by Kevin Tinto
When she looked down at the Ancients once again, they no longer lay on the ground beneath the mesa cliffs. Instead, they lay encased in the same stasis units she’d found at the Antarctic complex.
The vision dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, and she found herself looking at a field of brilliant stars, surrounding her, engulfing her, streaming through her—she’d become the center of a cosmic snow globe, shaken until not one star remained stationary.
Just as she was beginning to relax and marvel in the indescribable experience of floating within the snow globe, she felt something like cold liquid metal flowing down her spine and toward her legs. She was paralyzed, unable to move—and the blackness returned.
Leah was no longer looking at an infinite field of stars. She was flying again, but over an unfamiliar landscape. This one featured mountainous terrain. Snaking through the mountains were deep canyons, in which water flowed and greenery grew thick on the banks and cliffs. The only terrain that remotely resembled this was the mountains of the southern island of New Zealand.
Leah felt cold, her exposed skin already porcelain in color from exposure. Her focus on the cold was drawn away by a sudden inability to draw a deep breath. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fill her lungs with enough oxygen necessary to satisfy her body.
A village appeared below, with hundreds of Ancients walking up and down a mosaic of paths leading from the deep, rich canyons, to the mountain glacier, where a massive village stood. Wood lodges, some the size of cathedrals, were anchored into the ice; smoke from a multitude of chimneys rose above the structures.
It was a city like Leah had never explored, seen, or studied in her archaeological career.
The people looked familiar, but not their clothing. They wore what appeared to be an organic weave, like a hemp, but richer.
Leah scanned the horizon and identified at least three more of these cities in the distance. Where was this place? Something only the shaman could answer, she knew. She looked left and right, sweeping the horizon, hoping he might appear, and explain, but she was alone within the vision.
“Where is this?” Leah shouted. “Who are these people?”
She searched in every direction for Appanoose.
She cried out again. “You promised answers!”
One word flooded her mind with such intensity that she saw the letters imprinted on her brain like the afterglow of a lightning strike.
“Yá’ąąsh.”
One of the English translations for the single word in Navajo was Heaven. Leah instinctively looked up toward the sky. Not one sun but two shone in the sky. Neither seemed bright as the sun she knew, but together they flooded the sky and the landscape with intense sunlight. She felt a momentary shock, then convulsions wracked her body and the blackness closed in like a cocoon as she struggled to see more.
When her vision returned, she saw ice stretching for as far as she could see, the horizon ending in curved line. Leah immediately looked for the suns. The two suns had been replaced with the single familiar one. The transliterated word that Appanoose had spoken repeated in her head, echoing off her forehead, and then off the back of her skull—never changing.
“Ant-Arc-Tikke…Ant-Arc-Tikke… Ant-Arc-Tikke…Ant-Arc-Tikke.”
That’s when she realized it. She was now flying over Antarctica. Below lay the complex where the Ancients had been encased in the stasis units, but she saw no wrecked aircraft or the massive crater where the complex had been obliterated. And Thor’s Hammer still stood, as it had for millions of years before the Hafnium warhead sheared it from the earth. No avalanche covered the domed facility, and the silver metallic surface reflected the soft Antarctic sunlight in every direction.
She flew on over barren ice, until after what had to be hundreds or thousands of miles passed by in her mind’s eyes, another structure stood. This one featured twin domes—each much larger than the complex she’d discovered—connected to one another by a tube-shaped assembly.
The silver metallic surface of the domes flashed brilliant white, then became transparent. Inside, Leah saw hundreds of the stasis units, each containing a body in deep hibernation.
One line of stasis units stood apart from the rest. They were brightly lit, and their clear, glass-like lids stood open. Even though she didn’t count them, she knew there would be exactly twenty-seven units. The same number as the surviving Ancients at the Settlement.
The vision was so peaceful, so serene, Leah intensely regretted removing the Ancients from the complex, and her feelings about the non-terrestrials softened. She understood now: The Ancients had been selected as colonists, tasked with settling new worlds.
