Driving under the blazing sun across the Great Barrier Desert in a 1964 Blue Chevrolet convertible with trunk full of automatic weapons and three passengers was probably the most normal thing I’d done in the past month.
I’d changed from my earlier attire into the cowboy clothing Jessica had provided me after showering. Now I was wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt like Jessica, a vest tight around my shoulders. I felt a little silly, even putting aside the hat. Still, wearing clothing other than the prison fatigues left me feeling a bit better about myself.
Jackie was sitting across from me as Katryn and Jessica shared the back seat. It was amusing to watch the two of them struggle not to look at one another. In a way, the two warrior women were a great deal alike, but I doubted either would ever feel that way.
The Blue Meanie was an excellent vehicle, even if it was important to keep it on the half-broken and shattered highways of Old Earth. I would have preferred the jeep belonging to the Remnant, but the Earthmover had taken care of that. The convertible, in a way, would also be lower profile because there were still many people who came to Kingsport for recreation as well as trade.
We were currently passing through the shadow of the Great Idols, a region which was even more telling of humanity’s fall from power than the ruins of its former cities. Massive alien pyramids, their black surfaces smoother than anything that human hands could construct, stretched out amongst gigantic statues of the Great Old Ones which dwarfed the size of the Sphinx. Whoever had erected these chthonic monuments was obviously a worshiper of not only Dread Cthulhu but the entire twisted pantheon of the Great Old Ones.
Describing the various creatures I saw depicted in the enormous statues would have taken hours, and human language would fail to convey their innately disgusting nature. The greatest of the Old Ones’ statues was, in many respects, the easiest to talk about. I, of course, referred to the statues of Great Cthulhu. The most powerful of the Great Old Ones was, in many ways, the most human-seeming. It possessed such recognizable traits as two arms, two legs, and a head with eyes. Its leathery bat-like wings and squid-like tentacles hanging from its face gave it a demonic appearance to be sure, but even that was not so far removed from human mythology as to shake one’s sanity. Truly, he looked like nothing so much as an aquatic-themed representation of Satan.
I had to wonder if the Great Old One was truly so similar to us in appearance or if the designers of those massive statues had merely designed their depiction of him to be similar to them in form. I suspected the true face of Cthulhu was nothing so easy to look upon as the squid-faced dragon his idols routinely depicted him as. Another possibility was all of human’s myths regarding gods and devils derived from dreams of the Great Old Ones. Given I doubted the builders of the Great Idols were human, especially given their gigantic size, the latter theory was likely. A disturbing thought, really. Just how much of humanity’s mythology was nothing more than half-remembered glimpses of the alien beings living underneath us? I kept to my faith but it was like a leaking boat in the middle of Deep One-infested waters.
Regardless of my musings, the statues jutted out of the desert haphazardly. They extended from the ground as if a tremendous earthquake had forced them up from miles-high caverns deep beneath the Earth. Lightning storms and weird, strangely colored lights crackled between the titanic monstrosities, doing so whether there were clouds to produce them or not.
It was whispered amongst Wastelanders that hordes of Cthulhu cultists routinely made pilgrimages to the region in order to pay homage to their dark gods. There were even rumors of unnatural cities built in the region and directly underneath the monstrous idols. I couldn’t help but grit my teeth at the knowledge that one of the buildings near these idols was the Black Cathedral. We were less than forty miles away from it. My restored memories gave me its precise location here in the desert.
It was all I could do to keep myself from turning the car on a course to it in order to kill Alan Ward, forgoing the whole trip to rescue Mercury. I only stopped myself because Jackie was in the vehicle and I wouldn’t risk her life for my vengeance. I hated myself for that because I’d grown fond of Mercury in our short time together.
Finally, hours into our drive, Jessica spoke up and ended the oppressive silence our group had been laboring under since leaving Scrapyard. “So … Katryn is it? How exactly did you and the Captain meet?”
“I took him as a slave,” Katryn said. “I decided he would make a good sire for my child. Dunwych women are expected to birth strong warriors in addition to being them. So it reads in the writings of Whateley.”
