Clickers III: Dagon Rising
Author: J. F.; Brian Keene Gonzalez
Date: 2010-01-02 00:00:00+00:00
Description: They thought it was over, but the second wave was only the beginning. In the aftermath of the Clickers and Dark Ones' siege and a coup against an insane President, America rebuilds. Change has come, and a better future is promised to all. But promises can be broken and there may be no future at all because deep beneath the ocean, a new terror awaits. Dagon, god of the Dark Ones, is waking up...and if humanity doesn't stop him, then mankind will face extinction. Trapped on a South Pacific Island, the cast of Clickers and Clickers 2: The Next Wave join forces with a mysterious group of occult ag
Publisher: Delirium Books

Acknowledgements

Both authors would like to thank Shane Ryan Staley, Mark Sylva, Tod Clark, Joe Maynard, Jim and the staff of Borders Express in Camp Hill, Jim Lewin of The York Emporium, Chet Williamson, David J. Schow, and Mike Lombardo of Reel Splatter Films (for abiding by the restraining order we had sworn out against him).

J. F. Gonzalez would like to thank his family, the Keenes, Mike Harrell, Jamie LaChance, Michael Lansu and 34th Street Productions, Arlene Ocampo and Sione, and all the staff, volunteers, attendees and fellow Guests of Honor from CONvergence 2009, all of whom graciously allowed Brian to sit in his luxury hotel suite and work on this book when he was supposed to be socializing with all of you in the bar.

Brian Keene would like to thank his family, the Gonzalez’s, the message board regulars at The Keenedom, the members of the F.U.K.U., and all of the staff, volunteers, attendees and fellow Guests of Honor from CONvergence 2009, all of whom graciously allowed me to sit in my luxury hotel suite and work on this book when I was supposed to be sitting in the bar instead.

For Del and Sue Howison, who were there at the very beginning of the Clickers saga.

Excerpt from Reliving the Nightmare by Rick Sycheck

Page 5, Introduction

Harper Collins

Changing my identity and going underground was the furthest thing from my mind when I drove to Phillipsport, Maine to begin what was to be a six-month retreat to write the second novel in my two-book deal with Lion Books.

After all, I was Rick Sycheck, the “Generation X’s answer to Stephen King.” I had an image to live up to and I’d lived it. Adoring fans. Over four million books in print. Groupies. You name it, I had it.

At conventions, I was the guy whose hotel suite every-body showed up to for parties. I took over convention panels. I commandeered signings. The old guard in horror and dark fantasy at the time thought I was a raving asshole and, on reflection, they were right. I was young, I had a huge chip on my shoulder and an ego bigger than Mount Rushmore.

I was not the kind of guy who would go underground and change his identity.

But I did. When it was apparent that my life, and the life of Melissa Peterson, was in danger, I swallowed my ego whole and shed that old persona the way a snake sheds its skin.

What you’ll read in this volume will be not only my personal account of the four days I spent in Phillipsport fighting for not only my life, but the life of people who had become friends in a very short period of time, but also how I got there and what I did in the ten long years I became a fugitive. You’ll also read about the circumstances sur-rounding my decision to visit Philadelphia, my hometown, and how, by bad timing or luck, managed to be at ground zero when Hurricane Floyd hit the Mid-Atlantic region and brought the Clickers and the Dark Ones up again.

RS: You and another Phillipsport resident watched what happened while you were at the Sheriff sub-station. That’s one of the most chilling moments of the Phillipsport incident.

Sycheck: The whole thing was awful.

RS: What was the worst moment for you?

Sycheck: Thinking that we’d made it out of the freezer alive only to be ambushed by Dark Ones as we tried to head out of town. Watching people I’d come to know and love get killed in front of me (Editor’s note: Sycheck and several other people hid for two days in a supermarket freezer during the hurricane and the slaughter).

Excerpt From Rolling Stone Interview with Rick Sycheck

Steve Walsh

Rolling Stone, July/August 2009, Issue 605-606

RS: Your autobiography is not only a bestseller, it’s your fastest selling title ever. How does it feel to have another book out there in the marketplace?

Sycheck: It feels great, actually. Of course, in a perfect world none of this shit would have happened and I would have just gone on and write horror and suspense novels for a living.

RS: You’re very frank in your book about the years leading up to the Phillipsport incident. I got the impression that if that hadn’t happened, you would have either burned out as a literary figure or you would have become a recluse like Kurt Vonnegut.

Sycheck: To be honest, I was settling down when I went to Phillipsport. Those first four paperback originals I wrote were done during an extreme period in my life. I was in the riptide of my twenties and success came to me early and hard. That deal with Lion books was a very big thing for me because it made me take stock of who I was and what I could achieve. People were paying attention to me. Movie producers were taking note. That first hardcover book Lion published got a write up in the New York Times Book Review. It was time to stop the party and focus on growing my career.

RS: So where were you headed?

Sycheck: I wanted a career as a writer of thrillers. I wanted the critical and commercial respect of a Stephen King or a Dan Simmons or a Peter Straub. Those four paperback originals were pure monster-fests, plain and simple. I was a splatterpunk, my whole intention back then was to give you a good read, shake you up, gross you out. My work did that and it did more, too. The hardcover deal I got after the success of the four paperbacks proved that. I had to start taking my career seriously.

RS: Yet Phillipsport ended that.

Sycheck: Hell yeah, it did. I was under contract to write a book about a haunted mansion for Lion Books. Sort of a modern day Haunting of Hill House. What I saw at Phillip-sport, what I experienced there…it killed my enthusiasm for wanting to write that book.

RS: What happened in Phillipsport could have come out of one of your earlier horror novels.

Sycheck: Absolutely. I mean, here I was, brand new in town, and I run over this…fucking mutant crab-scorpion-lobster thing that was just…it was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen. I crashed my car into a tree after hitting this thing and I hit my head against the steering wheel. I get a prescription to deal with the pain of my injuries and the local Sheriff hassles me. Then more of these things show up and just start rampaging all through town, killing and eating people. I tried to save a family from getting killed. Me and Jack Ripley, the comic book artist, were down at the pier when a bunch of these things just poured out from the ocean and swarmed the beach. I describe all this in the book. It was very much like out of one of my earlier horror novels.

And the thing about it was it happened so fast! Before I knew it I was locked in a jail cell because the Sheriff had a hard on for me. In retrospect, he did me a favor because if I’d been out there I might have been killed by the Dark Ones.

RS: You and another Phillipsport resident watched what happened while you were at the Sheriff sub-station. That’s one of the most chilling moments of the Phillipsport incident.

Sycheck: The whole thing was awful.

RS: What was the worst moment for you?

Sycheck: Thinking that we’d made it out of the freezer alive only to be ambushed by Dark Ones as we tried to head out of town. Watching people I’d come to know and love get killed in front of me (Editor’s note: Sycheck and several other people hid for two days in a supermarket freezer during the hurricane and the slaughter).

Excerpt from Reliving the Nightmare by Rick Sycheck

Chapter One, Page 12

Harper Collins

…so there I am, back in Philadelphia, with my mother dying, freaking out because I’m near the Delaware River! There’s a monster of a storm heading up the Atlantic Sea Coast and all I want to do is fly back to North Dakota and retreat into the anonymity I’d come to think of as normal…

Excerpt From Rolling Stone Interview with Rick Sycheck

Steve Walsh

Rolling Stone, July/August 2009, Issue 605-606

RS: In the book you describe your feelings at being reunited with Colonel Livingston.

Sycheck: He and I were just talking about that the other day. Yeah, I was very… scared is the proper word, I think. I’d been calling Livingston for over a decade from various parts of the country to make sure he was still taking the Clickers threat seriously. Thank God he was.

RS: If it wasn’t for Livingston’s quick thinking and his take-charge command at Peachbottom, a lot more people would have died.

Sycheck: You’re right, and Livingston had my back the entire time. That’s what’s so cool about him. During all that time he was keeping his information that Melissa and I had gone underground a secret. He never told anybody in the government that I was calling him.

RS: When the second wave of Clickers and Dark Ones swarmed Baltimore and Washington DC, what did you think would happen?

Sycheck: I didn’t think they would attack on such a grand scale. My whole thing was getting out of there, getting as far away from the east coast as possible. That didn’t happen, and by circumstance I wound up with Livingston and his team, along with Dr. Wasco and Dr. Linnemberg of the Baltimore Aquarium. We met up on the road, right before we all ended up at the Peachbottom nuclear power plant.

RS: What were your feelings when you heard President Tyler had been killed? You don’t really talk about him that much in your book.

Sycheck: (pause) I didn’t mention my feelings in the book because I didn’t want to sound like some kind of asshole but…to be truthful…I was glad. So much of this could have been avoided if Tyler had used his head and listened to the leading scientific experts instead of relying on his religious beliefs to guide him.

RS: Do you believe that was the reason for Livingston’s winning the election?

Sycheck: I think that’s a big part of it. The people had a clear choice this time. Vote for the party that believes the earth was created ten thousand years ago and that people lived with dinosaurs, or vote for the party that listens to what Mother Nature is telling us, the party that takes science seriously, because we need to if we want to ensure our survival as a species.

Excerpt from Reliving the Nightmare by Rick Sycheck

Chapter Seventeen, Page 241

Harper Collins

Twelve years of time does a lot to a man. In my case, and thanks to my circumstances, it had changed me from a relatively healthy man to a guy who was paranoid, who’d developed a three pack a day smoking habit, a man who’d rekindled a hardcore drinking problem and who had trouble maintaining a steady relationship. The Rick Sycheck of 1994 would have had no problem joining in the fight with Livingston and the others. In fact, he would have readily joined up. The Rick Sycheck of 2006, though, was worn out and tired. The only reason he grew balls and fought back was because his back was against the wall.

I remember when the thought hit me that we were probably going to die down there. We had locked ourselves in one of the sub-basement rooms in the Peachbottom nuclear plant and had beaten back a bunch of Dark Ones that had stormed the place. I remember thinking that even with as many weapons as we’d taken, we wouldn’t have enough fire power to kill them or hold our own until help arrived. Eventually we’d run out of bullets. And then where would we be?

And as this thought entered my mind I thought back to the news conference I’d seen with President Tyler, and how that smarmy bastard told the American people to not believe the leading scientific experts, that he and his Administration would get a handle on things! If you’re reading this you obviously remember that press conference. I’m sure you couldn’t believe it either.

It angered me.

How dare that imbecile deny what was happening, and then demand that the rest of us just stick our heads in the sand?

I was beyond angry. I was furious.

It was that anger that propelled me to pick up my firearm and step through the shattered door of what had been our refuge. A giant Clicker had just entered the hall and was fifty yards away. It was so big, its massive form squeezed into the hallway, its shell scraping against the walls and ceiling. I walked straight toward it and aimed my weapon as Colonel Livingston raced after me, pleading for me to stop. But I didn’t. I kept going. And that giant Clicker kept coming at me, and when I was about twenty yards from it I started firing. I didn’t care if it killed me. I had one mission.

To kill it, yes. But there was something else, too.

In my mind, I was killing President Tyler by proxy. I was unleashing my fury and rage at him for allowing this to happen and not doing a goddamn thing to stop it.

Excerpt from Rolling Stone Interview with Rick Sycheck

Steve Walsh

Rolling Stone, July/August 2009, Issue 605-606

RS: “What do you think about the recent theory that President Tyler was shot before he was killed by the Dark Ones?”

Sycheck: “Well, anything’s possible. It was pretty chaotic that night. We went through all kinds of hell those few days and I’m still trying to get over it. The way I understand it there was some chaos at the White House during the storm, so I think it’s possible he was shot.”

RS: “Do you think there’s another government cover-up?”

Sycheck: “Of the Clickers and Dark Ones? How could there be? The world pretty much saw them with their own eyes. I mean, they were on every television channel. Every website.”

RS: “The cover-up I’m referring to would be the one the RNC is alleging the Livingston Administration is participating in. Trying to cover up the events surrounding President Tyler’s death.”

Sycheck: “Well…I wasn’t at the White House that night. And again, there was so much confusion that it’s possible he was shot before he ran into those underground bunkers. Anything could have happened.”

RS: “Including the theory that he was shot by a still-unidentified Secret Service Agent?”

Sycheck: “Yes.”

Excerpt from Reliving the Nightmare by Rick Sycheck

Chapter Twenty, Page 323

Harper Collins

In the weeks that followed the devastation, humanity waged war, chasing the Clickers into their watery depths and destroying them. Likewise, the Dark Ones were similarly slaughtered. A task force composed of various branches of the US Armed Forces (including Navy Seals), marine biologists and other scientists and personnel were formed by President Livingston to kill these things. Since its inception, they have helped eliminate Clickers and Dark Ones to the point where they are now extinct.

Yes, you’ve read that right. Extinct.

Recent fossil discoveries have suggested these creatures lived in all parts of the globe some five hundred million years ago, according to Dr. Edward Page of Boston University. This new extinction team and dozens of others have tracked and killed Clickers and Dark Ones in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans.

How we managed to wipe them out once and for all is nothing short of brilliant military planning on behalf of Colonel Richrath (Retired) and President Livingston, as well as a new team of experts handpicked by Livingston when he entered office. As the first item on his agenda, it was President Livingston’s ambition to eliminate the threat once and for all. He consulted with the best and brightest marine biologists, paleontologists, and zoologists. He also consulted with the best military experts he could assemble. And then he set his plan into action. Thanks to their bold move, we knew where the Dark Ones were coming from. We also knew where the Clickers watery domains were. Using a combination of military and marine tracking, the Clickers and Dark Ones were hunted down and eliminated.

The threat is now over. For good. Yet despite that, I don’t think I can live near a large body of water ever again.

When the crab darted toward her, Doctor Jennifer Wasco threw back her head and laughed. Her shoulders and breasts shook slightly. Her long auburn hair, usually tied up in a knot during the workday, draped down her back and dangled in the sand. The crab paused, as if surprised by her amused reaction. It raised its claws and waved them in the air. The last rays of the setting sun glinted off them for a moment.

“You’re not scary,” Jennifer said. “Your big brothers, maybe, but not you.”

The crab, no bigger than a teacup, slowly lowered its appendages and skittered away, giving Jennifer a wide berth before slinking off behind her.

Doctor Bunn is right, she thought. I must be doing better. Six months ago, the sight of that little guy would have been enough to send me screaming. But not anymore. I’m fine. No more post traumatic stress disorder for me. After all, who ever heard of a marine biologist and expert aquatic researcher who’s afraid of sea life?

A slight breeze drifted off the ocean and whispered across the beach. Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. The air tasted of salt. It reminded her of summer vacations spent at Ocean City, Maryland, when she was a child— playing in the sand, swimming in the ocean, exploring the boardwalk, feeding quarters into the skee ball machines and video games at the arcade, riding the roller coaster and screaming all the way through the haunted house ride. Smiling, she kept her eyes closed and breathed deep. For a moment, she could also smell those times—suntan oil and seaweed, cotton candy and saltwater taffy, Bricker’s French fries and Italian sausage subs.

She missed those times. Life had been a lot simpler back then.

Gulls circled and shrieked overhead, fighting with one another. Annoyed, Jennifer opened her eyes and glared at them. A few stars were already visible in the murky blue-black sky, but the sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, slowly sinking into the sea in a haze of red and orange and yellow. The waves rolled steadily onto the beach, their lulling roar comforting and serene.

This was her favorite time of day—this quiet moment of reflective solitude. No work. No arguing on the phone with the backers in the States. No mediating the petty squabbles among the junior researchers. No politics. No scientific method.

And no thoughts of before…

The sand was still hot from the day, and the ocean breeze was warm, but despite them both, Jennifer shivered.

Damn it, I’m not going to think about it. This is my happy place. This is my personal time. I don’t think about it during the day because I keep myself busy. But I’m not going to let it intrude on my relaxation time. Not here. Not now.

As if Mother Nature were mocking her conviction, another crab scuttled along the sand toward her. Jennifer scooped up a handful of sand and tossed it at the tiny creature.

“Get out of here. Scat!”

The crab fled. The sun sank lower. The birds continued the frenzied circling. Jennifer began to tremble. She bit her lip and vowed not to cry, but then the tears came anyway— hot tears full of anger and fear and guilt and shame. And then, despite her best efforts, the memories returned to haunt her happy place.

The Homarus Tyrannous (often mistaken for the Megarachne Servinei, and more popularly known as Clickers, which was the name the media had given them) invasion of the entire Eastern seaboard of the United States. How the bizarre, crab-scorpion monstrosities had decimated cities and small coastal communities from Maine all the way to Florida. How it turned out that the creatures had been driven ashore as foot soldiers by a second group of aquatic life forms—Draco Acerbus, a race of intelligent, amphibious, lizard-like beings collectively known as the Dark Ones. How she and her boss, Richard Linnenberg, Director of Baltimore’s National Aquarium, had almost been killed when the Clickers invaded the aquarium. How they’d barely managed to escape. Their rescue at the hands of US Army colonel Augustus Livingston. Fleeing inland as both the Clickers and a Category Five hurricane snapped at their heels. Ultimately taking shelter in a nuclear power plant on the borders of Maryland and Pennsylvania, along with other refugees from the disaster—best-selling horror novelist Rick Sycheck and the handsome but mysterious Tony Genova. How the group had made their last stand, while the Clickers and their masters ravaged the United States. How in the

aftermath, Colonel Livingston pulled a coup against President Jeffrey Tyler, who had gone completely insane during the invasion, and refused to step down. And then, the aftermath.

In some ways, the aftermath was even worse than the invasion had been. It shouldn’t have been. Jennifer knew that. America prevailed. She lived. So did her friends and family. The Dark Ones and their crustacean servants were either decimated or driven back into the ocean.

Richard retired as Director of the National Aquarium, but not before selecting Jennifer as his replacement. He and his wife adopted a child and moved to the mid-west, far away from either ocean.

Law and order were restored in the wake of President Tyler’s death, and the country moved on and slowly rebuilt itself. It was a national time of healing. Sure, there were various conspiracy theories—the most prominent being that Tyler had been assassinated by one of his own Secret Service agents, but the people saying that were the same people who spent their days posting on online message boards about how 9/11 was an inside job and that the Dark Ones were really just doing the bidding of the New World Order.

Colonel Livingston was convinced to run for President after a national straw poll showed him with a ninety-percent approval rating from the American public. He was elected in a historic landslide, and he and his cabinet immediately went to work on not only restoring the country’s infrastructure, economy, and psyche, but also ordering the military to hunt down the remaining colonies of Clickers and Dark Ones.

Jennifer wasn’t sure what happened to Tony Genova. He’d just sort of disappeared shortly after the crisis was over. This bothered her, but she wasn’t sure why. She barely knew him, after all. Their only time together had been during their last stand inside the Peachbottom nuclear power plant, and the debriefing that had followed. She didn’t know what became of him after that. Unlike herself, Richard, Rick, and Colonel Livingston, Tony made no public appearances. He didn’t show up on Larry King or Glenn Beck or The View. His picture wasn’t on the cover of Time or Newsweek or People magazine. In the aftermath, he remained what he’d been when they met him—an enigma. Even still, Jennifer had liked him. Tony had flirted with her, and she’d enjoyed the attention. At the time, she’d chalked her reaction up to adrenalin and what had seemed to be their impending doom. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Another crab hurried up from the surf and scrabbled past her. Jennifer watched it go. Then she lay her head back on the sand, stretched out, and shut her eyes. What was she doing, mooning over a man she barely knew? Was she really so desperate? Was her love life that dead? Well, yes, she decided after a moment of introspection. It was. Even before the Clicker invasion, her social life had been less than exciting. Her last serious boyfriend, Stan, had broken up with her nine months before the Clickers came—after she’d balked at his suggestion to introduce other people to their lovemaking. After that, she’d thrown herself into her work. Then the Dark Ones and the Clickers attacked. And in the aftermath, she’d been appointed Director, which left no social life whatsoever. She’d barely had enough time to devote to her cat, Tucker, let alone a serious relationship with a man. That was one of the reasons she’d taken the sabbatical, and joined this research expedition to the South Pacific, taking on the role of project manager and lead researcher. To escape. To find herself. To do something fun again. Something she loved. The Director’s job had offered none of those things. Maybe she’d find them here, on Naranu. She’d certainly already relaxed, even though they’d only been on the island a week. Naranu was small compared to the surrounding Polynesian islands— covering just under nine miles—but it was peaceful. So far, Jennifer hadn’t been given the opportunity to utilize her specialty—studying how ecosystems were affected when non-native species were introduced to them. But at least she felt at peace. At least she wasn’t fielding interview requests from the media or strange emails from crazies. The only crazies here were the locals. She hated thinking of Naranu’s indigenous population that way, but it was hard not to. The entire tribe insisted they existed only as guardians of the island’s god, who supposedly slumbered deep beneath the phosphate rock that made up the landscape. While not openly friendly to the researchers, they weren’t hostile, either. They seemed to believe that their god would awaken soon, and would then wipe the intruders from his domain.

Her thoughts turned to Rick Sycheck. More than any of them, the former horror novelist had embraced the bright glare of the media spotlight, granting interviews to everyone from Rolling Stone to Rue Morgue magazine. More recently, he’d dropped out of circulation. His publicist reported that he was working on a new book, a follow-up to his bestselling personal account of his two encounters with the Clickers.

Good for us, Jennifer thought, her eyes still closed. We all went on with our lives when it was over. Richard and his wife adopted a child. Livingston got elected President. Tony went back to doing whatever

it is Tony does. Rick got even more famous. And I’m here, on this beautiful island, doing what I love. We all lived happily ever after.

Except that they hadn’t lived happily ever after. She knew this, deep down inside. None of them had escaped unscathed.

Richard had been happy for a couple months. Then, one night, his wife and their adopted daughter were killed by a drunken driver. The accident had happened only a mile away from the new home they’d just moved into. The other driver rear-ended them at sixty miles per hour, slamming their car into a bridge abutment. The airbags didn’t deploy. Richard’s wife was ejected from the car and died instantly. Their daughter passed away while en route to the hospital. Two weeks after the funeral, Richard had checked himself into a hospital. He hadn’t come out since.

Jennifer had no idea what had happened to Tony. He’d vanished. That, in and of itself, didn’t bode well. She could imagine several different scenarios accounting for his disappearance, each one more sinister than the last.

Rick’s press junket continued—but probably not in a way that he would have preferred. Within a year, he’d begun a very public and very grim slide. His fall from grace—the angry outburst during his Rolling Stone interview, his arrest for drunken driving, his subsequent arrest for cocaine possession, the fist fight with some paparazzi, a second fist fight with some people at a horror convention where Rick was Guest of Honor, and the public accusations from his publisher regarding missed deadlines and breach of contract had all been plastered across the tabloids and gossip websites.

And then there was Livingston. He’d become President of the United States of America. How bad could that be? Well, as it had turned out, very bad indeed. The Republican National Committee had swayed public opinion enough that Congress officially investigated allegations that the Livingston Administration had engaged in a conspiracy to cover up the real reason behind President Tyler’s death. That storm passed, with no wrongdoing found and no credibility to the accusations and internet rumors. But then it was discovered that Livingston had signed an executive order to detain the remaining key members of Tyler’s administration, on charges of perjury, obstruction of justice, fraud, and embezzlement. Former Advisor to President Tyler, Donald Barker, was taken into custody and imprisoned at an undisclosed location. The ensuing uproar had dominated the headlines for most of the last year. The stress showed on Livingston’s face. He hadn’t been a spring chicken when he accepted the nomination. Now, he looked positively ancient. Jennifer doubted he’d last the rest of his term, let alone long enough to run for reelection.

As for herself, well, she was just fine, wasn’t she? She’d come through the whole ordeal unscathed, unless you counted post-traumatic stress disorder, chronic depression, an increased reliance on alcohol and prescription medication, no social life, general malaise, and an extreme aversion to marine life—the latter of which made her occupation quite interesting.

The birds shrieked louder, disrupting her ruminations. Jennifer opened one eye, and was surprised to see that it was now dark. She sat up, frowned at the fourth and fifth crabs scuttling past, and then brushed sand from her hair and arms and the back of her neck. She’d have to get back soon. The others would be worried about her.

Jennifer had come to the island not only to escape the past and reinvent herself, but because it was the first scientific find in a long time that actually excited her. When the word first broke that remnants of an ancient primitive people had been discovered on the South Pacific island of Naranu, Jennifer hadn’t paid attention to the story. Paleontologists found the artifacts at the bottom of a cliff located deep within the island’s jungle—faces similar to the famous figures on Easter Island—carved out of stone, with eyes, nose, mouth and teeth all detailed. But mixed in with them were other carvings. Some bore a striking resemblance to the Dark Ones. Another depicted a hideous, hulking creature with the body of a man and the face of a squid. Carbon dating placed the artifacts at forty to eighty thousand years old. Further study of the island had unveiled over three dozen marine and tropical species that had previously been thought extinct—everything from frogs to worms to fish. As a journalist for National Geographic had referred to it, Naranu was like “the Garden of Eden.”

The scientific community had converged on the island. In addition to Jennifer’s team from the National Aquarium, scholars, scientists and researchers from universities and research centers across the globe had joined the rush. Jennifer had made friends with several of them—Dr. Edward Steinhardt, director of Paleovertebrates at UCLA, and doctors Susan Ehart and Wade Collins, leading researchers in human prehistory from the University of Michigan.

Finished brushing the sand from her body, Jennifer stood up. As she did so, she heard a strange noise. It sounded like the chattering bark of a dolphin, but it was louder than the surf. Indeed, it was louder than the screeching gulls still circling overhead. She turned slowly, glanced down at the beach, and gasped.

The beach was alive with a variety of sea life. Dolphins, fish, crabs, and other aquatic life forms flopped and scrabbled in the sand, struggling farther inland. She glanced out at the ocean and saw more creatures beaching themselves in a desperate effort to flee the water. Despite all of her years in the field, Jennifer had never witnessed a beaching as it occurred. She’d always arrived on the scene in the aftermath. And she had certainly never seen an event like this on such a massive scale. Before now, the largest stranding Jennifer had ever witnessed was on Manila Bay in the Philippines when a pod of thirty-seven dolphins had beached themselves. The scene had been horrific and heart-breaking, but even that paled in comparison to what she was now witnessing. Each time the surf crashed into the shore, the waves delivered more marine life. She heard a great braying honk and a large black hump rose out of the water—a whale. The creature heaved its great bulk forward and then lay still as the waves receded around it.

“My God…”

Jennifer supposed that the dolphins and the whale could be reacting to some underwater disturbance—a severe change in temperature or an earthquake, perhaps. Since both were mammals, she knew that their ears were sensitive to large changes in underwater pressure. If something happened to damage their eardrums, it could disorient them, causing them to float up to the surface and beach themselves. But that didn’t explain the hundreds of other sea creatures that were doing the same thing.

Jennifer glanced to her left and right, and saw that the scene was being played out all along the shore. As far as she could see in each direction, the ocean’s population was suddenly heading for land en masse. The wind shifted and she could smell them. Worse was the noise—the cries of the dolphins and whales, the screech of the birds, the patter of crabs running past her (the crustaceans’ numbers now ran in the hundreds), and the strange sounds the fish made as they flopped on the wet sand and struggled to breathe the suffocating oxygen.

Gaping, Jennifer put her hands in her hair and pulled. She barely felt the pain. She stared at the distressed marine life, unable to turn away. Then she did the only thing she could think of—she began screaming at the top of her lungs for help. If her co-workers shouted in response, Jennifer couldn’t hear them. The cacophony from the beach was too loud. But soon enough, she saw figures rushing towards her from the direction of the research station. She shouted again, frantically waving for their attention.

The first two people to arrive on the scene were Paul Phillips, an expert on polytheistic gods of the South Pacific, and his research assistant Lawrence Stine. Both hailed from Oxford University. Phillips was pompous, belligerent, and quite often said things to deliberately provoke in an attempt to garner more attention for himself. His assistant blindly echoed whatever nonsense the doctor proffered, seemingly having no genuine thoughts or theories of his own. Jennifer loathed both men, but at that moment, she was happy to see them.

“Help,” she shouted a third time, pointing at the beach.

Phillips and Stine stared at her almost contemptuously. Then their gaze turned to the shore. They paused. Their eyes widened. Their jaws went slack.

“Dear God,” Phillips gasped. “What in the world…?”

“They’re beaching themselves,” Jennifer said, annoyed that she had to state the obvious.

“I can see that. But why?”

“Could be a tsunami,” Stine suggested, staring at the mass of flopping, struggling bodies on the sand.

Jennifer shook her head. “No. Look at the ocean. The tide isn’t rushing back out the way it would before a tsunami. And there have been no indications of earthquakes on the monitors. If there had been, we’d have heard. This is something else.”

More staff and researchers arrived, attracted by her cries. Each of them expressed dismay as they spotted the beaching. Then, almost moving as one, they hurried across the sand, and moved among the creatures. Some of the researchers cursed. Many were overcome with stunned silence. A few wept, especially when encountering the dolphins, that chattered at them in an almost pleading tone.

“Jen!”

She turned at the voice, and saw Dr. Edward Steinhardt trudging toward her. He wore wading shoes on his feet, and his wet pant legs were rolled up to his knees. His long, graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His face was slate grey, and his expression was one of shocked disbelief. Jennifer ran to him.

“Are you okay?” Edward asked. “Susan, Wade and I were sitting on the veranda, playing cards and drinking margaritas, when we heard you cry out.”

She nodded. “I’m fine. I just…what can we do?”

“I don’t know. This is entirely out of my realm of experience.”

The surf rushed in, lapping at their feet and ankles. As it slowly receded out again, it deposited a layer of white foam and a school of tiny, flopping fish. Wincing, Jennifer stepped backward, trying to

avoid the unfortunate creatures.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jennifer repeated. “Why are they doing this, Ed?”

“I don’t know. As I said, it’s not my area of expertise. I’ve never heard of a beaching on this large of a scale. I suppose an earthquake could be the culprit. Or perhaps a predator?”

Jennifer’s stomach fluttered. Before she could respond, Susan Ehart and Wade Collins walked over to them. Both seemed excited.

“There’s a shark over there!” Wade pointed. “It’s just lying there in the surf, snapping at anyone who gets too close. What the hell is this? What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” Ed told him. “Right now, all we can do is—”

A scream cut him off. All four of them turned towards the ocean. Dr. Phillips and Stine were waist-deep in the surf. Both men were frantically pointing farther out to sea. The group on the beach followed their directions. Jennifer’s stomach fluttered again.

CLICK-CLICK…CLICK-CLICK…

“No.” Jennifer clenched her fists so hard that her fingernails dug into her palms. “Oh no, no, no…”

Rising from the water was a pickup truck-sized Clicker. Seawater streamed off its carapace. A lean-muscled Dark One sat astride the monster, riding it like a beast of burden. The Clicker raised its pincers and clacked them together loud enough to be heard over the roaring waves, distressed marine life, and sudden shrieks of terror from the group assembled on the beach. The Dark One on its back hissed. The lizard-man’s tongue flicked the air.

Wade stumbled backward. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Jennifer whispered. “It is.”

“Oh, my God.”

Four more Clickers rose up behind the leader. Each of them also bore a Dark One on its back. The lizard-like figures wore armor made of coral and shells, and carried long tridents and other weapons. During the last invasion, Jennifer had seen them wield similar deadly implements. Compared to then, however, these new arrivals seemed almost empty-handed.

This isn’t an invasion force, she realized. They aren’t here for us—or at least, they weren’t originally.

The sea boiled as yet more of the creatures surfaced. There were Clickers with and without riders. The smallest was the size of a cow. The biggest was nearly two-stories tall. One of the latter clutched the carcass of a whale calf in its pincers. More Dark Ones rose up with them, striding ashore with confidence, staring at the humans. Their demeanor seemed surprised, but it quickly turned to contempt.

I was right, Jennifer thought. Judging by their reactions, they weren’t expecting to see us here.

Jennifer could smell the briny stench wafting off the Clickers’ shells and hear their claws tapping together as more emerged from the ocean. Venom dripped from the stingers on the end of their long, segmented tails. The Dark Ones hissed and shouted in their own guttural language. One of them pointed at the humans with a long talon-tipped finger, opened its mouth, and shook with rage.

“Run,” Jennifer urged her friends. “Run like hell!”

Susan, Ed and Wade didn’t move. They stared at the monsters, perhaps too afraid to run. Or maybe too mesmerized.

Phillips scampered backward, but tripped over Stine. Both of them fell over. The waves crashed over them. A Clicker surged forward, towering over them and waving its claws. Then, with one quick movement, it seized Stine with its pincers and began to squeeze. Bones cracked audibly and blood began to well.

“Paul,” the hapless assistant shrieked, his voice rising several octaves, “help me! Oh Christ, it’s got me!”

Ignoring him, Phillips scampered out of the way of the monster’s other claw, narrowly avoiding it. Stine turned red, then purple, and then red again as his captor sliced him in half at the abdomen. His lower torso splashed into the water. The sea foam turned crimson. Stine’s upper half was flung aside. Amazingly, the hapless scientist was still alive and conscious. He wailed as he soared through the air, and was silenced only when he splashed back into the water. Seconds later, his upper torso emerged from the waves again, this time in the grip of yet another Clicker. Stine’s head lolled and his mouth worked silently as the beast cleaved the rest of him in two.

Screaming, Phillips clambered to his feet and started to run, but another Clicker speared him through the chest with its scorpion-like tail. Phillips glanced down at the tip jutting from his chest. His expression was one of disbelief. Blood welled from his mouth as he gasped.

Jennifer knew what would happen next. She turned away, tugging at Susan and Wade as Phillips began to squeal, but Susan and Wade refused to move. They stood motionless, transfixed by what was occurring. Reluctantly, Jennifer turned around and watched as the Clicker’s tail pumped more poison into its victim. Phillips’ skin bubbled and steamed. Huge blisters appeared all over his body. Then
they began to burst and the researcher’s skin sloughed away in a wet, glistening mess. His screams turned to roars as the venom poured through him.

“My God,” Ed gasped. “It’s…it’s like acid. I’d read the reports, but to see it like this…”

“He’s still alive,” Susan wept. “How can he still be alive?”

“Run,” Jennifer yelled, shoving them forward.

This time, they listened to her. The four of them fled across the beach. With each step, the sand pulled at their feet like cement. Jennifer directed them towards the research station, urging them not to look back. Others ran with them, determined to escape. Behind them, the massacre began in earnest. Despite her admonishments at her friends to not look back, Jennifer couldn’t help herself. As they ran, she kept glancing over her shoulder, catching glimpses of the carnage.

The commotion had brought two dozen staff members and other scientists out to see what was happening and now they were running for their lives as well. Jennifer caught fleeting glimpses of what happened to many of them; searing images that would stay in her mind forever.

A young bespectacled research assistant tripping over his own feet, a long stinger impaling him to the sandy beach. The Clicker cut the man’s right arm off with one savage swipe of a claw that was the size of a La-Z-Boy chair and began feeding even before its toxic venom began to set in.

Another research assistant, a woman who Jennifer only knew by the name of Melinda, stood near a school of flopping fish. Melinda had been a thorn in Jennifer’s side since arriving on Naranu due to her annoyingly constant inability to make solid decisions about anything. Now this flaw was proving to be her downfall as she stood on the beach and screamed. A Dark One jumped off the back of a large Clicker and ran over to her. It launched itself at her, knocking her flat on her ass, which was as wide as a sofa. She continued screaming as the Dark One tore its sharp taloned fingers into her soft belly and yanked her guts out like party streamers.

A Clicker erupted from the water and seized a dolphin’s head with one blood-red pincer nearly five feet long. The dolphin thrashed as the claw squeezed, slicing the helpless mammal in half. The dolphin’s internal organs plopped into the sea. Meanwhile, farther down the beach, the two-story high Clickers waded ashore, trampling everything in their path and leaving red wreckage in their monstrous wake.

More of both the Clickers and the Dark Ones reared from the crashing waves. The crab-things feasted as they scuttled ashore on their insect-like legs. Their claws rasped together, the noise audible over the shrieks of the wounded and dying. Jennifer shuddered and turned away. The research center seemed a million miles away. Susan, Ed, and Wade were still with her, running like hell toward the structure. Jennifer risked one more glance at the carnage behind them.

Dr. Phillips lay congealing in a puddle of his rapidly liquefying flesh as a massive Clicker began sucking him up. His left arm, which still held its shape, jittered. Jennifer hoped it was just nerves and not a sign of conscious life.

A young man who Jennifer only knew as Alex, a college intern, was stepped on by a house-sized Clicker. The cracking of bones and cartilage echoed back to them. Jennifer turned away just as his ruptured innards spurted out of his broken body.

Dr. Becky Rodriguez, a tenured professor of anthropology from the University of Michigan, struggled valiantly with a small Dark One. The old lady put up a fight, but she was no match for the stronger Dark One who dug its claws into the side of her face and began ripping flesh off. It punched its other hand into her stomach and burrowed deep.

Time seemed to suddenly slow down as Jennifer turned away from the carnage and focused all her energy in running toward the research center.

Please, oh, please let us get there, let us get there—

Something flew over her head and landed with a wet plop in her path. It was a severed arm.

Ahead, she heard Dr. Steinhardt shout in panic. “Get somebody on the radio!”

Behind her, screams of agony and death from the research crews mingled with the shouts of war from the Dark Ones.

The research center was getting closer—

From the beach, a voice—Jennifer couldn’t tell if it was male or female—shrieked, “Oh my God, that huuuuurrrrts! Ah shit, that fucking huuuuurrrts!

The door to the research center burst open as Ed dived through it.

Jennifer risked one final glance over her shoulder as Susan and Wade followed Steinhardt. A huge, dark shadow stormed onto the beach. When Jennifer saw what it was, she gasped.

It looked like a Clicker in size and shape, but its coloration was distinctly different. The creature was completely black—the shell so dark as to be almost obsidian. It paused in front of a line of trees. Several staff members had taken shelter among the highest branches. They clung to the tree trunks, screaming and shouting and waving their

arms as the black Clicker grasped at them with its pincers. Unable to reach them, the beast skittered backward. Then, as Jennifer watched in horror, it began to spray venom from its tail. The liquid splattered across the trees. The foliage began to smoke and hiss. The wood splintered and groaned. Then, one by one, the trees toppled over, spilling their terrified occupants at the monster’s feet. The black Clicker reared over them, paused, and then hosed the staff members down. They shrieked and squirmed as the acid went to work, dissolving them as it had the plant life.

“Get in here,” Wade shouted. “Doctor Wasco? Come on!”

Turning away, Jennifer pounded up the wooden steps. Susan and Wade frantically slammed the door behind her.

The research station’s lobby also served as a make-shift living room. Directly beyond it was a communications center that held a phone and shortwave radio system. The communications center was lit by an overhead light. Ed was already behind the console trying to get a signal out of the shortwave radio. Wade dived for the phone and tried to get an open line. Jennifer took a brief peek out the window. The Clickers and Dark Ones were focusing their efforts on the beach, killing and eating those colleagues who’d been too slow to flee. She quickly lowered the window blinds as Ed shouted into the shortwave.

“This is Dr. Edward Steinhardt calling from the island of Naranu. Our research team is under attack! I repeat, we are under attack! Can anyone hear me? If you are receiving this distress call, please respond. We need the military, it’s the Clickers and Dark Ones, they’re invading en masse, they’re destroying everything—”

The overhead light in the communications room went out. “—we have a dozen dead and—” Ed pressed the toggle switch on the shortwave. “Shit, we lost power.”

“Nothing like stating the obvious.” Wade turned to Jennifer, who stood in the middle of the lobby with Susan clinging to her. “That black Clicker. What was it?”

Jennifer looked at him with wide eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. Something new. It sprayed down the vegetation. The poison acted like some kind of defoliant. I’ve never seen anything like that before. ”

“Maybe the carapace coloration was a genetic anomaly.”

“Maybe,” Jennifer agreed. “But that doesn’t explain the defoliant effect.”

“It was like Agent Orange,” Wade said. “You know, that stuff they used in Vietnam to clear the jungle? How are we supposed to fight something that can do that?”

They stood in silence, except for Susan’s soft weeping. The loss of light inside, and the rapidly falling night outside cast the research station in total darkness.

Outside, below them, on the beach, the sounds grew louder.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

Trembling, Jennifer bit her lip so that she wouldn’t scream

The room smelled of cigarette smoke and sex. Tony Genova lit a Winston, snapped his lighter shut and sat it on the nightstand, and then lay back in bed. He exhaled a stream of smoke and stared at the ceiling. The bed creaked as the girl climbed out of it. He watched her naked ass sway back and forth as she walked to the bathroom and wished that he could remember her name. She went inside and shut the door. A moment later, he heard the exhaust fan come on—loud, but not enough to mask the sound of her pissing. He reached down, scratched his balls idly, and then took another drag off the cigarette.

New life, day…well fuck it, he didn’t know anymore. He’d lost track of the days after six hundred and some of them had passed.

He finished the cigarette, snuffed it out in the ashtray, and settled back into bed. He’d almost fallen asleep again when the bathroom door opened and the girl came out.

“Larry?”

At first, Tony didn’t realize that she was talking to him. After all this time, Tony still had trouble remembering sometimes that he was no longer Tony Genova from Paramus, New Jersey. To everyone who knew him, including the Federal agents who checked in on him from time to time, he was Larry DiMazzio, from Baltimore. He’d even worked on hiding his New Jersey-Central Pennsylvanian accent and adopting a Maryland dialect. Repeated viewings of The Wire and Homicide: Life on the Streets had helped. Tony had been surprised at how accurate the two shows had been, when it came to depicting what life was really like in that world. And if anybody would know, it was him.

For his entire adult life, Tony had worked for the Marano crime family. Based out of York, Pennsylvania, the family had controlled distribution between New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Trenton, Camden, Pittsburgh, Washington DC, Richmond, Atlantic City, and other Mid-Atlantic cities. At the height of their power, they’d been unstoppable and untouchable. But as Mr. Marano began to age and fall apart, so did the organization. They’d fought off takeover attempts from the Greek, Russian, and Korean syndicates, as well as multiple attempts by the black street gangs. Although they’d come through each battle victorious, the skirmishes chipped away at the organization, little by little. Tony had thought sometimes about getting out— starting a new life. But he knew that was impossible.

Until the Clickers came.

The arrival of the Clickers had been apocalyptic for the rest of the nation. Cities destroyed. Coastal towns decimated. Millions of people dead. The complete—albeit temporary—collapse of the entire American political system. But for Tony, it had actually worked out pretty well. In the aftermath of the invasion, the Feds had figured out who he was. Before he could escape, Tony had been whisked away. They leaned on him. Threatened him with all the crimes they could supposedly connect him to. Tony kept his cool, because in truth, he was more scared of Mr. Marano than he was of anyone from the FB-fucking-I. Tony knew all too well what his options were. He could go to prison or he could drop dime. If he went with the first option, Old Man Marano would have him killed inside prison within twenty-four hours. He would never live long enough to see trial or serve his term. Yes, Tony was loyal, but he also knew too much. The Feds would offer him the world in order to get their hands on what he knew. Marano would never allow that. And if Tony managed to stay alive, and took the deal, Marano would track him down before he ended up in witness protection. Either way, he was a dead man.

Until they offered him a third option.

