by B. V. Larson
“Ezzie,” I said, “I want to know something else. Did you start this whole thing? Did you goad the Beast into action against Las Vegas? Why did it come to our world and begin eating people in the first place? As I recall, it started around the time you left Rostok.”
Ezzie’s eyestalks drifted apart again. I gathered this was a gesture for her, as I’d seen it before. She did that when she was thinking or hesitating before answering a question. Maybe it was like a human shrug.
“I came here after I met you at my home pools. I came because Rostok and I know this place. I hoped to make a home here for both of us—hot enough for me and familiar to him. I didn’t mean to upset the Beast, but I always make it angry when I come here. It can’t digest me, you see.”
“Yeah, and I bet you give it a tummy ache, too.” McKesson chuckled.
“I’m afraid so,” she said.
“So the Beast is looking for Rostok?” I asked. “It’s attacking the Lucky Seven to get him? Where did it get that idea?”
“I told it where to find him. I will stop traveling these tunnels when I have my Rostok.”
As we walked down the crispy, burned tunnels, I wondered about Rostok and the Beast. Exactly what was the nature of their relationship? Was Rostok an escaped imp from this particular slice of hell? The Beast certainly did qualify as a devil, if anything I’d ever met up with did. If that were the case, then I found it interesting that Rostok had given me a weapon and instructions on how to kill his own dark god.
That was what I planned to do, if I could. When I found the heart of this Beast, I would press the liver against it and pump in venom. I only prayed it would work, that it would be powerful enough to kill the monster that ruled in this foul place.
I wondered, too, how the Beast had been awakened. If it hadn’t been Ezzie who had started it all, who had?
The tunnels were like a sewer—but worse. The walls weren’t solid concrete. They were more like mud. When I touched them, it felt as if I was in contact with the bottom of a river—a river with a lot of slimy moss floating in it. At times, it was hard to keep my shoes on when the floor became mushy. In other areas, it was more solid, like stone. As we went deeper, winding down, following random twists and turns, the walls and floor became softer again. I found myself walking in Ezzie’s burned wake. The smoldering region she passed over was uncomfortably hot, but at least it was firm and provided good footing.
When we reached the bottom of the tunnel complex, we met a guardian. I wasn’t sure if it was the same one we’d seen before, but it was close enough.
First, a feeling of dread overcame me. I don’t know how else to explain it. I thought it was the oppressively thick air when the sensation began, but it quickly grew in my mind until I felt fearful to take another step. I knew McKesson felt it as well. He faltered and slowed. I glanced back, and in the darkness I could make out his form several paces behind.
Ezzie, for her part, seemed immune. She glided forward, humming tunelessly. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so close to panic.
“Do you feel it?” I whispered to McKesson.
“Feel what?”
“You know…scared. I think it’s somewhere close.”
McKesson heaved a breath and coughed quietly. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I feel it.”
I knew from experience that mental effects were possible. Meng commanded people around her with her artifact. I’d seen it with my own eyes. It only made sense that other beings might have the power to alter human minds, or at least to alter our emotions. I wasn’t immune to such a natural power, as it didn’t come from an artifact.
We forced ourselves to continue following Ezzie. It helped somewhat that her dull reddish glow provided a stable light source in this dismal world.
When the guardian attacked us, it took us by surprise. I think it knew who we were and that we could be dangerous. Rather than taking a direct approach, it chose to lie in ambush. It waited until Ezzie and I had passed. Just as McKesson brought up the rear, it lunged out of what I had assumed was a solid wall. The wall turned out to be a ridge of muck, which went down in a gush. A huge limb shot out.
I whirled, and McKesson’s gun sparked and boomed. In that flash of light and fire, I saw the thing that had him as I’d never been able to before. It was terrifying and thoroughly alien. I glimpsed multiple eyes, a writhing cluster of tentacles at the throat, and a wet dark skin of mottled brown.
