.”

  Patches of sky, then ground, flashed by the glass as the helicopter rocketed downwards. Wendell managed to grab the leg of one of the seats and wrapped his arm around it. He braced for the impending impact as best he could. The cabin was splattered with bone and brain as Woodrow fired into his mouth. The helicopter hit the ground at an inverted angle, and the blades dug into the ground with a shriek, the cabin cart-wheeling fifty feet. Helpless, Wendell flew about the cabin like a rag doll.

  Black silence filled his mind.

  * * *

  Hours later President Wendell regained consciousness with a scream. The pain engulfed his body. Something leapt back and cooed hungrily. The small child eyed him warily as it licked its bloody lips. Wendell gingerly reached a hand to his face and whimpered as it came away slick with his blood. He glanced around and noticed he was in the middle of a field. A few yards away the mangled helicopter smoldered in the gloom.

  Wendell pulled himself into a seated position and stared at the multitude of eyes glittering in the gloom all about him. Something glittered in the grass a few feet to his right, and Wendell willed himself across the dirt, towards the object. A journey of mere feet took what seemed like hours as he dragged himself and fought off unconsciousness. He reached the gun and greedily clutched it to his chest, sliding the magazine out to see how much ammo was left. Ten rounds. He pointed the gun at the mass of dead and aimed for their shadow masters, then fired. He saved the last round for himself. A prayer on his lips, he pulled the trigger. There was no way he’d become one of these monsters.

  Chapter Six

  Rugby Rock, North Dakota

  Casey Archer slept the sleep of the dead on the cold altar. Her breathing was shallow as she hovered on the edge of life and death.

  He stared down at her. The voice in his head relentlessly pushed him, taunted him, yet warned him, too. In the city, it waits dreaming. In the city, it waits dreaming. In the city, it waits dreaming.

  He set his flashlight down and reached into his satchel. In his hands appeared a dagger with a bejeweled handle. The blade glimmered in the faint, artificial light. His hands trembled as he held it. His skin crawled, and he was cold. So cold.

  Do it. Do it now.

  “I must wake our God,” he whispered. “We can wait no longer. What good is ruling a kingdom that’s dead? The planet is being destroyed. I must wake him before there’s nothing left.”

  He raised the dagger with both hands, holding it high above her body. Sweat soaked his face.

  Do it. Do it.

  The dagger felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. He paused, debating with himself as he stared down at the prone, young woman beneath him. The dark slithered all around him. His flashlight flickered. Shadows wriggled in his peripheral vision. His heart beat faster and his throat went dry.

  Looking up at the dagger, he saw a reflection in its blade.

  The steel of a sword plunged through his chest.

  His eyes went wide and he tasted blood in his mouth, as he let the dagger fall to the floor. He looked down at the sword coated with his blood. A warm flood of sensations filled his body as he fell to his knees, and he gasped once before going lifeless.

  “Fool,” she said, pulling the sword from his body and letting him slump to the floor.

  The other cult members circled around her and stared down at the fallen one.

  “He stole the ceremonial dagger,” someone said.

  “I know. I was summoned to stop his traitorous act.” She picked up the dagger and handed to it to someone at her left. “Return it to its resting place. We will need it when our leader returns with the sacrifice’s father.”

  “Yes…”

  She nudged the lifeless body of her comrade with her foot, to make sure the job was finished, and then addressed the others. “Take the Ambassador’s body away and burn it. Quickly, before one of those shadow creatures possesses it.”

  With a black cloth, the second in command wiped the blood from the blade of her sword. She walked over to Casey and checked her. All seemed well. A sigh escaped her before turning back to the others.

  “Secure the doors to this chamber. No one else is to come down here until our leader returns. Everything must be perfect. We must prepare the way for the God to awake and be restored.”

  The group started back up the stairs as darkness crawled in around them. Before exiting the room, a sound caught their attention. The second in command turned and surveyed the room.

  A whisper slithered past her. She wasn’t sure if it was in her mind or if she had actually heard it. Sh
e wondered if the others heard it too. Before long, it would be chatter. Before long, it might drive her insane.

