Author: Robert W. Walker
Date: 2010-04-15 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror
Description: A LEGION OF THE DEAD... It starts with a sacred crypt, dug centuries ago, discovered under Manhattan. Buried with it is a diabolical creature spreading a strange contagion, claiming its victims by the thousands. But the dead aren't staying dead for long... and only one man is qualified to brave the unstoppable zombie army. ...IN A CITY OF THE DAMNED Psychic detective Abraham Stroud knows the origin of what festers in the unholy pit. And only he can battle the primeval horror as it prepares mankind for the ultimate sacrifice.
Publisher: RobertWalkerbooks.com

Zombie Eyes

Bloodscreams #3

By Robert W. Walker

Copyright © 2010 by Robert W. Walker, www.robertwalkerbooks.com
Cover copyright © 2010 by Stephen Walker, www.srwalkerdesigns.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Robert W. Walker.

PROLOGUE

Manhattan on a cold April 13, 1992

Simon Albeit Weitzel did not know what he was doing here in the night, standing before the pit opened deep in the earth by Gordon Consolidated Enterprises. He didn't know how he had arrived here. He couldn't recall the traffic lights or buses or trains--none of the particulars--but he did recall the sounds he heard daily, weekly, now stretching into the second month ... the sounds that had cost him his job and his sanity.

The sounds had begun when the old Maramar Hotel had been demolished and the planned Gordon Towers was begun, just after the deepest foundation moorings were dug, far below the former foundations. The noises sounded like straining, muffled voices, the cries of people sometimes. They pleaded with Weitzel for understanding, but the voices were in some strange language he did not know or understand. The cries came from deep within the earth below street level. Either that, or he was indeed mad, and the sounds came only from his addled brain.

Either way, he was drawn here like a somnolent zombie to its lord.

"What in God's name am I doing here?" he asked the empty, mud-packed pit below the towering buildings on either side of him. "What am I doing here again?"

There was some small similarity between the voices and the electrical pulse of Manhattan all around him with its ominous and resounding mmmmmmmm beating into his ears. He had always had a horrible fear of losing his hearing, and now he wondered if he ought not to pierce his own eardrums and force himself into deafness to rid himself of the cursed sound that welled up from below to drown out the city's heartbeat and Weitzel's own.

Weitzel stood just outside the periphery of the construction site, his nerves quivering with anticipation and anger and frustration all at once, a mix that threatened to send his already high blood pressure off the charts. His doctor had told him no more, Weitzel ... No more can you do this thing to Ida ... to yourself ... No more can you go down there and look and look and wait for this thing to happen. It will kill you.

Yet Weitzel was drawn to the construction site like an addict to sense the ommmmmmm of it all, the sounds no one else heard, the voice no one else heard. It was all here, going undetected in the middle of New York City, an ancient wonder that these fools that worked like automatons over the supports of yet another tower to the sky could not sense. Only Simon Weitzel could sense it.

It had begun on March 14 when he was walking past from his job at the travel agency. Like many others on lunch break that dreary day, he had stopped to examine how the work was going at the construction site for what the builders were saying would be the world's tallest building, a twin towers complex of offices and condominiums being built by one of the richest men in the world. Sir Arthur Thomas Gordon III's monstrosity was said to require the deepest set pylons that had ever been sunk into the earth, as it was to be made earthquake-resistant as well as exceedingly tall. At the top Sir Arthur would have a suite that he might come to whenever he was continent-hopping.

Weitzel and others were taken with the sheer, cavernous size of the hole in the earth, in the heart of Manhattan, that these men had dug. It seemed to him that the ugly insult to the island might be the final straw, that something terribly wrong might come of it. It had been just a passing thought, and yet it festered and festered, bringing Weitzel back again and again to stand for hours staring down into the enormous maw the machines had created. He did so by means of little windows cut from the restraining walls of wood and metal that formed an efficient barricade here.

It became an obsession. Weitzel's employer packed him off after tardiness had become absences for days at a time.

His wife hammered at him to stop talking about the hole in the ground, and his children and grandchildren ignored his concern, thinking him odd. Simon began spending more and more time at the construction site, so much so that he became a regular fixture, and he got to know many of the workers. He began to warn them that they must not go any deeper into the earth. They laughed at him.

Then one day Weitzel found a way down into the pit. He didn't know why he climbed the barrier after the workmen came through. It was foolish by day to do so. He didn't get far before he was grabbed and held for the police, who escorted him away. The trouble and embarrassment and expense were almost unbearable for a man who had respected the law all his life and had not before seen the inside of a police station except on TV and in movies.

Weitzel spoke to his doctor about it, confiding for the first time to anyone outside of the family that he heard strange noises coming from the pit.

"It's the sound of the heavy machinery," said Sydney Baen, his doctor and friend of many years.

"No, nothing like mechanical."

"Echoing from off the metal walls, those pile drivers, Simon. Simon--"

"No, no, it is more because--"

"Simon, have you ever lain in bed at night on a perfectly still night after watching a movie on television and you kept hearing voices after the set was turned off? Radio voices, like? Have you ever heard the hum of the house at night, the electrical pulse of the house? This thing with the hole in the ground, Simon, believe me--"

"Goddammit, Sid! It's not outside of me! The sounds I hear, they are inside of me."

"Inside of you?"

"In my head, Sid ... in my head ... And they're trying to tell me something ... a warning, maybe? I don't know. Sometimes I stand there and I think I hear two voices ... one warning me, the other enticing me."

"Warning you of what? Enticing you toward what?"

"I don't know! If I knew..."

There was a long silence between them until Sydney cleared his throat as he considered his words carefully. "Simon, I have a friend who is also a doctor. I would like you to see him."

"A shrink?"

"A psychiatrist, yes."

"You think I'm crazy, Sid?" Both the way that he asked it and the desire behind the question told Sid that Weitzel was sincere. "If I'm going out of my mind, Sid, I want to know, and I want to know what I should do."

"Then you'll see Dr. Marchand?"

"I'll see him, but I got to tell you, I don't have a lot of money."

"For me, Marchand will reduce his rates ... Not to worry."

What Weitzel got from Marchand was the same advice that he had gotten from his wife: stay away from the source of irritation. Stay completely clear of this pit. But here he was, and he was unsure just how he had gotten here, by cab, by train, by foot? He didn't remember leaving the house, and it was pitch-black outside and his watch read 3 a.m. He didn't understand why he was here, but he knew he had been drawn back, just as before, only this time there was no one else around.

Weitzel found the entryway, on his guard for anyone who might be watching the place. There was a trailer some hundred yards off with a light in it, a watchman inside with coffee or cocoa, no doubt, as the air was chill, near brittle. Weitzel ignored the ache in his legs, ignored the unreasonable action he was taking and the cold as he scaled the fence. Some power source had drawn him here from his home in Brooklyn. It was so powerful that it had somehow lodged in his brain and had gotten him up and dressed--had Ida been witness to his leaving?--gotten him across town and was now getting him over a rickety fence covered with Gordon Construction signs that seemed more permanent than the barrier itself. Some power beyond Weitzel's control drew him down into the pit.

Weitzel moved forward feeling he had no choice. Whatever this thing was, he must see it through. No one outside of the fence had been the least help to him. As he moved ever closer to the deepest level of the construction area, Simon Weitzel passed silent machines that stood like sleeping bovines about him; he passed layer after layer, finding it mind-boggling that they'd persisted in digging so far, so deep. Architects must have required the pylons to be fitted at something like six hundred and fifty feet, if not more. Far below the sewer lines and the underground rail lines, and even the tunnels that ran between Manhattan and the mainland.

Weitzel found the blackness closing in all around him, but in the distance he saw what seemed like some strange, green firelight. It was the source, he told himself ... the source of all his months of grief. He heard the ommmmmmm of life here, like the pulsating electricity that would one day run through the building those fools proposed to build over this ... this thing. He heard the voices in his head struggling for dominance.

"Ooooooommmmmmmmm, a-way ... go/no ... here to-stay ... a-way ... commmmmmmm for-ward/away..."

Weitzel did not know anymore what he should or must do, but he did know that there was only one way to get an answer to the mystery plaguing his life. With the will and determination that had characterized his forefathers, Weitzel moved toward the green glow at the very deepest trailing of the tunnel. He passed concrete posts already embedded in the bedrock as he did so.

When he reached the light it had disappeared, sending him into total darkness. He stood, shaking, fearful and trying to ward off the incredible odor with a mere handkerchief when the light reappeared, diffusing all around him and entering him through every pore and fiber of his clothing and his being.

Now in his head he heard laughter, dizzying, bantering and then teasing laughter like that made by a man in the throes of sex. The laughter was in him and it came out through his throat. It was loud and brazen now and Weitzel's body glowed in the cavern like a green lantern, until suddenly something shouted that was not inside him, but outside and coming toward him. It was the watchman who was railing.

"It's you, you old bastard! I've called the cops and this time you're really in trouble! Damned old fool! I ought to shoot you dead for trespass!"

Weitzel's body collapsed before the watchman's eyes, the watchman shining a powerful beam on the old man's form. "Dammit, dammit, no!" But at the same instant, the watchman saw something skitter from the heap that Weitzel had become, rush to the dark corner of the tunnel and begin to burrow like a large rat.

The watchman's light tried to follow the thing but each time it darted out of the light until suddenly it was gone, beneath the earth.

"Damn ... damn. What was that thing?" the watchman asked himself when suddenly he saw that Weitzel was in some distress. He went to the old man, who was groaning, and roughly got him to his feet.

"Come on, you old fool. We've got a date with the cops."

Weitzel said nothing, his blank expression and dead eyes registering nothing. The zombielike appearance in the man's eyes startled the watchman for a moment before he said, "Drunk as a skunk, aren't you?" But smelling no booze, he amended his assessment of Weitzel. "Got into too much Geritol, or bought into some bad coke, huh?"

Weitzel said nothing and only moved along if directed and helped. When together they took a few steps, the watchman realized that he was surrounded by a strange, green fog that was somehow luminous. "What the hell?" he asked himself, letting Weitzel go and only half sensing that the other man sank to the earth. The watchman looked down between his feet at the peculiar two-headed, six-legged rodentlike creature between his legs that seemed to spit forth the green light. The watchman heard this thing talking to him deep within the coils of his brain, saying that in time he would be called upon to act, but for the time being, his power, his energy, was required by the thing between his legs, at his feet. As it ripped its way from the earth, it attached itself to the watchman's leg, and from there it began to drain him, not of blood or bodily fluids, but of his mind.

-1-

Nazlett el-Samman, Egypt, the same day

The working conditions were dismal and filth-ridden, a former stone "hut" of one of the city dwellers that happened to be situated above the dig; it was a place that seemed to have accommodated thousands of years of dust and sand flying through the door, seeping in through the cracks and the tiny, single window. Abraham Hale Stroud and the others on the archeological dig who worked at this terminus of the site had to do so under field lights powered by a generator brought with them. The lights illuminated the work and the stark environment. You could almost see the fleas in the sand that filled the cracks in floor and wall. Then they had the further inconvenience of the slag heap piled in the next room, filling it; shovel porters with rickety, noisy wheelbarrows went in and out all day long making room for more until the find was had.

Dirt and dust had long before taken possession of his lungs, and the marvelous and recent discoveries of Cheops's most secret, most hidden and most treasured of treasures had taken possession of his imagination. But at the moment, Abraham Stroud felt a wave of fatigue flushing through his veins, threatening nausea and dizziness. He'd topple if he didn't get any rest, and it was foolish to push himself to such a state, yet he felt a sense of urgency as if some great power beyond his control might at any moment snatch the prize of these days from him.

The discovery here at the foot of the great pyramids was the most significant find since the opening of Tut's tomb. He was very proud to have played a part in the new archeological endeavor which would dramatically call the world's attention to the Egyptian forebear of Tut, Cheops. Stroud's own fascination with the bevy of skulls fashioned from crystal and other minerals had already led him to make calls worldwide to inform colleagues that there appeared to be proof of a definite link between the Egyptian pyramid builders and those in Central America, as the Central Americans had been, to date, the only ones in possession of the mysterious crystal skulls which some believed to be psychic antennae.

Of course, there remained years of study, painstaking documentation, cataloguing, all the burdens of science, and yet Stroud knew he would not be allowed anywhere near the treasures of Cheops a day longer. So, working with Dr. Allulu
Mamdoud and Dr. Ranjana Patel, both of the Cairo Institute for Egyptian Antiquities, and both fine archeologists, Abe Stroud had furiously worked through the last seventy-two hours to finish his abstract on the Crypt of Skulls, an impressive collection of crystal, onyx, gold, silver, balsalt and other minerals fashioned into the likeness of the human skull, an entire room full.

This portion of Cheops's burial chamber had had an instant attraction for Stroud, as the ornate skulls spoke to him. He heard lives--past and present and future--speaking through the skulls, saw life in the iridescent, jeweled eyes of some and in the simplicity of the completely crystal ones, which by all accounts could not possibly exist, either then or now! There was and remained no technology that could create them. Yet, here they were in his hands.

Staring into the depths of such crystal fashioned as a skull, Stroud saw and felt the time of Cheops, whose twenty-three-year reign ended in 2528 b.c. He marveled at the basalt skull, too. Basalt was rare, expensive and one of the most difficult stones to cut, reserved typically for the flooring of temples.

Now here they were, skulls of basalt and crystal ... in Abraham's hands, dug from the grave of Cheops, whose great pyramid was the largest ever built. Where did he get all the skulls? Had he collected them? Had he chosen to be buried with his collection? Was there some reason why?

Burial was an elaborate ritual in his day, to ensure that neither the pharaoh nor Egypt should ever die. The journey to eternity began in the nearby Valley Temple, where the pharaoh's body was taken for ritual purification and a kind of embalming that modern science still could not replicate. For the final rituals, the body was carried up a long, cavernous causeway to a mortuary temple next to the pyramid.

The discovery in March 1990 of Cheops's Valley Temple at the foot of the pyramids in Nazlett el-Samman had confirmed theories about the layout of Giza Plateau. It was here that Cheops, his son and grandson built their three pyramids and monuments.

Nazlett el-Samman lay at the foot of the plateau, facing the Sphinx, and for decades sewage from the village had been thought the chief cause of the Sphinx's deterioration. A U.S.-financed sewage project had been undertaken, closely monitored by Egyptologists because of the proximity of the monuments and the probability of uncovering antiquities.

They were soon unearthing mammoth granite and limestone blocks, flint knives, Roman brick walls and other relics. By the middle of the first month more artifacts and remains were turning up, and finally the main prize--a fifty-nine-foot-long row of basalt rocks. Dr. Mamdoud immediately identified it as the floor of Cheops's Valley Temple, and Dr. Patel gave her instant agreement. Basalt was reserved for royal use as flooring in sacred places.

The Egyptian Antiquities Organization moved in quickly, taking charge, overseeing every detail. By the time that Stroud had become involved, the dig was out of the hands of Mamdoud and Patel, yet they remained for their own reasons and as a go-between with the Americans on site. When one American left abruptly, Dr. Stroud was asked by the University of Chicago Museum of Antiquities if he would care to fill in. He had jumped at the chance, turning down a trip to Russia in the bargain.

Stroud had come on the scene rather late in July and now it was almost nine months he had labored under the close scrutiny of the Egyptians. This alone was enough to drive a man insane, but the way that Dr. Mamdoud and Patel withstood the assaults on their integrity was inspiring, and each in his and her own way kept the prime objective clearly in view at all times. It was harder for an American, Stroud knew, to work under circumstances in which one's expertise was being paid for, but one's advice and motives were constantly called into question. Of course, Egypt had been robbed and plundered by archeologists in the past, and if Egypt had anything, beyond the great monuments of the pharaohs, it was a long memory.

The newly found ruins lay some fifteen feet below street level, and had been partially covered with sewage, which had had to be pumped out and disposed of. The dig had gone slowly, bogged down at first by the sewage and later by red tape, not to mention the fact it was in the center of a thriving Egyptian city in which two earlier digs were going forth for Roman-era artifacts. They had to work in an alley only a few feet from the doorsteps of houses. Archeologists had had to contend with children at play, passing carts and donkeys, as well as angry, suspicious villagers worried that antiquities officials might at any time invoke their legal authority to force them out and begin excavating below their homes.

When Stroud had arrived, one such home had already been confiscated for the purpose, with plans for a second. The stress and pressures these kinds of incidents applied to the dig were nothing like Stroud had ever dealt with in the typical, rural dig he was used to. He had expected tents and desert winds and sand; what he got was an alley reminiscent of the worst in Chicago, where he had once been a policeman for some thirteen years, earning rank as detective before returning to his first love, archeology, gaining his degree from the University of Chicago.

His field laboratory consisted of a Tensor lamp on a wobbly, wooden table that'd been provided him--his desk.

Cheops himself had been removed for "security" reasons long before, as had most of the richest artifacts, each as soon as the archeologists had claimed, cleaned and catalogued it. There might be some truth in the security measures nowadays, because the community was getting rather noisy lately about their rights, and allowing the dead their peace and sanctity. Superstitions also abounded, and often Stroud found symbols written in blood on the door when he entered in the morning.

In the field laboratory where he had labored the entire night, not stopping for so much as a cup of coffee, knowing that his presence in the country was no longer required or needed, Abraham Hale Stroud documented what he could of the final cataloguing of artifacts to come out of perhaps the greatest archeological find of the century. He looked closely again at the ancient relic he slowly turned in his massive hands, cradling the onyx skull of perhaps nine centimeters in diameter and less than that many pounds in weight. The jeweled eyes stared back at him like two flaming embers, the red rubies mocking him with their mystery. The find was by no means the most important to come out of the exhaustive dig at Nazlett el-Samman in Egypt, but for Stroud it held in its curves and smoothness and essential mystery all the world's wonders. It was the reason he was here, living in a strange admixture of dirt and fascination that made him both cough and catch his breath in the same instant.

Both Patel and Mamdoud were nearby, but when Stroud lifted another of the skulls, a beautiful crystal one, he knew they did not see in it what he saw. In fact, he doubted that any two people on earth would see the same thing in the crystal skull, that somehow it radiated back some subconscious core of stored information, perhaps aspirations, perhaps wonders, perhaps a man's fears. It was impossible to say for certain. But now, in the myriad pools of dancing light, Stroud saw a stranger to him, a man standing poised on the brink of an enormous pit that seemed to surround and engulf him. Something else he saw--an iridescent green light rising from the earth to engulf the man. He didn't know who the man was, but he saw him turn around and look out of the crystal into Stroud's eyes, but the man had no eyes and nothing whatever behind the eyes. Stroud sensed that he was some sort of lost soul ... a zombie of some kind. And then beside him stood a second man with the same blank stare and careless eyes. And then they were both gone. It had occurred within the space of an instant.

Stroud didn't know what this represented or what it meant. He only knew he could not write about the event in his scientific journal. But while it was the only time that he had seen two men in this particular skull, it was not the only time that Stroud had seen the face of the first man, a man he somehow knew was named Weitzel. None of it held any particular meaning to him, yet something about the man, the way he stood, the way he moved and the way he looked but did not see; it all cast an overwhelming sense of panic and plague in Stroud's mind--so much so that rather than sleep or eat, he had worked, thinking work would stave off the panic he felt creeping into his being.

The others, particularly the sensitive Dr. Patel, felt his recent change, the obvious no-longer-at-ease stance he had taken. The others believed that he was beginning to worry about the locals, rightly afraid for his life, and likely wondering why he, an American, and a wealthy one at that, should have bothered exiling himself in this way from his homeland.

"Dr. Stroud, you must get some rest," Ranjana said to him, making him look away from the skull and into her jet-black eyes. She was a small woman, middle-aged, always a smile of reassurance on her face. "You must be tired."

There were a few cots at the back, but he could also go to the Hilton on the other side of town where he had kept a room that he had used very little in all his days here.

"Yes, perhaps you're right. I think I will take some time."

"The work will be here when you return, I assure you," agreed Dr. Mamdoud, a lusty, well-built Arab who was lighter-skinned than most Arabs. The Egyptians often treated him rudely, even those in the Antiquities Organization. He had had an American education, and he was considered by the Egyptians as an American since it was Mamdoud who had organized the U.S. financing of the sewage project at the outset. Consequently, the Egyptians didn't trust him much more than they trusted Stroud or other Americans on the project. Mamdoud wore soft-soled oxfords and the coat and tie of a professional, even in the Egyptian heat at noonday. The locals considered him quite mad.

Stroud said at the door, "I'll be back."

Within an hour after arriving at the Hilton, showering and shaving and having a light snack tray sent up, Stroud knew he would not be going back to the dig. His door was knocked on and men with guns stood outside, the Egyptian police. They held him at gunpoint while searching his room, ostensibly for stolen artifacts. Some earlier people working on the dig had made off with a few incidentals, knives, stone pieces, jewels--or so the Egyptians claimed. His sudden departure from the dig had worried someone high up in the Ministry of Antiquities, Stroud supposed. He let them search. And they did so with abandon, angering Stroud, who stalked and shouted at the police when they began to toss things about.

"Come on, take it easy with that!" he yelled when they hurled open a briefcase filled with papers.

"Here, here it is, Captain," shouted one of the young officers to his commander, holding up a small, bejeweled bracelet.

Stroud knew instantly he was being hustled, and that the bracelet had not come from the Cheops burial temple. "All right, so your boss wants me off the dig."

"You are in serious trouble here, Dr. Stroud," said the smiling Egyptian commander, a curl lifting his cheek. "I think very bad trouble for you."

"What is it you want?"

"I think it will save the state some difficulty, Doctor, if you were on the next flight to your country."

"I thought so."

"We will, of course, escort you to the airport." He ordered his men out as Stroud tried to clean up the mess they had made. Then the officer said, "I will give you time to dress and pack your belongings, Dr. Stroud."

"Thank you ever so much."

"Not necessary for thank-you." He was gone, but knocking for Stroud to rush before a few minutes had passed. Stroud packed, attempted to contact Mamdoud or Patel at the site, and failing this, he went with the authorities to the airport. Over the police radio he heard that the field laboratory had been the scene of street violence when police and locals clashed there. There were reports of gunshots and wounded. Stroud silently prayed for Patel and Mamdoud and the beautiful skulls of Cheops.

On the flight that would take him to New York, Stroud leaned back in the chair and fell asleep, the face of a stranger to him, a man named Weitzel, crystallizing in his mind. A face ... just a face ... sad and empty and devoid of all emotion ... just a face ... yet something deep within the mind of the emotionless face, buried but striving to climb to the surface ... a hunger or thirst or longing or all three; a hunger to be destroyed. But this death wish was also opposed by the same source. The dual nature of the longing to live and the longing to die represented a powerful life force. Bizarre, perhaps; perhaps unnatural. Either way, the abject sadness of the little man and the force that kept him alive seemed shrouded in a mystery that Stroud would never unravel, for the impressions and the vision wrought in his brain were fleeting, giving way to oblivion and sleep.

He dreamed of a normal life, a life without the Stroud curse upon it. Like his great-grandfather, Ezeekiel, and his grandfather, Annanias, Abe Stroud possessed an uncontrollable and often annoying precognitive power. Stroud had even seen the terrible event of his parents' deaths in an automobile accident, but not soon enough to alter it. As a child he had seen plane crashes, had even known the number of the flight and the airline before the plane went down. On the occasions when he tried desperately to warn anyone in authority, he was put off, ignored until it was too late.

It was not until his own brush with death much later, as a young man in war, that he truly became a seer, and this was after he had had the steel plate firmly affixed to his skull. The genetic "gift" or "cursed" gene handed down to him from generation to generation had been intensified and honed by the metal in his cranium, and sometimes it seemed to act like a bloody beacon, picking up psychic waves and auras from anyplace on the globe. In Andover, Illinois, the site of his ancestral home, it had sent him a vision of a small boy who had fallen prey to a cannibalistic vampire that the locals had come to regard as the Andover Horror. His psychic antennae had received pictures of slaughter and terror in a small Michigan town where people were being devoured alive by a werewolf that eventually made its way to Chicago. In both instances, Stroud's investigations had uncovered whole colonies of supposedly supernatural creatures, first vampires in Andover and then werewolves in Michigan.

Prior to becoming an archeologist, and prior to taking control of Stroud Manse in Andover, he was an ex-Marine turned policeman in Chicago. It was his near-death experience on a battlefield in Vietnam, the resultant steel plate given him by the V.A., and his ancestry that made his life a "curse." It was as if the metal plate had electromagnetically charged what nature had already given him. Without the plate, he doubted, for instance, whether he could "receive" the voices of his dead grandfather and great-grandfather, as he did on occasion.

When he was a policeman in Chicago, the Tribune and the Sun-Times had begun to refer to him as the "Psychic Detective." He soon grew tired of the freak show treatment he received even from guys in his own precinct.

A big man, broad-shouldered, in good health and shape, he towered over most men, and this, along with the "gift," scared lesser men. The result was that he knew few men whom he could call friends, and he had learned to be suspicious of those who tried too desperately to get close.

His dreams sometimes saw the thin anchoring of pressed alloy that one expert at the V.A. hospital outside Chicago claimed to be causing the pressure inward against the neurological center of the brain. It was the same area known to be most active during REM sleep, and during ESP.

For a time after his part in the war, there at the V.A., he had become a living laboratory to psychic researchers from all over the country, until he became sick and tired of the role they had handed him. Not waiting around for a second botched job on his head, the surgeons anxious to have another go at him, he abruptly left the V.A. center.

Pressure on the brain or no, ill-fit or no, seizures or no, he went on to make it through the police academy a year later. He'd spent thirteen years as a policeman, most of them as a detective. But in all his years as a detective, he had never put together the details of a crime scene so clearly as the picture of a man now nagging and pulling at him, a man named Simon Albert Weitzel. So clear, like high-tech resolution, the details of the man's hangdog expression, the blank stare in his eyes, the green hue to his aura where he stood teetering on the brink of a pit that gaped below him like the mouth of Hades itself. In the pit a black world filled with lost souls, and now Weitzel mechanically turns and leans in toward the maw of darkness when Stroud's hand leaped into his dream and took sudden hold of the man's arm, but it slid through his grasp like vapor, and the ill-conceived dream itself vaporized.

It left him in peace. The image of the man left him in peace. It was what he wanted, to be left in peace. He was tired, and the disturbing dream was unwanted. And the curse he had fallen heir to was also unwanted. And yet to cast it away he must remove his own skull.

His sleep persona told him to focus his mind on the lovely, soothing beauty of the Egyptian artifacts he had helped to uncover and document, and he settled on the image of the crystal skull. A calm peace came over him that nothing, he prayed, could shake.

-2-

Stroud was awakened by the sound of the pilot's voice calling for all passengers to fasten their seat belts, telling everyone of the dismal weather outlook below the blanket of clouds they now skimmed through as they approached Kennedy. A stewardess became solicitous as she passed him, telling him he had slept through dinner.

"I hope you worked right 'round me," he told her.

"Will you be staying over in New York?" she asked, her pert red hair bobbing about an innocent-looking face with huge brown eyes.

"No, I'm going on to Chicago."

"Good ... good, so am I."

"See you on the last leg," he promised.

When they came out of the clouds, Stroud saw a city painted in gray and blue, her streets dappled in slick moisture. Obviously, it had been raining for some time, and the giant that was New York was being irritated now by a steady drizzle, hardly visible in the lack of light filtering through from above her. Above and around them, the underbelly of the clouds reflected the city lights, creating strange shapes in the night sky, shapes that looked like Grecian sculpture.

Stroud was soon watching people pass by and out of the plane, waiting until the place was near empty, as was his habit, before grabbing his carry-on, anxious to get to the rest room where he might shower his tired eyes with water, get a quick shave. He had a two-hour layover, and very little to occupy his time. He'd look for a New York Times, maybe look through the book racks for the latest potboiler by Steve Robertson, his favorite author, whose books always dealt with Chicago cops.

Stroud's mind was filled with ways to keep himself occupied--as he hated a wasted moment--when, coming down the ramp, he realized that he was being met by policemen in uniform. Christ, he wondered, did it have anything to do with the Egyptian incident? He imagined an international ballyhoo over his having been escorted out of the other country.

"Dr. Stroud? Dr. Abraham Stroud?" asked one of the officers.

"I am Stroud, yes. What is it?"

"Would you come with us, sir?"

"To where?" Stroud saw the stewardess he'd spoken to watching the scene, imagining the worst, he supposed.

"There are some people who would like to see you, sir, just outside on the tarmac," he replied, taking him to a window in the ramp. Stroud looked down at the strange entourage of official motorbikes and a limousine. He recognized police brass when he saw it, and this was it, but two men who stood outside the limo, staring up at him from below drenched umbrellas, looked anything but official, and were certainly not like cops he had ever seen before.

"Who are they?"

"C.P. and his aide," said the second cop. "Wants you pronto. Now, can we go?"

"Commissioner of police?"

The commissioner was most certainly inside the limo where it was dry. The two men standing on the tarmac with wet pant legs were dressed in the careless manner of scientists or professors, Stroud thought. One of these men was trying to tie a tie and failing miserably, as if he had either never learned or forgotten how. The other man's pin-striped coat clashed horribly with his brown dungarees.

The cops led Stroud toward their motorbikes and the limousine by going through a service door. One of them announced that his bags were being taken care of. As they approached the limo, the two tacky academician types rushed anxiously forward, each extending a hand to Stroud and telling him they were so glad he could come.

"How did you know I was on the plane?"

"We wired you in Egypt requesting that you come. Didn't you get it?" asked the tall, slender man on Stroud's right.

"No ... no, I left rather abruptly."

One of the two was frail, bony and white-haired, his flesh the color of a lab coat, Stroud thought. He was short but not heavy. The second fellow was tall, perhaps the same age or older, with thin, wispy gray hair and an unkempt mustache, perhaps a bid to make up for the lack of hair on his crown. What hair this one did have on top had been forced in an unnatural wave across the barren area in a hopeless bid to cover the desert. At the nape of his neck, the hair curled in a wild arch and was in need of trimming. The tall fellow tore off his glasses and said, "I am Dr. Samuel Leonard of the American Museum--"

"And I am Wisnewski," said the shorter, wiry little man beside him with a booming voice. "Thank you for coming."

"I honestly had no choice," Stroud was saying when he realized whom he was talking to. "Leonard? Wisnewski? I ... I've read your books--"

"Good!"

"--on Etruscan discoveries."

"Indeed," said Wisnewski. "I am curator of the New York Museum of Antiquities."

"Dr. Arthur T. Wisnewski, I know," said Stroud. "I'm overwhelmed ... So glad to meet you, gentlemen."

"And we, you!" replied Leonard.

Wisnewski begged, "Please call me Wiz ... everyone does."

"But what's this all about? Why're you here? And why the commissioner of police?"

"Well, that will take some explaining, and we have you standing in the rain. Please come with us," said the man calling himself Wiz.

As they approached the waiting vehicle a man in a three-piece suit climbed from it, coming toward them. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" he called in a tone that mocked the term. "We can't keep the C.P. waiting forever." The limo's trunk was popped and Stroud's bag put in by the driver, who'd jumped out with the aide.

"I am Lloyd Perkins, Dr. Stroud, the C.P.'s aide. Anything I can get for you while you're in the city--"

"C.P. of the NYPD, that'd be James Nathan, wouldn't it?" Stroud cut him off.

"It would. Now, if you'll join us, Dr. Stroud?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm not sure I can be of any assistance to New York."

"I agree one hundred percent," said the aide, "but who am I?"

"Yes!" shouted Wiz. "Who are you, Mr. Perkins?"

"Well said," added Leonard.

Leonard, Wisnewski and Stroud got into the limo, but when Perkins poked his head in, the huge man who was the commissioner of police of the largest city in the country said, "Lloyd, you'll ride with one of the squad cars. I need a moment alone with these gentlemen."

Perkins looked piqued, but he did as he was told without a word, closing the door on the foursome. James Nathan asked Stroud, "How was your flight, Doctor?"

"Restful, fine."

"How very good. You will need your rest. Would you care for a drink from the bar?"

"I would much rather have some answers."

Nathan laughed lightly, without meaning. "Yes, of course. Dr. Leonard and Dr. Wisnewski will bring you up to date. Suffice it to say that I have had you checked out with the CPD and the commissioner there, and from what I am told no one else may be as qualified to deal with this ... this outbreak as you."

"Outbreak?"

"It's like a curse," said Leonard.

"Remember when King Tut's burial chamber was disturbed and everyone connected with the find died mysteriously after?"

"A curse?" asked Stroud again. "Like that of King Tut's? Here in New York City?"

"We fear so," said Leonard, who fixed himself a bourbon. Leonard's leathery yet white skin made him look ill and weary-worn. "Wiz and I have been up all night with this thing."

"What exactly is this thing?"

"A few months ago construction began on a new building in Manhattan," said Nathan.

"Was to be the biggest building on the face of the earth," added Wiz.

Leonard, shaking his head after a sip on his bourbon, said disparagingly, "Another steel and glass temple glorifying mankind."

"At any rate, the foundation moldings and pylons had to be sunk deeper than anything built in the city before," continued Wiz.

Stroud hadn't heard a word about either the building or the construction or anything that'd come of it, but it stood to reason. "You've made a discovery?" he asked.

"More than a discovery, an incredible find, Stroud," said Wiz, his small eyes glinting with suppressed excitement. "We've found a ship, but not just any ship."

"A buried ship?
Beneath Manhattan?"

"Exactly, but also a ship like none that has ever before been found, an Etruscan ship."

Of course, it explained why the two top Etruscan men were involved. "There's never before been an Etruscan ship unearthed. Remarkable, fantastic."

"Not altogether, Stroud," said Leonard shakily.

"This curse you mention?"

He nodded, drank more.

"Tell me more about the curse."

"Protecting the ship, perhaps ... we can't be sure," said Wiz, his round hands circling one another. "Or for some other reason."

"What possible other reason?" asked Leonard. "It must've been a sacred ship, and so--"

"Assumptions, assumptions, Doctor! We must have more than assumptions."

"What else is the purpose of a curse?"

"Gentlemen!" shouted Nathan, bringing some order to the discussion, the limousine well out of the confines of the airport now. "You have not convinced anyone there is a curse, and as for me, I do not wish to be the brunt of political savagery or comedy in the press, so please ... and you, too, Stroud, please watch what you say and how you say it."

"Is the press aware of the situation?"

"Only to the extent that some archeological treasures have been located below the site, and that some mysterious goings-on have occurred at the site."

"What kind of goings-on?" asked Stroud.

"We'll supply you with all the information you need. Seems a guard and an old man stumbled on the thing first and came out the worse for wear," said Nathan.

"The worse for wear?"

"They're hospitalized now in something like a sleep or coma," said Leonard as he twirled what remained in the bottom of his glass, staring at it.

"Like a pair of zombies," said Wiz. "We theorize--and it's only a theory--that when the seal to the crypt in which the ship was encased was broken, something leaked out."

"Leaked?"

"Spores, a germ perhaps," said Leonard. "We can't be sure yet, but we are working on this assumption at least, aren't we, Wiz?"

"It's not uncommon for a sealed crypt to leak deadly gases, germs or spores, no," said Wiz, "and in the end it was ruled a deadly spore that got the Tut people, as we've explained to Nathan here. Of course, we can't rule this possibility out, and I have lab technicians searching for this."

"I presume, then, that all safety precautions have been taken?" asked Stroud.

"Presume away."

"Are you taking me to the site now?"

"I presumed that it would be your first choice. We can show you slides later."

Stroud and Wiz continued their discussion as if the other two men were not present.

"Photos?"

"Photos, yes, and film."

"All the mapping has started?"

"Only at a snail's pace. We haven't many volunteers. The press has played up the 'zombie curse' aspect of the find, and the families of the two men are suing the construction company as though that might help."

"So you're working with a skeleton crew?"

"I tell you, Stroud, even the lab people are fearful of this thing. If it is a bug, any one of us could contract it."

"You seem skeptical that it is a bug."

"I was born skeptical. Force of habit, occupational hazard. How on earth did an Etruscan ship get to America in the first place? Why did it sail here? We know nothing. Only that the ship predates Greek and Roman culture! Was it set adrift with the body of a king inside it? No, for it was deliberately brought here and encased in a crypt of stone below the earth in what would have been, by all accounts, an unknown and unpopulated land. Why? How? Who did the ship belong to? Why were his remains encased here instead of Etruria? Why? This is all we know so far, and so, we know nothing."

Stroud mentally ran the gamut of what he knew of Etruria. The origins of the people known as Etruscans remained obscure. No Etruscan records or literature had ever been found, but no lack of speculation existed about the mysterious race that did battle with Greece and Rome, teaching the peoples of these great cultures the art of war and statesmanship. The speculation on the Etruscans began with ancient records and documents of the Romans and the Greeks that told of a place called Etruria, an ancient place of great power on the Italian peninsula.

"At the time of the Etruscans' greatest power, about the seventh to fifth centuries b.c., Etruria embraced all of Italy from the Alps to the Tiber River," said Wisnewski, as if reading Stroud's thoughts. "Etruria as a name derives from the Latin version of the Greek name Tyrrhenia or Tyrsenia, and the ancient Romans called the stocky, olive-skinned people Tusci."

"Present-day Tuscany," added Leonard.

"Of course archeology has shed some light on the Etruscans from discoveries along the coastal land of Tuscany."

"The first settlements, Vetulonia and Tarquinii, have been dated as ninth century b.c."

"They were eventually overcome by war with Rome."

"Anything new on their religion?" asked Stroud.

"Some of the names of their gods survive, but the exact functions of each remains unknown. Many were adaptations from ancient Mesopotamian countries," replied Leonard.

Wiz cleared his throat and added, "Certain late-Roman writers believed--or tried desperately to believe--that certain of their deities were counterparts to their own, such as Jupiter, Juno and Minerva, by calling attention to Tinis, Uni and Menrva respectively."

"Tinis being Jupiter," said Stroud, nodding. "Uni being Juno, Menrva Minerva."

"Guesswork at best," said Wiz. "Sethlands was Vulcan, Fulflans was Bacchus and Turms was Mercury,"

"Catha was the sun-god, Tiv the god of the moon," added Leonard, on the edge of his seat now, "and Thesan the god of dawn."

"Of course Apollo to them was Aplu, and Venus was Turan," finished Wiz.

"Oh, please, get on with it!" said Commissioner Nathan.

"In any event," continued Wiz, ignoring Nathan, "above these deities resided a group of nameless powers, personifications of Fate, and quite likely the very first chthonian."

"What the hell's a chthonian?" asked Nathan, getting irritated.

Outside the limo the noise of New York's traffic must have been deafening as it squeezed through the seals all around the car, trying to get in. Stroud saw that they were crossing into Manhattan.

Stroud said, "That would be the original chthonian?"

"Yes! Don't you see, the first evil deities of the netherworld and the underworld," said Leonard. "Original evil."

"Primeval evil," quipped Stroud.

"We know that the Etruscans practiced divination; we know they practiced sacrifices to underworld deities; we know they foretold the future from bones cast into a pit; we know they slaughtered animals and sometimes humans to offer up their entrails to such things as wights and lichs."

"Wights?
Lichs?" asked Nathan.

"Creatures of the underworld, Commissioner," said Wiz. "At any rate, Stroud, this ship ... this find?"

"Yes?"

"We've only seen the beam of what appears the bow, but the thing is ... well, enormous; two, perhaps three city blocks long, encased in a stone pyramid. The stone has been torn away at the beam, so it's below the earth yet, and it is definitely Etruscan in origin, which means it was sailed across the Atlantic, then was intentionally buried and encased by an army of men. Fantastic ... beyond reckoning."

"And something of a curse," added Leonard. "For one thing, there is no possibility whatever we can raise the thing."

"Not without taking out several city blocks of skycrapers, no!" shouted Nathan. "Out of the question. You have a month before the injunction says you're finished there, and then construction resumes, gentlemen. As for this curse, these two men hospitalized ... well, the reason my office is involved, Stroud, is that ... the number has risen to four."

"Four?" Both Leonard and Wiz stared at the commissioner.

"The two police officers who took them in later came down with something unusual, and are ... wasting away ... their bodies rejecting all food, even intravenous, I'm told."

"Sounds like some sort of a plague organism," said Stroud.

"That's why we've flown in a an investigator from the CDC in Atlanta. You'll meet her at the hospital," said James Nathan. "Now, as for you, Stroud, you're bound to draw a lot of attention, and it goes against my better judgment to draw any more attention to this thing than necessary, but you came highly recommended and Leonard and Wisnewksi here want you on the case. But no one's asked you how you feel about endangering yourself in this manner. Are you certain you are up to it?"

Stroud thought for only a moment and then said, "It would take your entire department to keep me out of it, Commissioner."

"Good luck, then. Here we are."

The limousine pulled to a stop outside a barricade and beyond this was the huge construction site. Stroud, getting from the car, felt a shiver move with the tendrils of a tarantula up his spine. He sensed evil in the air that was being only weakly contained by the light drizzle that had turned the bottom of the construction site into a mud hole.

Dr. Wisnewski called for Stroud to follow him, and the men went into a large white van parked at the scene. Inside they were outfitted with protective wear. The white ensembles, full-face helmets and space boots were a far cry from the Wellington boots Stroud had worn in Egypt. Every precaution was being taken against a germlike virus that might be in the pit, on the mystery ship that had sailed from Etruria somewhere between the seventh and fifth centuries b.c.

Stroud noticed that they had gotten his size right as the technicians helped him into the protective gear. Attached to the suit was an ample oxygen supply and a gauge, as well as a microphone.

"I see you've thought of everything," he said to Dr. Wisnewski. "And I see you know my pants size."

"Of course."

"I suppose you even know my shoe size."

"I know everything about those with whom I work."

"Everything?"

"Dr. Cage has filled me in completely."

"And Leonard?"

"No secrets between us."

Stroud wondered just how frank Cage had been with these men. Had he told them of Stroud's "impairment"? Perhaps if they knew of the steel plate in his head, of the seizures that sometimes overtook him in stressful moments, of the ghosts in his head, perhaps he would not be accompanying them now. "How much does Nathan know?"

"Fucking little, unfortunately, like most politicians."

"About me, I mean?"

"Ditto, Stroud. What he's read in the papers, most likely."

But Nathan had said he'd been in touch with the commissioner in Chicago, a man who had wanted Stroud's help when it suited his needs, but who had turned him out to the dogs the moment those needs were met. He wondered if Nathan was cut of the same cloth.

