Strange Eons (17 page)

To her relief the door responded easily to a tug at its handle, opening out to reveal another dimly lighted corridor stretching ahead. She paused at the threshold for a moment, welcoming the flow of warmer air against her face.

And the air was indeed flowing. Which meant she was again headed in the right direction. Somewhere beyond the tunnel was the exit she sought.

Kay started along the passageway. Its dimensions were very much like those of the one she had traversed and the lighting was similar. As she hastened forward the humming sound subsided, and there was no repetition of the rustling. Again she found herself passing niches, other doors set in the sidewalls of the corridor. She tried to keep from thinking about what might lurk behind them and did not pause to investigate. Instead Kay centered her concentration on the moist breeze that filtered from somewhere ahead, moving toward it in eager expectation.

Now the corridor slanted off to the right and she followed it, noting that the pitch of the rocky floor was gradually slanting upward. This had to be the way out, the path to final freedom. Kay hurried on, conscious of the sound of her own labored breathing. And then—

The
other
sound.

The muted, clanging echo in the distance. The clanging of doors, metal doors opening on the sides of the corridor behind her.

Kay wheeled, staring back down the length of the corridor, toward the point where it twisted off. The expanse was empty, the distant darkness deserted.

But from somewhere beyond, somewhere past the turning point, the sound swept down upon her, changing even as it continued. The clanging had ceased, but in its place came an unmistakable thud and thump of movement. But unlike footsteps or the padding of animal paws, the pattern of progression was irregular. The thuds and thumps suggested a sort of hopping, accompanied by other noises of dragging and scraping, which held a hideous hint of things that crawled rather than walked.

And now, suddenly, Kay was aware of a rank, fishy odor—a reeking stench sweeping over her from the source of the sound as it grew louder. In a moment her pursuers would emerge into the straight length of the passageway behind, and Kay steeled herself for the sight of them.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness closed around her, and from it came the rising sound—the thumping, plopping, scraping sound of the unseen presences bearing down upon her. But that was not the worst.

The worst was the new element audible from the others, the unmistakable murmur of voices, which bore no semblance of human origin; a bestial babel of baying, barking and deep, guttural croaking.

Kay turned and ran—ran blindly with arms outstretched to shield her from collision with the winding walls, feet pounding along the floor of the tunnel which rose at ever-steeper slant. The stone surface was wet and slippery now, treacherous with trickles of unseen moisture.

And from the darkness behind the sounds pursued; the flopping, the pattering, the thudding, interspersed with hoarse raspings and gaspings that told of increasing effort to overtake her. The din grew louder, the wave of detestable odor even stronger.

But there was light ahead. Dim light, from a circular opening above—the mouth of the tunnel.

Tensing with effort, Kay flung herself forward, racing to reach the exit’s rim. Panting, she clambered up the final sloping stretch. And fell.

For a moment she blacked out at the shock of impact as her body slammed against the slimy stone.

Then consciousness returned as she felt the touch upon her shoulder.

She tried to squirm free, but the touch became a grasp, the grasp tightened to a relentless grip. And over the oncoming babble of wheezing croaks and savage snarls came the sound of the voice.

“Kay—don’t fight me—for God’s sake, hurry!”

She opened her eyes as Mike Miller pulled her upright and yanked her through the opening ahead.

The rest was a series of dazed, momentary impressions; lightning visions interspersed with darkness. A flash of the narrow rock ledge from which the cave mouth yawned down upon the sea below—a glimpse of the motor launch bobbing in the water—Mike’s anxious face peering down at her as he led and lowered her into the boat—the feeling of vibration against her prone body as the engine revved and the launch began to move swiftly out into the sea beyond—a final glimpse of the cavern opening above as the shoreline receded.

Something filled that opening now, looming up from its shadows, flopping, hopping, croaking, bleating, and in a moment it would burst forth. But the moment never came.

