Check With Me Before You Touch Anything

Five war-weary Santori soldiers approach the Rahman Cathedral led by Commander Arcus Dollman, a ruthless, driven leader intent on wiping out the Kuntasi civilization and ending the war between them.

His present mission is to loot the cathedral, which is rumored to contain millions in treasure and ancient texts about alchemy.

The men are accompanied by Father Theodor Strasburg, a Kuntasi cleric. Father Strasburg hopes he can convince Dollman to spare their religious texts.

Commander Dollman smiles as he looks at the cathedral’s shell-smudged white spirals. With a jutting, dimpled jaw, steely grey eyes, closely cropped hair, and a tight-fitting pair of black gloves, Dollman projects a swaggering superiority.

“We could have bombed this house of lies out of existence. It’s a tribute to our men’s precision artillery fire that it’s still standing.”

“Or our faith, Commander,” Father Strasburg replies. “Thousands of innocent citizens have died and thousands more fight on against your tyranny.”

“I told you to evacuate but you didn’t listen. Your people’s blood is on your hands not mine.”

Father Strasburg bows his head, running his hand through his snow-white hair. Father Strasburg suffers from esotropia, which makes both eyes turn inward, making him look cross-eyed. The condition and Dollman’s hatred for the Kuntasi has made their relationship testy.

“Sub-commander!” Dollman calls out.

Max Hansen steps forward. The squat second-in-command salutes crisply.

“Take two men and search the rear of the church.”

Hansen picks Curt Beck and Harry Hoppe, his two best men. Tall and wiry, Beck is anxious to get home to his newborn daughter, and lately has become as antagonistic as their commander. Sandy-haired and muscular, Hoppe has a gentle nature but has had his faith in his government shaken by the atrocities he has seen and been forced to commit.

As the men walk away, Dollman calls after Hansen.

“No prisoners!”          

Father Theodor looks at Dollman with disbelief.

“Haven’t there been enough massacres?”

Commander Dollman huffs dismissively.

“I never know which eye to look into with you… We’re still at war, priest. The Imperial Regime has lost a million men to you animals through ambush, guerilla warfare, and suicide attacks. My son, Fredrich, was standing in the streets of Leon, when a little girl approached him offering him flowers in a gesture of surrender. She blew herself up. So no, holy man, as far as I’m concerned, you and your people have not suffered enough.”

Commander Dollman marches into the church. He notices a large tapestry depicting a cat in a Kuntasi uniform with the phrase, “Live Free or Die” underneath.

“How inane, worshiping a cat.”

“And worshiping a man with a lion’s head is so much more superior,” Father Theodor counters, cowering when Dollman gives him a lethal stare.

“I was only pointing out that our cultures are similar. You genuflect on the right; we bow to our lord on the left. You eat fish on Friday, we eat it on Sunday. We worship on Saturday; you worship on Sunday.”

“Shut up, you bandy-eyed fool. We’re nothing alike.”

Looking around at the candles, chalices, and gold crosses, Commander Dollman’s eyes narrow. “Take all of it.”

“This is still a place of worship,” Father Theodor points out.

“It is a spoil of war,” Dollman growls.

Commander Dollman notices half a dozen boys hiding behind the altar. The boys are dressed in the same velvet material covering the altar.

“Who are they?”

“My altar boys,” Father Theodor replies.

Dollman grinds his teeth. “You so-called holy men are truly disgusting. You can’t have women, so you take your perversions out on little boys.”

“It is you who are perverted, Commander. The boys serve our god, not me.”

“Really? Then maybe it’s time they met him face to face.”

Turning to his two remaining men, Dollman snaps out his command.

“You know what to do.”

“But they’re children, sir,” the first soldier points out.

“Thank you, Meltzer. I hadn’t noticed. Would you care to join them?”

Meltzer salutes. He and the other soldier gather the children together.

Father Theodor watches the soldiers march the children outside, his concern rising.

“Spare them, Commander.”

“Today’s runny-nose urchin is tomorrow’s terrorist.”

