“You had me worried for a minute, there,” she said.
“I’m still worried,” he replied, and forced half a smile. “Somebody want to help me with this sword?”
Anastasia stared at the spot where the iron blade entered the crimson flesh of a man she cared deeply for.
“I can’t do it,” she confessed, and looked up at the MI5 agents. “Creaghan?”
Without hesitation, Captain Creaghan stepped forward. He gripped the sword two-handed, as the dead soldier had.
“Why don’t you count to three,” Creaghan suggested. “Prepare yourself. This is going to hurt.”
“No kidding?” Hellboy said. “So far it feels kind of good. Just pull the damn thing out before . . .”
Creaghan yanked. The sword slid out, followed by a six-inch-high spurt of blood.
“Jeez!” Hellboy growled, and sucked in a deep breath.
He let it out slowly, then brought his knees up under his body and climbed painfully to his feet. “That’s much better,” he groaned.
“Hellboy,” Anastasia warned. “Maybe we should just try to get you back to camp. We’ll get a bunch of people to carry you.”
“Thanks, ’Stasia, but I weigh nearly a quarter ton,” he replied. “I don’t think you’d have much luck. I’ll be okay in a few hours.”
Hellboy turned so Anastasia could get a good look at the wound in his back. Her eyes widened. Though the dead soldier had nearly bored a hole in Hellboy’s body with his sword, the wound had closed to a one-inch puncture already. A small trickle of blood seeped from it, and Anastasia knew that, too, would soon be closed.
“Christ,” one of the MI5 agents, the one she thought was Carruthers, whispered. “What the hell is he?”
“That’s quite enough,” Creaghan snapped.
Anastasia smiled. Apparently MI5 agents had emotions after all.
Hellboy glanced around the shore at what remained of the Persian soldiers. Anastasia followed his gaze. All that remained of the dead men was sand and ragged clothing, and their weapons.
“Sand,” Hellboy muttered. “Just sand.”
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Anastasia asked.
“Never,” he answered. “I once saw a zombie transform into a kind of humanoid albino alligator, but I’ve never fought anything that disintegrated into bits of sand right in front of my eyes.”
“It’s almost as if they became the desert,” Creaghan commented.
Anastasia glanced at him. For the first time, she realized something had changed about the man. It seemed that the strangeness of the situation had instilled in him a far greater interest in cooperation. It was about time, as far as she was concerned. He would probably always be condescending, but it would make life much simpler if they could at least work together instead of at cross-purposes.
“Or the desert preserved them this way, somehow,” Anastasia offered.
Hellboy only stared at the ground, at the clothes and small piles of sand. Anastasia began to pick up the dead warriors’ weapons.
“Jenny, grab the rest of these, will you?” she called.
Three people, including Jenny Marcus, approached the spot where Hellboy stooped to examine the remains of the dead soldiers. He sifted the sand through his fingers as Anastasia made certain her team handled the ancient weapons carefully.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Creaghan asked. “Those are evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Anastasia asked, bewildered. “Mass murder? The killers have been dead for two thousand years. They’re dust now. Meanwhile, these are probably the best preserved weapons from the ancient world ever discovered. I’m sure the Prime Minister would agree that the British Museum ought to have something for its losses.”
Creaghan did not respond. Hellboy stood up and looked around, his eyes darting from face to face.
“We’ve got to figure out who this ‘master’ is they were talking about,” he said. “Whoever made them this way has got a lot of power.”
“What do you mean, ‘They were talking about’?” Creaghan asked.
Anastasia frowned and stared at Hellboy. The same question had been on her mind as well.
“The lead zombie, or whatever they are,” he explained. “The guy said they were slaves to some guy who’s also a slave to some guy named Mar-Ti-Ku. Come on. Are you guys as confused as I am?”
“Ah, sorry to tell you this, old friend,” Anastasia said, “but all we heard coming from those dead things was some kind of disturbing gibberish. No words. Or at least no words in any language I understood.”
Hellboy looked at Creaghan, who nodded his agreement with Anastasia.
“Well,” he shrugged, “that’s not terribly surprising, actually. One time the BPRD sent me to check out a possession in Tennessee. Little kid named Eric Powell. Spit blood, swore at his mother, all that Exorcist crap. He babbled on in what everybody else heard as gibberish. It sounded like English to me.
“When I touched the poor kid’s forehead, he opened his eyes, took a look at me, and screamed. His mother comforted him, and he was fine after that. But the Baptist preacher that was supposedly going to do the exorcism tried to kill me, because he said I could ‘hear the voice of evil.’”
There was silence for a moment. Anastasia didn’t know what to say. The story disturbed her. Apparently, it disturbed the others as well, because nobody would meet Hellboy’s eyes. Even Creaghan shuffled his feet nervously.
“Jeez, will you guys lighten up,” Hellboy complained. “I kind of thought it would come in handy, you know, my understanding arcane languages. And anyway, the most overwhelming question isn’t how these guys got this way or who did what to whom.”
“What is it then?” Creaghan asked.