With Livingston’s help, Tony had convinced the Feds to fake his death. Not a huge, public spectacle splashed all over the newspapers. Just enough of a story to get back to Marano and the rest of the organization. As far as his previous employer was concerned, Tony had died with his partner Vince when their car plunged into the Susque-hanna River. In exchange, Tony gave the government everything he knew about Marano’s organization. In truth, the crime family was on its last legs at that point, anyway. Years of warring with the Greeks, Russians and others had left them weak and disordered. Now the Mexican cartels had moved into the States, using Atlanta as their East Coast hub and spreading their network all the way to Maine—a route that also included York and all of the Marano family’s other territories. As far as Tony was concerned, illegal immigration was the biggest

problem facing organized crime. Within another decade, anybody involved in the business would be speaking Spanish.

The ruse had worked. Marano thought he was dead. Tony Genova ceased to exist. Larry DiMazzio was born. The government had set him up with a condo in Arizona. Tony liked the area, especially the fact that it was as far away from the fucking ocean as a person could get. He made a living day trading. His FBI handlers—they preferred the term liaison—checked in on him once a month, but otherwise, life was good.

The only thing he missed was Vince. They had been partners for many years, and they’d seen a lot of weird shit together. Vince had also been the closest thing Tony had to a real friend—or at least what sufficed for a friend in their line of work. Vince was dumb as a rock and fatter than an elephant at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but he’d also been loyal and kind—two qualities that Tony had admired. Vince had been like a pet dog, or maybe a little brother. Sometimes he’d aggravated Tony to the point of violence, and then, the next minute, he’d make Tony laugh. Tony had loved him, in his own fashion. And now he was gone.

And today would have been his birthday.

“Larry,” the girl asked again, “are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, babe.” Momentarily forgetting, Tony slipped into his natural accent—a bizarre compendium of Brooklyn, the New Jersey shore, and Pennsylvania Dutch. “I was off in fucking La-La Land. What’s up?”

If the girl noticed the change, she gave no indication.

“I axed if you were gonna take me out tonight?”

Tony shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ve got shit to do.”

Pouting, the girl—he wished he could remember her name—pulled on her panties and bra.

“You got someone else coming over?”

“No, sugar. It ain’t like that. I’ve got to work. You know how it is.”

“Work? All you do is use your laptop. You can do that from anywhere.”

Tony sat up and reached for his silk boxer shorts. “Look. How about I give you a few bucks. You can take yourself out on the town and have a nice time. Go to a movie or the clubs or something. How would that be? How much cash do you need?”

“You calling me a whore? Is that all I am to you?”

Tony suppressed his initial response—a feat he wouldn’t have been able to manage in his old life, and smiled gently. “Of course not, baby. I care about you, and I feel bad that I can’t go out tonight. I just wanted to make it better. That’s all.”

Her expression softened again. She finished getting dressed. Tony did the same. Then he ushered her out of the house with a promise to call her soon. When she was gone, he shut the door and sighed.

“About fucking time. I thought she’d never leave. God-damned whore.”

Tony got undressed again and took a shower. When he was finished, he put on a fresh pair of silk boxers and his bathrobe. Then he sat down at the dining room table and turned on his laptop. In truth, he didn’t have to work. The way the market was right now, the best thing he could do was to do nothing—except wait, and watch for good deals on fire sale stocks. He’d lied to the girl to get rid of her. Instead of working, he had other plans.

While the laptop warmed up, Tony poured himself four fingers of Woodford Reserve bourbon and selected a Partagas Lusitanias from his cured Spanish cedar humidor. After cutting off the tip, he lit the cigar, took a sip of whiskey, and then sat down at the dining room table and clicked on the laptop’s picture folder. He didn’t have many photos from the past—guys like him weren’t exactly the type to pose for pictures. But he cherished the few he did have. After puffing the cigar to get it going, and taking another sip of whiskey, he scrolled through the pictures, pausing momentarily to look at some photos of Rick Sycheck, Jennifer Wasco, and some other survivors he’d battled alongside during the Clicker siege. The pictures weren’t his. He’d found them on various websites and saved them to his hard drive.

Tony had read one of Rick’s novels shortly after assuming his new identity, but he wasn’t much for horror fiction, and hadn’t really enjoyed the book. Tony’s reading tastes leaned more toward Elmore Leonard, Ed Gorman, Duane Swierczynski and Ed McBain. He idly wondered where Jennifer was now. She’d been a piece of ass. Not normally his type, but the girl had guts. He’d liked that. Too bad he wasn’t allowed to stay in touch.

He scrolled through the pictures until he found the one he was looking for. In it, he and Vince were sitting along the bar at the Odessa, a strip club back in York. The joint had been run by the Russians, but the picture had been taken during peacetime, when he and Vince had often frequented it. In the photograph, they had their arms around each other, smiling. Tony held a cigarette. Vince held a shot of mescal. It was the only picture of Vince that he still owned. The few others had been left behind, scattered among the ashes of his old life.

“Happy Birthday, you fat fuck. Wish you were here.”

Eyes watering, Tony drained his glass, belched, and then got up to pour another. Before he could, however, there was a knock at the door. He paused, one hand reaching for the bottle of Woodford Reserve. Cigar smoke curled in the air. Could it be the girl—whatever her fucking name was? No, he’d heard her drive away. If she’d returned, he would have heard her car pull up.

The knock came again, more insistent this time. It seemed to almost hang in the air.

Tony climbed up on top of the stove, reached above the kitchen cabinets, and pulled down his Taurus CIA .357 snub nose. One of the conditions of his deal with the government was that he wasn’t allowed to own any weapons, but he figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Normally, he’d have kept it somewhere he could get to it easily, but it was better to make it hard for his handlers to find it. He knew deep down inside that he didn’t need the gun, but old habits died hard. The person at the door wasn’t a hitman or assassin. It was probably just a neighbor, or a pizza delivery guy with the wrong address. Still, better safe than sorry. He tucked the gun into the deep pocket of his robe and went to the door. As he was unchaining it, a third knock sounded.

“Hold the fuck on,” Tony shouted.

He undid the deadbolt and slowly opened the door.

The two men and one woman that stood there weren’t neighbors or lost pizza delivery people.

And they had guns of their own.

Big guns.

Bigger than his. He wondered if they knew how to use them, and guessed that they probably did.

The first man spoke. “Tony Genova.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sorry.” Tony casually slid his hand into his pocket. His heart rate sped up. “You got the wrong place. My name’s Larry DiMazzio.”

“No,” said the second man. “Your real name is Tony Genova.”

“Real names are important,” the woman said. “They give you power.”

“Listen, you got the wrong guy. Now fuck off. Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t interested.”

Tony tried to shut the door, but the first man reached out and caught it with his hand. Tony grunted. Suddenly, moving the door was like pushing a boulder. The guy was a few inches taller than Tony, and of medium build, and didn’t look that strong.

“Motherfucker…”

Forgetting about the door, Tony’s fingers encircled the pistol. He tried to withdraw it from his robe, but before he could, the second man reached out and touched him on the neck.

“Sleep.”

“Fuck,” Tony whispered.

Then his legs gave out and the room went black.

He slept, just as the man had told him to do.

The researchers died quickly and messily. Most of them had run out onto the beach, attracted by the initial commotion like insects to a light bulb. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. The massacre had begun in earnest.

The initial force had already moved inland, following along in the wake of the two-story behemoths. Now, hundreds of Clickers rushed ashore, driven forward by the Dark Ones. They streamed from the ocean on their giant, segmented legs, enraged and hungry. Dark Ones sat astride some of the more domesticated creatures. Other Clickers were totally wild, lashing out at anything that moved. The beach descended in pandemonium. People fled, crashing into each other and falling to the sand, or stampeding over one another in an effort to escape. A professor from Princeton died of a broken neck and an anthropologist from London suffered a heart attack as their peers trampled them. They were the lucky ones. The others who fell barely had time to scream as the horde swept over them. Claws and tails lashed out, severing appendages and impaling bodies. The air was filled with shrieks and screams and tearing sounds—and the noise of the Clickers’ claws clacking together.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

A maintenance worker grabbed the arm of a friend and engaged in a ghoulish tug-of-war with a massive Clicker. The game ended only when the creature snipped his friend in half. The worker toppled backward as two more Clickers lurched toward him. He scrambled across the sand on his hands and knees, gasping a prayer to a God he’d never believed in until now, and then leapt to his feet. As he turned to run, a segmented tail whipped forward. The impact of the stinger jabbing him in the chest felt like being shot. The loathsome beast raised its tail, lifting the hapless victim off the ground. He hung in the air, thrashing and kicking, gore gushing from his open mouth, as the monster pumped venom into his body. Within seconds, his skin began to bubble and hiss. Then it sloughed off his frame and splattered onto the sand. Other Clickers rushed forward and began to shovel the sizzling, soupy mess into their beak-like mouths.

Myrna and Julia, two women from the research center’s food services division, ran toward an outcropping of rocks jutting up from the sand. They tried to clamber up the slick surfaces but kept sliding back down. A group of Clickers pursued them, waving their claws in the air. The helpless women backed up against the stones and wept. One creature pushed Myrna against the boulder and then snapped her head off with one scarlet claw. Blood jetted from the stump of her neck and the monster bathed in it, feeding greedily. Julia screamed in horror as her friend’s severed head rolled at her feet, staring up at her with eyes still open. Julia had always heard that a decapitated head was still conscious for a few moments after death. It could still see and register what was happening. Julia wondered if Myrna’s last impression would be of this—and then a barbed stinger rammed forward, spearing her in the abdomen.

Perrin Tempel, an expert in linguistics from the Univer-sity of Minnesota, found himself unable to move as a Clicker advanced toward him. He wanted to, but fear had rooted him to the spot. He couldn’t run, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even blink as the monster advanced. All he could do was watch. During their last invasion, he’d seen the creatures only on television and the web. Up close, they were very different. For a moment, he was struck by the bizarre beauty of the beast. The Clicker’s serrated pincers were tinted with a delicate crisscross pattern of red and magenta, deepening to a thick shade of black at the tips. As it drew closer, Perrin’s bladder voided. The front of his pants grew wet. The Clicker made a warbling sort of hiss and darted forward. Deciding not to look at its claws or stinger, Perrin focused on the thing’s black, stalked eyes. His last thought was that they reminded him of ball bearings. Then the Clicker seized him. It briefly waved Perrin back and forth in the air like a trophy before cutting him in half. The linguist’s innards spilled out all over the swaying grass. His blood arced through the air, splattering against the thing’s hard shell. Ignoring the other fleeing humans, the Clicker paused in its murderous frenzy to slurp up the pile of Perrin’s spilled intestines and other organs. Half of Perrin’s lifeless body still dangled from its claw.

A marine biologist named Chris Wick found a discarded shovel and used it to fend off a pursuing Clicker. The monster grasped it, snapping the makeshift weapon in half. Then it did the same to him. Its

claws made a terrible clicking noise, like two steel plates being banged together. Wick shrieked as he watched the creature begin to feed on his lower half. Then a Dark One speared him through the heart.

Melissa Levitz thought she’d escaped the carnage as she ducked into a small beach hut. When she heard a rustling sound behind her and felt something shove hard against her back, Melissa was unsure what had happened at first. Then she glanced down and noticed the stinger jutting from between her breasts. She drew breath to scream, but her cries turned into a choked gobbling as the stinger was drawn back inside of her. She felt it throbbing as venom was pumped into her body. Seconds later, her skin began to bubble and hiss as if she were being cooked from the inside. Blisters formed on her body. Melissa’s eyes grew wide as the blisters swelled, and then burst, oozing pink fluids. Melissa squirmed and thrashed, sliding down the tail and trailing viscera. She opened her mouth to scream and vomited blood and her own dissolving internal organs instead. The Clicker yanked its tail free and Melissa slid to the floor. The hole in her mid-section bubbled and steamed. Parts of her insides still clung to the stinger.

One group of researchers decided that their best chance of escape was to actually flee into the ocean and run along the beach. The five of them waited for a break in the carnage and then did just that. As they plunged into the surf, another group of Dark Ones came ashore astride a pack of Clickers. The hapless humans never stood a chance. The Dark Ones cut the first three down with their tridents and swords. A Clicker attacked the fourth scientist, snipping away her arms and legs as if she were a paper doll. The foaming spray turned crimson. The fifth scientist scampered backward, heading ashore again. He tripped, sank beneath the waves, and then surfaced, sputtering and coughing as his attackers loomed over him. A Clicker’s stinger darted forth, stabbing him in the chest. His eyes rolled back into his head, showing only white. Seconds later a Dark One who sat astride the beast, thrust a three-pronged trident into his face and then yanked it back out, taking the man’s eyes with it. The victim jittered, convulsing on the sand. The Clicker’s tail pulsed, pumping venom through the appendage. The Dark One stabbed the corpse again, laughing with glee. Nearby, another Clicker consumed a still-living human. The helpless woman shrieked and wailed as the creature’s claws tore at her flesh, slicing skin and muscle away with an almost delicate precision, and shoveling the meat into its beaked mouth.

Many of the fleeing scientists took shelter in the jungle, hoping that the thick vegetation would hide them from the murderous creatures—and it did, until several black Clickers waddled to the edge of the jungle and began to spray the trees and undergrowth with venom. The noxious fluid splattered the humans as well. Wood and flesh bubbled and melted.

The Dark Ones waded ashore behind the rampaging Clickers, stepping around the bubbling piles of flesh that had once been human bodies. Armed with tridents, nets fashioned from a peculiar, flexible metal, and weapons salvaged from various shipwrecks, the lizard-men joined the fray, slaughtering any researchers unlucky enough to have escaped the Clickers unscathed.

Clouds passed over the moon, plunging the beach into merciful darkness.

The screams continued.

Clark Arroyo set the rake inside the condominium’s utility shed and cast a backward glance at Tony Genova’s unit. He had a clear view of the front door, but the dense shrubs that he’d maintained over the past few days provided good cover from his vantage point. There was no way he could be seen by the three government agents who’d just showed up—not under the cover of darkness.

Despite the weeks of preparation for this day, he hadn’t anticipated a visit from Tony’s FBI handlers, especially so soon. Clark had been keeping track of them; they usually checked in on Tony in person once a month, and every week by phone or email. The last time they’d visited Tony in person was a week-and-half ago.

So why were they visiting him again so soon?

Clark watched out of the corner of his eye as one of the agents touched the side of Tony’s neck and the former crime-figure slumped to the floor. Half of him lay inside the apartment. The other half lay on the stoop.

The agents moved quickly, but Clark was quicker. He dipped behind the utility shed, counted to five, then risked a peek through the vegetation.

Whoever these guys were, they were good. They’d moved Tony inside and shut the front door.

Clark took a breath and wondered what his next move should be. The fact that the agents had knocked Tony out on his ass only meant one thing—they weren’t his usual handlers, which meant they represented something else. Something more sinister. Someone with an old score to settle? Possibly, but Clark doubted it. Clark had been trained on how to read people. In his previous line of work, Presidents and other important figures had lived and died on how well Clark and his fellow agents could scan a crowd and figure people out. You couldn’t protect someone unless you’d assessed the potential threats; in Clark’s case, he could glance at someone and guess within thirty seconds what they did for a living, know approximately how much they made per year, their marital status, and most importantly, whether they represented a threat or not. The only other individuals that Clark had ever met who had this innate ability were salespeople.

Genova’s assailants were unmarried. None of them wore wedding bands, nor was there a white circle on the skin of their fingers denoting where a ring had been. They were neat and well groomed. Dressed casually, but not sloppy. They had an air of self-assuredness. More importantly, their demeanor and body-language denoted them as professionals. Professional what, was the question.

Not criminals. They didn’t fit the type, not even for the ailing and aging Mafia wiseguys who Tony Genova had once worked for. And not FBI. And probably not any of the government’s other alphabet soup agencies, either. So who were they? Black Lodge? When he’d worked as a Secret Service Agent, Clark had heard rumors about such an organization. Back then he’d chalked what he’d heard up to nothing more than conspiracy theories and the paranoid ravings of internet madmen who couldn’t cope with their everyday reality. But since the Clickers and Dark Ones invasion four years ago, which had sent Clark Arroyo’s life into an unending spiral of turmoil, he’d come to the conclusion that perhaps some of what he’d heard wasn’t all conspiracy theory bullshit.

The Clickers had been real. So had the Dark Ones. And if they were real, why not Black Lodge?

And if that was the case?

Clark felt a pit of fear settle over him as he closed the door to the utility shed. He’d arrived at the condominium complex wearing the green coveralls worn by the staff groundskeepers. The Mexican groundskeeper he’d gotten them from had been only too happy to accept Clark’s thousand bucks in cash in exchange for the uniform, his job for the next few days, and his silence. Clark had observed the groundskeeper for a full week before making his proposition, so he knew the man worked solo all day. It had provided the perfect opportunity for casing Tony Genova’s unit and plotting his next move.

Only now, he didn’t know what his next move was going to be.

Clark leaned against the closed utility shed door, his mind racing. He was in close enough proximity that he would hear when the shadowy figures who’d entered Tony’s unit left. He’d come too far now to abort his mission. He had to wait this out, see what kind of move they’d make, before he could decide what to do.

His original plan had been simple. Gain entry to Tony’s unit by

pretending to be a Mexican immigrant groundskeeper who needed access to the rear deck of the unit. Clark was one-half Mexican anyway, spoke Spanish (as well as Japanese, French, German, and Cantonese) and could easily emulate the speech and mannerism of an immigrant worker. Once he was inside he’d knock Tony unconscious, get him tied up, then wait for him to wake up. Once he was conscious, Clark would explain Tony’s options. Cooperate or Old Man Marano would get word that Tony was still alive, as well as the former hitman’s exact location. Clark figured the choice was obvious; the don might be serving time, but he had a reach outside the prison walls that would result in a very dead Tony Genova within twenty-four hours.

Simple, right?

Clark was pretty confident Tony would cooperate. After all, this was a guy who’d negotiated his way into a pretty cool relocation/new identity thanks to Livingston’s Administration. Both his original options would have resulted in painful deaths. That indicated Tony Genova was very interested in staying alive, no matter what the cost. If he dropped dime on the Marano family in exchange for this cushy new life, he’d drop dime again to get Clark what he needed.

To be exonerated.

Left alone.

To live out the rest of his life in peace.

Livingston had that power. He could end this relentless investigation into former President Jeffrey Tyler’s death. He had the influence to shape and manufacture evidence, which would in turn be used to provide the official documentation on the man’s untimely death. Conspiracy theorists would still ponder the events of that day, would still come to their own crackpot theories, and some would even cling doggedly to the notion that Clark had, indeed, killed President Tyler. But those theories would never go on any official record. Until the current investigation was shut down, a false solution presented, and the trail leading to Clark Arroyo was erased permanently, he could never be at rest.

He could also stop killing people, too.

Despite the fact that he was good at it, Clark didn’t really like doing it.

Unfortunately, the events of the last two years had forced his hand. The killings would never be traced back to him. He’d made sure of that, having been trained by the best and the brightest in the US Government. But Tyler’s foot soldiers were still around, and they were causing trouble for him. They were like cockroaches. Pests that invaded your living space and wreaked havoc until you killed them. And just like cockroaches, they kept popping up and sniffing around, trying to find anything that would bolster their theories that a US Secret Service agent had killed President Jeffrey Tyler in cold blood.

Thank God much of this had gone under the radar of mainstream America. They’d been too preoccupied with other things; rebuilding the East Coast, dealing with the emotional turmoil of a fallen President, then the brief shift of power to President Bower followed by Livingston’s sweep a little over a year later. Rebuilding and eradicating the Clickers and Dark Ones threat had been foremost on everybody’s minds since then.

And as that war had gone on, a smaller, more covert, battle was being waged by the last stragglers of the Tyler Administration.

And that battle had led him here, to the dry desert of Arizona. To Tony Genova’s new life.

Clark wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at his watch. Five minutes had passed since the newcomers had slipped into Tony’s condo unit so effortlessly. Tony would be conscious now. The guy who’d tapped Tony’s neck had used a pressure point technique. If applied properly, it only rendered the victim unconscious for a few minutes. Clark had been planning on using a similar technique on Tony as a first option.

The RNC had been making noise about President Tyler’s death ever since the smoke cleared from the devastation wreaked in DC. Shell casings found in the secret tunnel where Tyler’s partial remains were found matched the Sig Sauer Clark had bought for his own personal use, which was the handgun he’d pulled out of his glove compartment the night Ken White had escorted him out of the building during the height of Hurricane Gary. Clark had had a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, which he freely gave to the FBI and the Homeland Security agents who’d interviewed him in the weeks following Hurricane Gary: President Tyler was not in his right mind when he’d fired Clark, so he’d retrieved his personal weapon and found a way back in to the White House. He had done this to help serve and protect his country. Yes, he’d made his way upstairs to the conference room where so many of Tyler’s cabinet members had met their untimely deaths, but he’d done so out of an obligation to help his fellow Secret Service agents. In the ensuing firefight he’d shot many Dark Ones. It had been utter chaos. And at the height of it, Clark had found one of the secret passages that led to the underground bunkers and shoved President Tyler inside in an effort to save his life.

They’d encountered Dark Ones in the tunnels and he’d fired his weapon in self-defense. He’d tried to pull Tyler through an exit in another part of the building, but the Dark Ones were too fast. They’d attacked President Tyler just as the entire building shook—the giant Clicker tearing the White House apart, he later heard. Clark ran down the hallway, already knowing President Tyler was dead, knowing he’d be killed if he tried to intervene. What was the point in trying to save the President now? He had to get out and try to help others.

Besides, President Tyler’s remains were so mangled there was no evidence of a bullet wound. The official cause of death, according to the government coroner, was by bleeding and trauma due to injuries sustained during an attack by the Dark Ones.

Tyler’s death had just been one among tens of thousands that night. Although he didn’t find out until later, one of Clark’s daughters had been another. She and her husband were slaughtered in North Carolina when the Clickers came ashore. But that didn’t matter to the people in charge. Her death wasn’t as important as the President’s.

Clark’s testimony, which Homeland Security and the FBI accepted, hadn’t been enough to satisfy the Tyler Administration loyalists. They’d demanded a full investigation. They were joined by members of both parties. The FBI Investigation backed up Clark Arroyo’s testimony, which was presented to the Pentagon and the Joints Chiefs of Staff. The RNC formed an independent investigation into President Tyler’s death shortly after Livingston was sworn in to office, and his administration cooperated. Thanks to the turmoil caused by Hurricane Gary, and the destruction caused by the Clickers and the Dark Ones, it took well over a year for the wheels to begin grinding on a proper investigation into the events that had taken place in the White House in the early morning hours of July 5, 2006.

By then, Clark had disappeared.

On July 7, 2006, during the clean-up operations and the search and destroy missions that were taking part up and down the East Coast, Clark Arroyo had given his exit interview with the Director of the Secret Service. Before he was killed in the slaughter in the White House, Ken White had sent an email via Blackberry to key personnel advising them of Clark’s dismissal. That dismissal was rescinded during his exit interview. Clark didn’t even have to think about it. “I’m done,” he’d said. “Consider me retired.”

And with that, he’d become a civilian for the first time in almost thirty years.

And it hadn’t been easy.

His wife, Lisa, had been upset, of course. His surviving daughter even more so. He’d laid low for the first month or two until he was able to receive his retirement annuity. Once received, he’d called Scott Baker, an old high school buddy of his who worked at CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He’d met Scott for lunch and drinks at his comfortable suburban home one Saturday afternoon and, while Scott’s wife Melanie was out, he’d told his old friend everything.

Scott had listened, then gave Clark the kind of advice he’d hoped to receive. “There’s talk of Augustus Livingston running for President in 2008. If he wins, he will no doubt use his power to crush the last of Tyler’s Administration. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past him to have some of those guys detained at Guantanamo Bay or another Federal institution. If that happens, you can bet loyalists to the Tyler Administration and those who hold to the same ideology will do everything they can to dig up anything they can find on Tyler’s death. If they connect you to it—and I believe they will, although it will be purely on circumstantial evidence—they will make your life hell. You don’t want to be around for that.”

“So what should I do?” Clark had asked.

“Disappear,” Scott had said, and from the tone of his voice Clark could tell his old friend was deadly serious. “Make plans to disappear now. Have you told anybody else what you just told me?”

Clark told him he hadn’t.

“Good. Don’t. Let me help you. Give me two weeks and I’ll have everything set up for you.”

Two weeks later, Scott followed through on his word. He’d presented Clark with a package during their next meeting. “If I were you, I’d transfer as much of your annuity into the offshore account I’ve opened for you. Paperwork on the account is in this package.”

With that, Clark began thinking about what to do if the time to disappear ever came. In a perfect world, he’d enjoy his early retirement with Lisa. But he couldn’t count on that. Not after what had happened.

Because if somebody got too nosy and found out what really happened in that secret tunnel in the White House…

It was Lisa who put his plans on disappearing into overdrive. Two months after his retirement, she told him she wanted a divorce.

And she wanted half of his retirement funds…

…and furthermore, she knew what he’d really done to President Jeffrey Tyler…

It was that revelation that blindsided him. It had also been the first time he’d almost hit a woman. At first he’d said it was because she was

distraught over the death of their daughter. Lisa insisted that it wasn’t. In the twenty minutes or so that followed these announcements—mostly through angry shouts—Clark learned three things. One, Lisa had been having an affair for the past two years with a member of the RNC; two, her lover, who he later learned idolized President Tyler, had convinced her irrevocably that Clark had shot President Tyler in cold blood; and three, she and her new boyfriend were going to get married…as soon as the ink was dry on the divorce papers and her share of Clark’s retirement funds was in her bank account. He hadn’t transferred those funds into his offshore account, for fear that she’d have been able to follow the trail. Besides, he didn’t need the money she was legally entitled to anyway, especially where he was going once the RNC uncovered the truth about what he’d really done.

That was the night Clark learned that a 9mm slug had been pulled out of Special Agent Nathan Walpow’s brainpan. One of the casings found in the ruins of the White House conference room where his body (and the eviscerated remains of various members of Tyler’s cabinet had convened during the storm) was matched to the slug, which, in turn, matched Clark’s Sig Sauer. Clark had not mentioned in any of the interviews and statements he’d given to investigators that he’d shot and killed Agent Walpow. Sure, he’d shot the guy, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. All they needed to know was that it had been a chaotic scene. That was more than enough to lead investigators to believe that if Walpow was shot by Clark Arroyo’s gun, it had been an accident.

Clark wound up having to disappear after all—and a lot sooner than he thought.

The day after Lisa dropped her bombshell, Clark withdrew everything in his retirement annuity. He received a briefcase full of cash. The bank security guard escorted him to his car. Clark had already packed the vehicle with essential belongings: his laptop and backup external drives containing important files, some clothes, important paperwork, including the documents Scott Baker had given him containing information on his new identity, and some photos of his daughters.

Then he disappeared.

And now after almost three years, the trail had led to here. To Tony Genova. Tony was the key to Livingston. And Livingston was the key to making it all go away.

Clark glanced at his watch. It had been thirty minutes since Tony Genova’s condo unit had been invaded by the still-unknown government agents. Nobody had come out since then.

Clark considered his options, going over them again in his head.

If the three assailants had intended to kill Tony, they would have done it already. That eliminated a team of Marano family assassins. He was sure of it. And he was positive that they weren’t employed by the Bureau. Were they CIA? Even less likely. One, they weren’t supposed to operate on US soil, and two, what the hell would they want with Genova anyway? In the dossier Scott Baker had given him a month ago when they’d located Tony’s new whereabouts and identity, Scott had been adamant that Tony did not interest the CIA. “He’s cooperating with the Livingston Administration,” he’d told Clark. “Only two people know of his existence outside of his handlers.”

That left only one option.

Black Lodge.

And if that was the case, and if Black Lodge really existed, the question was this: why were they interested in Tony Genova?

Clark took a deep breath. He felt his face grow flush with adrenalin. He was at the end of his rope, literally. Last month, Scott Baker had told him that a private investigation firm hired by Tyler Administration loyalists was looking into the circumstances surrounding several mysterious deaths. Keith Simpson, an RNC underling, had been killed in an underground parking garage, his throat slit from ear to ear; Natalie Combs, CEO of a Faith-based group that funded Tyler Administration projects and was a head cheerleader for the investigation into his death, was found dead in her apartment five months later of an apparent suicide. There were others, too, all over the course of the last two years, all people directly or loosely con-nected with the Tyler Administration and the investigation into the former President’s death. “These people are like bloodhounds on the scent,” Scott had said. “They can’t prove you had anything to do with these deaths, but they’ve made the connection. They realize somebody is behind them, maybe more than one person. If they connect you in any way—”

That was all it had taken. Clark had to get to the source. To the man who was the closest thing to former President Jeffrey Tyler: Donald Barker. The only problem was Barker was in Federal custody at an undisclosed location, and only President Augustus Livingston and a close circle of cabinet members and advisors had direct knowledge of it.

That was why Clark had come here. To use Tony Genova as a bargaining chip. The exwiseguy was important to the Livingston Administration; even Scott Baker couldn’t get information on why

Livingston had made such a sweet deal with the guy.

Clark’s plan with Livingston was simple: give me what I want or I not only expose Tony Genova and make you look bad to the entire country, I can have your illegitimate grandchild killed.

Clark had found out about Livingston’s son through Scott Baker’s efforts. He learned Livingston had recently made amends with him. During his widespread popularity in the months leading to his ascension to the presidency, Livingston’s son and his new family had come under a brief flurry of media attention. Livingston had quickly put them under Secret Service protection where they remained, to this day.

Thanks to Clark’s connections, he knew the man’s habits, as well as the daily routine of his wife and child.

He could have the kid killed easily. He could furnish Livingston with the proof. In fact, the proof was already sitting at the bottom of a barely used coat closet in the man’s house. Hidden beneath a pile of blankets and old clothes was a small box containing enough C-4 to take out the entire house. The trigger was voice-activated. Clark had installed a secondary, non-lethal explosive device in the man’s master bedroom that he would use to demonstrate he wasn’t fooling around. Livingston would have ten minutes to give Clark the access he needed to Donald Barker. If Clark did not have visual and confirmation that Barker was being transported to a less secure location, the C-4 would be detonated.

Clark knew Tony Genova was one of the few people on the planet who could get access to President Livingston. Scott Baker had told him Livingston had taken a liking to the man. They talked almost weekly. Despite Tony’s back-ground, Livingston had a modicum of trust with the man.

Livingston would do what Tony asked him to do, no question about it.

Once Clark had Donald Barker where he wanted him, it would all be over.

Only now, his plans were foiled.

Clark thought about what to do. If it was indeed Black Lodge agents that had stormed Tony’s apartment, he might have entered a perfect storm type of situation. It was obvious they didn’t know Clark was watching them, didn’t even know Clark’s whereabouts, so he had the element of surprise. The handgun Clark had concealed in his coat was a Desert Eagle .50 caliber job with a custom sound sup-pressor affixed to the barrel. He’d quit carrying a Sig Sauer when he went rogue. Clark was a good shot. He could burst in, take all three of them down quickly, and Tony wouldn’t know what was going on until the unknown agents who’d spoiled the party were dead.

A buzzer vibrated the watch on Clark’s wrist, indicating that time was up. He had exactly five minutes to eliminate the problem inside Tony’s condominium and convince him to cooperate, or else.

With the decision in place, Clark relaxed slightly. He could feel the adrenalin surge through his system, priming him up. Time to get moving.

Clark stepped away from his hiding place and took a quick survey of his surroundings. The courtyard was clear.

He headed to Tony Genova’s unit. Pulled out the Desert Eagle, and approached the front door.

He was just about to kick the door in when he felt the presence of a man step up behind him. Clark’s final thought was where the hell did he come from? And then he felt a hand on the base of his neck, he felt his legs give out, and then blackness claimed him.

In the initial few minutes of the power going out, the confusion inside the research center reached a chaotic level. The sense of desperation was almost palpable. Behind the communications area, Wade and Ed scrambled around, searching for candles and babbling to each other in quavering voices that betrayed their attempts to sound calm. Susan cowered in the corner of the lobby, her voice a sobbing whisper as she kept repeating, “Oh God, I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die!”

Jennifer was in the lobby, searching for candles or a flashlight—anything that would dispel the darkness—and Susan’s whining was getting on her nerves. “Shut up!” she barked, and instantly regretted it. Susan had never been in this type of situation before. Neither had Ed and Wade for that matter. “Let’s all just calm down and focus. If we start panicking, we won’t make it out of this alive.”

“You’re right.” Wade wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’re running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Nodding, Ed sighed.

Susan stopped her litany and remained huddled in the corner.

“All we have to do is hide until morning,” Wade said. “The Dark Ones can’t handle the daylight, right? They hide from the sun.”

“That’s true,” Jennifer said, “but the same thing doesn’t apply to the Clickers.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Outside, the sounds of the Clickers and the Dark Ones grew closer.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“They’re getting closer,” Jennifer stated, frustrated that she couldn’t even find a goddamn flashlight in the lobby. The hallway that led to the inner recess of the research center was pitch black. She wondered why the back-up generators hadn’t kicked in. Was it possible they’d been destroyed too? If so, then that meant the Dark Ones were inside the building already.

“Hey, isn’t there a basement or a sub-cellar to this place?” Wade asked.

Jennifer was just about to respond with a yes, when the creaking of a door answered Wade’s question. The sound came from the communications area, and its suddenness startled Ed and Wade.

“Who is that?” Ed barked, his strong voice trembling slightly with fear.

The creaking grew louder, followed by the sound of wood resting on the floor. Then, a voice. Soft, with a slight musical island lilt to it, but definitely male. “Is that you Dr. Steinhardt? Is everything okay? I heard shouts, and then the lights went out.”

Jennifer felt herself relax. She recognized the voice.

“Is that you Keoni?” Ed asked.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?” A moment later a light appeared from the open trapdoor in the floor and Jennifer sighed in relief.

Keoni Mumea held a flashlight up. He was the research center’s groundskeeper and the closest thing to a native they had. Keoni was from the nearby Marshall Islands, and was part Samoan. He was dressed in knee-length shorts and a billowy T-shirt. His black bushy hair was long and he wore it pinned back from his face. He was standing on a rickety set of stairs that led down into the basement, from where he’d just emerged. Jennifer saw that there was a trapdoor in the floor of the reception area that was now open. Keoni cast a concerned look toward the lobby. “Man, what’s going on?”

Wade stepped toward the trapdoor. “Clickers, outside! They’re heading straight for us!”

“What?” It looked like Keoni was still trying to process what Wade had just told him.

“Clickers.” Ed Steinhardt was at the trapdoor now and his more authoritative tone cut through the panic. “Homarus Tyrannous. And the Dark Ones, as well.”

The color drained from Keoni’s caramel-colored skin. “Oh shit!”

“Oh shit is right,” Dr. Stenhardt said. He quickly filled Keoni in on everything that had happened, including the slaughter on the beach and the arrival of the black Clicker. Then he looked around the communications area. “Where’s Susan?”

Jennifer looked toward the lobby where she’d last seen Susan and saw the anthropologist was still cowering in the corner. The mayhem outside was growing louder. The sound of trees being broken down

cracked loudly in the distance and grew closer, along with another sound.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

Jennifer took a step toward Susan. “Susan, come on, we’re going into the basement!”

Susan shook her head. “Uh-uh, no way. We’ll be trapped down there.”

Wade called out from the communications area. “The trapdoor to the cellar is something these things won’t be able to find! We can hide down there!”

Susan shook her head more vigorously. She backed herself farther into the corner, her long brown hair hanging over her face. “No, I can’t…I…I—”

Forcing herself to stay calm, to not snap at the woman, Jennifer summoned all her courage and stepped into the lobby. Outside, the carnage grew closer amid the sound of more falling and cracking trees. There was a loud, guttural roar that Jennifer recognized as the war cry of the Dark Ones. “Susan, I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. We can’t stay here and we can’t run out the back. They’ll catch us and kill us if we leave.”

“And we’ll be sitting ducks in the basement!” Susan shouted. She cast a frightened gaze at Jennifer. “I won’t go down there.”

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

A loud crack split the din outside as another tree fell. This one sounded closer.

Behind her, Ed and Wade were stepping down the wooden ladder into the basement. Keoni was standing beside the open trap door to allow the men down, waiting for Jennifer and Susan. “Susan, Jennifer, come on!”

Jennifer reached out and gently grasped Susan’s elbow. “Come on, Susan—”

Susan jerked her arm away violently. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”

Jennifer felt a sense of panic at her dilemma. Her instincts were telling her to leave Susan to fend for herself, join Keoni, and head downstairs. But a part of her could never live with herself if she did that. Especially if Susan was killed. “Susan, come on, please!”

Susan shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. The woman was absolutely terrified. “No! I can’t!”

“Ah, fuck it,” Keoni yelled. “Leave that palagi there, Jennifer. Come on!”

Suddenly furious, Jennifer grabbed a fistful of Susan’s hair and pulled the woman toward her. Susan howled. Jennifer grabbed Susan by the shoulder and half-dragged, half-shoved her out of the corner toward the communications area. “Shut the fuck up and move!”

A loud thump sounded from outside, followed by another ear-splitting crack. This one sounded like it was directly in front of the command center. Another minute and—

Susan struggled with Jennifer, digging her heels in and shouting, “No! Leave me alone! You can’t make me!”

“Shut up!” Jennifer grunted as she shoved Susan toward Keoni.

Keoni grabbed Susan and tried to steer her toward the trapdoor that led down to the basement. Susan resisted, teetering over the edge. Below them, Wade and Ed were looking up expectantly. Wade held his arms out, trying to urge Susan to come down. “Susan, it’s okay, it’s safe down here!”

“No!” Susan shouted.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

Louder, and getting closer…

“Screw this,” Jennifer said, feeling panic set in. “Keoni, let her go.”

Keoni let Susan go. The second he released his grip on her, Jennifer pushed the woman through the trapdoor.

Susan screamed as she fell through the trap door, bumping her way down the wooden steps. Wade and Ed shouted in surprise. Susan’s scream cut off abruptly, then she started crying.

Keoni looked at Jennifer in surprise. “Damn, girl, you don’t play around, do you?”

“Not in a situation like this. I’ve seen these things first hand.”

“I know. But here’s what I don’t understand. I thought the Livingston Administration said this species was exterminated.”

“Obviously, they missed a few.”

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

Jennifer took a step down into the basement. Keoni was right behind her, closing the trapdoor behind them.

Jennifer had never been in the basement of the research center. Cast within the glow of the flashlight, her initial glimpse of the basement was that it comprised a small room. She didn’t have time to take in her surroundings, though. She had more pressing concerns.

Namely, trying to shut Susan up.

Susan was lying on her back, crying in a hoarse, loud voice. Wade and Ed were grouped around her, trying to calm her down. Wade was checking her for injuries. Ed cast a glance of disapproval at Jennifer. “Did you really have to push her down like that? You could have really
hurt her!”

“What would you rather have?” Jennifer asked. “A dead anthropologist, or a banged up and bruised one?” Jennifer settled down beside Susan, ignoring the men. Keoni stood behind them. From the first floor and outside, the sounds of the Clickers and Dark Ones grew closer, closer, until—

There was a loud crunch followed by a shaking of the earth. Jennifer felt her heart lodge in her throat but tried not to be too visibly frightened. That would only feed Susan’s negative energy. Frankly, she didn’t have the time for that.

“Susan,” Jennifer said. She reached out, grasped the woman’s face with her fingers and turned her head so they were facing each other. “You need to get in control of yourself.”

Susan could only cry louder.

Keoni sounded worried. “If they hear her—”

“They won’t hear her,” Jennifer said. “I promise. Can I borrow your shirt, Keoni?”

“My shirt? Okay.” Keoni quickly pulled his billowy T-shirt off and handed it to her. Jennifer took it by both ends and begin rolling it up, as if she were going to make a tourniquet.

Wade was finished with his brief physical examination for injuries. “She looks okay. Just some scratches and bruises.”

Susan wasn’t acting like she was okay. Her breath was coming in gasps and hitches. She was still crying, and her sobs were only gaining in volume. In a moment, she was going to start braying louder.

“She still needs to shut up, though,” Jennifer said. With Keoni’s T-shirt wound up, she quickly wrapped it around the other woman’s face and shoved it in her mouth, muffling her cries. Susan’s eyes flew open in surprise.

Wade and Ed gasped, too stunned to stop her. Jennifer tied the makeshift gag around Susan’s head.

A moment later, the front door upstairs burst open.

That was followed by another splintering crack that sounded louder.

It was definitely not the sound of a tree splitting in half.

Upstairs, something big and heavy tore through the lobby and smashed into a wall. Jennifer, Ed, Wade, and Keoni jumped in surprise. Susan stopped crying briefly and looked up from her position on the floor. With the gag stuffed in her face, she looked like a hostage. Plaster dust drifted down from the basement ceiling.

Amid the sounds of destruction, of furniture being smashed and walls being broken down came the sound of the Clickers, their claws snapping together in a frenzy. CLICK-CLICK CLICK-CLICK CLICK-CLICK!

“If they find that trapdoor…” Ed whispered fearfully.

“They won’t,” Keoni said softly. He stepped back toward the far wall and ran his hand along what Jennifer took to be a makeshift bookshelf. “Besides, we have this.” He pulled a wooden panel out from the shelf and the entire wall seemed to open up. A dark passageway yawned before them. Cool air drifted out of the blackness.

“Come on,” Keoni urged them. He stepped aside as Wade took a step forward.

“What the hell?” Dr. Steinhardt marveled. “I don’t remember anything about this building having any kind of underground passage.”

“It’s part of an old network from when Naranu was visited by various European countries,” Keoni said. “The Tribal Chiefs, they had tunnels like this one secretly built for years. Every time some well-meaning nation tried to colonize here, the tunnels came in handy. This building is over seventy years old and—”

Above them, the sound of destruction increased. One of the Dark Ones roared. It sounded like a thousand bull alligators in a swamp roaring together in unison.

Jennifer and Ed pulled Susan to her feet. Susan was no longer letting her fear control her. She was up and then standing at the doorway with Wade and Keoni. She dived through, followed quickly by Wade, Jennifer, and Ed. Keoni darted in after them and pulled the door closed, sealing them inside.

It was so dark Jennifer couldn’t see Wade, even though he was pressed up against her right side. Susan’s hand accidentally brushed her face as she worked at untying the gag from around her head. Jennifer braced herself for some screaming, wondering if she could knock the woman out with a punch to the head if she started, but Keoni was already in charge. He turned on the flashlight and Jennifer saw that they were in a narrow, dirt hallway. The door they’d come through was sealed tightly shut on the basement entrance. Surely the Dark Ones weren’t smart enough to find a hidden door, were they?

“This way!” Keoni exclaimed. “Come on!”

He darted down the tunnel and Jennifer and the rest of what remained of her team followed him as the ground shook above them.

“Now…let’s try this again, Mr. Genova. Okay?”

Tony struggled hard to keep his cool. He didn’t know how long he was knocked out, but it couldn’t have been for very long. The next thing he knew, he was seated in one of his kitchen chairs, bound to it with thick twine. He knew the twine well—it was his, taken from the toolbox that he kept behind the vacuum cleaner in the closet.

Tony pretended to sigh and roll his eyes. In actuality, he used the movement to glance around the room. The interior of the condo was still dark, and the three figures who’d burst in uninvited were standing around him. He couldn’t hear or see anyone else.

