Passage Graves

by Madyson Rush

  “So there is something inside those graves?” Hummer asked.

  “Atoms within this energy vortex are usually at a state of rest. There’s a balanced relationship between matter and energy. Everyone is chill. But if the balance is upset—like in nuclear fission—then a tremendous amount of energy is released to balance things out.” He drew on the table with his fingers. “Okay, way oversimplifying here, but think of energy as a whirlpool. The water current is energy we can’t see. If you put a leaf in the whirlpool, it’ll move. But energy isn’t coming from the leaf. We might think it is, because that’s the object we see moving, but the energy is coming from the water current surrounding the leaf.”

  “Some invisible whirlpool is killing us?” Lee asked.

  “You could say that,” Marek replied. “But, here’s where it gets tricky. Fission and fusion are mankind’s interaction with energy. Whether we’re splitting matter or fusing it together, we can see energy being released in the process. If Tesla’s right, all we’re really doing is manipulating the energy vortex. We’re moving a teeny tiny wave inside the energy whirlpool.”

  “So?” Hummer said.

  “This means the energy vortex itself can be manipulated. Something sentient and probably smarter than us could create what we interpret as something out of nothing.’”

  Lee scoffed. “Like who? God?”

  Marek shrugged. “God…Tesla…Hummer. What does it matter?”

  Hummer appreciated the joke.

  Marek sat back in his chair. “Tesla’s theory is the only way I can explain something originating from nothing.”

  “How do you stop a sound wave that originates from nothing?” Hummer asked.

  “A vacuum,” Lee said. “Nothing can exist inside a vacuum.”

  Marek nodded in agreement.

  “What would happen if we destroyed the graves?” Hummer said.

  “It’s hard to say,” Marek answered. “Dr. Thatcher could be right. The structural design of the graves might actually hold back noise and not just amplify it. On the other hand, Lee could be right and we could stop them with a vacuum.”

  Thatcher was disappointed. It didn’t feel right, destroying the ruins. That wasn’t the answer.

  “You get rid of the graves, you get rid of the noise,” Lee said.

  “The sound isn’t just noise.” Thatcher interjected. Hummer had asked for all the facts, even the crazy ones.

  “What are you talking about?” Lee asked disapprovingly.

  Thatcher nodded to Marek. “Tell them, Marek.”

  He exhaled loudly.

  Hummer’s brow furrowed. “Dr. Marek?”

  “I was able to localize a portion of the soundwave Golke recorded in Maeshowe,” he answered. “It’s definitely a message.”

  “What’s the message?” Hummer asked.

  “We can’t recognize the language—but there is a distinct voice pattern.”

  Hummer’s face flattened.

  Lee sat forward. “Blow the sodden things off the earth.”

  “If we had time to figure out what they’re saying,” Thatcher began.

  Hummer was deep in thought. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We don’t have time.”

  “We can’t wait around on a crap science project,” Lee said.

  Hummer cleared his throat. “Were the circumstances different, we could look into this more closely. Our focus needs to be resolving this situation.”

  Thatcher stared down at the table.

  “Now is the time for answers, not questions,” Hummer said. “Can we at least extrapolate the degree of explosion expected during the next round, Dr. Marek? Assuming they wait to explode until the next round.”

  “We are talking about multiple ruins throughout all of northern Europe. We can only hope we have 77 hours. Shit, man. We’d need to tear down every inactive passage grave, and I’d recommend destroying and somehow creating a vacuum over the active ones.”

  Hummer nodded. He already had something in mind.

  Thatcher felt a lump form in her throat. “You’re not talking about sound,” she realized.

  “AVX.” He said soberly.

  “There will be fallout,” Thatcher said. The experimental bomb was still in its infancy.

  Hummer waited for Marek’s reply.

  Marek stammered. “We’d need everyone out of northern Scotland and the eastern seaboard of Ireland because of residual radioactive material.”

  “Does anyone have a better solution?” Hummer asked.

  Nobody said a word.

  Hummer sat back in his chair. “Brynne, organize the evacuation. Lee and Marek will configure the AVX. Operation Silence commences immediately.”

  Chapter 54

  FRIDAY 2:30 p.m.

  London, England

  Two men were whispering outside. It was impossible to understand what they were saying. The confining walls seemed to close in on him. They were too thick. He couldn’t discern any of the conversation. They’d been talking for at least an hour, though—razor sharp voices that provided a dizzying soundtrack to the image of the burning synagogue.

  Ian had a migraine. The blindness would only last a few hours, but the accompanying headache was agony. The inflammation inside his skull was in germinal stages. Soporific numbness spread from his tongue to the tips of his fingers.

  First, an aberrant network of fireworks would spread across his vision as if he had stared at the sun for too long. Their stupefying geometric design hid the world from his eyes. Then, he’d lose his speech, the ability to accurately form sentences or make sense of his surroundings. There was nothing he could do to stop the progression. Now that the process had started, he could only ride it out.

  The synagogue was his last recollection. He’d been forced to his knees. The barrel of the pistol was pressed against his forehead. The next thing he knew, he was here, in the cell, in dank of underground London. The floor still reeked of excrement. It was the same chamber where Javan had kept the captive.

