The Oasis
The Oasis
Inspired by "Coyotka's Bum" (http://yiffstar.com/?pid=104233)
Coyotka, Geno and Coyotek © Coyotek
All other fictional characters © me, Dikran_O
Hitler, King Tut, Nasser and David Bowie, are all historical figures, but none of them appear in this story.
Egypt, Present day
It was thirty-five degrees Celsius, ninety-five Fahrenheit, by the time the sun had cleared the horizon. But at thirty-three percent relative humidity Coyotka found it quite bearable. Pleasant in fact, compared to back home in Poland, where a cold snap had brought the November temperatures down to the freezing mark. That's why she always tried to schedule her African digs during Europe's winter. Being able to work in shorts and a loose shirt was easier on the wardrobe budget too.
Coyotka, a tri-coloured coyote, had been in Egypt for only a few days. She had come for her post-graduate placement for archaeology, to work with the famous Doctor Smyth. Smyth, a kangaroo rat originally from Melbourne, was one of the world's foremost experts in Egyptology. It was said that he had been digging along the Nile since before the Second World War. He certainly looked it. Coyotka had seen mummies with better complexions.
Coyotka guessed that Smyth was at least eighty, but it was hard to tell exactly. He was small and thin, with tiny black eyes hidden behind thick rimless glasses. He tended to wear baggy trousers and safari jackets, no matter how hot it got. Where it was exposed, his naturally brown fur had been bleached blond by the sun, and it was thinning alarmingly, especially along his tail and between his ears. His paws were criss-crossed with wrinkles and his snout was rosy with burst veins from a lifetime of drinking gin. Yet, he was still strong. One had to be to survive digging under the desert sun year in and year out.
"I have been here since nineteen forty-five." He told her the first night over a couple of drinks at the local café. "Nineteen forty if you count the war. I was part of a special reconnaissance unit attached to Hobart's Seventh Armoured Division, the Desert Rats." Over the next several drinks he went on to explain how they had taken the best reconnaissance troopers from the commonwealth countries for long-range patrolling and the occasional raid. "Good lads all of them." He concluded. "But most died or disappeared in the desert, like the rest of my patrol. I ended the war in hospital myself, full of shrapnel from an eighty-eight. Want to see my scars?" Coyotka declined the privilege.
Coyotka was his opposite: young, trim, and curvaceous. Her fur glowed with health and her tail was held high. Her legs were long and muscled, but without being stocky. It was easy to tell this because she favoured khaki shorts that were cut above the thigh. She liked them tight too, tight enough to hug her well rounded ass, to keep it from chaffing. In this climate she usually wore a matching shirt, with short sleeves. Today she had tied it below her full breasts, exposing her midriff to the slight breeze when she was outside, cooling her down. She was hatless, as it was still early and the sun had not yet become unbearable. She pushed her dark hair back away from her eyes.
A pince-nez with thin rectangular lenses was perched on her long, thin snout. She gazed over them at the upright sarcophagus that she and Doctor Smyth had discovered.
They were digging outside of the City of Armant, site of ancient Thebes and its Necropolis. Nearby was the famed Valley of the Kings, site of many important archaeological finds. Smyth had a theory, formed after decades of deciphering hieroglyphs, that an even older and more powerful dynasty had used the same burial grounds. He had obtained permission to dig underneath one of the most recent tombs, hoping to find traces of older foundations, maybe even an artefact or two. Instead, just the day before, they had found a passage, one that promised to lead to a previously undiscovered tomb. The only problem was the sarcophagus blocking it.
Unlike the coffin of a pharaoh, this sarcophagus was plain, and it stood upright. It was as big as a telephone booth, and it filled the narrow corridor completely. Its lid, or door she supposed, since it was standing on its end, was carved in the image of what she presumed was the occupant, a jackal. It had black skin and the muscles were distinct, as if the model had no body fat at all. The jackal, a male if the musculature was any indication, had an incredibly tiny waist but very wide shoulders, and a torso that was nearly triangular. His arms and legs were bare, and they tapered down to long thin paws and feet. Strangler's paws, her mother would have called them.
The image showed the jackal wearing the gold-trimmed royal-blue cloth common for the pharaoh's household of the era. One piece was worn as a headdress, another as a short skirt. There were sandals depicted on its feet, and ceremonial weapons in its paws. From this, Coyotka knew that he would have been one of the pharaoh's body guards, killed to serve as tomb guardian throughout eternity. Poor bugger, she thought, if the carving was accurate he was young and quite handsome when he was killed. He certainly would put the local talent to shame, she thought wryly.
"Look here." Smyth pointed to an inscription carved on each side of the jackal. "It says that the guardian will avenge any violation of this tomb. He will hunt down the transgressors "... etcetera, etcetera "... the standard curse." He brushed some dust away from the carving. "It goes on to say that no one shall pass this point on pain of death. Of course, what else would they say, come in but please keep your paws off the displays? Oh, here's a new one 'Shift not the Guardian from his undying post, least you wake the passions that shall consume you'. Interesting that."
"Are you sure about the 'consume you' part?" Coyotka asked. She had studied this sort of glyph extensively in university. "It looks more like 'kill' to me."
Smyth examined it again. "It's an older form of writing than you are used to. I'm certain that they mean 'consume', like a fire consumes the wood that feeds it. See the little flame symbol here?" He pointed. Coyotka was not so certain, the teardrop-shaped symbol could have easily been a heart, meaning life, or a peach, meaning lunch, but she did not argue. Smyth was the boss.
The sarcophagus was in excellent shape, the paint on the carving still vivid. It was a magnificent find in itself, but just the fact that it still stood in place meant that the tomb behind it was undisturbed. If the pharaoh's sarcophagus inside was in half as good shape of this one, and if his burial treasure was still intact, the find would make Smyth world famous. As his assistant, Coyotka's doctorate was guaranteed, but only if they were the ones to document the find.
The problem was that there was no way around the coffin, and they were not supposed to move or open it until the Egyptian Antiquities Bureau personnel arrived from Cairo. Once on site they would surely realize the magnitude of Doctor Smyth's find, and most likely assign one of their own to be in charge of the dig. Most of the glory, and all of the credit, would go to them. Smyth would be lucky to get a mention, and Coyotka would get nothing at all.
By rights, they should have reported the find the night before, but Smyth wanted to wait until morning, when the natural light from the rising sun might reveal and alternate entrance, or so he said. Coyotka knew that it was just wishful thinking, the walls of the tomb were thick, solid stone. Smyth, she believed, was contemplating breaking the rules, and so was she.
"Maybe you are right about the translation." Smyth said with false conviction. "We should move it into the light so we can read it better."
The sarcophagus was wedged so tightly in the passage that the only way to unplug it was to move it forward. Bringing it into the beam of light that the morning sun was casting down the passage would conveniently open the corridor at the same time.
"It's not like we're removing it from the site, is it?" She speculated. "The rules were made to prevent antiquities from disappearing, not, uhm, shifting."
"Exactly." Doctor Smyth agreed. He called the diggers to bring some rope and hooks. They crowded into the corridor, blocking out the sun.
Ten minutes later, they had pulled the sarcophagus almost far enough forward for the skinny rat to get around it. He looked at Coyotka's slightly wider frame and directed the crew to pull it forward another foot. After they had accomplished this, he motioned for them to leave. They did, and the sun streamed into the passage once more, falling full on the sarcophagus.
