Shoggoth 2- Rise of the Elders

by Byron Craft

  “No time like the present, baby,” Arnold encouraged. “No time like the present, ba . . . I mean Madison,” he started to blush.

  “How did you know my name?” she asked cautiously.

  “I heard your name mentioned in class. A name as beautiful as Madison isn’t difficult to remember, baby,” the Terminator prompted again. “I heard your name mentioned in class. A name as beautiful as Madison isn’t difficult to remember,” he echoed and then whispered, “stop with the ‘baby.’”

  “What?” she questioned.

  “Oh . . . I said that is a top . . . Lady name on my list. Where did it come from, I mean why did your folks call you Madison?” he was feeling really stupid.

  “Oh,” she giggled. “It’s from the movie ‘Splash,’ my parents saw it together on their first date.”

  Noah looked clueless.

  “The film starring Tom Hanks and Daryl Hannah, Madison was the mermaid,” she explained.

  “I’ll remember to catch it on Netflix when it pops up,” replied Arnold. “I’ll remember to catch it on Netflix when it pops up,” he recited, glad that Arnold had dropped the use of ‘baby.’” Arnold offered another tidbit from Noah’s Cyrano program, “I can understand if you are afraid to ride on the back of my . . .” he was interrupted when Noah’s cell phone rang. The ringtone was the sound of Doctor Who’s TARDIS. It was a facetime call from Stitch.

  Stitch’s profile appeared on the screen. Noah answered in the speakerphone mode; he was thankful for the intrusion. Stitch’s hair stuck straight up, probably from riding all afternoon without a helmet, Noah assumed. He was wearing aviator sunglasses.

  “Ark!” Stitch hollered when facing the camera. “You got to get out here dude; there is something extraordinaire you’ve just got to see!”

  Madison came closer and peered over Noah’s shoulder. “What is it Stitch,” he almost shouted back excitedly, but caught himself and attempted to be Gucci in front of the girl.

  “I am at Dead Man’s Point, and there are some dudes out here that are digging along the edge of the Navy’s property and they ain’t government people as far as I can see.”

  There was no place named Dead Man’s Point in the Mojave. It was one of many code names he and his fellow Tunnel Archaeologists assigned to areas that they explored. “Butch and Cassidy’s Hideout, The Lone Stranger’s Land, Tatooine,” and about four or five more they christened so if anyone were eavesdropping, which was almost never, the listener would have no idea of the locale. Stitch panned his camera phone, and Noah and Madison could make out the mountain base at Dead Man’s Point. A machine, the size of a bus, painted yellow and circular on one end was moving up the hillside. Two men in tan overalls followed behind. Stitch turned the camera back toward himself, noticing Madison for the first time, “Hey, who’s the babe!” he yelled.

  Noah quickly jerked the camera lens away from Madison and responded, “I’m on my way.” Terminating the call, he looked sheepishly at Madison, “Want to come along?” beating Arnold to the punch.

  “Sure,” she said straddling the rear seat.

  “Did you agree to come along to see what’s happening at Dead Man’s Point?” he hesitantly asked.

  “Nope,” she replied. “I’m going with you because we have something in common.”

  “What is that?” he asked, dumbfounded. He had no idea what it could be?

  “I’m a Doctor Who fan as well,” she answered with a smile.

  Noah started the Magician, and they headed North, toward Dead Man’s Point.

  ***

  Noah was glad that he had filled the tank on the Magician earlier that day. It took over a half an hour to reach Dead Man’s Point, and it would be embarrassing to run out of gas on his first date with Madison, if this truly were a date. He was trying his best to make a good impression. He navigated some of the better trails in hopes of impressing her. A few low rises to jump, but not too high, sometimes a sharp banked turn, but not too sharp, and some fancy hill climbing, but not too steep. He didn’t want to execute any maneuvers that might toss Madison off the back of his bike. That would really screw things up.

