Jessica felt the vibrations again, the pavement shimmying under her feet, but this time there came a small jump as if everything raised and fell an inch. Car alarms started all over the city, and, looking along Coronation Street, it seemed that the vibrations, the jumping, and the birds ended at Camden, as if there were a fence of calmness just a few hundred yards further on.

Go, go, go, she thought as purpose finally jolted her into action. She sucked in a deep breath and began to run, the pram out in front, rolling over the bodies of birds and the dark cracks opening in the pavement. When she was within a hundred feet of the street corner, the ground lifted again, higher and higher, rising up as if there were a huge bubble of gas underneath them.

She started to weep. Her muscles burned and her breath became hot and tortured. She gagged as a foul gas belched up from below. She knew what was coming; she had heard the whispered rumours, seen the stories that usually vanished as quickly as they appeared. No one had believed: no one really cared. They’d all just continued with their lives – part of her mind took a moment to look at that unbelievable fact in something like wonder, or disgust, or both.

Whatever bubble had blown up below them suddenly burst. They were on a slope now, running down a hill of broken concrete and torn grass with just a few dozen feet to go to safety. Then the land started to fall.

Jessica knew she would never make it, but there was one thing she knew she had to do – nannies were more than just nursemaids, they were carers, playmates, best friends, and bodyguards, prepared to do anything for their charges. Jessica launched herself, pushing out her arms, flinging the pram forward, its large rubber wheels spinning as it raced down the slope, travelling at about twenty miles per hour toward the stable ground so close.

She fell flat on her stomach, but raised her head, her eyes wet as the ground beneath her dropped. Her last vision as she fell into the pit was of the pram slowing to a stop on the stable ground: safe.

Chapter 10

Mableton, Georgia, Atlanta outskirts

“Kroen, just…wait here…and leave the engine running.” Charles Drummond wanted to be away quickly, as he knew he’d be uncomfortable. The street, the building, and the Father, all made him feel small and uneasy. He’d been given much, and promised so much more; still the Order was unsettling even for a high-level acolyte like himself.

He looked again at the doors, steeling himself. The Order of the Old Ones was an ancient sect that reached back to the days of Babylon and even beyond. Its sole purpose was the worship of Cthulhu and its minions, with the goal of easing the great gates of R’lyeh open so they might have rule over the Earth once again. In return, people like Drummond were made wealthy beyond the dreams of Croesus, and were promised they would be made kings over humankind for a thousand years. They would also be spared while the other creatures of flesh and blood were…consumed.