Through the Fury to the Dawn (Action of Purpose Book 1)

by Stu Jones

  “Suz?” Kane said to the figure as she stopped, slightly concealed by a hazy light. “Susan, if that’s you, I can’t see you very well.”

  “Listen to me, Kane,” she said.

  “Susan! I found it…my faith. God found me.”

  “I knew He would. But do believe?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “The road ahead is still perilous, Kane, and God’s plan for your life and his purpose will be done.”

  “What does he want me to do?”

  “Listen, trust, and obey,” she said.

  “Yes, but what does that mean?”

  “It means that you have been chosen to stand against the rising tide of darkness.”

  “I am just one man. How am I supposed to do that?” Kane protested.

  “You will stand in the name of the King of Heaven, with his strength at your back. Nothing is impossible for you. But first you must give him everything and trust in him without reservation. Can you do this?”

  “I don’t know,” Kane whispered.

  “You must, or you will fail. This appointment is not one that you may commit to half-heartedly, for you must lead those who have been called. Some of them are aware of the call, and some are not. You will need their support, and they will need your commitment.”

  Kane struggled to comprehend what he was being told. “It’s all so vague, Susan. I just need you to tell me that you and the kids are okay.”

  “Trust, Kane, and worry for nothing. Now you must follow the Spirit as it leads you.”

  “I didn’t ask for this responsibility.”

  “You may not have asked for it, but it is your honor to bear it. Be strong, and become the man God created you to be.”

  “I…” Kane started.

  “Seek the light, Kane. Seek with all your heart, and be made whole again,” she said, as she began to fade.

  Kane gasped as his head slipped beneath the murky waters and all returned to black.

  DAY 39

  NORTHWEST–SOUTH CAROLINA

  The young boy ran, dodging between the barren trees like a bird in flight. He moved with a feline grace, unnatural to the step of man and at a pace that would tire the most seasoned runner. Each step calculated, each movement with uncanny precision, he ran, ducked and bounded through the forest, the animal skins about his shoulders and body only shifting as he did. He was dirty, with long brown hair, and was no more than ten years of age, and as he moved, a strange, swift presence shadowed him. Cresting the rise of the hill, he came to a stop and turned, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

  Up the hill behind him came the thud of heavy footfalls against the earth like the stomping of a titan. The boy made a slight whistling sound through his teeth and shook his head with a smile as a monstrous beast came into view. The creature was a great wild dog, or wolf. Its enormous form stepped up next to the boy and shook its great mane of hair, yawning with huge, white, dagger-like fangs that protruded from its gaping mouth. It was was massive in appearance, standing four feet tall at the shoulder, with stacks of dense muscle that rippled across its shoulders and flanks under a flowing coat of black and grey hair. While closely resembling a wolf, this beast was much larger and thicker, like the great African cats with heavy, hairy, taloned paws at the base of its thick, muscular legs. Its appearance was such that it conjured up thoughts of myth and legend and shape-shifting fiends from stories of old.

  The boy stepped forward, grabbing a handful of the animal’s mane, and placed his right hand on its snout. He turned its face toward him. For a long moment, the boy stared into the animal’s silvery eyes, unspoken words conveying endless meaning.

  The beast turned its face from the boy and licked its lips a few times. The boy pulled it back, staring again into its eyes.

  “You let me win, didn’t you, Az?” the boy said.

  An otherworldly look of intelligence hid in its eyes as the animal bowed its head and nuzzled its face against the boy’s chest.

  “I knew it,” he said, as he grabbed handfuls of the creature’s mane and pulled himself into a mount atop the animal’s back. “Next time I’ll win, you’ll see,” he said, patting its neck its neck. “Let’s go.”

  With a swiftness that seemed to defy the power of gravity, the beast was off, dashing through the charcoal woods, the boy riding him like a wild steed. The charred earth flowed like a swift river of black beneath them as they moved as one toward their destination.

  In a matter of moments, the two arrived at the ranch, and the boy slid off the animal’s back to the ground. As they walked, there was a noticeable pattern of avoidance from the inhabitants of the ranch as they stared and spoke in murmurs about the odd couple, but neither of them batted an eye toward the visible shunning. They had both lived their entire lives on the fringe of society. The boy walked gingerly to the front entrance and turned to his ever-faithful companion.

  “Would you wait here for me? I’ll be just a few minutes.”

  The creature turned without a sound and moved to the edge of the entranceway to lie and rest. The boy entered the ranch house and navigated the narrow hallways to his destination. He rapped three times on the door.

  “Come in,” came the reply.

  The boy opened the door and stepped inside the small office.

  “Ah, my wild Indian boy. How are you, Tynuk?” Vincent, said sitting up in his chair and pronouncing the boy’s name “Tien-Nook.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Still keeping company with that fearsome creature?” he said, as though scolding a wayward child.

  “Yes,” Tynuk replied.

  Vincent adjusted, trying to show his lack of approval for the boy’s relationship with the animal. “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “I have information from the outside for you.”

  “Excellent. And what would that be?”

  “To the Northwest there has been some kind of battle. Lots of fire and smoke, and I heard gunfire.”

  “So what of it? There is lawlessness everywhere.”

