by G R Jordan
“So you can’t get some height up and see if you can spot Austerley?”
“Well, certainly not in this wind. I would probably be spotted, too. They are noticeably large. I thought you’d left a marker anyway.”
“I did. But this snow is coming down awful thick. Could be difficult to track.”
They continued jogging hard, side by side, along the dune path until Kirkgordon spotted the stick he had left behind.
“We’re in luck. That way, Cally, but we’ll need to be quick. Those footprints are just about discernible.”
“What footprints? I can’t see anything.”
“Trust me. That way.”
Calandra thought they seemed to be cutting across random fields with occasional nondescript broken bits of wall. Often, the wall was barely indistinguishable due to the snow piled high against its side. There was a distinct lack of trees and the terrain consisted of ridges – long thick cuts through the surface producing drops and climbs of several feet.
“Where did these come from? Seems unnatural. Do you think they were searching for something?”
“No, Cally. These are peat banks. They cut the turf off and then slice up the sod before drying it. Burn it in their houses. Flavour their whisky with it.”
“Feels alien! I thought it was gas and oil fields out here, anyway.”
“This is old school. Tradition that keeps going but you’re right, they’re bloody hard on your knees when you’re tracking.”
Continuing on in silence, Kirkgordon kept his scan going as he breathed in rhythm with his pounding feet. Something up ahead caught his eye. Grabbing Calandra by the scruff of her top, he dived into the snow, taking her down with him.
Slowly, he looked up to see approximately twenty creatures parading along the track ahead, a mixture of frog-men and fish-men. Many carried what Kirkgordon believed to be instrument cases. One looked similar to a fiddle case, another a guitar, a larger one like a double bass and several were small boxes perhaps containing flutes or clarinets.
“It’s the band, Cally.”
“Certainly appears to be. Want to take them out? They may be an important bit of the ceremony.”
“Maybe they are, but twenty of them against us? We had enough trouble with just that one. No, we’ll trail these guys. To be honest, I’ve been guessing at the trail this last two miles, so this is a better bet. They’re bound to be going to the main event, so I reckon we follow. Otherwise Austerley’s on his own.”
The pace of pursuit slowed as the pair trailed the bizarre company at a distance. With fewer energies expended, Kirkgordon’s mind drifted back to Havers’ last words about Austerley.
For all his bluster about having faith in Indy, there was a deep doubt in the back of his mind. He’s such a kid around these things, thought Kirkgordon, never seeing the disaster just round the corner. Kirkgordon had no doubt Dagon could be stopped, but whether Austerley was the man to do it seemed questionable. It had pepped Cally up, giving her a confidence in Indy.
Still, if Austerley buckled, Kirkgordon would need to deliver the killing blow. Despatching these amphibian abominations was one thing, but he had always done protection detail – he had on occasion shot in self-defence but never as an assassin. But wasn’t this self-defence? Defence of the entire human race. Dear God, don’t let it come down to a choice. Let him do the right thing. But You never force, do You? His own words rang hollow in his ears. Have a little faith.
“Is this Dagon real?”
The question totally blindsided Kirkgordon and all he could respond with was “What?”
“I’ve seen plenty but this is a new one on me. Dagon, is it like a real god? A real beast? What is it? Do we even know if this summoning will work?” As she was keeping low, Calandra struggled to see Kirkgordon’s face, to read the truth of his reaction.
“Austerley thinks it’s some sort of portal to a different part of space. Whether it is, or whether it’s a road to hell, or even just a mad bluff, who knows? But I have been down in the depths with creatures that surely weren’t holy, with black winged beings that nearly took my life, and with frog-men and fish-men. Whatever they really are, or wherever they have come from, they seem to be evil. They bring chaos and destruction, and their constant desire to rip me apart is having a really negative effect on their popularity rating.”
“And what of me? Am I unknown to you? Do I seem unholy?”
