“What?”
“Conveyance.”
Palmer sucked in a breath and shook his head. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I’m going to be.”
“What’s going on?” Archer said.
“He’s going into the in-between,” Palmer said.
Blount noticed Archer glance from him to Palmer. He knew Archer felt the unease between him and Eli. The tension oozed off him and Palmer, and it was obvious Archer wondered what was up.
* * *
Blount dug into another of his pockets in the flight suit and produced a dagger. The hilt was jeweled and the blade was crooked and black. The torchlight seemed to repel the blade as Blount handled the dagger.
“I don’t know about this,” Palmer whispered as he eyed the blade, like it would fly at his jugular at any moment.
“You have any better ideas?” Blount said. “I’m fighting a war on two fronts here. We bring it all together in one place, maybe we have a chance.”
“What are you talking about?” Archer asked. “My daughter…”
“Your daughter is the least of my worries at the moment, Agent Archer.”
“What?”
“If I don’t stop this, there will be no world left. Get that through your thick skull. If Cthulhu enters this realm through your daughter, it won’t matter whether I save her or not.”
“But putting the body and the consciousness in the same proximity? Isn’t that what the cultists wanted?” Palmer said.
“They’re not going anywhere,” Blount said. “I am.”
With that, he turned and slashed the dagger through the air. Reality split open, and darkness spilled from the gash in space. Horrible sounds drifted from within, and something massive moved in the inky blackness. The darkness reached out with syrupy tendrils, and Blount allowed it to encircle his wrists and ankles. “If I don’t make it back…”
* * *
“Blount!” Palmer and Archer both shouted as the man was yanked violently through the rip in reality. The gash closed with a painful popping, then the cavern was silent once more.
“Where’d he go?” Archer asked.
Palmer sighed and paced. He holstered his gun and ran a tired hand across his face. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Our planet is covered with geometrically constructed morpho genetic grids. These grids extend from about sixty feet under the earth’s surface to about sixty miles above the earth, arranged in geometric patterns…”
“OK,” Archer said.
“The idea has something to do with sacred geometry,” Palmer continued. “You’ve heard the expression, ‘math solves everything?’ Well, this is something well beyond math.”
“So what does that have to do with where Blount just disappeared to?”
Palmer smiled and nodded. “A man by the name of Drunvalo Melchizadek, who worked for us for a time, discovered that each species has its own grid, which supports life and connects and unifies the consciousness of that particular species. Before any species can come into existence or make a new evolutionary leap, a new grid must be completed. On the flip side, when a species becomes extinct, that particular species’ grid dissolves. These old ones, Cthulhu in particular, are not part of our grid. They’re not from our world. They’re not supposed to have any strands in it. They’re an abomination, and one reason the planet is falling apart. The whole universe could be next. Blount thinks he can find out how Cthulhu’s latched onto Casey, then perhaps cut the beast loose. I hope he’s right.”
“Sixty feet below the earth’s surface…” Archer said. Understanding dawned on him. “The in-between is the grid itself.”
“Close enough.” Palmer nodded. “These grids are countless, and each one is like a silk thread connecting all the others. Blount is about to pluck some of them and see what answers.”
The In-Between
Blount drifted in the darkness and concentrated on the glowing blade. The silence was complete, enclosing his body like a hot blanket. Slowly, shapes bled into his vision. He saw Archer first. The man was surrounded by shades of red, amber, and rust. Blount concentrated on the colors and they grew pronounced.
Next, Palmer’s essence flitted into his field of vision. His colors were blue, violet, and dirty yellow. Blount felt himself drifting away and he gritted his teeth, reaching out to grab a tendril wafting off Archer. He grasped the filament and grimaced as the hate and fury consumed his being. He fought off the rage and fear until it was manageable.
Stabilized, Blount turned his focus on the altar he knew was there but couldn’t sense yet. A wirework of strands encompassed his vision, and Blount shrank back from the power emanating off the muddy darkness. He glanced around and saw the cavern as it really was. No wonder the cult had chosen this location. Rugby Rock was the geographical center of the Americas.
A slab of darkness hemorrhaged into existence, and Blount knew he was looking at the altar. The body on the altar was even darker than the blackness upon which it rested. In this realm, the body was a mere shape, and what rested within was the true form. The creature’s main body was situated on Casey’s chest, and tentacles reached off in both directions, head to foot, entangling themselves about the girl’s arms, hands, and feet. In that moment, Blount caught a hint of what the body of the creature resting beneath R’yleh looked like.
He willed himself to drift towards the altar, avoiding the strands as best he could but bumping into a few. Each time he did he shuddered and fought to maintain his very being. The trek took its toll on him, and by the time he reached the foot of the altar, he was exhausted beyond measure. The creature reared its head and fourteen eyes opened all over the body. He was awash in light the color of a bruise.
“Cthulhu,” Blount said.
The creature cringed as its name was spoke aloud, for names held power.
“Cthulhu. You are not welcome in this realm.”
I was summoned. Its voice was as ancient as time itself. Filled with chattering, it buzzed in Blount’s head painfully.
“What do you desire?”
Domination.
“Of what?”
