Free Area 51: Nosferatu-8 by Robert Doherty Page A

other side, but there was only stillness. He waited, not even daring to breathe. Total, complete stillness. He had almost forgotten what it was like.
    Nosferatu took a deep breath, ignoring the overwhelming stench from inside the tube. He reached to the inner latch and pressed on it. The lid cracked open and a surge of water poured in, causing him to panic for a second before the inflow suddenly ceased. Then another splash of water, a wave. He almost slammed the lid shut, but the tube wasn't moving. Of that he was certain. And it was night outside. Through the slight opening he could see stars on the horizon.
    Nosferatu swung the lid wide open and sat up.
    The tube was on the surf line along a rocky coast. Cliffs towered over a thin sliver of pebble shore. Gingerly, Nosferatu climbed out of the tube, his feet touching solid ground for the first time in over a month. He pulled the tube inland, making sure it was above the surf line. Then he looked about. There was not a single hint of vegetation, just bare, forbidding rock. And no sign of animal life, not even birds overhead.

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    Nosferatu glanced up at the cliffs. There was a tinge of light—dawn was coming. He summoned up what little energy he had left. First, he cleaned out the interior of the tube with seawater. Then he pulled the tube across the narrow beach and wedged it in a crack in the cliff face. He piled up smaller rocks in front, hiding it from the sight of anyone passing on the ocean. He placed his hands over the control panel, reading what he could make out and remembering as best he could the sequence the God had set on Nekhbet's. With shaking hands he tapped out a code. The panel flashed and he crawled inside, putting the bands on his legs and arms before setting the crown on his head.
    He had just completed this when he felt darkness overwhelm him.

    THE GIZA PLATEAU: 8000 B.C.

    Vampyr cut the soldier's throat with one smooth slice of the dagger. He grabbed the stunned man, pulling the open wound to his mouth, and drank as much blood as his engorged body would take. The soldier was the third he had taken in as many nights. He did not need the blood. They were Egyptian, serving the Gods, and this was vengeance, though he was sure none but the dead would know who was wreaking it.
    Vampyr had demurred when Nosferatu had said they should travel south, into the unknown lands. He knew the Eldest was going to hide and bide his time. Vampyr did not want to hide. He wanted blood and vengeance and he planned to stay close to Egypt.
    The men he took were those who wandered out of the fort in the evening into the local village, seeking wine and

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    women. He slid the body of the most recent victim off the edge of the dock, into the dark water of the Nile. He knew there was already a level of unease in the fort from the two missing men and a third's disappearing would bring some sort of reaction.
    Three soldiers from the army of an empire. Poor vengeance indeed, Vampyr thought bitterly to himself as he strode along the wooden dock toward the small boat that held his tube.
    Once on deck, he paused and stood still, feeling the cool breeze blow over his skin. It was as if there were a hole in his chest, and all the blood he took could never be enough to fill it. Lilith had always been there, for over a hundred years. They had been together in the womb. Played together along the banks of the Nile as children, not knowing the fate that awaited them.
    Shortly after the twins reached adulthood, the high priests had taken them and dragged them into the Roads, entombing them in adjacent tubes. Even in their imprisonment, they had still had each other. When Lilith died on the cross he had felt the connection with her inside his mind give way. It was as if together they had been one complete person and balanced each other—Lilith the light, and he the darkness.
    A horn call rang out plaintively from the fort. When Vampyr looked landward, he could see a group of soldiers