Hell was singing Marcus’ swansong, an eerie symphony of the undead providing mood music for his imminent demise. The earth was dancing to it, shaking the walls and raining sand down from the ceiling.
He was having the worst day of his life. Since his mad dash from the coffin, its disturbing visions and the highly unpleasant realization that everything he had not wanted to believe was absolutely true, he had wandered through a maze of corridors, every sound heralding a new horror. There had been several booby traps, including a narrowly missed axe and a collapsing ceiling. He had also had another run in with the scarabs. Now the ground was shaking. He was tired, he was hungry and he was scared. Mostly, he was scared, terrified actually.
His torch had been dropped and abandoned long ago, leaving Marcus to stumble through the black catacombs lost and alone. His only guide through the darkness was the occasional bark of the dog. On hands and knees, dragging his massive belly in the sand, he crawled through the corridor straining to identify this latest harbinger.
As he crawled, he cursed Apis.
From his perspective, all of it, from start to finish, was the dog’s fault. Cleo found the temple entrance because Apis ran into it. Charles hadn’t come down with him earlier because Apis was down the tunnel. Apis had been the one that charged into the catacombs. The damn dog knew Cleo would follow him like the lemming she was. The dog probably also knew he was too much of a gentleman to let her go after him by herself. It was all the dogs fault.
The sound rang again through the catacombs once more and lingered, a nearly unintelligible but rhythmic chant.
“Ya tu ay, ya tu ay, ya tu ay…”
It was Cleo’s voice.
Overjoyed, he scrambled to his feet and dragged one hand along the wall, the other out in front if him feeling the air for obstacles. The shuddering ground trembled harder and he struggled to stay upright as he stumbled down the hall. A dim light beckoned him and he picked up the pace.
At the doorway, Apis greeted him. Growling fiercely, the dog lunged at him pushing him into one of the pools. With a huge splash Marcus was enveloped by sticky ooze. Pumping his stubby legs as fast as he could he broke the surface gasping for air. Wiping his eyes with his equally sticky hand he opened them, ignoring the painful sting. His first sight was Apis, the dog’s eyes were inches from his; evil intensity carried the promise of death.
Marcus screamed.
~~~~~
The O’Connell – Carnahan army arrived at the dig site in the midst of anarchy. From their vantage point to the southeast they could easily see a column of vehicles pulling into the dig adding it’s human cargo to the chaos. Dr. Rosemond stepped from the lead truck, the front axle noticeably rising once freed from his weight. He instantly set about trying to take charge of the situation. His efforts were both futile and short lived. From the east a group of black clad warriors were galloping into battle, weapons drawn, battle cries adding to the scream of the gale.
It was at that moment that the Dusenberg’s engine choked, sputtered and died.
“God damn it!” Rick yelled into the wind, mindless of the swirling sand. Without thinking he slammed both fists into the dashboard. The series of expletives that followed were so creative even Jonathan cringed. “Everybody out of the car, now! Grab your gear and get moving!”
“I say O’Connell, that sort of negates the plan doesn’t it? This is not very sneak…” The words were choked off by Rick’s left hand around Jonathan’s thin neck.
“I said grab your gear. You have a book to find and a girl to save.” Rick leaned in close to Jonathan’s face.
Always hyper sensitive to smells, Jonathan tried to turn his head to the side. Three days in the car without the benefit of shower or toothbrush had made his brother-in-law rather pungent. Luckily Rick shoved him back and jumped out of the car dragging his faithful gunnysack behind him.
They were already too late.
~~~~~
“Cleo…pat…tra!”
The ringing sound of her name caused her chant to die on her lips and the euphoric, caressing breeze vanished as she fell before the open volume like the accused pleading for the mercy of the court. Her eyes opened with a snap and she stared, still enchanted, at the dark pages of the Book of the Dead, her delicate fingers tracing the symbols on the cold stone. Oh Gods, no…God, she hadn’t been reading it had she? She couldn’t remember anything but the whisper of his voice and the touch of his hands. Even as she thought of it the haunting words drifted back into her consciousness. Her eyes closed again and her body began to sway once more.
“Cleopatra! Help!”
The sound startled her. Her head swung around, hair flying in an arc, to see a black, shining face bobbing in one of the pools, Apis crouching beside him. Momentarily she panicked, her parent’s stories flashing before her eyes. She thought it was the mummy once again brought back to life. After a small, choked shriek she realized no mummy could possibly be that fat.
It was Marcus!
Slamming the ancient volume closed, she jumped when the clasps leapt into place and the lock turned of its own accord. The magical tide flowing from its pages abruptly broke off.
