“What are you talking about?” Paul moaned.
“Ronald.” He held up John’s copy of Journey with the Gods, which he had apparently been reading while everyone else was mourning. “He claims he was here. In this place. Says that the gods took him here through a gateway in the Bermuda Triangle.”
“What?” Paul’s outcry was a mixture of both anger and ridicule.
But as ridiculous as it was, it was a puzzle piece that fit. “That’s how Jackson knew,” John breathed.
Chadwick nodded, flipped a page. “He talks about all the ships and planes in the bay, calls it ‘the graveyard.’ Even mentions giants.” Now he had everyone’s complete attention, a book in his hands with answers.
“Giants?” Chris asked. “Plural?”
“What else does it say?” Paul moved closer.
“It says that the gateway can only be opened by a special person.” He looked over at John and anxiously adjusted his glasses. “Your friend Jackson must’ve had reason to think you fit the bill.”
A string of dazed profanity echoed off the walls around them.
Hunter stood as the picture began to focus. “Why were they lying about Henry’s boat?”
But John was already realizing why Jackson had gotten him a week-long pass. “He didn’t know when the storm would come.” He hit the wall with the palm of his hand, his blood pumping. “I knew Ronald was stalling with all those stupid stories.”
“The storm must’ve been part of the equation,” Chris muttered.
But Chadwick shook his head. “If so, he isn’t saying so in the book.”
“So apart from your recurring dreams, what makes you and Henry so special?” Paul demanded.
John stared at his scarred face. The shifting torchlight dancing in those eyes created a menacing image that John would rather not upset any further. “I didn’t even know Henry had dreams until Hunter told me yesterday.”
“Does he say who these people are?” Chris asked Chadwick, waving at the walls around them.
He flipped through more pages. “He just says that there are two groups of people. One divine, brought to the island by the gods themselves — like him, of course — and the other, a sort of lesser, weaker species summoned incidentally.”
John thought back to everything he’d seen at Ronald’s house and tried filtering it all through this new knowledge. “The lists of names on his map included every missing boat and plane, but only the names of certain people… The people who opened the doorway,” he realized. “That’s why Henry’s name was the last entry… Ronald knew.”
Chadwick closed the book. “And you said he called the Triangle a ‘doorway to hell’?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s odd,” Chadwick said, “because he doesn’t describe this place as anything other than a benevolent place where the gods gather. Almost makes it sound like a sort of paradise.”
“Yeah, well, he also thinks Satan was the ruler of a golden age and that demons are kind, disembodied spirits from his kingdom.”
Just then, a sound came from the other end of the dark room, and a flaming torch floated toward them. “He’s awake now,” came Jackson’s tired voice accompanying the moving light. “Let’s go see him.”
“Who?”
“Henry.”
****
They followed two men wearing torn jeans and dirty t-shirts, rifles slung over their shoulders, across a makeshift catwalk that extended out over a pool of crystal water. More torches hung from the walls around them.
“There are a lot of caves on the islands,” the one on the left was saying. He sounded like he was from Texas and looked to be in his early forties, while the person beside him was just a teenager. “But this is the biggest.” He pointed at the limestone ceiling. “Used to be full of stalactites, but we cut them down when we started building.”
“How long have you been here?” Chris wondered aloud, surveying their cavernous surroundings.
“I’ve been here since I was seven. Philip was born here.” Then he pointed down some other walkways that came crossing their path. “We dug all this out by hand and with whatever explosives were left in the graveyard. Of course, when I say ‘we,’ I don’t necessarily mean to include myself. They started all this before I got here.”
Jackson ducked under an outcropping. “What do you mean, ‘left in the graveyard’?”
“Whatever they didn’t take.”
John had seen pictures of the Crystal Caves and Fantasy Cave in the brochures at the hotel room, and what it looked like now was completely different. Rather than stalactites stretching down from the ceiling like organ pipes, there was instead a small city.
“How many people live here?” John still hoped he was dreaming, that Kristen was washing dishes in the kitchen and just about to wake him up.
