only barely, he reached for his radio.
“This is unit 523, found another casualty in the dorms…” The young woman let out a horrible hacking cough and convulsed, revealing an inhaler grasped in one hand. “…looks like a reaction to the smoke, any ambulances available? Over.” Hillier already suspected what the answer would be, but he had to try. He pulled a spare filter mask from a bag hanging from webbing and drew the elastic over the girl’s head, before grabbing her by the waist and hoisted her up into a fireman’s carry.
That was enough to revive her a little. “Who are… where are we going…”
“Constable Hillier. Stay calm lass, we’ll get you out of here.” He was listening to the chatter on the radio; every channel seemed to be crammed. Finally there was something relevant.
“Unit 523, no ambulances free for non-critical patients at this time. Is she conscious?”
“Barely, control.” Matthew had nearly reached the main entrance. The conversation was interrupted by a report of looters in Walkley. The sound of shots fired came over the channel as the transmission cut off.
“All units be advised a dedicated field hospital for air poisoning casualties just went operational at evac camp beta. 523, take your casualty there.”
Hillier emerged into the car park, a surreal scene of dirty snow and drifting fireflies – or rather ash and embers. The rear doors of the white police Transit van were open and another three late evacuees were huddled inside, all wearing the same cheap filter masks. One was rocking back and forth and crying; he’d been hysterical and Matthew had had to call his partner to help drag him out of the building. Another girl had broken arm an arm and several ribs and moaned constantly with the pain. He set the new arrival down on the sill and spoke to the single uninjured passenger. This man had merely been trapped in a kitchen by the partial collapse of a section of the building. “She’s having trouble breathing, I think she’s asthmatic. Try and keep her conscious.”
He nodded. “I recognize her, nursing student I think, Anna was it?” The girl smiled weakly. 'I'll do what I can Constable.'
Matthew returned to the building, his thoughts returning to his wife. He still hadn’t heard anything; even away from the city centre, his mobile wouldn’t connect, and everyone at control was far too busy to handle personal requests. He tried to push the worry out of his mind. At least the kids were safe, staying in Northumberland this month… That was funny. Special Constable Amstead had been making plenty of noise earlier, but now the only sounds were coming from outside. Matthew reached for his radio again.
“Unit 523 to 3861, where are you Johnny?”
Fifteen seconds passed, with another report on the looters (one shot dead, two surrendered), but nothing from his partner. “Unit 3861, say location please.”
Constable Hillier unslung his MP5 and chambered a round, clicking the selector from ‘safe’ to ‘auto’. No one on the force ignored the possibility of a surprise Baldrick attack after the events in Belfast. It was probably nothing, but… He made his way up to the second floor of the south wing, the last place he’d sent John to sweep.
“Control this is unit 523, lost contact with my partner, moving to investigate.” He waited for the response before proceeding.
“Confirmed 523.” Now should anything happen to him, a response team would be dispatched immediately. He made his way forward down the corridor, gun at the ready, checking the rooms on each side. He made it half way down before glimpsing the prone form of a police officer in the room to the left. There was no obvious blood and the man’s pistol was still in its holster. A quick glance showed the room to the right to be empty, so he stepped into the doorway and dropped into a crouch. “John?!” Too late, he noticed the four thin bony spines sticking out of the special constable’s back.
Constable Hillier almost anticipated the sharp pain that hit him in the spine, though not the strange sputtering crack. He whirled around, bringing the sub machine gun up. His gaze was met by a nightmarish face surrounded by snaky tentacles, the humanoid demon crouching low in the doorway opposite. The gun spat but the burst went high, and before he could correct his aim the gun slipped from his numbing fingers and clattered to the floor. Matthew collapsed, paralyzed and helpless before the demon.
Lakheenahuknaasi pulled herself upright and stared at the men for a few moments. When she spoke it was a smooth and slightly sibilant voice.
“Two little humanss, all for me. Now, what shall I do with you?”
Hunger gnawed at the gorgon, her body desperate for materials to begin rebuilding her smashed leg, but giving in to her instincts now would be suicide. She’d tried to contact Euryale, but every time she began to summon psychic force she nearly fainted again with the pain. No, emulating the tactics of her queen was the only hope for escape. Lakheenahuknaasi brought up her tentacles and prepared to loose her enthrallment darts.
Hellmouth, Field of Dysprosium, South of the River Phlegethon
As his car rolled out of the black oval, Dr Surlethe looked out the window in awe. The long columns of tanks and other armored vehicles, which had stretched out toward the horizon under the blue Iraqi sky, continued here as though there were no break between dimensions. As the highway to hell continued, suddenly the rows of tanks were flanked by buildings, and he was aware of the car slowing down. Ahead was a squat, nondescript building with a thicket of antennas sticking out the top. On the other side was a veritable forest of flagpoles; each had a different flag flying in what looked to be a stiff breeze. The colors looked positively gaudy against the dull, orange sky.
The driver noticed what he was staring at, and commented, “That's the headquarters building, and them's the flags of all the nations that've signed on in the war against Hell and Heaven.”
“That's a lot of them,” he said, half to himself. “Where's the science building?”
“Over this way,” said the driver, and he turned the car to the right as the road they were on fed into another maze of streets in front of the headquarters building. Barracks and other buildings slid by them as they drove, weaving through heavy traffic. People were everywhere – surveyors, construction crews, military types – and the place was buzzing with activity.
They passed an airstrip after a few minutes, the car shaking as some sort of jet climbed over them and thundered off into the sky. As the driver edged over into the left lane, he remarked, “F-111, Aussie bird. Must be off on another reconnaissance mission. The diggers have been working right hard.”
Dr Surlethe nodded, preoccupied. They had not veered to the left or right as far as he could tell, which meant that they'd traveled through a right angle. That meant the hellmouth – still close enough to be visible – should be behind and to the right. Yet it was directly behind them; he could just see it if he craned his head around the passenger seat. This was interesting. The surface geometry here was very clearly non-Euclidean, but light still traveled in straight lines. Very interesting.
The drive pulled off the road into a parking lot and stopped in front of another squat building. It looked exactly the same as the headquarters, except without the flags in front of it. “Thanks,” said Dr Surlethe. He hopped out of the car, grabbed his briefcase, and quickly strode into the building, noting the double airlock doors that excluded the polluted atmosphere of Hell..
In the building, before the receptionist could say anything, he removed his breathing filter and asked, “Where's the meeting?”
“Your name Sir?” she asked.
“Dr Surlethe,” he said.
“Ah, welcome to Hell!” She smiled. “The department head meeting is down the hall on the left, third door. Room 108.”
“Thanks,” he said over his shoulder, already moving down the hallway. A clock over the receptionist's desk read 1:02. Inwardly he cursed; damn, two minutes late. As usual.
He took a second outside the door of the conference room to catch his breath, and then opened it as quietly as he could. Every eye was on him; most of the scientists, with mild respect, but there was an air of disapproval about three men in uniform. Dr Surlethe smiled. “Hello, gentlemen, ladies; sorry I'm running a little late.”
“That's perfectly fine,” said Dr Griswold. He was the head of the geology department, his size and beard making him one of the few people who actually looked the part. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the head of the table.
Dr Surlethe nodded, pulled back the chair, sat, and opened his briefcase, pulling out a tablet of paper and a pen. “Okay, let's see who's here,” he said. “Dr Griswold, geology?”
“Here.” Dr Surlethe nodded and made a note on the paper.
“Dr Jamison, physics and astronomy?”
“Aye.”