“Huh. Well, that explains a few things,” Jessica said, looking to me. I could tell she wanted to slit Katryn’s throat then and there.
I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. I’d lied through my teeth about my time among the Dunwych and did my best to make it sound like a grand adventure. The only person I hadn’t kept it from had been my wife, who considered me weak for allowing myself to be captured.
“So you’re friends now?” Jessica asked, more to me than Katryn.
“Our current relationship is limited to shared cooperation in casting down the Necromancer.” Katryn shrugged. “Then time will tell if I kill him or he kills me.”
“Ah,” Jessica said, looking embarrassed. “You, Captain?”
“Oh, we’re friends,” I said. “Best buddies.”
“Please don’t kill anyone while I’m here,” Jackie said, staring out into the valley. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”
“Right,” I said, deciding that this was as good a time as any to move on with the conversation.
“So, Mister Booth, why exactly did you wait so long to go after Ms. Mercury?”
“Pardon?” I didn’t look at her, trying to keep my eyes away from the idols. I didn’t want any further temptations to go after Alan directly. During my shower, the Hand of Nyarlathotep had begun to start itching, little black lines appearing around the edge as if they were creeping into my skin. I had no intention of dying before I sent Alan to an early grave.
“You waited until you buried Mister Jameson’s body and also did some other stuff before going after her. She’s my friend, so I was wondering … why?” Jackie, in that moment, proved herself to be a very sharp young woman.
I said automatically, “He had too much of a lead on us. It was better to just wait and pursue him after we’d better prepared ourselves.”
It was true, mostly.
“Yeah, but it just didn’t feel right.” Jackie leaned on her palm, resting her elbow on the car door. “There’s more to it … isn’t there?”
Damn, that girl could sniff out any evasion, couldn’t she? Unfortunately, the truth was a bit more complicated than I wanted to get into right now. I’d needed a few hours to get ahold of myself after the events in the Dreamlands. Actually, I probably needed a few years to get ahold of myself. Hours were all I could spare though. I’d lost my squadron, my family, my vocation, my closest friend, and my longevity in rapid order. The fact I could remember it all in perfect clarity just by thinking about it didn’t help the matter one bit.
I wasn’t sure if my ability to keep going in the face of such things was a sign of strength or incipient madness. I’d suffered a psychotic break fighting the shoggoth. It, combined with Richard’s crude attempts to patch my mind together thereafter, was possibly responsible for my hallucination of Azathoth’s court fighting Peter Goodhill. The other option was the Hand of Nyarlathotep was somehow linking me to that foul deity and his father. I was either going mad or being corrupted into something inhuman. Explaining that to a little girl was more than I was capable of pulling off.
Thankfully, Jessica spared me the trouble. “The Captain has a lot on his mind now.”
The Great Old Ones waking up temperamental indeed.
“I guess. I was just wondering how he was going to bring her back.”
“He’s probably—” Jessica started to say.
“I’ll think of something,” I interrupted. “I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Jackie said, falling silent.
“Oooo, look at that!” Jessica said, pointing. “That’s one cuss-ugly mother.”
I glanced to where she was pointing and saw a particularly blasphemous statue dedicated to the Unspeakable One. That particular member of the Great Old Ones was literally too bizarre and disturbing to describe.
Katryn clung to the spear she’d given me, holding the sacred weapon like a totem, thankfully ignoring the blasphemy to her god. “When we reach Kingsport, John, we should make an effort to link up with the army the Dunwych have assembled.”
“I agree,” I said. Though it was not for the reasons she thought. I intended to warn away the army.
I didn’t think any number of soldiers would be useful against Alan Ward. If the least of his disciples could summon a monster like the Earthmover I fought earlier then human soldiers would be useless. I didn’t even want to think about what sort of entities Ward himself could bring to bear. A small force to locate and terminate the Necromancer was infinitely preferable—as long as I was part of it.
“Mister Death would be interested in hearing what you have to say.” Katryn’s voice had a trace of wistfulness, almost mischief.
“Mister Death?” Jessica said.
“Her father,” I said, not looking back. “He’s the High Priest of Hastur.”
“Who?” Jackie asked.
“The Lord of Disease and Despair,” I said.