"Are you ready, Dr. Stroud?" asked Leonard.

"I am as ready as I ever will be."

"Good, then we're about to take the first step on an incredible journey."

"A camera will monitor us," said Wiz, indicating a tiny electronic eye, no larger than a poker chip, attached to the crown of the helmet on his suit.

"Each of us is equipped with this device?"

"Yes, and we'll be sending signals back."

"Are there any inroads to the ship? How far have your men dug?"

"Nothing's been dug, actually. Just a hole between the ship and the encasement. We'll be journeying in, to see what's there."

"Do you think these suits will protect us altogether?"

"If it is a germ, yes.
If it is a curse? Who knows?"

-3-

Small burrowing in the sand and dirt about the entranceway was what Stroud noticed first, a bit larger than a gopher's hole, disrupted mounds. He made note of it to Leonard and Wisnewski as they half slid, half walked down into the pit once they'd had to leave the crudely constructed stairwell. From above, Nathan and a host of others looked on, including men in hard hats. One in particular, wearing a suit and tie, appeared to be most important. He and Nathan were in heated debate but out of earshot. Stroud asked Wiz to identify the man.

"Construction boss?"

"The man himself," said Wisnewski. "Gordon--"

"The financer of the project," added Leonard. "Very upset over the delay. Wanted to blast the site, close it over, go around it ... typical."

"Ass-wipe of the highest order, British, you know."

"None of the ill people said anything of significance about this place before slipping into coma?" Stroud asked.

"The old man, Weitzel--"

"His name is Weitzel?" Stroud recalled his strange dream about a man of this name.

"That's right. He'd spoken to his family and co-workers about something in the hole down here that--I don't know--called out to him, kept bringing him back to the site until he became an annoyance. So when he was caught trespassing, the police were called, and that's where Nathan's department got into it."

Leonard spoke to the people above monitoring in the van. "We're at the threshold. Above my head you see what we presume to be the bow of an ancient ship, barely visible, encrusted with mud."

"From the size of the beams, as you see, the size of the ship can easily be estimated," said Wiz.

"It is enormous," agreed Stroud.

"So far as we know there has never been a larger ship discovered, and no one thought it possible such a giant vessel could be made in the fifth century b.c.," continued Leonard, his tall frame barely fitting through the dark opening beside the bow.

Stroud thought the dark, razor's edge of the bow ominous-looking and for a moment he thought he heard a whispered voice in the spirals of his brain telling him to run. He braced himself, however. The other two men continued ahead, their high-powered lights glistening along the body of the enormous craft. Stroud occasionally flashed his own light against the casing of mortar and stone along which they walked. It was covered with green mold and lichens. "Plenty of moisture in here," he commented. "The hull is in remarkable shape for such dampness."

"No doubt the construction that has gone on around it all this decade has caused cracks and fissures throughout the stone casement," said Wiz thoughtfully.

"Careful, both of you," said Leonard at the forefront. "Some tattered boards here; wouldn't want anyone's suit to be ripped."

"No nails," said Wiz, staring at the rotting boards that Leonard had pointed out. "All held together by wooden pegs fashioned as nails. Amazing ... to come so far..."

"I'm afraid this is about as far as we go," said Leonard, a sadness in his voice as he pointed out an area ahead that was impassable where tons of earth had fallen between the casement wall and the ship. "Only way to carry on is to excavate, make some tunnels."

"No time for that. We're going to have to violate the ship," said Wisnewski. "Perhaps here, where the rent has already begun. We loosen enough boards, we'll be inside the hull, and if the planking has held, we may be lucky. We may learn something of this ship before Nathan and Gordon bury it forever."

"Isn't there any other way?" Leonard said, taking Wiz aside. For some time they discussed the situation in heated whispers while Stroud went closer to the ship's hull, which was caked in mud that had somehow filtered down through the cracks and the ages, in the wall that supposedly encased the entire ship, stem to stern, according to Wisnewski.

What kind of a people took a ship this size, sailed in it before the time of Christ to the American continent, sank an enormous hole in the earth and buried it, surrounding it with a stone wall that pyramided over it?

Stroud was shaken and amazed at the enormity of the event which had been lost to the ages. The questions the ship left swimming about his mind were staggering, but they all boiled down to why ... why?

Leonard was still arguing with Wisnewski. "There must be a way to get in without destroying the ship."

"Time, Leonard ... we haven't the luxury ... And what of those poor devils with the curse of this thing feeding on them? Are they any less important than the find itself? We must be practical, for--"

"In the face of this," Leonard said, waving his arm, "you talk of being practical?"

"Stroud, you tell this fool! Tell him what will happen if we don't take the initiative. You've dealt with men like Gordon before, haven't you?"

"Most recently in Egypt, yes."

"Then tell him I'm right. We must go through here now."

"Within the constraints of time we have, that is very sound reasoning, Doctor," said Stroud.

"Agreed, then, Leonard?"

"Yes, we go through here."

"Once on the inside, every precaution must be taken," said Wiz when Stroud said, "Shhh! Did you hear that?"

The other two men stared in his direction.

"Thought I heard something."

Wisnewski immediately asked the people upstairs if they had detected anything on the sensitive monitoring equipment they were using. A voice came back saying, "Yes, a slight vibration. It may be unsafe for you men to be--"

But they were cut off by a tremendous groan that welled up from the earth like a gas pocket trying to blow. It shook the casing wall and the floor on which they stood and it caused the big ship to irk and irk with the sound of a wounded animal until suddenly it stopped as quickly as it had begun. Stroud felt its soniclike vibrations continue inside his head.

"In God's name," said Leonard.

"What was that?" asked Wiz. "Earth tremor?"

Stroud thought he saw something out of the side of his eye, but then it was gone. He feared saying anything about it, and he feared not. "Something just ran along the shadows there," he finally said.

"What? An animal?"

"A rat? I hate rats," said Leonard.

"Not sure ... seemed large for a rat."

"Shall we investigate?"

"Negative," said someone from above. "Tape from Stroud's camera confirms a rat."

"I think I smell a rat," added Leonard.

"We're in need of a few picks," Wiz told the men topside. "Please dress someone properly, send the picks down."

"Are you sure we should proceed if the earth is unstable beneath our feet, Wiz?" asked Stroud.

"Sometimes it takes an act of faith, doesn't it, old boy?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Time is not on our side, Dr. Stroud."

"Then we go inside."

"Who would have ever guessed it?" said Stroud. "A ship beneath Manhattan, buried here so very long ago."

"Oh, then you haven't seen our tract on the Tyger and other such finds?" asked Leonard.

"No ... no, I'm afraid I did not see it."

"It took many years of painstaking work," he replied, using his nose to try to push his glasses up. This attempt, beneath the face mask that he wore, gave him a comical appearance.

Wisnewski and Leonard were well known for having worked on any number of ships discovered, several out at sea, some abroad. They knew how to bring up the wood, keep it protected. Such work took years upon years, for the wood had to remain in electrically charged fresh water and all the porous interior holes bored by worms and time shot full with a hardening agent, even before reassembly could begin.

"What are you saying, Dr. Leonard? What's this Tyger you speak of?"

"Tell him, Wiz."

"It's not the first ship to be discovered under Manhattan," said Wiz to Stroud. "Not by a long shot."

"There have been others?" Stroud was astounded by this information. They stood just inside the cavernous opening at the bow of the ship, awaiting the materials they'd requested.

"Oh, nothing quite as elaborate as this, of course, but some old ships, yes, dating back to the early 1600s even."

"I see."

"Nothing on this scale, however," emphasized Dr. Leonard, still aghast just looking at the exposed bow.

"Galley ships were discovered by workmen building the Cortlandt Street station on the Interborough Rapid Transit line near the southern tip of the island."

"It was a Dutch ship, the Tyger" Leonard said. "Entirely different construction."

"Records showed that the Tyger burned and sank along the Hudson River coast in 1613."

"Our site here is more like the Dollar Drydock Savings Bank construction," added Leonard. "They'd proposed construction of an office tower at the corner of Broad and Pearl streets--"

"Across from the restored Fraunces Tavern--"

"Where Washington bid farewell to his officers in 1783," Stroud interrupted with a smile behind his protective mask. "I know the area. Site of the city's first two city halls."

"Dutch Stadt
Huys," said Wiz.

"1642 to 1697," Leonard fished the dates from his memory.

"And the English Lovelace Tavern, which was pressed into service as the administrative offices between 1670 and 1706," Wiz said, gaining on Leonard.

"At any rate, early Dutch construction techniques involved the use of old ships to create landfill, to extend the land base of the island as they did in Holland. Many of the recent finds have been of ships intentionally sunk to create walls for the landfill."

"Scuttled is the word for it," said Wiz. "A spectacular merchant vessel was unearthed at 175 Water Street in '82. It was carbon-dated to 1745."

"The bow is on exhibit at the Maritime Museum at Newport News, Virginia--"

"But her stern and a portion of the starboard remain buried under Front Street," continued Wiz, "between the intersections of Fletcher and John streets."

"You gentlemen were involved in the excavation?"

"Indeed, we were."

"Analysis of the wood showed that the ship was built from timbers from the Chesapeake Bay area by shipwrights here in the English tradition," said Leonard, a pride exuding through his space suit.

"It was pockmarked by bore worms," added Wiz, "indicating that it had sailed the waters of the West Indies for a considerable time."

"But how did you keep the construction halted long enough to--"

"Fortunately, and only recently, work in the Lower Manhattan area has been conducted under the terms of the 1977 City Environmental Quality Review Act, which we have to keep invoking to poke and prod people with."

"The act requires developers like Gordon to conduct archeological and related environmental studies prior to being issued construction and occupancy permits for their sites," explained Leonard.

"Only problem is Gordon did a half-assed job of it, using amateurs, paying off politicians."

"Where are those damned picks?" Stroud wondered aloud.

"One thing's certain, this here ship is twice, perhaps three times the size of the Tyger" Wiz said, going to the bow and caressing it with a light touch that still caused a layer of the rotting timbers to come away with his gloved hand.

"Careful, Wisnewski!" Leonard scolded his colleague and friend, but Wiz seemed now lost in thought, an eerie, mad look flitting across his face which vanished with the noise of someone's approach, rattling the requested tools.

Along with two picks and shovels were a few sticks of dynamite, which Wiz promptly, and in no uncertain terms, refused and sent back. "We're not here to destroy either ourselves or the integrity of this grand ship," he told the men aboveground while Stroud went to work with a pickax. The claw dug into the spongy, ancient wood like a battering ram against cardboard, and soon the three men were using their gloved hands, setting aside the assault weapons the axes had become. A man-sized hole was necessary and the black maw gaping back at them from the interior of the ship grew larger and larger, looking as if it welcomed swallowing them whole. They had to be certain no splintering pieces could catch on their suits and cause tears. The greatest fear at this point was being contaminated with whatever had plagued the old man named Weitzel, the guard and the two policemen, all of whom were in a state of unconsciousness, languishing in hospital beds.

On their return there would be an irradiation shower to destroy any bacterium or spore that might cling to their bodies. The portable decontamination unit was in position now just below street level.

The three of them stared at the empty well of darkness before them. The hull of the ship, the very bottom, the hold. Stroud wondered if it still contained any of its original cargo, whatever that might be. He wondered if they would find treasures and jewels, but he'd settle for Etruscan pottery, amphorae, tools, artifacts of this sort. Leonard flashed a light into the interior from which emanated a stench so powerful it threatened to send them back. The light strobed over bundles and boxes and barrels ostensibly filled with rotted matter, rotten flax and other grains, rotten fish in salted kegs and something akin to the smoldering odor of rotting flesh that Stroud had come to know during his tour of duty in Vietnam.

"What the hell is that?" asked Leonard, whose eyes darted behind him. "That's no goddamned rat."

"What? What did you see?"

"Same thing Stroud saw, I think ... but it wasn't any rat like I've ever seen. Looked like it had more than four legs."

Stroud went toward the area that Leonard pointed to, but he saw nothing; not until his light brought into focus the footprints, or more appropriately, the claw prints of a rather large centipede. "Look at this, Dr. Wisnewski."

Wisnewski did so.

"What do you suppose could make such a track?"

"Nothing in my experience."

"Leonard? Leonard? Where is he?"

They looked around to find Leonard gone. He had entered the hull alone. Wisnewski hurried through, catching Leonard's silhouette ahead of him in his light while Stroud grabbed the only pickax left. Leonard had taken the other one.

Stroud rushed through, catching up to Wisnewski at the moment his light picked up the fact that Leonard was tearing away at the wall in front of him. It gave way easily and then Leonard's ax came back over his shoulder with a large bone stuck to it moments before the wall caved in in front of the doctor, burying him in human bones, sending up a scream from him.

Stroud and Wiz rushed to his aid, trying to tug him free from the avalanche of bones.

"God damn it!"

"Helllllp!"

The hull echoed with their shouts and at the same instant Stroud saw something leap onto Wisnewski's back. It was hairy and multilegged with enormous eyes that glowed red in the dark, its spindly claws and teeth trying to rend Dr. Wisnewski's suit as if it wished to burrow in. Stroud back-handed the demon and when his gloved hand touched it, it left a searing smoke on the glove. Stroud threw down the ax claw at it immediately, missing as it scurried into the blackness. A second such creature scampered over the bones and came at Leonard's helmeted face. Wiz lifted a femur and knocked the creature hard into the wall of the ship. A third demonic menace was now on Stroud's shoulder, digging in with its teeth for the throat. Stroud grabbed it about the scrawny neck and held it up for the point of the pickax that he rammed into its throat. This caused the thing to go up in a ball of flame that burned nothing but itself, a kind of spontaneous combustion, making Stroud drop it. No blood, no bodily juices, just this: flame that burned out as quickly as it appeared, leaving an ashen outline of the living thing that had attacked him.

"Jesus! Jesus!" Wiz was pulling Leonard free of the heavy bones and skulls covering him.

"You getting this above? Above, are you reading this?" Stroud pleaded without answer. "We've been cut off. We've got to get out of here, Dr. Wisnewski, retreat, now!"

"Better part of valor, yes, quite agreed."

Leonard regained his feet and his composure and they started back the way they'd come. All around them they heard the scratching, ratlike noises of the creatures that had attacked them. Stroud feared they would be defenseless against an army of such creatures, and he feared that the ones that had been brave enough to attack had torn a hole in one or more of their suits, thus exposing them to whatever deadly germ lay down here with the corpses of what must be literally hundreds of ancients.

"What the hell are those things?" Leonard wanted to know.

"Devils of some sort," said Wiz, breathing heavily. "Lesser demons, the pets of a more powerful demon."

"Demons," panted Leonard, "demons protecting an ancient ship, cursing those who dare come near it, and we're inside the damned thing, breaking down walls ... my God."

"Hurry!" Stroud shouted at the porthole, helping the others through as he looked back into the darkness where a thousand pairs of red eyes stared back at him. The eyes were dizzying in their number and movement, as if they were revolving, and behind each pair of eyes was a monkey-rat with six legs and horrid claws and gnashing teeth. Had these demons fed on the men whose bones had somehow come to this end? Who was this sacrificial crew placed aboard a ship sunk in the earth forever, until now?

Stroud, following the other two now, staving off the red eyes that moved on them, saw that Wiz held several of the bones in his hands as he rushed along. Leonard had something in his hand as well, some kind of parchment. Both men had noticeable rents to their protective wear, as did Stroud himself. They'd lost two of the lights and one of the picks inside the strange ship filled with apparitions and demonic creatures.

Just outside, at the tunnel mouth, they agreed to explain away their difficulties inside on the basis of structural collapse. At this point in time, it seemed useless to speak of demonic power emanating from the ship, so powerful that it could affect the human mind. What worried Stroud, however, was the very real possibility that they might all die with the information locked inside them, given the nature of the beast and the fact they had come into contact with it. Would they now become human vegetables like the others? Earlier, rumors had come that even more cases of the rare disease were quickly filling up the hospital beds about the city. If so, they must put down their findings in writing, and quickly.

Yet Stroud felt no illness, no slowing down of his mental faculties. Still, as with Weitzel, it might come on gradually like a creeping disease, slowly taking over his mind. The idea was enough to frighten even Abraham Stroud. "If I become a zombie, please see to it that my life is terminated," he told the other two men as the crowd overhead cheered them on toward the decontamination chamber set up outside the pit.

Wiz and Leonard agreed, only if he'd do the same for them.

The light rain had continued, and for some unaccountable reason it was creating a misty steam about the three men as it made contact with their protective clothing. The fog seemed to be seeping from them, and it smelled rank with sulfur.

Wiz held tightly to the samples of bone he had in his possession, and the bones, too, were smoldering with a weird, unnatural steam rising off the surface. Leonard quickly tucked the parchment he held inside his clothing, trying to protect it from the rain, fearful of it going up in smoke.

They stepped into the decontamination chamber one at a time, as it was no larger than a telephone booth. Wiz went first, hugging his bones. The irradiation shower was quick and painless and a man on the other side awaited with clothing for Dr. Wisnewski, who'd packed his showered protective wear in a disposable box inside the unit. Wiz was talking animatedly, in "high gear" on the other side, when Leonard went through the shower. Stroud was fatigued and thought of a real shower of warm water, while he waited patiently for Leonard; but Leonard didn't come out when the door on the other side opened. Men had to go in and help him out. He was being placed on a stretcher while the terrified Wiz looked on, and while Stroud, taking a deep breath, stepped into the chamber.

Inside, Stroud was instructed to remove the protective wear. There was a cushioned hanger on which to place the suit, and a chute through which it was to be placed after the bombarding rays hit it. Stroud felt like a microwave meal as the machine burned away bacteria on his epidermis, in his hair and pores, leaving a layer of white dust--dead cells--all over his body, along with a tingling, burning feeling. He wiped his white-powdered eyelids with his white-powdered hands. A jolt of unspeakable pain tore through the passages of his brain.

The people who'd been monitoring their progress through the ship, having been cut off as they had, were taking no chances with them, or the items they brought back with them, Leonard's parchment, Wiz's bones and Stroud's pickax--everything had to go through the chamber.

Even the metal in my head, he thought as the radioactivity began to create a ripple fluke through his cranium. He had been terribly worried about Leonard; now he worried about himself. His skull seemed suddenly afire with a bright, blinding light which triggered a total blackout, causing Stroud to fall out of the chamber when it was opened on the other side. Caught by a technician who had been holding his clothing, Stroud looked to have been converted into a wide-eyed zombie.

Wisnewski suddenly snapped, his bone samples flying as he grabbed the pickax that had fallen beside Stroud. Lifting the pick over his head, he was about to bring it down into Stroud's heart--in a blinding rage--when a policeman clubbed him into unconsciousness.

All three of the men who had dared the ghost ship below the earth had succumbed to its curse.

-4-

Sir Arthur Thomas Gordon moved quickly for so heavy a man. He instantly rushed from his limousine to that of Commissioner James Nathan where Nathan contemplated the scene that had exploded in his face. Knighted by the Queen of England, a self-made man after his father had pissed away the family fortune, Gordon didn't like standing down to any man. He'd wheedled his way in close to Nathan, buying off his man Perkins, and Perkins had kept Gordon apprised of Nathan's every move, and in turn Gordon had thought to use it against Nathan when he brought in this charlatan Stroud. Gordon was way past going through channels. He had been on the phone to every public official in the city, including the mayor, and he had been made to stand here and watch this ridiculous affair while the construction of his tower was held up for days. The costs were astronomical.

"Now, Nathan? Now will you bloody well listen to reason? Look at all you've accomplished with this vaudeville act! I hope you're satisfied."

"Shut up, Gordon!"

"Shut up? Shut up?"

"You heard what the fuck I said!"

Camera crews and microphones were jammed in at Sir Arthur as he lit into the commissioner of police. Questions flew from the reporters.

"What're your next plans, Sir Arthur?"

"Has anyone other than Stroud's party offered to go into the pit?"

"Will you blow the place now?"

"Commissioner Nathan? Will the city give in to Sir Arthur's demands at this point?"

"Get these damned reporters back!" shouted the C.P. to his uniformed officers, who moved in, barricading the press even as they snapped pictures of Stroud, Wisnewski and Leonard being carted off to waiting ambulances by men wearing protective gear. Another man entered the decon unit, retrieving the protective wear laid aside by the three archeologists. The tears in the clothing worn by the trio that had gone into the pit were noticeable, and Nathan shouted for this man to hold as he examined the rents. They looked like the work of sharp-toothed animals, shrews or minks.

"What the hell's down there?" Nathan wondered aloud in a whisper to a beat cop his own age, an old friend by the name of Harry Baker. Harry never had what it took to rise in rank, primarily because he was so damned pleased with doing what he was doing that he didn't want any of it ... didn't want the headaches and heartaches of command. Smart move, Nathan had told him many times over. Now Harry looked back at him with a queer, questioning look and said, "Jimmy, what's really going on here?"

"Wish to God I knew, Harry ... wish I knew." Then Nathan ordered the medics out. "Go ahead, get these men to St. Stephen's; see that they get into the hands of a Dr. Cline there. She's with the CDC." Nathan felt energized, standing in the rain in the dark, the street lit with police lights, a barricade thrown up. It was like old times, too, seeing Harry. Nathan felt like a detective again. He'd missed being on a street team and he was sick of having to deal with men like Gordon. And he was sick of the treatment shown him by people around him, kowtowing and bootlicking. Good ol' Harry never knew how. Nice to know some men always stayed the same...

Lloyd Perkins rushed along beside him now with a wide umbrella, trying to cover him. Nathan angrily pushed him aside, saying, "Lloyd, get the shit outa my way."

But then Arthur Gordon stepped into his way, spoiling for a fight, getting right into his face like an angry baseball manager at a Mets game, spittle foaming at the edges of his mouth. "I'm ordering my men in now!"

"You'll do no such thing, Gordon!"

Perkins was in James Nathan's ear, whispering, "Maybe we ought to let Gordon go ... let the bastard hang himself."

"Shut up, Lloyd! Now, you, Gordon, old chap, listen good, because I'm only saying this once--"

"Whom do you think you are speaking to?"

"A royal pain in the ass, asshole, now--"

"Just who do you think you are!"

"I'm the highest ranking officer in New York City! Do you have it straight now? Damn you!"

Gordon was visibly shaking with anger. He was not used to being treated this way. For a moment, he looked as if he might explode.

"You can't talk to me that way!"

"Is that all you can say?" Nathan burst out laughing at the man. "Listen, asshole, your money and influence do not change the fact I am in control here; I give the orders."

"Don't be so sure I can't buy you straight out of a job, mister!"

"Damn you, Gordon, this city and decisions affecting the welfare of the people in it are not up to you, and so help me, if you--or anyone in your employ--goes near that damned hole in the ground--"

"You'll what?"

Nathan grabbed the wealthy Gordon by his coat and doubled him over the wet, black limo. "I'll see that your bloody, limey butt is dragged into a civil court and I'll throw everything I can at you. Do you understand me, Englishman?"

Perkins was tearing at Nathan to release the man and finally Nathan did so. Gordon's workers looked on, a sensation of excitement flooding over them, all of them hoping, it seemed, to see Gordon truly crowned.

Perkins retrieved Gordon's hat from the mud and was handing it to him when Nathan shouted for him to come along. Nathan got into his limo and Perkins got in across from him, shaking his head, unable to meet Nathan's eyes. Nathan shouted for the driver to take him to St. Stephen's Hospital.

The limousine parted the press and the crowd that had gathered as it pulled out.

"Have a drink, Commissioner?" asked Perkins, going for the bar inside the limo.

"No, and you aren't either, Lloyd. You're still a cop, whatever else you've become, and you're on duty."

Perkins gripped the bottle in his hand tighter, and then he put it back. "You sure put Gordon in his place, Commissioner."

"And you, Perkins? Where is your place, Lloyd?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I saw the way you groveled around Gordon. You're on his payroll, too, aren't you?"

"Now, wait a minute, Commissioner."

"Tell you what, Lloyd, we'll talk about it at a later time ... maybe when this is all over."

St. Stephen's Hospital was in the heart of Manhattan, and besides its central location, it had the finest in modern equipment, technology and trauma care. It had been immediately selected as headquarters for the Centers for Disease Control when they had sent their representative and her team up to analyze the uncommon and unusual nature of the disease that was now throwing more and more New Yorkers into comas. Dr. Kendra Cline had taken her residence at New York's Bellevue, and no greater proving ground for a doctor existed on the face of the earth. She'd done extensive work in cell biology and virology, to the exclusion of anything anyone else might call a social life. At thirty-six, she remained unmarried, had no children and no prospects for either, which disturbed her family and friends far more than it did her. She cared passionately for her work and when she had gotten the position with the CDC in Atlanta, she felt it a dream come true.

She'd been dispatched to many areas to oversee what turned out to be Legionnaires' disease in one case, a virulent new strain of chicken pox in another, and she had done extensive regional studies of the spread of the HIV virus. But this was the first time that she was heading a team, and she was very worried, for what was going on in the city of New York was like nothing she had ever seen in all her experience. She had no idea what her superiors in Atlanta were wondering as they surveyed the daily reports she faxed back to them.

She had sent out blood and serum samples, packed in fail-safe metal containers and loaded on U.S. Air Force jets. She had also readied materials and packing for the first autopsy samples, certain that within hours one or more of her patients would succumb to death.

Now she got word that three more patients were on their way, two in coma and one in shock. She learned that it was the party of archeologists who'd braved going to the site of all the trouble, where the unknown disease seemed to originate from. She had herself tried to gain access to the location but had been denied by the authorities. She had been fighting with them ever since. She needed samples from the area badly, and she didn't mind taking risks to get them; and soon, if her wishes were not complied with, she'd take Tom and Mark, her aides, and they'd get in there by dark of night if need be. But for now she was in the midst of readying her team to gather in the new patients. In only the last four hours, many people had been brought to the hospital and to other hospitals across the city. Whatever this virulent bug was, it was taking a great toll in a short amount of time.

"Have you read about this guy, Stroud?" asked her assistant Mark Williams as they rushed the monitors down to meet the incoming victims.

"Some, yeah."

"One for the books, wouldn't you say?"

"Or National Enquirer, I suspect."

"Still, took some nerve going in there like that, him and those other two men."

"Looks that way."

They arrived at emergency to the ranting and threats of a patient who had leaped off a table and was wielding a scalpel he had gotten hold of, shouting for all the goddamned demons in the place to get away from him. Kendra guessed the madman to be another addict on PCBs or worse, before recognizing him as one of the men she'd seen earlier on a TV screen. He was an archeologist who had gone down into the pit. He was conscious but babbling, quite out of his head, and dangerous.

She saw Commissioner James Nathan in the thick of trying to calm the man he called Dr. Wisnewski. The older man jabbed at Nathan with the scalpel, ripping a long tear in his overcoat, when two uniformed police grabbed Wisnewski and wrestled him to the ground.

"Sacrifice me! They sacrificed me to the demon! The bastards! Bastards all! Get away! Get them away! They're all over me! All over me!"

"Get in here with some goddamned sedation, please!" shouted Nathan.

"No! No sedation!" shouted Kendra. "Get a jacket on him! Render him harmless, but no drugs!"

Mark saw to it, locating and helping fit Dr. Wisnewski for a straitjacket as the man spat and attempted to bite countless times.

Nathan backed off and said to Dr. Cline, "Not the Wisnewski we've come to know and love. This is awful ... tried to kill Stroud at the site with a pickax to the chest ... Fortunately--"

"This is Stroud?" she asked, looking over the huge frame of Abraham Stroud which lay as still as a cadaver on a gurney alongside Dr. Leonard, who was equally silent and ominous. "Not sure I wouldn't prefer to see these other two in Wisnewski's condition, rather than as they are. Getting very tired of seeing strong, healthy men turned to vegetables by this thing."

"Well, Wiz ... Wisnewski is no vegetable, that's for sure."

"I'll want to get an EKG and a CAT scan on Wisnewski, the blood, urine and serum tests, try to ID what it is that's kept him going."

"You got a test for bullheadedness?"

"Afraid not."

"Then you'll probably come up zip."

She frowned, rubbing the back of her neck, exhausted. "You have any idea how our isolation ward is swelling! There's been an acceleration in the number of cases! We've got to check everything, try every avenue--which brings me back to my need for soil, air and water samples from the site. Did you have anyone test for these?"

"Yes, just prior to their going in deep. My aide's taken them upstairs to your people."

"Good. Now perhaps we can begin to find some answers."

"You'd better. Damned few out on the street. As for Wisnewski, he's dangerous, criminally dangerous, attempting to kill Stroud and now me. Acts as if he's seeing things--"

"I noticed the delirium, yes."

"Soon as you're through running your tests, he's out of here to a maximum-security, padded room at Bellevue. I will see that the arrangements are made."

"All right ... if that's how it must be. And thanks for ordering those tests for me."

"That was the easiest thing I've had to do all day."

"Yeah, I saw some of your debate with Gordon on the tube in the lounge."

"Great ... just great. Mayor Leamy'll love me for that."

"Well, again, thanks, and I'll take it from here." She began shouting orders to her people to get the comatose patients in tents and hooked to machines. This done, they began disappearing with Stroud and Leonard down the corridor. Nathan watched Kendra Cline go, thinking the dark-haired woman had a lot of grit, a lot of substance and a lot of beauty. She continued to shout along the corridor, "No time to lose! Up to isolation immediately! And use every precaution, people! Move, move!"

Nathan had a thousand questions for the silent Stroud and Leonard, a thousand questions for the raving Wisnewski ... none of which would be answered, he assumed.

He turned and went back outside to the waiting limousine. Alone, he had that drink, Jack Daniel's neat. He then picked up the phone and punched the code for the mayor's office. Perkins arrived just at that moment and James Nathan kicked out at him as he tried to get in, shouting, "Outside, Lloyd! This is confidential!"

He'd have to take the heat for this one all alone.

"I suppose you've heard the news?" he asked Mayor Bill Leamy.

Leamy, an Irishman and an instinctive politician, was cagey. He asked, "What's the word from the CDC people? Anything?"

"Working as hard as they can, Bill."

"I have to tell you, Jim, from where I sit, you and your archeology friends looked a little like Rocky and Bullwinkle out there today."

"Thanks for that insight, Bill. I'll treasure those remarks till they put me under."

"Why'd you have to get into it with Gordon on camera, Jimmy? That sort of thing only makes it worse."

"Mayor ... Bill, Wisnewski's out of his head with madness, Leonard and Abe Stroud are both gone comatose. How is street dancing with Gordon going to make it any worse?"

"Gordon's got a lot of pull in this town, Jimmy. I've told you that before."

"Lot of pull, Mr. Mayor?
Enough to bump me off the playing field?"

"Dammit, Jim, this isn't a game of soccer."

"No, more like Monopoly, isn't it ... sir?"

There was a silence at the mayor's end. "We've got to get Gordon's people back to work. It's a lot of jobs we're talking about here, Jimmy boy."

"Things keep going the way they are, Bill, and for every Gordon employee there'll be a man like Stroud and Leonard vegetating in our goddamned hospitals."

"Please, Jim, you know a comatose man can't vote."

"If anyone can find a way to get him to..."

The mayor laughed heartily at the joke. "Yes, well, Jim, come down here to see me. Gordon's on his way and I've gotten the City Council together for emergency session and my advisers will be here. We'll hash this thing about some more."

"Hash it about some more ... sure."

"Now, don't be taking that attitude, Jim. I don't like Gordan a whit more'n you do, believe me, but Jim, you know how elections are lost over trivial matters like the trains running on time, dire weather that we can't control, and this ... this spreading epidemic is just such an uncontrollable wild card--"

"And it's an election year, I know."

"I go out, Jim, so will you. So, please, spare me the 'high and mighty' routine."

"Yes, sir."

"Bring along Perkins, too."

James Nathan forced himself into silent restraint before replying, "We'll be right along, your honor."

"Aha. That's my boy, Jim ... See you in chambers."

-5-

Abraham Stroud awoke blinking back the pain and stiffness in neck and back, to find himself listening to his own EKG. The machine and he shared an isolation ward in the hospital with two rows of motionless bodies, approximately twenty-six in all, thirteen to a row.

Stroud looked closely at the man on his right. Stiff and cold, the man looked like a cadaver, his color drained. For a moment, Stroud thought he was in a morgue, but the sound of EKGs humming up and down the rows of the zombies forestalled this notion. On his left, he saw the profile of the man he had seen in the silvery crystal skull in Egypt: Simon Albert Weitzel. This gave Stroud a start and he sat bolt upright, finding himself connected by wires and tubes to machines and feeding drips. The IVs looked like plastic bats hanging on each side of him.

A little disoriented, he tried to piece together what had brought him here to lie among the near-dead victims of the thing in the pit.

He'd had a bad reaction to the decontamination unit. The brilliant light colliding with the plate in his head had caused a catatonic response. This had led the others to assume that he had succumbed to the bizarre fate of the others, that he had contracted this vile disease being spread about by the thing on the dead ship.

Stroud's EKG reading was the only one in the room that wasn't damned near a straight line. He now tore away the attachments to the machine, watching the green reading disappear. He snatched himself free of the IVs and threw his legs over the side of the bed, facing Weitzel. He went to the man, the first victim, curious and filled with questions that had no solutions.

"It is you," Stroud said with a raspy, dry throat.

Weitzel lay like a stone, without response. His eyelids were closed. It was that way with all the patients in the room. Some nurse had gone about the silent forms and had placed a gloved hand on the eyelids, forcing them down. Stroud recalled the sensation as if it were happening now to him. Someone had done it for him while he lay in this state as well. Fortunately, for him it wasn't the same exact state.

"What's happened to you, Weitzel? What is happening to you now?"

Weitzel's eyelids flipped open, causing Stroud to back off, but not before the man's left arm had shot up and his hand had wrapped about Stroud's throat, tightening with the power of a vise, cutting off Stroud's air.

Behind a glass, men and women were suddenly up and rushing about, hitting alarms, calling others. Stroud called for help and one of the white-coated men came over an intercom with, "You've just come out of a coma! Try to relax. What're you doing to that other man? Get away from him!"

Weitzel's right hand quaked upward, trying to join with his left to strangle the life from Stroud. Weitzel's body trembled and shook, lifting off the bed, and a strange, eerie, metallic green and blue light discolored the whites of his eyes. His pupils were nowhere to be seen, rolled far back in his head.

Stroud tore the choking hand from his jugular, coughing and shouting for help. A distortion of Weitzel's already corpselike features began to overtake the man's face when a voice came from within Weitzel.

Weitzel's lips were frozen, deathlike, but a voice came like a bubble trapped in the body up and up through him with a start and a rumble, a gurgle and an eruption that sent a brown ugly liquid dripping from his lips along with the preternatural voice. The sound was coming from deep within his chest. It was not Weitzel's voice. Stroud knew this even though he had never known the man, for the voice was far from human in origin. It came from the ship; it came to speak through Weitzel expressly to warn Stroud off. It had the desired effect, for it shook Abraham to his core, and it made the hair all over his body twitch.

"Stay yourself from my wake, Esruad."

"My God," said Stroud, regaining his composure as much as possible. "Who are you?"

"Be gone, Esruad!"

"My name is Stroud."

"Esruad."

"Who are you?"

"Stay you from my wake! Run, Esruad, run!"

"Damn you, what are you?"

"Life is mine."

"Life?"

"Life to feed on."

"Who are you?"

"Life-taker."

"Are you demonic? Are you Satan?"

Its laugh shook through Weitzel like a kettledrum, and from deep within Weitzel it amassed a vile, guttural sound that brought forth a frothy brown liquid that first dripped and then spurted from the body it inhabited. Stroud stepped back an instant before the viper's spittle shot across at him, missing him and staining the floor and the bed sheets Stroud had earlier been on. The brown mucus sent up a stench with the gas it created on hitting the air. It burned an acidic hole in the bed sheets and the tiled floor. It smelled of earth, ancient and deep earth, of bog and swamp and sulfuric acid.

As doctors rushed into the isolation ward in their protective gear, Stroud took hold of Weitzel, causing the fuming, discolored eyes to disappear, shouting at the thing inside him to identify itself. "Who are you, damn you? Who are you?"

Stroud heard only a psychic whisper then: "Everyman ... legions ... armies ... I am everyman."

"Son of a bitch!" Stroud strangled Weitzel.

The doctors tore Stroud from Weitzel. The struggle took Stroud to the floor with a couple of orderlies while some of the others stared in horror at Weitzel. The old man's body rose from the bed, levitating, convulsing before it collapsed onto the covers again and the straight line on the EKG signaled that he was no longer in coma but dead.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" a female voice shouted from inside one of the space suits. She came to Stroud and shouted, "Just what the hell do you think you were doing?"

"You must've heard the voice? You must've seen--"

"We heard nothing."

"We saw nothing," seconded another of the suits.

"I just held a conversation with something inside here, inside of that man."

"Hallucinating," said one of the doctors. "Not uncommon in people coming out of coma, Dr. Cline."

"Dr. Stroud," she said, "I am Dr. Kendra Cline, Centers for Disease Control, Atlanta. You might be interested to know, sir, that you are the only man to come out of this thing. As for Simon Weitzel, you're welcome to look at the monitor tapes. He never regained consciousness; therefore, you could not have held a conversation with him."

"It wasn't Weitzel I was talking to."

"Are you sufficiently calm, Dr. Stroud, to allow us to release you now?"

"Yes, please let me up."

As Stroud regained his feet, he pointed to the soiled bedcovers and the tobacco-like stain on the floor. "Have your lab people determine the content of that substance, Dr. Cline, and handle it with the greatest care."

"What is it?" asked the second doctor.

"It came out of Weitzel, just before he died. Ectoplasm of some sort."

"You don't really expect us to believe that, do you?" asked Dr. Cline.

Stroud stared through the thick protective glass mask that she wore and into her deep, probing gray eyes. She was a beautiful woman, he thought. "Believe what you wish. I guarantee you one thing, Dr. Cline."

"And that is?"

"You won't have any other explanation for how it got here. Now, I want out of here."

"You don't expect us to let you go without running some tests, Dr. Stroud."

He stared again at her. "Tests? I don't have time to play guinea pig for you, Dr. Cline."

"I can have you restrained, if I must!"

"Really? And how exactly would you do that?"

"With the help of these men."

The orderlies moved in on Stroud again, threateningly. "All right, all right ... a few blood tests, serums, but that's it, and then I'm out of here. I've got to get back to the museum, help Dr. Wisnewski and Dr. Leonard, if we are to beat this ... this thing."

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you regarding Drs. Wisnewski and--"

"No, no!" He wanted not to hear this. "Tell me they are not dead."

"Dr. Leonard is over there," she said, pointing to the last man in the row of thirteen that lay on one side of the spotless ward. "In deep coma, like yourself until now. We can only hope--"

"And Dr. Wisnewski?"

She drew a deep breath, and even through the mask, he could see the concern on her features. "I'm afraid Dr. Wisnewski is under arrest and--"

"Under arrest?"

"Aggravated assault," the male doctor beside him said.

"Wisnewski? That's impossible! That's madness!"

Dr. Cline calmly said, "He attempted to murder you, Doctor, with a pickax. I'm telling you this bug--whatever it is--is--"

He cut her off, going over to Leonard's body and staring down at the poor man. "Where is Wisnewski being held?"

"Bellevue lockup, psychiatric ward."

Stroud drew a deep breath, trying to comprehend the far-reaching effects of their having entered the dangerous archeological site. It must have been filled with the spores of the creature, and the little bastard rat things saw to it the infectious bacteria of the monster got into their protective wear.

"We must know what brought you back, Dr. Stroud, if we are to help the suffering whose number is doubling, tripling each hour!"

"Whoa, hold up ... I am not the answer to your prayers, Dr. Cline."

"That's apparent! But the contagion is spreading, rampant--"

"My God. How long have I been under?"

"Sixteen hours."

"I've got to get out of here."

"We need you here, Doctor."

"No, I'm needed out there and at the dig."

"Are you crazy? You can't go anywhere near there again; at least not until we can determine the medical causes of this epidemic."

"Medical causes ... What if I told you there were no medical causes, Doctor? Suppose the entire episode was beyond human medicine and technology? Suppose I told you it has to do with the supernatural?"

"Then I'd have to say you should be kept longer for observation. This thing drove Wisnewski into madness. Perhaps you have overcome the effects of the coma, but not the madness."

"All right," he said, "run your tests as quickly as possible. Then I'm out of here, and for God's sake, get me out of this death camp, and do what you can for Dr. Leonard."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Stroud," she said, indicating to the others to ready the next room for Stroud's tests. "Perhaps there is some antibody in your blood which withstands the assault, and if so, Dr. Stroud, we must begin work on isolating this defense and using it as rapidly as possible. Is there anything about your blood or body chemistry, that you know of, that might save us some time?"

"X-ray my head if you like," he said.

"What?"

"The only difference between me and these other men is that part of my skull is metal."

"A steel plate?"

"Yes."

"Vietnam?" she asked.

"Again, you are right, Doctor."

He could tell she wanted to rub her chin to help her thoughts move along, but she couldn't touch the cute thing within the space suit. "And you think the metal somehow protected you? Has some sort of immunity properties?"

"No, I don't know that. All I know is that I have had a history of seizures since the plate was installed. I don't believe it has any immunological qualities with relation to the comas induced in the others."

Stroud did wonder at the back of his mind, however. Perhaps the mixed blessing of the plate had saved him in a roundabout manner. Perhaps the blackout, happening when it did, had had the effect of short-circuiting any hope on the creature's part of putting him into permanent coma as it apparently had with the others.

"You don't sound very convincing, Dr. Stroud."

"I don't believe that the plate itself has any inherently useful properties to combat this thing. However, it's simple enough to test, and you have a room filled with guinea pigs. The plate is made of a simple steel alloy, the sort used in any medical facility for the purpose of bolting a crushed skull together."

"We'll liquefy it and try it in cc's in the bloodstream."

"Whose bloodstream? Dr. Leonard ... start with him," said Stroud.

"It could be dangerous."

"I made Dr. Leonard a promise before this happened. If there's a chance."

"We'll do it."

For the first time since meeting her, he saw her face relax. She was a sharp-minded, strong woman, he decided. New York was lucky to have her.

"In the meantime, we'd like to run extensive tests on your blood and serums, Dr. Stroud, just the same."

