Mysterious Cairo (38 page)

Gunner Hayes saw blood pooled about his feet—his blood. The bullet wound and the gash in his leg had kept him from doing little more than hanging on the switches that had released his clone and watching the mad ravings of the doctor buried deep within his cloak of fear. He tried to stand upright, bracing himself for the attack of the mad scientist headed straight for him.

But Mangler wasn't heading for him. He had no idea where he was; he was running blind in a maze of blood and darkness, and there didn't seem to be any cheese at the other end. He struck the control panel with his head, sending the glass of countless dials and gauges cascading to the floor and leaving crimson stains on the remaining shards. His frenzied hands flailed out, striking several buttons, levers and dials. Gunner noticed with horror that one of them read, "SELF-DESTRUCT."

"Everybody out! The lab's gonna.
"

But it was too late. Explosives wired to every corner of the lab sent shards of glass, metal and bone flying in every direction.

Yishara felt the bite of a steel fragment and a fiery blast of heat throw her to the ground, and mercifully fell unconscious.

Gunner was standing nearer to one of the charges, and would have been vaporized had it not been for the cover offered by Doctor Mangler. As it was, steaming splinters of the evil genius' skeleton slammed into Gunner, throwing him to the floor and into an enveloping blackness not unlike that of the death shroud.

Yishara awoke. She wasn't sure how long she had lain unconscious in the rubble of the lab, but no shocktroop-ers had arrived yet, so it must have been less than ten or fifteen minutes. The shard embedded in her leg had been so hot it cauterized the wound. It was painful, but not serious. Her side had finally ripped open again, but the scab tissue kept it from bleeding too badly.

She found the clones of Wu Han and Janya Paterski lying near the door, as if they had been trying to escape. Paterski was plainly dead, her spine severed by flying debris. But Han still breathed. Raven thought for a moment and decided that the fewer Wu Hans in the world, the better. Quickly and painlessly she ended the clone's short life.

Mangler was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the Shroud or his clone. A large section of roof had caved in over the spot and it took her several minutes of digging before she came across a startling sight. Some of Mangler's bloody remains were caught up in a singed, but otherwise undamaged, cloak of shimmering blackness. Fortunately for her, the hungry side was folded up inside itself as if it were nibbling on the pulpy meat it covered. She picked it up with her talons as one would carry a leaking bag of garbage.

Gunner's hand was sticking out from behind a laboratory table. She kicked it over, and saw that he was terribly hurt. She knelt down beside him, the cloak touching his bare face.

This seemed to rouse him from his unconsciousness, and he opened his eyes.

"Mangler?" he moaned.

"Dead." she answered.

"My cloak," he croaked.

Raven shook out the bloody remains and handed the cloak to Gunner. He rapped it around his body and turned away. He looked like he was preparing to die.

"Gunner —?"

Then Gunner rubbed his aching head, strapped on his cloak, and sat up. He looked disheveled, but otherwise unhurt.
The cloak is covering his wounds,
she thought. He looked at the lab with hollow eyes.

Yishara got up and looked around. Underneath a pile of plaster and glass, she found her nearly beheaded clone. Several assassins lie dead beside it.

Without a word, Hayes stood and began to poke around the cluttered floor. Yishara thought privately that he should lie still, but said nothing. Not far from Mangler's steaming corpse was a gnarled hand protruding from a pile of heavy stone rubble. He kicked it away and looked with apathy at his dead clone buried beneath.

"That was convenient," he muttered to Yishara.

"Hmm. Yes. A shame though. We could have used the help." She looked away, at the gaping hole which revealed the dark Cairo night and the drizzling North African rain. "And the company."

Gunner stared at the figure before him, saddened in an inexplicable way. "Let's go," he said to Yishara softly, "the shocktroopers will be here soon."

She nodded her approval, and the two staggered tiredly down the fire escape of the building.

