The Green Lama: Crimson Circle

by Adam Lance Garcia

  “We’ll see you two on the other side,” Caraway said with a hollow smile.

  Jean glanced at the approaching horde. “Yeah… See you there.”

  “Come on, Blondie. Let’s go be badass,” Caraway said as he walked toward the onslaught.

  Ken began to follow when he hesitated and looked back at Jean, his expression grim. “Be safe, Red.”

  “You too, Matinee Idol,” Jean whispered.

  Ken cleared his throat and ran up next to Caraway, his head held high, gun at his side.

  Evangl looked to Jean, who immediately turned back to the keypad, unable to look Dumont’s old companion in the eye. It was too early to mourn. “F, Ampersand, Q, Hyphen—No, wait. That’s an M-dash—Squiggly P line. And…” The keypad lit up and made the same, negative short buzz. “Goddammit!” Jean shouted. “Open up, damn you!”

  Jean angrily pounded her fist and the door flew off its hinges, and clattered at the far end of the building’s hall. She looked at her hand in disbelief, at the faint glow emanating around her fingers.

  “Well,” Evangl said after a moment, “that’s one way to open a door.”

  • • •

  OMEGA HELD his hand against the wound in his side. Blood leaked through his fingers and spilled over his knuckles. Half of his face had been burned off, the remaining skin crackling, the muscles almost glowing red. His left eye had boiled and popped, its fluid leaking down his ruined visage. It would take more than some hopped up self-righteous Buddhist to kill him. He pushed the pain back and focused on making his way through the destruction surrounding him. All around him were the dead and the dying, growing evidence of the Collective’s egregious miscalculations. Omega wasn’t at all surprised, but he was disappointed that such brilliant men would leave their machinations in the hands of madmen, leaving him alone to clean up their mess.

  Again.

  He pulled a rifle off a guard’s body and shoved open a doorway with his shoulder—the keypad having been blasted apart—and made his way toward the Source. The Facility might have fallen, but there was one thing left he could do.

  • • •

  IT HAD all gone wrong, so horribly, terribly wrong.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Pelham whimpered as he crawled along the infirmary’s blood slick floor. The test subjects had broken free and made short work of everything—of everyone—that stood in their path. And there was the creature, the glowing beast whose whispers echoed in Pelham’s ear. He could feel the accusatory stares of the dead, unblinking as he moved beneath one of the hospital beds. There had been so much screaming accompanied with the tearing of flesh, the shattering of bone. He could still hear the nightmare even now, continuing somewhere deep in the Facility.

  He knew the creature was in here, even though its feet didn’t touch the ground. Pelham curled himself into a shivering ball, watching the glowing form methodically float through the room.

  “PELLLLHAM… PELLLHAM…” the creature hissed from the darkness, its emerald glow somehow making the shadow grow deeper as it orbited the infirmary. “I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING, FRANKLIN. LET’S NOT PLAY THESE CHILDISH GAMES…”

  Pelham pinched his eyes shut and held his breath. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. If only he could make himself smaller, make himself invisible. The joints on his right hand howled in dull pain and he fought the instinctual urge to crack his knuckles. He brought his knees closer to his chest, his body shivering. Just stay silent a little longer, please, just stay quiet long enough for the creature to leave. He had survived this long, surely he could survive longer…

  “Come now, isn’t this what you wanted?” the creature asked. “Cat and mouse. A little game just for the two of us, like it was at the beginning.”

  Pelham fought back a sob. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He rocked back and forth and bit down on his fist.

  “Some call me a vigilante. Others call me a hero… Let’s call me what I really am…” it growled in a thousand voices. “An angry god.”

  The creature’s luminescent hand shot out, grabbed Pelham by the hair and pulled him out kicking and screaming from beneath the bed. “No, no, no!” Pelham screamed as the creature lifted him off the ground. The creature smiled as it wrapped its glowing green hand around Pelham’s face, his skin sizzling.

  • • •

  VALCO’S HANDS were shaking as he punched in the pass code to his laboratory. The door hissed open and a cloud of smoke billowed out. He covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and ran in. The laboratory was in ruins, with small pockets of flames inching their way through the various chemicals. He kicked aside a fallen cart and made his way through the destruction toward his worktable. He let out a violent cough, the burning chemicals stinging his lungs and eyes.

