EARTH'S LAST WAR (CHILDREN OF DESTINY Book 1)

by Glenn Van Dyke

  It hadn’t escaped Steven’s notice that the guards themselves didn’t seem to have a need for the water. They drank from a small gourd that hung from their belt and it seemed to be their only source of sustenance. Even their energy seemed tireless as they prepared to stand guard throughout the night, apparently without sleep.

  Each time Steven closed his eyes, his mind relived the scene of Ashlyn being whipped and beaten. It would be a memory that would forever scar his soul as it would forever scar their physical perfection, but he also came to realize how frivolous and allusive the trap of beauty was. It was a crown that no one could hold for long—as the ravages of time and age, eventually took their toll.

  It was only now that he realized the full depth of his feelings for Ashlyn, for out of the puddle of his shallowness; he realized how deeply he would miss Ashlyn the person, if she did not return. If all his hopes and dreams could be encapsulated into one small wish, it would be merely to have Ashlyn return to him, to see her speak again. As exhaustion took hold and he drifted off, his final wakeful thought was of how much he loved her.

  The guards awakened the slaves to the sound of a cracking whip. As Steven stood and stretched his legs, a hand softly touched his leg. “Your wounds?”

  “Ash! You’re awake!” said Steven back to her in the meld. He reached down, helping her to stand. They hugged, the realization that her wounds were gone made him want to scream out joyously.

  “Ash, god it’s nice to hear you talking again! I can’t believe all your wounds are gone! You’re so beautiful!”

  “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily!” she silently quipped. With a wide grin, “Steven, you do realize you’re healed too?”

  He was so happy to have Ashlyn back that it was only now that her words struck home and he looked down at himself, his first glance going to his testicles.

  Looking at Ashlyn, Steven added, “The Water of Life must regenerate the cells. That’s how it keeps us from growing old.” He reached for his shoulder and found that even the scar from his youth was gone.

  “I can understand the Gift healing us, but where did all the blood go?” asked Ash. “We both look like we just took a shower!”

  “The blood was part of us, it must have been absorbed.”

  Steven’s joy at seeing Ashlyn beautiful again also made him acknowledge his own shallowness. “Can’t fight thousands of years of evolution.”

  “What?” asked Ash.

  “Outside joke, no pun intended!” he said to her with a broad grin.

  Brummon, paired to the Neanderthal woman, awoke when he overheard Steven’s gasp of surprise. He stared, his shock of seeing them healed, stilled his voice.

  Though he had only received a few lashings, Brummon’s injuries were horrifying to look at. Covered in dried blood and filled with sand, they oozed puss and viscous fluid from between the broken and cracked scabs that were forming.

  Steven sympathized with him.

  Again walking, they traveled for more than half a day before stopping at the edge of a deep gorge. The heat from the suns had been bearing down on them with unrelenting malice, driving Steven to desperation for a drink. Even with the Gift, his tongue was swelling, his lips beginning to crack. It had been two days since he had a drink of water.

  Up ahead, a decaying bridge spanned an expansive canyon, six kilometers across. As the line slowly began to advance over it, everyone had to step over and around gaping holes in the floor of the ancient structure, made more complex by the tethering chain. The bridge itself was made from porous, yellow, hexagonal blocks that looked remarkably similar to that of a bee’s honeycomb. The entire structure was simple in architecture, yet complicated in mechanical physics. It stood like a great monolithic monument, a tribute to the Anunnaki long ago.

  “Na zu uri,” a Gray said, as an unexpected lashing stroke from a whip broke across Steven’s neck and shoulder. The guard then poked him in the back with his gun, inspecting the area where he knew Steven had been whipped earlier.

  “He’s noticed that your wounds are gone,” said Ashlyn silently.

  They watched as he called to another Gray and they began speaking in their native tongue. No translation was needed to understand what they were discussing.

  The two Grays approached, the one closest to Steven said, “Ngiz-al ni er-im,” and then he proceeded to lash him.

  “This isn’t good Steven, he knows you healed!”

