Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  Four men came out of the bleak central building. All had a military bearing, although they had long hair and beards. Their baggy-legged camouflage clothing was clean, but old and patched.

  Six huts, six men. Melisse scanned the area. Where were the women? The children? Normally, a village meant mail delivery, telephone lines, and radio reception. But that didn’t seem the case here. Right now, she'd settle for a dirt road to civilization.

  A man with an air of authority stepped forward from the others. His brown hair, gray hair at the temples, had tight waves, and his heavy-lidded eyes looked as if they'd seen all the sorrows of the world. “I'm Thaddeus Kohler, the mayor of this village. I bid you welcome.”

  “Mayor?” Rempart said, standing straighter. “Then you must be a man of law. These are a group of students and I'm a professor. Please help us get back to civilization—”

  “Are we not civilized?” Kohler interrupted, arms out, palms upward.

  Rempart gawked.

  “Who are you people?” Melisse demanded. “And what is this place?”

  Kohler gave her a long, lingering gaze, as if simultaneously surprised, amused, and impressed that she would speak up so boldly. “We are simple villagers. Nothing more.” He asked their names and then introduced his companions, a jaunty, smiling Gus Webber, a youthful and serious Will Durham, and one he called the elder of the group, Ben Olgerbee, although he couldn’t have been much over fifty.

  “What village is this?” Rempart asked. “How did it come to be here? Do you have telephones, or other communication with the outside world?”

  “As for your last question, I’m afraid not.” Kohler’s face was stern. “As to the first, we found the village empty when we arrived.”

  A look of dismay passed between Rempart and Melisse. “We simply want to get home,” Rempart said. “I'm sure there's a huge reward for anyone who helps us return. Can you do that?”

  “The only true reward,” Kohler said, his eyes blazing and his voice low and rumbling, “is an eternal one after a life well spent. Now, please join us for supper.”

  They called the large central building the “community house.” The inside consisted of two rooms, a gathering room on the first floor and an upstairs sleeping loft. A long wooden table and six chairs stood in the center of the gathering room. Several work tables lined the walls and atop them were a variety of old tools and strange implements. Animal furs were piled in a corner, and pottery bowls and dishes had been stacked on primitive shelves. A large fireplace and hearth held crude pots, and cooking utensils. On a grate, a kettle of stew cooked. Rempart and the students were so hungry, they were nearly brought to tears by its smell.

  A ladder led to the loft which had both shuttered windows and a door that currently opened to an eight foot drop, and gave Melisse an idea of how high the snow piled up here in winter.

  Everything was rustic and ill-formed, which was a surprise given that each man wore an expensive, modern firearm on his hip. It seemed as if the university group had fallen into a well-armed Dark Ages.

  The men brought extra chairs and stools with them. The university group sat on one side of the table, and five of the village men on the opposite side. Ben Olgerbee kept watch in the tower while the others ate. Melisse could see the villagers truly believed that something dangerous was out there. Not only, as Sam Black and Arnie Tieg had said, did dangers lie outside the village at night, apparently the inside was also unsafe if unguarded.

  Thaddeus Kohler stood. His companions bowed their heads as he muttered in low, sonorous tones, “May Almighty God grant us blessings for that which we are about to receive, and we give Him thanks for bringing these people to us.”

  Something about the prayer caused a chill along Melisse’s shoulders. The feeling passed quickly, however, as Will Durham dished out the rabbit stew, and Rachel carried a bowl to each of the diners. They served a flat, hard bread with it. The stew tasted delicious. Even Brandi ate without complaining.

  No one spoke until the meal ended.

  “Want something to help wash down your supper?” Gus Webber asked with a grin, holding a jug toward Rempart. He explained that they distilled wild tubers to make the liquor. Melisse watched Rempart take a sip and gag, much to the amusement of the villagers. When the jug came to her, she found it as potent and raw as pure alcohol. The village men’s reaction to the moonshine made it clear that drinking a good quantity was part of their evening ritual.

  The villagers attempted to be friendly, but Melisse saw something cold and calculating in them, especially in the way they looked at her, Rachel and Brandi. Clearly, they hadn’t been around women in quite a while.

  The only one who didn’t make her uneasy was Will Durham. His gentle brown eyes regarded the university group with a compassion that seemed genuine, but also sad. She wondered why.

  “Maybe you can tell us now, Mr. Kohler,” she began as the jug took a second trip around the table, “how you and your men came to be here, and why you have made this your home instead of leaving?”

  Kohler glanced at his men, one by one, as if to gain their agreement before he spoke. Several nodded. “We arrived here over a dozen years ago. No matter how hard we tried, we were unable to return to our land, to our own people. This is a strange place with unnatural creatures the likes of which we have never before witnessed. We watch the pillars in hopes that one day, someone will come through them who understands them, and will be able to lead us back.”

  “My, God,” Brandi blurted out in distress, then clasped her hands to her mouth.

  “Surely,” Rempart said, “you aren’t suggesting we’re trapped here.”

  “We’ve tried everything, but the pillars do not change. They are unmoved by our plight.”