“Even the Dunwych’s names are amazing.” Jackie’s eyes widened.
“That they are, Jackie-girl.”
“Eh, fuck Hastur,” Jessica said.
“You should not blaspheme,” Katryn said.
“Or what?” Jessica said.
Katryn said, “They may hear you.”
“I doubt they care,” Jessica said. “It’s the humans in the world who give a shit about pride, not the giant aliens who destroyed our world.”
Katryn looked ready to argue, stopped, then looked away.
“Can you tell me anything about Kingsport?” I asked her, wishing this car ride would end. Richard had surprisingly detailed plans for the city, including a map of the sewer system. However, I knew very little about how the community was run. Knowing things like who was in charge could mean the difference between life and death.
Katryn didn’t disappoint. “Yes, I can. The Dunwych have many dealings with Kingsport’s traders.”
“How’s that?” Jessica asked, leaning back into her seat.
Katryn smirked. “They allow us to use it for trade and entertainment. In return we do not burn it to the ground.”
“A bit of a running theme with you guys.” Jessica closed one eye and stared at her with the other.
Katryn smiled at Jessica, a rare sight. “We try.”
“We’re almost to the city,” I said, glad we were finally passing the shadow of the Great Idols. Many of Cthulhu’s mile-tall statues would be visible for some time in the distance, though. I wouldn’t feel entirely safe until they had completely passed out of sight. I couldn’t escape the feeling, despite the size and age of the statues, they’d been constructed specifically to watch for me.
“Good,” Jessica said, giving a furtive glance over her shoulder at the eldritch statues behind us. “I’ve got an itch to play some poker.”
“We’re not going gambling,” I said. “This is a mission of mercy, nothing more.”
“I can gamble and be merciful,” Jessica said, huffing.
“Katryn, go on with your description, please.”
Katryn gave me a brief overview of Kingsport’s power structure, “Like the Elder Sign, the city has four points. Specifically, four ruling families: The Marshes, the Kings, the Cashes, and the Wyatts. They’re all descendants of the warlords who rose in the aftermath of the Rising. Only the Kings and the Marshes should concern you, though. They are the strongest of the families, using the occult to guarantee their supremacy.”
“The city runs on a feudal structure?” I asked, wondering how such an arrangement worked.
Shaking her head, Katryn said, “More like a kleptocracy. They intimidate all businesses for a cut of the profits but offer no real structure to the city. Everything is for sale in Kingsport and the only law is ‘Don’t offend the Four Families.’ They keep a peace built around whatever is good for the flow of trade that lines their coffers. The populace just attempts to make do.”
I couldn’t say I was surprised. It wasn’t so different from many other self-styled nations spread across the land. Civility was impossible without civilization.
“Do you think Peter is going to seek refuge with one of them?” I didn’t think Peter Goodhill was the type to face me without a stacked deck. Then again, I would have thought him smart enough not to try and piss off an R&E Ranger who wasn’t a coward.
“Peter has helped sell many slaves to the Marsh family. He also trained many of their soldiers,” Katryn said, shaking her head. “It is a family strongly allied with the Deep Ones. Some say its patriarch is a member of that race, born human in a small village on the East Coast before the Rising. This will make any conflict with them difficult; they have the loyalty of the city’s entire inhuman populace.”
“God, I hate Deep Ones. They’re stinking fish-men out to enslave the world, eat children, and horde all women into rape camps.” Jessica’s tone was positively venomous, expressing her loathing of the largest inhuman species on Earth after ghouls. I couldn’t entirely blame her; we’d had several unfortunate encounters with the aquatic race.
I, myself, had met more than a few Deep Ones in my time. I could even understand their strange speech, even if I couldn’t speak it. The desert wasn’t a particularly good environment for them, so they mostly stuck to the lakes and marshes along the East Coast, but the ones I’d met ranged from psychotically insane to fundamentally decent. In other words, they were much like humans once you got past the scales.
“I’m fairly sure Deep Ones don’t do any of that,” I pointed out.
“What?” Jessica said, surprised.
