Antarktos Rising

by Jeremy Robinson

  Ferrell raised an eyebrow, offered a mock salute, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  An hour later, nearly noon, Wright was patched up and they were hiking uphill, straight for the Nephilim fortress. Every step brought a fresh jolt of pain to Wright, but the morphine Ferrell had given him, though it slowed his reaction time, took the edge off.

  “Get down,” Ferrell whispered, her tone unmistakably serious.

  Wright looked back to see Ferrell and Vesuvius pinned to the forest floor behind a tree. Wright turned forward again and saw two sets of lumbering legs pass by, just on the other side of the tree line. He looked up. Two Nephilim strode past, clothed in armor and carrying swords. Neither looked down. Wright was unseen.

  After they were out of view, Ferrell appeared at his side. “From now on, I take point.”

  They moved past the tree line and found themselves on a stone road that led up the mountainside, weaving back and forth in a lazy switchback pattern. It crested at the top of the mountain, just above the carved skull. Wright switched on his GPS unit. The device had been programmed to work only within three miles of the goal, to pinpoint the end location. This was in part to make sure that enough battery life was left in the unit to fulfill its ultimate purpose: sending its beacon and claiming Antarktos for America.

  But there also wasn’t much choice. Since the globe had been reduced to chaos, GPS satellite coverage was almost non-existent over Antarktos, and without satellite coverage, standard GPS devices were now useless on Antarktos. The modified unit Wright carried communicated with a single satellite locked in stationary orbit directly above their final location. The GPS screen showed their position and the point that marked the race’s finish—at the top of the mountain, just above the skull. Wright pointed up the road. “Thataway.”

  The hike up, while exhausting, was made easier by the road. Walking on any other open road would have been a bad idea, but any Nephilim would be easy to spot above the now-short treetops, while they would be safely concealed. It was a tactical risk.

  They reached the peak within two hours without any interference from Nephilim patrols. Wright sat on a rock and took in the view. It was a panoramic sight that stretched out for hundreds of miles. They’d been steadily walking upward since the very beginning of the journey and were now at the highest point for hundreds of miles, the geographic center of Antarktos. And it was a sight Wright would never forget. The azure sky, speckled with white clouds, stretched on beyond the capabilities of human vision. The landscape was extravagantly decorated with sharp mountains, rolling hills, and lush plains. Rivers were etched across the landscape, intertwining and merging at various lakes before continuing their long journey to the shining sea.

  Ferrell sat next to Wright and put her arm around his waist. She took a deep breath and smelled the fresh air. “Like the honeymoon we never had.”

  “I’ll tell you,” Wright said, “If we make it back, we’re both getting some R&R. Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t think tropical islands exist anymore, so scratch that.”

  Wright pictured some of his old vacation spots. The Florida Keys. Jamaica. Even Japan. All gone. He sighed. “Any place in the world worth visiting that wasn’t wiped out?”

  “You’re looking at it.”

  Wright smiled. “Well, screw that. Let’s get the hell off this continent. I’ll spend a month in the frozen U.S. north before coming back here.” Wright stood up slowly, reached into his backpack, and switched on the GPS unit. Quickly working the on-screen touchpad, he set the beacon to send its signal in two-second bursts every five minutes. It would run for a month. A green light blinked on. The GPS beacon was activated. Antarktos, at least one third of it, had been claimed by the United States.

  With no other forces to fight or hold the area from, Wright was content to leave. He doubted any other team would make it to the finish. After hiding the beacon in some brush, he took one last look at the view. “You know, I feel like I should say something to commemorate the moment. We’ve just claimed a new continent for the United States. They might even talk about us in history books some day. But I can’t think of anything worthwhile.”

  Ferrell ran her fingers through his hair and said, “How about this?” She extended the middle finger of her other hand toward the view.

  Wright chuckled. The woman had a sailor’s sense of humor, but he loved it. “That’ll do,” he said.

  Vesuvius broke the cheerful mood, growling deeply yet quietly. Wright felt the ground shake.

  They had company.

