Clickers III Read online

  “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—”