It wasn’t right, but then again, was this how Earth had been originally populated with humankind? Her thoughts, while at the Settlement, star-gazing and seeing threats coming from the stars now seemed, foolish, immature. How could she have missed the obvious?
She was flooded with a sense of well-being she hadn’t experienced since she’d been asked out for the Christmas dance in junior high. It was all fine—no, it was better than fine. Everything was magnificent.
Leah didn’t have time to enjoy the sense of well-being. A sense of dread began at her fingertips. As it moved up her arms, so did an intense cold. If that weren’t bad enough, suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The air, once again, felt too thin; or maybe she was at too high an altitude above the ice.
Leah sucked deeply, working to fill her lungs, but the small amount of oxygen did little to alleviate the growing oxygen debt depriving her brain and organs of vital O2.
As her sense of dread morphed into terror, she felt, but did not see, an immense buildup of energy flooding both domes. As it did, the ice around the second complex began to fracture. Blocks of ice the size of skyscrapers pushed themselves out of the surface and, like watermelon seeds squeezed between two fingers, rocketed away from the domes, followed by the intense crack of air parting at supersonic speed, shaking Leah right down to her bones.
Massive fountains of steam and water exploded from the newly created city-block-sized cavities. Whatever was happening had created so much heat that ice was converting instantly into liquid, then steam.
That wasn’t the worst. As the energy within the twin complex intensified, growing in strength and mass, it could clearly not be contained. Leah opened her mouth and screamed at the same time two blinding beams of energy cut holes in the sky, generating enough heat that she felt the skin on her face peeling off in strips.
The blue sky went black; her body convulsed. Leah instinctively knew the energy that cast billions of tons of ice miles in every direction had also stopped her heart.
Chapter 30
Garrett Moon paced outside the sweat lodge. Leah had been inside for more than four hours, well beyond their agreed time with Appanoose. After being restrained by the Ancient warriors, he been shown a place to sit near the sweat lodge, but not allowed to move for the first two hours. When he finally complained, one of the warriors nodded and allowed him to stand, then walk about, unrestrained.
When the skin flap opened, Appanoose slid his legs out first, then his upper body. He was covered in sweat and his eyes shone with an intensity Garrett hadn’t seen before. But it was what lay limp in his arms that caused Garrett to panic.
Appanoose held Leah, her arms and legs dangling and her head lolling back on her shoulders, mouth open and eyes strangely lifeless. The warriors, seeming to have anticipated what would have happened, had brought blankets and spread them next to the fire.
Appanoose looked around, orienting himself to his current surroundings, then laid Leah gently down on the blankets.
Garrett tried to rush over but was instantly restrained. Appanoose laid his cheek next to her mouth. It was obvious that she was no longer breathing. He leaned over, and blew air over her face, gently. On the third breath, Leah arched her back, and drew a deep breath o
n her own.
The warriors who held Garrett released their iron grip. He pushed them away and ran to her side. Leah’s face was white, and her skin cold and clammy. He put his cheek up against her mouth and held his breath, praying that by holding his, he might feel Leah breathe once again.
It took more than fifteen seconds before he felt the lightest of breaths against his cheek. Overcome with relief, he watched K’aalógii and Dahteste bring lit torches and hand them to the warriors, who braced the torches upright with river stones. More wood was added to the fire and the sandy ground near the pit danced with shadows made by the breeze-driven flames.
Appanoose nodded, and Dahteste and K’aalógii knelt beside Leah and began washing her face and hair with water, dribbling some on her lips as they worked.
Garrett told Appanoose he wanted a private audience. Appanoose gave one sharp nod and led Garrett over to the Basilica. Even before the shaman sat across from him, Garrett began speaking his mind in Navajo.