“Whatever cursed you, Cally, scarred you deep. This coldness that affects your body, it changes you, too. You doubt yourself around people, you use your sexuality to compensate, because you think men see you as a freak, a curiosity. No doubt some do.”
“Most are scared of my touch.”
“Yes. That’s the point. No closeness. No shared burden. Your curse dominates what you are. Even when you try to get past it, it still drives people’s reactions, including your own. It does need to go, Cally.”
“I just want to be normal again. To be free to express myself to people, not to hide. Not to have to compensate always.”
“Then it has to be lifted. It must go away. Otherwise whatever you do, they will always see it. Don’t misunderstand me – you are precious. You’ve saved me many times. And you are worth it. I can’t change this bind you have, but I’ll help. When this is done, we’ll find a way.”
“You truly believe that? I can be free of this curse?”
“Yes. Look for the good, always. If I don’t, I lose any hope for Austerley.” And hope is all I have, he thought. Come through for me, oh dear God, come through, cos I’m out of my depth.
He had been fighting with strange amphibians, a twelve-year-old boy had had to kill for him, he was looking at a kamikaze flight in a microlight through a severe snow storm and there was a strong possibility that the world would end, but he had to admit it: right at this moment, Havers was enjoying himself.
Back in his engineering days, before the call to stand up for his country in a more clandestine role, engines were his thing. Enrolled as an engineer in the RAF, he had served his time maintaining so many aircraft. And now it was flooding back to him.
The microlight hadn’t been used in at least a month but it was in good condition. It was just a matter of making sure everything was turning and reconnecting the major parts. It was so simple, so clean and easy. Well, technically. He was splattered in oil and muck and his brain was spinning through the checks he needed to do. He may have been in a hurry but there was no way he was dropping into the sea twenty minutes after take-off.
The activity was helping the child too. James was understandably in shock from his actions, but Havers’ cool, methodical chatter calmed him. The previous fascination James had shown in happy times was starting to come through and Havers was happy to engage with him.
“A twist of that. There! That should be us done on the engine. Time to get the wing on once I give her a quick turn. Oh, and let’s see what fuel we have, James. See who’s going to get on board.”
James scurried off round the room, turning over everything. The jerrycans were already accounted for but Havers doubted they would be enough to carry them both to the mainland. Opening the apparently full can, Havers instantly swore, recognizing the smell of diesel.
“What is it?” a worried James asked.
“Diesel. It’s no use for the plane. It must have been for his car.”
“Are we stuffed then, Mister?”
“For the mainland, yes. But not for getting airborne round here, young James. We need to think differently, though. No point flying about if we cannot contribute to the party. I think we need to check the shelves and tins. Let’s see if we can make a bang.”
It took a while to catalogue all the substances before Havers decided how to combine them. There wasn’t a lot, and anything heavy would weigh down the plane. Trying not to show his disappointment, Havers showed James how the wing was to be attached. James was very interested, though, and insisted on knowing the plans for the things that go bang.
; “Well, it’s not that simple, James. As I see it, with the things we have, there’s no way to store any substances together without them going bang here on the ground or up there as we mix them. The only option is to drop the diesel and then set fire to it.”
“Will that make a big bang?”
“No, but it should catch fire. We’ll have to be fairly low if we’re going to be accurate. And we need some way to light it. Check for rags and sticks.”
James came back with a multitude of rags which had been thrown in a corner after they had become too soaked in oil or smeared in grime. The only sticks to hand were in a bag of kindling, long forgotten at the rear of the building. They seemed damp, which Havers thought a fortunate point, as the sticks were very short and wouldn’t show much of a handle beneath a tied cloth.
Together they sat, wrapping rag after rag onto the short sticks then packing them inside some plastic bags which had been abandoned in a corner. The conversation dwindled as the time to execute their mission drew closer.
“James, you don’t need to come with me. You can stay here and lay low, or you could return to your mother. I will not lie to you, son, there’s no safe option. It will be difficult to just keep myself alive, I cannot guarantee you will be safe with me. But it’s your choice.”
