A Complete Serialized Novel from the Safe House Archive
Originally published as The Apocalypse Four.
Part 1 of 23
By Timothy L. Mayer
Aleister Crowley was almost killed when the ghoul leapt on him.
It carried a large butcher knife in one hand and intended on killing him with one slice. Crowley, who held a shotgun, swore and fired both barrels at the creature. It went down in a geyser of blood and entrails. It fell back behind the barricade, which was made of chairs and old tables. Crowley shoved two more shells in the shotgun chambers and snapped it shut. There were much more where that thing came from and others were on the way.
Marcus Garvey was still a few steps back when it tried to break through the perimeter. He held a Lee Enfield rifle. He’d already talked down three of the things. He’d remembered to bring along plenty of shells with him this time. It was something he’d heard on the island: Don’t underestimate the devil, he has an eternity of tricks and schemes to play against whatever ideas you might have in mind. At least his men covered his right and left flanks. This mad Englishman…Crowley made claims over the past few days. So far, he’d held his ground and that was important.
Hearst stood at the doorway to the old factory and tried to figure out what to do next. If they were right, and his new friends were correct on many things, they only had a short amount of time before the world ended. He wasn’t the young strapping lad who took over that newspaper years ago. Time was hard on his physique. At least Marion appreciated him, even if she was young enough to be his daughter. He needed to focus on the task at hand. What was about to take place needed his full attention. The men outside wanted his actions, not his editorials. Damn, this was as invigorating as the time he’d gone down to Cuba. The Spanish Navy wasn’t half as crazed as the mob out there, but they had guns. The mob’s lack of guns was the only thing that kept them back. However, Hearst and his comrades might not be able to hold the ghouls off for much longer.
Hearst gripped the handle of his revolver and began to walk out toward the perimeter lines. He looked down at the gleaming revolver and remembered where he’d received it. His father gave it to him years ago. The old man had kept it by his side during the days he’d been a miner. It was the one thing those claim-jumpers understood out in the Western territories, his old man told him. He gave it to his son when William went back to school. He thought the young man needed protection.
Somehow, Hearst thought, dad never considered where it would really come in handy.
Nikolai Tesla finished with his last calculation inside the old factory. He looked up at the oculus where the moon was visible. Even in the backlight of Manhattan, you could still see it. Still, there were things he needed to accomplish.
His attention was focused on the cylinder before him. They only had one chance to make it work. Should it malfunction, there would not be a second chance.
For this world or anything on it.
Garvey still wasn’t sure they could hold out for much longer. It was Saturday, April 8, 1917, days after congress declared war on both Germany and the Austrian Hungarian Empire. Hard to believe that the war was in front of his mind last week. England and the rest of Europe were still killing each other, years after a war began that no one wanted. It was a distraction for him and his mission. So long as the war raged overseas, the British Empire could make any kind of demand on its subjects, and they would have to go along.
He watched the mob of ghouls begin to form across the vacant lot the old factory faced. They’d been humans once upon a time, all sorts of them. He could see the workers in blue clothes transformed into the mindless creatures sent out days ago. Women, men, black, white, Chinese, the entire city was represented in front of him. He had no idea how the enemy had found their operation. All of the ghouls had the distant, blank look in their faces of men in trenches who’d suffered under constant barrage from artillery fire.
“Watch the line!” Garvey yelled to a group of his men to the right. They were local, not from the islands as was he.
Tesla turned around and glanced behind. The factory floor was empty. Crowley and the others were outside. They needed to keep those things away from the factory until he finished his final work. He looked down at the notes on the table before him. Usually, he could keep all the information in his head, but this time he needed to spread it out and look. He closed his eyes and calculated in Serbian, the language in which he still thought. It was natural for him, even though he’d learned the other languages at an early age.
He’d told the others that he was sure there was a way to stop the destruction of Earth and it lay in his experiments. Funny how the mysterious benefactor had made the funds available when he hit on the idea. Even Westinghouse wouldn’t answer his letters, but this person, who remained anonymous, gave him all the money he needed, even after he repurposed it. Whoever it was didn’t even flinch at ordering the parts he needed for the final, questionable parts.
Hearst looked up and saw a better position on the roof. He turned to the right and noted a staircase that ascended all the way up. Good thing he didn’t need to go inside to reach it, time was running out and Tesla had to finish what he’d started.
