Gears of a Mad God Omnibus

by Brent Nichols

  And he fired. The bullet slammed into the creature's leg, there was a squeal that must have been rage or pain, and he fired again, and a third time.

  He saw nothing that he recognized in the carnage, not blood or bone, but the leg collapsed and the beast lurched sideways. That exposed the other back leg, and Carter fired three more shots.

  Then he heaved himself to his feet and stood swaying, looking down at his tormenter. It turned toward him, dragging itself along on tentacles and twisted half-limbs, back legs dragging behind it. He backed away and it kept coming, moving at a slow walking pace.

  Carter dumped the casings out of his pistol and went through his pockets. He had a single bullet left, and he loaded it into the pistol. Then he holstered the gun and walked away. He could see his own footprints clearly outlined in the dead grass. The tracks of the beast was even more vivid, a wide furrow carved by multiple limbs. Sometimes its tracks ran beside his footsteps, sometimes over top.

  He wasn't sure if the creatures could see. They had some way to follow him, obviously. He decided to move away from his own trail. He didn't want to encounter anything that might be tracking him. It was easy to get disoriented in this shadowless place, but he could get his bearings from a couple of hilltops and a distant row of mountains. He set out in a wide arc that he hoped would take him back to where the portal had been. If there was any hope of escaping this world, it would be there.

  There was no sun to rise or set in this world, but his watch was still working. He'd lost track of day and night, but it was two o'clock when he shot the creature, and about an hour later when he came to the remains of a forest. At first he could make out nothing more than strange, lumpy shapes on the ground. It took a while to figure out that he was seeing trees that had collapsed under their own weight. He clambered over trunks that sometimes split under the weight of his feet.

  It was like no forest he had ever seen. There was no rot here, no mold, no insects to break down the wood. It crumbled with age, unaided by any living agency. Occasional stumps stuck up, some of them quite tall. Some of the fallen trunks were quite large. Others had shattered into pieces large or small. It made for treacherous footing, and he worked his way along with slow caution.

  The only sound was the crunch of wood underfoot and the rasp of his own breathing. It had taken a long time for him to get used to the silence in this lifeless realm. There wasn't even wind here. When he held still, he could hear his own pulse.

  That was how he knew the hunters had found him. He caught the rustle of movement in the distance, and he dropped into a gap between fallen trunks. It felt good to lie on his back, legs stretched out, completely at rest. Only the terrified thumping of his heart kept him from enjoying it.

  He eased his pistol out of its holster and held it against his chest. One bullet. If even one of those dread creatures had found him, he was a dead man. Of course, he was going to die soon regardless. Maybe this was for the best. After endless hours of running his thirst was ferocious, and hunger tormented him as well. All things considered, there were advantages to being caught soon.

  Rustling noises came closer, and he touched a dry tongue to his lips. Closer it came, and closer still, and now he could hear a second creature rustling off to his left. Then wood crunched to the right. There were three of them at least. If they found him he was doomed.

  The nearest creature had to be within ten feet, and it kept coming closer. Carter inched the pistol across his chest and pressed the barrel under his chin. One bullet was no use at all in a fight against these creatures. With one bullet there was only one thing he could achieve. He could avoid being devoured alive.

  His thumb went to the hammer of the pistol. He would give himself every chance to survive. He wouldn't cock the pistol until he was sure he was discovered. As soon as there was no chance of escape, though....

  Something moved in the corner of his eye. Mercifully he couldn't see much of the beast. What he could see was enough, though. A writhing mass of tentacles appeared just past his left shoulder. The creature was pretty much on top of him, tentacles patting and probing at the log beside him or probing the air above his arm.

  The tip of a tentacle touched his sleeve. In an instant there were half a dozen tendrils examining him. The fabric of his sleeve tore, and he cocked the pistol.

  And his hand seemed to move of its own volition, away from his head, toward the base of one tentacle that seemed different from the others. It was soft-looking, delicate, with a pink color that was almost translucent. It looked... sensitive, and Carter touched the barrel of the pistol to the base of the tentacle and pulled the trigger.