“Well, according to Professor Lahiri, there were fifty thousand of these guys, right?” he asked.
“Yes,” Anastasia agreed, and her stomach lurched as she realized where Hellboy’s logic was leading.
“What I want to know,” he said, “is where are the other forty-nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-seven missing Persian soldiers?”
Creaghan blanched.
“Maybe it’s time we head back to base camp,” Anastasia suggested.
CHAPTER FIVE
—
At dusk, the desert horizon to the west seemed to glow with a magical golden light that, for a brief moment, overcame the chilling effect of the day’s events. Even when it was gone, and night had fallen, and the memory of the dark and evil workings of the day seemed all too real and threatening, the denizens of Anastasia Bransfield’s camp were relieved.
Night meant that work was over. They had taken enough photographs of the massacred archaeological team, investigated the site of the slaughter, and the area where the undead Persians had fought Hellboy, in great detail. Anastasia had brooded about it, and finally ordered that the significant and recognizable body parts must be recovered from the trees if possible.
Her team refused. She didn’t have the heart to force them, and thought that even if she tried, they might simply quit. They weren’t made for that kind of work, hadn’t been sent to Egypt to climb trees filled with rotting gore and human limbs.
Creaghan’s men didn’t have a choice. They searched the trees until they found the head of Lady Catherine Lambert, a daughter to a second cousin of the Queen. They bathed afterwards, of course, and burned the clothes they had worn. But all of the MI5 agents were quiet later on. Anastasia thought she heard Carruthers — or was it Burke? — retching behind his tent just before dusk.
But finally, the day was over. When the sun disappeared, the desert grew extremely cold quite rapidly. Fires were lit, and burned warmly but without any real comfort. Most of her team retreated into their tents, some for the kind of warmth they could only get from one another, others merely to sleep. To sleep, and try to keep the nightmares at bay. Even those who had not witnessed the atrocity in the clearing had heard enough of it to sicken them.
Cr
eaghan posted a guard. Two men on at all times. Whatever was happening, they were all agreed it wasn’t over.
When all but the guards were asleep, Anastasia still sat with Hellboy around the dying fire. She moved close to him for warmth, confident that neither of them would assume any other motive. Their split had been too definite, their knowledge of one another too profound, for such games.
“Getting sleepy?” he asked in a gruff voice, the closest he could come to a whisper.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to sleep. I’m afraid to dream tonight. You’re lucky you don’t need much rest.”
Their eyes met. His were strong and calm, loving, and contemplative. They were what had drawn her to him all those years ago. Now they were a comfort she sorely needed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, the fire flickering off his red skin, turning it orange. “I’ll keep watch over you.”
“Thanks,” Anastasia said, and smiled. “You always could keep the nightmares away.”
“Hey,” Hellboy brightened, “that’s my job.”
They sat in silence then, but a comfortable one. The quiet familiarity of old friends satisfied with the mere presence of one another. Conversation was unnecessary. Despite his outward appearance and his sometimes brusque manner, she had never met a man more attuned to human emotion, never met a man as honest and good.
That’s what he was, after all: a man. Many would argue with her, and their arguments might be sound. But to her, Hellboy would never be anything but a man. Once upon a time, he had been her man. Now, he was only her friend. But the truest friend she had ever had.
The fear and the numbing horror from earlier in the day lingered somewhat. But with Hellboy there, she was able to push it away. She had faced the unknown with him before and survived.
She had been afraid for Hellboy as much as she had feared for her own life. His temper was the only quality she did not admire in him. But even that rarely surfaced outside of life-threatening situations. And she could not take him too vehemently to task for that. After all, that temper had saved her life more than once.
Anastasia was contemplating how their relationship had changed, warmed by the fire, lulled and sleepy. Hellboy put his arm around her protectively, and pulled her close. The movement caused him to wince in pain. She looked up at his face in alarm, realizing his wound had not yet completely healed.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll be fine in the morning. I’ll be . . . what was it you used to say?”
“Right as rain,” she answered.
“Yeah,” he smiled. “Right as rain.”
Then the sky lit up around them and the night exploded with sound. Two flares burst above their heads and began their unnaturally slow des-cent toward Earth. A thunderous rumbling came from beyond the dunes not far from camp. Seconds later, the first tank appeared. It was followed by many other vehicles: tanks and trucks and jeeps.
“Look!” Hellboy said, and pointed into the sky.
Anastasia saw dark shapes blotting out the stars. She shivered, but wasn’t sure if it was the cold or dread that gave her such a chill.
“What are they?” she asked.
“Parachutes, would be my guess,” he answered. “Supplies for the troops, weapons and such. Easier to airlift them than carry them overland.”
They watched as the vehicles approached, dozens of headlights and spotlights arcing toward their camp. Anastasia felt a tightening in her stomach unlike anything she had ever felt before.
“Is it war, then?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t think so,” Hellboy answered. “They’re awfully conspicuous for it to be war. But let’s go find out, just to be sure.”
