Quagmire's Gate

By Allan E Petersen

The destruction of the Earth by alien antimatter at a secret laboratory can only be prevented through the genius of Professor Quagmire. The problem being that he is confined to a secret insane asylum for scientists who have overtaxed their minds and are now outright crazy. Doctor Lynda Gray, medic at the secret lab has the unenviable task of retrieving him from Roads End Institution and working with him to save the world. All the while, she struggles with personal demons, the death of her husband and unforgiving daughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan E Petersen
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370419227

Allan E Petersen

Allan E. Petersen, now lives in Vancouver, Canada. Retired, he dedicates his time to a lifelong passion of writing. The two subjects that command his attention are: the mysteries that are hidden within our genetic code and contemporary interpretations of biblical writings. He has combined these two interests in his latest series of books -The House of the Nazarene- the first of which is 'An Angel in the Shadows.'

Book preview

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 bellowed,

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.

Looking down at his hands, she indicated for him to remove the hand covering the injury. He slowly slid the hand away to reveal a small puncture wound on the top of his right hand. Inspecting the hole with the discerning eye of a Doctor, she shook her head in bewilderment and said,

It’s very strange indeed isn’t it?

Rather casually, he said,

Yea, I guess it might be at that Doc.

What happened? How did you get it?

I don’t know. I was just working in the lab and happened to look down and there it was.

But you must have felt something didn’t you? I mean a hole like that in your hand must have produced a bit of a nasty sting.

Rather casually he shook his head. It really did not hurt at all. After more thought to the injury he casually said,

No, not at all Doc. Like I said, suddenly there it was. What do you think it is? Maybe a bug bite or something?

As soon as she realized there might be a chance of a biological contamination and not knowing what was going on over in the secret laboratory, she was prudent enough to put on latex gloves. Little did she suspect such a simple precaution would save her life. Now protected against a possible infection, she did not hesitate to rub her finger over the wound. As she did, she said,

Well if it is a bug bite then it’s not like any I’ve ever seen and trust me mate, where I’m from I’ve seen just about all there is to see in bug bites. Besides how could it be? We are at least two hundred feet underground. Before entering the lab you had to change your street clothes and take a decontamination shower before entering it. No mate, this place is one hundred percent sterile. Trust me. It’s not a bug bite.

Up until that second, until reminded of the near perfect sterile conditions in the Deep Lab 6 Research Laboratory, he felt good thinking that the injury did not pose a threat. He even considered not bothering coming to the Infirmary at all. She noticed his sudden nervousness. When he realized that she was correct and considering what was in the secret lab, sudden alternatives to a hole in the hand brought to bear unpleasant alternatives.

Hatcher was a brilliant scientist lucky enough to be born with an intellect and dogged determination to dissect and quickly come to a solution. A steadfast determination drove him to what he was today, a top scientist in Quantum Physics. Although there was no pain in his hand, there was a mystery to be solved. Now, being reminded that his first prognosis was impossible, a tinge of insecurity slowly surged through him. His beating heart took over and raised his blood pressure just enough to make him sweat.

Doctor Lynda Gray took her eyes off the injury and looked at his face just in time to see the dilemma flow though him. She saw his brave facade crumble like crushed crackers. Trying to entice an answer from him, she said,

Obviously it is not a bug bite is it?

As he responded, she felt a slight tremble in his hand. He asked,

Then what is it?

She wanted to know what caused the hole but unfortunately she does not hold a high enough security clearance to get into the lab where it happened. Her security restricts her to this medical lab. To go over and investigate a contamination or anything hazardous was strictly out of the question. Taking a step back and looking him straight in his by now very uncomfortable eyes, she responded in the only way she knew.

Why don’t you tell me what it is then?

The aura around Hatcher suddenly turned bleak. The result of a preliminary diagnosis by the Doctor had just blown his naive ineffectual assumption through the ventilation fans and out into the thin desert air hundreds of feet above. She saw his flippancy melt and replaced with one of alarm. For the first time since coming to this secret laboratory in the middle of the desert, she had a slight curiosity about what was going on over there. However, that was all, just a slight interest. That all changed when seeing a curious hole in this young man’s hand.

