Passage Graves

by Madyson Rush

  David flinched. Whatever had been wrapped around his arms and legs had carved out a good chunk of his flesh. “Brenton would’ve announced that to the world.”

  “There is a reason he was silent,” Vanderkam’s voice wavered. “Christianity as we know it is wrong. We’ve all been mistaken.”

  “You’re crazier than he was.”

  “Over the last two thousand years the Bible has been corrupted. Essential truths were removed. The ending was changed. The Christian faith, as we know it, is the greatest sham in the history of the world. The faith of the masses gave evil men power, and with this power, priests and kings twisted the word of God to their liking. But the War Rule remained untouched. It has never been changed.”

  “It’s apocryphal.” The scrolls themselves were of uncertain origin. No archeologist in his right mind would take them as fact.

  “I was there when he found it in the caves of Kumran.” He paused. “It is truth.”

  David clenched his jaw. He was too tired to talk. There was too much pain to argue.

  “God isn’t sending four angels to open the seals of Apocalypse.” Vanderkam’s eyes came alive. “Any man can possess the power of the seals. Any man can become Horseman. Any man can end the world.”

  “Brenton would’ve said anything to protect his ridiculous theories.”

  “What we found hidden in the Beb’ne Hoshekh was not his theory.” Vanderkam stood. He began pacing. “I’ve seen it. I handled the text myself. I confirmed the interpretation.”

  His breathing was strained. He stared intently at David. “The Abaddon has crumbled. Each man is pursuing the first seal for himself.”

  “Why would anyone want to end the world?” It was a reasonable question.

  “Becoming Horseman is the only way to survive the Apocalypse.”

  Anyone stupid enough to follow Brenton was questionable at best. David held his throbbing head with his hands. “Did he put you up to this?”

  “He was supposed to find you. He was supposed to take you to the canyons of Wadi Musa. Only you can remove the first seal from its grave.”

  Vanderkam fell into a coughing fit. His body writhed under the strain. “Whoever places the key into the lock will be Horseman.”

  David couldn’t believe it. “If these Abaddon people know where the seal is, why don’t they already have it?”

  Vanderkam smiled. “Only the Firstborn of the Chosen lineage can remove the seal from its grave.”

  “Brenton was murdered to hide this bullshit?”

  “Brenton was murdered because he knew the identity of the Chosen One—he knew it was you.”

  A sharp noise whizzed past David’s ear, striking Vanderkam in the chest.

  The scientist stumbled into the wall. Another bullet ricocheted off the wall between them.

  David scrambled into the corner, pulling Vanderkam behind a cavity of the rock. Both men slid to the ground, Vanderkam in David’s lap.

  David frantically searched the room. It was too dark. His eyes were still swollen. He could barely see his own hands. The shooter could be a foot away and there was nothing he could do about it.

  His ears rang as he listened for breathing or for footsteps.

  Indecision kept David pinned against the rock. He could feel Vanderkam’s blood pooling on the ground.

  He counted the seconds. The drops of blood synchronized with his count.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours.

  By the time the swelling in his face lessened to the point where he could see, the candles had expired. The cave was pitch black. He let go of Vanderkam’s body. David couldn’t remember exactly when he died, but the man had stopped breathing.

  ****

  Lang unscrewed the silencer from the chrome barrel of his gun. He placed the noise queller into his coat pocket, returned the handgun to his holster, and moved quietly out of the cave, twisting and turning along the passage until he met the starry night. Climbing down the side of the cliff to the shoreline, he stopped at the base of the hill for a second and looked back at the cave’s entrance.

  Of course, there was regret—the unexpected pang of guilt. But this was business.

  There was a higher purpose. One that David would never understand.

  Lang untied his powerboat from the shore and left Vanderkam’s boat for David.

  He would need something to get back to Patmos.

  Chapter 52

  FRIDAY 12:00 a.m.