Coyotka and the doctor gave each other a 'here goes nothing' look, and took the first step to enter the inner chamber. Just then, there came a sharp 'crack' from the sarcophagus that froze them in their tracks.
"What was that?" Coyotka asked, a little alarmed after reading the curse.
Smyth paused to examine the coffin. "The wood contracted in the cool dark tomb." He said, running his paws along a fissure that had appeared in the lid. "The exposure to air and the heat of the sun have made it expand suddenly, and the wood has cracked, that's all." No longer interested, he turned to enter the pharaoh's chamber.
"Stop right there!" An unfamiliar voice boomed out. The speaker had a heavy Egyptian accent, but the authority in his voice was unmistakable. The sound of several rifles being cocked only helped to reinforce the message. Smyth and Coyotka froze, again. "Turn around." The voice commanded.
Coyotka had trouble making out the figures at the entrance to the passageway at first. But when they stepped inside and blocked the light again she could make out a feline in a white suit and several fennec foxes in the uniform of the Antiquities Bureau security force. The foxes were all on the small side, with yellow fur, and huge ears. They also had rifles that were pointed at her and Smyth. The cat was of average height, sandy coloured, with a broad face and black-rimmed eyes. He had his paws in his pockets.
"My name is Mau, Professor Deshret Mau." The sand cat said in an ominous tone. "But, please, call me Sandy." He added with a false smile as he pulled out his Antiquities Bureau ID and displayed it for them. He produced a flashlight with his other paw.
"One of the diggers must have squealed." Doctor Smyth whispered from behind her.
Professor Mau came down the passage and stopped to examine the sarcophagus. He looked pointedly at the tracks in the dust of the corridor floor that showed its original position.
"Funny how these things can shift around underground, isn't it?"
"Earth tremors." Doctor Smyth said dryly.
"Yes." The cat brushed Coyotka aside and stepped past Smyth, who remained facing the armed guards. Coyotka heard the soft click of the flashlight being lit and caught a beam of light out of the corner of her eye. The reflected light was golden hued. Then she heard a gasp, the cat was evidently impressed by whatever was in the main tomb. Coyotka ached to see for herself. The light snapped off.
"I am taking over this dig." Mau announced as he returned to the head of the corridor.
"Bloody hell, Mau." Smyth protested. "Do you how long I've been searching for this tomb? Years, decades!"
"And the Government of Egypt appreciates your efforts in uncovering a vital contribution to its cultural heritage, Doctor. Do not fear. You will be allowed to join us in cataloguing the contents of the tomb. You will be listed as the discoverer of the entryway and Chief Consultant on the exploitation of the tomb."
Smyth slumped. He knew better than to argue. At least he would get some credit, if not a share of the tomb's wealth. "And my graduate student?" He indicated Coyotka, still standing silently beside him.
"That is another matter altogether, I am afraid." The cat held up a paw for silence as both Smyth and Coyotka opened their mouths to protest. "We have repeatedly asked the government of Poland to return certain artefacts that were removed from Egypt before the war. They have as yet refused to do so."
"Those 'artefacts' were discovered and exported by Polish archaeologists with the permission of the government of the day." Coyotka interrupted angrily. "They would have been looted and disappeared during the war if it wasn't for our archaeologists risking their lives to hide them first from the Nazis and later the communists!"
The inscrutable feline ignored her and continued to address Smyth. "Until such time as they are returned, all exploration visas for Polish citizens are revoked. Your assistant has two hours to clean up, pack her things and get to Luxor International Airport." He reached inside his jacket and brought out an airline ticket.
Coyotka stepped up to the cat, but Smyth grabbed her arm and steered her around him and out of the tomb. He half dragged her back to her tent as she sputtered and struggled to think of something scathing to shout at the cat that was now deploying his guards in and outside of the tomb.
"Look here, Coyotka darling." Smyth counselled her as he pulled her into her tent. "You can't fight them here and now. Give me some time to work on him, a couple of days, and I'm sure that I can convince him to allow you to stay."
"I don't have time." She protested, snatching the airline ticket from his paw and waving it in his face. "I have to be out of here in less than two hours."
"He won't escort you to the airport." Smyth assured her. "I saw the look in his eyes when he came out of the main chamber. He's not going more than a hundred feet from that tomb until every piece is accounted for. As long as you are not around he will assume that you've left."
"But I can't stay here, in the camp, or in town. I'm bound to be noticed or stopped at a checkpoint. Where am I to hide?"
"There's an oasis near here, a small one that not many people know about." He drew a map in the dust on her desktop. "It's about sixty miles due-west of the Valley of the Kings, twenty miles north of the road to KhargaCity. You take my old Land Rover and head out that way. Look for a group of red rocks in the shape of a 'V' that point to it. Stay there while I convince him to let you rejoin the dig. There are some supplies in the Land Rover, and plenty of water and figs at the oasis. I will meet you there in three days, whatever the outcome."
Smyth help up the keys to his vehicle and looked up at her imploringly. Coyotka could see no alternative. She took the keys and started packing her knapsack for a short forced vacation.
* * * * * * * *
Five thousand years earlier, the guardian of the tomb had been born, and his parents named him Gahiji, meaning hunter. As a child of one of the minor branches of the royal household he was expected to spend his life in service to the ruling Pharaoh. This he did, with notable dedication and pride. But the Pharaoh was already old when the young jackal entered into service as one of his body guards, and he was not expected to live for much longer.
The Pharaoh's current wife was a young feline, a daughter of priests. She was small and sleek with glossy white fur and bright green eyes. She was also a sorceress. She was named Naunet, after the goddess of the underworld, and it was said that her powers came from the goddess herself. Although beautiful in her own right, the Pharaoh had married her in hopes of cheating death and evading the clutches of her namesake.
Naunet worked hard to find a way for the Pharaoh to live forever, and prayed to the gods for enlightenment. Her prayers were answered, but like all such prayers, not in the manner hoped for. The Pharaoh had a choice, join the gods in paradise for so long as his earthly remains stayed in his tomb, or live forever in an immobile, death-like state, bereft of all human passions. The Pharaoh choose to pay the debt that all creatures owe the gods, but came up with a way to ensure that his remains, remained.
As his death approached, he instructed the queen to seek out the most loyal of his guards. As was tradition, those creatures would be sacrificed upon the Pharaoh's death to act as guardians in the afterlife. But he wanted the most loyal to take on a different mission. He wanted the queen to give that guard the questionable gift of immortality, to stand guard outside the pharaoh's tomb, ensuring that his royal sarcophagus remained undisturbed, forever.
The queen chose Gahiji.
She came to the jackal one night when he was off duty. She found him by the bathing pools that were feed by water pumped by slaves from the Nile. He was drying himself in the warm desert air, under a full moon that made his black hide glisten.
When she appeared he started to rise and cover himself, for he was unclothed, but she stopped him with a gesture. The Pharaoh's word was law, and the queen spoke for the Pharaoh these days. He stood, naked and unashamed, as she approached.
Without a word she came to stand before him. A tilt of her shoulder was all that was needed to tell him to loosen the broach that held her robe together. It slipped to the tiles in a whisper of silk. She wore nothing but a scarab pendant hung on a strip of leather around her neck. She put one paw on his chest and guided his to her breast with the other. Then she tilted her head back and opened her mouth to be kissed.
