by Byron Craft
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Martin.
“Making the world’s largest pipe bomb.”
“Where’d you get the pipes?” he asked.
“Don’t use the bathrooms on the main floor.”
When the doors slid open, they were greeted by a massive collider tunnel. Cylindrical, except for the flat floor, the twenty-foot wide channel stretched on to what seemed infinity. Almost every inch of wall space was lined with pipes and conduits of all diameters. Fluorescent lights along the ceiling brightly lit its progress.
Seven experiments were located along the collider; each of them studied particle collisions from a different aspect, and with different technologies. Construction for the experiments necessitated an extraordinary engineering effort. A giant crane had been imported from Belgium to lower pieces of the CMS detector into its underground cavern. Each piece weighed nearly 2,000 tons. Approximately 10,000 magnets were lowered down a special shaft during the construction.
“I took a tour of this facility last year,” announced Molly Gibson. “The CMS, Compact Muon Solenoid, is a general-purpose detector at the Large Hadron Collider. Its broad physics program is to search for extra dimensions and particles that could make up dark matter. If my memory serves me the control center is this way.”
Seen from above, the CERN Control Center resembled the shape of a quadrupole magnet. Computer consoles were distributed in four circular islands dedicated to the collider. The complex and the technical infrastructure allowed the AI controlled islands to be constantly in touch with one another, thus ensuring the best performance of the machine.
“This appears to be the main control?” asked Romero stepping up to a large computer console.
“I believe you are right,” Molly responded. “And through that window is Atlas, Octant 1.”
“Then that’s where I plant the bomb,” confirmed Doucette.
“Yes, but how are you going to set it off? We’ll need split-second timing.”
“I’ve hooked up a detonator with two cell phones. Just say the word, and I’ll make the call. Hit the speed dial and BOOM!
“Now all we’ll have to do is figure out how to operate this thing?” replied Romero looking overwhelmed.
“Que faites-vous aujourd’hui?”
The six turned in unison to observe an older unshaven man in a white lab coat. He started to say something else, and Molly interrupted, “He’s speaking French. French and English are the two excepted languages at the CERN. He asked, what are you doing?”
“Find out if he speaks English?” asked Martin.
Molly followed up with, “Parlez-vous Anglais?”
“Oui, what are you doing here?” answering the question with a heavy accent.
“We need to activate the collider,” informed Molly.
“No, no you are not authorized.”
“Please, we need your help.”
“No, you must go!”
“I will try to reason with him... explain the situation.”
“We don’t have time for this,” declared Doucette. The Staff sergeant drew his sidearm from his holster and fired a shot into the floor next to the Frenchman’s foot. The stranger jumped back, and Doucette placed the gun barrel next to the man’s temple. “Fire this thing up, or it’s all over, Pal.”
Chapter 17:
The Front
Outside CERN
Martin Storch walked away from the five-story circular office building that encompassed the offices for the CERN. It took some convincing of his fellow companions to allow him to be the one to face Cthulhu. None of them were certain of the extent or the range of the black hole they were attempting to create. They all agreed that having the Old One as close as possible to the collider, before detonation, was the best bet. The compound’s surveillance cameras presented a limited view; and a sacrificial lamb with the cellphone triggering device in hand, would be the most advantageous. Truly a suicide mission, he told himself.
Molly didn’t want him to go. Sergeant Doucette, at first, had volunteered to be the one, but Martin persevered. Doucette, he insisted, needed to stay in the control room with Romero to make sure that his IED would work. If it failed to detonate, then he would have to restore it to working condition and then face the demon again. There would probably not be enough time for a second shot, Martin recognized, but no one challenged his supposition.
* * *
“Your improvised explosive device will have to explode at the top quark,” explained Romero to Doucette.
Doucette looked at him with an uncomprehending blank vacantness.
Romero recognizing the Sergeant’s perplexed expression attempted to explain further, “The collider will boost protons and accelerate them to a speed close to that of light. They will collide with other protons producing massive particles, the Higgs boson, i.e. the top quark, and that is when your bomb should go off.”
“Duly noted,” he smiled only understanding as much as needed. “Not to worry tech, the Samsung Galaxy Note9 I’ve wired to the detonator will go through one ring generation from Martin’s call before ignition. When it rings is when you hit ‘Enter’ on your keyboard. If your protons are as fast as you say the timing should be perfect.”
* * *
Major Stephan Diggs’ nav-system displayed the target on its 3-D display. The F-35 was at 60,000 feet. He was only minutes from his objective. He smiled into his oxygen mask, at that ceiling, no other jet in the world can perform tactical maneuvers at that level. Stevie Diggs activated the cruise missile’s laser guidance system. He waited to receive the “GO” code.
* * *
DEAD GENEVA. It was a sight Martin Storch would never get used to. There was a park up ahead, swings and a play frame, he walked toward it. Not a soul in sight. A place peopled by laughing children and whispering lovers now a graveyard. Next, to the curb, he picked up a little Snoopy pull toy which some child had left behind. “You’ll pay the Fisher-Price Cthulhu,” he smiled at his play on words. “I hope I’m right.”