  An inhuman scream tore the air and the creature vanished from sight. Carter lay still, hands at his sides, staring straight up and listening to the thing as it thrashed and moaned nearby. It made so much noise that he couldn't hear the other two.

  Gradually the crashing and crunching and wailing began to fade in the distance. Eventually the dead forest was completely silent. Carter lay still for a long time, ears straining, and at last he sat up.

  He was alone.

  He looked at the pistol in his hand, and finally shoved it back into its holster. "Good job," he muttered. "Now you're stuck here."

  Well, if I'm going to live, I guess I better get on with it. He climbed heavily to his feet, grunting as his legs complained. Then he looked around, got his bearings, and resumed his long march.

  Chapter 9 - The Interrogation

  "Brush your teeth."

  Smith obediently started brushing, wondering how long he'd been standing there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't remember the lines in his face, the grey streaks in his hair. He brushed for a while, and finally the orderly at his elbow told him to stop, to rinse his mouth out, to wipe his chin. When all that was done they set out for Dr. Andy's office, Smith feeling pleased that he could remember it was morning.

  Colleen was a ghost on the fringes of his memory. Was it yesterday he had seen her, or had it been longer? Any distraction was welcome during these last dreadful minutes as his medication was wearing off, and he dedicated himself to figuring it out.

  When the orderly stopped walking, Smith looked up in surprise. Dr. Andy's office door was closed. They spent several minutes standing in the hallway, and finally moved to a couple of chairs and sat down. The minutes crawled past and the barbs of anxiety in Smith's mind grew sharper and sharper.

  He turned his attention to Carter and the story Colleen had told him. Even worrying about his friend was preferable to having no distraction at all. He found he was remembering more and more. It was the longest he'd been without medication since that dark time when the screaming had finally stopped.

  At last the office door swung open, and the orderly stood. Smith surprised him by standing as well, and walking toward the office without being told.

  Dr. Andy met them in the doorway. He peered sharply at Smith and said, "How do you feel, Dirk?"

  "I'm all right, Doc. I'm a little strung out, but I'm okay for now."

  The doctor's eyebrows rose. He gave Smith a searching look, then nodded. "There are some men here to see you, Dirk. They want your help." His lips pursed in disapproval, but he said, "Who knows? Maybe the experience will be good for you. They tell me I can't be in the room, but listen. If things get bad, you holler. Shout for me. I'll be right outside. I've told them they can't upset you, and they say they won't, but if it gets to be too much, you just yell. Okay?"

  Smith nodded.

  Dr. Andy frowned again and stepped aside. A burly man in a dark suit came out of his office, leading a thin young man, just a boy really, with downcast eyes, his hands cuffed in front of him. Another muscular young man followed, practically a twin of the first one. Colleen was the last one out.

  "You can use the visiting room down here," Dr. Andy said. "I'll be right outside. Mr. Smith is not a well man. Mind you don't push him too hard."

  "We'll be careful," said Colleen, and followed the others into t
he visiting room.

  The burly men pushed the prisoner into a chair at the table, and Smith sat down across from him. Old instincts were coming back to him. He'd been in dozens of interrogations. The men in the suits stayed just behind the prisoner, ready to react if he moved, but above all intimidating him, making him uneasy by hovering in his peripheral vision. All very professional. But who was going to conduct the interrogation?

  Colleen leaned in close and murmured in Smith's ear, "We can't get a thing out of him. We were hoping you would give it a shot."

  Smith stared at the boy, getting a sullen glare in return. A blank dismay filled his mind, but on a deeper level the gears were turning. He might not remember the exact details, but he’d interviewed a dozen young hooligans just like this one. Scores, if you counted his time with the Dominion Police before he’d joined the secret war against the cult. He could read every weakness, every fear, every vulnerability.

  A long, silent moment stretched out. One of the burly young men shifted impatiently and cleared his throat. The boy squirmed, then made himself sit still. His hands dropped into his lap. To hide the fidgeting, Smith was sure.

  "Katharis isn’t real," Smith said.

