Nephilim Genesis of Evil

by Renee Pawlish

  His left leg lay wrenched underneath his body. With a groan, he pulled the leg out. It didn’t seem to be broken. He rolled into a sitting position, his hands touching cold, damp rock. Although his left ankle throbbed, other than that, he was okay. He looked into the darkness, finally seeing tiny pinpoints of light coming from above. It was hard to tell how far down he’d fallen, but he guessed it was fifteen feet or so. His vision slowly focused, trying to penetrate the gloom. He could see nothing but the opening above. It appeared to be covered by overgrown bushes and bramble. He heard noises outside the opening, faint sounds of feet stirring the earth and tree branches snapping.

  They’re searching for me!

  A faint rattling sound carried down the shaft, and dirt spattered his face, landing in his eyes. They’ve found the hole, he thought as he brushed himself off.

  Sweat broke out all over his body. He stood up quickly, bumping his head on rock. He stifled a curse and thrust his hands out, feeling for the roof of the shaft. His hands connected with jagged rock, wet with moisture. He glanced up at the opening, seeing nothing but the tiny strands of light. They hadn’t found the mineshaft yet. Using his hands to guide him, he stumbled further along the passageway into total darkness, not knowing where he was going, only that it was taking him away from the madness that he’d witnessed just moments before. At first his ankle cringed under his weight, but after a few minutes, he didn’t notice it anymore.

  He breathed in ragged gasps as he lurched along. He hoped they wouldn’t find the mineshaft, marveling at how obscure the opening had been. Had he been facing forward when he was running from Ed and the others, he likely would’ve avoided the bushes covering the opening and never would’ve fallen in. As it was, it may have saved him from them.

  But it may have also sealed my fate, he thought with a grimace. His back was beginning to ache from the fall, and he stopped to catch his breath. He touched a spot on his forehead that was wet. In the darkness he couldn’t see his hand, but it was a sure bet that there was blood on it. He quieted his breathing and listened for sounds of pursuit. All he heard was the pumping sound of his heart, the echo in his ears. An eerie realization swept over him: this was like his dreams about the mine.

  He pushed those thoughts aside and hurried on, feeling with the hands of a blind man. The tunnel shifted direction and continued on. The blackness disoriented him, left him directionless. His hands served as a compass, running along the walls of the tunnel in Braille-like fashion. He had no way of knowing there was a cave-in until he staggered right onto it. He groped at the pile of rocks and dirt with his hands and determined the rubble was blocking the passage. Now what?

  He didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to face whatever that was. He fought panic as he felt along the pile, following it from the floor on up. It sloped away from him, so he crawled gingerly onto the pile. Dirt and rock fell away beneath his feet, but he clambered onto the pile, fear spurring him on. He fully expected to hit the ceiling of the tunnel with his hands, signifying that the tunnel was blocked. And his hands did just that. But he also felt a small hole between the top of the rubble and the tunnel roof, an area he explored with his hands. He could get through.

  He took a deep breath, wiggled through the opening and slid down the other side of the rubble. His hands skidded on the floor of the tunnel and he breathed a sigh of relief. In the dark he heard a rumbling sound, and he scrambled away from the noise. The sound of rock and debris falling filled the confines of his dark prison. Stones hit his legs as he shoved himself backwards. He began coughing as grit assaulted his nostrils and blinked hard as his eyes watered from the dust.

  With a sickening feeling he realized what had happened. More rock had caved in. He stood up and felt his way back to the pile of rubble, to check and see if the passage was completely blocked. But as he started to climb the pile, he dislodged debris, causing additional rocks to fall. He jumped back just in time as more crashed down. He could see nothing in the void, but he knew just the same. The way back was closed.