Of all. The creature strengthened its grip on the girl and slithered deeper into her chest. It roared defiantly.
Blount floated closer and brandished the dagger. “You are not welcome in this realm. Return from whence you came, demon.”
The creature chuckled. It sounded like marbles being fed through a paper shredder. Blount drifted as close as he dared. “Take me instead. Let the girl rest in peace.”
Blount let his gaze trail about the creature, idly following the strands of grid that emanated from its body. He would have to move fast when the time presented itself. He’d only have one chance.
“What of Azazel?”
Cthulhu fixed Blount with a steely gaze, and Blount chose his next words carefully. He knew mocking a creature that could crush him with a mere thought was risky, but if there was one thing he’d learned in all his lifetimes it was that everything possessed an ego, and that could be provoked, manipulated.
“I battled him once upon a time,” Blount said with a shrug. “He was a great warrior, a powerful enemy. I miss adversaries like him.” He gave a forlorn shake of his head.
Cthulhu reared up on the girl’s chest and roared anew.
“I’m right here,” Blount said, tensing as the creature rose up off Casey’s face.
The girl inhaled abruptly and her eyes fluttered. Cthulhu paused, settled back onto Casey. It wouldn’t be provoked so easily, Blount realized.
“Your followers have fallen by my hand,” he said. “The ritual isn’t finished. There is no one to complete your awakening.”
The creature hissed and shifted once more. With that, it sank into Casey’s body and bonded with the girl’s flesh. Blount rushed forward and plunged the dagger into the receding mass.
* * *
Casey sat up on the altar and screamed as her chest rippled in the torchlight.
“Casey!” Archer said, as he watched something push and stretch his daughter’s skin. “He’s killing her!”
Archer reached out and touched the writhing form beneath his daughter’s chest then collapsed in a daze. The images that filled his head exploded like fireworks, and Archer cried out in despair as he witnessed the end of time itself.
Palmer reached out to pull Archer away then reconsidered. He clenched his teeth and balled his fists in frustration. “What have you done, Blount?”
Casey grew beyond anything humanly possible, yet her skin continued to stretch, becoming flesh-colored putty, and didn’t split or tear. Four more limbs sprouted from between her legs and more sprouted from beneath her arms. As the limbs grew, they resembled tentacles. The girl’s mouth opened impossibly wide, and Palmer heard her jaw dislocate.
Archer flew across the room as a bright spark engulfed his daughter’s body. Palmer whirled to face the new arrival.
The air was close, ripe, like a feral animal was lurking nearby. Palmer backed up until his back pressed against the earthen wall. The creature filled the cavern as it spread its wings wide. Blood and viscera coated its body like a second skin, and one of its many faces was a shredded monstrosity. It looked down at the altar and Archer next to it. It nudged Archer with its foot, but got no response. Archer stared blankly and mumbled disjointed words and phrases under his breath.
“Who might you be?” the creature asked.
Palmer recovered from his initial shock and pulled his sidearm. His aim wavered while sweat poured into his eyes, but he maintained his ground. Palmer had heard Blount speak of Azazel, and he knew this was the arrival’s name. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Blount had banished the demon long ago.
* * *
The air contracted about them and a hole ripped into reality like a bleeding wound. Blount tumbled out and staggered to his feet. He fixed his gaze on Azazel, then threw the dagger without hesitation. Azazel grunted , looking down in surprise and rage. The hilt shuddered in the middle of his massive chest, then the light went out of his eyes, one by one. He collapsed and clawed at the hilt, but couldn’t find any purchase.
The darkness writhing in the fissure behind Blount whistled and howled, and wisps of murkiness flowed forth, entangling Azazel’s limbs. He cried out and struggled against the bonds, but they slowly dragged him towards the hole. He dug his clawed feet into the floor, gouging out jagged chunks of stone. Still, he moved closer and closer to the perforation. Blount saw the twins’ faces appear briefly in the gap.
Azazel unleashed one last cry, disappearing through the hole as it closed with a sound that resembled a newborn suckling a teat. The cavern went silent and Blount’s ears popped painfully. He collapsed on the ground and groaned. Palmer raced over to turn him onto his back.
Blount felt cold and had trouble opening his eyes. They fluttered beneath his lids, detecting movement in the darkness. He could hear Palmer’s voice.
“Are you OK?”
Blount’s offered a weak smile as he focused on the man. “We did it.”
“No, you did it.” Palmer let out a relieved laugh, which he quickly stifled.
They both looked at the altar as Casey coughed and sat up. She blinked and took in her surroundings, saw Palmer and Blount and realized she was mostly naked, so she crossed her arms self-consciously then shivered.
“Who are you?” she said through chattering teeth. “Where am I?”
Blount wearily gained his feet and shuffled over to her side. He smiled. “You’re safe now, Casey. You’re safe.”
“Where am I?” She recoiled from his approach.
“My name’s Gibson Blount—-”
“Dad? Dad!”
Archer gave no indication he’d heard his daughter. He was rocking back and forth, cradling his head in his hands now. His fingers clutched his hair and pulled it out in bloodied clumps. Casey tried to get off the altar, but her legs collapsed beneath her. Blount caught her in his arms and stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.