  Stenness Basecamp

  Orkney Island, Scotland

  The computer’s mechanized voice echoed through Stenness Basecamp, “Standby, countdown of T minus nine… eight… seven…”

  Everyone watched the five innocuous-looking passage graves on the screens covering the helm’s wall. Thatcher focused on Maeshowe. Positioned in the middle screen, the megalith’s familiar contours looked far from formidable—just a docile dead monument.

  “Six…five…four…”

  She stood behind Marek and Donovon. The men sat at their computer stations ready to manually fire the Sonja configurations and match the passage graves’ output. Her arms were firmly crossed over her chest in an unconscious display of self-preservation. She glanced around the room. Lee stood beside Hummer near the back of the helm, waiting for Operation Standing Wave’s moment of triumph.

  “Three…two…one…”

  Everyone held their breath.

  Thatcher imagined a sound wave growing inside each grave, exploding from the mouth of each prehistoric beast.

  She bit her lip.

  The graves stayed quiet.

  “What’s going on?” She touched Marek’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m generating our acoustic waves.” His computer screen registered their acoustic weapons building in power.

  “Nothing from the graves?” Thatcher shouted.

  “Nothing. Do we disengage?” Marek looked to Thatcher and then Hummer. His finger was poised over the discharge button.

  “Your countdown must be wrong!” Lee turned on Marek.

  “It isn’t!” Marek fired back.

  “Then why aren’t the graves going off?” Thatcher looked back at Hummer, unsure of what to do.

  Hummer stared up at the graves. He calmly eyed their bellicose opponents.

  “Do I disengage, sir?” Marek asked again.

  Hummer was silent.

  Marek looked to Thatcher. If Hummer wasn’t responding, it was her call.

  “Disengage,” she said.

  Marek turned back to his keyboard.

  Dust spewed from Tara’s entranceway.

  There was an immeasurable release of noise. The front of the soundwave shook Tara’s video cameras, warping the images as it passed by.

  Newgrange joined in the explosion with deadly distortion, terrorizing the abandoned Irish countryside.

  Basecamp rumbled as Scotland’s graves initiated their offensive strike. First, Cuween Hill, then Isbister.

  Maeshowe’s muffled noise vibrated deep below the earth’s surface.

  Hummer stirred awake as well. “Marek!”

  “Matching the acoustic power of each ruin and firing!” Marek’s computer registered each soundwave’s intensity. Red bars quickly rose to the top of the scale, peaking over 250 dB in low-frequency sound. The measurement of Sonja’s blue bars matched the output of the passage graves’.

  “Here we go!” Marek fired off the Sonja configurations. “They will collide in three…two…one.”

  Opposing soundwaves crashed together. The acoustic output of the Sonja configurations abolished the passage grave noise. The graphs of red and blue bars rested at 0 dB.

  For a moment, the world was still. Everyone was afraid to move.

  Thatcher’s mouth tipped upward into a smile.

  Marek looked up at her in disbelief. He shook his head. “It worked.”

  On screen, blast waves surged outward from four of the five graves. Aural rep
risals passed beyond each Sonja weapon, crushing the manmade armaments and rendering them useless. Dissonant shock waves flattened every farmhouse and barn. The video feed of Newgrange cut to static. Tara’s camera deadened, then Isbister and Cuween Hill.

  Everyone looked up at Maeshowe, the only surviving image.

  The basecamp lights flickered. Sparks showered overhead as subsonic vibrations splintered bulb filament. Thatcher grabbed her head. There was a violent pop and a crackle. The clamor resounded inside her ears. The pain was unspeakable. Her eardrums tried to adjust to the pressure, but the low reverberation clawed with tympanic anarchy.

  The passage grave screamed with blistering retaliation. A roar exploded from the ruin’s belly. Its blast rippled along the earth’s crust, noise coursing towards basecamp through the integument of rock.

  Maeshowe would have her revenge.

  Thatcher dropped to the floor.

  Marek dove from his chair and shielded her as the room shook apart. Equipment toppled off the shelves. The flat panel displays shattered. Reinforced cement crumbled off the ceiling. The wave rippled through basecamp. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the hellish symphony ended in silence.

