by Alten-Steve
Mick shakes his head as if disappointed. “Don’t you even know the history of your own ancestors? The creator of the doomsday calendar, the great teacher, Kukulcán, left behind critical information in the ancient Mayan codices. Four hundred years after his departure, Spain invaded the Yucatán. Cortez was a bearded white man. The Maya mistook him for Kukulcán, the Aztecs for Quetzalcoatl. Both civilizations basically lay down and allowed themselves to be conquered, thinking their Caucasian Messiah had returned to save humanity. The Catholic priests took possession of the codices. They must have been pretty frightened by what they read because the fools burned everything, essentially condemning us to death.”
He’s getting worked up. “I don’t know, Mick. The instructions for the salvation of mankind seem way too important to leave to a bunch of Central American Indians. If Kukulcán was so wise, why didn’t he leave the information somewhere else?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For thinking. For using the logical hemisphere of your brain. The information was too important to leave to a vulnerable culture like the Maya, or any other ancient culture, for that matter. On the Nazca desert in Peru lies a visual, symbolic message, carved into the pampa in precise, 400-foot glyphs. My father and I were close to interpreting the meaning of the message when he died.”
She glances innocently at her watch.
Mick jumps to his feet like a cat, startling her as he grips her shoulders. “Stop treating this as part of your graduation requirements and listen to what I’m saying. Time is a commodity we don’t have—”
She stares into his eyes as he rambles, their faces only inches apart. “Mick, let me go—” She fingers the pen.
“Listen to me—you asked me if I believe humanity will come to an end in four months. My answer is yes—unless I can complete my father’s work. If not, then we’re all going to die.”
Dominique double-clicks the pen over and over, her heart racing, her mind full of fear.
“Dominique, please—I need you to get me out of this asylum before the fall equinox.”
“Why?” Keep him talking …
“The equinox is only two weeks away. Its arrival will be announced at every site I mentioned. The Kukulcán pyramid in Chichén Itzá will mark the event along its northern balustrade with the descent of the serpent’s shadow. At that moment, Earth will move into an extremely rare galactic alignment. A portal will begin to open at the center of the dark rift of the Milky Way, and the beginning of the end will be upon us.”
He’s raving … Recalling the photo of one-eyed Borgia, she shifts her weight, readying her knee.
“Dominique, I’m not a lunatic. I need you to take me seriously—”
“You’re hurting me—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He releases his grip. “Listen to me, this is vital. My father believed the evil can still be prevented from rising. I need your help—I need you to get me out of here before the equinox—”
Mick turns as Marvis thrusts his fist in front of his face, the pepper spray blinding him.
“No! No, no, no—”
Too flustered to speak, Dominique pushes the guard aside and runs from the room. She stops at the lounge, her pulse racing.
Marvis locks room 714, then ushers her out of the pod.
Mick continues pounding on the door, crying out to her like a wounded animal.
JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives, whomsoever they chose … The NEPHILIM were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the MIGHTY men that were of OLD, the MEN of RENOWN.
— Genesis 6: 1–2, 4
The Bible. The sacred book of the Jewish and Christian religions. For the archaeologist in search of truth, this document of antiquity can offer vital clues to help fill in the missing gaps in the evolution of man.
Genesis 6 may be the least understood passage in all the Bible, yet it may turn out to be its most revealing. Occurring just before God instructed Noah, it refers to the sons of God and the Nephilim, a name that literally translates into “the fallen ones,” or “they who fell from the sky with fire.”
Who were these “fallen ones,” these “men of renown”? An important clue may be found in the Genesis Apocryphon, one of the ancient texts uncovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls. In a key passage, Lamech, Noah’s father, questions his wife because he thinks his son’s conception was the result of her having had intercourse with either an Angel or one of their offspring, a Nephilim.
Did extraterrestrial blood flow through Noah’s body? The concept of “fallen” Angels, or “men of renown” interbreeding with human women may seem far-fetched, but there must be some element of truth to it, since the tale, like the story of Noah and the Great Flood, is repeated among different cultures and religions around the world.
