The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  “Are you sure the shaking’s over?”

  “I think so. Here you go.” Sam leaned over, reaching under Monica’s shoulders, helping her to her feet. Monica was wobbly, as the two walked over to the couch.

  “Thanks, Dr. Randall,” Monica said, meekly.

  “You’re welcome. I’m going to see if I can get some ice for your head.” Sam walked with determination to the door and banged on it, yelling for her captors to open it. Somewhat to her surprise, the door swung outward and she found herself face to face with two uniformed men, sub-machine guns in hand. It was the second time that day that Sam had looked down the barrel of a gun, and it was equally terrifying on both occasions.

  “What the hell do you want?” one of the guards snarled.

  “My friend is hurt. She banged her head badly, and we need some ice and something for the pain.” Sam made eye contact with the angry guard, never letting her eyes leave his.

  “Who gives a damn about your friend?”

  “Look, if your boss wants to drag us through the jungle in this heat, he’s not going to want us moving slowly because we’re hurt. All I’m asking for is some ice and aspirin.”

  “Back up.” It was the other guard, who was now taking the lead. “Move over to that corner.” He motioned with the end of his gun. Sam obeyed, putting her hands up and moving to the far corner of the room. “Check out the one on the couch.”

  The angry guard grunted his disapproval, lowered his weapon, and walked over to Monica, who was still rubbing the lump and groaning in pain. “She’s telling the truth, this one doesn’t look so good.” The angry guard shot a menacing glance in Sam’s direction and walked back over to his comrade.

  “We’ll see what we can get you,” he barked, abruptly closing the door, as the heavy lock clicked back into place. Sam could hear the two men speaking briefly, followed by the sound of their heavy footsteps walking away.

  Sam thought about how appearances could be misleading. Even though she gave the outward appearance of being calm and brave, on the inside she was an absolute wreck. Scratching her head, she walked back over to Monica and noticed something odd on the floor. There, by the table near the couch, Sam noticed that her father’s book had been knocked to the floor by the earthquake. Squatting to pick it up, she noticed for the first time that the cover seemed to have a tear in it. Looking more closely, Sam realized that it wasn’t a tear, but rather, a seam in the leather. Picking up the book with her left hand, Sam examined the seam more closely. She gently lifted the fold and reached inside, where she discovered a piece of paper tucked away in a hidden compartment. The paper was folded into quarters and was worn. Unfolding the paper, she realized it was part of the clue she had been searching for, earlier.

  “What is it, Dr. Randall?”

  “Excuse me, Monica?”

  “You just said, ‘Oh my God!’ Is everything all right?”

  Sam hadn’t realized that she had spoken. She turned the paper over to look at the back, but the back was blank. She rotated it once more in her hand, so she could see the writing. Her father had written this information and, apparently, hadn’t wanted it to be discovered. The note explained the missing tablet from the jungle temple and translated some of the symbols that Sam had been unable to decipher. According to her father’s research, the markings on the medallion were the inverse of the markings on the wall of the tablet room in Vilcabamba. The words on the edge of the medallion were also translated on the sheet. Written on the sheet under the medallion writing, in large print was, “THE KEYSTONE.”

  “What can this mean?”

  “Dr. Randall?”

  Sam strode across the room to her backpack. Unzipping the main compartment in a single motion, she reached into the main compartment and gingerly removed the medallion. She looked at it more closely this time, with the trained, objective eye of a seasoned scientist. Around its outer edge, were unevenly spaced notches reminiscent of those found on a large gear. The strange writing on the medallion was exactly the same as the phrase written by her father on the sheet of paper. At its center, there were pictures of a square made of small rectangles stacked upon each other with a round jewel in the middle—a jewel that resembled the one in the middle of the medallion.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Dr. Randall, you’re worrying me. What’s the matter?” Now Monica’s voice sounded a bit more demanding. As Sam turned to face her, she noticed that Monica was sitting up on the couch, hands on the edge of the cushion, her feet flat on the floor. Her arms were stiff and her leg muscles were flexing. She looked like a coiled spring ready to snap.