  The world was still again.

  Thatcher was pinned under Marek’s weight. He freed her, rolling off. From the dim light of the monitors, she could see him staring down at his leg in shock. His left thigh was pumping blood.

  She tore off her jacket and tied it around his leg. She fought to catch her breath. Her ears were ringing. Her throat was raw. Marek’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear his voice. She could barely hear her own.

  Inches away from them, the helm wall had completely collapsed. The floor was covered with rubble.

  Dazed, Marek nodded at her. He was more concerned if she was okay. An egg-sized bump was forming on her forehead, she could feel the swelling. There were a few cuts on her face and chin, but she could move around without pain.

  The tinnitus was mind-numbing. Her eardrums generated a high-pitched squeal. It felt as if she had fallen from the atmosphere and couldn’t adjust to the pressure change. She couldn’t concentrate. She could only focus on one thing at a time.

  Marek.

  The bleeding out of his leg slowed. He was lucky it wasn’t an artery. They were both lucky.

  Using the support of the desk, she stood and surveyed the damage. Most of the lab was entirely lost under debris. Everything was dark except a few blinking computer systems and static monitor screens. She found a flashlight in Marek’s desk and clicked it on.

  The helm was choked with dust. A gray haze clouded the air. It was so thick, she couldn’t see more than a few feet away. She realized her lungs were burning. There was no ventilation. Toxic cinders floated like lazy snow throughout the room.

  Hummer called from across the room. “Brynne?”

  “I’m okay!” She wiped blood from her forehead. “Marek’s leg looks pretty bad.”

  “Lee?” Hummer shouted into the darkness.

  Thatcher could vaguely see Lee’s shadow staggering in the conference room doorway. “I’m fine!” he yelled back.

  “Donovon?” Hummer called out.

  There was no response.

  “Donovon?” Thatcher searched the room with the flashlight. The beam revealed the west wall. It had entirely caved in over Donovon’s desk. His computer was flattened by blocks of cement. His chair was obliterated under rubble. A few of the Irishman’s fingers poked out from under the wreckage.

  Chapter 53

  FRIDAY 1:42 a.m.

  Stenness Basecamp

  Orkney Island, Scotland

  “What the hell happened out there?” Hummer slammed his fist into the dusty remains of the conference table.

  Other than the glow of a few working monitors, the helm was dark. Lee had managed to get the emergency lighting online in the conference room as well as the back-up ventilation. The conference table was still intact along with a few chairs.

  “We have less than 77 hours before the next round!” Hummer rubbed his irritated eyes. The air quality was still very poor. He looked at Thatcher and then Marek. “I want to hear everything you know about those graves. Everything.”

  Marek clutched the bandage wrapped around his injured leg. “The passage graves acted with sentient force,” he said.

  “He wants the facts, you bloody idiot,” Lee said. “I’ve been saying this all along, we should just destroy them.”

  Marek retorted. “Those graves matched us blow for blow and then unleashed a blast wave like they had some sort of vendetta.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re cognizant,” Lee said.

  “We need to go back inside Maeshowe,” Thatcher inserted. “We need to understand what we’re dealing with.”

  “No!” All the men joined in unison.

  At least they all agreed on something.

  Thatcher gritted her teeth. “When Golke and Bailey went in it was poor timing. Marek determined that. We’ve got to try again.”

  “Not if they’re sentient,” Lee mocked Marek.

  The two glared at each other.

  “No one is going into those graves,” Hummer said. “Lee, what’s the status of basecamp?”

  “The northeastern section of the bunker was completely destroyed and most of our equipment is lost under debris,” he said. “The mainframe is disabled. Our computer system is irreparable. Security is offline. The shaft foundation isn’t pretty, but the lift should hold until the next round.”

  “What about nutriment?” Hummer asked.

  “We can access dry packs,” Lee replied. “We have enough of those to last until next winter.”

  Thatcher’s stomach turned at the thought of eating dehydrated food.