As mentioned, I have spent a lifetime investigating mysterious wonders—magnificent structures left upon the face of this planet that have survived the ravages of time. I believe these structures were created by these “men of old, men of renown” for a single purpose—to save our species from annihilation.
We may never know who the Nephilim were, but geological evidence now allows us to reference the time frame in which they first appeared. The fact is—there was a great flood. Earth’s last ice age was the culprit, the event dating back some 115,000 years. At the time, massive glaciers covered most of the northern and southern hemispheres, advancing and retreating, eventually peaking some 17,000 years ago. Most of Europe was buried under an ice cap two miles thick. Glaciers in North America pushed as far south as the Mississippi Valley and down to the 37th parallel.
It was the time of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis, Neanderthal Man. It was also around this time in our ancestor’s history that the mysterious “fallen ones” arrived.
Perhaps the clans of early Homo sapiens did little to impress these men of renown. Perhaps the Nephilim felt it best that early man return to the evolutionary drawing board. Whatever their response, all we know is that miraculously, and quite suddenly, the world started melting.
It happened fast, triggered by some unknown, cataclysmic development. Millions of cubic miles of ice that had taken more than 40,000 years to advance suddenly melted in less than two millennia. The sea rose 300 to 400 feet, engulfing the land. Sections of Earth, once weighed down by billions of tons of ice, began rising causing terrible earthquakes. Volcanoes erupted, spewing enormous amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, increasing global warming. Great tidal waves uprooted jungles, wiping out animals and devastating the land.
The planet became a very hostile place.
By 13,000 BC to 11,000 BC, most of the ice had melted, the climate stabilizing. And emerging from this muck and mire was a new subspecies, Homo sapiens sapiens—modern man.
Evolution or the Bible’s story of creation—wherein lies the truth of modern man’s rise? As a scientist, I am compelled to believe in Darwinism, but as an archaeologist, I also recognize that truth is often concealed within myths passed down over millennia. The prophecy foretold by the Mayan calendar falls into the same category. As mentioned earlier, the calendar is a precise scientific instrument that utilizes advanced principles of astronomy and mathematics to derive its calculations. At the same time, the calendar’s origins are centered around the most important legend in Mayan history—the Popol Vuh—the Mayan book of creation.
The Popol Vuh is the Bible of the Mesoamerican Indians. According to the Popol Vuh, written hundreds of years after Kukulcán’s passing, the world was divided into an Overworld (heaven) a Middleworld (Earth), and an Underworld, a haven of evil known as Xibalba (pronounced She-bal-ba). As the ancient Maya looked to the night sky, they saw the dark rift of the Milky Wa
y and interpreted it as being a dark serpent or Black Road (Xibalba Be) which led to the Underworld. Appearing in close proximity to the dark rift were the three belt stars of Orion. To the Maya, these stars were said to be the three stones of creation.
As mentioned earlier, the Mayan calendar is divided into five Great Cycles, the first of which began some 25,800 years ago. This is no arbitrary period of time, but the actual length in years that it takes Earth to complete one cycle of precession, the slow wobble of our planet on its axis. (More on this later.)
The creation story retold in the Popol Vuh begins some 25,800 years ago when ice still covered much of the Earth. The hero of the tale is a primitive man known as Hun (One) Hunahpu, later revered by the Maya as “First-Father.” Hun Hunahpu’s great passion in life was to play the ancient ball game known as Tlachtli. One day, the Lords of the Underworld, speaking through Xibalba Be (the Black Road), challenged Hun Hunahpu and his brother to a game. Hun Hunahpu accepted and entered the portal to the Black Road, which was represented in Mayan legends as the mouth of a great serpent.
But the Underworld lords had no intention of playing the game. Using trickery and deceit, they defeated the brothers and decapitated them, hanging Hun Hunahpu’s head in the crook of a calabash tree. The Evil Lords then set the tree aside, forbidding anyone to visit it.