"But you'd be pinning your hopes on the wrong man, and wasting valuable time if--"

"Whatever this thing is, Doctor, it's transmitted easily and fast, through touch, through the pores, from victim to victim, and it's spreading across this city like wildfire."

"Then get your lab people to work on that brown gunk that Weitzel spewed up. Find out what properties are--"

"What do you think we can learn from vomit, Dr. Stroud?"

"It's not every day you see a comatose patient's body lift off the bed, is it?" He didn't expect an answer, so he barged on. "Or talk without regaining consciousness."

"I admit there are incongruities here, but when you're dealing with an unknown disease ... perhaps once we isolate the cause, we will be able to explain the ... the..."

"You did see the body levitate, didn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Good, at least you acknowledge that much."

"Come with me, Dr. Stroud," she said, holding a white-gloved hand to him. "Please."

"On one condition."

"All right."

"That you have someone contact Commissioner James Nathan at once to apprise him of my ... my recovery."

"All right," she replied, and he followed her lead.

Stroud sat through test after test--blood serums, urine, skin, body and CAT scans, the gamut. The entire time he was listening to an inner voice, one that had come to be well known to him by now: his dead grandfather's voice. It came at first like a faraway bird calling to its mate, deep within. It was telling him there was no time to lose.

"All right, you've had your tests and you've found nothing whatever unusual about my blood or my immune system that would be of help to those poor devils in there," he told Dr. Cline when she entered and as he began to pull on a shirt.

She looked at the other doctor in the room and waited for him to leave before she spoke, her full, deep voice filling the room. "So far, Dr. Stroud, there's no evidence that you are carrying any sort of contagion, but all the tests aren't in yet."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"But we're dealing with something totally alien here, a contagion of comas?" Her sparkling gray eyes narrowed, reflecting her confusion.

"Finally," he said with a smile.

"What?" she asked.

"We agree on something."

She nodded, looking at him as if for the first time. "I've read about you, Dr. Stroud."

"Nothing flattering, I'm sure."

"On the contrary. At any rate, won't you consider staying a little longer so that we can--"

He was shaking his head before she had time to finish. "I'm done playing pincushion to your people, Dr. Cline."

"But, Stroud."

He pushed past her, going for the door. "I've done my part for you, and it's been only a waste of time for the both of us. I've got to get to Dr. Wisnewski."

She stopped him at the door. "Please come to my office and let us talk, Dr. Stroud."

"About what?"

"About Dr. Wisnewski, for one thing."

She walked out ahead of him and together they went down the hall to the office that had been given over for her use. She asked him to sit down. He declined, remaining on his feet. She sat behind her desk, breathed deeply and looked tired.

"There has been no sign of this epidemic slowing, Stroud."

"I am aware of that, Doctor."

"We need your help, Stroud. If it was the steel plate in your head that kept you from going comatose for as long as the others, then perhaps we can learn something from you and--"

"You can't implant metal in every patient you've got in there. There must be twenty-five now that Weitzel is dead."

"There are hundreds, Dr. Stroud."

"Hundreds?"

"All across the city, every hospital."

"It's really becoming an epidemic."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. Now, will you please listen to reason?"

"No, I mean ... I have to find Dr. Wisnewski. See if there is anything I can do for him."

"There's nothing you can do for Wisnewski, but here you might possibly--"

"You're wasting precious time studying me. I'm not the cause or the cure of this thing! Don't you understand that? As for Dr. Wisnewski, the very idea of his attacking a man ... well, it's entirely impossible, out of character."

"But it happened. Do you suppose that he is somehow manifesting the disease in another form entirely? He never went into coma as you and Leonard did."

"Mine was a blackout, pure and simple."

"You've suffered such attacks before?"

"Since the war, yes."

"I see. Then it was just a coincidence of sorts, and we were wrong to place you in with the others."

He paced before saying another word. "Part of this madness unleashed by that pit--that's what Wiz's strange behavior is. Something ... some thing that is diabolical spoke to me through Weitzel and--"

"I must say you're persistent, sticking with that story. Do you really believe there is some ... some supernatural force at work here? Do you believe there is a supernatural power behind the misfortunes of those who--"

"Who is to say? You saw the body leave the bed. You haven't the experience with the supernatural that I have. I have seen and struggled with vampires, Dr. Cline, and with werewolves. Yes! Werewolves. And now this..."

"Do you really expect me to believe you?"

"Believe what you wish." He spoke now as if to himself. "It must have somehow taken hold of Wisnewski."

"The man tried to drive a pickax through you, Stroud, and you're building a 'Satan-made-me-do-it' defense for him?"

"Wisnewski could never kill a man."

"But he attempted just that, before witnesses."

"Some evil was unleashed through him, something that goes for the control mechanisms--the center of consciousness--"

"Whatever it is, it goes right for the brain like ants to a feast; shuts it down tight. It's really a horror."

"Death for a man like Leonard."

"I've been watching his readout very closely, though, Stroud, and he at least shows an occasional fluctuation--as you had."

"Really? What does that signify?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. It makes you want to interpret it as a struggle of sorts, as if Dr. Leonard is not giving in so easily as the others."

"That'd be Leonard. He may appear frail, but his mind is ... well, he's the best."

"Deviations in the EKG have continued since he was brought in. We're going to try the steel alloy, a direct injection into the bloodstream ... monitor him closely. Makes me feel like a goddamned engineer, working on a robot ... but these men ... well, may as well be robots for the condition they're in."

"Did you learn anything at all from the substance your people scraped off the floor beside Weitzel's bed?"

"An odd mixture of minerals, alkalies, sulfur, methane. We'd learned from blood tests on the victims that they suffered respiratory alkalosis--"

"Which is?"

"Low blood levels of carbon dioxide and high levels of alkalinity in the blood."

"Alkali ... sulfur ... methane. Doctor, how is that possible in a communicable disease?"

"To my knowledge, it isn't."

"Yet Weitzel coughs up this ball of it."

"We've been trying a treatment with acids, to restore the base balance between acids and alkalies in the body, but this hasn't worked. Perhaps, coupled with the metal..."

"Conventional methods of treatment are going to be of little help." He went to a nearby coffeepot and poured himself a cup, offering one to her, which she declined. Stroud then finally sat down, sipping the hot brew.

"We're going to pursue every avenue," she said.

He nodded. "I'm sure you will. This isn't your first epidemic, is it?"

"Afraid not. I've worked quite a bit in developing countries where rickets and polio remain a terrible problem. I haven't long been with the CDC."

"But you will be."

"I wouldn't put down any bets. At least not yet."

"Did you find anything else unusual in that muck that Weitzel spat at me?"

She shook her head in annoyance. "He may've had a muscle spasm, Dr. Stroud, but he could not have spit at you or anyone else."

"I didn't plant that stuff, Dr. Cline."

"I'm sure you didn't."

"So, did you find anything else?"

"Sulfur trioxide."

"Means nothing to me."

"It fumes in air and reacts violently to water."

Stroud recalled the strange fog that lifted off their bodies as they hit the air in the light mist and rain. Dr. Cline continued, saying something he didn't quite understand, and wasn't sure he could pronounce. He tried desperately to catch her, asking, "And this sulfonethylmethane?"

"A narcotic, very powerful, especially in such concentration. This alone could turn a man into a zombie."

"But your blood tests showed none of this?"

"No ... very strange ... if it came from inside Weitzel.
Almost as if it were stored like a hormone in an organ."

They stared long into one another's eyes for several silent minutes.

She pulled her gaze from him and continued. "We also found high levels of succinic acids, choline and..."

"Yes?"

"Mephitis, an odorous gas."

"What does that tell you?"

"Very little, except that none of this should have been in that hospital room with you men."

"What is this acid and choline?"

"In the human body, they are natural by-products of succinylcholine, normal body chemicals. They break down after death into their component parts."

"Sounds to me like you had graveyard muck under your scope, Doctor."

"Not so fast. The drug is also used in careful dosages as a muscle relaxant during surgery of the abdominal cavity. Its presence in a hospital room is not altogether remarkable."

"But encased in fluid and mud spewed forth by a supposed coma victim?"

She dropped her gaze. "You can't expect me and the others here to believe that some sort of demon possession is involved here, Dr. Stroud, can you?"

"No, I guess I can't expect that from any of you medical people. Now, if I may, I'm out of here."

"Dr. Stroud, please tell me this. Do you recall anything at all of your experience when you were under?" she asked.

"I may in time, but for now ... sorry. Sometimes I have total blackout from which I recall literally nothing. Other times I may get fragments ... bits and pieces coming back..."

"You can tell me nothing more?"

"Sorry."

"What about hypnosis? Would you submit to a test?"

"A test? Do you ever do one test, Dr. Cline? Look, I'm on my way out of here. I'm surprised Nathan hasn't already sent a car for me."

Stroud drained his coffee, got up and asked, "Will you please just do all that you can for Dr. Leonard?"

"Of course we will."

"Have you heard anything at all from Nathan? I have to arrange to see Dr. Wisnewski, and Nathan may be my only way in."

A look of fatigue and perhaps defeat colored her features as she leaned back in her desk chair. Stroud saw something skitter past her liquid gray eyes, something she was hiding. He wondered a moment about her past, what had brought her to be here in New York at this time. She might well be wondering the same of him.

Finally, she said, "I'm afraid Commissioner Nathan does not know that you ... that you are out of coma, Dr. Stroud."

"What? But that was our agreement!" He was astonished.

"My secretary has been trying to get through to him for hours, but--"

"But?
But what?"

"He's about the hardest man in the city to reach right now and--"

"And nothing, Doctor. We had an agreement. You broke it, pure and simple. Damn, you've just strung me along, and you're still trying to find reasons for me to stay put."

"Don't you care about what's happening here? Don't you see this is the only rational way to proceed? I thought you were a reasonable man!"

"I try to be, but sometimes, Doctor, reason is not enough."

"Then think about this!" She rushed to catch him at the door. "You could very possibly be a carrier; by coming into contact with others, you could be exposing them to this unknown disease."

He took a deep breath, realizing she was right. "I'll have to risk that."

"Haven't you any moral compunction whatso--"

He hated to do so, but Stroud closed the door in her face. He must rush as quickly as possible to Commissioner Nathan's. The man must be frantic by now, losing Leonard and Stroud to apparent coma, losing Wisnewski to madness and seeing the plague numbers rise without any idea what was going on.

Stroud had to slip from the hospital quietly without any attendant press or other attention. He found a service elevator and made his way out the back. He had to get to Wisnewski.

-6-

Stroud had called for a cab but he was told it might be an hour, maybe two, before one could get to him. Every cab in the city was on call and when Stroud stepped out onto the street he knew the reason why. Sirens were blaring everywhere. Every medic, every cop and every good citizen in New York had been pressed into service as ambulances roared through the congested streets. Panic was rampant. There was evidence of some looting, and there was evidence everywhere of the alien disease. People who had contracted the disease were in such large numbers now that many lay in the gutters, alleyways and streets, others afraid to touch them. All of the plague victims, eyes staring wide from inside bodies they could not maneuver, were like zombies. Their muscles and minds were locked in various poses of frozen gesture where they lay.

A man rushing by Stroud had tears in his eyes when he came face-to-face with Stroud and said, "There're too many of them! Too many! I ... I can't help it ... can't..." The man dashed off, stumbling as he went.

The man who had screamed his frustration in Stroud's face had good reason, as mad as he sounded, for it came clear to Stroud that the streets were now filled with insanity. Stores were being openly looted, youngsters making off with VCRs, camcorders, tape decks, while older citizens were going in for jewels. The break-ins and looting had apparently become too much for police along with trying to contain the epidemic.

Everywhere Stroud looked he saw the fallout from the evil that had been unleashed on the city; it could all be traced back to that damnable ship and Gordon's unquenchable desire to build yet another skyscraper the likes of which the world had never seen. It was apparent to Stroud that this ship below the city was meant never to be disturbed, but now that it had been, what were their alternatives? How did you combat an evil that worked through the body chemistry of mankind, taking control of their minds, turning them into unknowing servants?

Stroud saw a pair of frightened children holding hands, zigzagging first toward him and then away, fearful of everything that moved. He shouted out to them not to fear him, but they raced on without turning an ear to him. Still he shouted, praying they would heed him, "Get to a church, a hospital or hospice!"

The sound of sirens continued in Stroud's ears as he made his way toward downtown Manhattan and One Police Plaza where he hoped to locate Nathan. He'd been unable to reach the commissioner by phone.

From an alleyway behind him a madman suddenly rushed Stroud with a claw hammer. Stroud sensed his presence moments before the hammer came down, grazing Stroud's shoulder when he bobbed and brought his fist into the man's abdomen. The blow seemed to have no effect on the man and Stroud suddenly realized from the look in the attacker's eyes, and the deathly pallor of his skin, that he was under the control of the affliction. Stroud saw the same unnatural glow in the whites of the man's eyes as he had in Weitzel's. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to be bent on destroying Abraham H. Stroud. Why? Stroud now grabbed the hand with the hammer in it, twisting and tearing, but the zombie's strength and grip on the weapon were incredible. Finally, Stroud brought up a knee to the thing's groin, and when this had no effect, he did it again and again. Still no visible effect and the thing was gaining strength while Stroud was weakening. The hammer was pulling free of Stroud's grip and would momentarily crush his skull, steel plate and all, when Stroud saw a speeding car coming toward them.

Stroud knew his timing must be perfect as he backed the creature at his throat toward the street. He brought up a leg and wrapped it around the ankle of the mad zombie and, letting go of the hammer, shoved with all his weight, toppling the crazed man into the path of the vehicle which pinned him beneath its grillework. In the screeching of tires and horn, Stroud thought he heard a voice escape the dead man, or was it simply air? It seemed to say, Esruad ... Esruad. Stroud saw that the deadly claw hammer lay in the gutter down and across the street, where it had flown on the impact.

Then Stroud saw another zombie mechanically bend at the waist and lift the hammer. Behind him, coming from doorways and from behind trash cans, other zombies wielding bottles, sticks, bricks, cordless drills--anything they'd found at hand--were closing in on Stroud.

A man jumped from the car and shouted at Stroud, saying, "Here you are, Stroud! Get in!"

It was Nathan's aide, Lloyd Perkins. "We learned from the hospital that you had gone. Very foolish of you to leave on foot, Dr. Stroud."

"Just get us the hell out of here, Perkins."

Stroud leaped into the passenger side of Perkins's car. Perkins backed off the man he had hit when Stroud pushed him into his path, dragging the body half a block before it was released to the other zombies. Stroud watched them gather about the remains to stare dumbly down at it.

"The C.P.'s been in conference after conference on this thing since you and the others came out of the pit," said Perkins. "I've got to tell you, Stroud, everybody--I mean everybody in the city--is going nuts, and some are going nuts with fear."

"You think we made a mistake going down there, Lloyd?"

"Don't know that it made a difference either way, but the C.P.'s been monitoring your progress, along with Leonard's and Wisnewski--"

"How is Dr. Wisnewski?"

"For now he's safe; in a padded room at Bellevue."

"Poor man." Stroud heard a voice emanating from the steel plate in his head which told him to go to Wisnewski, that it was urgent.

"We've got more to worry about than Wisnewski at the moment. The whole city is going up for grabs."

"Take me to Bellevue. I've got to see Wisnewski now."

"I was sent here to bring you to Nathan, and that is what I'm going to do."

"Bellevue first, and then, as soon as I see the old man--"

Perkins pulled a .38 Smith & Wesson and lay it on his lap. "Dr. Stroud, you may pull a lot of weight in Chicago, but this is New York. You're going to see the C.P."

Perkins escorted him into a conference room where Nathan was discussing the state of affairs with the mayor and City Council. There were some perfunctory introductions before Stroud saw that Dr. Kendra Cline was also here. James Nathan told the others that Dr. Stroud was one of three archeologists who had gone into the pit to investigate the sunken ship.

"He is also the only man to have gone into coma induced by this ... this disease, and has come around," added Nathan. "Dr. Cline can speak more to that if you have any questions."

"Am I to understand that you have some natural immunity to the disease?" asked the mayor, a tall man with thinning gray hair and a wide girth. He had the look of a man who was playing poker with thieves and he knew he could not win.

"I never went into coma, Mayor. It was merely a blackout. Dr. Cline can verify that."

Kendra Cline pursed her lips and nodded. "It would seem that that is the case with Dr. Stroud, from all our findings."

"Then you never contracted the disorder in the first place?"

"No, sir."

"But Leonard did, and Dr. Wisnewski."

"In a manner of speaking," said Nathan. "Dr. Wisnewski's aberration took the form of madness."

"I am told he attempted to murder me with a pickax," said Stroud. "But that was not Dr. Wisnewski's doing."

"He was surrounded by witnesses, Dr. Stroud," said Perkins.

"Since I've come out of what Dr. Cline had taken for coma," said Stroud, "I have been attacked twice by ... by these controlled people. Dr. Wisnewski was not acting out of madness but control. Something is controlling this entire event."

This caused a general stir throughout the room. The mayor stood and paced the length of the table. "Dr. Stroud, do you have any idea what this ... this something is that is in control?"

"Only that it is beyond our normal reckoning, sir, and that without Wisnewski's help ... with Dr. Leonard gone ... I'm not at all sure we will understand what we are dealing with until it is too late."

"What do you propose, Doctor?"

"First, I would like Dr. Wisnewski released into my custody, and any and all objects that we brought out of the pit be returned to us for complete examination under controlled conditions--"

"You want us to release a man who attempted to murder you, into your custody?" asked one of the men seated around the table, but the mayor raised a hand and silenced him.

"Go on, Doctor."

"Under my guidance and care, perhaps Dr. Wisnewski and I can carry on with our original plan to defuse this situation."

"And what does that amount to, sir?"

"First and foremost, we must understand the enemy, understand the meaning of the ship ... how it came to be here, why. To understand the meaning of the ... of the bones inside her hull."

"Bones, like those you brought out?" asked Nathan. "Those were human bones."

"Exactly."

"I don't like it," said the deputy mayor, the man the mayor had silenced moments before. "Suppose Wisnewski attempts to kill Stroud again, and succeeds? And suppose the papers got hold of that, and--"

"To hell with the papers and your office, Dennis!" shouted the mayor. "This ... this is war. We've called in the National Guard, and we've declared martial law and a curfew." The mayor's face had gone red, but now he settled down again. "Stroud had Leonard's backing, Wisnewski's backing, and despite what some of us may have read or heard about Dr. Stroud, he appears our only hope in this matter. Whatever Pandora's box we've opened, a bazooka shot to the ship isn't going to close it, or restore the faculties of some nine hundred to a thousand people who've succumbed to this thing."

"Then you will accept my recommendation, sir?" asked James Nathan. "That we give Dr. Stroud carte blanche on this matter?"

"Up to a point, Nathan ... Stroud ... up to a point. We need results, and quickly. We need to show the public that we are acting to ward this thing off. To this end, Dr. Cline will assist you, Dr. Stroud, in any way she can."

"What?" asked Cline, taken totally by surprise. "Mayor Leamy! I don't work for the city of New York, and I am needed at St. Stephen's. I've got patients and tests and experiments to oversee."

"Dr. Wallace has already dispatched two of your colleagues to take over your duties," said Mayor Bill Leamy. "We've got to pursue this thing aggressively and from as many avenues as are opened to us, Dr. Cline. To that end I want you to monitor the progress of Dr. Wisnewski, and to give assistance wherever possible with this special approach. Is that understood?"

Stroud saw that she was fuming beneath the nod. "I will do what I can, but I won't take responsibility for the consequences."

"Good ... good," said Leamy, taking a deep breath. "Wiz is an old and dear friend of mine. I think it is time, Dr. Stroud, Nathan, that you go to him."

Arthur Wisnewski's frustration rose and rose and rose as he beat his head against the padded door to the chamber the demons had thrown him into. He feared their return, feared what they intended for him once they returned, feared they intended to feed off his body as if he were a cockroach for them to swallow, so horrid and vile was their crablike appearance, and the thing that Stroud had become--so hideous that Wisnewski had felt his heart grip itself and squeeze as the blood suddenly pumped through his small body and he had lifted the pickax to dismantle the monster Stroud. The next time he saw Stroud, he would kill him.

He knew Stroud for what he was now ... knew that his true name was Esruad and that Esruad was to be destroyed. He didn't know what the name Esruad meant, other than its inherent evil. He had never heard the name before, but something in his mind triggered the explosive hatred for what was below Stroud's mask.

He had been screaming for them to bring Stroud to him for hours. Even with his hands tied, he would find a way to kill Stroud, he promised ... promised himself? No, not himself ... someone else, but he couldn't recall who.

He had rammed the door continually since finding himself here. He recalled very little of the tortures the bestial, vile things that were his captors had done to him; he felt no pain, only an enormous disgust and hatred for them--for all of them--but for Stroud in particular. Stroud was their wizard, their leader.

"Use your spittle on Esruad," a voice inside his head kept telling him. But what good would spit do against a creature of Stroud's enormous strength and those bulging fangs and lower teeth like a wild boar, his body crawling with living parasites feeding over him.

"Spit," commanded the voice inside him.

Wiz did so, splattering the padded door with a burning brown syrup that sent up a smoke cloud. The smoke curled about the chamber, getting thicker and thicker, the feathers and tick inside the pads turning the smoke into a thick, ugly black cloud that made Wisnewski cough and cough and cough until it finally set off an alarm. The bells exploded in his ear and the door was thrown open, two of the vile creatures, their boars' heads heaving, their tentacled limbs reaching for him and gaining hold.

"Stroud! Bring me Stroud!" he called out as they forced him through the choking smoke and outside.

"Spit! Spit on them!" came the voice within.

But Wisnewski suddenly felt dopey, dropping to his knees as the drug from the hypodermic sent him under. The last thing he felt was the hideous hands of the monsters grabbing him up by the middle, his arms still strapped tightly about him, alarms sounding in his brain, drowning out the voice there.

Later Wisnewski awoke in another white, empty, padded cell. On the floor beside him was a huge globule of the syrupy liquid he had spat out at the pads in the other room. Wisnewski felt drained, weak, woozy and confused. He tried desperately to remember who he was and where he was ... what had happened to him ... why he was in a straitjacket.

His mind felt like a blank tablet and when he looked at the reinforced glass window in the door, he found people staring in at him as if he were a lunatic.

He fought to regain his mind, his memories, but they were fleeting, as if they'd only been stains wiped away with a washcloth. Who was he? Where was he? Who were his jailers?

He felt that a deep chasm inside of him had been opened up, and somewhere in the void was his identity and the events that had brought him to this place.

"Where am I!" he shouted at the eyes staring in at him. He got up, rushing at the eyes. "I demand to know who you are and where I am! Who's in charge here? I want to talk to whoever's in charge!"

But the eyes just stared in, locked on him as if watching a bug and quite fascinated with the useless dance he was doing before they might squash him.

Angry, frustrated, Wisnewski rammed his small body again and again into the door, pleading for help, but nobody came...

-7-

The scene at Bellevue was chaos, the halls littered with more zombies than they had beds for. People were beginning to get nasty, their natural pity for the dummies around them turning into loathing, fear and hatred. Doctors and nurses were working night and day in what seemed a useless effort to keep up. Dr. Cline was angry, seeing the suffering and feeling that she ought rather to be in her laboratory, that every moment that passed was opportunity lost. She was quite unhappy being in the company of Nathan and Stroud.

They stood just outside the padded cell where Dr. Wisnewski was now. "He's a strange one," said the orderly, a large, powerfully built man who looked capable of crushing Wisnewski without even knowing it.

"How has he been?" asked Stroud.

"Very unruly ... kicking at the door ... shouting to be released."

"Open it up," said Stroud.

The orderly said he had no authorization to do so. Nathan flashed his badge. "We've cleared it with your superiors. It's out of your hands, Mr. Gilliam."

"Well, if you say so. Your funeral."

"Open it," said Stroud, who had brought the bones from the pit with him in an open box. "The rest of you wait here," he told them.

Nathan took exception to this, saying, "Stroud, he's got a straitjacket on, but he still has teeth, so..." and he offered up his gun.

"No, I won't need that."

Perkins offered to go in with him.

"No, I have to do this alone."

Kendra Cline said, "Maybe you're the one who's mad, Stroud."

"Maybe."

He slipped through the door while the others crowded around the small porthole of a window. The moment Wisnewski realized someone was in the room with him, he rolled over and sat up on the bed of mattresses allowed him. There were no bedposts or springs, no unpadded metal whatever in the room, including the door. When he looked up at Stroud he cocked his head to one side and squinted his eyes.

"Dr. Wisnewski? It's me."

"Esruad," said Wisnewski, wide-eyed. "You ... you're alive!"

Stroud was astonished for the dual reason that Wiz spoke as calmly and surely as any sane person and that he had used the same name that the demon had used.

"No, my name is--"

"Stroud ... yes, A-Abe ... Abe Stroud."

"And your name, sir?"

"Wisnewski ... Wiz, I'm called."

"Do you remember what happened to you, Dr. Wisnewski?"

"No ... Woke up here ... asses treating me like a fool! I could just strangle them!" He got up and rushed the door where he saw the faces staring in. "Sick to death of being treated like a bug in a glass!" He kicked out at the door with all his energy. "Bastards!"

"Do you remember these?" Stroud asked.

His arms twisted about him in the straitjacket, Wiz went to his knees over the bones in the box Stroud had brought with him. Also in the box was the parchment that Leonard had come away from the ship with. "Oh, God ... oh, yes ... we ... we were in the ship."

"Yes," coaxed Stroud.

"And then we came back ... stepped out into ... into the rain, and the smelly fog began rising up."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No ... nothing ... except the decontamination."

"Anything after that?"

"Leonard carried off in a stretcher."

"And?"

"You ... You fell out."

"Yes."

"That's all I recall."

"Nothing more ... nothing about an ax?"

"An ax?"

"You picked it up."

He shook his head. "No."

"Raised it over me."

"No, Abe."

"Went out of control."

"I don't remember it; not a bit of it."

Stroud tried a new tack. "Dr. Wisnewski?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you call me Esruad?"

He looked queerly at Stroud. "Did I? Esruad, indeed?"

"Does that name mean anything to you? Anything at all?"

"I ... I must consult my ... my books ... must get to my laboratory, Stroud ... Stroud ... can you get me the hell out of here?"

Stroud began to undo the straitjacket, peeling back the layers. As he did so, he could hear the rumbling of concern just the other side of the door. He feared that Wiz--or the demon within--would make some attempt at killing him, causing the others to rush in and destroy Wisnewski. Stroud felt as if he were holding on to the man by a thread. He wondered how he could win Wisnewski back from the ship's curse.

"Dr. Wisnewski, you must fight this thing. Fight with all your strength!"

"I have! Christ, Stroud, I have! All this time in here, nothing to feel, no one to speak with! Nothing but the sound of my own voice. I swear, you leave me here and I will go mad!"

Stroud let go the bindings that restrained Wisnewski. The man's arms fell forward, weakly dangling before him. His eyes remained on the items in the box and he said, "Besides, Stroud, we have so much work to do and no time to waste."

"Now you're talking, Dr. Wisnewski."

"Leonard ... what about Leonard?"

"Afraid he won't be with us, Wiz."

Wisnewski dropped his head forward, giving a moment of thought to Leonard before saying, "He was a good man."

"He's in coma, Doctor."

"A death for such a man, and yet ... you came back. Perhaps there is hope?"

"There is always that, sir."

"Please, Stroud ... get me out of here."

"That is why I am here."

The former smile of the man inched across his lips, but it was hollow and sad and beaten. "I'm damned hungry, too."

Stroud watched Wisnewski closely as he worked alongside the archeologist. As mad as he had seemed to authorities at Bellevue, Stroud found him distant, distracted, going in and out of his ability to recall events clearly, asking a thousand questions at times ... but even as a "madman," Dr. Wisnewski remained brilliant. They worked deep within the vast Museum of Antiquities in Wisnewski's laboratory where the man was surrounded by all that had been familiar to him most of his adult life. Wisnewski was something of a prodigal, and even as a child he drank wisdom as if it were an addictive wine. He'd graduated high school at the age of fourteen and had finished college at seventeen. He had received his Ph.D. at the ripe old age of twenty-one. From there he had held a series of positions with various museums and colleges across the country. His specialties were early American, Greek and Etruscan archeology. Wiz had been involved in one of the digs in present-day Tuscany, had written extensively on the subject and had gathered the largest private collection of documents on the Etruscans in existence, all bequeathed, he said, to the museum upon his death.

Leonard had joined him in his work on the Etruscans in Tuscany, and they had become the best of friends, inseparable with so much in common. Now Wisnewski worried greatly for his friend's well-being, often stopping in his work to look around for Leonard, who was not there. "We've become like an old married couple," he told Stroud, "but I hadn't realized just how married until now that he is gone."

"He's not gone, not yet ... and not if we can come up with some solutions to this mystery, Dr. Wisnewski."

"Yes ... yes, of course ... now it hits home ... now it is Leonard who is a victim. Odd, I had thought that I cared greatly about those poor victims of this thing, but not until now do I really suffer ... Well, back to work."

And back to work he went. Surrounded by his collection of Etruscan artifacts, journals and books on the subject, as well as photographs of the dig in Tuscany, Wiz had quickly fixed on the idea of work as helping him keep his sanity. He examined the materials that they had confiscated from the dark ship, and with Stroud's help, they had begun to determine exactly what they had come away with. He first spent hours on the bones, determining the age and relative health of the Etruscan who had lived before Christ.

Just outside the laboratory and office here stood armed police guards. They were technically present as escorts for a "mad" scientist who was paroled due to the emergency nature of the situation, but Stroud had also given them instructions to act as guards against forces that might at any time erupt outside to threaten the important work on the inside. Too often now this evil force had insinuated itself on Stroud, tracking him down through a strange telepathy that was beyond his reckoning. It had attacked him at St. Stephen's through Weitzel, on the street outside, at the construction site through Wiz. It followed that the zombies could hone in on him, come here for him.

In fact, given Wisnewski's earlier attempt on his life, Stroud could not completely trust him, either. Was he absolutely free of the disorder? Or might he be a mole in the plot against Stroud?

No ... no, foolishness, Stroud thought. This thing was bigger than any conspiracy against him--one man. This thing wanted them all, and Stroud just happened to be in a particularly vulnerable position, and all that had happened might well have happened to anyone else ... maybe. Wisnewski now stared at him as if reading his mind, but only said, "You're worried about Leonard, aren't you, Abe?"

"Yes ... very."

"His chances are not good, are they?"

"Presently, he's still comatose, but the doctors are doing all they can."

"Why was I spared, Stroud? And you? Why did it get to Leonard, and not us?"

"You're a fighter, and as for me--"

"Leonard's a fighter, too. That doesn't explain it."

"Hardheadedness, willfulness? I'm not sure what the answer is. I understand that you caused a fire in your first cell at Bellevue without the use of your arms, without any matches. How did you accomplish that?"

Wisnewski had not a single clue as to how he had done that. He had just a vague feeling that he could not entirely trust Stroud, that there was something strange about the other man and that he must keep his eyes on him.

Stroud checked his watch. He'd stepped off the airplane at Kennedy two days before, and it was now 6 p.m. Time was ticking away for them all.

Dr. Samuel Leonard, Ph.D., Archeological Curator of the American Museum of New York, still lay in a vegetative state of consciousness at St. Stephen's Hospital, his vital signs being monitored and scrutinized by the CDC team headed up by Dr. Kendra Cline. Cline had taken a special interest in Leonard when her aide Mark Williams pointed out that there were some interesting fluctuations in his EKG, fluctuations which signaled some inner turmoil within his mind to return to consciousness. Now he was being watched more closely than ever, and had been throughout the day. But no further changes had come.

Dr. Cline had remained with Stroud and Wisnewski until the two men became engrossed in their work with their dirty bones and dusty books, and then she'd pleaded with Nathan that she must return to the hospital to make arrangements for the smooth transition necessary when her colleagues met with her the next morning.

She wondered how much longer Leonard could fight on his own, and she wanted to help him. She had now called in two neuro specialists who agreed with her that Dr. Leonard was involved in a kind of tug-of-war between consciousness and unconsciousness. She wanted to act. She wanted to give Leonard the edge he required. But to do so would probably cost her her job, whether she was right or wrong.

There wasn't the time to test and retest the serum her people were developing, and there certainly wasn't time to secure permissions and approvals from all the agencies and people involved, from Leonard's next of kin to the Food and Drug Administration. Leonard would lose the battle within the hour, the specialists believed.

"The cure could kill him," Mark warned her, realizing what was going through her mind when they were alone again.

"He's dying anyway, Mark, and we've got to test this on someone, and the others ... the others may as well be mummies. They've all given in. At least Leonard wants to live."

"I've never pumped that much stimulant into a man," said Mark.

"And you're not going to now. I am."

"Dr. Cline--"

She began to dress in the protective wear necessary to enter the isolation ward. "Don't you see, Mark? We don't have any choice. There're literally thousands in the city in Leonard's condition now. We've got to act."

"But we should at least get authority to go ahead from someone at CDC."

"No, they haven't any idea what we've got here. Samples we've sent them have just baffled hell out of them, and--"

"What about James Nathan, then?"

"All right ... get him on the phone, Mark. Go on."

"You'll wait until I get back?" He had to go into an office across the hall for a phone.

She didn't wait for Mark. She finished dressing, filled a hypodermic with the serum and called on the intercom to those monitoring the room of zombies to open the air lock. This done, she stepped through, waited the few minutes for the germ-free environment to be maintained and then stepped through the final glass door, going for Leonard's inert form.

"How is Dr. Leonard doing, Anne?" she asked her assistant at the controls.

"Nothing new ... same as before, Doctor."

She nodded behind the heavy glass of her mask, hardly tipping the head covering she wore. She moved in on Leonard, the hypo at her side, hidden from the view of those on the outside. She recalled Stroud's words when she had telephoned him at the Museum of Antiquities moments before talking to Mark.

"Leonard's next of kin ... anyone in the city?"

After a moment's hesitation, Stroud said, "My God, have we lost him?"

"No, no ... nothing like that..."

"Not yet, you mean?"

"I just have to know if he has anyone close who--"

"Wiz tells me he has no one."

"He's still hanging on ... fighting, in fact." She mentioned the EKG fluctuations.

Stroud said, "He looks frail, but he's got a strong mind."

"That may be the crucial difference here."

"Is there something you want to tell me, Doctor?"

"Not really ... no."

"You want to try something?" he had asked.

"Oh, nothing ... just thought--"

"Leonard is worth any gamble, Dr. Cline. We need him back, and I know that if he could speak, he'd tell you to take the risks, whatever they are."

"You don't understand, I ... I can't."

She had hung up quickly then. And now she was here, standing over the helpless form of a once-vital man.

She lifted the hypo, her hand trembling. She tried desperately to steady herself when suddenly Mark's voice broke her concentration, making her turn and look through the glass at all the people staring in at her. "Dr. Cline! Let's do it properly, under controlled conditions! Nathan has declared martial law in effect, and he says he and the city will take responsibility for any experimentation we wish to do here."

She breathed a full breath for the first time since suiting up, and she relaxed her hand. "Thank God," she said.

"God, god, god, god, god, god!" one of the other comatose men began to chant, rising up and tearing out his tubes and coming with a wild stare toward her, a wild stare that showed no pupils.

"Get out of there, Dr. Cline! Get out!" Mark and the others were screaming.

Cline did so, backing through the door as the zombie rushed toward her but stopped over the body of Leonard, draping itself over him as if shielding him from her.

Once outside, Kendra saw the zombie's inert form slide off Leonard, who remained on his bed. The other man appeared to be dead. At the same time, Leonard's EKG was coming weaker, weaker, weaker still.

"No time to lose, Mark! Everyone ready, and Tom, suit up!"

Her aide Tom Logan was frozen in place until Mark shook him hard, snapping him out of it.

"Everything must be readied in IW-2, stat!"

-8-

St. Stephen's, like every other hospital in the city, was being flooded with those stricken by the disease, their numbers pouring in. Leonard would be the test case. All of them knew that he had, from the outset, shown an unusually high resistance to the forced condition, that his mind had struggled back toward the surface of reality. Most of the others with the bizarre disorder had not. So, even if they had a cure for Leonard, it was unlikely that it would be useful across the board. But it would be a start, a chemical answer to the puzzle of the graveyard muck that had somehow insinuated itself on these human bodies.

The stimulant, if further developed, might reach into the black hole that the others had fallen into.

All was prepped now, save Leonard was not in the secondary isolation ward, everyone wary of stepping into IW-1 since Kendra's close encounter with the zombie who had erupted in a screaming chant of God's name.

Kendra saw from the blank screen that had been monitoring this man that his name was Frank Donaldsen. His inert form had remained as silent as stone since the outburst. Earlier, her team would have rushed to his aid, but not since the reports of what was happening at other hospitals had reached them, reports that said that such patients were becoming violent.

"We've got to move Leonard out," she told the others. "Mark, Tom?"

The two of them followed her in and they began to kick out locks on the bed, rolling it and the monitors together through the electronically opened entranceway to IW-2. Mark rushed back and took Frank Donaldsen's pulse. He looked up and shook his head, signaling that their fears were unnecessary, that Donaldsen could hurt no one.

Tom asked Dr. Cline if she wished for him to make the injection. "No, no ... it's my job." Even with Nathan's assurances, she knew that she was ultimately responsible.

Tom backed away, his eyes wandering to Mark, who was in the process of bagging Donaldsen, seeing that his remains were removed to a third room where an autopsy would be the man's next fate.

"Tom," Mark called, "give me a hand here."

Tom reentered IW-1, doing what he could.

Kendra approached Leonard, hearing a strange hissing noise as if air were escaping through one of the tubes inserted in the man's body, but the intensity of the hissing increased to what she felt was a deafening noise. "What is that?" she asked those outside, monitoring.

The question made Mark and Tom, holding Donaldsen's body in its black wrapper, stop and look back in at her from Isolation 1. At the outer control room, Anne and the others were also watching, raising their shoulders and saying they heard nothing.

"Must be my ears ringing, I'm that tired," she said.

"Let me take over for you, Dr. Cline," pressed Tom.

"No, no ... it's all right," she said, believing it was, since the hissing sensation in her ears had now vanished.

She checked Leonard's pulse and found it was racing and shouted at Anne for not having mentioned this to her, but Anne said the monitor showed no such thing. Shaken, wondering if she was hallucinating, Kendra reconsidered having Mark or Tom do the injection. She saw that everyone was staring at her with grave concern on their faces. They were all thinking the same thing. They were all certain that she had caught the disease herself, that she was in the first phase of its awful grasp.

"Stay you from me," said a powerful voice that filled the room.

"All right, dammit, you heard that, didn't you? Mark? Anne? Tom?" she said through her comlink.

"What?" was the reply in chorus.

"That voice."

"There was no ... we heard no voice, Dr. Cline."

They were all looking in at her as if she were strange. Mark asked her if she'd like for him to give Leonard the injection.

"No ... no ... I'm all right."

Anne frowned from the other side of the glass.

She drew closer to Leonard, whose eyes suddenly opened, displaying green discoloration and no pupils, as they were forced far up into his head. The man's lips were moving like a pair of colorless, eyeless worms, as if moved by manipulating strings. Guttural sounds were emanating from deep within. Bubbling, gurgling, low-level volcanic noises.

"I don't suppose any of you hear that?"

"Yes," said Mark. "We're picking up some rumblings."

"But the voice was in my head, huh?" she asked when suddenly Leonard's body began to tremble. It was slow at first, but building.

"He's going into some kind of shock! Like Weitzel just before he died!" she shouted through her comlink and rushed the injection, plunging the syringe into Leonard's emaciated arm. At the same time his other arm came up and tore at her mask, covering it with brown spittle before he attempted to strangle her.

He was speaking a phrase over and over, in Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese and finally settling on English, and she sensed he had said the same thing in all tongues: "I will kill you!" he shouted, but it was an abnormal voice, inhuman, filled with rage.

Leonard had been thrown into a seizure that literally lifted him off the bed. The IV was knocked over along with a tray, cords were snatched and the EKG went dead, but the man was very much alive, kicking, thrashing, afire as he came over her, knocking her to the floor. Mark and Tom rushed in. They had to sit on Leonard to hold him still while Kendra Cline climbed to her feet, exhausted and frightened, when suddenly they all heard Dr. Leonard say, "Where am I? Who are you? Please get off me!"

"Dr. Leonard?" She was on her knees over him between Mark and Tom. She saw the brown ooze seeping from his ears, nose and mouth. It was a gummy brown substance, and she knew it was the same as had come out of Weitzel.

"Where in God's name am I?" he asked her, his eyes clear and lucid.

"I'm Dr. Kendra Cline, Dr. Leonard. You were in a coma, and now you're back with us. You can let go of him now, Mark, Tom. Help him up. My God, we're on our way to an antidote."

He was weak, dehydrated, nothing like Stroud when he had come around, strong and virile.

"Mark, scrape up some of that spongy substance for the microscope, and take every precaution with it."

She asked Tom to see that Leonard got some nourishment and that he be run through the same series of tests as Stroud had gone through.

"Abraham Stroud, too, was in coma?" asked Leonard.

She confirmed this without telling him more, other than the fact that Stroud had come around and was given a clean bill of health. "I will call him immediately to let him know that you are all right, Dr. Leonard. And sir, you may just have saved the lives of many others. We were not at all sure our antidote would work."

He nodded and watched her leave, taking his cues now from the space-suited Tom.

Outside the room, Kendra Cline had finished decontamination, thinking that perhaps decontamination had saved Stroud and the others, yet the usual decontamination measures were not enough to combat this awful disease. She wasn't even sure any longer if it was a disease. Diseases didn't make comatose people speak in tongues, swear and foam at the mouth. And how odd that her experience with Leonard should parallel Stroud's with Weitzel so closely. Stroud claimed that Weitzel had spoken to him, but that it was not
Weitzel. That it was something speaking through him. That was the exact sensation she had gotten from Leonard, and no one but her had heard...

"Wonderful news, Dr. Wisnewski," Stroud told him, detailing the story that Kendra Cline had given him about Leonard's recovery.

Wisnewski hadn't slowed in his work at all until now. He slumped into a chair and said, "Thank God. I'd thought we had lost our dear friend."

"Perhaps it's time you got some rest, Doctor."

Wisnewski didn't fight the suggestion. "Yes, need my wits about me ... all my wits..."