Three against one, he thought. I’ve been in worse situations. Of course, I wasn’t tied to a fucking chair at the time.

“Mr. Genova?”

“I thought I fucking told you cock suckers…my name’s Larry DiMazzio.”

“In 1994 you were arrested and charged for the murder of Andrew Mihailov.” The man that said this looked barely young enough to shave or have his learner’s permit. “Your former employer, Mr. Marano, pulled some strings with the DA and the charges were dropped.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, kid.”

“The Mihailov family still doesn’t know who really killed Andrew. They knew of your arrest, of course, but the District Attorney was able to convince them it was the work of a Crip faction that had settled in the area briefly. The Mihailov family took care of that problem.” The man paused, cocked his head at Tony. “You remember what happened next, yes?”

Tony locked eyes with the baby-faced little fuck and tried to stare him down. The guy was telling the truth, but he couldn’t let himself be psyched out. The little fuck didn’t even blink. Neither did the other man, whom he now saw was taller, slightly older, with a smooth shaven face. The woman was dressed like her partners, dark slacks and shirt, dark overcoat. Her black hair was pulled back and tucked in a bun. She wore little to no makeup. Still, she was a looker. Despite his situation, Tony couldn’t help but let his gaze roam her body, exploring.

Baby-face cleared his throat. “Mr. Genova? Do you remember what happened?”

There was no sense in pretending. Obviously, they knew who he was. They weren’t buying the Larry DiMazzio cover. The only question that remained was who were they—and what did they want? Were they here to settle an old score? Unfinished business? Or maybe the remnants of the Marano empire had finally tracked him down?

Tony shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. What’s it to me?”

“Just a confirmation that we’re not as stupid as you’re making us out to be.”

“I never said you were.”

“Your denial of who you are says otherwise,” the woman said.

“Okay…look…” Tony said, regarding each of his captors with a glance, a knowing nod. “What’s up with the spook shit? If you’re wiseguys or cartel, then I’m Barney the fucking Dinosaur. And if you’re hit men, then you’re the chattiest fucking assassins I’ve ever met. So what’s the deal? Level with me, huh?”

A commotion at the front door turned their collective attention away from Tony. The three quickly drew their guns. Tony’s heart thudded hard in his chest as his mind raced, trying to figure out who the hell these guys were and how to get himself out of here. He twisted his wrists and flexed his arms, trying to loosen the ropes, but they held fast.

There was the sound of something heavy slumping to the ground outside, then a distinct knock. One sharp rap, followed by three knocks. The agents relaxed, dropped their weapons.

The older guy approached the door, gun held out. “What waits at the center of the Labyrinth?”

A voice from outside. “He who shall not be named.”

“Riddles!” Tony grinned. “Hey, is this a private conversation, or can anybody get involved? Cause I got a riddle for you. What’s gonna happen to you fucks when I get loose? Anybody want to answer that fucking riddle?”

They ignored him. The older guy opened the front door and another similarly dressed agent entered the condo, hauling a maintenance worker inside. The door closed behind him. The newcomer dropped the unconscious maintenance worker to the floor and stood over him. “We almost had trouble.” He held up a handgun, a Desert Eagle with

a silencer. Tony had owned a weapon like that before, in his old life. Nice handgun.

The older guy nodded down at the maintenance worker. “Is he clean otherwise?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you bring beer?” Tony nodded at the newcomer. “Because I don’t think I’m gonna have enough for everybody.”

The agents glanced at each other. The newcomer frowned.

“Has he been like this all along?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “He hides his fear and uncertainty beneath a veneer of sarcasm and bravado.”

“What can I say, sweetheart. I grew up on Han Solo, avid Lee Roth, and Smokey and the fucking Bandit.” He turned to the newcomer. “What the fuck you bop the maintenance guy for? The man can’t even make a living painting the trim at this place without you guys knocking him out. What, you guys ATF or something? Some shit like that? Is that why you burst in here like this? Cause I got weapons? Makes no sense, but you’re too dumb to be anything else.”

“You know very well we’re not ATF,” the older man said.

“I don’t know shit.” Tony nodded at the maintenance worker. “If I was working this shitty job I’d carry a piece too. Never know what kind of shit bag’s gonna rob you of your week’s pay.”

Groaning, the man on the floor stirred. When he tried to sit up, his captor placed a foot on his chest and shoved him back to the carpet.

“Get off me!”

“You tell them, brother,” Tony cheered. “Don’t let these fuckers push you around. I’ve got them right where I want them.”

Without speaking, two of the intruders picked the maintenance worker up from the floor and forced him to sit in a chair across from Tony. Two kept their weapons pointed at him while the woman tied him up. The maintenance worker struggled, but Tony got the impression that the man was doing it to size up his opponents—probe their strengths and weaknesses—rather than to escape.

“So what’s next?” Tony asked. “We gonna play Uno or Monopoly or something? Or wait. I got it! You fuckers are into that role-playing shit, aren’t you? Roll D20 and determine how many times you suck my dick.”

Tony kept the banter up, but as he spoke, he eyed the maintenance worker intensely. The guy was no mere wrench monkey or lawn jockey. Tony recognized a kind of hardness in the captive’s expression. It was mirrored in Tony’s own. This guy was not who he claimed to be, and Tony was almost certain that he had killed before.

Baby-face grabbed a kitchen chair and slid it across the floor. Then he sat down, his face inches from Tony’s.

“Are you finished?” he asked. His voice was quiet. Calm. Almost bemused.

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “You tell me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you guys here to whack me? Because if so, I wish you’d get the fuck on with it.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Genova. We’re not here to kill you. We’re here because we need your help. We want to offer you a job.”

Tony blinked. “Is that so? Well, you sure have a funny way of asking for help. You always assault and tie up your job applicants?”

Baby-face’s expression became sad. “I apologize for that. It was a necessary precaution. We had to take certain measures to make sure you were protected.”

“Protected from what?”

“From us. Had you been tempted to use your firearm, or attack us in some other manner, we’d have had no choice but to defend ourselves. That could have ended badly—for all concerned. Believe me when I tell you that we don’t want to kill you, Mr. Genova. Indeed, you are one of the seven most important people in the world.”

“My mama always told me I was special.”

Baby-face smiled. “Your mother was right.”

Tony returned the smile. Then he spat in his captor’s face. Baby-face flinched as the wad of saliva splattered against his cheek and slowly rolled down to his chin, but his smile, although faltering, remained.

“Was that really necessary?” He grabbed a napkin from Tony’s kitchen table and wiped the offending fluid away.

“Let’s cut the happy feel good bullshit,” Tony said. “You motherfuckers come busting in here, knock me the fuck out with your Mr. Spock shit, tie me up in this fucking chair, kidnap some poor schmuck from outside, drop him in my crib, and then tell me that I’m special and this is all for my own good? As the brothers are prone to say—nigga, please.”

Baby-face opened his mouth to respond, but the older man interrupted.

“Tell him. We’re wasting time.”

“Not yet. We still—”

“We have no choice. Tell him.”

Baby-face turned around and pointed at the maintenance man. “What about him?”

“I’ll take care of him. You just get Genova prepared for what’s to come. We don’t have much time. The plane leaves in an hour and thirty minutes. We need to be on it.”

The older man grabbed the back of the maintenance man’s chair and tilted it toward him. Then he began to drag the captive across the floor toward the door. The maintenance man kicked and struggled against his bonds.

“Get your hands off me,” he shouted. “I know who you people are! Black Lodge. You’re Black fucking Lodge, right?”

The older man stopped, releasing the chair as if he’d been shocked. The other man—the one Tony’s age and build—gasped. The woman simply stared, clearly surprised.

“He’s got your goat,” Tony said. “I don’t know what the fuck any of it means, but he got you.”

“Get him out of here,” Baby-face said, his calm demeanor betrayed by the edge in his voice.

“No,” Tony said. “The lawn jockey stays. If what you’re saying is true—if you need me for some job—then he stays. Otherwise, I ain’t doing jack shit, and you can just kill me now.”

“I told you, Mr. Genova, we have no intention of killing you. And why are you worried about the welfare of this man, whom you don’t even know?”

“He senses a kindred spirit,” the woman said, moving to stand over Baby-face’s shoulder. “He doesn’t know who this maintenance man is, but he knows that they are the same. They both have blood on their hands. Since Mr. Genova views both himself and this other man as our captives, he’s hoping to keep the other man alive long enough so that the two of them can work together to effect an escape.”

“Wow,” Tony gasped. “Lady, you’re good. You should take that mind reading shit on the road. Get yourself on Oprah or something.”

“When you were twelve years old,” the woman said, “the neighborhood bully, one Max Delveccio, taunted and harassed a friend of yours. The friend’s name was Paul Novak. The harassment progressed to sexual harassment, and then rape. Delveccio’s cruelty forced your friend to run away from home. Paul was never seen again.”

“How did you—”

“I could have gotten that information from any number of sources,” the woman continued, “but what I couldn’t have known was this. You lured Max Delveccio to an old abandoned house, and then you killed him. He was the first person you ever murdered. You thought that if he went away, your friend would come back home again. You were sick after you did it. You stayed home from school for three days. Your mother believed you had the flu. You buried Delveccio’s body in the basement of the house. When you were sixteen, the house was torn down to make way for a county park. You were worried that someone would find the remains, but they never did. His bones lie there to this day. They whisper your name.”

Tony’s voice was barely audible. “I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even Vince. How the fuck do you know that?”

“I know everything about you, Mr. Genova.”

“Because you can read minds?”

She nodded. “How else would you explain what I just did?”

Tony shrugged. “So, what? You tell me about a murder I supposedly did back when I was a kid, and I’m supposed to be all impressed now? You don’t know shit.”

The woman was nonplussed. “I know more about you than you probably know yourself. Indeed, we all do.”

“We know about the dreams,” Baby-face said. “More importantly, we know why you have them.”

“What dreams?”

“The ones where you’re living different lives on different worlds. Worlds that have eerie similarities to this one, and yet are different. You and your partner, Vince, fighting zombies in Finland, for example. That’s been a recently recurring nightmare, has it not?”

“Big deal. So I watched Dawn of the Dead one too many times. How the fuck do you people know about this shit? Who are you?”

“We know because those aren’t just dreams, Mr. Genova. They are memories. Memories of different worlds. Memories that versions of you have experienced in alternate realities. You are a survivor of the Clicker invasion. On another world, perhaps there is a Tony Genova who dreams of battling Clickers, or who right now, at this very moment, is dreaming of being tied to that chair.”

“Dude, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, but can I have some? You people are tripping balls.”

“No,” the maintenance worker said, “they’re not. This is what they do. They specialize in all that occult mumbo jumbo—alternate realities, witchcraft, UFO’s, demons, all that stuff. They’re Black Lodge.”

“That supposed to mean something to me?” Tony asked. “Because
it doesn’t. I don’t know what that is. Black Lodge? What are you, like the X-Files or some shit?”

“Our organization no longer works within the confines of any one government,” Baby-face told him. “We are beholden to a much higher law. We are engaged in many activities, and to tell you all of it… well, I’m afraid it would be a bit confusing for a novice such as yourself. Suffice to say, we’re a bit more complicated than the television show you referenced.”

The older man began dragging the maintenance man toward the door again. The captive shouted in protest, but the agents ignored him.

“You take him out of here,” Tony told Baby-face, “and I swear to fucking God I’m not doing shit for you. Ask her.” He nodded at the woman. “If she can read minds, have her read mine right the fuck now. Tell me if I’m lying. I dare you.”

The woman paused. Her eyes narrowed. “He means it. Stubborn and contentious, just as we were told he’d be.”

Sighing, Baby-face hung his head. “Who was the idiot that wrote this mission’s sit-rep?”

“You did,” the woman said.

“Don’t remind me.”

“What do you want me to do with him?” the older man asked.

Baby-face looked up. “He stays. We’ve got to keep Mr. Genova happy, don’t we?”

“But—”

“No buts. Need I remind you of your station?”

“That’s right,” Tony said. “You’ve got to keep Mr. Genova happy. So why don’t we start with some oral sex?”

They stared at him, unblinking.

“No? Okay, then. How about your names?”

“I’m afraid not,” Baby-face said. “Names have power. Instead, how about we tell you what we prefer to be called?”

“Whatever.”

Baby-face pointed to the older man. “That is Diamond. The gentleman to his left is Onyx. The young lady is Ruby. And I am Amethyst.”

“That’s a chick’s name.”

“Excuse me?”

“Amethyst. It’s a chick’s name. I used to bang a stripper named Amethyst. Wasn’t her real name, of course.”

“Nor are these our real names. They are simply what we prefer to be called.”

“You prefer to be called by a chick’s name? Hell, why not just call yourself Bambi or Sally, while you’re at it. Or wait…I got it. You can be Snow White and the rest of the happy fun club can be Dopey, Sleepy and Shit-head.”

“Okay. So, Amethyst…you gonna untie me or what?”

Amethyst glanced over his shoulder at Ruby. “Can we?”

“Not yet. He’s still imagining ways to escape.”

Amethyst turned back to Tony and smiled. “Perhaps after you hear us out.”

“What about him?” Tony nodded at the other captive. “No sense keeping him here. You’re not gonna say anything, are you dude?”

“That one is thinking of ways to escape, as well,” Ruby said. “He is driven by violence and an all-consuming need for revenge. He’s the one they’ve been looking for—the one who has killed many of those associated with the Tyler Administration. The secret assassin. He wants to murder former Secretary of State Donald Barker next. He’s hoping to cut a deal with us in that regard. If not, he intends on killing us, as well.”

“That’s unexpected,” Amethyst muttered, and then turned back to Tony. “Are you ready to hear us out?”

“What else am I gonna do tonight? It ain’t like I can go anywhere.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. You can leave whenever you like.”

“Then you didn’t do your research. If you had, you’d know that—”

“The conditions of your deal with the government need not be a concern. We’ve taken care of that. You’re free to travel. Indeed, we’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the airport. We have a plane on standby.”

“Awesome,” Tony said. “Let’s hit St. Martin’s. Or Cabo. Yeah, let’s go to Cabo. Sammy Hagar’s got a bar down there. Always wanted to see it.”

“We’re going to the island of Naranu.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s not surprising. Until recently, it was wholly unremarkable to the average layperson.”

“Until recently? What changed? The natives discover cable television or something?”

“No,” Amethyst said. “A team of scientists discovered something else—some very old ruins. But what they don’t know is that Naranu has another, older name. R’lyeh.”

“The fuck is that?”

“In mythology, it’s a sunken city. In reality, it’s the island we call Naranu.”

“So why are we going there?”

“Because Naranu refers to more than just the island itself. It is also the name of the catacombs that honeycomb the island, and the sunken city that lies beneath it. Naranu is a shrine, of sorts. A temple. The Dark Ones consider the island to be the holiest of ground.”

“The Dark Ones?” Chuckling, Tony shook his head. “I should have known. I mean, you brought the Clickers up earlier. I should have fucking known that sooner or later it would come around to this. You want to go fucking around with those goddamned lizard things, and since I’ve faced them before, you expect me to be some sort of guide and shit. A civilian advisor. Is that it?”

“Yes, and no.”

“Well, I got news for you, Amethyst—the Dark Ones are dead. The Army scragged them and the fucking Clickers. They’re extinct.”

“Far from it,” Amethyst said. “You’ve fought them, and survived. Tell me, did the Dark Ones seem intelligent to you?”

“Sure. The Clickers were dumb as stumps, but those lizard-things were as smart as you or me.”

“They are, indeed. And they have thriving communities far from the reach of mankind. The Dark Ones are far from extinct, Mr. Genova—or may I call you Tony?”

Tony shrugged, and Amethyst continued.

“The Dark Ones have certainly suffered heavy losses. But they’ve been biding their time. Waiting until the stars are right. You see, the Dark Ones are theistic. They worship a being known as Dagon. Humans know this deity as Cthulhu or Dagnu. He has many other names, as well. Tlaloc. Matsya. Vishnu. Dingir. Bekalam. Kraken. His real name, however, his secret name…is Leviathan.”

“You guys take this name shit seriously, don’t you?”

Ignoring the comment, the younger man continued. “The island of Naranu is little more than nine miles in circumference. It’s basically a mountaintop of phosphorous rock and lush jungle jutting up from the ocean. Beneath the waves, however, lies a much larger landmass—sunken eons ago. The being that the Dark Ones worship is said to reside in a temple located deep beneath the island—somewhere in Naranu’s subterranean depths. According to the Dark One’s beliefs, he sleeps until the stars and planets align in a particular formation, at which time they can awaken him, after which he shall exact their revenge on the surface world. Like all other religions, this is not entirely accurate. Dagon actually dwells on another plane—a place called the Great Deep; it is a dimensional realm composed entirely of water. There is a portal beneath Naranu—a doorway, if you will. When the astrological formation occurs, the Dark Ones’ ceremony will actually open this portal, allowing Dagon to crossover from his realm to our own.”

“You said this thing’s real name was Leviathan,” Tony said. “So why do you keep calling it Dagon?”

“It is hard to explain to a novice such as yourself. Suffice to say, the Dark Ones know it as Dagon, so that is what we must confront it as.”

“Time,” Diamond reminded them.

“I knew they were smart,” Tony muttered, “but I didn’t realize they had their own religion and shit.”

“Oh, yes. Since your last encounter with them, the Dark Ones have not been idle. They have retreated from the surface world, licking their wounds and gathering strength again. Now, due to certain astrological events that they believe to be portents, the Dark Ones intend to wake up their god.”

“And do what?”

“Destroy mankind. They want to exact revenge on us for thwarting their last invasion attempt.”

“Well, shit. You’d better untie me. If the world’s gonna end, then I’ve got a lot of things I want to do before it happens.”

“The world isn’t going to end, Tony, because we’re going to stop it from happening.”

“We? I’m not going anywhere. You guys can enjoy your little island getaway. I’m staying here. I fought those fuckers once before. I ain’t fighting them again.”

“You have no choice,” Ruby said. “It is your destiny.”

Tony laughed. “Christ. You people sound like you’re quoting really cheesy movie dialogue. There is no such thing as destiny, sweetheart, Destiny is what you make it. Destiny is the shit I took this morning. Destiny is what comes out of the barrel of a gun. You want to talk about destiny? Listen to the lyrics of Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler. That’s everything you ever wanted to know about destiny but were afraid to ask.”

Smiling, Amethyst folded his fingers into a steeple formation. “We assumed that would be your reaction. I’d be remiss if I didn’t explain to you that if you refuse to help us, your deal with the government shall be immediately rendered null and void, and you will be incarcerated and tried for your crimes. All of your crimes.”

“Bullshit. You ain’t got the power to—”

“Oh, but we do, Tony. We really do.”

“Prove it.”

“Is that really a risk you’re willing to take?”

Tony didn’t respond. He glanced around the room. Diamond, Onyx and Ruby all returned his gaze, unblinking, their faces emotionless. The maintenance man who wasn’t really a maintenance man stared at him, too. His expression was easier to read. Tony knew it well. It mirrored his own thoughts and emotions.

Play along with the crazy fuckers until we can come up with a way out of this shit.

“He’s going to bluff us,” Ruby reported. “He has no desire to accompany us to Naranu. He’s still just looking for an avenue of escape. He senses a kinship with the other man.”

Tony shrugged.

“Did I mention,” Amethyst said softly, “that Jennifer Wasco is on the island? You know her, yes?”

“Jennifer? She’s on Naranu?”

“Yes.” Amethyst nodded. “She is part of a research team that was recently dispatched there.”

Onyx stepped forward, holding a black leather brief-case. It hadn’t been in his hands a moment earlier. Tony was sure of it. Wondering where it came from, he nodded at the briefcase.

“So, in addition to reading minds, you guys do slight of hand tricks, too? Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?”

Onyx didn’t answer.

“No?” Tony shrugged again. “Well, then how about this? Can you pull my dick out of my pants? Or maybe an elephant out of your ass?”

Onyx didn’t react to the taunts. His face impassive, he handed the briefcase to Amethyst, who opened it and took out some eight-by-ten color photographs. He held them up so that Tony could see them.

“These were taken less than an hour ago via our remote viewers. I trust that you recognize her?”

“Fuck…”

The series of photographs were all of Jennifer, running in terror across a tropical beach, pursued by both Clickers and Dark Ones. There were other people with her, but Tony didn’t recognize any of them. He assumed they were her colleagues—other scientists and researchers. The quality and resolution were enough that Tony could see the fear etched in Jennifer’s expression.

“Fuck,” he repeated.

“Understand this,” Amethyst said. “The events taking place on Naranu are happening as we speak. By the time the international community acts, it will be too late. She will die unless we get to her. If you don’t want to act to save the world, Tony, then perhaps you’ll act to save your friend.”

Ruby licked her lips and stepped forward. “It is very easy to adopt a new name—a new identity—and pretend that doing so erases the mistakes of your past. It’s much harder to actually forge a future that is free of those past sins. I see that you struggle to do so. Perhaps this can be the first step toward real redemption.”

Tony stared at them, glanced back down at the photographs, and then up again.

“I assure you,” Amethyst said, “these are not fakes. Jennifer Wasco is on that island right now, fighting for her life.”

“Well shit,” Tony said. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place? When do we leave?”

Nodding, Amethyst stood up and turned to the others. “Onyx, untie him. Diamond, take our other guest outside. Contact the circle and tell them we’ll need him picked up at the airport. Then we—”

“No,” Tony interrupted. “The lawn jockey comes with us. Seriously. I’ve got enough blood on my hands. I’m not just gonna stand by while you fuckers do God knows what to him just because he had the bad luck to be outside of my apartment.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question.” Amethyst shook his head.

“Then I’m not going. Have Ruby read my mind—tell me I’m bullshitting you.”

“He’s not,” she confirmed. “His will and intent are clear to me. He’ll refuse to come along if we don’t do as he asks. He means it.”

“You’re damn straight I do. I don’t want his body showing up in a ditch somewhere, and then the cops trace him back here to my place. Screw that. He’s coming along for the ride.”

Amethyst sighed. “Very well. We don’t have time to argue. He can accompany us. But when we get there, his blood will indeed be on your hands—and I assure you, Mr. Genova, that is a very likely possibility.”

Onyx untied Tony while Diamond did the same to the newcomer. Tony stood, stretching his muscles and flexing his fingers.

“Just let me grab my gun.”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that,” Amethyst said. “Both of you will be issued weapons once we reach our destination. We’ll also debrief you in full during the flight. Now, if there are no further delays?”

“Actually, I gotta use the can real quick.”

Amethyst started to protest, but Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“No funny business. I promise. Seriously, unless you want me to piss in your ride on the way to the airport, then I’ve got to take a leak first. I’ve got a weak bladder. Used to drive my partner, Vince, nuts with it. We’d drive from York to Atlantic City or Philly or someplace like that, and he’d have to pull over three or four times so I could piss.”

“Go ahead. But please hurry.”

Smiling, Tony ducked into the bathroom, straddled the toilet, and unzipped his fly. His legs and arms tingled as the circulation returned to them.

“Damn,” he muttered. “And here I thought I’d be sitting alone tonight, all drunk and maudlin. Now I get to play civilian advisor to a bunch of paramilitary occult nut jobs and see Doc Wasco again. Tell me my life ain’t working out, Vince. Too bad you ain’t here to see it, you fat fuck.”

The Elder hissed as he watched from a comfortable, secure vantage point—a hundred feet up a sheer rocky cliff that was lush with vegetation—as his soldiers ran the invading humans off the beach and into the jungle. The wet sand turned red as the slaughter reached its peak. Even from this distance, the Elder could smell the blood, borne to him on the salty sea breeze. He made a soft trilling noise as he watched the carnage below.

The humans were no match for the Dark Ones and their Clickers. They’d been unaware of the humans’ presence when they emerged from the ocean, intent on waking Great Dagon. Their occupation of this most holiest of places had been an abomination. The Elder had suggested to his brothers that they wait and watch. Were the humans going to increase in number? Was their stay temporary? Naranu wasn’t very heavily populated to begin with. The human population that lived on the island were the indigenous people who’d inhabited the island for over forty thousand years and had served as guardians and sacrifices to Dagon. These new humans, though, were like the main-landers that had slaughtered the Elder’s brothers not so long ago. Sadly, the Elder’s suggestion had been overruled. So incensed were the rest of the Dark Ones at the humans’ presence—the killing had begun almost immediately.

The Elder gnashed his teeth as he watched his brethren rend the fleeing humans. Half a dozen of them scattered into the jungle, screaming in unison as they were chased down and killed.

It didn’t matter that his soldiers would catch and slaughter each and every one of them…what mattered was that the natives had allowed these humans on the island.

That was unthinkable—and unforgivable.

They had allowed the sacred spot, the most holiest of shrines, to be desecrated.

The Elder roared. A flock of macaws took flight at the sound,

squawking in fright. The Elder began to crawl down the lush vegetation, gripping strong vines and branches as it made its descent. Once it reached the jungle floor, it would head toward the beach where it would confirm that these new humans had been slaughtered. If there were stragglers, it would send its brethren out to destroy them. But in the meantime…

…in the meantime, Dagon had to be appeased.

Before the desecration of His holy shrine was discovered.

His reptilian nostrils flared wide and his gills slapped uselessly along the side of his neck. The Elder glanced up at the moon, visible through the clouds, and calculated how long it would be until sunrise. With each passing generation, their kind became more resistant to the light, but they would still need to find shelter before the dawn. He wasn’t worried. If all went according to plan, there would be no further sunrises. Before tomorrow’s dawn, Dagon would be awake and the rains would begin. Soon, the planet would be more hospitable to their kind, and humanity would be extinct.

Half a dozen Dark Ones were gathered around a small pile of human corpses. Their gills smacked wetly together as they rummaged through the bodies. The Elder bleated once at them. The circle must be protected! The Dark Ones answered, then departed to carry out the Elder’s orders, scattering to different corners of the island. Their hive mind was at work now, working as one solid unit, bringing them all together. Their revenge would be fulfilled.

The Elder scanned the beach. Human corpses littered the shore. Some were decapitated, others mutilated beyond recognition, others partially devoured and little more than bubbling froths of flesh due to the Clicker’s potent venom. A few of the humans had been cut in half by the Clicker’s massive claws. As always, the Dark Ones had used the Clickers to their advantage, herding them out of the ocean and up the beach in a mass attack, in some cases using them as mounts to drive the smaller Clickers forward. The element of surprise had been even more apparent here, on Naranu, where the Dark Ones had been living in their most secret of homes, their most remote conclave. For it was here that the secret to the universe lay.

The Elder roared, calling out to his generals. Two of them were close by and they emerged from the jungle’s shadow. One carried a spear never before seen by those who inhabited the surface, dragged up from the depths of the shadow at the bottom of the world. It was a spear crafted by hands far older than those of the first Neanderthal who’d walked the earth—a weapon manufactured by a race of people that had died out long before the natives of Naranu crawled onto the sandy beaches from their makeshift rafts that had carried them here from other neighboring Micronesian Islands.

As the two Dark Ones approached, the first of the island natives appeared on the beach. The Dark Ones turned around and faced them, growing silent as more natives emerged on the beach.

The roaring and screeching of the Dark Ones and Clickers that had chased the last of the new humans into the jungle were growing farther away. Far off in the distance, a tree fell over with a loud crash. Entire groves of vegetation steamed and hissed as they were decimated. There was what sounded like a building being destroyed. The Elder smiled at the sound. It was good. Such structures were a blight upon the island. Perhaps the natives hadn’t anticipated the surprise arrival of dozens of mainlanders, but at the very least, they should have stopped such development from taking place. They should have barred the newcomers from the island, should have driven them off with brute force. But they didn’t, so the Elder had to take action, and now the mainlanders were being slaughtered.

The Elder paid no heed to the screams of the dying coming from the jungle, nor the sound of the roaring of his soldiers and the hissing of the Clickers as they rampaged farther inland. His attention was wholly centered on the natives, who were gathering quickly. Over a dozen had emerged, and they stood in a rough semi-circle, their eyes wide with fright.

One of them stepped forward, clearly afraid. He was dressed in a long pair of shorts and nothing else. His face was weathered, skin wrinkled and hard as a walnut. His hair was black with flecks of gray. He raised his hands in a placating motion and began to speak, the words spilling out of him quickly in his native tongue, which the Elder understood. “Oh, esteemed one! Please, forgive us! These scientists, they have forced themselves onto our land! They have wreaked havoc on all that is holy and worthy while we have cowered before them, knowing they are unworthy of being in the mere presence of Dagon! But we had no choice…they threatened us with much violence, with much bloodshed, if we did not—”

The Elder bellowed in a language that was universal to both their kind: Silence!

A huge flock of birds took flight from the trees that bordered the beach, heading inland. The Elder sensed the flight of other creatures fleeing through the jungle but paid them no heed. His attention was wholly centered on the native, who stood cowering before him.

The Elder flicked his forked tongue out, tasting the air. There was a strong scent of acidy urine in the air along with a strong current of fear.

When The Elder spoke it was through a series of grunts and clicking noises that came from deep within its throat.

The humans they had slaughtered would not have understood what he was saying, but the natives did because they shared a common language. Their language was old when Atlantis was young, was ancient when the natives first reached this island. “You are not truthful when you say that these newcomers threatened you with violence. I can smell the lie on you. It oozes from your very pores. Our kind has allowed you to live on this island since you climbed down from the trees. You have served as guardians. Some of you have served as sacrifices. You have done this in accordance with that which is written on the clay tablets of R’lyeh. In return, we have given you the gift your people crave more than anything: your miserable, wretched lives. And what do you show for your gratitude?”

The native shook his head, his fear palpable. His fellow natives were backing away. They appeared ready to bolt. “Please, oh esteemed one!” the native said again, his voice pleading. “You are our Masters! We are here to serve you! Tell us how we may redeem ourselves! We will do anything you ask! We throw ourselves at your mercy!”

“Mercy?” the Elder barked. If the Elder had the vocal capabilities for laughter, it would have laughed long and hard at this foolish human. “You have the audacity to ask for mercy? After allowing these humans to defile the holy site of Dagon with their presence? You know all too well what these mainlanders have done to our kind in the recent past. They tried to exterminate our race. Yet you welcomed them.”

The native trembled. Sweat poured down his brow. He was practically stuttering as he attempted to placate the Dark One a final time. “There were too many of them, my Lord. We tried to chase them off the island, but to no avail! They have walked all over us, they have not given us the respect we have demanded of them.”

“Respect?”

“We told them that out of respect for our ways and our god that they were to leave this island. When they refused, we threatened them with death.”

“And you did not carry out your threats?”

“Wanabi warned us against it,” the native said. “He said that if we did, then even more mainlanders would arrive, and that they would capture us and try us according to their laws, and that the island would never be free of them again. So we watched. The mainlanders called more of their kind to Naranu. We tried to warn them again—”

“You didn’t try hard enough. And I’ve had enough of your excuses!”

“Please, oh Father! We ask for your mercy. I will gladly give my life to you…in return of…”

“Oh, I will have your life,” the Elder snarled. It stepped forward, pointing a taloned finger at the native. “I will have your life, as well as the lives of the rest of your pathetic tribe.”

The Elder roared to his soldiers. “Ia! Ia!”

The Dark Ones charged the circle of natives, who barely had time to turn around in an effort to flee before they were set upon.

The Elder leaped on the tribal chief’s back and slammed one clawed fist into the back of his head. The chief’s eyes and brain matter flew out the front of his skull, splashing on the sandy beach with a wet splat before his body spun and hit the ground. The Elder straddled him and sank his teeth into the soft hollow of his throat as his generals chased down the tribe’s remaining members. He bathed in the hot spray of blood, relishing the feel of it against his scales.

The Elder let his rage take over. He was blinded by it. As he let the rage carry him on, his mind went back over millennia, to other times when they’d had to slaughter Naranuans for similar offenses against Dagon. It was one thing to kill most of the tribe, leaving a few behind to repopulate the island; today, the Elder was bent on eliminating the tribe entirely—punishment for them allowing intruders here on this holiest of sites just as the stars were right to summon Dagon.

The Elder stopped mutilating the body of the tribal chief and leaped after the remaining, fleeing humans, joining his generals in the hunt. The rest of the tribe had not gotten very far. Most of them were already dead, lying in pools of blood, their sightless eyes staring up at a star-filled sky. Two of the generals were tugging at either end of a native as the man screamed. The skin of the man’s abdomen stretched, grew taut, then snapped, spilling wet entrails and blood on the beach with a great splash. The generals picked each piece up and began to devour the remains. The smells of blood and death and shit were heavy in the air as the last vestiges of the natives were similarly killed.

The Elder approached one of his generals, who was cornering one of the surviving humans against the edge of the jungle. The survivor was a young man, no older than sixteen. The boy’s face was smeared with ochre, his body nude save for a loincloth fashioned from vines and leaves. His hands were stained red with blood. The boy had given
up being afraid and was trying to show courage. His eyes blazed, his lip curled upward in a snarl. The Elder grinned; in another time he might have let this one live. But not today. After the defilement the tribal chief had shown with this latest invasion, it stopped now.

The Elder grunted at the youngster. “Prepare to die, boy.”

The boy called back, his intonation of the old language perfect. “I will see you on the other side of the dimensions, Elder!”

The Elder paused. Cocked his head at the boy. “You dare threaten me?”

The boy pounced on the opportunity. “I have killed a white man—a scientist. I have joined your kind in the slaughter of the invaders. Wanabi was wrong when he told us not to drive them off. He was too weak. I am not weak, though. I would have killed more but Manabi, my father, one of the nine tribal chiefs, forbid it. He pulled me from the still-warm body of the white man I killed, and took me below ground, to the catacombs, to prevent me from fulfilling your glory. See!” The boy held out his wrists, which bore raw red marks from being tied up. “He intended to keep me prisoner.”

“How did you escape?”

“My uncle let me escape.”

“Where is he?” The boy gestured at the litter of corpses strewn around them. “One of your generals killed him, your holiness.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you?”

“I will help fulfill the ritual of awakening. I would see the glory of the arrival of Dagon. And I will help you track down and kill every one of these invading mainlanders.”

“My brothers are doing this! What good could you accomplish?”

“If some escape, I know where they will hide.”

“Do you?” The Elder stepped toward the boy, his gait menacing. He breathed down on the boy, unaware that his breath was that of carrion. The boy didn’t even flinch or blanch in sickness. “If so, I order you to tell me now!”

“Only if you let me live long enough to prove myself worthy to you. Let me lead you to every last trespasser on this island.”

The Elder paused; off in the distance, he could hear the Clickers and his fellow Dark Ones retreating farther into the jungle. No longer did the sound of further slaughter reach his ears, nor was the fresh scent of blood and death heavy in the air. Had his soldiers killed every last human on the island?

As if reading his thoughts, the boy said, “There are more trespassers. They are retreating, hiding even now. Your brothers will kill the rest of my people, they will leave some to repopulate the island as has passed in the years bygone…but only I can lead you to those invaders that have escaped. Not even what is left of my tribe know the many hiding places on this island.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“Who told you?”

“I have observed…I have watched and waited…and learned…”

The Elder glanced at his generals and a silent under-standing seemed to pass between them. Spare the boy. For now…

The Elder turned to the boy. His face was an ugly grimace. “You have four of your hours. The ritual must commence within six of your hours. If you have not found the trespassers in four hours, you and your people, every single last one of them, will be slaughtered along with the rest of the surface dwellers. Do you understand?”

“So it shall be.”

The Dark One rose to his full height and stepped aside. His generals followed suit. The boy sensed the shift of energy among the Dark Ones and his fear lifted. He stood up, still eyeing the Dark Ones warily, and stepped forward boldly. “Come!” the boy said, gesturing to the jungle that lay beyond the beach. “I will take you.”

And with that, the boy headed into the jungle followed by the half dozen Dark Ones and their Elder, chief priest of Dagon.

Jennifer gasped for breath. Her clothing, drenched in sweat and covered with the blood of her dead associates stuck to her skin. Her hands and knees had been cut and scraped and bruised by rocks and pebbles, and her parched throat was sore. She also had the beginnings of what was going to be a raging migraine; her temples throbbed faintly and she felt a tightness in her abdomen she couldn’t pinpoint. Fear? Nerves?

She assumed that the tunnel that Keoni was leading them down couldn’t be that much longer; already it seemed as if they’d traveled a couple of miles through its subterranean depths. There was a dampness to the chamber that made Jennifer think of an old basement or root cellar. As they traveled along the narrow corridor, Keoni’s flashlight led the way. Jennifer wasn’t positive, but she suspected that the beam was growing dimmer as they progressed. She was afraid to mention it in case she alarmed the others.

Ed was behind Keoni, asking him about the tunnels. “How many people know about them?”

“Just the tribal chiefs and myself,” Keoni said.

“But you’re not from here. How is it that you know about them?”

“It’s a long story,” Keoni answered. “I’ll tell you later, when there’s time. Come on. We need to pick up the pace.”

“I agree.” Susan nodded.

Jennifer assumed that Susan had gotten over her fear. For the first few minutes as they traveled down the tunnels, she’d glared at Jennifer with a smoldering gaze, which Jennifer ignored. Jennifer didn’t have time for that nonsense. Bitch would’ve had them all killed if she’d kept hollering. Jennifer did what she had to do to survive. Wade seemed to have chilled out on his anger over Jennifer’s handling of the situation, too. Within a few minutes, both of them had fallen into line with the rest as they followed Keoni down the tunnel.

“This tribe is a secretive one, aren’t they?” Wade asked.

“They are,” Keoni replied. “People from the surround-ing islands avoid them. I know people in my family, from my father’s side, they never wanted to have anything to do with Naranu.”

“Your father’s Samoan?” Susan asked.

Keoni nodded. Despite his insistence that they increase their speed, he stopped in the middle of the tunnel and looked back at them. The rest of the group halted as well, and Jennifer tried to listen for any sounds of pursuit. The more distance they put between themselves and the command center, the less destruction they heard. Keoni had been right; the Clickers and Dark Ones had not found the basement. All they’d heard so far was the sound of the creatures rampaging through the building’s first floor and that had faded as they drew farther away.

“My father was a tribal chief,” Keoni explained. “Many years ago, before others came to colonize the Polynesian islands, my ancestors had two skirmishes with the natives of Naranu. My ancestors came from a long line of warlords. They conquered many islands and many people. But not Naranu. Something about their people made my ancestors uneasy. Even today, when I ask my father and his uncles about it, they won’t talk much. They only say that Naranu people are to be left alone. The thing is, Naranuan people aren’t very plentiful. They could have easily been conquered by my people, by the Tongans or Fijians many years ago, but they never were. Instead, they’ve seemed to somehow deflect whatever invasions on their island very quickly and those invaders, for whatever reason, never tried again.”

Susan was standing next to Keoni. “I have to concur. My specialty is human anthropology among the Australian and Pacific Island indigenous people. My only exposure to the Naranuan people has been through what I’ve read on them in books. I was excited to come here to learn more about them, to observe them first hand. When I heard of the archeological findings, I thought it would help greatly with my research. I thought Naranu’s natives were peaceful. Secretive, but peaceful.”

“Our presence here sure has changed that,” Wade said.

Jennifer frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it doesn’t matter anymore if they were peaceful or warlike. Either way, they’re dead. Just like the rest of us. Those crab-things and those lizard-people don’t give a shit. We all taste the same to them.”

They stood in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Then Susan cleared her throat.

“Do you guys think anyone else is alive?”

“Probably not,” Jennifer said. “The Clickers aren’t the sort to take prisoners. They’re basically eating machines. And the Dark Ones—well,

you saw how angry they were when they first emerged from the water.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Susan said. She sighed. She no longer appeared angry with Jennifer. “Their attack was sort of surprising, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Jennifer said, confused. “It seems to go along with the behavior they’ve always exhibited in the past.”

“Yes.” Susan nodded. “But it intrigued me, nevertheless. I’m sure the rest of you noticed their immediate hostility toward us when we arrived. We know, of course, that they have a grudge against humanity, but they seemed genuinely surprised and full of loathing. Almost repulsed by our presence, as if our very existence here in this place was somehow abhorrent to them.”

“They believe they’re protecting some god or something,” Ed said. “Don’t forget, there’s evidence that this is some sort of holy site for them—a place of great religious significance. The statues and the carvings seem to bear that out.”

“Could it be that the island’s natives and the Dark Ones worship the same deity?” Susan turned to Keoni. “Do you know the name of their god?”

Keoni shook his head. “I don’t. All I know is that the island’s natives think he sleeps beneath the island and that they’re protecting him.”

“Did your family ever speak of this when they related their oral history?”

“Yes,” Keoni said. He looked reflective. “I didn’t believe any of it. I don’t believe in any of the legends the natives of these islands hold to. Even those of my people. I’m a Pacific Island rarity—I don’t believe in the myths of my own people and I don’t believe in Christianity, which most of my people converted to many years ago.”

“You’re an atheist?” Susan asked.

“I guess. Come on. We should get moving again.”

He led them down the corridor once more.

“Why?” Susan asked.

“Why what?” Keoni’s tone was puzzled.

“Why are you an atheist?”

“Well, why not?” Keoni gestured ahead into the darkness as the tunnel began to slope slightly downward. “A god sleeping beneath the island that nobody’s ever seen? Come on! If I find that hard to believe, it’s kinda hard to believe in an old man that lives in the sky.”

Jennifer smiled. Ed chuckled. Even Susan and Wade grinned at Keoni’s matter-of-fact answer. “What else do you know about their beliefs?” Susan asked him.

Keoni shrugged. “That’s it, really. Just that they believed they were guardians to this island because they were protecting their god. They defended this island fiercely because of this belief. Drove off every invading war party from neighboring islands with a ruthlessness never seen, especially among my people. I have to be honest, I am surprised that they succeeded in keeping European settlers from colonizing this island.”

“They didn’t keep them away entirely,” Ed said.

“No, not entirely,” Keoni agreed. “But you’ll notice that this island is the least populated, not only among the natives, but among Europeans and other people. Much of that has to do with their ability to keep people away. In the old days they thwarted invasion through violence. Today, they use the power of persuasion.”

Jennifer chuckled. “You can say that again. First thing one of them told me was that if we didn’t leave right away we’d catch some awful disease and die, or the water was undrinkable or something.”

The others nodded. They’d all been told various stories about why the island was uninhabitable, everything from the more superstitious natives spiritual beliefs in their god, to one of the tribal elders explaining that the islands natural resources were actually poisonous to non-native people. He’d backed this up with a story that past research teams had either died on the island from poisonous snake and spider bites, to being carried away by a subset of the Naranuan tribe that was comprised of cannibals. The extreme weather on the island was unbearable, too. It was tropical, with the temperature never dipping below eighty degrees Fahrenheit even in the winter. The humidity was stifling. The storms that blew in from Southeast Asia were brutal. Typhoons were common and often flooded the island. Why would white people want to colonize Naranu?

“Well, the conditions here are trying, but the place is livable,” Ed said. He was looking at his surroundings, collecting his bearings. “I have to wonder, though, why they didn’t rise to defend the island when the Dark Ones arrived tonight?”

“Were they even aware of the Dark Ones presence here?” Wade asked. “And if so, have they fought the Dark Ones before?”