Gahiji complied. He knew that the Pharaoh was too old to be a lover to his queen, and that he allowed her to take her satisfaction elsewhere. He closed his eyes as their mouths sealed and their tongues rolled together. He kneaded her breast with one paw and slid the other along her side, letting it rest on her hip. She pressed closer, her arm trapped between them, plucking at his nipple. She shifted her weight to one leg, reached down with her free paw, and circled his penis with it.
Her chest rubbing against his, her paw stoking him, the endless kiss, it made his passion mount. He caressed her buttocks and tail as his penis grew long in her paw. She released his teat and returned the caress by taking his sack and rolling his balls together. She broke off the kiss, and before he could take a breath, she dropped to her knees before him.
He stared down as she planted little kisses along the length of his shaft. His cock was heavy, and she had to hold it up by the tip to do so. She pointed it to the heavens and licked the underside from base to top, and then she sucked one of his testicles into her mouth, and held it carefully between her teeth. She purred, and stroked his cock while she rolled the ball around inside with her tongue. When she let go of his cock it was standing up on its own. She tilted it down, licked her lips, and engulfed it.
The sight of penis disappearing and reappearing like magic as her head bobbed back and forth was intoxicating. Gahiji had to look to the sky, or to the Nile, anywhere but down, least he come just from watching. Although not a virgin, this type of love making was new to him. He had never been with a female raised to please a Pharaoh before.
The feel of her rough tongue on the underside of his shaft contrasted with that of her smooth lips sliding along its length. She continued to caress his balls with one paw, and had reached around to hold his tail with the other, to help steady her. His hips started to move on their own, in and out, and soon she was able to release his tail and use her paw for other things. She put the pad against the strip of flesh behind his balls and let her middle digit work its way between his buttocks until the tip was resting on the hole below his tail. She tickled him there with her digit while her tongue tickled the tip of his cock.
Drops of pre-cum were leaking from it and she spread them along his shaft with her lips to help lubricate it. She had stopped squeezing his balls too, that paw was now between her own legs. Although Gahiji could not see what she doing with it, he could smell the result. The odour of wet pussy made his cock grow even harder, and it ached to be where the smell was coming from.
She must have been able to feel his need. Naunet stood up, put an arm over his shoulder and hooked one leg over his hip. She raised herself up until the toes of the other foot were barely touching the ground and guided the head of his penis to her moist slit. She rocked her hips to baptise it with the juices that were flowing freely from her. Satisfied that he was well lubricated, she hopped up, wrapping her other arm around his neck and putting her other foot behind his back. She strained to lift herself above the level of the trembling tip of his cock.
Naunet had her eyes shut tight, feeling for him with her vagina alone as she slowly lowered herself. When they made contact her swollen outer lips spread over it and drew it in. With a sigh, she slid down it until her clit came to rest against his pubic bone. She adjusted her grip, he put his paws on her buttocks to help, and their muscles bulged as she rose again.
Gahiji's feet were planted firmly on the tiles. He leaned back slightly to keep his balance. Naunet's breasts rubbed his chest as she rode up and down on his cock. Her head was buried between his neck and shoulder, her breath was hot on his skin. He pulled her buttocks apart as he helped to lift her up, and he dared to brush the hole between them with the digit of one paw. Naunet meowed in pleasure and sank her teeth into his neck. Encouraged, Gahiji moistened the digit in the dampness between her legs and returned to screw it into her tailhole.
Without pausing, Naunet told him of the Pharaoh's wishes. She described the living death that could last until the end of days, and the reward he could expect in the afterlife when the end of time came. There could be no greater honour, she breathed in his ear, than to stand guard over the body of a Pharaoh, a living god, while his soul was in the other world.
"You say that I will be as one dead." He gasped, his thinking confused by the signals being sent up from his groin. "That I will dry up and my flesh will fall away like a corpse. How am I to protect the Pharaoh in such a state?"
"You give up your passions to attain everlasting life," she moaned, "but through your passions you will be rebuilt." She leaned back and locked her green eyes on his. She lifted the pendant, and pulled the head off with her teeth. It was a stopper, the body of the scarab was a vial. Naunet spit the cork out and put the pendant to his lips.
"Drink this, drain your passions into me, and live in glorious service as long as your bones are intact. Drink!" Her hips rocked faster as she spoke, massaging his shaft with her tender flesh until he felt that he would burst.
Gahiji drank. There was not much liquid inside but it burned all the way down. He thought he would vomit, but when it hit his stomach it spread through him like fire, driving him wild. Lust and anger rose inside him. Greed and hate battled love and hunger for dominance. Every atom of his being was charged with emotion. He wanted to kiss her passionately. He wanted to bite her tongue out. He ached to drive his cock deeper inside her, and craved to rip her in two with his bare paws.
The conflicting passions rendered him immobile, but she continued to glide up and down his shaft ever faster. She rose up so high that she cleared to tip of his cock each time, but unerringly found it as she impaled herself again and again.
"Give it to me now. She urged. "Give it all to me." Gahiji felt the passions swirling madly inside him, concentrating into a ball of lightning that centred on his sack. When the swirling mass was no bigger than one of his testicles, he came, and the passions were dragged along behind the wad of cum that shot through his cock to splash deep inside her. It felt his insides were being pulled out through his balls, and he howled. But his strength fled with the passion, and is howl diminished to a whimper as he slumped to the ground.
Naunet rode him down like she was breaking a stallion. His prick was still hard as the last of his power and passion drained from him, and she bucked her hips to rub her clit against it until she came too. But because she had not drunk of the potion she lost nothing of herself in the exchange of fluids. As her spasms slowed, she looked down on the stricken Gahiji, and caressed his face tenderly with her paw.
"Do not fret or think that I have tricked you." She assured him. "When you need your passions you will find them. Tomorrow you will be placed in your sarcophagus to take up your undying duty, to bring destruction to those who violate the tomb of the Pharaoh." She leaned down, pressing her chest to his, although he could barely feel it, and whispered in his ear.
"I rename you Runihara, the destructor." She said, and she kissed him, one last time, as the light faded to black.
* * * * * * * *
Runihara opened his eyes. For five thousand years h has stood in the silent darkness, immobile but aware. The sunlight, the power of Ra, falling on his sarcophagus was the signal to awake. The black coffin had been designed by the priests and engineers to absorb that power and transfer it to the living corpse within, and with each passing minute that the sarcophagus remained in the sunlight his strength grew.
Light leaked through the crack in the sarcophagus's lid, blinding his weakened eyes. The crack was too narrow to see through in any event. He concentrated on listening instead, but with equally disappointing results. The sarcophagus was too thick to let much sound through. Runihara did catch a hint of something though, and he let whatever sixth sense he had gained by becoming un-dead take control.
Greed. Great, obsessive, unquenchable greed. Runihara could feel it now. Someone nearby was coveting the Pharaoh's treasures with a passion that surpassed all other emotion. The sensation fed the Guardian, gave him strength, and drew him to it. Runihara brought his arms up to his chest, placed his paws against the inside of the sarcophagus's lid, and pushed.
Weakened by the crack, the lid flew apart. The guardian stepped out and looked around. His sarcophagus had been moved! The passage was open! Following his duty, and the alluring scent of greed, he turned toward the burial chamber and strode inside.
* * * * * * * *
The fennec that had been assigned to guard the inner tomb was overjoyed. He had been waiting for years for such an opportunity. He was alone with a Pharaoh's treasure that had not been catalogued or even photographed yet. Always playing the trustworthy guard, never getting involved in the petty corruption that most of his colleagues indulged in, had finally earned him this assignment. He had come prepared, having hollowed out the butt of his rifle and the heels of his boots, as well as carrying an aluminum cigar tube and some lubricant to help ease it into its hiding place.