  “You make them sound as if they’re alive,” Rempart said with a nervous chuckle.

  “Aren’t they?” Kohler stood. “It is time to retire for the night. Durham, take the two men to the stable and make up bedding for them. The women will sleep here, alone and undisturbed. Tieg, tell your cousin he must guard more alertly than usual tonight, for we have precious newcomers to protect.” He glanced at the women. “I leave it to you to clean up after Mr. Olgerbee, who is now in the guard tower, has completed his supper. All must work here.”

  With that, he and the other men left the community house.

  o0o

  This was a strange land, filled with strange noises, Michael thought, as he and the others made camp after another day of wandering.

  A guttural sound caused him to stop setting up his tent, every nerve alert. A banshee-like shriek made his blood run cold. What was out there? Whatever it was had been following them. At times he noticed a musty smell. At other times, a sharp, acrid stink. The air would turn thick, as if it were humid, but without moisture.

  And beyond all that was Lady Hsieh. Was she real, or was he going mad? He couldn’t tell anyone about her. Not Charlotte, who was the most sympathetic but the most realistic. Certainly not Jake, who would definitely want to send him to a looney bin. Not even Quade, who had the most understanding of this unnatural state, but seemed strangely devoid of human understanding or empathy.

  Quade bothered him more and more as time went on. The man watched and thought. He explained theory, but offered little explanation of what was happening here. Quade knew a lot more than he said.

  Michael didn’t trust him.

  Chapter 34

  MELISSE DIDN'T KNOW what to make of the village men. They treated her and the others well enough, except that Lionel and Ted were forced to sleep in the stable.

  The first full day, the villagers taught them to dig up a small round root, a sort of primitive parsnip, and mash them so that they could be dried as meal for the winter. The village men seemed to be planning for them to remain through the winter and needed to increase the amount of food stored. It also meant the village men didn't plan to kill them...at least not all of them, and not right away.

  Today, they were separated and all
given a variety of chores.

  Melisse grew tired of shelling beans and stepped out of the community house and looked around, Thaddeus Kohler, the village “mayor,” chopped wood some distance away. The close-mouthed man aimed to intimidate with his stern, military bearing. She decided to see what she could find out from him.

  “Do you think we'll have time to get out of these mountains before the winter snows hit?” she asked when she reached his side.

  He stood his ax on end as his gaze raked over her. “Why would you want to try? It could be dangerous.”

  “We want to go home.”

  “Not a good idea.” He returned to chopping.

  “We just need some food, some warm clothes,” Melisse said. “We had bad luck and our things were stolen. Perhaps you can tell us how to get out of here.”

  He slammed the ax into the stump of a tree trunk where it stuck. “You aren't going anywhere,” he said brusquely.

  “Are we prisoners?” she asked.

  His sharply angled face crinkled into a grotesque smile. “You don't have to be. There's nowhere for you to go. The sooner you get used to it, the better off you'll be.” He continued chopping.

  She put her hand on his arm. “You're not getting off that easily. What is this place? Why can't we find anything we've known—no towns, no highways?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Of course you do! Tell me!”

  He looked down at her hand with a smirk, as if he found her toughness amusing.

  She drew back her hand, and couldn't hide the bleakness in her voice as she added, “We went between two pillars and our world changed.”

  His formidable presence bristled, but then his eyes met hers. The temptation struck to turn and run from what she saw there—a deep all-consuming coldness coupled with understanding almost beyond human ken—as if he knew so much about the world and life that he no longer cared.

  “So it did,” he muttered. “I must remind myself how frightened all of you must be. How peculiar you must find all this, and find us.”

  He fell silent. She struggled to remain and speak to him. “Have you been here long?”

  His jaw clenched. He looked at her a long while before he spoke. “Yes, more than thirteen years. My men and I were sent here on a mission and have been unable to go back.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Thirteen years?”

  He nodded.

  “What...what kind of mission?”

  He shrugged. “Scouting. Nothing special. I was a major in the Army, retired—”

  “The U.S. Army?” she blurted.

  “Yes. Why?”

  She almost said something about his accent. None of the men here sounded like Americans, although their accents weren’t “foreign-sounding” either. “Just curious. Please continue.”

  “I saw this as a way to pick up some easy money. Central Idaho—severe climate, worse topography, grizzlies, maybe even a wolf pack or two—and then home. I could handle it. Or so I thought.”

  She nodded.

  “You?” he asked, his eyes like gray flint.

  She told him about Rempart and the anthropology students and their field trip to find the pillars, “and then home,” she added. He somehow found it within himself to smile as her words echoed his.

  “Did you build those cabins?” she asked.

  “No. We found everything here. I suspected it's what we were sent to find. I heard rumors of some expedition years ago—around the time of Lewis and Clark—that got lost in this wilderness. They must be the ones who built the cabins and lived here.”

  “And then?” she asked.

  “I don't know. No graveyard, if that's what you're asking,” he replied. “Maybe that means they got out, that they found a way home. For their sakes, I hope so.”

  “That's a nice thought,” she said. “But doubtful. Do you have any proof?”

  A strained, fierce look came over him. “Proof? You question me?”

