"Just walk."
Marcus shook his head in frustration and began moving forward again. On the tenth step his foot sank through the floor and he jerked it back, startled. He turned back to Layla for an explanation. She merely gestured with the gun. He took a cautious step forward, and on the second step felt like he'd walked into a vacuum-sealed container. Cool air whooshed in his ears and suddenly the empty restaurant became a stone corridor with stairs spiraling down.
"What the fuck?"
Behind him an uneven wall made of damp stone the same as the corridor and steps blocked any attempt at escape. For a disoriented moment he was alone. He considered fleeing down the stairwell, but Layla passed through the wall with the gun extended and scowled.
"Don't even think about running."
"Where would I run? A McDonald's?"
She shoved the gun into his ribs and he moved forward. Not much choice in the matter. Either he moved forward or he struggled over the gun in the narrow space and tried to run through a solid wall.
As they wound around the center pillar firelight began to flicker on the walls and organ music drifted up from below, accompanied by gloomy chanting.
"Nice atmosphere. You people just move into the neighborhood?"
The woman ignored him.
Finally they reached the bottom, a stone floor polished to a high sheen. The small square antechamber opened on a fire-brightened corridor, which led to a larger chamber where the fire and the music seemed to originate. Dark humanoid shapes moved in the space beyond.
The gun pressed into his ribs and he stepped into the corridor.
Beyond the entrance the dark figures shuffled in the firelight. A male voice boomed over the music: "We call upon thee, Moloch!" said a disembodied voice with a Southern gentleman accent. "Destroyuh of worlds! Eatuh of innocayunce! We call upon you to vanquish the progeny of owuh enemies, and bring prosperity to owuh own!"
"Sounds like we're late for the party."
"They won't start without you," Layla breathed in his ear, prickling the back of his neck. "You're the guest of honor."
Stepping out into the large circular chamber carved into rock Marcus saw the twenty or more figures wore black hooded cloaks—which he supposed was better than the white cloaks he'd been expecting from the leader's accent.
A giant stone statue of an owl overlooked the gatherers, each of its eyes as big as a crouched full-grown man. Beneath it stood a smaller bust of a chiseled man with a bull's head, its human hands raised in a "don't shoot" gesture. Arched columns lined the walls with burning torches in vestibules between them. Two huge fires roared on either side of the giant owl.
A woman's screams echoed on the domed ceiling.
"What the fuck is going on here?"
The cloaked figures turned at the sound of Marcus's cry.
Though many of their faces were obscured by shadow, the men and women whose faces he could see didn't look like worshippers of the occult to Marcus. They were librarians and tax auditors. Tech support and bus drivers. Golf instructors and doctors. Most of them were white and middle-aged, but there were several Hispanic men and women, an Asian woman, even an Arabic man.
The screamer lay chained to a stone altar at the foot of the owl, a black woman with sweat-slicked dark skin and short-cropped hair, her knees drawn up to her belly, slightly distended from pregnancy. Marcus had watched Felicia give birth to Katrina and this woman didn't look anywhere near far enough along to be screaming from contractions.
She was just as frightened as he was, if not more. Her fear amplified his own.
"Ah, I see owuh special guest has arrahved!"
The crowd parted for the man with the Southern accent, who peeled back the hood of his red cloak as he approached. His pale bald scalp gleamed in the firelight as he stroked his silver goatee.
Two men closed in on either side of Marcus and grabbed his arms, reminding him of the way Simon Adder had squeezed his bicep earlier in the day, except their grip was much harder. He struggled against them but couldn't break free.
"What do you want from me?"
"Meeeerely to observe," the leader said. "And to tell those frog-fuckers in the Brotherhood of Kek that we are not to be trifled weeuth."
"The Brotherhood? That's what this is about? Shit, man, I'm not friends with those fratboy peckerwoods!"
"Yeah, right," Layla sputtered. "Then what were you doing hanging out in their cabana all morning checking out chicks?"
The leader scowled, shadows darkening his brow. "Layla, please."
"That was business." Marcus scanned their shadowy faces with a pleading look. "I'm just a deliveryman!"