After a great many years, a brave young woman named Blood Moon ventured down the Black Road to see if the legend was true. Approaching the tree to pick some fruits, she was startled to find Hun Hunahpu’s head, which spat into her palm, magically impregnating her. The woman fled, the Under Lords unable to destroy her before she could escape.
Blood Moon (also known as First-Mother) would give birth to twin sons. As the years passed, the boys grew into strong, capable warriors. Upon reaching adulthood, their genetic calling would push them to make the journey down the Black Road to Xibalba to challenge the evil ones and avenge their father’s death. Once more, the Lords of the Underworld would use deceit, but this time, the Hero Twins would triumph, banishing evil while resurrecting their long-lost father.
What can we garner from the creation myth? The name, Hun or One Hunahpu, equates to the calendric name One Ahau, a day-sign meaning first sun. The first sun of the new year is the December solstice sun. The prophesied date of doom ends on the winter solstice in the year 2012—exactly one 25,800-year processional cycle from the very first day of the Mayan calendar!
Using a computer program that allows one to forecast the cosmos at any date in history, I have calculated the night sky as it will appear in 2012. Beginning at the time of the autumnal equinox, an extremely rare astronomical alignment will occur between the galactic and solar planes. The dark rift of the Milky Way will appear to sit on the Earth’s horizon, and the Sun will begin to move into alignment at its center point. This stellar shift will culminate on the day of the winter solstice, a day considered by most ancient cultures to be the Day of the Dead. On this date, for the first time in 25,800 years, the Sun will move in conjunction with the crossing point of the Milky Way and the ecliptic in Sagittarius, marking the alignment of the Galactic Equator, the exact center of the galaxy.
Somehow, the Mayan calendar accurately predicted this celestial event more than 3,000 years ago. Interpreting the creation myth, the galactic alignment will climax with the opening of a cosmic portal that bridges the gap between our planet and the Mayan Underworld, Xibalba.
Call it fiction, call it fact, but somehow this intergalactic alignment will culminate in the deaths of every man, woman, and child on the face of our planet.
—Excerpt from the journal of Professor Julius Gabriel,
Ref. Catalogue 1978–79, pages 43–52,
Catalogue 1998–99, pages 11–75
4
SEPTEMBER 11, 2012: MIAMI, FLORIDA
“Wake up, Intern Vazquez. You’re falling for Gabriel’s famous conspiracy theory.”
“I disagree.” Dominique returns Dr Foletta’s cold stare from the opposite side of his desk. “There’s no reason that Mick Gabriel shouldn’t be assigned a full support team.”
Foletta leans back in the swivel chair, his weight threatening the coiled springs. “Now let’s just calm down for a moment. Look at you—you’ve spoken with the resident twice, and already you’re making diagnoses. In my opinion, you’re becoming emotionally involved, something we spoke about on Friday. This is exactly why I recommended to the board not to bring in a team at this time.”
“Sir, I assure you, I’m not emotionally involved. It just seems to me that people have rushed to judgment in this case. Yes, I agree he’s suffering from delusions, but they could easily be attributed to having spent the last eleven years in solitary. And as far as violence, there’s nothing that I’ve seen in Mick’s file which points to anything but a onetime case of simple assault.”
“What about the attack on the guard?”
“Mick told me the guard tried to rape him.”
Foletta pinches the bridge of his nose with two stubby fingers, grinning sheepishly as he shakes his great head back and forth. “He set you up, Intern Vazquez. I told you he’s clever.”
Dominique’s stomach flutters. “You’re saying it was all a lie?”
“Of course. He’s preying on your maternal instincts, and he hit a grand slam.”
Dominique stares at her lap, dumbfounded. Was Mick lying? Was she really that gullible? Idiot! You wanted to believe him. You set yourself up.