Father Theodor tries to hide his grief. “I still don’t understand your interest in this place.”

“One of your soldiers, under our influence…”

“You mean under torture,” Father Theodor says.

“Semantics. One of your soldiers said there is a secret library here, and one of the texts hidden here is The Book of the Dead. Its secrets will make our men immortal and finish this war.”

“The Book of the Dead is a myth.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

The sound of machine guns enhances Dollman’s malicious smile.

With their weapons drawn and ready, Max, Curt, and Henry quietly enter the rear of the church.

Max cocks his ear.

“You hear what I’m hearing?”

“Children,” Harry replies.

Creeping along the hallway, the men enter a large community room.

A dozen children ranging from toddlers to teenagers look up in horror at the soldiers.

Curt points his pistol at the children.

Max slaps it away, waving his hands in a show of non-violence.

The children crowd together in a corner of the room.

“No kill. No kill,” Max says.

The oldest, a dark-skinned, lanky boy with tattered clothes steps forward, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Sacrada. Libero.”

“What’s he saying, Max? You speak their language,” Curt says.

“Sacred. That this place is a sacred library.”

“So, it does exist,” Harry says in wonderment. “But where?”

“Savada libero. Travada meo.”

“Follow me. Save the library,” Max translates.

“It’s a trap,” Curt says.

“Aw, c’mon, Curt. He’s a kid,” Harry replies.

“How many times have we fallen for that one? I tell you he’s leading us into an ambush.”

“You see anything strapped to him?” Harry counters. “His clothes have a thousand holes in them.”

“Formada ono. Lead on,” Max says to the boy.

The boy leads them down a dusty, damaged side hallway.

“Precido carefullada,” the boy says as they pass a hole in the damaged floor.

“Proceed cautiously,” Max says.

“I don’t need a translation for that one, Sub-Commander,” Curt replies.

The boy stops at the end of the hallway, waving them on.

The men hesitate, looking at the boy pensively.

“It’s a dead end,” Curt says.

The floorboards creak, giving way. The soldiers plummet, landing on a stone floor.

Looking up, the men realize they’ve dropped at least fifteen feet.

Shaking the cobwebs from his head, Harry says, “Guess we shouldn’t have left our climbing equipment in the jeep.”

Curt bounces angrily to his feet, pointing his gun up at the boy.

“I told you it was a trap!”

The boy backs out of sight.

“Alo knowlodgica et su desiro et yuro fingernada!”

“What did that little assassin say?” Curt asks.

“All the knowledge we desire is at our fingertips.”

The wooden steps creak as Commander Dollman and Father Theodor walk upstairs to the cathedral’s second floor. Dollman is impressed with the main room’s size and opulence. It has a smoking room for the important guests, reading rooms, ornately carved ceilings, massive chandeliers, wall-sized paintings of priests, and gold wine pitchers and glasses.

Dollman becomes interested in a large mahogany cabinet in the corner. Smirking, he opens one of the drawers, extracting a gold-plated wooden box.

He pulls out a handful of precious jewels.

“This is why I hate you self-righteous religious relics. You preach piety, humility, and faith in whatever God you serve while hoarding wealth you could use to help the poor.”

Dollman scans the hundreds of books on the shelves, reading the titles aloud. “The Adventures of Ali Babalu,” “The Light of Great Enlightenment,” and “Santori, Land of Tyranny.”

Dollman throws the last book at Father Theodor, who manages to duck.

“A room full of propaganda! These books will be burned!”

“But you’ll destroy hundreds of years of our history.”

“Exactly, you wall-eyed wimp,” Dollman taunts. “I might let you keep a few of your ridiculous religious pamphlets if you tell me where the Book of Death is.”

“I don’t know. It was believed lost when you attacked the Church in Leon.”

Father Theodor shivers as Commander Dollman pulls off his gloves, flexing his fists.