Instead there was the roar of the explosion, which rained rock and rubble down upon the cave entry from above as the entire cliffside seemed to shatter in a cosmic convulsion. Deafening sound, blinding light, and wrenching movement combined as Kay felt the boat spin violently in the trough of the swelling waves, felt Mike Miller’s arms receive her as she fell back.

Then there was only darkness.

Twenty-four hours passed before Kay was fully conscious again, but there were fitful moments of awareness punctuating the period preceding. Memories of those moments consisted almost entirely of jolting movement and vaguely identifiable sounds.

The sound of the launch-engine wheezing its way to shore—the feeling of being led, half-stumbling and half-supported, to a waiting vehicle—the reassuring warmth of Mike’s shoulder as she lurched against it in the seat of a speeding car—the sensation of being carried from that car into a place where other engines throbbed—pressure against her eardrums as the throbbing rose, and renewed pressure when it later descended to a drone—once more the feeling of being carried and of another ride in a vehicle with Mike beside her—finally a reeling progress that ended as she sank onto the grateful softness of a bed. And now, inevitably—

“Where am I?”

Opening her eyes, Kay stared up at Mike as he stood beside the bed in a circle of lamplight.

“My place,” he said. “You’re in Washington.”

“But how?”

“We’ll talk later. Right now Dr. Lowenquist wants you to rest.” As he spoke, Mike took a bottle and glass from the end table, pouring the contents of one into the other. “Here, drink this.”

Kay drank and surrendered to slumber. This time there was no consciousness of sensation and, mercifully, no dreams.

When she awoke again Mike was there, and the end table beside the bed held a tray of covered dishes. To her surprise she realized she was quite hungry, and perfectly capable of sitting up and feeding herself.

The meal further revived her strength and helped to clear her head for the conversation that followed. Together they fitted the events of the past two days into place.

Mike’s surveillance team at the museum had indeed been caught by surprise and disposed of, just as Nye had told her. But in spite of his precautions he’d not counted on anyone covering the site from the sea below, and thus Mike was able to locate the cave exit by launch and come to her rescue.

“And the explosion?”

Mike shrugged. “Nye must have arranged to mine that passageway, planted some kind of triggering device to activate it under sufficient pressure. Lucky you avoided stepping on it yourself—when it blew, the whole cliff went up, taking the museum out too. I understand the force broke windows all the way from Santa Monica to Oxnard. There’s a crew working at the site now, but they’ll never dig down far enough under all those tons of rubble to find anything.”

“What happened to Nye?”

“When he left you he must have gone straight to the Starry Wisdom Temple. At least that’s what we figure, because just about the same time the cliff went up, all hell broke loose on South Normandie.”

“Another explosion?”

Mike shook his head. “Fire. But so sudden, and so devastating that there’s no doubt it was prearranged. The entire building was gutted in a matter of minutes. And this time there were casualties—at least a half-dozen bodies have been found, according to last reports.”

“Including Nye’s?”

“We don’t know. The victims were incinerated, burned beyond recognition. Some of his people, no doubt about that, but I don’t think Nye had any intention of suicide. He was just making sure that there’d be no evidence left behind.”

Kay frowned. “Evidence of what?”

“We can use your help in answering that.” Mike seated himself on the bed beside her. “Think you’re up to telling me exactly what happened the other night?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” Mike pressed against the surface of the drawer beneath the surface of the end table. There was a faint clicking sound.

“What’s that?”

“Built-in recorder. We’ve been monitoring you, just in case you happened to talk in your sleep.” He grinned. “Sometimes this cloak-and-dagger stuff can come in handy. Mind if I start with a few questions?”

Kay nodded. “Go ahead. Maybe we can make some sense out of all this.”

But what Mike asked and what she answered seemed to make no sense at all. Not until Kay herself took over the questioning—and then Mike’s replies made the sort of sense she was not prepared to hear, let alone accept.

