Quagmire's Gate Read online

  Quagmire's Gate

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Quagmire’s Gate

  By

  Allan E Petersen

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  *******

  Published by

  Allan E Petersen at Smashwords

  Copyright 2018 Allan E Petersen

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Synopsis

  Often the smaller equations offer the simpler solutions.

  To escape personal trauma, Doctor Lynda Gray fled Australia to become a Doctor at a secret government laboratory in the middle of the Americas. Though the lab was 200 feet underground, she soon discovered that it was not deep enough to escape the painful memory she wanted left behind.

  When a scientist came into her infirmary with a small cut in his hand, she was shocked to discover that only a day later it had eaten his hand and soon after, all of him. She was sent into the lab in search of the mysterious cause. She discovered that the same mysterious hole in his hand had now eaten a deep hole in the ground and quickly boring toward the Earth’s core.

  The only scientist who knew how to stop it before destroying the world was Professor Quagmire who was locked up in an insane asylum.

  However, not everybody wanted the antimatter turned off. A group of crazed fanatics believed the hole to be a long sought after passage to the ‘World of the Under’.

  The race to save the world was now in the hands of a determined Doctor Lynda Gray and the eccentric Professor Quagmire.

  Prologue

  The first sacrifice

  It was another miserable night in this decayed part of town. Streetlights that once shone on thriving warehouses have now succumbed to age and neglect closing their eyes to the prosperity that once was. On the corner of a deserted street, only one streetlamp still shines bright to illuminate ab empty warehouse rift with broken windows. A wind howls through the streets carrying cold and gloom to the lost souls huddled in dark corners of the deserted warehouse. They are desperately trying to survive another painful and sleepless night. Rain splattering on the tin roof produces an eerie rat-a-tat echoing through the emptiness of the abandoned building.

  Cold and hungry, one desolate youngster wiped rain from his face and looked out into the street through a broken window to see a black limousine slowly cruising through the dark streets. As rain might get in the eyes of a stalking black panther, rain on the black limo windshield blurred the hunter’s vision forcing stalking eyes to strain and work harder. The howling wind and pouring rain made prey elusive. Unfortunately for the hunter, so far there was no easy victim to be pounced upon in the open. He knew they were hiding in dark corners and the warehouses.

  Just then, a shadow moved deep in one of the many alleys and the limo stopped as a panther might freeze in mid step. Intense and hopeful eyes strained to spot a victim but if there was something there then it slinked off into the depth of the night. Perhaps it was nothing. The black limousine continued silently hunting the streets in search of a victim in a concrete jungle. The bright headlights give the impression of a demon with hellish eyes looking for lost souls in a neighborhood teeming with them.

  As the prowler continued to creep along deserted dark streets, more ghostly eyes from other warehouses fearfully peered through broken windows at the hunter. They watched silently as the black devil slowly drove through their neighborhood. They have seen it before and although their minds are now a victim of bad drugs and forgotten years, they still possess enough survival instinct to stay clear of the predator.

  As it continued its silent prowl through the wet jungle, it neared another abandoned warehouse and suddenly stopped in front of it. On the safe side of the broken windows, fear erupted through cold and shivering bodies. Was it going to come into this building? The only survival instinct left in ravaged bodies urged them to run but as was often the case, their mind no longer controlled the body. They stayed frozen and observed. The most important survival skill of all remained intact. Do not move.

  The black marauder remained still as if sniffing the air trying to get a better sense of where the victim was hiding. Perhaps it already knew where it was and simply paused to formulate an attack approach. Will the chase be worth the effort? Will it succeed? Deciding against the chase, the stalker drove off to disappear into the darkness of another street, another hunting ground. In the cold gloom of the warehouse, the prey started to breathe again and gasps of relief were heard.

  Although cold and wet outside, it was very dry and comfortable inside the limo. Because glare must not interfere with the hunt, there was no light inside. Since it was important to communicate back and forth without restriction, the privacy glass between driver and rear occupant was down. Black leather seats added to the darkness inside the limo. The liquor cabinet was stocked with Bordeaux’s and a few bottles of Johnny Walker. All the bottles and glasses sat perfectly still, not a rattle or a stirring as the limo crept along. Four cell phones clung to their brackets, hanging ready to report the success of the hunt.