  She glanced around one last time and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  Island in the Middle of the Pacific

  The twins grimaced and shrieked as they worked hard keeping the psychic bubble above the team. Blount knew it wouldn’t be long. He could sense their pain. Shadow creatures lay broken on the ground around them, but still more gathered in the skies above. They were moments from oblivion.

  Maya and Nina turned and locked gazes with Blount. A brief image flashed in his head, and, as it did, he looked over his shoulder at the half buried city with its massive citadels and horrific towers. He knew what he needed to do.

  “OK, people. Listen up!” He yelled at his team members, over the chaos and nonsensical chatter that filled the inside of their protection. “This bubble is about to burst. As soon as it does, we’ve got to move. Everyone, when it burns away, run to the city.”

  Baxter looked at Blount like he was crazy, his eyes wide with disbelief. Blount continued ignoring the man.

  “We got seconds when this thing comes down, or we’re all dead. Get to the city. There is a crack in the farthest tower to the left. It’s enough for us to climb into. Ready…”

  The twins collapsed, and the energy bubble vanished in a flash of light.

  “Move!”

  The team raced toward the city, while Blount ran to Maya and Nina. He roused them as best he could as more winged creatures soared through the air. The others were already ahead of him, heading for the tower. He pulled Maya up by her arm, and Nina followed. “Girls, don’t leave me now.”

  They pushed forward, Blount guiding them to the city and the awaiting tower. They climbed through a jagged gash across the ancient stone flesh. Crumbling debris surrounded them, and dust rained as they fell into the engulfing darkness.

  * * *

  Points of light illuminated the area. Baxter and his soldiers pulled flashlights out of their gear.

  Blount coughed, spit, and looked around. There were rows of hieroglyphs lining the walls. He walked up to one of the walls and examined it, then found Max Anders in the fluttering light. “Can you read or identify any of this?”

  “I can’t make heads or tails of it. It’s older than any known hieroglyphs I’ve seen record of. It’s older than the Egyptian hieroglyphs. I’m sorry. I have no idea what this is.”

  Blount sighed and looked around. He watched as Amanda Fletcher walked towards a patch of darkness out of the light’s reach.

  “Stop right there,” Blount called to her.

  “What?” She froze. “I smell something. It’s over here…there’s something here.”

  Blount walked to her side, took a dust-coated stone from the floor, and tossed it into the darkness. It made no sound. They waited and waited. Still the stone had yet to hit anything solid. “There’s no floor there. It’s just a drop. Keep your heads up. This city is still partially underground. We’re still hundreds of feet up.”

  Amanda swallowed and stepped back.

  “Fletcher!” Baxter said. “Back here with the rest of the team.” He checked his M4 and addressed his troops. “Everyone check your gear and your ammo. There is something here. Fletcher’s right. I smell it too. We are not alone. Now, let’s find a way out.”

  “Hold on,” Blount called as he went to Maya and Nina, who were huddled on the floor, breathing shallowly. “We need to tend to the twins and give them time to recuperate.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Baxter protested. “We’re freaking sitting ducks.”

  “Without the twins, your asses wouldn’t even be here!”

  The two men stared each other down. Silence permeated the area. Baxter’s fingers twitched over his M4 as Blount’s hand rested on his pistol.

  Everyone in the room shifted weight and eyed each other.

  “We rest here,” Blount said at last. That was final. Baxter dropped his stare and turned away. He muttered under his breath.

  “Doc,” Blount called. “I need your help here.”

  Doctor Saylors made his way through the soldiers and joined Blount. He opened his satchel and began rummaging through his supplies.

  * * *

  After some time, the twins were strong enough to move under their own locomotion. The group searched for a way out of the tower from the platform they communed on.

  “From what I can tell,” Max Anders began. “This place is a network of catacombs and corridors. Just one of the possible thousands in the city. There are myriad stairways that seem to defy any real laws of architecture. They bend at odd angles and split off into sections. Some lead up, some down. One could get really hurt trying to navigate here. I have no idea what kind of people would build this. There is no logic to it, or comfort, or convenience. It makes the human body bend and twist in unnatural ways.”

  “Max,” Blount said. “Can we find a stairway leading safely away from here?”

