The Green Lama: Horror in Clay (The Green Lama Legacy Book 2)

by Adam Lance Garcia

  The creature then cocked its head to the side. “But I see you, Lieutenant John Caraway,” it said as it turned and took a massive step toward him. “And I will see inside you and know your crimes.”

  “Aw, hell,” Caraway grumbled as he propped himself up onto his elbow and struggled to find his sidearm amongst the rubble.

  “You’ve aided the men of the crooked cross. I know this.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Caraway whispered as he pushed aside pieces of brick and glass. “I’m a bad, bad man.”

  He could feel the creature walk over him, the glowing eyes burning his skin. Pulling himself across the floor, Caraway shoved his hands deep into the rubble, hoping to find something he could use against the monster. “I guess this is moot at this point,” Caraway said, “but I’m guessing you’re the one behind the murders at the German consulate?” The creature didn’t reply. “Going for the strong, silent type? And you were all chatty a minute ago.”

  The creature’s massive fingers wrapped around Caraway’s midsection, squeezing at his wounds, popping open stitches, blood seeping through the bandages. Caraway grunted in pain and forced his hand deeper into the rubble until he felt the chill of cold steel before the creature lifted him off the ground.

  “So, is this the point where you start your monologue?” Caraway coughed, tasting blood. “Turn on your eye lights and peer deep within my soul?”

  “The children of Abraham and Sarah have been wronged…” the creature reiterated, his eyes once again glowing a deep jade.

  “Yeah, and you will pay for your crime,” Caraway said as he lifted up his pistol, planting the barrel in the creature’s left eye, and fired.

  The creature hollered, a nightmarish sound that seemed to shake the very fibers of the world around them. Without a moment to lose, Caraway pried himself free and dropped hard to the ground, a jagged piece of rubble stabbing him in the side. Despite the pain, Caraway launched to his feet and ran through the gaping hole in the wall of his office into the disaster area that was once the squad room. Risking a glance behind him, he saw the creature still screaming as it clutched at its left eye, jade steam rising up out of the socket. He had injured it, but that wasn’t going to be enough, Caraway reminded himself, clutching his side. This thing was behind the slaughter at the German consulate; if he was going to survive the next five minutes, he needed help. Now.

  Rounding a corner, Caraway discovered a gaping hole in the wall at the end of the hall, answering the question of how the creature had entered the police station. The late-night sounds of New York City wafted in with the breeze, sounds of normalcy juxtaposed against Caraway’s sheer sense of terror.

  Dammit, Caraway thought, feeling his heart beat in his throat, why does it always have to be so goddamn quiet when things get so goddamn terrifying?

  The creature’s arms exploded out from the wall behind Caraway. Diving forward, he felt the monster’s colossal hands swing just past his head. He rolled forward, landing with his back against the opposite wall. He felt the last of his stitches burst open, blood soaking his suit. Dizzy, he watched in subdued terror as the creature smashed through into the hallway, as if the brick and mortar were nothing but cardboard.

  “You will be judged,” the creature intoned, a green luminescent steam emanating from its damaged left eye.

  “Aw, can it already!” Caraway shouted as he fired every remaining round, pockmarking the creature’s body but doing nothing to slow its approach. His ammunition expended, he weakly tossed his pistol and watched it bounced off the creature’s clay surface and clatter to the floor. The creature loomed over him, its black and jade eyes glowing in silhouette.

  “All right,” Caraway whispered, his eyes half-shut, slowly losing consciousness from the blood loss. “Do it if you’re gonna do it. Ain’t no use in holding up the inevitable.”

  The creature considered Caraway. “You are not like the others. You do not cower.”

  “Heh.” He tilted his head up to face the creature. “Might die sitting down, but I’m gonna die a man. And no offense, ugly, but you’re not the scariest thing I’ve ever faced before.”

  The creature raised its massive clenched hands over its head. “Very well.”

  As the creature brought its fists down upon him, Caraway thought he heard someone whisper: “Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!”

