Clickers III (16 page)

“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?”