James looked at Havers, then stared at the ground, silent. He’s too young for this, thought Havers. And I’m too old.
“Can I go with you, Mr Havers?”
“Of course, James.”
“If I go back to Mum I might lead some of them to her. I don’t want to be on my own. So I reckon helping you is the thing to do. If that’s okay. I’ll do whatever you need done.”
“It’s just fine, James. You’re a brave lad. I think your dad would be proud.” Actually, thought Havers, your dad would ask me what the hell I was thinking taking his son into an apocalyptic nightmare. But as he’s not here and I need the help, stuff it.
After opening the doors of the building, together they pushed the body of the microlight out of the door into the deepening snow. Next, they packed the rag-topped kindling and the diesel jerrycan. The wing was the hardest piece of the jigsaw to assemble; they had to fight hard to extract it from the room and fix it onto the body of the microlight.
Havers held the wing tight with one hand while he started up the engine. As soon as the fan kicked into life, he jumped into the cockpit and signalled James to join him. Turning slowly into the wind, Havers sought a straight and even run for departure.
“Good luck, James,” roared Havers over the engine. The child didn’t speak but fixed his eyes ahead. Here goes nothing, thought Havers, and the tiny aircraft sped quickly down the improvised runway before leaving the snowy ground behind.
Captive Desires
Austerley remembered the needle they put in his arm, the sharp stab of pain when they found the vein and the continued dull annoyance while the fluid was injected. And then sleep. A strange sleep with no dreams. Then the slap across his cheek.
“Wake up, Mr Austerley! Time to wake up and listen. The situation is very perilous, Mr Austerley. A friend of yours is in trouble. She was stupid enough to follow you and now she’s in the room with us. You can see her, Mr Austerley. Sat across from you. Look at her.”
Austerley’s eyes could perceive only blurred scatterings of light with no definition. The light was so damn bright in his face. Squinting hard, he could just make out a shape he recognized. Farthington! Bastard. There were some other indistinct shapes. Goons, thought Austerley. And over there, in the corner… no, no, no! Kirkgordon must have abandoned her. Sweet Calandra.
“Ah, so you see her, Mr Austerley. You recognize her, of course.”
“It’s Calandra. Let her go!”
“So you see her trouble, then?”
Austerley was tipping toward rage, restrained only by the hope of seeing a way out of this mess. Calandra had her arms tied up high above her head. Her bare feet were just about touching the floor; he couldn’t tell whether she was hanging on her restraints or supporting her weight from beneath. Her long hair flowed down her back on to a ripped white crop top. With only a white thong, her smooth legs were visibly taut. A pair of strong black wings set off her pale flesh. Even in bondage she looks magnificent, thought Austerley.
“You could at least show her some dignity. Displaying her womanhood to all this filth!”
These drugs are damn good, thought Farthington, and let out a smug chuckle.
“You sick bugger,” Austerley continued. “She’s a thing of wonder. Not for your dirty hands.”
“Ah, yes. My hands. Well, Mr Austerley, I was wondering if you would oblige me in some trouble I am having with a little ceremony we are undertaking. Otherwise, I may just have to get my hands dirty with something else.”
“Get your hands off her! And cover her up again! Touch her with your mouth in that way again and I’ll never help you.”
Farthington watched Austerley stare at the empty corner, revulsion on his face.
“Maybe she’ll like this,” said Farthington. “With practice, she’ll learn to.”
“Stop! Stop it! Leave her alone!” Tears were starting to stream, clouding Austerley’s eyes again. “Cut her down. Cover her. I’ll do what you want. Dammit, I’ll do it. Just leave her alone. Don’t spoil her.”
“Cut her down and cover her with that blanket!” announced Farthington. Four frog-men looked blankly at him. “Remember I still have her, Mr Austerley, and I can uncover her any time I choose.”