"Whatever this thing is, Dr. Wisnewski, it's very potent, very powerful."

"The evil of the ages," he said thoughtfully. "The core of the evil of all our ills, Stroud. That's what it is shaping up to be."

"Satan?"

"Satan, if you wish ... It has as many names as there are religions and races on the planet. The Etruscans had a name for it, most certainly, but so far, I have not been able to find it in the writings."

"What do you make of the bones?"

"Sacrifices to this deity."

"How can you be certain?"

He lifted one of the bones. It was a tibia with large spurs at the bottom. Wiz said, "This is representative of the entire lot we found in the ship. See the spurs? Broken and beaten and herded, those people were put aboard that ship, without provisions, to starve to death as they were being fed to this ... this bestial god."

"These markings appear to be numbers ... the number of sacrifices, perhaps?"

"Leonard will translate the numbers when he returns. But that is how I read the parchment, also."

"This ... this thing somehow infiltrates a man's mind ... turns him into a walking dead man to come unto its altar and worship it and be made fodder for it?"

"As far as I can tell, yes. Without Leonard, well ... he knows these characters so much better, you see."

"Time for rest, Doctor. You've done more than enough tonight."

"Great news, that about Leonard. I'd feared the worst."

"I, too."

"You know, Stroud, I saw it."

"What?"

"I saw its face. That is what drove me to madness."

"You saw it? Where, how?"

"It was in the chamber with you when you fell out. I looked in and there it was. Then it lay down beside you, whispering in your ear--this ugly, hideous creature--unspeakable, and I ... I snapped."

Stroud realized it was on seeing this demon that Wiz had lifted the pickax. That he hadn't intended to strike Stroud, but that this creature had somehow created a hologram in Wiz's mind, placed it over Stroud and taunted the man to strike it. Had he done so, Wiz would have killed Stroud. The thing wanted Stroud dead, no doubt of that.

Dr. Wisnewski's quarters in the museum were home for now, a pair of black leather couches, a coffee urn and a small refrigerator and bath.

"If you had left me in that prison, I would still be mad now," the older man told Stroud as they made their way to the couches when the phone rang.

It was Nathan, wanting a progress report. Stroud told him the news of Leonard, and that was all so far. No sooner had he hung up than the phone rang again. It was Kendra Cline. She sounded strange, upset.

"I need ... must see you. Can you come here?"

"Where are you? It's almost two a.m."

"My lab at the hospital. Please, it's urgent. Please hurry."

"I'll have to make arrangements here, but I'll be right over, Kendra."

"Hurry, please ... hurry."

"Are you all right?"

"No ... no, I am not."

"I'm on my way. Hang on."

Stroud told Wisnewski of the emergency. "Something go sour with Dr. Leonard's recovery?" Wiz asked.

"No, no! She said nothing about Leonard. Something else entirely." He lied because he didn't know, and he didn't wish to unduly upset Wisnewski. "Go to bed, and I'll return as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about me, Stroud. Go ... do what you must."

"There'll be guards at your door, should you need anything, Wiz, anything."

"For God's sake, Abe, go ... go."

Stroud nodded, turned and rushed out, fearful of the strange tone he had heard in Kendra's voice.

Abraham Stroud had had a police squad car drive him to the hospital, and when he asked the driver if he could speed it up, the siren roared into life. He reached St. Stephen's within twenty minutes of Kendra's call. She was waiting for him in her lab, and he had to don the protective gear that she wore. He now stepped into the isolation chamber where she explained that she had the sample of organic matter that had filtered from Dr. Leonard's orifices as he came out of coma. The sample she wished him to look at was under her microscope. She was, for her, agitated.

Stroud felt cumbersome in the suit, and looking over the comparison microscope with its double vision capability was a chore through the face mask. Stroud saw a great deal of teeming life on both sides of the scope, but nothing that meant anything to him. He lifted his eyes away and asked, "What does this mean? What am I looking at?"

"Don't you see it ... those ... the things in there?"

"I see ordinary bacteria, protozoa. Why are you so upset?"

"Dammit," she said, looking into the scope herself and gasping. "Don't you see the souls there? You're supposed to be the seer, the prophet, the parapsychological genius, Dr. Stroud. Can't you see what's before your eyes?" She was shouting, out of control.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Don't treat me like a child or a fool!"

"Kendra, something is not right here."

"Don't you think I know that!" She pushed him away and insisted he look again. "Look hard. Open up that mind of yours."

Stroud saw nothing more than the microbes he had seen earlier, but he said calmly, "Where did this come from?"

"Substance on the left is from Weitzel."

Stroud saw that it was identical to that on the right.

"Substance on the right is from Leonard."

"Leonard?"

"Yes. Dr. Leonard. From his ear. Stuff just seeped out of him." Stroud gasped, realizing it was from the beast.

"Do you see the eyes?" she asked.

"Eyes?" He raised his shoulders, unsure what she meant by this.

"Mouths ... noses, ears, pained faces? All tangled and swirling in that microscopic world?"

Stroud wondered how long it had been since she'd gotten any sleep. He wondered if she was hallucinating.

"I see Dante's Hell when I look into the microscope," she said. "Which means I've either caught the disease myself and am going mad, or ... or your supernatural theory is ... is true."

Stroud put an arm around her and said, "You need some rest. Let's get out of here. I'll see you home."

"No, first you've got to see this." She pulled away and went to a table with a clear container that sat over a burner. She heated the brown slime and gases immediately rose and swirled inside the large container, creating a swirling, angry cloud that seemed bent on escaping the container. In the swirls, Stroud saw strange shapes come and go, come and go. He thought he saw a hand but it was immediately replaced by a fingerlike extension that was swept away by something resembling a half-formed eyeball that quickly disappeared, replaced by a scalp, a foot, a chin.

"Do you see it now?" she pressed.

"I see something."

"That's not all," she said, turning off the heat and allowing the gas to dissipate, returning the substance to its original state. "Look at this."

She led him to a curtained window which was actually a viewing port for a chamber within the chamber of the isolation lab. A scraping of the substance had been placed on a steel slab inside the chamber.

"Watch," she instructed him, and then pressed a button that sent a shower of water down over the brown scum. The water hitting the material caused a steam to rise off it and there rose a yellow fog that discolored the pane before them. In the fog more shapes ... more souls, as she had termed them.

"Whatever this is, it takes an airborne form when it is heated, or when it comes into contact with H2O. It penetrates the skin in the form of dampness, enters at the pores and gets to the nerve endings, and finally to the brain, traveling along the neurological pathways."

"Sulfur trioxide, sulfonethylmethane, narcotic--"

"And we've found mephitis is also part of the potent poison."

"Mephitis? What is that?"

"A foul-smelling, poisonous gas emitted from the earth--"

"Like methane with a stench?"

"Enough to do some damage to the neurological processes."

"It's a miracle any of us came out of that pit alive, then."

"Your protective wear, the clear oxygen you were breathing saved you. Neither you nor the other archeologists received the kind of dosage that others have gotten. Somehow it's transmitted from one person to the next. We haven't learned the mystery behind its transmittal yet, but it would appear from our tests that those infected, with the normal body heat, breed the bacterial infection, and there is a kind of invisible-to-us gas created around their bodies. This disease is expired through their breathing, through their sweat, through their pores. We're all very much in danger..."

"It's a wonder I didn't get it from Weitzel."

"I've thought about that quite a lot," she said.

"And?
Any conclusions?"

"Luck, or simply that Weitzel had to expend so much energy trying to strangle you as you say that he ... the thing inside him ... simply spent itself. Perhaps the spitting up at you was its last hope of infecting you."

"Then you are now willing to believe that something from inside Weitzel spoke to me?"

"Yes ... yes, I am."

She shut down the shower and soon the writhing cloud of yellow steam and the bizarre forms within it dissipated.

"Why? Because of what you see here?"

"That, yes ... but also something happened with Leonard, just before I injected him with the antidote."

"Would you like to talk to me about it?"

"Take another look in the scope now."

He did so, and this time he saw what had so frightened her. In the Weitzel sample there existed amoebas and bacteria skittering all about, but now in the Leonard sample the same creatures had strange, humanlike appendages and eyes. It so startled Stroud that he pulled his eyes away.

"You see it."

"It takes some staring, but yes ... I saw it."

"Like the souls of men on the head of a pin."

"And something wants us all to join it in its private hell."

She went about shutting down everything, including lights, putting away instruments, when Mark came in wearing protective wear and telling her that he would see to the "drone" work. She didn't argue, just cautioning him about the dispensation of the strange, gummy material that had seeped from two human beings, one dead and one alive. Stroud and Kendra Cline went through the decontamination unit and were soon on the other side of the isolation chamber. From outside, she said to Mark, "Be very careful in there. This thing is lethal."

"Go," he told her.

"So," she said to Stroud, "you still offering to take me home?"

"Absolutely, and on the way you can give me an update on Leonard. I don't suppose I could see him for a few minutes tonight?"

"He could still be contagious. We're watching him closely, and seeing you will only complicate our work. Maybe tomorrow."

"Fine, then perhaps you can tell me what happened between you and Leonard earlier to bring you around to a better understanding of why I was attacked by Weitzel."

"That I'd like to talk about, yes."

"I've got a car waiting downstairs."

She said her good-nights to the staff, telling them that by tomorrow she would be replaced, a bit of sourness in her tone. "Be good to the new man, or men in this case. They're both top-notch men on bacteriological and viral infections."

The others thanked her and wished her well. Everyone told her to get some sleep. Soon they were in the backseat of the squad car, whizzing to her hotel. Along the way, between yawns, she told him what had occurred moments before Leonard received his final dosage of a metal-plated shot. Stroud found the story very interesting, and when she finished he said one word.

"Mephistopheles."

"No, mephitis, I said mephitis before."

"I'm talking about the medieval legend of the demon that purchased Faust's soul," he explained.

Sleepily, she replied, "Ohhhhhh."

"The same demon gave his name in a play by Marlowe."

"Goethe," she corrected him.

"Marlowe as well."

"But that's stories, literature."

"It has always been curious to me that both Marlowe and Goethe gave their demon the same name, and he spoke in German when he needed to and English when English was called for."

"Literary figures," she mumbled.

"Or so it has always been supposed. I recently learned that Dracula was more than just a literary figure. Think of it ... before a few days ago who would have ever dreamed that an Etruscan ship lay beneath the largest city in the country, below Manhattan?"

"Yeah ... yeah..." She was dozing.

Stroud said, "Suppose for a moment that something of hellish dimension did visit Goethe and Marlowe, and did call itself Mephistopheles? Could such a creature have existed since the dawn of time? Another Mephistopheles?
Alive since early Etruscan times?"

She started, her body twitching with a sudden violent reaction. She'd seen the trapped souls when she closed her eyes and it had shaken her.

He put an arm about her and she did not resist.

"What are we going to do, Stroud? What?"

"We're going to do what we've been doing; we're going to fight this thing with everything we have."

"But what if it's not enough? What if we're not--"

"Shhhhh! We're a great deal further along than we were this morning. Your serum saved Leonard, no doubt of that. It may save the others."

"Leonard fought it ... so many of the others have given up."

"Well, we're not giving up."

She snuggled into the crook of his arm, sobbing quietly. He held her close. "You've earned some rest. Come on, take it easy."

"Don't leave me tonight," she quietly asked.

"I won't," he promised. "I'm here."

-9-

Stroud sent the squad car on its way and he helped Kendra into the elevator and up to her room. She dropped her keys at the door and he picked them up. He let the door swing open. She stood there a moment, her eyes meeting his, blinking back the fatigue. She looked vulnerable, he thought.

"I've got a large room," she said, "with a view of the Hudson ... very nice."

She stared into his eyes as she spoke. Stroud bent to kiss her, bringing his lips to hers with a tentative, tender gesture. She quaked a bit before returning his kiss.

A bell rang, signaling that people would be getting off the elevator across from them. She pulled him inside and closed the door, covering his mouth with hers.

"Hey, hey, Kendra," he tried to protest. "You're beat, and it wouldn't be fair of me to--"

"Who asked you?" she said, covering his mouth again, filling it with her tongue.

"Whoa, easy, girl," he said, gasping. She had tasted wonderful, and she felt great in his arms.

"You talk too damned much, Abraham Stroud." She began unbuttoning his shirt, plunging her hands into the muscles of his chest. Stroud lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

"I'm putting you to bed," he told her.

"Just as I wish." She kissed him and the fire within her, the smell of her, overwhelmed him. He returned her passion with his own as he knelt to cushion her where he placed her on the bed. She'd gotten his shirt completely open, and now Stroud removed her blouse.

He wanted to hide within the white texture of her skin, hide from all that was bad in the world, escape the evil, if for only a night. She pulled his head down to the center of her breasts, her body squirming, heaving below him.

"I need you," she repeatedly said, until Stroud joined her in a chorus of the three words.

After the lovemaking she fell into quiet, calm sleep, both spent and refreshed. Stroud lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan that had kept them cool, and in the rotating blades he saw no ghosts, no swirling dervishes, no bizarre shapes. He saw only darkness and movement and he felt only calm and warmth beside Kendra, listening to the sound of her breathing, his hand taking stock of her heartbeat. For the first time in recent memory, someone had stilled his own nightmares.

Dr. Samuel Leonard was fit to be tied. He wanted out. He wanted news and information. He wanted to talk to Wisnewski. He wanted to talk to Stroud. He was shouting these things when Stroud walked in and said, "Samuel, it's so wonderful to have you back!"

"Get me the hell out of here, Abe!"

"Processing it right now. Dr. Cline's seeing to the details."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Brought you some things from your home," said Wisnewski, who stepped in.

"Arthur! It's so wonderful to see you. I'm so anxious to get back to work," Leonard said as the two embraced.

"Put these on. We're breaking you out of here," Wiz told him, smiling. "So good to see you, Sam."

Downstairs they found Kendra Cline, who had finished processing Leonard. She told him that he was a free man.

"Free, yes," he agreed. "Free from hell."

He had recalled nothing beyond a horrid, overwhelming and engulfing feeling of being held down, trapped, the entire time he was under.

Stroud told him that he knew the feeling, and this made Kendra Cline look askance at him, trying to determine his meaning. She hadn't spoken very much to him about the previous night, nor he to her.

Wisnewski grabbed some flowers that were on a nurse's duty desk and began to give them out one at a time to patients along the floor. Save for this, he showed no tendency toward his earlier "madness." He greeted each patient with a large smile and a big "How are you, today?" This turned a lot of heads.

Stroud meanwhile brought Leonard up to date, ending with the fact that the parchment and the bones confiscated from the death ship were waiting for his examination.

"You don't propose we go back into that ... into that hole, do you?" Leonard said, trembling, his first sign of anxiety since coming out of coma. "Is that what you all have planned for me? Is it? Well, you can save yourselves the trouble. I'll be damned and gone to hell before I'll go back to that ... that ship."

This made Wisnewski rush to Leonard. "You old bird, these people, this city is counting on us to--"

"I'm no hero, Simon. Neither are you!"

"We must do what we can."

"It could come again for us anytime ... anytime!"

"All right, take it easy," said Stroud.

Kendra also tried to calm him. "You will not be forced to go anywhere, Dr. Leonard. You've been through quite enough already."

"Yes," he agreed, "through hell and back."

"Will you at least come to the lab?" asked Wisnewski. "To look over the items we brought back?"

Leonard looked from one face to the other, biting his lip. "All right ... all right. But no, I will not go near that place again."

"Agreed," said Stroud.

Wisnewski made a muttering sound as he left ahead of them for the waiting car, not hiding his disappointment with Leonard.

"Come along, Dr. Leonard," said Abe Stroud, ushering the other man, who nodded and allowed Stroud to guide him.

"I'll be along later," said Kendra. "I don't want to leave things in a mess here, and I want to break in the new guys."

"Sure ... sure," said Stroud, "and about last night."

"Yes?"

"I ... I hope we can do it again sometime."

She smiled warmly. "Me too."

Dr. Samuel Leonard's expertise was philology: ancient written documents, hieroglyphics and symbols. He had unraveled and unlocked more secrets of past civilizations than anyone living on the planet. Wisnewski brought him the parchment in a protective cover, flattened out to its worn edges, looking like an Arabic treasure map of bizarre origin. The paper was a yellowish gray, stony-looking. It told a full tale, the strange Etruscan symbols spilling over the edges, and there were no margins at either the top or the bottom.

Wisnewski told Leonard that he had worked up a theory to the meaning of the cryptic letters and numbers, working as best he could with his more limited knowledge of ancient lettering. He pointed out that the figure of 500,000 seemed to refer to the number of human lives that must be sacrificed to the Overlord, some creature of the Dark Side that threatened to destroy all Etruscan life if its hunger for human life was not fulfilled.

Wisnewski explained all this while placing the document below the two-foot-wide magnifying glass.

Leonard seemed at first oblivious of Wisnewski and what the other man was saying. Stroud watched both men carefully. Leonard now said calmly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Wiz. Stick to your bones."

It was curt for Leonard, uncharacteristic; but he now launched into studying the document, saying it could take hours, days, before he knew what each word meant. He asked them to be patient. "You can't rush a thing like this. You do, and you make bad interpretations, assumptions, and then you base everything on a fallacy."

"Fallacy?" asked Wiz, but Stroud put up a hand to him, indicating the prudent thing to do now would be to leave Leonard to his work. Leonard went into a kind of work-induced trance familiar to Wisnewski, and so the white-haired older doctor nodded and gave Leonard his leeway.

As Leonard worked, Stroud and Wisnewski huddled around a table with coffee and the bones that had come out of the pit. Wisnewski was still involved in studying these, but for now Stroud told him of the progress that Kendra Cline had had in combating the disease in people who were fortunate enough to have only a mild case of the "supernatural flu." Wisnewski was amazed to learn the details, hanging on Stroud's every word. He was particularly curious about the residue the disease left behind which seeped from the ears and other orifices of those affected.

"I'd wondered about that," said Wisnewski.

"You expelled some of it, too? While you were in Bellevue?"

"Excreted is the operative word," he said, and left it at that.

The hours passed slowly, with Stroud helping Wisnewski build a complete log on the bones and with a silent Leonard going at the document in a grueling, nonstop examination which was creating extensive notes. Leonard was mesmerized by the document and several times noises escaped him but no words as yet.

Nathan had interrupted their work twice with phone calls, demanding to know of their progress. Stroud fed him what he thought prudent. On the second call, Stroud told him of Wiz's theory of the 500,000 sacrifices. Nathan gasped and said, "Is that it? We're supposed to sit idly by and watch hundreds of thousands succumb to this disease and do ... nothing?"

"Dr. Cline's already informed you of Leonard's recovery and what that means."

"But if this ... this thing in the pit wants 500,000 lives, what's our antidote to that? There is none! If it doesn't get what it wants ... what then?"

Stroud hesitated before saying, "The whole of the city, we believe. So far, there are as many unanswered questions as there are--"

"I don't want to hear about unanswered questions, Stroud! I want results. You promised when I got you Wisnewski that--"

"I promised you nothing, and we're going at this night and day, and we're doing our goddamned best."

"I'm running interference for you scientists, Stroud, and you have no idea the pressures I'm holding back off your asses, so level with me! Do we have a shot at beating this thing or not?"

"Yes, yes, we do, but we need time to develop--"

"We don't have time. The goddamned dogs and cats and rats in the city are getting it now! They've attacked people, further spreading the disease."

Stroud thought of the neurological causes of the disease as they were explained to him by Kendra Cline. It seemed perfectly logical that animals would be affected as well. "Commissioner Nathan, I promise you ... as soon as we have a defense against this thing--"

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure there is any defense anymore. Five hundred thousand! Christ, Stroud, do you know there are people in this city who would gladly sacrifice that many for the sake of themselves? Let's keep this information under wraps, understood? I can just see the headlines on that."

"All right, agreed." Stroud had finally gotten him off the phone when Leonard shouted for the other two men to gather round him.

"I've got it ... I've got it."

"We may have to give it what it wants," began Leonard, "but it isn't going to entirely trust us to do so."

Stroud and Wisnewski stared across at one another, each man shaking his head in confusion. "Do you want to explain that, Samuel?" asked Wiz.

"You were wrong about the 500,000 it wants, Wiz."

"I know the Etruscan numerals, Sam, and--"

"Yes, it wants that number, but that number is not the same as the ones it has inflicted with this disease of ... of control."

"What does it want?" asked Stroud. "What do you mean, Dr. Leonard?"

Leonard got up, his back aching from the hours looking over the documents. He paced a moment before saying, "The zombies are an army."

"An army?"

"To do its bidding. They will become it; it will become they. They are an extension of it. They will move in this world for it, because it cannot leave the confines of the earth in any other form. The Etruscan writer says that it is trapped by the wind if it comes out of the earth on a warm day or--"

"Or if it is raining," finished Stroud.

"Yes, how did you know?"

He told them about the experiments that Kendra had conducted on the substance that had oozed from Leonard and Weitzel.

"To think this vile thing once inhabited my body," said Leonard, quaking.

"Go on, Sam," said Wiz. "What else? How will it gain its sacrifices if not by taking the zombies?"

"The zombies will herd the rest of us to it, surround and force people into the pit, into the ship ... preferably alive."

Stroud thought of the attacks on him by the various zombies that he had come into contact with. He recalled the crazed man with the claw hammer.

Leonard continued, stopping at one point to place a finger on one word of the parchment that looked to Stroud like the tail feather of a bird. "This creature has the power to blow storms into the minds of men, and to become a parasite in the brain."

Stroud wondered for a moment if Dr. Leonard had gone mad. He didn't know how much of Leonard's spiel he could believe. "Whoa, wait a minute, Dr. Leonard. Are you trying to say that the Etruscans understood the physiological mechanisms that this demon used against them, and is now using against us? That they had the capability to assess--"

"Apparently the author of this did," said Leonard, poking his finger in the direction of the document under the magnifying glass. Stroud stared at it for some time and then a word on the page leaped out at him:

Mysterious Photograph

COM:\m="Walker-ZEyes-1.jpg"

HTM:

KML:

FUB:[NOTE: Image omitted. Images not supported in this ebook format. Download the MS Reader, Acrobat, Hiebook, or Rocket format file.]

PDB:[NOTE: Image omitted. Images not supported in this ebook format. Download the MS Reader, Acrobat, Hiebook or Rocket format file.]

PDF:INSERT IMAGE "Walker-ZEyes-1.jpg" HERE

The word seemed to have some meaning for Stroud, but he wasn't sure why. It was the last word on the document. He asked Leonard to translate it.

"That is the name of the author, a soothsayer or some such."

"I see."

"Not very often do we get such a document signed," said Wiz.

"What is the name?"

"Well, it lines up like this," said Leonard, showing him the written translation, which read:

ESROUD

Stroud stared dumbstruck at the name: Esruad. "Are you sure? There's no mistake?"

"It would seem the name has significance," said Leonard.

"You might say so. Weitzel spoke the name just before he died. He called me Esruad. You also, Dr. Wisnewski, when I first came to you in the psychiatric ward. Do you recall?"

Wisnewski shook his head vigorously. "Not at all."

"There seems to be something important in the name. Does it say what this man Esruad did during the plague time?"

"He speaks of despair, that no one would listen to him. He had been something of an alchemist, it appears," said Leonard.

"What about the monster itself?" asked Wiz impatiently.

"A dreadful thing to behold, it says. Esruad calls it the Ubbrroxx; describes it as life-eating, life-draining, diabolical ... unleashed ... uninhibited ... disease-carrying."

"Sounds like our creature," said Wisnewski.

"Remarkably so," agreed Stroud.

"And this fellow Esruad ... He sounds familiar to me, too," began Leonard. "I must go over some old notes of my own. If memory serves, he was a kind of prophet, soothsayer. Very little is known about him, but recent archeological breakthroughs in Tuscany have provided a few rays of light."

Wiz added, "No Etruscan literature other than funeral inscriptions survives, which makes this little piece of paper priceless."

Pulling at his tie Leonard continued, "Until recently it was near impossible to understand all but a few words, but the alphabet is a mix of Roman, Phoenician and an unknown tongue--very likely the Etruscans' ancestors. They traded with the Greeks and the Phoenicians, and most of what we know about them is told us by these other peoples."

"Right at the moment, I think it more prudent to understand the creature," said Wiz. "We can play history games later. What does it say about destroying the thing?"

"Esruad was unsuccessful."

"Obviously."

"It took 500,000 lives in the year 793 b.c. There was no stopping it."

"Just as I said, 500,000 lives," replied Wiz.

"But not the lives of the zombies. They lived on after with the guilt of thousands of others on their hands. They--the diseased ones--herded the healthy ones into the pit. When the creature was sated Esruad convinced his people that it must be removed. Using mostly slave labor, this was accomplished. It had gone into a dormant phase, during which time Esruad removed it and placed it on a ship. It was buried in the ship, packed in its own earth ball, and literally sent off into what was then space. It was buried months later, far beyond the seas, still inside the belly of the ship, along with the bones of those sacrificed to it."

"The land beyond the sea ... here and now." Stroud began to pace the room wondering if this was some kind of eschatological rite of passage for the creature, the "last thing" to come. Every religion had a last coming, a last end to history, a final conclusion to the grand pageant of mankind on earth. He began to wonder if the lives of 500,000 were not a small price to pay. Wisnewski and Leonard were quiet, perhaps with the same thoughts, Stroud guessed.

"I wonder if 500,000 lives will be enough for it this time," Wisnewski said, as if reading Stroud's mind.

The three archeologists looked again at the strange Etruscan lettering as if an answer lay somewhere in the writings of an ancient. "We sure as hell can't do what Esruad did," said Leonard. "What? Give up hundreds of thousands of lives to it, pray it goes dormant again? Attempt a removal? Send it off into ... into outer space or to the bottommost realms of the deep?"

"No, it must be housed in earth," said Stroud.

"What?"

"We don't know what kind of evil would be unleashed on the planet if it were to come into contact with salt water or even the vacuum of space. If Dr. Cline's experiments told me anything, it is that we must keep it away from water. Water only makes it airborne."

"What do you suggest, then?" pleaded Leonard.

"Esruad constructed a stone enclosure around the ship," said Stroud, "in what was an uninhabited land."

"Environmentally sound thinking," said Wiz.

"The best he could do in his day," continued Stroud. "We've got an obligation to do better, we with all our modern technology."

"Meanwhile," Wiz said acidly, "it's back and it's waited a long time for a meal."

Stroud nodded. "And it looks like we're it, unless we can find a way to beat it."

"Esruad couldn't find a way."

"I still have some yet to decipher," said Leonard. "Just thought you two ought to know what I've learned."

"Good work, Samuel," said Wiz.

Stroud agreed. "Yes, very good work."

Leonard went back to work. A worried Wisnewski took Stroud aside and asked, "How much of this do you think men like Nathan and Perkins and our Bill Leamy are going to buy? Before it is too late, I mean."

"Wiz, my friend, it may already be too late. If what Sam says is true, this army of comatose people will soon awaken to rise up against the rest of us, and we'll be forced to either destroy them or be destroyed."

"Imagine a sentient, diabolical being with the power to exact such tribute from the human race."

"Sentient, yes.
Diabolical, yes, to every degree. And the worst of it is that it will turn us against one another, Wiz. That it will feed on humans is only the tip of the iceberg; that it will set in motion evil working through mankind for eons to come, this makes this thing from below satanic."

"We've got to find a way to fight back."

"Couldn't agree with you more."

"Cline's antidote, the stuff that helped Leonard ... is it the answer?"

"Afraid not. She tells me that it is only working in a small fraction of the cases. Most have succumbed too completely to be reached. It seems to help only in cases not too far advanced."

"So all these comatose people, all these madmen running about the city like wolves in packs ... it's all a fermentation process, and when the fermenting is done..."

"Then we'll see the city fall like a house of cards as men are turned against men, as the sacrifices begin."

-10-

At St. Stephen's Hospital in the middle of Manhattan, Dr. Kendra Cline and her assistants continued to work tirelessly on an antidote that wouldn't throw the victims of this plague into a catastrophic fit that, for some, had ended in death. Leonard had been the rare exception. She theorized that the protective wear and the fact he and Stroud and Wisnewski had been breathing untainted oxygen had gone far to combat the ravishes of the paralyzing disease. To date they had had only a handful of successes. Those who were infected simply were not responding to the treatment, except to die of it, which, as the grim word getting around the hospital had it, wasn't such a bad cure, given the alternative of a vegetative state.

All the hospital's equipment was strained beyond the limits.

She heard a noise outside the lab, some disturbance, people cheering. Her intercom buzzed. It was Mark, shouting, "We're seeing some activity in here, Dr. Cline. You'll want to come see for yourself."

"Activity? What kind of--"

"They're coming around, all of them, on their own."

"The comatose patients?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes. Come quickly."

She could hear her staff cheering in the background. So why did she feel a cold wave of eerie fear grip her heart? There was something on the other side of her sane world, scratching with a satanic talon to rip sanity from her. She could feel it close at hand like the rush of the A/C whenever she sat below the vent. Like something trapped in the wall, scratching to get in ... or out.

She was suddenly aware of an ominous silence outside. She got up and rushed to the monitoring room, where she stood frozen with the others this side of the glass that separated them from the walking zombies on the other side. What was at first thought a remarkable, unprecedented medical phenomenon was fast becoming a nightmare. The people whose limbs worked, who had snatched out their IVs, dragging them along behind, unfeeling, unthinking and unseeing, stared back at the fully living with green-hued eyes that bored through them. The jubilation of Cline's staff had ended abruptly with the realization that these zombies had the use of their limbs and muscles but not their minds. It was clear that they were like so many marionettes, their bodies manipulated by unseen hands.

They raised their hands and arms in unison and pounded with all their combined weight against the thick glass partition, which resounded with a barrel noise as it held. They brought their combined force against the glass a second time, a third, a fourth, as the interns, nurses and doctors watched in horror.

The zombies, on the fifth attack against the glass, used their heads along with their forearms, bloodying themselves in their relentless obsession to break through. The glass shattered but held at first, a spider's web of crackling lines now masking the horror somewhat, snapping Kendra and the others out of their awe-inspired helplessness.

"Call for help! Mark, get on the phone!" she shouted.

"Who do I call? Orderlies won't touch these guys."

Tom shouted from his phone, "It's happening on every floor, every isolation ward!"

"What?"

"Every comatose patient is walking out of the hospital."

The glass was hit again and again and it began to crumble. Some men and women who tried to subdue the flood of zombies were grabbed and lifted and carried before the army. Mark and Tom uselessly threw hefty notebooks and chairs at the front of the line, trying to slow their progress as they ushered everyone back. Mark grabbed Dr. Cline, pushing her through the door.

Once everyone who was able had gotten beyond the door, it was locked behind them, but suddenly the door was being rammed. The zombies attacked it without letup again and again and again.

"I've got to call Stroud," Kendra called out, racing back into her lab, but there she saw that some of the zombies had opted for a second way out of the isolation ward, having battered through a wall, using the bodies of some of her dead staff as their battering rams. She raced from here, and now the zombies were coming through the locked door of the monitoring room, the bodies of other blood-soaked men and women used as battering rams dropped before them and trampled underfoot.

The zombies made for the corridors, the stairwells, the exits, and before them ran the staff.

Kendra found nurses cringing behind a desk on the floor below who told her they'd telephoned police, but that the same thing was happening all over New York, at every hospital and clinic that had taken in victims of the plague, that they were all moving and killing as they went.

From the windows they saw a flood of zombies amassing in the streets going blindly toward some unknown destination. "Like an army of mindless insects," said one of the nurses from a window on the twenty-ninth floor.

"Where are they going?" asked another.

Then it dawned on Kendra exactly where the zombies were going. Their goal had to be the pit at the Gordon Construction site. Gordon meant to bulldoze over the pit, having changed the design of his massive tower, but something in the pit had other plans.

She raced for the phone and dialed Stroud at the Museum of Antiquities. It seemed to ring forever before Wisnewski answered it, and when she pleaded for Stroud, he told her that Abe was just getting some much-needed sleep.

"Wake him, dammit! This is important, Doctor."

"What's happened?"

"Please, I must speak to Stroud."

It seemed another eternity before Stroud got on the phone. She almost screamed. "There's something terribly wrong going on out here, Stroud!"

"What's wrong?"

"Our comatose patients ... all got up--" Her voice was out of control.

"Then your antidote is working!"

"No! No, it isn't! They're--they've attacked us."

"Attacked?"

"En masse! They've become like--like zombies, Stroud, and it's happening all over the city, and--"

"Easy, easy--"

"--and they're all heading for the pit, toward Gordon's damned hole!"

"Christ, it's happening."

"What?" She was suddenly confused. "You expected this?"

"No, not so soon, anyway. This thing must be incredibly powerful."

"Gordon's people must be warned, and Nathan's--"

"Gordon's people?"

"Don't you see, it's got to do with Gordon's people back at the construction site."

"But we had an agreement with the mayor that--"

"All bets are off. You've been so secluded at the museum that you don't know what's going on. Gordon's calling the shots now."

"Dammit! The fool has precipitated this. Damn him!"

"Gordon's planning to bulldoze the site and--"

"Seal it off? Dammit, don't those fools know that this thing is not in the pit any longer, that it's among us! In us! If we seal the site off, we seal our own fates. Where is Nathan in all this?"

"I don't know ... Gordon's overseeing the work."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the hospital! I was on my way to see you when--"

"Are you all right?"

"--all right? My patients are walking out on me like so many zombies, Abe!"

"But you're physically all right?"

"Yes, yes, but--"

"Good, then do what I ask."

"Whatever you say."

"That concoction you put together for Leonard. It may be our only hope at this point. Is there any way to transport as much of it as possible to the construction site?"

"Yes, but ... but why?"

"We may have to use it, Kendra."

"Use it? On the zombies?"

"It may be our only hope. Those zombies as you call them are bent on destroying us, Kendra. Don't ask me how I know this, there isn't time. Just trust me."

"You'll need some way to inject the antidote--or should we now call it poison?"

"For any of those who come to the pit, consider it poison, I'm afraid. And yes, anything you can do about injecting literally hundreds ... please bring your tools and your ideas. I'll meet you at the site."

Kendra got on the P.A. system and gathered what remained of her staff and debriefed them as quickly as possible. She asked for volunteers to go with her to the Gordon Construction site carrying the necessary materials Stroud had requested. Only Mark and Tom volunteered.

"All right," she said, "we'll need all the protective gear we can gather up. We'll need all the syringes and dart guns we can find, and we'll need every ounce of the ... the so-called antidote. Everyone else remaining behind, I want you to go into producing more of this poison. It may be the only weapon we have against those zombies. And don't roll your eyes at me. I know these zombies were people once, but at the moment, they will kill you in order to see their ends met. Now, do as I say."

Very soon after this Tom Logan and Mark Williams had loaded a medical van in the parking lot with all the materials at their disposal, and they were now racing for the Gordon site and the fearful pit where they would link up with Abraham Stroud.

Abraham Stroud tried desperately to stop the mammoth machines at Gordon Construction from moving in to seal off the mysterious Etruscan ship. But police, ordered to control the strange, growing crowd of zombies and madmen that had encircled the construction site, dragged Stroud away from the dozers and to James Nathan. Not even the C.P. was listening to any more rhetoric. He shouted at Stroud, "It's time we took action!"

"Blindly?
Stupidly?"

"Any damned way we can get it!" His anger and his words were a mirroring of the feelings of almost all of the citizens of New York City. Thus far, the evil was dividing them, one against the other, as sharply as a meat cleaver. Stroud continued to argue. "But we're going to need access to the damned pit, to the ship! Nathan! We're close!"

"Not close enough," came a sharp-edged voice beyond Nathan. It was one of the construction guys, the boss from the look of the man. He pointed skyward. "Here comes Sir Arthur now."

It was a helicopter with the markings and blue and white colors of Gordon's company. The foreman said, "He's going to be pissed off it hasn't been done."

"I don't give one shit about your boss's feelings, McMasters!" shouted James Nathan, making certain everyone within earshot understood that he was acting on his own here, and not as Gordon's puppet.

Stroud tried again to reason with Nathan. "We're going to have to go back inside ... to face this thing," he said.

"You'd do it, too, wouldn't you, Stroud?"

He looked Nathan in the eyes and held them in his steely gaze. "Damned right I would, if I knew we had a chance of beating this thing."

"Even if you go down with it?"

"I'll take my chances."

A silence settled over the two men even in the roar of the approaching chopper and several ambulances that parted the crowd and stormed through the gates.

"We'll need to reenter at exactly the same place."

"Why's that?"

"I can't say."

"Something else you're not sure of?"

Stroud merely sensed the importance of keeping open the pit. Once it was shut, he was certain the disease that had steadily infected thousands would only increase, multiply and quadruple, spreading on forever.

All around them along the copper dam supports, the fences and the barricades, an army of zombies stared down on them, and their numbers were swelling and threatening, an explosion of human bodies bent on the destruction of anyone who was not among them.

They stood in absolutely frozen poses all around the site, looking like the stone soldier statues that once guarded the Great Wall of China. A sound began to emanate from the army of zombies, an ominous chant that made the hair on the back of the neck stand on end. "Ommmmmm-uuuuuu, ommmmmm-uuuuuu, ommmmmm-uuuuuu..." Again and again, over and over, combating the rotor blades of the helicopter as it settled downward.

"See what I mean, Nathan?" Stroud shouted above the din, still trying to convince the other man of the futility of blowing the hole with a bazooka or covering it with mortar. "The thing is not inside there. It's out here, with us. It is us!"

Nathan stood mesmerized at the sheer numbers of zombies lining his streets. Shaken, he looked to Stroud for guidance. "What do we do?"

"Now you're talking. Order those dozers to cease and desist." The men on the dozers had stopped of their own accord when the zombies had begun to chant. So loud and piercing was the cry they sent up that it could be heard over the roar in the cab of a Cat. Nathan quickly dispatched some of his men to stay the dozers completely. He did so as Gordon, a tall, impressive, gray-to-silver-haired man, rushed at them, shouting.

"What is the meaning of this, Nathan? Can't you clear this area? Get these people out of here! What're your men doing there?" He saw that the men on the dozers were being forced off by the policemen, and he really lost his temper. "Goddammit, Nathan! I have just come from your boss, and he is in agreement with me! Do you understand? Damn you!"

"Covering over the pit and sealing it will only worsen the situation, Gordon!" Nathan shot back at him, equally loud and angry. "I've got to do what my scientific advisory team says. If that goes against the wishes of the mayor, then the mayor'll just have to can my ass! Meantime, please stay out of the way. This is a police affair."

Gordon was so livid he had gone white-faced. "We shall just see about that!"

He stormed off, presumably to find a telephone. The man seemed both blind and deaf to the fact he was, like the others, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of potentially dangerous people infected with the evil incarnated from the ship. Stroud wondered momentarily what Esruad would have done at a moment like this, no doubt fighting the ignorance and fear and hatred of his own people in the year 793 b.c. Then he saw Kendra and her people rushing about, distributing syringes filled with her chemical weapon.

"There, Commissioner, is our weapon. Tell your men to use it."

"They're policemen, for Christ's sake. If these ... people ... attack, my men will go for their guns."

"Listen to me! We do know now something about what we are dealing with here, Nathan, and conventional weapons will not destroy this thing any more than bulldozers might."

"All right ... all right!" Nathan got on his bullhorn and told his people to arm themselves with what the doctors were passing out. "Use the syringes as your weapon in the event any of the ... the diseased people come at you. There are more of them than we've got bullets for, anyway."

"A few shots'll scatter them!" shouted one of the uniformed men.

"Use the medicine!" he shouted back as one of the zombies clambered over the fence and fell, got up and was met by a cop with a syringe who, afraid to touch the sick man, jabbed at him with it before plunging it into him. Others were coming over the fences, which were beginning to give way. The first man injected began to quake and gurgle and roll about the ground before his body was lifted and pounded on the earth by invisible hands. He was dead.

"Christ, they're coming in!"

Nathan uselessly picked up the bullhorn and shouted at the uncaring, unhearing mass of humanity at the fences encircling them. "It's no good!" he finally shouted, seeing another section of fence come down. "It's no use!"

Shots broke out as frightened police fired on the crowd pushing inward along one wall of the fence. Some of the shots were effective, others not.

"We've got to get out of here!" Nathan shouted as the police were driven back and away from the pit.

"Thing is protecting its territory," Stroud told Nathan. "All of this is premature. It knew ... it somehow knew some of us were going to try to cut it off from the zombies, and now this. It has called them here to take charge of the pit. Tomorrow, they'll be dragging people down into the ship."

Kendra had joined them, the supply of syringes having been exhausted early.

"What're we dealing with, Dr. Stroud? What kind of intelligence is it?" begged Nathan.

"We're getting closer and closer to understanding it. We'll find a weakness, but it may take time. As for now, we've got to get out of here if we wish to remain alive. Kendra, come on--the helicopter."

"Here, Stroud, take this. It has three darts in it," she told him, shoving a dart gun into his hand.

Stroud gladly accepted the weapon, seeing she had one of her own.

Nathan's men were suddenly being engulfed by the horde, along with Gordon's men. Shots had continued but they were few and far between now. Casualties mounted on both sides, but the overwhelming numbers decided the battle before it had begun. Stroud had to tear Nathan away, the man firing his last round into the swarming zombies. Kendra's dart gun stabbed one that reached out for her with an empty syringe in his ugly, emaciated, bony hand.

"Forget fighting! Get to the chopper!" Stroud shouted, and urged her along, Nathan following, to their only visible means of escape. As the massive swarm moved on them, Stroud stopped to turn and fire. He put three darts into three of them in rapid succession. Each of the lead zombies coming toward them fell into fits and spasms, making a part of Stroud pity them, but hardly had his heart gone out to these poor devils than the others merely stomped over them, crushing the leaders underfoot in an attempt to get at Stroud and the other "living" people.

By now they saw no one else standing; only the chopper and its pilot ahead of them held out any hope whatsoever. Behind them, the ambulances and police cars had been swarmed. The chopper pilot, sporting a brown leather jacket and cap, shouted for them to hurry. Stroud looked over his shoulder when he heard Gordon scream and scream again, caught under the pounding force of the herd.

Nathan jumped in and helped Kendra aboard. Stroud stood just outside the chopper and yelled at the top of his lungs the word Esruad, and this had a visible effect on the teeming zombies, slowing their relentless movement toward them. "Hurry!
Now!" Kendra shouted to Stroud, who leaped into the cockpit as the bird was lifting.

