The Treasure Map

by Tyler Scott Hess

  “Hello,” says the Elder, his voice noticeably shaking for the first time since I met him. “My name is Darius Monroe.”

  Darius Monroe? I ask myself. That means…

  “In some circles, I have been known as Bramm Coyle. To others, I am known as the Elder, he continued. “There was an era when I was considered the most trustworthy advisor to the President of the Ariel, Samuel Shah. But there became a time and place when I lost his trust. I told him that his actions were immoral and that it would hurt the people who counted on him the most. Thus began the persecution of what we call The Faithful, and whom they call traitors to the State. My friends and I are now left with a last desperate attempt to declare to you the truth of what we believe and why we have been persecuted these past ten years. Let me start by…”

  His speech is instantly cut off by a loud crack slamming through the side of the truck we have been sitting in. Blood splatters everywhere. We all dive to the floor immediately, except for one of us, the Elder, who has been shot in the center of his forehead, and is now lying dead on the dashboard, the console now disconnected from the media’s broadcasting system.

  “Cease fire!” can be heard over a megaphone. “Cease fire Immediately!”

  The truck door slides open from the outside. “Out now!” shouts one of the president’s officers. “Move! I won’t tell you again.”

  Maia, closest to the door, crawls out. Her body sliding out like gelatin, exhausted, splattered by the Elder’s blood.

  “We’re unarmed!” my father shouts, his lips dripping with an unfortunate truth. Wiley used his last explosive to get us inside.

  “That’s my truck!” yells out a man with a deep baritone voice. I can’t see anything except a group of bodies frozen to the floor of the truck. My father puts his hands up. We’ve been through this before, but this was our last shot at freedom. We’re only delaying the inevitable by days, maybe hours. We’re as good as dead.

  “What if there had been innocents in there?” shouts a woman with a microphone. “Who is responsible for opening fire without warning?”

  “When did this become a war zone?” shouts another man. “You could have killed one of us!”

  “These are dangerous criminals!” barks an officer, his gun still drawn at Felicity, her slender frame still holding her hands over her ears from the loud shot that killed the Elder as she creeps out of the side of the truck.

  I’m in the back. I’ll be the last one out, and I have little time, but I can’t help but think about what the Elder just told the world. He said his name was Darius Monroe. That is no coincidence. My father trusted that man more than anyone. Could he…yes, he must have been…

  Rafe and Wiley look into each other’s eyes and nod. They know. They did everything they could. They’re responsible for getting us this far, but it wasn’t enough. They work their way to the open door with their hands raised and their eyes stricken with disgust.

  “What were you doing in there?” someone shouts, but it couldn’t have been an officer. They know why we were in there. They were alerted faster than we could have imagined. I don’t know how they found us. They must have noted the same antennae we did. I do know why they shot. And I can’t let this go. I have the last chance to fulfill the plan.

  “Are you the escapees from Independence Day?” another asks.

  “Of course they are!” shouts another. “Just look at them!”

  “I don’t remember hearing of an older one,” says the man with a baritone voice.

  “Is that a dead man inside?” asks another journalist. I can hear the murmur getting louder. More of the media circle us. “They killed someone! That could have been anyone!”

  The media members, with their microphones on and cameras rolling, begin to shout down the officer who must have made the mortal shot. They don’t know how many of us were in here. They don’t know I’m still in here. The officers are distracted. This is my only opportunity.

  I open a back window and slide myself through it without anyone looking my way. I climb up to the top of the truck and stomp loudly on the roof.

  “My name is Niko Monroe!” I shout.

  Suddenly every weapon within a quarter-mile of the news truck was aimed directly at me.

  “You can’t shoot him!” yells a member of the media. “He’s unarmed!”

  “This isn’t justice!” yells another. “This is murder! That could have been any one of us in that truck!”

  I stomp again.

  “My name is Niko Monroe!” I shout louder. “You know my name, and you know my face, but you only know the part of the story the State wants you to hear!”

  “Silence, traitor!” shouts an officer with his gun still pointed at me, despite others lowering theirs, fearing the media will turn on them. They don’t mind killing us, but they don’t want to be shown doing it on every news station in the State.

  “I will no longer be silent as you attempt to bring us to the end of our lives!” I shout. “You have labeled us traitors, but we are not! We have committed no treason, we have not murdered, we have not robbed, we have done nothing but believe in a God who has commanded us to live in peace with all men!”

  “You lie!” yells an officer.