“We have people in most of the caves, but in this one… forty.”
Hunter was staring down at the stalagmites beneath the water. “And you all came through the Triangle?”
“No. By now half of us are second or third, even fourth generation.”
Paul asked, “No one lives on the surface?” He was thinking of the village they’d seen.
“Not unless they’re banished from the caves.”
Chadwick excitedly scooted up past Hunter and Chris as they left the catwalk and entered a stone corridor. “What about the monuments?”
The man turned slightly as he came to another tunnel. “They build them.”
Chris shook his head. “They?”
But then the group was standing before a door constructed from cedar planks and vine.
“Your friend is very weak. We’re not even sure how he managed to escape. No one ever escapes.” He pushed the door open and stepped to the side. “When you’re finished, take this corridor to the end. We’ll be waiting for you. We have a lot to talk about.”
Jackson ducked into the room first, followed by John, Hunter, Chris, Paul, and then Chadwick.
There was a bed made of palmetto leaves lying in the center of the room, two flickering candles beside it illuminating the fragile figure resting in front of them. They circled around the bed, an overwhelming sense of relief suddenly present to combat their recent grief.
Henry’s hard, angular face was crudely stitched closed across the forehead, and purple bruises were stretching out from beneath days of gray stubble. His left arm and chest were bandaged, too, indicating the reason his breathing was labored and rasping in the silence.
John was immediately set back by the sight of his older brother, and a tear glided down his cheek. Even considering their broken history, he was elated to discover Henry still alive. It was something he hadn’t believed possible from day one.
The blue of Henry’s eyes flickered forth from his swollen face before a painful smile pulled at his bloody lips. He tried mumbling something, but it was unintelligible.
“Hi, Henry,” Jackson said, shifting the MP5 across his back as he stepped closer.
Henry started laughing but ended up coughing and clutching his chest with his good hand.
Broken ribs, John realized. “Take it easy,” he said.
At the sound of John’s voice, Henry’s smile vanished, his eyes swinging like lightning over to his younger brother. He tried to sit up.
“Hey!” both Chris and Hunter yelled, keeping him from moving and further damaging himself. “Relax.”
“I’m dreaming,” Henry muttered; and then he went around the room, acknowledging each one of his visitors. “Jack, Hunter, Chris, Paul, whoever you are…” He chuckled. “Where’s Nick? Still out looking for his hand?” But then his eyes fell back on John, and his expression turned cynical.
“Nick’s dead,” Paul said.
Henry closed his eyes. “And just how did you get here?”
“Ronald,” Jackson answered.
Henry’s eyes appeared again, but this time they were flashing with anger as he tried once more to get up. He reached for Jackson. “You brought th
em here?” he yelled, hoarsely.
“You knew we’d come for you,” he deflected.
“What’s Johnny doing here?”
John felt a pit form in his stomach. At that moment, he realized that he’d subconsciously let Jackson’s words, of Henry regretting how things had gone between them, take root in his heart.
“Ronald told me how to get here, about the bloodline.” He looked at John and nodded. “He opened the gateway, just like you did. It was the only way.”
Henry cursed at him. “You shouldn’t have brought him to this place.”
Such protective posturing was something that John hadn’t experienced from Henry since grade school, and, just like that, more tears began to fall down his face. He grabbed Henry’s hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Henry squeezed back. It was a strange feeling, his brother’s hand in his, and one he never expected to be overwhelmed by. He suddenly realized just how much he’d been starving for Henry’s acceptance.
But Henry was shaking his head, his eyes sharply glaring at Jackson. “Your first mistake was believing anything that came out of Ronald’s mouth.”
“What’re you talking about?”
He sighed. “It wasn’t John that opened the doorway.”
“Sure it was,” Jackson argued. “It worked just like he said it would.”
Henry looked up at John, his face twisted with an expression of sadness that was able to transcend his injuries. He shook his head. “John doesn’t have the genetic code.”