“We trusted you with her life. You’ve broken your bond with us.” He paused. It would have been easy to lose his temper, to shout and make a major scene. It took all of his strength and the training he’d received at the feet of elders on the Navajo reservation to remain calm. He pointed back to where Leah lay unconscious, perhaps dying. “She and she alone saved you from a lifeless death under the ice in Antarctica.”
“Nik’ijį’ asihígíí éí ayóó’í’óo’ni’ bee baa nídidíí’ááł,” Appanoose replied, inclining his head in Leah’s direction.
Garrett hardly expected Appanoose to drop to his knees and give thanks for their rescue, but what he’d said was so unexpected that Garrett didn’t know how to respond: With much affection, she was forgiven for her crimes.
“Ałk’idą́ą́,” Appanoose continued.
She had been forgiven, a long time ago.
The only ‘crime’ Garrett thought she could have committed, was removing the Ancients from the stasis units.
Chapter 31
Jack sat at a café, sipping espresso, in the ancient Turkish city of Cappadocia. It’d been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d boarded the Cessna X at Westchester County Airport. The X didn’t have the range to fly to Turkey unrefueled, and they’d had to make two stops before landing at Istanbul Atatürk Airport.
His mafia-like entry into Turkey had been smooth as silk. Any question on how terrorists were able to move about the planet without fear of capture were quickly answered by the seamless way a large sum of cash could buy you into and out of just about anywhere.
Before Jack could even exit the aircraft, a blacked-out Mercedes station wagon stopped next to the Citation. A Turk dressed in an army uniform got out of the Mercedes and loaded Jack’s duffels into the backseat. The door to the car hadn’t even closed before the driver stepped on the gas, headed toward a locked security gate. The driver jumped out of the car, inserted a key into a lock system, and the gate popped open. He swung it wide enough to allow the car to exit, drove through, stopped and locked it again. Without a word he whisked Jack out of the airport, drove for a few minutes, then turned in a parking lot that overlooked the Aegean Sea.
As instructed, Jack handed over the cash to pay for his illegal entry into the country. Paulson Immigration Services, as Jack had come to call it, had another car waiting in the same lot. This driver took him straight through to Cappadocia—a distance of nearly 800 kilometers. Needless to say, his ass should have been kicked, but he felt invigorated. The adrenaline buzz of a real adventure never got old.
He’d tried Leah numerous times before leaving, without success. While she’d promised to have the satellite phone handy, he knew she was living on pins and needles after returning to the Settlement and all of its potential for violence waiting, simmering.
For Paulson’s benefit, Jack had given a complete briefing on the Ancients and his and Leah’s concerns in case something went down while he was in Turkey. Al Paulson hadn’t seemed that surprised, or even concerned. He made it obvious that Wheeler was getting more erratic and the Russian/American conflict appeared to be building toward another explosion. The Russians were determined to get troops onto the frozen continent via ship. The Americans equally determined that no Russians ships would draw close enough to the coast that they could offload a division of troops and armor.
As Jack was finishing his second espresso and wishing he could stick around to explore Cappadocia like a proper tourist, a beat-up Toyota truck came to a screeching halt in front of the café.
A young Kurd in his early twenties jumped out, beaming. He wore western style clothing, including worn but clean blue jeans and an Old Navy t-shirt. His hair was shaggy and his beard thin, but when he smiled, his teeth were white and straight.
“Mr. Jack?” He spoke in accented English, his smile growing wider by the second.
“Kajir?” The young boy of twelve or thirteen, who’d helped his father prepare meals on the last Ararat expedition, nearly ten years before, had grown into a man. Jack hardly recognized him.
“When did you grow the beard?” he managed.
“It is very good to see you again. My father is very anxious to see you.”
A boy of thirteen or fourteen pushed open the creaky passenger door and stood next to his older brother.
“My little brother, Bazi.”
“Are we taking this truck to Dogubayazit?”
“Only part way. We must switch trucks before we reach the military checkpoints.” He pointed toward the cab. “Mr. Jack.”