“Palmer! Give me your jacket,” he said, wrapping the jacket about the girl’s shoulders.
“She’s in shock,” Palmer said. He whirled and pointed his gun at the stairs as a figure stumbled down them. “Samantha!”
He rushed over and she collapsed into his arms. Palmer grimaced as he took in the extent of her injuries. Her arms flopped helplessly and bits of jagged bone jutted from various points along her shattered limbs. She rolled her eyes up at him and coughed blood. Palmer gently lowered her to the floor and cradled her head in his lap. “Shhhh,” he said as she moaned incoherently. “It’s all over.”
Blount disentangled himself from Casey, but she reached for him with a wild look in her glassy eyes. “It’s OK, I’m just going to check on her. I’m not leaving you.”
He walked over to Palmer and knelt down beside Sam. “Who’s this?”
“She was with Archer and I. The pilot. Azazel did this to her.”
“Hey,” Blount said to Sam. “You really did a number on him, didn’t you?”
“I did my best.”
Blount placed his hands on hers. “This is going to sting a bit, but it’ll be over quickly.” He didn’t wait for a response before blue light crackled between his fingers and melted into Sam’s body. She stiffened and gritted her teeth as her bones knit themselves in the space of seconds. They receded into her skin and Palmer gasped in awe as he watched.
Sam sat up and examined her arms in wonder. “H-h-how did you do that?”
Blount winked. “Magic.”
* * *
Casey blinked as she came out of the bunker. She squinted in the glare of the early morning light. Palmer came next. He supported her father as he shuffled alongside. Sam and Blount stood next to Casey as she took in the horizon. She stood for a long while, unable to say anything, then:
“What happened?”
Blount looked at her for a moment, then out at the blazing, nuclear-scarred horizon. “Some bad things happened while you were away, Casey, but we’ll be OK. The worst of it is over. Mankind is resilient. Trust me, I know.”
“Where will we go?” Sam asked.
“I’ve got a few places in mind. There’ll be no fresh shadow creatures now that the void is sealed, but there’s still a lot of them out there. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be busy for awhile yet.”
“What’s going on? Please, someone tell me.” Casey said, exasperation saturating her voice. “I feel like I’ve been in a coma for years. I dreamed someone was suffocating me.” She looked back at Archer. “What’s wrong with my father?”
Palmer spoke. “He’s been through a lot, honey. We all have. But he never stopped looking for you. My God… this is going to take a while to explain.”
“Let’s start with: the world has changed,” Blount said. “It’s nothing like you remember it.”
He turned and studied Archer closely. The man had ceased his ranting and looked in Blount’s direction. His gaze was clear and aware. Blount thought he saw something there, lurking just beneath the awareness, something else that oozed darkness and cunning. The sensation passed as quickly as it had appeared. Blount’s eyes narrowed and his heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure he’d seen anything, but nagging doubt filled his head. He looked at his little band of rag-tag survivors.
“Let’s move out.”
Part IV
“Oblivion Blooms”
Chapter One
Nebraska
It was four days before they came across the first survivor, and Palmer almost shot the man. They’d landed at a rural airport to scavenge for fuel and supplies. Palmer and Sam roved the perimeter while Blount and Casey fueled the chopper. Archer had improved in increments, but he was far from recovered. Sam had mentioned that his symptoms resembled Alzheimer’s, and Blount had agreed. Blount had tried using some shamanic magic, but it’d had no noticeable effect. Archer had moments of clarity, but those moments had been few and far between.
Blount h
eard Palmer shout, and he pulled his gun, spotting the man a few hundred yards away at the doorway of one of the outbuildings. He saw another man emerge from the building with his hands raised high in the air. Blount finished filling the chopper and the reserve cans.
“I’m going to see what’s up with Palmer,” he told Casey.
She looked from Blount to her semi-catatonic father, and Blount could see the indecision in her face.
“It’s going to be OK,” he said. “You can see me from here and you’re armed. Shout if something happens, and I’ll be right by your side in a flash.”
In the preceding days Blount and Sam had become like second parents to Casey. She looked to them for guidance and comfort, and they were happy to provide it. Human contact took on a new meaning since the world was plunged into chaos. Blount was thankful to have companions. He’d gone it alone before and it’d been hell. At the same time, though, he wished he were alone. Being responsible for someone else weighed heavily on his mind, and his decisions were second-guessed in spite of his best efforts to be cold and calculating.
He approached Palmer, Sam, and the man warily. The man seemed normal enough, but he was taking no chances. “Palmer.”
Palmer nodded in Blount’s direction and said, “Blount. This here is Mr. Paul Tubule.”
“Mr. Tubule,” Blount said. “What’s your story?”
The old man eyed them suspiciously. “I’d be a might touch more comfortable if your man would stop pointing that gun at me.”
“I’m sorry about that, but I think it’s necessary for the moment.”
The man sniffed and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “Fine. I used to be in charge of this little airport, well, before, you know…” He shrugged. “Guess I still am. I had to kill my best friend, so I’m in a foul mood, to say the least.”
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