  Hutchinson, the driver was an elderly man wearing the typical uniform of a chauffeur, complete with hat. He had driven these missions before and knew better than to incur the wrath of his passenger by going too fast. Age took away sharp eyes but they still knew what to look for, still knew that dark alleys are the best places to locate the victims.

  As he peered into another narrow alley, the man in the back seat bellowed at Hutchinson to stop. He thought he saw a movement, something that might point to the capture of a sacrifice. After a few minutes, he realized that he was right, the shadow moved and it was a human. As he stared through the side window, his eyes narrowed. A decrepit finger pressed a button and the window slowly lowered. Despite annoying rain splattering onto his face, he stuck his head out to get a better look.

  The shadow again stirred. His old heart filled with anticipation and beat as quickly as old age would safely allow. He bellowed through the rain at the shadow,

  “Come out of there. Step into the light and see what I have for you.”

  With trembling stemmed from cold, hunger and fear, the shadow slowly stepped out of the darkness and into the beam of the headlight. The hunter grew disappointed. Because of a long torn coat tightly bundled around the quivering body, it was hard to tell if it was an acceptable sacrifice. The hunter again bel
lowed,

  “Open your coat and let me see you.”

  Although fearing to expose a soft underbelly to the hunter, the victim timidly obeyed and the coat slowly opened. It was like an image of a sad wet crow spreading torn wings ready for flight that was no longer possible. The hunter moaned and slouched back into his soft leather seat. Although the qualifications of youth were met, the gender was not. It clearly stated in the ‘Book of the Under’ that the sacrifice to the Undermaster must be ‘the other of man.’ Through the centuries, it was believed that the interpretation of the enigmatic phrase ‘other of man’ meant ‘female.’ He bellowed at Hutchinson to move alone. While watching the limo drive away, disappointed, the trembling shadow closed his coat and sulked back into the safety of darkness and cold.

  A block away, another shadow in another alley stirred. She was thirteen years old with no friends save the drugs offering escape to nicer places. She was huddled against a cold steel dumpster shielding herself from the cold wind. She hated the combination of cold and wet for it bore the same pain as loneliness. Faint memories of warmth and comfort are recollections no longer belonging to a mind far gone.

  Although pressed hard into the dumpster while trying to produce body heat by friction, none was generated through the wet rags she called clothes. Sad sorrowful eyes looked through the rain and saw a black limo slowly approaching. It would be nice if it stopped and asked her to come in out of the cold. It would be nicer if by some miracle the door opened and a soft gentle voice offered food.

  When the limo stopped and the door opened, the man inside seemed nice. He invited her into the car with a broad smile and open hand. To take advantage of the kind offer she struggled to her feet. If her luck runs true and goodness knows she was due, then he had the stuff to warm her mind and send her to a place with inviting sandy shores. With any luck, she will soon again float on a warm cloud in paradise. Climbing into the limo, she tried her best to exude charm and grace however, while cold and hungry, it was an impossible feat. Once she was inside, as surely as a panther crunched its jaws tight to a victim’s throat, the door slammed shut

  Wet rags made a squishing sound as she pressed into the warm leather. With eyes glued to the bottles of Johnny Walker, she felt the pressure of a quickly accelerating vehicle. ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘couldn’t get away from here fast enough anyway.’ How nice of the man to pretend he did not mind that her wet rags made the inside of his car all wet. How could she not think that this was indeed her lucky day?

  Scanning him from top to bottom, he looked rich and she weakly smiled at him. His hair was a little gray but that seemed to be the mark of older men anyway. She cannot make out whether he was wearing a very long over coat or was wrapped in a brown robe. She does not care. It was warm in here.

  He offered her a needle. Eager hands reached out and experienced fingers turned the needle toward her arm. Very quickly warm hard steel punctured cold soft skin. With the press of an anxious thumb, warm drugs flowed into a stream of cold blood. A thirsty mind eagerly drank the inviting nectar. Although a killer, it was kind to the mind and so enthusiastically invited in, so welcomed. When she heard her mother’s warm voice offering love and comfort, she closed her eyes and stepped into mother’s beckoning arms.

  When her eyes slowly opened, she saw in front of her a beautiful landscape of snowcapped mountains. It was so peaceful and serene that she thought it must be a vision of the drugs. She was cognizant enough to realize that a gentle breeze was blowing from below fanning at her brown robe and wafting long dark hair off her shoulders.

