Authors: George Mann
“Sorry we’re late,” said Donovan, huffing as they came to an abrupt stop in the street. “Took a while to get these guys motivated.”
“Felix… what have you done?” said the Ghost.
“What was
necessary
,” said Donovan. “This way, we stand a chance against that thing. You said we had to bring the tunnels down.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This is the demolition crew.”
There was no point arguing about it now. Donovan was right—with the Enforcers they could strike fast and hard, get in and trash the tunnel system early, minimizing Amaury’s power before they took him on. It was the chance they’d been looking for.
They would have to worry about the Reaper another day. For now, they’d make use of the resources at their disposal.
“All right,” said the Ghost. “Then I suggest you and Mullins lead the Enforcers while the others scatter, taking out as many of the cultists as they can. Bring down some of those tunnels as soon as you get in there, but remember to leave us an escape route.”
“Good,” said Donovan. He looked as if he’d been expecting more resistance from the Ghost. “You have your orders, then,” he said, turning to face the mob behind him. “Remember, the Reaper wants this place cleaned out. Not a single one of them left. When we’re done, get out of there, and head for cover.”
There was a murmur of acknowledgement from the men.
Donovan turned back to the Ghost. “It was the only option,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t let you go in there alone. Not against that.”
“I know.” The Ghost patted his friend on the shoulder. “You watch out for yourself in there, okay?”
“You’re going after Amaury?”
“Me, Ginny, Astrid. Yes.”
“All right. When I’ve finished trashing the place, I’ll come get you.” He looked around, frowning. “Now where do we get in?”
“We figure the basement of that wheelwright’s shop is the best option. There doesn’t seem to be any other route in.”
Donovan slid his gun from its holster. “Come on, then. Let’s do it, before I change my mind.”
* * *
They sent the Enforcers in first, thundering through the outer wall of the wheelwright’s shop like bulldozers, splintering wood and glass to clear passage for the rest of them.
Shots rang out almost immediately, and the Ghost slid in amongst the chaos, strafing his weapon back and forth and picking off two armed guards who’d come running onto the upper gantry above the shop floor.
Automatic fire belched behind him, dropping more of the cultists as they emerged above, and the Ghost beckoned to Astrid and Ginny, leading them deeper into the dusty old workshop, searching for a way down.
They found it moments later when three men came hurtling up a wooden staircase in the far corner of the main workspace. Ginny put two bullets in one of them, while the Ghost’s explosive rounds saw to the others, opening their chests like glistening, blooming flowers.
“Come on!” he bellowed, stepping over the bodies, leading them down into the darkness. Behind him he could hear Donovan, barking orders at the Enforcers, their ponderous footsteps crunching on the mildewed floorboards that were barely managing to support their weight.
The basement was damp and musty, thick with cobwebs and rotting packing crates. A cool breeze was blowing, however, through a gaping portal in the outer wall that had been opened up to create a doorway to the bizarre complex beyond.
The door had been fashioned to resemble the entrance to an Ancient Egyptian tomb, and reminded the Ghost of the one from the museum—a heavy stone lintel, resting on twin pillars on either side of a yawning hole. The walls had been painted with intricate friezes, depicting scenes of Thoth, standing tall amongst the pantheon of his sibling gods, and two braziers stood just inside the mouth of the entrance, hot coals crackling with heat and soot. Beyond the doorway was a narrow tunnel, its walls lined with further facsimiles of ancient art.
“In there,” said the Ghost, “and be on your guard.”
Mobsters were hurtling down the stairs behind them now, and the Enforcers were only moments behind. They ran into the tunnel mouth, hugging the walls, weapons ready.
The cacophony above had stirred the men below, like a stick being poked into a hornet’s nest. He could hear them buzzing around them, a hubbub of raised voices in the passages ahead. The tunnel veered left, then forked, and he took the left, sensing the slight decline in the floor. They hurried along, brushing against walls colored to resemble the ancient murals that Amaury had found beneath the shifting sands.
Two men lurched into the passage up ahead, and fell almost as soon as they hove into view, the explosions in their chests under-lighting their faces in the gloomy tunnel.