“You guessed right about
Cool Air,
of course,” he told her. “Whether or not he got the idea from Lovecraft, it looks like the cryonics installation was part of Nye’s grand design. He must have promised some of his wealthier converts the gift of future resurrection and survival when the Great Day came. For example, we already know that Elsie Probilski disappeared shortly after donating the museum and cliff property to the sect. We’ve traced her as far as a private clinic outside Mexico City where she was undergoing some form of unorthodox treatment for terminal cancer. She left there suddenly several months ago and dropped out of sight completely. Chances are it was Nye’s doing; I’d be willing to bet she was one of the cryogenics subjects in the installation you saw.”

“And the rats?”

“I’m willing to blame coincidence for that, rather than Lovecraft. Those tunnels were a natural sanctuary for them. From what you say, the entire cliffside must have been pitted with caves and passageways—Nye’s people merely made use of a few and added the necessary improvements to serve his purposes. And again, according to your experience, it wasn’t only rats that took refuge there. Those others who pursued you—”

“Please.” Kay shook her head quickly. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe I was wrong.”

“How so?”

“I told you how frightened I was. Perhaps it was my imagination, playing tricks. What I heard could have been some of Nye’s people, assassins, as you call them, instead of—”

“Instead of what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then let me.” Mike’s face was grim. “You were thinking about Lovecraft again. About his story,
The Shadow over Innsmouth.
And the things rising from the bottom of the sea to mate with men and spawn half-human hybrids.”

“But that’s just a legend—like mermaids. No one has ever seen any creatures like the ones he described.”

Mike shook his head. “Lovecraft said the offspring look human enough at first. It’s only in maturity that the change begins and they’re forced to go into hiding. Suppose that cave-riddled cliff beside the sea was such a hiding place? A refuge for things that hop and creep and croak. You heard them—”

“I heard noises, yes. But I saw nothing.”

“Be grateful for that.”

Kay stared at him. “Meaning that you have?”

“Perhaps.” Mike nodded slowly. “That explosion didn’t go unnoticed. The whole cliff wall just sheared off and dropped into the sea. So there was nothing police or fire-fighting units could do when they arrived except to cordon off the area. Coast Guard cutters were alerted immediately for offshore patrol and they stood by ready to salvage whatever might float up to the surface. One of them got lucky—or unlucky—and found something.

“But before there was a chance for any flap to develop, our people took over. They confiscated the finding, packed it in dry ice, and flew it to our lab here for examination and testing. I had a look just a few hours ago.”

Kay raised herself on one elbow. “What was it?”

Mike hesitated, then took a deep breath. “A body. Part of a body, to be exact. The head and torso were almost intact, but arms and lower limbs were missing and the facial features had been blown away. What remained seems human, at first glance. It was one of the pathologists who pointed out the significance of the formations on either side of the neck. He identified them as rudimentary gills, then corrected himself.”

“They weren’t gills?”

“They weren’t rudimentary.” Mike nodded. “Tests indicate these organs were in a state of partial development, with evidence of continuing growth. Other tests showed blood characteristics, which don’t correspond to any known classification.

“The subject—that’s the way they referred to it—didn’t drown, but there was water in its lungs. And the lungs themselves don’t conform to normal physiology; it’s as though they were adapting to functional gills. There’s a preliminary orthopedic report too, indicating other changes in bone structure. Anomalies, I think the technical term is, involving the spinal column. And something about atrophy of the rib cage. Naturally there’s hell to pay; right now everyone involved has his own theory. All I can say is thank God the face was destroyed.

“But they’re ready to proceed with a full autopsy and dissection, and once they get a look at the heart and other organs I’m afraid there won’t be any further doubt.”

“What happens then?”

“Nothing, if we can help it. All the lab personnel will be detained under tight security. That may help us stall for time, but we can’t keep the lid on forever.

“The news media carried the explosion story and it’s taken a lot of doing to keep the area off-limits to television camera crews. The Coast Guard search is being conducted under wraps and they’re still patrolling, though so far nothing else has surfaced. The next step will be to send down divers, though I’ve got a hunch they won’t be able to get through the rockslide. At least I hope so.”

Kay nodded. “If you can keep the story from leaking there won’t be any panic. And even if it does get out eventually, at least the danger will be over.”