“Intern, you’re not going to get very far with your patients if you believe everything they tell you. Next thing, he’ll have you convinced the world is coming to an end.”
Dominique sits back in her chair, feeling foolish.
Foletta sees the expression on her face and laughs out loud, causing his plump cheeks to turn red and dimple. He takes a breath, wiping tears from his eyes as he reaches into a cardboard box at the foot of the desk. He removes a bottle of scotch and two coffee mugs, pouring them each a shot.
Dominique drains the cup, feeling the liquid sear its way through her stomach lining.
“Feeling better?” The words, whispered and grainy, are spoken in a fatherly manner.
She nods.
“Despite what he tells you, Intern, I happen to like Mick. I don’t want to see him in solitary confinement any more than you do.”
The phone rings. Foletta answers it, eyeing her. “It’s one of the security guards. Says he’s waiting for you downstairs.”
Shit. “Could you tell him I’m tied up in an important meeting? Tell him I can’t make it tonight.”
Foletta relays the message, then hangs up.
“Doctor, what about Mick’s annual evaluation. Was that also a lie?”
“No, that was the truth; in fact it’s on my list of things to discuss with you. I know it’s a bit unusual, but I’ll need you to sign off on that.”
“What are you recommending?”
“That depends on you. If you can remain objective, then I’ll recommend that you stay on as his clinical psychiatrist during your stay here.”
“Mick’s suffering from sensory deprivation. I’d want him to have access to the yard, as well as the rest of our rehab facilities.”
“He just attacked you—”
“No he didn’t. He just got a little excited, and I panicked.”
Foletta leans back and stares at the ceiling as if weighing a great decision. “All right, Intern, here’s the deal. Sign off on my annual evaluation, and I’ll restore full privileges. If he improves, I’ll assign a full rehab team to Mick in January. Fair enough?”
Dominique smiles. “Fair enough.”
SEPTEMBER 22, 2012: MIAMI, FLORIDA
The yard at the South Florida Evaluation and Treatment Center is a rectangular stretch of lawn surrounded on all four sides. The L-shape of the main building encloses the perimeter to the east and south, the north and western borders walled off by a twenty-foot stark white concrete barrier topped with coils of barbed wire.
There a
re no doors in the yard. To exit the grass-covered atrium, one must ascend three flights of cement steps which lead to an open walkway running the length of the southern side of the facility. This mezzanine accesses the third-floor gymnasium, group-therapy rooms, an arts and crafts center, computer room, and a movie area.
Dominique takes cover beneath the aluminum roof extending out from the third-floor walkway as the lead-gray clouds roll in from the east. Two dozen residents evacuate the yard as the first drops of afternoon rain splatter against the overhang.
A solitary figure remains behind.
Mick Gabriel continues walking along the perimeter of the yard, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He feels the humid air turn cool as the clouds open up overhead. Within seconds he is immersed in the downpour, his white uniform soaked, clinging to his wiry, muscular frame.
He continues walking, his soaked canvas tennis shoes sinking in the soft grass, the rainwater squishing between his toes and socks. With each step, he recites the name of another year of the Mayan calendar, a mental exercise that he uses to keep his mind sharp. Three Ix, four Cauac, five Kan, six Muluc …
The dark eyes focus on the concrete wall, seeking its flaws, his mind searching for options.
Dominique watches him through a veil of rain, feeling remorse. You blew it. He trusted you. Now he thinks you betrayed him.
Foletta approaches. He exchanges waves with several abnormally exuberant residents, then joins her.
“Is he still refusing to speak with you?”
Dominique nods. “It’s been almost two weeks. Every day, the same routine. He eats breakfast, then meets with me and stares at the floor for a full hour. Once he gets to the yard, he paces back and forth until dinner. He never mingles with other residents and never says a word. He just paces.”
“You’d think he’d be grateful; after all, you are the one responsible for his newfound freedom.”
“This isn’t freedom.”
“No, but it’s a big step up from eleven years in solitary.”