A moment of silence ensued as everyone attempted to interpret the meaning of his words.
“What do you mean?” John asked. He could already feel what little stability was left in his world start to slip away. Was it just another reference to not having what it took to be a Carter, or did he mean something else?
“Johnny,” he said softly, “you’re adopted.”
And John’s entire world crumbled into a million pieces.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Henry said.
John stumbled backward until he hit the wall. He couldn’t think straight, his entire life suddenly something else.
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would Ronald—”
“He knew,” Paul realized.
And John remembered, too. Remembered Ronald’s reaction to learning that he was Henry’s brother. But his brain was in a fiery tailspin, a bottomless pit of ambiguity its fate. Nothing was certain anymore, and all he could do was hold his head in his hands.
“But why would he want me to think…” Jackson stopped in mid-thought. “Then who opened the portal?”
And all eyes drifted to Chadwick.
“Hold on,” Chadwick stammered, holding up his hands.
“That’s why Ronald kidnapped you and locked you in Henry’s boat,” said Chris. The pieces were coming together fast now. “You were the key.”
“What’s your name?” Henry asked him.
“Chadwick Aland.”
“Well, Chadwick Aland, it would appear as though you and I are somehow related.”
“I don’t understand.”
Henry laid his head back down and stared up at the ceiling. “They’ll explain it to you.”
“Who? Explain what?”
Hunter took a step toward the candlelight. “How did you get here, Henry?”
He grit his teeth, sighing through the pain. “I don’t remember. I was with Ronald and then… I was lying here on the beach.” The little energy that had sparked his vigilance was draining fast, and he was now having trouble keeping his eyes open. “The giants found me…” He stopped, let his eyes shut. “Give John and I a moment, will you?” And he motioned for John to come over to the bed.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked him before honoring the request.
“Yeah. Beat up, is all. Just need to rest.”
“What happened?”
“Later,” he whispered. “Go talk to them. They’ll let you know what you got everyone into. Let me talk to John for a while.”
As they all walked out of the room, John forced his own feet to move.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Henry mumbled.
He didn’t know what to say to that; he couldn’t believe it either. “What is this place?”
He exhaled a deep breath and changed the subject. “Don’t trust Jackson, he probably has his own agenda. Hunter and Chris’ll be the ones you want by your side when the time comes. Be careful around the Chadwick guy, too. He’s gonna attract a lot of attention from them.”
“Who?”
“The others… the giants, their people, whatever.”
“Why?”
“Same reason they want me. I have their blood in my veins.”
“What are you talking about?” John simply couldn’t keep up with all the vague insinuations.
Henry took another deep, painful breath and closed his eyes. “After Dad died, I found some of his journals up in the attic. They were filled with dreams, visions, weird stuff like that. Especially from when he was in Vietnam.” He paused. “Things I experienced, too. Things that were making me crazy. In one of the entries, he spoke of letters that Grandpa gave him right before he died. The letters alluded to an entire secret history that had been passed down throughout the generations. And after spending his whole life searching for it, Grandpa believed the record to be lost.”
“An ancient record of bloodlines?” It sounded like a Dan Brown novel.
“I didn’t believe it either, but the similarities between what Dad described and my own experiences opened my mind to the possibility. I started investigating our family heritage, tracking down anyone in our tree.” His eyes opened, chasing after fleeting shadows on the ceiling. “I found a book.” He seemed to be slowly opening the pages of it in his mind. “In England. Some distant cousin. She didn’t even know what it was. Her father died without explaining it to her.”
“Strange that it would be passed down to a woman, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, assuming he knew what it was, he obviously died before he could make proper arrangements for it.” He looked back to John. “You should’ve seen this book, Johnny. You can’t even imagine…”
“What did it say?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
“It was a book of genealogies, tracing our ancestors all the way back to the Table of Nations in Genesis ten.”
Chills climbed the steps of John’s spine. “What’d you find, Henry?”
“I found that our blood, the Carter line, comes straight from the Titans.”