“Maybe,” Jennifer said. “Or perhaps they’ve coexisted with them all these years and have used this knowledge to keep other people away.”

Wade grinned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It would explain those carvings on the western face of Mount

Rigiri,” Susan murmured.

Mount Rigiri was the small mountain in the center of the island that had, thus far, lain unexplored to modern science until recently when a small team of scientists somehow managed to sneak on to the island and trek inland on an expedition. They’d alerted Susan’s team on the nearby island of Pohnpei of the findings. Susan had, in turn, called Ed in Hawaii. It was those phone calls that had opened the gates to the scientific community.

“Those carvings do bear an uncanny resemblance to the Dark Ones, don’t they?” Wade agreed.

Jennifer had only seen the photos, taken by the team who had made the initial discovery. She had yet to venture into the lush jungle to see for herself. She’d spent much of her time along the island’s south shore gathering specimens and venturing a little bit inland to explore a small lake where she’d discovered several new amphibian species. The animal and plant life on Naranu was simply amazing. Some of it was highly toxic—one of the natives had warned them of a giant orb-weaving spider that grew to the size of a dinner plate and possessed venom strong enough to kill a man within seconds—but thus far they had yet to run into anything truly dangerous. As professionals, they had all been extremely cautious. Jennifer had handled her specimens with gloves and had been careful to not allow skin contact with any of them, especially the frog specimen she’d found, which had resembled a poison arrow dart frog.

Ed looked grave. In addition to his background in Paleovertebrates, he was a herpetologist, with a specialty in prehistoric reptiles and amphibians, not dinosaurs per se, but the links between dinosaurs and modern day reptiles and amphibians. It had been Ed that had discovered and named Titanaboa, a prehistoric anaconda that had grown to a length of sixty feet in the South American jungle. Steinhardt had also worked with a team of scientists during the Clickers/Dark Ones invasion a few years ago and held a keen interest in the physiology of the Dark Ones. Jennifer was adamant that if he had the capability, he’d study one in a controlled environment.

“The Dark Ones,” he said, “possess a cunning that is unprecedented in my field. Reptiles and amphibians are, by nature, solitary creatures. Their intelligence rating is the most primitive of all the land-dwelling vertebrates. Komodo Dragons are an exception to this rule; evidence suggests they not only hunt in packs, but they communicate with each other in a pack mentality. Pack leader instructing the lesser members of his pack in the hunt, so to speak. They’ve also been known to intentionally startle pregnant deer to induce miscarriage, which they then proceed to eat. ”

Jennifer nodded. “I’ve read about the reports. And the article in National Geographic.”

“The Dark Ones are human-like in their reasoning capability,” Dr. Steinhardt continued. “We’re still learning about them. The few remains we were able to preserve from the DC event has yielded much information. Their physiology is unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

“You can say that again,” Jennifer muttered. “And there’s that new Clicker to think about, as well—the black one that killed the vegetation topside. Is it a mutant? A one-off genetic freak? Or are there more of them?”

She cast a backward glance where they’d come. So far so good; there were still no sounds of pursuit. Apparently noticing Jennifer’s nervousness, Keoni gestured down the corridor. “We should get moving.” He set off down the tunnel. The others resumed behind him. Jennifer watched the flashlight beam grow dimmer.

“Where are we going?” Wade asked.

“We’re going to the High Priest’s quarters,” Keoni answered. “These tunnels empty out in the cellars of half a dozen homes in the village, all belonging to tribal elders. We’ll talk to Josel Buada, the High Priest. Besides, I’m sure the tribal chiefs are in the process of getting an evacuation plan in action.”

“Evacuation plan?” Susan asked.

Keoni shrugged. “Yeah, they told me once that they’ve got an emergency evacuation plan. I don’t know what that’s all about. I always assumed it was due to the volcano.”

“Volcano?” Jennifer asked. “What volcano?”

Not pausing in his stride, Keoni turned around and grinned. “The god that sleeps beneath Mount Rigiri? That’s their volcano. It’s blown a few puffs of smoke in the last few hundred years, and some scientists think it last blew its top a few million years ago. Might be time for another big blow up, don’t you think?” He faced forward again.

Dr. Steinhardt nodded. He smoothed his long gray hair back from his forehead. “You might have a point. I’ve heard there’s been a lot of seismic activity in this part of the South Pacific lately. That would indicate something’s brewing below.”

“Maybe their god is waking up, after all,” Jennifer mused.

“Maybe the Dark Ones are their harbingers,” Wade added. “They show up, attracted by the warming waters or the seismic activity—and
that signals another eruption.”

Susan went pale. “My God…”

Jennifer noticed Dr. Ehart’s expression. “What?”

“The natives believe they’re guardians to their god,” Susan reiterated. “The god sleeps beneath the island, has lain there since the dawn of time.”

“Yeah, and?” Wade looked impatient.

“The carvings on the wall of Rigiri suggest depictions of the Dark Ones,” Susan continued. “And the way the natives were ambivalent to us…their cautions and strange behavior…” She looked at Dr. Steinhardt. “They really were warning us.”

Ed looked like he might be about to get sick.

Jennifer put the connection together. “The natives worship the Dark Ones?”

“No.” Susan regarded them all. “They do the Dark Ones’ bidding.”

Jennifer blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The Dark Ones worship the god that sleeps beneath the island,” Susan said, her voice heavy with dread. “Those carvings on the wall…some depict the Dark Ones…others depict…something else…a squid-headed monstrosity.”

“So…the natives have been doing the Dark Ones’ bidding,” Ed repeated. His voice was low, soft. His eyes reflected contemplation of what Susan was insinuating. “They’ve been protecting them. That’s why they’ve been keeping people off this island for so long.”

“Oi Sole, kefe!” Keoni muttered.

Jennifer had no idea what Keoni had just said, but she had to imagine it was some kind of Samoan profanity. The only Samoan curse word she knew was palagi, the term he’d directed toward Susan earlier back at the command center. Palagi was derogatory slang for non-native white people. It was obvious he was making some kind of connection with what Susan was saying.

“They’ve been like this for a reason,” he said, mostly to himself. “Other island people…never understood why Naranu people were so secretive…so fierce in their defense of this island. They kept other people away from the island because the Dark Ones ordered them to.”

“So why didn’t they attack us?” Jennifer asked. “I mean, sure, they warned us. Suggested we leave. But they didn’t outright attack us. What stopped them?”

“Maybe they knew they wouldn’t have to,” Wade sug-gested. “Maybe they already knew the Dark Ones were coming.”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, that doesn’t seem right. If that were so, then—”

There was a rumbling. Dirt drifted down from the ceiling as the earth shook. Jennifer’s heart leaped in her throat as she reached out to steady herself. From some-where above ground came several guttural roars followed by the sound of hissing. Somewhere in those sounds were screams of agony. Of pain. Fear. Death. Then came the all-too familiar noise.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“Dark Ones and Clickers,” Wade whispered. “They must have found some of the rest of our team.”

Keoni grew pale. “Those aren’t palagi. They’re Naranu-ans. Ga’o!” He turned to Susan. “And you’re right. They’ve been keeping others off this island at the Dark Ones bidding, but for whatever reason, they failed with our expedition.”

“And the natives are paying for it now,” Ed said. “With their lives.”

There was a noise from behind them. It was faint, barely audible, but the silence of the tunnels amplified the slightest sound perfectly. They all turned around. Jennifer tensed up. The sound was unmistakable.

Footsteps. Heading down the tunnel toward them.

“Let’s go,” Dr. Steinhardt said, his voice still low. “We’re far enough away that they might not hear which direction we go. Come on, let’s move.”

Keoni leaped into action. He motioned them forward and they dived down the tunnel as one solid unit, Keoni’s fading flashlight illuminating the way.

The briefing that Amethyst gave Tony and Clark after they were airborne was short, to the point, and primarily directed at Tony. Clark paid close attention, soaking it all in, as they told Tony what his role would be. Tony didn’t seem to take the mission’s sit-rep seriously. He cracked jokes, flirted with Ruby, and at one point got a little smile out of her. Not so with the other three. Those guys were as hard as nails. Eventually, the ex-hitman seemed to settle into his new role. Amethyst explained that Tony was one of seven special individuals who were best equipped to deal with this crisis, and that he was the only one of The Seven who the organization could find. The other six appeared to be missing. Clark tried to focus and struggled to pay attention, but his attention soon began to drift.

Clark had remained calm as they were escorted out of Tony’s condo and whisked to a waiting car—a black, nondescript sport utility vehicle—which took them to the Phoenix International Airport. Once there, they’d driven to a secure location where they boarded a private jet. No need to bother with airport security in this section of the runway. Clark had been to this airport numerous times when Air Force One had touched down during his past life as a Secret Service agent. The Black Lodge group seemed to enjoy the same privileges and received the same treatment from the airport staff on the ground.

Once in the air, Clark had taken in his surroundings. The plane they were in was a Learjet 31A. Nice plane. Fast. Efficient. Under the radar. Clark had no idea how they were going to land the goddamn thing on Naranu, but Ruby answered that question for them during the brief sit-rep. “We will touch down on the north side of the island where there’s a small landing strip we maintain.”

“You guys maintain their airport?”

“On the contrary,” Ruby said. “Naranu doesn’t have an official airport. The landing strip I speak of is private and is in a remote part of the island. Most of the inhabitants don’t know of its existence.”

“These people don’t even maintain their own fucking airport?” Tony had asked. “What else don’t they maintain? Do they at least have their own resort hotels? Because when this shit’s over, I want a weekend at a resort. Five star all the way.”

“I’m sorry, but Naranu is not the kind of island people vacation at.”

“Will we get to eat once we get there? ‘Cause if they plan to feed us, I don’t eat that weird shit those island people eat. You know, monkey brains and fried spiders and birds nest soup and shit like that.”

Clark had listened to Tony’s banter and monitored the agent’s response to it. Then Onyx had turned his attention to him. The big man told Clark that he’d accompany Tony to the Naranu chief’s home. “Although you are not one of the seven, you did indeed fight the Clickers and the Dark Ones. Your military training and your past dealings with these creatures will be an unexpected asset in this situation.”

“What makes you think my training will be of any use to you?” Clark asked. With the exception of Ruby telling the other Black Lodge agents about his plans to kill former Secretary of State Donald Barker, the agents had not said one word to each other or to Tony about Clark’s background. Clark had no idea if they even knew the full extent of his background.

“Oh, come now. I thought we were done with this.” Sighing as if bored, Onyx approached Clark and took his hand. He held it in his own and squeezed, his eyes never leaving Clark’s. Then he said, “You’re Special Agent Clark Arroyo. You’re a retired Secret Service Agent. You killed President Jeffrey Tyler during the attack on Washington DC.”

Tony, who was across the aisle, turned toward him. “You shot that crazy fucker?”

“I shot him. I didn’t kill him though. I killed a fellow agent named Walpow, but Tyler was still alive.”

“Hell, even still, when this shit’s over, I’m buying you a drink! Hell, I’ll buy you a night on the Vegas strip! Anything you want, it’s yours! Gambling, pussy, dope, you name it!”

Both men ignored him. Ruby just shook her head. Amethyst and Diamond sat near the front, huddled together and apparently oblivious to anything going on around them. Their heads were bowed and almost touching. They had their eyes closed and their expressions showed intense concentration, as if they were meditating. Their foreheads and cheeks were bathed in sweat.

Onyx continued. “Prior to Secret Service duty, you served in the Army out of Fort Bragg. You are trained in cryptography; you an NRA sharpshooter certificate and a black belt in four different martial arts disciplines. You speak six languages. You were trained by the best and the brightest the US Government has to offer.”

Tony was looking at Clark with newfound interest now. “I fucking knew you weren’t a lawn jockey.”

“Okay,” Clark said, trying to pull his hand away. “Enough of this. You’ve proved your point.”

Onyx wasn’t finished. “Your wife left you for a low level underling of the RNC, who is spearheading a secret investigation into Tyler’s death. You are their main suspect. Their relentless pursuit into Tyler’s death, and your wife’s asking for a divorce has caused you to not only go underground, but to go on a mission to eliminate those who hold to the theory that you killed Tyler. Of course, they have no idea how close to the truth they are. You really did kill Tyler. Oh, perhaps it was a Clicker or a Dark One who finished him off, but it was your gun that shot him. That left him vulnerable to attack. You also left him to die back there, which was in direct violation of your duties. Only your superiors don’t know that, but then neither do those who are poking into your life. They’ve arrived at this conclusion through the process of elimination. They have no physical proof, because of how badly mauled Tyler’s body was”

“You’re right,” Clark had said, meeting Onyx’s stare. “They don’t have any proof. Can I have my hand back now?”

“You boys want some alone time?” Tony grinned.

“You hope that by eliminating the dozen or so people who hold to this theory, who have kept the theory to themselves and are the driving force behind the secret investigation into Tyler’s death, that their interest in you will cease. But these people are like cockroaches. Isn’t that how you described them?”

Clark felt his heart flutter. Those had been his exact words; unspoken, never to pass from his lips, but they’d crackled through his thoughts nonetheless. Onyx had read those thoughts, had tapped into every fiber of his being just by touching him. How much more had Onyx gotten from this simple touch? He tried once more to pull free, but the big man squeezed harder, his expression unchanged.

“Goddamn it.” Clark tugged harder, grunting with the effort. “This isn’t funny, Onyx. Let me go.”

Clark hated the plaintive, almost whining tone in his voice. He gritted his teeth and yanked. Onyx released him.

“Your efforts have proved futile, though,” Onyx continued. “As Ruby revealed back at Tony’s apartment, you hope to strike a deal with President Livingston. You hope by doing so you can get to former Secretary Donald Barker, who is fueling the last remnants of the Tyler Administration. With Barker gone, their pursuit of you will cease.” Onyx paused briefly. “Only then can you feel relief.”

“Hey, Onyx!” Tony called from across the aisle. “I know you guys can read minds and shit, but how ‘bout seating the lawn jockey and I together? I want a chance to shoot the shit with the guy.”

Onyx glanced over at Ruby.

“It’s okay,” she told them. “He’s telling the truth. He knows that they will be unable to communicate on anything but a superficial level. This is all he wants. He’s curious about Mr. Arroyo, and I sense Mr. Arroyo would not mind sharing some information with Mr. Genova. As I observed back at the condo…Mr. Genova senses a kindred spirit with Mr. Arroyo.”

“You got that fucking right,” Tony said. “Anybody that would shoot the President of the United States, especially a whack-job like Jeffrey fucking Tyler, is a friend of mine.”

Onyx glanced up at Amethyst and Diamond, and then back at Ruby. Shrugging, he nodded. Within moments Clark was seated next to Tony. Ruby and Onyx were in the row behind them. Diamond and Amethyst were still deep in their trance, heads bowed close together, faces flushed and shiny with sweat. A woman clad in black suddenly appeared from the cabin and took cocktail orders. Clark noted her mannerisms, the way she addressed the Black Lodge operatives.

“Don’t buy the airline stewardess shtick.” Tony nodded toward her. “She’s one of them.”

Clark nodded. “Yep. You’ve got the gift of reading people extremely well. You could have been Secret Service.”

“Not me. I like to sleep in and you guys are up twenty-four fucking seven.”

Clark laughed.

“This plane and its crew,” Tony continued. “They’re Black Lodge, too.”

“You got it,” Clark confirmed.

“Bunch of goddamn spooks,” Tony muttered. “You buying any of this shit?”

“You’ve seen for yourself what they can do. Don’t you believe it?”

Tony shrugged. “Chick read our minds. So did the big guy. I’ll give them that. But this waking up old squid-headed gods bullshit and
all that crap about me being one of seven special people? I don’t buy that at all.”

“I don’t think you’re special either,” Clark said, winking.

Tony grinned. “I like you, lawn jockey. Think I’ll let you live.”

Clark returned the grin and nodded. “I appreciate that.”

When the drinks were served, Clark settled back in his seat with a Gin and Tonic. Tony was drinking a glass of Knob Creek on the rocks. Normally, Clark wouldn’t touch alcohol during a mission this critical, but one drink wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he needed to chill out. Clear his mind. The chitchat with Tony would be beneficial.

“So, seriously—all that other shit you said about them is real, then? The occult stuff and all of that?”

“Apparently so.”

“You never really believed it though?”

“Not entirely. I’d heard rumors, of course. Believe me, there are plenty of legitimate government agencies and organizations that experiment with similar ideas and concepts—all at taxpayer expense, I might add. The FBI has specialists dedicated to occult crimes—witchcraft, demonology. Things like that. The CIA has looked into everything from remote viewing to pyrokinesis. Supposedly, Black Lodge originally started out the same way. They were part of the US government once—just another top secret alphabet soup organization. Founded during the first World War. But, like any good conspiracy theory, there are those who say that’s a cover story. They believe the organization is much, much older—stretching all the way back to Biblical times.”

“What do you believe?”

Clark paused, took a sip of his drink, and then sighed. “I don’t know what I believe. I used to believe in this country. After Tyler… well, obviously I don’t anymore. Same applies to these guys. Can they really do all the things people say they can? Who knows? All I know is that they definitely don’t work for our government—or any government. They seem to answer to a higher power. And they seem to operate with impunity, too. I definitely wouldn’t want to get on their bad side.”

“Well, it’s a good thing they like me, then. Remember—I’m special.”

The two laughed and sipped their drinks. The plane dipped, buffeted by slight turbulence, and then straight-ened out again. The ice cubes rattled in Clark’s glass. For a moment, he thought he saw something flash outside the plane’s window, as if all of the stars had blurred, but when Clark turned to look, he could see nothing amiss.

Tony stared at him. “What are you looking at? I got a booger hanging out of my nose or something?”

“No,” Clark explained. “I thought I saw something outside the window. Guess it was nothing.”

“So how long you been a Secret Service agent?” Tony asked.

“Almost thirty years.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“I age well.”

Tony nodded, took a sip of his drink. “I knew a guy back home, in my old life, that reminds me of you. Tommy Banalli. Guy’s old enough to be my fucking father and he doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

“I’ve used my youthful appearance to my advantage many times,” Clark said. He could sense Ruby and Onyx behind them. Up front, Diamond and Amethyst had come out of their trance. Both were awake now, and speaking to one another in low tones. It was no use trying to overhear their conversation. The minute he slipped into some resemblance of surveillance, Ruby would know. Likewise, any kind of subtle communication he passed on to Tony and vice versa would be picked up on. Everything he’d heard about Black Lodge was right.

“Maybe we should watch what we say,” Clark suggested.

“Fuck that. These spooks already know we’re going to talk about them, so let’s fucking talk about them some more.” Tony’s tone of voice was jovial, conversational, with a real touch of I-don’t-give-a-shit to it. Clark admired that. “How’d you know who they were when they captured you?”

“I’d heard the rumors,” Clark said, the truth spilling out of him. He took a sip of his own drink. “You work Secret Service detail or any other alphabet government agency, you’ll hear stories about Black Lodge. I had a hunch.”

“And you were really staking my place out?”

“Yep.”

“You fixing to bop me upside the head to get to Livingston?”

“I was.”

Clark glanced at Tony and met his gaze. The ex-wiseguy had a hard edge; his gaze never wavered, his eyes never left their mark as he tried to stare Clark down. Clark stared back, not really giving a shit anymore. After a moment, Tony shrugged, still not dropping his stare. “I gotta admit…if it weren’t for these fucks, and you’d come busting in there, I’d have scragged your ass.”

“I know.” Clark kept his gaze on Tony, reading his posture, his
body language, the way he carried himself. He’d learned much from Scott’s dossier, and he’d learned even more in the week of observing Tony from afar. Sitting next to the man, face to face, gave him the whole picture. Tony Genova was a man he needed on his side. Yes, he would have killed Tony had he not given him what he wanted and had Black Lodge not intervened. A lot had changed since then.

“You know, I got to hand it to you,” Tony said, sipping his drink. “This is the first time I’ve had the rug pulled out from under me like this. These fucking spooks, they’re something else. I thought they were my FBI handlers.”

“That’s what I thought,” Clark said. He told Tony an abbreviated version of how he’d staked Tony’s condominium unit, watching his movements. Tony nodded, taking it all in.

“But they got one on you, too,” Tony said quietly. “Right?”

“Yes, they did.” And he was ashamed to admit, it was the first time somebody had gotten one over him, too.

“Did you really kill all those RNC people like that Onyx guy says?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“About eight.”

“They know it’s you?”

“Not yet,” Clark said, thinking about the RNC underlings and their relentless investigation. “A few of them might suspect. Donald Barker has to suspect something.”

“What the fuck happened to that guy anyway?”

“He’s in a secret government detention center,” Clark said. “Possibly Guantanamo Bay.”

“With the terrorists?”

“Yep.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be shutting that place down?”

Clark shrugged.

Tony shook his head. “And you thought you could use me as a bargaining chip to get Livingston to spring him or something, so you could kill him?”

“Yep.”

“How were you going to do that?”

“I have two speed dial buttons programmed in my cell. One of them goes to another cell phone that powers a shoe box full of C-4 in a closet of one of Livingston’s loved ones back in Taneytown, Maryland.” Clark took a sip of his drink, regarded Tony. “You know what I mean?”

Tony nodded. According to Scott’s dossier, getting to somebody through their family was something Tony had done more than once. “Yeah, I hear you. I’ve traveled that road myself.”

“Another number programmed in that phone went to a demonstration,” Clark continued. “To demonstrate I meant what I said. Livingston would have ordered Barker moved immediately.”

“Where to?”

Clark was about to tell him, but paused. The Black Lodge agents were seated calmly, purposefully, seeming not to pay attention. Clark knew they were listening to every word of their conversation and then some, but it didn’t matter. Black Lodge had no interest in his business with former Secretary Donald Barker. Neither did Tony, for that matter. Clark knew the hitman was asking out of idle curiosity.

“I was going to have Barker transferred to a Federal prison in Kansas,” he said. “Maximum security. It would look good on the surface. I have connections there. My connections would have ensured Barker had a terrible accident within twenty four hours of arriving.”

“So you wouldn’t have laid your hands on him personally?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“But you want to.”

“I do. Very much so.”

Tony regarded Clark with a look that seemed to say: can’t you have the sonofabitch delivered to you personally?

Clark smiled back. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t just have Barker delivered to an undisclosed location without somebody finding out about it. I’d like to accomplish this without ending up in prison.”

“You and I have a lot in common,” Tony said, knocking back his drink.

“Do we?”

“Absolutely.”

“How so?”

“You killing all those RNC fucks, that’s something I’d do if I were in a similar situation. Your plan to get to Barker…shit, I’ve pulled similar jobs. I’ve done others for the Marano Family.”

“That’s where we differ,” Clark said. “If what I’ve heard is correct—and I have to assume it is—Marano was a thug who dealt in drugs, prostitution and gambling. He killed people who got in his way.”

“Yeah, and the government you worked for dealt in the same shit,” Tony said. “Just on a different level.”

Clark swiveled his gaze to Tony.

“Don’t give me that,” Tony continued. “Give it to me straight. You break it down; Uncle Sam is the biggest pusher, the biggest pimp, and the biggest bookie in the yard. Iran-Contra. Government bailouts. The FDA. I could go on.”

Clark shrugged. When you boiled it down, Tony was right. And besides, Clark no longer served the interests of his country. His sole interest now was to himself. He’d admitted as much to Tony just minutes before.

“Myself, I was content with hanging out in the fuckin’ desert playing Larry DiMazzio,” Tony continued. “Besides, I was starting to get a little too old for the life I’d lived with the Marano family. That shit wears at you after awhile.”

“I agree,” Clark said. “It does.” He drained the rest of his Gin and Tonic.

“You got like, what? Ten years on me? Fifteen? You been whacking people the last two years and it hasn’t made a dent. Don’t tell me you haven’t whacked people when you were on the other side of the law.”

“I did, actually,” Clark said, thinking back to his early years. “Three times, if you must know.”

“You making up for lost time or something? Eight in the last two years is pretty fucking impressive.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t enjoy it as much as you think I do.” Clark regarded Tony. “It’s like you guys say… it’s nothing personal. Just business.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than business to you. You whacking these fucks is saving your life.”

Clark shrugged. “True.” He could use another Gin and Tonic. No sooner did the thought enter his mind than the female agent appeared with fresh drinks in hand.

“Damn, you’re good,” Tony said, raising a fresh glass of Knob Creek to her. He winked at her, watched her head back to her station. “Nice ass.”

“You got that right,” Clark said, watching her sashay back to her station. He glanced at Tony and both men burst out laughing.

“Okay, you gotta level with me,” Tony said, fresh drink in hand, his spirits jovial. “I’m dying to know this out of curiosity. Holdover from my days as a professional whacker myself, so I gotta ask you. Those eight RNC people you did. How’d you do it so law enforcement hasn’t connected them with each other?”

“Many of them aren’t even ruled as homicides,” Clark said. He cast his gaze around coach. The Black Lodge agents were still absorbed in whatever it was they were doing. Besides, who cared if they heard anything this late in the game? Onyx already told him everything about him and then some. “One of them’s a suicide, two are accidents, one is being attributed to a serial killer in Los Angeles, and the others are being attributed to either cases of domestic disputes, robberies gone bad, or simple random assaults.”

“No shit? Suicide? How the fuck you do that?”

“Convincing a chronically depressed woman to commit suicide is easier than you think.”

“Damn, that’s cold!”

Clark shrugged. “The woman in question was a big influence on the RNC’s special investigation. She was getting too close. She also had the ears of a lot of important people in Washington. Another few weeks, she could’ve opened an official inquiry that would have really nailed me.”

“So it was either you or her.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’m down with that. What about the accidents? They hard to stage?”

“Very. That’s why I was only able to make two of them look accidental.”

“How’d you make one look like they were done by a serial killer?”

Clark shrugged. That one had been the hardest. Clark had been sick for a week after, but the situation had been perfect. The RNC underling in question had resided in an area of Los Angeles where a notorious serial killer dubbed as the Eastside Butcher had resurfaced after a long hiatus. An afternoon of research on the case at the library and the internet, and Clark’s personal knowledge of his victim, specifically that he was into rough S&M, provided all the ammunition he needed. He’d tailed the man to an underground bondage club one night and knocked the man out with a simple pressure point touch in the parking lot, when the lot was completely deserted. Within a minute, the man was tied up in the back of his car. He’d tied the man up tightly, stuck a ball gag in his mouth, and once in the privacy of the seedy motel he’d rented, he’d decapitated him in the bathtub with a large butcher knife. He’d disposed of the decapitated body in a vacant lot and buried the head in the desert. The FBI still thought the Butcher killed him.

“That’s really fucking brilliant,” Tony said as Clark gave him a brief rundown on how he’d dispatched the roaches who kept poking

into his shit, threatening to take him down. “And the only reason they’re on to you in the first place is due to the shell casings found in the White House?”

“Yeah.” Clark had given Tony the basic backstory of events that had led to the mess that was his current life. “Their ideology demands that Tyler was a saint. Therefore, somebody did him in, even though the FBI and Secret Service have already exonerated me.”

“Why haven’t they just gone to the press?” Tony asked. “You know, smear your name in the tabloids and shit.”

“That could happen at any moment,” Clark said. “What’s kept the press out of it so far is the clandestine secrecy of this investigation. The powers-that-be in the RNC…they have no idea that some of their members are even participating in this investigation. This is all very hush-hush. It’s so secret, the leader of the RNC has no idea it’s going on. The Republican Party got bitch-slapped in the last election, and the Tyler Administration damaged them so badly that to go public with their theory would just make them look as stupid as Jessica Simpson debating the theory of relativity with Einstein. That’s why they took this underground. They think if they can get solid physical evidence, they can get a federal prosecutor interested in looking at the Secret Service’s handling of their dismissal. In short, they can make everybody from the Pentagon to the Livingston Administration itself look as corrupt as them. And if they do that, they can erode some of the negative flack they’ve gotten, maybe even woo some of their support back.”

Tony shook his head. “Politics. I’ve never understood that fucking shit.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing but a snake pit.”

“What were you? A Democrat?”

“I’m a non-partisan Progressive.”

“The fuck is that?”

“I believe in the right to bear arms and I believe the government should do more to keep AK-47’s out of the hands of criminals,” Clark said. “I believe the government should leave me the fuck alone when it comes to who I want to marry, how I spend my money, the education choices I make for my kids and myself, what religion I choose to follow or not follow, how my doctor and I manage my healthcare, and what I choose to read, listen to, or watch on TV. I also believe that through reasonable taxation that the government should fund and foster the arts, science, education, public access roads and parks, provide some assistance to the unemployed and disabled, ensure that my food and water are safe and won’t kill me, that the air I breathe is not contaminated, and that the men and women who serve and protect are adequately armed, trained, and empowered to enforce the laws. I think if a woman is gang raped and decides to abort the fetus, she shouldn’t have to be forced to bear the fetus to term the way an insensitive asshole like Randall Terry would want. She should be able to legally put that part of her trauma behind her without having to seek medical attention from some back alley doctor or some clown who lacks the proper training, which is what the procedure would be relegated to if abortion were made illegal again. I also believe that the mongoloids who raped her should be caged for life like the animals they are and never be allowed back into society. I believe murderers should be executed and I believe marijuana possession should be decriminalized. I believe people should be able to worship whatever they want so long as their devotion doesn’t harm other people. I despise the far right as much as I despise the far left, but I’m far from being middle-of-the-road. My world views are neither guided by fantasy ideology, nor out of some dose of optimistic Pollyanna.” Clark shrugged. “But that’s just me. As an old friend of mine used to say, your mileage may vary.”

Tony raised his glass to Clark. “Mr. Arroyo, I couldn’t have said that better!”

Clark raised his glass to Tony’s and they clicked them together and drank.

“Although,” Tony said with a grin, “you said you believe murderers should be executed. Would that apply to me and you, too?”

Before Clark could answer, a voice came over the plane’s intercom system. “Flight staff, please take your seats and prepare for arrival.”

Clark looked toward the front of the cockpit. The female Black Lodge agent was now seated in the front row, by herself. Onyx, Amethyst, Diamond and Ruby were still in their respective seats. Clark traded a glance with Tony. “We stopping in LA or something?”

“On the contrary,” Ruby said from the row behind them. “We’re preparing to touch down in Naranu.”

Clark and Tony, simultaneously: “Already?!” They turned around to look at Ruby.

Ruby smiled at them, her features calm, showing no hint of alarm or surprise at their expression. “Yes.”

“How the fuck is that possible?” Tony asked.

Ruby’s smile didn’t fade. “Anything is possible if you have the will and means.”

Clark frowned. “Naranu is almost one full day ahead of our time zone in Arizona. I don’t know how fast you got to Tony after you were alerted that there was trouble on that island, but I’m willing to bet a lot of shit has gone down there in the meantime.”

Ruby met Clark’s gaze. “That is correct. Time is of the essence.”

“But unless you’re playing with String Theory or something—”

“The fuck is String Theory?” Tony interrupted.

“It’s complex,” Clark explained. “But interesting. It involves extra dimensions. The theory states that the number of dimensions is not fixed by any consistency, but flat space-time solutions exist in something called a critical dimension. It basically allows for quantum leaps in time and space.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

Clark grinned. “Believe me, String Theory is complex shit. I had to study extra hard when we covered it in Physics when I was in college.”

Tony shook his head. “That’s why I never went to college.”

Clark turned to Ruby. “So is that right? Black Lodge is able to utilize String Theory for time travel?”

“As I said, gentlemen, we’re almost to our destination. The how doesn’t matter. Only the why.”

“Wait a second,” Tony said.

Ruby adjusted her seatbelt. “No more questions, Mr. Genova. As I said, the how really doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck the how, sweetheart. This involves the why. Those pictures of Jennifer that you showed me…when were those taken?”

“About thirty minutes before we showed up at your condominium.”

“And how big is Naranu?”

“About nine square miles.”

Clark and Tony made the connection simultaneously, and glanced at each other.

“They aren’t going to have time,” Tony said. “Nine miles means nothing to these fucking things. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they could sprint across that fucking island in under an hour.”

“They can’t search the island in an hour, but they can ravage it within a day,” Ruby stated. “Which is one of the reasons why time is of the essence. Not to mention our primary objective—stopping the Dark Ones before they awake Dagon and summon him to this realm of existence.”

Diamond called down the aisle. “Now you see why it was imperative that we left your condominium as quickly as we did.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Clark bit his lip, concentrating. He thought about Diamond and Amethyst’s weird behavior. They’d seemed intensely focused on something, as if in some sort of meditative trance. Then there had been a little turbulence and the strange flash he’d seen out of the corner of his eye. After that, the two operatives had seemed to be okay again. Soon after, Ruby had announced that they were arriving.

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom system again. “Please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”

Clark’s seatbelt was already fastened. He took a look out the window, which was on Tony’s right. Tony was peering through it too, and the sight that met them both was stunning. A vast sea of jet-black ocean, light cumulus clouds dotting the sky like gossamer draped below the stars and moon. He was able to discern the point on the horizon where the sky and ocean met. Clark craned his neck up, trying to get a better glimpse. He saw what looked like an island in the distance. He motioned toward it with a tilt of his chin. “Is that it?”

“No, that’s one of the Micronesian islands,” Ruby said. “Naranu is to our left.”

Clark and Tony turned to the left, trying to look out the windows on that side of the plane. The aircraft was banking a left turn, and the window view was filled with the dark, moonlit Pacific Ocean at fifteen thousand feet and descending.

“Well, there’s a first for everything, I guess,” Tony said. He settled back in his seat, drink clutched in his right hand.

“What’s that?” Clark asked.

“I’ve done a lot of shit in this life,” Tony explained. “I’ve driven from Jersey to New York with millions of dollars in a suitcase stuck in the trunk. I’ve killed God knows how many people. My partner Vince and I kept a cannibalistic serial killer on retainer to help us get rid of bodies. I’ve made love to incredibly beautiful women, been tortured by members of the Monteleone family, pissed off the Russian fucks that tried to move in on our turf, and traveled to such exotic locations as East Brooklyn, Brinkley Springs, West Virginia, and fucking Newark, New Jersey. I’ve been chased by and fought the fucking Clickers and Dark Ones in the basement of a nuclear power plant with a guy that became the President of the United fucking States. And according to our hosts, I’ve also apparently fought with zombies in Finland in an alternate reality—and God knows what else. But this shit…traveling eight thousand fucking miles an hour to get to Naranu in under an hour?”

“Yeah.” Clark felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He’d genuinely been starting to like the foul-mouthed hitman, but after listening to Tony rattle off a list of offenses so nonchalantly, he realized that the two of them didn’t have so much in common after all.

At least, he hoped so.

Clark shivered, but Tony didn’t notice.

“See,” Tony continued, “that’s some shit. I can honestly say that out of all the other shit I’ve done, this fucking plane trip beats it.”

“You can say that again,” Clark agreed.

“Okay. Out of all the other shit I’ve done, this fucking plane trip beats it.”

Amethyst turned around and glanced at them. “Nobody likes a smart ass, Tony.”

Tony winked at him. “That’s where you’re wrong. The ladies love a smart ass. Just ask Ruby.”

If she heard him, she didn’t reply.

Tony and Clark settled back in their seats, preparing for touchdown on Naranu. Clark downed the rest of his Gin and Tonic and traced his finger around the empty glass. Incredible as it sounded, Clark was still trying to wrap his head around what they’d just experienced. Everything he’d heard about Black Lodge was true. It was no longer a rumor. He was in their presence, had been subdued and abducted by them and was now in a plane flying to Naranu at an impossible speed so they could save Jennifer Wasco and the other scientists and perform God knew whatever task they had in mind for Tony—stopping some ritual that would awaken a fish god. It all fit with everything he’d heard about them. And he couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it except sit back and try to enjoy the ride.

Clark sighed and settled back in his seat as the Learjet began circling the island to prepare for landing.

The chiefs had left the village a few hours ago on a mission from Josel Buada, the tribe’s Holy man. There was no sign that they’d returned, but Josel had a bad feeling that he’d never see them again.

The whisper of the wind told him so.

Likewise, the pressure he was feeling that was tightening around his skull, his abdomen, was a confirmation.

Josel Buada was eighty-eight years old. He’d lived on Naranu all his life and came from a long line of holy men. His father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and his great-grandfather’s uncles had all served as the tribe’s holy men. Josel himself had been anointed by his grandfather when he was very young—twenty-three years old. His grandfather told him that it was a great honor to reach such a pinnacle in his spiritual life at such a young age.

But now he wished the responsibility had not come down to him.

Because harboring the knowledge he’d held for over sixty years had taken its toll on him.

Josel was in his bedroom, at the back of the modest little two-bedroom cottage he kept by himself at the out-skirts of the village. He picked up a framed photograph that was old and sepia-tinged. He held it in his weathered hands, focusing on the young lady standing beside the younger version of himself. Yanni Kahote had grown up with him. They’d been childhood sweethearts. Had courted each other by the light of the full moon in the warm summer nights of their young adulthood. His grandfather and father had been away, in the center of the island partaking in very old rituals that they said would protect them from the Japanese, who were intent on raiding all the South Pacific islands during that time of turbulence. The Japanese had come close—they’d taken many of the islands, had fought the Filipinos and Chinese farther north, had engaged with the inhabitants of Australia, but they never captured Naranu. Grandfather said it was due to the rituals and sacrifices he made to Dagon that the island was spared.

Thus had begun a fascination with his people’s religious beliefs that had not waned. His grandfather and father had welcomed Josel with open arms and brought him into the fold. They told him that if he could pass the rigorous spiritual cleansing, he would become beholden to great secrets of the universe.

Josel sighed, the memory of years gone by fluttering through his mind. He’d had to give up Yanni if he was to pursue the priesthood of Dagon. That was a sacrifice he was willing to make, though. The stakes were too high otherwise.

Still, sometimes in the dead of night, when he was lying in bed waiting for sleep to overcome him, Josel would revisit those long ago nights with Yanni. Sometimes the visions would seem so real he could almost feel Yanni’s naked body against his…

If he could only turn back the hands of time and do it all over again…

He would resist the yearning for the knowledge that had been promised to him. He would take Yanni and steal away to one of the other neighboring islands and from there… maybe a trip to Australia, and then later, maybe, England, never to see the South Pacific again.

Because this area of the South Pacific held a monstrous secret.

Naranu was the gateway to R’lyeh…where Dagon lay sleeping.

And his people had served Dagon’s minions for millennia.

And now his people were paying for those thousands of years of servitude.

Josel set the framed photo back down carefully on his bedside bureau. Over an hour before, the nine tribal chiefs had gone to the south side of the island to talk to the Dark Ones. Josel had sent them to try to appease their Elder, who was most angry with them for failing to keep the latest wave of white people from the island. Josel knew that the Elder was to have performed the ritual tonight; the stars were right, were in perfect alignment, a first in thousands of years, probably since the people of Naranu first came to this island. Rituals had been performed for the last year in accordance with this awakening. These rituals were designed to bring Dagon out of his long slumber, which was to culminate in the great ritual to conclude them all—that of the Great Rising, which corresponded with the alignment of the stars that was to take place tomorrow night. At the ritual’s conclusion, Dagon would be woken from his long slumber beneath the island. Josel had known his people had been the guardians of this secret for thousands of years. He’d believed it, known it was true, but he never knew that he would ever live to see it happen.

For a while he held doubts that it would ever happen.

Like any believer, he’d had his moments of doubt. They came on nights when he dreamed of Yanni and wondered if everything he’d been taught was nothing but an elaborate scheme. Sure, the Dark Ones were real. He’d seen them. Conversed with them in their ancient tongue. But were the Dark Ones who they claimed to be? Guardians of Dagon, an ancient god banished to the sunken city of R’lyeh? Josel had held moments of doubt to that claim, but thankfully those doubts had lessened in time. They’d especially lessened when he was brought down to the under-ground catacombs and seen where the Dark Ones lived.

He’d seen the ancient writings carved into the rock walls of their subterranean caverns. And while he couldn’t understand the words, they’d brought images to his mind that had convinced him that what the Dark Ones claimed was true.

That truth was coming home to roost now.

The truth came in the sound of screams from the south end of the island, where the scientists had made camp. Eventually, those cries died down. Stronger were the sounds of pursuit, of destruction. Josel had listened, noting the individual sounds of the Dark Ones and the hissing of the Clickers. He knew those sounds well, had traveled to one of the Dark Ones underground conclaves once with his grandfather and father many years ago to partake in his initiation ceremony. It was there he’d met the Elder for the first time.

Not too long after the screams of the dying mainlanders ended came the sounds of more dying. The chiefs. Accompanied by the roar of several Dark Ones. Most notably, the Elder.

Josel’s hands trembled. He knew in his heart that the Dark Ones had slaughtered all of his chiefs. And they were coming his way. To the north side of the island, where the village lay.

The main village on Naranu was populated by over two thousand people. Another thousand were scattered in smaller interconnected tribes across the island. Naranu was the least populated of all the Micronesian islands, and Josel was their spiritual guide to Dagon. Most of the two thousand people from the village were now in the process of fleeing the island. Josel had given the order several hours ago, shortly after ordering the chiefs to make amends with the Dark Ones. It was something he knew he shouldn’t do if he were to live, but then again if he’d had to relive his life again, he would not have chosen the path of high priest of the order of Dagon. He would have married Yanni and given her a dozen children. He’d be a grandfather multiple times over by now.

He would have had a good life, full of good memories.

His assistant, Pione, had tried to get him to leave the island with him, but Josel had waved him off. I will stay here, he’d said. Go on. Pione had nodded and headed behind the dock where Josel kept a small fishing boat lashed to a barnacle-encrusted pole. Josel had watched as Pione cast off and began piloting the boat out to sea, only to be capsized from something that hit it from below. Josel had jumped in surprise, momentarily startled. It wasn’t until he saw the bright spray of arterial blood and saw the flash of red and magenta, heard a horrible clicking noise that he realized what had happened. Pione had been killed by a Clicker.

And as Josel sat in the little bedroom in the small cottage he kept to himself, he heard the screams of his people as they were slaughtered trying to escape. And with it he heard a sound so horrible that it made his heart ache.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

It was getting worse. There was no hope. No escape. They were going to slaughter every one of his people.

No sooner had these thoughts entered his head when there was another sound, coming from the room he was standing in.

It was a knocking sound, coming from the floor. Several sharp raps in quick succession.

Josel took several steps back, his heart thudding madly in his chest. He reached out with a frail and flailing hand and grabbed a candelabra from the bureau. It was made of brass and was quite heavy. He held it over his head as the knocking came again, from the center of his room.

The section of the floor began to rise up…

Josel raised the candelabra over his head, preparing himself to bring it down on the head of a Dark One come to tunnel under the floor of his home to snatch him away, down into the catacombs that tunneled through this island to the deep recesses of R’lyeh.

The floor rose as a trapdoor opened. Josel hesitated, the candelabra slippery in his sweat-slicked hands.

“Josel?” The voice was familiar.

Josel hesitated. He called out in his native tongue.

The voice answered back in his language.

Keoni Mumea.

“Keoni!” Josel lowered the candelabra as the trap door was set down on the floor.

Keoni stepped up from the floor and motioned behind him. Josel saw that there were others behind him. “Hold on a moment,” Keoni told the people behind him.

Josel asked Keoni in Naranuan who was with him and Keoni told him it was four of the scientists from the south side of the island. “We’re being chased,” Keoni said in English. “The Dark Ones found the tunnel and are heading this way now.”