  Without speaking, Wright and Ferrell secured their backpacks and slipped into the forest, heading back down the mountain, keeping a good distance from the road. Wright knew that their current route forced them even closer to the walls of the Nephilim fortress, closer to the evil that lurked within. He was confident that he and Ferrell could make it through undetected, and after that begin the long trek back to the coast where they would rendezvous with U.S. forces. As long as they could avoid open conflict, they’d be fine.

  Chapter 64

  The tunnels of the Nephilim fortress were utilitarian, lacking any kind of decoration save the occasional crop circle-like symbol, which Aimee had explained were both magical symbols and simple words such as “armory,” or “storage.” The more complicated the symbol, the more likely it was to be a word or even a full sentence. The simpler ones were magic—symbols used to communicate with their fathers.

  Merrill found it difficult to concentrate. He wanted nothing more than to hug his wife over and over, to express his love for her and to relish in the reunion of his family, but it was not an option at the moment. Focusing on anything other than escape would prove deadly. All it would take was one mistake. He could lose everything he’d gained.

  As they headed to the weapon-filled storeroom, Merrill briefly observed the amazing light fixtures—glass tubes three feet in length that extended from the walls and glowed dully like forty-watt bulbs. They looked like images he’d seen in Egyptian tombs. He could only wonder how deeply the Nephilim had influenced early human religions . . . and how much they still did.

  Again, Merrill forced himself from his mental tangents. He needed to focus on plotting a course out of the fortress and back to the coast. Now was not a time for Nephilim theories.

  Now was a time for war.

  They reached the armory, a short distance from their cells. In five minutes, they only had to pause once as a guard bumbled past. Merrill recognized the symbol on the man’s belt—a crescent moon with three stars—as Metztli, the Aztec moon god.

  The armory was a room much like their jail cell, but lacking the beds and window. Merrill looked through the bars and saw piles of weapons, some five feet high. His instinct was to let out a whistle, but he restrained himself. Aimee opened the door.

  “No lock?” Merrill asked.

  “They have nothing to fear,” Aimee said.

  “They will,” Merrill said.

  Mirabelle was the first through the door and the first to face the danger that lurked within.

  A thin man of Asian descent rose from behind a pile of weapons. He wore the rags of an olive-green uniform and twisted glasses. His dirty, wide-eyed face bore the expression of a man who had seen things that would haunt him forever. He brandished an AK-47 and Merrill could have sworn he was a fraction of a second away from unloading the entire clip, but he paused. They weren’t who he had been expecting.

  “Whoa,” Whitney said, raising her hands.

  Nothing more needed to be said. The man lowered his weapon and sagged back against the wall. He wept. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Mirabelle placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. He looked up through his glasses and met her gaze. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re getting out of here. You can come.”

  The man sniffled and nodded.

  Merrill noticed the red badge with the gold moon and four stars. It reminded him of Metztli’s symbol, but he’d seen it before. In the field, on the C
hinese soldiers. “You’re Chinese?”

  The man nodded. “Lei Zhou. My father was General Kuan-Yin Zhou.”

  “Is he here too?” Mira asked.

  Lei shook his head. “No. They are all dead.” The man was overcome by emotion for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was like that of a child’s, weary and broken. “They dragged away groups of men at a time. When they returned, they deposited the men’s half-eaten bodies in the next cell. The other survivors and I knew our fate was to be eaten too. I . . . I was able to squeeze through the bars.” Lei revealed his arms and chest, showing lesions where he’d forced his body through. “I was to get help, to find weapons, to help my countrymen. But I hid here instead . . . waiting to be found out.

  “I failed them.”

  “You couldn’t have saved them, Lei.” Mira said. “But you can help us.”

  That seemed to lift the man’s spirit. He had a chance to redeem his mistakes. He nodded, stood tall, and wiped his tears. “Tell me what to do.”

  Lei and Mirabelle began sorting and equipping weapons while Merrill and Aimee stood guard. It was the first chance they’d had to really talk. Merrill felt nervous, like a kid at the drive-in on a first date. She was his wife, but here she looked so different, so tired, that he wondered if he still knew her at all.

