Clickers III by J. F. Gonzalez

Author:J. F. Gonzalez
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Deadite Press
Published: 2011-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

Jennifer’s mind had been racing with dreadful anticipation since descending into the tunnels. She was frightened, most certainly. After all she’d been through in the past few years, she’d thought the nightmare was finally over. Now, here she was again, on the run from the Clickers and their reptilian masters. She had no idea if she’d make it off this island. This uncertainty made her think of her parents, of her cat back at home, of having second thoughts as to her career choice. If she hadn’t been so driven to succeed in her career, had settled for a more sedate life of teaching marine biology at the university level, she wouldn’t be half-way around the world being chased by giant lizard-men and mutant crustaceans that could melt you with one sting and suck you up like a spilled milk-shake.

But now was not the time to beat herself up over choices made. She had to be at the top of her game. Had to be quick thinking.

And right now her quick thinking was telling her to listen to this island holy man.

Susan was peppering the old man with questions. Despite the fatigue that was evident in her face, her voice never wavered. “You mentioned the name Dagon. I’m an anthropologist who specializes in ancient history. There was a Babylonian god called Dagon.”

Wade interrupted her. “That theory has been disputed.”

Susan turned to him. They were walking rapidly down the tunnels, following Josel and Keoni. “The name originates from Judah. It’s mentioned in the Old Testament.”

“I know,” Wade said. “But even that’s been disputed. The name is said to originate from the early fifteenth century and is most likely a Canaanite deity—”

“If you ask me, it sounds like something out of Lovecraft,” Ed said.

“Who?” Susan looked at him.

“H.P. Lovecraft,” Ed answered. “He wrote a series of stories about a being named Cthulhu and a cult that worships a range of deities that

live in a sunken city.” He addressed Josel. “What did you call this place in Mount Rigiri?”

“R’lyeh.”

“That sounds about right,” Dr. Steinhardt said. “It’s been years since I’ve read Lovecraft—probably since college—but that name sounds familiar. I was never sure about the pronunciation, though.”

“Isn’t H.P. Lovecraft a horror writer?” Jennifer asked. Just what she needed. To get another fucking horror writer involved. The mere thought of it made her head pound even more. She almost laughed out loud, wondering if Rick Sycheck would have appreciated the irony.

“He was a horror writer,” Ed corrected her. “He died in the late nineteen thirties.”

“What’s the significance?” Wade asked.

“Many of his stories are part of a cycle of tales about a myth of alien-entities that came to earth during prehistory hundreds of millions of years ago. They settled here, built cities, and were somehow either banished to the outer cosmos or imprisoned in a watery grave like this mythological city R’lyeh. In the stories, a cult is always trying to summon them. Cthulhu is the main god. You mentioned Cthulhu before, Josel.”

The holy man was five feet ahead of them, but at the mention of the name Cthulhu, he visibly shuddered.

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