The lust for gold welled up inside him. There was so much of it here! Crowns, staffs, crooks and daggers. Belts, girdles, neckpieces and rings. Surely they would not miss a little trinket or two? All that he had to do was select some of the smaller ones that would fit in his hiding places, ones that the professor would not notice missing. He put his rifle down on the lid of the Pharaoh's sarcophagus and began sorting through the jewellery on a nearby table.
The loud bang from the corridor startled him. Was the passageway caving in? It was known to happen, but there was no rumble of debris, no dust from the collapse. Maybe one of the other security officers was trying to loot the sarcophagus out there. He picked up his rifle and edged toward the doorway. He heard footsteps, approaching fast. Someone was coming.
He was expecting either the chief of security or the professor from the Antiquities Bureau, and had already half come to attention. Instead, he was shocked at the sight of the walking corpse that appeared.
It looked like a jackal, or the remains of one. It had been wrapped in cloth at one time, but the material was rotted and hung in tatters now. Through the gaps in it he could see that the flesh and skin beneath had also rotted away in many places, and had dried like beef jerky in others. The skeleton was visible in many places, and dry bones rubbed together impossibly as the apparition moved forward.
One dark eye peeked out from a gap in the facial bandages. It locked on the security officer. The creature stopped, pointed at the fox, and opened its skeletal mouth in a silent scream. Its dry, leathery tongue flopped out from between teeth that were surprisingly long and white.
The security officer acted instinctively. He brought the rifle up in a smooth, practiced motion, and fired point blank at the evil apparition. The bullet went right through its chest and buried itself in the opposite wall. But the flame from the muzzle blast ignited the rags. The monster ripped the burning cloth from a chest that was half dried skin, half exposed ribs. It tossed the flaming rags to the floor and reached for the fennec.
The fox screamed ... once.
* * * * * * * *
The intruder that Runihara found in the Pharaoh's tomb had touched the treasure, he could sense that, and he screamed silently at the offence. But even if he had not touched anything, the fox's fate was sealed when he entered the tomb. The fennec had some strange club in its paws, but instead of swinging it he pointed the narrow end at the guardian. Too late, Runihara realized that it must be a sorcerer's staff. Flame shot out of the staff and he felt something pass through him, but neither did him any harm. Either Naunet's spell had made him immune or this wizard was too weak to harm him. He ripped the burning cloth from his chest, knocked the staff away and grabbed the fennec by the upper arms.
The overwhelming greed was still there, emanating from the fox, but there was fear now also. Boundless, gibbering, acidic fear. He could sense it as strongly as the scent of urine that suddenly filled the room. He hungered for both, need them, had to consume them. But he did not know how to separate them from the fox he held. Then he felt his mouth water for the fist time in five thousand years and the solution came to him. There was no need to separate them.
He lifted the smaller fox off the ground as he opened his maw wide. He silenced the fennec's scream with a snap. He ate, and in eating, consumed both the flesh and the passions of his victim. He felt his bones become more flexible, his tissues swell. His tongue came alive and he could taste again. He drank down the fox's greed and fear as he did the fox's blood.
Satisfied for now, he dropped the lifeless and now headless body to the floor and turned back to the corridor. He could sense others who had violated the tomb above.
* * * * * * * *
The guard outside the tomb barely heard the crash as the sarcophagus. Traffic from the nearby road and the Doctor's generator drowned it out. It was probably just Anum, the inner guard, bumping around in there anyways, he thought. If he had not been so distracted by the smells coming from the camp kitchen he might have gone to investigate, and met his fate head on instead of from behind.
The outer sentry was starving. He had been drinking all the day before and forgotten to save a few piasters for supper. Then he had been dragged out of bed early this morning for the ride down to Luxor, with no chance for breakfast. It was mid-morning now and his relief would not come until noon. He did not know how he would last that long, not with the wind blowing this way.
The archaeologists shunned the use of heavy machinery on their digs, preferring to use large numbers of manual labourers, diggers. The diggers moved huge amounts of earth and stone each day, and they ate well to keep up their strength. Diggers choose the project they worked on based on the pay and the quality of the camp kitchen. Doctor Smyth did not pay as much as some, but his kitchen had the best food along the Nile, and plenty of it. Lunch today would be roasted feral lamb, and it had been turning on the spit since before dawn.
The guard could smell the sizzling fat and the spiced oils used to baste it like he was standing right beside it. His stomach growled, demanding that he carry it over there right now to try a sample. He would have complied if he did not think the cook was likely to split him from balls to brisket for asking. His belly rumbled in complaint as his hunger grew.
"Grrrrawgh."
Funny, he thought, my stomach never made a sound like that before. But he ignored it as the scent of fried onion drifted by. His mouth watered. Drool dripped from the corner of his maw. A glob of saliva landed between his ears. Between my ears?
He hardly had time to wonder how he could drool on his own head before he was spun roughly around and picked up from the ground. He had only a glance of the face of a jackal, half flesh, half bone, before his world was filled with gaping jaws and flailing tongue. He felt his guts being ripped from him. He didn't even have time to scream.
* * * * * * * *
By the time he was halfway across the camp Runihara had killed five of the six guards that had entered the tomb and absorbed their passions. He had acquired jealousy from one, hate from another, and sloth for the one he found napping in the shade. But of the five, the second one had tasted the best; it was true what they said, that hunger makes the best sauce.
With each new victim he had grown in strength and volume. First his bones had become less brittle, become denser, and turned white again. Then his dried skin had grown supple and began to creep over the bones. Dehydrated flesh filled out, muscle reformed, and sinew knitted them together. However, he still looked like someone who had been caught between two moving stones at the pyramid construction site. Someone who should not be able to walk around, or breathe for that matter.
Along with looking more like a living creature he began to feel more like one, but not like he had when he was alive. Then he had been filled with love for his family, loyalty for his fellow guards, and pride in his position in the Pharaoh's service. Now he was filling up with the passions of others. He hated those who had violated the tomb, while envying their life essence, coveting their simple pleasures. He also hated what he had become, and feared absorbing more of their base emotions. Yet the stronger they were they more they attracted him.
There were three left in the vicinity, and one whose essence was just a lingering trace. He would hunt that one down later. For now, there was one in particular that drew Runihara to him. One whose passions were very strong indeed.
* * * * * * * *
Professor Mau kept a guard outside his tent because he kept so many valuable artefacts inside, and also so he would be undisturbed while engaged in other activities.
Mau was known in the bureau for approaching every problem and crisis in a cool, unruffled manner. His superiors and colleagues said that no one had ever seen him excited. That was not true. It was just that they had never seen him so, otherwise they would be dead. It was not that Mau could not be emotional and demonstrative, it was that he kept his passions lock away least others use them against him. There was a time and a place to release them, but it was best done in private.
Mau was wont to celebrate after a victory, and today had certainly been a victory. Just a quick glance at the treasure contained in the tomb was enough to know that his future was guaranteed. Taking the credit for the find would make him famous. The invitations to speak at conferences around the world, with suitable remuneration of course, would soon come pouring in. Not that he would need the money. The Bureau compensated its staff with a percentage of the assessed value of any find they secured for the government, and this one looked to be immeasurable. With fame and fortune assured, all he was lacking was power. Maybe he would enter politics.