  ***

  Lucybelle was on her Polaris quad, near the base of Dead Man's Point. None of the Tunnel Archaeologists called her Lucybelle anymore since Stitch dubbed her Dudette. Next to Dudette was Junky Beast, an obvious nickname due to his obese size and proclivity for carrying an ample supply of Snickers bars and Kit Kats in his backpack. Junky Beast was astride an old school Suzuki 2-stroke off-road bike. Separate from the pack, sitting on his a 125cc Apollo 007 dirt bike, spiked hair and a critical stare at Noah and Madison’s approach was E-Monkey. A moniker he received because when he is not on his bike, he is buried in his Xbox console. E-Monkey very seldom spoke, when he did it was usually worth hearing.

  Stitch occupied the high ground overlooking his gang of Tunnel Archaeologists, his Yamaha YZ450F outmatching all the rest. “Oh no! A newbie,” he yelled eyeing Madison. “I hope she ain’t contagious!”

  “Cut the crap, Stitch,” Noah shot back feeling especially bold and showing off to his dream date. “Her name is Madison, and she’s with me. If she wants, she can be on our team.”

  “What grade are you in girlie?” Stitch countered.

  “Freshman, you general douchebag,” said Madison trailed by a wry smile.

  “Everyone hates the freshmen at our school, for no reason,” a somber E-Monkey added.

  Everyone turned and listened when E-Monkey conveyed his sad proclamation. Stitch and Dudette looked down at the dirt beneath their vehicles and shook their heads in agreement.

  “Sorry, Madison,” Stitched confessed. “I’m being a stuck-up worm.”

  “Womp!” Hollard Junky Beast.

  “Womp, womp!” the rest joined in.

  “Low-key therapy,” Noah offered to Madison.

  “Are you all crazy?” she complained.

  “Not at all,” he replied. He had turned off his Arnold app. “Parked off-roaders conversations are low key therapy sessions.”

  Before Madison had a chance to reply Dudette shouted, “Aren’t you here to see that ginormous machine?”

  “Dudette is right,” followed Stitch, “let’s go, skurt!”

  Stitch let all the horsepower of his 450cc bike rip. He climbed a hill to the west of Dead Man’s Point and was out of sight in a few seconds. Noah and Madison were next, following his dust trail.

  ***

  They all stared at a big yellow machine. It looked, to Noah, like an oversized bulldozer with a large diameter drill or mill head on a boom. He had seen something like it before on the internet when he was writing a paper for his science class about modern-day mining techniques versus methods used in the past. It was a mobile tunnel boring machine. Farther up ahead, two to three hundred yards, they could easily make out an eight-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire on top. Attached to the fence were large metal signs reading; “NO TRESPASSING, GOVERNMENT PROPERTY,” signifying the boundary of the Naval Weapons Center.

  The mobile rig slowly progressed toward the last outcropping of the Tunnel Archaeologists’ Dead Man’s Point. “It looks as if it’s heading toward that old mine over there,” observed Madison, pointing.

  “Yeah,” answered Noah. He could see that some of the old shoring timbers, once used to barricade the mine’s entrance, had been removed and the tunnel boring machine was traveling into it. Two men in overalls walked alongside. A bald guy wearing a blue suit and red necktie stood a short distance away from the machine. He was talking on a cell phone. Why in the hell would he be dressed like that in the desert? Noah marveled. He removed the iPhone from his pocket and snapped a picture.

  Stitch was quick to react again and sped toward the spectacle. From around the machine, two more men appeared, dressed in black. They were carrying semi-automatic rifles. When Stitch came closer to the machine, bald guy gave a signal and one of the gun-toting men fired a warning shot into the air. Stitch slammed on the brakes, and his Yamah
a skidded sideways to a stop. Noah recognized the weapons the two men were lugging. They were M16A’s with 30 round clips. His uncle had demonstrated the effectiveness of the weapon to Noah at the Navy’s gun range. He snapped another photo.

  “This is not a mission priority,” Stitch loudly commanded, “everybody book!” Stitch throttled hard, and the Tunnel Archaeologists fled after him retracing the journeyed trail.

  Chapter 12

  - Darwin -

  Ironwood drove to the center of town, and Pemba sat alongside in the passenger seat. Amy had gone with Gideon and Dutch. Amy looked forward to a ride in the Joint Light Tactical Vehicle. Their first stop was at Mavis Blister’s place. Her house trailer was seven blocks from Ironwood’s home at the very end of 6th Avenue. The street’s name sounded upscale. However 6th Avenue in Darwin was a narrow dirt trail approximately three-hundred-feet in length cluttered here and there with discarded washing machines, rusty fifty-five-gallon oil drums and broken down old furniture. A white picket fence, in badly need of paint, surrounded Mavis' trailer.

