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He’d already spoken to the university president, who’d been satisfied to take a quick look at the site and ask to be kept informed. Then, half an hour later, he’d been buttonholed by the university public relations officer, who’d pestered him until he’d promised that nobody would make any statements to the press until daybreak. The campus pastor had dropped by, too, but Clancy had managed to brush him off, as he had the reporters. In his previous job, he’d had to deal with the much more aggressive Los Angeles press corps, so he’d been quick to set up tall wooden barriers around the site to discourage gawkers.

“Bring him around,” he said without enthusiasm.

The man who joined him was slender and handsome, with distinguished silver hair and a face that carried its years well. He pulled off his gloves and held out a manicured hand.

“How do you do, Detective? I’m Gregory Penemue, the university provost.”

They shook hands while Clancy tried to remember what a provost was.  Something well-paid, apparently.

“I can’t tell you what we’ve found here, because I don’t know myself yet,” he said. “Forensics is still taking a look at the bones.”

“Can you tell me whether it may have been a recent crime, at least?” Penemue asked.

“Well, the bones might have been in the ground for a few years,” Clancy said, keeping his answer vague. “And we don’t know if any crime was committed at all. This might be some rancher’s graveyard.” That wouldn’t explain the malformed state of the bones, but Clancy was relying on forensics to explain that eerie little puzzle.

“Are the bones human?”

“It’s still a little early to tell.” In fact, he knew they were human, but he preferred to express a reasonable amount of doubt until an official statement was released.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could see the site more closely?”

“We’d like to keep nonessential personnel away from the dig, sir. The team’s going over everything very carefully. If it turns out a crime
was
committed, we wouldn’t want some defense attorney down the road accusing us of polluting the crime scene.”

“Ah. Of course.” Penemue seemed to understand, and Clancy blessed the recent popularity of police procedurals. On the one hand, they’d raised the public’s expectation of case closure to unrealistic levels, but on the other, they’d made it easy to invoke the magical word "forensics" and keep people away from a scene. Nobody wanted his DNA involved in a murder investigation. “I was told the bones were found fifteen feet or so below the surface,” the provost continued.

“They were pretty deep. Of course, if this was some old graveyard, the ground would have shifted in the last fifty years or so.”

Penemue’s pale eyes searched the ground as if trying to see below its surface.

“I assume you know that there was a murder on campus tonight?”

Clancy crumpled up his Styrofoam coffee cup and threw it into a garbage sack tied to one corner of the field table.

“I heard about it.”

“I’m afraid that unearthing these bones may awaken something unpleasant.”

Clancy sighed.

“You think some killer might have come out of retirement now that his old kills have been found? That’s Hollywood fantasy, sir. We’re keeping a police presence here as a matter of form, but it wouldn’t surprise me if this dig gets handed over to the archaeologists in another day or two. Does the university have an archaeology department?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Too bad. This is probably nothing but an interesting piece of local history.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s that.”

People were stirring next to the pit, and Clancy frowned.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Penemue, we’ve got work to do.”

“Hey, Clancy! Take a look at this!”

“I’ll let myself out,” Penemue said. Clancy hesitated. Then, hearing the voices rising, he abandoned the provost and hurried to join his officers.

“What is it?” he demanded, crouching at the edge of the pit.

“First sign of an identifying mark we’ve found so far—maybe some kind of jewelry?” A woman in a dark blue forensics jacket held it up in gloved hands, tilting it back and forth. “A medallion?”

The clay disc was wider than her palm, with incisions in it. The dirt on its face had already been brushed away, revealing what looked like the letters SAN around the edges.

“What does that say?” Clancy asked.

“It could be a grave marker,” one of the other technicians suggested, craning his neck to take a look at it. “Someone’s name?”

A soft brush was handed over. Everyone leaned forward to watch as the first technician swept away more of the clinging dirt.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “These look like crosses, in the middle.”

“S-A-N-D-R-O...”

“Hey!” Another shout. “I found one, too!”

Clancy nodded, pleased. At last, real clues; something they could talk about at the press conference tomorrow.

“Careful—”

“Shit!”

“Watch what you’re doing!” he roared, standing on the edge of the pit. Two of the workers were kneeling and picking up fragments of clay.

“It was already broken,” one said, defensively. “Nothing but damp dirt holding it together.”

“From now on, keep the clay matrix intact around them,” the chief technician snapped.

“Sandromaliu?” The forensics officer looked up. “Is that Greek?”

“Maybe it’s a name. Sandro Maliu.”

“It is a name and a label,” said an unwelcome voice. Clancy turned, annoyed, to see Penemue standing behind him.

