The Green Lama: Crimson Circle

by Adam Lance Garcia

  And for a moment, just as the door swung shut, Omega thought he saw Dumont open his eyes.

  • • •

  VALCO’S EARS rang like a school bell. He tried to blink away the spots floating in front of his eyes as smoke billowed against the communication room’s ceiling. He had been on the phone—No, Murdoch had been on the phone last, talking to that police officer, saying they needed to bring an army. And then… and then everything had gone black. But, there had been something else, something buried beneath the surface that had come roaring up and thrown him back… He tried to walk forward when he realized he was on his back on the ground.

  “Are you all right, Harrison?” he heard Murdoch say somewhere above him.

  Valco tried to lift his head but felt a wave of dizziness pour over him and melted back down to the floor. He looked toward the black form that moved over him and watched as it slowly transformed into Murdoch’s bruised visage. Twin trails of blood trickled down his cheeks.

  “You’re bleeding,” Valco observed.

  Murdoch smiled crookedly. “So are you.”

  Valco touched the side of his face and brought his fingers back red. “How long was I out?”

  Murdoch shook his head, he didn’t know. “I was knocked unconscious as well, I only just came to myself.”

  “I heard screaming,” Valco said, recalling the sound of a lion’s roar.

  “I heard it too,” Murdoch said as he helped Valco up. He looked toward the cracked door of the communications room they had hidden in. Behind him, Valco saw the bank of telephone wires and phones was crumpled and broken, thin wisps of smoke steaming out at every angle. “And it sounds like a lot of people are screaming now.”

  “What was it?”

  “I have no idea,” Murdoch confessed, “but whatever it was did some serious damage. Come on, we need to get out of here before anyone finds us.”

  It took three kicks to knock the door open, the twisted metal hanging from the hinges. The rest of the facility had fared little better. Uniformed and suited men and women ran around them, ears bleeding, hugging wounds from fallen machinery while black smoke billowed up against the bedrock ceiling.

  Murdoch ran a hand over his mouth. “Jesus,” he swore under his breath.

  “We need to get in the infirmary,” Valco said firmly.

  “What are you talking about?” Murdoch hissed. “We need to get out of here while we can.”

  Valco looked to Murdoch. “We’re doctors first, Frank.”

  Murdoch watched the bedlam for several seconds before he hesitantly nodded in agreement. “Follow me.”

  The infirmary was several stories beneath them, placed neared the central lift bank, but with the elevators out of commission, Murdoch and Valco had to run down the steps against the tide of the injured. There were dozens of wounded spread across the infirmary—and some dying—many of which were the facility’s medical staff.

  “Harrison, staunch any minor wounds, anything major, give it to me. Understood?” Murdoch asked, his Naval training taking over. He rolled up his sleeves and quickly washed his hands clean in the broken faucet.

  Valco slipped off his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. He grabbed a roll of gauze and ran over to the first victim, a young woman with a long gash around her otherwise comely face. It had been years since he had done general medicine, but it had been a lot longer since he’d ridden a bicycle.

  “I was—I was working on the Heart of Gold when I heard the explosion,” the woman explained distantly, her eyes dazed. She was in shock. “I think that was when the support beam hit me.”

  “I heard the explosion, too.” Valco said with a nod. He carefully turned the woman’s head left and right. The wound was generally superfluous compared to the other wounds Valco had seen, but she would live with the scar for the rest of her life. Just like the others, blood dripped from her ear. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Jenny.”

  “Jenny, I need you to press this gauze across your face,” he said, tearing off a wad of gauze and holding up to the wound. “Keep pressure on it and we’ll get you sewn up, okay?”

  “I’ll have to use my left hand,” she said. She tugged aside her right sleeve, revealing the severe compound fracture in the middle of her right forearm, the white of the bone matching her sleeve.

  Valco managed to keep his face calm. He gently helped her rest her wounded arm on her lap and position her left hand on the gauze. “I’ll get Dr. Murdoch to fix that right up, Jenny. Just make sure you keep the pressure on that wound, okay?” He waited for her to nod before moving on.