  Mavis did something that an overweight octogenarian should never do. She was wearing a string bikini. When the two vehicles pulled up to her place, she was seated in a lawn chair in front of a painter's canvas clipped to an easel. At the sound of the car doors slamming she stood up holding a paintbrush and an artist's palette. Oh God, thought Ironwood, don’t stand up.

  “Hi Professor,” Mavis hailed from across the short fence.

  “Hello, Mrs. Blister,” he returned. “Please don’t get up on our account. Continue what you were doing before we interrupted,” he hoped. Pemba appeared at Ironwood’s side, looking embarrassed shielding her eyes with an opened hand.

  Amy, Gideon, and Dutch pulled up the rear after exiting their vehicle. Her two companions acted equally uncomfortable. Amy just smiled at the embarrassment of the others; she seemed to know the elderly Mavis all too well. “Come on in all of you,” Mavis offered. “Can I get ya all a lemonade or somethin’ stronger?”

  “No thank you, Mrs. Blister,” replied the Professor, “we can only stay a minute,” he opened the gate in the fence surrounding her house trailer and gazed at the canvas on the easel. Ironwood looked dumbfounded.

  “Is everything all right Professor?” she asked, eyeballing his unease.

  The lady was talented, he mused. She painted with even brushstrokes creating stark reality. What he was witnessing brought back frightful memories from the past year. Acrylic layered darkness shrouded the edges of the canvas with flaring marks left on the surface by movements of a brush, while at its center was a tunnel. It stretched to infinity using single point perspective. White five-sided tiles notched at the bottom comprised the walls, floor, and ceiling of the passageway.

  The image was entirely familiar to Professor Thomas Ironwood. The painting was a reproduction of a section of the tunnels that he and Alan Ward had explored beneath the Mojave Desert and later where he had become entombed.

  Pemba broke the silence, “What is the meaning of this image, Mrs. Blister?”

  “Oh hell, I don’t know dearie. It’s from one of them dreams I’ve been havin’. You told em’ about my dreams, Professor?”

  Ironwood turned and looked at Mavis. At first, he did not recognize her. What did she just ask me? “Yes,” he finally replied, slowly becoming aware. “Pemba is here to help us with the anomaly.” Turning to the others, he explained, “I recently made Mrs. Blister aware that she wasn’t the only one in town experiencing the night time visions, since the collapse of the abandoned mine shaft.”

  “Oh, hell’s bells Professor, it ain’t just after that old mine caved in. It’s been happening on and off for years. Long before I ever lived in Darwin, I hear tell.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” interrupted Gideon. “You are saying that there are past events similar to what you are experiencing?”

  “You bet,” she shot back. “My husband, God rest his soul, learned about it from some of his drinkin’ buddies. They’d told him that back in the better mining days, there was times when some people in town saw visions whether they was wide awake or sleepin’. Some of them got God awful sick to their stomachs too.”

  “When did these events occur?” he asked.

  “Have no idea, long ago, on and off. Maybe find somethin’ about it in the newspaper.”

  “Newspaper?”

  “The Inyo Register.”

  ***

  Gideon and Dutch left Ironwood and Pemba to interview some of the other dreamers in town. Amy Murchison still tagged along with them. They had parked in front of a timeworn and weather-beaten structure near the Darwin Post Office. Long-standing, it endured the test of time well. Constructed of vertical six-inch square timbers and one lone window secured with thick iron bars, it stood like a battlement. Above the front entry, they could barely make out the faded letters, “Inyo Register.” A heavy piece of strap iron spanned the door, held in place by a padlock the size of a man’s fist, forbade entry.

  Gideon regarded Dutch with a mischievous smile, “Looks like we are locked out, Dutch.”

  The big Dutchman grinned, undid a flap on the tarp covering the contents of the JLTV's companion trailer. Strapped to the bed was a long metal toolbox. Unlatching the lid, he produced a three-foot-long prybar. With all the confidence of a powerful being, Dutch sauntered up to the front door, inserted one end of the prybar between the iron strap and the shackle on the padlock and pulled using both hands. The biceps and forearms of the blond giant bulged, and the metal shackle snapped, dropping the lock to a wooden walkway. Stepping to one side, Dutch gingerly kicked the door open and bowed before his cohorts.

