Curt cringed, feeling for the scissors in his pocket, not relishing the task before him but determined to get it done. Each passing second meant Scott, Cody, and Tina were in increasing danger. There was no time to hesitate.
The water was still and thick with detritus the river had claimed from the shore. A bird fluttered nearby, startling him. The gray heron squawked and glided over the surface of the creek, lifting out of sight over the tree line.
“Sure, just abandon me. I could’ve used a hand,” Curt snapped at the bird.
Curt hung the satchel on a nearby low hanging tree branch and stepped into the brackish water. It was colder than he had expected. Like the surface, the bottom was littered with debris concealed beneath the murky water. Curt shuffled outward, careful to gain footing before taking each step. Thank God he was wearing tennis shoes. A half-dozen short steps from shore, and the bottom tapered off quickly. Curt found himself in knee-deep water and rapidly descending. Three steps later, the water level had climbed to his waist.
A slight stir a few feet beyond the floating corpse drew his attention. The surface bubbled, and a scaly stretch of nose and two eyes lifted to the surface.
An alligator.
Curt instinctively retreated to shore.
“This is getting better and better.”
The alligator remained motionless with its broad back now breaching the surface. Judging by the size—close to nine feet—it was an adult. The creature seemed to watch Curt’s every movement, lured in by the gift of a free meal it no doubt coveted. The alligator would become aggressive if Curt tried to retrieve the corpse from the water.
Curt didn’t know what to do. On shore, he searched until he found a large stick. He returned to the edge of the creek and eased into it until he was ankle-deep. Using his right arm, he stretched the stick out over the water and smacked the surface repeatedly. He hoped the disruption would drive the reptile away. Instead, the alligator approached purposefully, opening its jaw and exposing its long mouth filled with sharp teeth. Inside, a fleshy, tattered bone with small appendages at one end jostled about until the creature closed its jaw, chewing the contents with a sickening crunch.
The alligator was consuming the man’s detached arm and fingers. Apparently the creature was already in the process of dining on the body when Curt interrupted its meal.
Crap.
Curt knew he had to get the cult member’s body away from the alligator quickly, or risk losing any chance to view the tattoo on the scalp, if one existed.
Again, he looked around. He needed a rope. If he could lasso the body and get it to shore, the alligator might be caught off-guard.
A splash brought Curt’s attention back to the floating body. The alligator had locked its jaws on the corpse’s head.
“No! Get away!” Curt yelled, taking a step into the water and again landing ankle-deep.
The alligator paid no attention. It made a series of snaps, each time catching the head of the cult member in its maw. With a last snap, it pulled a coating of skin away, revealing the stark white skull of the man.
“No, damn you! No!”
Frantically, Curt searched the shore for anything he could throw. He spotted several metal tent spikes and raced to them. He pulled three from the ground as fast as he could and ran back to the edge of the creek. The first one he tossed at the alligator missed miserably, landing several feet to the left. The second one was better aimed and struck the alligator on its broad back. Agitated, the creature let go of the exposed skull, slashing its head to the side. Curt tossed the third spike. It was a direct hit on the alligator’s snout. The massive beast turned violently, exploding across the surface then disappearing underneath the water.
Curt wasted no time. He waded out to the corpse, praying the alligator had been spooked from the area and wasn’t hovering just below the surface waiting to attack. Curt grabbed the arm of the corpse. The skin had a gelatinous feel that he would have found repulsive if he wasn’t so scared. Instead, adrenaline drove him to pull the arm, turn, and drag the bloated corpse toward shore. He nearly tripped as he negotiated the riverbed. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he reached the sharp, ascending bank and stepped through several inches of water toward shore. More out of water than in, the corpse was heavier now; no longer buoyant. A stench rose from the body that was nearly overpowering. Curt struggled not to vomit.
Just as he was about to draw the body onto land, the surface behind him exploded. In the shallow water, the alligator shot toward the corpse, viciously clamping onto the cult member’s leg. Curt refused to let go. In a morbid game of tug-of-war, Curt stumbled onto shore, valiantly pulling on the arm. He slipped on the muddy bank, fighting mightily against the pull of the alligator, which was determined to drag its meal back into the water.
“No!” Curt screamed at the scaly monster.
The alligator shook its head frantically then started a death roll, attempting to spin the body, but Curt was resilient, refusing to let go. Mud and water flew everywhere. Curt clambered higher onto shore, fearful that if the alligator got complete leverage, he would lose the corpse and possibly be dragged into the water for dessert. Curt fought to stand and regain his footing as the alligator briefly paused in its roll. Mud burned Curt’s eyes, but he didn’t dare release his grip on the body. To Curt’s chagrin, the creature resumed its death roll. The leg snapped off with a morbid crack. Muscle, tendons, and skin easily gave way under the creature’s pull. With the partial victory, the alligator took its prize and slipped back into the water, sinking beneath the stained surface.
Panting, Curt could barely believe he had just fought an alligator for a human corpse. He roused himself into action. Covered in mud, he stood and pulled the body far up onto shore, not stopping until he reached the tree line. He wasn’t taking any chances.
