"Daniels's Gone"
When Gretchen first arrived in Cairo five years before, she'd seen a cripple in the street. She remembered his severely deformed legs, thin and delicate--birdlike, almost--curled up beneath his body. It was obvious he couldn't walk--and in her horrid fascination, she watched him drag himself into an alleyway with his arms. As the years passed on, she saw sadder situations--more unfortunate people. They became commonplace, usual, constant, and they no longer fascinated her.
As Henderson's mangled body was hauled out of the room on a stretcher, Gretchen started thinking about that cripple again. She remembered thinking that he had to have lived the worst life, and that nothing could be much more undignified than dying in a gutter. Leaning against Jonathan in the hallway outside of Evelyn's room, Gretchen was reconsidering that thought.
Daniels stood close beside her--too close, really, for either of them. But the hallway was only so wide. She could hear his uneasy breath--feel his eyes when they happened to dart her way. He was the last one, the final barrier between the Creature and his full regeneration. Daniels knew it. They knew it. Gretchen decided that she would rather be the cripple than Daniels today.
Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temple. Gretchen couldn't understand her. The world was ending--or, at the very least, something very, very bad was happening--and the Englishwoman was convinced that she was going to stop it. What more was there? Imhotep had succeeded in killing all but one of the cursed four, and his chances of snatching Daniels were ridiculously favorable. Gretchen knew now why Ardeth had been so insistent about the book--obviously, bringing a mummy back to life was irreversable.
Well, except to Evelyn. She leaned against the opposite wall, chewing on her nail and glaring her determination at the floor as Henderson was carried away. Gretchen glanced away from the other woman, to O'Connell. His large arms were folded over his chest, and his eyes were uncertain. She stared at him and he stared back, the blue faded and ordinary. For the first time, she couldn't see the fantasy of a better world in his eyes. O'Connell was helpless, and that frustrated him.
"We must go to the museum," Evelyn pronounced finally.
Jonathan glanced up, his tone too weary to be incredulous. "Do you really think that'll help?"
His sister huffed, meeting his gaze evenly. "Well, unless you have any other ideas."
O'Connell stepped forward, giving the Englishman a hard look. "We're going to the museum."
Evelyn looked at him, starting to walk towards the staircase. Their group followed numbly behind.
"Well let's at least take the car this time," Jonathan ventured.
His suggestion was not responded to, but they followed him to his yellow automobile complacently. The Englishman offered the driver's side to O'Connell, but the American Legionnaire waved him off, mumbling that he couldn't sit on the wrong side of the car like that. He gave Evelyn the passenger seat and jumped in the back. A moment later, Gretchen found herself squeezed between her two countrymen. She ran her tongue over her lips nervously.
"I haven't been around so many Americans since I left New York," she laughed weakly. O'Connell didn't smile, and Daniels just shot her a look.
"Or since this Thing got Henderson and Burns," he retorted bitterly.
Gretchen looked down awkwardly as the car hummed to life. As Jonathan hit the gas, she felt a hand rest over her own. She glanced to the side in confusion, but O'Connell wouldn't look at her. She stared at his large, calloused hand and couldn't quite make out the black mark etched into it.
The dark, waiting silence of the usually bustling city gave Gretchen an eerie, haunted feeling. She wondered, remotely, what was happening at the brothel--what Ghazi was doing, and if he knew what was going on. Ardeth had given her the sense, in so many words, that her pimp was not the ideal Med-Jai warrior. What had he called the brothel, that day he came for tribute? Well, it hadn't been good. She snorted privately to herself. Of course not. It was a whorehose, after all--
"Well, how about a little game?" Jonathan suggested, weaving the vehicle around the remains of a toppled building. O'Connell grunted darkly.
"Are you mad?" his sister demanded.
He shrugged easily. "I'm a little tipsy, I suppose. But I might just get sick all over the car if things get any more tense around here."
"Jonathan, please..."
"O'Connell, what do you wish you had done before you died?" the Englishman asked benignly.
The American took his hand off of Gretchen's and crossed his arms. "We're not dead yet."