Looking into his unnerved eyes, she suspected that he had obviously invented the simplistic story of a bug bite and knew it was a foolhardy explanation all along. There was no bug in the world she knows of that bites and then produces compounds to cauterize the veins like that. In most cases, bugs produce an anticoagulant with the purpose to draw blood, not restrict it from flowing. She knew he was covering up something.

He feebly tried to pull his hand away but instinctively her grip tightened. She had seen panic of unknown injury in patients many times before. She also understood that suddenly he did not want the injury looked at anymore. All of a sudden the reason for it was unimportant and replaced by a fear that she might start asking questions he was not permitted to answer.

This sudden turn of events greatly perked Doctor Gray’s curiosity. Although the patient was filled with misgivings, she was filled with bewilderment and curiosity. ‘What’s going on?’ Doctor Gray also had a doctor’s heart. She wanted to know what on earth caused it. The last thing she wanted was a contagion stampeding through a laboratory.

She did not know how deep the hole was. Because he was a young man, by now the viscosity of his skin had almost closed over it. However, it was deep enough to cut capillaries so there should be blood. Yet, there was none. She again rubbed the injury with her gloved forefinger. As she did, she looked into his blank face for any signs of pain. His vacant expression remained intact. Doctor Lynda Gray asked,

Can I assume there is not even the slightest discomfort?

He simply looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. Casually he bravely said,

Nah. It’s like it isn’t even there.

But it is, isn’t it dear.

Yea Doc, I guess so.

Well, if it doesn’t hurt let’s see how deep it is then.

Hatcher was sitting on an uncomfortable swivel stool across from the Doctor. Just in case he wanted to pull his injured hand away from her, she held it tight. Just as she was about to turn and reach for a thin metal probe to stick into the hole, her fingers felt something on the other of his hand, on his palm. A gentle rubbing with her fingertip confirmed that there was definitely something there. As she turned his hand over, she asked,

What’s this then?

On his palm was another small hole. This one, like the one on top was also cauterized with no signs of blood. As she looked up into the now almost panicky face of the young man, she realized that it was not necessary to ask how he got that one either. His bewildered expression was self-explanatory. She needed an answer to one question.

Are there any other mysterious holes on your body I should know about?

Still alarmed, he slowly shook his head and softly said,

I guess the only logical answer is that I don’t know.

Well then I guess the only logical answer is that I should have a look, isn’t it.

Horrible visions of him standing naked while a good-looking female Doctor inspected every inch of his body seemed to have replaced fear with great humility. She had seen that shy ‘run like hell’ look in young men many times before. It was one she enjoyed seeing. The fearful look implied she was in control. Yet, in her years spent in the Australian Air Force hospital, she had seen so many naked bodies she would rather yawn, go home and do the dishes. He was relieved to hear,

Before I subject you to that however, let’s have a closer like at this one shall we.

He was quick to answer.

Yea, I’m pretty sure that’s all there is anyway.

It was hard not to tease him.

Well, we’ll see about that young man.

As she inspected the second hole in his palm, there was a silence in the infirmary. The normally quite ventilation fans above could have been roaring jet engines. A brief moment later she turned the hand back over and again looked long and hard at the one on top. Flipping back to the hole in his palm, she said,

That’s odd. The one on your palm is directly underneath the one on top of your hand?

To confirm her discovery, he flipped his hand back and forth inspecting the anomaly. She had to ask again,

No pain? No indication of a slight sting then?

With wide eyes he gasped,

No.

A thought came to her. It seemed ludicrous but then so did the fact that there was no pain or blood. As she twisted around and opened a drawer behind her, she said,

I want to try something. Let me just get my torch.

Surprised, he fearfully blurted out,

Torch?

The fear of a flame applied to the wound jolted him into snapping his hand out of hers and into the protective custody of his chest. His other hand shot up trying to hide it. Puzzled, she turned back and saw his stunned expression. He was shaking his head and projecting a defiant posture.