  “I know!” said Steven, “He’s telling the other one to watch what happens.” The pain of the whip’s razor barbs peeling his flesh was excruciating. Steven’s clenched teeth ached from fighting against the pain.

  “At least he didn’t notice that you healed,” Steven managed to say.

  That day, they trekked for long hours in the hot sun. As night approached they were brought to a stop, and as was typical, the slaves slowly began taking turns at the straws of water. Only a few minutes slipped away—before the guards approached Steven, taking him and Ashlyn out of the line, to inspect his wounds. “Bar igi,” said one of the guards, the tip of his rifle poking the almost healed area where Steven had been lashed earlier that morning. As the other guard nodded in acknowledgement, their eyes rose to stare at Steven.

  A moment later, they turned, moving away to discuss it amongst themselves. After only a few softly spoken words passed between them, the guards signaled for other Grays to join them. Together, they returned and to the prod of a rifle, Steven and Ashlyn were led out of the encampment.

  There was going to be an execution.

  ***

  Novacek’s perceptions sped, slowing the movement of everything around him. As his mind took in the visual of what was before him—his heart fought, not wanting to believe it was real. It was a beast of immense size, red in color with seven heads and ten horns. Even as his own thoughts began to put the pieces together, a voice from the crew confirmed what his eyes were telling him.

  “It’s Satan!” Just the implication that it could be the creature from the book of Revelations was enough to inspire awe and fear.

  Two of its seven heads were holding members of the crew in its jaws, while the other five snapped, trying to catch the fleeing people. Its spiked tail was swinging rhythmically back and forth.

  The creature was tearing through the crew as if they were insignificant, their weapons doing no damage. Like the others, Novacek’s blaster was pummeling him, with no effect.

  The beast tossed one of its victims into the air, catching him again by his arm, which tore away. The man, already dead, fell to the cavern floor.

  In the low light of the cavern, Novacek tried to make out the identity of another person who was screaming. The beast flipped him round, catching him round his chest. To the sound of breaking ribs, blood squirted from the man’s mouth as the creature bit down, his head going limp. As the beast chomped, hungrily swallowing, bits and pieces of his body fell to the ground like crumbs.

  Littered round the cavern, lay several of the crew, all dead.

  Off to Novacek’s right, a Titan laser rifle opened up. The beast rose onto his hind legs and gave a loud, terrifying, shrill screech that was resonant enough to loosen several small boulders from the cavern’s ceiling. The Titan rifle had the power to do what the blasters could not. The first blast from the laser severed one of the horns atop its head. The next blast cut a long, clean line down the creature’s belly, spilling out unrecognizable organs and fluids.

  The beast roared, retreating against the wall and then in a heartbeat, transformed back into the man, Enlil, intact and without blemish. The Titan rifle continued its assault upon him, but now, in this form, with seemingly little effect. Its mark only leaving a slightly darkened, singed area.

  At that exact moment, Enlil’s eyes met Novacek’s—and in that instant as they shared a single thought, Novacek realized his vulnerability.

  Next to him sat Phillip, curled into a ball and hiding his head. Enlil calmly walked over and as Novacek moved to shield him,
Enlil batted him aside.

  Reaching out, Enlil picked Phillip up and slung him over his shoulder. Phillip thrashed vainly, a broad smile coming to Enlil’s face as Phillip called out to Novacek for help.

  For the second time in Novacek’s life, he felt completely helpless.

  Though the words weren’t needed, he gave the command, “Cease-fire everyone. Cease-fire!

  Enlil, let the boy go, take me instead. I promise you, no tricks.” Novacek laid his weapon down and raised his hands to shoulder height. Enlil taunted, faking his contemplation of the offer, before his lips pursed into a wide-toothed grin of pure evil.

  “I suppose you are too innocent to know that the young ones taste best!” Without a care in the world, Enlil turned to exit—the crew that were in his way gazed at Novacek, silently asking what they should do.

  As Enlil turned to look at Novacek, he shifted Phillip into a position where he could snap his neck.