  A draped body was laid out at the far corner of the room, the white sheet horribly stained where the head should be—it was too lumpy and flat. Out of curiosity, Valco pulled back the sheet and cringed at the sight of Metchnikoff’s corpse.

  “Heh… heh…”

  Valco turned at the croaking sound behind him to find Dr. Franklin Pelham, the Crimson Hand, laid out on a gurney, his face covered with blood. Valco sighed, both out of exhaustion and resignation. His feet dragged as he approached his former officemate. “Of course you’re here.”

  “Hello, Harrison. Good to see you.”

  “You’re the ‘Franklin’ Gamma mentioned… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they brought you in as well.”

  “Oh, Harrison, they brought me in years ago.”

  “Did they?” Valco asked with little emotion, noticing the small metal counter besides Pelham’s bed, and, more specifically, the syringe placed atop it. He gestured back to Metchnikoff’s corpse. “What happened to Metchnikoff?”

  Pelham’s bloodshot eyes briefly rolled back in his head. “His mind was… Too weak.”

  Valco glanced up and quickly searched for Murdoch, finding the other doctor deeply focused on sewing up a man’s shoulder. “And how did you survive?”

  “Luck? Will of the gods?” Pelham rolled his head against the thin pillow, back and forth, as he clicked his teeth. “I wanted to visit you earlier. Wanted to see you after all these years. We had so much to catch up on, but they wouldn’t let me, said you needed to do your work. That I would be a distraction.”

  “I take it you’re the Project Manager then?” Valco asked as he reached over to the counter and secreted a syringe behind his back.

  Pelham grinned red. “But of course.”

  “What is the Substance?”

  “I have no idea,” Pelham said with an exaggerated shrug. “Above my pay grade, so to speak.”

  Valco uncapped the syringe and pulled back the plunger. “So you’re just another cog in the wheel, just like me.”

  “Not like you,” Pelham growled. “Never like you.”

  “Never?” Valco pressed the syringe against Pelham’s neck, teasing his left coronary artery. “I could kill you, Pelham, right now. Just a simple push and the air bubble would do what the Green Lama never could.”

  Pelham chuckled. “Is that all?”

  “Don’t tempt me, Pelham!” Valco hissed, careful not to raise his voice. Someone would look over any moment now and it would all be over…

  “Do you really expect me to believe any of your threats, Valco? I know the sort of folks you run with.” Pelham frowned like a whimpering child. “You’re better than that.”

  “As if you have any right to tell me what I am. I saw what you did to Gary, that poor man. I should kill you for that alone.”

  “You have no idea, do you? They didn’t tell you. Don’t you see, Harrison? It wasn’t just you, Gary, and me. We’re not the only ones here….”

  Valco open and closed his mouth. “No… Not him.”

  Pelham’s eyes widened, as a manic grin stretched across his face. “Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!”

  The syringe clattered to the floor.

  • • •

  EVANGL SOFTLY KISSED the top of Marie’s head and lingered. “You’ll take care of her, yes?” she asked as she adjusted the girl’s blankets, making sure they were snug, but not too snug. She s
troked Marie’s hair. It was so light now, almost blond, but it would eventually darken to be brown like her father’s. Evangl was sure of it.

  “Of course,” Helen said with a sad smile. She stood in the bedroom doorway, giving Evangl as much space as she needed.

  “If anything—” Evangl’s words got caught in her throat. “If anything should—”

  “She will know your name and remember you with pride,” Helen said.

  Evangl nodded and shuddered a sigh. “Yes. Good. Thank you. And you… Will you be all right?”

  Helen took a long, hesitant breath. “I do not believe I ever will be, not wholly, but I will manage, day-by-day, and I will grow stronger. So many times, I believe people romanticize loss, but they do not live it, do not live with the pain everyday. The echo of one you loved in everything you see… I do hope you find your Gary,” she added softly. “For the child as much as yourself.”

  Evangl looked Helen in the eye and understood.

  • • •

  “THIS HAS TO BE incredibly illegal,” Betty said as Crevier laid out the last of the guns on Caraway’s kitchen table.