On the way down, Raven noticed with growing horror the wounds in Gunner's shoulder and leg. Her mouth and eyes opened wide and she looked with shock at the man named Gunner Hayes. She wasn't shocked because his wounds were bleeding profusely and coating the cloak with thick slime. And it wasn't that Hayes was slowly dying from the loss of his life fluid.

No, the truly terrifying thing was that the wounds were closing!

Yishara shuddered and looked away from the tortured face of Gunner Hayes, the Shroud.

Bill Smith

Darkness. Dank. Foul smelling.

Sound. Ba-dum! Ba-dum! The beat of a drum, rhythmic and steady; an echo coursing through his mind. Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Overwhelming, yet untraceable.

Where is it coming from? Why won't it stop? Got to move away, put my hands over my ears! Allah, stop it!

Akh-Mal tried to move his hands, but nothing happened. Heavy as rock, no sensation. Numb, restrained.

The darkness. Can't move.

Feeling suffocated. He knew he should be able to move, but somehow his body didn't respond.

The beating, louder! Inside my head! Can't panic — there's got to be something. Help! Help me! I can't even scream! I'm going to die, alone, in the dark.

The darkness was suddenly, blindingly pierced, as pure white light overwhelmed his senses. Hands plying his face, forcing his eyes open. He tried to close his eyes, or twist his head or scream or anything, but to no avail. He seemed dead. His face was clay, to be molded regardless of his will.

Why won't this end?

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw five human figures outlined. The closest one, the one forcing the contortions of his face, was clearly female. The woman had thin and graceful, but very cold, hands. Then, as she neared his form and he felt her breath, the recognition came like a hammer to the head.

Khari! Dear wife, let me go! Why am I here? Have I died?

The woman stopped, her hard and chiseled features softening for a second. She looked like she was going to smile, but the expression quickly became a cruel, hideous laugh. "Yes, my 'dear' Akh-Mal, you are dead. You died long ago, but didn't have the good sense to stop breathing."

More laughter, loud and piercing. Other voices laughing as well — the other figures were visibly shaking with the intensity of their laughter. Slowly, each figure approached the terrified man, and set down a basket of goods before him.

First, his son Assab. Young and full of life, the boy merely sneered at his father.

Next, Mersah, his lover. She was so beautiful, with long dark hair. She had never looked so ravishing—and cruel. The young woman simply nodded to Khari, made a curt bow and placed the basket at his feet.

Next was that swine Nehrav, his incompetent and jealous boss at the university. He didn't even look at Akh-Mal.

The final figure Akh-Mal couldn't identify. A tall man of muscular build. He had no basket with him, and simply strode over the baskets, toward Akh-Mal. The man outstretched a hand toward Akh-Mal, as Khari stepped aside and back toward the row of baskets.

Then, the man finally stepped into the light. It was no man, but Anubis, the jackal-headed god. Akh-Mal knew that he was dead, for Anubis was only present for ceremonies for the dead. He wondered how he would be judged, how Anubis would decree.

Will there be mercy?

Silently Anubis approached Akh-Mal. His outstretched hand reached to Akh-Mal's lowered jaw, firmly grasping his chin. With a simple motion, Anubis closed the mouth. A deep monotone voice simply proclaimed, "You will not be remembered."
NO!!!!!!

Before he even was aware of his actions, Akh-Mal was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the small idol of the Pharaoh Ramses that sat on his dresser. He was sitting straight up in bed, hands outstretched in front of him.

Thank Allah! It was just a dream!

He felt like a child again, and remembered those dreams.

They used to close in on me like demons. Just a feeling, and I'd wake up screaming. Momma always used to say it was just a dream, nothing would hurt me. She was right. But these dreams are so real. A grown man, and I'm afraid of going to sleep at night .

A cool breeze wafted into the room as moonlight struggled to get past the blinds. Night used to be such a time of relaxation and mystery for the beleaguered mathematician, but no more. He looked at the alarm clock on his night stand

Three in the morning! I'll be as if risen from the dead tomorrow!

