Descent: Into the Darkness (Forgotten Origins Trilogy)

by Tara Ellis

  “Baxter!” I call out weakly. I hear the familiar padding of feet coming back toward me. I open my eyes when his wet nose touches my hand. “How about you stick around, bud?” I suggest, knowing that I don’t have to worry about my furry friend judging me. He chuffs once at me in response and then pushes at the door that was already open part-way.

  I’m surprised to see Chris’s back facing me, and I decide to stay where I am for the moment and not interrupt. He’s seated next to Missy’s bed, holding one of her hands and talking to her softly. Not about anything important, just what’s been going on around the base.

  I haven’t seen Chris since that horrible scene when he took over doing CPR. I don’t blame him for shoving me aside. I was confused and disoriented and doing a terrible job of it. Plus, he apparently saved her, or at least played a huge role in it. I don’t care how it happened. I’m just glad that she’s alive.

  Everyone else has managed to visit with me in the last day or two, except for Kyle. Despite how much Seth downplayed his injuries, they were actually pretty bad. It’ll be a while before he’s up and running around again.

  No one’s mentioned Chris to me, or why I haven’t seen him. I just assumed that he’s been busy, or still processing what happened that night. I could understand why he wouldn’t be ready to talk with anyone about it yet. But I guess that’s not the case.

  A new fear builds in me, as I watch him reach out and slowly brush some of Missy’s long, blonde hair aside. Does he blame me for what happened? I still can’t see her face, but I assume he’s touching it. Emotions battle against each other inside my head, causing it to erupt into loud, pounding pulses. I must make a sound against the sudden assault behind my eyes because Chris turns abruptly toward me. Finding me there behind him, his expression becomes clouded as he stands.

  “I didn’t know you were well enough to travel,” he says somewhat accusingly.

  Wincing, I just nod slightly and his features soften. There are so many questions I want to ask him but now isn’t the time. Besides, I don’t think I could stand up to the answers. Maybe Doc was right, and I should have stayed in bed for another day.

  “I was just leaving,” he continues, stepping toward me. “Don’t stay for too long, she’s still really tired.” This last bit seems more like an order than an observation.

  “Chris,” I call out, as he moves around my wheelchair. Pausing, he looks down at me and for one of the first times since I’ve known him, I have no idea what he’s thinking. When did we become strangers? Have I really done such a thorough job of pushing my closest friends away from me? My headache blossoms to new heights, and rather than risk losing what self-respect I have left and my lunch, I opt to let him go. He seems happy to oblige and quickly walks away after the moment drags out and I just look down at my hands.

  “Alex?” the soft, almost unrecognizable voice dramatically changes my mood. Missy is alive!

  Pushing up from the wheelchair, I fight the resulting dizzy spell and stumble over to her bedside. Although Dr. Paul explained all of her injuries in detail, so that I’m prepared, it takes all of my willpower not to react.

  Her long, blonde hair is singed in random spots, resulting in a lop-sided haircut and areas where it’s burned down to her scalp leaving open, raw wounds. The right side of her face has a second-degree burn on half of it, as do most of her right arm and both of her hands. The back of her right leg has a large area of third-degree burn, caused by her pants literally melting into her skin. It had to be surgically removed and she’ll likely need a skin graft.

  Her chest was hit by some flying piece of shrapnel, which lead to four broken ribs and a huge chunk of skin being peeled back. Doc Paul thinks this trauma is what caused her heart to stop.

  Her right arm is broken in three places, but the most serious of the injuries is to her head. She’s basically had a stroke. The bleeding inside was bad enough that it cut off some of the blood supply, causing the brain damage. Most of the left side of her body is paralyzed or weakened. There’s no way of knowing how much, if any, of her strength or sensation, will eventually come back.

  She’s trying to smile at me, but the left side of her face isn’t responding, resulting in a lop-sided grimace instead. Any witty one-liners I thought of on the way over, or the multitude of other things I want to say to my best friend suddenly evade me. I just start to sob.

