Cthulhu Armageddon

by Phipps, C. T.

  Her desperation surprised me. “How many people said that to you before you killed them?”

  “I was chosen for this job, Booth. If I hadn’t done it, I would have been shot. What would you have done?”

  I remembered shooting a fellow trainee for stealing food during Basic. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so righteous. “Fine. I’ll see you across the desert, past the Dust Zone, away from the mutants, through Ghoul Pass, and up through the shadow of the Great Idols. I’ll take you to Kingsport, which is as close to an actual city as probably exists outside of the Remnant’s control.”

  “Thank you. Hopefully, I can find a position there.”

  “Yes.” I sighed. “You’re medically trained, aren’t you?”

  “I was going to be a physician before they assigned me to Research and Interrogation,” Mercury said, hopefully.

  “Then you won’t have to be a prostitute or a slave.” I said, harsher than necessary. I didn’t want to help her. “After this, we’re done. I never want to see you again. You won’t want to be around me anyway; I intend to continue to fulfill my duty after my escape.”

  “Your duty?” The disbelief in Mercury’s voice was palpable. “What duty?”

  “Blood and vengeance.”

  It was one of the few things left which humanity could purely call its own.

  Chapter Four

  Getting out of Mercury’s laboratory wasn’t difficult. The sun had set over the horizon and I was used to moving in the shadows. In my gray prison fatigues, I was practically invisible against the similarly-colored buildings of the Remnant. There was also the fact that the Remnant’s soldiery was used to watching for people trying to break into the city as opposed to the reverse. Still, I’d need a good look at just who was doing what if we were to get out of this place.

  Once out, I dodged guards and citizens alike until I made my way to the set of cliffs jutting out from the center of New Arkham. The tiny mountains were an aftereffect of the Rising. Whole sections of the globe had been casually upended by the Great Old Ones; ancient cities unearthed from the ground or re-created as human civilizations were erased with the casual ease of scattering a child’s building blocks.

  Reaching the top of the peak wasn’t difficult and I’d scaled it dozens of times. Taking a series of deep breaths, I took a moment to survey my former home. The runways of the former United States Air Force base were covered in hastily constructed bunkers and adobe-esque huts. Its useless traffic control towers served as homes for rich families.

  Lights were on all across the makeshift community, television antennas sticking out of the roofs of houses. A series of worn electric fences surrounded New Arkham, each guarded by heavily defended checkpoints. Each layer of the perimeter had its own scrap metal watch towers, gunnery emplacements, and landmines to supplement security. In other words, escape would be difficult.

  A familiar voice spoke behind me, almost causing me to fall over the cliff’s edge. “I knew you would come up here. It was always your particular form of madness to look down at the human race from above as though you were one of the gods rather than an ant.”

  Somehow my wife had managed to make it up the side of the cliff without me being alerted to her presence. Even for a psychic that was impressive.

  “Martha,” I said, turning around. “I didn’t expect to see you up here.”

  “Why? Because you’re supposed to be dead or because I testified against you?” Martha asked.

  “Both.”

  “I see,” Martha said.

  Martha Anne Booth walked easily up the rocky pathway, one I’d only barely managed to navigate. The shadows parted and I got a good look at the woman I’d been married to since I was seventeen. Martha was “touched” by the Great Old Ones but her inhuman traits fell onto the realm of the exotic as opposed to the macabre. Her skin was the color of marble and her hair a shade of silver. Her almond-shaped eyes were her most striking feature, resembling the predatory yellow ovals of a cat. Tonight, she was dressed in the black trench coat of a Loyalty officer, an outfit which reminded me however much I might have once felt for her, her loyalty was foremost to the Council of Leaders.

  I looked away from her, shaking my head. “How did you find me?”

  “I have my ways.”

  She was a psychic. Stupid question. “Right.”

  “Tell me, do you see a future for these people?” Martha asked, gesturing down to the city below.

  It was an odd question given what was going on. “No.”

  “Did you ever?”