He heard the report of a gun from behind, and swiveled to see Astrid taking pot shots at three black-robed cultists coming up behind them. More were pouring into the mouth of the tunnel ahead, too.
“Behind us!” bellowed Astrid, as the Ghost loosed a volley in the other direction, chewing chunks of plaster out of the wall and felling more of the oncoming cultists.
“Ginny, help her out,” called the Ghost over his shoulder. The three of them were standing back to back, weapons raised and blazing.
“What do you think I’m doing?” called Ginny. “Having a picnic?”
He grinned, continuing to spray the tunnel ahead as more and more cultists rose from the depths. He could hear the plodding of the Enforcers in the neighboring tunnels now; the crash of their fists as they set to work, pulling the ceilings down behind them. The walls trembled as, somewhere up above, chunks of masonry slumped across the tunnel ceiling. He looked up to see a crack forming above them.
“Quickly,” he said, “the roof’s coming down on top of us.”
“Oh, perfect,” said Ginny. She pivoted, arms outstretched, one gun pointing in each direction. A few more shots and she’d have fully rotated, standing by his side, still firing into the morass of limbs ahead of them.
The ceiling groaned with the rending of stone.
“All right,” called Astrid. “Move!”
They surged forward, clambering over the still-warm bodies of the fallen cultists as the ceiling finally gave and the tunnel collapsed, hunks of stone hammering down behind them, blocking their retreat.
Astrid coughed, wiping brick dust from her face as she hurriedly reloaded her gun.
He heard the thud of footsteps in the tunnel ahead and thought one of the Enforcers must have strayed into their path, but when the dust finally settled, he saw it was not an Enforcer at all, but four ebon-black statues, each of them armed with staffs, each bearing the aspect of a different animal—a hawk, a lion, a jackal, a baboon. They marched emotionlessly across the corpses of the dead cultists in their path, crushing them underfoot.
There was nowhere to run. They’d have to stand their ground. The Ghost doused them in explosive rounds, shattering the arm of one, chipping lumps out of the others, but still they came on, arms menacingly outstretched, silent and tenacious.
There was another rumble from the tunnel on their left. Donovan and the Enforcers were moving through, collapsing it behind them.
The statues were almost upon them. Ginny loosed a couple of shots, catching two of the statues square between the eyes, but the bullets barely scratched the ancient stone, and the statues, undeterred, lumbered on.
“Get back!”
“There’s nowhere to get back to!” called Astrid.
“Just give me some room!” said the Ghost. He leaned forward, powering his boosters, and shot at the hawk-headed statue, presenting his shoulder as he tried to bowl it into the others. He hit it like a wall, his shoulder rebounding painfully, and the statue, unmoved, swung at him, its staff striking him painfully across the side of the head. He dropped to the floor, his boosters still firing, and slid into the tunnel wall on the opposite side.
A massive
crump
from the other tunnel caused the wall to tremble, and further cracks crept like jagged spider legs across the walls and ceiling. The hawk-headed statue raised its staff again, and brought it down, just as an Enforcer’s gauntleted fist burst through the wall, snapping the thing in half. It crumpled to the floor, sending its baboon-headed kin tumbling over beside it.
The Ghost saw their chance. “Through there!” he bellowed, pointing to the gaping wound in the wall. On the other side he could see the Enforcer stomping away, moving further into the complex.
Ginny lurched for the hole, jumping up and through, Astrid behind her. The Ghost scrambled to his feet, leaping up just as the jackal-headed statue grabbed his ankle, dragging him back.
He twisted in its grip, crying out as its ebon fingers tore his flesh, and fired a volley up at its face, showering its neck and torso.
The arm blew free, fragments of jagged stone showering him, burying themselves in his clothes and flesh. The statue toppled backwards, striking the opposing wall and splintering into fragments.
He shook his ankle free, scrambling up and through the hole as the fourth statue swung its staff, narrowly missing the back of his head.
He landed heavily, crumpling onto his side. Ginny and Astrid helped him to his feet, and he dusted himself down, picking a fragment of stone out of his cheek. Behind him, the lion-headed statue was scrabbling at the hole, its arm grabbing frantically at the air as it tried to reach them. They left it there, hurrying after the Enforcers, anxious not to find themselves trapped in another collapsed tunnel.