  “I’ve narrowed it down to one possibility, but we’ll have to crawl under that overhang.” He pointed to their right, and their flashlights illuminated a twisted mass of jagged stone that resembled teeth.

  “Not a problem,” Baxter said, with his usual cocky attitude.

  “Well, I guess we move out then.” Blount gave the guy a look. Baxter was getting on his nerves more with every passing moment, and the situation they were in wasn’t helping.

  It waits dreaming…it waits dreaming…

  The twins whispered this in Blount’s mind, and now it haunted him. He knew they tried hard to block the Old One out, but it was quickly becoming a losing battle. Before long, it would break through and all Hell would break loose with it.

  It hurts…it rips…it burns! The pain! The beast…it is The One.

  Hang in there girls. Keep him back…

  The group crawled on their bellies beneath the overhang and found a chamber of water—a black pool that shimmered like satin. In order to climb the stairs, they had to dive under the black waters to reach them. Faint dripping sounds echoed all around them.

  Blount was a little uneasy about the whole thing. The soldiers were one thing, but expecting Doc Saylors, Max, and Nick to swim in unknown and potentially dangerous water was quite another. He wanted to stay right with them and make sure they could handle the swim. He sent the soldiers under first, observing some strange behavior in Baxter.

  The man tapped his head before diving under, and swatted the air as if flies buzzed around his face. It was just one more thing that made Blount feel unsure about this hotheaded leader of his squad. Blount shook his head and sucked in his breath, before diving under with his team and the twins.

  It was nearly pitch black underneath, though some dim light fluttered around him as the soldiers made their way. The cold bit into them like daggers and the muck clung to their faces, slithering between their fingers.

  A strange sensation brushed past Blount as he saw something huge looming out of the corner of his eye. A shadow rippled around them—long and massive, stretching beyond the limits of their perception. Concern set in, and Blount urged them through, guiding them in the direction of the soldiers’ lights.

  More shadows gathered around them. From the black, a tentacle, much like that of an octopus except covered in barbs, lashed out at them. It twisted around Nick Larson’s body and pulled him into the darkness. Gargling and waves erupted, and a cloud of red bloomed in the water.

  “Dagon!” the twins cried. “The sea-god is trying to break into our world.” He knows Cthulhu is close to awakening.

  The others swam frantically as Blount turned, drew his gun, and fired. The bullets streamed through the water as if in slow motion, but in the end accomplished nothing. He watched as more tentacles headed towards him.

  He bolted out of the water as hell followed on his heels. Blount spied the opening ahead of him. Inside he found a set of stone steps, and nearly slipped on the glowing fun
gus that coated them.

  Three tentacles soared out of the water behind him. M4s roared to life, cutting them down and sending the tentacles back into the murky depths.

  “What the hell?” Max cried. The experience obviously got to the soft-spoken theologian. “My God…I—”

  “Don’t even look for an explanation, Max.” Blount caught his breath. “We just lost Nick to those things. Let’s keep moving.”

  As he followed them up the winding steps, Blount stared out a random window. He saw the horizon on fire. Mushroom clouds nearly blotted out the sun, and devastation swept the globe. How many people were actually still alive out there, he wondered. With the coming unknown, he wondered how many would survive in here with him.

  Many have perished. The twins’ thoughts came to him. It is the end of times. The perfect time for its return.

  He hung his head and pressed on. The thought of it weighed heavy on him.

  A foul smell drifted past him as they climbed up the stairs and into a courtyard full of horrid statues and bizarre monuments to decay and abomination.

  The group spread out and scanned the area, traversing floors of cracked marble while half-human, half sea-creature visages glared at them from carved walls and murals.

  Again, the smell caught Blount.

  The twins contacted his mind once more. The offspring smell us. They know we’re here. Tread carefully.

  A sound reverberated in the room, and movement was spotted in the host of darkened doorways that littered the area. The sound resembled dragging, then a strange cracking joined it. The ground beneath them began to rumble.

  “What the…” Blount said. “Don’t even!” He drew his gun.

  A quake rocked the room. The floor cracked, yawning open like a hungry mouth. Soldiers tumbled off their feet as M4s went off, shattering glass and crystal that spanned the ceiling.