  He forced himself away from the rubble he couldn’t see, into a new unknown. He started forward again, his hands scraping the rough-hewn walls. He winced a time or two when the rock cut his flesh. The tunnel smelled like his grandmother’s dirt cellar, musty and damp. It was oddly comforting. He became singularly focused on moving ahead. He did not think about where the passageway was taking him, or if it would dead-end. That thought did not enter his mind until the tunnel narrowed, and the roof became so low that he had to get on his hands and knees. Tiny pools of water soaked through his jeans. His shirt clung to him like wet paper and the cuts in his hands stung. He panted from the exertion.

  He stayed in a crouch for a few minutes, the enormity of his situation suddenly breaking its way into his befuddled brain. He had no idea where the tunnel led, and he couldn’t go back. Even if he were able to move the rock and debris, they would likely be waiting for him.

  He fought an urge to throw up. He hung his head, sucking in great gulps of air, trying to stave off the panic that enveloped him. He was doomed. There was no way out. He sunk down on his elbows, ready to give up. Why had he listened to Myrtle in the first place? Because he had wondered if the Nephilim really had returned. And they had. But what would happen to the rest of the people in the Crossing? What would be their fate? Would anyone believe Myrtle? What about Anna?

  He sat up, his mind filled with a new determination. Maybe he would die here, trapped in this mineshaft. But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. If the tunnel went nowhere, so be it. But if it did lead to the outside world, he would find it.

  He moved forward cautiously, wary of rock grazing his back. It didn’t take long before his hands and knees ached, scraped raw. But he kept going, using his ragged breathing as a mantra to continue. After a while he paused again, totally winded. The tunnel was wet and humid. Sweat dripped from his pores, soaking his clothes, stinging his eyes.

  He started on again, and a few feet farther down he felt a brush of cool air hit his damp flesh. He stopped to let this soothe him, his wheezing echoing in the tiny confines. His tired brain finally snapped to attention.

  The coolness. It’s from a breeze. And where could a breeze come from? From the outside! Rory sat up and bumped his head, but the pain didn’t distill his elation. He put up his hands to discern where the draft was coming from. It felt like it was a little ahead, so he crawled onward. The flow of air became more noticeable. He stopped where it was strongest and felt around the rocks. His hands hit open space. He explored this, realizing that he’d come upon an offshoot in the tunnel. And the breeze was even stronger.

  He found he was able to crawl into a new opening that slanted upward. He inched on with a new resolve, and a faint feeling of hope. He hurried, head bowed, his mind solely focused on moving forward. One hand in front of the other. Keep moving. His hands were bleeding. He could see the dirt on them.

  He could see!

  He halted and lifted his head. The tunnel was bathed in deep shadow. But it wasn’t completely black. He almost whooped in relief. He had to be getting close!

  He moved faster and sensed the slope becoming steeper. Then suddenly the rock walls took on color and he could see a brilliant shaft of light ahead. He crawled like a man possessed, and soon he came to an opening that was covered in wire mesh. He pushed at it furiously, using his shoulder, dislodging it from the nails holding it to the rock. With one last shove, the mesh ripped from the nails. He edged out of the hole and into the daylight. While still on his knees, he wiped his eyes and looked around. Aspens and evergreens loomed over him, and wildflowers dotted the mountainside. He didn’t see the mine, or the clearing. He didn’t recognize the area at all, but more importantly, he didn’t see anyone.

  He left out a sigh and rolled over on his back, basking in the warm of the day. He inhaled deep breaths. He had made it out. He lay that way, staring through the branches into the blue sky, lost in the moment. Then the terror of his plight finall
y consumed him. He began shaking all over and started laughing hysterically. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but continued a muffled chuckle.

  He had made it out. He was alive!

  But now he had to get back to the Crossing. He had to talk to Myrtle about what he had seen.

  CHAPTER 44

  “This doesn’t make sense. You know the Nephilim aren’t real.”

  Rory held a wet rag to the cut on his head. Anna looked at Myrtle, then her father, and finally rested her gaze on Rory. They were all huddled around the counter at the general store, discussing what Rory had seen earlier. For the moment, they had decided not to call Sheriff Truitt. None of them knew how to explain what Rory had witnessed. They would tell the sheriff once they found out what was really going on. If they found out.