Because she had not done anything to justify this sudden reaction, she wondered if perhaps she had said something wrong. She asked,

What’s the matter with you? You can’t be afraid of a little torch can you?

Nodding his head, he defiantly said,

Little or not the flame is the same. Why do you need to cauterize the hole with a flame anyway?

It was not the first time she had been misunderstood. Beaming a broad smile she held up the implement and asked,

What’s this then?

There was still hesitancy in his voice but he was sure he was going to get the question right.

It’s a small flashlight.

Right. But where I come from we call it a torch.

Relief washed across his face. He said,

Yea, I forgot, you are English aren’t you.

No love, I’m Australian. There’s a big difference you know.

To her the difference was as obvious as fire and ice. Yet she saw by this Yank’s blank look that there was not an inch of difference to him.

She signaled for him to pry his hand away from his chest and back into her outstretched hand. It was clear that he did not want to but slowly submitted. She then pressed the flashlight hard against the hole in his palm and said,

Straighten your fingers out so there are no wrinkles in your hand.

He did. She then turned the flashlight on. While keeping the flashlight tight against his palm, with her free hand she slowly turned his hand over.

He was puzzled about her intent. It was not until she reached down and with two fingers gently spread the hole apart that his eyes practically fell out of his head. There, on top of his hand was a glimmering beam of light. Not understanding what the Doctor had just proven, he was puzzled why a light was beaming out of the top of his hand. However, because he was a scientist, it did not take long for him to figure it out. In horror, he snapped his hand away and again pressed it hard to his protective chest.

After both holes were dressed and bandaged, she asked,

You understand Mr. Hatcher that I am the resident Doctor at this research facility. If anything of a hazardous medical nature happens over there, I want to know about it.

As he slowly nodded, she once again saw fear oozing out of him. Any questions that might be construed as a breach of security to what was happening in the secret lab next door brought instantaneous bouts of anxiety to almost everybody who had taken the oath and signed very intimidating confidentiality papers. How much could he tell her? What constituted a breach?

She snapped off her rubber gloves and tossed them in the garbage pail at the side of her desk. Because she then started putting the bandages and antibacterial balm away, she did not see what was happening in the garbage pail. The tip of the crumpled latex glove that had touched the hole in his hand started to smolder like the tip of a cigarette butt. However, there was no heat and no smoke. The sparking quickly devoured the glove and it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

With her back to him, she continued with her investigation of the injury.

You understand Mr. Hatcher that we have to rule out an insect bite.

She did not hear an answer and really did not expect one. With the medical supplies safely put away, she shut the cabinet and turned back to the still perplexed Jimmy Hatcher. She continued.

Now we both know that I have no security clearance for whatever it is you people are doing over there in the lab. However, I have the authorization to question you about injuries that I deem hazardous to you blokes in there.

Though he nodded, she knew it was more of an empty-headed acknowledgement of her statement. She saw that he seemed lost to deep thought. After a few moments of awkward silence she realized that he was not about to answer. She continued.

Fine. So let me ask you this. I can only think of one thing that could make a hole like that and cauterize the skin and vessels at the same time. Are you working with or experimenting with lasers in there?

She was new to this ‘Shut mouth’ syndrome. If in doubt, shut your mouth. In most cases, she saw these security clauses as merely a joke, games that macho men for some reason need to play. With a deep sigh of resignation, she rephrased the question.

Very well. If, and of course only if you are working with laser technology then I’m going to make the assumption that you were stupid enough to get your hand in the way of the beam and that hole is the result of it. If that is true then I will just close the book on this injury and enter it in my log as an industrial accident that will not happen again. Are we fine with that assumption Mr. Hatcher?

He lowered his eyes to the bandages and then turned his hand over to confirm there really was a hole running clean through it. Without looking up, he slowly nodded.

She changed the subject and asked,

Is there anybody else in the lab that might also be suffering from this sort of mysterious injury? I don’t mean just on their hand but elsewhere on their body?

He shrugged his shoulders and she continued,

Is there anybody in there that might be in danger of this happening to them?

He nodded but only once and every slightly.

Just as he was reaching for the door, preparing to leave, she said to him,

"Don’t be