McKesson’s gun flared again. The creature’s muscles rippled in response. It lifted McKesson into the air and squeezed him. I heard a ghastly snapping sound and a gargling human scream. It was killing him.
Although fear gripped me as at no other moment in my life, I stumbled forward into action. I felt numb and my hands shook. I didn’t dare use my bottle to burn the monster, as I felt sure I’d somehow burn McKesson by accident. Instead, I formed a fist around the liver, squeezing it in my hand as I punched forward.
I touched the artifact to the guardian. The contact almost broke my mind. I’ve never felt such a wave of despair and panic. I cannot describe it, other than to say I’d rather have all my limbs broken rather than feel it again.
I willed the thing in my hand to release its poison. That part wasn’t difficult, as I was already in a state of terror, and self-defense comes easily to me in such situations. I could not see the monster’s face, but I could sense it stiffening. Another popping sound came from McKesson. I suspected the guardian’s hand had squeezed him convulsively. I heard no response from McKesson, despite the fact he had to be in agony. I figured he was either dead or unconscious.
Heat flared behind me a moment later. It was Ezzie. She’d reversed course and come close.
“Out of the way, Quentin,” she said.
I threw myself against the wall of the passage. Ezzie flared, generating more internal heat temporarily, something her kind could manage in these situations. She wasn’t fast, but the guardian feared her. It dropped McKesson, who flopped onto the tunnel floor and slid away bonelessly downhill. Ezzie advanced upon the guardian, which tried to flee but seemed unable to do so.
Staggering, then falling in a heap, it flailed on the tunnel floor. I could see it only as an outline, a shape like that of a huge man under a blanket of mud. That muddy blanket was its alien skin, I knew, and it was dying due to my dose of poison. Ezzie caught up with it and a steaming hiss erupted. The monster could not avoid its fate, but long before Ezzie had burned it to death, I think the poison mercifully stilled its heart.
“It’s dead,” Ezzie said.
“Thank you, Ezzie.”
“I think you killed it. It tastes funny.”
I shuddered and knelt over McKesson. He was out cold, and his right shoulder was two inches lower than his left. He had a broken collarbone, but he still had a pulse. I was surprised how concerned I felt about the bastard.
“I think I need to take him out of here, or he’s going to die,” I told Ezzie.
“What about the Beast?”
I hesitated. “What’s the Beast like, Ezzie? Have you met this creature?”
“Yes. The Beast is quite unpleasant. It controls this place. The guardians are its servants.”
“I gathered that,” I said. I tried to think. It was difficult, as my emotions were running high. The greatest of them was an abject fear of this place. It had been growing in me since I’d arrived, I realized now. I wondered if I would be able to press on if things became worse.
I had killed this guardian, and if the master of this domain was simply a larger, more powerful version I might win. But then again, it might reach out of another wall and crush me to death before I could strike.
“I don’t think I can beat the Beast right now,” I said. “Can you open a path? Can you take me home, Ezzie?”
“All right,” she said mildly.
She opened a rip in space that twirled with pulsing orange light.
“Are you coming with us?” I asked.
“No. I’m going home. I don�
��t like it here, and I don’t think Rostok and I would be happy here, living with the Beast.”
I wished her luck and dragged McKesson into the rip after me. It was just big enough for us to squeeze through.
Ezzie sent us right back to the ruined casino. I stepped out of nothingness into the damaged building, finding myself between the blackjack tables and the quarter slots. The slot machines were dark and lay on their sides. Quarters and paper cups full of chips lay strewn everywhere, discarded and forgotten. What a horrible panic must have swept this place.
The Beast was nowhere to be seen. The tentacles were gone, as were the rips it had used to attack the casino. At least, I thought, I could feel good about that part. It seemed that my efforts had made it retreat.
Ezzie came through the rip but didn’t stay with me. She formed a new rip and left again before anyone stumbled upon us. I laid McKesson on his back in the smoke-filled room and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. I pulled out my cell phone to call for an ambulance.