  “Let him go!” said Novacek to the crew. “Damn you, Enlil. This isn’t over. Do not harm the boy. Remember, our ships are on the way here. You’ll need him to negotiate—or we’ll have no reason to spare your life.” It was all he could do, little as it was.

  The crew parted, letting Enlil walk out with Phillip.

  No one knew what to do. To aggressively pursue a near, invincible enemy wasn’t the wisest of decisions and yet, to do nothing, left them feeling like cowards.

  “Martin, get me an update on what losses we suffered, both the dead and injured!” ordered Novacek. “Banks, have the able-bodied members of the crew break open all the rafts and pack the gear into them. Prepare everyone to move-out in fifteen minutes! It doesn’t matter how badly they are injured. They have to go—or they’ll die!”

  Novacek put his hand to his forehead, gingerly touching the bump that had risen where Enlil had swatted him. He had a least one broken rib. His back and shoulders, one giant contusion from his encounter with the cavern wall. With one leg injured, his other good leg felt as weak as a withered sapling.

  “What are we going to do about the Admiral’s son?” Casey asked Novacek.

  “I have no idea—I’m open to suggestions.”

  Casey remained silent to his plea. “I guess I’ll go help Banks get the rafts ready.”

  Novacek turned to his team leaders, “Franklin, recall all the watches. We’re moving out and get me a report on Phillip, let me know if he is still alive.”

  “What was that thing, sir?” asked a voice in the crowd who had gathered round him.

  “It was the Wild Beast,” answered Cardin, who was standing nearby. “You know, from the bible. Seven heads, ten horns. It’s the Devil that we’re fighting!”

  To those that were standing nearby and overheard Cardin’s comment, Novacek countered, “I know the description fits, but let’s refer to it as a dragon, understood? Whatever Enlil is, he isn’t the Devil. It’s just a guise he uses to instill fear. The rifles were hurting him. That’s why he left and that is why he took the boy. He showed us that he’s vulnerable.”

  “Sir? From the beginning you knew it was a trick, how?” asked Stratton.

  Novacek shook his head. “I was never sure. It was just a feeling. It wasn’t logical that they’d had a change of heart. Genocide of a species isn’t something to be taken so lightly, that you can simply change your mind.”

  “When you put it that way …”

  “We all wanted to believe him, Stratt. We all wanted to believe,” Novacek said comfortingly.

  “Where’s the Commander?” Shouted a runner as he entered the cavern from outside. As someone pointed him toward Novacek, “A ship picked Enlil and the Admiral’s son up at the edge of the forest. It’s hovering just out of range. We believe he must have given the order for them to prep to attack, they’re spreading out, forming a thick line. There are thousands, sir. Thousands.”

  “Thanks.” For only the second time in his life, Novacek said a prayer to God, unsure if there was even a God to hear his words. No atheists in foxholes, he thought to himself.

  “Stratton, take charge of the crew. Take them down the river. If it isn’t in the rafts in ten minutes, leave it! Once you head out, take the river’s first fork to the right. It leads to safety, don’t miss it!”

  “On the map, that route doesn’t go anywhere!”

  “Take my word for it. It’s the route to safety! I just don’t have the time to explain. You now have nine minutes, Stratt. Get out of here and don’t miss that fork!”

  “We’ll leave a raft for you,” said Stratt.

  Novacek shook his head. “Take them all. You’ll need every one of them. I’m staying. I’ll buy you the time you need to get away. Now get going.”

  Stratton nodded grudgingly, angry that he would be leaving his friend behind. “Martin is dying, sir. That damned creature gored him. He won’t survive more than an hour or two.”

  “Is he conscious?” asked Novacek.

  “Barely, but yes,” said Stratton.

  “Then, have him carried outside, we’ll die together. I’m going to detonate all the cores.”

  Stratton’s eyes grew large. “That’ll bring the whole mountain down.”

  “Yup—seven minutes, Stratt. Go now!”

  Outside, Novacek, laid out the Cores.

  It wasn’t but a moment before two of the crew arrived, carrying Martin on a stretcher.

