Gyle shook his head. “I don’t know of the others. My name is Patrick, and you still haven’t told me your name.”
The old man smiled as he shrugged. “I’ve been called many names. I remembered the time they called me Ziusudra, then later on they called me Atrahasis. Then after that Utnapishtim, but I guess my most popular name is Noah. Ah well, they are just names, names that are ultimately lost through time. As far as the others, I have a feeling that you will meet them in your journeys.”
Gyle sat down near the other side of the stream. He was weary and just wanted to rest, but the way the old man described things meant that his ride still had a long way to go. “I thought this was the final leg of my journey. So you are that Noah then? Of the great flood?”
The old man grinned. His crooked teeth were stained yellow. “That story has been told many, many times, with each time a little different than the last. First it was said that there were many gods, and one of the gods took pity on me and my wife, and told me to build a great ark. Then the story changed again into just one god that told me to build a ship to contain all the land animals of the world, to keep them alive until the waters receded. And so on.”
Gyle looked at him closely. “Well, what really is it then? Was it a number of gods or just one god telling you all this?”
The old man just shrugged and put up his bony arms in a gesture of resignation. “It was such a long time ago, I don’t remember anymore. Then again what does it matter if it was one god or many?”
Gyle leaned over so the old man could see he was serious. “It matters because the whole world is under attack by either many gods or all under the guise of one god, that’s why. I need to know what can be done to stop them. If there’s a way to kill them.”
The old man waved a crooked finger at him. “Ah, you are a warrior and warriors always try to find a way to kill things. Remember, you are no longer fighting other men, but gods and their allies now. You may know of ten thousand ways to kill a man, but killing a god? That is another matter entirely.”
Gyle sighed. “Okay, I guess I might as well call you Noah. So tell me, Noah, how do I fight these gods if they cannot be killed?”
The old man thrust out his lower lip. “I don’t like the name Noah. Too common nowadays.”
“Okay so what do you want me to call you then?”
The old man looked up again as if deep in thought. “Let me see … the oldest name I can remember is Ziusudra, which means ‘found long life’ but… ah, that is too much of a braggart’s name. Let me see … okay, how about the second name that I remember having which is Atrahasis, meaning ‘extremely wise’ … so, yes … I think that name is better.”
“If it means genius, then isn’t that as cocky as naming yourself Ziusudra?”
The old man laughed. “You’re right, but I would rather be known as someone smart than as some immortal. Living forever is not something to be proud of.”
“You have a strange sense of pride.”
“Being called an immortal sometimes gets to me, you know,” Atrahasis said. “All those years, staying alive, while the people around you die. Or of that great hero coming to visit me and asking for a way to live forever, and I had to tell him that it was a doomed journey. But he insisted, so I told him where to find a magical flower to keep him young forever, yet he lost it after only one night because he was careless, and it was that lesson that finally made him give up his vain quest.”
“You mentioned that you had a wife,” Gyle said. “Is she an immortal too?”
“Yes, she was,” Atrahasis said ruefully. “She left me a long time ago to be off with other men. I do not know where she is now. I have heard of some stories that she went mad when all of her other husbands died of old age or of sickness, while she never did. It was so long ago I even forgot her name. I am sure she is still out there somewhere, and I hope she has found some happiness at last, if only for a short time.”
Gyle looked down at the stream. He noticed there were luminous cave fish swimming in it. “I also have a wife, and children. And I’d move Heaven and Earth just to be with them again. I hope they’re alright.”
“Do you wish for the world to return as it once was? You realize that is no longer possible.”
Gyle stared at him. “So what’s your solution then? Do nothing? My country is being ravaged by other gods, creatures of pure evil, and even now my family might be dead. I’ve got to do something. There must be a way to defeat them.”
Atrahasis contemplated his words before speaking again. “The gods are immortals and they have great power over us, that is why we call them gods and we are but men. On the other hand, these gods are very much like us, for they have the same feelings as men for they too fall in love. They hate, and they too feel sadness. There are other means with which to defeat them than battle.”
“I’m a soldier,” Gyle said. “It’s what I do. I don’t know how to do anything else. Will you help me? Please?”
The old man reached into his torn and dirty robes, then took out a withered petal as he held it aloft for Gyle to see. “When I told you the story of this great hero who went in search of immortality, I told him to find this flower at the bottom of the deepest sea. That he did, and he showed it to me and allowed me to take a piece of that plant before we parted ways forever. All I have is this little petal. It will not endow you with immortality, but it may grant you some strength and power over men. But beware, for this power has a curse … it will transform you and your lifespan will be shortened because one cannot be like the gods when one has the body of a man.”
Gyle thought about it for a moment as he recalled the good times he spent with Marie, with the twins. He remembered his time in the military and his friends. All that was gone now. It was now nothing but gods and death all around him. And all he knew was how to kill. “I’m willing to make that sacrifice,” he said with finality as he moved closer.
“Very well,” Atrahasis said and gave him the petal.