  “I think this medallion is a key to something, but what?” Sam held it by the chain with the inscription facing Monica. “See the serrations around the outer edge?” Monica nodded. “I had originally thought that this was simply an ornamental design, but now I think they serve the purpose of fitting into a precisely carved opening. I also hadn’t noticed the importance of this raised ridge around the jewel in the center. If you look closely, the ridge has tiny grooves all around it. Almost like the grooves are meant to help you get a grip on the ridge.”

  Monica looked confused.

  “The writing is also a clue. If my father is right, and he usually is, the inscription reads ‘THE KEYSTONE.’ My father was away on research when he got a call that someone had retrieved a significant relic for him. Since he wasn’t home, my mom called him and he asked her to get it. He said it was very important and told her to get it as soon as she could. She left to pick it up, but crashed her car and died before she could retrieve it for him. Somehow, my father must have gotten the medallion later.”

  Monica was wide-eyed with confusion, and Sam realized that Monica had not read the tablets so she didn’t understand the history of the jungle tribe. Sam carefully explained the entire story to Monica: the phone call from Francisco, her mother’s untimely death, the history of the tribe as explained on the tablets. Slowly, the veil of confusion surrounding Monica began to lift. Just as Sam was finishing her explanation, the women were startled by the sound of the locked door opening. The first face they saw was the guard who had told them they would see if they could get help for Monica.

  “Come with us, we have someone who can take a look at your friend’s head.”

  Sam and Monica looked at each other for a moment, then got to their feet and walked toward the door. As they approached the entryway, they noticed that the friendly guard wasn’t alone. His associate, along with two other men, armed with MP5 machine guns, flanked him. The nice guard led the two women while the two other guards flanked them. They exited the building, walking across the compound to another structure.

  Sam heard a loud cracking sound, just as the two trailing guards fell to the ground. Before anyone could respond, Sam watched as the guard on her right was struck on the rear-right side of his head, his right eye exploding outward in a spray of red. The guard on her left fared no better than his partner, as a .223 round blew his neck forward, exploding it onto Sam and Monica. Sam recoiled at the sight, stepping away from the corpses. Next came a series of small explosions around the compound, causing complete chaos. The compound was under attack by an unseen enemy.

  Dumond’s men were caught entirely off guard. The front guard spun toward the two women he was supposed to be escorting to the medical staff, only to see them sprinting toward the jungle at the edge of the compound.

  “Command, this is Sergeant Wall, the prisoners are escaping, we’re under attack!” The Sergeant’s pursuit was brutally interrupted by several rounds of small arms fire that forced him to dive to the ground for cover.

  The two women raced through the jungle, trying to put as much distance between themselves and their captors. The faster of the two, Monica, dashed three yards ahead of Sam.

  “Where are we going, Monica?” Sam yelled.

  “Keep running!” Monica barked in response.

  They ran for some time, the dense foliage slapping at their bodies, as they pushe
d forward. Sam’s lungs burned with oxygen deprivation.

  “Monica, stop for God’s sake!”

  Monica stopped, bent over at the waist, and braced her hands against her knees. Sam did the same, entirely out of breath.

  “What the hell happened back there?” Sam urged. She didn’t expect the response she was about to get.

  “The plan worked,” Monica said under her breath.

  “What plan, Monica? What are you talking about?”

  Monica stood and faced Sam, holding a pistol in her hand.

  “My plan Dr. Randall. I called the soldiers who attacked Dumond’s base when we were in the room. I contacted them after you showed me the medallion and explained what it meant.”

  “Who Monica? Who did you call?”

  “Mr. Kristoph. He hired me to find out what Dumond was doing. Now, I know, and now, I have to kill you,” Monica said, tears forming in her eyes.

  “Monica, I don’t understand.”