The leader scoffed. "Do you meeeean to tell me." He spoke languidly, with several pauses. "You supplied a cabal. Of complete strangers. With the Living Antiprism of Dylath-Leen. Simply for money?"
"If that's what it's, then yeah." Marcus tried to shrug but the men held him fast. "I guess I did. Can I go now?"
"NO-ah!" the leader bellowed. "You must still beayuh witness to the sacrifice!"
"Well, I was just gonna stretch out in my hotel room and watch the fight on Pay Per View. You know, you guys don't have to kill a woman just to impress me."
The comment surprised laughter from the leader, and the others joined him. When the laughter died and all that was left was the screaming, the leader said, "We aren't. Going to kill the woman. We're going to murder her child!"
Marcus struggled against his captors. "You people are out of your minds—wait a second." He stopped struggling. "How far along is she?"
The Arabic man spoke with a heavy accent. "The child is five months old."
"Five months." Marcus considered it. "Isn't that just like a late-term abortion?"
The cultists spat on the stone floor in unison. Layla's gob of thick bubbly spit landed on his shoe and he tried to kick it off but it just smeared.
"Just? A late-term abortion? Do you happen to know how large a living child is at five months in utero?"
"I dunno. Like the size of a G.I. Joe?"
"A G.I.—!" The leader sneered. "At five months the baby is ten inches long. He has hayyyuh. His mothuh can feel him kick."
"Hayuh?"
"Hayuh," the leader said. When it was clear Marcus still didn't comprehend, the man stroked his beard and shouted, "Hayuh! Hayuh, dammit!"
"Oh hair. Okay." Marcus peered over the leader's shoulder to where the woman lay in chains, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Hey, uh… excuse me! Excuse me, miss?"
The woman stopped screaming and peered over. "Are you talking to me?"
"Yeah, uh… are they doing this abortion against your will?"
The woman frowned. "Well no, it's—it's my choice. Doctor said if I carry to full term I could die, and these folks said they'd do it for free so…"
"Can I ask why you're screaming then?"
She stretched her legs out and shrugged. "They told me to scream, so I did."
"This is of no consequence!" the Southern man cried. "The ritual must be carried out as prophesized!"
Marcus shrugged. "Don't let me stop you then."
"You don't cayuh that we're destroying a child?" Spittle flew from the leader's lips and his blue eyes went wild. "An African-American child?"
"Look I don't personally like the idea of abortion but I still believe every woman has the right to make that choice for themselves, not have it dictated to them."
"Choice!" the leader sputtered. "What if I told youuuu the woman who opened the first abortion clinic was Caucasian and supported eugenics? Would that change your mind, hmm?"
The other cultists nodded enthusiastically, some provocatively raising their eyebrows, others almost leering. Layla licked her lips.
"Not really. I mean it's fucked up if that's true, I guess. But access to abortions and birth control helped women break free from a life ruled by men, having to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen all their lives whether they wanted it or not. It paved the way for equality."
Again the cultists spat at their feet.
"Very well then." The leader nodded thoughtfully. "Let us just see what the Great God Moloch thinks of your equality!" He turned to the Middle Eastern man. "Dr. Khouri—begeeeun the procedure!"
Dr. Khouri nodded and the crowd parted for him. Another cultist wheeled an instruments tray over to the woman on the altar as the doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves. White powder rose from them in light clouds. Under the tray was a plastic machine that looked a little like a humidifier to Marcus. The cultists remained on either side of the chamber, giving him an unobstructed view.
"And how is the patient today?" Dr. Khouri's voice was pleasant, emphasizing the plosives. "Have you had any coughs or cold symptoms?"
The woman on the altar shook her head.
"That's good. First we are going to insert the speculum and dilate the uterus. This might be a little cold at first."
"Do I really have to watch this?" Marcus said. "Can't you just record it so I can watch it later? Make a highlights reel or something?"
"You muuuust watch!" The leader jabbed a white-gloved finger toward the men at Marcus's sides. "Hold him steady, gentlemen!"
The heavies held him in place. Marcus sighed and forced himself to pay closer attention, like watching a science experiment in school. The woman was attractive and had a good-looking vagina, especially with play of shadows and firelight, but the subject matter made her nudity entirely clinical and impossible to enjoy.
