“Are you mad, Kearns?” Abrams turned briefly to yell over his shoulder. “You want another of these things loose, because you think, maybe, just maybe, it will somehow help?”

Matt frowned, and pointed to the growing thing that was the Father, now joined with the massive trunk of flesh growing from the lake and disappearing up toward the invisible roof of the cavern.

“What the hell have we got to lose?”

Abrams looked to Adira; she just shrugged in return.

“I’ve already made my peace.” She turned and fired again.

Abrams gritted his teeth. “What do you need?”

Matt turned another page. “I think I need to…call to him…just…call him.”

“Where is he?” Adira asked.

Matt pointed to the massive red gates. “Behind there, in the ancient city of R’lyeh. That’s where Cthulhu came from. That’s where he must be sent back to.”

“You better hurry.” Adira backed toward Matt and Abrams. They now had a wall of the Shoggoth on three sides and the black ocean on the other.

“Getting low.” Abrams emptied his gun, and smoothly ejected and jammed in another magazine.

Matt looked around, beginning to panic. Fear was making his mind a fog of confusion. Everywhere he looked, the cliff walls, sand, and the dark water moved with hellish life forms. Things scuttled, lumbered, and slithered toward them. Monstrosities with too many eyes, thrashing limbs, and sucking or needle-fanged mouths like creatures from the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches, all now descending upon them.

Matt looked down at the page of symbols, crushing his eyes shut and saying a silent prayer for his thoughts to clear. He exhaled and opened his eyes. The strange circles, dashes and dots formed sounds deep in his mind. He looked up at the huge gates and sucked in a huge breath, yelling the words.

“En Dooain Bolape Page Od Aziazor Ph’anglu Dooaip Ananael…Ol Vinu Od Zacamc…Auriel Ol Bolape A Noco Eglo Olapireta Ark-Pi Unkwa Padda Enoch Xastur.”

Matt waited for several seconds. Nothing – no sounds or emanations from the colossal gates.

Abrams fired off three more shots. “I’m out.” He tossed his gun to the ground and pulled out his compressed salt dagger, the tiny weapon a joke against the approaching monstrous hordes.

Matt looked down and read again. “Xastur Ug’lu Cthulhu.” Please, please, he wished. “Cthulhu Enk Unhug’li.”

Matt looked up at the doors. There was still nothing. He felt his gut knot, but read again, louder.

“En Dooain Bolape Page Od Aziazor Ph’anglu Dooaip Ananael…Ol Vinu Od Zacamc… Auriel Ol Bolape A Noco Eglo Olapireta Ark-Pi Unknown Apila Paid Enoch, Xastur.”

He screamed the final two sentences.

“XASTUR UG’LU, CTHULHU!!

CTHULHU ENK UNHUG’LI, XASTU-UUUR!!”

Matt fell to his knees, his head nearly bursting from pain. Blood ran down over his lips and chin, and he felt a warm dampness at his ears. He looked up through bloodshot eyes. The gates remained in place. He shook his head.

“What did I do wrong? I said the words. What did I miss?” He punched the sand, feeling the harsh grains scour his knuckles.