“Sir? Put that away!” a voice rang out.
I turned with the phone to my ear. A startling figure advanced. He had brilliant flashlights attached to his helmet and his gun. I slowly lifted my hands.
“I need help,” I said. “This man is a police officer, and he’s dying.”
“We’ll take care of him. Get out of the building. No civilians are allowed in here; we’re sweeping every floor.”
I blinked at him. “Sweeping every floor for what?”
“Terrorists, of course. Don’t you know what happened?”
“Uh, enlighten me.”
“The building was attacked. Bomb damage and bodies everywhere. All the survivors are loading up on buses to go to the hospital. That includes you.”
“I’m not injured, but please take my friend.”
He shook his head emphatically. “We’ll get a stretcher and take him out. You’re going right now.”
I thought about arguing, but two more flashlight-wearing men in body armor appeared near a crushed Corvette circled by velvet ropes. I gathered the car had once been a grand prize.
“Show me the way,” I said.
I followed the man toward the exit. Long before we reached the door, however, I used Jacqueline’s candy cane and vanished. My escort cursed and fumed, marching around in circles, calling for me. I left him searching around the ruined front desk of the hotel. The last I saw of him, he was standing outside the restroom, threatening me. I shrugged and stepped outside into the comparatively clear night air.
I walked outside, getting my first look at the Lucky Seven. The building hadn’t come down, but there had been a considerable amount of damage. Hundreds of windows were broken, and smoke drifted out of several of them far up the walls. For blocks around, the police had barricaded the streets. As I listened to snatches of conversation, I was stunned to learn they, too, were engaged in the cover story about mythical terrorists.
I was weary and wanted nothing more than to find a hot shower and a bottle to take into it with me. But I was stunned by the situation. How could the authorities possibly believe they would be able to cover up a story this wild? A building attacked by masses of alien tentacles? Crushed bodies, hundreds missing or dead, fires and mayhem of every imaginable type? Just the police themselves would be impossible to keep quiet. Who could go home to a spouse at the end of such a day and maintain tight-lipped silence after having seen the wildest sights of his life?
I’d once read that most conspiracy theories don’t hold water due to the nature of human psychology. It’s simply impossible for ordinary people to keep a secret. That argument had always rung true to me. Even I’d found it hard to believe in UFOs, Bigfoot, and the like.
But today, I was witnessing a massive conspiracy firsthand. How could they possibly succeed? I found the buses in question. There were only two of them in evidence now, but I surmised from wandering emergency people that many more had been here recently. The buses were odd in appearance. I’ve seen a lot of these bulky vehicles, and they generally run to type. But these were different. They were painted a glossy black and had no insignia displayed that I recognized. Every window was heavily tinted and completely opaque.
My eyebrows lifted of their own accord. This was interesting. I took the opportunity to poke my nose into one of them and have a look around. The driver was sitting in his seat, texting. The engine idled loudly while his cell phone made comparatively tiny tones as he tapped at it.
I took a look at what he was telling someone with his thumbs on his cell phone. I read “totally bored. convention still hasn’t broken up. will come home in an hour…I hope.”
Convention? I was stunned. This man was in on the conspiracy. It was chilling. What would the motivation be? How well paid was a government bus driver? Did he believe this was all for the sake of national security?
The man twisted his neck around and half stood up. He’d detected me somehow, I could tell. I leaned back quickly so he wouldn’t run into me. His head swung back to his console, and my eyes followed his.
There I was, peering over his shoulder like a ghost. The bus had cameras, and they’d spotted me.
“Who’s there?” he demanded loudly.
I made a hasty exit from the bus. Surrounded by cop cars, I realized many of them were idling and probably had their cameras running. I had to get out of here before someone decided to capture the ghost in their midst.
I hurried away and crossed the empty boulevard, heading into the one area no one seemed to be going. I walked into the deserted streets of the Triangle.