The doctor eased the speculum into her vagina and the patient winced. "Cold, yes?"
She chuckled nervously and nodded.
"You might feel a leettle pain now." Dr. Khouri inserted a long needle into the vaginal opening and depressed the plunger, removed it and repeated it three more times in different areas. "There. Not so bad, is it?"
The woman shook her head. "Tingly."
"Yes, the anesthetic often has that effect. Don't worry. This will all be over very shortly."
"You know for a whacko cult, your doctor's got a decent bedside manner," Marcus said.
The leader rounded on him, the clash of firelight and shadow giving his face a monstrous look. "Shut heeim uuup!"
With a pleased sneer, Layla struck Marcus across the face.
Marcus tasted blood. "That's a good left hook. I'll shut up."
The attending nurse cultist started the machine under the instruments table while Dr. Khouri inserted a long metal rod with a rounded end, rolling it in his hand, and removed it. He did the same with a larger rod. Then he slid a long tube with a suction end into her vaginal canal, and the machine slurped as he churned it inside her uterus.
The patient scowled deeply but didn't appear to be in much discomfort. Suddenly she jerked on the altar. "Ow!"
Layla rubbed her hands together gleefully, fire dancing in her eyes.
"You may experience some discomfort," Dr. Khouli said.
"Feels like the cramps. It's not terrible, just not great."
"You're doing fine." Dr. Khouri removed the suction and turned to the attending cultist. "Antiseptic wipes, please."
The nurse handed them to him and he removed a wobbly gob of flesh and blood from the plastic opening, which he plopped into a silver tray between the patient's legs.
Marcus turned away. "Aww, gross."
"Make heeim watch!"
The cultist to his left grabbed the back of his head and twisted it in the direction of the procedure. Marcus grimaced and tried to think of the remnants the doctor pulled from her uterus as gizzards instead of bits of fetus. It just made him hungry. His stomach squawked, long and loud enough that everyone in his vicinity turned to look.
"Come on, I can't be the only one who's hungry."
Layla sneered at him. "Even I think that's messed up, dude."
"We’re in a pizza place," he explained.
The doctor plucked another purple chunk off the suction end and the attending cultist shut off the machine. "All done. You've been a wonderful patient."
"Thanks, Doc."
The leader moved through the opening in the crowd. "Now… you shall beayuh witness the true powuh of Moloch!"
The leader picked up the tray containing the bits of fetus and flung it into the fire.
With a menacing WHOOSH the fire consumed it, doubling in size, brightening the entire chamber as the cultists gazed on in rapturous awe.
Marcus shook his head. "I don't think legally—can you do that?"
The leader pointed at Marcus as the fire grew around him. "You will not be joking much longuh, heathen! Moloch IS NOT AMUSED!"
Somewhere deep within the rock a rumble began. It started low, almost inaudible. A sensation in the bowels. Cultists turned to look at each other nervously. Then it grew. The walls of the chamber shook. Columns split. The men holding Marcus let him go and backed away.
A burly man screamed and shouldered through the crowd toward the exit.
The face of the owl split down the middle.
The instruments tray toppled. The attending nurse dove out of its way as a large chunk of plaster fell from Moloch's face, leaving a hole where the beak had been. A shrill, ululating shriek arose from the darkness within.
As if something inside the statue was alive.
"MOLOCH HAS AWAKENED!" the leader cried, holding his arms out in ecstasy.
Rocks crumbled and fell from the ceiling. The statue of Moloch split open like an egg and massive brown feathers poked through the cracks. A chunk of plaster severed the bull's head and it fell on Dr. Khouri. The horns pinned him to the ground as he screamed, blood darkening his red cloak.
HOO-HOO! HOO-OOOOOH! HOO-OOOOOH!
Everyone screamed in pure terror and scurried over each other like ants for the exit as the massive tawny wings of the Great Moloch unfurled.
Only Layla stood her ground. Wild-eyed, she pulled the gun from her holster and aimed at the fleeing cultists indiscriminately as the chamber collapsed and all hell broke loose around her.