“Heading this way?” Josel slipped into English easily enough. He caught a glimpse of one of the scientists now. A big guy with long bushy hair and a beard. Behind him a young woman. Attractive. Two others he couldn’t get a good look at.

“We need to get off the island,” Keoni said.

“We can’t,” Josel said, his heart racing, already knowing he was a dead man even if he were to uphold his vow. Too much had happened already. “The Dark Ones’ pets are destroying the boats that are moored in the harbor. I believe some are even crawling onto shore.”

“Dark Ones’ pets?” This from the attractive woman. “You mean the Clickers?”

“Yes,” Josel said. He’d heard that the mainlanders called the Dark Ones’ pets Clickers. It was a stupid name, but if it made the idiots happy, so be it. “What you call Clickers…they are pets to the Dark Ones.”

There were mutters of surprise from below. The bearded man had a look of fascination.

“Ga’o!” Keoni muttered. For a moment Keoni looked like he was at a crossroads. He quickly pulled himself together and addressed Josel again. “The chiefs…where are they?”

“All dead,” Josel said. “We have angered the Dark Ones.”

“How? Why?”

“Because we allowed the mainlanders to stay here. Their presence has tainted this holy ground.”

“Is there any other way we can get off this island?” The bearded man asked Keoni, his voice tinged with impatience.

Keoni ignored the bearded man. “Josel…we must get you off the island.”

“I am too old,” Josel said. “It is near the end of my time.”

“Your knowledge is most valuable,” Keoni said. He stepped out of the trapdoor and approached the old man, held his hand out. “Come…our pursuers are far enough behind that if you leave with us now, we can duck down another tunnel and quickly lose them.”

“And if you meet with other Dark Ones?”

“Other Dark Ones? You mean the Dark Ones can enter these tunnels through other means?”

Josel felt that time was slipping away fast. Another scream came from the north shore, where his people had congregated at the beach for as long as he could remember. More screams followed, accompanied by frenzied clicks. Directly outside and heading toward the house came the sound of running footsteps, along with voices of panic.

That decided it for him. Josel stepped toward Keoni and motioned down the tunnel. “Yes, the Dark Ones have the capability of entering our tunnels. But I know of a safe spot. Come.”

“Before we leave,” Keoni asked, “do you have anything we can use as weapons? Anything to defend ourselves?”

“No. Now follow me.”

Keoni stepped back and headed down into the blackness as Josel descended into the depths of the tunnels. As he reached out to close the trapdoor behind him, his last thoughts were, I will never see my home again. But I will redeem myself.

And then the door was closed and he was in the vast blackness of the tunnel. Keoni had his flashlight on. Josel saw the other two mainlanders who were with him. A man and a woman, both of them in middle age. They were standing at the bottom of the ladder that reached up to the trapdoor that had lain in the center of Josel’s bedroom. Keoni’s features were eager. “Where do we go?”

“Back down this passage, then take the far right passage,” Josel answered, climbing down to the tunnel floor to join them.

The long haired man was peppering Keoni with questions. “Who is this man?”

“He’s Naranu’s holy man,” Keoni explained. “He’ll know what to do.”

Josel’s mind was racing. Perhaps he still had time left on this earth to lead a good life, away from the superstitions of his people and the peril of Dagon. “I must warn you all,” he said, shouldering his way past the mainlanders. “The path I am about to take you down will skirt a much older section of this island.”

“Are you going to take us toward the center of Mount Rigiri?” the middle aged woman asked.

Josel turned to her. “You call it Mount Rigiri, but my people and the Dark Ones have a much older name for it.”

“What is that?”

“R’lyeh.”

The word seemed to resonate with the mainlanders in a way he never expected. They seemed taken aback; fearful. Surely they’d never heard the word before…

The young woman confirmed this. “I’ve never heard that word before today but something about it…The sound of that word strikes a sort of primal fear in me.”

The long haired man standing next to her seemed about to speak, but then he stopped. The other newcomers nodded in unison. It was true then. These people weren’t as stupid as he thought they’d be. Josel nodded at them, grateful that he could perhaps get them to listen to him when the time came. “Believe me when I tell you this: a god sleeps beneath Mount Rigiri, in a sunken city called R’lyeh. This god is Dagon but you may know him by other names: Cthulhu, Kraken, Leviathan.”

The middle-aged man gasped at those words. Recognition flittered across some of their faces. The long haired man frowned.

“The Dark Ones are in the process of waking Dagon up,” Josel explained. “Your arrival here spoiled plans for their great awakening ritual that was to culminate tonight. They consider your presence here to be sacrilege. This is why we have treated you so harshly. Our treatment of you wasn’t out of some cultural difference…it was an effort to drive you away, to spare your lives.”

“So that’s why you kept chasing my ancestors off this island,” Keoni exclaimed.

Josel nodded at Keoni. “That is why. It was done to save you all. Because our mission has always been to keep mankind away from this island.”

“We just thought you had weird superstitions,” the long haired man said. “Keoni told us some of your beliefs earlier, but—”

“No buts.” Josel held up his hand. “We must leave now if we wish to make it to the eastern quadrant of the tunnels.” He pushed through them and beckoned them to follow. “Come! This way!”

And with that, Josel led Keoni Mumea and the four scientists back through the tunnels, hoping that at this stage in the game all of the Dark Ones were above ground. Because where he was taking them was very close to R’lyeh. It wasn’t all the way into the forbidden, sunken cyclopean city. No. White people had never seen it and never would. Not if Josel could help it. But it was close enough that Dark Ones, or even creatures worse than the Dark Ones could be lurking about. He had no other choice. To take them up into any of the other paths the tunnels led out to—the living rooms of the nine tribal chiefs—would simply place them back into the battlefield again. They couldn’t escape by boat, they couldn’t escape by plane— Naranu had no official airport, per se—and they couldn’t simply hide in the jungle. They had to travel underground,

skirt around the outskirts of R’lyeh, and make it to the east side of the island where they would be spilled out onto a remote beach. On this beach was a private landing strip where, occasionally, black planes from the United States touched down. Josel had always been fearful of the men who emerged from these planes. In many ways, they were as sinister and dangerous as the Dark Ones themselves. Yet unlike the scientists and researchers, they never meddled. They simply observed quietly, then left like spirits. They had arranged with Josel to have the landing strip maintained with modern equipment, manned by a select handful of his people. Josel had done so, selecting four of his best acolytes to maintain vigilance on this section of land twenty-four hours a day.

Somebody would be there now. Even if the Dark Ones had managed to reach that part of the island and destroy the lone building that stood there, they would have taken refuge in the secret room that had been built. This secret room was only accessible through the building itself and the tunnels.

Josel paused for a moment. He turned to the white people and Keoni. “Keoni Mumea?”

“Yes, Josel.”

“You are a good man. You have done well by these people and your forefathers.”

“Thank you, Josel.”

“You might see horrible things,” Josel continued, choosing his words carefully. “Things man was never meant to see. Things that are only whispered about… things only rumored about. If you see them, you are to turn your heads and look the other way as we pass by. Agreed?”

“Yes.” Keoni’s answer was swift.

Josel regarded the four white people. “And you?”

The young woman nodded. “Yes, of course.” The middle-aged man and woman nodded too. The long haired man was the last to agree. Josel watched him. He would have to be monitored closely. Especially when they reached the outskirts of R’lyeh.

“How far are we going?” the middle aged man asked.

“About two miles, to the east,” Josel answered. He motioned for Keoni to join him at the head of the group. “Keoni, your flashlight!”

Keoni joined Josel at the head of the group and together, they led the four scientists down the tunnel. And as they left his cottage farther behind, Josel hoped that they reached the landing strip in time. Because he was fairly certain the mainlanders who visited this island in their black planes and helicopters would be arriving very shortly.

Jennifer’s mind had been racing with dreadful anticipation since descending into the tunnels. She was frightened, most certainly. After all she’d been through in the past few years, she’d thought the nightmare was finally over. Now, here she was again, on the run from the Clickers and their reptilian masters. She had no idea if she’d make it off this island. This uncertainty made her think of her parents, of her cat back at home, of having second thoughts as to her career choice. If she hadn’t been so driven to succeed in her career, had settled for a more sedate life of teaching marine biology at the university level, she wouldn’t be half-way around the world being chased by giant lizard-men and mutant crustaceans that could melt you with one sting and suck you up like a spilled milk-shake.

But now was not the time to beat herself up over choices made. She had to be at the top of her game. Had to be quick thinking.

And right now her quick thinking was telling her to listen to this island holy man.

Susan was peppering the old man with questions. Despite the fatigue that was evident in her face, her voice never wavered. “You mentioned the name Dagon. I’m an anthropologist who specializes in ancient history. There was a Babylonian god called Dagon.”

Wade interrupted her. “That theory has been disputed.”

Susan turned to him. They were walking rapidly down the tunnels, following Josel and Keoni. “The name originates from Judah. It’s mentioned in the Old Testament.”

“I know,” Wade said. “But even that’s been disputed. The name is said to originate from the early fifteenth century and is most likely a Canaanite deity—”

“If you ask me, it sounds like something out of Lovecraft,” Ed said.

“Who?” Susan looked at him.

“H.P. Lovecraft,” Ed answered. “He wrote a series of stories about a being named Cthulhu and a cult that worships a range of deities that

live in a sunken city.” He addressed Josel. “What did you call this place in Mount Rigiri?”

“R’lyeh.”

“That sounds about right,” Dr. Steinhardt said. “It’s been years since I’ve read Lovecraft—probably since college—but that name sounds familiar. I was never sure about the pronunciation, though.”

“Isn’t H.P. Lovecraft a horror writer?” Jennifer asked. Just what she needed. To get another fucking horror writer involved. The mere thought of it made her head pound even more. She almost laughed out loud, wondering if Rick Sycheck would have appreciated the irony.

“He was a horror writer,” Ed corrected her. “He died in the late nineteen thirties.”

“What’s the significance?” Wade asked.

“Many of his stories are part of a cycle of tales about a myth of alien-entities that came to earth during prehistory hundreds of millions of years ago. They settled here, built cities, and were somehow either banished to the outer cosmos or imprisoned in a watery grave like this mythological city R’lyeh. In the stories, a cult is always trying to summon them. Cthulhu is the main god. You mentioned Cthulhu before, Josel.”

The holy man was five feet ahead of them, but at the mention of the name Cthulhu, he visibly shuddered.

Susan frowned. “So Dagon is another name for Cthulhu?”

“In fiction, no.” Ed said. “But in real life, apparently yes.”

“How is this possible?” Wade asked. “These people could not have possibly read, much less been aware of twentieth century pulp fiction to have come up with such a hackneyed scheme to keep us off their goddamned island.”

“Are the Dark Ones a scheme?” Ed stopped in his tracks. He faced Wade, who stopped in front of him. Susan and Jennifer halted, watching the exchange with bated breath. Ahead of them, Keoni and Josel had paused and looked back expectantly at the scientists.

“Because let me tell you right now,” Ed continued, “I’ve studied those things for the past three years and they are unlike anything we have ever seen. They are unlike anything of this world. There is no evidence of them in the fossil record. No record of them at all. Yet, they had to have come from somewhere. And with the evidence we’ve uncovered for the past three years since the attacks on DC and the east coast… how coordinated they were…and in conjunction with other findings we’ve made…and with what we’ve learned in the brief time we’ve been here on Naranu…”

“What discoveries?” Jennifer asked.

“Aside from their brain structures being completely alien to any life form on earth, we’ve uncovered writings,” Ed said. “Off the Ivory Coast of Africa, off the north shore of Norway, the southern tip of South America…all places where Dark Ones have been wiped out in recent years. Ancient writings on the walls of the underwater caves they were tracked to and destroyed in. We’ve employed linguists to try to decipher them and after three years we are no closer to deciphering any of them. They are unlike any form of writing we’ve ever seen. They don’t resemble any kind of primitive language.”

“Why were we not told about this?” Wade asked.

“Because the Livingston Administration wanted it kept quiet at first.”

“At first?”

Ed nodded. “Yeah. And then, when we were ready to announce our findings, we were hushed up.”

“By who?” Jennifer asked. “Livingston?”

“No.” Ed shook his head. “Not by the government. At least, I don’t believe it was the government. In truth, we were never sure exactly who they were. Some of my associates claimed they were from a foreign agency. One poor bastard even insisted that they were from something called Black Lodge—a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream—this paranormal paramilitary agency. But whoever they were, these people made it very clear that the knowledge was not supposed to be shared with the general public. They were very…persuasive.”

“Were you ever able to complete the translations?” Susan asked.

“Not even close. As I said, they don’t resemble anything we’ve ever seen before. Three years of hard work down the drain.”

“If I’m successful in getting you off this island safely, I will be happy to translate for you,” Josel said. “Now we must continue. We cannot afford to stand here and argue. Come!”

He turned and began heading down the corridor again.

Sensing that time was of the essence, Jennifer joined Josel and Keoni. The others followed, but the argument continued.

“How can the writings of a horror fiction author be real?” Wade asked.

“Ever read Communion by Whitley Streiber?” Ed answered. “According to him, aliens kidnapping people to stick probes up their asses are very real. It happens to him all the time.”

“So?”

“Strieber was a horror fiction author before he wrote Communion.”

“Who’s Whitley Strieber?” Wade sounded confused.

“The stories in this myth cycle written by Lovecraft,” Susan said. “How is it that you’ve come to the conclusion that what we’re experiencing is related to them?”

“I’m not saying they are,” Ed said, a tinge of frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m only telling you what I’ve learned from studying these goddamn things and what I know from reading Lovecraft in college.”

“I’ve never read anything by him, so you’ll have to educate me.” Susan said.

“Neither have I,” Jennifer said. “But I know somebody who probably has.”

“That horror writer you were trapped in Peachbottom’s basement with?” Ed said.

Jennifer nodded. “Rick Sycheck.”

“I didn’t go to ten years of college just to have everything I’ve worked for undermined by a fucking pulp fiction writer,” Wade muttered.

“Will you shut up?” Ed snapped.

Wade scowled. “Hey, don’t get pissy with me, Steinhardt! You’re the one who brought this bullshit up in the first place.”

“Both of you calm down,” Jennifer said. “We’re in a world of shit here, and the last thing we need is the two of you shouting at each other. Sound carries in these tunnels, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“She’s right,” Keoni said. “Please, let us continue on our way, and with less bickering.”

They walked on. Jennifer wondered how the old man, Josel, was able to be so energetic. She was exhausted, out of breath, and sore. Josel, however, seemed absolutely athletic, bounding down the passageway without even breaking a sweat.

Must be that clean island living, she thought.

Their footsteps echoed softly in the corridor. Josel whispered something to Keoni in their language. Keoni glanced back at the group and shrugged.

“What did he say?” Wade asked.

Keoni grinned. “He says that all of you talk too much.”

“Why hasn’t anything like this been reported on in other archeological records?” Susan asked, ignoring the comment. Unlike Wade, she sounded open-minded to hear Ed out.

“It has been reported,” Ed answered. “You said yourself that there are references to Dagon in the Old Testament.”

“Indeed,” Susan agreed. “Dagon was a Semitic god. He appeared in other texts, as well. An eighteenth century letter to King Zimri-Lim of Mari, for example. But Kaatholulu, or however you pronounce it—I’m confident that he’s never been mentioned anywhere, outside of these fiction stories you mentioned. Nor has there been any evidence of a sunken city or extraterrestrial life forms arriving on earth in the Paleozoic era or any period there-after.”

“What you’re suggesting borders on insanity, Dr. Steinhardt,” Wade said.

“Do you have a better explanation, Wade?”

“Yeah, I do. How about we do what Jennifer suggested and shut our traps and try to let this witch doctor and Keoni get us out of here?”

“You need to know what we might be dealing with,” Ed insisted. For the first time, he looked worried. Panicked. “It’s true, I read Lovecraft back in college. It’s been forty years or more since I’ve read him, but some of his stories have always stuck with me. It’s fiction, yes, but the way he wrote them…their precise logic in science and archeology and history always attracted me. I always attributed his stories to pure fantasy due to what I thought were the supernatural elements in them.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Wade said. “Supernatural elements. We aren’t chasing a bunch of boogeyman hocus pocus shit.”

“No, we aren’t.” Ed sounded frustrated. He looked at Jennifer as if imploring her to help him. She wished she could, but she was as confused about the connections he was making too.

“If this Dagon thing is mentioned in Lovecraft’s stories, what do the Dark Ones have to do with it?” Jennifer asked.

“In several of Lovecraft’s stories there are creatures called Deep Ones. They’re similar to our Dark Ones, but they’re the result of hybrids. The mating of humans with a race of creatures that came to earth millions of years ago. These Deep Ones live in underwater cities and caverns, but they can pose as humans anytime they want. I remember one story in particular. I think it was called The Shadow Over Innsmouth. It was one of the central stories of this particular myth cycle. Anyway, they worship a pantheon of gods known as the Great Old Ones. Father Dagon and Mother Hydra are minor Old Ones. Together with Cthulhu, they form a trio of gods the Deep Ones worship.”

“But the Dark Ones are unlike any life form you’ve ever seen,” Jennifer said. “How can anybody see a connection unless they’re well-versed in the stories of Lovecraft?”

“They wouldn’t see that connection,” Ed admitted. “You’re right. Most people wouldn’t, but still…”

Wade muttered again under his breath.

“I find it hard to believe that for seventy years nobody has made a connection,” Jennifer said.

“Maybe somebody did in the past and something happened to them,” Ed said quickly. “Maybe they received the same warning that my colleagues and I received. For all we know, other expeditions have been made to this island. Maybe they never returned.” He turned to Keoni. “Keoni? Can you ask our guide how many scientific expeditions have been made to his island by US or European scientists?”

Keoni addressed Josel. “How many American have been to Naranu for study?”

“Too many to count.”

“Did you drive them away?”

“Some.” The tone of Josel’s voice hinged on a lie.

Jennifer pounced on it. “Did you really drive them away or did you kill them?”

Josel stopped and faced Jennifer. “People like you have been coming to Naranu for almost two hundred years. We held them off as long as possible. The few that slipped past us…many of them never made it out alive. Some…I have heard some have become…what do you call it? Famous, well-known disappearances.”

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

Josel shrugged. “Names escape me at this point. I only recall what my great grandfathers have told me, of various scientific expeditions coming here and going into the jungle to what you call Mount Rigiri. They never came out alive.” He paused. “The Dark Ones ambushed them. Took them down, deep into R’lyeh.”

“And their disappearances weren’t investigated? I find that hard to believe.”

“They were always investigated. When white people came looking for their brothers, we told them their people had left. Some believed, others didn’t. Those that didn’t, we would make an effort to show them that we pretended to care about their missing people, so we looked for them. Then we sent them off the island.”

“But it probably didn’t happen enough to raise enough suspicion,” Jennifer said, mostly to herself.

“No, it didn’t,” Josel said. “Now, we must go.”

He turned and began heading back down the tunnel.

“This is bullshit,” Wade muttered.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Ed whispered. They were moving along at a rapid pace behind Josel and Keoni.

They fell silent as they followed the two South Pacific natives. Jennifer’s mind was racing. Her time with Rick before and after their siege at Peachbottom had been short, but overall she’d liked him. She’d talked to him only once on an extensive intellectual level, six months after Peachbottom, at a dinner held in their honor by Augustus Livingston. They’d exchanged numbers at that time. She’d never called him, and she wondered if after everything that had happened to Rick since Peachbottom if he’d changed his number. She wished she had her cell phone with her now so she could call him, ask him about this H. P. Lovecraft guy and what his stories were really about.

Then, for some strange reason, her thoughts turned to Tony. She knew so little about him, but Jennifer doubted the cocky Italian was a fan of this Lovecraft character. She could just imagine his reaction—probably something funny and crude. The thought made her smile.

They came to a three-way fork in the tunnel and stopped. Jennifer noticed that the rock walls were growing damper. They were cold to the touch—almost slimy. Despite this, the air in the corridor had gotten warmer.

Josel said to Keoni, motioning down the left fork. “That way is the direction you came from.”

Keoni nodded.

“This way,” Josel motioned toward the center tunnel, “goes to the west part of the island. This other tunnel will take us east. We shall pause and let the mainlanders catch their breath. Perhaps they will talk less afterward.”

Sighing with relief, Jennifer crouched down on her haunches and rested her back against the tunnel wall. Immediately, the moisture seeped through her shirt, but she didn’t care. If anything, the cool wetness helped revive her strength and soothe her frazzled nerves. Susan did the same on the other side of the tunnel. Wade sat down in the center of the corridor, cross-legged. Ed, Keoni, and Josel remained standing. Ed was visibly relaxed. Only Keoni and Josel seemed to remain alert. They stood stiffly, as if their legs were coiled springs ready to snap.

Susan sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“Phosphate,” Keoni told her. “The island is composed mostly of phosphate rock. These tunnels are thick with it. The natives never mined it, which is a shame. If they did, they’d be very wealthy, and the reserves would last for generations.”

“Why didn’t they?” Jennifer asked, and then the answer occurred to her, even as Keoni answered.

“For the same reason as everything else. They wanted to keep others off the island. A prosperous phosphate mining operation would only attract more attention.”

“You know where phosphate comes from, don’t you?” Wade grinned.

Jennifer shook her head.

Wade’s grin grew wider. “It’s bird droppings.”

“No way.”

He nodded. “I’m serious. We’re basically sitting on a volcanic island that’s surrounded by coral reefs and fossilized bird shit.”

“You need to get out more,” Ed said.

“I’ll tell you guys one thing,” Wade said. “If we make it out of this, I’m never leaving my home again.”

The others laughed at the comment.

“Hell,” Jennifer replied, “if we make it out of this, I’m never leaving my bedroom again. I can’t believe that after—”

Suddenly, from the left hand tunnel, came the sounds of pursuit; running footsteps, guttural cries and clicking noises. It was impossible to tell how close they were. Jennifer had a feeling they were still far away, but they were quickly gaining. Their sounds, their very intonations, sent a chill down Jennifer’s spine.

There was something else, though…something that Jennifer could not put her finger on. It felt like something big and vast. Something unknown and alien, something indescribable, was close by. This something was alive, it was very close, and it was on the verge of waking up. And when it did it would know where they were and it would summon the Dark Ones to their location and they would be slaughtered.

“Come!” Josel whispered, breaking her thoughts. He darted down the far right tunnel. They jumped to their feet and scrambled after him.

As Jennifer plunged down the passageway, trying to quell the racing of her heart, she felt the tension rise. Josel and Keoni began running faster down the corridor and the others picked up their pace in order to keep up. She felt the floor tilt downward slightly, felt it curve even more sharply to the right as it took them deeper down into the earth. She almost tripped several times and had to focus on Keoni to see where she was going.

And she wondered if they were doing the right thing in letting Josel lead them down this path. Because the deeper they traveled into the earth, the greater that feeling grew— that something vast and alien lurked within the very rock walls.

They reached another fork in the tunnels and Josel didn’t hesitate. He took the left fork and the tunnel led them into what seemed to be a black abyss. The beam from Keoni’s flashlight dimmed considerably, and then went out. He cursed in the sudden darkness.

Josel slowed down. “Stay close together.”

Edward pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and flipped it. The tiny flame seemed ineffectual against the gloom.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Wade said.

“I don’t,” Ed replied. “It was a gift from my wife. Sort of an in-joke between us. Too much to go into right now.”

“We must continue to move fast,” Josel said, “but I warn you. This tunnel will become very steep in its descent. Stay close behind me. Take each others hands if you must, but by all means do not lose sight of each other.”

Without another word, Josel turned and scurried down the tunnel, Keoni close behind him. Edward held the cigarette lighter aloft and lurched after them, followed by Jennifer, Susan, and Wade. Josel had been right. The downhill grade of this tunnel was noticeably steeper. They had to slow their pace now, resorting to a brisk walk as the downward momentum of the tunnel propelled them deep into the earth. Jennifer gripped the back of Ed’s billowy Hawaiian shirt and she felt Susan’s fingers touch her left arm. Jennifer took Susan’s hand and she felt Susan’s fingers squeeze. They were on the same wavelength now.

She sensed Wade behind Susan, imagined he was probably holding onto the back of Susan’s shirt. Their being connected this way physically helped keep Jennifer in tune with their entire party. They moved fast, as one solid unit. And as they descended into the depths of the island, Jennifer wondered if the rest of them began to get the same feeling. It crept into her the deeper into the earth they got. It crawled over her slowly, inexorably, sinking its tendrils into her, wrapping its fingers around every fiber of her being. She couldn’t place the feeling; it wasn’t exactly fear but it was something like it.

It was more like dread.

The boy was halfway to the other side of the island, leading the Dark Ones through the bewildering network of underground tunnels, when he felt a subtle shift in the air. The ground thrummed beneath his feet. He was clutching the knife he’d used to gut the scientist he’d killed earlier in the day. His hands were still sticky with the man’s blood. He felt a sense of bloodlust, a sense of purpose.

He’d been quietly watching Josel over the past fort-night. The man was slipping. He’d become lazy in the last few years. It wasn’t so much a physical laziness, but a mental and spiritual one. Where in his earliest memories Josel had been full of knowledge and possessed a sense of spiritual authority unlike anybody he had ever known, now the old man seemed less sharp, less devout.

The boy had known Josel all his life. His earliest memory was of attending ceremonial dances in the center of the island where Josel presided over rituals. At that early an age, the boy did not understand the significance of these rituals. He’d recalled the images of the Dark Ones they’d carved into the bark of trees and on the rocky walls of the mountain. He remembered being told by his father, one of the nine tribal chiefs, that if he ever saw a stranger on this island he was to report the sighting to him or the other chiefs immediately. Mainlanders were not allowed on the island; if they arrived, they were to convince them to leave. Drive them off physically if the opportunity arose. His father had done this in the past, or so he’d related in evening soliloquies to Dagon. For the most part, mainlanders, as well as other Island people, stayed clear of Naranu. For thousands of years they had done an excellent job in keeping interlopers off the island and they’d been rewarded handsomely.

It had only been within the last two years when his father began teaching him the old language and he began to understand the nature behind the rituals. It was highly likely that his father was dead now, slain by the Elder during the massacre. The boy was almost certain of this; he’d crept to the edge of the jungle after having followed the chiefs and the tribe’s soldiers to the beach to meet up with the Dark Ones, and witnessed the tail end of a mass slaughter. The boy had bit back his anger and anguish and summoned all the strength he had within him to make his pitch to the Elder.

And now he couldn’t back down. He had to prove to the Elder that he was capable of being a leader. The boy wanted to impress the Dark Ones. He hoped that he and perhaps a few others of his people—if any were left alive— would be spared.

His first step was to take the Elder to Josel’s house. The boy knew all the tunnels of Naranu like the back of his hand. He’d traversed down their outer paths as a young boy when he accompanied his father on various secret trips beneath the island. What his father and the other tribal chiefs never learned was that the boy explored the inner tunnels numerous times on his own. He’d done this hundreds of times by his count. He’d learned much from these secret trips. He’d also learned much from the secret writings he’d sneaked a peek at that were hidden in his father’s quarters, back at the house.

It was from these writings that the boy learned the secrets behind the Dark Ones.

And the Secret Order of Dagon.

And along with those revelations, the purpose of his people. Unlike neighboring islands, they had resisted the worship of the female deity, Eijebong, in favor of the one true god. Others might strive to go to Buitani when they died. The boy’s people were content to travel to the Great Deep and become one with the waters there.

The boy picked up the pace of his run down the tunnel, his heart racing in his chest. The Elder was close behind him along with a dozen of his soldiers. The boy was secretly grateful that there were no Clickers following in their wake; the creatures were too large to fit inside the subterranean chambers. When the march had first begun, while they were still topside and trekking through the jungle, the creatures had loomed over the boy as if to kill him, but the Elder had warned them away. The Clickers had thundered along in the rear of the procession, occasionally diverting to slay and feast on a survivor or wild animal or destroy a building or hut. Now, it was only the Elder and the Dark Ones who accompanied him. Regardless, the boy wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. His purpose was simple.

Keoni Mumea wasn’t one of them. He was descended from other island people. Samoa, probably Marshall Islands. Maybe something else. He was a mutt. An animal. Descended from the kind of people

who used to invade Naranu many years ago. Naranuans had always driven off other island invaders, but they had been unable to drive off this latest wave of mainlanders, who were worse than any Pacific Islander.

Keoni was worse than the scientists, though. He was consorting with them. Helping them. The boy had simmered with a secret hate for the caretaker ever since he’d arrived on the island about a fortnight before the first wave of mainlanders arrived. He’d been so charming to the Naranuan women. He’d swept them off their feet. Had taken a couple of them to his hut to mate. Worst of all, the tribal chiefs had liked him. The boy didn’t know what everybody saw in Keoni. To him, Keoni represented everything that was wrong about anything that was non-Naranuan. He was a womanizer, a con artist, a two-faced snake. True to form, within days of his arrival Keoni had learned about the tunnels thanks to one of the tribal chiefs giving him a tour.

The tribal chief in question had been the boy’s father.

Remembering it now brought the betrayal back with a tremendous force of hate. Watching father and Keoni laugh, his father clapping the interloper on the back. The boy had been living under his father’s shadow for years, had done everything he could to get the old man to simply smile at him, to acknowledge him with a kind word. Instead all he got was disapproval. A frown, a grunt of discouragement. All Keoni had to do was crack a joke and his father laughed and smiled.

The boy hated Keoni for this.

And true to form, he was certain Keoni Mumea had spirited the surviving scientists away through the tunnel to the other side of the island.

The boy assumed Keoni would take them to Josel’s house. It was Keoni’s mission to serve and protect the researchers. His instincts would lead him there, to Josel, in the hope the old man would help them.

But Josel wouldn’t be helping them. He was probably cowering in fear back at his hut as the Dark Ones and their pets ravaged the island. He knew the Elder intended to wreak vengeance for what had happened and the boy approved of this. He understood it. He didn’t want to die, but he believed with all his heart and mind in what his people had been born and bred for thousands of years to do—be guardians of the island and Dagon—and he accepted his fate.

He would lead the Dark Ones to Josel’s hut, taking Keoni and the intruders by such sudden surprise they’d be slow to react. The Dark Ones would fall on them, tear them to pieces, and the Elder would be forced to acknowledge not only the boy’s bravery, but also his wisdom.

The boy would expose Josel for his sloth. And it was then when the boy would reveal his knowledge of the Old Ones and the Secret Order of Dagon. He would claim alliance to them. My life for you, he would say while bowing before them. And he would chant this in their language, all the while shrilling their secret chant at the top of his lungs.

Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn, N’wgi, myfgilyi, yith nga nga! Ia! Ia!

For a boy of his age to learn such a sacred and ancient chant… that had to count for something, didn’t it?

The boy reached a fork in the tunnel. The tunnel to the left would take them to the west side of the island, while the center tunnel would take them to the north shore, which would spill out to other forks leading to the homes of the tribal chiefs and Josel. The far right tunnel hugged the shore and dipped inland, leading to farther forks that would take you to the center of the island. One of the forks farther in would take you directly to R’lyeh.

Keoni had taken the scientists this way. The boy was sure of it. Logically it did not make sense. The boy had sensed that Keoni had secretly sneered at the Naranuan’s beliefs in the two weeks he’d been here. He wouldn’t know about R’lyeh, much less the Dark Ones. But the boy knew that Keoni had taken this right hand fork. He could sense it.

The boy paused. His eyes widened. Could Josel be with them, guiding them deeper into the heart of the mountain? Could he secretly be hoping to atone for his failure to get rid of the scientists by leading them to Dagon himself as sacrifices? Or perhaps he hoped to interrupt the ritual and needed the mainlanders to help him?

The Elder grunted impatiently, waiting for a decision. The other Dark Ones stood behind him, grunting and hissing. The boy motioned toward the right hand fork and darted down its dark recess. The Dark Ones followed.

The moment the boy made this decision he felt his senses become more in tune. He was heading down the right path. Keoni had taken the scientists this way. Why he’d done so didn’t matter. This way would spell certain death for them if Keoni took them too far. The boy was fairly certain Keoni would become lost, would stumble around in the dark not knowing which way to go once he reached the middle level of the catacombs, and that’s when the boy and the Dark Ones would meet them. Then it would be over.

With a new burst of confidence, the boy gestured ahead of him. They’re this way, he beckoned, urging the Dark Ones on. The Elder grunted behind him. The boy felt a sense of trust from the ancient Dark One, and with that trust came a sudden burst of confidence. He was going to find Keoni and the mainlanders. He was going to lead the Dark Ones to them. They were going to be his sacrifices to the Dark Ones.

They were going to be his ticket to salvation.

And if the Elder somehow did not see this sacrifice as being worthy enough…if he still felt the boy did not deserve to live because of his people’s inability to keep the white people off the island…

…then at least he would die knowing he’d served Dagon to the end of his dying day.

Tony was practically on the edge of his seat as they approached Naranu. He stared out the window as the plane glided over the island. At first glance, it seemed like a lush, if somewhat forbidding, tropical paradise. Even in the darkness, he could see clearly. The moon was full— almost swollen—and bright. There was lush vegetation everywhere. A vast coral reef, dotted with spires, bordered one edge of the oval shaped landmass. A few small fishing boats floated amidst several artificial canals that had been bored into the reef. After the coral reef was a white, sandy beach studded with coconut palms and banana groves. The vegetation grew thicker farther inland with the presence of pineapple, pandanu, and tomano trees. Lagoons were scattered across the jungle floor. Jagged limestone pinnacles erupted from the flora, reaching skyward. In the center of the island was a large volcanic peak, surrounded by rock and sharp coral cliffs.

At first glance, Tony had never seen anything more breathtakingly beautiful in his entire sordid life. He longed to see it in the daylight. But the awe-inspiring majesty was marred by the marauding presence of hundreds of Clickers and Dark Ones. They swarmed over the island’s entirety, destroying everything in their path. A vast force seemed to be marching toward the mountain. From this height, they looked like hideous, deformed ants. Several fires flickered at various points on the island, seemingly unchecked and belching smoke into the sky.

“Jesus,” Clark whispered beside him. “Look at that.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Those goddamn things sure do know how to fuck shit up.”

“I was in the White House during the invasion,” Clark said. “And what I saw wasn’t very pretty, but I never really got a good look at the bigger picture. Everything I experienced was localized—not large scale like this. The pictures on the news afterward didn’t really do it justice.”

“I don’t think pictures could do it justice,” Tony said. “The only

way to really understand what those crab-lobster-scorpion fucks and their iguana masters are capable of is to see them in action for yourself.”

“The Dark Ones are capable of much more than even you know,” Amethyst said. “If you knew what I know—”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks, Amethyst. That’s very helpful. If you want to be useful, how about getting me another drink. Wouldn’t want one of the seven most important people in the world to be thirsty now, would we?”

If the operative responded to the taunt, Tony couldn’t tell because at that moment, his ears began to pop, signaling their rapid descent. Soon, they soared in over the landing strip. The small runway was bordered by swaying grass on the left and ocean on the right, and illuminated by sodium lights. There was a diminutive building at the end of the runway, which they were taxiing toward now. There was no sign of any other buildings or vehicles, much less a control tower. Unlike the rest of the island, the area seemed to be free of rampaging sea creatures and untouched by the widespread destruction.

As the plane rolled down the runway, Tony spotted a series of white stone markers spread out at even intervals between the jungle and the complex. He wondered if they were phosphorescent—they glowed in the darkness. He glanced out of the other side of the plane and saw matching stones on the far side of the landing zone. They seemed to form a large circle, completely surrounding the area.

The jet braked to a halt. The whine of the engines slowly faded. Tony yawned, cracking his jaw and popping the pressure that had built up in his ears. His head began to ache slightly and he felt a tightness in his chest, in his gut. It couldn’t be nerves. Tony had never been nervous before a job in his life. Next to him, Clark undid his seatbelt, stood up, and then stretched. The operatives did the same. Clark rubbed his forehead. “Fuck, just what I need.”

“What’s that?”

“A fucking headache.”

“Yeah, I’m getting one too.” Tony replied. “I’d kill for some Advil.”

The Black Lodge agents were silent as they retrieved jackets and bags.

“So where’s the limo?” Tony asked.

Silence from behind him and from the next aisle. Tony traded a glance with Clark, who gave him a slight grin. At least the ex-Secret Service guy got the joke.

“I take it that Naranu does not get many international flights,” Clark said.

“That is correct,” Onyx said. “This is a private landing strip. It’s nowhere near the populated areas of the island. In fact, most of the people who live here don’t even know about it.”

“The people who live here?” Tony quipped. “You mean all twelve of them?”

Clark snickered, stepping out into the aisle. Encouraged by his audience of one, Tony continued.

“There’s town’s in the Jersey Pine Barrens that have more people than this place.”

Ruby paused in the aisle and motioned for Tony to step out before her.

“I know,” she said. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the Pine Barrens.”

“Oh, yeah? Me, too.”

“But for different reasons. You were seeking to hide something, Tony. Bodies, I believe. I was seeking to find something.”

“What were you looking for? Some big-eared mutant redneck sitting on his porch and playing the banjo? Because most of that is gone now. A lot of the Pine Barrens have been paved over and turned into strip malls.”

Ruby smiled. “No, nothing so grotesque. I was searching for the Jersey Devil.”

“The Jersey Devil,” Clark said, mostly to himself. “So that fucking thing is real?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Arroyo,” Ruby answered. “Or, at least, it was. We fear it may be extinct, as a new specimen has not been sighted in quite some time. Sad, really. It is a member of a very old, very sophisticated race of beings. Not entirely unlike the race of beings that wreaked so much havoc in the United States and much of the world in 2006—the Dark Ones.”

This is insane, Tony thought as he walked down the aisle. She’s equating the Jersey Devil with the fucking Dark Ones? What next? Bigfoot? Chupacabra?

“On the contrary,” Ruby said. “Bigfoot is a member of Gigantopithecus, a race of primitive ape that many anthropologists believed became extinct several hundred thousand years ago. Gigantopithecus is a distant relation to modern day orangutan’s, and like orangutan’s they possess the same body hair, smell, and behaviors…namely their secrecy and their habit of dragging their
dead to remote areas of the forests they live in for burial. This is why genuine remains of a Gigantopithecus have not been found.”

“No shit?” Tony brushed his hair from his eyes and thought, Jesus, I wish she’d stop with that mind reading shit.

“As for Chupacabra,” Ruby continued, “that is the result of mass hysteria. There’s actually no such thing. And I wish I could stop reading your mind. It’s not a very nice place to visit.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Clark said. “Chupacabra, I mean—not Tony’s mind. I have a brother in New Mexico who claims he saw one in the desert. Even took pictures of it.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked Clark.

“Yep.” Clark grinned at Tony again.

“Enough,” Amethyst said as they approached the open door. “Caution, Ruby. You’ll never make it past adept status if you continue to reveal so much information to the uninitiated.”

“Mr. Arroyo won’t be telling anybody.”

“No,” Clark agreed. “My lips are sealed.”

Tony watched the silent interplay between Amethyst and Ruby. The baby-faced team leader—if indeed he was in charge—seemed angry with Ruby about something, but Tony couldn’t figure out what. His expression had momentarily changed when Ruby said that Clark wouldn’t tell anybody. It had been a strange look, as if Ruby had just revealed some great secret—there really wasn’t a Santa Claus or there was really another shooter on the grassy knoll the day JFK rode through Dallas.

Before Tony could consider it further, Diamond gestured at him to disembark. The big man’s features were impassive and serious. Tony couldn’t resist needling him.

“You don’t say much, do you, Diamond?”

“I don’t need to.”

They disembarked and stood on the runway. The whine of the jet engines faded and then died. A hot breeze whipped across the clearing, ruffling Tony and Clark’s hair. They stood looking at each other and then turned toward the jungle. Even from this distance, they could both hear the all-too familiar sound.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“Fuck me,” Tony said. “There must be hundreds of them.”

“Why are we just standing here?” Clark glanced nervously toward the tree line and then back to Amethyst. “Shouldn’t we be taking cover?”

The younger man smiled calmly. “There’s no need.”

“No need?” Clark gaped at him.

“The fuck do you mean there’s no need?” Tony wheeled on Amethyst. “You saw that shit when we were landing, same as we did. Those damn things are all over the island, and judging by that sound, they’re heading this way, too. We need to get to some place safe. Secure.”

Amethyst shrugged. “I can assure you both, there is not a safer place on Naranu than where we are currently standing. As long as we remain inside the circle, neither the Clickers nor anything else can hurt us.”

“The circle?” Tony glanced around. “What fucking circle?”

“Do you mean those standing stones?” Clark pointed at the white stones Tony had noticed when they were landing.

Amethyst nodded. “I do indeed. You catch on quick, Mr. Arroyo. Perhaps it was fate that delivered you to our operation after all.”

Tony stared at the circle of white stones. They were spaced evenly—about ten feet apart, encircling the clearing and the landing strip. Each one stood four feet high and was roughly rectangular. All of the stones had a strange symbol carved on the side of them. The jungle grew thick beyond them.

“So,” Tony said, “do they have electronic eyes inside of them or something? Little red beams of light—give off a silent alarm somewhere if you walk between them?”

“No,” Amethyst said. “Not quite. They form a circle of protection, Tony. I can’t really go into detail right now, as we have more pressing matters to deal with. Suffice to say, I meant it when I said that this is the safest place on the island.”

“I’d feel a lot safer,” Tony replied, “if I had a fucking gun in my hand.”

“Indeed.” Amethyst turned to Diamond and nodded. “Lead on.”

The big man waved his hand, indicating that they should follow him. The group fell in line behind him and walked quickly across the tarmac. Tony wondered what the pilots and the stewardess were doing. They hadn’t left the plane. Were they just going to sit inside, waiting for the others to return?

“That’s exactly what they’re going to do,” Ruby said, answering his unspoken question.

Tony sighed. “You know, I really wish you’d stop doing that.”

They approached the small white shack at the end of the runway. As they drew closer, Tony noticed that there was a symbol painted on the door of the shack. It appeared to be the same design as on the
stones. Diamond reached for the door handle and turned the knob. Tony arched an eyebrow, surprised that the door was unlocked. Diamond stepped inside the shed.

“You guys always leave your shit unlocked?”

“Why?” Onyx asked.

“Well, aren’t you worried about the natives ripping you off?”

“They can’t,” Amethyst said. “You’re not understanding, Tony. Nothing can pass through the circle of protection unless we allow it. Not the Clickers. Not the Dark Ones. And not the island’s inhabitants. The same applies to the shed. Had you or Mr. Arroyo tried to open the door, it would have remained closed.”

“But I thought I was special.” Tony couldn’t resist teasing them again. “I thought I was one of the seven most important people in the universe?”

“You are,” Onyx confirmed.

“And that,” Diamond said, reemerging from the shack, “is why you get to carry one of these.”

He handed Tony a black M16 rifle. Tony took the weapon from him and checked it over. Then he laughed.

“Now we’re talking! And this ain’t semi-auto, like the ones you buy at the gun store.”

“I assume you know how to use it?” Diamond asked, producing a handgun. “And this, as well?”

Tony nodded, and took the smaller weapon from him. “Nice. A .45 ACP. Hell, it almost feels like I’m back home.”

Diamond stepped back into the shack and then returned with two identical weapons for Clark. After Clark had taken them from him, Tony elbowed him in the side.