"Oh, God, oh!"

"Jeeee-sus H. Christ!" shouted Nathan.

Below them a flood of human automatons covered the construction site. They'd overwhelmed Nathan's men, the men in hard hats, killed Gordon and Kendra's two assistants. Kendra quietly sobbed in the rear seat alongside a terrorized James Nathan, who had reloaded and aimed his gun but stopped himself, realizing it was useless.

For as far as they could see, the zombies stood in waiting around the pit, there now to protect the ship and to bring the others--people like those in the helicopter--to the thing in the ship, where it would quietly feed for as long as it wished.

Stroud imagined such a death would be far worse than dying at the hands of a werewolf, and even worse than dying the slow death of a vampire victim. Something about this creature was nasty and vile and more evil than anything Abraham H. Stroud had ever faced.

"What was that word you called out to them?" asked the pilot, who introduced himself as Luther Stokes.

"A name," was all that Stroud said.

"Why'd they slow up just when you said it?"

Nathan drew himself forward, wishing to hear the answer. It was as if Nathan were suspicious of Stroud.

"Esruad ... something Leonard found in the writings ... an ancient name."

"I thought you had shouted your name, Stroud," said Nathan.

Abe thought of the similarities in the two names momentarily, but his eye was caught by Kendra's. She now looked at Stroud from her perch in the rear seat alongside Nathan. She was trembling, her eyes red, tears still falling. Far below, the ambulances that had carried her, Mark and Tom into the foray were covered in the human flood. Only the soft tones of nightfall helped the scene of what looked like a million ants feeding over the life down there.

Stroud's sharper eye saw the procession toward the pit and the ship, the bodies of the living, perhaps Gordon among them, being escorted to the creature in the dark recesses of the hole.

"We're going to have to go back inside," he said. "We just need more time ... a little more time."

Nathan suddenly snapped, incensed. "Time? We don't have any bloody time left, Doctor Stroud. This thing is sapping the life out of this city. And you stood in my way down there! Had we buried that thing, maybe ... just maybe--"

"Bullshit, Commissioner! This isn't going to be so easy or simple, and it never was! It wants 500,000 of your citizens, remember? And it doesn't trust us to draw straws, so it has come out to get us. Don't you see that?"

"Five hundred thousand?" asked Kendra.

"That or more," he replied. "Look about you. Look at the sacrifices. It's readying for a mass slaughter, and it wants them all in that hole."

"Christ, Stroud, how do you know this?"

"Records ... the items we brought back ... archeological evidence. We even know what the Etruscans called this thing: Ubbrroxx. Now, will you please listen to reason?"

"You call this reason?"

"It's our only chance, Commissioner."

"Why should I believe you, Stroud? One reason why."

"I'm the only man that's come out of there intact, untouched by this thing, and it fears me because of this."

Nathan dropped his gaze and slowly began to nod. "All right, all right. What do you need from me and my department?"

"All the help I can get," he said, staring down at the teeming multitude that seemed to be feeding on itself. The site disappeared as the chopper turned sharply right and swooped away. Stroud's thoughts went out to the poor souls trapped by the being, used by the being and fed upon by this evil entity. He tore away his headset and closed his eyes on the thought, resting his head as rotors beat above them. He soon again worked the headphones over his ears so that he could communicate with the pilot, giving him directions for where he was to take them.

"I will feed on your soul, Esruad..." came a faint whisper through Stroud's headphone, a whisper from someone in the helicopter. But it was the same demonic voice that had lived in Weitzel.

Below them the city lay stretched out like an enormous circuit board lit with sparks of electricity and beams of pulsating stars--automobiles screeching about in what seemed a mad bowl of punch. Lights blinked on all sides of them, towering monoliths that represented mountainous terrain. Far below, the bridges and canals crisscrossed one another like the veins in a man's hand. The Hudson River swarmed up toward them as if to swallow them up when the helicopter tilted toward the water. Stroud grabbed hold of the throttle to steady the sudden wobble, and in the distance he caught sight of the forest that was Central Park.

The pilot's hand fought his and he turned to stare into Stroud's face. Luther Stokes's eyes were fiery yet green and icy all at once, a palpitating presence reaching out through him in an attempt to destroy Stroud.

"Stroud!
Stroud!" Nathan was shouting.

Stroud caught only a brief glance of the C.P. and Kendra in the rear as the helicopter began a wild gyration that plastered them all against their seats.

"Going down! Going down!" the insidious voice of the demon cried through Stokes's lips, having locked Stokes's hand on the throttle.

Stroud, who had flown helicopters in the war, tugged at the controls as the demon's laughter filled the bubble. Stroud shouted for Kendra to fire a dart into Stokes. Then he shouted for Nathan's help. "Shoot the pilot! Shoot him!"

Neither Kendra nor Nathan could readily respond, as the cab had become a centrifuge and they, like Stroud himself, were laboring under such centrifugal force that they might as well have been in a force-nine gale wind. Nathan could not straighten his line of fire, nor could Kendra.

Stroud brought up his knee, letting go of the throttle, bringing up both his feet and kicking straight out at Stokes's head. The force sent the other man into the door, jarring it loose. Stroud regathered his balance when the chopper righted a bit in response to Stokes's having let go. Stroud saw that he was reaching now for the controls again, and that was when Nathan's .38 exploded through the cushion of the seat and ripped through him. This only momentarily stunned the man, and he fought again to take the controls back from Stroud.

The dizzying whir of the helicopter continued, its rear rotors cutting stone as it edged about a building. Stroud turned her toward a relatively safer path along the river.

But Stokes's hands possessed the strength of the demon, and Stroud realized just how much energy the monster must have to make such remote attacks on him. It had to be staggering. For now, however, he had to get the reeling chopper safely grounded.

"Kendra!" he shouted for help, and finally heard the whuuuuup of her dart gun.

Stokes's reaction was a banshee scream, and Stroud kicked and punched and pushed out at him again, sending him, hanging on the door, outside the cab. In a moment he laughed, tugging the helicopter to one side, and shouted maniacally, "Goooooing dowwwwwwwn!" With that he dropped from the door panel some sixty or seventy feet to the pavement, splattering like an overripe melon.

The helicopter was still spinning, and Stroud remained in battle with the machine as if it, too, were possessed of the demon. It took Stroud's entire strength to hold her, his biceps bulging against the throttle. He needed lift, but the machine wanted to drop from the sky and end its crazed dance. The gyrating cockpit pushed Stroud back and back, disallowing the leverage he needed. It was a catch-22 of the deadliest kind.

"Stroud!
Stroud!" Kendra cried out as they skirted past brick on all sides.

Stroud pulled himself to the controls and held firm, firmer, praying all the while, when suddenly she gained a bit of lift, as if taking a breath from her destructive course. Stroud took advantage, pulling for lift, and she responded, lifting ... lifting, no longer losing altitude. When Stroud righted the lopsided machine in the air, he saw that they had spiraled to within fifty feet of the ground in a fiery free-fall over Central Park. He had no idea how they'd gotten to this location.

"What the hell happened?" asked a breathless Nathan.

"Stokes was taken over by the damned thing in the pit!"

"How? How can it do that?"

"How can it turn thousands into zombies?"

"Why? Why's it keep coming after you, Stroud?" asked Kendra, still fighting for her own breath.

"Perhaps if I knew the answer to that..."

"As if it has targeted you?" she continued.

"I'm afraid I'm not very safe company to be keeping."

Nathan guffawed at this. "Damned straight there."

"But thank God you know how to fly this thing," Kendra said.

"Yeah, but it didn't know that." Stroud turned the whirly-bird a bit too sharply, causing Kendra to gasp again.

"It's all right. I've got her under control now. Commissioner, you think you can get clearance for us to land at One Police Plaza?"

"Not a problem. Give me that radio."

Still breathing heavily, his .38 in one hand, Nathan took the radio and called for the necessary clearance on the gleaming roof with the bull's-eye targets just ahead of them. It looked like a concrete heaven to them all.

-11-

Stroud, Kendra Cline and James Nathan were all shaken at what they had survived, and the lives of those lost weighed heavily on their minds. Nathan wanted to call in the National Guard and the U.S. Army and perhaps return to the site and destroy the zombies, every man, woman and child among them. It seemed the only way to proceed from his vantage point. Stroud asked for restraint and for time.

"At least enough time to determine the true nature of the enemy, Commissioner."

"There is no time!"

"Look here, you called me into this thing and now you're going to listen to me, dammit!" Stroud shouted, losing his temper. He had dealt with Nathan's type before in Chicago, with the cannibalizing werewolf that was stalking the city streets there less than a year ago. Nathan knew of his success with that unusual case, and he had no doubt heard the rumors and read the wild reports of other bizarre cases which Stroud had solved.

Nathan turned to Stroud, his wide shoulders heaving with a mixture of uncertainty and frustration. He gave a fleeting glance toward Dr. Cline, but she offered him no help. She had remained in a semi-trance on seeing the deaths of her co-workers. She'd had a chill and Stroud had located a blanket for her shoulders and a cup of steaming coffee.

"You tried it Gordon's way!" Stroud said adamantly. "And look what it's gotten us! Now, for the love of God, man, try it my way."

"I've got people I've got to answer to," he said feebly. Then he began to pace before them. "What is it you intend to do? What's Stroud's way?"

"I intend to lead an expedition back down into the ship, to face this thing on its own ground."

"That's madness," he said. "What guarantee do you have you'll come out alive?"

"Very little, perhaps none ... but this thing, whatever it is ... I don't know why, but I sense that it wants me. And thus far it has come after me on its terms. It's time I turned the tables, but first I've got to gain help from Wisnewski and Leonard, to learn more about this evil. Do you understand that?"

"And in the meantime?" asked Nathan, banging his fist on his desk. "What about those zombies out there? What do we do to stop them?"

Stroud had no answer for the commissioner. At a loss for a resolution to the problem, he knew he must gain more knowledge, ferret through the information Wiz and Leonard might provide back at the museum.

Nathan's intercom buzzed with an irritating bee sound, and the voice of rancor from people downstairs at the sergeant's desk spelled trouble. "Commissioner, you've got to get out of the building!" shouted someone at the other end.

"Casey? Casey, what's going on down there?" shouted Nathan.

"We're under attack! The zombies, hundreds of them! Spilling through every doorway, breaking in the win--"

The line went dead to the sound of gunfire. Nathan looked up at Stroud and their eyes met. "They've followed you here! They're after you, Stroud--you! God damn it all, we could just feed you to them and maybe ... maybe this thing would go away!"

"Maybe ... and maybe not, Nathan."

They stood staring hard across at one another, Stroud's steely gaze telling the other man that he wouldn't go as a willing sacrifice to Nathan or the others. "Or maybe I'm the only hope your city has, Nathan. Think about that. Why has it singled me out for sacrifice? Because it knows something you don't--"

"What? What does it know, Stroud?" Nathan's hand inched toward his chest and shoulder holster.

"It knows enough to fear me, that I hold the key to its mystery; that I can dispel that mystery in time--if given the time."

"They're at our doorstep!"

"Then get us out of here!" shouted Kendra, tossing off the shroud around her. "Do as Stroud says! Get him to the museum."

Nathan held his ground and slipped out his Smith & Wesson. Outside they could hear the shouting, screams and gunshots as the zombies continued toward them.

"Get us up to the roof, to the helicopter!" she shouted.

Nathan hesitated further.

"With me dead, New York doesn't stand a chance, not even with the help of the armed forces," Abe assured Nathan, whose gun hand was shaking, sweat beading about his forehead and wide cheeks.

"Come on!" he finally said, tearing open the door. The hallway was scattered with bodies, both policemen and zombies. Nathan fired on a wave of zombies coming along the stairs, shouting, "This way! This way!"

Nathan led them toward the service stairwell, but when they flew through the doorway, it was filled with zombies on the levels above and below. They ascended and descended toward the living as soon as they somehow realized that it was Abraham H. Stroud.

"Elevators, elevators!" shouted Nathan, backing out, racing around a terrace that overlooked the lobby below where the gunshots had died and the place was swarming with more and more of the mindless army of zombies. James Nathan saw that they were quickly being surrounded on all sides by the zombies, and even he realized it was useless to fire his weapon into the crushing wall of them. Kendra and Stroud pounded in frustration for the elevator to come, but it appeared that it would be too late.

The zombies closed in on both sides, leaving only the act of leaping down to the horde below in the lobby as an out, and that was no out.

Then came the ping of one of the elevators and they rushed to enter it, only to find it filled with zombies, backing them away. Another elevator arrived and from it poured more zombies.

"We're dead, Stroud," said Nathan. "We're better off taking the quick way out." He lifted his revolver to his eyes and fanned the drum, prepared to take all their lives.

"Esssssruuu-ad," said the zombies in unison all around them, and several joined hands and suddenly dissolved into a mire of brown muck from which was formed a devilish form that creaked and quaked as if half formed, the ugly eyes spewing forth frothy brown snakes, the mouth like the hole into Hell. "Esssssruuu-ad," it said to them. "You see now I can destroy you at any time--any time!"

"Then get it over with, you bastard mutation!"

Nathan pulled back the hammer on his .38, his hand shaking. He was poised to use the gun first on Kendra, preferring to see her dead to becoming a victim to the filthy mob of zombies that barred their way, along with the gruesome creature that had been formed from a number of their bodies.

"Nooooooooo, Esruad," said the creature, "I want you to come to me, Esruad ... and bring your friends." It ended with a horrible, satanic, croaking laugh.

Meanwhile the zombies had remained frozen in place, as if made of stone, and these statues could hardly be said to be breathing--all but the several who had been formed to simulate the appearance of the demon. These had coalesced into a horrible and hideous, multitentacled monster with enormous holes for eyes from which squirmed snakes that leaped out and reentered its body below, disappearing into the muck of its outer skin, a kind of brown ooze. The surface was slick with slime and Kendra hid her head in Nathan's chest, unable to watch the snakes feed from the thing's eyes. Parts of the zombie men who had gone into forming the creature--their limbs, eyes, ears--could be seen swirling about in the muck that they'd become. It had somehow devoured them whole.

"What the hell is this thing, Stroud? And why's it calling you Esruad?" Nathan wanted to know.

"This is a manifestation of the creature, not the actual creature. It's taunting us."

"Taunting us, or you?"

"It's toying with us," said Stroud firmly. "Damned thing is toying with us. It could simply let the zombies kill us now--"

"Then why doesn't it?"

"Because it wants something from me."

"What? What does it want?"

"I don't know, dammit! Not yet, anyway." Stroud sensed that the creature wanted him to return to it, to face it alone, that the creature somehow knew of his special gifts in combating evil, and that, in a sense, the evil thing had thrown down the gauntlet. But how was Nathan or even Kendra to believe or even understand such a concept?

One of the elevator doors opened and the zombies parted to show them that the car was empty. Stroud instantly understood the maneuver and shouted, "Both of you, get into the elevator car now! Now!"

The other two didn't hesitate and Stroud cautiously backed in last. The doors closed on the now fading form of the monster that'd been too hideous to gaze upon for longer than a second.

"Will this elevator take us to the roof?" asked Stroud.

"To a floor below. You'll have to take the stairs from there." Nathan's voice then became agitated, his gun still gripped in his hand, as he asked, "Why, Stroud? Why you? Why'd it spare you and me and Dr. Cline just now?"

"If I could answer that--"

"And why does it call you Esruad?" asked Kendra, her voice shaking with irritation, her breath coming short.

The elevator door opened on an empty corridor and an observation tower. Stroud saw the sign for the roof and he ushered them along the clear path to safety.

"Come on, we're getting out of here," he told Kendra.

She stopped, however, and demanded an answer.

"There's no time now."

"Make time. I want to know what it means: Esruad."

"Back at the museum. It'll all come clear, I promise."

Nathan, too, wanted answers. He swung Stroud around as if he meant to strike out at him and Stroud instinctively pushed his hand away, gun or no gun.

"Answer me, Stroud, why? What makes you immune to this damnable horror? And tell me why I shouldn't blow a hole through you, suspecting you as I do of somehow collaborating with this bloody supernatural beast."

This made Stroud stop and grab Nathan by the lapels, pushing him hard into the wall, Kendra tugging at Stroud to come away. Stroud caught himself up and let go of the other man, who had held firm to his .38 Police Special.

Stroud rushed on, pushing through a glass door and out into the wind that played over the top of the high rise, sending his hair into a wild gyration. He'd taken Kendra by the hand, bringing her along. He shouted back over his shoulder to Nathan, "Goddammit, Commissioner, I don't know all the answers! That's why I need help. I need Wisnewski and Leonard and more time."

"Why did it let us live?" pressed Nathan, running to catch up. He had seen a lot of good men die today, and he wondered why he was not among the dead.

"It wants me to come to it, to freely sacrifice myself, I believe. And when I do, it wants to play."

"To play?"

"Yeah, that's what it's doing with us all, Nathan, toying with us ... playing with our lives ... determining just how much of our civilized veneer it can strip away before we all turn on one another."

"It wants you. Has it wanted you all along? And would that end this nightmare?"

"You don't really believe you can bargain with the Devil, do you?"

Nathan thought for a moment. "No, I suppose not ... but--"

"No buts about it. When I do sacrifice myself, I'll do so armed with a great deal more than I now have, I pray," said Stroud as he strapped himself into the Gordon helicopter he had commandeered. Some police technicians worked atop the roof and had refueled it. All other police choppers were in service.

Kendra was helped into the seat beside Stroud by Nathan, who waved them off.

"Come with us," shouted Kendra.

"No, no, I'll be needed here. But I'll stay in contact."

"Be careful," Stroud called out to him.

"You, too, Stroud, and good luck. I'm sorry about the ... the..."

"Good luck is sufficient!" shouted Stroud, who sent the rotor blades into whirring battle with the wind. As the chopper lifted off, the image of the monster with snakes feeding out of its eyes filled Stroud's vision ahead. He tilted the chopper into the sky streaked with the wretched sight, slicing through it.

Kendra Cline stared down at Nathan, who was fast disappearing behind them. She felt herself still inwardly trembling at the touch of the gun at her temple, and yet she'd have preferred the quick death of the bullet to what the zombies might have done to her. She, like Nathan, now felt strange toward Stroud, that he was somehow different, because he had been singled out by the evil emanating from the pit, the evil with such power to reach out to take what it wanted from them.

Stroud felt her eyes on him now. He realized that she hadn't seen the apparition of the creature in the night sky, that it was meant only for him. He understood why Nathan might feel threatened by him, but now he was getting the same feeling from Kendra, and this he didn't quite know how to deal with.

"You have no reason to fear me, Kendra," he told her.

She breathed deeply, filling her lungs, holding on to her inner emotional turmoil. Her voice broke when she said, "I ... I know that."

He put a hand on hers, but she pulled it slowly away. "Keep it uppermost in your mind, no matter what happens, Kendra, that what I do is for us all. I will not bargain with this thing, not for my life, not for yours, not for any individual."

"I think I understand," she said, then turned to stare out into the surrounding darkness.

Stroud brought the chopper around, searching for the rooftop of the Museum of Antiquities, which he soon found.

As the helicopter lowered over the mammoth rooftop, Stroud steering by streetlamps and intuition, Kendra played out the events of the past few days in her head, but events and actions and words seemed all as confusing a haze as the night's quickly descending fog over the city. The ominous fog swirled and eddied, and it felt like her thoughts. Was Stroud so very different from other men that this evil being in the pit sought him out to play games with? What kind of man was Stroud, she wondered as she stared at the maw of the blacktopped roof. It appeared from where she sat that Stroud was taking her straight down into Dante's Inferno with him, there to abide somewhere between the sixth and seventh rings, she supposed, and she wondered at the dubious honor he had imposed on her, making her his companion in this occult contest. But she was now so tired and weary of thought that she almost welcomed his telling her when and where to move.

The helicopter's whir set her mind to droning with its even, calming sounds, so different from the horror of its mad gyrations before. Stroud, too, was like the machine: one moment loud and rancorous and the next quiet, gentle and caring. Yet, he was all a mystery; a man who seemed to have more than one past, a man filled with the life of the race itself, like some Greek dancing perpetually in the sand of the ages, or a mad cossack doing daredevil feats on the back of a charging horse.

The museum grounds were littered with refuse and white, tumbling things that looked innocent at first glance but took on a sinister appearance when stared at unblinkingly. McDonald's coffee cups, newspapers lost to the wind, sandwich wrappers had become apparitions that walked a ghostly landscape which by light was mere brush and trees and lawn that surrounded the Museum of Antiquities, where, deep inside, by the light of their gooseneck lamps, Drs. Leonard and Wisnewski were working diligently on answers to questions they did not know how to pose.

Kendra only half heard the snap of the seat belt that held her, felt only the warmth of Stroud's powerful arms go round her as he lifted her from the helicopter. She felt cradled, safe, and her mind begged for sleep, which Stroud now fostered in her. Complicated, confusing man, she thought, but quietly she allowed herself a moment's peace freeing her mind of questions and fears.

-12-

Abe Stroud found the two archeologists obsessively working, surrounded by half-eaten sandwiches and unfinished Cokes. Stroud asked them how well it was going and they looked up, a little startled, not having heard them approach, with no knowledge the helicopter was on the roof.

"I think we're onto something," Wiz said, "but it's taking time, Abe. Patience ... patience is rewarded."

Stroud worked his big hand across his wide shoulder to the nape of his neck, squeezing, headachy. "Only problem is, Doctors, we have a very impatient audience waiting for us, and worse, an even more impatient demon. Tell me what you've got thus far..." Stroud began looking over their shoulders.

"I'm going to call the hospital," Kendra called out from Wiz's office.

Stroud grimaced. He'd hoped she might sleep. He wondered how she was doing. But he must turn his attention back to Wiz and Leonard.

Inside Wisnewski's office, Kendra contacted colleagues at the hospital. "We're going to require as much biochemical weaponry as we can get from you, Karl," she was saying when Stroud poked his head in.

Stroud said, "Wiz has found something very interesting in the literature--amazing really. Can you come?"

"Be with you in a minute."

She joined them soon after. Wisnewski called her to sit beside him. He was saying, "Just a primitive drawing, not much more than a cave drawing of a behemoth with gnarled fangs and snakes crawling from its eyes, but it was given a name--Ubbrroxx--and further, this name was found by Leonard as well, on the parchment brought from the ship."

"Ubbrroxx," said Stroud, repeating the strange name several times.

"Careful," said Kendra, "careful not to unwittingly invoke it."

"Yes, well..." began Wiz, sensing some tension between them. "Abe's told us what happened at Nathan's building. In any event, it would appear that if we do not soon go to it, Stroud, it will come to us. Is that not right?"

"That's my belief."

"What was this ... this Ubbrroxx to the Etruscans? A deity?" asked Kendra, agitation dappling her pupils with fear.

"A dark deity, a god of the underworld, much as our Satan," said Leonard, wiping clean his glasses. "Here is a photo of a cavern wall drawing discovered in Tuscany a few years ago."

"My God," said Kendra, "it's ... it's..."

"What we saw at One Police Plaza, I know," replied Stroud.

"It is also what I saw," said Wiz, "the day I hefted the pick at you, Stroud. It ... it somehow became you in my mind--all a jumble. Seeing it like this again, it all came back to me. It leaped out after you, was on your back when you were blacked out. I went to strike it, but it seemed to be inextricably mixed with your own tissues, and when I hesitated ... well..."

"This thing is so vile," said Leonard, trembling.

"Stroud's blackout no doubt saved him from the menacing of the creature," said Kendra, trying to understand it all, but deciding that she would never be able to do so.

"Good," said Stroud, putting a firm arm around Kendra, "good!"

"What's good? We've got a crude picture of it is all!" said Wiz.

"We now know its name, and we know what it looks like."

"Don't think for a moment you know what it looks like, Stroud," said Leonard. "This is very crude, and besides, if you look on the real thing you'd be blinded by its sheer ugliness, according to the written word. Most likely, this was drawn by a blind man, giving directions to an artist."

"Perhaps that wizard you spoke of, Leonard," Wiz said.

"Wizard?" asked Kendra.

"The author of the parchment.
Very astute man."

"What does he tell you?" asked Stroud.

"The creature can take many forms, control many lesser beings, including men."

"Creating instant zombies," said Wiz with a snort.

"He tells us that the true nature of the beast is so vile, so ugly, that it would burn out the human heart and soul to behold it in its natural state."

"Only what we might expect from an underworld deity," added Wiz.

"Then it is a shape-changer, a chameleon?" asked Stroud.

"Of a sort, but not in any usual sense. It controls and distorts the forms of lesser beings; turns some into ghouls and gargoyles and hounds and rats at its pleasure. At least," continued Leonard, putting aside his glasses now and rubbing his tired eyes, "at least, this is what the Etruscan writer believed."

"Then it can literally control anything it comes into contact with?" asked Kendra. "Insects, rats--"

"Worms, grubs, maggots," added Wiz.

"So, in that sense, it takes any shape it wishes, you see, Stroud?" asked Leonard.

"Yes, I begin to see. And I suppose it can take a pleasant form as well?"

"Exactly, and Leonard failed to tell you that. He also has some notion that the demon wants not 500,000 souls, but five million, Stroud."

"What?"

Leonard turned and rushed back at them with a resounding "Yes, yes, it wants five million this time."

Kendra repeated the staggering figure aloud in a whisper that filled the room.

"But I saw the figure. You said it was 500,000, Wiz." Stroud pointed at the Etruscan numbers.

"Yes, well, a mathematical equation worked out with the help of Esruad--"

"Whoa, Esruad?
Esruad?" repeated Kendra, hearing the name come up in this new context.

"He was the writer of the parchment, his signature is here," said Stroud, directing her eye to the name in Etruscan.

"Then that thing out there thinks you are..."

Stroud finished for her. "Esruad, yes."

"And that may work to our advantage," said Wiz.

"What advantage is it against such a power?" asked Leonard. "At any rate, Esruad predicted the increase to five million should the demon rear its ugly head again. It appears as a warning near the end of the document."

"The matching document found in Tuscany almost two years ago, Stroud, has been held in ridicule as superstition and gibberish since its disclosure by Dr. Uri Ulininski."

"That would be logical in this most illogical scenario, yes."

"God," said Kendra, pushing back her long strands of hair, "it sounds ... sounds like Satan."

"One and the same, it is logical to assume," said Wiz. "Or a very dear cousin of the Fallen Angel."

Leonard quietly agreed. "It may well be what we have traditionally referred to as Satan. It may be the ultimate evil power on the planet. And we may be fools for even contemplating confronting it, Stroud."

The room had become cold with silence until Wiz said, "And to think, Satan is a New Yorker ... has been for some time."

"Christ, Wisnewski, how can you joke about this?" Leonard said, tossing a book down and stepping away from the others, obviously distraught over their findings.

"Now, look here," Wiz retorted, "I've done some unearthing of my own, and I've come up with a few facts as well, Stroud. We can continue without Leonard's input if we must."

Wiz pushed an archeological journal into Stroud's hands with some photos of a recent dig in Tuscany, and then he gave Stroud a magnifying glass. "Look closely at the parchment in Ulininski's hands."

"It ... looks like a reproduction of the one we have."

Stroud knew of the great Russian archeologist's work. Tuscany seemed far afield for him. According to his words in the article, he had been drawn to the location, almost as if by a spirit voice.

"Are you saying that Esruad knew that in time this evil would come again?" asked Stroud.

"He says so, yes."

"Amazing ... that he should predict it."

"He predicted it would occur amid the dwelling places of millions; amid giant girders that reached the clouds--our skyscrapers. And that a man flying in the belly of a machine would go into battle against the creature."

"That'd be you and your helicopter, Stroud," said Kendra.

"He said all that?"

"Yes," said Wiz. "I would have to say that this evil springs from the same source as all evil in the world, an eternal river of evil that flows beneath us all and from time to time infects whole populations."

"How can we dare oppose it, Stroud? How?" asked Leonard, returning to the circle.

"Dr. Cline's people are working on--what, Kendra?--something in the way of a biochemical deterrent to this thing?"

"So far, all we know is that it works on the zombies," she replied. "Whether or not it will work against the source is anyone's guess, but yes ... we're fashioning darts and a gaseous form of the substance."

"Then we are not completely without armament," Stroud tried to sound reassuring.

"I have ... some fears," said Leonard. "An awful fear."

"But we have a weapon," replied Stroud. "Dr. Cline has developed something for us."

Cline explained, "Using what we learned in reviving you, Dr. Leonard, we have developed a biochemical projectile laced with the stimulants that revived you. This was being tried on the many coma patients, until they began to attack us. We had upped the dosage given you to ... to create the killing poison."

"It stops what it hits," said Stroud.

"The same substance which brought me out of coma is being used now to kill other victims of this thing?" asked Leonard. "This is somehow backward and sounds like madness in itself, Dr. Cline."

"We've had no choice in the matter. They're out there, on the streets," said Stroud, defending her. "They attacked us and would have dragged us into that pit headfirst if we hadn't fought back."

Wiz and Leonard exchanged a worried glance. Wiz said, "Even if we could get near the pit, nothing will stop the mother of this evil, nothing."

"Survival of the fittest, I suppose," said Leonard. "Are we to survive, or it?"

"Funny, I never thought of myself as fit for consumption before now," replied Wiz. "And I still don't."

"It appears to have something to do with will and a strong mind, Doctor," said Kendra Cline. "In a sense, it's survival of the fittest mind, steel-plated or otherwise."

Stroud gave her a half-smile. "Time we planned our strategy, people. Some of us are going to have to go back down there, and we're going to have to hold on to our strong-mindedness in the face of terrifying obstacles."

They grew silent with the fearful truth of what Stroud proposed.

"Oh, by the way, Stroud," said Wiz. "Something came for you addressed to the museum."

"Oh?"

"A package."

"From Cairo," said Leonard.

"Cairo, Illinois?" It was not far from Cairo to Andover, Stroud's home.

"No, heavens, man! Egypt."

"Egypt? Really? Where's the package?"

"Box, actually. Very curious about it ourselves."

Wiz brought it in, a well-protected box of perhaps two foot by three. It took a full ten minutes to get to the bottom, snatching stuffing out of the center, but eventually Stroud came out with a crystal skull in his hands and a note from Dr. Mamdoud in Egypt. The note was characteristically clipped:

Dear Abraham,

Learned of your distress in New York and the part you are playing there. The enclosed may give you some insights, support, help. We pray and hope you will accept this gift. A man such as yourself, the skull will be used well. I was moved--no, compelled--to do this for you.

Mamdoud

Stroud was flabbergasted. "Do you have any idea the risk he took to get this to us?"

The others watched him leave with the skull cradled in the crook of his arm. "I will return soon," he promised, disappearing with his prize.

At the Gordon construction site the zombies had begun to form a thick wall of stony guardsmen, row upon row of them. SWAT teams and police of every rank had moved in on the area, which continued to swell with the infected people, some of whom had rioted against the police. It was widely known that Police Commissioner James Nathan and a handful of others had escaped the mob, and that upwards of a hundred construction workers, medical people and policemen were trapped inside the circle of zombies who were not responsive to the demands of the police.

Each time the police moved closer, the wall got tighter and thicker around the construction site and pit. Nathan didn't know what to do, but opening fire on the zombies after what he had witnessed was most tempting. But for now all was silence, all was still. The zombies were like one brick wall, Nathan thought. Even if Stroud and the others got up the nerve to go in, they'd never make it past this army of protectors.

The city was sealed off, under quarantine as well as martial law now. The governor of the state had stepped in and sent five thousand troops. The U.S. Army and the Navy were on standby. There were no airplanes, trains, buses or automobiles entering or leaving New York City. Even the harbors were closely guarded, for fear the disease would spread to other cities, counties and states. There were armed guards at every tunnel and every border crossing. Those remaining in New York were trapped here along with the zombies and whatever worse fate awaited them.

"I didn't sign on for this kind of duty," said one national guardsman to the cop standing beside him.

Harry Baker looked at the man. The guardsman wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, very expensive, along with a Rolex. He might be an accountant in civil life, or a lawyer, a young one at that, Harry thought. He wondered if the other man would hold up the night. Harry had fought in the war, had done a three-year stint with Emergency Services as a medic and had been on the NYPD for almost sixteen years now. He had thought that he had seen everything, up until now.

The brass had paired any number of first-timers like the Rolex guy with seasoned cops and now Harry occupied a hastily got-up "bunker" with the kid. The kid had shown him pictures of his nine-month-old, his cat and his wife in that order. Now, together, the two men stared at the wall of unmoving, granitelike men, women and children who formed a barrier around the construction site. They'd been like this for hours on hours. Stone men stoned, Harry had thought. It chilled him, gave him the all-over creeps, the sort that not even a hot shower could quell.

The hostages taken by the zombies were most likely dead and there was no communicating with this herd of deaf-and-dumb humanity, try as the NYPD might.

It was like the time before a battle, Harry thought. The fireworks were sure to come. And suddenly, they did.

It started with the ominous hummmmmmmm of thousands of people chanting in unison, creating of them a kind of single soul, Harry thought. He had never seen anything close to this. The only comparison--and it didn't come close--was a "wave" at a football game. But there the people were aware of one another, aware of their intentions. Here, it was something else as the throng of zombies began to move outward toward the armed soldiers and police in the mindless approach of an army of ants.

"What'll we do?" asked the guardsman beside Harry.

"Whatever the brass tells us!"

Then gunfire broke out without anyone's ordering it. Harry decided it was one of the untried guardsmen who'd fired, but it made little difference now as everyone opened up. The gunfire was electrifying to Harry, who'd been itching for something to happen all these hours, but it had the opposite effect on the Rolex guy, who slumped down into the bunker and began to blubber about how he had been home with his wife and kids only sixteen hours before in Albany and why was he here in the middle of New York's problems, anyway?

Harry emptied his clip into the oncoming zombies, ducked away and began pulling the kid together. "You got a weapon, soldier! Goddammit! Use it!"

The swarm of walking dead just kept walking over those falling ahead of them, and they were getting closer and closer, crushing barricades in their way. Some of the dead ones were lifted by others and used as shields now, and the zombies relentlessly moved forward, caving in anything in their way, trying to get at the living--and succeeding in places.

A few flamethrowers were brought in, and when some of the dead--those shot through the gut--suddenly got up and continued advancing toward the men with the guns, the flamethrowers went to work, catching fire the leaders, who rushed through the fire and grabbed hold of some of the soldiers on the other side of the flames as their bodies crackled and were consumed by the fire. Others all around the burning zombies were breathing in the acrid smoke, choking and backing away.

Harry Baker saw them breathing in the sulfur-filled air and he realized now that the zombie action was designed to recruit more to their side from the ranks of the soldiers and police. The choking, black cloud of air was filled with the germ or virus they carried. Harry had read about it. Something put out by the CDC people had warned that the virus could go airborne. Well, here it was, in full fury, and these guardsmen and cops breathing it!

From his vantage point he also saw other zombies ganging up on some poor devil and rushing him overhead from hand to hand, back, back and back toward the pit, presumably to feed whatever was down there.

"I'm getting out of here," Harry told the guardsman he was stationed with after he unloaded his gun once more into the onrush.

"Yeah, we've got to pull back!" agreed the guard.

"To hell with pulling back! I mean, I'm done! I'm out of here, and if you're smart, you'll do the same!"

"You're running out on your duty?"

"Listen, soldier boy, I never signed on for this kinda shit, either!"

Suddenly the barricade of sandbags that they were behind exploded over them with the onrush of what seemed to be seventy, eighty, ninety fiends, all reaching out to them. The guardsman and Harry screamed in unison but it was drowned out by the ummmmmmmmmmmmmm chant of the zombies. Harry saw that the guardsman froze up. He tore the man's automatic rifle from his grasp and fired and fired until he was overwhelmed by the numbers. He felt himself suddenly lifted and knew that he was being handed overhead, that he was being spirited to the pit and that damnable thing inside it. Alongside him, riding on a crest of zombie hands, was the guardsman, who'd lost his glasses and was screaming for help.

Harry slipped out a four-inch blade he kept in his boot, bobbling it and almost losing it as he was jostled forward. He saw the kid's body come near and he screamed, "This is for you, kid!" He tore a hole in the kid's jugular and watched as the blood rained down on his attackers, who seemed as oblivious to this as they were to everything else around them. Harry then placed the knife at his own throat and was about to rip into himself when he realized that he couldn't do it. Try as he may, he couldn't cut himself as he had the guardsman. And in that moment's hesitation he was slammed hard into a buttress of copper pipe as they moved him relentlessly along, knocking him into a semiconscious state. He'd lost the knife.

Harry didn't see the others like him all around, moving over the heads of the enormous crowd. The enormity of it, the numbers being moved into the pit, could only be appreciated from the air where a news camera was filming until the cameraman, suddenly overwhelmed by the horror at the end of his viewfinder, doubled over to vomit.

The only other place the scene could be viewed clearly was in the eye of Abraham Stroud as it reflected back from the center of the crystal skull he held at arm's length in the candlelit room at the back of the museum where he had found solitude and hiding.

"My God ... my God," Stroud said over and over as he watched the fate of men like Harry Baker, for the crystal now showed him clearly what did happen to men who were transported down into the bowels of that ugly, unholy ship.

-13-

Stroud gathered his inner resolve and strength in order to go on. He'd had to put the skull down after seeing the kind of torture the victims of Ubbrroxx had to endure there in the dark pit; unable to see anything but Ubbrroxx's eyes, the helpless victims were reduced to begging and quivering, for in the eyes was the soul of the beast, and the soul of Ubbrroxx was by far the most hideous thing about it. It was not a physical ugliness as much as it was an ethereal ugliness of despair, hopelessness, darkness and a never-ending desperation brought on by a feeling of being trapped wholly, completely, forever and ever, stripped of one's own soul for this thing's pleasure, for this thing slowly devoured your soul when it finished with your body.

Most of the victims were soon past screaming, however, as the apparatus for screaming was one of the first things the creature removed, turning a man dumb. It went for the other senses soon, leaving only the nerves, the eyes and the brain functioning as it stripped away parts of the victim held helpless under its talonlike grasp, much as a predatory bird rips away at its prey, one strip at a time.

After the body succumbed to this slow death, the monster went in for the soul, taking it and nourishing itself on the newfound soul, much as it took possession of its zombie army members, with one small difference--there was no escaping ever from its grasp. At least the infected zombie mob had by chance remained alive, and would be returned their souls in the end--if the promise of history held true.

"How can we combat this dread?" Stroud asked, grasping the skull in his hands once more.

Just as he did so, Kendra Cline pushed open the door and stared at the light emanating from within the crystal skull and realized that the naked man sitting in the lotus position and cradling the skull in his hands was Abraham Stroud.

The crystal went dark and Stroud spun around, a look of sheer anger directed at her. "Get out and close that door, and stay out until I'm ready for you!"

She backed out without a word, fright distorting her features.

Stroud prayed that the spirit in the crystal would come again. It may take more hours now, thanks to Kendra's barging in.

"You are Esruad," said a soothing voice from inside the crystal. "Esruad is you. It knows this, and now you know this."

"Esruad," Stroud said. "Stroud ... Esruad ... Stroud ... Esruad." The words took on the flavor of a lilting chant, and soon the light from inside the crystal returned.

"There is a way," it told him.

"Thank God."

"You must take the battle to it, into the ship," said the voice from the skull.

"Who are you?" Stroud asked. "Why should I trust you? As far as taking the battle to the ship, it's sheer suicide for us all."

"There is a worse fate waiting in store for you if you do not, Stroud. Trust me."

"Why? Why should I trust the spirit of the skull?"

"Spirits ... for there are many of us imprisoned here."

Stroud thought about this and recalled the demon's saying that it was legion, that it was everyman. The similarities were eerie, save for the voice. The voice that had spoken through Weitzel rattled demonic; the voice in the skull sounded desperate and terribly sad.

"I am you," said the voice.

Stroud shook his head in confusion. It was the sort of thing his grandfather's ghost might say, but it wasn't his grandfather's voice. "I don't understand."

"I am Esruad."

"The Etruscan?"

"Follow my dictates."

Stroud felt somehow connected to the spirit of the crystal, and that it was no accident that Mamdoud was moved to get the crystal into Stroud's possession; in fact, Stroud wondered if his having gone to Egypt in the first place hadn't been somehow "preordained" by Esruad, who, in the netherworld of the spirit, had known that the ancient ship would be unearthed long before Stroud or the others knew.

"You are to take me with you, into the pit," said the shining, silvery crystal skull in the half-light of the candle. "You must do it."

Stroud wondered how. How were they possibly going to get past the army of guards without themselves becoming victims? He wondered if he should reenter alone with the skull, somehow holding off the zombies.

"They will part for you, Stroud, so long as I am in your possession." It read his mind, his thoughts. For a moment, he wondered if this was not all a trick of the satanic power menacing the city. He recalled how Weitzel's body had been used in an attempt to kill him, recalled the claw hammer that had come down at his own skull, recalled the attack on him, Kendra and Nathan.

"Trust me, Stroud, as I must trust you."

"How will we destroy Ubbrroxx?"

"Ubbrroxx must choke on the crystal."

"Down its throat? But what will happen to you?"

"I will only rest when it is done. I and the 500,000 other souls trapped in this crystal."

"Five hundred thousand?"

"Our souls give the crystal its life and energy."

Stroud marveled at the revelation. "You ... you are the ones who sacrificed the others to Ubbrroxx?"

"To our eternal shame and damnation, yes."

Stroud was finally beginning to understand the Etruscan seer in the crystal.

Stroud rejoined the others to find Kendra on the telephone, with someone from the hospital, it seemed. They were still searching for and talking about a medical cure, now something to do with brain chemistry. Stroud went to Wiz and Leonard, cradling the crystal skull in the crook of his arm. The other two men stared at it, seeing the silver shimmer of lights that seemed to race through it like the electrical synapses in the human brain. It unnerved the two archeologists while at the same time fascinated them.

"I need to know all that you have on this man Esruad, Wisnewski," he told them.

"I'll make it available to you--"

"At once."

"--at once, yes."

"What about the skull, Dr. Stroud? What does it mean?" asked Leonard.

"That's what I've been trying to learn. It could prove to be our most powerful weapon, or our downfall."