  The sudden change in him startled her. “I simply want to know—”

  “Enough! What is of more interest to me is the here and now.” He stepped closer to her, at once threatening and something more as his voice turned soft, cold, and deadly. “For example, I know that you and your friends need us far more than we do you. If you died at this moment, it wouldn't affect us one bit. And you could die or disappear in an instant.” He snapped his finger. “Like that.”

  Her eyes widened at the sudden implied threat, and he gave his cruel, skeletal smile again. “Also,” he continued, his hand swiftly clasping her jaw and lifting so her eyes met his, “I'm all that stands between you three females and some of my men giving into what I'll call their baser instincts. I suggest you keep that in mind as well.”

  He walked away.

  His words, his implied threats, worried her. And apparently, the village men had no more idea of how to leave here than she did.

  But she knew how to keep warm in a storm, to build snow shelters, and to use her flint to burn combustible materials. Sacks of dried meal were in the storage building. If she stole one or two sacks, she could make it last long enough to get out of the mountains to lower, warmer climates.

  If she got away, and somehow, miraculously perhaps, managed to find her way out of this strange land, she could return with help to rescue the others. She felt confident she could do it, and equally sure Lionel and the students could not.

  That night, Melisse used the pretext of going to the outhouse as a means to reach the storage hut. She first wrapped thick fur blankets around herself like a hooded robe to keep warm, and then used a smaller blanket to make up a knapsack in which she put a sack of meal plus knives, flints, candles and anything else she could easily carry that might be helpful, and set out.

  The village men guarded their guns and rifles well.

  She headed east.

  She traveled slightly over an hour when she heard something following her.

  A beast, tall as a man, but hairy, its fur the color of flesh, appeared in front of her. The nose was flat, the eyes spaced far apart, and the ears small and pointed. Long claws and even longer teeth looked sharp and frightening. When it snarled, its teeth appeared a dark yellow, and dripping with some sort of mucous. The eyes were sharp and eerily intelligent.

  She pulled out a long knife. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat; she could handle it. Another beast appeared behind her.

  Then a third, and a fourth, a fifth.

  She had expected to encounter one beast, and to fight it off, but not an entire pack.

  All were large and misshapen. Some were tall and walked upright; some walked on all fours. Some had six legs, insect-like, yet furry as mammals. Others didn't seem to have fur, but instead a hard shell. Strangely, all had some part of their bodies that glittered like gold.

  One snarled and roared hungrily, and soon all the others took up the cry. The forest shook with the sound.

  They moved forward, their eyes fixated on her, poised to spring.

  She heard a loud thwack! The forward-most beast fell with a long arrow piercing its brain.

  The others fled as a volley of arrows flew at them.

  Kohler, Durham and Tieg stepped out from the brush, long bows in hand.

  Melisse stared at Kohler and the others who had saved her. They must have followed her closely and knew those creatures were out there. “Those beasts,” she said, “they look like mutants of some sort. What are they?” She started towards the one that had fallen.

  “Stop!” Kohler hurried toward her. “They're diseased. Keep away, or we may not be able to save you if you become infected.”

  Melisse froze. “But…it looks like its claws are made of gold!”

  “You would be wise to forget about them,” Kohler warned. He pushed her to walk in front of him toward the village.

  They walked in silence back to the community house.

  Once there, Kohler's face twisted into an ugly, brutal grin. “I don't blame
you for trying to escape,” he said. “If I were somewhere I didn't want to be, I'd be doing the same thing. Unfortunately, my understanding does not equal my forgiveness. You must, of course, be punished for your crime.”

  A chill went down Melisse's back, but she said nothing and entered the building alone.

  Chapter 35

  GOMEZ KEPT HIS AR-15 on his shoulder. He was on night patrol. Alone. The Hammer sent him out to keep watch so the others could get some sleep. Tomorrow night would be his turn to sleep, if he could.

  He doubted it. This place was too screwed up. The Hammer wouldn’t admit it, but Gomez sensed that even he was on edge.

  A heavy, musty odor drifted toward him, damp earth mixed with something decaying. Perhaps, he thought nervously, perhaps the smell of death.

  The scent grew stronger. Everything in him wanted to run back to the others, wake them, and tell them something was wrong. Instead, he took a deep breath. He needed to check the perimeter, control the situation, neutralize the danger. Only after that, if he found more work to be done, would he disturb the others.

  The last thing he needed or wanted was anyone mocking him for being scared.

  A dark blur passed him.

  It startled him. I’m just seeing things. In starlight, of course the surroundings looked dark and mysterious. Probably just some large branches of a tree blowing in the wind.

  Except that no wind blew.

  He spooked himself. Nothing was out there.

  Again, a dark blur whistled by, eye level. His blood ran cold. The thick, heavy stink ventured so close he taste it with every breath.

  He gripped his rifle tighter and shifted it on his shoulder so he could quickly aim and shoot the way he’d been trained to do. Maybe he had been wrong not to warn the others. Slowly he backed toward his comrades. Something neared him, closing in. He couldn’t hear it; he couldn’t see it. But he knew it lurked there.