“Assuming it works,” Hearst grumbled as he walked up the stairs. Tesla demonstrated the process days ago, but Hearst wasn’t sure it would function on a larger scale. Christ only knew how much money was dumped into this project. Tesla’s mysterious benefactor was hard to reach.
He smelled the smoke from the fires the ghouls had started outside the perimeter. For such mindless automatons, they were able to do basic things. At least Marion wasn’t part of the group that tried to bust through the last time.
He stopped and thought about her. Such a precious child. She appreciated the money he’d spent on her. Now, Hearst wondered if the others might be correct. Maybe Marion was only nice to him because of the money. Dammit, she wouldn’t be the first. But with her, he felt special. If only his wife hadn’t found out….
Hearst tried to spot Marion down in the mob and gave up. It wouldn’t matter unless they made the device work. According to Tesla and the others, the time was almost up.
He made it to the last step with a bit of exhaustion. The years weren’t easy on him and the weight gain hard to justify. Too many dinners at Delmonico’s. Hearst once prided himself on his ability to go without sleep, but he needed it now. Over the past week, he’d not had much.
Hearst checked the revolver as he walked out onto the roof. He remembered target shooting with the old man out in the desert. Those were hot days in that direct sun. Even a hat didn’t keep the heat out of your brain. He remembered his father squeezing the trigger and popping a can at fifty yards. He lectured young William on the importance of keeping the gun clean. This would lead to another lecture on keeping yourself clean. The old man obsessed over that one too much.
Hearst leaned on the wall to his front and looked down at the scene below. The barricade would keep the mob back only so long. Where the hell was the police? Why didn’t something this big attract more attention? Christ, this was Manhattan; the damn island was filled with people. Where were the teaming masses that turned out for every street brawl and tenement fire?
“Al-ee-star!” Crowley heard the East European voice cry out from the doorway to the factory. He lowered his shotgun, backed up, and turned around.
As expected, it was Tesla who called him. The ghouls on the other side of the barricade howled nonstop. This made it hard to hear their sounds.
The doorway was filled with the lithe form of the great inventor, the master of electricity who lived in a hotel not far away. Nikolai Tesla, the genius from Serbia. The man responsible for it all.
“What is it?” Crowley snapped back. He rubbed his baldhead and was glad he’d shaved it. The weather was still cold outside. His wool coat didn’t help much, too many holes.
“I need your help,” Tesla called back. “I need you to watch a gauge while I do something. Marcus and the others can keep them back long enough.”
“I certainly hope so,” Crowley snapped again. He cradled the shotgun under one arm and walked in the direction of the doorway.
“Quick,” Tesla told him as Crowley reached the entrance. Even today, Tesla was dressed in spotless clothes.
The device stood on its base in the middle of the factory floor. It shone with the light from the incandescent bulbs strung up so they could work around the clock. It pulsed with its own internal energy. Tesla explained to him several times how it functioned, but Crowley didn’t remember everything the man told him.
“I need you to watch this gauge,” Tesla told him. He handed Crowley a glass tube attached to a rubber hose. The tube was filled with some kind of liquid. A scratch on the exterior of the glass indicated an endpoint above the liquid.
“If it gets too close to the mark,” Tesla informed him, “let me know right away.”
“Can you give me some bloody idea of how close is too close?” Crowley tossed back at him. “I don’t even know what you’re doing.”
“It would take too long to explain,” Tesla replied. “If it gets about an inch from the line, yell for me.” Satisfied that Crowley understood, Tesla walked away.
Crowley looked at the tube and tried to figure out what was inside it. It resembled mercury, but it could be any material Tesla found useful. The man had the mind of a Babbage Machine. He could recall any obscure bit of data needed. It was an amazing thing to see but limited.
Tesla vanished behind the cylinder. Three seconds later, he was busy at work. This left Crowley to stand with the tube in one hand and fume. The entire world was about to be destroyed, he couldn’t contact his Holy Guardian Angel, and this week he’d found out his mother was dead. She hadn’t left him much; most of what the old horror had scurried away went to his Uncle Tom.
There was a loud cry from outside, which caused him to drop the tube.
“Nikolai!” Crowley screamed, “The ghouls broke through!”
Next Time in 93 Million Miles to Gotham
Crowley retraces the strange events that led to the siege. A chance encounter with Leon Trotsky, an afternoon in the park with Nikola Tesla, and a mysterious woman calling herself Babalon set the Apocalypse Four on a path none of them can escape.