Scrambling on hands and knees to the side of the pool, pushing Apis aside, she reached for Marcus’ outstretched arm. “By the gods, Marcus. I thought you were dead!”
He grabbed her hand but it slipped through his slick fingers. “Get me out of here or I will be!”
“Marcus, you’ll have to pull yourself up. I’m not strong enough.” She reached out for him again, this time wrapping her hand in her sleeve hoping that the cloth would improve her grip. Their hands locked again and the force of her pull ripped the buttons from her blouse, exposing her white camisole. At the moment she didn’t care, modesty not being high on her list of priorities.
Marcus clawed at the edge and raised a knee out of the pool. With a surge of energy he flopped out on his stomach and lay still like a beached whale. Cleo fell flat on her back, but quickly scrambled to Marcus side, rolling him away from the pool and onto his back.
“What were you reading?” He sputtered as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His voice carried an edge of hysteria and his beady eyes seemed to glow against his black stained skin.
“I wasn’t reading anything,” she denied with apparent calm as she attempted to tie her buttonless blouse closed. She felt very vulnerable all of a sudden. Her face may have been a mask of fierce confidence but inside her heart fluttered at the thought that she had actually done what he was accusing her of. She couldn’t remember but if she did read something, then gods help her. God help all of them.
“No, you were reading. I heard you,” he insisted as he slid his hand over his baldpate, flinging the sticky muck away from him. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”
Climbing painfully to his feet he grabbed her.
“Let go of my arm,” Cleo said, pulling hard against his hold. Nothing happened. Marcus did not relax his grip. Instead he started to pull her to her feet.
Cleo looked around the room utterly amazed that Apis had not jumped to her rescue. He had moved into the shadows again, pacing impatiently beside one of the pools, staring intently into its depths. She called to him. Nothing. No response, just his rapt pacing. He would offer no assistance. She was on her own.
“God damn it, I said let go!” Cleo yelled as she stood to her full height, towering over Marcus. He did not let go. Instead he reached out, his other hand grabbing her arm in his efforts to strengthen his grip and drag her from the amphitheater.
“Get your filthy hands off me, Marcus. I will not ask again.” She should have let him drown, she thought angrily. Searching for leverage, she suddenly remembered the blade in her hand. With a violent cry, she sliced Marcus’ forearm.
He instantly dropped her hand and grabbed his bleeding arm, screaming in pain. “You stupid bitch, what the hell did you do that for?” He cursed as he ripped the hem from his shirt to create a makeshift bandage.
She said nothing, his insult barely registering. The dagger was clenched painfully in her bleeding fist. Relaxing her grip just a little, she watched detached as blood dripped down the gilded edge and soaked into the sand. It was so like the crimson tide that had washed over her feet, flooding the stone floor. All of that blood making the floor slippery, coating the walls red. It had made murderous scenes of murals once tranquil, splattering gore on her black and gold painted legs. In her bloodied hand, trapped in a white knuckle grip hung the same blade, gold flashing through red, oddly seductive, begging entrance into her, farther than her mind, deeper than her heart. All became blackness as her eyes closed.
~~~~~
“You stupid bitch!” Marcus repeated, jumping back as her eyes snapped open, rage sparking green and gold flames. The look on her face made her far more frightening in that moment than she had been when she cut him. Then as suddenly as it bloomed the fire died, her expression fading until she looked like a wilted flower. Her eyes dropped and she stared into the sand, her raven hair cascading over her shoulders, the curtain closing once more.
Marcus grabbed a torch and turned in a wobbly circle looking at each exit, unsure which to take. For a courage deficient want-to-be mercenary it was a terrible conundrum. He was in hell with a crazy person and a killer canine and he had absolutely no idea where he was or how to get out. It came down to choosing the lesser of two evils. He was lost either way, but as long as he stayed with the psychotic girl he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t take being alone again. Getting to the surface with Cleo and Apis was preferable to not getting there at all. Bearing that fact in mind, he attempted to placate her, “I…I’m sorry, Miss O’Connell.”
She remained silent but looked up, casting a cool glance at Marcus as her eyes swung past him to find Apis. He was crouched beside the pool, whining. With a renewed sense of purpose she turned back to Marcus, cocked her head and stared at him, that odd gleam returning.
Her dramatic mood swings reminded him of Charles. It was more than he could bear and his humble apologetic façade crumbled into panic once more. “We’ve got to get out of here, Miss O’Connell! God knows when those bloody scarabs will turn up again. Please!” Her expressionless face was not helping to calm his frazzled nerves.
“No,” she said firmly as she started past him toward her dog.
