by null
What in all the hells is that thing, wondered Harris, his mind swirling, grasping at straws. It was one thing to dutifully trot off to services every Sunday, to drone prayers along with the rest of the congregation, mouthing homilies as he had done since childhood. Where he was at that instant in time was something completely different—something for which he was not prepared. Now he was faced with what appeared to be exactly what he had been praying about all that time, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
Dear Jesus in Heaven, he thought. Is this it? Staring at the one monitor someone in the room had managed to get working once more, the major general studied the moving images they had chosen to replay. Once more watching the shambling monstrosity blaze its way across his domain with impunity, he wondered;
Is it … that thing … is it a demon, some kind of devil—the Devil?
And then the absurdity of what Harris had just said reminded the commander of an old Weekly World News cover. It had featured a diabolical face superimposed over a cloud above the Chernobyl nuclear reactor. The headline had read: Satan Escapes from Hell.
It couldn’t be, he thought to himself, worked hard to believe. But if it’s not, then what? What is it?
A blazing, silent beast striding the earth, destroying the faithful, obliterating his men with ease, wiping all he had been charged to keep whole from the face of the planet. Merciless, monstrous—evil incarnate.
Is it? the major general continued to wonder. Could it be? Could it actually be?
A second series of tremendous quakes rattled the command post at that moment, overturning tables and chairs, throwing people to the ground, disrupting the ever so recently reestablished power. Lights flickered once more; computer screens phased in and out of operation. The new, major tremors were followed by a series of lesser ones, then another massive blast that rattled the entire building, violently shaking the roof and showering the interior with the dust of decades. As he staggered back to his feet, Harris demanded;
“What in the name of God is going on?”
“I’m on the line with Charlie command, sir!” shouted an officer who had already managed to regain his footing. “That, that thing—whatever it is—it’s blasting the ground. It’s not even trying to hit anything. They say it’s just firing randomly, into the sky, burning the hills. It’s throwing energy in every direction… . It’snot even looking for targets anymore.”
The soldier seemed ready to say more, then stopped suddenly. Realizing the officer was receiving further updates through his com link, Harris held his mounting questions, giving his subordinate a moment to not only finish listening to whatever message was coming in but to compose himself. Listening to the nervous edge in the man’s voice a moment earlier, the major general had been afraid the officer was about to lose control.
“Sir,” Harris let go a silent sigh of relief at the renewed vigor in the officer’s tone. The commander could tell from the single word that somehow the soldier had pulled himself together even though what he had to report was worse news. “The … the thing …”
The major general understood the officer’s hesitation. It had dawned on Harris suddenly that by using the word “thing” that he was describing the force they were struggling against as some sort of actual, possibly even living being. The major general nodded to the man, a motion giving the officer silent approval to continue. Swallowing hard, the soldier added;
“It’s moving again, sir. It appears the moment the objective was delivered to Post Baker, the thing started on a direct path toward that post.”
“Sir,” interrupted Klein, dusting himself off. “If I might make a suggestion?”
“Right now I’m open to even civilian opinions.”
The FBI man took an extra second to make certain of his footing, then hurried across the room, saying, “We’re out of the city, out in the country. They worry about fires everywhere, but out here, where there isn’t a fire hydrant every forty feet, they have to have different options—right?” Not being slow on the uptake, Harris saw instantly where Klein was trying to lead him;
“You’re talking forest-fire equipment, helicopters outfitted with water-drop bags, chemical foam bombs—that kind of thing. Right?”
“That was my thought, sir.”
Immediately the major general sprang into action. Signaling his communications officer, he ordered the man to mobilize the fort’s own firefighting teams. Then, as soon as that was accomplished, he was to pull together a team as quickly as possible and to get them working on finding any additional firefighting equipment that might be available in the area.
“Put no more than five minutes into each call,” Harris ordered. “And if they don’t volunteer their services, send a detachment at top speed to confiscate everything they have.” As the soldier snapped off a salute, then turned to start putting those he picked to work, the major general called out to another of his aides;
“Captain, I’m willing to gamble that damn Hell thing is in tune with our Dream Stone. That it somehow knows where it is at all times.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get in touch with Post Baker. Grab a Jeep and get out there in person if the phones are out. That damned monster thing, whatever it is, it’s obviously attracted to Mr. Klein’s Dream Stone. All right, fine, if that’s the case, then I want that thing stuffed into something light and fast, and I want it in motion.”
“Sir … ?”
“Get it in a truck and get it moving. We want to keep that thing in the area and we want to keep it busy.”
And, with those words, all across the command center the faces of men and women began to light up as they regained their confidence. Their leader had a plan. Something for them to focus upon, to work toward. Brushing at the dust covering his head, Harris stared into the face of the FBI man standing next to him and said;
“We’ll knock this thing down a peg yet, what do you think, Mr. Klein?”
“Goddamn it, sir,” responded the agent, crossing his fingers as the entire command center suddenly shook once more, “but you just might be right.”