  “It was the Coyotes.”

  “What?” Vincent said, standing up out of his chair. “How do you know? Are you sure? How far away was this?”

  “I’m sure it was them. I’ve seen their patrols before. I’m not sure how far. It took us a while to get back here,” Tynuk said.

  “What were they doing?”

  “Fighting.”

  “I know that. I mean, with whom?” Vincent said, annoyed.

  “I don’t know, but it was just one man and one woman. It looked like a car chase that ended in a battle. The man fought bravely and defeated many of them, but I didn’t see how it turned out.”

  “Did the Coyotes look like they were coming this way?”

  “No. They looked like they were fighting, just like I said.”

  Vincent rolled his eyes. “Keep your eyes peeled for their approach. I will need as much time as possible if we have to deal with them.” He paused for a moment. “That will be all Tynuk. Thank you,” he said briskly.

  Tynuk did not move.

  “What is it?”

  “We had an agreement.”

  “Of course,” Vincent said, turning and opening a cabinet. He pulled out several canned goods and handed them to the boy as he ushered him toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man.”

  Tynuk stepped into the hall as the door closed behind him. He’d just tucked the cans into his satchel and was walking toward the exit, when a giant hand wrapped around his shoulder. Tynuk turned to see the giant form of Courtland, the only man that he and the beast called friend.

  People always fear what they don’t understand. Every single person that Tynuk and the beast encountered either shunned them or fled in terror without first trying to understand the odd couple’s intentions— everyone but Courtland. The giant black man had not shunned them nor fled in fear when they encountered each other that first time deep in the woods on a gloomy afternoon several weeks earlier
. Courtland had smiled and warmly extended the hand of friendship, saying that he could see a likeness of purpose among them. They had sat and enjoyed a nice conversation over a few fire-heated cans of beans while Courtland had told them of what great things God was doing. Tynuk agreed and said that he had felt it too, that the Great Spirit was moving. With a attitude of mutual respect respect, they resolved to be friends and to come to the other’s aid should any of them need it.

  The large man now had a sense of urgency in his face.

  “Tynuk, tell me, did anyone survive that battle?”

  Tynuk didn’t try to hide his confusion. “How did you hear?”

  “Well?” Courtland smiled.

  Tynuk shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe, I don’t know.”

  “Is it possible the man the Coyotes were fighting survived?”

  Tynuk grimaced. “No, I should think not. We’re talking about the Coyotes here.”

  “Did you see him die?”

  “No, but there was a lot of smoke.”

  “Thank you,” Courtland said as he stood. “I’ll see you later, Tynuk. Tell your companion hello for me.”

  “Why all the questions, Mr. Courtland? Where are you going?”

  Courtland gave Tynuk a knowing look. “I’ve done enough waiting, Tynuk. I’m going to find the nameless warrior.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Not yet, he isn’t.”

  Inside the ant colony, darkness reigned supreme. Black mixed with black in unending, cloaking ink that suffocated all who entered.

  Molly stopped, set the unlit gas can down, and tested the rope around her waist one last time. It was warmer here, as the intricate tunnels and chambers easily funneled the earth’s natural heat toward the surface. In the darkness, Molly listened to the colony as it spoke to her. The faint scratching, clicking, and trilling of its inhabitants deep beneath her resonated through the tunnels and made the earthen walls themselves feel alive. A cold shiver ran down Molly’s spine. She was an intruder, an enemy invader in someone else’s home. She knew she would be greeted as such. She pulled the lighter from her front pocket and crouched down next to the gas can.

  How in the world was she going to find Kane? Small ant colonies could run to incredible depths and extend for equally long distances under the surface. She could only hope for some indication of Kane’s passing. She prepared to light the rag on the nozzle of the can and paused. This was it. Once she lit the flame, she would start drawing attention to herself and would have to keep moving. She steadied her hand, lit the nozzle, and began taking quick, well-placed steps down the tunnel, the granulated dirt under her feet crunching and sliding like scree on a lava slope.

  The small flame flickered and revealed the tunnel sloping steadily downward to a broader intersection of tunnels. Molly continued forward, keeping her head on a swivel and tugging the safety rope for more slack every few steps. As she came to the end of the tunnel, she stopped and held the gas can up to get a better view of the intersection.

  From the tunnel, there was a short five-foot drop to the floor of the intersecting tunnels. Molly peered at the strange, dark pattern that angled across the dirt floor and into another tunnel, leading further downward. She dropped down to the floor to examine the pattern. Her heart picked up pace at the realization that the strange floor design was a trail of blood splatter.

  Down the tunnel she went, stepping on either side of the blood trail and holding the gas can forward to dispel the darkness. As she moved, she couldn’t shake the sick, unnerving feeling that she was going so deep she would never return to the surface. Molly held the gas can high and squinted ahead as she approached another major intersection of tunnels. She squinted in the damp, dark underground chamber, lazy dust particles floating in the flickering light.

  At the intersection the blood trail changed, separating as it continued down three separate larger tunnels. Molly bit her lip and looked back and forth between the three choices. She had no way to know which way she needed to go. She decided to continue down the central tunnel. Molly took choppy steps around the blood, straining her eyes through the curling black smoke that poured upward against the ceiling of the tunnel.