“What do you mean, no?! Do you have any idea what you just did? Like mother like daughter! Come on!” He reached for her again and then thought better of it. She still had the blade in her hand.
“Like mother like daughter?” She stopped and looked at him, suspicion darkening her countenance.
“You’re mum read from that black book and unleashed the creature, He Who Shall Not Be Named. Didn’t you ever hear about the burning hail, or the mass infestations of locusts and flies? Your mother did that – with that book. So we can’t stay here. We have to go – now! Come on! Right now!” He had finally become hysterical. He reached for her again, ignoring the blade and held fast to her knife-wielding arm.
“What are you talking about?” She didn’t seem to notice, her understanding of the situation several steps behind his. He tried to pull her away but she remained immovable. The dagger fell from her hand as his grip tightened enough for him to feel the bones of her wrist grind. She finally registered pain, and tried to pull away. “Let go Marcus, you’re hurting me.”
Marcus nervously fished in his pockets with his free hand. He dug out a very dirty book and threw it at her. Reflexively she caught it. “You’ll have to read it later because right now we have to go.”
He put his other hand on her, trying with all his might to drag her with him but his hands held mostly fabric and as he pulled her toward the door her blouse began to slip, untying the knot. She dropped the book, dug in her heels and engaging him in a stubborn tug-of-war. “We have to stay and find the gold book, Marcus!”
Both failed to notice as the black pools began to roil.
“No, we have to go! Right now! Cleo! Please!” The tug-of-war ended with a rip as the blouse gave way and Marcus fell over backwards in a heap. At that same moment the pools boiled over sending waves of scarabs past Apis and toward the embattled pair.
~~~~~
Stunned, Cleo watched as Marcus leapt to his feet and ran for the exit on the far side of the chamber. A little late she darted to the wall, where she claimed a torch of her own before running for the closest exit. Just as she got there the pool Apis guarded exploded sending a shower of black muck throughout the amphitheater, drenching her clothes and causing her to slip into the doorframe rather than through it. Her head hit with a dull thud. For a split second she glanced over her shoulder to see what had caused the splash. She instantly wished she hadn’t.
Dripping filth, rags hanging loosely where thick muscle once held them taunt, stood a creature little more than bones. Its sightless eyes surveyed the room and locked on her. It seemed almost as shocked as she. Both stood frozen for a moment, her mouth hanging open in surprise, its jaw unhinged due to lack of connective tissue. It took one step toward her and she bolted screaming as she went.
She did not hear the rasping voice call out behind her, “Ankhsenamen!”
~~~~~
Relative to Hamunaptra’s penchant for oddities of the supernatural variety, it was a bizarre thing to witness.
Suddenly the minor tremble became a violent shudder that threw many to the ground and crumbled several statues. A vicious gale erupted from the slash in the dune and anything still standing fell to the earth as if in supplication. With the wind came a blackness so oppressive it seemed to rob the campfire and torches of their glow. The only light was a serpentine green haze that circled the camp once and disappeared into the dark clouds forming high above. Slowly, the shudders began to subside with the arrhythmic beat of a heart attack.
Halfway down the hill, Evelyn stopped short at the sight. Jonathan slammed into her back and sent her rolling down the dune until she skidded to a stop. Her head instantly shot up again as she watched a short, remarkably arrogant man dressed in rags emerge from the tunnel. Firelight glinted off the gilded lance in his right hand. He looked tremendously angry.
The flames of the burning camp cast shadows across his contorted face making him monstrous as he raised his voice above the din of the carnage. Abruptly the battle concluded. Every last warrior fell to his knees the instant he saw the small man allowing their last few victims to escape into the desert. Ardeth, his gore streaked robes awkwardly clinging to his bent form, bowed his head low as the man strode angrily toward him. The short man circled him with an arrogance that reminded her of the priest. He gestured angrily and Ardeth, who even in the face of the supernatural had remained composed, appeared to be groveling. It was very strange indeed.
Evelyn started to get up when she was roughly shoved back into the sand. Rick was laid flat beside her, with Jonathan also on his stomach not far away. Rick had a gun in his left hand which his held to his lips in a plea for silence.
Jonathan hoisted his flask in response.
But then Rick broke his own rule and whispered, “Who is that guy, Evie?”
She had no answer and ignored the question watching with rapt attention as the man in rags placed his hand on Ardeth’s shoulder and said something very grave judging from the expression on his face. Ardeth rose to his feet, towering above the other man and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword replying with an equally grave expression. The other warriors rose at the command of the little man, each placing a hand on the hilt of his sword and pledging something loudly in a language Evelyn had never heard before.