  Inside were a few ancient looking desks and a wall covered with oak file cabinets all heavily laden with decades of dust. Dutch, still holding his crowbar, proceeded to pry all the locked file drawers open one at a time.

  ***

  Ironwood sat across from Gwendolyn Gilhooley. She was seated at her desk and had just sent a print request from her PC. “Good to see you again Professor.”

  “You are looking well Gwen.” The last time Ironwood had met with her, she was still a Petty Officer Second Class stationed at the NWC. Gwen had married Lieutenant Jason Riggs, and she was now a civilian working for the civil engineering firm of Addams, Barnes, and Bullock.

  Gwen removed two eight-and-one-half-by-eleven sheets from the printer tray. “I’ve been with A, B, & B for over six months now and loving every minute of it. They have a great design team, but when I first came here, their field crews left a little to desire. It seems they lacked when it came to their soil reports and survey layouts. Some of the guys, in construction, we work with, use to say that A, B, & B was an abbreviation for Anything But Brains. I was hired to whip them into shape.”

  “And I am sure you did just that,” Ironwood appreciated her type “A” personality and guessed that she was probably a tomboy when growing up. Gwen had led the Seabees, a year earlier, to blow a hole in the earth and through the tunnel ceiling, with an expertly placed dynamite charge, to facilitate his rescue. He was eternally grateful to her. She had also summoned him to her office in Ridgecrest with a simple, albeit hair-raising text message. It read: “NS is tunneling.”

  “It looks like you have another adventure ahead of you Professor. I wish I could accompany you, however,” she turned in her swivel chair and lightly patted her stomach. “Junior is on the way. Poor Jason and I have been married for less than a year, and he is getting an instant family,” she laughed. “His brother’s son lives with us now, and fatherhood is just around the corner. That’s how I got these two photos, by the way. Noah, Jason’s nephew, was off-roading with his buddies and took these,” she added handing him the printed papers.

  Ironwood stared long and hard at the color printouts. One was of a piece of construction equipment, he was familiar with, and it scared the hell out of him. It was a mobile tunnel boring machine. The other was a bald man in a blue suit. It was Neville Stream.

  *** />
  Gideon was holding Pemba’s hand. It was unintentional, he thought. They had been standing close, side-by-side when their hands touched. Instinctively their fingers intertwined. He barely gave it a second thought. It was just the natural thing to do, he felt, and he somehow knew that she sensed it too.

  They were at the end of town staring at the vestiges of the old shaft mine. A depression in the earth occupied the area where a deep hole in the earth once opened, but now collapsed in upon itself. Sun-bleached ragged juniper fence posts tangled amidst rusty barbwire, formerly a barrier cordoning off the area, lay scattered and broken, unmistakably the aftermath of the cave-in. An age-old tin sign rested flat on the ground in front of Gideon and Pemba. It read:

  DANGER

  KEEP OUT

  AREA CLOSED

  ABANDONED MINE

  “Ominous,” observed Gideon with a graveside reverence.

  “A man died here many years ago,” Pemba added in a somber tone.

  They turned, and their eyes met, “You can sense that?” he inquired.

  Pemba sadly nodded the affirmative. Gideon pulled her close, “What else do you sense?” he smiled.

  She became evasive declaring, “Another cave-in, years ago, but they kept digging. The lust for gold was very strong. There is something else though . . . It pulls at me . . . it is very old, older than this place,” she shuddered.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Pemba gazed past Gideon with an abstract stare, “Deaths, chaos, confusion . . . ground shakes, many horrible dreams . . . some . . . thing, not of this earth.”

  Gideon gently shook Pemba with both hands on her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He noticed as they walked away, that Pemba gradually broke free from her lethargy the farther they retreated from the collapsed mine shaft. “I asked Mrs. Murchison to round up everyone for a meeting back at the Professor’s,” he announced while gently putting an arm around her. The sun was starting to set. “We came across some old newspaper articles that might clarify what you are experiencing.”