The professor of antiquities liked to celebrate with a little companionship, emphasis on the little. His love for aged relics ended at the door of the museum. Mau liked boys, young boys, cubs really, and the poor desert villages and city slums were full of unwanted kits, kittens and pups. One was sleeping on a mat beside his bed right now.
Of course one had to select them carefully. It would not do to get a knife in the ribs or some infectious disease. And the smell! Mau always had the guards place a tub of hit water in his tent. Before he used them he would bath them, it was half the fun actually, and they revelled in the luxury of it he was sure. First he would strip them. Then he would put them in the tub and lather them up. After rinsing then of he would get out a big fluffy towel and dry them. And then "... oh yes then ".... he tapped his paws together in anticipatory delight. Just the thought of it was bringing him to the brink of orgasm. He savoured the moment.
There was a wet thud from outside his tent. Probably the guard falling over in a faint, it was hot out there and he had dragged them from their beds in the middle of the night to get here before the Smyth could enter the chamber. He supposed that he would have to see to him; loyal guards were hard to find, especially ones that could go selectively blind and deaf while he was 'celebrating'. He slid his feet into slippers and stood up. Just then the tent flap opened.
Mau was a paedophile and profited of the hard work of others, but he was still an Egyptologist, and a good one. He recognised the style of the wrappings and placed the mummy in the correct era. He noted the jewellery, the trim on the ragged remains of the creature's headdress and even placed him in the correct dynasty. The way the skull peeked though on one side of its head while the other was covered with healthy, animated tissue fascinated him. He might have even dared to ask it how it had come to be in that state if it was not covered in blood, guts and bits of Antiquities Bureau Security Force uniform.
Instead, Mau opted to scream like the kitten that slept by his bed would have.
Runihara's paw, the one that had yet to grow skin and flesh, shot out unerringly for the source of the lust that had attracted him. It closed on its target and returned with a rending of material and flesh. There was a bloody hole in Mau's robe halfway between his feet and his shoulders, and a pool of blood was forming between his feet. Runihara looked down at what he held, shrugged and put it in his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed he felt a stirring between his own legs, and the sense of flesh returning. A familiar weight settled between his legs under the tattered bandages. Runihara smiled.
Mau was in shock; otherwise he would have collapsed long before this. But the smile on the mummy's ruined face was enough to bring him out of it. Then he got very lucky. The sudden onset of pain from the hole where his genitals had been, the loss of blood, but mostly the pure evil in that smile, was enough to stop his heart. The irony that at least twenty dead cubs had seen that very same smile on his own face just before they died never entered his mind.
Runihara picked up the lifeless sand cat and ripped its head off, just for good measure. When he threw it in the corner by the bed he was startled to hear it cry out. He reached down to retrieve it, prepared to cleave it in two with his bare paws, and uncovered a cowering kitten instead. The kitten stared up at him with eyes as wide as saucers.
Runihara stayed his paw. The kitten had not violated the tomb, and he was too young to feel strong emotions, except for love, and wonder. Love was scare in the slums, but the sight of the bloody, muscular zombie towering above him must have been like a visitation from the gods. He could sense that the kitten was filled with mind-numbing awe. He reached down with the paw that had grown lifelike, and touched the kitten on the forehead with the pad of one digit. He felt the awe drain from it, and saw its eyes droop in the fatigue that follows a shock.
"Sleep," he commanded, "and forget."
* * * * * * * *
Doctor Smyth had been confined to his trailer by the director from the Antiquities Bureau.
Unlike most Egyptologists, who lived under canvas when they were on a dig, Smyth preferred to live in a trailer that he dragged from site to site behind his old Land Rover. This was mostly due to the fact that he had never been anywhere else but on a site since nineteen forty-six, and had no other real home to go to. But it was equipped with a generator and an air conditioning unit, so it had all the comforts of home, even if you could not hear a bomb go off over the roar of the gasoline motor and the whine of the compressor.
But despite being isolated Smyth knew that something was not right. There should be guards patrolling, diggers working, camp staff wandering about, but all was still outside his window. He could not see the entry to the tomb. Mau had erected his tent between the trailer and the entrance, the prick. But he could see what looked like an arm lying on the ground beyond the tent. It was hard to tell at this distance, but it did not seem to be attached to anyone at the moment.
Smyth took out an old brass key that he kept on a string around his neck and unlocked a polished wooden cabinet with it. He reached inside the cabinet and retrieved a pair of old rubber headphones. A microphone with a rubber mouth guard and thumb-operated press-to-talk switch followed. Smyth flicked a few switches, tuned a dial, and tapped a gauge as the radio set inside warmed up. Once the lights were all glowing strongly he began to speak.
"four-two-delta, four-two-delta, this is four-two over. Come in four-two-delta. Radio check, over." The radio crackled with static in response.
Smyth leaned over to look outside again. He thought that he had heard a noise, sharp enough to penetrate the drone of the generator. The back of Mau's tent bulged as something struck it, something that left a red stain soaking through the canvas.
"Four-two-delta, four-two-delta, this is four-two. Come in four-two-delta."
Someone was moving around against the back of the tent now, pressing against the material, feeling for an opening. The canvas was pinched together and then a small tear appeared. Half a dozen black digits, some looking terribly thin, protruded.
"Any call sign this is four-two. Answer the bloody radio you twits."
The side if the tent ripped open and something impossible stepped through. Doctor Smyth immediately recognized the guardian from the carving on his sarcophagus. Sixty-three years of digging in the Egyptian desert had taught him to expect the impossible.
"Oh-oh."
* * * * * * * *
Five minutes later, the guardian stood in the middle of the ruined trailer. The air conditioning unit sputtered and sparked on the floor. The radio crackled incoherently from where it was embedded in the wall. Overloaded from all the crossed wires, the motor of the generator screamed in an increasing pitch until it clanked, coughed, and died.
Runihara did not know what form of magic it was that had made his body twitch and his heart flutter, but it died with the sounds from outside. He looked at the copper strands that had ensnared him and wondered how they drew it out so long and evenly.
No matter, he thought. He must return to the tomb and secure it before heading west, for it was westward that he must go to find and destroy the last of the trespassers.
Runihara spun on a heel just recently covered with flesh. He stepped through the hole in the side of the metal tent that he had made to get inside and strode toward the tomb.
The sun was forty-five degrees above the horizon, only barely begun its journey across the sky, but the flies that had come to lay their eggs in the open wounds of the dead revelled in its warmth all the same.
* * * * * * * *
Coyotka arrived in the oasis just after noon. Rather than attempt to drive straight west across the inhospitable desert, she had followed the road toward Kharga City until she was almost sixty miles west of Luxor. Then she had slowed and looked for the pattern of rocks that Smyth had told her about. Sure enough, she had spotted a 'V' of red rocks pointing north, along the bed of a seasonal river. These riverbeds, for rivers that one flowed only for one month each year, were like highways for the ancient caravans. The Land Rover made good time on the hard packed sand.
The dry river had many branches, some as wide as the main course itself. Outcroppings of rock carved into teardrops by eons of wind blocked the surrounding terrain. Coyotka followed the occasional markers of red rocks. She noticed that they were taking her away from the main channel, into smaller and more convoluted tributaries. The surrounding hills were getting steeper too. It was almost like being in the canyons of the western USA, a region she had dug for Aztec treasure in.
