You could identify everyone here by their wanted posters. In the Wasteland of New England, there were almost no laws, and life was cheap. This meant the people who were considered outlaws were doubly dangerous.
Standing to the left of the table was a Hispanic-looking man with a neat, well-trimmed beard and messy hair. He was dressed in the attire of a rancher but it was of a finer cut than most, showing he’d gone to great lengths to make sure he appeared dashing when most had long since ceased to care about such things.
This was Thom Braddock, the gunslinger. Thom had marauded his way all the way up from the former state of Texas, a feat I could scarcely imagine since I’d been a professional explorer once and only made it as far as the ruins of Ohio. We’d encountered each other once before, and I considered it a testament to my skill that I’d made it out alive.
Sitting at the table was a woman with thick dreadlocks, chocolate-brown skin, larger-than-normal eyes, and a lovely face with full lips. She was wearing the leather vest, white shirt, and brown linen pants of a typical Wasteland scavenger. A pair of goggles rested around her neck, and I saw a breath-mask for Dust Zone exploration as well. It was Bobbie Merriweather, a Deep One Hybrid who was a former member of the Esoteric Order of Dagon. I remembered her because that cult had murdered dozens of travelers seeking to drink at their oasis. Bobbie had ended up slaughtering half of them and betraying the rest to Alpha Team of the R&E Rangers. Apparently, she’d had some sort of religious experience that had turned her against her people and their religion.
I wasn’t intimately familiar with the woman, but I knew her hatred for her race’s religion was almost as deep as mine for whatever I was turning into. The fact Bobbie hadn’t yet progressed into a full Deep One surprised me. Indeed, she looked like she’d only begun the transformation, and we’d first met a decade before. Of this group, Bobbie had the least history of criminal activity, but that still didn’t mean I’d relax around her. She had killed several Cthulhu worshipers who’d been well-respected in their community.
Beside Bobbie, wearing a gray robe like the Yithian cultists but more tattered and careworn, was August Bierce. August was a well-known practitioner of the occult arts and known in some circles as “The Dreadful Summoner.” A story had been circulated that a community had driven him and his husband out for their mystical practices, only for a gigantic claw to rise from the ground and drag an entire town down into the depths of the Earth.
I believed it.
August was a smug-looking chocolate-skinned man in his late thirties. He radiated the kind of attitude I got from Professor Armitage. The gaze August received from the latter told me they were not friends, though. Its intensity and heat told me that Professor Armitage hated him even more than he despised us. If August was a former student of the University, he’d parted with it on poor terms.
The fourth member of the group, sitting beside August, was the one most familiar to me. Once, I’d been willing to call her my best friend, but our parting had not been pleasant. Jessica O’Reilly was a pretty brown-haired woman the same age as me who now possessed a long scar on her right cheek. She was wearing a faded blue unadorned New Arkham military uniform that she’d obviously scavenged.
Jessica and I had grown up together, attended school together, trained together, and been friends since well before we’d been in the same unit. In many ways, her life was far more tragic than mine. She’d been married once with two children but lost all three to the horrors of the Wasteland. A former R&E Ranger, she’d turned on me when I started to turn. I won our duel, but spared her life.
Last I heard, Jessica had been leading a group of bandits preying on travelers out of the Boston Ash Fields. There were rumors she killed anyone with the slightest trace of inhuman blood. I found that difficult to believe. Not for my sake, but the fact that she, too, had been Richard Jameson’s friend. Jessica’s look of surprise at my appearance and my human-seeming arm was covered quickly, and she remained seated.
Finishing the circle was a tall man of Caucasian descent. His head was shaved, but he had a short, well-trimmed black beard. He was wearing an open button-up shirt that had seen better days, a belt covered in pouches, and faded denim pants. Up and down his arms, as well as on his scalp, were tattoos of snakes, monsters, and shadowy creatures that moved around underneath his skin.
Mathew Blake.
A member of the Dunwych tribes, he was something of an amateur archaeologist. Mathew Blake traveled the Wasteland looking for relics useful for restoring the human race, be they magical or of historical significance. Whether the owners of these objects wished to depart with them was not a concern for Mister Blake, and he’d managed to loot the treasures of many powerful individuals. I imagined his mouth was salivating at the awful wonders surrounding us.
“Well, isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do,” Jessica said, speaking in an affected Pre-Rising Southern accent.
“First, we get a Fish-Woman and now we’ve got the Black Soldier and his girl sidekick,” Thom said, picking The Great God Pan from the bookshelf behind him.