No part of the scene before them made sense to any of it’s hidden witnesses. There was no logical explanation why the Med Jai would fawn over the Napoleonesque man. Wasn’t a pitch black afternoon and a bolt of green lightening from underground weird enough? Babbling was common for her in times like these, but as he mouth opened to begin, the dusky quiet was shattered by an unearthly and terribly familiar roar. The ground shook again and the winds rose once more.
“Oh bloody hell, someone woke him up again.” Jonathan cried. His voice was a bit squeaky and his position in the sand had become decidedly fetal. He was hugging his flask to his chest as if it were a teddy bear and he a child afraid of the dark.
“Shhh,” Evelyn hissed as she watched with wide eyes and a faint heart. The Med Jai instantly surrounded the little man, guided him to their horses and took off at breakneck speed into the Sahara. A trail of almost imperceptible green followed them.
Ardeth and a pair of warriors ran for the shelter of the temple.
The roar crested and then fell silent but the silence didn’t last. It was soon filled by a high-pitched hum. Rick jumped to his feet, dragging his bag of death with him. Turning to make sure that she was ready he yelled, “Run!” before performing his best imitation of a greyhound heading for the tunnel.
As they ran, billions of gnats enveloped them, flying into their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths.
~~~~~
Marcus ran faster, the sound of the scarabs closing on him.
Being a lifelong subscriber to the ‘run only when chased’ philosophy of physical fitness Marcus was rather amazed with himself. Clearly adrenalin was a fabulous thing. Only due to the excessive quantities pumping through his hardened arteries was his mad flight through the catacombs possible. This tortoise turned hare had run more in the last few hours than he had in all the years that preceded them.
As he rounded yet another corner he ran face first into a solid rock wall and tumbled to the ground. His breath was burning and his heart was pounding an irregular beat. He lay on the ground listening to his pursuers catch up to him and prayed for the first time since childhood. When he opened his eyes he found that the scarabs had formed a half-moon around him. It was a miracle!
But his hopes of divine intervention faded as the ocean of beetles parted like the Red Sea before Moses. The one time atheist would have happy converted to Judaism if it had been the Moses. Unfortunately for him his host, who had actually known Moses and not liked him much, had very little in common with the ancient savior of the Jews. Marcus’ eyes grew wider as he struggled to his feet.
Striding toward him was a walking nightmare. Its decayed flesh hanging in tatters from exposed bone made the regal stride with which it approached completely surreal. Paralyzed, Marcus waited as the creature stopped amidst the flesh-eating horde. Its head tilted to one side, fleshless hand raised to its skull in a thoughtful gesture. It turned sightless sockets on Marcus, sizing him up as if evaluating the fatted calf presented as an offering.
With a shrug, its arm shot forward grasping Marcus by the throat and dragging him forward with unearthly strength.
Screaming, arms flailing against the creature’s skeletal chest, the short but enormous man was lifted off his feet as if he was stuffed with feathers. Face to skull with the creature, he watched in stunned horror as the thing’s jaw opened impossibly wide and an inhaling scream roared. Marcus added his own voice to the deadly duet but it soon returned to a solo performance as his body drained of fluids; skin collapsing as the muscles and organs supporting it retracted. The creature spun around, flinging the still bloated carcass against the wall to fall with a thud.
The creature writhed as emaciated flesh bulged and flexed with new life. Broken bones fused. Muscles and tendons wrapped, thick and strong, around bare bones. Golden skin flowed over the tall figure, covering its new healthy red flesh.
Imhotep stretched, long arms reaching for the ceiling, back arched, the sensation of muscle pulling against bone wonderful. Freedom.
~~~~~
“Where are the books, Miss Carnahan?”
Disoriented and rubbing her painfully wrenched arm, Evelyn searched the blackness first for her family and second for her savior/attacker. Rick was leaning heavily against a wall while Jonathan slumped in the sand mumbling to himself as his shaking hands tried and failed to light a cigarette.
Something crawled through her hair sparking a new round of shrieking until one hand was firmly clamped over her mouth and another roughly tousled her hair sending a cascade of tiny black bugs into the sand. She fought wildly against whomever was holding her until she felt the restraining arm let go and she fell into the sand.
Rick, who had been the hair ruffler, ignored Evie’s angry sputtering, turning his attention her restrainer. With a grim smile he stuck out his left hand to his partner in crime, “We have to stop meeting like this, Ardeth. Under different circumstances it would be great to see you.”
“If trouble did not always follow in your wake, I too would be glad for the reunion. Your museum,” he uttered the word as if it were a curse, “has found the city and some imbecile has released He Who Shall Not Be Named again. Where are the books?”