  Chapter 9

  THE BREAKING OF THE SKY

  The Green Lama flew through the gaping hole the creature had left on the side of the police station. Until now, Jethro had never achieved sustained flight, only obtaining brief moments of levitation, but since consuming the enhanced radioactive salts he had quickly discovered a host of terrifying new abilities. His strength had quadrupled; his hearing, his sight… all his senses had moved well beyond human levels. His body visibly crackled with electricity, his eyes becoming a luminescent green. But all of this was at a cost. His all too human frame was being pushed well beyond its natural limit, and with each passing second Jethro could feel the power quickly draining, knowing that it would be a long time before he would ever be able to safely reach this level of power again.

  But for now, for the first time since taking the mantle, Jethro was the Green Lama.

  Moving at a speed that would have killed any other man, the Green Lama positioned himself between Lieutenant Caraway and the clay creature, catching the monster’s massive fist seconds before it could deal the killing blow.

  “Om! A Ma Ra Ni Dzi Wan Ti Ye Soha!” the Green Lama chanted. “You will take no more lives tonight!”

  Swinging his fist, the Green Lama dealt a powerful blow against the creature, sending it back through the wall and into the squad room, the impact echoing with an audible BOOM! Glass shattered and the building shook around him. The Green Lama could hear shouts from the floors below. The police, already alerted to a commotion several floors above them, were no doubt alarmed by the veritable earthquake in which they now sat at the center.

  With only moments to spare, the Green Lama turned to Caraway, who had already slipped into unconsciousness in an ever-increasing pool of crimson. Time was short. Pressing his electrified palm against Caraway’s chest, the Green Lama could feel the life quickly draining out of his friend’s heart, each beat becoming more distant than the last. The Green Lama closed his eyes and chanted under his breath.

  Without conscious thought, the Green Lama sent a blast of energy out through his hand into Caraway’s body. He could sense the life force coursing through Caraway’s veins until it found his heart. The effect was instantaneous, the burst wounds on Caraway’s body healing up before the Green Lama’s eyes, as if there had been no damage at all. Color returned to his skin and his shallow breaths became deeper and steadier. Impossibly, he would survive.

  Jethro stared at his hand in momentary disbelief at the power he was wielding. Just a rich boy playing the games of gods…

  But now was not the time for such ruminations.

  The Green Lama turned to face the creature, which was pushing itself up off the squad room floor. Stepping through the wide crack in the wall, he made a tentative approach. Reviving Caraway had drained him, but he still had the strength to fight.

  “Yield,” the Green Lama commanded.

  The creature stood, its clay face showing signs of cracking, glowing green from within. The Green Lama could feel the creature’s power radiating out, bending reality, and recognized it as his own.

  “You were at the refinery. I sensed you then… We…” the Green Lama stuttered. “We are… connected. How?”

  The creature clenched its fist. “The children of Abraham and Sarah have been wronged… You will be judged.”

  The Green Lama nodded his head in a stilted bow. “So be it, then.”

  They launched at each other, a blur of jade. Their fists flew; the Green Lama’s met the creature’s abdomen, while its fist struck his jaw. The collision blasted them apart, a sonic blast that rattled the very foundation of the building. The monster fell into the wall
behind him, crashing out to the world below. The Green Lama soared back through the hole in the wall, through the hallway, breaking through another wall and another, until he found himself tumbling down to the street, a bullet from the sky. He crashed into the ground, rupturing the pavement, driving down beneath the surface, finally coming to a stop in the sewers.

  Moonlight poured through the man-shaped rupture above him, and all Jethro could think was: I should be dead. Standing up, he felt no pain, no joints dislodged, no bones cracked, not even a single bruise.

  He looked at his hands, still crackling with electricity. “Blessed Mother Tara, save me….” he whispered. The radioactive salts… it could only be them. He could fly, heal the injured and now survive, unharmed, five story falls. He should be ecstatic, enraptured by the very promise of such unbelievable power, but all he could feel was unrelenting terror, as if he had committed some terrible sin. To wield such power was not only unnatural—it was wrong.