Jack dropped a wad of currency on the table and stepped to the street, but before Jack could board the small truck, Bazi sped past him and climbed in, claiming the middle seat on the narrow bench. Kajir jammed the Toyota into gear and dropped the worn clutch. The truck lurched forward, gears grinding.
Kajir sped to the corner, spinning the steering wheel to the right. Jack thought for a moment, the Toyota might crash into a produce shop on the opposite side of the street, but the vehicle remained upright and untouched.
Outside Cappadocia, Kajir glanced at his worn Timex Ironman Triathlon watch. “We travel for only three more hours, safely. Then you must ride with the hay.”
***
Jack dozed as the Toyota weaved through traffic in the style that made driving in the Middle East more dangerous than a Kurdish ambush in the badlands. Finally, the truck slowed, waking Jack. They were rolling into a small village.
“This is where you must switch vehicles, Mr. Jack.” Kajir checked the rearview mirror, then slowly navigated the narrow streets, avoiding any unwanted attention.
“Yes!” Kajir pointed into a narrow alleyway. An ancient-looking flatbed truck bearing the familiar Mercedes Benz logo waited, idling. Its bed was stacked high with straw, making it appear top-heavy. Jack hoped it didn’t topple before they cleared the narrow streets of the village.
“Mr. Jack,” Kajir said. “We load your gear and drive to our village.” He pointed toward the large pile of straw. “You must climb underneath. Many Turkish checkpoints on the road. If we are stopped, you must not move or talk.”
Jack knew well that corruption and brutality reined at these remote checkpoints. The Turkish military shook down the Kurds at these stops and beatings, sexual assault, even murder were common events. If anything happened at one of the checkpoints, and the Turks found Jack, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He’d disappear like so many do in eastern Turkey, just another mystery out in the badlands, never to be solved.
To that end, Jack remembered how he’d told Jacob Badger about dropping a prayer, maybe two on a particularly hazardous climb, or series of events that seemed headed toward lethality.
He decided this situation fit perfect and he said a lengthy prayer under his breath. After a pause, he added that God should give Jacob Badger a break, if it turned out the DECISION was a squeaker, whether to let the old preacher into Heaven, or se
nd him south.
Jacob Badger might have sworn at the Big Man a time—maybe two, but Jack had never met a man whose heart was so much in the right place and who had suffered so, over the death of young David on Ararat.
Chapter 32
The Turkish soldiers at the roadblock shouted questions at Kajir over the roar of the engine. Kajir answered back in a non-conciliatory tone, sending a tingle down Jack’s spine. It felt strangely frustrating to be unable to watch the drama playing out only meters away.
Jack was buried at the bottom of the straw, two duffels tucked in, one on each side. He’d pulled a dirty blanket up over his face, to prevent from smothering and/or having his eyes gouged by the coarse straw. After five hours under the straw, he wasn’t sure what was worse: suffocating under the load or the nauseating odor coming from the blankets. The same blankets Bazi said were used for their horses.
More loud voices, and shouting.
If Kajir had given an inch or appeared nervous in any way, the soldiers would have searched the trucks for weapons or contraband. After an exchange of what Jack assumed were a plethora of mutual insults, the truck clunked into gear and lurched through the checkpoint.
Two hours later, Jack had to take a leak and was visualizing a plan to unzip one of the duffels, whilst in prone position, then rifle around the duffel for an empty water bottle, when the truck slowed again.
Not another checkpoint.
Instead of Turkish soldiers shouting and Kajir slamming on the brakes at the last second, the flatbed turned off the paved two-lane highway and trundled down a bumpy dirt road with ruts so deep the truck threatened to tip one side, then the other. The rough ride reminded Jack that he’d better start digging for the water bottle, but thankfully, the truck found smoother footing and after less than a half hour lurched to a stop.
Kurdish voices filled the air from every direction. Hands cleared the straw from the bed of the truck and a voice said, “Come out my friend—it is safe now.”