The waterlogged body of the cult member no longer resembled a human. One arm and one leg had been gnawed to stumps, and torn tendons and flaps of muscles dangled about.
Face down, Curt examined the skull. The alligator had ripped off a sizable area of scalp and hair. Nevertheless, he spent the next ten minutes clipping off the remaining hair.
The scalp was clear. There was no tattoo. “Sonofabitch.”
Pissed, wet, and still dripping mud, Curt dragged the body back to the waterline.
“He’s all yours,” Curt said.
His only chance of locating the third God Tool had just fizzled out.
****
When Curt returned to his car, he was filthy and reeked of mud. He threw the satchel in the seat beside him and picked up the cell to call Bar with the bad news.
“Did you find text?” she answered. Her tone was distracted.
“No, nothing. I did find reports containing aquifer and lightning strike data for this area. The lightning strike information is specific to the date of July 7th, for all the good that does me.”
“Check the following coordinates to see if they match any of the locations on the lightning strike report.”
Curt pulled the report from the satchel. “I’m ready.”
“29°56’30.50” N…81°36’53.61 W.”
Curt scanned the page. “Found it. It does match one of the lightning strikes. Where did you get those coordinates?”
“From Tolen’s watch. They’re on Bayard Point along the St. Johns River.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember Tolen logged the coordinates to the entrance of the shaft when we explored it.” Curt’s thoughts began to churn. “So lightning struck the cave entrance on July 7th. Wait, you said Tolen had mentioned rock fragments.”
“Does that mean something?”
“We found rock fragments at the entrance to the cave, and in Ed Leedskalnin’s account of discovering the tunnel to the caves in the 1920s; he mentioned sealing the entrance with a boulder.” The relevance suddenly became clear. “That must be it. The lightning strike on July 7th last year disintegrated the boulder, thus opening the entrance to the cave that led to
the Staff. On July 7th, I was part of the team at the Castillo de San Marcos that opened a sealed room which eventually led to our discovery of the Fish. Access to these two God Tools occurred on the same day: July 7th. That’s got to be how we might find the third God Tool before the COTE.”
CHAPTER 11
The significance of the July 7th date was encouraging. If they could find some event, something that had transpired on July 7th last year which had resulted in the opening of a sealed location, Curt might be able to pinpoint the last Tool before the cult. Unfortunately, it was now clear how his adversaries had worked with the information from the Scroll of Edict. He thought back to Fawn’s information regarding the stanza referencing the Staff:
Nature will free the second God Tool.
Fresh water turning red signifies its release.
The jeweled eyes see all in the sun’s light.
When in balance, the creature is the way.
It had been the line, “Fresh water turning red signifies its release,” which had led the cult to Green Cove Springs and to secure aquifer geological data after Clarence Little’s remains flowed through the springs. The first line, “Nature will free the second God Tool,” had led them to the possibility that lightning had played a role in freeing the Staff. Clearly, they were acting upon the text, an ancient scroll that’s accuracy was both tantalizing and frighteningly precise.
Given that the COTE had the rest of the scroll, this discovery of a common release date might be old news. Bar had agreed to take on the task of researching news stories and events on that date in hopes of finding something significant. Since the first two God Tools had been located in Northeast Florida, she would start her search there and expand outward. Whatever relevance there was to this area couldn’t be ignored. The problem was, whatever had occurred to give access to the third Tool might not have been newsworthy, like a random lightning strike on Bayard Point. Without the text of the stanza dealing with the third Tool, they had nothing else to go on. Bar’s search would be a long shot, but it was all they had.
****
After the battle with the alligator for the corpse, Curt was forced to drive back to his place in St. Augustine to shower and change his clothes. Before leaving his apartment, he noticed the arrowhead on the dining room table. He eyed it for a moment, then grabbed it and tucked it into his pocket. Curt considered the relic his good luck charm. He knew the notion was ridiculous for a man of science, but then again, science no longer seemed to apply to his situation. He would take all the luck he could possibly get.
On the return drive back to Orange Park Hospital to check on Sherri, Fawn, and Tolen, Curt suddenly realized everyone he cared about was either dead, in the hospital, or in an alternate universe. He felt a sense of loneliness he had never experienced in his life.
At the hospital, Sherri’s condition had not changed. Curt spent a few minutes in her room then took the elevator downstairs to Fawn’s room. To his surprise, both beds were empty. He left the room and headed directly to the nurses’ station.
“Excuse me,” Curt said to the nurse sitting behind the counter. She was the same woman who had shown him to the phone earlier. “Did Fawn Cortez-Roberson get moved to another room?”
“No, she’s been released. The doctor wanted to hold her for further observation, but she checked herself out. I feel so sorry for her, losing her husband like that, then finding out she’s pregnant.”
Curt nodded in agreement. “Thanks.” He was about to walk away when he spotted a dirty, slightly crumpled envelope on the counter off to the side. It was addressed to Fawn and unopened. “Did Fawn mean to leave this?”
“The envelope arrived after she checked out. We’ll mail it to her.”
“Looks like it’s been through the wringer.”
“One of the firefighters found it in the helicopter wreckage. He said her husband must have been bringing it to her when he picked her up. You know, no one can explain what happened yesterday when the St. Johns swelled like that. Some fanatics are calling it a Biblical event. Some say the cresting river is a sign of the Apocalypse.”