Kendra hung up the phone and said, "What's left of my team at the hospital has discovered on autopsy that the levels of serotonin in the brains of the zombies is at extreme levels; that this thing acts on the human mind through a narcotic effect much stronger than anything we've ever seen. We have drugs that can counterattack the serotonin levels, but it's dicey staging a chemical war inside a man's head. The 'cure' could be as dangerous as the disease."

"Put together whatever you can, Dr. Cline," Stroud told her. "We're going to need all the weaponry at our disposal when we reenter the pit."

"Not me," said Leonard. "I'm not going back down there. If you fools--"

"Suit yourself," said Stroud. "I've got some research to do." He then joined Wisnewski, who led him to the books and pamphlets he wished to see.

There Stroud hunched over the material, with the skull beside him as if reading along with him, the eyes sparkling below the light. Wiz thought he saw movement inside the crystal, forms and shapes, but perhaps it was the light as it played over the thing.

"In an hour," Stroud informed Wiz, "we're all to meet and form a strategy against this thing. Tell the others. There's no more time to lose."

"Yes, of course, Dr. Stroud," said Wiz, closing the door on Stroud.

In Wisnewski's darkly furnished, book-lined office, Abe Stroud gathered the others around him and told them what he had learned from the crystal skull.

"The Etruscans could not destroy or even contain the evil. Their backs to the wall, as ours are now, they fed it instead, giving in to its demands, much as we are now."

"But we haven't given in to its demands!" shouted Wiz.

"No, you haven't, Dr. Wisnewski, nor did Dr. Leonard, but every man out there at the pit tonight has."

"But they're helpless to do otherwise," said Kendra. "They've been--their bodies have been invaded, taken control of by this thing."

"Every single one of them has the choice," he corrected her. "They may be unaware of the choice, or afraid to face it, but each one of those zombies out there can either die or serve this devil. That is the choice given them. But in serving, they must feed the unholy beast."

"You learned this from staring into that skull?" asked Leonard.

"The zombies will sacrifice the rest of us, just as you said, Dr. Leonard. The zombies are not the sacrificial lambs, we are--those left uninfluenced by the monster. It feeds on our pain, our fear, our being and our senses. It does not enjoy feeding on the emotionless automatons it has created of the others. They'd feel no terror, no suffering, as we who remain whole and intact do. The zombie herd is created to ensure that the demon gets its due, and according to the skull, it has raised the ante, as you've said, to five million souls."

"How can you be sure of all this?" asked Kendra, coming toward him to resolutely stand before him. "Suppose it's a trick ... this ... this skull spirit. Suppose it was sent here by the thing in the pit?"

"It is bound up with the demon, yes. It holds the lost souls of those who committed the others to the demon's tortures so many hundreds of years ago, and those trapped souls in the skull belong to the men, women and children who sacrificed their brothers, sisters, mothers to the creature in Etruscan times. The principal voice in the skull was that of this man named Esruad."

"The soothsayer?" asked Wiz. "The one much mentioned in the records?"

"It was no coincidence that we found his document in the ship," added Stroud, pacing now. "The creature has confused me with Esruad on more than one occasion." Stroud stopped before the skull, his hand lightly moving over the object as he said, "Esruad was a magician of sorts and a physician in his day. He dabbled in what we might call alchemy and witchcraft. In fact, it was he who discovered a method of fashioning pure crystal into skull molds, a technique which is unknown and considered impossible today. He molded the skulls to house the souls of men like himself for a dual purpose."

Wiz, Leonard and Kendra were now held in rapt attention, as he continued. "One, the skull acts as a receptacle for the souls of men filled with greater remorse than can be contained anywhere else in the universe. Two, the skull acts as a kind of beacon or transmitter through history."

Wiz took a deep breath and came around to Stroud, saying, "My impression of Esruad was that he was some sort of Rasputin, or Merlin--"

"He sacrificed many lives to learn of the mysteries of the universe," said Stroud, "but this one mystery was more horrible than he had begun to suspect until it was too late. He was quite likely the first surgeon, the first man to cut into a cadaver to unravel the mysteries of the human body. He also dabbled in the occult, and it led to Ubbrroxx."

"An evil man?" asked Kendra.

"He believes so of himself."

Wiz corrected Stroud to a degree. "As scientists we have precious little to base moral judgments--"

"He has made the judgment for us," Stroud said.

"Locked himself for all eternity in the cube of the skull," said Wiz, understanding. "Soul transfer?"

"Something like that, but he also took what remained of the others who'd succumbed to the zombie rule of the creature."

"But how did Esruad fall under its influence?"

"Damned thing is powerful and devious. Don't know the full story, but it had to do with a woman."

"Sure, blame it on that woman Eve," said Kendra.

"Esruad blames himself and the weakness of his race."

"And at the moment this thing in the pit believes you are Esruad?" asked Leonard.

"Yes, and we intend to use that to our advantage. Furthermore we know its name, and we have the crystal skull."

"That won't be enough--not against this thing," said Leonard.

"We have to trust that Esruad knows what he is doing," Stroud replied.

"Trust a voice encased in a crystal skull that only you can hear?" asked Kendra. "I think I'll trust to my anti-serotonin drugs, if you don't mind, Stroud."

He met her eyes and saw the sincere confusion there. "Yes, of course, we must rely on our own devices as well ... by all means."

Leonard went to a corner, the fear of returning to the pit under any circumstances twisting his insides. Wiz, too, was frightened of the prospect, but he went to Leonard and said, "It is a thing we must do, Samuel ... you know this."

-14-

Abe Stroud had held on to the helicopter and they boarded on the rooftop of the museum, making a stop at the hospital, where they picked up protective suits, the darts, dart guns and the medication required. One of the doctors, something of a genius, according to Kendra, had created a gaseous form of the medication and this was placed hastily into spray canisters that the "space" men returning to the buried ship could carry on their backs. Stroud never let go of the skull, keeping it always in his sight.

"How're we going to get past the army of zombies bent on tearing us limb from limb?" asked Kendra. "Have you seen any of the TV footage on what's been happening out there at that damnable construction site?"

She took him into a waiting room where a TV was running the horrible scenes over and over as if even the inanimate electronic set itself could not believe the pictures it was conveying. Some shots from a helicopter, obviously, showed the extent of the horror. The zombie horde had become like one animal, working in unison as the deadly limbs of the creature at its center, both protecting and feeding the mouth. In the dark, it looked like a bottom feeder, buried in the ocean floor, sending out rays of spiked tentacles to draw in its food. The most horrible sight was that of the live bodies being transported from the perimeters of the limbs to the center, disappearing down and down into the thing.

"Christ, we've got to end this thing now! The time's come!" Stroud shouted when he realized that Leonard and Wiz were standing just behind him, both men mesmerized by the sight on the TV screen.

"How the hell're we going to get past that?" Wiz asked virtually the same thing as Kendra had.

Leonard was simply frozen by the sight, mumbling, "My God ... my God..."

"We'll get in. They'll part for us. It will know we are coming in of our own accord and it will like that," said Stroud. "It will see us as self-sacrificing, as it had Esruad."

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes, I am." He went to Kendra and said, "You stay behind here. There's no need for you to--"

"Oh, no! I'm in, Stroud, for better or worse."

"Kendra, there's no reason for you to go in there."

"Let Dr. Leonard stay back. He's obviously distraught!"

"And have you take my place?" asked Leonard. "I may be afraid, but I'm not so afraid that I would send you in my place."

"Stroud is right. We've already been exposed to this evil, the three of us. We've come away from it not unscathed, but we've shown it that we have the courage of our convictions," Wisnewski began. "Dr. Stroud's right. If we are to beat this thing, we must show some backbone."

"We entered the pit earlier," said Stroud, his hands outstretched to her in a supplicating gesture. "Kendra, we are marked, but you are not. We must go back. We have no choice. Not even Leonard has a choice, not if he wants this thing utterly and completely ended and out of his system."

Leonard nodded like a man who has been told that a son has died, not wishing to accept it, but not knowing any other way. "I was infected. It was inside me, using me up..." He was remembering the dark night of the soul imprisoned within him by the evil. He was remembering the hole he had fallen into, the feeling of being trapped and held down and used. He'd been an insect pinned to a wall.

Wisnewski, too, was recalling the horror of having had his mind and body taken over by something that had crawled around inside him. "We have to go back ... to finish it."

"Or it will surely return to finish us."

"You'll need medical help down there," Kendra said. "It's almost a certainty. And no one knows the safety features of the protective suits as well as I."

"I'm telling you it's too dangerous, Kendra."

She glared at Stroud. "I don't need your condescension or patronage, Stroud, or your O.K. for that matter. You do, however, need me. You need my damned formula, and where it goes, I go." She held up one of the large dart guns and a vial of the dark medicine she and her team had created to combat the zombies.

Stroud looked from her to his watch and back again. Time was ticking away, and with each minute more people were dying outside. He feared desperately for Kendra. She had no idea what she was letting herself in for, and should something happen to her...

"Dammit, Stroud, let's do it!" she shouted.

Wisnewski frowned and Leonard said, "She may be of valuable assistance, and we'll need all the assistance we can get, Dr. Stroud."

Stroud saw that he was outnumbered now. "All right, all right ... but you stick close to me, do you understand?"

"Absolutely."

"Everyone ready?"

"Let's be on our way," said Wiz.

"Before I break down," added Leonard.

Stroud instructed them all to get their gear up to the waiting helicopter immediately.

* * * *

As the helicopter hovered over the sight of the army of zombies that continued to draw innocent people down and down into the hole at its center, Stroud and the others stared in rapt fear and awe at the power this evil wielded from below. "We're going in!" shouted Stroud.

"It's madness to attempt it!" shouted Leonard from the rear, seated beside Wiz.

"The skull will protect us!"

"For how long?"

"For as long as it takes! Dr. Leonard, you will not be returned completely to normal unless you face this thing."

"I may be dead before I'm cured of my fear, Stroud."

Wisnewski tried to console his friend in the rear of the chopper while Kendra Cline stared from the crystal skull on the console of the helicopter, in plain view, to the horror below. As she did so a light began to grow from within the skull and the light gained in intensity and vigor as they neared their destination. The light shone down on the colony of zombies like a strobe beacon and suddenly there was a halt to the frantic, insectlike work of the zombies, and then they stopped altogether.

"I see it, but I don't believe it," she told Stroud.

"So far, so good," he replied, setting the machine down in the midst of the mob. They were completely surrounded by thousands upon thousands of zombies.

"They will let us pass," Stroud tried to assure the others, who were not fighting at their seatbelts to step from the false safety of the bubble they sat behind.

"Can we be sure of that?" asked a worried Wiz.

"Yes, now hurry!" Stroud's voice was tinged with a mix of anxious frustration and a healthy fear of his own as he climbed from the pilot's seat, taking the skull firmly in one hand, his helmet in another. They all got out, strapping on and snapping down the last remaining portions of their protective wear as the zombies looked on in wide-eyed silence, a green eerie glow about them where their own eyes emanated a strange light. They were a ragtag army of people from all walks, all ages and all manner of dress, their clothes torn, soggy and soiled, many wearing clothes stained with blood. Kendra tried to keep her mind focused on Stroud and the skull, as did Wiz, pulling at Leonard to stay close.

The zombies, whose bodies formed the final barricade around the pit leading to the ship, parted as they neared them; they did so in mechanical, silent fashion. "Very obliging," said Stroud.

"Too obliging," replied Kendra.

"Once inside, we will have the upper hand," Stroud promised them all.

"What's to keep these fiends from sealing us inside with this evil?" asked Leonard. "None, none at all! I'm going back!"

Leonard bolted for the helicopter, pulling free of Wiz. Stroud rushed after and the wall of zombies moved in at them as Stroud caught Leonard. The zombies began their eerie chant and Stroud held the skull overhead, reflecting the green glow in a concentrated beam, changing their "Ummmmmmmmmmmm" into a chant of "Esss-ruuuuuu-aaaaaaaad, Esss-ruuuuuu-aaaaaaaad" and making them once again part for the party of fearful scientists. "They won't let us go now, Leonard," Stroud shouted over the din. "There's only one way out of this hell now; only one way--down the damned thing's throat."

Wiz and Kendra supported Leonard as they again moved toward the mouth of the Hell before them. It appeared blacker now than it had been when they had first entered it only a few days before. So much had happened since then; so many people had died, and so many others had been transformed into executioners.

"Move along ... move along," Stroud ushered the others in and Kendra had the unsettling thought that this vile creature was possibly much more cunning than they'd given it credit for, and that Stroud was as yet under its influence the way he was herding them into this black inferno. He looked at her suddenly, as if reading her mind, and said, "Trust me, Kendra ... trust me."

"Yeah ... I'm trying ... trying."

The light in the skull had dimmed as soon as they came within stepping distance of the pit itself. Part of the bow of the ship was visible here and Wiz placed a shaky hand on it, drawing his protected, gloved hand along the petrified remnants.

"Where do we go from here, Stroud?" he asked.

"The geographic center of the ship, but getting to it will be difficult to say the least. We can expect obstacles thrown up along our way."

"Obstacles?" asked Leonard.

"As before."

"But why?" asked Kendra, who had been debriefed by Stroud and the others on the details of their first encounter with the supernatural forces abounding in the ship. Even this deterrent hadn't kept her back. A video recording the same information had been left with Commissioner Nathan in the event they did not return.

"Yes, Abe, why would it place obstacles in our way if it parted the zombies for us?"

"It wants the crystal and Esruad, but it wants them on its terms, and down here, it makes the terms. We must be prepared for anything."

"We are," said Wiz, hefting his dart gun, looking awkward doing so.

Kendra held firm to the wand of her gas jet and said, "I only pray this will be enough."

Stroud saw, as did Leonard and Wiz, that the corridor leading into the pit had widened considerably, dug out by the army of working zombies the evil had employed. Before them lay a network of crisscrossing and parallel tunnels, which ran, it appeared, completely around the ship, the walls dripping with dampness. It was a labyrinth of darkness, cell upon cell of stored carcasses placed in beehive fashion into the walls and covered over with a waxy gauze. Stroud handed the skull to Kendra, investigating one of the cells. There were five dead to a hive, except that they weren't completely dead. Most were maimed, parts ripped from them, some looking as if they'd been bitten near to death, others without skin. They were the victims of the monster that had grown bored with them, and so put aside for later. It was storing the bodies after feeding on them, putting them up with the help of the zombie servants. It would return to them later for a second and third feeding. In so doing, it sapped away their spirits, their souls, Stroud realized.

Kendra and the others were spared the sight of the helpless, limbless creatures put up in storage in small cells oozing with the brown muck of the monster. Stroud knew that they could see the awkward shadows through the gauze and hear the awful babble of men without tongues, but he moved his party along, going ever deeper into the pit. There was only one way to help the suffering, only one way to save the city and the world from this terror.

"We've got to get into the ship itself," Stroud told the others.

"Easier said than done," replied Wiz. "Look."

They stared at the enormous, hideous creature guarding the only entry way open to them, the entrance they had once before used. The thing at the portal of rotten timbers had no visible or discernible face, but its limbs were long, hanging to its sides to what would be the knees on a man. It was bestial in appearance, much like a grizzly bear, save for the fact it had no snout, no eyes, and yet it seemed to be staring out at them from untold eyes as it sent a long, trailing feeler toward Leonard, who raced to get away from it, shouting and jumping.

"Use your weapons!" Stroud said, and they all began to fire on the beast, Kendra sending up a cloud of gas.

"This way, this way!" Leonard was shouting and rushing on, deeper into the pit.

"No! We stand and fight!" Stroud shouted, but Wiz bolted after Leonard, fearing for the man. Kendra felt the tentacle of the beast swipe by her face as she showered it with gas. A thousand screeching voices seemed to be coming from the creature as Stroud grabbed her and pushed her along the path Leonard and Wisnewski had taken.

"Out of here now!" he shouted through his comlink, and she obeyed without hesitation, following in Wiz's footsteps. Stroud, holding firm to the skull, raising it in the direction of the gas fog and the monster that was pursuing them, saw little creatures scampering about his feet and he kicked out at the hairy, sharp-toothed beasts, sending several flying and rolling off in balls of fur. A final one he crushed below his boot, hearing the explosion of its insides as he fired several more darts into the larger, heaving form in the fog.

"Come on, Abe! Now, away!" she shouted for him, and Stroud rushed to fulfill her request without looking back.

Stroud had wanted to take the ship by storm, to battle the first obstacle for the right to enter the ship at what appeared the easiest access. Yet the skull was strangely quiet, the light in it depressingly weak, and it was as if Esruad had abandoned him. Stroud was also disappointed in Wiz and Leonard. Only Kendra had stood her ground in the face of the horror that had approached them.

Kendra was kneeling over Leonard where he had dropped, his breathing too heavy. He'd taken in too much oxygen and was hyperventilating. Wiz stood over his friend, worried, offering words of encouragement and calm to Leonard. When he saw Stroud step from the shadows with the skull in his hands, Wisnewski said, "You shouldn't've forced Sam back here. You shouldn't've, Stroud."

Abe Stroud ignored the remark, catching his own breath, staring down the length of the maze that appeared to go on forever.

"Where's your friend in the skull now?" asked Wiz. "Where is Esruad?"

"Esssssss-rrrrrrrruuu-aaaaadd!" The walls of the labyrinth shook with the eerie voice of the evil here. It was the voice of Ubbrroxx. Stroud saw something moving along the passageway of the underground tunnel, just ahead. It was marshaling its army of horrors against them. The enemy knew every chamber and every underground passage intimately.

"What's holding them in check? What's keeping them from destroying us all now?" asked Stroud. "Only the skull, I assure you."

"If that is the case, we must guard it with our lives," said Kendra.

The moment Stroud stepped away from the others and into a circular room he became agitated. His eyes fell once more on the skull. Where was the so-called power; where was Esruad?

He looked back at where the others had remained and he saw that the walls were bleeding the brown slime substance all around them. "Get out of there! All of you! Now!"

Kendra saw the oozing chemical weapon of the creature as it dripped and spurted from the walls, burning a spot on Leonard's suit and his boot. She and Wiz helped Leonard to his feet and rushed him ahead, Stroud rejoining them to assist with a gob of earth that he smeared on the smoking substance on Leonard's suit and boot, rubbing it off, his own gloves left searing as a result.

Stroud had placed the skull in a pouch he'd slung over his own protective suit in order to free his hands. Kendra saw something burrowing from the earth at Stroud's side, and the ugly, wormy creature raised up out of the earth and snatched at the skull with disgustingly human hands, its eyes like those of a rat. Kendra instinctively screamed for fear, but seeing it reach for the skull, she also fired her dart gun, striking the odd creature a direct blow with the anti-serotonin drug. The creature burst into a fireball beside Stroud, and the odor from its burning brought others like it to the surface to scurry off in all directions from the four humans.

"What the hell're we doing down here! We've got to be crazy!" Kendra started shouting until Stroud grabbed hold of her and shook her hard.

"Get hold of yourself, Kendra! Get hold! We've got to keep our senses and our courage about us, all of us, Dr. Leonard, all of us."

"It's going to torment us and scratch at us and play with us like a handful of mice ... That's what we are to it," said Wiz, who was visibly shaking. "Just goddamned mice in its maze."

"We have to trust in our weapons, trust in ourselves, each other, and ... and Esruad."

"What else can we do? We can't go back the way we came," said Leonard, getting to his feet. "Outside we'd be fodder for those damned zombies. We'd end up like those poor devils in the cocoons, put up like pork waiting to be consumed. We've got to do as Stroud says now. We've got to see this thing through."

"Now you're talking, Dr. Leonard," said Stroud. "A few more minutes, people, and we're on our way."

"How is your suit?" asked Kendra, looking over the blemishes caused by the burning ooze from the walls. She found no rents, so far, but the chemical reaction might yet be eating its way through, she feared.

"We've got to find our way back toward the ship and we've got to find a way inside," said Stroud. "We've got to get to the heart of this darkness. We've got to face it down, and we've got to bring the skull to it under our own power."

"Tall order," commented Leonard "but we haven't any choice. Lead on."

"Are you sure, Abe?" asked Arthur Wisnewski. "Are you sure that it will make a difference? The skull, I mean."

No, he wasn't sure ... wasn't sure of anything, but he had known all his life that there were times when only an act of faith and courage could see a man through. Stroud rushed on, saying nothing in response to Wisnewski's question.

-15-

The tunnels dug out by the zombie army were intricate and complex, designed to confuse them, and they did a very fine job of it as they would enter one room to find themselves having gone around in circles. It was an underground maze meant to tease, and it was filled with the rank visions of Ubbrroxx's play, limbs and torsos of people who had been mercifully killed. It was obvious the creature offered its victims opportunities for escape, but that escape from here was impossible and futile.

"Which way is the ship?" asked Wiz. "Are you certain we're on the right path?"

"It's in that general direction, but so many false tunnels have been created, I can't say which cavern is best to follow."

Stroud felt like he was on a treadmill. They'd traveled already the distance of the ship and back again, and they seemed turned around.

"Let's take a break," said Kendra, tired.

The others agreed. Stroud went into a separate chamber, saying he'd try to consult with the skull.

The others waited for what seemed an interminable amount of time, and growing impatient, Kendra wondered if Stroud had abandoned them. She wanted to call out for him, or go to him, but she recalled the last time she had disturbed him while he was commiserating with the skull--the soul of Esruad, he claimed.

Just as she got up to go find him, Kendra felt a tugging at her leg that toppled her and suddenly she was being held upside down from the ceiling by powerful hands. She screamed as the rootlike, ropy creature that pulled her toward a black hole overhead tightened its grip around her ankles. Wisnewski grabbed onto her, holding firm, shouting for Leonard to help.

Leonard, frozen with fear, stared at the tentacled rope that whipped out at them and threatened to take hold of Wiz and him as well. "Look out!"

"Fire on it!"

Leonard whipped around the gas wand and fired from his canister just as one of the tarantula-like arms of the creature grabbed his own leg. He fired a dart into the hairy tentacle that held him.

Kendra had the presence of mind to do the same, as did Wiz.

The touch of the chemical repellents from their weapons continued to work, as there came a screeching cry of pain and death from the thing that'd crawled out of the roof and grabbed Kendra. Kendra was dropped, falling hard into Wiz. Leonard continued to fire, pouring on the gas now. The thing seemed to be coming apart before their eyes, parts of it falling away, other parts being dragged back up into a hole it had opened.

Stroud rushed into the foray, firing on the last remnants of the long-armed monster again and again as it disappeared into the darkness above them. He rushed to Kendra, helping her to her feet. She was whimpering and shaking, frightened to the bone.

"Where were you, dammit! Where were you?"

He held on to her, although she tried to pull free, angry with him. Taking her clumsily in his arms in the bulky protective wear with the oxygen tank and the other equipment on their backs, the shimmering skull's head poking from Stroud's pack, they looked an odd couple.

Wiz and Leonard were examining something on the ceiling, a part of the creature which had terrorized them. "Stroud, look at this," Wiz was saying.

Most of the creature had disintegrated with flame as the chemical reaction set it afire, but here was a portion that had been torn away and it was moving, dragging itself along the ceiling, weakened. Stroud grabbed hold of it and lifted it to the light. It was a small, evil gnomelike creature with its own set of little arms and legs, a furry, lice-ridden body, gleaming black eyes and razor-sharp teeth. It snarled at them under the glare, trying to tear open Stroud's glove where it was held.

"The larger creature was made up of hundreds, perhaps thousands of these damned sand crabs," said Stroud. "It's the same things that attacked us on our first visit to the ship, gentlemen. The creature covering the entranceway to the ship earlier, too, was made into whole cloth by an interlocking network of these dervishes piled one on another on another."

"They must interlock their bodies, creating the effect," said Wiz.

"Bloody little beasts," said Leonard.

"It will go to a stronger line of defense now," said Stroud as he squeezed the life out of the hateful beastie in his hand, tossing it up into the hole opened by the network of its brethren as it had relentlessly pursued them to this point in the tunnel system.

"Shine your lights here," said Stroud, pointing to the opening left by the creatures. "Damned thing is playing three-dimensional chess with us. No wonder we couldn't find the ship. We've been below it. The floor was on a slight slant the entire way, and we just came in, going deeper and deeper."

"And using up precious oxygen in the bargain," Kendra said.

It was a stalemate, unless Stroud's people could find a way into the sealed ship. "The damned ship is above us." He stared up at the ceiling and the hole with utter curiosity.

"This thing is playing us for all we're worth," said Wiz.

"It wants to play, and yet, growing bored with us down here, it's inviting us in," said Leonard. "Why?"

"The skull. It wants the skull far more than it wants us," Stroud replied.

They all turned to him, staring. There was some new resolution in his voice. Kendra spoke their minds. "Did the skull speak to you again?"

"Weakly ... Seems the energy of the skull is being sapped down here, drawn off by this thing, only adding to its power."

"Then perhaps it was a mistake to enter with it," said Kendra.

"No, we've made the right choices," he told them, "but now perhaps you should all wait at this juncture. I will go on from here with the skull."

"We're in this thing together, Stroud," shouted Wiz.

"We've come this far," agreed Leonard.

"Bravery becomes you both," he said to them. Then he turned to Kendra. "And you?"

"You don't think for a moment I'm going to wait here alone for you, do you?"

"Then let's move on. We've got to get up there."

"I'll go first," said Leonard. "Drop a rope down."

Stroud nodded and helped Leonard up to his shoulders, where he got a firm hold on the level above. He was soon tossing down a rope which he had tied firmly to a stone outcropping above. Wiz started up after, followed by Kendra and finally Stroud.

As soon as they were on the next level, the light in the crystal skull grew stronger. Everyone noticed the change. Kendra wondered again if perhaps they ought not to fear the skull itself, the way the eyes looked at her.

Aboveground, Commissioner James Nathan and his men watched from the rooftops, the distance too great to be of much use, yet there was a definite change in the zombies since Stroud's arrival. It was uncanny, mysterious and a great deal frightening to think that one man, that Stroud, somehow could control these numbers. At the moment, the army of unseeing, uncaring semi-dead just remained frozen in step, as if waiting for a signal from the pit--or from Stroud.

Nathan no longer knew what to believe. All around the mile-wide perimeter of the zombie army, the U.S. Army was being stationed. More men and more weapons. The war would continue here aboveground soon; if the zombies did not end it, the U.S. Army would.

Nathan had spoken to the commander. He had spoken to the mayor, and Bill Leamy had spoken to Washington, D.C., the President.

At the moment, all was poised to give Abraham H. Stroud his chance. Failing this, they'd move in and wipe out every man, woman and child who stood protecting and feeding the heart of this evil.

Nathan had tried on several occasions to contact Stroud's party, to no avail. Something kept jamming the communication line, and so far Stroud had not contacted him. Nathan was growing jumpier by the minute. But the damnable, murderous zombies were as still and as stiff as cut-out cardboard people, like the things Nathan fired on at the range. More and more, Nathan felt he'd have no trouble using a bomb on them.

But now he had the Stroud party in there, in the core of this unholy reactor, and he didn't know what to do about that.

He tried to hail Stroud again. He got a faint voice, going in and out with the static. It sounded like Stroud.

"How are you progressing?" he pleaded.

"Stroud is your enemy," said the voice. "Do not trust him."

"Who is this? Who's on this line?"

"My name is unimportant,"
came the wavering whisper. "Do not trust Stroud"

"Bastard, identify yourself."

But it was gone. Nathan shouted for Stroud to come in. Suddenly Stroud's voice came over, saying, "We've had some difficulty down here."

"Anyone hurt?"

"All are fine, and we're pushing on."

"Where are you? Have you penetrated the ship?"

"Not yet."

"What? You've been in there an hour."

"We've met with several obstacles thrown up in our way."

"Are you near your target?"

"Why, is there a problem up there?"

"Army is here, and chomping at the bit, ready to open fire, and I can't blame them."

Stroud hesitated at his end. "You've got to give us time, Commissioner. We're closing in, but--"

"You've got till dawn, Stroud."

"Dawn?"

"Three hours. And then we unleash the heavy artillery."

"I can't promise we'll be out by then."

"And I can't promise you that it will make a damned difference, Stroud. Too many people up here have lost too many friends and relatives to this thing. They want action, not a ghost hunt on a ship buried below the city."

"We're wasting time, then. Stroud out."

Nathan frowned. He'd hoped that he could convince the fool that he must get his people out of there now. But Stroud was a stubborn son of a bitch. And either brave or stupid. Either way, James Nathan had come to admire the man.

Abe Stroud clicked off the communicator, their only link with the outside, informing the others that they had less than three hours before the Army meant to flatten the place. "Can't stop ignorance," he told the others. "Everyone thinks the disease can be ended if they just bomb the site. We know better."

All of them felt it now as Stroud had felt it right along; they were not alone. They could not see it so much as they could feel it: the definite presence of Ubbrroxx. It was like the fire of a furnace. You didn't have to stand at the furnace to feel the heat.

And the temperature was rising in the pit, rising by leaps and bounds. Inside their protective wear the temperature was rising to ninety, ninety-five and a hundred. Kendra was the first to notice her temperature gauge and ask the others if they were also experiencing difficulties.

They were. All of them. And the tunnel they had chosen to step into was now a river of superheated air. Stroud shouted for them to form a circle, to huddle together and hold on.

The others, not knowing what else to do, did as Stroud instructed. Holding firmly to one another, Stroud shouted, "No one must break the circle. Hold on! Hold on!"

The heat flew over and around them, swirling in a torrent of electrified hatred from the thing in the ship.

Inside the circle of their bodies, Stroud held the skull at the very center of them, which had suddenly become a freezing orb, an icy vapor rising from it. It was a silent conversation to them all, not just Stroud, a visual dialogue among them all as the others saw what Stroud saw: the skull was fighting the fire wind of the damnable tunnel with a preternatural wind of its own. Stroud understood the magical power and sanctity of the circle, that it closed out evil and kept in good. The church with its brethren of believers was the circle.

There were, apparently, all manner of nasty creatures in this underworld, many of which had taken up a long residence here in the pit. Abe had learned of his ancestry, of his special genetic makeup, which had only been enhanced by the steel plate in his cranium. He knew that he alone had the capacity to detect and put an end to the creature in the ship, and that he was indeed the distant ancestor of the brave and curious Esruad.

Abe smelled smoke and saw that their protective wear was being seared by the heat, a thin smoke rising off them all. It threatened to burst the material into flame. The shield of safety around them seemed to be eroding, when suddenly the threat retreated and the air cooled.

"You like it coooooold?" came a voice that barreled down the cavern just before a rush of frigid air, followed by demonic laughter.

"Hold to the circle, all your hands on the crystal!" Stroud shouted, and the crystal turned warm and then hot beneath their touch until they could hold it no longer, and Stroud bent to place it at their feet. The circle crouched with him and withheld the freezing temperatures hurled at them, although their protective clothing was laden with ice.

"It's expending a great deal of energy over this game," said Stroud.

"So is our skull," said Wiz.

Then the brutally cold storm was suddenly lifted. There was not so much as a sensation it was ever there, save for the falling glasslike pieces of ice as their suits thawed. The skull, too, returned to normal.

"Uncanny," commented a shaken Leonard, "simply uncanny."

An unearthly, ungodly stench began to filter through the tunnels. It was so ghastly that they could even smell it through the protection of the oxygen masks they wore.

"What the hell is that?" asked Wiz.

Leonard was pointing a bony finger at the things that now suddenly appeared to block their way. Stroud saw what was to him a nightmare, the vision of several vampires that he had personally killed in Andover a year ago. Their bodies were fully intact, but they walked upright with the metal stakes he had driven into them. The sight unnerved Stroud as he watched the white maggots feeding on the wounds of the vampires who now opened their mouths wide, baring their fangs.

Leonard was seeing some other horror altogether, a creeping, spiderlike creation. Wiz shouted something about anthropomorphids--creatures with human limbs and organs jammed into their anatomy--while Kendra saw giant insects of the praying mantis variety. The creatures gained the distance between them, scattering Stroud and the others. Stroud shouted, "It's using our own worst nightmares against us! It's rummaging around in our heads for our worst fears!"

It seemed to be true, because now one of the awful vampires had turned into the kind of cannibal werewolf Stroud had once combated in the deep woods of Michigan. "Control your fears, people! Control your fears!"

The darts didn't have any effect on the monsters that pushed them back and back along the corridor, returning them to the hole that would send them once again below the ship to weaken the energy of the skull. Stroud could not believe the precision with which the evil Ubbrroxx re-created the fearsome creatures that had been stored in Stroud's mind, down to the sickening "O" pucker of the vampire wishing only to kiss him about the throat, and the slavering of the werewolf. All around him, Stroud heard the members of his party shouting in terror at their own fearsome visions.

Stroud suddenly reached for his weapon, firing the gas at the menacing monsters. They seemed impervious to it. "What do we do?" shouted Kendra, separated from Stroud by four or five feet. Wiz and Leonard, too, were shouting that their weapons were useless.

The skull levitated from Stroud's pouch, spraying the images of the monsters with a strange ray, creating holographic mists of them into which Stroud stabbed his hand. It went through the vampire image. The images continued to threaten, lunge and attack, but they were as harmless as celluloid. Stroud and the others laughed at the effect and their own fears as they now simply stepped through them.

"And it was going to devour us whole. Each of us!" Kendra was telling Leonard, explaining what her eyes told her was there.

Stroud gently caught the skull in his hands. He feared losing Esruad now; he feared having to sacrifice the skull and its potent contents to this demon. Suppose it gave the demon hyper-supernatural power, a kind of superconductivity in the underworld? Could the cure for Ubbrroxx be worse than the disease? Esruad's crystal-imprisoned spirit had said nothing about the chance possibility, yet it now struck Stroud like a hammerblow, and then the voice of Esruad came clearly rolling through the coils of Stroud's brain, as if brought by the flow of his blood. "I have not come this way to strengthen my enemy, but to destroy him."

"How? How can swallowing the power you have do anything but empower him with more strength?"

The other members of the hunting party turned to see to whom Stroud was speaking, and in the shadows, just beyond Stroud and the skull, was an enormous gargoyle like those seen in medieval texts. If not a gargoyle then a vulture with bat's eyes and snout, winged by virtue of a membrane of skin that stretched between talons, its body covered in fine, ratlike hair.

It lurched forward over the skull and Stroud, knocking Stroud into a reeling cartwheel as he tried to maintain control of the skull. But he lost his grip, and the skull floated to the ceiling and the gargoyle took flight, pursuing it, trying to take hold of it and race off with it. The skull moved about the darkness like a small UFO, dodging the gargoyle as the others helped Stroud to his feet. Kendra fired on the gargoyle, striking it with one of the darts, sending the thing into a spiral before it rammed into the side of the cavern, bursting into flame and screeching an unholy wail. In the glow of its burning, Ubbrroxx revealed his eyes amid the smoke, fixing the party in place and demanding they return the way they had come, leaving the skull behind. The eyes were spewing snakes.

It was a horrid sight and it made them back off, gasping, but when the smoke cleared they saw that the gargoyle's impact had opened a hole in the veneer of the wall, a hole that was marked by timbers. Stroud, the skull returned to his pack, went to the opening and fingered the rotted wood. "We've found it, the ship."

-16-

A strikingly warm, vivid, sun-bathed waking dream of heat and wind sweeping over a gleaming pearl amid a desert by the sea filtered through Stroud's mind. It was so powerful an image, so lovely by comparison to the dark hole below Manhattan, that Stroud found himself unable to resist it. It seemed amplified by his own desire to see more of it. He felt himself with a foot in two worlds, two times...

But the scene in his mind, playing like a flower over a silver sea, held him firm, a moth to its glow. He instinctively feared that it was a trick, a feint, but the subterfuge was brilliant in both light and fascination, for as the windswept desert cleared on the jewel, it became a city by the sea ... a long-ago place out of time, shimmering with a remarkable beauty and strength, enticing him closer and closer.

Yet he stood still, aware of the fact he was in the company of three others who were suddenly concerned for his well-being, three fellow travelers on another plane who were counting on his staying with them, remaining strong and vigilant, to protect them. He didn't feel either Wiz's or Kendra's hands on him, nor truly know that they helped him to a sitting position, for he was half a world away now, in another place, captive to the play in his mind ... No longer was he in a confined earthen tube below a great city with a demon anxious to tear out his throat; no longer was he the sword that swayed before the crusade he led here. At the moment, he was not even a weak shield for the others.

Part of him knew this, wished desperately to claw his way back, to not let himself slide down the belly of the beast within, and he mentally twisted back, a contortionist and a masochist, for fighting back only brought on the pain of horrid memories. Still, he fought, not now wanting to let down all his defenses, or to let Kendra and the others down. He had also let himself down. The demon would come and he would be in his own little black hole when it arrived, never knowing, until it was too late ... too late.

Part of him struggled back, but it was too late. The dream overtook him, and he was locked in the seizure that claimed him.

No longer in control of his own mind, Stroud felt a familiar disquiet. He had all these years fought always to be in control. His infrequent, unaccountable blackouts were chaos and mental mayhem, from which an occasional glimpse of inspiration and knowledge might be had, but not always. Far from being psychic tools which he could adroitly maneuver, most of his blackouts amounted to difficulties in his physiological makeup, the "war" between his brain and the metal encasing it. He had come to believe that slight increases in his blood pressure, for instance, set off a corresponding irritating pressure in his cranium due to the pinching of a minuscule dagger from a frayed edge of the aging metal below the scalp. He thought of it as a slipped disk pinching on a nerve, except that his disk was man-made, and the nerve was a central pathway to his brain.

"Give in to me," he heard the black hole inside him say, and it had the familiar voice of peace and tranquillity that he had heard all his life, the voice of Annanias, his grandfather. It was either a sign that he should give in or a clever ruse of the demon here. But where was here? While his body lay inert against a wall of the cave, his mind was in a time nearly three thousand years ago, a time of tranquillity and prosperity for the people of Etruria, and everywhere was the lilting sound of their flutelike instruments, even in the noisy marketplace along the wharf, clanging also with bells and hammers, where haggling merchants sent up a music of their own. A busy place, teeming with life, it was a city that attracted ships from all over the known world, an axis by which others measured time and place and distance.

High on a plateau, above it all, stood the massive temple, some seventy feet high from its base, stretching in a growing spiral of gleaming stone. It shone like moonstone in its sunbath there on the plains of Etruria. From the hills surrounding, looking down on the temple, it might appear to be a fortress to strangers moving in caravans past the city where Esruad had played in the mud-caked passageways as a child.

Esruad had been born with the gift of sight and he had a vision of the temple, even as a child, but he was the son of a shepherd, hardly capable of building such a shrine, and yet he knew that it would one day be built and that he would largely be responsible for its having been built.

As a young man he drew on the knowledge of his mother and grandmother, an ancient who knew the uses of crushed minerals, heated roots and herbs for medicinal purposes. From his father's side, he nurtured what was called a third eye, for the boy actually saw into the souls of men and into the future. He had foreseen the temple where it now stood, and he had foreseen his place in the temple as magician. He worked in cohort with the religious leaders, using his wizardry for nurturing, healing, sweeping away droughts and locusts.

He wore the finest vestments. He prayed before the Etruscan goddess of healing, and as he grew more powerful he produced insights on the future of all mankind, telling fantastic tales of a place where men would fly through the air in great mechanical birds, of cities that would dwarf the temple, of towers that would cut holes in the belly of the heavens and of sailing ships that would one day penetrate to the moon and the stars beyond. The ancient religious center of Etruria had fought Esruad for fear of him and his visions, and the city was split between those at the temple and those at the old site, and the people, too, had divided.

Over one hundred rooms, the temple was a maze through which people made pilgrimages, seeking the healing power of the temple erected to the goddess Eslia, who promised fertile lands and fertile bodies and good health. With them, visiting pilgrims brought small clay figurines of humans, either replicas of themselves or of aged or sick relatives or friends. They came in caravans, day after day after day, lining up outside the gates of the temple, awaiting Esruad and the new order of religious leaders who did not fear him. Esruad would take in the people to his infirmary, dousing them with herbal waters, prescribing medicines, sometimes lancing and cleaning wounds and on occasion performing the miracle of surgery which he had learned of in his visions. Meanwhile, the religious men would convey the small figures of the ailing masses and place them before the altar for several days before they were given a permanent home in a room filled with such figures. The patient was sent away after a time, but the figures remained behind to continue to tell the goddess where it hurt.

The goddess's own likeness was that of a beautiful woman in robes, surrounded by a company of stone lions. An inscription in lapis lazuli was at the base of the statue, proclaiming in the ancient letters of the Etruscans that Eslia was the queen of all the worlds of the universe. Men worked about the temple documenting the business of the temple, of the religious leaders, and they wrote on their clay tablets of Esruad, who was becoming something of a living god among his people. Herbal treatments, recipes known previously only to Esruad, were being set down on stone in the now-familiar wedge-shaped characters used in ancient Etruscan, lettering which Leonard had called cuneiform in nature. Stroud thought of temples discovered near Baghdad and Nippur which had given up rich lodes of Sumerian and Akkadian documents written on clay tablets. Stroud was reminded of figurines left in Mexican churches even now, as cues to the saints to help cure someone.

Stroud knew that some forms of herbal treatments went back as far as the Stone Age, but it was generally felt that the Babylonians and the Egyptians had been the first people to develop a systematic practice of medicine, and most certainly the first to use surgery. Now Stroud knew better.

Esruad shared his knowledge freely, placing himself at the disposal of the historians, giving them specific recipes of herbs to treat various conditions, from eye infection to diarrhea, constipation and fevers, leaving even a restorative for gray hair and baldness. He also left strict directions for surgical procedures of various kinds. He had even left magical incantations to drive out demon spirits and evil gods that threatened the peace and comfort of Etruria, as well as the lesser demons that afflicted individuals. In fact, Esraud had left a complete medical text in the temple which attempted to clarify the complex and delicate relationship between the religious healers, herbalists and magicians quartered at the temple.

Esruad was not the only magician living at the temple by this time. There was a hierarchy of leadership, a council of members, and on large issues, no one man--not even Esruad--had complete say. The Etruscan temple was democratic, allowing conflicting views and much room for intrigue. While Esruad was busy with patients one morning on a sun-baked day in 793 b.c., he felt the earth below the temple shudder. In fact, the earth below the entire city was shuddering like an earthquake. But it was no earthquake. It was Ubbrroxx, the ancient god of destruction and denial, somehow brought to the surface after eons of sleep. His power shook the temple so badly that the statue of Eslia toppled, crumbling about her fearsome-looking lion guard in the manner of cake. Men Esruad had known all his life had gone deaf and dumb, and they walked out to the desert where a gaping hole had broken open in the earth and they began to pray to the voice that they heard emanating from the pit; they forsook all else for the thing in the hole which wanted a temple built to worship it.