Through the confusion Marcus caught glimpses of an Asian woman, her hood removed, unchaining the patient from the altar. The leader didn't seem to notice, only watched his followers abandon him and his hooting god.
"Whayuh are you all going? This is what we wanted!"
A portly white man Judo-chopped Layla at the wrists. She dropped the gun, and it clattered to the stone floor. A fleeing cultist kicked the gun to Marcus's feet.
Marcus bent quickly, his spine crackling angrily, and grabbed it.
He aimed at the emerging colossus, not sure what a bullet, even a whole clip would do against a god.
The portly man shouted in his face, "We have to go!"
The Asian woman grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the exit. The portly man grabbed his other shoulder. She had slipped out of her cloak and given it to the patient, who staggered along behind them.
Tears streamed down Layla's face, streaking her makeup. "They're getting away-hay-hay!" she cried.
"YOU WILL ALL PERISH! MOLOCH WILL EAT THE SOULS OF THE—"
Marcus turned back at the glut of screaming, weeping cultists packed in the exit just as the Great God Moloch bent down and snapped up the leader in its beak. The leader's legs kicked once, and Moloch threw back its head and swallowed him.
"The roof's going to collapse," the Asian woman shouted. "We have to get out of here now!"
Marcus aimed the gun at the archway and fired. Bits of stone rained down on the crowd of cultists and they pushed forward, tumbling over each other like dominoes in their attempt to get away. The collapsing ceiling and the thirty-foot-tall people-eating owl hadn't seem to faze them, but a black man with a gun got them moving.
Marcus and the others pushed forward into the corridor. Behind them the walls shook and columns tumbled, smashing to bits on the stone floor.
The patient shook her head. "Is that anesthesia messing with my head, or was that a big old hooty owl back there?"
"You're goddamn right it was!" The portly man laughed delightedly. "
Did you see that? I knew it! I knew they were doing late-term abortions at Gringo's Pizza!"
Marcus recognized the man's voice. He'd heard the radio show host the other day, on his way out of the city, talking about Wentworth's rally.
The Asian woman rolled her eyes. "Don’t you think that's a little less important than the fact that they managed to summon an ancient deity most people didn't think exists? Or that the Brotherhood has the Living Antiprism?"
Marcus waved the pistol. "Helloooo! Black man with a gun here. Is anybody gonna tell me what the fuck is going on or do I have to start shooting people to get some damn attention?"
Juliette let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.
"They're called the Cult of Moloch," the portly man said, shouldering a smaller cultist out of their way. "I've had tabs on them for years but I wasn't able to infiltrate their group until Juliette came along."
The radio host nodded toward the Asian woman, who looked to be half-white to Marcus now that he got a closer look. She smiled briefly at him.
"You're working for Americo Morales, is that right?"
"Yeah. But I'm thinking of tendering my resignation after this shit."
"Don't. We could use a man like you on the inside."
"I'm not anybody's inside man. Shit, I haven't felt this wanted since the weekend those rich white dudes offered me money to be their hunting guide." Nobody got the joke. "I guess you guys don't like Ice-T."
"I would kill for an iced tea right now," the radio host growled.
The hallway cleared and they entered the square antechamber. Smoke drifted in from the dome and a delicious smell of cooked meat prickled Marcus's nostrils, making his stomach growl. "Anybody else smell chicken?"
Behind them a great ghastly shriek arose. Thunderous clattering footfalls plodded toward the corridor. Marcus turned to see flames rolling off Moloch's back as the beast waddled toward the exit, beating its wings with a terrible screech. No sign of Layla. He could only assume the god had eaten her for dessert.
Juliette and the radio host pushed the cultists at the foot of the stairs, urging them onward. "Ándale ándale!" the radio host growled. He slapped one of the cultists on their red-robed ass.
Moloch slammed into the archway. Everyone but the patient, who appeared to be in an anesthetic daze, jumped. The creature's yellow beak and one large golden eye poked through into the corridor, the beak opening and closing as it screeched and the eye rolled maniacally. Marcus heard the god's wings beat and the fire roar. Black smoke fluttered in through Moloch's feathers.
HARBINGER Deliver Us to Evil Page 8