Then, Klein closed his eyes for a moment and offered up a prayer in the Hebrew that he had not used for a very long time.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Foolish mortal …”
Professor Piers Knight lay on the ground, panting, steam rising from his pain-wracked body. The part of his brain that had managed to regain control over at least some of its functions was desperately struggling to get him moving once more with little success.
“Your pitiful resistance …”
With a Homeric effort the professor managed to flip himself over, his back coming away from the ground, his hands bracing for the inevitable impact. Catching himself a split second before the action would have driven his face into the cemetery lawn, Knight fought the urge to simply collapse.
“Do you understand now, human, how useless such actions are?”
The professor nodded weakly, struggling to give off an outward appearance of weak compliance while his brain raced to make use of the information it had acquired.
He now understood that the man known as Hamid Bakur was long gone, that he had been completely replaced by the horror sneering within Knight’s own mind. The thing living within the terrorist’s former shell was burning it away at a rapid pace, using its life force at a tremendous rate. The professor had also learned that the thing was indeed from another dimension. And that within its home plane of existence it was known as the A’ademir.
“You’ve been here before,” gasped Knight, stalling for time. Releasing his words as slowly as possible, using each of them as a desperate bid to regain his strength, he said, “Thousands of years ago. You came to this world. You devoured Memak’tori.”
In his mind, during the burning moment of agony in which he and the A’ademir had shared consciousness, the professor had witnessed the entire affair. Nearly ten thousand years in the past, the world’s first great metropolis had grown too fast, b
ecome too cosmopolitan too quickly. Within its boundaries, possessed by the arrogance of the naive, its citizens believed all truly intelligent beings had to be benevolent.
“Its inhabitants … their minds, their souls,” Knight gasped audibly, more for dramatic purposes than to capture breath. Forcing his knees to bend, his arms to slowly push his body upward, he continued to stall, asking, “The freshness of their ideas, the purity of the ideals … that’s what attracted you here. That … that’s why you’re here again—isn’t it?”
“You are a wonderfully clever little bug, Piers Knight. I am certain you will prove to be one of the tastiest morsels to be found when I return.”
“Yes, that’s the key, isn’t it?” Lifting his hands from the ground, his feet finally planted firmly beneath himself once more, the professor stood slowly, then turned to face the horror from beyond. Coughing, not surprised to taste blood as he did so, Knight wiped at his mouth as he asked;
“That’s why you haven’t been able to simply reach out and suck away my life essence, or anyone else’s. You’re not actually here yet, are you?”
The Bakur thing stood unmoving for a moment, then raised its hands until they were at the level of the puppet’s waist. The horror paused for another few seconds and then, with mocking slowness, applauded Knight’s answer. Forcing a smile onto its face, the shambler said;
“So exceptionally clever. You are correct, Piers Knight. I do not touch at this moment, in any sense in which you understand the physical planes of existence, touch your world—no. Not yet. But I shall soon. As soon as the mite which I have dispatched to retrieve the beacon completes its task.”
“The Dream Stone,” gasped Knight. Finally standing erect once more, honestly swaying slightly from the exertion, the professor took a moment to steady himself before he ended up falling back to the ground. Then, panting, he wiped at his mouth, again, telling the thing before him, “Its form, its carvings, that’s got nothing to do with its value to you. You simply need it returned to Memak’tori. You can’t find your way back here without it being there—can you?”
“Immensely correct you are,” answered the A’ademir smugly. “But that idea shall be fact in but a handful of breaths. And then I shall flash across the face of your world consuming all in my path.”
The professor did not bother himself with trying to understand the insane geometry of it all. Why the horror could not find a location in which, in at least one sense, at least some part of it already existed was an academic puzzle that could be solved later. Right now, it gave Knight the answer he needed. Pointing at the Bakur thing, he spat;
“You, you were invited by the Memak’torians. They thought you some manner of great benefactor, some all-knowing Godhead. They imagined that interaction with you would make them gods themselves, didn’t they?”
“Always so very true. I have devoured trillions of such helplessly infantile races. Their minds, so childishly foolish, believing all advancement leads to the same destination. Last time I passed by close enough to taste your universe, it was but one small patch of you that had cluttered their minds with such gibberish—”
“But,” interrupted Knight, his breathing nearly under his control once more, “it was enough to guide you here.”
“It was. They beseeched the Heavens for such as me, and I came to them. Now, not enough of you truly believe in anything to light the way of my coming, but it matters not. Once the stone is returned to Memak’tori, that will be light enough. My Bakur puppet has welcomed me in. When his city is whole once more, I shall reap your souls by the billions.”
Knight, sweat pouring down his forehead, the taste of blood still foul in his mouth, took a long, deep breath. Gulping it down, he twisted the ring newly restored to his hand, then hissed;
“Well then, I guess we’d better remove your puppet before you can help him recover his stone.”