  Jean told them of Omega, the kidnapping, and her escape. Caraway and Crevier had confirmed what she already knew; she was the only survivor from the theatre. Somewhere inside she was angry, maybe even despondent, but there simply wasn’t time for any of that.

  The room was threadbare, though the cabinets and dishes clean. The refrigerator, if it could be called such, had a sparse amount of food, all of it recently purchased from local German shops. Somewhere from within the walls she could hear the pitter-patter of mice, or maybe they were miles away. If she looked hard enough at a bit of wood or brick, she thought she could see the microscopic particles within, and if she peered further… She could feel electricity crackle through her veins, crinkly against her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck dance.

  “Because everything we do is on the up-and-up,” Jean commented dryly, slowly opening and closing her right hand. They were going to go in alone. Valco had asked for an army, but the question they kept asking was whether there was anyone they could trust.

  “There are other vigilantes out there…” Clayton postulated. “Shouldn’t we, you know… call them? I’m sure Jethro must have worked with one or two of them before.”

  Caraway scoffed. “Have you met any of them? Believe me, not all of them are as warm and fuzzy as the Lama.”

  Clayton flapped his arms. “They could still help.”

  “Think of this way, Ken, if they could then they would be here already,” Jean said. “They’re probably out dealing with their own problems. Besides, it’s like Caraway said, there are some really nasty vigilantes out there and I’m not sure we’d want them on our team.”

  Betty laughed. “Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.”

  Clayton looked to Betty. “That so?”

  “We make it out of this alive, maybe I’ll tell you about it,” she said coyly.

  “This sorta shit happens to other people?” Crevier voiced in disbelief.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Betty said in response, smiling at the detective’s bemused expression.

  Crevier rubbed the scar on his cheek and nodded over to Jean. “Well, at least we’ve got the Green Lama’s girlfriend… I think that might be the most ridiculous thing I have ever said.”

  Jean gave him a crooked smile. “Stick around, it’ll only get more ridiculous.”

  Clayton pursed his brow and awkwardly raised his hand. “Actually, I was always wondering where do costumed vigilantes fall in the eyes of the law.”

  “It’s a grey area,” Caraway said.

  “How grey?”

  “Pretty dark grey,” Crevier answered.

  “So you all just kinda… Accept them?”

  Crevier shrugged. “Accept. Endure. I’m sure there are a few cases going to the Supreme Court. I’ll get back to you if a decision ever comes down.”

  “Speaking of decisions,” Jean cut in. “I’m guessing we’ve come to one?”

  “Dumont’s own private army,” Caraway said with a sardonic growl. He pushed the handle of one of the pistols as if he needed to make sure it was real. “Going in guns blazing.”

  “That such a change from the usual?”

  Jean looked up to see Evangl walk into the kitchen with Helen by her side. Jean noticed her gun—one she had left behind at Jethro’s—tucked into the sash around Evangl’s waist.

  “The kids are asleep,” Evangl said in greeting.

  “Evangl, are you sure you want to come?” Jean asked.

  Evangl let her glare be her response.

  Helen walked up to the kitchen and lightly touched Caraway’s shoulder, a small gesture that did not escape Jean’s notice.

  “It’s gonna be a mess,” Jean said, “not that I need to tell the old hands, but for the new kids—”

  “Excuse you, I almost died in the sewers last time I hung out with you all,” Betty protested.

  “Yeah well, you’ve missed a lot since then,” Jean replied. “According to Valco, there’s only one way into the Facility, a cabin that isn’t a cabin. It’s an elevator; at least that’s what it sounds like... But for our purposes, it’s essentially a kill box, and we’re going to be the ones in the box.”

  “So I’m guessing my guns blazing comment rings pretty true?” Caraway said.

  Jean smiled despite herself. “Outside of surviving, the trick isn’t gonna be gettin’ in—Valco and his buddy gave us pretty specific directions—it’s gonna be getting out. Hopefully, Valco and Jethro will be strong enough to fight. If not, well, let’s just say it’s going to be interesting.”

  “That’s assuming Dumont is actually there,” Crevier added pointedly.