  “Do I lie?” I ask the crowd, with dozens of microphones and cameras pointed in my direction. “Is that what President Shah has declared? That we are traitors? If so, how? By asking for fairness? By asking for peace? By preaching how all people can find peace in a God of redemption? Our words were never told in secret. We have always been a people of love and kindness, living only in the fear of the God who made us all.”

  “Come down here, now!” shouts the officer. “You are under arrest!”

  “You can arrest me when I’m done speaking!” I shout over the murmur of the crowd. “I plead with you, those of you seeing this in your homes and offices. Do not forget my words. All we want is the same freedom we were promised from the beginning, and no one has freedom as long as the State is corrupt! We were all a people of freedom at one point in time, but you see before you men and women condemned to death only for a thought, a belief, for words that might convince everyone to turn away from corruption in the government. Search your hearts! What if they came for you next?”

  I feel a sudden jolt of electricity bursting through my body. I fall limp into the arms of Wiley and Rafe, who were quick to catch me. It’s over. Officers surround us and place us in handcuffs. We are rushed by reporters as they hound our captors with questions about their methods during our arrest, where they are taking us, and what they are going to do with us when we get there.

  But we know the answer. Maybe they’ll execute us in the gallows as originally planned. Maybe they’ll throw us off the nearest cliff. I just hope my words reached someone.

  We are quickly tossed in the back of a military police truck. It’s dark, cold, and silent. No words are left to comfort one another. Only exhausted embraces and tears prayerfully offered to our God.

  The ride is long and bumpy. By the time we arrived, I’m dehydrated and starving, but food and water won’t be coming our way. I am tossed alone in a cell. No guard visitation, no threats, no beatings, just me left to wait, wonder, and pray until I pass out on the floor.

  I have no sense of time in this place. I’m freezing, but I have no blanket to warm me. My body is weak with no nourishment to come. Am I forgotten? Am I left here to fade away until I meet the King?

  I hope I am found, but I am losing consciousness. I hope there are others out there like us, except for our bonds. I pray for faith as I slip into the comfort of eternal sleep.

  My eyes open and I see a bright light shining in my face. This isn’t eternity. I know because everything hurts. Breathing is difficult. I feel a pinch in my arm. I see some liquid as it’s fed into my body. I want to ask what’s happening, but I can’t speak.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I hear from a familiar voice. My eyes open a little wider and see Maia standing at my side. “You were the
last of us to be found. But we’re all safe now.”

  Everyone except for the Elder, I think to myself, but I don’t know how any of us are alive. I want to ask her a thousand questions, but my throat feels like it has been filled with sand for a week.

  “It’s a miracle you survived,” she tells me. “You went days without food or water. These tubes feeding you are all that’s kept you alive since you were found. You’ve been in a coma since sometime before the rescues began. I guess you don’t know about any of that, though, do you? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  I look at her and try to gesture to the door. It’s the only way I can think to ask.

  “Yes, your father is alive, but he is very sick,” she says. “He wants to speak with you when you are both able. The others are in better shape, but no one is without injury or illness.”

  Maia grabs for a cup of water and slowly drips the cool liquid past my lips. I’ve never felt such relief. I close my eyes and try to relax. I try to speak again, but my lungs are heavy, my muscles have little life in them.

  She goes on to tell me about how my words reached through the entire world. The media everywhere was incensed at how we had been treated, pleading ignorance in regards to their participation in such events. Foreign heads called for our release. The people were dismayed by their own actions, having rejoiced at our executions, falling for the deception that the State had convinced them to believe for so many years.

  President Shah was ousted from his position. The Faithful are no longer outlawed from speaking the truth, and have won over a small number of believers, though most citizens were now merely tolerant of our existence. Some still hold onto the hatred they had built for so long, hoping our downfall is still coming.

  “We’re free to be ourselves,” Maia tells me. “But for how long I do not know. When you have regained your strength, we will meet with the others. We’re all proud of you, but we have much work left to do.”

  At least we now have hope.

  May this letter bring you a greater understanding of our past, and peace if darker days do come again. Though we face dangers greater than ourselves, we are never alone.

  The King will guide your path,

  Niko Monroe, son of Hobbes Monroe the Wise, son of Darius Monroe the Elder, son of Niko the Brave, son of Jack Monroe the Great. Peace be with you all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Christmas

  JACK’S EYES OPENED, but his body was frozen, unable to move. Dawn was breaking, and snow had begun to fall on the ground outside once more. Somehow he was sweating profusely and didn’t know what to make of it as he tried to gain his composure.

  “What? How?” Jack began to mutter to himself, his voice unstable, his mind and body failing to adjust to his return to his new room, the attic he had spent the past several days cleaning, safe and sound where he belonged all along.