  ‘Brown robe?’ It suddenly came to her that she was no longer wearing wet cold clothes but rather a full length brown robe. She looked down and saw her bare feet. The biggest jolt of all, she was standing precariously close to the edge of a sheer cliff. Her toes were inches from the edge and in danger of plummeting into the deep crevice. Stunned eyes focused down into the impossibly deep precipice. As adrenalin can scare a drunken person sober, the fear of falling off the cliff sent jolts of terror through her. Fear surfaced to take control. She tried to take a defensive step back to safety but to her added horror, she could not move. Her feet were tied.

  She turned her head and saw the nice man standing at her side. He was also wearing a brown robe and holding an old book. Next to him were two other men all dressed the same way, brown robes with hoods pulled over their heads.

  As the soft breeze wafted at her long hair, she heard the nice man read from the book he was holding. There was a pious tone to his words, much like a priest enthusiastically preaching to his congregation.

  “To enter the world of the Under requires a blind leap of faith. Faith will bring you to me. If the Gate has opened to you, then fear not the first step for it is I, the Lord of the Under, inviting you to come to me. No harm will come to those who step through my gate and enter the glory of paradise.”

  She attempted another backward step but tied feet prevented it. Fear exploded and upon realizing her fate, she screamed as loud as she could. The far mountains heard the call but wanted nothing to do with her doomed plight and so echoed the scream back to her. The man continued with his strange words.

  “Bring to me a sacrifice of the ‘other of man’. Do as I command and the gate to my kingdom will open. A great reward of power and everlasting life shall be yours. Take the first step and come to me.”

  Again, she screamed and again she heard the damning words echo in her head,

  “Come to me.”

  A gentle hand pressed against her back and she could not resist the direction. Toes tried to dig into the stone stopping the forward direction but it was impossible. She wanted to flay her arms but horribly realized they were tied behind her back. Suddenly the breeze that was so inviting and soothing became a torrent of screaming wind in her ears. The three hooded figures hesitantly stepped forward to observe the plummeting girl disappear into the great depth far below. The deeper she fell, the less screaming was heard.

  Silence once again returned to the serene mountainside. Upon realizing that the girl had not survived the great step into the world of the Under, the hooded man with the book again read a passage.

  “There will come no harm to those who have discovered my gate to the Under. Come to me.”

  There was no doubt that great harm had come of their sacrifice of the ‘Other of Man’. The man holding the book slowly closed it. He and the others sadly realized that this location, this cliff was not the great sought after gate to the world they were seeking passage to.

  The helicopter lifted off the mountainside and disappeared over the first ridge. Inside, one of the men hooked a cell phone to his headset and dialed a long series of numbers. When answered he said,

  “This is Senator Watson, ‘Code Gate’ please.”

  The responding voice was gruff although tinged with apprehension. He had been anxiously waiting for this call all day.

  “Well?”

  The reply was not what he was hoping. After so many tries and so much searching, Senator Watson reported yet another failure to his leader.

  “She died.”

  Hanging up, he turned to the other two in the chopper and said,

  “We must continue looking for the gate to the World of the Under,”

  Chapter 1

  The Hole in Deep Lab 6

  Doctor Lynda Gray was sitting in her office lost to the forlorn character in the love story she was reading. There was sadness in both her heart and the words. Lynda was in her mid-forties but easily passed for much younger. By the standards of the male scientists working over in the high security laboratory next door, she was a fetching woman. Auburn hair was long enough to drape over the shoulder of her white medical smock. As Head Physician of this secret laboratory, there was not much else to do except sit here all day and read her romance novels. Often she wished something exciting would walk through her door and break the monotony. It was then that the door opened.

  Putting the book down, she saw a young
scientist approach holding one hand in the other. The natural assumption was that he had injured it. Because he walked in by himself and there was no look of panic about him, she naturally assumed it was a minor injury.

  Indicating for him to sit, she pointed to the chair. Following security procedures, she scanned the ID tag hanging around his neck and asked him for confirmation of his identity. A calm voice responded,

  “Jimmy Hatcher, AT207.”

  According to the data released on her scanner, he was a Quantum Field theorist and thirty-one years old. By her personal assessment, one not needing a scanner he was very handsome.