Jonathan cleared his throat uneasily, taking a sharp right that made Daniels shove against Gretchen uncomfortably. She shot him a look, catching a glimpse of the museum just down the street.
"I wish I'd screwed somebody famous," she offered sardonically.
Jonathan snickered. "That's lovely, Gretchen. Utterly charming."
But Daniels almost smiled. "Me too. Olive Borden."
Jonathan slowed the car to a stop in front of the museum, throwing the gear into park and turning it off. With a sigh, he opened his door and got out, not really looking at anyone else in the car. Evelyn straightened her shoulders ruthlessly and followed him. O'Connell glanced between Gretchen and Daniels, frowning a little. The prostitute opened her mouth to protest his look, but he was already getting out of the car and striding to catch up with the English siblings. Gretchen hurried after him; she wasn't about to stray too far from the group.
The curator and Ardeth were waiting for them inside. They said something about a stele upstairs and Evelyn's eyes brightened with immediate realization. She briskly directed the group to the staircase, already babbling about something ancient that Gretchen didn't entirely understand. She looked at the Med-Jai warrior, but he only nodded at the Englishwoman, prompting her attention to the scholarly words filling the marble room.
"...well, yes. I'm thinking that if the black book can bring people back to life--"
"Then maybe the gold book can kill him," O'Connell supplied. Gretchen's head jerked up in interest.
"So there is a way to kill him, now?" she asked hopefully. Ardeth's face strained in something like a wince.
"Well, yes," he allowed carefully. "If we find it."
Gretchen blinked. "You've been guarding that place for how long, and you don't even know where this...thing to kill it is at?"
"The Book of Amun-Ra contains limitless power," the curator told her sharply. "The Med-Jai fear that direct access to it would be far too great of a temptation."
"Great," O'Connell muttered. "So we've got no idea where this thing is."
Evelyn mounted the last step and stopped, turning to look at him. "We know it's at Hamunpatra."
"Come on," Daniels put in suddenly. "It's a solid gold book. It could be anywhere."
Evelyn's eyes blazed, and she glared directly into his incredulous gaze. "You can give up if you'd like. But I'm not stopping until this Creature is back where he belongs. Now this book is our only hope, and you can either complain about it or help me!"
She whirled around, striding quickly to a large, engraved stone in the hallway. Daniels glanced at the other men with wide eyes, but Jonathan and O'Connell only shrugged, shoving past him to the stele and Evelyn. Gretchen hung back, a little shocked. Her stomach was twisting guiltily; personally, she shared Daniels' sentiments--she simply didn't have the guts to voice them. But Evelyn's words struck her with a bullet's precision, and suddenly Gretchen felt the choice the librarian had thrust upon their skeptical companion. She could give up, or she could trust that something better would happen if they tried. And though the years had dragged on, and she had seen and experienced things that made her a believer in retreat, Gretchen decided to hope.
In strange juxtaposition, her mind suddenly shifted to Meela. But in her head, she wasn't Meela--she was Anck-su-namun. Calling the woman Meela no longer made sense. With a renewed determination, she drew closer to the group, shaking off her personal insanity and forcing herself to focus on the present. Somehow, it was easier now than it had been when she was in the museum before.
Evelyn's brow furrowed suddenly. "What is that?"
They followed her eyes to the window, and Gretchen's heart sank.
"Well," Jonathan sighed. "Last, but not least, my favorite plague--boils and sores."
Gretchen squinted at the crowd marching hypnotically towards them, and she grimaced as she realized that he was right. Their flesh was raw and bubbling with infectious marks and wounds.
"So it has begun," Ardeth pronounced darkly. "The beginning of the end."
Evelyn shook her head, that same old steel burning in her eyes. "Not quite yet it hasn't."
Gretchen swallowed, glancing at her expectantly. The woman was already perched against the stone again, tracing the scrawling etches with her fingers. Words trailed rapidly out of her mouth--something about the books, and Anubis, and the Bembridge Scholars...
"Come on, Evy, faster," her brother prompted.
She was absorbed, droning her retort, "Patience is a virtue."
