“Here is buried the beast most foul… Fire and sword did sever the head immortal, forever entombed beneath sand and stone. Be warned all who read these words. Heed the screaming guards within and keep dry the earth lest you wake the monster and taste its mighty vengeance.”
King went to work with the chisel again, destroying Alexander’s message, which had withstood the ravages of time thanks to the lack of weather on the plains. When the stone was completely smooth, he walked back to his side of the stone, and looked at the symbol he had carved, five feet tall.
He had never used the symbol before, but since Alexander — the first pillar in the Herculean Society’s insignia — was now gone from the Earth for good, it seemed fitting to start a new legacy. The Herculean Society and its wraith protectors served King now, and he wanted the new symbol to be familiar to them, but to reflect a change in the guard. It was simple and would be easily recognizable to speakers of all languages around the world and through the ages. Over the following years, leaders and governments would come to know the symbol, and what it meant.
Danger.
Stay away.
You don’t want any part of this.
They would learn to trust the symbol, and that ignoring its warning led to peril. The Herculean Society symbol had worked in the same way over the ages. It wasn’t known to all countries throughout history. Its meaning was lost and found as power shifted between nations and continents. Not every president understood it as a warning, including Tom Duncan, but they usually learned, often the hard way. Where the Herculean Society symbol was found, strange and deadly danger awaited. And whatever it was, someone else was handling it. Someone who knew better.
The symbol was the reason the Bermuda Triangle was still largely unexplored and unexplained. It was the reason the Russians still kept people away from Krasnoyarsk Krai, where the Tunguska comet had detonated. It was the reason no one would ever know what really happened to Roanoke.
King stepped back and looked at his new symbol. It was similar enough to the original that those who recognized the Herculean Society symbol might recognize the authority of the new.
It was crude, but it would do.
He turned and started walking away from the giant boulder that covered the cave. There was just one more thing to do.
He had lived an incredibly long life, impervious to harm. He almost couldn’t remember what it had been like to be afraid of death or to know that an injury could be permanent. In a way, he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be human.
King reached into the small pouch on his belt and removed an auto injector. It was similar to the serum the team had used on the Ridleys to rob them of their Hydra-induced regenerative abilities. But King’s version of the serum had started off as a potion Alexander had left for him in a Herculean Society base in Greenland. King had ordered some of his scientists working for the Society to analyze it and make small adjustments to it. If he injected it into himself, it would once again alter his DNA. It would remove the regenerative abilities Alexander had granted him by slipping herbs into his tea all those years ago. It would also remove his immortality.
He had lived a long, long time. He was ready to settle down with his family — his fiancée and his adopted daughter. He was ready to live a normal lifespan, and when the time came, he was ready to die.
He placed the injector against his skin, the metal warm from the hot sun beating down on him for the last several hours. He looked at the metal around the glass vial as it glinted in the sun. Over 2800 years. He wondered if he would still have the memories and experiences of those years, once his genetic code was rewritten, or whether, like his healing abilities, all that would fade as well.
He activated the high-pressure injector, and then it snapped loudly, driving the serum into his body. He expected to feel something, even though his techs had told him he would not.
All he felt was the slight sting on his arm from where the needle had punctured his skin. He removed the injector and looked at his arm. The needle hole oozed a tiny drop of blood. He wiped it away with his finger, and noted that the puncture wound had not closed up instantly as it would have in the past.
Easy come, easy go.
King looked up at the sky. It would be late afternoon in New Hampshire now. He pulled out a black satellite phone and called home. It took some rings and digital clicks, but the call went through.
“It’s done,” he said, when Deep Blue answered. “I am officially younger than you again.”
“Not really,” Deep Blue said.
“You know what I mean,” King replied.
Deep Blue chuckled. “Then you won’t mind if I start bossing you around again?”
King smiled. A mission was coming. “Where do you want me?”
“Home,” Deep Blue said. “Just come home.”
“Copy that,” King said. “I’ll be there for supper.”
As he hung up the phone, a high pitched whistle turned him around.
Rook stood at the top of the hill, lowering his hands. Beside him stood Queen, Bishop and Knight. And they weren’t alone. George Pierce, Sara, Fiona, Asya and his parents had all made the trip with him. A trip to say goodbye to the past and to welcome home their future.
Rook, however, had a few more words to say. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted down the hill, “That is the shittiest ‘K’ I have ever seen!”
King laughed and started up the hill as Fiona raced down to meet him.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JEREMY ROBINSON is the bestselling author of thirty novels and novellas including ISLAND 731, SECONDWORLD, and the Jack Sigler series including PULSE, INSTINCT, THRESHOLD and RAGNAROK. Robinson is also known as the #1 Amazon.com horror writer, Jeremy Bishop, author of THE SENTINEL and the controversial novel, TORMENT. His novels have been translated into eleven languages. He lives in New Hampshire with his wife and three children.
Visit him online at: www.jeremyrobinsononline.com
KANE GILMOUR has visited or lived in over 40 countries around the world. A former rock climber and mountain biker, he now kayaks, and still explores the furthest reaches of the world, as time permits. He is the author of RESURRECT and THE CRYPT OF DRACULA and the co-author of the bestselling Jack Sigler thriller, RAGNAROK. He lives in the wilds of central Vermont with his wife, son, and daughter. He is working on his next novel and planning his next international excursion.
Visit him online at: www.kanegilmour.com
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