Gyle examined the withered leaf. It still seemed soft to the touch and it glowed with a strange amber luminescence, as if it was still alive. He placed it into his mouth and chewed for a bit before swallowing it. The taste was strange, like chewing on a strange herb that tasted unlike anything he had ever eaten. As it traveled down his throat and into his stomach, it began to feel like molten lead had been poured down his gullet. That was when a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. Gyle began to retch violently before he vomited a stream of yellowish bile on the cave floor.
“And so it begins,” Atrahasis said as he stood up and looked down at him.
Gyle’s body was wracked by sharp, searing pangs of pain. His eyes began to tear blood from the pure, unadulterated agony that was now overwhelming him. He could feel his skin as if it was on fire, just as the pores began to pop and blister. Gyle was now lying on the floor as he struggled violently with himself, his kicks and spasms were like those of a dying animal. He felt as if his heart was going to explode and he could not catch his breath. He began to wonder if the old man lied to him, and what he ate was nothing more than virulent poison. Then the pain was simply too much and everything faded to black.
When he opened his eyes once more, he noticed at least six men were standing over him. They all wore tunics, flowing cloaks, and head cloths that hid their faces so all he could see was their eyes. At first glance, he thought they were Bedouins because that was what they would normally wear, but he soon realized they were in fact imposters because of the way they carried themselves, and of the weapons that they had brought with them.
As he tried to get up, one of them immediately made a flatfooted kick to his shoulders that sent him once more on the ground. Gyle noticed that Atrahasis was sitting on the far edge of the cave and they were placing handcuffs on him. One of the other men who had been staring at the old man being bound turned around and made his way towards him.
Gyle’s voice came out guttural, almost as if it was an animal who tried to speak for the fir
st time. “What are you doing to him?”
The man looked at him. “You are Patrick Gyle of the CIA, are you not?”
“Yes,” Gyle said as he realized who they were from their heavy accents. “And you are our allies, you’re Israelis.”
The man didn’t answer him.
“What are you doing to him? Why are you taking him?”
The man flicked his eyes as if caught in a lie. “We have our orders, just like you. I’m afraid you need to come with us as well. We want to talk to you and with what happened in Iraq.”
Gyle started to get up again, it seemed that his aches and pains were gone, and he somehow felt lighter, perhaps even stronger. “You’re not taking him anywhere and I’m not going with you.”
One of the other men, the same one who hit him before, tried to knock him back down again with the butt of his AK-47 assault rifle. But Gyle was too quick for him as he immediately sidestepped away from the blow and his kick sent the man flying back halfway across the cave. The other men quickly brought their rifles to bear on him as Gyle put his hands up in the air.
The man he was talking to was livid as he gave orders in Hebrew for the others to tend to the one who got kicked, then he aimed a pistol at Gyle. “Why did you do that?”
“He attacked me first,” Gyle said. “Why am I being held by you people? The US and Israel are supposed to be allies.”
Another man who was aiming a rifle at Gyle’s back gasped. “David, look at him! Look at his arms!”
Gyle turned his head sideways and looked at his own outstretched arms. He saw that his exposed forearms had began to slough off their skin as loose folds of them hung limply over his arms, exposing some sort of thick, lizard-like skin underneath that was hard to the touch. “Oh my god,” he said.
The man with the pistol began to shake his head. “What are you? What happened to you?”
Gyle placed his palms near his face. It looked like the outer skin was also peeling off as it exposed a new type of outer covering that was akin to pale leather and plastic. It was semi-hard to the touch, and Gyle had almost no feelings of sensitivity over his body anymore. “What have I done?” he said softly.
That was when he saw the first group of Israelis take Atrahasis, and started pushing him into the cave tunnel that led up to the surface. As he began to move again, Gyle could feel the skin on his legs peeling away, as he ran faster than he had ever run in his life. He made his way to where they were bringing the old man, but then he soon heard gunfire as it reverberated within the cave. That was when he felt the bullets hit his upper legs, and he fell face down on the limestone floor. As he tried to get up, another bullet hit him in the back and embedded itself in his collarbone. Then the waves of pain began again and once more he lost consciousness.
David Zim took off his Bedouin headwear and sighed with relief. Two of his men ran forward and checked on the American. For a brief moment, he thought the man would somehow get away and maybe even kill him and his men just to free that old man. It was obvious that Patrick Gyle had somehow been altered into something fast and lethal, and his men had to react as if their lives were in danger. The state of Israel could no longer depend on her allies, she was on her own now and her people would need to do whatever it took to ensure their own survival. If the Americans were put in this same position, then they would think and do the same.
One of the men who was examining the American turned to look at him. “David, this man is still alive somehow. It looks like most of his wounds are superficial.”
“Then we take him with us as well,” David said. “How is Eitan doing?”
Another operative was checking the stunned man who Gyle had knocked back to the wall. “He has a few broken ribs and maybe a concussion I think, but he will make it.”
Another man on the far side of the cave, near the tunnel, was carrying a TAR-21 Tavor battle rifle that had just been fired and he slung it over his shoulder. “Boland isn’t going to be too happy about this, that’s his man we shot right there.”