A loud cracking noise drew Gretchen's attention to the floor below; the ugly and mindless crowd had forced open the doors of the museum. A gasp caught in her throat, but O'Connell had a comment ready:
"Not right now, it isn't."
Gretchen glanced between the men, fear knotting her nerves together. "Shouldn't we--"
"I'm going to go get the car, uh, started," Jonathan interrupted anxiously. He caught Gretchen's eye, and she nodded frantically.
"I'm coming with you."
She'd barely managed the words before they were racing down the hall at top speed. Jonathan's considerably longer legs were carrying him further much faster, and Gretchen lunged for his hand as they stumbled frantically down the stairs. He dragged her unceremoniously behind him, out the door and into the street. Her nose scrunched in disgust.
"What's that smell?"
Jonathan winced. "That is a stench, isn't it?"
They whirled around to meet an oncoming cluster of diseased natives, weapons viciously raised. Gretchen felt sick; the pus and blood oozing from their skin stank even above the usual grime of Cairo's streets. Jonathan swallowed nervously.
"What do we do?" he whispered, his fingers tightening around her hand painfully. Gretchen chewed her bottom lip, staring into the crowd fearfully.
They will not harm you.
She scoffed. "Oh, why not, genius?"
"Why not what?" Jonathan's brow furrowed at her; he tore his eyes away from their attackers to glance at her nervously. "Now's not really the time to be going bonkers on me, love."
Gretchen was too frightened to be embarrassed; the crowd froze to a halt inches in front of them, weapons still raised, but confusion glimmered in their blank eyes. Slowly, they backed away, stumbling off in another direction. Jonathan gawked at her, eyes wide and shocked. His mouth hung open stupidly, and Gretchen was feeling about the same way that he looked. She fumbled for the words to tell him that she was as confused as he was, but nothing articulate ever made it to her lips. He shrugged, and the corners of his mouth slowly turned up in a silly grin. Laughing because he was alive, Jonathan rushed the last few yards to the car, hopping joyfully inside. Gretchen slipped in beside him just as Daniels, O'Connell, Evelyn, Ardeth, and the curator ran out from the museum.
"Well, this is going to be a nice tight squeeze," Jonathan muttered under his breath.
The group piled in; Daniels smacked Jonathan repetitively with his hat until the unfortunate driver had the car rolling at top speed down the narrow street. They jolted over potholes and tore through alleys; Gretchen didn't know where they were going, but they were getting there fast. She clenched her teeth against the uneven road and gripped the dashboard for balance. She barely had a moment to brace herself when Jonathan slammed on the breaks. A wall of smelling, zombie-like chanters blocked their path.
Gretchen let out an uneasy sigh, breathing, "What was it you wanted to do before you died, Jon?"
Before he could answer, O'Connell's foot shoved past hers to the gas pedal and sent them speeding into the oncoming crowd. Gretchen let out a scream, wrapping both arms around Jonathan's and squeezing her eyes shut. He entreated her to let go--it was hard to drive with her hanging onto him--but the dirty, desperate fingers that brushed over her body made her cling even tighter.
She had two choices: to hope or to give up, and she wasn't going to be delivered into their hands. In the blackness behind her eyelids, she saw Anck-su-namun's smiling face again. Come and see me. I will spare your life, but you must come to me...
The car crashed to a halt of a sudden, and Gretchen reluctantly opened her eyes. Before she could even comprehend what was happening, Jonathan was dragging her out of the car. Hoards of the hypnotized lepers surrounded them, closed in on them. Gretchen's dark eyes shifted about their group. The tally made her heart drop sickeningly.
"Daniels's gone," she breathed frantically.
Jonathan couldn't catch his breath enough to sigh. "Yes, well--"
"We're fucked."
O'Connell let out a humorless laugh. Jonathan only gulped.
"I've never had crêpes suzette," he blurted suddenly. The fearful gaggle glanced at him strangely, but he continued to stare fearfully at the crowd. "B-before I die. That's what I want to do."
Gretchen wanted ask him what crêpes suzette even was...or were...but the crowd was parting, and something in the back of her mind told her she had survived to see the worst.