  “Assuming that,” Jean said. And hopefully alive, she didn’t say. “But that’s why we need you and Betty out here.”

  “What?!” Betty balked. “I’ll have you know I have plenty of experience—”

  “We can’t risk us all going in, should things go belly up,” Caraway said. “Plus, Betty, with your connections in the press, and yours in the police,” he said to Crevier, “we’ll be able to have eyes and ears on the ground while we’re under it. Besides, we’ve been with the Lama since the beginning, no need to risk any more lives if we don’t have to.”

  Jean looked to Tsarong, who had remained silent through their discussion as if he had been lost in thought. “Which leads us to our next point…”

  “I will stay behind, as well; helping protect Mrs. Hahn and the children. I have supplied Miss Farrell with two vials of radioactive salts that should heal any wound the Tulku may have suffered, though, depending on their severity, the effect may not be immediate. What is more concerning is—” Tsarong tucked his hands into his sleeves and took a long breath. His eyes were watery. “Miss Farrell, may I speak with you privately?”

  Jean glanced at the others before looking back at Tsarong. “Anything you need to say to me, you can say to everyone.”

  Tsarong bowed his head. “Under normal circumstances, yes—”

  “Tsarong, we’re kinda short on time here.”

  Tsarong sighed, placed his hands inside his sleeves and then back out. “Open your palm,” he instructed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please, Miss Farrell.”

  She held out her hand and in a smooth motion, Tsarong dropped something cold and heavy into her palm. She curled her fingers around it, not wanting to risk looking at it, though she didn’t know why.

  “I had hoped he would have told you before now,” Tsarong said, staring at his hands. “Something happened to Jethro in R’lyeh, something none of the prophecies had anticipated… Whether it was from his exposure to Cthulhu or from the combined power of the Jade Tablets, I do not know, but when the Tulku came back to life, he came back more powerful than ever. But with that power came an… infection, a cancerous growth that has slowly spread through his body. It is why he no longer needs the radi
oactive salts. For a time we looked for a cure, but we soon realized that there was no turning that tide… The human body is not made to hold that kind of power for so long.”

  Jean blinked twice before she was able to process Tsarong’s statement. She felt the others look to her in shock. “Excuse me?” she breathed. She found her nails were biting into her palm. “And what does this infection mean…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “For him?”

  Tsarong met her gaze. “It means he’s dying. I believe he only wanted to protect you, Miss Farrell—to protect all of you—from the truth.”

  “All right. Forget the rescue plan,” Jean said, almost to herself. “I’m gonna kill him myself.” She looked down at her hand, the green light spilling through her fingers. “But this… What is this for?”

  “The unforeseen, Miss Farrell,” Tsarong said after a moment.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Tsarong licked his lips before he proceeded. “Ever since your confrontation with the Old Ones, I have been… experimenting, trying to find a way the radioactive salts could help us defend against the impossible. If the people who captured Jethro are indeed behind this black liquid, and they expose him to it, we have no way of knowing how he will react. He will do all he can to fight it, but if he can’t… He would want to be stopped.”

  • • •

  VALCO RUSHED down the stairs two steps at a time, a stolen fire axe in hand, until he reached the riveted steel door beneath the Facility. Without missing a step, Valco ran up to the keypad and slammed down the axe. Small fingers of electricity jumped out, clawing at the frozen air. Valco swung down again and again until he heard the magnetic locks clap open. Keeping the axe in one hand, Valco pulled open the massive hatchway, the skin of his palm briefly sticking to the frozen metal.

  “Tulku!” he shouted as he entered the holding area. “Tulku, are you in here?!”

  His footsteps crinkled against the frost, sounding elephantine to his panicked ear. He fought the urge to rush through the chamber, instead looking through the murk for the cell with the most recently disturbed ice. He looked to the floor, finding footsteps leading toward the far end of the chamber, and another trail leading back toward the entrance. Following the tracks, Valco came to a cell in the middle of the third row, its door lacking the ice cover prevalent on its neighbors. He took the axe into both hands and peered in through the grill. Inside he could he could the watery, bubbling sound of phlegm-filled lungs struggling for breath.