  You must use it now, a voice said from the darkness. The time will come to atone, Tulku, but now is not the time. The number is three, and it will define you for all that is to come.

  Jethro spun around, searching for the source of the voice. “Who’s there!?” His echo was the only reply. He knew that voice, but from where?

  But before Jethro could investigate any further, the ceiling above the sewer collapsed, raining concrete and metal down upon him. Jethro pressed himself against the wall, just beyond the torrent of debris. Before the dust could clear, the creature’s arm shot forward, its hand wrapping around the Green Lama’s neck.

  “You will be judged…” the creature rumbled. “Jethro Dumont.”

  A blast of energy shot out of Jethro’s hand, sending the monster careening back into the opposite wall.

  Jethro spat out a wad of blood, his head spinning. The effects of the radioactive salts had diminished further, and Jethro knew the longer he remained in contact with the monster, the faster his power drained. It could only mean that the creature was somehow tied to the source of his power. But how could that be possible? The one other person who had ever come close to that power was dead.

  The creature climbed out of the wall, its clay skin cracked but its body intact; if it felt any pain it didn’t—couldn’t—show it.

  “WHAT ARE YOU?!” Jethro shouted.

  The creature took a massive step forward. “The Avenger of Vltava,” it said, slamming Jethro’s head into the wall.

  • • •

  “Okay, everyone calm the hell down!” Ken stepped between Jean and Rabbi Brickman. “Let’s put away the weaponry and the crazy, pull up a couple of chairs, sit down and talk about this like normal people. How about that?”

  The Rabbi pointed the gun at Ken.

  Ken swallowed the lump in his throat. “Or not…”

  “What do you know, Miss Farrell?” the Rabbi said, turning the gun back to Jean, his hand visibly shaking. “Please. I do not wish to harm anyone.”

  “The refinery,” Jean said, her voice weak but stern.

  The Rabbi blinked with surprise. “You… You mean… the clay refinery…?”

  “Yes. Dr. Pali…” she gave Ken a sharp look. “The real Dr. Pali and I were there.”

  “When?”

  “Almost two days ago now. The Green Lama found traces of the clay at the German consulate. Dr. Pali traced it back to the refinery.”

  The Rabbi allowed himself a sardonic smile, shaking his head in bemused disbelief. “The clay. Of course… I suppose I should have considered that… How foolish of me. And what did you find?”

  Gesturing with her chin, Jean indicated the small piece of parchment on the Rabbi’s desk. “The place was practically buried in the stuff. I’m guessing you tore up a lot of very old books to do that.”

  “Older and holier than you could ever comprehend. But I did not tear them up… Heaven forbid. That was… an unexpected reaction to the procedure.”

  “There was also a wall, covered in Hebrew.”

  “Prayers, sanctifying the structure.”

  “And…” Jean shut her eyes. A tear streamed down her cheek. “I saw—” The words got caught in her throat. “We were attacked by that… thing.”

  “Ah,” the Rabbi closed his eyes mournfully. “That’s where he was hiding. I thought as much, but I was too scared to look. So childish of me… afraid of my own creation…”

  “‘Creation?’” Ken asked. “Look, I arrived a little late to this party, so can someone please explain what the hell we are talking about?”

  “My child…” the Rabbi sighed. “My golem.”

  Suddenly an explosion echoed from the heavens, as if the sky itself had cracked open. The room filled with a blinding green light, and then there was silence.

  “Hey! Hey, Boss? You okay, Lieutenant?”

  Caraway forced his eyes open and watched the world come back from darkness and fog. Officer Heidelberger, his hair billowing out like a curly black cloud, hovered over Caraway, visibly concerned. Behind the young officer, Caraway saw the massive girth of Sergeant Wayland. Both were dressed in their civilian clothes, with Heidelberger looking particularly ridiculous in an oversized button-down shirt and bright red bowtie.

  “What’re you all standin’ around for?” Caraway grumbled, feeling like he had just woken up from a deep sleep. He was still seated where he had fallen, though the building looked as if it had been bombed repeatedly for months. “Look at this place. I’m out for a little while and you boys trash it up.”