“I don’t care what that American fool thinks,” David said to him before turning to look at another man. “Rafael, what time does our extraction arrive at the airstrip?”
Rafael had a portable radio on his back and was speaking into the receiver. “About two hours from now.”
“Let’s get going then,” David said. “Do we have special restraints on that plane?”
Rafael nodded. “Yes, that crazy rabbi told us during the briefing that we may be encountering beings that may have great strength, so we brought along some heavy-duty animal restraints that we got from the zoo in Tel-Aviv.”
David nodded. “Make sure they’re both heavily restrained and if you have any drugs that can keep them sedated then apply it on them too. I do not want either of them conscious on the flight back home. Same goes for Boland.”
25. Convoy
Kansas
The convoy of vehicles had been on the road along US Route 400 for nearly an hour. They had left McConnell Air Force Base just after dark, so as not to arouse any suspicions with the rioters at the base perimeter. The plan was to turn north at the highway’s terminus near the Missouri border, then head east towards Warrensburg until they would reach their final destination at Whiteman Air Force Base. Leading the convoy were two M1127 Stryker wheeled armored fighting vehicles. The Strykers had Browning M2 heavy machineguns mounted on their top turrets, and they were followed closely by three Humvees equipped with M249 light machineguns. A single M977 HEMTT heavy transport truck and another Stryker brought up the rear.
Gary Larue frowned as he looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. He sat in the back seat of the first Humvee that was moving in formation behind the second Stryker. Unlike the ad hoc mix of Air Force and Army reservists he was travelling with, Gary was in fact a civilian. He was a senior administrator for the government’s National Nuclear Security Administration. The agency was tasked with maintaining and safeguarding the nuclear weapons stockpile for the entire country. He was heading the mission to transfer a large store of nuclear warheads safely to the base in Missouri. Sitting right beside him was Captain Chuck Teller, the commanding officer of the convoy. Gary had an instant dislike of him when they had met just a few hours before. Captain Teller was consistently ignoring his suggestions to bring the convoy out as soon as possible and instead had wanted to leave at night; that meant a delay of several hours. The top brass over at Whiteman AFB would be twiddling their thumbs and wondering how much longer it would take to transport a significant portion of the country’s nuclear warheads from a neighboring state, just 250 miles away.
After stealing a glance at the Air Force captain who seemed to be asleep, Gary looked out the window on his side of the Humvee. Electrical power had been out for days now all over the state. The highway was pretty much deserted except for an occasional car that was rapidly told to veer off by the turret gunners in the convoy. The streetlamps that had once guided commuters at night had been inoperative and this gave Gary an eerie feeling, since the only illumination along the road was now from their vehicle headlights. He could see an occasional bonfire out in the distance, but the rest of the journey would be traveled along a highway of night along a twilit horizon, as the full moon made a faint illumination above them.
The mission was pretty much straightforward. Due to the rioting at McConnell, it was deemed necessary that the forty W87 thermonuclear warheads that were secretly being stored in the base would have to be moved over to the more secure facilities at Whiteman. The HEMTT truck traveling two cars behind carried the devices in secure containers. Gary had supervised the handling of these converted MX Peacekeeper ICBM warheads from their underground storage bunkers and into the truck’s rear containers. The security briefing earlier today had stressed that the only possible threats could have come from unconfirmed ghost sightings along the highway or perhaps from some survivalist groups. But since the convoy was equipped with wheeled vehicles then their orders were not to stop for anythin
g the moment they were on the road. Captain Teller even bragged to his men that if any of those preppers would be stupid enough to try to hijack his convoy, they would be dealt with severely using all the massive firepower he had available. Gary had wished that they had some air support like Apache gunships or Blackhawk helicopters, but unfortunately there were no aircraft of any kind to spare.
As the convoy began nearing the eastern terminus of the highway, Gary noticed that Captain Teller had at last managed to wake up. The man beside him straightened up in the backseat and looked at his own watch. Now it was Gary’s turn to relax somewhat as he now slumped back and tried to close his eyes to get some rest. They would be moving into the state of Missouri very shortly as the convoy began to turn north. The fleet of vehicles soon passed a thick copse of trees along the highway.
Almost instantly, floodlights opened up all around them. The lead Stryker stopped just yards away from a school bus that had parked itself across the northern turn of the highway, thereby blocking the entire road in front of them. The HEMTT truck was barely able to apply its breaks in time, as it almost rear ended the fourth Humvee in front of it. All of the gunners in the convoy were instantly alert, but they couldn’t aim their machinegun turrets. The men were temporarily blinded by the powerful lights that were once hidden behind the tree line along both sides of the road.
Gary instantly sat right back up as he looked out into the trees. He could see vehicle mounted searchlights on trucks had positioned themselves behind the trees. An unknown force was surrounding the convoy and he could see silhouettes of men with rifles in prepared positions. “What in the hell is going on?” he said as his eyes could only squint while being in the center of so much bright light.
The Glooming (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 1) Page 29