It also wanted the sacrifice of 500,000 humans. And so it built its army and Esruad hid in the temple and worked day and night at whatever alchemy he could devise to combat the monster until he realized he hadn't the power to defeat it, because it drew its power from the faith--or lack of faith--of the others. Everyone in the temple had gone by now, and Esruad stood alone--the only man immune to Ubbrroxx's sway. It sent others to drag Esruad down into the hole with it, to end his puny life, but for a time Esruad fought these off with magical weapons that he had devised that were effective against the human zombies.

Then Esruad lost the battle and was dragged to stand before Ubbrroxx, a sight that blinded Esruad there in the pit. Ubbrroxx ordered Esruad to build a temple that would serve as a place where men would worship only the god that fed on them, telling Esruad that when next he came, he would devour five million men, if his wishes were not met.

Esruad agreed to build the temple, saying that he would build it as a great monument to the power of his god, Ubbrroxx. "I will make it easy for you," Ubbrroxx had said to the Etruscan wizard. The demon then turned to stone before Esruad, who, sensing the change, felt around in the dark pit and touched the scalding stone that was left behind. It was a stone likeness of the hideous, enormous, two-headed demon that had spikes and scales over its body.

Esruad gradually regained his sight, a gift from Ubbrroxx, his new god, he assumed. All of those men who had been used by the demon--some of them Esruad's former enemies in the temple--had fiendishly had a hand in feeding the monster its sacrifices. These men, from religious leaders to beggars, from merchants to midwives, were now clear-eyed and coming out of their forced condition of unknowing and uncaring; out of the fog to the terrible and shattering realization of what they had done and had been made to do.

Still, fear reigned. They feared Ubbrroxx and they fell to their knees at his stone self. It took another generation and much planning on Esruad's part to gather the courage and strength required to dare put his plan into operation, but he did it. Ubbrroxx wanted a temple built to surround his stone image. So be it.

But the temple was built in the form of a ship, and the ship, along with all of Ubbroxx's remains, was let loose from its gantry and out into the ocean. Ubbrroxx was taken to a land that was not populated and there buried with his ship beneath a restraining pyramid that covered him. The work took years upon years, but Esruad, using up all of his psychic energy, had read the meaning of the stone demon and it told him that the god inside must remain at rest, and he had convinced his nation of this.

With this done, Esruad had one final duty before he should pass away, before he should never see his sons and grandsons again. In his alchemist cell in the ruins of the old temple, he fashioned the molds with the help of a young and patient apprentice, a grandson who was very good with metals and stones. The boy had fashioned the molds precisely as Esruad had ordered, seven of them in all, to go with the nine smaller ones and the three larger ones. Using the magical numbers of the year when Esruad had come face-to-face with Ubbrroxx, 793, he now mixed the molten crystal and touch of desert earth over which the demon had stood, and he carefully filled the final molds with the steaming, thick soup. The demon-touched sand would ensure the success of his magic, he was sure...

The veterans of the evil time, those who fed Ubbrroxx blindly and without resistance, began dying away, and as each man, woman and child did so, Esruad visited their bedside like a doting priest giving last rites, but Esruad's rites were those of a powerful magical nature which called on the goddess Eslia to assist him in the deliverance of the souls of such men as himself--weak men who had fallen prey to fear, falling into the pit of the unfaithful. Where should such souls reside for the rest of eternity but inside the crystal skulls that would refract and reflect back their gross sins for all eternity? But more important, so that they might have one final chance at redemption by fighting Ubbrroxx the next time it rose against mankind.

Esruad's grandson, sworn to perform the ceremony he had witnessed thousands of times over, now did so over the silent form of Esruad himself. The skull in the boy's hands lit with a shimmering, yellow-to-gold fire for a moment before it went dormant. He then solicitously placed the skull in the deep ruins of the temple.

Years upon years passed and the crystal stones were discovered and traded to kings and pharaohs for their amusement, little knowing that they housed the souls of men and magicians.

-17-

For Stroud, returning was like coming out of a black vortex that spun him around at a dizzying speed, but in an instant, he had returned to the others there in the tunnels. They'd made him as comfortable as possible, propping him against a wall, Kendra being solicitous over him, the concern creasing her face. Stroud began blinking and it drew them all around him. They were at exactly the place he had left them.

"How long have I been out?"

"Ten minutes, maybe less," Kendra said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine ... and you? Wiz, Sam?"

"No problems."

Esruad had selected his time wisely, Stroud thought as he stared at the outer hull of the ship, the belly of the beast, the temple that had become the demon.

"We've had a report from Nathan," said Kendra.

"Did you tell him about my condition?"

"We were afraid you'd slipped back into a coma, Abe," said Wiz. "We had to tell him."

"Well, radio him now; tell him I'm on my feet." With that, Stroud got to his feet, saying, "I'm really all right."

"We were worried," she said.

"Frightened," added Leonard.

"What's going on aboveground?" he asked, changing the subject, embarrassed over what must appear to the others as a weakness.

"Nathan says he can only stall so long before the military takes complete control."

Leonard added, "Those CBS and NBC film crews got the tunnel digging on tape, at least what they could make out of it--the slag heaps outside. At any rate, everyone up there is terrified, Abe ... everyone. And you can't blame them."

Stroud was impressed by the intricacies of the tunnels dug by hand by the legion of zombies.

Wiz raised Nathan, telling him that Stroud was fine, just a temporary thing, he called it. Stroud got on the line, using his comlink. "Commissioner, we're just penetrating the exterior of the ship now. We've run into ... obstacles."

"Understood, Stroud, and make it as fast as possible. People up here getting real antsy."

"We expected obstacles," he said, "and we've gotten them."

"The tunnels?"

"Took us away from the ship.
Long arm of the beast within."

"So what does that make the ship itself? The damned bowels?"

"Something like that."

"You're sure you all want to step into its gut?"

"Not a whole lot of choice, Commissioner. This ... this event is rather complicated, and you might say I had my ticket reserved about three thousand years ago."

Nathan chuckled nervously into the radio, not understanding the implications of Stroud's remarks. Static was beginning to break up the communication. Nathan said that he was pulling for them, and if Stroud made it back alive he'd buy him a New York pizza and a beer.

"You're on, sir. Just plea..."

"What's ... at?"

"...keep ... pack off for ... time we ... greed ... pon."

"Roger ... til dawn. Do every ... in my power."

"Thanks, Commissioner."

"You're thank ... me? Stroud, e ... you're the bravest ... I ever met, or the ... idiotic ... goes for your traveling companions-sss-well ... til next ... Stroud, over'n..."

Kendra went about monitoring everyone's gauges and giving a full report. Everything was in working order, but they had only half the oxygen supply they had entered with. The physical turmoil and emotional stress had taken its toll. Leonard was looking very weak, and even Wiz sat in a depressed slump against the wall just staring at the hull of the ship that now confronted them.

Stroud was fatigued himself, and he did not find fault with the others. He wondered now if perhaps he should not have come alone, but the skull had said three good men with faith and courage were required. He had two men and a woman with him, but he wasn't at all sure of their faith, despite their obvious courage in coming so far with him.

"Once we're inside the ship, gentlemen," said Stroud calmly, "you can turn back at any time."

It was said with such simple sincerity that Kendra and the others just stared at him. Kendra glimpsed the old Stroud in him now, the man she had slept with.

"Is that what your skull tells you?" she asked.

"It is what my heart tells me."

"We just may take you up on that," said Leonard. "My own heart is flapping like a chicken trying to take flight." He tried a laugh but it became a cough.

"If that's the case, what're we sitting around here for?" said Wiz. "Not that I have any intention of leaving you here alone, Abe."

"You face no shame in turning back once we penetrate the hull. It's the reason I was so ... upset when you all ran from the first entranceway we found. So far, we've been playing the demon's game. Now we begin to play our chess pieces."

Kendra stared across at Stroud. He was once again distant, distracted. He was playing some kind of mental game with the demon of the ship. It was as if that byte of information had come straight from his mind to hers earlier when she had thought of it in exactly those terms. She wondered if she and the other two doctors weren't Esruad's pawns in this bizarre war game.

"Yes, let's get on with it, Dr. Stroud," she said.

Before them stood the smooth wall of the ship showing no planking marks, nothing to pin the eye on. It looked like the great belly of a whale. Her eyes used to the dark, her nose used to the damp and clay, she still thought that she could smell the leviathan's rotting carcass, and that she could see the nearly imperceptible, inaudible breathing as the ribs of the whale moved in and out. She eerily wondered if they were about to be swallowed up by the whale.

It was as if the thought had been spoken aloud, for Stroud stared at her, drawing near to her mask so that she could see the expression on his face when he said, "Yes, Kendra, the beast has become the ship, and the ship the beast; we are about to step inside the beast once we lance a hole in its belly."

What he was saying, and the way he said it, frightened her more than anything she had seen down here. "You must all return after you enter," he said.

"What about you? Do you expect to die here?" she asked.

"Leave me to my fate."

Deceptive appearances had made of the ship wall an impenetrable leviathan, but it was far from impenetrable. It gave at the touch. Breathing heavily on it made it move like cardboard.

Decay was the operative word here in the bowels of the ancient ship. Immediately the archeologists went to work, examining the petrified wood that had become like stone to the touch, almost like charcoal. Yet covering the exterior, was a layer of living fungus and mushroomlike growths which turned into a profusion of flying spores at the slightest touch. "What holds the damned thing together?" asked Stroud.

"The earth here is almost pure clay. It has retarded the natural decay of the wood, and the wood itself--teak would be my guess--" began Wiz.

"Yes, teak beams, imagine it," agreed Leonard, staring.

"The Estrucans were master shipbuilders."

They had stepped inside the ship, and the moment they did so the Etruscan skull, which had somehow fallen into the hands of the pharaoh of Egypt, and had been buried with him, began to glow with a singular orange-to-yellow light. It went bright with the color, dimmed and became bright again, dimmed and brightened, dimmed again, as if breathing, until it finally settled on a glow similar to the sodium-vapor light of a modern streetlamp.

"Damned thing gives me the creeps almost as much as this ship," said Kendra.

"Don't you see that the closer we get to the true cause of the evil here, the stronger Esruad's power becomes?" asked Stroud.

"All I know is that our time is running out."

"Look, look here," said Wiz, pointing. It was a stack of terra-cotta bowls, ladles, jugs, cups. "These will help to date the ship," suggested Wiz.

"Very similar to the terra cotta taken from the Kyrenia ship," said Leonard, "somewhere about 700 b.c."

"Closer, then, to the Yassi
Ada ship discovered--"

"We haven't time, gentlemen," Stroud told them.

"Over here," said Leonard. He led them to a collection of double-headed axes, pickaxes, a hoe, a shovel, billhooks, pruning hooks, hammers, knives, punches, gouges, files, chisels, bits and thousands of wooden peg nails.

"Such instruments prove vividly that the Etruscans were most certainly an independent empire, Stroud."

"Count on it," said an elated Leonard, who pulled forth a camera he had smuggled in. He began snapping picture after picture with the 35mm. "We must record this."

"God, if we could only do this right," said Wiz, "with stereophotography, with care and--"

"Gentlemen, this isn't a typical archeological site," shouted Stroud. "It's possessed of the father of evil. I understand your professional concerns, but we must be realistic."

"Take as many overlapping photographs as you can here, Leonard," said Wiz. "We are not coming away from this empty-handed, Dr. Stroud."

Frowning, Stroud said, "I have to push along, for the center of the ship." The others didn't have the slightest idea that the entire staging of this event was somehow meant for Stroud and Esruad to come together at this point in time, to face the evil of the ship together, that it was all somehow predetermined when Esruad had worked his magic to imprison himself and thousands of other souls in the crystal skull.

"Get some pictures of the timbers, Leonard," Wiz was saying now.

Stroud cleared away some of the debris along the bottom and found the keel, which was a forearm's width. It ran into the next cabin and the next, down through the ship. Leonard clicked off pictures of the find. "The keel will be attached to a stern piece and presumably a similar bow piece. Then the builders added the teak planks," said Stroud, his own archeological interests peaked now.

Kendra Cline looked into the ominous maw of the next cell of the ship, wondering what lay in wait for them there.

"Yes," Wiz was agreeing with Stroud, "the builders added the teak to the ribs on each side, secured in the classical fashion by tenons set into the thickness of the adjoining planks. Such workmanship!"

"And thought to be known only by the Greeks and Romans," added Leonard.

"So that places the waterline at the approximate level of two decks above us," said Stroud.

"Right reasoning," agreed Wiz.

"All right, so we have our direction for up, but which way is stern and which is bow, and how close are we to the center?" asked Stroud.

"Almost impossible to say."

"Time is running on, Abe," said Kendra, getting antsy, "and why's it been so ... so calm?"

"Licking its wounds, perhaps," he suggested. "We've penetrated the ship for a second time. That's got to worry the bastard thing."

"I hope you're right."

"Well, we have a direct corridor that way," said Stroud, "but should we take it?"

"It could be another trap," agreed Kendra, staring at the black hole ahead of them.

Stroud checked a gyrocompass he'd brought with him. "It's pointing north, and if the bow was, as you say, pointing east, then we must go a little north to get to the center."

"Let's go," said Wiz.

Leonard nodded. Stroud led them, his light immediately picking up the markings on the wall here. They were like rock carvings, crude yet detailed, of a whale, a lizardlike creature and some strange markings. Stroud indicated the markings to the others and his light picked them up clearly, causing Wiz and Leonard to tarry more. The representations meant nothing to Kendra, and yet she, too, was drawn to them:

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"Sperm whale," said Leonard, Wiz agreeing with a grunt as both men studied the markings. Leonard snapped more photos. Then, at their feet, they saw scattered piles of human bones and skulls. Stroud held Kendra back as the two scientists climbed over the find, studying the bones with quick eyes.

"Ancient human bones."

"Frequent bony growths on the surface of the joints," said Wiz. "Our Etruscan friends, young and old, suffered badly from arthritis. Probably the cool and damp of Etruria." Among the bones, Wiz picked out a long necklace of carefully perforated whale teeth.

"Well, we begin to know a little more about these people," said Leonard, taking the beautiful necklace from Wiz and staring through his face mask before Wiz placed it into a pouch and put it away.

Then suddenly all the bones in the place began to rattle and move and rise. They were now being hurled at the party of the living that had dared to enter this death ship. The bones struck with great force, the skulls hurtling at them with such ferocity that they backed from the area, unable to go on. From the portal of the other room, they watched the dance of the bones, which was more like flight of the bones as they hurled round and round the room, creating a dense curtain, a kind of energy field that held Stroud's party in check.

"What do we do now?" asked Kendra.

"Take out a wall," said Stroud, angry. He hurled himself at a wall and it was like going through cardboard. He was on the other side, drenched in spores and fungi that had exploded into a shower of dust with his effort. "We need to move up from here," he told the others, jabbing at the overhead planks. It took only the slightest hit to bring down the roof over them. Cascading debris rained around them, the dust creating a fog that was eerily lit by the skull as Stroud lifted it and held it up, moving it in a circular fashion here. The light penetrated the dust cloud only so far and gave them no warning of the hellish creatures the other side of the dust. Flying at them from nowhere came some thirty enormous moths, the size of cub bears, with huge mandibles, trying desperately to tear away their masks, perforate their clothing and get at the flesh inside. Their wings beat like small claps of thunder, and a screech at a piercing level filled the room as the power of their wings stirred the grainy dust cloud into an even greater pitch of confusion; this cut their sight so badly that they could not see one another.

"Stroud!"

"Kendra! Kendra!"

"Leonard, are you there!"

"Use your weapons! The gas!" shouted Kendra, who fired away.

"Don't let them get your clothing!"

"Son of a bitch!"

The gas sent one and then another and another of the batlike moths crashing to the floor and into the walls, sending up an ever-thicker curtain of mold and flying bacteria and dust particles. Stroud searched the darkness blindly, feeling his way, careful not to let the skull from his grasp. He called out to Kendra, and she to him, until they found one another. Wiz and Leonard joined them.

"Is everyone all right?" asked Kendra.

"One of them tore a rent in my suit," said Leonard, shaken.

"I've patched it," said Wiz, "but I'm not so certain that will help."

"How do you feel, Dr. Leonard?" asked Kendra.

"Aside from having my brains and my bowels emptied by fear?" he replied. "All in one piece. So far, I'm all right."

Kendra examined Leonard's gear, giving a thumbs-up sign, but saying, "At the first sign of trouble with your breathing, Doctor--"

"I'll let you know, Dr. Cline."

"Be certain that you do."

"We've got to get above," said Stroud.

"How will the timbers hold us?"

"Good question. Maybe we'd best hold up here a moment, take time to gather our bearings," suggested Wiz.

"Yeah, time for a rest," said Leonard, flopping down.

Kendra watched Leonard closely, concerned about his condition. It may be more than fatigue, in which case he'd have to come out of his protective wear to take a hypodermic.

"All of you stay put. I'm going ahead with the skull."

"But, Stroud!" began Wiz.

"No arguments! It's between Esruad and that thing in there now. Remain here. It's likely to concentrate its efforts on me and the skull if you stay back."

Kendra rushed to him, holding on. "Come back to us, Abe Stroud."

Ignoring her plea, he tossed a rope overhead and caught a large wooden beam. It looked as if it would hold as he put his weight against it, pulling himself up and up until he was through the opening. He called down, "If I'm not back within the hour, you're all to vacate the ship and the tunnels, get back to the surface any way you can."

"We won't leave you, Stroud!" she cried.

"You do as I say, do you hear! Dr. Wisnewski, Leonard."

"We will do what we must," said Wiz, a sadness in his voice.

"Contact Nathan. Bring him up to date," said Stroud to them. "Plead for more time." He looked at his gauges: air was running out along with time.

"Take some extra of the gas," said Kendra.

But Stroud declined, saying, "No, you may need it to ward off any further attacks."

"You're sure you want to play it this way?"

"Absolutely, yes."

"Alone ... you'll be all alone," said Kendra.

He hefted the orange-glowing skull of crystal. "Not entirely"

Stroud had found some side timbers which were almost firm, but he slipped again and again, and the sounds coming from beneath his feet threatened to send him crashing through to the deck below, when suddenly he felt a strange weightlessness and he realized that he was hovering above the boards over which he walked, and that Esruad's crystal skull was at his feet, guiding his steps, creating the magic of walking on air.

He moved along the black wall of the ship, thinking of his ancestry: his grandfather, a great man whose dark secret was that he stalked and killed vampires. Stroud's grandfather had descended from the man who had destroyed Dracula, Van Helsing, whom the world remembered as a fictional character. Stroud's family knew better. Stroud's thoughts of his grandfather brought a quiet calm, and then his grandfather's voice rose from within his mind, saying, "Trust Esruad ... for he is one of us."

Stroud knew that he could trust his grandfather's voice as he had in the past. All of his own inner fears and doubts about the power inherent in the crystal skull began to fade as he realized that he, Stroud, carried the genes of the Etruscan who had committed himself to the eternity of the skull.

In an excited state now, Stroud recalled the teachings of his grandfather. That which seemed impossible, even incomprehensible to most men--supernatural beings at work in the world--was in fact quite simple, strangely, even "natural." How else to explain the transmigration of the souls of men, how that very soul could be stripped from a man, or encased in crystal as had become the fate of Esruad? The battle for the soul was the oldest and most fundamental fought by mankind.

And now it was being fought again...

Christ's own soul had risen from the blood of the man he had become. In man's own veins lies his final destination.

Somehow, via some unnatural, sinister alchemy, dark forces had appeared in the world, beings taunted the soul and chipped away at it; their ultimate aim was not carrion or even the red life's blood. With the stolen flesh and blood, these things stole the souls of men and women ... That is what Ubbrroxx demanded. And with each soul conquered, its dark evil flourished greater and greater. Ubbrroxx, satanic genius, natural- and supernatural-bound and inextricably mixed, like God and Satan. This was the battle being fought here now. Good and Evil, evolution and mutation and all that lay between the two...

Then Stroud was suddenly on a hard surface which was less than solid ground. For the brittle pieces that made up his floor skittered away and rattled across one another as he stepped, threatening to send him over the side. It was a truly enormous boneyard that reached up from the bottommost depths of the evil ship at the juncture where he stood, the remains of 500,000 carcasses. Stroud's booted feet sent bones cascading down the sides of this mountain into what appeared the way to Hell. The bones formed a wobbling mass over which he now climbed on all fours. He had no idea how large this mountain of bones was, or how far it went beyond the beam of his light, and time was running out...

He must surely find his enemy, the enemy of all men, somewhere out there on the other side. But which way? And was he up to it? Did he really have the courage to go on, even if he knew which direction to take, and most important, if he really knew and understood the enormity of the evil waiting just beyond the dark side for him? Why him? Because he was a Stroud? Was being a Stroud reduced to this--a curse? What would happen if he should fail? What would have happened had he not been pulled off that plane by Leonard and Wisnewski, if he had gone quietly home to Andover, Illinois, and from there on to a new archeological adventure on the other side of the globe, leaving New York to be sacrificed to Esruad's evil god?

How very strangely life worked, Stroud thought, as if in the same pattern that emanated from the earth over which water rapidly carved its movement. At the moment, Abe Stroud felt like a mere crystal of sand over which time itself was washing.

"Esraud cannot save you," whispered Ubbrroxx in his ear, and yet the voice filled the room. "You are mine now ... as he was mine once..."

"Never!" shouted Stroud, tumbling loose particles from the ship with the sheer energy of his own voice. "Never, you bastard thing."

"Be strong in your belief, Stroud. Hold firm to what you know of me." It was Esruad's voice, the voice of the skull. "Trust in me, not in anything else--not even your own eyes. I trusted my eyes, and for it, I had my eyes and my soul put out."

"You are ... blind?" Stroud quaked with the idea.

"Those imprisoned in the skull are all blind fools ... fools who did not see in life, and so who do not see in death."

"So I am to trust a blind fool?"

"Yes."

Stroud wondered what Esruad was trying to tell him. Much of their discussion here in the ship had to be in a cryptic kind of code of half-truths and innuendo, as the skull had alerted him to the fact that their enemy would monitor all their communications, just as it would monitor any communication through any modern devices he used with the others and those on the outside. Ubbrroxx would then use whatever information it could gather from these communications against Stroud.

"You may have to sacrifice the woman," Esruad had told him again, and once again Stroud said that he could never bring himself to do so.

"You must if it means winning. You must win against this evil, Stroud."

The inner monologue welled and waned inside his head like the sea tides, and there was a faint echo, also inside his head, as if bouncing off the steel plate which was acting as a kind of radar. The echo was Ubbrroxx, or that part of him that he sent out to infiltrate Stroud's mind, to gather in his thoughts, desires, fears and anguishes. Ubbrroxx was there now picking over the beaches of his memories, both good and bad, beautiful and ugly. He sensed it inside his head, but fortified with the warning that this would occur, he expected many seductions would follow. Stroud girded himself up.

The idea that Esruad knew every step the demon would take might have instilled a keen suspicion in Stroud if it were not for the shared secrets of the Etruscan's own worse nightmare: that Ubbrroxx would continue on and on and on through eternity feeding off mankind in ever greater numbers.

It appeared that Esruad's nightmare and Stroud's own coincided, and for this reason Stroud had decided to place his complete faith in the ancient wizard. But giving over Kendra to the beast ... Stroud still wondered if he could do it.

"You must," Esruad whispered in his ear, sounding now as demanding as the demon. "You have no choice."

-18-

Commissioner James Nathan could not believe the eerie calm that had come over the site of the devastation where 500,000 zombies stood against them, frozen in place. Some of his key people felt this was the time to attack, and so did the military brass, but he had made a promise to Stroud and he intended to keep his word. But holding off the others was getting increasingly difficult, especially since they had heard nothing from Stroud in an hour.

Then the communication came through from Kendra Cline, informing him of their situation, and that Stroud had gone on alone.

"How is Dr. Leonard now?" Nathan asked.

"Holding."

"And Wisnewski?"

"We're alive," said Wiz in response. "Our spines are like rubber, but otherwise we are fine. You must keep your people out, Nathan, do you understand? They wouldn't survive even a moment down here, son, believe me."

"What is Stroud doing, going on alone?"

"He has his reasons. We're counting on him, all of us," said Leonard, "possibly the entire human race, as it is shaping up. Because this thing will come again in the future, and each time it returns, it will devour more and more and more..."

"You people have a little over an hour before you've got to get clear of there, do you understand? The Army intends to shell the entire site at dawn."

"Stroud needs more time than that, Commissioner," Kendra pleaded.

Nathan shook his head and said, "I can't buy him a minute more. You people best start back now."

"No, Commissioner," said Leonard. "We stay until Stroud returns."

"Don't be fools!"

"You heard Dr. Leonard," said Kendra. "If you intend to bury Stroud here, we'll be buried with him." She hoped her bluff would buy the time Stroud needed.

"Wisnewski, you can't be as idiotic as your friends!"

"I've long been noted for my idiocy, Commissioner." He laughed into the communicator before they shut Nathan off.

Topside, Nathan seethed with frustration and anger, the feeling of helplessness so overwhelming as to make him see red.

"You should never have allowed those fool scientists in," said a Captain McDonald of the U.S. Armed Forces Special Services who was itching to turn his men loose on the zombies and his mortars loose on the pit.

"All I know is that we had a deal, McDonald, and you're going to stick to it, to the last minute!" Nathan knew that negotiating another second with McDonald and the others was useless. He stormed away from the other man to have another look through his field glasses at the calm before the storm.

He thought about his last conversation with Stroud, and the grim feeling that he would never hear the other man's voice again settled over him like a shroud. But he must resist the impulse to assume that Stroud and the others were doomed to failure, that there was no hope for them, for without that hope, James Nathan believed there was no other hope on the horizon. He didn't for a moment believe that the battery of tanks and howitzers being moved into place by the military was any match for the kind of power he had seen firsthand.

New York was his city, and on a normal night, he'd be able to look out over the harbor, maybe take his sixty-footer out for a night cruise to turn her to leeward and stare back at the jeweled necklace of the city in lights, following the constellations along the sensuous path where she lay snug against the harbor, winking ... always winking. To most people, in and out of the city, New York was a sprawling madhouse built on the shoulders of an Atlas whose main interest was commerce; to James Nathan the city was a graceful lady lounging as carelessly as a disinterested goddess like those you might see in a Babylonian temple, all-powerful and all around, and yet unseen ... just out of sight and out of range of the dimension of mankind. Until you wounded her. She could be as dangerous and unyielding as the ocean, as treacherous as a mountain glacier, callous, cold, warm as her mood dictated.

James Nathan had felt the pulse of the sensuous living thing that was New York City, and even with all her ills, she was a towering woman of substance--never to be taken for granted--and as for beauty, a modern Mesopotamia where most lived out their lives, nestled in her bosom, but never knowing her. Like lice on a mammoth elephant, krill in the presence of the whale. Most busy with their little ruts, their minds frantic with schemes that centered on themselves...

People ... what else was to be expected?

What can I take from her, from this goddess called New York? That is what people wanted to know. Take from her, always taking, stripping, biting out large chunks of her, but here was Stroud, a stranger to her, come to unselfishly give his life for her. Amazing...

Nathan, a native of the goddess, had spent his life below the temple of her lights, even as a small boy in a two-room flat with his mother, helping to support her through illness and alcoholism. He recalled nights on end, looking out his dirty little window over that grocery store at the towering monoliths that looked like the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz, the lights gleaming so proudly that they sent shards of themselves as far away as here, to him. He saw the towers, the lights she held out to him in the darkness, and dreamed of one day taking something from her as well. All his life had been a struggle to become, and now he had reached his goal.

Now it was time to give something back to the city, and that prize was a man named Abraham Stroud. His home was threatened, and he had had to trust in a man who was more than just a man, a man who had some hold over the evil from below. Nathan found a dark corner in the bunker he shared with the radioman, gave a passing thought to his dead mother and prayed silently for Stroud's success.

Abe Stroud decided it was time to communicate with the others left behind, to be certain they were all right, and to tell them it was time they began back toward the surface, to get as far from the ship as possible. He reached Kendra, who had been for some time trying to get his attention on the comlink.

"Abe, why didn't you answer? We were worried sick--"

"Never mind that now. Did you reach Nathan?"

"Yes, but--"

"Did you gain any more time?"

"You'd best not bank on it, but we told him we weren't leaving you."

"Well, you are leaving, right now. All of you, out."

"Abe, the moment they see us surface, your life's forfeit! We won't do that. We can't."

Stroud suddenly heard screams coming through. Kendra and the others were under attack once more. He shouted for clarification but the static and the shouts ended and he knew no more than he did before. He was about to rush back when suddenly he tripped as he scurried over the bone pile. He got up readily and continued, but he fell once more, his feet plunging into holes opening up in the pile below him moments before he felt the quake that sent him onto his stomach again.

Stroud heaved to free himself of the bones, which seemed now to be tugging at his feet, pulling him down, ripping at his protective wear, snatching at his boots. Looking down, he saw that fleshy arms had risen from the bone pile and were tearing at him, attempting to pull him under where he would suffocate below the bones. He kicked out at them, but they seemed to be without feeling. He snatched at the wand to fire the gas, but he was hauled down and was being sucked into the quicksand of the bones.

"Esruad!
Esruad!" he called out for help as he clambered for his footing. The skull rolled from the pack on Stroud's back, sending out a searing light that instantly covered the bones in a kind of radiation that stung the fleshy hands and arms reaching up for Stroud, making them loosen their grip. Stroud scrambled to his feet, finding his suit had been ripped in several places. The bulky outfit was of no further use, and so he began to tear it away. He stood in the light of the skull, bathed in it, and he somehow knew it would protect him far better than the synthetic clothing, and the paltry remainder of his oxygen tank.

Suddenly the bones opened up, and Stroud found him-self on the other side of the "feast" leavings of the creature, cascading down and down, falling with a powerful thud, the skull lost somewhere atop the mountain of bones. Stroud struggled to maintain consciousness, the glow of the orange aura of the skull weak but still a shimmering outline around him.

"Esruad ... Esruad," he moaned, but the skull did not respond. He was stunned and fought for clearer vision.

Stroud saw a hideous creature burning with fire leap into view, coming straight for him. Stroud instinctively recoiled, believing the touch of the creature would set him instantly aflame. The monster reeked of decay and it burned as if made of gaseous materials, and yet it bore the look of a desiccated body. Stroud recognized the apparition as what Wiz called a lich, the single most powerful form of the undead. It greatly resembled a mummy in its tattered appearance, but those tatters and hanging strips of cloth were once flesh. The creature's eye sockets were empty, dead blackness with a green pinpoint of piercing light at each center that served for eyes. It was obvious this thing saw best in the dark. An aura of death and coldness radiated from it despite the fire all around it.

According to Wiz's books, the lich had been a wizard or priest in life, damned to an eternal hell. The bits of cloth still dangling from the soupy, lumpy body were supposedly magical. But also, according to Wiz's books, the touch of the creature could send a living man into a frozen state of paralysis, to make him utterly unable to move.

It lunged at Stroud and missed as he sidestepped, averting its touch. The bone pile it careened into turned to burning rubble, so intense was the heat of its touch. Somehow this lich had reversed the potency of its touch and commanded enough heat to sear bone or to cremate Stroud.

Stroud didn't know what to do. The creature advanced and he fired the gas, fearing the gas would also kill himself should he inhale enough of it. But Stroud found that the magical light surrounding him acted to keep the gas out. But the lich, too, was protected by the fire around it, which consumed the gas, dissipating it. It was immune even to modern charms, Stroud thought. The lich sent out a green light from its center, which took the shape of a dragonlike snake, enormous and weaving between them, readying to strike. Stroud saw human eyes in the snake-dragon's hideous head, and he knew the creature at the center of the ship was now placing all its energies into destroying Abraham Stroud, and taking possession of the skull on its own terms.

With the formation of the dragon-snake, which was as large as a helicopter, the lich's fire dimmed and receded.

Stroud backed away from the serpent creature that began to strike, first at his left, then his right. Stroud felt out of control, felt as if he were on the verge of defeat. He saw the lich circling to his other side. The two creatures were backing him along a dark corridor that no doubt would end in his death.

"Esruad!" He invoked the name again and again, searching the darkness for the lost skull when suddenly behind him there appeared another lich, more vicious and ugly than the first, but whose vestments were in much better repair, showing a nobility about them. This lich's eyes spewed forth an orange fire and its skull was neither dirty or filth-ridden, as there was no skin, hair or gooey soup streaming from it. In fact, the skull looked absolutely sleek now that Stroud could see clearly as this one neared him.

Completely surrounded now, Stroud heard the second lich speak his name. "Stroud, I am with you. It is I, Esruad."

Stroud feared it was a trick, but he looked more closely at the lich's features, and alternating with the dead skull was that of the crystal skull. The orange-eyed lich was smoking like the first one, except that it smoked with a freezing-cold air that frothed off it, and inside of this, at the heart of it, there was a visible fire.

"Defend yourself!" shouted Esruad's new form, a form that required all of the energy of the skull. In Esruad's hand appeared a sword of ice that he plunged at the fiery lich, which now backed carefully away, a fire sword appearing suddenly in its grasp, materializing from within it.

Esruad attacked, the two swords pounding overhead, ringing with a spectral clash, fire and ice shattering in all directions as the serpent with its dragon body leaped onto Stroud, whose protective outer current was losing its charge.

Stroud saw the serpent head come at him with its fangs about to strike when his own scream mingled with that of the first lich. Esruad had stabbed it through its center and turned it to stone, and then the serpent dragon fell atop Stroud like a gunnysack, dead and reeking of years of decay, molten with an oozy layer of soup that sent waves of disgust through Stroud. Barely had he gotten to his feet when another snake-dragon attacked from behind, knocking him to his knees. This one had dropped from overhead where it had been clinging to the ceiling. Stroud felt the fangs lock into his throat like two enormous meat hooks; he felt the blood gush up and out, draining down his back and chest. He was in its clutches, and it had him near death when Esruad lobed it in half with his ice sword.

Stroud, weak and trembling from the venom coursing through him, knew that he was a dead man, that there was no way out from this point on. He didn't even have the strength to push away the monster that spilled its insides over him. Esruad had to do this, too, for him.

But as Esruad did so, Stroud found the strength to drag himself away from the ugly, desiccated features of his ancient ancestor, for Esruad's appearance was as gruesome as the other lich. Esruad was a lich, a long-dead wizard who had come back to life, and he seemed to grow in strength here amid the horrors of his avowed enemy, Ubbrroxx. In fact, he almost seemed to draw his new existence from the creature, as if he was in cohorts with it and had played Stroud for a fool.

"Yes, I draw strength from this place, but not from the demon," said Esruad, reaching a spindly, dead hand to him. "You have brought me to the realm where I can flourish in order to fight our common enemy, Stroud. You must continue to believe, for if you fail to do so, I can't protect you any further."

Stroud didn't know what to believe, and yet Esruad had warned that it would come to this. Ubbrroxx was deliberately placing doubt in his mind, dividing their combined strength.

And here stood Esruad as Stroud had never seen him before, his sword gone back inside the body from which it had materialized, standing in tattered yet royal raiments that hung limply on a once noble frame below the mummified creature that had stepped from the ages.

"You have no reason to fear me," Esruad almost shouted, angry at Stroud's reluctance. "If you fear me, if you doubt me, the venom of the creature will take you. Fight your eyes, Stroud. Use that mind of yours! That will."

Stroud had been warned by the skull time and again about appearances and deceptions, but he had not been prepared for Esruad's graveyard exterior.

Esruad came closer. Stroud flinched involuntarily. Overhead and surrounding them came the laughter of Ubbrroxx as if he were watching the scene unfold. The demon's voice said, "You have lost your human helpmate, Esruad. Now you are alone."

Stroud pulled away but Esruad draped himself over Abraham. Stroud saw the flesh-peeled body black out everything else; simultaneously, he felt an overwhelming weakness overtake his vision and his mind as he slipped helplessly into unconsciousness, falling deep into what he sensed was his last sleep as the venom reached toward his brain.

"No! No! No!" shouted Esruad at Stroud. "Nooooooo!"

Ubbrroxx's laughter shook the ship, shook its own whale belly.

Esruad looked around him, trembling so badly that the loose tatters of his death shroud shivered like leaves. But as he trembled, he put his hands through and into Stroud's midsection. Esruad's entire frame lit with a yellow to gold to orange light. As he worked over Stroud's body, he appeared to be mourning a terrible death.

Kendra lashed out with everything remaining to her. They'd come in bands, the little rodent things scurrying along the ship walls, rafters, floor, like an army of crawling bugs. There were too many of them and some had escaped the gas and darts long enough to get at their protective wear, ripping into the cloth with vicious shrews' teeth, opening all of them up to the danger of the unholy infection. She'd been talking to Stroud when the first attack occurred.

Now she was separated from Dr. Leonard and Wiz and searching for them. Wiz called out on seeing her light. "Here, over here!"

They'd retreated to the tunnels, and in the gas fog and confusion she hadn't. Now she saw that her suit pants were torn open by the awful little beasts sent to torment them and make of them three more victims to the horror here.

Stroud remained their only hope, but now she couldn't raise him on the comlink, and the eerie silence at the other end sent shivers of fear through her along with the vile virus that must surely be coursing through her now.

"Dear God, dear God," Wiz was saying when she reached him and collapsed beside him. "Leonard is not good."

Wiz's clothes, too, had been torn asunder. The fact they were still on oxygen helped, but for how long? The oxygen was fast being depleted with each scare thrown into them in this horror house. Kendra knew that a normal respiratory rate was fourteen to sixteen breaths per minute. A mental check of her own rate had her up around thirty-five. She hadn't lost any blood, had taken no bites, and for this she considered herself lucky when she saw the blood splotches over much of Leonard's body. The vile things had gotten to him, and their poisonous bites had thrown him into shock. She went desperately, perhaps futilely, to work over him, injecting him with what she prayed was a proper antidote, but as she did so Leonard, his eyes wide and without pupils, attempted to tear away what remained of her mask, snatching at her air hose, trying to get at her face any way he could.

Wiz pulled Leonard's arms from her, shouting uselessly at Leonard, who suddenly slumped over, dead. "My God, my God," repeated Wisnewski, whose remark was answered by a horrifying, building laughter that seemed to come from everywhere around them and then from Leonard's body, which was suddenly moving as with a mechanical life of its own. Leonard's frame lifted and he came at Wiz, extending his hands toward the other man, saying, "Help me, Wiz ... help me ... My God ... My Gawwwwwwwwwd!" This was followed by a bloodcurdling laugh. "Your God does not exist here! I am your god here! Kneel before your new god!"

Kendra fired one of her last darts into Leonard's body, causing it to crumple.

She rushed to a shaken Wisnewski, who could not bring himself to look on Leonard.

"We're next ... we're next," Wiz mumbled and blubbered.

"No, we're out of here. Come on, Dr. Wisnewski, come on!" She began to lead him back toward what she believed to be the way they had come to this part of the ship. "We'd best do as Stroud said. I ... I can't raise him any longer on the communicator."

"You don't suppose ... you don't believe that ... that he, too, is ... dead?"

Kendra couldn't bring herself to say what she believed.

-19-

Stroud was somewhere between darkness and light, life and death, but he did not know how far to one side or the other he stood, or rather lay--or was he swimming weightless amid the acrid odors of the death ship and all the horrors of the grave it represented? He only knew that he was being buoyed up and up, carried off and away by a power that was not his own. He smelled fire and yet he felt ice as it burned into his abdomen. The venom of the serpent coursing through his veins? Probing, squeezing his insides?

Stroud was eleven years old and trapped beneath the seat, the car aflame. His father's body was slumped over the wheel, the horn blaring. His mother's body was somewhere outside, thrown from the car despite her seat belt. Young Stroud had been asleep one moment and listening to the screams of his parents the next. They'd been on their way back to Chicago from Andover, from his grandfather's house. His parents had talked of one day taking charge of his grandfather's affairs in Andover, of taking control of the family estate there. And now they were dead. And now he was trapped in the burning vehicle, his arms pinned beneath him, his body half under the seat in front of him, where his father's body had now begun to burn.

He screamed and screamed and screamed and then some powerful hands reached in and hefted him from the fiery wreck. It had been a policeman, who had raced to the scene when he saw the flames.

He was taken in by his grandfather Annanias, raised by the old man, never knowing until long after his grandfather's own death at the hands of the Andover Devil that his parents had been murdered and that he, too, had been a target of the Andover Devil. Stroud had only learned the truth after years of being away, and after several visitations at Stroud Manse by the ghost of Annanias. He had taken so much on faith all his life from the old man; and then he had to take so much on faith from the old man's ghost.

He knew he must do the same now with Esruad; that Esruad was just another form of Annanias, working through the depths of other generations, other dimensions.

Stroud wondered if it was too late, however; if his lapse of faith had not breached their carefully tempered bond. He wondered if the demon had not already destroyed the delicate balance, and was not at this moment watching him squirm on a slowly revolving spit. That's how hot Stroud felt, as if he were roasting from the inside out.

Then he suddenly retched--a good sign, a sign of life. Spasms shook him with the strength of ice to the tenth power lodged in his bones. The stiff iciness was becoming a kind of paralysis, his stomach seeming to turn to lead, his backbone like iron as if in retaliation to the pumping stomach that spewed forth a sickening gelatinous substance. Tearful and spitting the acrid bile, Stroud wondered if it was not his very insides being ripped from him by Ubbrroxx.

He had gone blind from the venom. It tore at his every muscle, ballooned his every artery, and the pain was like a hundred twisted knots being turned inside him. The sensation of steroids on muscle, he imagined. His abdominals pinched his entrails, and for now it was as if he were shrinking on the inside, going within himself, deeper, deeper and deeper, as his mind crouched in a vain attempt to hide from the pain.

It was killing him.

It was everywhere ... around and inside him.

It held him as if he were a child, plucking him from one fire to place him in another.

It sent rivers of electric shock through his nerves.

Swimming in pain.

No lack of pain.

No lack...

"You will come to accept me as your god, Stroud," the ancient demon spoke.