  The boy’s drooping head snapped up. His brow furrowed in anger, then smoothed, and he shrugged. "Don’t know what you’re talking about," he said.

  Smith snickered, and the boy flushed. "Sure you know. Skinny little pup like you, nobody ever noticed you, nobody gave you any respect. The girls never knew you existed. Then you started having some funny dreams."

  The boy gave him a startled look, and Smith smirked at him. Gotcha. Why do they always think they’re the only one? Katharis said you were special, didn’t he? He never told you you were the latest sucker in a list of thousands.

  "Then some men came to see you, didn’t they?" The look on the kid’s face told Smith he’d scored again. "They wanted your help, right?" His voice dripped with contempt. "They needed someone just like you. Someone special. Didn’t they?"

  The room was silent except for the whistle of air in the boy’s beaky nose. He was breathing heavily, emotions battling on his face. Smith thought of the choices the boy had made, and any sympathy he might have felt evaporated. He bored ahead relentlessly.

  "They told you you’d be part of something grand, didn’t they? Probably said you were anointed by an ancient and powerful god, or some shit like that. And you believed every word, and you did every sick thing they told you to, didn’t you?"

  That was all it took. The boy tried to leap to his feet, but the men on either side shoved him down. He shouted, his face red, spittle flecking the table, most of it incomprehensible. Smith only caught a phrase here and there, the boy calling him a liar, saying he was damned, Katharis would eat his soul.

  Smith waited until the kid wound down. Then he made himself laugh. He hadn’t laughed once, or even smiled, in all the long months he’d been in Sunny Acres, but he laughed now. At first he was faking, but a strange hysteria gripped him, and at last he had to struggle to stop laughing. He made a show of wiping his eyes and fighting to compose himself, and then beamed at the boy.

  "Wow. You actually bought it. All that nonsense. I bet you think Santa Claus is real, too."

  The boy tried to lunge across the table at him. When the men behind him slammed him back into his chair, the fight went out of him. He slumped.

  "Where’s Katharis now?" Smith asked gently. "They told you you’d be powerful, didn’t they? But where are they? They set you up, and now you’re in handcuffs, and you’ll be in jail for a very long time. And if they ever think about you at all, they’ll have a good laugh. Then they’ll go back to work.

  "Do you know where they are right now? They’re with some other loser, telling him he’s special, telling him he’s meant for great things, that a powerful ancient god has chosen him to do important work. And they won’t ever tell that poor bastard about you, or a hundred others like you who’ve been shot or locked up."

  The boy started to cry. He made no attempt to control himself. Tears and snot dripped down his face, and his whole body shook. Smith let him sob for a while, then reached across the table and slapped the boy across the face. That shocked him into silence.

  "I’m going to ask you some questions," Smith said, "and by God you’re going to answer them. Is that clear?"

  The boy nodded, eyes wide, mouth hanging slack. There was no further resistance. In five minutes they had the address of the cult’s local hideout, a warehouse on the Potomac. One of the burly young men hurried out to make a phone call. The other one made notes as Smith pumped the kid dry.

  The dreams had started a month earlier. Falconer had arrived shortly after. He'd put the team together. Chosen men, he called them. Warriors of Katharis. Champions of an ancient power. Falconer's passion, his zeal, had overwhelmed all doubt and opposition. Andy and the others were ready to follow Falconer anywhere. They were his, body and soul.

  It was Falconer who knew where to get the other six stones. The cult had been hoarding them for years, generations even. Now the seventh stone had been found. All they had to do was take it.

  Andy had been bitterly disappointed when Falconer passed him over for the raid. He'd waited back at the hideout, counting the minutes until Katharis would come sweeping into the world. He wasn't there for the ceremony in the meadow, but he knew every detail. All you needed was seven stones and a circle of blood. Katharis would do the rest.

  Smith kept the disgust from his face and voice while the boy poured out his story. He just nodded as if it all made sense. He felt soiled just listening. He wanted to wash. He wanted his pill. More than anything, he wanted to make the whole sordid mess go away. But he kept his features smooth and gave the boy his undivided attention until he was sure Andy had nothing more to give.