  “There you are,” his father said after poking his head up through the hole in the floor. “All that work cleaning and moving must have worn you out. You’ve been sleeping all day!”

  “I don’t feel like I slept at all,” Jack groaned, his eyes attempting to blink through the crust. “What day is it?”

  “What day is it?” his father repeated. “It’s Christmas Eve, Jack. How long did you think you were out? You surely wasted the day away, as your mother and I decided you had earned a little rest, but there’s still time for…”

  “Christmas lights!” Jack jumped up, his legs suddenly recovering from their stupor. “Is it…is it time to go?”

  “Everyone’s waiting for you,” his father said, his patience stronger than most days of the year. “Actually, that’s why…”

  “I’ll get my coat,” Jack interrupted, brushing past his father as he tried to remember where he had put it. “I can’t believe I almost slept through the whole thing.”

  “That’s the thing about sleep,” his father thought out loud. “Everyone needs it, but we have it so we can get up and do something with our lives.”

  Jack wrinkled his eyebrows, but for once he didn’t argue with his father, nor did he complain about the lecture. Instead, he considered the matter while hurriedly throwing his coat over his slender body.

  “I really need to get a heater up here or something,” Jack said as he followed his father down the stairs. “I woke up so cold I could hardly move. At least, that’s what I think the problem…”

  “Yes, yes,” his father assured him. “Day after Christmas I’ll go down to the store and get started on that. Unless you want to do it yourself?”

  “I can drive the pickup?” Jack said with a giant grin.

  “No,” his father deadpanned. “I meant…”

  “Merry Christmas Eve!” his mother welcomed them as she opened the front door. “At least what’s left of it. Are you going to be able to sleep tonight? Or were you planning on waiting all night for…”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again,” Jack answered quickly. “I…I…well, never mind that, where are we going this year?”

  “You can’t be serious?” Calvin asked him. His little brother took Christmas light viewings more seriously than anything else in his young life.

  “Why can’t I be serious?” Jack scoffed at Calvin’s accusations. “I’ve been a little busy the past few days, cleaning up that junkyard upstairs. And we go somewhere different every year, so why would I know where we’re going?”

  “Because everyone in town knows about the Jasper Lights Festival opening this year,” said Samantha. “The whole town has been working on it for weeks. Sometimes I wonder where your mind goes.”

  “It’s gonna be awesome!” said Sadie.

  “It’s at San…San…Sanniko’s!” Calvin stammered.

  “Saint Nicholas’ Farms,” Samantha corrected him.

  “Right,” Calvin said. “San Niko’s Farms, just like I said. It’s supposed to have every style of Christmas light imaginable.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Jack asked. “Let’s get to San Niko’s before it’s too late.”

  “I want to sing Christmas carols!” Sadie squealed.

  “Me too, me too!” Samantha giggled.

  “I want to see the Christmas tree!” Calvin shouted louder than was necessary. “I hear it’s gonna be bigger than the one I saw on television!”

  But Jack followed slowly behind with his father.

  “Dad?” Jack asked.

  “What is it?” his father replied as Jack’s brother and sisters rushed into the backseat of their minivan. “Are you hungry?”

  “No, it’s not that…” Jack said softly. “Well, yes, I could go for a sandwich or something, but I was just wondering…can you tell me more about grandpa? One of the maps in the attic was…ummm…curious. Can you tell me more about what he wanted to do with them?”

  “We’ll talk about it on the way,” his father said, putting his arm on Jack’s shoulder. “But the story of those maps does not begin with him.”

  Jack nodded and asked his mother if he could sit in the front seat next to his father. She shrugged and agreed and the Monroe family was soon off to begin their night of festivities.

  Calvin witnessed the biggest Christmas tree he would see until he was a very old man. Samantha and Sadie sang louder than the rest of the carolers combined. The children all played games, ran around in a light layer of snow, and took several rides on a Christmas train the town had set up to go around the entire farm.

  That night, they each slept soundly in their own beds, even Jack. He had to bundle up quite snugly, of course, but he knew his father would take care of his little heating problem soon enough.

  Christmas morning came and went just the same as any other for the Monroe family. Presents were shared, movies played, and the fire kept them nice and toasty as Joshua Monroe retold the story of a King born in a manger. His mother made cinnamon rolls and they went perfectly with hot cocoa in the green and red mugs they had received in their stockings.

  Christmas was
the same as it always had been for the Monroe family, but the eldest child was quite different. Jack knew he would never be the same and that this was only the beginning of something greater to come.

  THE END