“You want to blame its loss on me? I was a boxing champion at Weisberg College. I don’t want to soil my fists on a Kuntasi charlatan, but I will…”

Father Theodor quickly retreats to the other side of the room, opening a cabinet. “I know your people are interested in alchemy and witchcraft. This cabinet contains all twelve volumes of Dr. Caligari’s investigations as well as Dante Boniface’s “Dark Side of Man.” And we have the only copy of Franz Christman Anderson’s “Door to Immortality.”

“The one made from human skin?” Dollman asks excitedly.

Father Theodor points to a thick volume in the cabinet.

Dollman pulls out the book, setting it on a table.

Caressing the cover, he opens the book.

“Exquisite.”

Dollman’s hands sink into the pages.

Dollman attempts to pull his hands away. The more he struggles, the deeper his hands sink into the book.

“What trickery is this? Free me, you cross-eyed wizard!” Dollman screams.

Commander Dollman fights back, but he sinks deeper into the book until his entire body is consumed.

Father Theodor closes the book, quietly exiting through a side door leading to an underground passage.

“These catacombs are endless,” Harry notes.

“This must be how their saboteurs got into our cities. This cavern must be miles long,” Curt says.

“Five miles…so far,” Harry notes.

The men slow to look at the artwork etched on the walls.

“This is like a Kuntasi history lesson,” Harry says. “It goes back hundreds of years. The first picture is of Admiral Capucine leading his ships against ours in the Battle of the North Sea. The second is of Captain Foch flanking our troops; the third shows our tanks battling theirs at The Battle of St. Rochelle.”

“That was only three months ago,” Max notes.

“So? We kicked their cans,” Curt says proudly.

“That means there might be somebody down here drawing these pictures.”

“And that could mean they know a way out,” Harry adds.

The men continue their trek, walking through massive caves with running streams, squeezing through tunnels so small they have to crawl on their bellies to get through them.

After sixteen miles, Max calls for a break inside a damp cave filled with stalagmites. Mac and Harry are unrolling their bed rolls when Curt says, “You’ve got to see this.”

In the back of the cave standing in three lines are statutes of Kuntasi soldiers. The soldiers are twice the size of the men and depict Kuntasi soldiers from a hundred years ago who would have served under Captain Foch.

“Creepy,” Max says. “Looks like we stumbled into one of their shrines for their dead heroes.”

“But why build it underground?” Curt asks.

“So we couldn’t get to it.”

“They’re pretty detailed,” Harry notes. “I mean, you can see the individual hairs in the first one’s mustache and the mole on the cheek of the second statue.”

“I’ll take all of them on,” Curt snarls.

A loud hissing sound behind them makes Curt jump.

“Atta boy. Jumping out of your boots over some steam.”

“I don’t like this place,” Harry says. “I couldn’t sleep a wink in here.”

“They’re not alive, Harry,” Curt teases.

“No. But whoever made them might be.”

After a long sleep, the men continue exploring the winding paths and caverns.

Their journey takes them into a large cave. The main room contains large, ornate shelves stretching to the ceiling containing thousands of books.

Statues of Kuntasi soldiers are on both sides of the room.

The men search the spacious cave. A back room contains communication centers, barrels of fuel, water, food, rocket launchers, and barracks for soldiers. A door leads to another underground pathway.

“A supply dump,” Max says. “I wonder how many of these are down here.”

“Enough to fight a dozen wars,” a voice behind them says.

The men turn to face a seven-foot amber-colored tabby cat wearing a Kuntasi uniform. The cat is standing on its hind legs and has human hands with six fingers.

They pull their pistols, pointing them at the cat.

“What in the bejesus are you?” Max asks.

“Doesn’t matter, so long as we can kill it,” Curt says, firing off four shots.

Frowning, the cat bats away each bullet.

“I know cats are supposed to be quick…” Max mutters.

“I am Smarticus, the Kuntasi’s sacred librarian. I catalog and protect their history.”

“A sacred cat?” Curt says doubtfully.

“Who better to protect history? I have nine lives. These books have been here since the dawn of our history thousands of years ago.”

Harry begins examining the dusty volumes on a nearby table.