  “That’s right, Dr. Randall, you don’t understand. There’s no way you could understand what I have been through. You couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be a small child, treated like a piece of luggage, being moved from home to home, for no reason at all. You can’t imagine the horror of the things I saw, heard … and felt, as a helpless innocent girl, having to live with strangers who didn’t give a damn about me.”

  “Monica, I …”

  “Stay back!” Monica cocked the hammer of the gun. “You probably had everything you ever wanted when you were a little girl, maybe a nice princess room, a comfortable bed, pretty clothes … and most of all, a loving mother and father who doted on you.” The tears were cascading down her cheeks, now. “Well now I have a chance to set things right for myself. Mr. Kristoph promised me enough money to take care of myself for the rest of my life. Isn’t it fair that I get a chance to be happy and taken care of? Isn’t it?”

  “Monica, you don’t have to do this, I can help you.”

  Monica gave a small snort, her voice quivering. “I don’t need your help.” She lifted the Ruger P95, and while looking down the barrel with one eye, aimed the handgun directly at Sam’s chest. Sam closed her eyes, anticipating the sound of the gun going off and the impact of the round in her chest. Then came the terrible moment when she heard the shot that would end her life.

  Standing breathless, Sam realized that she was still alive. Opening her eyes, she saw Monica lying face down on the ground. The impact of the round had catapulted her body several feet forward, and she lay there, eyes wide open, her dead fingers still clutching the pistol. Sam blinked in disbelief, then looked up and saw a huge soldier towering over her holding an assault rifle.

  “Where do you think you were going?” Colonel Frank Ackers had found her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Randall was surrounded. He was deep within the bowels of the Earth, hopelessly cut off from any help, as he stood facing a group of strange looking beings. He took a quick count in his mind, but stopped when he reached twenty. In spite of being so badly outnumbered, he didn’t feel afraid. There was something about the creatures that seemed to be … calming. Randall mentally reassessed the term “creature.” Is that really what they were?

  They seemed humanoid in form, but didn’t resemble any group of humans he had ever seen or read about in his thirty-plus years as a scientist. Physically, they were approximately the size of the Capanhuaco, but there was something about their appearance that was otherworldly. Unlike their jungle counterparts, these creatures possessed no body hair, whatsoever, and their skin was milky white, probably an adaptation to life underground, the professor thought. But there was something else. It took Randall a moment to calibrate his scientific mind, but he finally realized that these creatures possessed no discernible mouths. If that was the case, how did they communicate or eat?

  Your daughter and your friends are in danger. The thought seemed to appear in his mind. There are people holding them hostage, and they intend to force your daughter to decipher your research notes and find you, along with our city. Again, the thoughts just appeared in Randall’s mind.

  “Are you communicating with me?” Randall inquired to none of the creatures in particular. Suddenly, one of them came forward and stood directly in front of the professor.

  We are. Your daughter and your friends are in great danger, and you must go and help them. You must also bring the medallion to us; the time of reunification is upon us. Our people must be reunited before the great journey can begin.

  “What great journey, where are you going?”

  Our time here is at an end, and we must return home.

  “Where is home for you? Where did you come from? How long have you been here?” The professor’s mind raced.

  We realize that you have many questions, Dr. Randall, but there is no time for this now. The creature stepped forward and reached out an arm. Randall involuntarily bent at the waist and brought his head to rest at the creature’s arm level. The creature placed its hand upon his head and closed its eyes. What Randall felt next was unlike anything he had experienced in his life. He felt as light as a feather and seemed to be floating into the air inside the great cavern. At the same time, he felt that his body was still in the same spot. He felt his mind go higher until suddenly he could no longer see his body, the creatures, or the cavern at all.