  There was little time left. There was no Epsilon Mist on hand. But Valco knew there was another option… OBS-241. The Substance and the Delta Liquid Ray were somehow linked, and together they had formed an impossible energy source. And while Valco knew it could have powered nations… He also knew that energy could have other uses.

  He picked up a canister marked OBS-241 off the floor, its container thankfully undamaged, and dragged it across the room before carefully placing atop his lab table. He had helped birth this nightmare, he decided, and so he was going to be the one to fix it.

  • • •

  THE HALLWAY blinked between pitch black and a blinding cold white. Evangl kept her eyes squinted, her head pounding from the constant flickering. Jean’s eyes, however, instantly adjusted to every variance in light, almost anticipating the change before it happened. In the short bursts of darkness Evangl could see a faint green aura surrounding Jean, like a double exposed photo. It was comforting and disturbing all at once, and it only meant one thing.

  “Radioactive salts?” Evangl asked.

  “Wasn’t by choice, in case you’re wondering,” Jean replied a brief hesitation. “And it’s—It’s not full strength.”

  “What’s it feel like?”

  “You know, I have been too busy to really think about it.”

  “In a word?”

  “Not sure there’s a word for it, Evangl.” She pressed herself against the wall and peeked around an open doorway. “It’s kind of like every part of your body suddenly turned into a lamp and everything just gets a little brighter.”

  “Sounds almost nice.”

  “Almost,” Jean whispered, leaving it at that. She gestured toward the far doorway, ignoring the tingling sensation that raced along her arms and neck. “Through there.”

  A guttural roar sounded from the doorway as they approached and the two women raised their guns in unison. A dozen grey-skinned creatures clawed their way into the hallway, tumbling over each other like a slow moving tidal wave. Black tears spilled from their blind eyes, and their teeth glistened like piano keys, ebony and ivory.

  Stone-faced, Evangl opened fire without waiting for a cue, striking several in the chests and torsos to little effect. Jean quickly followed suit, firing off a half dozen shots directly into the creatures’ heads within milliseconds. The mindless things dropped unceremoniously to the floor, tripping their compatriots in a domino effect.

  Using the opening, Evangl and Jean quickly sidestepped into an adjacent room and swung the door shut, the magnetic locks snapping into place. They quickly reloaded their guns in silence, neither of them able or willing to comment on the grim fact that Gary and Jethro might be amongst the horde.

  Then they heard something move.

  Jean held up her hand and listened for a moment. She pressed her finger to her lips and she tilted her head toward a chrome lab table. Evangl nodded.

  “All right,” Jean called out. “Step out slowly with your hands over your head and we won’t make you a pin cushion.”

  Several seconds passed before a young man stood up from behind the table, hands held just above his moppish head of hair. His button down shirt and slacks were covered with blood.

  “I’m unarmed,” h
e said.

  “Based on everything we’ve seen tonight all you need is a lot of teeth to make an impact,” Evangl said.

  The young man lowered his gaze and shuddered. “The test subjects…”

  “Or the Cannibal Killers,” Jean commented, “depending on which paper you’ve been reading. But, we’ll address your choice of nomenclature when things calm down a bit.”

  “Are one of you Lieutenant Caraway?” the man nervously asked.

  Jean and Evangl looked at one another, bemused by the question. Evangl shrugged.

  “Nope,” Jean replied. “But I like him a lot. You the fabled Dr. Murdoch?”

  “I am,” he said with a slow nod. He looked so much younger than they had expected. Barely out of diapers as far as Evangl was concerned. “You’re with the Green Lama, then, yes? Is he with you?”

  Jean nodded. “Yup. But, as to his whereabouts, well, that’s why we’re here.”

  “Of course… Where’s Valco?” Murdoch asked.

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Jean said.

  Murdoch wiped his hand against his cheek. “He was in the infirmary with me. We were helping the injured until he disappeared… Then the test subjects broke loose. I don’t know what happened to him. With everything that was going on… I came down here to check on the Source,” he said without further explanation.