  “Set him, here, next to me.” The crew set Martin gently down beside Novacek. Each of them took a moment to squeeze Martin’s hand, saying goodbye to their friend. With a glance at Novacek, they silently asked if there were anything else he needed. With a shake of his head and a smile, they departed, disappearing into the tunnel.

  “Hi Martin. I uh—I could use a little company—it would be nice to have someone to talk to. We can buy some time for the others to escape.”

  Martin understood Novacek, clearly.

  Martin looked over at the cores. “Our lives won’t come cheap.” Martin smiled, his white teeth gleaming bright against his dark skin. “The cores will take everything out within ten klicks! Maybe more.

  Is the boy safe?” asked Martin.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a quick death is preferable to what that thing has planned for him.” Novacek’s icy stare froze the blood in Martin’s veins.

  “You ever see the movie, Zulu, sir?”

  “No, but I think I get the drift! How did it end?”

  “The attacking forces gave up, out of respect! Think they’ll ever make a movie about us?”

  “Like the world needs another remake,” said Novacek with a hint of a laugh. “Ready?”

  “Yup,” As Novacek punched in the code to overload the cores, a small, enemy transport ship screamed away into the horizon, vacating the area.

  Novacek wondered, hoped, that Phillip was aboard it. “Martin?” the eyes of the two men locked in resignation as his finger hovered over the last number to be entered.

  “Aye, sir. My African ancestors will be proud of the fight we have given them, as yours will be!” Martin’s calm tone sent an eerie chill up Novacek’s spine.

  “It was an honor my friend!”

  Chapter 18

  Out of easy earshot from camp, they were brought to a halt—Ashlyn abruptly said into Steven’s mind, “Take the one behind you, to your right, now!”

  Steven spun, his right hand deflecting the point of the guard’s gun off to the side and down, as his left elbow gave a smashing blow to the center of the Gray’s face. The loud sound of crunching bone and cartilage heard, as his face caved in. In a single, pivoting motion, Steven took the gun out of his hand and did a diving, rolling somersault, directly at the nearest guard.

  A laser pulse skimmed his boot. Steven launched himself into the air, getting off at least eight shots before his feet hit the ground. The Gray in his sight fell backwards, at least one of his eyes, exploded.

  As Steven whirled to locate Ashlyn, he saw that she had her Gray by the throat in an arm lock. Holding him high, off the
ground, Ashlyn was using him as a cover shield. The fourth Gray was trying to get a shot at her without killing one of his own, but the short lanky Gray within her arms was putting up a good fight, and she was just barely managing to keep the squirming figure between them.

  Steven dropped the Gray with the rifle where he stood, putting a pulse directly through his skull. Ash then twisted the neck of the one within her arms, letting him sink to the ground.

  Ashlyn walked over and stepped on the neck of the still breathing, but unconscious guard with the smashed in face. “That’s for the whipping you bastard.”

  Steven swallowed, shocked at the anger in her voice. He had not given consideration to the residual, emotional toll the beating must have taken on her. How Ashlyn could tell which one had whipped her, he had no idea.

  “Quick, grab a weapon and one of the pouched bandoliers. We need to get out of here. I’m sure the other guards heard the shots.”

  “What about Brummon?” Ashlyn asked.

  Responding to her in his mind, “Ash, use the meld to talk. Our voices will carry for kilometers out here. Brummon will have to wait. There are too many of them. We’ll keep heading toward the pyramid, same place the Grays are taking the caravan. We’ll get Brummon there.”

  Each of them grabbed a pulse rifle, and putting an arm through the bandolier, slipped it over their head.

  With a quick glance between them, confirming they were ready, they darted off into the darkness.

  A kilometer later, Steven starting to feel secure in their escape, he was desperate for water. Pulling out the alien’s water gourd, he took a sip—instantly spatting it out, “Saltwater!”

  Continuing on, Steven looked up at the stars. Adjusting his course, he turned, southwest. “We’ll travel ‘til dawn, put some distance between us, in case they decide to follow us at daybreak.