Ground Zero Part 54
Thompson looked at him. "Do you think ... ?"
"Let's find out, shall we?"
They headed down to the bas.e.m.e.nt where they found a number of Kickers lounging around the coffeepot. It smelled wonderful, and a few moments ago Ernst would have craved a cup. But the thought of what they might find on the level below had energized him to the point where caffeine would be superfluous.
Thompson turned to him and spoke in a low voice. "Want me to kick them upstairs?"
Ernst's first instinct was to have him do just that, but he shook his head instead. No use in piquing the curiosity of the rabble.
"That will only draw attention. Proceed as casually as you can."
"You want to see casual? I'll show you casual."
He filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and then strolled through the bas.e.m.e.nt's main room. Ernst followed, watching him nod to his followers and slap one or two on the back. They looked up to him. He'd shown them the Kicker Man symbol and awakened them to a brotherhood they hadn't known they shared. He was "the boss."
He unlocked the door to the side room. They entered and locked it behind them. Ernst took the lead then, descending to the subcellar. Light from above lit the stairway, but the s.p.a.ce below lay in Stygian darkness. Reaching the floor, Ernst felt along the wall, found the light switch, but hesitated. What would he see when the lights went on?
He flipped the switch and the first thing he saw was the Orsa.
"No! Oh, no!" he said, gasping as he hurried forward. "What has happened?"
"What the f.u.c.k?" said Thompson behind him.
The Orsa had changed. It looked ... deflated. Its sides were sunken, caved in; its ends sagged. Its translucence had faded to a dull gray. When he reached it he touched it, and jerked his hand back.
It felt ... dead. Or if not dead, moribund.
"Hey, where's Darryl?" Thompson was saying. "Where the f.u.c.k is Darryl?"
Panic gripped Ernst. Was Darryl still inside? All was lost if he was. All the years of planning, the expense, the risks ... all for nothing.
"Mother?" said a weak voice from somewhere beyond the far end of the Orsa.
Ernst's heart leaped as he and Thompson hurried around to find Darryl kneeling in a pool of clear fluid.
He looked ... different.
He still looked like Darryl, but a sick Darryl. His face was white, his eyes sunken into dark recesses; his once s.h.a.ggy hair was plastered to his scalp and forehead, and his beard looked more scraggly than ever. His blue work shirt and worn jeans were wet and stained and seemed to have shrunken on his frame.
And then, just for an instant he shimmered-like a heat mirage.
"Darryl, you made it!" Thompson said as he placed his coffee cup on the dying, desiccated Orsa. Apparently he'd missed the shimmer. He stepped in front of Ernst and approached the man.
Ernst grabbed his arm. "Don't get too close."
"Yeah?" Thompson s.n.a.t.c.hed his arm away. "Why the h.e.l.l not?"
"Look at him. Look closely."
"I don't need to look any closer than I'm looking. He looks like a f.u.c.king zombie. What-?"
Darryl shimmered again.
Thompson backed up a quick step. "Oh, s.h.i.t!"
Ernst realized that Darryl himself wasn't shimmering, but rather the air around him. Looking closely, Ernst could make out an inch-thick layer of roiling air, outlining him like an aura. It didn't glow, but seemed rather to writhe as if in agony from contact with him.
"It must be part of the change."
Thompson looked at him. "Change? What change? He was supposed to be healed."
"Well, healing involves change, of course. Changing from a diseased state to a-"
"Mother?" Darryl said, looking up at Hank.
"Hey, Darryl. It's me ... Hank."
Darryl gave him a blank stare. "Want mother. Thirsty."
"Okay." Thompson grabbed his coffee from atop the Orsa. "Try some of this."
Ernst gripped his arm again. "Be careful."
Not that he cared about Thompson per se, but as leader of the Kickers, he was the key to a pool of manpower that might prove useful in the future-perhaps the very near future.
Thompson snarled at him. "Why? What have you done to him? You call this cured cured? Look at him."
"Just ... be careful." He pointed to the floor in front of Darryl. "Why not simply place it there? If he wants it, he can take it."
Thompson hesitated, then bent and placed the cup a foot or so in front of him, just outside the puddle. Darryl's hand trembled violently as he reached for the cup. When his fingers reached it- -the cup exploded, splattering coffee and shards of Styrofoam in every direction.
"s.h.i.t!" Thompson cried, ducking away and almost knocking Ernst over.
Ernst stumbled back, brushing coffee from his white suit. Too late. It was stained. Normally he would be infuriated, but not now. Not at all. This was wonderful.
He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. He'd succeeded. Darryl was now the Fhinntmanchca. Fhinntmanchca.
He glanced at the Orsa. Good thing, too. If it wasn't dead, it was near dead. They would have no second chance.
Looking more confused than ever, Darryl said, "Thirsty."