  “I can put together a makeshift helm and get us more hardware,” Lee continued. “We can empty out the extra storage room between personal quarters and the helm, and use that for a computer lab. As far as acoustic equipment goes, I think a few of our monitors and registers work so we can adequately measure each grave’s output.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Marek interrupted. “We could have all the equipment in the world and it wouldn’t matter. All our tools can do is measure noise and compute data. We’re dealing with a non-referential indeterminate. We don’t know what the hell that sound is, where it’s coming from, or what it will do over the next four days.”

  “Could we disassemble the ruins?” Hummer asked. “Would that stop the buildup of acoustic pressure?”

  “Isbister isn’t intact,” Thatcher said. “That tomb has a hole in the top of the chamber and it’s still active. For all we know, drilling holes could release even more noise.”

  “Operation Standing Wave was successful until the passage graves fired a second round,” Hummer said. “Is it possible our weapons could work if we knew the graves were capable of additional detonations?”

  “There’s no way we could generate that kind of power.” Marek shook his head. “That’s the problem. We don’t know. We can’t know.”

  “Maybe the secondary explosion is the new pattern,” Lee suggested. “When the first few graves erupted after Maeshowe, Dr. Marek thought that was random sequencing, too. They ended up building in pressure at different rates but following a concise detonation pattern.”

  “Every 77 hours,” Thatcher said.

  Marek turned to Hummer. “I couldn’t have stopped that blast wave. Nobody could have stopped it. Have you seen topside? It’s a goddamn war zone out there. Stenness is flattened. Maeshowe didn’t just release a subsonic wave—she fired off a blast wave. Our acoustic technology can’t come close to imitating that.” He turned to Lee. “And, if you insist on staying semi-rational, then we need to be talking quantum physics, multi-dimension reality, and chaos theory. Not Newtonian physics. Bailey and Golke walked into that chamber and found what?”

  “Nothing,” Thatcher said.

  “Nothing.” Marek repeated, looking over at Hummer. “We’re no closer to solving this now
than we were eight days ago. Thinking conservatively won’t save anybody’s ass.”

  “How could an acoustic blast of that magnitude come from nothing?” Hummer asked.

  Thatcher blinked in surprise. For the first time, Hummer was actually entertaining alternatives.

  Marek shrugged. “We’ve been so obsessed with stopping the graves, we’ve completely ignored the how and the why.”

  “How are we supposed to—?” Lee began.

  Hummer silenced him with a glare.

  “Tesla versus Einstein.” Marek straightened. He had the group’s full attention. “Two white dudes with mad brain power. Einstein believed the atom was a fixed unit of energy, and that energy existed within mass. E=mc². You know the deal. According to Einstein, when you break apart an atom, it’s like cracking open an egg. You get energy.”

  “Continue,” Hummer said, interested.

  “On the flipside, Tesla theorized energy isn’t located within an atom, but it exists outside the atom. There’s an energy field surrounding us. The whole universe is one gigantic energy vortex.”

  “What would this have to do with the graves?” Hummer asked.

  “If Tesla was right,” Marek continued, “and energy doesn’t come from an atom’s mass, then that could explain why we perceive something coming out of nothing.”

  Hummer leaned forward. “So Maeshowe could be discharging noise because of some invisible energy field?”

  “Sure, if you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Lee rolled his eyes.

  Marek cleared his throat. “All this time we thought we were manipulating atoms, we were merely toying with the energy field in which they exist. Tesla believed energy flows in a cyclical pattern that moves faster than the speed of light. This spiral of energy exists outside of space and time, but we’re linked into it. We can’t see it, but it affects everything we see.”

  Hummer shook his head.

  “That’s why so many natural formations make the structure of a vortex,” Marek said. “The Golden Ratio of 1:1.618033989 is an infinite logarithmic spiral. Tornados and hurricanes form an energy vortex. Galaxies, bubble chamber particles, snail shells, the curve of space-time—hell, my toilet even flushes in a spiral.”