The roads connecting Luxor, Kharga City and Asyut formed a triangle that was approximately one hundred and twenty miles on each side. Inside that triangle there was nothing. No villages, no encampments, no wells or oasis, at least not any that were shown on the maps. The oasis she was looking for would be roughly in the centre of that triangle. About as far as one could get from civilization around here without venturing into the Sahara itself, she thought.
Coyotka found the oasis after an hour of driving northward. It was a beautiful spot. It was in a wadi, a low area that would become a stream after the seasonal rains. The depression was so sudden and so small that you had to know it was there to find it. Once inside, it was like being in a different world. The spring that fed the oasis was at the end of the wadi, and surrounded by bull rushes, soft grasses and fig trees. The pool at its centre was round and clear, she could see each grain of sand on its bed. It was a miniature paradise on earth, and it showed no signs of mammalian intervention.
No one had built here. There were no livestock pens. No roads, no trails, no campsites. Just the pool and the wadi that led away from it. Coyotka wondered how Doctor Smith had ever found it, and why no one else in this age of instant satellite imagery had. It must be because it is so small, she supposed.
Coyotka spent the next few hours setting up camp. It took a while because she was unfamiliar with Smyth's gear, much of it over fifty years old. She also wanted to preserve the location in the pristine state that she found it in, so she was extra careful about where she pitched the tent and set up her toilet. By the time she was done it was two o'clock, the hottest time of the day in these latitudes. Coyotka decided to take a swim to cool down.
The water of the pool was fed by a deep spring, and drained through the rocky ground a few metres meters to the south. But the pool itself was sandy and over two metres deep. The constant flow of water kept it cool, a very pleasant eighty degrees. An hour after sunset, after the desert sands gave off their heat, it would feel warm.
Coyotka stripped off her sweat soaked clothes. She hung them on a fig tree branch to air out and dry while she bathed. She waded into the clear pool and let the water wash away the dirt, sweat, and her worries about the dig. She luxuriated in the feel of the cool flowing water on her skin, and marvelled at the way her fur floated around her when she was underwater. She stayed in for almost an hour, swimming around, diving for the bottom, or just floating with nothing but the tip of her nose sticking up.
When she finally decided to come out Coyotka discovered that she had forgotten to pack a towel. Smyth had not kept one in the Land Rover's emergency supplies either. Not a big Douglas Adams fan, she supposed, but she refused to panic. Standing ankle deep at the edge of the pool she looked around for an alternative.
She shook the excess water off her body, squeezed more out of her tail. The ground was too sandy to lie on without a blanket, and all of hers were up in the tent. However, the Land Rover was parked nearby, with its tailgate open and facing the sun. The cargo bed was empty and clean. She had swept it after removing all of Smyth's gear. She could lie there and let the sun dry her fur the natural way. She tip-toed across the hot sand and hopped up into the cargo bed of the Land Rover. She lay down on her stomach and rested her head on her crossed arms.
The sun felt good. It warmed up the brown fur on her back and legs and it dried quickly. She ran a paw idly through her long dark hair so it would not dry matted. When her back was done she rolled over and spread her arms and legs to let the sun at the white fur of her chest, belly and thighs. The fur was thinner on the front and the sun would burn the skin underneath if she stayed in it too long. She would have to be careful not to fall asleep in this position, she reminded herself, wouldn't want roasted breast of coyote on the menu tonight.
Her mind began to wander as she lay there, savouring the feel of the sun on her body. How unlike Poland this oasis was, she thought. It was almost winter and one could still walk around naked without fear of freezing. Her brother, Coyotek would love it here. He liked to walk around naked. Her best friend, the feline Geno, would love it also, but only if someone built a disco nearby. Geno loved to party as much as she loved to lie around on a beach, as much as she loved sex.
Thinking of Geno and her twin brother brought back fond memories. Memories of afternoons alone in the house when her parents were out shopping or at church. Memories of tender touches and shy glances that became looks of longing and sensual caresses.
She and Geno had explored their budding sexuality. They explored the folds and crevasses of the female body together. They used digits and tongues at first, household items and vegetables later, and finally mail-order toys made of latex, rubber and leather. They found out how to drive each other crazy by igniting a series of orgasms, and how to make the other linger on the edge of one for hours, crying for fulfillment. They also discovered that Geno, despite her aggressive and forceful attitude, was submissive, and that the quiet, studious Coyotka was not only dominant, but a bit of a sadist as well.
They were well along in their explorations when they caught her brother spying on them. He had set up an observation post in the closet of her room, removing a panel from the wall that separated it from the next room. All the time that they thought he had been reading or drawing he had actually been watching them through a peephole and masturbating in her closet. Naturally, they had to invite him in to watch after that. It was better than never knowing what you might find in your shoes when you took them from the closet in the morning.
It was thrilling, sexing Geno while her twin watched from his chair in the corner, stroking his cock with his paw. In the last year before she moved away for post-graduate work, they even let him participate, licking Geno's pussy while Coyotka drilled a vibrator into her tailhole, yiffing Geno while the cat lapped at Coyotka's clit. All of it reflected in the big mirror over her dresser.
Coyotka's paw strayed down to her breast as she remembered how Geno would suck on her nipples while they shared the eighteen-inch, double-headed, purple latex dildo they called "Mister Dongo" after a fictional character in the spy series they liked. Her other paw drifted through the light fur of her belly and came to rest between her legs. She was damp there, but not from the pool's water. Her fur had dried, but a new wetness had appeared, one that demanded attention.
Coyotka pinched her nipple as she rubbed one digit along the slit between her legs. It parted easily and her digit became damp. She gathered the folds of her sex in her paw and squeezed to make the blood flow faster. The middle digit disappeared inside as the lips of her vagina swelled. She found the sweet spot inside, just within reach, and she rubbed it. After a few moments she drew her digit out and spread the moisture around her clit. It hardened in response. She alternated between playing with it and massaging the pad of swollen flesh inside.
She was getting close to coming now, the images in her head and the digit at her twat bringing her to a state of ecstasy. But the sun had grown hotter, just as she had, and it was uncomfortable on her tender skin. Coyotka rolled over onto her stomach, half in and half out of the Land Rover's cargo bed. She rested her head on her left arm, raised her tail to let the sun tickle her buttocks, and reached under with her right paw.
Her digits found the right spots instinctively, and she continued where she had left off, just moments away from a satisfying orgasm. She was totally unaware that she was being watched.
* * * * * * * *
Runihara had left the tomb just after nine o'clock in the morning. Once he was clear of the camp he started running, faster than he ever had before.
His body had regenerated and filled out, almost as it was before his encounter with Naunet, five thousand years before. His latest meal was digesting and continuing the process. But he was running barefoot, and on a straight course for where he could sense his prey, regardless of the rocks and boulders that were in the way. The soles of his feet were wearing away as fast as they were being regenerated. The borrowed blood was leaking from them, leaving a trail of red footprints behind him.
Runihara did not notice, or care. The passions that filled him demanded that he find and consume the last of the tomb raiders.
Despite his supernatural speed, it still took several hours to close with his prey. At first it was moving, and he had to shift his course slightly every few minutes to keep on track. Then it was stationary, and had remained so for a few hours. He could sense that he was close when he started to pick up the emotions coming off them.