“We have papyri from ancient times, clay tablets, and the death mask of our first King. We have a copy of our surrender treaty from our first war with the Santori.”

Smarticus pulls down one of the books, blowing the dust off it.

“A first edition of ‘The Wizard of Odd’ signed by the author. We also have the silver slippers worn by Judy Garfield in the film.”

“But why store all of this?” Max asks.

“The Santori’s destroy everything. You have no yesterday, no tomorrow. The Kuntasi want to remember the past to help build the future.”

“That’s garbage,” Curt says, rummaging through a pile of books on a table.

“Hey, the diary of Lavinia Borgia, the most famous criminal and notorious poisoner of all time!”

Curt opens the book.

Screaming, Curt’s hands dissolve like sand through an hourglass. The deadly acid travels down Curt’s arms and across his chest until his entire body sizzles and disappears.

“I would suggest you check with me before you touch something,” Smarticus says nonchalantly.

Harry pulls his gun out, his hands shaking.

“Still think the gun thing will work, eh?” Smarticus says.

“Put it away, Harry,” Max orders. “We’re looking for the Book of Death.”

“Why?”

“We’re in the midst of a long and exhausting war. We outnumber the Kuntasi four to one, but we haven’t conquered you yet. If we can make our soldiers immortal, the Kuntasi kingdom will crumble.”

“It doesn’t belong to either culture. We were once a single civilization. Prince Athorus and an evil cleric conjured up The Book of the Dead in order to enslave the entire kingdom. The Prince was killed before he could use it and the book was destroyed.”

“Sure, it was. If you don’t give it to us, we’ll bring this tunnel down around your ears,” Max says forcefully. “You’re our prisoner.”

Smarticus meows happily. “Am I? Nice bluff. You’re the ones who are lost and are a hundred feet below the surface.”

“But we have a mission to complete,” Max replies. “The brass wants to build an army of undead, indestructible soldiers to finally win this war. Give us what we want, and we’ll be on our way. We’re winning. We want this war to end so we can go home to our families.”

Smarticus hisses. “So, you think you’re winning? There are so many tunnels down here that I don’t even know where they lead, and I’ve been here for hundreds of years. They encompass a hundred and eighty miles, and they all lead to your major cities. We may have lost the last two wars, but we can keep this one going on indefinitely. And we haven’t even unleashed our most deadly weapon. There are dozens of warriors in these caverns waiting to be called on. They were created by the cleric who aided Prince Athorus and wanted the Kuntasi to be the dominant culture. Our king swore to yours that we would never use the warriors against Santori. We have kept that promise. We could have used these warriors to defeat you in the previous two wars, but…”

“It’s stupid to not play a winning hand,” Max says. “If they could have turned the tide of war in your favor, why not use them?”

“Because they can’t be stopped. Their purpose is to destroy. Once they destroy our enemies, they will destroy everyone else, then us. They are the ultimate doomsday weapon.”

Harry sights a leather-bound book.

“This is it! It wasn’t destroyed! I bet this the Book of Death!”

Harry begins to read from the book.

“Givada meo es powers teo ravida deo…”

“Wait!” Smarticus shouts. “That’s not the Book of Death! It’s the Book of Resurrection! You’ve awakened our warriors!”

The two soldiers dive under a nearby table.

The floor shakes as the statues on both sides of the room come to life, plodding forward. Their heavy footsteps bring down the shelves and walls, sending debris crashing around Max and Harry.

The statues crush everything in their path, stepping on fallen bookshelves and swatting at tilting bookcases. The floor continues to vibrate until the soldiers have disappeared.

When the dust settles, Max and Harry search for a way out.

The warriors' exit has left an impassable pile of dirt and debris where the entrance to the library used to be.

“Smarticus! Where’s the cat!” Max says.

Max and Harry rush to the back room exit. They toss aside the wrecked supplies and clutter to reach the door.

“He locked it behind himself when he left,” Harry declares dejectedly. “It could take us weeks to get out of here and reach the surface.”

“Maybe we’re better off here,” Max replies.