Esruad now seemed powerless and far away, blocked.

And Stroud realized now that he was not swimming, but his mind was ... swimming away from the wizard from 793 b.c.

As a backdrop to his pain he heard the evil laughter of Ubbrroxx. He heard explosions and the mad rattle of bones. He imagined lightning bolts exploding all around him, and he wondered if it was bombs and explosives coming from above; wondered if he'd be buried here with the ancient bone pile created by the creature of creatures for all eternity.

Stroud fought for consciousness and for breath. He called on help from his grandfather, who seemed to have abandoned him as well, fearful of watching his end. Would it all come to this, an unheralded death in the bowels of a haunted, cursed ship that had sailed from out of the past of his ancestors?

"Stroooooud, Stroud." It was Esruad, and Stroud now realized that Esruad held him in his arms, in the protective shield around them both now. Just beyond them, timbers were bursting and bones cascading, but Stroud could not see this. Esruad communicated it through a strange telepathy.

"We have only one chance, Stroud," the ancient wizard told him. "You are badly hurt, and if you do not join with me, you will die."

"Join with you?" Stroud wasn't sure what that meant. "In the skull? Trapped there to wait for another thousand years, for another chance at Ubbrroxx?"

"No, if you join with me, I will live in the receptacle of your body. It may be our only chance."

"To join?"

"Are you willing?"

Stroud knew he had little choice. He was blind now and was losing feeling in all of his extremities. He'd die anyway. Esruad was offering him life for life. "Yes, we join."

"The choice is made..."

Stroud felt bitterly frustrated, unable to see. But he felt the intense fire that suddenly engulfed him, and yet it was not a burning fire. It was a fire of ice and it spread through his body, combating the numbness and deadness and poison inflicted by the serpent which had been just another extension of Ubbrroxx.

"Damn you, Esruad!" Stroud heard the angry roar of Ubbrroxx as if it, too, were inside him and all around him.

Stroud felt a calm filtering through him with the coolness of Esruad's being. He felt a crystal-like strength returning to his limbs and body. He found his blinded eyes opening to a cool, clear vision, and he felt the strength of his ancestors as they insinuated themselves in his every nerve and fiber. At his feet lay the crystal skull facedown, looking like a useless hulk of ice, and no sign of Esruad, for he was inside Stroud now ... in his head, his heart, his muscle. His brain was crowded with the souls of those who'd abandoned the crystal skull with Esruad, and it caused a jumble of confusion, noise, voices and sounds unfamiliar to Stroud. He was shaken and fearful of his own body now. For the first time in his life, he'd have settled gladly for the steel plate in his head. He imagined the lunatic, the schizophrenic he would soon become with so many spirits turned loose on his mind.

"I hope you know what we're doing, Esruad," he said to himself, for he, now, was Esruad in the flesh and Esruad was him.

"We can overcome this evil now, Stroud, as never before."

"Destroy it?"

"Completely."

"How?"

"Take up the empty receptacle and keep it with us."

Stroud bent to lift the crystal skull and return it to his shoulder pouch.

"Talking to yourself down in this hole, too, Stroud!" Sam Leonard's voice came as a shock, making Stroud think it was coming from the skull, before he wheeled to face Dr. Leonard. The other man had come out of the shadows.

"Where are the others? Why've you come alone?"

"Sorry, Stroud ... I tried to save them ... but ... but--"

"Kendra?"

"Taken off by the fiends!"

"Wiz?"

"Dead ... dead, Stroud! I knew we shouldn't've tried to follow you. I knew it was wrong!"

"Get hold of yourself, Dr. Leonard." It was Esruad talking while Stroud was grieving for Kendra.

"You say they made off with her? That Kendra was alive when you last saw her?" Stroud pressed for details. He then searched on his person for the communicator and tried desperately to reach her.

Her voice came over in screams. She was being tortured.

"We've got to help her."

Inside his head Stroud heard Esruad tell him it was a trap. But Stroud didn't care what it was. He couldn't think of anything beyond helping Kendra out of her pain.

"We've got to go on! This way!" said Stroud sternly, pointing the way. But it was Esruad who was speaking and pointing through Stroud. Stroud wanted to race back in the direction from which Leonard had come.

"My way," Esruad was saying. "If I know Ubbrroxx, the woman will be ahead. It will use your woman to get to you. It knows this is your weakness. Don't allow it, Stroud."

Leonard was looking at him strangely, listening to his conversation with himself.

Finally, Stroud said, "We go this way, straight ahead."

"But Dr. Cline is behind us," said Leonard.

"The only way to help her now is to destroy Ubbrroxx."

"You're not going to help her? Listen to those screams! How can you stand it?" shouted Sam Leonard.

"Where're your weapons, Dr. Leonard?"

"She is calling for our help."

"Your weapons?"

"Lost, dammit! I was lucky to escape with my life!"

"All right ... stay close behind, and take this." Stroud gave him his dart gun.

"What do you propose to use?"

"Magic."

"Good ... most comforting, Stroud."

Stroud also hefted what was left of the gas in his canister.

Stroud no longer breathed from the spent oxygen tank, and neither did Leonard. It was likely only a matter of time before Leonard succumbed to the contaminated air. But Esruad's magic kept Stroud protected, so far. With Leonard following, Stroud continued ahead while in his head Esruad talked to others there about strategy. There, seemed to be some whispering discord over Leonard. Something about his being untrustworthy. Stroud was being given a signal to ditch the poor man. Stroud fought the suggestion.

"It will use Leonard and the others against you, Stroud. You must be strong and vigilant."

Stroud assured Esruad that with their new-found strength and disguise, that he would be stronger.

Kendra and Dr. Wisnewski had reached the mouth of the cavern where the bow of the ship stared back at them. Strangely, they had encountered no further setbacks or attacks. It was as if the creature was satisfied with Stroud's life, and that theirs were unnecessary now to its design.

She tried again to raise Stroud but all she got for her trouble was static.

"We're running out of oxygen," Wiz told her. "We haven't any choice. We must save ourselves, Dr. Cline."

Kendra tearfully assented and they stepped from the confines of the underground world into the predawn where the army of zombies was still held in check.

As they made their way up the incline, they stopped to stare at the legion of the dead, their thousands of eyes like one eye, the eye of Ubbrroxx trained on them. Firmly resolved, they began the long march through the fearfully silent, stony guards one step at a time, unable to utilize the helicopter that had brought them here. "Journey of a thousand miles," whispered Wiz.

Down through the parting rows of zombies, Kendra thought of Stroud, feeling guilty at having abandoned him inside, yet certain that he had met with the same fate as Leonard. Wisnewski, too, thought of the friends they had left behind, and how very little they had accomplished. He took Kendra's hand in his and their touch bolstered one another amid the zombies standing row upon row, parting like disturbed pigeons to let them pass.

Commissioner Nathan had seen Kendra Cline and Wisnewski exit the pit via monitoring cameras from above, beamed to his location. He was shaken when he saw that only the two of them had come out alive. It signaled the end of a long and hopeless night and the beginning of a long and hopeless day.

Nathan was about to send in a chopper to pick up the two survivors when he saw them turn into the crowd of zombies and join them. He believed they had become zombies themselves.

There was no holding back the Army now. As soon as the first sun ray cut through from out over the ocean, all hell was going to break loose here, and thousands upon thousands of citizens--diseased as they were--would be annihilated to protect those who weren't. And still no guarantees...

Kendra's screams now sounded close as Stroud and Leonard made their way through the dark passageways of the ship, going deeper and deeper to its center. Stroud felt the respiration of the evil Ubbrroxx all around him, and he realized that they were truly in the belly of the beast. Something stood in their way ahead. Stroud lifted his weak light to reveal an enormous crab-faced, molten black form. The beast had smaller, parasitic creatures crawling about it, feeding off its black skin, ripping parts of it off, slavering, chewing.

"Ubbrroxx!" shouted Stroud, lifting his gas canister and firing. "Fire, Leonard! Fire!"

Leonard froze, not using the dart weapon, instead turning it on Stroud, firing. The dart hit an invisible shield around Stroud and fell harmlessly at his feet, but it made Stroud turn and stare at Leonard's apparition as it became a giant cat that started to pounce. Stroud swung the gas around, choking the sight and the enormous throat of the creature cat, causing it to writhe in pain.

"Stroud!"
Esruad called in warning.

Stroud turned back to see long tentacles wrapping about the invisible shield that encased him, pulling Stroud and his shield, and all that was inside it with him, toward the gaping, enormous maw of the crab-faced thing ahead of them.

Stroud fired all he had of the gas. The monster drew him closer, closer, closer, and in its mouth Stroud saw the bottomless pit.

"Strike! Strike, Stroud!" his inner ally told him.

Stroud found the sword of ice emanating from his body and he struck out at the tentacles, slicing through them and sending up a sulfuric, gaseous cloud with the wounds he inflicted on the demon.

The monster advanced on him with the speed of a flying witch, a banshee howl filling Stroud's ears, drowning out Esruad's shout. But Stroud instinctively jumped to one side, realizing how effective the envelope around him was when the huge, fleshy thing slammed into a wall that had been behind him. There was a resultant tearing away of that whole side of the ship and the creature somehow swallowed itself up and disappeared, leaving behind a scattering of the parasites that had been feeding off it.

"Must keep your wits about you, Stroud," his counterpart told him. "Leonard was never here."

"A trick."

"It sends out little parts of itself to form these creatures, and it used Leonard's image. Leonard is--was--most likely dead all along."

"And the others?"

"Most likely the same."

"And Kendra's cries?"

"You must ignore them, Stroud. Trust me."

"Trusting you has kept me alive." But Stroud still feared for Kendra.

"Keep control of your fears, your emotions, Stroud."

"I will, if you will."

"It feeds on fear, grows stronger in the face of it. It will do anything to unnerve you."

"Apparently."

"Including using the girl."

Stroud stopped to sit down and gather his breath there in the dark, his hand going to his head. All the voices there behind Esruad's were unsettling. Kendra's fate, and how little he knew of it, too, was unsettling. And he was supposed to keep his composure.

Stroud pulled out his communicator and tried to reach Nathan outside, but the signal was weak and all he got in return was static. He kept trying for a moment when once more Kendra's screams reached his ears. She was now calling out his name, pleading with him to come to her rescue. This made him shut down the radio and get to his feet, determined to carry on. His watch told him he had less than half an hour remaining before they would blow the place to kingdom come.

"It was him, I tell you." Kendra had tried to answer the signal Stroud had sent up, but once more it was cluttered with Static. "He's still alive," she shouted amid the zombies.

"But we can't go back," Wiz told her.

"No, but we can get to Nathan. We can plead for more time." She tried to reach Nathan by radio but it remained jammed.

They were halfway through the zombies, fearful yet of being attacked by them. Several had reached out to them with pleading eyes as well as hands. Some moaned as if trapped deep within themselves, pleading for release. If the creature wanted to kill Kendra and Wiz, all it had to do was turn these people loose on them, and yet it had not done so. Kendra had wondered why and she'd put it to Wiz.

When he had no answer, she pushed him for a theory.

"I should guess that it is reserving all its power to ... to combat Stroud and his crystal spirit."

"And if that is so, it's further proof that he's alive ... that the battle down there is still going on."

"Yes, yes ... that would make sense."

"We've got to get to Nathan."

"Yes, hurry ... hurry."

They rushed on to the strange beating of an underground heart, the pounding rising in their ears until they felt their very souls shaken.

-20-

Kendra Cline's plaintive cries in the dark were like daggers plunged into Stroud's soul. Esruad tried desperately to hold him back, to tell him he must ignore the pitiful pleas of the woman, if he were to survive this day. Stroud, unable to listen anymore to Esruad, tore away and raced down the intricate, involved labyrinth now laid out for him by the demon. The walls of this maze were hard-packed clay molded together with the bones of men. Stroud rushed along its narrow and narrowing course to a point where his shoulders scraped the walls and his clothing tore on the outcroppings of bone. He then reached a point where the bones had taken on flesh and life and were reaching out at him, tearing at him as if they belonged to prisoners in cells who just wished to touch another human being.

Stroud tore loose from the wall of hands and found himself standing before a stairwell of stones. He heard again Kendra's screams and he rushed up the stones only to have them crumble below his weight, taking him to the floor once again, and now the stones were, one by one, hurled at him.

Esruad's shield around him held. He drew on Esruad's magical strength, making the leap to the next level, pulling himself up as if he were weightless, a kind of angel, he thought, an avenging angel.

"Let the woman go! Ubbrroxx! Take me, and let the woman go!" he shouted at the darkness around him. In the distance, through what appeared to be a tunnel that went on through eternity, he saw a light, a green, glowing light which touched off a fire.

"You want the woman ... so come for her,"
Ubbrroxx said, his voice curled by a laugh.

Esruad struggled with Stroud to use his head. "Another sacrifice is nothing to ending the power of this evil, Stroud!"

From the records uncovered by Leonard and Wisnewski, in the very written words of Esruad, Stroud had learned that he must locate the geographic center of the ship. He now stared down the tube of flame ahead of him. "But this is it ... this is where it lives, Esruad."

Esruad had no argument for this.

Stroud knew that momentarily he and Esruad would come face-to-face with the true demon...

No more vile little familiars, beasts with tarantula bodies or tentacles, no more substitute horrors. Once Stroud penetrated the center, Ubbrroxx had no place else to hide and could take no more camouflage, create no more apparitions. It wasn't anything Esruad had said, nothing that Stroud had learned from the records, only a peaceful inner power called knowledge. The offshoots of the creature, its telepathic powers, its havoc, all emanated from here, and at the very back of this chamber it had Kendra.

It had come down to Stroud and the Satan of the Etruscans, Ubbrroxx.

Stroud felt fortified, however. He did not feel alone, not with Esruad within him, cloaking him in his impressive magic.

Stroud started across the dark interior of the new cell he had reached when out of the dark on his right side a flying creature loped by his head, almost striking him. Stroud saw only the black wings of the beast as it swooped, until his light hit it, and he saw that it was an enormous vampire bat, not unlike the ones that he had done battle with in the caverns outside Andover, Illinois. Stroud heard others screeching in the dark, piercing the blackness with their beady, blind eyes.

"Ubbrroxx is drawing on your fears, your worst nightmares, Stroud," he told himself.

Stroud tried desperately to get a grip, but it was like looking into the graves of the many vampires he had personally driven into eternity with the long-spiked, chemically poisoned stakes he had used. Something roared like a beast to his left and then a den of snapping, snarling beasts rose up in Stroud's light, approaching. It was Kerac and his band of werewolves, monsters that Stroud had wiped out in the northernmost woods of Michigan the year before, after tracking one of their number from the streets of Chicago. All here, along with the vampires ... unreal, and yet so real and threatening. Then they pounced in unison with an attack from the vampires.

"Hold to your faith in me, Stroud!" Esruad fired his mind with the message as Stroud saw all of the monsters of his mind flattened out against the invisible but powerful shield that Esruad continued to display.

The werewolves and the vampires came in again and again, trying desperately to destroy the shield, to put a dent in it, but it was useless. "So long as you believe in me," Esruad told him in a whisper deep within his mind.

The creatures outside the protecting cube now became people, and in their faces, Stroud began to realize who they were. Ubbrroxx now was sending forth the images of all of the people whom Stroud had come into contact with--innocent people--who had lost their lives around him, some due directly to their association with him, some indirectly. Among them were Leonard, soldiers he had known in the war, fellow cops he had known in Chicago when he was on the streets there, Magaffey, who was so instrumental in helping him uncover the vampire colony in Andover, the band of mercenaries he had paid to die in their effort to help him wipe out the werewolf herd in Michigan. All those who had lost their lives in Stroud's various crusades now stared in at him, asking him to join them. Even his grandfather's apparition was among the specters.

Ubbrroxx was working on a very different level now, but Stroud remained firm in his convictions and his trust in Esruad. He noted that among the dead who wandered about the cube, pleading with him to come join them, there was no sign of Wisnewski or Kendra, and this gave him hope for their well-being.

"How long are we going to stand still for this?" Esruad asked from within.

Stroud took his meaning, stepping through the horde of ghosts who had for so long inhabited his nightmares.

They reached out, flattening their ethereal hands against the cube enveloping him, and where this occurred their limbs disappeared into a wispy mist. Stroud stalked on, shouting, "I'm coming for you, Ubbrroxx! Nothing will keep us apart ... nothing."

Stroud spoke a silent dialogue with Esruad as he continued on.

Why did you imprison yourself in the crystal skull for all these years?

To be here now...

To fight the beast again, after failing the first time?

We failed the first time because we were weak, fearful ... worse, we became willing accomplices.

Not you.

All of us.

And that is what will occur now if the evil is not ended by us?

I fear so, yes.

Then we won't let it happen. Armed with what we know now about Ubbrroxx, its character ... and your magic--

It has great powers of its own.

But we have a chance.

Yes.

Because this thing fears you greatly.

It fears us greatly ... us.

Tell me what to do.

The discussion was interrupted by another bout of piercing cries from Kendra.

Stroud stared ahead from where the sounds continued to roll down the corridors of the black ship. "God, I can't stand that."

Put her out of your mind.

I can't do that.

You must.

Just tell me what to do next!

Stroud listened to Esruad's communications as they spun about the coils of his brain, pinging off the metal strip below his scalp. As he did so, he looked again in the direction from which the screams continued. Horrible, nerve-ripping screams, like the cries of a bobcat locked in a bloody trap. It was heart-wrenching to think that Kendra Cline was in so much pain.

Kendra Cline and Dr. Wisnewski continued aboveground through the throng of zombies, and as they neared the final end of the human wall of flesh, they began to see a difference in the zombies at the far exterior of the circle around the pit. Some of the zombies were moving, searching, looking lost and confused, even asking questions of a weak nature. Many were amazed to find themselves here, confused beyond words. Others had begun to race away, seeking cover, and this caused some gunfire which was immediately halted by screaming shouts on the soldiers' side of the barricades ahead of Kendra and Wiz.

"Christ, we could be shot ourselves!" shouted Wiz to her.

Kendra tried desperately to reach Nathan over the radio and thankfully, she found the radio clear of static. She got an operator on the other end and shouted, "Get me the commissioner."

"Who is this?"

"Dr. Cline and Dr. Wisnewski! Hold your fire!"

"No shit!"

"We're back from the pit."

"Holy shit! We thought you were--"

"Get Nathan for me, now!"

"Right, right ... will do!
Over."

Only a few minutes passed while Wiz and she were held up at the barricade where others, former zombies, also wanted through, some pawing at one another, still quite out of their heads.

Nathan shook the scene when his powerful voice was amplified through a bullhorn. "Let those people through! All of them! Let them pass!"

Like refugees, the line of migrating, former zombies began moving further away from the center of their troubles. As soon as Wiz and Kendra cleared the barricades, Nathan pulled them aside.

"We had thought you'd become one of them," Nathan said. "Thank God we were wrong. How did you bring these others around?"

"We didn't," said Wiz.

"But ... what does this mean?"

"Only one possible explanation," said Wiz.

"So many coming out of their forced condition," continued Nathan, quite amazed.

"It seems to be only those at the fringes on the wall," said Kendra, "but it's a sign, a wonderful sign."

"What kind of a sign?" asked Nathan.

"It means that whatever is in control of these people has been considerably weakened by Stroud."

"Are you telling me Stroud is still alive and that he has actually affected this--"

"Yes, very much alive. We've been trying to get to you by radio, but we were jammed."

"And Stroud? Have you been in radio contact with him?"

She hesitated only a moment before lying. "Yes, I tell you he is still alive, and he has made a great impact on this thing, as you can see."

"Those people coming to ... are they clean of the disease?"

"Yes, you must take them in. You must open your lines to them," she insisted.

"It will lessen the strength of the creature," added Wiz, who found a place to fall out, weakened by his experiences in the pit and the loss of his good friend, Leonard.

Nathan saw the sun coming over the horizon in the far distance. He instantly got on the horn, shouting for calm, declaring that Stroud had managed a minor miracle and that the outer edges of the zombie line had come out of the spell they were under, due directly to Stroud's efforts in the pit. "Let those people through. Have ambulances and evac vehicles ready to take them out of here!"

The process began, the lines opening, people spilling through, being helped along by armed soldiers and policemen. Medical wagons were instantly filled. A coffee line was begun and the Army began handing out blankets.

Still, a wall of zombies remained, but even so the individual members of the wall began to crumble, fading away from the pit and toward the troop line. Each one was now welcomed by cheers from the combined forces here.

"Where is Stroud now?" Nathan asked, the military brass breathing down his neck.

"He is at the geographic center of the ship, where the influence of this creature emanates from," said Wisnewski from his sitting position.

"And what about Dr. Leonard? Is he with him?"

Kendra said, "Yes. Dr. Leonard remained with Dr. Stroud."

"We got a garbled message saying he was with Stroud," Wiz instantly added to the lie.

Kendra realized, as did Wiz, that if the officials thought there were two men down there alive, they'd think twice as hard before blowing the place with howitzers.

"We were separated from them," said Kendra. "We were all fending off the vilest creatures imaginable."

"They tore our protective suits away from us, and yet here we are, alive and well," said Wisnewski. "Further proof of Stroud's success."

"I beg you men to give him a little more time, please," Kendra pleaded.

Nathan was nodding but the military men were frowning, shaking their heads, one saying, "We will take it under advisement."

"Well, take this under advisement, too!" Kendra shouted.

"What?"

Wiz put a hand on her, but she pulled away. "If Abraham Stroud is successful, and every newspaper in this country's going to know that he was, and you fools kill him in a thirteenth-hour bid for glory for yourselves, I'll see your asses fry for it!"

They marched away from her and Wiz, Nathan now frowning at her and chasing after the military men, trying to calmly reason with them for another hour for Abe Stroud.

-21-

Stroud felt no fatigue and no pain whatsoever, so convincing was Esruad's control over him, along with the protection the wizard provided. They'd traversed a strange tunnel created before them by Ubbrroxx, and in all this time it was as if they had gotten nowhere, the light at the end as far away to the eye as it had been from the moment they entered. It was a kind of underground wormhole that was without beginning and without end, and only those who knew how to traverse it could find an outlet. Stroud began to feel as if he were in a bottle, the demon looking on at what he had captured. It was like being in a total whiteout that only made you more fitful as you plunged on and on, except here the reigning color was black.

Then suddenly Esruad shouted for Ubbrroxx to take him. He shouted through Stroud, chanting the words: "Take me, take me, take me, take me, take me."

As if waving a wand, the cry through the ages of an Esruad who asked to be sacrificed to the demon changed the territory all around them. The tunnel and its never-ending length, the unreachable goal at the end, all gone, replaced by a smoldering sludge heap over which hung Wisnewski and Kendra Cline, their flesh slowly boiling, bubbles rising over their nude forms, roasting alive, broiling. No wonder the screams of terror and pain.

"This is how you will be repaid, Esruad," said the demon, whose very body was heating the humans that were strung over it. "Do you anticipate the moment as much as I?" It laughed its demonic croak.

The slag heap of the creature awakened every nerve in Stroud and he could feel the intense heat of it scalding the outer layer of the protective shield afforded by Esruad.

Stroud began to feel--literally feel--the pain that Kendra was suffering. He felt it in every fiber of his being. The slag heap rose and fell, the swells of its breathing forming an ocean wave of intense, volcanic fire.

"You came a long way to find me," it said, snickering. "What for you is thousands of years ... for me is the time it takes to roast this man thing!"

Wisnewski's body lit in flame and went up like a torch when a fluid, fiery finger from Ubbrroxx touched him. Stroud found his eyes dimming. It was torture to look on the ugliness of the monster, for in its center floated the remains of half-digested human parts. The demon was a shark of the underworld, swallowing its prey near whole, able then to reproduce any form it wished, capable of controlling lesser forms from afar.

"My God, I'm going blind again," Stroud said.

"Don't look on it!" Esruad replied from within.

The demon heard both voices and slowed in its progress toward Kendra.

"Now! Now! As planned!" shouted Esruad.

Stroud raced toward the gelatinous fire before them, watching snakes, huge lizards, spiders and rats raining down on him as he did so, bouncing off him as they hit the shield that was blazing red now from the heat. Stroud's form stopped before the demon, and the shield around him glowed, ablaze with the energy war going on between Esruad and Ubbrroxx, turning to a white-hot glare. Inside, Stroud felt his own flesh burning when the cube protecting him began to spin and spin and spin, so fast now that it resembled an enormous diamond in the darkness, a small crystal closet.

"Swallow me whole, mighty Ubbrroxx! Swallow me up now!" Esruad's voice wafted over the creature.

Now the demon moved toward Stroud, but it was confused at the sight before it. Stroud himself could hardly see through the spinning veil before him when suddenly he felt himself being wrenched apart, turning into two separate, distinct but identical beings. Stroud saw himself separating, dividing like a duplicating cell, and there were two spinning brilliant lights in the darkness, he and Esruad.

Ubbrroxx watched, hesitant, confused.

So far, so good, Stroud thought. "Come for me now!" he shouted.

At the same instant Esruad shouted from his vantage point the same words. Stroud could not believe the mirror image they had become of one another there in the pit of darkness before the fiery demon, still breathing its hot breath against their shields.

Ubbrroxx swung its entire bulk at them, sweeping them down, a pair of broken bowling pins as the shields came crashing down around them. Stroud felt now at his most vulnerable and he tried desperately to do what was required, as Ubbrroxx, taunting now, raised a spurting jet of itself directed at Kendra and set her aflame!

On cue, Stroud screamed and raced madly at Ubbrroxx, cursing it for having burned the screaming woman alive, just as Esruad had promised he would. The other Stroud drew forth an enormous sword, a knight prepared to slay the dragon, but the sword took shape away from Esruad and grew larger and larger, forming an enormous steel mirror, and for the first time ever Ubbrroxx gazed on itself, sending a river of fire at the steel mirror created by the ancient magician.

Stroud saw the river of fire coalesce into a river of light, and it shone back at Ubbrroxx, blinding him, reflecting back a burning light that began eating away at it, parts of its fiery exterior falling away, raining down over Stroud like screaming bombs.

Stroud reached for the crystal skull and held it firmly up to the creature and he felt the jolt of light reflected off the crystal now, and in the struggle the three points of light and energy formed a kind of supernatural transponder network. It was Esruad's plan to reverse the field of energy from which the demon drew its evil magic, to transpose and interchange his own power for the demon's, and to ultimately neutralize it. His calculations and his faith in the triangulation of their three energy fields were an incredible risk, but it was the only risk worth taking anymore. It must work.

Stroud was now completely blind. The light, heat and energy charging down at him from the mountain of fire that was Ubbrroxx, pounding into the crystal skull, by all reckoning ought to have exploded the crystal. Stroud found himself beaten back by the sheer force directed at him as it beamed off the steel mirror to Ubbrroxx's essence and back to him. The energy surge had sent him to his knees, and he was being doubled over, his hands burning as if frozen in ice where he held firm to the skull. The skull turned into the hideous head of an ogre, but he held firm.

He heard no more laughter, no more screams, all the sounds that gave the demon comfort. He heard no more rending of flesh, no more flesh popping with heat, for all the power was now directed as with a laser at and into the eyes of the silvery, crystal skull. It was being drained away and stored like a battery in the skull and Ubbrroxx sensed this and for the first time began a whining, sniveling screechy noise like a keening bird that was going hungry.

Stroud felt now the heat polyps on his own face and hands bubbling, and for the first time he realized how badly he had been charred, but he was relieved to once again be feeling something, anything. For a time he had gone completely numb, blocking out everything, and his sight remained lost. He could only see now through the ethereal "eyes" of Esruad, who had regained the form of a lich once more and had come to Stroud, taking the skull that was burned into his flesh out of his hands and placing it into his own.

"I, too, must go now," said Esruad, holding on to the skull.

Stroud stared through Esruad's eyes at the spongy, moldering residue of mossy material left behind where Ubbrroxx had been. There were no smoldering skeletons hanging from the wall, no sign of Kendra or Wisnewski ever having been here; not so much as a shackle. There was only the wavy, fading apparition of Esruad, the skull he held in his hands and the fire inside the skull--electrical impulses, miniature shooting stars.

"Any further battles with the demon god," said Esruad in a reassuring voice, "will be fought inside the skull."

"Wait!" said the blind Stroud, stumbling toward Esruad but in the wrong direction as Esruad's spirit flew into the skull and the skull fell to the planks of the ship and rolled to Stroud's feet.

Esruad, too, was gone ... possibly forever.

Stroud gathered up the skull which had saved them all--all but Leonard, Wisnewski and dear Kendra, he feared. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for them all, but that apparently was never the demon's wish. Ubbrroxx had wanted them all, and especially Esruad. The demon had wanted to swallow the skull and make its energy source part of its own.

Watch what you wish for, Stroud silently told Ubbrroxx, wherever the damnable bastard now was. "And watch yourself, Esruad..."

Stroud stumbled about trying to find his way, unable to see, as blind now as a man could be, banging against dangerous tiers in his way, belowdecks of a ship sunken beneath earth. He was blind inside a black hull.

Then he remembered the radio. He couched the skull in the crook of one arm and tried to raise James Nathan, and it seemed that all static had been created by the demon. He got directly through to Nathan. An agitated female voice came over before Nathan got to the radio.

"Abe! Abe, you're alive! You're okay!" It was Kendra.

"And you? You're topside?"

"Yes, Wisnewski and I made it back when--"

"I thought you died. In fact I thought I saw you die, both of you. Illusions, deception ... all along."

"Thank God you're okay."

Nathan must have snatched the receiver away, for he was suddenly on. "Stroud, it's like a miracle. Everyone here, the zombies--"

"All free, I know ... I know."

"Thanks to you."

"I need help down here. Can you send help?"

"We're on our way."

Kendra got back on. "You must be awfully lonely down there by yourself. How ... how did you do it, Abe?"

"Kendra, I ... I've lost my eyesight."

"Your eyes?"

"Burned badly ... can't see ... stumbling."

"Stay where you're at. I'm coming back with the team. We're on our way."

He wanted to shout that he didn't want her to set foot in the pit or the ship again, but she was gone, replaced by Wisnewski, who said, "Now, Abe, just sit tight. Stay right there. Stumbling around inside that debris field could get you killed, and after all you've gone through--"

"I know, a terrible irony now to have a beam fall on my head, or to suffocate below a mountain of bones."

"What about the ... your ... ah--"

"Have the skull with me, and thank God and Mamdoud in Egypt that we had it with us."

"I keep thinking of poor Leonard."

"Yeah ... yeah ... me, too."

Stroud soon heard them coming and thanked Wisnewski for staying on the radio with him. "Not afraid of the dark, are you?" asked Wiz.

"Now I am ... afraid of blindness."

"What do you think of our doing something archeologically sound with the ship now, Stroud? Now that the cursed demon has vanished?"

"I say let sleeping demons lie."

"Ahhhh ... thought you'd say that."

The others finally reached him, Kendra throwing her arms around him, Nathan helping guide him along. It took some time maneuvering out of the ship and through the tunnels. When Stroud took in the first breath of fresh air he'd had in hours, it was a great relief, moving him near to tears. He'd thought on several occasions that he would be buried forever in the tomb.

Kendra tightened her grip on him, and he held firm to the crystal skull, asking her to see that it be kept in an absolutely safe and unassailable place as they put him into the waiting ambulance. She climbed in with him, telling him he wasn't getting rid of her so easily. In the absence of his eyes, unable to see the destruction to his torso, limbs and arms, Stroud sensed her apprehension on seeing him in the light of the outdoors. The medics were calling in with the report to the hospital, second- and third-degree burns over two thirds of his body. Most of his clothing had been torn away. Stroud wondered if Kendra thought he was going to die when he went off into a drifty little boat that carried him into unconsciousness.

Three months later

Abraham H. Stroud's bandages had come off his eyes the week before, and after some initial distress, he was able to see through darkly shaded sunglasses, and by now he knew he would regain full use of his eyesight. This week some sections of the burn bandages were being peeled away and the skin given treatments. His body was a mangle of scars from various other encounters with beasts of the night and cave dwellers, not to mention the war. He felt like a man who had gone in for full-body tattoos, except that he hadn't gone in voluntarily.

Still, all his limbs were intact and in working order, and he hadn't gone out of his mind, although some people would question that--especially the nurses on the floor.

Kendra had suffered through the worst of the agonies with him, to the point of exhausting herself, and was for days tearful and easily agitated. She continued to come to see him and sit with him every single day, letting her career go and angering him for doing so. She'd put everything on hold for him, unable to return to the CDC until she was sure that he would be all right. For a time, he flirted with the idea of making her his wife, but the near mention of the idea backfired, and now she was rushing off for Georgia to get back into life there and the career she had almost abandoned for him. Kendra could not see herself waiting up nights wondering what new banshee or beast he was combating next. Like most of the people who knew or read about the circumstances surrounding the bizarre New York legion of zombies that had fed live people to a gaping hole in the earth, Kendra didn't know quite what to make of Abraham H. Stroud, or his strange crystal skull; even now the fact that he had survived engendered more awe and fright than respect or love.

He couldn't completely blame her. Why should she wish to spend a lifetime with a man who was called by the tabloids a modern "vampire hunter"?

Wisnewski visited with chocolates and flowers like a man going on a first date. He discussed in detail with Wiz the events leading up to the final demise of the demon, a story that Kendra did not want to hear. Stroud was glad to tell it, but it had left Wisnewski a little estranged, too, as if Stroud had some kind of communicable disease. In time, Wiz would come around again, he told himself, but the old doctor got busy again in his Museum of Antiquities and never returned.

A surprise visit by Commissioner Nathan proved testy at first, Stroud assuming the man wanted nothing more than a hasty whitewash done, a rationalization that would make the truth go away, a rationalization of the events that would be more farfetched than the actual horror that had occurred in the city. But Nathan surprised Stroud again as they went through every detail of the events that had occurred below Manhattan.

"I don't expect you'll be sorry to see me go," Stroud finished. "Seems everyone would like that."

"On the contrary, Stroud. If you need anything, want anything at all, I'm at your disposal. You gave this city a second chance at life, and I'll never forget that, ever."

Stroud had heard that song and dance before, from the commissioner of police in Chicago for one. Nathan would likely deny any connection with Stroud after today, he had thought.

But the following day, on public television, Nathan defended Stroud, who was being crucified in the tabloids as a modern-day Rasputin who charmed city officials into allowing an elaborate seance as extravagant as a David Copperfield magic stunt to go on for days in the city. Nathan warned others across the nation that men like Abraham Stroud were scarce, men who were willing to sacrifice life and limb for total strangers. People ridiculed him afterward.

An official inquiry into what was being termed the "Zombie Disease" incident was in full swing, and it appeared the questions would go on endlessly. Stroud was subpoenaed to appear before a board of inquiry that had been set up primarily by political hacks who were interested in getting their faces on the tube and their names in the columns.

Stroud, in a wheelchair, still in great physical pain, wearing a pair of black Oakley dark glasses, playing the blind man part to the hilt, since it afforded some protection from both press and public, answered politely the questions put to him. He did so knowing that few of the people here wanted to know the truth. That no one wanted to hear about human accomplices involved in human sacrifices to an unheard-of demon. He simply repeated again and again such tired phrases as, "There is more between Heaven and Hell, dear Horatio, than we know" and "Suffice it to say that we were dealing with supernatural elements beyond our control and human understanding."

He was debunked in most circles, held up as a hero by fringe elements in the community, invited to speak at any number of functions that involved psychics and Wicca people. He wound up hiding in the sanctuary of the hospital feeling a lot like Quasimodo without a bell to swing. The papers and most of the editorials regarded him as a freak of some sort. It was the same sort of publicity he had run ahead of in the past, the reason he had forsaken American continental archeological pursuits for foreign digs such as the one in Egypt.

Strangely, he had gotten more well-wishing letters from foreign ports than home. He had even gotten a telegram from Mamdoud who seemed to understand best what he was going through. Most well-wishers here had a hand out, a thousand requests to visit some haunted place in the heartland of America to vanquish some evil spirit that was causing harm and destruction to a community or a single family.

Haunted America, he had thought, no end of work for a Peter Hurkos or other ghost hunters, but he was not a goddamned ghost hunter, or a vampire stalker. He was an honest archeologist with the credentials to prove that he had worked hard to become who he was. But the press twisted who he was and what he was beyond recognition, to the point where sometimes now he was wondering himself.

He had to seek safer ground. He must go home to Andover, Illinois, sort out his feelings there amid his grandfather's presence in the old manse, a positively haunted place indeed. He wondered if his best friends after all were not among the dead ... his grandfather, his parents, Esruad...

They would not question him, deride him. They alone understood. Stroud reached for the crystal skull and gazed into its smoothly fashioned indented eyes, watching the fire refracted by light slicing through the opened blinds there in the hospital. The inquiry hadn't gotten to the root of the evil, hadn't placed it where it rightly belonged, as Esruad and Stroud knew.

In all this time none of Stroud's champions or detractors had any idea of the shameful causes of the body count racked up by Ubbrroxx and the terrible human accomplices of the demon. It seemed only Nathan, Kendra, Wiz and a handful of others appreciated the true horror of the day, the guile and the fear residing in the species called man. There was no undoing what people had done to one another here, given the catalyst of the ancient god of the Etruscans.

Mankind's only hope, it seemed, was to keep the genie in the bottle, or in this case, to keep Ubbrroxx in the skull ... In the wrong hands, the skull could be a true Pandora's box, unleashing untold powers.

Some days later Stroud was on a 747 jet, bandages still encircling half his body, the arrangements made between his doctors in New York and doctors in Chicago. James Nathan had taken more time from his busy schedule to see him to the airport in the limousine that had driven him that first day to the Gordon Construction site. He'd told Stroud that despite Gordon's death, the tower was going up, getting back on schedule. Gordon had many associates who were anxious to take over his tower and they'd formed a pool to do so.

Stroud was simply glad to be on his way home, anxious to see his Andover prairie and home again, Stroud Manse. It had become a haven for him, a place to hide away from the publicity-seeking that not even the hospital had been able to completely stay. It had also been a long time since he had sat by the pool, and a long time since he had opened his mail. No doubt stacked to the chandelier by now.

He thought of his people at the manse, his housekeeper, gardener, his butler and stable man, his helicopter pilot ... all people he had, at one time or another, saved from some black form of demonic evil. The only people who didn't fear him.

Even the stewardess who had approached him some weeks before on his flight from Egypt to New York, flirting with him then, pretended now to not know him at all.

Stroud wondered what effect it would have on her if he asked her for a date; wondered what effect he'd have on the pilot if he dropped in on the cockpit and announced himself.

"People," Nathan had said in exasperation, "damned people. Most fear themselves, their own shadows, Stroud. Can you really blame them if they fear you? Can you? A man like you?
A man who has grappled with the supernatural and won?"

"No," he said quietly to himself now. "Can't blame people..."

As for Kendra, she promised to keep in touch, and she had promised to visit him in Andover soon. He knew that she wasn't like most people. He knew that she would make good her promise and that soon, very soon, they would be in one another's arms again. For now, couched in his arms was the carry-on luggage he had hugged to himself the entire way, and inside it, the crystal skull, a "supernatural" gift which had made him feel immortal for a time down there in the boiler room of the demon's own hell. Esruad's power had coursed through his veins and part of that power still lingered like salt spray in the pores after a walk on the deck of a ship. Stroud had also come away with a new knowledge of his ancestry, and he was a better man for knowing the noble Esruad.

"I ... I didn't know you ... you were the Abraham Stroud when we first met," said the stewardess, who'd come to him with a pot of tea, remembering how he liked tea. "Maybe when we reach Chicago ... you ... I ... perhaps..."

"A meal, a show?" he asked, surprised at her sudden turn.

"Yes, yes ... I'd like that."

"You don't mind living ... dangerously?"

"Try me."

Stroud smiled inwardly as he watched the beautiful woman return to her duties, giving him another glance as she did so. She was sultry and naturally pouting unless she smiled, and her smile was like moonbeams. Perhaps he had misjudged her after all ... or perhaps she was part of an Egyptian plot to recapture the skull on the seat beside him, wrapped in linen and wedged into a carry-on. It had managed to draw curiosity when it was run through the video display at the metal detector baggage check, but Nathan had calmed the guard with a few words. It belonged at Stroud Manse with him, with the ghosts of that place, below his grandfather's portrait.

But Mamdoud had already wired him that the Egyptian government believed the "missing" skull belonged in their country and had begun a worldwide search for it. Stolen by common criminals, passed through hand after hand until it was brought to the court of the Pharaoh, Stroud now reclaimed it for his lineage, and damn the Egyptian government.

But there were any number of Egyptians on the plane...

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Robert W. Walker is the author of more than forty published novels, beginning with SUB-ZERO in 1979. He has millions of books in print. You can visit him at www.robertwalkerbooks.com.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

THE INSTINCT THRILLERS featuring FBI forensic pathologist Dr. Jessica Coran

Killer Instinct

Fatal Instinct

Primal Instinct

Pure Instinct

Darkest Instinct

Extreme Instinct

Blind Instinct

Bitter Instinct

Unnatural Instinct

Grave Instinct

Absolute Instinct

THE EDGE THRILLERS featuring Detective Lucas Stonecoat

Cold Edge

Double Edge

Cutting Edge

Final Edge

THE GRANT THRILLERS featuring Medical Examiner Dean Grant

Floaters

Scalpers

Front Burners

Dying Breath

THE RANSOM MYSTERIES featuring 19th century detective Alastair Ransom

City for Ransom

Shadows in the White City

City of the Absent

THE DECOY THRILLERS featuring Chicago cop Ryne
Lanarck

Hunting Lure

Blood Seers

Wind Slayers

Hand-to-Hand

THE BLOODSCREAMS SERIES featuring archeologist Abraham Stroud

Vampire Dreams

Werewolf’s Grief

Zombie Eyes

HORROR NOVELS

Dr. O

Disembodied

Aftershock

Brain Stem

Abaddon

The Serpent Fire

Flesh Wars (the sequel to The Serpent Fire)

Children of Salem

THRILLER NOVELS

Sub-Zero

PSI: Blue

Deja Blue

Cuba Blue (with Lyn Polkabla)

Dead On

Thrice Told Tales (short stories)

YOUNG ADULT

Daniel Webster Jackson & the Wrong Way Railroad

Gideon Tell & the Siege of Vicksburg

NON FICTION

Dead On Writing – Thirty Years of Writerly Advice