  “No.”

  “Yet, you kept fighting for them. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Easier to die.”

  That was an odd way to deflect a conversation. “That’s not in my nature. This is the Great Old Ones’ world now. Perhaps it always was, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and let them take from me what little part I’ve carved for myself.”

  “Honestly, I doubt they even noticed us when they woke. Earth’s governments used nuclear weapons in the first hour of the Rising but they were like raindrops against the Great Old Ones’ skin.” Martha then switched subjects. “Tell me, what’s your next move? Are you going to try and steal away your children? Perhaps ask me to run away with you as well, treason aside?”

  “No,” I said, thinking about how I’d been a terrible father who’d missed most of their childhood. “I want to be with them badly but the Wasteland is no place for children, even teenagers. The Remnant is a decaying shell of itself but it’s still the safest place in the world for a boy and girl.”

  “And us?” Martha asked.

  “That ended a long time ago.”

  “True,” Martha said, her cat-like eyes almost luminescent in the night. “I was asking for your sake.”

  I shook my head, annoyed with her attitude. Then again, she was a psychic and they rarely were ones for conversation. “Can you at least tell Anita and Gabe I’m not a traitor?”

  “Do not worry, I do not intend for them to grow up believing lies about their father. Though, technically, by all accounts you are a traitor. You hate everything the Remnant stands for. I’m surprised you made it as far up the ranks as you did.”

  I ignored her jab, mostly because it was true. “Why did you do it, Martha? You could have kept silent. They wouldn’t dare go against you. The Loyalty Division practically worships you.”

  Martha stared at me in a way which was almost threatening. I was well over six feet tall and she was only midway past five, making her glare almost comical. Yet, looking into those mutant eyes I felt like she might push me over the side of the cliff with her gaze alone.

  “John, you wandered in from the Wastelands naked and covered in dried blood. You were babbling in tongues no one recognized and had apparently walked two hundred clicks in a dust storm. No normal man could have survived that.”

  I blinked at her description, surprised by the new details it brought to my ordeal. “I wandered in naked?”

  Strange how that was the part which bothered me.

  “Yes.” Martha turned to me. “Even if you had explained the truth of what happened, they would have condemned you. I could no more protect you than I could myself if I rose to your defense. Something supernatural happened out there and the tiniest whiff of it is terrifying to the Council.”

  “Alright.”

  Martha wasn’t done, however. “Everyone on the Council believes you to be a monster in human guise. Something out there happened to you, something which changed you. Most of the Council believes you to be no longer human. Those who think you are, believe you to be incompetent; a man who got his entire squadron killed.”

  I tried again to remember just what exactly had occurred, to no avail. “I can’t tell you what happened on my squadron’s last mission. It’s mostly a blank. All I know is Alan Ward was involved, somehow. He killed them.”

  “Consider yourself blessed you cannot remember the details.” Martha walked over to
press a gloved finger against my chest. “Memory loss can often protect us against what the human mind is not equipped to handle. As for Alan Ward, I suggest you drop it. He was the most dangerous man ever produced by the Remnant. He was more of the Old Ones in the end than human.”

  “No,” I said, my voice lowering. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Slowly. Painfully. Like a human.

  “Your squad mates are beyond caring and your own peace of mind would not be helped I’m sure.” Martha’s gaze softened and she actually looked concerned, her yellow eyes glowing in the night. “Simply assume the Black Soldier took pity on you and guided you back home. It would be better for everyone.”

  The Black Soldier was a Wasteland scare legend, one my father had passed down to me from his father and so on since the days of the Old World battlefields where it had originated. The Black Soldier wandered the battlefields of the world, granting curses and blessings. Some days I believed in him.

  “I can’t do that,” I said, staring down at the ground.

  “Alright. I’d say good luck but there’s no such thing anymore.”

  I stared out past the city into the desert. The Dust Zone surrounding the Remnant stretched on endlessly, lifeless silver particles having replaced whatever had existed before the Rising. There were people beyond the Dust Zone, people who were every bit as deserving of the Remnant’s protection as the citizens below me.