  “What about Gary? Gary Brown?” Evangl asked, her tone masking her panic. “Have you seen him?”

  Murdoch grimaced. “You should come through here,” he said after a moment, gesturing to the metallic door at the other side of the room. “You’ll probably want to see this.”

  • • •

  “GET BACK!” Caraway shouted as he threw Ken behind a fallen chunk of rock ceiling.

  “Jesus, there’s no end to them,” Ken said as he reloaded his pistol, the laceration on his forehead sending blood pouring down his face and staining his collar.

  Caraway slid down next him, his suit torn. “It’s almost like some kind of metaphor,” Caraway murmured as he stole a glance over their impromptu rampart. There were dozens of them, hundreds, coming at Caraway and Ken with the tenacity of a flooded river.

  “Huh?”

  Caraway shook his head. “Never mind. I’m not witty enough to come up with a response.”

  Ken chuckled to himself. “So are you and Gan’s wife—?”

  Caraway smacked Ken in the back of the head.

  “Hey, it’s a fair question!” Ken protested, rubbing his head. “Jeez. About to go out and fight a lot more of who knows what and you smack me in the head. I need this thing you know. Vision and all that are slightly important when shooting things.”

  “Clayton, of the two of us, we both know you have the most questionable tastes.”

  “Can’t change who I am,” he said with a shrug.

  Caraway nodded. “Nor should you.”

  Ken reached into his pocket and looked over the two-dozen or so remaining bullets piled in the palm of his hand. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

  “Probably,” Caraway said with a morbid grin, “but then again, it’s not that much of a change from the usual. Guess it’s kinda nice to have an assurance once and a while… Tell me about him.”

  “’Scuse me?”

  “Him. The man who stole your heart.”

  Ken slowly turned to face Caraway and blinked twice in stunned silence. “You…” he managed after a moment. “You really want to know?”

  “Not really,” Caraway said as he reloaded his gun, “but outside the topic of dying, we don’t have much else to talk about.”

  Ken hesitated, though he had to admit Caraway had a point. “His name is Benn,” he said after a moment. “Benn with two ‘N’s’ Mendoza.”

  “Benn with two ‘N’s’ Mendoza,” Caraway said gruffly. “Stupid name, but I guess that’s to be expected. Do I wanna know how you two met?”

  “In Cleveland, when we were investigating Lindley Brothers & Andrews’ Combined Circus with Jethro. Case of the Clown Who Laughed. At least, that’s what I called it, because why not? You weren’t around for that. I worked undercover as a ballyman. Jean was a shooting act, ‘Montana Jean Farrell,’ which wasn’t terribly original. And Benn, Benn was an acrobat.”

  “Of course it was a circus,” Caraway groused uncomfortably. “He the reason why you ‘went to the army’ a little while back?”

  A satisfied smirk formed on Ken’s lips. “Yup.”

  “You still together?”

  “Yes,” Ken said. His face fell. “No. I’m not really sure.”

  “You want some relationship advice?”

  “You’re giving me relationship advice? Oh, we’re definitely going to die. Are you going to tell me even if I really don’t want you to?”

  “Make him your top priority, and no matter what, make sure he knows it.”

  Ken looked to Caraway again with a small smile. “So… You and Gan’s wife.”

  Caraway fought back a grin. “Let’s kill some monsters, pretty boy.”

  “After you, my good man,” Ken said with a broad gesture. “After you.”

  • • •

  MURDOCH STRUCK OUT ahead of them as they moved through the dark passageway. A subtle electric current saturated the air, growing thicker as they walked deeper into the Facility’s core. Jean could almost see it, move her hand through it like water; feel the ebb and flow, the tug of the tide. There was something so familiar about this, like something out of a dream.

  “Not to be petulant,” she said to Murdoch, “but I’m gonna remind you the two of us have guns.”

  “Trust me, Ma’am, you don’t need to tell me that I have a gun to my head.”

  “‘Ma’am?’” Jean mouthed incredulously.

  “Are you going to tell us where you’re taking us, Dr. Murdoch?” Evangl asked. “Jean and I’ve had enough mystery for the day.”