I walked through dark, quiet streets and puzzled over what I’d seen. Was this some kind of giant organization, bent on erasing this event? Did these men come from the cube city I’d seen in the desert? Was the city teeming with government goons? It just didn’t add up. The bus driver had not fit the part of a grim-faced CIA cleaner. The cops hadn’t impressed me as anything other than people doing their jobs. If I had to guess, I would say they all believed their own cover story—but how was this possible given the number of eyewitnesses? What was going on? What could cause so many people to act in concert?
The first answer I came up with was a chilling possibility. What if I wasn’t on Earth at all—not my Earth, anyway. What if Ezzie had returned me to a close approximation of my homeworld, where terrorists rather than monsters had just attacked the Strip?
I rejected the idea after entertaining it briefly. There were too many things that didn’t fit. The damage to the hotel didn’t look like a bomb attack.
If this was my Earth, then something strange was going on. Those strange black buses were on the top of the list. They were physical and undeniably weird. I decided I couldn’t figure this out in a vacuum. I didn’t have a lot of people I could ask about it, but I knew one who might be watching closely as these events unfolded. I also suspected this particular individual knew more than he’d been letting on since the beginning. It was time to talk to Gutter Jim. He was the one who had sent McKesson and me after the Beast in the first place.
I walked to the middle of the closest intersection in the Triangle and took out the bottle that served me as a weapon. I clanged it on the manhole cover in the middle of the street.
“Come on out of there,” I called. “I know you can hear me.”
It took a minute or two, but I was determined. At last a figure stepped away from the street corner behind me. I stood up and turned around sharply. He had come from the storm drain, rather than the manhole.
“It’s time you and I had a serious talk,” I said, putting my hands in my pocket.
He looked me over but didn’t come any closer. “Did you get to the Beast?”
“We hurt it.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “Don’t try to put a good face on it. You failed utterly.”
“We drove it back, I think.”
“You didn’t kill it. More people will be eaten tomorrow night. Many more.”
“Did you honestly think
we could do it? Or did you just send us in there to die? Do you know what it’s like in there? Have you ever visited that little slice of hell, Jim?”
He laughed. He took a step toward me, waggling a finger. “That’s quite a stack of questions, rogue. I don’t answer questions from your kind unless they are politely stated—and I’m in the mood.”
My anger flared. I’d seen too many people die. I could no longer stomach his attitude, and I’d heard enough. It was time to get some straight answers.
I figured he wasn’t coming any closer than he was right now, so I vanished and started moving around him. In my pocket, my left hand was wrapped around the candy cane. In my right, I gripped the bottle.
Surprised, Jim made a tiny sucking sound as he drew in a gulp of air. “A rogue trick?”
I had to get behind him. He figured out what was happening about two seconds later. I suspect he’d heard my feet pounding on the asphalt. He was only a few steps from the storm drain he’d risen up from, but I calculated it should be enough. In a near panic, Gutter Jim scrambled toward the dark drain, diving onto the street like a runner sliding for home base. His fingers reached desperately toward the square metal waffling that covered the drain.
I knew if he reached the drain, he’d escape, but I didn’t want to kill him. I smashed him down, swinging the bottle like a club. I caught him just behind the ear and drove him into the pavement.
He crawled on his belly, still game, still dragging himself toward the drain. His hands were claws, but he was still a few feet short of his goal.
I sat on his back and pressed the bottle against his shoulder. I allowed myself to become visible again; I wanted him to know who had him pinned.
“Freeze,” I said. “Or so help me, I’ll burn a hole right through you.”
He froze. I felt his labored breathing. I shifted, putting my knee on him. I never gave him a chance to move. I knew the second Gutter Jim had so much as a finger into his home domain, he would be gone.
“You’re a brave one, I have to give you that,” I told him. “None of the other Community members I’ve met up with would leave their domains for a second. But I suppose I can understand it in your case. Who wants to spend life in a stinking sewer? And who else in their right mind would go down there to visit the wretched gutter-man?”