  As Randall floated off into the dreamlike state, his mind wandered through different scenes. At first, he was entombed in an inky blackness that enveloped him like the great whale from the tale of “Jonah.” Yet, he could tell that he was moving forward slowly, at first, but building speed. Ahead, he could see the twinkling of tiny buttons of light way off in the distance. Before he knew it, he was flying by them at such blazing speeds that they appeared as long streaks of whiteness trailing off into the distance. He felt like he was traveling down the tube of a kaleidoscope, with streaks of different colored lights with odd shapes traveling by him so close that he felt he could touch them. Suddenly he awoke in a field with a blinding sun beating down on him so brightly that he had to turn away. Randall buried his face in his lap as the brightness burned his eyes. He heard voices and realized that he wasn’t alone. He blinked quickly, trying to get his eyes to readjust to the light. The voices sounded strange, speaking a language he had never heard before, yet he could understand them. More oddly still, the voices sounded familiar.

  Slowly, the world came into view, as the blurry images came into focus. Randall was in the middle of a grassy meadow; the stalks of grass chest high and swaying rhythmically with the breeze. The rich smell of fresh grass tickled his nose, as his senses came alive. He noticed three people standing near him, but something was drawing their attention away. They were dressed in animal hides and pointing and speaking excitedly at something he couldn’t quite make out. Finally, he was able to see clearly and was amazed when he realized what was happening. His friends were pointing at a shiny metal craft, spitting fire from its large rocket motors, settling down gently in the field. Randall stood and discovered that, like his comrades, he was also wearing nothing more than an animal hide and rudimentary foot coverings.

  The craft gleamed in the bright midday sun, the reflection hurting his eyes. A soft hum emanated from the ship, and a small opening appeared on its underbelly. Slowly, several small shapes appeared from the craft and approached Randall and his new friends. The group huddled closely, unsure of what to do. Then, one of the creatures spoke to them, and Randall understood. The crewmembers of the spacecraft were from another planet, and had come to learn about this new world and its inhabitants. In his dreamlike state, Randall slowly came to grasp that he was not on Earth, but on another world. Vaguely, he remembered being in Vilcabamba and meeting its inhabitants, and then he was suddenly in this new world. It slowly dawned on Randall that he was not actually experiencing these events, but was merely watching them, like a movie seen through the eyes of someone else. IMAX had nothing on this!

  Randall blinked his
eyes, and the scene changed. It was now a much more modern setting and he found himself looking at a high-tech lab inside a very neat and tidy building. Men in suits and lab coats were speaking to each other about something very important. Randall could tell by the serious tone of their voices and the grave looks on their faces. Some of the men seemed to be dressed in some sort of military garb. Strangely enough, in this current setting, Randall noted that these new creatures looked very similar to humans, except that they seemed a little taller, and their features were correspondingly larger. Randall fleetingly thought that these strangers, properly trained and coached, would dominate a team of human basketball players.

  That thought passed quickly; however, when Randall saw “him.” Or was it a “her?” There, standing in the midst of the circle of the men in suits and lab coats, was an even taller creature standing eight to nine feet in height, its body clad in some sort of shiny metallic fabric. The slender creature had long, gangly arms that nearly reached to the floor. It’s hairless, oval shaped head sat perched upon a long, cylindrical neck that rose from narrow, sloping shoulders. However, Randall realized that it wasn’t the creature’s odd appearance that was the cause of his concern. The creature was delivering a message about the star that this small world orbited. Apparently, the star was becoming unstable and would soon expand, swallowing the planet in its fiery grip. The creature was informing the others that their world was facing imminent doom. The only solution was to build an underground shelter and move as many of the native inhabitants into it, as soon as possible. The alien was carrying a familiar medallion and was explaining to the others that he could help them. He couldn’t stop the star from exploding, but he could help them build an underground city. Unfortunately, there would only be room for a very limited number of survivors.

  Randall blinked; and again, the picture changed. He was now in an underground city, which looked very similar to Vilcabamba. Once again, he was in the midst of several inhabitants, but they looked very different from the ones he had just seen in the lab. These creatures were much smaller, and their heads and eyes were much bigger than the rest of their bodies. Their skin was milky white. He, immediately, recognized them as the creatures he had seen in Vilcabamba. Randall, sadly, realized that these were the survivors of the doomed world and were, in fact, ancestors of the inhabitants of Vilcabamba.