  “Did they . . . treat you well?”

  Aimee met his eyes and smiled slightly. “Better than most. They brought in scientists from other regions around Antarctica and questioned them, tried to learn their language, but ultimately none proved as good a teacher as I. My knowledge of the Bible gave me an understanding that the others lacked. The more I taught them, the better I was treated. I now have freedom to move around the fortress. Before the thaw, I never went outside. It was too cold. After a few years, I got used to the dull light and enclosed spaces. Until two months ago, I hadn’t seen the sun in years.”

  Tears formed in Aimee’s eyes. “I missed the world. And you.” She looked at the floor, allowing the tears to drip down. “But I have betrayed humanity by helping them.”

  Merrill took her hand. “I think the world will forgive you,” he said, taking her by the chin and tilting up her face. He smiled. “Given the circumstances.”

  Aimee chuckled and wiped her nose. “And what about you, dear husband? What have you been up to for the past ten years?”

  “I left Antarctica. I taught at Harvard. Paleontology and anthropology, mostly. Nothing exciting. Vesuvius and I lived in Cambridge and—”

  “Who’s Vesuvius?”

  Merrill smiled. “A dog. A Newfoundland.”

  “You got a dog?”

  “Someone had to fill the empty space on the bed. Would you have preferred a woman friend?”

  “Merrill, in all these years . . . you never . . .?”

  Merrill knew what she was asking. “Never crossed my mind. Marriage is a one-time deal for me.” Merrill felt a twinge of anger. Had she forgotten the kind of man he was? After all they’d been through together before she disappeared, he thought his character to be indelible in her mind. Yet she doubted him. “Maybe you forgot.”

  Aimee looked down. “Sorry. You’re right.” She met his eyes again and gave a small smile. “Well, then, Vesuvius better be willing to give up his spot in bed.”

  Merrill couldn’t help but grin. “He will.” His anger was replaced by guilt. She’d been through so much. What right did he have to feel angry over something so trivial? It was a miracle she wasn’t a raving lunatic after all this time spent with the Nephilim.

  Aimee watched Mirabelle. She had found her 9mm among the weapons and was checking it over with acute proficiency.

  Merrill didn’t notice. “You remember what your name means, right?”

  “Love,” Aimee said, but she wasn’t really listening.

  “And you remember who shares your name’s meaning?”

  “Freya . . . but she isn’t that nice.” Aimee’s eyes were still on her daughter. She was thinking about something else but had caught Merrill off guard with her statement.

  Then it dawned on Merrill. He hadn’t seen any female Nephilim, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Why had he assumed the offspring of demons would only be male? There were as many female goddesses as male.

  “Where are the females?”

  “Underground. With the children.”

  Merrill’s eyes were wide. He hadn’t considered the abomination of Nephilim children! It was a frightening concept: half-demon, winged children that were probably larger than a grown human male. “Chi—children? There must be millions of them by now!”

  Aimee shook her head slowly. “No,” she said without emotion. This was all new to Merrill, but Aimee had spent a good portion of her life here. Merrill felt a deep sadness as he realized the horrors of the Nephilim world had become normal for his wife. “Food was scarce during the freeze; their children are born quickly.”

  Merrill felt bile stewing in his stomach. “They eat them?”

  Aimee nodded. “What happened to her?” Aimee said, nodding toward Mirabelle. “Who did she lose?”

  The abrupt subject change threw Merrill for a moment, but he was happy to consider something other than Nephilim women and children. “She was married. His name was Samuel Whitney. A good guy. Mira’s name is now Mirabelle Whitney. He . . . he was murdered.”

  A pained expression crossed Aimee’s face. “Poor baby. At least one of us was there for her.”

  Now it was Merrill’s turn to look pained, as though he’d been stabbed. Aimee quickly realized her mistake. “You weren’t there?”

