The Madness of Cthulhu Anthology (Volume One): 1 (30 page)

And still that thought, resonating in the vast chamber, but growing fainter with the ebbing of life in the creature.
You shall not come
.

What should not come? What was the telepathy of this ageless entity holding back?

I could not help but think of the old man’s words:
They
came. Something had come over that second range of mountains, and something else had wormed its way out of the rubble-strewn ground to meet it, and together they had writhed and debauched until the wind and snow had buried all beneath a mantle of innocent white.

The other things the Old Ones had created. Their servants. Their servants who had turned on them and slaughtered them without mercy.

Paul remained with the Old One. I bent to inform him of what I intended, met, for one chilling moment, the gaze of those red-irised eyes, then pulled myself away and continued into the cavern, the ground rising now, turning upward in a slope that would have been daunting were it not for the servo-assisted movement provided by my suit.

I climbed, painfully conscious of the idiocy of my actions at this depth and in these alien waters. But I felt I knew what the Old One’s thoughts meant, and what they were holding back; and when I reached the wall of fallen rock and debris completely sealing the passage ahead and felt the hot wave of stubborn hate that glowed from behind it like the blaze of some huge, half-sentient furnace, my uncertainties fled.

The Old Ones had, as per William Dyer’s manuscript, descended into the earth and possibly kept their civilization alive in the dark warmth to be found there. And as their nemesis had been buried and sealed in from above by Kalpaxia’s arrogance, so the Old Ones themselves had safeguarded their abyssal redoubt by sealing this passage from below, blocking the escape of those terrible things. Perhaps, laved in the warmth of the hydrothermal vent, a city flourished at unimaginable depths in the impenetrable blackness of the sea floor. Perhaps these half dozen or so Old Ones—all dead save one—were guards set upon the one egress from the Antarctic. Or perhaps they were the last of their kind, bravely facing the ravages brought on by pollution, parasites, and fungus even as they continued their task of holding back the terror.

And when the last Old One died? What then?

The hate glowing at my back, I returned to Paul and the Old One and mouthed to my colleague what I had discovered.

He nodded and bent over the Old One, bringing his face into full view of the blearing, unhuman eyes. I do not know if the creature could read his expression, but I remain convinced to this day that it understood his thoughts … and his intent.

I saw the tentacles tighten for a moment on his gauntlets, and then the whole being of the Old One shuddered, the eyes clouding, falling back.

I saw Paul’s lips move in a final parting grace, but the cavern floor was already rumbling, vibrating. Deep within the cave, the blocked passage was now being attacked with sledgehammer blows, and my mind rang with alien screams of vengeance and a thirst for blood.

Paul stood, then, took my hand, and with that terrible heat of uncorked fury rioting behind us, we made our way back toward the entrance, and so great was my relief at seeing our brightly lit submersible that I all but wept. But when we reached the craft, Paul did not embark. Indeed, he instead began releasing the explosive devices from the outer hull.

Faceplate to faceplate, I confronted him, but, “I brought these for the shoggoths,” he silently confessed. “From what you told me, I thought it prudent. The pressure has broken the timers, though. I will set them off manually. You go.”

He must have seen in my eyes my unspoken question, and he patted me on the shoulder, articulated metal tinking on syntactic foam as his lips moved. “I did not do this to prove anything to the world, Alf. I did it to prove it to myself. And so my work is done. Why should I wait for senility and bedpans?”

And then, trailing the tethered explosives, he was propelling himself toward the mouth of the cave.

He would detonate the devices when the shoggoths broke through, and my course of action was therefore so constrained as to be inescapable: I had to put as much distance as possible between the craft and the eventual concussion. After frantically docking with the submersible, then, I set the thrusters for lateral motion away from the cave and dropped all ballast for a speedy ascent. After that, there was nothing to do but wait … and trust in Pabodie’s engineering.

The helicopters eventually found me bobbing some distance from the expected rendezvous point, but that was easily put down to random ocean currents. More difficult to explain was Paul’s absence. Fortunately, deep-sea exploration is a hazardous enough undertaking that my story of a bathysuit excursion and equipment failure—combined with my careful editing of the high-definition videos recorded by the cameras on the submersible and my suit—were taken at face value, all the more so because of the university’s unwillingness to read anything unusual into yet another Antarctic venture … particularly one involving the surname
Dyer
.