“Well they are fish-men and I’ll be honest, they don’t smell very good to human nostrils. However, I’m fairly sure the whole eating people and rape camps thing is Remnant propaganda.”
“Oh.” Jessica paused, apparently surprised by my reaction. “They do breed evil human–fish-men hybrids, though. Right?”
“Hey! That could be consensual!” Jackie said, defensively.
I wondered where a girl like Jackie had learned a word like consensual, then I realized it had probably come up whenever her parentage was discussed. “Yes, it could be. Probably is, in fact. Sex and breeding has always been a commodity humans have been willing to trade for protection or wealth. How far are the Marshes likely to go in order to protect him?”
“Far enough,” Katryn said. “The Marshes hate humans but if Peter’s ties to the Necromancer are known they will not betray him. It is well known the sorcerer possesses power to rival the Great Old Ones.”
“He doesn’t. The Great Old Ones can rearrange the stars in the sky. Ward can only do parlor tricks by comparison,” I said, remembering how his hand had exploded when struck by my knife. It gave me the confidence to believe I could kill him.
“Perception is what matters, John. You will have to learn that if you are to survive. Humanity has illusions of importance to the universe; the Deep Ones are not so different from us in that regard,” Katryn said, surprisingly eloquently. “In truth, they are no more relevant than mankind but believe themselves chosen of Cthulhu. They believe Ward is blessed by the First of the Great Old Ones, and that attitude must be attacked if you are to escape Kingsport unharmed with your prize.”
Mercury was more than a prize. “I’m not a very good speaker. So I suppose I’ll just have to kill them all then.”
“Good.” Jackie balled her fists.
Katryn frowned.
“Not to shoot down all of the fun vigilante plans you’ve got, Captain, but why don’t you ask your best buddies assembling an army to help?” Jessica asked, sounding like I was overlooking something obvious.
I had been and it was a good question. After all, we were going to a city where a whole army of technologically-adept and supernaturally-blessed warriors were gathering. As a priestess, Katryn could easily order any number of them to assist in Mercury’s rescue if she were so inclined. Given Mercury had assisted in saving her life, even if it was only in distracting the Earthmover, I had no doubt she’d do it, too. I didn’t want to owe the Dunwych anything, though. So, I made up a story that sounded plausible. “Brute force has its place. Quantity, after all, has a quality all its own. However, I’m a fan of small-unit tactics. If we were to show up at Peter’s door with an army, he’d slit Mercury’s throat, either that or attempt to escape. I intend to retrieve Doctor Takahashi alive and Peter Goodhill decidedly less so.”
“What if she’s not, though?” Jackie said, “What if he’s killed her?”
The chances of that were higher than I really wanted to admit. As much as I wanted to believe that Mercury was not going to be harmed, I couldn’t really gauge how much my brutal beating of Peter Goodhill had offended the former R&E Ranger. Some men gained sexual gratification and self-confidence from the abuse of women; I didn’t want to think that was the sort of thing she was currently undergoing.
My answer was the same for dealing with Ward. “Then we have to kill him.”
“Aren’t we going to do that anyway?” Jackie pointed out the obvious flaw in my plan.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Not much of a plan then.” Jackie sighed, not at all comforted.
“No, not really.”
That was when we came into view of our destination. It was daytime, so Kingsport was not at its most visually distinctive, but clouds of smoke came up from its factory district as a great wall of welded-together scrap surrounded the vast community of two hundred thousand. A few damaged skyscrapers still stood amidst novelty-themed buildings which had been constructed during the city’s glory years.
Kingsport resembled old, crumbling photos I’d seen of Las Vegas and Reno. However, it was obvious no matter how much construction had been done to make it reminiscent of those two, it was still a pale imitation. Indeed, it looked like a smaller version of a modern city combined with a Bronze Age city-state. I could see large numbers of caravans built around the edge and miles of mud farms stretching behind them.
“And lo I beheld Babylon,” I said under my breath, appreciating both the good and the evil of the city that had risen from the desert.
“Babylon grew.” Katryn shook her head. “This is a city which festers.”
I disagreed. “It lives. That, by itself, is an accomplishment.”
Even if I had to make a deal with the Old Ones’ worshipers to do so.