"Then you must drink," said a fourth voice.
Ernst recognized it immediately. He turned and found himself face-to-face with the One.
5.
The knocking startled Jack. No one was supposed to be knocking on his door.
Weezy raised her head and gave him a questioning look from where she was sipping coffee and studying the Compendium. Compendium. Morning light filled the windows. The air was redolent of microwaving Taylor Ham and cheese. Morning light filled the windows. The air was redolent of microwaving Taylor Ham and cheese.
He stepped to the closet beside the door and pulled the Glock from the top shelf by the katana.
Weezy's voice held a note of exasperation. "Is that necessary every single time you answer the door?"
"Don't know," he told her in his most patient tone. "Can't know till I see who's at the door-then I'll know if it's necessary." I'll know if it's necessary."
Whoever had knocked was either a neighbor or someone who had got past the entrance without buzzing up. He put his eye to the peephole and blinked when he saw a familiar old woman dressed all in black.
"Not necessary," he told Weezy as he opened the door and allowed Mrs. Clevenger to enter. Her three-legged dog followed.
"Knowing you," the Lady said, "I thought you would have fewer questions if I looked this way."
"You thought right," he said as he replaced the Glock on the closet shelf.
"Your ivy is dying of thirst," she said as she pa.s.sed the Shmoo planter.
Jack was sure she hadn't even glanced that way.
"Good morning," Weezy said, rising.
"Not so good." The Lady's expression was grim. "Something is wrong. Something that doesn't belong in this world has entered it."
Jack and Weezy looked at each other and spoke simultaneously.
"The Fhinntmanchca." Fhinntmanchca."
The Lady frowned. "You think so?"
Weezy stared. "You don't know? But you're attuned to-"
"I'm a product of this sphere and, yes, I am attuned to it. But as I told you, certain doings involving the Otherness are hidden from me."
"I had a call from the Oculus. She had another Alarm about it. She says the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca is here, in the city." is here, in the city."
"But for what purpose?"
"No one knows," Weezy said. "I've been hunting through the Compendium Compendium for days now, but-" for days now, but-"
The Lady waved a hand. "Don't expect to see it in black and white. It is something you will have to piece together yourself, for not even Srem knew the purpose of the Fhinntmanchca. Fhinntmanchca. No one but the Seven ever knew." No one but the Seven ever knew."
"The Seven," Weezy said. "The Compendium Compendium mentions them time and again." mentions them time and again."
The Lady nodded as she seated herself in the big wingback chair. The dog settled on the floor next to her. The Shmoo planter sat near her elbow.
"Water this now. It suffers."
Jack raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."
As he headed for the kitchen, she said, "The seven mages who championed the Otherness in the First Age. A huge cult grew up around them. They controlled the q'qr hordes. They almost succeeded in bringing this sphere under the domination of the Otherness. The Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca was part of that plan, but none of it ever came to fruition, and by time the First Age came to an end, only one of the Seven remained alive." was part of that plan, but none of it ever came to fruition, and by time the First Age came to an end, only one of the Seven remained alive."
"Let me guess who survived," Jack called from the kitchen as he filled his coffee cup with water. He fought an urge to imitate the Church Lady. "Could his name begin with R?"
"Yes, the Adversary. Unwilling to share power when the Otherness became ascendant, he killed off his six fellow mages one by one until only he remained."
"And so the Seven became the One," Weezy said.
"Yes. But the Otherness was defeated, and then came the cataclysm and the end of the First Age, and all of his intrigue and murderous plotting proved for naught."
Jack returned to the front room and poured some water into the planter.
"Until now," Weezy said.
"What do you mean?" The Lady caressed the ivy and its leaves immediately plumped up and deepened in color.
"It seems that somehow, some way via Opus Omega, he has succeeded in creating or summoning the Fhinntmanchca." Fhinntmanchca."
The Lady stiffened and stared at her. "Via Opus Omega? What do you mean?"
Weezy explained her theory about using the Orsa to create the Fhinntmanchca. Fhinntmanchca.
The Lady looked concerned. "So if you are right about the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca being a by-product of Opus Omega, that means the being a by-product of Opus Omega, that means the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca will be used against me." will be used against me."
"Why is that?"
"Very simple: The purpose of Opus Omega is to destroy me."
6.
The scary guy ... the guy with the forever eyes ... the guy Drexler called "the One." Physically he wasn't the least bit imposing, even less so than the first time they'd met. Now he seemed almost ... delicate. But he had an air of authority about him, of hidden power that warned away. Hank had hoped never to see him again, but here he was. And where had he come from? Maybe he'd already been here, standing in the shadows. But how had he got in?
Hank wasn't about to ask.
Drexler gave a little bow-Hank half expected him to click his heels-and gestured toward Darryl.
"The Fhinntmanchca."