In mourning, I returned to Arkham to find that Paul, stripped of family by the passing years, had made me his heir, leaving the entirety of his house and finances, his library, his laboratory and researches, to me. But it seems now that I have once more followed in my mentor’s footsteps, for the house is again empty and still, furniture settled in like brown smoke, curtains drawn, the kitchen, the study, the laboratory, and my bedroom the only areas that see use.

I think often of Paul and of his sacrifice, but my thoughts drift also in a more disturbing direction, toward what now lies caught fast between millions of tons of snow-covered rock and the vast blockage of a collapsed cavern. Are those protoplasmic horrors, free of their telepathic guardians, even now patiently working their way free of their stony prison? And what else might lie entombed under the tons of slate set loose by the greed of Kalpaxia Mining? Sometimes I lie awake at night, considering the unwitting Russian scientists who recently drilled down into the subglacial Lake Vostok—which lies directly between the vanished, once-miles-high ridges—and what might have happened to them during that curious five-day radio blackout that occurred just after their boring reached the strangely unfrozen waters.

But let that be. The Old Ones’ time has passed, and we ourselves have grown up. Rather pathetic successors to their magnificent and long-lived civilization we might be, but monkeys, whether arising from a warm pool of Pre-Cambrian slime or drawn out of some fabulous Archaean test-tube, are clever things, and we will, one way or another, manage to hold on to our comparatively wretched lives.

And that we can succeed in doing so, I have no doubt. For though we wage our useless wars and indulge ourselves in petty hate and bigotry, I remember Paul’s final valediction, uttered over the impossible body of an impossible being in a well-nigh impossible place; uttered for the sake of those upon whose existence, like a ship upon the jagged rocks of a lee shore, his father had driven himself, rending his life, his career, and his reputation; given freely, given in spite of their speaker’s hardships, his search, his imminent death; and spoken as one creature to another, hands clasped with tentacles in what I have no doubt was an effort to bring comfort during those final moments of fading consciousness: three simple words, words whose obdurate impossibility of vocalization did not in the slightest detract from their message of profound peace and reconciliation:

“I forgive you.”

B
IG
W
ILLIE SURVEYED THE DAMAGE
. “N
ICE WORK, BOYS
. A
ND A
big thank you to the little lady, here.”

The girl didn’t say anything. She wasn’t even crying. Jim was somewhat impressed. He’d gotten over being surprised she’d helped them a while ago now.

Big Willie grinned. “C’mon, darlin’. You didn’t love those boys, now, did you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I did.”

Hefé laughed. “You didn’t,
señorita
. Not as much as you love
us
.”

She didn’t answer, just gave Hefé a small, odd smile.

Shooter shook the hair out of his eyes and then pulled his hat back on. “Look, we got the loot that was rightly ours
and
we took all these half-breeds had. It’s been a good haul, better than we expected. Now, let’s get out of here before the law or the cavalry comes.”

“They won’t come,” the girl said with conviction. “They never come here. Not even for our women.”

“Not even for you, huh?” Big Willie shook his head. “We got nothing against half-breeds when they’re as pretty as you. That’s why we’re taking you with us.”

“I feel so lucky,” she said. But she didn’t try to pull away from Jim, and he didn’t mind.

“So what Indian you mixed with?” Big Willie asked her, as he motioned for the others to finish up.

The girl watched the rest of the boys light what was left of her little town on fire. Jim felt kind of bad for her, but not all that bad. She was prettier than most half-breeds he’d seen, her skin was lighter than Hefé’s though it sure wasn’t white, and she had odd green eyes. Her long black hair was curly, not straight. He was glad to be taking her with them. Big Willie usually let him go second, since he was the leader’s favorite.

“Apache,” she said finally. “Chiricahua Apache.”

“And what was your mother?” Big Willie asked, almost politely. Jim figured he must have thought she was pretty, too. Not that he was going to fight Big Willie for her. Not and expect to live.