  Wayland and Heidelberger shared a look.

  “Whatchya talking about, Boss?” Wayland asked.

  “We both got a call to run down here fast as we could,” Heidelberger added. “They said the building was practically coming down on their heads. Place was so torn up you couldn’t walk up the stairs. Hell, we’re only the first ones to make it up this far.”

  Caraway looked over the destruction again, the memories of the clay creature slowly returning. “Ah, yeah. That was partially my fault.” He looked back at his officers. “I was fighting a monster, y’know?”

  Heidelberger’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

  “You don’t think I could do this all on my own, do ya, kid?” Caraway said with a sardonic smile. “Dunno what the hell it was, but I’m pretty sure it was behind the attack on the German consulate.”

  Wayland scratched the fat mass below his chin. “Then how’d you survive, Boss?”

  Caraway considered this. “You know… That is an excellent question…” It was only then that Caraway realized he hadn’t felt any pain since awakening. There was no throbbing from his stitches, no aching from his broken bones. Glancing down at his body, he saw the blood-soaked bandages and pool of dried blood surrounding him. He lifted up his shirt, pulled away the bandaging, and almost fell back in shock. There wasn’t a single mark on him, not even so much as a bruise. It wasn’t that he had been healed—it was as if he had never been injured at all. Even ancient battle scars like the bullet wound he had suffered flying over Germany were gone. “Well, I’ll be damned…”

  “I gotta admit, Boss,” Wayland ventured, “last time we saw you, you looked like… well…”

  “Like I should be dead...” Caraway finished as he stood up and pulled off the rest of his bandaging. “Where’s Gan? He okay?”

  Wayland gave him a bewildered look. “Gan?”

  Caraway raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah… Gan. The balding kraut fella. Funny accent; can kick your ass six ways till Sunday. Nazi. You see him recently?”

  “Can’t say we have, Lieutenant,” Heidelberger said with a pronounced shrug. “Haven’t seen him since we did the line-up.”

  “What? No, he was here. He was in my office when the—oh no…” Caraway rushed back through the destruction toward the remains of his office, finding only rubble. Gan was nowhere to be seen, a ripped red armband the only evidence he had been there at all.

  Caraway picked up the torn armband. “Where did he go?” he whispered.

&nb
sp; Suddenly an explosion echoed from the heavens, as if the sky itself had cracked open, rattling small pieces of debris down from the ceiling.

  “Moses in a hand basket,” Heidelberger cried. “What was that!?”

  Caraway walked over to the breach in the wall overlooking the street. His eyes followed a trail of destruction that stretched away from the police, a faint green glow in the sky. The wind whipped around him, cold and angry. “Sounded like thunder.”

  • • •

  Jethro spat out a mouthful of blood as he pulled himself out of a twisted mass of metal and glass that, only moments before, had been a trolley. Ripping a shard of glass out from his arm, he watched as people ran away in all directions, a cacophony of screaming and shouting as they scrambled over each other, trying to escape the monstrosity that was tearing through the streets.

  Their battle had left a path of destruction in its wake; cars and buildings were smashed to pieces, the ground itself ripped asunder. Jethro had done his best to protect bystanders from harm, but he bitterly acknowledged it was impossible for him to save everyone, a truth laid bare before him in the decapitated body of a young woman.

  In need of strength, he mournfully supplicated, “Om! Vajrapani Hum Phat!”

  Stumbling forward, Jethro struggled not to collapse from the pain reverberating throughout his body. He was getting exponentially weaker; each blow the creature landed hurt worse than the last. He could no longer generate blasts of energy and flight was a distant memory. He still had some strength left, but nowhere near his “normal” superhuman levels. He collapsed to his knees. He couldn’t stand anymore.

  He was going to die. He could feel it in his broken bones—there was no way he could survive this. Something inside him heaved and he fell forward onto his elbows as he began coughing up more blood, a stream of black and crimson. Several feet away the creature watched Jethro, its head tilted to one side as if fascinated by his frailty.