Page 92 of Ancient Obsession

“I’ll take point,” Carter said quietly. “Montroig go right, Keaton go left.” He turned to the rest of them and pointed to Lucia, Gayle, Demetrius, Robin, and Dave. “You five, stay back two feet. The rest of you stay right fucking here, is that clear?”

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from the detective made him close it again.

“Remember whoever this fuck is, he’s got a hostage,” Carter said.

Dave shifted his weight impatiently. They were wasting time. It could be breaking Oliver’s arms and legs right now. They had to move.

The detective slipped out into the intersection and the officers followed. They slowly made their way toward the end of the hall, guns up, attention focused.

“Which door?” Carter asked without taking his eyes from the exit doors.

“The last one on the right. It’s open,” Robin said. “There’re two rooms inside. The coffin’s in the farthest one.”

“Montroig, Keaton, continue to flank me. I’m going to swing out wide and keep my attention on that door. You watch my six and the exit.”

“Copy,” both officers said.

Dave wanted to scream at the slow pace of their approach. He managed to hold his tongue, but caught himself opening and closing his fists. If only he’d gone after the mummy a few seconds earlier, he might have avoided the detective and this slow advance.

Carter was directly across from the open door when they all heard a quiet thump from inside the room. A low rumbling moan followed, almost sounding like speech.

“That’s it,” Dave whispered. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“Stay back, everyone,” Carter said. “We’ll go in and handle it.”

He moved up to the door, hesitated, then vanished inside the room. Montroig and Keaton followed. Dave was right behind Keaton and able to see over her head. A shadow shifted within the interior room, a flash of what had to be someone covered in dirty strips of linen.

“There!” He pointed over her shoulder. “In the other room.”

As Carter and the officers approached the open door to the interior room, Dave checked all around the control room. No sign of Oliver. He moved to the control panel and peered through the glass.

The mummy stood by its coffin, staring back at him. It clenched its bony fists and shrieked before turning toward the door.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Carter stood at the interior door as the mummy moved into view. He fired, the shots like a sonic boom inside the small space.

“No! Oliver!” Dave shouted, but it was drowned out by the gunfire.

The bullets struck the mummy’s chest in tiny puffs of dust and shredded bandages. It staggered slightly but continued forward, breaching the doorway and crowding into the room where they were all backing away.

Except for Dave.

He was cut off from the exit to the hallway. He crouched and pressed himself into a corner of the control panel. The mummy continued to advance on Carter and the officers, forcing them as well as Demetrius, Robin, and Clarabell from the room. Demetrius met Dave’s eyes over Montroig’s shoulder. He called his name then moved as if he intended to dart across and join him. But Montroig swept his arm out and blocked him, forcing him out the door.

Carter’s gun clicked, and he cursed. “I’m out!”

Montroig stepped into his place and fired his weapon into the mummy’s chest and head. Other than rocking it back and briefly impeding its forward motion, Dave could see no other effect.

When Carter was almost out of the room, he cast a fearful, almost apologetic look at Dave, and then he was gone from sight. Keaton was next, and finally Montroig, who by that time had emptied his own weapon. The mummy tromped ahead, moaning and swiping, bandages swaying beneath its arms, its bony fingers tipped with long, sharp nails.

Dave saw his chance. He slid along the control panel, forcing himself to take slow, steady breaths. The air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder. Keeping his eyes on the mummy’s back, he slipped through the door and entered the work room.

The coffin lay on a wheeled cart pushed against the far wall. Its sides were tall, preventing him from seeing the interior. Moving quickly and as quietly as possible, he kept low as he searched every shadowed corner for any sign of Oliver. He tried the handle of a supply closet. It gave slightly but resisted his pull.

A quiet moan made him stop. It came again and Dave abandoned the supply closet for the coffin. The top edges were rough and dusty under his fingers as he peered inside.

Oliver lay in the bottom, a trickle of blood running from a small cut under his hairline. His face was pale and dirty, a bruise coming up on one side of his jaw. But he was alive and moving. No broken limbs as far as Dave could see, no neck bruising.