We're almost to the city now, I think. Not much longer from here, so I'll just simplify what happened today. We woke at dawn and set out into the desert proper, away from the wooded areas for miles. It was around midday when we finally came to a foot trail that looked like it had been used by caravans - there were wheel ruts, camel and horse hoof prints, and footprints, all just barely covered with sand from a bit ago. We quickly realized that this had to be the route we were after, and we set out along it... at least until Chief noticed a diverging footpath.
"McCloud, look here," she murmured, gazing into the distance along the trail. "This looks older. Perhaps it is a shortcut, or a route to more water."
"This is a likely possibility," said Enala, creeping forth in the way of most elders. "There are many whitefella caravans through this area, and this route is known to have good, sweet water from below ground."
"But that doesn't explain the faded tracks," was my response. "They must have gone through ages ago..."
Chief cleared her throat to get my attention, and I turned to her.
"I think you will find your explanation for that here," she said, pointing to the strange track in the sand not far away from the rest of the caravan track. It was a five-toed talon mark, circular and maybe a good five feet across, like a crater in the land. It, unlike the other tracks, was much more fresh... and that had us all concerned. Behind us, the wind ruffled our hair, and in that breeze we heard in the faint distance a lonesome and spine-chilling sound like air rushing over the mouth of a Coca-Cola bottle.
"I say we leg it before the maker of those tracks comes looking," I said, swallowing hard, and it was settled. We set down the faded trail, nervous and hoping whatever we found would provide cover from the wind. Well, we certainly found cover, but that wasn't all we found. After a good mile and a half of trekking over the sand and rock, sweltering in the head of the punishing sun above, we came to a sort of rocky outcropping, surrounded by strangely wind-sculpted rocks in a circular wind-buff type pattern, and on the breeze, we smelled the damp scent of mineral spring water. But when we finally went to check...
Within the great circle, we saw the remains of an utterly decimated former mining camp. Seven torn and tattered, sun-faded tents around the remains of a fire pit, long since cold, sat in the center. An eighth tent not far from a crystal clear groundwater spring was intact, seemingly patched up somewhat recently, but similarly abandoned. Two shacks nearby a collapsed old pit, clearly one dug for mining, read "Supplies" and "DANGER: EXPLOSIVES" in weather-faded lettering. And, perhaps most horrifically of all, scattered about the campsite were the sun-bleached, scavenger-picked bones of perhaps a dozen or more men, all in shredded rags of clothing, all with their skeletons broken to bits as if they had been tossed or thrown into the air from a great height.
"Bloody Hell," exclaimed Neville, looking at the devastation. "You reckon those big tumorous bastards got to 'em?"
"It is more than likely," Ludwig added. "Look there - the tumors' footprints... they are recent. This is their stomping grounds..."
"We need to get the hell out, then! You wanna end up like Lucas, or you wanna live?"
"Well, hold on just a second," I replied, "There might be something here. Chief's already started scrounging for extra supplies; saw her run off a few moments ago. We might as well see if there's anything worth keeping around here..."
With that, we ended up looking about for materials, and found a few things - old ropes and tarps, some preserved meats, mining tools, dynamite, shovels, and more. Much of it was broken, stuff Chief meant to sell for scrap, but I discouraged her from taking too much and possibly putting more burden on the jeeps. We only had so much space, after all. We didn't expect any trouble, but then something strange happened. About halfway through the digging, while Neville and I were on our way to fill the canteens, we noticed about twelve or so dog-like creatures napping around that repaired tent. It was strange - we hadn't seen them before, but maybe they had blended into the background...
"The hell are those, some sort of wild dog?" I asked.
"Dingoes," the Aussie replied. "Harmless, really. Mostly pests. Never seen a whole pack of 'em just gathered around a tent like that, though..."
As we spoke, one of the animals poked its head up and yawned, gazing towards us. But its eyes... they were strange. Purplish and opaque, with flecks like stars in them. Immediately, I feared the worst, and recalled back to the hotel in Yirrimburra...
Alton Payther. Not who he says he is. His name - anagram it. His eyes...
"Oi, stop pointing your gun at 'em!" Neville yelled, shaking me from my thoughts. I blinked and looked down sheepishly, finding myself with my pistol in a white-knuckled grip. I hadn't even noticed I'd drawn my weapon, or that the dingo wasn't even moving. Now the rest of its fellows had stood, staring, and there was shuffling coming from inside of the tent...
"You back away! I'll shoot, I will! Swear on my mum's grave, I will!"
The voice was male, and unstable, followed thereafter by an unkempt and wild-eyed face that peered from the inside of the tent. The dingoes seemed to circle about him, protecting him... guarding him? It took some calming down, but we finally did get him to speak and to call off his guard dingoes.
The man's name was Jeremy, and he had been a member of the mining camp. Someone named John Carver, some crazy American that reminded him of a doctor. He was looking for something, and had hired Jeremy and several other men on to dig a mine here, straight down, to find it. They assumed it was gold, and took the job, ready to make their fortune. While out in the Outback, they all soon realized that Carver was off his rocker - he kept claiming that God had told him where to dig, and that he would be a great mind come the end of the decade. Well, their thought was that they'd work until this madman's money ran out, then head back home to seek another job. Sure enough, after several long weeks of digging, the money ran out and the group conspired to mutiny. When Carver confronted them about it and they explained, he got angry, saying he didn't need them anymore and wouldn't be paying them for their work, and swore to them that night would be the last of their lives. Then he walked off into the desert, never to be seen again.