  “Thanks.”

  “I have something for you.”

  “A photograph of the children?” I asked, half-joking. Film was too rare to waste on such things. It had been an extravagance to use it for my execution. “One last kiss?”

  Martha paused, as if the idea hadn’t even occurred to her. “I suppose those would have been appropriately sentimental, but no. My gifts are a bit more practical.”

  “Pity.”

  Reaching into her jacket pocket, Martha removed two objects. The first was a curved golden blade about the size of a Bowie knife. Carved into the sides of its surface were sigils that seemed to twist and turn as if alive. It was a Deep One rune blade, a creation of ancient R’lyehian magic and considered taboo by “civilized” Remnant citizens. I’d seen only a few in my time and they could carve the flesh of E.B.E.s like cheese.

  I looked to the second object. It was a little black leather book, roughly the size of the Bible. I doubted it was a copy of that book, however, as my wife was an avowed pagan. There were also numerous hand-written notes and what looked like a couple of folded maps inside. The book smelled of cinnamon and dust, yet there was a strange weight to it as if the paper’s very contents were somehow making it heavier.

  “Err, thank you.” I reluctantly took both objects. Due to its weight, I took the blade to be made of actual gold. “A piece of gold to melt down and trade as well as a book to read on the way to Kingsport. Both should come in handy.”

  “You will find this book more valuable than gold or iron in the Wasteland.” Martha leaned up to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips were warm, the only part of her that wasn’t cold as ice. “It is the only one of its kind left here in the Remnant. Study it well and if you remain sane, it might save your life. Indeed, it might if you don’t.”

  Checking the insides, I saw there were numerous illustrations of indescribable entities and non-Euclidean geometric diagrams. It also contained numerous unintelligible scribblings with translations underneath. I recognized a few as ceremonial languages of the people who had emerged from humanity’s scattered bands of survivors, but the majority of the material was foreign to me.

  “A copy of the Necronomicon,” Martha said, as if that explained everything. “It holds secrets lost to even the learned.”

  “I see.”

  A lovely parting gift if you were a psychopath or a madman. I had no idea what sort of use I’d get out of a grimoire of pagan sorcery. Yet, it was quite possible Martha was right. Wastelanders put stock in such things, and using their own superstitions against them could mean the difference between life and death.

  “I imagine your companion will also find its writings interesting.” Martha said the word companion like she was cursing.

  Her reaction surprised me; I’d long thought her uninterested in my dealings with other women. The fact I had no such interest in Doctor Takahashi made it all it all the more ironic. You’d have thought she’d know better since she was capable of reading minds. “Martha … I …”

  My hesitant speech didn’t last long. An inhuman screech cut through the quiet of the night, the sound loud enough to shatter glass.

  “What the?!” I shouted, grabbing hold of my ears as I stared into the sky. There I saw a terrible shape streaking out from the stars, a vision straight from an abyss worse than hell.

  Descending upon us was a faceless man-sized beast. Tall and scarecrow-like, it possessed a long black barbed tail and thin membranous wings that stretched out into the night. Its chest was covered with some kind of thick armored exoskeleton, one which should have prevented it from flying in any rational world. Unfortunately, we were living in anything but a rational world.

  “Out of the way!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, ignoring all secrecy as I carried my wife from harm.

  Rolling across the cliff face’s surface, I heard the beast behind me land with a sickening crunch. Despite its size, its claws tore through the stone like wet tissue paper. The being had no expressions to read but I could feel its hostility, the almost incomprehensible aggression radiating from it.

  Staring at its faceless form, I struggled to keep my gaze steady. The entity seemed to occupy space in an impossible manner. As if it was larger and more vast than the thing I saw. I couldn’t really describe the sensation. Like a two-dimensional being trying to perceive something with three or four. A mere glance was enough to make me feel sick to my stomach. Whatever it was, this creature did not belong in our reality.