* * *
After everything was decided, Martin stood at the elevator doors waiting for it to take him to ground level. Molly ran up, tears in her eyes, and begged him not to go.
Martin took her into his arms. “Remember when I said that we must talk about our relationship?”
She nodded sobbing.
“Well, what I wanted to tell you was that a while back, before all of this Cthulhu crap happened, I was diagnosed with throat cancer. It wasn’t such a big deal at the time because the Doc’s caught it in its early stages and they were very confident that with treatment they would be able to put it into remission. Well, that was then, and this is now. With less than ten percent of the people walking around on the planet, it is highly unlikely that there are Cancer Specialists alive to care for me or a treatment facility still operating. It is just a matter of time before the cancerous symptoms will rear their ugly head and it will become horribly painful to drink even a glass of water. So, you see there is no one better qualified than me to go out among the dead skulls full of mush to face hell.”
“Hell is only the absence of God,” Molly sniveled.
“Thank you for the biblical reference,” he answered with a straight face.
“Are you sure it is on the way?”
“Definitely. Cthulhu is a four-dimensional being. He can probably see the CERN collider in its future.”
“No one is certain what the effect will be once the wormhole is opened,” she stated attempting to wipe away her tears.
“Neither do I. Maybe nothing. Maybe it will collapse our world around us. Maybe the gravitational field of the stars will be influenced. Or it could trap Cthulhu and reset time to before He rose. Whole new paradoxes could develop. Maybe He will sleep again for a hundred million years or so. I haven't got a clue, my dear. But I do know that we've got to do it. It’s our only choice, not dropping another A-bomb on it.”
Molly nodded still wiping at the waterworks, produced a hipfl
ask full of vodka and offered it to Martin. “Here, you may need this.”
“No thanks. I’m going to face this bastard with a clear head.” Wiping the tears away with a handkerchief he reassured her, “You go now and help with that particle collider. Once you don’t believe in Matter anymore it can’t hamper you,” he smiled and put false bravado behind his words. “I never had any doubts about your abilities.”
He left Molly behind watching her cry her eyes out. “You are an orchid in a bed of wildflowers,” he bid goodbye as the elevator doors closed.
* * *
Martin stretched and took a deep breath. “Time to get on with it,” he told himself. It was up to him to confront the Hollow Man; hold him to account. But he couldn’t. His breath became labored, sweat showed on the back of his hand that held the iPhone, the triggering device. The anxiety was too much. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, knowing full well that no one alive could hear him. He just stood there, out in the open, his back to the town and his head tilted to one side, much like a dog listening for something just below man’s ability to hear.
The faint sound of an automobile approaching became apparent. It was a Range Rover. It came to a screeching halt at the park’s entrance, and Molly Gibson exited the vehicle leaving the driver’s side door wide open and the engine running.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted as she threw her arms around him.
“I’m not letting you do this alone,” she hollered back. “I’m staying by your side.”
“Get out of here while there is still time. Get back in that car and drive away from here as fast as you can.”
“Not on your life you crazy bastard!”
Martin could tell that it was no use arguing with her and so he fell into his brevity habit, “You could at least turn off the car’s engine. You are increasing your carbon footprint. Global warming you know,”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
* * *
Kevin Berry’s arm shivered with revulsion. He wore disposable latex gloves while opening the Ziploc bag. The President of the United States trembled placing the severed had of Judith Hampton on the Football’s touch screen. He spread the fingers and thumb out to line up with the handprint pattern outlined on the screen. A ready light winked, and a “Go” icon appeared on the display. The President touched the symbol with his index finger.
* * *
Major Stephan Diggs received the green light. The target had been acquired. He flipped the plastic protection cover away from the release switch. After throwing the switch, an activation alert light blinked in his Heads-up display.
The cruise missile dropped from the belly of the F-35. Its rocket motor went into ignition mode, and it roared toward its objective.
* * *
Martin Storch, the world’s most influential atheist who spoke the truth to the brainwashed and frightened about reality and the impossibilities in the universe confronted a horrendous impossibility. Molly buried her face in his shoulder not wanting to view the approaching horror. They heard the faint sound of a jet overhead. It was overcast, a low ceiling as the weathercasters might describe it, he decided. The leviathan poked its head down from the clouds. Martin suddenly felt insignificant. The creature existed solid and perceptible in his vision. Its tendrils slid across the surface of Martin’s mind. There were three distinct eyes in its head, two facing forward and one high up near the crown. Tentacles flowed from where the nose and mouth should be. It is looking at me, he thought and then his speculation tuned into the reality that Cthulhu was peering past him toward the CERN. It advanced quicker now on legs the size of elephants. Legs covered in massive polyps. Oh, good God, he caught himself thinking, he recognized the polyps as shoggoths clinging to their master. Along for the ride?