The Black Soldier was a nickname given to me after the fall of the Black Cathedral and the death of Alan Ward. It was a reference to a Wasteland scare legend about a Grim Reaper-type figure some associated with the god Nyarlathotep. No one had any clue how right they were.
“Hey, Booth is my sidekick,” Mercury said, eyeing Thom. “Don’t forget it!”
“This Fish-Woman can find this asshole the University is looking for on her own,” Bobbie said, slapping her webbed fingers on the table. “Armitage, I don’t need this group. They’ll just get in my way.”
“I don’t care if I’m given back what is mine,” August replied, his stare containing a hint of something ungodly.
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain Booth, Doctor Halsey,” Mathew said, walking over to extend his hand to us both. “I’ve long been a fan of both your works. Doctor Halsey, your treatise on Tunneler migration patterns was most informative. I read it on my last visit to New Arkham’s library.”
“I wrote that before I realized the magnetic poles were shifting,” Mercury said, smiling. “I could do a much more accurate treatment today.”
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Mathew looked down at my right hand as if feeling something strange, then shook his head. “Our little party has been arguing about who is in charge since we were assembled.”
“That’s because I am,” Thom said, starting to read.
“Over my dead body,” Bobbie said, snarling.
“That can be arranged.” Thom didn’t bother looking up from his book.
I suspected if any of them had weapons, this gathering would have ended in bloodshed before our arrival.
“Captain Booth is in charge,” Professor Armitage said, staring at them.
“Ah, shit,” Jessica said, grimacing.
Mercury’s expression was one of undisguised loathing.
Jessica turned away.
“Like hell,” Thom said, staring over at me. “I’m the best one—”
Professor Armitage lifted his crystal rod in the air and it made an eerie chiming noise. Everyone fell silent.
Professor Armitage’s voice was powerful and commanding. “The Great One picked Captain Booth to head this team and Doctor Halsey to be his second. This is not up for discussion. All of you were made promises for your cooperation. There are things the Yithians can grant you that are unavailable anywhere else in the Wasteland. For example, if you want your dead brother restored, Mister Braddock, I suggest you do not dissent.”
Thom looked down, then back at me. “You’re in charge, Captain.”
Oh yeah, this was going to go well. I’d led a Ranger unit for a decade while still a Remnant citizen. Gamma Squad had been a group of professionals who knew what they were doing. People I could trust. Family. Seeing this collection of misfits, especially with Jessica here, was a bad joke.
“I’m willing to give the Black Soldier a chance. We’ve worked together before.” Bobbie leaned back in her chair. “Of course, I didn’t get a chance to offend him either.”
Bobbie looked over at Jessica.
“What about us, Booth?” Jessica asked.
“Don’t talk to me unless you have something to say about our mission,” I said to her. “That’s where we stand.”
“I see,” Jessica said, sighing. “I’m fine taking orders from him.”
The others acquiesced to my leadership, which changed the situation from a major clusterfuck into just kind of one.
“What do you hope to accomplish with this group, Armitage?” I asked, surveying the collection of murderers and thieves around us.
“The same thing we said earlier—kill Whateley and save the world,” Professor Armitage replied. “Each of these individuals possesses skills you might need. This group consists of a killer, a scholar, a wizard, someone familiar with the eldritch arts, a tracker, a scientist, and yourself. Combined, you might have a chance of stopping him.”
“Might?” Mercury asked.
“Might,” Professor Armitage said. “Professor Whateley knew things about space and time others could only dream about. He bound the spirit of a long-dead relative to himself and gained near deific-power manipulating both. He is still vulnerable to mortal weapons and attacks, but his strength is also well beyond what a normal human can possess.”
“What sort of allies does Whately have?” Thom asked, not bothering to look up from his book. He seemed to be flipping through it, his eyes scanning each page before moving to another.
“Professor Whateley tended to work alone,” Professor Armitage said. “He possesses the skill to summon and control creatures the same way Mister August does, however.”
“No one can do it like me,” August replied, cracking his knuckles.
“And we have no idea where he’s going?” Mercury asked.
Professor Armitage proceeded to conjure a manila folder, as if by magic (or was it “technology of the mind”?). “This is all of our information on Mister Whateley, his research, and what people know of his departure.”