  “A nightgaunt,” my wife whispered. “Death has come for us.”

  “I can see that!” I scrambled for some sort of weapon on the ground, a rock if nothing else. The book she’d given me lay a few feet from us, covered in dirt.

  My wife picked up the golden blade I’d dropped, and handed it to me. “Take this, John, it can hurt it!”

  “A grenade would have been better,” I muttered, taking the knife in my hands.

  Down below, I heard alarms going off across New Arkham. The creature’s cry had probably been heard halfway through the city. Ignoring the effect it would have on my escape, I moved into a combat position, holding the heavy knife across my chest in a close quarters fighting stance. The beast didn’t move for a second, keeping an almost wary pose. It was uncharacteristic behavior for a Wasteland predator. They almost uniformly treated human beings as only a little more threatening than mice.

  “Move, you bastard,” I said through gritted teeth, hearing another terrifying cry tear through the air before the monster jumped at me. Despite its size, it moved more like a cheetah than a man. Yet, I was already prepared for its attack.

  I let the force of its body push the knife up into its frame while I let it knock me down the side of the mountainous path I’d climbed. The creature’s cries were ear piercing, threatening to deafen me as I felt a thick acidic ichor dribble down onto my hands from where I’d stabbed it. The pain was intense, almost as if my hands were on fire, yet it only inflamed my desire to kill the creature.

  Raising my legs and requiring every bit of strength in them, I pushed the creature off me. The monster weighed more than it appeared. The creature howled once more, slid across the stone and stretched out its wings, readying itself to pounce. I didn’t give it time to move though, instead suicidally raising my knife to stab the abomination repeatedly across its torso.

  The golden blade sliced through the creature’s armored exoskeleton as easily as the monster’s claws had carved through rock. I slashed over and over, causing the creature’s twisted and blackish organs to spill out onto the ground. The monster did not die eas
ily, however, jabbing its talons through my left shoulder as I continued my attack.

  Driving the knife into its faceless skull, I felt weak as I heard Martha speak. “John, you need to stop. You’re bleeding to death.”

  Shit.

  Chapter Five

  I stared at the gaping wound in my shoulder. The nightgaunt’s claws had torn into the skin and muscle beneath. I was bleeding out over the dead abomination’s crumpled form. I’d been lucky to take it down with me. Humans were inherently fragile creatures compared to even the weakest of the Great Old Ones’ servitors. Killing the beast was little consolation, however. My quest for vengeance was over before it had even begun.

  Martha was at my side, her voice filled with surprising concern. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “I doubt the nightgaunt took that into account.” I began coughing, gasping for air. Falling on the ground, I saw my blood start to pool around me. It was a disgusting but familiar sight to me, as I’d seen many soldiers die of injuries far less severe than the one I now had.

  In a futile gesture, Martha tried to stem the tide with her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  They say your life flashes before you just before you die. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I could feel the barriers in my mind falling apart as the life blood freely flowed out of my body. In an instant, I was no longer there on the mountaintops overlooking New Arkham. I was once more with my squadron on our final mission. Perhaps it was God’s (or whatever was out there’s) way of compensating for the fact I was about to die.

  My vision started to break up. A shifting torrent of new imagery filled my mind’s eye: my pistol emptying its last round into Jimmy’s decaying, undead form, the biomass throughout the cathedral coming after me, a thousand tooth-filled mouths, and a wounded Jessica fleeing out of the door as I desperately held my flamethrower in front of me.

  “Ah!” I cried out before launching myself upward, waking from my delirium with a staggering pain in my shoulder.

  Despite the agony, I was struck by a single fact: Jessica was alive. I couldn’t believe it. Then slowly, I realized it was true. She’d gotten out of it. I didn’t fail them all. Even more so, I knew what had killed Jimmy and Stephens was in this so-called Black Cathedral. I had to get back there, mortal wound or not. I needed to find the bastards who’d killed them every bit as much as I needed to find Jessica and bring her home.