  Ian lay curled on the cement floor, just like the captive. He shivered.

  There was no reason to get up. No reason to move.

  Heavy footsteps approached the door, and the conversation outside abruptly ended. The cell door opened and hallway light flooded into the underground chamber.

  Ian stayed frozen on the ground. The pretense of unconsciousness could add minutes to his life. Footsteps entered the chamber and stopped beside him. He felt pointy dress shoes poke at his ribs.

  “Do you know why you’re still alive?” Javan asked.

  Ian moaned.

  “Then you know what I want.”

  Javan bent over him.

  Ian stayed silent.

  Javan nodded to Dettorio, and the henchman stepped inside. He kicked Ian in the stomach and sent him sprawling across the floor. It was more jarring than painful. Most of his body was numb.

  Dettorio stepped over him for another blow. This one to the head.

  Ian sputtered, holding his face. “David has it!”

  “Good,” Javan said. “Where does he keep it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dettorio’s foot connected with Ian’s ribs.

  Ian rolled onto his back. “I don’t know!” he yelled.

  Javan lifted a hand to restrain Dettorio.

  Ian coughed. “He used to wear it on a chain around his neck, but I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation.” Javan turned back to the door. “Make sure he gets some ice, and perhaps a more comfortable room.”

  The cell door shut and the chamber returned to black.

  Ian clutched his ribs. He could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He clenched his jaw and stretched out on the floor.

  Once Javan found the ring, David would certainly be dead.

  Chapter 55

  SATURDAY 7:42 a.m.

  Stenness Basecamp

  Orkney Island, Scotland

  The elevator was in terrible shape.
Thatcher held the rails as the floor shuddered under her feet. Years ago, she’d conquered a fear of heights rock climbing with Hummer, anchored to ropes belayed by her uncle. This was a totally different experience, a rickety boxcar attached to a compromised foundation. The only barrier between her and the basecamp floor was cracked translucent plastic. Slowly, the car wobbled toward the surface. She focused on the light above. Anything to take her mind off the teetering death trap.

  Marek busied himself with diagnostic equipment trying to hide his own apprehension.

  The elevator came to a stop topside. The door slid open half a foot and then stuck. Thatcher slid through sideways, and Marek behind her. He whistled at the devastation. They got a glimpse of the Stenness remains from a surviving camera, but to see it in person was devastating.

  Maeshowe’s destruction spread far beyond the village. In perverse dichotomy, the pleasant morning sun shone down on flattened buildings, wreckage of NCEC tents, overturned vehicles, and thousands of decomposing sheep. In between mounds of decaying wool, the emerald grassland sparkled with dew.

  Thatcher felt her stomach churn. Eating one of the prepackaged nutriment meals that morning had been a mistake. The stench of putrefaction and morning mist was nauseating.

  Marek set his diagnostic gear beside the elevator. “You okay?” he asked.

  Thatcher swallowed. “I just need to sit a minute.”

  He took a seat on the remains of a building and patted the wood beside him.

  Thatcher leaned back against the rubble. The crisp morning air stung her lungs, but it felt better than the stale, recycled air of the bunker.

  Marek pointed at the partially open elevator door. “I’m sure Lee will want us to fix that, too.”

  “That’s your job.” Thatcher held up a new video lens. “I’m on camera duty.”

  Marek smirked. He pulled a Twinkie from his pocket.

  Thatcher did a double take. “Is that from the bottom of the bird cadaver cooler?”

  He shrugged and opened the package, offering her one of the Twinkies.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “It may be the last opportunity you get.” He waved the cake under her nose. “Sealed for freshness. No bird guts.”

  She took the Twinkie from him. What if he was right?

  Marek unwrapped the other portion and studied the pastry. He divided the oblong cake at its horizontal midpoint, dipped his pinky finger into the first hole, and scooped out white foam.

  “You’ve got this down to an art.” Thatcher took a small bite.

  “Yes, I do.” He dipped his pinky into the next hole and then looked out over Stenness. “So, is this how we’re gonna die?”

  “What, this isn’t the Armageddon you envisioned?”

  “I figured we’d get blown to hell or we’d blow ourselves to hell, but not both at the same time.”

  Thatcher looked out over the flattened buildings, barely recognizing the remains of McLeod’s Bed & Breakfast. “It’s so quiet afterwards.”

  “It’s surreal, sitting and waiting while northern Scotland is evacuated.”

  Thatcher took another bite. “We’ll start leaving an hour before detonation. Slowly de-man basecamp.”

  “‘De-man basecamp’?” Marek said sarcastically. “Look around. Everybody’s already dead.”

  She took another bite. “These things taste better than I remember.”

  Marek dipped his finger into the last cream-filled hole and then ate the entire cake in one monster-sized bite. He spoke with his mouth full. “I guess that means we won’t be here for the AVX show. I’ll miss fallout. The whole glowing or growing a third eye thing.”

  “That doesn’t really happen until a few days later anyway.”

  He nudged her knee with his. “You’d look nice with a third eye.”