“Apache.”

“Ah, your father a soldier?”

Jim wasn’t used to Big Willie asking questions almost like a gentleman, and no one else was, either.

“Who the hell cares who her daddy was?” Shooter asked, the exasperation clear. “Let’s just get the rest of the stuff and get the hell out of here.”

Big Willie gave him an evil look. Then he looked back at the girl and put a nicer smile on his face. “Don’t mind Shooter there. He thinks ’cause he had an education it makes him better than other folks.”

“No, I don’t,” Shooter snarled through gritted teeth. “I just want to get out of here before someone we don’t want to run into comes by.”

Big Willie laughed. “Bat Masterson’s got better things to do than track us. He won’t be coming. And neither will any of his friends. Like our little lady said, no law comes here.” He seemed to remember something. “What’s your name?”

She was quiet for a few moments. “Cochalla. But I go by Halla, mostly.”

“That’s very pretty.” Big Willie looked at her intently for a couple of moments. “So, Halla, who was your father?”

“My father is still alive,” Halla replied. “My mother died when I was born. That’s why I was here. This is the village for all our children whose mothers have died.”

“Why aren’t you with your father?” Big Willie pressed.

“He has an important job. I would have been a distraction he couldn’t afford when I was younger. After that, well, I stayed here because of …” Her voice trailed off and it seemed she was listening to something. Halla looked up and pointed to the sky. “Crows. If you mean to leave, you should do it now. Law doesn’t come here, but as you well know, others do.”

“See?” Hefé asked with a wide grin. “She does care about us. You want her to ride alone or with one of us,
patron
?”

Big Willie seemed to consider this, but Jim knew what he’d answer. “Nope.” He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “She can ride with Jimbo. He’ll take care of her, won’t you?” Jim nodded and Big Willie looked back at the girl. “Now, anything of yours you want to grab before we leave?”

She shook her head. “There is nothing left here for me.” She seemed to be struggling with herself. “I need to go to my father now.”

Big Willie chuckled. “Sorry, but I don’t think your father’d be happy to see us.”

“Oh, you’d be wrong. He would like you very much, I think.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” The words came out before Jim could think about it.

Halla looked up at him. “He
can
speak. I was wondering. I saw my father a few months ago. He needed … supplies.”

There was something about the way she looked—so unlike what he expected any woman to look after all they’d just done—the words came out again without Jim meaning to let them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Since when do you give the
patron
orders?” Hefé asked in a low voice.

“He doesn’t. Jimbo’s just thinking,” Big Willie said with a grin. “You know, some of you boys could try that. Once in a while.” He shook his head. “We’ll decide where we’re really headed once we get away from here. What’s the best place to hide that’s nearby?” he asked Halla.

“The mountains,” she said, as if it were obvious.

They were close to them, but none of their gang had been in the Arizona Territory much, so they didn’t know the range well enough not to get lost. Jim looked at the mountains, all brown and somewhat hazy because of the smoke rising up, and felt a chill run up his spine.

“Well, sure,” Big Willie said, and Jim knew he didn’t want any of them letting on to the girl that they weren’t familiar with the lay of the land. “But where in the mountains? It’s a pretty big range.”

“It’s
my
range. I was born inside it. I can lead you, if you want.”

She offered it so casually, it took them all aback. All but Big Willie. He just smiled. “I like you, Halla. I really do.”

“I think I might like you,” Halla said slowly. “But time will tell.”

* * *

Halla watched the men finish looting and destroying. She was already up on a horse, but she wasn’t willing to try for escape. She needed them to get safely to where she had to go.

The leader was as large as his name would indicate. He was broad and muscular, and looked to her to be the oldest of the gang. He wasn’t an ugly man, rather attractive in a rugged way—unless you could see his soul.

The Mexican she gave little attention to—her mother’s people didn’t credit any of his race with much other than being convenient to steal from. He was small and fairly dark-skinned, with hair she knew he slicked down with spit, not pomade. He reminded her of a weasel. She had nothing against weasels; every animal had its place. But he repulsed her anyway.