That night, the others caught Jeremy cheating at cards and ran him out of the camp. On his way back, he saw something terrible - Carver on a bluff, commanding some sort of horrible ropy creature with long tentacles. Jeremy could only watch helplessly as the terrible beast destroyed the entire camp, killing every single person there, impervious to the bullets of the men's guns. He ran into the desert, terrified, and there he hid, waiting to die from exposure. Instead, he fell into a restless, deep, days-long sleep, and when he woke, the strange dingoes with starry eyes were waiting for him, a whole pack of them. He said they had to be some sort of spirits or something, because the dingoes never ate or drank, rarely slept, and didn't act like normal animals - no, they acted... smarter. And they always listened to him, no matter what, despite his inability to remember which was which of them. As for Carver, he thought the lunatic took the rest of the supplies and went out towards the East, but other than that he had no other information to give.
The man was clearly insane, and we wanted badly to help, but when we offered to bring him with us he simply shrieked that he wasn't ready to go and hid in his tent, never to come out again. There was nothing we could do, so we left the rest of the food supplies in the camp for him, refueled our water supply, and continued on our way.
Fortunately, the pathway through the dead camp proved to be a nice shortcut, and we soon found ourselves close to a ravine area, dipping between two large rocky outcroppings. These had been marked on our map as a waypoint out to where Neville thought the city was, and to where the MacWhirr Expedition had dug, meaning we were nearly there. So, through the ravine we continued, jeeps humming in single-file, hoping for a nice, easy journey thus far.
You should have a pretty good idea of exactly how well that went if you're even remotely familiar with how the rest of our travels have gone. Not even halfway into the ravine, a massive boulder slammed down in front of the jeeps, halting us. Thankfully, nobody was hurt by the rock, but what followed after certainly did. After the boulder, we got out to check, and within seconds Enala cried out in sudden pain. We turned, and saw she had been speared through the shoulder - and then, another hail of spears came down upon us with such rapidity, it's a miracle we didn't all get hit.
An ambush. We'd been ambushed. And as I looked up to see who had attacked, I saw fifteen to twenty Aboriginal men, all marked with that bizarre bat-like symbol and spiral marks on their arms, armed to the teeth with heavy, jagged spears and what looked to be specially crafted boomerangs for dealing a lot of damage.
"Under the jeep!" I screamed, and we ducked for cover, taking the defensive. From our position, firing on them was hard, but at least they couldn't hit us. Ludwig took to dealing with Enala's bleeding wound, and we all calculated what to do next. That's when I got an idea.
"Guys, keep shooting!" I said, reaching for Chief behind the jeep. "Chief, grab me some rope, I have a plan!"
"What are you doing, McCloud?" murmured Ludwig in confusion as Chief tossed me the rope and I tied it to one end of the undercarriage.
"Something just crazy enough that it might work! Neville, take the other end of this and tie it to the other end of the undercarriage. Chief, next chance you get, get into the jeep and floor it in reverse. Rest of you guys, hold on!"
"Well now hang on just a bloody minute!" Neville snapped, staring at me with disbelief. "You and I both know that won't work! We do that, the ground'll rip half our skin off our backs, then we'll be in even more trouble!"
"Well do you have any better ideas?"
"Have 'em or not, I'm not bloody well doing something that's gonna get us all killed!"
"We don't exactly have many options, Neville!"
"Fucking loony cunt, you are! Rather take my chances with the spears and boomerangs out in the open than deal with you any day, you bloody Yank!"
"Boy, shut your mouth!" Chief suddenly yelled as she fought her way under the jeep, a snarling edge of frustration to her voice. "You are not the one out in the open, being fired upon by lunatics with spears! Besides, I saw some of them come down from the cliff edges, they are coming into the ravine..."
"Well there goes my plan." I narrowed my eyes, steadied my rifle, and started picking off cultists as I could. Now we had the advantage, and soon enough they began to balk when they realized this. Three or four of them died outright from perfect shots, and plenty of others were wounded. We even managed to capture one of the injured ones as he tried to escape, and subdued him.
We've gotten out of the ravine and made camp now, not far from the ambush site. We figure if anyone else tries to attack us, we can take them down from our current vantage point. It's all flat ground with a few hills, and we're on top of a hill now anyway. If anyone tries anything, we'll know.
As for the captive, we've gotten him to talk. It took some... convincing, but Chief has excellent interrogation skills, part of the reason I work with her. The captive told us exactly where his leader was, and it was the same place we were heading. He said there was a city under the ground, in the caves, and that they were all situated there. He was even willing (through a little extra convincing) to guide us there. Finally, something clear-cut and obvious! About damn time... I just hope that things actually go smoothly from here on out. Lord knows we need it.
Sometimes, I half suspect Nyarlathotep is watching us, and laughing.
-- Francis McCloud, Curiously Dreading the Dawn (August 10th, 1928)