A severe pain knocked and clawed at Martin’s skull. He wished that he had taken Molly’s offer of the vodka. In two monstrous strides, one of Cthulhu’s enormous feet crushed the swing set.
Martin raised the iPhone in his right hand. Shouting to the rooftops or the advancing demon he proclaimed, “It stands to reason that this old one-eyed bastard would be your downfall.” He touched the “Call” icon with his thumb.
There was a sucking sound and for the atheist, Martin Storch, everything went black.
Chapter 18:
Eventless
1300 UTC (or 1 pm Greenwich Mean Time)
23 March
Algonquin Hotel
59 West 44th Street
New York City
Just shy of 1 p.m. Percy (staying in the other half of the suite) opened the connecting door and shook Martin awake. He balanced two glasses on the tray one-handed. “Your tuh-MAH-toh juice, Sir.”
Martin Storch fluffed his pillow behind him and sat up in bed. He looked lean and healthy. Martin was in that trippy state between wakefulness and sleep. He almost felt surprised to see Percy, but that did not make sense. Had he dreamt something about Cthulhu? The specter of images warped, and the mental escapade faded from memory. The sheets rustled next to him and Molly sat up.
“Good morning, Mum,” Percy greeted.
“Good morning, Percy,” she replied returning the greeting.
Martin rubbed the sleep from both his eyes with his hands. “Which one is mine, Perce?”
“The glass on the left, Sir.”
“That concoction doesn’t bother your throat anymore?’ asked Molly removing the other glass from the tray and watching Percy return to his quarters.
“Not a bit, anymore. A dash of Tabasco and a splash of Worcestershire. Tastes and feels like old times.”
“The Doctor said that you are in full remission. After our spot tonight on Colbert’s show we head for Mount Sinai Hospital and your final chemo treatment. They “clinked” juice glasses and she added, “I love you, Martin Storch.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Storch,” he rejoined with a big smile.
About the Authors
BYRON CRAFT started out writing screenplays, moved on to authoring articles for several magazines and finally evolved his writing style into exciting, sci-fi, fantasy, horror novels.
Byron has published three novels in a planned five-novel mythos series that reflects the influence of H.P Lovecraft. Byron Craft's first novel "The CRY of CTHULHU," initially released under the title "The Alchemist's Notebook," was the reincarnation and expansion of one of his most memorable screenplays.
Craft demonstrates he is as capable a novelist as scriptwriter. In his second novel, “SHOGGOTH” he continues with all the ingredients of a classic Lovecraft tale, with some imaginative additions. In “SHOGGOTH 2: RISE OF THE ELDERS” Craft revives some of his most endearing characters and ties them together on an adventure to save humankind from atrocities they are blissfully unaware.
Craft’s Arkham Detective series started from an idea that just wouldn’t leave his imagination. The four story series watches the evolution of one very different detective that investigates things that “go bump in the night.” Set in the 1930’s, the hard-boiled detective’s career takes an interesting twist when “normal” flies out the window.
Craft enjoys writing full-length stories and would love to get feedback from his readers. Please visit his website at ByronCraftBooks.com
SEAN HOADE is the author of 18 books, including novels both genre and literary, a book of nonfiction, and a collection of short stories. Retired now due to health issues, he lives in Las Vegas and still occasionally gives talks on writing at pop culture conventions.
Other works by Byron Craft:
The Mythos Project Series:
The Cry of Cthulhu
Shoggoth
Shoggoth 2: Rise of the Elders
The Arkham Detective Series:
Cthulhu’s Minions
The Innsmouth Look
The Devil Came to Arkham
The Dunwich Dungeon
The Arkham Detective Collection
***
THE MYTHOS PROJECT SERIES
The CRY of
CTHULHU
(Originally published under the title: The Alchemist’s Notebook.) This novelization of The Cry of Cthulhu film project is about a shell-shocked Vietnam vet, and his wife. They inherit an old country estate in Germany around the time his company transfers him to the same area. The two soon discover that the coincidence is really too good to be true.
Their home rests near a timeworn door into the earth that is poised to open, exposing all to a horde of four-dimensional beings. Soon the line between our reality and that other space-time will be blurred forever, leaving mankind to be consumed by shrill, shrieking terror. Only one man has the slimmest chance to save our planet and, even though he has no place to hide, he prefers to run. [Book One]
SHOGGOTH
An accepted theory exists that millions of years ago a celestial catastrophic occurrence wiped out every living thing on the planet. This theory may be flawed. Fast-forward to the 21st century. A handful of scientists, allied with the military, discover a massive network of tunnels beneath the Mojave Desert. Below, lies an ancient survivor, waiting...and it's hungry! [Book Two]
SHOGGOTH 2: RISE OF THE ELDERS
Who creates and controls the shoggoths? For Professor Thomas Ironwood and his heavily armed team, the answer is crucial. The fate of the free world hangs in the balance.
The solution? Return to the tunnels beneath the Mojave Desert, locate a gigantic subterranean vault and unlock the secrets it contains. Deadly primal secrets that lie in wait from a time before human life began!