  Missy attempts to lift her left arm out to me, but it only makes it a couple of inches off the bed. Rushing forward, I gingerly gather her up the best I can and simply hold her, both of us crying.

  Why? Why her? It should have been me.

  THIRTY FOUR

  “Alex. It is good of you to come and see me. I was beginning to suspect that you were being kept away.”

  Keeping just inside the doorway, I watch Professor Hassan closely, taking note of the way he speaks and looks. While he sounds close to normal, there are small things that are out of place. I understand now what Zane meant when he described him as confusing.

  After my emotional reunion with Missy, I spent an extra day underground due to my headache spiking out of control. I insisted on moving upstairs the following day though and it was another two before I was allowed back to the barracks.

  Dr. Paul was adamant that I not be exposed to the professor until I was headache-free for forty-eight hours. It still isn’t clear how all of this Shiner stuff works and with a major concussion still healing, there’s no telling what kind of reaction I might have. After nearly a week though, Zane can’t wait any longer. Every day that we have the professor, the danger of an attack from the Mudameere increases. We have to move forward as quickly as possible and he still refuses to talk to anyone but me.

  “I’m sorry Professor, but I was injured when we…rescued you. I came as soon as I could,” I explain, noting the way his arms hang limply at his sides. Gone are the nervous gestures and ticks that made him so unique.

  “I assure you, young lady, I did not need to be rescued.”

  While we’re talking, I try to get a sense of his connection and whether I can sever it. But I’m encountering that weird interference again, very similar to my own.

  “I see that the Genesis project was successful. Tell me, how long did it take for you to discover what you are capable of? Or do you even know?”

  I look up sharply at him when he says this, immediately suspicious. We’re in one of the locked rooms deep inside the prison, so it’s dimly lit with small solar lamps. His eyes are glowing brightly and he lacks any of the emotions the normally exuberant professor displayed. But I’ve spent a lot of time talking with the other Shiners, and even after being cut off from the hive-mind they have less personality than he does. A Shiner wouldn’t ask such questions, because they wouldn’t care.

  “What did they do to you?” I ask, ignoring his probe.

  He looks at me inquisitively for several seconds and then seems to come to a decision. Pulling out one of the two chairs at the only table in the small room, he sits down and places his hands on his knees in a neutral posture. “We could go back and forth indefinitely, so let me be the first to acknowledge the need for an explanation.”

  When I choose to remain by the door, rather than join him at the table, he sighs and crosses his legs. A markedly human gesture.

  “Very well. I am going to assume that you found my Genesis file and were able to determine that it pertained to you.” I nod once in confirmation and so he continues. “After you left my house that afternoon with the anti-virus, I knew that time was short and I was faced with a dilemma. Do I try to produce the normal anti-virus for myself and Susan, or continue with my own original plan of Genesis treatment?

  “Well, I decided to take a gamble. I first made one more dose of anti-virus for Susan, and then rushed to concoct mine. I’d been working on it for years, but the final process of adding the correct markers, based on the Nephi2 virus, couldn’t be configured until I had the sample. I’d already completed the most difficult aspects of this
for you, but it still took time.”

  “Wait,” I interrupt. “The whole Genesis project was based on the fact that I have an extra genetic marker. How could that work on you? Do you have it too?”

  “Certainly not. I guarantee my blood is quite normal. However, using the same gene therapy, I hypothesized that I could mutate my DNA to the point that I would be disconnected from the collective while at the same time display some of the same unique….um, traits that you would surely have.”

  “So you experimented on yourself?” I ask, astounded.