  Something shuffled to her left, freezing Molly in place as she stifled a scream, frozen in time, the gas can and its burning nozzle outstretched in front of her. The shuffling sounded again to her left. Turning her head she saw the large bladed jaws of a warrior ant protruding from a hole up and to the left of her. Molly swallowed hard and slowly lowered the gas can. Surely it had seen her.

  The creature shuffled again changing its position with a minuscule adjustment. Molly took a half step back, monitoring its behavior. Nothing. She took another step backward, still not believing that she had gone undetected. The creature continued to peer at her with lifeless, bulbous black eyes that were neither awake nor asleep. She took another step back and then a third, as the giant ant remained in its hole, dormant.

  Stepping backward now as fast as she could manage, she re-entered the previous intersection, now taking the tunnel to her left. As she moved, the tunnel became steeper, and Molly began to slide on her feet. She slipped and fell backward onto the slope, sliding out of control as she dug her heels into the dirt. Then the tunnel became vertical, and Molly fell into the dark of the shaft. As hard as she tried to contain it, a muffled cry came from her lips as she tumbled into the blackness.

  Molly struck the ground hard, the granulated dirt cushioning her fall, as she covered her head from falling debris. The gas can bounced end over end across the dirt, extinguishing the small flame.

  Breathing with choppy anxiety laden breaths, Molly scrambled to her feet and fingered the revolver in her waistband and the satchel around her shoulder. They were still there. She then began sweeping her hands back and forth across the loose dirt in an attempt to find the gas can and spear. She located the spear and pulled it over to her. She knew the gas can had fallen close by. She continued sweeping and shuffling until she bumped the can with her right hand. Snatching it up, she fumbled with the lighter as she pulled it from her pocket. She knew she would be in serious trouble if she dropped it. With no light and only the rope to guide her out, she would fall victim to the inhabitants of the colony. Molly flicked the lighter over and over, unable to get the now-dirty gas rag to catch. Molly clutched at the lighter, breathing hard, her fist shaking.

  As her eyes began adjusting to the dark, she thought she saw a faint blue glow of a baby’s nightlight from around the corner. Setting the can down, she took one step toward the light and felt the rope around her waist tighten. End of the line. Molly untied the rope and allowed it to hang where it was. She took the gas can up again and began shuffle-stepping through the semi-darkness toward the light, feeling curiously drawn to it as though driven by both curiosity and fate.

  As Molly shuffled, the tunnel brightened with the strange glow. As she stepped around the bend in the tunnel, she found an opening in the tunnel wall with a bright, almost sparkling blue light coming from it. Molly entered to find a large, domed chamber supported by three large earthen columns down the center.

  As her eyes adjusted, she began to see that the chamber was filled with many rows of strange ovular-shaped pods that glowed with a blue light. Stepping closer to one of the glowing pods, she instinctively reached out to touch its rubbery surface. As she made contact, something inside gyrated. Molly jerked her hand back. Stepping away, she scanned from right to left, taking in the depth of the room as her eyes settled on something she couldn’t place off to her left. As she quietly moved closer, she began to realize what she was gazing upon. Remains. Against the wall, a large pile of human bodies were frozen in place by a shiny crystalline substance.

  He was here. She knew it. She dropped the fuel and the spear and began desperately tearing at the upper layer of hardened mucus, pulling body after partial body from the pile and onto the floor. These men were the ones from the surface, the thugs who had tried to murder them. They were being stored here
with the larvae. She paused and looked over her shoulder again at the large cavern filled with the glowing pods. Larvae. These things are reproducing.

  As Molly turned back to the pile, she stopped. In front of her, almost in a sitting position, was the body of Kane Lorusso. Molly took in a sharp breath and pushed her fingers against his neck, checking for a carotid pulse. The slow and systematic thump of his heart greeted her fingertips, and she watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath. Molly put the back of her hand to her mouth. The fluid he sat in appeared to act like a coagulant and had stopped the bleeding from his bicep.

  She wanted to do nothing more than hug his neck and whisper words of comfort and encouragement to him. She wanted to let her friend know that she had come for him, and for him alone. She couldn’t tell him, though—she may never be able to tell him, but she would embrace him. She reached down to him and into the gooey mucus that surrounded his body. She pulled him forward toward her and wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. She wanted him to know, even if she couldn’t speak it to him.

  Kane’s eyes fluttered, and he muttered under his breath.

  “S-s-s-Su-Susan?”

  Molly grunted and squeezed his neck again and pulled away to look him in the face.

  “Molly,” he said as he came to. “I didn’t know what to say. She asked, but I couldn’t answer the way she wanted.”

  Molly looked curiously at Kane, as his face indicated total confusion. She began to help him to his feet.

  “Why?” he said, as he stood, the mucus clinging to him in long bandy strings. “We’re inside that mountain, aren’t we? Why did you come here?”

  Molly helped him out of the pile while he struggled to keep his balance. As he stood, she pressed herself into him again and squeezed him tight. The look on her face told him the answer to his question.

  “It’s good to see you too, friend,” he whispered.