  “I was here,” Merrill said. “Truth be told, I fled here. She reminded me so much . . . of you. It hurt to see her, to hear her voice. I didn’t contact her for a year. When I saw her again, I didn’t know Sam was gone.” Merrill sniffled and wiped his nose. “She’s changed a lot in the last year.”

  “I don’t understand, Merrill,” Aimee said with a furrowed brow. “After losing me, you wanted to run away from the only family you had left? She’s a part of me, a part of both of us. You were willing to let her go?”

  “No! I just—”

  “I was held here against my will, but I would have done anything to be with my family again.” Aimee shook her head. “And you ran away from yours.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Merrill said, keeping his angry voice to a growl. “I should have been there for her. I should’ve . . .” A sob escaped Merrill’s mouth. “I lost myself without you. I lost sight of what was important. And now, now she’s changed so much in the last year. I don’t know . . .”

  Aimee took Merrill’s hand, the angry expression gone from her face. “You should see her from my perspective,” Aimee said, a slight grin on her lips. “She’s a beautiful young woman now. Smart and resourceful, too. You did a good job with her.”

  “I could have done better. She doesn’t . . .”

  Aimee placed a gentle hand on his shoulders. “We can’t change the ways things have happened, but we can affect the way things turn out.”

  Merrill took her hand. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Aimee looked back at Mira, who was slinging what Merrill recognized as an XM-29 over her shoulder. “She’s young. There’s still time.”

  Chapter 65

  The darkness of the place quickly overwhelmed the sense of falling. Without visual cues, it was hard to sense the downward motion, like weightlessness in space. It felt, for a moment, like death. Then cold enveloped Cruz’s body, and he knew he was still alive. And underwater.

  How long he would remain so was still up for debate.

  In the total darkness, Cruz could not discern up from down, left from right. He held his breath, and slowly his body began to rise. The weight of his waterlogged backpack made swimming almost impossible, but Cruz would not be separated from his explosives. They were his stock in trade. Without them he felt naked, useless.

  Kicking his feet and pounding his arms brought him higher and higher, but the eff
ort seemed futile. He could be a hundred feet down and not even realize it. For a moment he considered losing the gear, but the water changed. It was still cold but less fluid, and his arms weren’t pushing; they were flailing. Cruz realized he had broken the surface and was still holding his breath.

  After sucking in several gulps of air, he heard al-Aziz calling to him. “Over here! There is land on which to put your feet.”

  Cruz spun in the water. He couldn’t see al-Aziz anywhere, and the sound of his voice echoed, booming all around them. “I’ll tap the water with my hand,” al-Aziz said quietly. “Follow the sound.”

  Cruz used a sidestroke he’d learned at summer camp at Bear Lake to slowly make his way toward the sound of al-Aziz’s hand tapping the water. The stroke didn’t consume much energy and allowed him a free hand to drag his backpack behind. After a few minutes of swimming, he heard tapping just feet away from his head. He put his feet down and felt solid stone beneath his feet.

  Al-Aziz reached out and found him in the dark, pulling Cruz up out of the water onto a pile of rocks, cold and wet. “Where are we?”

  “No idea,” Cruz said. He found his flashlight, and pushed the button. It clicked on, bright as ever. “Thank God for waterproof flashlights, eh?”

  “I do not speak to God anymore,” al-Aziz said.

  “Whatever floats your boat,” Cruz said.

  “We do not have a boat.”

  Cruz laughed and directed the light in a broad circle around them. Water stretched out before them, ending well out of range of the powerful flashlight’s beam. The underground lake could stretch for miles. There was no way to know for sure. Behind them was a wall that also disappeared into darkness. Cruz aimed the light up. Above them was a stone ceiling pocked with reflective sheets of mica. A dark hole thirty feet above them gave evidence of their fall.

  Al-Aziz took hold of Cruz’s shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

  Cruz listened. He heard the gentle lap of water on stone, but there was something else: gulping. Cruz followed the sound, aiming the light in that direction. On the near wall was a hole. The water rose and fell near the hole, flowing through. “I bet this underground lake feeds the river.”