Drenched in sweat, sheets soaked, he tried to relax. He felt a cool breeze drifting in through the blinds, and could see thin beams of moonlight. The breeze would be soothing to most, but Akh-Mal felt chilled to the bone. His pulse gradually slowed, and he could no longer hear his heart beating. He adjusted his pillow, sat back on the bed and tried to forget the dream. The dream. Just like the night before and the night before that. He needed to forget. He wanted just to be held, to be reassured; he was waiting for something to give him release.

He looked over at the silently sleeping form, his wife Khari. He remembered once, it seemed so long ago, when it was a thrill just to be near her. He lightly traced his fingers over the her hips and along her back, all the while contemplating waking her. It was such a chore to deal with her now, but he still needed some comfort and he didn't dare call on Mersah at this time of night. Several minutes later he relented, and softly touched his wife on the shoulder, hoping for a moment of comfort. The sleeping woman stirred, apathetically trying to bat away his hand.

Sleepily she muttered, "What is it, Akh-Mal? What has happened? I need my sleep ... what time is it?"

"Oh, Khari, it was the dream again. The third night in a row."

"And it passed again. Go back to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning."

And, as if that was all that could, and should, be said, she pulled the cover sheet tighter and tried to forget the panic-stricken man in bed next to her. Things had changed so much over the past few years, and she knew that while she loved him, it was harder and harder to care about his peculiarities. Silently she drifted from consciousness.

That is all I am to her now. 'We can talk about it in the morning.' I should just — I don't know what I should do.

Consumed by his own self-pity and fear, Akh-Mal spent the next half hour trying to return to sleep, but with no luck. Quietly he fumbled his way to his study downstairs. He stumbled to his desk and turned on the reading lamp. Not knowing what he intended to do, his eyes darted from volume to volume.

Work. This is something I can relate to! Magic, history. Mysteries to be solved, equations to be worked out. No deceptions, but only unknowns.

He picked up the necklace. The mystery of the device intrigued Akh-Mal — this was the kind of challenge he enjoyed most. It belonged to a young English girl named Angela. Her family was vacationing in Alexandria, when her parents were killed in a horrible auto accident. Angela was the only survivor. The necklace and a photo of her mother seemed to be the only things the girl cared about. After much coaxing, the girl relinquished the jewelry to Akh-Mal, but she refused to part with the photo.

The mystery came about while the girl was in the hospital. The doctors reported something "odd" about her, and they contacted the University. Angela was brought there for study, and the situation was truly unusual. Akh-Mal quickly learned that the girl radiated a kind of "magical aura," yet exhibited no magical skills and had no magical training that she would speak of. It seemed almost a part of her being rather than a skill. However, even the necklace seemed to be infused with magic.

Despite several days of study, Akh-Mal was still unsure of the girl's nature. At this point, he could only surmise that the trauma of the event triggered some kind of unconscious reaction and seeing her parents die before her was enough to trigger the ability.

It was only a theory, but it was the best anyone seemed to be capable of at this point.

Morning eventually arrived in the Kabeel household. Akh-Mal was slowly sipping tea when his wife first entered the kitchen.

"Your clothes are laid out on the bed. Did you sleep any better on the couch? I noticed you left."

"No, I couldn't sleep. It was all too real. I did some work."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. All you seem to have these days is work. All of those long hours. You never see me or the boy anymore — did you know that he's been offered a scholarship in Luxor? They think he'll make an excellent engineer, and someday he'll build tanks and fighters for the Pharaoh's forces. Someday his designs will help our soldiers turn the desert and jungles red with the blood of those who oppose the Pharaoh's will! He will be a hero, and we will be honored by our neighbors!

"But, no, you wouldn't know about that. All you have now is your work . and those dreams! And now it's driving you crazy, and it's destroying our family! I hope you're proud of yourself."