At that particular moment Evelyn’s primary concern was not the ancient priest but her daughter whom she had not seen at the dig site. “Have you seen a girl,” she held her hand above her head several inches, “about this tall with black hair? Her name is Cleopatra. She’s our daughter.”
Ardeth’s eyes narrowed. “She has a black dog? Yes, I have seen her, but not today. I am told she was translating the inscriptions on the walls here much like you did. Perhaps she takes after her mother in other ways as well. Where are the books?”
Evelyn’s relief was fleeting. Cleo had not been present for the battle. So where was she? The answer was as obvious as it was ominous. Cleo was in the catacombs somewhere. Evelyn’s mind had already drifted toward the point Ardeth raised but that did not keep her from reacting with predictable maternal defense. “How can you say that? She knows the story. She would never do anything so…so foolish as that.”
“For her sake I hope not. Come, we have work to do. Where are the books?” he repeated moving toward her in what could only be described as a menacing manner.
Rick leapt to her rescue, stepping between them. Laying a restraining hand on Ardeth’s chest, he immediately withdrew it, switching to his undamaged hand with a grimace. “Hold on there pal, not until we find our kid. Then we’ll go after Old Baldy but we have to get to her before he does.”
~~~~~
Cleo skidded around another corner almost convinced that her lungs were going to burst and her legs were about to ignite. The arm holding the torch was ready to fall off. She needed a hiding place and she needed it now.
As she turned the corner she was confronted by cavernous blackness, her steps echoing off walls and ceiling so distant the circle of light from her torch could not touch them. The amphitheater. Back here? She scanned the familiar room again as she ran deep into the center of the chamber. Selecting her spot to live or die as the gods saw fit she tossed the torch aside and jumped into the outstretched arms of a goddess. Not much of an athlete, her throw was off and the torch landed in one of the pools.
Thrust into darkness, she clung helplessly to the cold, stone figure of Isis and closed her eyes. The high-pitched sound of the beetles climaxed and then began to subside into a nervous hum as the sea of scarabs surrounded her.
Always the fighter, rage battled terror demanding that she attempt to strategize, to plan, to save herself. The situation was grim. The most immediate threat was, of course, the scarabs. She fancied she could hear their tiny mandibles grind in anticipation as the little devils milled restlessly beneath her perch. Their hesitation was of small consolation. She knew they were merely waiting for orders.
Adding insult to injury, her minds played vivid recordings of the many stories and warnings she’d received over the years. She saw images of her mother, eyes bright, reminding her that words have power. Had she listened? Of course not. Instead, she had personally unleashed Hamunaptra’s demon…and she knew better. Like mother like daughter, she thought.
She had allowed her curiosity to overwhelm her good judgment - again. She recalled her mother jokingly calling her Sekhmet, the lion headed warrior goddess sent to earth by Ra to avenge him. She had been a fighter too. Unfortunately, her mother forgot to remind her that Sekhmet had had lost her marbles. Ra had to intervene before her zealousness destroyed mankind. Where was Ra a minute ago? This was certainly a situation equally dire. Why had no one stopped her? Why hadn’t she stopped herself?
And so it went, her minds stroll down Guilt Street took a detour onto Fear Lane and a final turn onto Angry Blvd. Her anger built as she sat listening to the constant buzz echoing through the chamber. Her posture began to rise with her anger, her back straightening, her chin leveling and her arms loosening their grip on the goddess. She would go down fighting.
But bravery slipped through her fingers as the chittering grew louder, more excited. She could only imagine that meant their master was close at hand. Perhaps the creature was in the room, maybe close to her.
Just before terror sprung anew, the dank, stale air of the ancient chamber began to stir. Her hair was pushed back from her face and the caress of wind glided over her cheek. Her posture slumped again, body supported by the goddess once more while her mind sought refuge in the familiar breeze. The voice from her dreams whispered in her ear, calming, soothing. The wind increased in strength turning her hair into a weapon that stung her cheeks. Then it died with the puff of an extinguished flame.
She sighed as her hair was swept back from her neck, the gentle caress remaining behind as she had always wished it would. It floated down her neck to her shoulders continuing down her arms. The voice from her dreams whispered intimately, gentle lips grazing her ear sending shivers down her spine. Enchanted, she relaxed in the ghostly embrace feeling safe for the first time that day.
Exactly what brought an end to her subtle rapture wasn’t at all clear even in hindsight. Perhaps it was the heat of his touch or the warmth of his breath but Cleo never took the time to notice.
Shocked and terrified she acted without thinking and surged away from her molester, turning and punching out into the air all in one swift move. Her fist hit flesh and bone, eliciting a startled grunt and hasty retreat from her victim.
Silence followed.
~~~~~
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