  “Yes. And I failed,” he replies without the slightest hint of remorse. “My overwhelming need for superiority drove me to yet again put my own needs before the greater cause. My tampering made the antiviral properties fail. So the virus was successful at reproducing. But while the gene therapy also failed to do what I intended, it instead caused genetic damage. This resulted in my five senses remaining unchanged, while my cognitive functions were enhanced. The one Genesis feature I possess is the ability to block out my link with the other Shiners. This drove the Mudameere crazy trying to figure out what I was doing and how.” He doesn’t quite smile, but this last part is said with what could almost be considered humor.

  “Are you saying you’ve been in control of yourself this whole time and they didn’t realize it?” Intrigued now, I forget about any misgivings I might have and join him at the table.

  “Oh, yes,” he confirms. “At first I was very ill and nearly died. They’ve developed a test to confirm infection, and I, of course, was positive. With my glowing eyes and engaging personality, they had no reason to suspect anything. Then they began to notice how odd the other Shiners assigned to my lab were behaving, and they realized something was wrong with me. Up to that point, my work wasn’t being scrutinized. But ever since, I have been watched closely. I do believe they were planning my elimination. I was going to escape just two days after your arrival, so your sacrifices weren’t necessary.”

  My face burns slightly at his flippant mention of our ‘sacrifices’, but let it slide. “So that’s why there weren’t any Shiners inside the building?”

  “When they got within a certain distance of me, they became confused and disoriented. I have no way of controlling my interference, for lack of a better word. It’s just a scrambled signal I emit constantly, due to the damaged DNA. I was trying to isolate it and map out a way to repair it when the Mudameere caught on. I had to destroy my previous work and then produce something that would pass another scientist’s inspection. I was supposed to be working on a cure for them. They seem to be obsessed with proving their superiority to RA.”

  I look over at the two-way mirror, where I know Zane and the generals are watching and listening. This is incredible news. We assumed, all this time, that the professor was helping the Mudameere, revealing vital information about me, the Khufu Bast, and exposing their last known locations. I feel bad for my friend, but honestly, he did this to himself, and it’s ended up giving us the best outcome possible. If he had simply avoided infection, they likely would have tortured him to get what they wanted.

  “What about Susan?” I ask, realizing he still hasn’t told me what happened to his wife.

  “We hid the small capsule in one of her earrings,” he replies coldly. “But when they searched and stripped her of all her possessions, it was taken. There was nothing I could do. Mine was in the arm of my glasses. While they inspected the bifocals, they failed to find it and returned them to me as I am quite blind without them. Last I was told, she survived the initial illness, but I have no idea where she was taken from there.”

  I have a hard time accepting the manner in which he tells the story, but I fight the urge to press for more. He simply doesn’t care. The last time I saw them, he was committed to helping Susan, since she suffered severe headaches as a result of the Holocene virus. That is how I’ll remember him.

  I add his recovery and finding Susan to my list of personal goals.

  “So, the Mudameere don’t know anything about the Genesis project?” Time to check some things off the list that Zane wrote for me before coming in here.

  “They know there is something exceptional about you, Alex. But no, they don’t know about my own meddling with Genesis. Stories about your abilities have spread like wildfire, and they were starting to question me daily. I think they were noticing some similarities in those stories, and how the Shiners acted around me. It is what caused them to see me as a threat.

  “In fact, the night you came, I was in the middle of a most interesting conversation with Nossor Busiri, when he was shot. Did you remember him, Alex? I believe he was in charge of your incarceration. Did he survive?”

  The mention of Seth’s dad checks off another hot topic for the senator, and so I nod in response, encouraging him to continue.

  “Yes, I remembered him. But unfortunately, he died before we could interrogate him.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, you may or may not know that the remaining Nephilim leader of the Mudameere is your great-grandfather, Nebuch. He cautioned his followers about you. Nossor always wondered why he treated you as such precious cargo. Why not just kill you years ago as they did your adopted father? Or why wait to abduct and infect you? Yes, yes…you are the last of his bloodline, and he was obsessed with bringing you into the fold, but there were many questions surrounding you. However, the other Mudameere knew better than to ask them.