Why did I not believe that? Oh right, I wasn’t a moron. Still, I took the folder and spread its contents out on the table—black-and-white photos, documents, and maps that had large number of black X’s on them. A cursory glance at the documents told me these were the locations that Marcus Whateley had investigated for insights into the Unimaginable Horror. I recognized several of them as places where antediluvian ruins had arisen from strange aeons. Interesting. Also, completely useless.
“We’re not going to have any luck trying to decode what this asshole has been trying to solve for however long he’s wanted to destroy the world from these,” Mercury said, flipping through the file. “We need to find out where he is and where he’s going.”
“Wow, we never would have deduced that on our own, Red,” Thom said, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf. Strangely, he was on the last page of it when he did so. “You’ve given us a real mind here, Professor.”
“Fuck off,” Mercury said.
“Rowr,” Thom said, making a cat claw gesture. It was less effective than it might have once been because cats were considered lucky in the parts of the Wasteland I frequented.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the Yithians might expend their vast time-travel abilities to help us find the Unimaginable Horror’s location?” I asked Armitage, looking through each of the papers.
“None,” Professor Armitage said.
“These are all Elder Thing ruins,” Mathew said, pointing at the locations marked on the map. “Whatever Marcus Whateley was searching for, it was among them.”
My fist clenched at the mention of that hateful race I so loathed. I recognized, on some level, that my hatred was irrational. The death of Richard had been, in a world filled with deliberate murder, an accident brought about by misunderstanding. Yet when was murderous rage not irrational? What did I have left if not my capacity for hatred? I hated the Elder Things because, guilt and anger at my friend’s loss aside, it made me feel human.
“Elder Whatzit ruins?” Thom asked. “I swear to God, why can’t things have normal names anymore?”
“What’s normal?” August muttered, looking at a picture before handing it to me. “I grew up surrounded by demons and creatures with fifteen eyeballs.”
It was a photo of Marcus Whateley standing next to Professor Armitage and August Bierce, all three of them dressed in white lab coats over very human attire. Marcus Whateley’s must have been custom-stitched, because he towered over both men by six feet. His build was not thin, either, with broad shoulders and massive muscles that made him look like some sort of hulking juggernaut. Yet his face was not that of a brute but something much more mischievous. Goatish with thick, bushy eyebrows and a pointed chin covered in a beard, he was like something from Greek mythology. Marcus’s satyr-like face belied eyes which were filled with intelligence and a barely-contained lust for life. While photos, rare as they were, were not windows to the soul, he didn’t look like the sort of man who would want to extinguish all life on Earth. His eyes did not have the crushing depression and mad fury of a true zealot.
“How well did you know Marcus Whateley?” I asked, looking at August.
“Well,” August said, pressing his fingertips together. “There was a time when I would have counted him among my closest friends. That was before our lives took us on different paths.”
“You mean before he started worshiping monsters and trying to end the world?” Bobbie asked.
“An odd comment from a Deep One,” August said. “Your people have spent your entire racial history doing both.”
Bobbie stared at him. “I can’t choose my family. I can choose to live a life free of the Great Old Ones.”
It was a painfully naïve statement. None of us could live free of the Great Old Ones. I wasn’t happy with this motley collection of murderers, thieves, and strangers, but it was a better group than I’d expected to have. If nothing else, all of them knew their way around both a gun and the Wasteland. Jessica’s presence was an unnecessary complication, but she was a professional who knew what she was doing. Once, I’d called her my best friend too. It was why her betrayal cut so keenly. Worse, I understood exactly why she’d done it and hated myself for not being able to forgive her. Fuck me, this was going to be an awkward trip. At least the world was going to end for the second time if we failed.
That took off some of the pressure.
Jessica proved her value seconds later. “I know where we can find an Elder Thing to ask what these ruins have in common.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“In the Ghoul City of Shak’ta’hadron, beneath the Boston Ash Fields, they have an Elder Thing sage called the Keeper. It’s old, even for one of their immortal kind, and the ghouls say it has access to the whole of the Elder Things’ knowledge.”
It was almost too good to be true. “How did you come by this knowledge?”
“Does it matter?” Jessica asked. Her expression surprised me. I was prepared for hatred and betrayal, not sadness mixed with regret.
“It gives us a place to start, at least,” I said, putting the photo down.
“I will prepare your supplies,” Professor Armitage said, nodding. He turned around and proceeded to walk away, disappearing as if he’d never been there.
“Assuming he doesn’t destroy the world while we’re journeying down to speak with the Dog Men,” Thom replied.
“Assuming.” It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the only one we had.
That was when a beast from another dimension attacked and all hell broke loose.