And, so saying, the professor threw up his hands and released the spirit of Detective James Dollins, which had been hiding within him for so long, sending it directly into the A’ademir!
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
On the burning plains of Fort Drum, firefighters emptied their hoses and released their chemical foam at the shambling horror still lighting the night sky. The monstrosity had been reduced in both size and power by their continual bombardment, but not to the point where anyone felt it might be dealt with safely. A helicopter rigged with a tremendous scoop had successfully dumped thousands of gallons of water from a nearby lake twice upon the blazing behemoth, only to then be blasted from the night sky.
“It appears we’re having an effect, sir.”
Staring through his binoculars, Major General Harris agreed with his subordinate’s estimation of the battle, but he was in no way satisfied. The commander was convinced the only reason for the limited progress they had made thus far against the burning thing was that it was in no way concerned with their struggle. Its only concern seemed to be the capture of the Dream Stone, and its single-minded aggression in that area kept it too focused on its prize to mount more than the occasional defense.
“But it’s too damn little, and it may end up being too damn late.” Lowering his binoculars, Harris shouted, “What’s the word on those bombs? Are they even anywhere nearby yet?”
“Yes, sir,” answered a lieutenant with one ear pressed firmly against a headset. “They’ve just reported in with the airfield. They’re already in our airspace, and they’ve got the target sighted.” The officer stopped speaking for a moment, obviously listening once more, then added;
“They estimate sixty seconds to target.”
All eyes in the command center turned toward the battlefield. All duties were forgotten for the moment, all hope pouring out toward the pair of unseen bombers everyone present knew were somewhere in the dark sky above them.
“Fifty-five seconds …”
Once used for dropping explosive or fiery payloads on enemy troops, they had been converted decades earlier for use in combating forest fires in the mountains of upstate New York.
“Fifty seconds …”
Outfitted with warheads that released an oxygen-smothering foam, the airships once thought to have been rendered useless by the advancing technology of war had gained a new lease on life by becoming engines of mercy. Bulky, and ponderously slow, they were completely unfit for the wars of the modern world but perfectly suited for combating the fires that ravaged it. They did possess one glaring defect, however, considering the use to which they were about to be put.
“Forty-five seconds …”
They were hideously noisy.
“Sir!” shouted Klein, a frightening thought suddenly filling his mind. “Can you hear bombers, their engines, I mean? Can you hear them coming?” When Harris admitted that he could, the FBI man added;
“Do you think that thing can hear them?”
“Forty seconds …”
Instantly understanding Klein’s implication, the major general turned to his second-in-command, barking orders. The fort’s tanks and cannons, silent for so long during the battle, were now all to open fire upon the blazing monster once again.
“Thirty-five seconds …”
From some two score points around the battlefield, from far-off cannon emplacements as well as from tanks scattered all about the area, shells began to rain down on the burning monstrosity.
“Thirty seconds …”
As before, the continual explosions had little effect on the oddly lumbering creature—
“Twenty-five seconds …”
But they did manage to capture its attention once more.
“Fifteen seconds …”
So heavy was the sudden fire that the single-minded beast could not help but notice. Its primitive mind enraged, the horror turned from its pursuit of the truck holding the Dream Stone, directing its heated fury against the shells flooding the air, tearing up the ground beneath it, their explosions sending worrisome ripples through its less-than-substantial form.
/> “Ten seconds …”
Harris clamped his teeth fast against each other, grinding them in cold fury as the blazing shambler turned its power anew against his men and machines. Searing blasts of intense flame tore through the night once more, exploding tanks, disintegrating men.
“How many more,” wondered Harris, watching his troops being burned to cinders, a part of his mind agonizing over each death while the rest of it maintained the calm every still-living member of his command desperately needed from him.
“Five seconds …”
Two more Abrams were destroyed in a furious blast spewed forth from the near-formless mass.
“Four …”
Shells exploding all about it, tremendous hunks of the Earth being launched through its ever-changing shape, the thing lashed out in a dozen directions at once, the single volley obliterating five more of the great war machines and their crews.
“Three …”
And then, suddenly the burning terror returned its attention to the Dream Stone. Perhaps its primitive instincts had redirected it; perhaps its target was reaching the boundaries of its ability to track it. Whatever the case, the monstrosity’s attention fell away completely from the continual barrage chipping away at its form, preparing one final, massive release of power.
“Two …”
Its pseudoarms raised on high, the telltale glow signaling another energy release began to build. Unerringly pointing through the darkness at the fleeing vehicle, the horror prepared its last assault—
“One!”
And then, the landscape burst in an explosion of scorching white and flying cinders.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Bakur thing, caught completely off-guard, had been splattered—knocked end over end by Knight’s assault. Yes, the puppet had been aware of the instance earlier when the spirit of Dollins had entered the professor’s body. It had realized the wraith meant to add its strength to Knight’s abilities, but it had seen no reason to worry over the fact. One human plus one ghost meant simply the power of two human souls turned against it.