  I vividly remember the conversation with Seth, back at the vortex, a year ago. I was never completely convinced he was telling the truth, but having my heritage confirmed now by the professor doesn’t make me feel any better about it.

  “Once your abilities were made known recently, this prompted Nebuch to share the Nephilim’s secret. To reveal why it was so critical to hand you over to RA as evidence of their worthiness. You see, Alex, they know about your abnormal DNA.”

  My head reels at this news, and I struggle to make all of the connections. Although I’ve healed faster than humanly possible from my head trauma, it’s still sometimes difficult for me to concentrate.

  I know I was born into the Mudameere as a descendant to the traitorous Nephilim, Nebuch, who left Nator and his people behind. Their ultimate goal was to prove their worth and return to the ship, Nibiru, with RA, after his success in conquering earth. My adopted grandfather Mubarak was a higher-up in the Khufu Bast and stole me from the Mudameere during an attack, after which he gave me to my mom and dad to raise as their own.

  “If they’ve known about me all along, why didn’t they just take me back? And why does my DNA even matter to them?” Am I missing something? I press at my temples, trying to hold back the looming pain.

  “Oh, the Khufu Bast did a superb job of hiding your location. It wasn’t until the Mudameere intercepted your father’s message, and then found him in Egypt, that they put all the pieces together,” he responds. He sounds so much like the old professor that I can almost pretend it’s still him. “We knew you were important.”

  “Why?” I demand now, getting frustrated with my lack of understanding. “Because Nebuch is my great-grandfather? But then why are the Mudameere afraid of me?”

  “Well, the prophecy, Alex.” Blinking rapidly, he studies my face, trying to gauge how much I know about it. “They still rely strongly on their faith and screened each child’s DNA at birth. You were royalty, and the ultimate prize to present to RA. There are a lot of politics among the Nephilim, and RA was quite fearful of anyone challenging him. Your return is a sign of his failure to lead his people. But, if he were to control you - ”

  “You’re telling me that Nebuch, the other Nephilim following him, and the Mudameere all believe I’m the prophesized leader from their ancient text?” I don’t know why this comes as such a shock to me. I guess I figured that the Nephilim, and especially the Mudameere, would be resistant to accepting it. I’m still not convinced myself, but to hear now that they’ve always believed it makes me extremely uncomfortable.

&nbs
p; “Very much so,” Hassan confirms. “They were afraid to kill you but eager to control you. When that failed it only spurned more faith that you are untouchable. They were more than happy when you disappeared, but the latest news that you’re now the leader of the resistance has set off a panic. This will be a slap in the face to RA, and he will not react well. I think that is why Nossor shared this with me. It was one last desperate attempt to get something useful from me before they killed me. I presume that they are trying to tie up all the loose ends before they go before RA. They’ll be ready to mine soon, and then it will be too late for the remaining human race.”

  “We plan on stopping them before it gets to that,” I say with confidence, shaking off my unease. “And you’re going to help us do it.”

  THIRTY FIVE

  Walking along the outskirts of what used to be a busy town, it’s hard not to reflect on everything that’s been lost, in spite of how well our new community is doing. The day is warm for April, and the fields are scattered with people preparing the soil for planting a new crop.

  A week after meeting with the professor, Dr. Paul put me on a strict rehab schedule. I don’t think I really need it, but in order to get back out fighting, I have to make him happy. And according to some Intel that Benuk just interpreted, the Mudameere may be organizing an attack against the base, so a strike team will soon be prepared. I plan to be a part of it.

  The doctor didn’t say where I have to do the work-out portion though, so I’ve been coming out here, to the old public activity center. The pool has been empty for months and hardly anyone else ventures out this way, which is perfect since I prefer to be alone.

  Movement off to my left catches my attention and I turn to see a small girl of about seven trudging through the field with a water bucket. Her mom is walking behind her and comes up short when she notices me. I’m about to make a quick exit when the little girl points at me and a huge grin spreads across her face.