  Murdoch paused long enough to look back at them. “Let’s just say it’s the answers to all your questions.”

  “What did I just say about mystery?”

  “I’m not trying to be evasive, it’s just that… Well, it’s all very hard to explain, nor do I really comprehend it myself. It’s like something out of Wells or Verne, you understand.”

  “Believe me, buddy, we deal with a lot crazier shit on the daily,” Jean said harshly, “so why don’t you spill it before my friend and I start getting trigger happy.”

  A throaty voice sounded from behind them. “Yes, why don’t you tell them, Dr. Murdoch?”

  They whirled around to find a rifle aimed at Jean’s head. Omega stepped forward, his once shadowed face now a burnt wreckage. “I apologize, I’m not at my best, vigilantes running amok.” He coughed, blood flecking his singed lips. He wiped it with the back of his torn sleeve. “But, I digress. Dr. Murdoch… Where do you think you’re taking them?”

  The powerful crack of gunfire echoed in the hallway before Murdoch could choke out a reply. Omega’s rifle dropped to his side as blood bubbled out from his chest.

  He looked down at the wound in muted shock. “Well,” he sighed and crumpled to the floor.

  “Evangl!” Jean shouted.

  Evangl stepped forward, her smoking gun aimed at the operative’s chest. “They call you Omega,” she hissed.

  “I must—must confess, Mrs. Stewart-Brown, I did not think you had it in you…” he coughed. “A symbol, a name, a designation, an identity. ‘What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.’” Blood began to spill out of his mouth. “They call me Omega because I am the last resort.”

  Jean grabbed Evangl by the arm and tried to pull her back. “Evangl, we can use him—”

  But Evangl shrugged her off. “Did you kill my Gary?”

  Omega furrowed his blackened brow. “Did I? If I did, you must understand it was nothing personal, of course.” He shrugged. “Business, you know.”

  “Nothing personal,” Evangl repeated, her voice dead as she
pressed her gun against Omega’s skull.

  “Evangl,” Jean pleaded.

  Evangl’s expression was stone-faced, her eyes dead. “Go on, Jean. Go wherever the good doctor is taking you.” When Jean hesitated she shouted, “I said go!”

  Against her better judgment, Jean let go of her. “Come on, Doc. Let’s see what this place has been hidin’,” Jean said begrudgingly, pulling Murdoch away, leaving Evangl and Omega alone in the darkness.

  • • •

  KEN AND CARAWAY had fought their way to the bottom of the Facility, avoiding the creatures when they could, fighting them off when they had no choice, all while rescuing a few survivors along the way. Their violent beeline had brought them to what amounted to a large underground refrigerator. A large, twisted metal door lay on the ground several feet away. Hundreds of freestanding cells lined the room, their handle-less, claw-marked doors hanging from their hinges.

  “Is this the meat locker?” Ken mused.

  “Cold enough, at least,” Caraway shivered. He ran a finger over one of the claw marks. “I think this is where they kept them.”

  “I would ask how they were able to survive the cold,” Ken said as he rubbed his arms, his teeth chattering, “but I think after all we’ve seen that would be a dumb question.”

  “It’s just one on a long list of questions I’d like to ask the monsters behind this place.”

  “Lieutenant Caraway!” someone shouted behind them. “Ken!”

  Their guns raised, Ken and Caraway spun around to find Dr. Harrison Valco standing in the entrance of the chamber. He looked older than Caraway remembered, frailer and smaller. White hairs had collected on his temples, crow’s feet had scratched into the side of his eyes, while his cheeks had become jowls. In his arms was a large metal canister, OBS-241 stenciled on the side. Wires laced out of its top like thistles, while a large battery was affixed to the bottom. He gave them a weak smile in greeting.

  “Valco!” Caraway shouted, lowering his gun. “Christ on a cross, boy, am I glad to see you.”

  Valco’s eyes fell to the ground. “I would say the same… But under the circumstances…”

  “Yeah, who would want a reunion in the frozen mouth of hell?” Ken said. “But, let’s all get out of here while we can, the girls could use our—”