  Anna was taking a rational approach to Rory’s story, but her nervousness told Rory she was on edge. He glanced at Myrtle. The color had drained from her face when she heard about Lillian, and it hadn’t returned. Jimmy seemed pensive.

  “The Nephilim aren’t real,” Anna repeated.

  “I know,” Rory said. She took the washcloth from him. He was grateful for her kindness, relieved that she didn’t seem angry with him anymore. “They aren’t supposed to be real,” he continued. “But I know what I saw out there, and I can’t think of anything else to explain it.” He shifted painfully in his chair.

  Once he’d gotten his wits about him, Rory had hiked until he found a trail back into town, wary of running into the people from the clearing. But he’d seen no one until he found Anna, Myrtle, and Jimmy at the store. After they’d fretted over his disheveled and bloody appearance, Anna had closed the store. Both women helped clean and bandage his wounds. Now, as they discussed what Myrtle had seen at the café earlier, and what Rory had seen and been through, Rory felt his muscles tightening up, and he noticed how sore his body was. He desperately wanted a hot shower.

  “I saw them, too,” Myrtle said. Her hands fiddled with the tablecloth, kneading the fabric. “People are being taken.”

  “Who were the others?” Anna asked.

  Rory shrugged. “Hikers. Folks renting cabins. Who knows?”

  “Like before.” Jimmy said it so softly they barely acknowledged him.

  “And Lillian, and Joan…” Myrtle’s voice cracked.

  “Oh, Myrtle,” Anna said. “It’s awful. But isn’t there some logical explanation for all this?”

  Rory exchanged a wary look with Myrtle. “Like what?” he asked Anna. What would they do if she didn’t believe them? And did he really believe?

  Anna frowned. “Maybe it was a strange ceremony or some cult thing. There’s supposedly a lot of satanic stuff that happens in the mountains.”

  “That could be,” he said. “Except that both Myrtle and I saw them hypnotize someone. And Myrtle saw Samuel take Joan away.”

  “Are you sure they were hypnotized, that it was against their will?” she asked, doubt in her voice.

  “As sure as I can be,” Myrtle said. Her fingers continued to work at the tablecloth fabric.

  “Look, something happened in that clearing. Ed and the others managed to conjure up something very real, and very evil. Whatever it was that came out of the sky was not of this earth.”

  “Was it like what you saw in New York?”

  Rory stared at Anna. He didn’t want to answer. But he couldn’t escape it. “Yes.”

  “So how does that tie in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s this?” Myrtle asked.

  Rory gnawed at his lip, hesitant to open himself up, to let more people into what had haunted him for the past few weeks. “I saw a similar kind of mist.” He stopped and took a deep breath. Myrtle urged him on, calmness in her eyes. He plunged in, relating everything he’d told Anna earlier. They listened, letting him tell his story without interrupting.

  “But what does that have to do with the Nephilim?” Myrtle threw the question out when he’d finished.

  “I don’t know,” Rory repeated.

  “What if you’re wrong?” Anna voiced the common concern.

  “Then it’s something else,” Myrtle said. “And we’ll just have to figure it out.”

  He blew out a long sigh. “She’s right. If it isn’t the Nephilim, then we find out what it is. And we’ll deal with it then. We’ll go to Ed’s place and see what we find. Then we go to the clearing. We have to get to the bottom of this.”

  “It’s Nephilim,” Myrtle said. “Just like before.”

  “Right, we’re going to believe the rumors because it came from such a great, reliable source.” Anna got up and straightened some shelves, banging canned goods around while she talked. “Everything that Brewster said must be right.” She finally stopped and looked at Rory. “This is unbelievable.”

  Man, she’s beautiful, Rory thought. Even when she’s mad. “We need to know as much as we can about the Nephilim, and what they want with us now,” he said calmly. “We need to find them, and then we’ll have to kill them.”

  Myrtle pursed her lips. “You think they’re out at Ed Miller’s place?”

  “That seems logical, but they could be anywhere.”