“Don’t touch her again. Just don’t.”
“Well that’s up to you, Mr Austerley. You know what it is I want. Ever since our little tête-à-tête in Russia you have known, deep down in the recesses of your mind. Dagon shall rise and rule this world. And for my service and worship, I shall rule Russia for him, Mr Austerley. Dear old Mother Russia will be mine.”
“Dagon? You seriously believe Dagon will give a damn about you? The moment he rises he will wreak havoc and destruction on everyone. He will acknowledge no favours, no rule except his. This is your death sentence too.”
“Let’s say I have a little more faith in our beings from afar than you do, Mr Austerley. We all want worship, after all.”
“He is the lack of order, he is chaos. Don’t do this.”
Farthington addressed the frog-men. “Get Mr Austerley to his feet and show him to his changing room.” As they sprang into action, he turned back to Austerley. “As the one to minister the opening of the passage you need to be accurately dressed. We both know it’s more than symbolism. Smile, Mr Austerley, you are harbouring in a new dawn for humanity.”
The frog-men took Austerley by the arms and half led, half dragged him to a small room. Having been delivered and most certainly deposited into the room, Austerley took a moment to get his bearings. There was a sink with a mirror above and a small door leading to a toilet. Otherwise, the only item in the room was a portable clothes rail on which several garments were hanging.
Realizing this was his outfit for the ceremony, Austerley decided to see if it fitted. He took a long white tunic and forced his head through the smallish opening. On ruffling the item down his body, he found it to be particularly tight around the waist. There were some bizarrely pointed shoes, which pinched his toes, and a decorative belt with plenty of holes for fastening but none allowing it to fit around his waist. It took a while to make a new hole with the pin of the belt. He remembered that the man whom Havers had ejected from the window was of a smaller frame.
“That’s because he wasn’t a real man.”
Austerley spun round to see Calandra standing just inside the door, covered in the blanket Farthington had given her.
“How did you get away?”
“I had to see you. I needed one moment alone with the only man I could ever want. You’re my hero and you deserve your send-off. One last fling with your Countess, one last perfect union.”
Austerley gulped as Calandra dropped the blanket, revealing every piece
of ice-cold glory. His pulse raced and his breathing quickened as every hope and memory came home. Calandra had become the prize on his arm, full of wanton passion for her true admirer, the one who could appreciate her best. As she came close, he felt the adrenalin surge.
“What happened here? Why’s he not ready?”
Farthington understood the language of the frog-men and fish-men, up to a point. Still, he had his doubts. Apparently, Austerley had just collapsed, hitting the floor in a spectacularly loud crash which had alerted the guards. No one had gone in or out, but Austerley, on waking, had been looking for a naked woman. Maybe the drugs are too good, thought Farthington, but it’s too late to back out now.
“Get him into the outfit, now! We have a schedule to meet.”
Austerley was frogmarched from the room five minutes later, stumbling in his new garb. On top of the white tunic were draped two scarf-like pieces of black material displaying all sorts of occultic signs. Austerley recognized them quite clearly from the Necronomicon and knew the significance they held. He was to be the attraction, the bait to draw Dagon through the continuum The first one to look into those eyes of blackness, and doubtless only madness lay beyond. The machinations of the corrupted beings around him had skewed his view from the curious to the outright horrified.
Farthington looked down at the black socks and boots visible beneath the inadequate tunic. Marsh had certainly been a smaller man.
“Remember we still have her. Anything not in line with the ceremony, Mr Austerley, and she will have to be terminated. Pity, such a wonder and so very beautiful with it.”
“Leave her alone, Farthington. You’ll have your hell!”
Turning on his heel, Farthington led the small party out of the building. Austerley was accompanied on either side by two hopping frog-men. The repetitive splodges of their landings irritated Austerley to such a degree he started thinking about performing transplants on them to give them back their once-human legs. He had heard the tales of the Innsmouth folk, but the reality was too gross.