“I guess you’re special, too.”

“No,” Clark said, sighting the gun on a nearby coconut tree. “I’m just a good shot.”

After Tony and Clark were given extra ammunition belts, and the others had armed themselves, Diamond shut the door. For a moment, Tony was tempted to step forward and try the handle for himself—see if what Amethyst had said was really true. But then he heard the clicking sounds in the jungle, and thought of Jennifer.

“Okay,” he said. “What’s our next move, Amethyst?”

“Simple. We go out there,” he pointed into the jungle, “and stop the Dark Ones from bringing Dagon to this dimension.”

“And find Jennifer and the others.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve got to rescue Jennifer and the other scientists, too.”

“Oh, yes. Doctor Wasco and her associates. Quite right.”

Tony’s voice became a low growl. “Don’t fuck around with me, Amethyst.”

The younger man smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He started forward across the clearing. Diamond fell in step behind him, followed by Tony, Clark and Ruby. Onyx brought up the rear.

“I’m surprised you’re all carrying firearms,” Clark said. “I’d have thought you’d just rely on spells or ESP or some-thing.”

“A bullet is a lot more accurate than a spell,” Ruby said. “Although before this is over, we might have need of both.”

Tony and Clark both slowed down as they neared the stone circle. They eyed the standing stones warily.

Amethyst and Onyx turned to face them.

“Come on,” Amethyst said. “Nothing to be afraid of. The circle won’t harm you as long as you’re with us.”

“Maybe the circle won’t,” Clark whispered. “But what about them?”

One by one, the others turned to see what he was looking at. Three Clickers emerged from the jungle. Each of the creatures was the size of a full-grown cow and their pincers were big enough to sever a man in two. Spotting the group, the monsters raced forward, claws scissoring as they skittered toward their prey. Their tails swayed back and forth, poison dripping from the barbed stingers. Tony and Clark both fell into a combat stance, raising their weapons and pointing them at the onrushing enemy, but Amethyst and Diamond stood in their way, seemingly unfazed by the attack.

“Drop,” Clark shouted. “You’re in our line of fire.”

Tony was more succinct. “Get the fuck out of the way!”

“There’s no need,” Onyx said from behind them. “Watch.”

The Clickers scuttled forward, their intentions clear. As they crossed between the standing stones, there was a dazzling flash of blue-white light. Tony flung a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, but not before he glimpsed shadowy silhouettes of the three beasts superimposed against the light. There was no sound. The entire process was silent. When Tony looked again, the three Clickers had been reduced to piles of smoldering ash. The air smelled faintly of ozone, like just before a thunderstorm—and something else, as well.

Seafood.

“Holy shit,” Clark gasped. “What the hell just happened?”

“Exactly what we told you would happen,” Amethyst said.

Tony blinked his eyes, waiting for his vision to return to normal. There were dark spots floating in the periphery. He sniffed the air again.

“Too bad we don’t have any Old Bay seasoning on us,” he said, grinning. “I could go for some steamed crabs right about now.”

Ruby shook her head. “You never stop, do you?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ll stop when I’m dead.”

“We’re wasting time,” Amethyst said. “Let’s get moving.”

They walked toward the circle of stones. Nothing moved beyond the clearing, but they could still hear the Clickers rampaging out in the jungle. Diamond and Amethyst took the lead, followed by Tony and Clark. Ruby and Onyx brought up the rear. The two point men passed between the stones unscathed, and motioned at Tony and Clark to halt.

“That thing gonna fry us the way it did those Clickers?” Tony asked.

“No,” Amethyst said. “As long as you come through with Ruby and Onyx, you’ll be fine.”

Ruby took Tony’s hand and Onyx did the same with Clark.

“You guys go ahead,” Clark said, swallowing hard. “Ladies first and all that.”

Tony steeled himself. He wanted to ask Ruby to wait but she was already stepping forward, pulling him along. He had no choice but to follow. They entered the circle and the hair on his arms and head stood up with static. He heard an odd, faint ringing sound—like a chime had been struck. Then they were through the circle and standing on the other side. Clark and Onyx followed.

“Okay,” Amethyst said. “Same formation as before. Diamond and I will continue with taking point. Tony and Clark, I’d like you in the middle. Ruby and Onyx will bring up the rear. Let’s stay grouped together. No more than ten feet between us. We move quickly, but quietly. Diamond has the GPS. We follow his lead. No needless chatter until we reach our destination.”

“And what is our destination?” Clark asked.

“We’re going inside Mount Rigiri,” Amethyst answered. “There is a subterranean network of tunnels that run beneath the island—both manmade and natural. We’ll access those and they should lead us where we want to go.”

Tony frowned. “Your GPS gonna work underground?”

“It’s a very strong satellite,” Diamond explained.

Tony had his doubts, but he kept them to himself. A moment later, he wondered if Diamond could read minds as well, because the older man pulled a satellite phone out of his pocket, dialed a number, and listened. After a minute, he pressed another button, returned the phone to his pocket, and then nodded at Amethyst.

“Are we still a go?” Amethyst asked.

“We are.”

“So this is what you people do?” Clark asked. “Go from location to location and save the world from supernatural threats?”

“Something like that,” Amethyst said. “It’s a bit more complex, but you’ve got the basics. No more talking, now. Let’s proceed.”

He and Diamond plunged into the jungle. Tony and Clark followed. Tony caught a whiff of smoke on the wind, and wondered if the fires were spreading. As the thick vegetation closed behind him, he remembered that wildfires were the least of their worries. The jungle was filled with a singular sound.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

A dog-sized Clicker burst from the foliage and charged. Tony snapped his weapon off and fired a controlled burst. The creature flipped over and quivered. Then it lay still.

“Nice shot,” Clark said, clearly impressed.

“I never miss.”

“Let’s hope not.”

The sounds in the jungle increased.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“All things considered,” Tony whispered as they crept forward again, “I’d rather be in Vegas right now.”

The sounds of pursuit grew louder as Jennifer, Wade, Susan and Ed raced after Keoni and Josel. Their trek took them steadily downward, and at times the tunnel floor resembled a slide running at an almost vertical angle. Each of them slipped several times, and Ed suffered a bad gash on his knee. He pleaded with Josel to stop so that he could bind the wound, but if the native guide heard the injured doctor, he gave no indication. Instead, he just went faster, seemingly heedless of the peril—or perhaps heeding the deadlier peril behind them.

Soon, Ed’s lighter became too hot for him to hold. Cursing, he snuffed it out, stuck the lighter in his pocket and sucked his burned fingers. He mumbled an apology to the group and then did a little dance as the heated metal burned his thigh through the material of his pants. Jennifer barely noticed. Her headache had grown steadily worse, but it was still manageable. She had the distinct impression that the darkness was moving—an amorphous, intelligent thing. It was almost as if the blackness had been just waiting for the light to go out, and now that it had, the darkness was swooping in to engulf them in its folds.

Stop it, she silently scolded herself. That isn’t helping. You got on Susan earlier for freaking out. You don’t get to do it, too.

“How much farther?” The gloom distorted Wade’s voice, making him sound farther away than he was. Jennifer wondered if it could be having the opposite effect on the sounds of their pursuers—making them sound closer than they really were.

“I’m wondering that myself,” Keoni said. “Josel, are you sure you know where we’re going?”

“Yes, yes. Not much farther now. Not much farther at all. We must hurry.”

Jennifer noticed a strange, quavering lilt in the guide’s tone. Was it his accent? Perhaps the tunnel walls were simply distorting his voice? Or was it something else?

He’s scared, she reminded herself. We’re all scared. Of course he has a tremor in his voice. We probably all do.

Something hissed behind them. Jennifer and the others glanced over their shoulders and saw a pair of yellow eyes glaring at them in the darkness.

“They’re gaining on us,” Wade said.

“Yes.” Josel’s voice was insistent now. “As I said, we must hurry. Soon, we will—”

A roar echoed down the tunnel. It was joined by another, and another, until there was a full chorus.

“Come on,” Ed shouted over the tumult.

Josel led them around several more twists and turns, ignoring a series of forks and branching tunnels, and sticking to the main corridor. Their descent grew steeper, and Jennifer found herself grasping the wall to keep from slipping. It occurred to her then that the wall was visible. She could see the nooks and crannies that served as hand-holds. Was it getting brighter or had her vision just adjusted to the gloom? As they hurried on, she thought it was probably the former. The subterranean maze seemed to glow with a soft, pale-green light. Jennifer glanced around for the source but couldn’t find it.

Susan stumbled behind her.

“Are you okay?” Jennifer asked.

The anthropologist nodded. “I feel like we’re running down the side of a wall.”

“Is it me,” Wade asked, “or is it getting brighter in here?”

“It’s not you,” Keoni said. “I’ve noticed it, too.”

“What is it?” Ed asked. “What’s the light source?”

Keoni shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been this far beneath the mountain. Nobody has, except Josel and a few others. It is…forbidden.”

They stumbled on, struggling to keep their balance. The sounds of pursuit did not fade. Then, without warning, the ground leveled out again and the tunnel widened.

“Ah.” Smiling, Josel stopped and spread his arms as if in welcome. “We are here.”

Jennifer gasped.

They stood in a huge, cathedral-like chamber. Cracks and fissures lined the walls, and boulders were strewn around the periphery, but the center of the cavern had been cleared of debris. Dozens of statues formed a semicircle in the middle of the room. The craftsmanship was crude, but the thing each carving depicted was even cruder—a tentacle-faced deity with the body of a man that could only be Dagon.

Each statue was approximately twelve feet high, and each had been placed facing outward, as if guarding the room.

Wade pointed. “What the fuck is that?”

Beyond the statues, in the middle of the circle, was a rectangular pool of water. It floated sideways in the air, hovering off the floor like a mirror…or a door. The surface of the water was unbroken and smooth. As Jennifer stared at it, she realized she could see beyond the liquid—or perhaps through it.

That’s an ocean, she thought. That’s an ocean floating on the other side of that thing!

“My God,” Ed muttered.

Keoni whispered something in his own language. Jennifer wondered if it was a prayer.

“What the hell is it?” Wade asked again.

Josel turned to face them. A broad smile cracked his face, revealing his teeth.

Sharks smile like that, Jennifer thought.

“This,” Josel said, gesturing to the gravity-defying pool behind him, “is the entrance to the Great Deep. It is a doorway. Great Dagon sleeps on the other side. He lies in eternal dreaming. But now the stars are right, and he will soon awake. Indeed, he already stirs from his slumber. That is not dead which can eternal lie and with strange eons—”

“Never mind that,” Wade interrupted. “The Dark Ones are right behind us.”

Jennifer glanced around. “Is there another way out of here? I don’t see any other tunnels.”

“No,” Josel said, still smiling. “The only way in or out is the way we came—or through the barrier. And that is where you will go.”

“The fuck we will,” Wade said, stepping forward. “Listen, old man. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but if you think we’re going anywhere near—”

“Silence!” Josel snapped. His attention was focused on something behind them. He dropped to his knees and raised his hands high. “My masters have come.”

Slowly, Jennifer and the rest of the group turned around. The entrance to the cavern and the tunnel beyond it were filled with Dark Ones. One-by-one, the creatures filed into the chamber—lizards walking erect on two legs. As always, Jennifer was reminded of Komodo Dragons. All of the creatures carried weapons—tridents, clubs, spears, and nets woven from some sort of metallic material. She’d seen this before, but the sight still filled her with dread. Despite her terror, Jennifer was startled to see a young native boy with them. She guessed his age to be around fifteen or sixteen. He seemed unharmed and unafraid. He stood next to a Dark One. This creature was taller than the others, standing at nearly ten feet high. Its green, scale-covered body was crisscrossed with faded scars of battles fought long ago. Its yellow eyes, unblinking and filled with a malevolent intelligence, seemed somehow old. The creature tilted its large head to one side and studied them.

Its clawed hands flexed and twisted.

“Welcome,” Josel cried. “I offer you these mainlanders as a gift to Dagon, to satisfy his hunger upon awakening. May this humble gesture make up for our failure to keep them off the island.”

When the Dark One did not respond, Josel began speaking in a strange, guttural tongue. It focused on him, and when he was done, the creature smiled, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. A long, forked tongue flickered through the air as it hissed with delight.

“Y-you betrayed us,” Keoni gasped, wheeling on Josel. “How could you do this?”

“There was never any choice. I am sorry, my friends. Believe me. Were that this was another life, and I could have a wife and children and grandchildren. But this is not that life, and I am not that person. I serve the Dark Ones as my father did before me.”

“So you planned this all along?”

“Yes. If it is any consolation, once Great Dagon has awoken, none of this will matter anyway.”

Keoni shook his head. “You bastard.”

Growling, the Dark One stepped forward. The other creatures followed, as did the boy. Susan whimpered and gasped. Ed stepped protectively in front of her, but Jennifer noticed that his face was pale and his forehead shone with sweat. His hands trembled. He was breathing heavily, and Jennifer wondered if he were about to have a heart attack. She glanced at Wade, but his attention was focused on the advancing lizard-men. His bloodshot eyes were wide. The Dark Ones spread out before them, backing the hapless humans closer toward the circle of statues and the floating pool within it. To keep from screaming, Jennifer took a deep, shuddering breath—and immediately wished she hadn’t. The stench wafting off their captors was horrible; they stank of brine and rotten fish.

Jennifer became aware of another presence in the room—or perhaps nearby. It was unseen. Unheard. But definitely present. She could feel it pressing down on her, an almost palpable, physical

emotion that seemed to drift out of the vertical pool of water. Whatever it was, the sensation filled her with dread. She sensed a vast, cruel intelligence, and realized that it was aware of her presence. Indeed, it seemed to be aware of all of them. The entity projected psychic waves of annoyance and hate that seemed to crash over her. Jennifer’s head began to hurt—a deep, piercing ache that throbbed behind her left eye. Wade rubbed his temple and she assumed he was feeling it, too.

Josel stepped past the captives and spread his hands in a welcoming gesture. The Dark Ones stopped, staring at him with their yellow, unblinking eyes. The boy chattered something at him. Although Jennifer couldn’t understand the words, there was no mistaking the tone. The youth was angry for some reason. He seemed displeased with the old man’s presence. His voice rose in pitch and he gestured wildly with his hands, pointing at Jennifer, Keoni, Ed, Susan and Wade and then back to Josel. The Dark Ones and the scientists watched the exchange. Anger and impatience flashed across Josel’s features. He snapped something at the boy and shook his fist. The two began to argue in their native tongue.

Wade leaned closer to Keoni and whispered, “What are they saying?”

“The boy was leading the Dark Ones to us. The big one there?” Keoni pointed at the largest Dark One. “Apparently, he’s the leader. The boy referred to him as the Elder. It seems he’d promised to lead the Elder to us in exchange for them sparing his life. He’s not happy that Josel beat him to it, and he’s even less happy that Josel intended us to be snacks for Dagon.”

The argument between Josel and the boy grew more heated. Jennifer watched as the Elder and the other Dark Ones grew increasingly impatient. The two natives seemed oblivious to their human and reptilian audience. Josel curled his hand into a fist and raised it as if to strike the boy. The young man bared his teeth and glared at him.

Releasing a sudden hiss that reminded Jennifer of a hot steam iron, the Elder stepped forward and seized the youth by the back of the neck. Startled, the boy yelped. His eyes went wide and his mouth gaped as the lizard man’s curved talons ripped through his flesh. Jennifer and the others screamed and gasped as the Elder plunged its hand into the wound, burrowing deep into the boy’s flesh. The young native’s eyes rolled white in his head, He shuddered and jerked like a puppet on the end of the Dark One’s hand. Then, with one mighty pull, the Dark One wrenched the boy’s spine from his back and raised it over his head. There was a sound like breaking sticks accompanied by other sounds, wet, splashing, as the boy’s ribs were broken. Jennifer felt drops of warm blood splatter her face when the boy’s spine was yanked out of his body amid an explosion of blood. The youth crumpled to the floor, dead. The Elder swung the gory prize, using it to whip Josel across the face. The other reptilians laughed.

“Now or never,” Jennifer yelled. “Go!”

She placed both hands against Josel’s back and shoved the traitor out of her way. Squawking and off-balance, Josel stumbled forward and crashed into the group of Dark Ones. They leaped out of the way and as they scattered, Jennifer took advantage of their momentary confusion and darted toward the tunnel. She heard Wade and the others running along behind her, but didn’t risk turning around.

Josel floundered against a Dark One. As Jennifer ran past them, she saw the creature push Josel away with one hand. Its other hand clutched the hilt of a long iron trident on which Josel had been impaled. The weapon was buried deep in the old man’s chest. Blood trickled from Josel’s open mouth and nose. The three prongs came free with a wet sucking sound, and Josel tumbled to the stone floor.

Jennifer charged past the still confused Dark Ones and plunged into the corridor. The enraged creatures roared and hissed. A hand fell on Jennifer’s shoulder and she nearly screamed.

“It’s me,” Wade yelled. “Keep going.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Jennifer ran, focusing solely on picking her feet up and putting them down again. Her legs pumped. Her heart pounded. Blood thrummed in her ears.

“Wait!” Susan’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Ed and Keoni are still back there.”

Jennifer risked a backward glance. Sure enough, the Dark Ones had closed ranks again at the tunnel mouth. She couldn’t see Ed and Keoni, but she could hear them screaming. Then, before she could process what to do next, several of the creatures gave chase, speeding down the corridor after Wade, Susan and herself. Turning, Jennifer fled, abandoning any hope of saving Ed or Keoni, and not caring if Wade and Susan followed her. Driven onward by primal fear, she plunged into the shadows and the darkness swallowed her whole.

***

Ed Steinhardt and Keoni Mumea stood close together, with Dark Ones closing ranks behind and in front of them. Several Dark Ones had taken off in pursuit of Jennifer, Wade, and Susan, leaving the others to block the only exit. In the center of the cavernous room, the rectangular pool of water began to pulse. That was the closest Ed could describe it; the water contained in the strange rectangle had been calm, but now

it began to lap at the sides, as if some-thing within was disturbing it. Ripples and rings surged through the liquid. Simultaneously, the strange, unseen presence seemed to grow stronger.

“Oi Sole!” Keoni’s tone of voice was frantic. “Oi Sole! Oi Sole!”

“Oh my God is right,” Ed said.

Keoni’s eyes were wide with fright. “I can’t believe Josel. He fooled us the entire time. Ufakomo pukio!”

The boy lay on the ground behind them in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Lying next to him, the village witch doctor—Josel—lay on his back. Despite the wound in his chest, he was still alive. His searching eyes lit on the advancing Dark Ones and grew wide as the creatures drew closer.

“Ia! Ia!” Josel wheezed. Blood poured from his mouth with each syllable. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

“That, I can’t translate.” Ed took a step closer to Keoni as the Dark Ones advanced. “What do we do?”

“We fight,” Keoni whispered. “Get ready to run.”

“Cthulhu fhtagn.” Josel breathed, his eyes wide with rapture. He let out one last rasping breath, held it, and was still. His eyes held a look of sheer reverence.

“Ga’o!” Keoni said. He nudged Ed in the side with his elbow and pointed at the rectangular object in the center of the cavern. “Look!”

The water inside the rectangular was splashing harder now. It looked to Ed as if something was stirring the water around. As they watched, the churning of the water grew more frenzied, white foam splashing the invisible barrier. The rings and ripples grew wider.

“Never mind that,” Ed gasped. “We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

The big lizard-man stepped away from the circle of Dark Ones and fixed Ed and Keoni with its glare. Ed couldn’t help but take in its majestic stance. There was an intelligent cunning in those eyes, and as he looked at the creature he realized he was gazing at a being that was older than any creature he’d ever studied. Despite his over-whelming fear, Ed couldn’t help but feel a sense of dismay that he would not leave this island alive. With that thought, he couldn’t help but feel regret that he would not be able to share what he learned about the Dark Ones with other people…and perhaps warn them.

The Dark One raised one spade-shaped claw and pointed at them. It spoke in the same guttural tongue Josel had used. As it spoke, the pressure inside the chamber grew, along with the splashing inside the rectangular.

Ed winced, feeling his eardrums pop. His head throbbed with pain. Beside him, Keoni shut his eyes tight and hunched over. “Ga’o, kefe!”

The tall Dark One, the one Keoni had identified as the Elder, continued chanting in that strange guttural tongue, and as it did, Ed recognized a pattern in its speech. It was repeating the same thing Josel had said as the old man laid on the ground. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

“What does that mean?” Ed whispered.

“I don’t know,” Keoni said. He was regaining some of his old bravado. Though still scared, some confidence was creeping back into him. “But I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

“I don’t either.”

“Let’s make a break for it, while they’re chanting.”

Ed looked around desperately. The Dark Ones crowded closer, tridents and spears raised menacingly. The Elder stopped its trilling chanting and the air seemed to grow still, as if whatever in the rectangle had suddenly stopped giving out its power; that’s what Ed felt, at least. He was certain the weird vibe he was getting was coming from that thing. The sloshing water was slowing down, as if whatever had been making the waves within it had stopped.

One of the Dark Ones raised a trident over its head and charged. Ed and Keoni yelled simultaneously, ducked, and darted forward. The trident flew over their heads and crashed with a loud clang onto the stone floor at the base of the rectangle. As it hit, Ed felt the air begin to shift again just as he and Keoni dived toward the opening—right into the arms of two large Dark Ones.

When his children were younger, back before they’d moved out and gotten married and had children of their own, Ed had taken them to the zoo one summer day. His son had been mesmerized by the reptile house, and they’d spent half their visit looking at the snakes, iguanas, monitor lizards, and other reptiles. Ed had never forgotten the smell—a peculiar, heady, almost wet odor. The Dark Ones smelled like that, too. The stench grew stronger as the creatures clutched him tight in a deadly embrace.

He glanced over at Keoni and saw that his monstrous captor had lifted him off the floor by his balls. Ed closed his eyes and whimpered as the pressure around him increased.

Keoni screamed.

Ed wasn’t even aware he was screaming. He felt some-thing warm and wet flood over him and he was trying to run away. He knew

his legs were moving, but when he opened his eyes again and looked down, he saw that they were gone. A stream of gore jetted out of the lower half of his body and he caught a brief glimpse of his waist and upper legs as they became the subject of a tug-of-war between two Dark Ones. Ed could only watch as the creatures fought over the limbs, pulling them apart the way children would tear apart a wishbone at Thanksgiving. The bones came apart in a wet snap, and then Ed was lifted off the ground higher, a vice-like grip tightening across his chest. Ed struggled against the creature’s grip as it held him at eye level. He was dimly aware of Keoni’s screams, which were abruptly cut off as the man’s head was severed and flew through the air amid a spray of blood. Keoni’s head smashed against one of the hideous statues and bounced on the cavern floor. Blood ran from his ears.

The Elder grinned at Ed, sporting rows of jagged teeth. The pressure in the room grew heavier. Something roared—something that was not a Dark One or a Clicker. The last thing Ed saw before his eyes closed for good was the sloshing water inside the rectangle growing more frenzied as something else appeared within its depths.

The jungle teemed with Dark Ones and Clickers. Clark, Tony and the Black Lodge agents mounted a strong offensive against the swarming hordes as they ran through the jungle in their tight formation, heading toward the ominous Mount Rigiri. It had been a few years since Clark had held an M16 and the weapon felt right in his hands, like a natural part of himself. Beside him, Tony let loose with a barrage of gunfire at a trio of Dark Ones who burst at them from a grove of trees, dropping them instantly. No doubt, the M16 was a weapon of choice for Tony, too.

“Got any more of these iguana fucks?” Tony called out. “Bring ‘em on!”

“Stay focused,” Clark cautioned him.

“I am focused.” Grinning, Tony stared down at the corpses. “Look at those fuckers bleed.”

Onyx urged them forward. “Let’s keep moving, gentlemen.”

They began moving again as Diamond drew a bead on a fast-moving Clicker, and unleashed a barrage, cutting it down. The creature thrashed in its death throes, spraying blood and venom.

“I don’t get it,” Tony shouted. “Last time I fought these things, they were damn near bullet-proof. Oh, the Dark Ones were easy enough, but to cap a Clicker, you almost had to have a lucky shot. So why are our guns working? Magic M16’s?”

“No,” Amethyst panted, “magic bullets.”

Tony and Clark laughed, but Amethyst’s expression remained serious. The younger man looked tired—drained. His complexion was pale and strained, and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

“You okay?” Clark asked him.

“I’m fine. Just a headache is all. It will pass.”

Clark nodded. “I’ve got one, too.”

“Same here,” Tony said. “What the fuck is causing it?”

“Our proximity to the portal,” Ruby said. “The closer we get

to it, and the closer Dagon comes to breaching the gap between our worlds, the worse it will be. It’s psychic backlash. And this is just the beginning. Should he enter our reality…”

She shuddered, unable to complete the sentence.

Tony frowned. “What?”

“Imagine tossing a stone into a pond,” Diamond said. “Imagine the concentric ripples spreading out in wider and wider patterns. If Dagon were to cross into our world, there would be a manifestation of psychic energy very similar to those concentric rings. They would spread across the planet, driving many insane.”

“Shit,” Tony said, “humanity’s pretty fucking insane already. Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Diamond paused as a small Dark One lunged out of the foliage. The young creature slashed at him with its claws, but the agent sidestepped the attack and clubbed the creature in the face with the butt of his rifle. As it collapsed, he raised his hand and made a few quick finger movements over its body, as if drawing a symbol in the air. The Dark One began to jitter. Its eyes rolled up into its head. Foam formed on its mouth.

“What did you just do?” Clark asked.

Diamond ignored the question. “It would be worse than you can imagine, Mr. Genova. The psychic damage to humanity pales in comparison to the devastation Dagon’s arrival would cause to our ecosystem. Imagine what would happen if it suddenly started raining all over the world at the same time—and if the rain didn’t stop.”

Tony nodded, clearly cowed. “That would be pretty fucked up.”

“How much farther to Mount Rigiri?” Clark asked.

“Another mile,” Onyx said.

“Do we get to take a break once we get to Mount Ri-whatever-the-fuck?” Tony asked.

“No breaks, Tony,” Onyx growled. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Please pay attention,” Amethyst snapped. “We have no time for foolishness.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “That’s no way to speak to one of the seven most important people in the world.”

Amethyst glared at him but didn’t respond. Clark couldn’t be sure, but he thought he glimpsed Ruby grinning.

They ran on, pausing only to slay any Dark Ones or Clickers that crossed their path. After a few more minutes, they came to a clearing and stopped briefly. Diamond and Onyx checked the perimeter and determined they were clear. Catching his breath, Clark ruminated on their dash across the island. Since departing from the landing strip, they’d run through the jungle in straight formation, taking down several dozen Clickers and Dark Ones in the process. Clark was proud to have Tony on his side in this mission; the man was a hell of a shot and his reflexes were quick. He’d wondered what it would take to convince the ex-wise guy to join sides and fight the good fight on the right side of the law for once, but then he quickly dismissed the thought. Tony would never hear of it. He was who he was and that’s all there was to it.

Clark turned to Tony. He quickly ejected the magazine from his M16 and slapped in a fresh one from the belt of ammunition Onyx had given him back at the landing strip. “Not to be blunt, but maybe we should follow Onyx’s and Amethyst’s advice.”

“What’s that?” Tony’s face hardened.

“These fucking lizard-things and their gigantic crab mutant friends are our main concern now. We need to stay focused. Our mission is to avoid being lunch and get to Mount Rigiri to extract Dr. Wasco and her team.”

“You telling me what to do now?” Tony’s expression turned menacing, like he was ready to throw down with Clark in the middle of the jungle.

Jesus, Clark thought. After joking around with this guy on the plane, I’d almost forgotten his history. He’s a mass-murderer. That charm and sense of humor masks a fucking psychopath. I need to remember that.

“Just giving you a word of advice. When we get out of this shit hole, I’ll be happy to join you in pounding the shit out of these Black Lodge sons-of-bitches for kidnapping us and getting us into this mess. But for right now, I need your strength, your cunning, and your expertise, and you need mine. So let’s not fuck around, okay?”

“You serious about wanting to kick their ass?”

“Sure.”

Tony grinned. “Hear that Onyx? When this shit’s over, you better watch your ass.”

“There will be nothing of the sort,” Diamond said. He and Amethyst regarded Clark and Tony with disapproval. “You are one of The Seven. Once this is over, more will be revealed. Until then—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand at Diamond. “I’m special, I’m one of the seven most important people of the world and Mr. Arroyo here is the luckiest fuck on the planet. But you gotta understand, he and I are a team now. When this shit’s
over, he and I are to be flown to a nice exotic location for some chill out time. After that, we go our separate ways and you will ensure Mr. Arroyo stays alive and healthy from here on out. Capice? And you don’t have to do one of those Jedi mind tricks to know that I mean it.”

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Amethyst said. “For now, we must move forward so we can prevent Dagon’s entry into our world.”

“And save Jennifer,” Tony added.

“Yes,” Amethyst agreed, “of course.”

They resumed forward, moving through the lush foliage. Ruby and Onyx took the lead. Clark and Tony followed them, while Amethyst and Diamond brought up the rear. The humidity was stifling. Sweat ran down their faces and necks in streams. Birds flew overhead, unseen in the darkness but squawking in fear. There was a rustle in the brush as something small—a rodent perhaps—scurried past them. Clark gripped his M16. His muscles tensed. Beside him, Tony held his weapon, ready to shoot.

“There’s an entrance two hundred yards away to the left,” Ruby said, pointing.

“There is?” Clark risked a glance back. “I thought we had another mile to go.”

“Another mile to reach Mount Rigiri,” Ruby said. “But there are entrances to the catacombs scattered all over the island. The quicker we reach the tunnels, the better off we’ll be.” She indicated a flurry of approaching activity. “We’re about to have company.”

Clark and Tony whirled toward the direction Ruby indicated. Off in the distance, Clark could hear the sound he’d come to dread: crashing trees and other debris and that loud sound he’d heard back in Washington DC that had started this nightmare.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“Fuck,” Clark muttered. “That sounds like a lot of them.”

“They’re approaching too fast,” Tony said. “Form a circle. Watch each other’s backs.”

“If we move fast, we might make it,” Ruby urged. “Let’s go!”

They ran. Heading away from the approaching carnage, they ran through the jungle, leaping over fallen logs and branches. Insects flew about their faces and Clark ran on, paying them no heed. The hot sun beat down between the thick overhang of trees that shadowed the jungle floor, keeping the island hot and moist. Clark could see the mountain in the distance; it really wasn’t that far off, and it wasn’t very big. From this distance, Clark judged it to be about three thousand feet, fairly small for a mountain. But if something lived beneath it…

The crashing and clicking grew closer but it was also moving away from them, heading toward the shore. They were moving at a diagonal direction and would barely miss them. But if one of the Dark Ones or Clickers managed to stray out of their path, things would turn ugly very quickly.

“We’re almost there,” Ruby panted.

“How will we know we’re there?” Tony asked.

“I’ll know!” Ruby called out.

Tony seemed unsatisfied with her answer. “What the fuck are we looking for?”

“Leave that to me.”

“Women,” Tony said. “Can’t live with them, and you can’t kill them when you want to.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Genova,” Ruby said. “You’ve killed fourteen women over the course of your career and you’ve managed to maintain live-in relationships with six women.”

“Will you please stop reading my fucking mind?”

Clark’s senses were on full alert as he ran through the jungle. He felt a raspy taste of smoke in the back of his throat and looked to his right in the direction of the approaching Clickers and Dark Ones. Plumes of black smoke rose from a few miles farther back. Probably from the fires they’d flown over on their descent. His heart raced as they drew closer to Mount Rigiri. Something didn’t feel right. Something—

“Snakes,” Tony yelled.

The ex-hitman stopped abruptly. Clark almost ran into him. He moved his finger away from the M16’s trigger. Onyx and Ruby slid to a halt in front of them and turned around.

“Come on,” Onyx ordered. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“Fuck that,” Tony said. “I ain’t—”

“Quiet,” Amethyst muttered. “Listen.”

In the darkness, a tree crashed to the ground some-where nearby.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

“Come on,” Onyx urged again. “They’re catching up to us.”

The group stood at the edge of a small clearing, their weapons at the ready. Clark scanned the area and saw what had startled Tony. A long black snake was retreating into a knothole in a tree.

“It’s just a rat snake,” Ruby said. “It’s perfectly harmless. Naranu
does not have venomous snakes, or any large constrictors.”

“No, but they have that.” Clark motioned toward a stand of trees ahead of them. Tony, and the agents directed their gaze toward the clearing. The male agents said nothing, but Clark heard Ruby draw in a breath.

“Holy fucking shit, look at that thing!” Tony’s voice was a mix of awe and fear.

Sitting in a web that spanned the length of the trees— about eighteen feet—was a spider the size of a small dog. If Tony hadn’t seen the snake and suddenly stopped, they would have run right into its web.

“Spiders aren’t supposed to get that big,” Clark said.

“You mean, spiders shouldn’t be that big,” Tony said.

“That too.”

“We’re getting closer,” Ruby said. “This particular specimen, genus Nephila, only grows to the size of a dinner plate. This one has mutated due to its close proximity to R’lyeh.”

Tony blinked. “The fuck did you just say?”

“What’s Rala whatever?” Clark asked.

Ruby sidestepped the question. “The closer we get to Mount Rigiri—ancient R’lyeh—the stronger the power of the portal is. Think of it this way—the portal between dimensions is powered by an enormous energy source. We call that source the Labyrinth.”

Tony frowned. “You mean that movie with David Bowie?”

Ruby ignored him. “This portal is damaged. Some of that energy has been leaking out. It is a corrupting power. It distorts things, makes electrical impulses go haywire, affects molecular structures and growth rates. It has no doubt also affected the native wildlife.”

“Is it radioactive or something?” Clark asked.

“Not at all. This is a different kind of energy.”

“Then why didn’t the snake mutate, too?”

Ruby shrugged. “Perhaps it was originally from a different part of the island. Maybe it’s fleeing the Clickers.”

“I hope we don’t run across any giant worms while we’re in here,” Tony said.

“Regardless of how this thing got so big, bullets should still take it down.” Clark raised his M16 and took aim. Tony did the same. Clark met his gaze and nodded. “On three.”

“One, two, three!” Twin blasts of automatic gunfire took the giant spider down in a spray of goo that splattered everywhere. Clark caught a brief glimpse of giant, long spider legs fly apart and disappear in the spray of gunk. The giant web was torn to pieces, leaving ragged strips behind. A recent meal thumped against the trunk of a tree, wrapped in thick silk. It looked like it might have been the remains of a small primate. Tony was right. Spiders shouldn’t get that big.

They forged ahead, Onyx and Ruby taking the lead once more, cautiously stepping past the area where the mutant spider had built its web.

“I hope that fucking thing didn’t have any friends,” Tony quipped.

“Not likely,” Ruby said.

“But,” Amethyst said, “now the two of you have let everything else in the jungle know our position.”

“Don’t thank us,” Clark muttered, growing tired of the man’s attitude. “What would you have suggested instead?”

“We had other ways of dealing with it. Ways that wouldn’t have caused as much…commotion.”

Clark thought back to Diamond’s earlier confrontation with the small Dark One, and decided that maybe Amethyst was right.

“Sorry.”

Amethyst waved his hand. “Don’t apologize. Just keep going.”

Once past the clearing they hit their steady pace again, moving stealthily and quickly through the jungle. Clark kept his eyes peeled for anything else that might trip them up—giant spiders, millipedes, rats, snakes, anything that crawled or slithered along jungle floors. A mosquito the size of a carrier pigeon zoomed past them. Tony swiveled around, yelled “What the fuck!” and vaporized it with a single shot.

A large, cow-sized Clicker burst from the periphery of the jungle, and charged at them, pincers scissoring in the air. Tony and Clark raised their weapons and fired indiscriminately at the creature. It went down in a spray of pulped crabmeat.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

The running battle continued. As the team tried to make headway toward their goal, their paths with the marauding Clickers and Dark Ones began converging. Dark Ones and Clickers alike came within their periphery, a few times purposefully charging them. Each time, the agents, as well as Tony and Clark, took them down with expert shots. Clark felt his weapon grow hot in his hands during the firefight. He ejected a spent magazine and slapped in a fresh one as Tony covered for him, mowing down a stream of Dark Ones and Clickers heading straight for them. Tony laughed maniacally as Clickers and Dark Ones alike were taken down in a spray of crustacean flesh and shell and scaly flesh.

Tony laughed. “This is like playing Asteroids the way they’re
fucking coming down on us!”

“More like Space Invaders,” Clark said, trying to remain calm. His pulse raced, and his head hurt.

The path the rampaging Clickers and Dark Ones were taking toward the shore was now shifting. Clark sensed something in the air change, as if some malevolent force was aware of their existence on the island. He paused briefly in his engagement, taking stock of the situation to their right. A series of deep roars, as if from a thousand bull alligators, sounded from the jungle, accompanied by approaching footfalls and clicking noises.

“They’re all around us,” Clark yelled.

“We’re almost there,” Ruby shouted back. “Move ahead at ten o’clock!”

Clark turned in the direction she indicated and Tony followed, shooting down a trio of Dark Ones on mounted Clickers emerging from another thick stand of trees. Amethyst joined him in the gunfire, taking the creatures down in a spray of blood and gunk.

Running as fast as they could under the conditions, with Diamond and Amethyst bringing up the rear, they quickly covered more ground. Clark’s sole focus now was in getting them to the entryway to the catacombs beneath the ground. If they could reach them, they would lose their pursuers and hopefully Ruby and the other Black Lodge agents would know where Jennifer Wasco and the rest of the surviving scientific team were hiding. As for stopping Dagon, he’d leave that to the Black Lodge agents and Tony. He had no idea what Tony’s role in all this was, but apparently the Black Lodge agents needed him for it.

“We’re almost there.” Ruby panted for breath. “Just another twenty yards, behind that stand of trees to the left.”

There was a sizzling noise slightly behind them followed by the sound of falling trees and great thrashing. Clark’s focus was on the stand of trees Ruby had indicated and he sprinted toward it. The others fell behind him, except for Tony, who ran alongside him.

“The fuck is that shit?” Tony asked.

“What?” Clark asked.

“That!” Tony gestured with the barrel of his M16.

Clark looked and his eyes widened. “What the…?”

The sizzling noise grew louder. Trees fell to the ground in tatters. A thick plume of smoke rising amid dissolving wood and plant matter. Tony and Clark stopped in their tracks, momentarily stunned by what they were seeing.

Emerging from the dissolving stand of trees was a gigantic black Clicker. Clark had never seen anything like it. Roughly the size of a bulldozer, it waved its gigantic pincers and knocked down several small trees. The stinger on its tail was enormous. It thrust its tail forward and Clark saw venom shoot out of the bulbous appendage. The venom splattered against the trees fifty yards from them and immediately began dissolving the foliage. The Clicker hissed angrily and advanced toward the humans on its spindly legs.

“Holy fucking shit!” Tony said.

“Goddamn!” Clark agreed.

Behind them, the Black Lodge agents appeared stunned, but they quickly recovered their senses. Clark recovered just as quickly and noticed the stand of trees Ruby had been steering them toward. It was only ten yards to their left. The thick jungle foliage was covering whatever opening to the catacombs that lay there. If they could just get to it—

Amid the thick smoke and the sizzling trees and brush, the black Clicker charged at them. Its tail was raised over its back, ready to jab its vicious stinger downward. Its speed belied its size.

Time seemed to suddenly slow down for Clark as he yelled “Shoot it!” He brought his M16 up, hoping he could destroy it before it reached them. Beside him, Tony raised his weapon, his mouth open in a scream.

And just as suddenly, Tony was flung out of the way and Onyx was in his place, weapon raised. Tony thudded to the ground beside Clark and his finger inadvertently squeezed the trigger, sending a volley of shots into the sky and the tree branches overhead, shredding branches and leaves and dropping arboreal animals to the ground. Clark dove for cover and barely managed to avoid the black Clicker’s deadly assault.

Onyx never got off a shot. The black Clicker jabbed its tail forward and its massive stinger impaled him. The stinger jutted out of the agent’s back, toxic venom shooting out to hit the ground and foliage behind the agents as it lifted Onyx in the air, waving him back and forth. Onyx screamed. His abdomen started to smoke as the corrosive venom began to eat at his flesh. His skin sloughed away, dripping from his body.

Clark raised his weapon and fired at the creature, tearing it apart with a staccato burst. His shots penetrated the creature’s face, flipping it over and giving him access to its softer underbelly which quickly became shredded meat as he unloaded the magazine. It flopped to the ground and Clark ejected his spent magazine and quickly slapped in a

fresh one as he scrambled to his feet.

Tony had bounced up and had his weapon ready amid the chaos. Onyx was screaming in pain, still impaled on the stinger. Smoke was rising from his abdomen and his flesh looked like it was turning into a thick soup. Parts of him were leaking onto the jungle floor. The tendons along Onyx’s face grew taut as he thrashed and screamed. Tony didn’t hesitate. He brought the stock of the M16 against his shoulder, aimed, and fired a single shot. Onyx’s scream was cut off amid a spray of blood and brain matter.

“Couldn’t let him suffer,” Tony said.

“Agreed,” Clark said. His heart was racing. Off in the distance, more Clickers and Dark Ones were honing in on them. They’d apparently changed their path and were heading straight toward them.

“Onyx pushed me out of the way,” Tony said, mostly to himself. “That could’ve been me that got nabbed by that fucking thing.” He looked at the remaining Black Lodge agents. “Why?”

“We were serious about keeping you safe,” Amethyst said. He cradled his M16, his features impassive in light of losing one of his own. “You are one of The Seven. It is our mission to ensure your safety above all else.”

“But why? I don’t fucking get what’s so fucking special about me.”

“All will be revealed in due time,” Diamond said.

Tony whirled to Ruby. “How come you didn’t know that black Clicker would attack? I thought you were supposed to read minds and shit?”

“I can’t read the Clicker’s minds, Tony.”

“Why not?”

“It is not within my ability to do so. They only possess a rudimentary intelligence.”

“Well, a lot of fucking good you people are.”

“Guys?” Clark eyed the periphery of their location with rising nerves. “If the doorway to this tunnel is nearby, we better get moving.”

“Come.”

Ruby took the lead and darted toward the stand of trees to their left. Clark and Tony were right behind her, followed by Diamond and Amethyst. Behind them came roars and thrashings and frenzied clicking noises as their pursuers honed in on them. A moment later they entered the stand of trees and Ruby seemed to dive headfirst toward the base of a tree and disappear. Clark rushed forward and almost fell into a yawning pit, which was obscured by vines and brambles.

Ruby’s voice called out, receding rapidly as she delved into the tunnel. “This way.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Clark and the others followed.

“Down the fucking rabbit hole,” Tony snickered.

Behind them, Amethyst said, “I didn’t take you for an Alice In Wonderland fan, Tony.”

“I’m not. I used to date a stripper whose daughter liked the cartoon.”

They plunged ahead into the darkness and the earth closed over their heads—not stifling the sounds from above.