He topped the last rise and stopped, gazing down at the idyllic oasis. The sight brought back memories of his life before Naunet, when he would accompany the Pharaoh to sites like this for an afternoon of relaxation, the royal body guards taking turns at sentry and swimming. Sometimes the old Pharaoh would bring some of his harem, and let the guards enjoy themselves as he could not. The memory was so strong, he swore that he could smell the females excitement and feel their passion.
His snout wrinkled. He could smell a female in heat! And the sexual excitement he felt was coming from the same source. He looked to the strange wheeled-box of metal and canvass that stood by the pool in the centre of the oasis. The coyote he sought was inside, on her back with her paw between her legs, moaning in passion. A passion that he craved to know again. As he watched, she rolled onto her front and lay with her legs hanging out of the box. She lifted her tail and exposed her buttocks to Ra, and Runihara. The pose excited him, as did the increased level of pleasure emanating from her. From his viewpoint he could see that her paw was back at work.
Runihara could not stand it any longer. While her backside was to him he strode down the dune and silently up to her. As he drew nearer the smell and the emotions grew stronger, feeding his transformation, finishing what the earlier meals had started. He stepped between her legs and reached down with two paws thick with muscle and covered with glossy black skin and short black fur.
* * * * * * * *
Coyotka was about to come, and her digit spun around her clit in tight hard circles to finish her off. She felt her breath catch, her insides clench, and knew that she was just seconds away. But the paws that grabbed her ass and lifted her off the bed of the Land Rover stopped the orgasm in its tracks.
She gasped, to out of breath to scream, as she was spun around in the air and dropped hard back on the bed of the truck. Spots danced before her eyes, and she had to clutch at her glasses to keep them on. When her vision cleared and she had repositioned her glasses she gasped again, in shock at the sight of her assailant this time.
It was a black jackal, just like the one carved on the lid of the guardian's sarcophagus. It stood taller than most canines and was muscled like the idealistic carving had depicted. It had a few ragged bandages hanging from it, and the remains of a blue and gold headdress still on its head, but most of him was exposed. Its ebony skin was covered in a fuzz of shiny black fur. Its red tongue peeked out from between sharp white teeth. Its golden eyes blazed with a mix of emotions, so strong that she could feel them. Lust, hate, greed, hunger, jealousy, fear, and many more.
The creature drooled as it looked down on her, and a drop hit her high on the inside of her thigh. The jackal brought one paw up and wiped it away, but his paw continued to the moist slit nearby. He drew his digit along her opening, collecting her juices, and raised it to his snout. He sniffed it, tentatively at first, then with a great inhalation. He closed his eyes. There was a ripping sound. Both he and Coyotka looked down to where the noise had come from. An ebony cock, long and hard, had torn through the rotten burial wrappings that restrained it. It bobbed in the air between them, its tip just centimetres from Coyotka's wet pussy.
Her former excitement radiated from him and returned to her. They became as two plates of radioactive material, reflecting their passions in an ever intensifying reaction. They reached critical mass in seconds. Coyotka reached for his cock as his head dropped to hers, his maw wide in his hunger. She guided his prick into her as his mouth closed on hers in a passionate kiss.
Her butt on the edge of the tailgate was almost level with his groin. He only had to squat a bit to drive his cock straight into her, and he was able to use all his force to do so. His hips flew as he jack hammered in and out. His balls slammed against her butt with each stoke.
Coyotka had never felt a prick move like his. It literally flew in and out of her. It was fortunate that she was already so wet, otherwise the friction would have ignited more than the flames of passion. At this rate though she would come in no time.
Runihara tried to slow down, but the passions raging within him and reflecting off the succulent coyote would not allow it. It was all he could do not to drive his prick right through her into the bed of the metal box below her. His mouth watered on hers, savouring the kiss yet yearning to hold one off her breasts between his jaws, to feed on it. He clenched his paws in frustration, and the metal beneath them buckled with a groan.
Coyotka wrapped her long legs around the stranger's hips, to hold on more than to help. Her tail went up between his legs to cradle his balls and tickle his ass. He was so strong! He was so long! She had never felt a cock so deeply, so completely. She wanted it last, but knew that it would not. She squeezed his penis with the muscles inside her canal to try to slow it down, but that only made him more excited. She felt the first orgasm hit, and a flood of hot fluid splashed from her. But the jackal did not even pause, in fact, he sped up, and a second orgasm followed the first, and a third, and a fourth.
Runihara could feel her spasms of pleasure, and the passions swirling inside him, forming a ball around him. A similar pressure was growing in his balls, as they prepared to make up for five thousand years worth of celibacy. The muscles on his thighs stood out like mountains as his hips moved ever faster. The heat of his cock's passage turning the juices flowing from the coyote into steam. He ached for release, but it would not come, not while a single trespasser still lived.
He knew what he had to do now. He lifted his torso from hers, never pausing the rhythmic rocking of his hips. Runihara, the destructor, opened his jaws, focused on the puling artery on her throat, and plunged.
* * * * * * * *
Coyotka was enrapt in a series of multiple orgasms that threatened to turn her inside out. She could feel her cum being turned to steam as it washed over the rocketing prick of the jackal that was doing this to her. She could also feel her passion being sucked up and thrown back at her, making her come again and again and keep wanting more. Almost all of her being was caught up in the endless cycle of pleasure ... almost.
She was not so far gone that she could not feel pain, or recognize the coppery taste and smell of fresh blood. And suddenly she was noticing both.
The jackal had bent backwards to rise above her, his pelvis still slamming her clit hard with each thrust. His mouth had opened, perhaps to scream in ecstasy when he came, she thought. Then she saw the look that came into his eyes, and the way his lips curled back from his teeth. His head had dropped like a falcon falling on its prey, incredibly fast, and a second later her face, neck and chest was covered in sticky wetness.
His weight on her chest drove her down onto the bed of the Land Rover, and she could feel the rivets digging into her back. His hips continued to buck, his prick continued to impale her. His head was buried against her shoulder and neck, and the wetness seemed to come from there. In a daze, Coyotka lifted his head above hers. She looked, and she screamed. Half of the jackal's face was missing, peeled off from the inside out. A gaping exit wound.
The gyrating hips slowed and finally stopped then, as the rest of his body caught up with events. Coyotka threw him off of her as she continued to scream in confusion. She looked around desperately.
Up on the ridge, opposite from where the mummy had descended, a section of the horizon broke away. A patch of sandy-coloured burlap rose up and a pair of binoculars peeked out from underneath. She caught a snatch of electronic conversation.
"Four-two-delta this is four-two-charlie. Mission accomplished over." Perpendicular to the first observer, another section of desert moved. A figure in a burlap suit stood cradling an antique sniper's rifle. Beside it, another figure appeared, a kangaroo rat in a desert tan uniform. Doctor Smyth!
Coyotka was still confused, but very relieved. Her screams turned to tears as she cried in emotional release. From behind her, she heard a shuffling noise. She turned, and screamed again.
The jackal was rising to his feet. It reached up and tore the loose flap of skin from its face. Raw red meat and broken white bone showed around an eye that still managed to freeze her with its stare. The guardian took one unsteady pace forward.
Shots rang out. The jackal staggered as three holes appeared in its chest. Blood and flesh erupted out its back, staining the pool and the sand around its edge. Undeterred, the mummy took another step. Coyotka could not take her eyes off it.
"Get down!" Someone shouted from behind her. The mummy's spell was broken, and she dropped to the ground. A second later she heard the staccato report of a machine gun. Looking up, she saw the jackal torn in two by a hail of bullets.
