The Father released what had been Tania, and said words to her that were in a language Drummond had no hope of understanding or ever being able to form with his own primitive tongue. Tania stood next to the Father, naked, and glistening as if coated in oil.

Drummond felt his mouth go dry. Years ago, he had been asked to serve the Father, and in return for saying yes he had been rewarded with immense wealth and power. Further, he had been promised he would be a king among the remaining peoples of Earth, after the Great Old One arose. Now he wondered whether his final reward might in fact be something far different.

“Charles.” The voice bubbled up again. “The great Old One will soon breach the weak skin of this world. But first a human must say the words to break the final seal.” The Father lifted his boneless hands once more, palms up; his head tilted back as he seemed to look up through the ceiling above them. “I can feel it now, the pull of all the planets; the gates will open.”

The hands dropped, and the Father glided backward toward the rear of the room. “Stay with us Charles. We need you, and need to protect you…our future king.”

Charles could have sworn he heard a sound like a wet laugh, but was more concerned about not being able to leave. Tania remained where she, it, was, and two of the priests appeared and murmured something to her; she nodded and then looked at him.

Charles knew now what the priests were, what everyone in this place was: vile Shoggoths, the mindless protoplasmic beings that lived to feed the Great One, and themselves. They need me to utter the last incantation, but then, how long will I remain human? he wondered. A sudden wave of fear rippled through his gut, making him feel lightheaded. He pushed it down, straightening his spine. They want me to rule over what is left of the human race…and I will rule. He swallowed, his mouth dust dry.

The priests came over and motioned for Charles to follow him – down. Tania followed.

*

Outskirts of Franklin, Kentucky.

Hours passed, and Adira still drove hard. She had left the Interstate 85 Highway long back, skirted Atlanta and Birmingham, and now was roaring up the 65. She drove as if their lives meant nothing, and Matt wondered what would happen if a local cop decided to try and pull her over.

Andy was in the back, his head now resting on the seat, and he watched the blurred scenery speed by as if in a trance. Matt looked down at the woman’s waist – she had two guns strapped to her front.

“I assume negotiated diplomacy is going to be done Mossad style?” he asked.

“There will be no negotiation.” She smiled humorlessly as she drove. “As soon as Charles Drummond ordered my colleague killed, he signed his own death warrant. While he talks, he can live.” Her face became hard again. “And then he dies.”