CLICK-CLICK…CLICK CLICK…CLICK-CLICK…

Jennifer was surprised that the tunnel’s downward descent continued unchecked. Surely they must be below sea level by now. Just the very thought of all that water pressing against the rock made her woozy. Ignoring it, she kept running. Wade and Susan were right behind her, with the Dark Ones chasing after them several yards behind. As they darted down the winding passageways, Jennifer kept the lead, letting instinct lead her onward through the gloom. Their pursuers roared—heavy footsteps pounded, echoing throughout the corridor. They were so close that Jennifer could hear the echoes of their talons clicking against the stone floor.

She paid the sounds no heed and continued running, not even stopping to hesitate when they came to a fork in the tunnel system. She took the right hand passage, hoping it would take them toward the surface. Instead it took them deeper beneath the mountain. What little light there was seemed to come from the rocks themselves.

“I can’t keep this up,” Wade choked.

Susan gasped for breath. “Shut the hell up and move your fat ass.”

Then, without warning, the tunnel slope grew steeper and narrower. Jennifer, Wade, and Susan were forced to hunch over and slow down lest they fall forward and roll down the passage. Judging from the sound, the sharp descent and the narrowing walls were a hindrance to their pursuers; Jennifer heard bellows of rage as the larger Dark Ones became stuck. She knew that wouldn’t last long; they’d manage to break through soon enough. She’d seen them rend steel at Peachbottom. Stone would only be a temporary nuisance.

And break on through they did, with angry roars and hisses and the crashing of rocks. The Dark Ones forced their way through the narrow crevices and wormed their way down the tunnels. It sounded like their pace had been slowed. She hoped the delay would be enough to allow them to escape.

Why are the tunnels so narrow in this section? Jennifer thought as she slid down the slippery floor, the soles of her hiking boots providing some traction as she and the others went down the tunnel like a slide. If the Dark Ones created this, wouldn’t they have made them to fit their size?

“This isn’t a tunnel,” Wade said, as if reading her mind. “It’s a cave. The tunnels must have joined up with it.”

She’d been too focused on fleeing to notice it, but Jennifer realized that he was right. The walls were smooth and slick like the inside of a natural cave, not rough and rocky like the man-made tunnels they’d been running through. Likewise, there was no dust or dirt caking the walls and floor. It was also growing colder as they kept descending. The illumination had grown subtly brighter, but she was still unable to find the source. There were no signs of phosphorescent lichen or hidden torches.

When they reached the bottom, Jennifer had to recover her senses to find out where they were. The light source had dimmed again, reducing visibility to a few feet around them. Wade and Susan slid to a stop behind her. She felt their welcoming presence as the Dark Ones roared in frustration far behind.

“Where the hell are we?” Wade asked.

“I don’t know,” Jennifer answered. She looked up. Despite the mysterious light source, the shadows above them and in the corners of the chamber were deep and ominous. She raised her right arm over her head and groped for a ceiling. Finding none, she cautiously stood up. Wade and Susan tentatively rose to their feet, as well.

“Do either of you have a lighter?” Wade asked.

“No,” Jennifer answered. “Ed was the only one of us who had one.”

“Damn,” Wade muttered. “I hope he and Keoni are okay.”

“I’m sure they are,” Susan said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“We’ve got light,” Jennifer pointed out. “I’m just not sure what the source of it is. And right now, it’s not doing us much good. Do either of you have any ideas?”

Wade and Susan shook their heads in unison.

“I’ve lost all my bearings,” Jennifer moaned. “This is hopeless.”

“If we stay close together and keep moving forward, maybe we can find another way out of here,” Susan suggested.

Jennifer was about to agree with her when the frenzied thrashings of the Dark Ones grew louder. From the sound of it, they were still having a difficult time making their way down the cavern.

“We’re no doubt in a limestone cavern,” Wade said. “The Dark Ones are strong enough that they might be able to break chunks of

limestone out of that tunnel and make their way down here.”

Jennifer and Susan murmured agreement and they made their way slowly through the shadowy cavern like moles, one hand out in front of them, the other grasping a shoulder or an elbow as they made their way forward as a group. The passageway grew dark again. Jennifer was sure they would encounter a cave wall, but they didn’t. The thrashing and bellowing of the Dark Ones continued behind them, their sounds muffled from the vast distance they’d put between them and the creatures. Despite the coolness of the cavern, Jennifer felt hot and sweaty. She was running on pure adrenalin now and still couldn’t process the fact that Dr. Steinhardt and Keoni Mumea were probably dead now.

“Are we heading up?” Susan asked. “It feels like it.”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer answered. “Are we?”

“She’s right,” Wade whispered. “It does feel like we’re ascending again.”

They were silent as they continued their slow shuffle forward. After a moment, Jennifer began to sense that Susan and Wade were right. They were moving up a slight incline now. Was this section of the cave heading toward the surface?

“Maybe we can make it out of here.” Wade sounded surprised.

Susan and Jennifer said nothing as they kept going. Jennifer cast the sound of the angry Dark Ones out of her mind. She could still hear their muffled roars, but she could also sense they were leaving them behind. To make matters worse, her head was beginning to throb. With everything else that was going on, she didn’t need a migraine headache added to it.

“Let’s just keep going,” Jennifer said.

There was a guttural roar, this one loud. They froze in mid-stride. Jennifer held her breath, trying to pinpoint the location. The beast roared again, followed by more of the same. Jennifer’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt Susan’s fingers grip her hand hard. It was difficult to tell where the sound was coming from due to the echo effect. It seemed to come from all around them.

“We can’t just sit here,” Wade said after a moment. “Let’s keep moving forward.”

He urged them on and Jennifer began to move again, more cautiously, into truly unknown territory.

***

Tony would not have been able to see his hand in front of his face if Ruby and Diamond hadn’t produced flash-lights. He’d practically fallen on his ass chasing Clark down the hidden chasm at the base of the tree. The downward descent beneath the earth had been steep— practically a forty-five degree angle—but he’d managed.

Once at the bottom, Ruby had taken the lead again, flashlight illuminating the way as they ran down a narrow cavern lined with small stalactites. It was cool down here, and behind them the Dark Ones were trying to shove their large bulks down the narrow entrance way. They weren’t having much luck judging by the tone of their guttural voices. It sounded like mass destruction up there.

“I sure hope you know where we’re going, lady.” Tony’s head was starting to throb and he felt that weird pressure in his chest and abdomen again start to tighten up.

Ruby didn’t answer him. She just kept running, darting down corridors seemingly at will. The deeper they wormed their way into the cave, the dimmer the angry roars of the Dark Ones behind them became.

“Hold up,” Clark said. “Can we regroup?”

Clark halted. Tony stopped beside him. Diamond and Amethyst drew up behind them. Ruby stopped and turned around.

“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”

“Well,” Clark said, sounding frustrated, “I’m still not sure what we’re supposed to do when we get to where we’re going.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Not for nothing, but I’d kind of like to know, too. We just supposed to shoot up the place, or do you have a plan?”

“Our original mission has not changed,” Amethyst answered. “We must stop the Dark Ones from summoning Dagon.”

“And rescue Jennifer Wasco,” Tony said. “But how are we supposed to stop it? What do we do? Drive a stake through Dagon’s heart?”

“What is Dagon, anyway?” Clark asked. “I mean, you told us a little back on the plane, but I’d like to know more. Wouldn’t you, Tony?”

“Damn straight I would.”

Amethyst groaned. “We don’t have time for this. Even an operative within our organization with a security clearance of Adept would still have to study for years before they’d know everything there is to know about Dagon. You can’t possibly hope to understand it all. There’s no time to explain.”

Tony fingered the trigger of his M16. “Give us the Cliff Notes version then.”

“The longer we delay,” Ruby said, “the thinner the barriers between our worlds grows. Dagon is crossing over. The Dark Ones believe he is rising out of a long slumber— millions of years worth of sleep. In reality, they are rending the very fabric of the universe. The
stars are not only right, they are in perfect alignment. The spheres are thinner, the Shining Trapezoid is much stronger.”

“The shining what?” Tony was confused.

“Be quiet,” Diamond yelled. Spittle flew through his mouth. The big man stalked the cave floor in front of Tony and Clark, his tone scolding, furious, as he verbally dressed the ex-hitman down. “You ask for answers but when the secrets are revealed to you, you scoff at them or greet them with sarcasm.”

“The fuck is your problem?”

“You! My problem is you. I was against bringing you down here from the very beginning. When it was revealed that you were one of The Seven, I told those who sit on the Outer Circle that you would only pose a danger due to your arrogant nature, your willful ignorance and disdain for order.”

“You calling me arrogant?”

“I’d call you more than that, Genova, but I don’t want to waste my time.”

“Enough,” Amethyst said. His voice sounded tired.

“I’ll not be silent,” Diamond continued, and then turned back to Tony. “The order has been made. The Outer Circle, presumably delivering the edict of the Inner Circle, has made it clear that you are one of The Seven, and are therefore privy to all that comes with that title and rank, including my respect. I will accept their decision. With that in mind, you will continue on with your mission and you will do as we say. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand all right,” Tony said. “But did I stutter, or did a plane go overhead?”

Diamond paused before answering. His expression was confused. “What?”

“Did I stutter, or did a plane go overhead? It had to be one or the other, because you obviously didn’t hear my fucking question. You threw your little hissy fit and ranted about circles and all sorts of bullshit, but you still failed to tell me enough about this Dagon thing to help you.”

Diamond’s lips formed a thin, pale line. His hands curled into fists around the stock of his rifle, and the tips of his ears turned red in the dim beam of the flashlight.

Tony grinned. “Allow me to fucking clarify, as you are obviously hard of fucking hearing. Fucking Dagon. If I fucking shoot it, will it fucking die? Does it have fucking super powers? What’s it fucking look like? Is it bigger than a fucking breadbox?”

Diamond lunged forward and Tony snapped his rifle up, aiming at the man’s chest. Before they could clash, however, Amethyst stepped between them and held up a hand. Then he turned and faced the larger man. Diamond glowered down at him.

“I need not remind you of your station…or mine.” Amethyst’s tone was calm, almost soft-spoken. “I am a Magus-level operative of the Ninth Order. You are not. You will be silent, Marion.”

Diamond’s upper lip quivered. For a moment, Tony thought the big man might wrap his hands around Amethyst’s throat and strangle him. But instead, the tension seemed to drain from his posture. He backed away and leaned against the wall, keeping his gaze affixed on the floor. Ruby found something interesting to look at in the ceiling.

Amethyst turned to Tony and Clark. “Your questions are difficult to answer because of the very nature of the things we face—and because of time constraints. I’ll try to address some of them, however, and then I trust we’ll be on our way before our pursuers figure out where we’ve gone.”

Tony and Clark leaned forward, listening, and after a slight pause, Amethyst continued.

“Dagon is massive in size, although his exact measurements and characteristics remain unknown. They vary, depending upon which source you use. What we know for sure is this—picture the Empire State Building with arms, legs, wings, and a squid for a face. To glimpse him can drive a weak-willed person insane.”

“So he’s like that bitch with snakes for hair. Medusa.”

“In a way. But on a much grander scale. Dagon is credited as the source of the Great Flood legend that is found in humanity’s various religions and cultures. We know that when summoned to a plane of existence, he destroys the planet by flooding it. This is achieved by the use of global super storms that relentlessly sweep the planet until everything—everything—is submerged. There is some speculation that rather than just flooding the planet, Dagon is actually transforming solid matter into liquid—in effect, turning the planet into nothing but water.”

“Jesus,” Tony whispered.

“Not at all.” Amethyst smiled at his own joke. “As we explained before, the entity has gone by many names, but Jesus is not one of them. Leviathan. Kraken. Tlaloc. Cthulhu. Some misguided souls have confused it with the Christian deity, Satan. The same mistake has been made in regards to Dagon’s kin—a race of beings known as The Thirteen. Regardless of which name he goes by, different cultures and beings, including the Dark Ones, worship Dagon. Those rites and ceremonies

often involve blood sacrifice. A blood sacrifice is required to summon him. The same is required to halt the summoning and bind him.”

“And that’s what you need me to do? Be a fucking sacrifice?”

“No, not at all. I told you, Tony—your safety is absolutely paramount. But we will need you to offer up the sacrifice, and shed the actual blood. Speaking frankly, that shouldn’t disturb you. You’re no stranger to bloodshed, after all.”

“True, but I don’t know shit about sacrifices and spells.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll walk you through it when we arrive at our final destination. Now, we really must continue onward. I trust I’ve answered your questions satisfactorily?”

“Sure. Just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

Tony pointed at Diamond. “Is his real name really Marion?”

Clark stifled a snicker. Diamond glared at them both.

A series of roars echoed through the tunnel. Tony glanced around, M16 raised, finger hovering over the trigger. Diamond, Amethyst and Ruby sprang into action, weapons raised, eyes tracking everything in the cavern.

Diamond started forward. “They’re still far enough behind us, but we better get moving.”

“Whatever you say, Marion.” Diamond grunted, but didn’t respond. Tony nudged Clark and whispered, “They were right. Names do have power.”

“Let’s go.”

Tony noticed that, despite her abrupt, business-like tone, Ruby was stifling a smile.

Behind them, the roaring and thrashings of the Dark Ones continued. The tunnels rang with the noise. The cries reverberated off the walls. Tony couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like there was another group of creatures ahead of them.

“I hope you know where you’re going, Diamond.”

Because if you don’t, Tony thought, and you lead us into a pack of those fucking lizard men, I’ll kill you myself before they get the chance.

Too late, he wondered if Ruby had overheard the thought. If she did, the agent gave no indication.

“I’d still rather be in Vegas,” he muttered as the corridor grew narrower and darker.

Jennifer couldn’t help it; after hours of holding it together, after being the leader and the voice of reason, after running from one threat to the next, she was beginning to panic now. Her breath came in short gasps, her skin felt clammy, and her stomach felt like it was plunging down an endless elevator shaft.

She couldn’t help but think this was the end of everything. Making matters worse was her steadily increasing headache—a sharp, pointed pain that seemed to blossom behind both her eyes and spread toward her temples. The farther they went, the worse it became.

I’m not going to quit, she thought as she moved forward blindly. I’m going to do my best to get out of here and get off this island alive. If I don’t, I hope these things kill me quickly and I don’t suffer. If I can find a way to end my life quickly and painlessly, I’ll do it. I’ll miss my cat. I’ll miss my friends. But most of all, I’ll miss my parents. I hope they can survive the knowledge of my death, that it doesn’t scar them too badly…

But if I do get out of this I am never leaving my house again for as long as I live!

And I’m never going near the ocean again. Fuck Marine Biology. I’ll go back to school and study botany.

These thoughts ran through her mind as she blindly groped her way around narrow cavern walls, leading Susan and Wade on a gradual uphill slope through twisting tunnels. Their surroundings were almost completely dark now. Gone was the mysterious source of illumination that had lit the maze of corridors earlier.

The roar of the Dark Ones was echoing all around them now, and it was hard to tell how far behind and in front of them they were. The ones behind them she wasn’t worried about; it was the ones that seemed to be in front of them that she was nervous about. Where were they? Would they enter the same corridor they were heading up now? Or were they in an entirely different corridor and were the roars

they were hearing merely an echo effect?

“There’s no telling where this cave will lead us to,” Wade said from behind her. “But if it does lead to the surface, we need to proceed cautiously.”

“No shit,” Susan muttered.

“If we get topside again, we should probably stay within the mouth of the cave,” Wade continued. “If we make it out, it’ll provide great cover for any Dark Ones and Clickers that might be in the area. I think the ones behind us aren’t going to make it this far.”

“I’m beginning to think that too,” Jennifer said. Her throat was dry, her lips parched. “It’s the other ones I’m worried about.”

“If we get ambushed by them, I want to let you all know now that it’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“We’re not going to get ambushed!” Susan exclaimed.

“We might, but I don’t want to think about that now,” Jennifer added.

“I don’t either,” Wade said. “I just wanted to bring the possibility out in the open, in the event it happens.”

“Let’s talk about what we do when we reach topside,” Jennifer said. Susan was still clutching her left hand, but her grip wasn’t as tight as it was earlier. “I agree that once we reach the surface, we should stay close to the mouth of the cave. We shouldn’t stay in there for a long time, though.”

“You’re right,” Wade agreed. “We’re going to have to venture forth to see if there are any survivors. At the very least we should try to make it to the village. Maybe try to raise somebody on a short wave radio. Or call somebody if we find a landline or a cell phone.”

“The power is out,” Susan reminded them. “That means the landlines are probably down, too.”

“A cell phone then,” Jennifer said.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Susan sighed. “It’s so hard to think with this headache.”

“I’ve got one, too,” Jennifer admitted.

“Me, too,” Wade said. “But Susan brings up a good point. If communications are shot, we should find a boat and get off this island.”

Jennifer frowned. She didn’t like the idea of being in the ocean in a boat. “I don’t know about that, Wade.”

“Why not? Out of the three of us, you’re probably the most qualified to not only pilot a boat, but navigate to the nearest island.”

“Me?”

“You’ve been on how many ocean expeditions now?”

Jennifer thought about that. She’d been on two dozen, from the Indian Ocean to parts of the Pacific and Atlantic. She’d never piloted a boat, though. She didn’t know the first thing about boats except how to turn them on, press on the throttle, and steer them. And as for navigation—

“You’re right,” Jennifer said, thinking out loud. “If we can get ourselves situated and find a vessel with enough fuel, I can get us going.” It would be nerve wracking, but it was worth a shot.

“Nearest island is a few hundred miles northwest,” Wade said. “I have no idea where we’ll end up once we get out of this cave, but the position of the stars or sun will tell us plenty.”

Jennifer was nodding now, liking the idea. She knew enough about the world’s oceans, about basic geography, about weather patterns, that she could navigate their way off the island to one of the neighboring South Pacific islands.

“What if we can’t get a boat?” Susan asked.

“We stay alive,” Wade answered. “We stick together and we stay alive. These things can’t ravage the island forever. They’re going to have to do whatever it is they came here to do—summon this god of theirs—and eventually, the Clickers will return to wherever the hell it is they came from. They’ll lose interest as soon as they deplete their food source. The control the Dark Ones exert over them is limited. They’re like any other beast of burden.”

How long would that take, though? Jennifer had no idea and she didn’t want to venture a guess. Wade was right though. They had to stick together, had to take cover in the mouth of the cave until they were certain the coast was clear, then they had to try to either radio or call for help or they had to get off this island by themselves.

The terrifying cries of the Dark Ones seemed louder now and Jennifer stopped, her heart racing. Susan and Wade crowded behind her, pressing close together. Several more Dark Ones roared and hissed and Jennifer tried to discern where they were coming from. Where before it was hard to tell, now it seemed that they were coming from somewhere in front of them, but there was a muffled distance to their roars.

“We’re heading straight toward them,” Susan murmured, her voice shaking with fear.

Behind them, still very far away, came the roars of the Dark Ones that had chased them into the cave.

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Jennifer said.

“Shit,” Wade muttered. “So we’re screwed?”

Jennifer hesitated, trying to decide what to do. This tunnel couldn’t last forever. At some point they had to get to a fork in the cave and they would have to roll the dice of lady luck and see where their choice took them.

“Let’s keep going,” Jennifer said.

“Are you sure?” Susan asked. Her hand squeezed Jennifer’s.

“No. But we can’t stay down here forever.”

“Maybe we can just sit down here a little bit and…wait it out…”

“No, Susan,” Wade said. “They could break their way through here and then we’d be sitting ducks. At least if we keep moving forward we might find another passageway.”

Susan suddenly stopped. Jennifer tugged at her arm, urging her forward. “Come on, Susan!”

“No.” Susan’s voice had taken on that scared, petrified tone she’d had back at the command center. Once again, fear was overtaking her. “I don’t want to go any farther. We don’t know where we’re going and—”

“We’re getting out of here is where we’re going!” Jennifer still couldn’t see, but she could sense Susan’s presence; the other woman was only a few feet away from her. Wade was standing right next to Susan. Jennifer took a deep breath and tried to gain control of her emotions. “Look, I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But we have Dark Ones coming at us from behind.”

“And coming toward us, as well,” Susan exclaimed.

“Sound carries down here,” Jennifer whispered. “Don’t you hear that echo?”

Wade tried to help Jennifer. “Those sounds are coming from all around us. What we’re hearing could be another party of Dark Ones in an entirely different tunnel.”

Jennifer squeezed Susan’s hand, trying to reassure her. Don’t blow up at her down here, she thought. “We can’t be that much farther now. We probably went a mile underground all total. We’ve been walking gradually uphill now for a few miles. We should be very close to the surface.”

“I don’t know…” Susan’s voice was hesitant.

“I’m going first,” Jennifer said. “I’ll be the first to see any signs we’re reaching the surface.”

“Jennifer’s also the first in line if there are Dark Ones,” Wade added. “You’re between us. You’re safe.”

Jennifer glowered at Wade in the dark. What an idiot. What Wade said scared Susan even more.

“No, I really think we should stay here.”

Jennifer tugged gently at Susan’s hand, urging her forward. “Just stay by me. I promise, nothing will—”

Somewhere ahead of them, amid the far away grunting and clatters of the Dark Ones, came a series of screams. They were clearly audible, and male. “Oh shit, what the fuck!”

Another voice: “Hold your fire! Hold your fire, goddamn it!”

“Fuck that, get it off me!”

People. And from the sounds of it, they weren’t doing so well.

Jennifer, Susan, and Wade stood frozen in terror in the dark cave, listening as the thrashing sounds accompanied the screams, followed by other voices. Jennifer tried to follow what was being said, tried to discern where they were coming from, but it was hard to tell. The Dark Ones roared and judging from the sounds, it seemed like they were now doubling their efforts to squeeze their way deeper into the caverns.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” the male voice said. It was loud and coming closer.

A moment later there was a gunshot and something pinged in the darkness ahead. Jennifer ducked, pulling Wade and Susan down with her.

Jennifer’s throat locked up. Her knees wobbled as the thrashing continued and died down. A moment later there were voices of shock, of fear. “Jesus, look at that thing!”

Wade stood close behind Jennifer. “It’s people. We should call out to them.”

Jennifer nodded and tried to do that, but her throat was so dry she could only manage a strangled choke. The pain in her head increased.

“Hello? Hey, we need some help down here! Can you hear us?” Wade’s voice was loud and it echoed, booming down the cavern.

Whoever it was that had been yelling heard them. A male voice, strong and full of authority, called out.

“Who’s there? Identify yourselves!”

Clark winced. The pain in his head varied by degrees, as if coming and going in waves. At times, it was a dull, sharp throb behind his temples, but then, without warning, it would flare so badly that his eyes began to water. Then he’d grow nauseous. He bit his lip and focused on his breathing, trying to block out everything else. Tony seemed to be experiencing it, too, but the Black Lodge agents appeared unaffected. He wondered if they’d had some sort of psychic training—a mental defense against this psychological storm.

They’d had to squeeze single file through a series of narrowing caverns and tunnels, but now they emerged in another wide cave. Ruby led the way without hesitation. Her flashlight’s beam wobbled amid her strides. Tony was in front of him, silent now, rifle clutched in his hands as he jogged along, while the other two Black Lodge agents, Diamond and Amethyst, brought up the rear.

Clark didn’t like this, but there was really nothing he could do about it. To fight the Black Lodge agents at any point between his abduction and arriving on Naranu would mean a quick and sudden death. He felt grateful to Tony for saving him back at the condo. He felt he owed the ex-hitman some backup and he was prepared to provide it.

But he still didn’t like the situation they were in.

It was bad enough being chased by those lizard-things and their mutant crustacean friends again. It was quite another to be forced by men-in-black spooks to stop some cataclysmic force he had minimal understanding of. Indeed, if it weren’t for the Dark Ones and the Clickers, he wouldn’t even believe in this nonsense. But it was kind of hard to discount the possibility of an ancient squid-headed entity crossing the barriers between worlds when confronted with the reality of intelligent reptile-men and giant crossbreeds of lobsters, crabs and scorpions.

Clark had been trying to figure out why Black Lodge would be interested in Tony since their arrival on Naranu. If Ruby had intercepted his musings, she gave no indication. He hadn’t been able to give the matter much thought anyway since they’d spent most of their time running through the jungle in their mad race to Mount Rigiri. Trying to stay one step ahead of the Dark Ones and Clickers had been a top priority too, one Clark hadn’t wanted to divert from.

So why did they want Tony? Why was he one of The Seven? What were “the seven,” anyway?

More importantly, why were Ruby and the others so sure Clark would keep his mouth shut after this mission was over?

Professional knowledge of his line of work would tell the Black Lodge agents that secrecy was part and parcel to Clark’s professional make-up. His former career had required secrecy. Clark knew things about former government officials, including Presidents and Vice Presidents, that would cause major ripples in world relations; a former President who’d been elected thanks to a major turnout of Christian Evangelicals (not Jeffrey Tyler) who, within months of arriving at the White House, somehow made arrangements with a staff member to have young boys flown in to DC to service him and a secret clandestine cabal of powerful Washington insiders; a former Vice President with a $500 a day cocaine habit; a beloved Democratic President who had a political rival murdered, the crime covered up so cleanly that his political enemies thought the crime was done by one of their own. Clark had knowledge of all that, and more, and he was never going to tell a soul.

Likewise for this mission. If he made it home safe he wasn’t going to say a word about it to anybody, not even his close friend and confidant Scott Baker.

Still, these questions, and others, burned in the back of his mind as he raced after Tony and Ruby. He could tell Tony was struggling with these questions himself. No doubt the ex-hitman was wondering why he was special, why he’d been tapped for this.

Clark hoped that not knowing the answers to these questions wouldn’t cost them their lives.

It was getting cooler the farther beneath the earth they traveled. Clark’s head pounded with a headache that seemed to worsen the deeper they traveled down the narrow cavern. “Shit,” he muttered. He tried to take in a breath; the air was noticeably thinner down here and seemed weighted, as if there was a malevolent presence lurking about. Clark had never held much credence to supernatural elements. He was raised a Catholic, had a minimal belief in God, an even lesser belief in

ghosts, much less aliens. He’d kept an open mind about Dagon, and now that he was in the middle of Mount Rigiri, he was beginning to believe that what the Black Lodge agents had briefed them on was the truth.

“What’s that noise?” Tony called out.

“What noise?” Clark answered.

“It’s like…I don’t know. A humming or some shit.” Tony was panting as he fought to keep up with Ruby, who didn’t seem to tire.

Clark was about to tell Tony he didn’t know what he was talking about when he suddenly heard it. It was low, more felt than heard, like a bass note from a synthesizer. It sounded like a thousand voices humming a note in the key of D Minor.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm….

The pain in Clark’s head swelled again. It was clear to

Clark that Tony’s head was hurting, too. Sweat ran down the ex-hitman’s face and he had a strained, painful look to him. By contrast, the Black Lodge agents still seemed fine.

“We’re getting close,” Ruby said.

“Too close for me, honey,” Tony said. “Let’s get this shit over with and go the fuck home.”

The roaring of the Dark Ones had become distant but now another sound replaced it: a flapping sound. A shadow flittered across the far cave wall and Clark felt something zoom overhead. He instinctively ducked and covered his head with the stock of his M16.

Tony screamed. “Oh shit! What the fuck?”

Clark looked up and saw something with pale, leathery wings entangled with Tony. Another creature flew overhead, and then another. High-pitched squeaks filled the cavern. Bats.

“Get the fuck off me!” Tony screamed. He beat at the thing with his rifle stock, trying to shake it off him. It was big, its body the size of a capuchin monkey with a wing span of six feet across, it had obviously flown into Tony by pure accident and was trying to free itself. Its claws dug scratches into Tony’s head and shoulders. “You fucking piece of shit!” Tony brought his rifle into position and his right hand brushed the trigger.

“Hold your fire,” Clark yelled. “Hold your fire, goddamn it, or you’ll get a ricochet!”

“Fuck that, get it off me!” Tony tried to ram the barrel of the rifle beneath the creature’s chin and couldn’t. Its right wing was stuck between Tony’s arms. Its left wing was wrapped around his back, its legs clinging to his hips. The bat’s face was dangerously close to Tony’s neck as its blind eyes rolled around in its head and it kept squealing in that high-pitched voice.

Clark was about to run up to Tony to try to assist him when there was another thud, then Amethyst yelled. “Aahhh!” One of the bat creatures had flown into him. His rifle clattered to the ground as he fought with it. Ruby ducked, her hands covered the back of her neck as more of the bats flew over them. They seemed confused as their wings brushed the cave walls. Diamond swung the barrel of his rifle back and forth from creature to creature, as if he were trying to get a clear shot. One by one, the bats found the narrow aperture in the cave and flew toward it, somehow either scrambling through it in a half-flight, half-crawling motion, or by some other means.

Before Clark could leap toward either Amethyst or Tony, he heard a whisk of a steel blade. The creature that was entangled with Amethyst let out a high-pitched squeak and shuddered as blood splattered the cavern floor. Amethyst shoved the bat off him, holding a stiletto blade covered with blood. He looked like a baby-faced psycho killer.

“Aaahhhh,” Tony yelled. “Get the fuck off me!”

Clark and Amethyst ran to Tony. Amethyst plunged the blade into the creature’s back. It squealed in pain and dived forward, its teeth plunging into Tony’s shoulder. Clark’s heart leaped into his throat as Tony screamed. “You motherfucker! I’m going to kill you!”

Amethyst stabbed the creature again but it had no effect. The bat creature’s head lolled briefly on its shoulders, giving Clark a brief look at Tony’s shoulder. He was relieved to see the creature’s teeth had not broken the skin. Instead, it had torn a chunk of the strap that held Tony’s rifle over his shoulder. Tony’s rifle slipped down his pinned left arm, dangling precariously. The creature was so entangled with Tony’s arms and legs that he couldn’t fight back.

Clark ran up to Tony and placed the barrel of his M16 against the thing’s head. “Tony, take a step to your right and lean your head back! Ruby, get down!”

Ruby dropped to the ground and Tony did as he was told, giving Clark ample enough room. There was no backstop for the shot, only the pitch blackness of the cave ahead of them. Clark pulled the trigger, sending a single shot into the creature’s head. It stopped squealing and immediately dropped, its leathery, bony frame still hanging on Tony.

Tony was still flailing his arms. “Ugly ass son of a bitch.” There was the audible snapping of bone and then the thing was flung off Tony like a giant kite. He started kicking its limp form. “Piece of shit motherfucker!”

Clark looked up as more of the hideous giant bats flew over them. There weren’t that many, perhaps a few dozen. Their wings made heavy, flapping sounds as they flew through the cave and darted down the narrow passageway, squirming their way through the aperture Clark, Tony, and the Black Lodge agents had just emerged from.

The dead bats lay on the ground. Ruby stepped forward, shining her light on the creature that had almost killed Tony.

Clark drew in a breath. “Jesus, look at that thing.”

Diamond nodded. “It’s mutated, just like the spider we saw above. Other life forms that dwell in this cavern have probably mutated, too.”

Tony shuddered. “Please tell me there’s no giant snakes down here.”

Or spiders, Clark thought. One of those was enough.

“We’ve seen no sign of them,” Ruby said, reading Clark’s mind. “No webs or anything.”

Ignoring her, Clark clapped Tony on the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He dusted himself off. “Thanks, dude. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“No, you don’t. Consider that payback from before.”

Tony met his gaze and nodded in acknowledgement. Clark shot him a grin. If it weren’t for Tony, the Black Lodge agents would have eliminated Clark from the equation. They were bound together now as brothers in arms, despite the fact that they were on polar opposites of the law.

From the tunnel ahead of them, a voice called out. “Hello? Hey, we need some help down here! Can you hear us?”

Diamond, Amethyst and Ruby sprang into action, rifles held ready, their stances firm and alert.

“Who’s there?” Diamond called. His voice carried a sense of authority. “Identify yourselves.”

“I’m Dr. Wade Collins. With me are Drs. Susan Ehart and Jennifer Wasco.”

“Jennifer?” Tony called out. His voice had a jovial tone to it. “Hey, Jennifer, it’s me, Tony!”

From the darkened tunnel ahead of them, a second voice. Female. “Tony Genova?”

“Yeah, you got it sweetie, it’s me.” Tony turned back to Clark and the Black Lodge agents. “She remembers me!”

Clark was standing close to Ruby, so he heard her reply. “You’re a hard person to forget, Mr. Genova.”

“Stay where you are,” Diamond said. “We’re coming your way.”

Ruby and Diamond led the way this time, with Clark and Tony behind them and Amethyst bringing up the rear. The Dark Ones were still at all sides of them—behind them and in front of them—but their muffled sounds told Clark they were still far away. They probably couldn’t squeeze their way through the narrow caverns.

They reached another narrow crevice and squeezed their way through. This one was relatively short, about fifty yards. As they reached the end, Clark heard another woman. “Here they come.”

Ruby and Diamond exited the crevice first, followed by Tony and then Clark. As Clark stepped through, he was greeted by a sight he never thought he’d come across. A man and two women stood in the center of a large cavern, their eyes squinting from the sudden light. Clark noticed that neither of them carried flashlights. He wondered how long they’d been wandering around down here in the dark.

The younger of the two women smiled at Tony and let out a relieved laugh. She rushed toward him and embraced him. Tony slung his M16 over his back and returned her embrace.

“I never thought I’d see you here,” the woman exclaimed. Despite her worn appearance, she was attractive. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m Luke fucking Skywalker,” Tony quipped. “I’m here to rescue you.”

The woman punched him playfully. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“We came to get you,” Tony said. He had the woman in a bear hug. He kissed her forehead, then turned to Clark. “Hey, Clark. This is Jennifer Wasco. Jennifer and I faced these fucking lizard things down with President Livingston back in Peachbottom!”

Clark nodded at her. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jennifer looked at the Black Lodge agents. “You guys aren’t dressed like Marines. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you came. I was just expecting the military. CIA, I guess?”

“No ma’am,” Diamond said.

“The Marine Corps?” Tony looked confused. “Why would you think that?”

“We had communications equipment at our command center,” Jennifer explained. “When the Dark Ones and Clickers attacked, we sent out an SOS. We never found out if anybody heard us or not.”

“If you aren’t from the military, where are you from?” This was asked by the man, who was short, with wiry hair. He had a stocky build. His shorts and tank top were dirty and torn up. Likewise,

Jennifer’s knee-length shorts were stained with dirt and grass and the other woman had a bruise on her left temple.

“They’re spooks,” Tony said, dismissively. “The baby-faced one is named Amethyst, the one with the great tits is Ruby, and the big grumpy looking fucker is called Marion… excuse me, Diamond.”

Jennifer and the others frowned in confusion. She opened her mouth to respond, then shook her head and fell silent again. After a moment, she introduced her two companions.

“Okay,” Ruby said. “Come. We’re almost there.”

She barely acknowledged Jennifer and the other two scientists. Instead, she brushed past them and headed deeper into the vast cavern. Amethyst and Diamond nodded at the others to follow her. Clark and Tony held their ground. The scientists glanced at each other.

“Hey,” Tony called out. “Wait a fucking minute. Where are you going?”

Ruby stopped and turned around. “Congratulations! You’ve completed the first part of your mission. You rescued the girl. But we still haven’t finished. We must stop Dagon from rising.”

The scientists reacted visibly to this last statement. Jennifer clutched Tony’s arm. “They know about Dagon?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He had his left arm around her. “You know about it too?”

“It’s a long story,” Wade said. He stuck his hand out to Tony. “Thanks for coming to get us.”

The roars of the Dark Ones seemed more eager now, as if they’d sensed the two parties of humans had met up with each other. It was still difficult to tell where they were.

Susan answered the question foremost on Clark’s mind. “We’re being chased by two or three Dark Ones. But I think they got stuck pretty far back.”

“Yeah, us too,” Clark said. He nodded toward Amethyst and Diamond, who were waiting impatiently. “Don’t you want to make sure these folks are okay first, before we go charging off again?”

“They are uninjured,” Amethyst said. “That is enough for now.”

“Give me a fucking break,” Tony said. “They’re tired. We’re tired. My fucking head feels like it’s gonna split open. Let’s stop for a minute.”

“There’s no time, Tony.” Amethyst’s tone was conciliatory. “You know that. We have to finish this.”

Clark’s eyes met Tony’s. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then Tony shrugged.

“Okay,” Clark said, addressing Amethyst, “where to next?”

“This way,” Ruby said. She turned and began heading down the cavern again.

“We just came from there,” Susan said. “Those things were chasing us!”

“Listen, maybe I should get Jennifer and her friends out of here,” Tony suggested.

“Tony, you know why you’re here,” Ruby said. “We’ve tapped you for this mission because you are our only hope.”

“I understand that,” Tony said. “And we’ve found Jennifer and her friends. Don’t you think we should get them out of here?”

“Not before you fulfill your destiny.”

“My destiny is to keep my ass from getting killed. And if I can pull Jennifer and her friends out of here, so much the better.”

“Your destiny is to fulfill your purpose!” Ruby’s voice had taken on that gruff tone again. She fixed him with her steely gaze. “You’re our only hope, Tony. You are one of the—”

“Save it, sweetheart.”

“The more we delay,” Diamond insisted, “the stronger Dagon gets. Surely you feel it. Even now your head aches. The pain behind your eyeballs is only growing worse.”

“What do we…?” Clark faltered. Even as Diamond spoke, the throbbing in his head grew worse, and he felt a tightening in his chest. It was obvious that Tony and the scientists were distressed, as well.

Squinting, Susan rubbed her forehead. “It feels like someone is trying to crawl inside my head. Something invisible, elemental.”

“What you feel is Dagon,” Ruby explained. Her features were strained, as if they were bearing the weight of great pressure. Clark noticed it in the faces of Diamond and Amethyst too. He started to speak, but when he tried, his breath came in ragged gasps. That persistent humming spiked into his consciousness, like fingernails being drawn against a chalkboard.

Ruby looked at Clark. “And my guess is that all of you are made of very strong stuff. You can feel it, but you with stand it.”

“To tell you the truth,” Tony said, “the only thing I feel like fucking up now is Dagon. Okay? You win. Let’s get this fucking shit over with.”

Without another word, Ruby darted down the cavern, leading the way. Tony darted after her, followed by Clark and Jennifer, who clutched Tony’s arm. Wade and Susan fell into step behind them. Amethyst and Diamond once again brought up the rear.

“I don’t know about this,” Jennifer whispered to Tony and Clark. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Tony replied. “I was just chilling in my condo and Clark here was outside trimming the shrubbery, and then all hell broke loose. All things considered, I’d rather be in Vegas.”

Jennifer grinned at him. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you.”

Gritting his teeth, Clark focused on Ruby.

I hope you know what you’re doing, he thought as she took them down a left hand path that led deeper beneath the mountain. Because we’re responsible for these people’s lives. I don’t want their blood on my hands.

“Don’t worry,” Ruby said. “I do. And if there is blood, Mr. Arroyo, it won’t be on your hands. It will be on someone else’s.”

For the first time since shortly before Josel’s betrayal, when she was certain the Naranuan holy man would lead them to safe ground, Jennifer felt her hopes rise again. They were going to get out of this. How, she still didn’t have the slightest idea. But finding Tony here—knowing that he’d come for her—buoyed her spirits.

Ruby led them down tunnel after tunnel, never hesitating in her stride. As they descended, Jennifer felt her elations rise further as the echoing roar of the pursuing Dark Ones were left farther behind. They were obviously traveling passageways that Jennifer, Wade, and Susan had not encountered before. She wondered how Ruby and her companions knew where to go. Was Naranu a secret government compound?

Behind her, Susan babbled. “We’re heading straight back there. Why are we doing this? There’s more of those things down there.”

“Quiet,” Diamond ordered. His tone of voice was commanding and Susan shut up.

Jennifer whispered to Tony. “Are they taking us to R’lyeh?”

“Yeah,” Tony answered. “I guess I don’t need to bring you up to speed, after all.”

“We found out what’s happening through a local. The village holy man.”

“Oh yeah? Where is he now?”

“Dead, I think. He was going to sacrifice us to Dagon.”

Jennifer saw Tony twitch, his jaw set in a grimace of anger. “You kill him?”

“No, the Dark Ones did. If he’s really dead.”

“How come you’re not sure?”

“There was a lot going on. It was all very confusing. We escaped, but some of our friends got left behind.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“So,” Jennifer whispered, “is there anyone else with you guys?

Rick, maybe? Does Livingston know you’re here?”

Tony shook his head. “No. It’s just me and Clark and these guys. There was one more with us but we lost him topside. As for Livingston, I’m not sure, but I’ve got the feeling that ol’ Augustus isn’t even aware of this situation.”

“But I thought you said these guys were spooks.”

“They are, but not the government kind.”

“They operate outside the confines of world government,” Clark said. “Have you ever—”

“Quiet,” Amethyst cautioned. “Sound carries down here and they’re all around us now. We must proceed with utmost caution.”

With the light from Ruby’s flashlight illuminating the way, they were able to cover ground much quicker. This time they did not have to slide their way down narrow cave passageways. It seemed to Jennifer as if Ruby knew intuitively which corridor to go down, and she didn’t hesitate when they came to forks in the cavern system. They darted down so many passageways that Jennifer became lost. God help them should they be ambushed by Dark Ones; it sounded like they were getting closer, but the sounds of their roars were still somewhat muffled. Ruby paused and the group huddled together, crouching in the darkness.

“We’re almost there,” Ruby whispered so softly that they had to strain to hear her. “Very shortly we will be reaching a very large cavern. There will be a number of bas-reliefs and statues surrounding a large stone altar. Hovering over the altar will be a large rectangle.”

“We saw that,” Wade said. “It was floating in the middle of the chamber, and it looked like there was an ocean inside it.”

“You saw the entrance to the Labyrinth?” Ruby eyes widened at the revelation. “Consider yourself lucky to still be alive.”

Wade shivered. “What was it?”

“That is Dagon’s doorway into our world.”

“I want to get out of here,” Susan moaned. “Look, you’ve rescued us, and we’re very grateful, but I don’t want any part of this. If you have another mission to complete, leave us out of it. I’m a researcher, not a soldier. Take us topside and then you can come back and do whatever it is you have to do.”

“Madam,” Diamond said, shuffling next to her, “please don’t—”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Susan’s voice grew shriller and louder. “Leave me alone.”

The others tensed, glancing around warily, waiting to see if the echoes would attract attention. Jennifer saw Amethyst nod at Diamond. The big man reached forward and gently touched Susan’s shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was faint but strong.

“Calm.”

Susan immediately relaxed. Her posture slackened and an expression of complete serenity crossed her face. She looked up at Diamond and smiled.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“What the hell did you just do to her?” Wade asked. His tone was alarmed.

“It’s okay.” Susan placed her palm against his chest. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, Wade, but I’m fine. Everything is going to be okay. And guess what? My head doesn’t hurt anymore. That terrible headache is gone.”

“Wish I could say the same thing,” Clark grumbled.

“Me too,” Tony agreed, turning to Amethyst. “Any chance you guys could do that to the rest of us?”

“I’m afraid not. All Diamond did was calm her down so that she wouldn’t be a liability. Her headache is gone only because Dagon’s nearing presence has driven her insane. Once madness sets in, the pain dissipates.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “Never mind. So this is the end game. What happens next?”

“Fifty yards ahead of us,” Amethyst whispered, “is the portal. The Dark Ones are encircling it, involved in rituals and prayer. As we already know, many of their soldiers have been fanning across these tunnels looking for us. As we speak, I’m sensing several of them nearby. Time will be of the essence here.”