Hellboy was tempted to lead by a few steps, to protect Anastasia should anything unexpected occur. But she was a capable woman, and in charge of the investigation. Instead, he held back and allowed her to lead him through the scrambling MI5 goons and archaeologists who scurried from their tents to see what the commotion was about. Still, he brought himself up to his full height, and held his tail stiffly up behind him.
It seemed like macho bullshit. Hell, it even felt like macho bullshit. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted anyone who saw her coming to know Anastasia had serious backup.
They set out across the desert for the jeep that had broken from the military pack to take the lead.
“Are we sure these aren’t Libyan troops?” Hellboy asked.
“The Libyans aren’t that stupid,” Anastasia answered. “Invading Egypt would not be a good idea right now.”
An engine revved behind them and Captain Creaghan pulled alongside with Burke and Carruthers in his jeep.
“Would you care to join us?” Creaghan asked.
Carruthers squeezed into the backseat with Burke so Hellboy and Anastasia could pile in front.
“Thank you, Captain,” Anastasia said with what Hellboy considered to be remarkable restraint. “But aren’t you supposed to be keeping a low profile?”
Creaghan sneered at her, but said nothing.
The jeep lurched forward, and a few moments later, came to a stop once more, directly in front of the convoy’s lead vehicle. Even as they all climbed out, two armed soldiers leaped from the vehicle, to be followed very grandly by a man in the dress of an American military officer.
“I’m looking for Stacie Bransfield,” the officer said.
Hellboy raised an eyebrow. Only Anastasia’s close friends called her Stacie. He himself had always preferred her full name, which suited her. She didn’t really like Stacie, especially not from strangers.
“I’m Anastasia Bransfield,” she said stiffly.
“My apologies Miss Bransfield,” the man said. “That was the name I was given to ask for. I’m Colonel Jack Shapiro, United States Army. We have a coordinated effort here with the British and Egyptians.”
“Actually, it’s Dr. Bransfield,” she corrected. “So, are we at war, or aren’t we?”
“No, no,” the Colonel said. “Not at all. We’re merely here to make sure that war never happens. The Libyans aren’t going to start anything. They’re little more than a warehouse for worldwide terrorism. President Reagan gave them a spanking, and we’re here to be sure there aren’t any tantrums as a result.”
“Don’t you think any backlash would probably be through other terrorist actions?” Hellboy asked.
He had been standing behind the rest of them, near the back of the jeep. Now he took a step forward, and Colonel Shapiro’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“My God!” the Colonel said. “What the . . .”
“This is Hellboy,” Anastasia interjected quickly. “Of the BPRD. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Colonel.”
Shapiro colored and executed a curt nod. “Indeed I have,” he said sternly. “My apologies, sir, I was unaware of your presence on this dig. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” he lied.
Anastasia shot him a questioning look, apparently curious as to the Colonel’s deferential treatment of Hellboy. Most people treated him like a celebrity, but here the Colonel was treating him like a superior officer or visiting dignitary.
“I have a Presidential commission,” he explained softly, so that only she and perhaps Burke of MI5 could hear him. “I guess I’m the ambassador to the paranormal realm, or some such thing that gets Ronnie a photo op with me once or twice a year.”
She smiled at that. Politics, particularly American politics, were about as paranormal as anything Hellboy had ever encountered. She’d given up trying to understand government years ago.
“In any case,” Colonel Shapiro continued, obviously irked at the rudeness of their private conversation, “I have been instructed to suggest that you withdraw your team and discontinue your dig until the present crisis has passed.”
“What?” Anastasia snapped, her voice echoing across the desert in the darkness. “Do you know what you’re suggesting? The research that will be lost, the time and money squandered?”
“We might ask the same of you,” Creaghan said archly. “We don’t need babysitters, Colonel.”
Colonel Shapiro smiled in a patronizing fashion.
“Ah, I was wondering when MI5 would speak,” the Colonel said.
Creaghan blinked twice rapidly, taken aback by Shapiro’s statement.
“You are MI5, aren’t you, sir?” the Colonel asked.
“Sorry, Colonel,” Creaghan said, cracking an adversarial smile as he recovered from his surprise. “You don’t have clearance for that information. Suffice to say that whatever we want to do here will get done. After all, if the Prime Minister had been interested in taking the U.N.’s advice about our withdrawal, we’d already be gone.
“I’ll make you a deal, you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” Creaghan concluded.
The Colonel’s eyes flicked from Hellboy to Creaghan and finally to Anastasia. He seemed to be contemplating what else he might say, but in the end, turned away without another word.
“Well, this is going to be cozy,” Anastasia said as they began to climb back into the jeep. “You make friends so easily, Creaghan.”
“In my line of work, friends are a liability,” the Captain responded.
“I’ll remember that when the time comes for me to haul your butt out of the fire,” Hellboy grumbled.
“What makes you think I’ll need your help?” Creaghan asked, his tone more arrogant than ever.
“Just a feeling I get,” Hellboy replied. “A feeling that today was only the beginning.”
The jeep started across the sand. When they pulled into camp moments later, the army constructing their own base camp in the desert nearby, one of the MI5 goons ran up to meet them.
The Lost Army Page 6