Curt shrugged, biting his tongue. “Yeah, and no one wants that.”
The nurse rose and left the station. Curt started to leave, then stopped. He returned to the counter and eyed the envelope. The postmark date was four days ago. There was no return address. It had dark smudge marks and smelled of oil. Curt checked to make sure no one was looking and slipped the envelope into his pocket.
Curt walked to the elevators and pressed the down button. He was concerned about Fawn’s mental state, wishing she had remained in the hospital. Now he could deliver the letter to Fawn in person, which gave him a reason to drive to Fernandina Beach and check on her.
The doors opened, and Curt stepped onto the elevator. Before the doors closed, another man stepped on. He was a thin man, probably in his late thirties, with dark, dirty hair that reached his shoulders. He wore blue jeans and a tee shirt under an olive green Member’s Only jacket. Curt hadn’t seen a Member’s Only jacket since the late eighties when he received one as a Christmas gift at age thirteen.
The man stood to the side of Curt. When the elevator reached the first floor, Curt hesitated in order to let the other man go first. When he remained stationary, Curt took the initiative and departed. He strolled down the hallway to the hospital entrance and through the pneumatic doors that opened and closed with a swish. The sun was shining and the air felt super-heated. As Curt made his way to the outdoor parking area, he heard the swish of the doors once again. He turned to see Member’s Only coming in his direction. A blond man in a charcoal gray suit and tie passed Curt but never made eye contact.
Curt continued toward his car, but something had him on alert. He casually glanced behind to see the man from the elevator still walking in his direction.
Am I being paranoid, or is Member’s Only following me? And why the hell is he wearing a jacket in ninety-six-degree weather?
Instead of continuing to his car, Curt decided to veer off to the right. In his peripheral vision, he saw the man adjust toward him. It wasn’t just his imagination. The man was following him. Now Curt had a decision to make: run or face the man. He liked his odds better of outrunning him.
Curt took off at a dash. The other man broke into a run. Curt had no idea where he was going, but he knew he could not make it to the car without the man catching him. He raced around the side of the building and found an alleyway. With any luck, he could pass through the alley and widen the gap between them, then circle behind the building, return to the main parking area, and reach his car.
Entering the alley proved to be a mistake. The narrow passage ended not far ahead as the two buildings linked together. Curt wheeled around, prepared to defend himself. The man stopped a dozen feet away, huffing—obviously winded from the short run. He pulled out a pistol, and Curt felt a deep stab of fear.
The man glimpsed behind him to make sure no one was around before aiming the gun at Curt’s chest.
“What do you want with me?” Curt said in a loud voice, hoping someone in the parking lot might hear.
“For you to shut your face, turn around and walk forward,” the man growled.
When Curt didn’t move, the man raised his hand and leveled the gun at Curt’s head. “Now,” he said gnashing his teeth.
Reluctantly, Curt faced away from the killer, considering his options. Fear locked his mind, but he forced himself to think. There were no doors or windows ahead, just solid wall. He saw nothing on the ground to pick up and throw and nowhere to find cover from gunfire. How could he have been so stupid to trap himself like this?
“Hey, mate, do you have the time?” Curt heard a voice behind him say.
“Get the hell…” Member’s Only’s words ended abruptly with a smack. Curt whirled around to see the thin man land on the ground unconscious. Hovering over him was the blond man in the charcoal gray suit Curt had passed leaving the hospital.
The well-dressed man
bent down, retrieved the pistol which had fallen nearby, and stood back up, eyeing Curt. “You all right, Dr. Lohan? I recognized you from the photo Agent Bar sent me. Did you lose to this bloke in a card game?” The man had a decidedly Aussie accent. He deposited the pistol in his pocket and approached Curt.
Curt’s mind finally snapped out of the fear. He saw the small scar underneath the man’s right sideburn. “You’re the FBI agent—the one sent to guard Tolen.”
“Special Agent Link Johnsten.” He proffered his hand. “I just got here when I happened to see this man following you. Do you know him?”
Curt studied the man’s face. “Never seen him before. He followed me from inside the hospital.”
“He’s no professional, I can tell you that.”
Curt started to bend down but paused to look at Johnsten. “He’s out cold. You sure you didn’t hit him with a tire iron?”
“No, mate. I just slugged him. He has a glass jaw.”
“So how does an FBI agent have an Australian accent?”
“My father was the U.S. Ambassador to Australia. I was born and raised in Perth. I’m a U.S. citizen and can speak without the accent when needed, but it comes naturally.”
“I bet you have to explain that a lot.”
“You have no idea, mate.” He pointed down at the man. “Is that really a Member’s Only jacket?”
“That’s a piece of history.”
“We could have him arrested for a fashion offense. I’ll take care of him with local authorities. Bar said you can’t be tied up.”
Curt knelt and gently rolled the man’s head to the side. He feathered through the man’s hair, searching for any tattoos that might be under the scalp. Then he pivoted the head in the other direction, again brushing hair aside. He found nothing.
“What are you looking for?”
End in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 3) Page 5