“You’ve been saying that from the beginning.”

“So I have,” Amethyst agreed. “But it has never been more crucial than it is now, so pay attention. Diamond and Ruby will enter the chamber and eradicate the threat. Under no circumstances should you, Clark, or the rest of you follow them. This is especially important in regards to you, Tony. We can’t afford to lose you now.”

“You brought us along as hired guns,” Clark said, “and now you want us to sit it out in the last quarter of the game with thirty seconds left on the clock?”

“Absolutely. Both of you have a role to play, and you can’t play it if you’re dead. Let Diamond and Ruby handle the Dark Ones. I’ll remain here with you. We will engage the enemy only if they break past Diamond and Ruby’s defenses and approach us.”

“Do you hear that, Wade?” Susan clasped his hand and smiled. “We get to stay here.”

“Y-yeah,” he replied, glancing at Jennifer in concern. “I heard that, Susan. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’ve never felt better. It’s wonderful. You should try it. My eyes have been opened.”

“I was afraid of that,” Ruby muttered, elbowing Diamond. “You shouldn’t have used a calming spell this close to the doorway. The psychic backlash is too strong. Dagon’s presence is impacting her mind.”

“Are you saying our friend has gone crazy?” Jennifer asked. “What kind of—”

“Once Diamond and Ruby have cleared the chamber of hostiles,” Amethyst continued, interrupting her, “Tony and Clark will approach the portal. At that point, Tony, Ruby will give you your final instructions.”

“Why not give them to me now?”

“In case something goes wrong,” Ruby said. “We may need to change things or think on our feet.”

Tony stood up. Clark followed his lead. Both men unshouldered their weapons.

“Let’s do this shit,” Tony mumbled.

Wade raised his hand. “Um, not to interrupt or anything, but do we get some rifles, too?”

Amethyst shook his head. “We have no weapons for you, unfortunately. As I said, it would be best if you remained here. Keep in hiding behind that rock.” He pointed to a huge rock near a curve in the tunnel. “There’ll be so much commotion, the Dark Ones will barely notice you.”

Susan tugged at Wade’s arm, leading him toward the indicated hiding place. “Come on. It will be fun.”

“You know,” Wade whispered, “I think I liked you better before.”

Jennifer stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. The roaring of the Dark Ones snapped her mind out of her reverie. Impulsively, she reached out to Tony and planted a kiss at the side of his mouth.

“I like that,” Tony said, “but this really ain’t the time, you know?”

“Be careful,” she said. “I don’t understand what’s going on, but whatever it is you have to do, you can do it.”

“Yeah, I can.” Tony looked at her with a faint smile on his face. Jennifer felt something pass between them—it was definitely a strong physical attraction. “And I’ll be back. You just wait here.”

Jennifer stepped back, joining Wade and Susan behind the rock. Diamond nodded at the three scientists. “Be quick now. Hide yourselves.”

Amethyst directed Tony and Clark to move into the shadows with him. Jennifer watched them meld into the darkness. One minute they were there. The next, they weren’t. Ruby switched off her flashlight, plunging the entire cavern into blackness.

Jennifer, Wade and Susan huddled together in the darkness. Jennifer felt Wade’s sour breath hot against her cheek. He was breathing heavily. By contrast, Susan seemed calm—almost stoned. She hummed softly to herself in a lilting, singsong voice.

Jennifer wasn’t sure how long they sat there, hiding behind the rock and listening. Waiting. For long moments, the only sound was the muffled entreaties of the Dark Ones, engaged in their bizarre ritual. Then a series of rapid gunshots exploded, rumbling through the chamber. They flashed in the darkness as another round of shots followed. The Dark Ones screamed in pain, their enraged cries almost drowning out the gunfire.

Jennifer heard Ruby chanting in a loud, strong voice. Jennifer frowned, trying to figure out what language the woman was speaking in. Not English, certainly, nor any other tongue Jennifer was familiar with. This language sounded guttural and old. Primordial.

More gunshots followed and then the Dark Ones began to scream. Jennifer had never heard anything like it, not even during the assault at Peachbottom. The Dark Ones sounded terrified. Ruby’s arcane chants grew louder. Seconds later, Jennifer felt a slight breeze against her face, crouched as she was behind the outcropping.

“That’s wind,” Wade whispered. “But we must be way below sea level. How is their wind down here?”

Jennifer opened her mouth to respond, but a rushing sound cut her off. It sounded as if a freight train were barreling down the tunnel. The wind increased, howling as it tossed Jennifer’s hair around her face.

Giggling, Susan clapped her hands. “Wheeeeeee! I wish we had a kite.”

“Quiet,” Jennifer hushed her. “Remember what they said. We need to stay—”

Then, from across the tunnel, Amethyst shouted, “Genova! Arroyo! What are you doing?”

Tony’s gleeful laugh cut through the noise. “Let’s get this party started!”

“Genova,” Amethyst yelled. “Tony, get back here!”

The wind slammed against their hiding space. Jennifer leaned around the rock, trying to determine what was happening. Before she could, however, she heard a clicking sound coming from behind them.

“Um, guys?” Wade gripped both of their arms. “I think we’ve got company.”

Tony felt himself slip into a kind of Zen state as he and Clark charged toward the main cavern. He had heard of the term “Zen” before, of course, and had always dismissed it as nothing more than psychobabble new age bullshit, but he recognized it now, just the same. It was unlike the feeling he’d gotten on past jobs. Before, killing someone— stalking them, tracking them, and then watching the light wane from their eyes as they bled out—that was nothing more than work. Tony had always assumed that a donut maker or assembly line worker approached their jobs with the same feeling. What he felt now was something different. He always felt a sense of heightened awareness right before a hit, but what he was experiencing now was that feeling amplified ten-fold.

A strange, savage wind had risen from seemingly nowhere and roared through the caverns and tunnels, lashing at them like razor wire as they raced headlong toward the fray. Tony felt it pull his lips back from his teeth in a sneer. His hair was blown straight back over his head. His ears and cheeks felt raw, as if he’d been standing outside in the cold for too long.

“What are we doing?” Clark shouted above the din.

“Pissing off Amethyst,” Tony yelled. “Reminding them who’s the fucking boss.”

“You sure about this?”

“They’re up to something, Clark. I don’t know what, but I can feel it in my fucking gut. And with the shit they can do—like Ruby reading our fucking minds—the only advantage we have is being unpredictable. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like putting my destiny in anybody else’s hands.”

“I didn’t take you for the type who believed in destiny, Tony.”

“I don’t. I don’t believe in mind reading or motherfucking magic, either. But here we are anyway. What are you gonna do, you know?”

The two fell silent as they approached the main chamber. The

wind died down as abruptly as it had begun. In the aftermath, Tony noticed two things. The gunfire had stopped, and the big cavern was now glowing brightly. The source of the light was hidden inside the actual room; he couldn’t tell what it was from this vantage point. He could, however, see the shadowed silhouettes of two Dark Ones as they raced from the chamber and ran down the tunnel toward he and Clark. Tony paused long enough to raise his rifle, and then he gunned down both of the creatures while they were still yards away. The rifle grew warm in his hands, even as his palms and fingers grew numb. Tony grinned as the Dark Ones squealed. Their bodies jittered and jerked before collapsing to the floor. Leaping over their still-bleeding corpses, Tony entered the chamber. Clark was right behind him. The two men stopped in their tracks and surveyed the scene.

Tony’s first thought was that somebody had unleashed a hurricane inside the cavern. They stood in a massive, cathedral-like chamber. Cracks and fissures lined the walls, and boulders and debris were strewn about, as if a partial avalanche had just occurred. Dust still hung in the air. Scores of dead Dark Ones littered the large space. It appeared as if most of them had been slammed repeatedly into the walls or ceiling. Their bodies looked crushed. A few had been impaled on obscene, monstrous statues, twelve feet high and carved in the image of things that should have never been imagined, let alone exist in real life. Others among the corpses appeared to have been shot to death, which seemed an almost archaic method of execution when compared to the damage the rest had sustained under the windstorm.

The Dark Ones weren’t the only ones to die inside the chamber, however. At first, Tony couldn’t figure out what he was staring at. It took his mind a moment to adjust, and then he recognized the torn, bloody mess at his feet as Ruby’s torso—minus her head, arms, legs, clothing, and skin. Her appendages had been tossed around the room, and her head lay in one corner. Her sightless eyes seemed to be staring at him. He wondered if she could still read his mind, even after death?

Diamond stood in the center of the chamber. His feet were spaced apart and his shoulders hunched. He’d balled his hands into fists and was digging them into his thighs as he—well, Tony wasn’t exactly sure what the big man was actually doing. Diamond stood facing four Dark Ones. Three of them were quite large. The fourth was even larger in stature, standing a good two feet above the others. It seemed older and somehow more regal. The three younger lizard-men stood just behind the older one; Tony assumed it was the leader. It and Diamond seemed to be engaged in some silent battle of wills. They stared at one another, their faces inches apart, eyes unblinking, jaws set, teeth bared. Both man and Dark One trembled slightly, as if under a great strain. Sweat poured down Diamond’s forehead and face.

“Jesus,” Clark whispered beside him, “what the hell is that?”

Beyond Diamond and the Dark Ones was a rectangular pool of water, floating sideways in the air. It reminded Tony of a giant salt-water fish tank with no fish inside of it. The light in the cavern seemed to be coming from the portal, as well. He still couldn’t determine the source. As near as he could tell, something that looked like a miniature sun was floating in the middle of the water. As he stared into the rectangle, his headache increased. Clark winced, obviously feeling the effects, as well. Water splashed out of the rectangle and onto the cave floor.

“That must be the portal,” Tony muttered. “There’s an entire fucking ocean on the other side. And that light— whatever it is. It’s almost like this is a window into another world.”

“That’s very apt,” Amethyst said, walking up behind them.

Tony and Clark turned to face him. The younger man was clearly seething with anger. His eyes flicked to Ruby’s mangled corpse, then to Diamond. He quickly appraised the silent struggle, and then turned back to Tony and Clark.

“Should we help him?” Clark asked.

“No. You’ll notice that the other Dark Ones are hanging back. Diamond must battle the Elder alone. Were any of us to interrupt them right now, the results could be disastrous.”

“The fuck are they doing? Having a psychic battle?”

“That’s not important, Tony. What is important is what the fuck you are doing. Do either of you realize just how badly you could have jeopardized things by running off like that?”

“We wanted to help,” Tony said, eyeing the Dark Ones uneasily. Their attention was focused on their leader—the large lizard Amethyst had referred to as the Elder. “I mean, what the fuck happened in here? Ruby and Diamond came in here, and obviously, there was some kind of big battle. But when Clark and I get in here, it’s just Diamond and that old Dark One having a staring contest. What happened? What was all that stuff we heard?”

“What occurred in this chamber was not meant for human eyes,” Amethyst said. “Believe me when I tell you that you’re both better off not knowing. You can see the aftermath for yourself. Had you rushed in here a moment earlier, your corpses would be decorating the walls, as well.”

“We just wanted to help.” Clark’s tone was sullen.

Tony nodded. “And by the look of things, Ruby could have used our help. Tell me something, Amethyst. Does it even fucking bother you that she’s dead?”

“No more than it bothers you, Tony. Ruby knew the risks from the moment she was initiated into our organization.”

Tony started to respond, but his reply faltered as the Elder grunted with pain. He, Clark and Amethyst turned toward the strange confrontation. Veins stood out in Diamond’s head, and his face was beet red. His body shook as if in the grip of an epileptic seizure. The same thing was happening to all four of the Dark Ones. They collapsed to the floor, quivering and thrashing in obvious agony. Spittle flew from their mouths. Their tails slapped the ground. Their talons raked against the rocks.

“Ph’nglui,” the Elder croaked. “Mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

Diamond’s seizure increased. A low moan escaped his lips.

And then the four Dark Ones were turned inside out.

Tony, who was no stranger to gruesome deaths, gasped out loud, recoiling from the wet, red explosion. One second, the Dark Ones were lying on the ground, eyes rolled into the backs of their heads, muscles tensed in pain. The next, their organs and innards were on the outside. They quivered for a moment longer, and then lay still.

Sighing, Diamond relaxed. He seemed weakened and disoriented from his ordeal. He glanced over at them. Blood ran like tears from the corners of his eyes, and dripped from his nose, ears and mouth, as well. He wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand. Then he took a wobbly step forward.

“Finished,” he gasped.

“Well done.” Amethyst nodded at Tony and Clark. “Okay, gentlemen. It’s show time.” The pain in Tony’s head flared brighter. Wincing, he flexed his shoulders and tilted his head, cracking the joints in his neck. “What do we—”

A series of surprised shouts and screams interrupted him.

“Shit,” Tony said. “That’s Jennifer!”

***

Jennifer’s heart raced as she listened to the clicking sounds draw closer. At first, she had assumed it was a Clicker, but after a few seconds, she realized that this sound was different from the telltale noise the mutant crustaceans made with their pincers. It was softer. More sedate. Susan giggled again, and Jennifer clamped her hand over the woman’s mouth. Susan didn’t struggle. Instead, she snuggled close to Jennifer and remained still.

“What is it?” Wade’s eyes were wide. His voice was barely a whisper.

Jennifer shook her head.

“Talons,” he mouthed. Then, louder, “It’s a Dark One. One of them must have slipped past the others.”

“Be quiet,” Jennifer urged.

“I can’t. My fucking head—God, it hurts. Can’t seem to think straight.”

The clicking sound ceased. Jennifer glanced around, peering into the darkness. The tunnel had grown noticeably lighter. The source seemed to be the main chamber. She wondered what was happening. The gunshots had stopped, as had the wind, and she couldn’t hear Tony or his friends anymore.

“It must be over,” Wade said, after a moment. “Maybe our heads will stop hurting now.”

Jennifer hoped that he was right. Her temples throbbed as she fought against what felt like a raging migraine. She removed her hand from Susan’s mouth. Susan remained where she was, pressed up against Jennifer’s side. Wade sat huddled beside both of them. For the first time Jennifer was aware of the scent of their sweat; it clung to them like a miasma, and it was hard to tell whose body odor she was smelling. Probably mine, she thought.

Wade looked out around the rock. “Maybe we should join the others. What do you think? Would Tony be—”

He stopped in mid-sentence and made a surprised, clicking noise in the back of his throat. Slowly, Wade looked down at the ground. Jennifer followed his gaze…

…and screamed.

Wade’s index and middle fingers had been severed at the first knuckle by a diminutive Clicker no bigger than a housecat. The tiny creature feasted on the bloody digits while another scampered over Wade’s foot and slashed at his pants leg.

How could they be that small? Even as she thought it, Jennifer realized the truth.

“Oh my God,” Susan yelled, verbalizing Jennifer’s thoughts. “They’re babies. Oh, how cute.”

Four more of the infant Clickers—the smallest of which was no bigger than a human hand—skittered out of a crevice in the wall and crawled over Susan’s legs. She reached for them happily as Jennifer sprang to her feet.

Wade’s shock turned to shrieks as one of the baby Clickers disappeared beneath his pants leg and crawled up his leg. Before Jennifer could stop him, he turned and ran into the darkness, heading back the way they’d originally come, heedless of the danger. She glimpsed him beating at his knee as he fled.

“Oh God,” he wailed. “Oh, Jesus, it’s stinging the fuck out of me. It’s crawling toward my—”

His cries became garbled echoes. Seconds later, they were lost beneath Susan’s laughter. She tilted her head back and giggled as the Clickers reached eagerly for her breasts. Four sets of pink pincers hovered in the air—and then latched on.

Susan’s laughter turned to screams.

Jennifer screamed too as she ran toward the main chamber.

***

Right before Jennifer’s scream, Clark had been idly wondering what they’d do once Dagon had been stopped. Surely, there were more Dark Ones within this maze of tunnels and caves. They also had to contend with the Clickers that were still running rampant topside. Clark wasn’t sure if they had enough firepower to handle all those. They needed more reinforcements. They needed what they’d had in DC—they needed a battalion of soldiers with the latest in weapons and technology at their disposal.

When this is over and we get out of here, somebody needs to tell President Livingston to nuke this fucking island, Clark thought as he quickly ejected a magazine and slapped in a fresh one. He had no doubt that if they made it out, they would be leaving dozens, if not hundreds of Dark Ones behind. There were just too many of them.

“Finished,” Diamond groaned.

Amethyst nodded. “Well done.”

Averting his gaze from the inside-out Dark Ones, Clark’s eyes fell on the toppled statues. In addition to a series of seemingly identical carvings that seemed to depict a winged thing with numerous tentacles, there were others. Some were immense, others small. They were all of various figures, some loathsome and painful to look at. Almost indescribable. One looked like a hideous blob with hundreds of mouths all over it, sprouting hoofed tentacles. Another figure also sported tentacles but was also winged and had two giant horns sprouting from its three heads. Looking at them for any length of time made Clark’s headache even worse, so he refrained and concentrated on the task at hand. The fillings in his teeth ached.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Amethyst said. “It’s show time.”

“What do we—”

A series of screams interrupted Tony.

“Shit,” he said. “That’s Jennifer!”

Clark wheeled toward the entrance, his weapon at the ready. Jennifer ran into the chamber, sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” Clark yelled. “What are you doing in here?”

“There’s a little one after me!”

“A little what?” Amethyst asked.

“A baby Clicker. They killed Susan. And Wade ran off.”

Amethyst didn’t seem bothered by this news. “It’s okay. The Clickers won’t enter this chamber. Even with their rudimentary intelligence, they know this is a place of great power, and they fear it. As for the Dark Ones, with the Elder dead, the rest of them will retreat back into the ocean.”

“How will they know he’s dead?” Clark asked.

“Believe me, they’ll know. Just to make sure, I’ve sent the image to them. Think of it as mental email, CC’ing every one of them in these tunnels.”

“Telepathy?”

Amethyst nodded. “Something like that. Very good, Mr. Arroyo.”

“What about Wade?” Jennifer asked, coming to stand beside Tony.

“And not to mention ol’ tentacle face.” Tony pointed at the portal. “You were insistent we finish up here. Tell me what I need to fucking do already, and then let’s get the fuck out of here. My head is killing me.”

“Very well.” Amethyst nodded as if satisfied. “Mr. Arroyo, I’d like you to stand next to the portal, if you’d be so kind?”

“Why?”

“Because it is absolutely essential that we all be in place before Tony begins.”

Clark met Tony and Jennifer’s eyes. Then, with a shrug, he took his place as indicated. He suppressed a shiver as he turned his back to the hovering rectangle. Water slopped out of the doorway and onto his feet.

“Ms. Wasco, you are welcome to join him if you like.”

“Screw that.” Jennifer slid closer to Tony. “I’m not getting anywhere near that thing.”

“Suit yourself.” Amethyst turned back to the hovering portal and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a fistful of something—Clark thought it might be salt or flour—and sprinkled the substance on the ground. Then he spoke again. “Eloim shammanta. Barra, Gigum xul.

Barra, Maskim xul. Ia idimmu, descente Leviathan.”

His voice had changed. Clark thought it sounded harsher—more strained. Clark noticed that as Amethyst spoke, the pain in his head increased even more. He reached up with one hand and rubbed his temple.

“It will pass soon,” Amethyst told him. “As soon as the entryway is closed.”

“What now?” Tony asked. His tone was impatient.

“The rest is easy,” Amethyst told him. “I’ll recite some words for you. Pay attention, because you’ll need to repeat them. Okay?”

Tony nodded. Clark and Jennifer shifted nervously.

“You must say Ia verminus Leviathan. Ia destrato Leviathan. LEVIATHAN.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Please, Tony. No jokes right now. Pay attention. Ia verminus Leviathan. Ia destrato Leviathan. LEVIATHAN. Can you remember that?”

Tony mouthed the words to himself and then nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Correct. Once you have finished, you’ll need to say, ‘I bind and banish you according to the Law. You may not pass through the door. Go now and bother this Earth no more.’ Can you remember that, as well?”

“I’ve got it. So all I have to do is repeat that bullshit? How come you saying them just now wouldn’t work?”

“Because I am not one of The Seven. You are. And because there is something else you must do in conjunction with the words. Something that I cannot do myself. Something that only the person reciting the words can do.”

“And what’s that?”

“A sacrifice must be made. You’ll have to kill Mr. Arroyo.”

“What?” Tony sounded incredulous.

“All you have to do is say the words, kill Clark, and then repeat them again.”

“Is that all?”

Startled, Clark took a step forward. “Now hold on just a goddamn minute.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diamond moving toward him. Clark raised his rifle and pointed it at Diamond. Diamond gestured at the weapon. Suddenly, the M16 grew hot in Clark’s hands. He dropped it, hissing with pain. The rifle clattered to the floor.

“No,” Amethyst said. “Our time is up. Summoning Dagon requires a sacrifice. Reversing the ritual requires one, as well. Kill him, Tony, and let’s be done of this whole thing.”

Slowly, Tony brought his rifle up. His expression was stone; his gaze was hardened.

Clark said, “Shit.”

Consumed by sheer, blind panic, Wade fled into the darkness, running deeper into the underground network of tunnels and passageways. Sweat, blood and dirt caked his flesh and clothing. His gasps and sobs were intermittently punctuated by agonized squeals as the baby Clicker beneath his pants plunged its stinger into his leg. Despite his terror, Wade had enough presence of mind to realize that the infant lacked the venom of its older kin. Otherwise, his legs would have been a bubbling, acidic mess by now. Still, that did nothing to ease the pain. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing him with an ice pick. The creature plunged the stinger into his ankle and then crawled a few inches up his leg. Then it repeated the process over and over again, stinging him on the calf, knee and lower thigh. Now, as he ran, he felt it inching higher.

Sobbing, Wade stopped and clamped both hands around his leg, slowing the creature’s advance. The nubs of his missing fingers throbbed and burned. The Clicker squirmed and wiggled beneath his pants. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it there, seeking a way around the blockade. He thought about fumbling in the darkness for a rock—something he could use to bludgeon the Clicker, but he was afraid to remove his hand.

Wade had no idea how far he’d come, or where he was. The tunnel was silent except for his own ragged breathing. Even the echoes of his screams had died down. The darkness was absolute. He’d never suffered from claustrophobia, but he felt it now. The blackness enveloped him like a shroud.

The tiny stinger punched through the cloth of his pants and jabbed his left hand, just above the space where his missing fingers had been. Wade instinctively drew the wounded hand back, and the Clicker seized the opportunity to climb higher. He felt the small pincers graze his underwear. His balls shriveled tight beneath the fabric. The claws brushed up against it again. Then Wade felt them open.

“No!”

Curling his hands into fists, Wade beat at the Clicker, smashing it again and again, heedless of the blows he was inflicting on himself, as well. His bloodied stumps exploded in pain, but he ignored the sensation. There was an audible cracking sound, and then hot wetness splattered across his groin and thigh. The Clicker ceased moving, but Wade continued pummeling it, pulverizing the remains until it dribbled down his leg and pooled around his shoe. He didn’t stop until he’d accidentally punched himself in the testicles. Groaning, he collapsed to the ground, cradling himself with one hand and trying to ignore the nausea that suddenly swept over him.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, crumpled into a ball and weeping softly. Eventually, the pain eased and Wade uncurled himself and sat up. His joints and muscles ached, and the throbbing in his head and hand continued unabated. Using his teeth and uninjured hand, he tore some strips of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a crude tourniquet for his left hand.

I need to find the others, he thought. Need to get back to them before I get lost down here.

He shuddered, imagining wandering hopelessly for days or even weeks through this underground warren, until thirst or exhaustion did him in. Climbing to his feet, Wade reached out with both hands and felt around until his fingertips brushed against a hard surface on his right. A bit more exploration determined that he’d found a wall, rather than just a boulder. The space to his left was just empty darkness. Cautiously, he inched forward, letting the fingertips of his right hand trail along the wall for guidance. At intervals, the wall bent and curved, and his fingers slipped away. Then he’d grope in the darkness until he found it again. Wade couldn’t be sure if these intervals indicated branching tunnels and passageways, or if it was just the natural curvature of the rock.

This must be what it feels like for an astronaut on a space-walk. No, even they have more light than I do right now.

Suddenly, he heard the patter of footsteps. The tread was heavy and hurried, as if the person was running away from something or hurrying down the passageway. It couldn’t be one of the Dark Ones. If they were pursuing him, they’d be stealthy.

Maybe they aren’t chasing me. Maybe they’re running away from something.

“Hello?” Wade’s voice echoed in the darkness. “Jennifer? Susan?”

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away from him.

“T-Tony? Is that you?”

Something snorted. Wade took a deep breath and smelled that all-too familiar reptilian stench. He heard something—claws or perhaps scales—slither against the rocks.

“Oh no—”

Roaring, the fleeing Dark One fell upon him in a flurry of talons and teeth. Wade’s scream lasted until the beast tore his bottom jaw from his face, but he lived for a few more minutes after that. The pain was enough to make him forget all about his missing fingers or the ache in his head. With each strip of flesh that was flayed from his body, with each organ or limb that was ripped away, such trivialities became less important.

“Let me get this straight,” Tony said. “You want me to say the magic words, kill Clark, then say them again, along with that other nonsense, and then Dagon will go the fuck back to wherever it is he came from?”

“That is correct.”

“Tony…” Clark took another step forward. “You can’t seriously be—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Tony turned his attention back to Amethyst. “Why can’t you or Diamond do it? Or why can’t we just use Ruby or one of the Dark Ones as the sacrifice? I mean, they’re already dead, right? Their blood was spilled here.”

“Leviathan can only be bound or banished by one of The Seven. This is no minor demon or paltry deity we’re dealing with. He is one of the thirteen beings that existed before this universe was created. As for Ruby and the Dark Ones, the sacrifice must be made after the initial words are spoken, and it must be made by your hand.”

“Tony?” Jennifer’s tone was shocked. “What are you doing? Tell me you’re not actually considering this.”

“I don’t see that we have a fucking choice, Jennifer. These Black Lodge guys have been right about everything so far. I mean, sure, I’ll admit—I was skeptical at first, too. It all sounded like bullshit to me. But standing here, seeing that thing actually floating there in the air, I’m convinced. My fucking head hurts. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

“But he’s your friend!”

“Not really. A guy like me ain’t got many friends. I had one, once. Vince. But he ain’t around no more. This guy, Clark, originally sought me out just to fucking use me. Story of my life. Marano. The Feds. I’m sick of being used.”

“But that was then,” Clark insisted. “Okay, yes. At first, I was going to use you. Hell, I admitted it to you. But not now. She’s right,

Tony. Maybe we’re not friends, but we’re certainly not enemies. I’ve had your back this whole time.”

“And I had yours. And that don’t mean shit. It’s a fucking war zone, Clark. You do whatever the fuck you have to do to survive. And that’s what I’m doing now.”

Spittle ran down Clark’s chin. “Goddamn it, Tony, don’t do this!”

“What fucking choice do I have?” Tony yelled. “You think I fucking like doing this, Clark? You’re okay. You deserve better. So did a lot of other people that I’ve killed over the years. You need to understand something. This is what I do. This is what I’m good at. This is the only thing I’m good at. It’s like that old song by The Police. I can turn my heart to stone and then turn killing into an art.”

Jennifer made a choking sound, as if she were about to throw up.

Amethyst spread his hands in an almost apologetic gesture. “As I said back at your apartment, Tony, when you insisted on bringing Clark along—his blood would be on your hands.”

Clark lunged, but Diamond seized him. The two grappled, struggling with each other at the edge of the portal. Diamond’s sheer size and strength won out. He held Clark in a bear hug and planted his feet.

“So what do I have to do? Stab him with a sacrificial knife or some shit like that?”

Amethyst shook his head. “No. Shooting him will suffice. Quick and painless. The point is he has to die by your hand.”

Jennifer spat. “How can you be so clinical about this?”

“I’m not,” Amethyst replied. “Believe me, I don’t like this anymore than you do. Mr. Arroyo is an innocent in this struggle, just as you are. Unfortunately, a sacrifice must be made. I dare say Mr. Genova would refuse to have you fill that role. Therefore, it must be Clark who dies for the betterment of all mankind. Humanity’s protection is writ in the blood of innocents. It’s a necessary, if unpalatable, part of what we do. Tony understands this. Indeed, because of his past, he is uniquely suited to understand this better than most.”

Clark suddenly raised his foot and drove his heel down into the arch of Diamond’s foot. The big man grunted, but did not relinquish his hold. Clark’s eyes went wide as Tony pointed the rifle at him and sighted.

“Sorry about this, dude.”

“Tony…please.”

Tony squinted. “Jesus, my head is fucking killing me. Ia verm…”

“Verminus,” Amethyst prompted.

“Right. Ia verminus Leviathan. Ia destrato Leviathan. LEVIATHAN. That okay?”

Amethyst nodded.

Tony, Clark and Jennifer all moaned at the same time as the pain in their heads increased tenfold.

“Dagon is close,” Amethyst yelled. “He’ll breach any minute now. Hurry, Tony.”

Clark seemed to relax. Nodding, he said, “Go ahead then, you son of a bitch. Let’s get this over with.”

Tony motioned at Diamond with the barrel of his rifle. “Get the fuck out of the way, Marion.”

Releasing Clark, Diamond stepped aside—

—and Tony shot him in the face. The round punched a neat hole between the big man’s nose and mouth, and blew out the back of his head, splattering Clark with gore. Blood and skull fragments soared through the portal and splashed into the water on the other side. Before Clark could even blink, Tony pumped another round into Diamond’s stomach. The agent staggered backward, making a peculiar mewling sound, and then toppled over face first.

“GENOVA!”

Tony spun. Amethyst raced toward him, hands raised and fingers splayed. Blue light flickered between his fingertips. Tony wasn’t sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Tony lowered the weapon and squeezed off a short burst, effectively amputating both of Amethyst’s legs at the knees. Screeching, Amethyst lay on the ground, thrashing and clawing as blood sprayed from his ruined stumps. Behind him, Jennifer shrieked. Clark seemed momentarily stunned.

“Like I said,” Tony said, standing overtop Amethyst. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I’d like to keep the ones I do have.”

“You bastard,” Amethyst muttered through blood-stained teeth. “You fucking bastard.”

“Don’t blame me. I tried telling you guys when you first busted into my apartment—I’m retired now. My name’s not Tony Genova. It’s Larry fucking DiMazzio. And Larry DiMazzio doesn’t kill on command.”

He shoved the smoking gun barrel against Amethyst’s left eye and pulled the trigger. Then he glanced up at Jennifer. What Tony saw on her face nearly broke his heart. Her mouth hung open and she stared at him with a mixture of fear and revulsion.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but this is who I used to be. I don’t know. Maybe it’s all I’ll ever be.”

She started to speak, but then, clutching her stomach, she turned
away and vomited onto the floor.

Tony turned around to face Clark, who was still standing next to the portal.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“I really thought you were going to shoot me.”

“I thought about it,” Tony admitted. “Figured I could plant one in your leg, just to throw them off guard, you know? But even a round this size could cripple you for life, so I did the next best thing.”

“You were certainly convincing.”

“With Ruby dead, they couldn’t read our thoughts, but just in case, I had to play along. Make sure they didn’t know what I was up to.”

“What if you’d missed?”

“I told you before, when we first left the landing strip— I never miss. But seriously, I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

“It’s all right.” Clark took a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“Hang on. Got to finish with the magic words.”

“Well, do it th—”

The other-dimensional ocean churned as two enormous tentacles shot through the doorway. They were immense, with girths larger than the mid-section of a human being. They reminded Tony more of snakes than they did tendrils. One of the appendages grabbed Diamond’s body and lifted him off his feet. Blood immediately splashed on the floor, and Tony and Clark both saw with mounting horror that the tentacles were lined with suckers that bore razor sharp teeth.

Mouths, Tony thought. The fucking thing has mouths on its tentacles!

The other appendage whipped toward Clark, but he ducked low and rolled forward, away from the portal. The tendril cut the air where he’d been standing, while the other one yanked Diamond’s corpse through the doorway. For a moment, they saw him floating in the water on the other side. Then the tentacle pulled him toward the light. As Tony and Clark stared, dozens of other tentacles erupted from the light and surged toward them.

“Get the fuck out of there,” Tony shouted at Clark. “Move, goddamn it!”

If Clark responded to him, Tony couldn’t tell, because at that moment, a crippling pain rammed through his head. Shrieking, Clark grabbed the sides of his own head and rolled around on the floor. Jennifer remained kneeling, cradling her own head, as well.

Tony screamed. The pain became blinding. It was so great that it eclipsed everything in his mind. His eyes watered, and for a brief moment he wondered if his head had exploded and blood was pouring out of his eyeballs. Then he wondered if that was what happened when you had a brain aneurism. Old Man Marano’s father had died of a brain aneurism. He’d shit himself in the aftermath. Of all the ways he could choose to die, Tony decided this wasn’t one of them.

Suddenly, Tony was gripped by an unnerving—and nauseating—sensation. It felt as if he’d left his body, and was sailing straight through the doorway and into the vast ocean on the other side. He glimpsed something impossibly huge—a creature so large that it hurt his eyes to look at it. Its bulbous head reminded him of a hot air balloon, and the beard of tentacles that hung below its enormous yellow eyes writhed like giant snakes. From the neck down, the shape was human—except for its size, green skin, and scales. Its hands were webbed and clawed. Tony stared into its eyes and felt the eyes stare back.

It was aware of him.

The yellow eyes grew brighter and the portal seemed to bulge in mid-air. The pain in Tony’s head ratcheted up again. The fillings in his teeth throbbed. The portal shimmered, growing larger, and several more tentacles thrust through the opening. Stunned, Tony could only watch. He probed an aching tooth with his tongue and felt it wiggle. His mouth tasted like blood.

“Tony,” Clark wailed, “say the fucking words!”

Shaking his head, Tony licked his lips and yelled, “Ia verm… Goddamn it!”

“Verminus,” Clark and Jennifer shouted in unison.

“Ia verminus Leviathan. Ia destrato Leviathan. LEVIATHAN.”

The pain vanished as abruptly as it had begun. Tony’s ears rang in the aftermath, and his sinuses drained down the back of his throat. He smacked his lips again and tasted more blood. On the other side of the portal, the tentacles hung limply. Something that sounded like a thousand crossbreeds between a blue whale and a lion roared. The light began to dim.

“I bind and banish you,” Tony continued, “according to the Law. You may not pass through the door. Go now and bother this Earth no more.”

And just like that, the floating doorway disappeared. Tony had expected more. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. A flash or a bang, maybe. Something a bit more definitive, at least. Noisier. Instead, the opening simply vanished, plunging them into darkness again. Tony picked up Ruby’s flashlight and turned it on. It had been undamaged in the fight.

The beam seemed to keep the blackness at bay.

“Is that it?” Clark asked, his voice unsteady. He stood up slowly and brushed dirt and debris from his pants. “Did we win? Is it over?”

Tony shrugged. “I guess.”

“It’s sort of anti-climatic.”

“What, not getting eaten by a big, giant squid-monster ain’t good enough for you?”

“No, it’s not that. I guess I’m just used to a more… normal fight.”

“Me, too. Fuck this magic shit. I’ll stick with shooting motherfuckers.”

Behind them, Jennifer screamed. Both men whirled around and Tony trained the flashlight beam at where she was pointing. A baby Clicker charged across the chamber, claws raised, pincers clacking together greedily. Bits of Susan’s flesh dangled from them. Before either man could react, Jennifer grabbed a large rock and threw it at the creature, smashing the infant into jelly. Then she turned and faced them. Tony was surprised to see her grinning.

“Now it’s over.” She walked over to Tony and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Tony reached for her, but froze when Jennifer flinched.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I… just…”

“It’s who I was,” Tony said. “It’s not who I am now, but it’s still a part of me. You know? Maybe that’s why the spooks believed I was special. Maybe that thing inside of me—the part of me you’re scared of right now—is needed sometimes.”

“Tony…”

He held his arms out wide. “Friends?”

Wiping her eyes, Jennifer nodded. Tony hugged her and then shook hands with Clark. Then the three of them laughed.

“The Dark Ones,” Clark said after their initial happiness had subsided. “Are they gone?”

“Amethyst must have been right,” Tony said. “They must have fled. If there were any still around, they’d be charging in here by now.”

“We should do the same then.” Clark started forward. “I don’t want to be stuck down here if that flashlight goes out. Who knows how long the batteries are good for.”

Side by side, they walked out of the main chamber and headed back down the tunnel. Jennifer squeezed Tony’s hand and stifled a sob when they found Susan’s remains, but otherwise, they walked in silence and stared straight ahead. It wasn’t until they found Wade’s mangled body that they stopped.

“Sorry about your friend,” Tony said, staring down at Wade’s corpse.

“It’s okay,” Jennifer sighed. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jennifer paused. “Well, what Amethyst said back there. What he made you do. I just wondered if you were okay?”

“Haven’t felt better.” He gave her a wink, then turned to Clark. “You still up for a trip to Vegas?”

Clark grinned. “You’re damn right I am.”

“Good. You can buy the first round then. Come on, Jennifer. We’re going to Vegas.”

And with that, the three of them continued on their way. Without Ruby or Josel to guide them, they got lost several times. They went slowly at first, until they confirmed that there were no Clickers or Dark Ones left in the tunnels. At least, no living ones. They did stumble over several dead creatures in the dark. The corpses were already beginning to stink, fouling the air in the caverns. It was a long time before they reached the exit, and they stopped several times to rest. When they finally got outside, the sun was shining. Birds sang overhead. A warm, salty breeze buffeted them as they stood amidst the destruction.

Tony inhaled, breathing deep, and closed his eyes. “God, that sun feels good.”

“It does,” Jennifer agreed. “I could lay down right here and go to sleep.”

“There will be time for that later,” Clark said. “All the time in the world. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives,” Clark said.

“Ya know,” Tony replied, “I once shot a motherfucker for saying that.”

“And that was it?” Rick asked.

“Pretty much,” Tony said, nodding.

They were sitting on a hotel balcony, looking out over the strip and drinking top-shelf bourbon. The sliding glass doors were closed and the curtains drawn, so that they wouldn’t wake Jennifer, who was asleep in the luxury suite’s massive bed. An ashtray sat on the table next to Tony’s drink. Inside it, a cigarette had burned down to the filter. He hadn’t touched it since beginning his story.

“What about your friend? Clark?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. I knew a guy here in town who could fix him up, no questions asked. Dude was a doctor. Got addicted to meth. The mob uses him to patch up guys who can’t go to the emergency rooms. He fixed Clark up. Then Clark stayed here for a few days. Had the suite next to us, actually. Then he told me that he had to take care of a few things, and that he’d be in touch. Haven’t seen him since. The hotel desk says he checked out.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“He will be. Clark’s a tough motherfucker. You’d like him.”

“He’d have to be tough, I guess, to put up with you for very long.”

Both men grinned. Then Rick’s smile grew wider.

“The fuck is so funny?”

“You and Jennifer. I mean, come on, Tony. You didn’t see that coming.”

“No, I guess not. To be honest, I figured I’d hook up with Ruby when it was all over. I had plans for those mind-reading tricks of hers. Of course, she got killed before that could happen. But Jennifer—yeah. I don’t think anybody saw that coming, least of all her. I figured she’d be fucking repulsed by the person I am.”

“The person you are is somebody I’m proud to know. It’s obvious she feels the same way.” Rick took another sip of whiskey. Ice cubes rattled in his glass, clinking against the side. “What about the island? What’s to stop others from going there?”

“Livingston took care of the island. Did it all in secrecy. Not sure what. Made me swear to keep quiet about what happened to us there, but that’s cool, because in return, I got total freedom. No more witness protection program for me. Still, I’d love to know what his final solution was. You heard anything?”

“Just the same things you heard—that there was a volcanic eruption and that everyone on the island perished.”

“Yeah, total bullshit. I told Livingston he should nuke the fucking place, but he gave me some song and dance about how it would cause an international outcry. Ya know, he was a lot more ballsy before he became President.”

Rick nodded. “Well, he’s got to worry about the consequences of his actions, now. He’s a good man, though. I’ve known him a long time. He and I were there at the beginning. In a way, it’s sort of weird that he and I weren’t there at the end with you guys, to see this through.”

“Where the hell have you been, anyway?”

Rick drained his glass before responding. When he lifted the bottle to refill it, Tony noticed that his hand was trembling.

“I was in Tampa.”

“Tampa? But that’s near the water. I thought you don’t go near the water anymore.”

“I don’t,” Rick admitted. “But this time I had no choice. I was doing research for another book—a non-fiction book about the Clickers and the Dark Ones.”

“Let me guess. There’s a hive of them living somewhere off the coast of Florida?”

“Maybe,” Rick said, “but that’s not all. There have also been reports of giant ants in the region. Nothing concrete yet, but all indications are that there’s something occurring—something more than just an urban legend.”

Tony grinned. “Clickers versus giant fucking ants?”

Rick laughed, nodding. “Well, you couldn’t call them giant fucking ants. That would be like calling the Clickers giant fucking crab-scorpion-lobster hybrids. No, you’d need a catchy name. Something like the media would come up with.”

“Mandibles,” Tony said, and poured himself another drink.

“That’s not bad. Kind of catchy.”

“Maybe I’ll write a book,” Tony said. “Clickers versus Mandibles. That would be some wild shit.”

Rick snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Tony grinned. “I’m serious. I’m gonna write a fucking book.”

“Yeah, right. And maybe I’ll become a mob hitman.”

“Don’t.” Tony leaned back and drained his glass in one gulp. “It’s a hard knock life. I think I prefer this life instead. Gonna try it for a while. See what happens. Might be nice to go through a day without somebody—or some thing— trying to kill me.”

Nodding, Rick sipped his drink. “I couldn’t agree more.”

They sat and watched the sun go down, and when it finally sank below the horizon, it was still light outside. It was never truly dark in Las Vegas, and the ocean was far away, and that was how both men liked it.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. F. GONZALEZ is the coauthor of Clickers (with Mark Williams) and Clickers II: The Next Wave (with Brian Keene). His other works include a short novel cowritten with Wrath James White (Hero), and solo novels such as Primitive, The Corporation, Survivor, Fetish, Bully, The Beloved, and others. His short fiction has appeared in various anthologies, magazines, and online venues and is most recently collected in The Summoning and Other Eldritch Tales. Some of his work has been optioned for film. He currently lives with his wife, his daughter, three cats, a pit-bull, and two pythons. He doesn’t get many visitors. Visit him online at www.jfgonzalez.com or on Twitter @jfgonzalez.

BRIAN KEENE is the author of over twenty-five books, including Darkness on the Edge of Town, Urban Gothic, Castaways, Kill Whitey, Dark Hollow, Dead Sea, Ghoul and The Rising. He also writes comic books such as The Last Zombie, Doom Patrol and Dead of Night: Devil Slayer. His work has been translated into German, Spanish, Polish, Italian, French and Taiwanese. Several of his novels and stories have been optioned for film, one of which, The Ties That Bind, premiered on DVD in 2009 as a critically-acclaimed independent short. Keene’s work has been praised in such diverse places as The New York Times, The History Channel, The Howard Stern Show, CNN.com, Publisher’s Weekly, Fangoria Magazine, and Rue Morgue Magazine. Keene lives in Central Pennsylvania. You can communicate with him online at www.briankeene.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/Brian-Keene/189077221397 or on Twitter at www.twitter.com/BrianKeene

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