  “Let’s go there,” Anna said. “There’s still a few hours before it gets dark. Let’s see what we can find out about these things.”

  “We better find something to use as a weapon,” Rory said.

  “I’ve got guns,” Myrtle said in her matter-of-fact tone.

  They stared at her, eyebrows raised.

  “Don’t look so surprised. My husband had them, and I never got rid of them. Makes me feel safe,” she said with a shrug.

  Myrtle, frontier woman, modern day Calamity Jane. Rory smiled, the first bit of genuine humor he’d felt in hours. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll get them.”

  Fear spread across the old woman’s face. “I don’t like the idea of you going with those things out there.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Rory said for the second time that day, hoping this time he didn’t run into trouble.

  Myrtle explained where to find the guns and ammunition.

  What have we got ourselves into, Anna thought, as she watched Rory leave the store. We better be right about this, or we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

  CHAPTER 45

  Brewster had arrived too late to help Rory. He’d followed Rory as he walked out of town, but before Brewster could talk with him, Rory had seen what had happened in the clearing. He’d seen the evil, but would he know what it was, or how to deal with it? And then Rory had disappeared.

  The Nephilim were moving, so Brewster had to hide. But he could tell Ed was in a rage. And he sensed what Ed knew, that Rory could go either way. Rory had the spirit of the Other One, the One who had disrupted the ceremony, when his grandfather was alive.

  His daddy’s voice was ringing in his ears, annoying him. But what it told him was priceless.

  Your granddaddy talked to the miner. The miner could go either way.

  What way?

  Don’t you listen, boy? That miner knew things, too. He had a Spirit on his side, One that knew to warn him. They were chasing him, but that other Spirit helped him. And then the miner knew to chronicle things.

  What’s ‘chronicle’?

  What’s the use of schooling you, boy? Then he’d shake his head. That miner had a role, too, else why do you think they’d want him? Only he figured it out, and wouldn’t let ’em get him.

  Brewster massaged his chest. Was that who Rory was? It made sense, him being a writer. And that other aura that seemed to be around him. He had to find Rory, then, and warn him.

  Brewster watched Ed and wondered if he reckoned that the other Spirit was out there, trying to thwart him. This was deadly, for it would only make Ed the gatherer more dangerous. And that meant things were going to happen fast. He had to figure out how to deal with these evil things, before they took over the entire town.

  Brewster snuck away through the woods, quiet as a p
hantom until he came to The John Dandy mine. He walked around the dilapidated shack and farther up the hill to another mine, little more than a lean-to near an outcropping of rocks. Trees hid it well, and no one ever knew or remembered it was there. Except Brewster, because his granddaddy worked this mine for a while, until he realized there wasn’t any valuable ore to be found. Even as Brewster approached the lean-to, the voices grew louder in his head, his daddy first and then his granddaddy, telling him what to do.

  It’s the water, boy. That’s the key.

  Why?

  Don’t argue with me boy. Listen!

  Brewster sat down in the shade of the lean-to and listened as the voices shared their secrets.

  CHAPTER 46

  Ed and the other spirits had remained in the clearing since Rory disappeared from view. Ed was silent as the others watched from nearby, waiting. Finally, he turned in a full circle, closing his eyes, shutting off the light that stabbed through the trees. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the subtleties in the air. He remained still, letting the earth speak to him.

  It was the chronicler.

  Ed opened his empty eyes and assessed the group. They were so close. The spirits were coming, their destinies in place. They had waited for over a hundred years. The time was so near. And the chronicler was here. Soon the doors would open, and they would be free.

  But the last three had to be gathered – the preacher, the one with the law, and the chronicler. He raised his mangled hand and pointed to Gino D’Angelo, the one with the air. “Bring the preacher.”

  Gino tipped his head in answer. His obsidian eyes didn’t burn with the rage that had terrified his wife and son for years. But the complete lack of expression that replaced it was spookier still. He moved off through the trees, Mary plodding behind him like a faithful dog. Her face was also void of any expression.