“Sir, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.” Penemue lifted his pale grey eyes. “The earth is about to move.”

“An earthquake?” Clancy looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“Here.” Penemue slid next to him and held out a hand to the woman with the seal. “Get out of the hole.”

“Detective?” She looked at him for directions.

“Wait!” The chief technician of the forensics team lifted the medallion from her hand and revolved it. “He’s right. It’s Andromalius.
Andro Malius
.”

“Yes,” Penemue said, continuing to hold out his hand. “You need to leave now.”

As if the provost’s words were a cue, the world jolted to the left.

VIII

Richard picked himself up from the dirt and swiftly righted his camera, swearing as he checked it for damage. Then the earth jolted again and he clung to his camera with one hand and the wooden bench with the other.

An earthquake! He’d never been in an earthquake before, even though everyone had warned him about them when he’d moved to California.  When he’d thought about it, he’d imagined being in an earthquake would be like standing on a swaying train. This felt more like riding a bronco.

The earth jolted again and continued shuddering, and all he could do was hold onto the bench and stare downhill at the dig.

Police and forensics technicians were scrambling out of the pit, but its walls were collapsing on them as quickly as they tried to move out. Richard heard screaming and shouting as the earth began to collapse in a long fault-furrow. One of the bulldozers tilted and fell, burying two people beneath its metal bulk.

He pointed the camera and clicked the shutter, knowing there was no way he’d get a good photo but knowing that he had to try. This was front page news.

A light was burning in the middle of the site, bright and white and moving away from the edge of the pit. Richard blinked and the light resolved into a white-haired man, his long coat flapping behind him like two wings. He was walking so calmly and easily over the unsteady ground that it seemed like he wasn’t affected by the earthquake at all.

Something cracked like a gunshot.  Richard twisted, staring up in shock as the heavy wooden cross toppled down upon him.

Creosote-soaked railroad ties slammed into his back, snapping bone. He screamed and twisted, his belly in the dirt, facing downhill again as tears of pain streamed from his eyes. Oh, shit, his arms were broken, he was sure of it, and the cross was so heavy that it was crushing his ribs.

Down below, the ground was collapsing around the dig site, caving in as though it were pouring itself into deep caverns located far below the surface of the earth.

Richard shrieked as the earth heaved beneath his stomach and the broken bones in his arms grated against each other. His vision darkened but he clung to consciousness, afraid that if he passed out he’d never wake up again.

The screams below him grew louder. He tilted his head, staring down at the field where geysers of earth were erupting like miniature volcanoes.

Huge, carapace-covered serpents lifted draconic heads and shrieked to the stars.

Richard stared, his cheek pressed against the dirt, and wondered if he were hallucinating from pain.

The serpents ducked and slammed back into the dirt, their open jaws engulfing the hapless police team as they hammered their way back underground, leaving only blood and torn limbs behind.

Only the man in white—no, he was wearing a black coat, but his hair was so white it seemed to spread its brilliance over the rest of him—only the man in white still stood on the edge of the torn field, motionless, looking like he was waiting for the world to end.

Richard drew in a labored breath. Dirt slid and collapsed beneath him as the side of the hill began to collapse.

One of the serpentine creatures burst from the hillside next to him. It turned its eyeless visage toward him, its razor-edged mouth gaping.

Richard released his last breath in a scream that sent a black, blood-covered feather fluttering away as the serpent dived, slamming him deep into the earth.

IX

Jack swore as the first jolt rocked the small apartment, and Andy yelped and grabbed his laptop before it could plunge off the side of the desk. Books toppled from the shelves and dishes shifted in the cupboards. Before they could catch their breath, a second jolt hit, and then a third. The bookshelves rocked away from the walls and fell; one crashed through the living room window. A cupboard door swung open. Jack covered his head with one arm as plates spilled out, shattering on the linoleum floor.

The lights went out.

“Andy!” Jack jammed his pack of cigarettes and lighter into his jacket pocket and groped his way through the kitchen, holding onto the counter top as his boots crunched through broken glass and china. “Where are you?”

“I’m okay,” the reply came. “Be careful—it’s probably not over yet.”

Jack braced against a wall as the ground shook again. His heart was pounding harder than it had in months. He’d been in tornadoes, thunderstorms, floods, car accidents, and shootouts, but never an earthquake. He hadn’t realized how horrible it was. A man counted on the earth being steady under his feet. To have it suddenly develop a mind of its own felt like madness.

More objects fell, but the first sharp jolts had stopped, at least for the moment. Jack edged forward, keeping his hands out and ready to grab whatever was close by for support.

“There’s a flashlight in the kitchen drawer by the sink,” Andy said.