  “Is that right?” A snort escaped her nose.

  Marek looked at her sideways. “Was that a snort?”

  She covered her face and accidentally let out another. She was punchy, too tired to care.

  “Good Lord!” Marek yelled out at the town. “This woman’s snortin’!”

  They laughed until their sides grew tired, then both let out a sigh.

  “Now I have seen it all.” He looked over at her, admiringly. “Are you worried about him?”

  She wasn’t expecting David to come into their conversation.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” he said.

  Thatcher crossed her arms self-consciously. She returned her gaze to the distant passage grave.

  “He’s all right, I guess,” he said. “Nice, intelligent, respectable…white…”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “It’ll never work out between the two of you, though,” he said with a sideways smile. “I mean other than the fact that we’re all gonna die.” He leaned into her and whispered. “He’s an atheist.”

  “How would you know that?” she asked, her cheeks red.

  “A guy can tell.” Marek wiggled his eyebrows.

  Thatcher folded her arms more tightly, feeling the morning chill. “And what about you, Marek? Do you believe in God?”

  He pulled a crucifix necklace out from under his shirt. “Damn straight.”

  “Damn straight,” Thatcher repeated. She stood and dusted off her pants. “Thanks for the Twinkie, Dr. Marek.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She picked up the video equipment and walked to the west end of Stenness, leaving Marek to fix the elevator. She knew where that conversation was headed. Definitely in a direction she wasn’t ready for.

  She reviewed Lee’s map and spotted a shattered lens underneath the flattened fence of their helicopter landing pad. The pad was still intact, but the camera was pulverized. Unscrewing the old lens from the base, she set it aside, brushed debris away from the metal foundation, and fastened the new camera in its place.

  Her cell phone vibrated against her hip. She didn’t recognize the number. “This is Thatcher.”

  “He’s dead.” David’s somber voice cut in and out.

  Her heart stopped. “David, where are you?”

  “Vanderkam is dead, Dr. Thatcher. That’s everyone in that picture except the old man.”

  “Where are you?” she asked again.

  “I just landed in Edinburgh. I need your help.”

  Thatcher looked back at basecamp. Marek had put on headphones and was rocking out while fixing the elevator. She moved the cell phone to her left ear and pushed her hair away from her face. “More passage graves are exuding lethal noise. It’s no longer just Maeshowe and Isbister.”

  “I need your help.”

  “We’re evacuating northern Scotland,” she tried to explain. “There’s no way I can—”

  “I have a lead,” he interrupted. “I received a letter a few days ago…an answer, maybe. It’s missing the sender’s address. I need to figure out who sent it.”

  “There’s an American consulate in Edinburgh. My friend, Brimley, works there. She’s American, CIA.”

  “Can I meet you there?”

  Thatcher felt her chest sink. “David…”

  There was no answer.

  “You’ve got to hurry,” she said. “You have less than four days before the passage graves are destroyed. If there was any way that I could…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  There was another long silence.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  “How much time do I have?”

  Looking down at her watch, she estimated. “Fifty-six hours.”

  “I’m going to find the old man in the photograph.”

  She could hear the crowd in the airport behind him.

  “If he’s alive, his life is in danger. When I find him, we’ll need your help.”

  Thatcher could hardly breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, telling herself it was the right thing. “I’ll call my contact at the consulate. She’ll give you the information you need.”

  As he hung up, she low
ered the cell phone from her ear and placed it against her forehead. She couldn’t help but feel this was the last time they’d ever speak. Everything within her screamed she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. But there was nothing she could do.

  She bent over the ground camera and switched it on. She paused, looking over at Marek. He was singing at the top of his lungs, working at the broken elevator door.

  What if she ran for it?

  Marek wouldn’t stop her. If he knew half of what was going on, he’d probably run, too.

  Who was she kidding?

  She’d made her choice.

  The nation depended on her. Millions of lives were at stake.

  Chapter 56

  SATURDAY 2:20 p.m.

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Agent Brimley brushed a layer of ninhydrin over the manila envelope. She looked up at David with an attractive smile. “How do you know Brynne?”

  He pulled nervously at the trench coat concealing Vanderkam’s bloodstains on his clothes. “We are investigating a murder.”

  “You’re with NATO, then?”

  David nodded. The less he said, the easier things would be.

  Brimley moved the envelope under a black light. The ninhydrin quickly dissolved, coloring trace amino acids violet-blue and making visible an array of fingerprints. “It takes a minute. The scanner bulb has to warm up.” She pulled the latex gloves from her hands, and twisted a long strand of blonde hair through her fingers. “Brynne was my forensic pathology professor at the British Military Academy. It was the only forensics class I could stomach—well, almost stomach—I dropped out mid-semester.”

  The scanner bulb warmed. She looked closely at the envelope. “The center of these prints is pretty blurry. We’ll see what the magnifier can do.”

  David nodded, keeping his hands in his pockets.

  Brimley put on a pair of astute-looking glasses and typed modifications into the computer. “We’ve got several partials here. Let’s hope there’s enough for a match.”

  An enlarged digital image of one of the prints formed on the monitor.