It was in several pieces now. The largest of them were his torso with the head and one arm still attached, and the hips and legs. As she watched, riveted in ghoulish fascination, the jackal began to pull its way toward her with the attached arm. A second later, the detached arm did likewise. The legs kept trying to stand, but fell over each time.
Rough paws grabbed her shoulders and hips. She was lifted to her feet and hustled away. A pair of rats in tan uniforms, old tan uniforms, had her. As they dragged her up the ridge Doctor Smyth, wearing a similar uniform, rushed past them, heading for the oasis. He had a tube in his paws and a pack with two big metal tanks on his back. They were connected by a rubber hose. On the top of the ridge, another rat was crouched beside a metal tube that was pointing to the sky, held up by a bipod. As she watched he dropped a teardrop-shaped bomb into it, fins first. The mortar belched it up into the sky.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the bomb burst, a direct hit. Jackal parts flew every which way. They returned to earth with sickening wet thuds. They lay still, smoking and leaking blood, for about three seconds. Then as one they started twitching and flopping on the ground, all of them trying to crawl toward her. She saw his penis, severed near the base, moving like an inch-worm through the sand. That had been inside her less than a minute ago her mind raged. The world started to go grey.
Before she blacked out, she saw Smyth running from piece to piece, the tube in his paws spurting flame at them, a trail of barbequed parts in his wake. She heard him yell in triumph as he fricasseed the mobile penis: "Regenerate that, Tailhole!"
* * * * * * * *
Coyotka regained consciousness inside the tent that she had set up. She was groggy at first, then she remembered where she was, and what had happened. She sat up and clutched the sheet someone had placed over her to her chest, half expecting the vivisected remains of the jackal to be reassembling before her.
Instead, the kindly face of Doctor Smyth smiled back at her. A group of four rats, easily as old as Smyth, stood behind him. All five wore old tan uniforms, repaired with inexpert paws many times over from the looks of them.
"What the hell was that?" She demanded angrily, still raging with passions radiated from the jackal. "And just what the hell are you supposed to be?"
"That, my dear, was an un-dead eternal guardian from the third dynasty. Mention of them can be found in the Oxford papyrus collection and on the temple of Ra carvings. This one was a black jackal of the royal guard from its tattoos and dress I would say." He looked a little disappointed. "I thought that a post-graduate student like yourself would have noticed those clues."
"It was trying to yiff me to death." She almost screamed in his face.
"Yes, uhm, well, you were surely distracted. But now we know that there is some truth behind the myth." Smyth recounted the attack on his trailer, how he had striped and strung the wires from the radio's cord to trap the mummy while he made his escape through a trapdoor below his bed. A quick run down to the road, and twenty American dollars for a ride in a watermelon truck, and he was away.
"As for who we are," he continued, "may I present the Rat Patrol." The four rats behind him smiled and waved hello shyly. "This is Barkley, Corporal Jones, Private Jones, and the one with the sniper rifle there is Nibbler. We are all that is left of the special reconnaissance group of the British Seventh Armoured Division."
Coyotka could see that their uniforms were subtly different. Smyth had two pips on his epaulet, indicating that he was a Captain. A Union Jack on his tunic showed that he was British. Barkley, a sergeant, had a badge that said 'Canada' on his shoulder. Jones and Jones both had 'Australia' on theirs and Nibbler had a big 'NZ', for New Zealand, she presumed.
"There were more of us originally." Smyth continued. "A rag-tag group of experts taken from the commonwealth countries. We operated behind the lines, sabotaging Nazi supply lines, assassinating senior officers, reporting on troop movements. After we defeated Rommel's forces and drove them out of Africa most of the division was transferred to the European theatre, but not us. A lot of hard-core Nazis had fled into the desert, and continued to harass our rear, so Montgomery gave us orders to go underground and clear them out." The kangaroo rat paused to clean his thick glasses.
"We underestimated how much influence they had on the government of Egypt. The Nazis had purchased protection and promised to train an elite Egyptian army. Someone had to deal with them, but Egypt was not friendly territory any more. At the end of the war the ministry asked for volunteers to remain behind and work for MI-6, it was still a branch of the military back then." He explained. "Those of us who were unmarried, or wished we were, stayed behind in the desert. As a graduate of Oxford's Egyptology program, I became the eyes and ears of the unit."
"Many Nazi leaders and scientist came here. Some to train the army, some to work on the missile program. A lot more passed through on route to South America. We caught some, reported on others, and did our best to disrupt their plans. Then the Soviet's showed up, and our mission was extended once again."
"But the last of the Nazis were expulsed when Egypt and Israel signed the peace treaty in the eighties." Coyotka pointed out. "And the Soviet Union collapsed twenty years ago. Didn't they call you back? Your retirement dates must have passed years ago."
Doctor/Captain Smyth looked sheepish. "A comedy of errors I'm afraid. Typical military bureaucracy. We were so far undercover, existence denied and such, that they sort of ... forgot about us. The last time I reported back to London, nineteen ninety-one that was, the clerk at the Special Intelligence Service laughed and called me delusional. Told me I'd been digging in the desert too long." Smyth frowned at the memory. "But by then those of us that were left knew no other life. We voted unanimously to stay and do what good deeds we could." He looked around at the others, who were all nodding in agreement.
"We have friends amongst the Bedouin, so we are not, ahem, lonely." His face turned a darker shade of red and Nibbler giggled. "And we do not lack for funds. We managed to confiscate quite a lot of Nazi loot, most of it gold, that I claimed as found in my digging. We still have a ton or two left over I suspect. Then there is the allure of living free in the desert, staying in places like this oasis every night, catching and cooking your supper. Nibbler here can do things with desert lizard that would make your mouth water, can't you Nibbler?"
Coyotka had no doubt, but that kind of hunger was not her problem. Her pussy was still throbbing from the pounding the guardian's penis had delivered. Her nipples were still erect with excitement, denting the sheet he held to her chest. Whatever spark of magic the jackal had passed to her through his lovemaking remained inside her, unfulfilled. She looked at the five pairs of eyes that were locked on her chest area. She was almost horny enough to take on the Rat Patrol, and half a dozen of Smyth's diggers, but she was certain that they would still not be enough to gratify her.
She sighed, wondering if she would ever satisfy the need he had left her. Somehow she knew that only one driven by the same magic would do. But the only penis with that power was now reduced to ashes and blending into the desert sand. She looked away, frustrated, confused and forlorn.
Smyth recognized the look on her face for what it was. He had studied the myths and legends of Egypt enough to have heard of others in this predicament. Demon lovers, mistresses of the un-dead, enslaved by unearthly passions until they could break the spell. And the spell could only be broken by transferring the magic back, in the same manner. He thought hard, made a decision.
"You know," he said hesitantly, "There is another sarcophagus just like that one, in the British museum. It was found in the tomb of Phuksez II, but it has never been opened. A leak in the tomb roof allowed water to drip on it and encase it like a stalagmite. The curator there owes me a favour."
Coyotka smiled and patted his paw where it rested on the edge of the cot.
"Fire up the Land Rover, Doctor. I've heard that things come to life at night in the museum."
"That's my girl." He grinned. Then he pointed at the flamethrower where he had left it by the tent's entrance. "And don't forget to take along a little protection." Coyotka looked past it, through the open flap of the tent, to where pieces of the former guardian were still smouldering by the pool.
"Just what is it with you males," she enquired, "always smoking after sex?"