  At last the government men led the boy away. Colleen lingered to squeeze Smith's hand and say, "Thanks, Dirk. I have to go. I'll come see you as soon as I can, okay?"

  Smith nodded, too spent to answer, and she hurried out. Dr. Andy immediately bustled in. "Are you all right, Dirk? I'm sorry I left you alone with them for so long." He clearly meant well, so Smith stifled his irritation.

  "You're way past due for your medication. Come on, let's get you back to my office."

  Smith followed him down the hall, walking without the aid of the orderly, and the doctor gave him repeated, worried glances. Back in the office, Dr. Andy handed him a pill and a cup of water, then turned away to pick up a file.

  Smith stared down at the pill in his hand. He wanted to take it, wanted it with a desperate hunger. His personal demons had been pushed aside for a few hours, but they were not gone, and Smith yearned for the cocoon of oblivion the pill represented. But Carter was still in danger, and Colleen was putting herself in harm's way to rescue him. That Smith would be needed again was highly unlikely… But they had needed him today. If another call came, he was determined to be clear-headed. He closed his hand around the pill and drank the water.

  Dr. Andy turned, saw the empty cup, and smiled. "Feel better now? Good. I'd like to talk to you about what happened today, but I think you probably need a rest by now. We'll talk tomorrow, all right?"

  Chapter 10 - Portal Stones

  City police conducted the raid on the warehouse. Colleen waited outside with McClane and Jameson. McClane seemed bored, leaning against the car and watching birds overhead. Jameson fidgeted endlessly with a cigarette, not lighting it, just rolling it back and forth in his fingers until finally the paper tore and spilled tobacco across his shoes.

  A short burst of gunfire came from inside. A few minutes later a constable came out. "The lieutenant says you can go in now."

  The inside of the warehouse was filthy. There were blankets in one corner, and dirty dishes were strewn around a wood-burning stove. Colleen saw a rat on the stove, nibbling at something crusted on the edge of a pot, unconcerned by the people trouping past.

  A man lay dead in the middle of the warehouse floo
r, a rifle beside his outflung hand. Police stood around in small groups, talking softly.

  There were six portal stones in an untidy heap against one wall, and Colleen hurried to them. Andy Simpson had been very specific in his instructions. You needed seven portal stones. You put them in a circle ten or fifteen feet across, and you joined them with lines of blood. Human, animal, it didn’t matter, so long as it was fresh enough to pour. And that was it.

  Colleen counted the stones three times before she would let herself believe. "They’re all here," she said. "This is what we need."

  McClane looked openly skeptical. Jameson increased the rate of his fidgeting, his face pale and tight-lipped.

  "It’s important," said Colleen. "Give me a hand, please."

  The men grudgingly picked up a stone each and followed Colleen to the car. When all the stones were moved she rode in the back seat with her precious cargo. A strained silence came from the agents in the front as McClane drove them to McDougall House.

  She had him park in front of the carriage house. Archie and Tom were inside, bashing away at sheet metal with hammers. Tom, his chest swelling with pride, wanted to tell her about the latest innovation to Woody’s controls, but she waved him silent.

  "I’m sorry, Tom. You’ll have to tell me later. Do you guys mind taking a break, going up to the main house for a while?"

  Tom’s face fell, but he nodded and walked out with Archie. She started carrying portal stones into the workshop, nearly dropping one when a gunshot rang out. Jameson came around the corner, a dead pigeon dangling from his hand.

  She stood the portal stones in a circle. McClane refused to help, muttering under his breath about "foolishness" and standing with his arms folded, frowning at her. Colleen was looking forward to the expression on his face when the portal actually opened.

  Jameson was no more help than his partner. He’d been cool and unflinching in the face of gunfire, but now his composure was rapidly disintegrating. He paced back and forth, one hand going repeatedly to the butt of his pistol, the other hand raking through his hair. From time to time McClane stopped glaring at Colleen long enough to give Jameson a disgusted glance.