“Your boat… the Nephilim…”
He sounded surprised. “You know what it means?”
“Chadwick happens to be an expert in the field.”
He nodded as if he should have figured that. “Those with angelic DNA seem to be drawn to the stuff.”
“Angelic DNA?” Maybe the doctor had prescribed a straitjacket, and this was all some drug-induced hallucination after all.
“I know what you must be thinking, of how confused you must be, but this place confirms it.”
“This place that Ronald sent you…”
“I was drunk one night and said something to Jackson about all this stuff, the journal, my dreams… He told me about this guy he’d met in Bermuda while he was on his honeymoon and gave me one of his books to read.”
John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the headache that was banging on the door to his brain. “Kind of a strange coincidence, isn’t it?”
“I thought so at the time. But now I know better.” He began coughing again. “Man, it hurts.”
“You want water?”
“No, let me finish.” And then his eyes opened wider, a sort of fanatical intensity filling them. “It’s how they do it. They get us to gravitate toward each other, interconnect us. It’s the bloodline. It’s the only way he can escape…”
John could tell that he was losing him. His thoughts were quickly becoming unfocused and rambling together nonsensical
ly. “Who? What are you talking about?”
“Talk to the others, they’ll tell you. His seed is magnetic, attracts itself. The more that are together, the wider the portal, the greater his power…” His eyes began to flutter, his voice growing fainter. “He needed giants to build…”
“Build?”
And then Henry grabbed John’s arm, using it to pull himself up. “The summer solstice. You have to stop them from completing it before the solstice.” And then he lay back down, whispered, “But then… that might be our only way back…”
“Shhh…” John gave up on anything more useful coming from the reunion. “Just rest.” He sat there for a few minutes, just staring at his older brother, trying to let the revelation so elegantly dropped on his head sink in and interpret his whole life. But it was too large a meal to consume all in one sitting. He pulled the driver’s license out of his pocket and handed it to Henry, wanting to know one last thing before leaving. “We found this on a dead body in an abandoned village.”
Henry looked at it and sadly shook his head. “He wasn’t too bright, if you know what I mean. He thought he could trick them into thinking that he was me. Thought it would give me more time to get away.” And then after another moment of silence, he said, “Johnny?”
“Yeah, Henry?”
“Why’d you leave the Rangers?” His voice was barely audible, and it was clear that he was fading.
John collapsed beside the palmetto bed. It was a question no one in his family had ever cared to ask, and in some ways, he was thankful for not having to tell them. He didn’t like thinking about it, and yet the greatest thing that ever happened to him had come as a result of it. “In Afghanistan,” he began, “my jeep got hit by an RPG. I was the only one who lived.” He lapsed into silence for a moment.
“And?” Henry whispered, still conscious.
“And something snapped inside. I lost it, Henry. Turned into…” He swallowed the word. “…a murderer.”
“It’s war, Johnny. Everything’s justified in war.”
“That’s what I used to think. Got in trouble a few times for opening fire on crowds of people we were driving past.” The memory of a screaming woman holding a dead child in her arms choked him, and he wiped tears from his face. “And then—” He was going to tell him about the cave, about the giant, but for some reason decided not to. “I only became more unstable in Iraq. I pulled a guy from his bed one night. Just chose his house at random, because I was drunk and angry. Started interrogating him. As far as I was concerned, he was the one who fired the RPG that killed all my friends. Anyway, as I tortured him, he began praying for me in English. The more he prayed, the more I hurt him. But the more I hurt him, the harder he prayed.” More tears dripped down his cheek. “But he wasn’t praying for himself. He was praying for me. He kept saying, ‘Father, forgive him, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’ Turns out, the guy was a Christian, had been for a few years. His wife had been killed by her own parents for converting…” He wiped the tears away, wondering what Henry thought of the story. “Just before another soldier came over and shot him through the head, an act of mercy considering what I’d done to him, God answered his prayers. And just like that, I was different.”
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