Up ahead the passage branched again. The Enforcers had gone left—he could tell from the thundering footsteps and the tide of rubble they’d left in their wake. He pressed on ahead, winding ever deeper into the complex. Here, the tunnel sloped dramatically, and they each had to keep one hand against the wall for balance.
They were deep below the streets of Manhattan now, and the Ghost could sense they were nearing their target. Ginny had sensed it too; he could tell by the sudden hesitation in her step, the way she was cocking her head, listening intently.
Below, the sloping passage terminated in an open doorway, dressed in smooth, dark stone, and engraved with a frieze of Thoth and Sekhmet facing one another across the disc of the sun.
Ginny glanced at Gabriel, and their eyes met.
He was about to say something encouraging when two sword-wielding cultists burst from the doorway, hurtling up the slope toward them. Ginny dropped them both with a single action, both pistols barking in her fists. The men slumped to the ground and slid back toward the doorway, their swords clattering on the stone.
“Ready?” said the Ghost.
“Stop asking that, and just get on with it,” said Astrid.
Laughing, the Ghost ran on down the slope and through the door.
The chamber beyond showed the true scale of the construction work that had been carried out down here, and equally, the scale of the devotion necessary to pull it off.
The space was pyramidal, the walls sloping in as they rose, reaching a pinnacle over sixty feet above them. In the center of the room, a huge set of stone steps led to a distant dais, upon which more flaming braziers stood, casting light that glimmered and reflected off the smooth, polished stone of the walls.
Above and behind them, the Ghost could hear the wanton destruction of the Enforcers as more and more tunnels collapsed. Soon the whole complex would be destroyed, buried once more beneath the detritus of the city.
Something stirred in the shadows to his left, and he spun, expecting to see Amaury. It was too big for Amaury, though—perhaps twice, even three times the height of a man. It crept forward, its feet scuffing against the stone steps, moving with an odd, awkward gait.
Ponderously, it emerged into the light.
It was covered in gray downy fur, with an elongated nose and two beady red eyes that flicked from side to side, taking them in, one at a time. It opened its mouth, flashing sickly yellowed jaws that could take a man’s head off in one terrible bite.
“Oh, great,” said the Ghost. “Another baboon.”
“Not just any baboon,” said Astrid, slowly moving around the other side of him, her gun arm raised. “A bloody massive baboon.”
It moved across the steps on its knuckles, crawling higher, circling as if making ready to pounce. The Ghost could sense the power behind its limbs just by watching it move; its chest was so dense with rippled muscle that it was practically armor-plated.
It pounced, and he raised his flechette gun and fired. Shots exploded against its breast as it flung itself at him, each detonation tearing fist-sized lumps of meat out of the thing, but still it came on, screeching as it hurled itself down the steps toward him. He moved, but too late, and its fist knocked him sideways, lifting him from his feet and sending him careening into the wall. He slid to the ground, spitting blood, as it lurched at Ginny, who dropped to the ground and rolled to avoid it. Far from dissuaded, it twisted, plucking her off the ground and tossing her like a ragdoll. She struck the steps and fell limp and still.
Roaring in frustration, the Ghost fired his boosters, soaring over its head, causing it to swing wildly for him with both fists, as Astrid, below, emptied round after round into its face and throat. The bullets were nothing but irritants to it, like buzzing gnats, and it ignored her, still trying to grab for the Ghost.
He dipped, going low, coming up under its arm and twisting in the air, so that his boosters were pointing directly at its face. He hovered there for a moment, the flames scorching its eyes until they blackened and burst, and the creature screeched, thrashing out and catching him on the hip. He spun, his boosters guttering, and collided with the doorway, dropping to the floor.
Astrid had reloaded her gun, and she emptied another round, trying to catch it in the throat.
The baboon, infuriated and blinded, punched out, bowling her over. She screamed, and its head twitched, its nostrils flaring. It had her scent. It padded down the remaining steps, scratching around for her on the ground. She shuffled backwards, trying to get away, but it was on her now, and it crept forward, looming over her, its yellow jaws dripping.