Obviously, it was a satellite view of the bald spot, an irregular circle of bare ground between once-forested ridges. Near the center was the ruined airplane and the dismembered wing.
“That’s the crash site. Weird, huh?”
Nabor handed him a second photo. “And this.”
It was also shot from above and depicted snow-covered flatlands that could have been anywhere in South Central Alaska, except for a small odd structure that Jace recognized as the ruins of the rebuilt cabin on Trapper’s Slough.
“Oh my god, somebody burned it down.”
“Tell us what it is.”
“It’s a cabin — was a cabin — on park land near the Mizina.”
“Do you know who burned it down?”
“Not a clue.”
Whether or not the agents noticed Jace’s lie, they continued with the interview.
Nabor pulled out a final photo, and this one got Jace’s heart beating. It was his own snow circle, the satellite view he had tried and failed to find online. Printed in the margin were the GPS coordinates and the date. The picture had been taken the day after Jace saw the mysterious object fall to Earth.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Nabor said, “you’re an expert on this one.”
“As much as anyone, I guess. How did you get this? How did you link it to me?”
Nabor ignored his questions and said, “Tell us about it.”
Jace didn’t know where to start. He wondered how much the government already knew or if this photo only came to light when the other circle, the bald spot several miles away, became a federal case.
“Gladly,” he said. “Do you believe in aliens?”
“As in Mexicans.”
“No, space aliens, like E.T.”
JACE TOLD THEM everything, from the moment he saw the descending light and cone of welder’s glass, and his days of searching for evidence, to meeting the soul-sucking giant tulip, the death march to the Bunyans’, and meeting the Prophecy boys on the trail. When he finished, the agents asked him to start from the beginning and go through his account again, and then again. Unlike the earlier stuff, they really drilled down on his firsthand experience. With each iteration Jace remembered a few more details, such as the lack of any sound or odor associated with the artifact. They asked him to sketch its appearance, and he did so on a blank sheet of paper. They scratched their heads when they looked at the drawing, and Nabor held it up and said, “So, it’s your assertion that this thing, this ten-foot-tall glass tulip thing, is still at this location.”
“No, I asserted nothing of the sort. When I recovered my strength the next day, I went back out there with Ranger Masterson, but it was gone by then.”
“Gone.”
“Someone had chipped it out of the ice and removed it. And I think I know who.”
“Who.”
“Who else? The Prophecys.” Jace told them about the airstrip showdown, the boundary survey standoff, the depleted mine and its newly fortified entrance, the scofflaw cabin, and everything else he could think of to shut down Poppy and his boys. Why not? Especially since it was all true.
Nabor said, “You saw the Prophecys remove the artifact, or you saw it in their possession.”
Jace had to admit that he hadn’t. “But I know they took it.”
“How.”
“Because . . .” Well, he didn’t know for sure. For all he knew, someone from April Creek might have stumbled across it and taken it away. Maybe someone was lying in a remote cabin somewhere sucked dry of all life. None of the Prophecys had come to such an end, as far as he could tell.
It was nearly 10:00 a.m. when the agents got up to leave. They cautioned him to keep their visit confidential while they continued their investigation. Their outerwear, which Jace hadn’t noticed when they arrived, was of arctic expedition grade and brand new.
Jace went back to bed, relieved to be finally free of his secret.
FD2 1.0
RORY LAWTHER CAME into the Greatland Action Sports office during one of his breaks. His dad was running fingers through his thinning hair while he talked on the phone, never a good sign.
“I see,” Rex said into the mouthpiece, “and when do you think you’ll be running regular . . . I see. No, I’m . . . yes. I see. Thank you. Good-bye.”
Rex hung up the phone and mopped his face with his hands, another not-good sign.
“What?” Rory said, popping open a Dr. Pepper.
“Walthers called. There was an accident out near McHardy. The mail plane went down. Ned Nellis died in the crash.”
Rory’s heart stopped for an infinite moment. “Ginger?”
“What? No, thank God. She wasn’t aboard. No one was except Ned.”
Rory collapsed in a chair and breathed again. His sister was all right. “Do they know what happened?”
“Not yet. I just spoke to the mechanic in Gulkana, and he says the NTSB is on the scene. He says Nellis Air will be resuming operations in a week or two. Terry Nellis will be taking over for his dad. You remember Terry?”
A distant memory of a scrawny kid playing Mario Bros. with him came to mind, and he suddenly remembered father and son. Ned had been his Dad’s friend from when he lived in Valdez, before Rory was born. The Nellises had come to visit them in Wallis when he was little. His dad’s old friend had died; that was why he was so upset.
“They should be up and running when Ginger is due to fly out,” Rex continued. “And Terry knows the area well. If he’s half the pilot his dad was, I feel confident that she’ll be in good hands.” As though turning a page, Rex glanced at the clock and said, “Things slow down out there?”
“Yeah.” Two days after Christmas, the showroom was dead.
“Then why don’t you go home?”
“I need the hours.”
“Suit yourself.”
Rex returned to his paperwork, and Rory spent some time checking his phone, and then he set down his Dr. Pepper and said, “I got an idea. Why don’t we drive out there and surprise her? We could take Mom and make a weekend out of it. Sadie can run the store. We had a good year, didn’t we? We deserve it.”
His dad didn’t automatically say no, which was a good sign.
FD3 1.0
THERE WAS A soft knock on the prayer cabin door.
“What?” Poppy shouted.
“It’s me, lord, Hosea. The angel wants to see you.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know, lord. She didn’t say, but she said it was doubly urgent.”
Hosea, whose foot was blistered but felt much better, limped up the tailings slide with his father. When they reached the ramp on the first level, Hosea told Poppy that the angel wasn’t in the break room as before; she was in the cistern chamber.
The cistern chamber. Poppy knew where this was heading. He went to the break room anyway to check that the marble was still there. It was, on the table where they’d placed it. He returned to the ramp, and they climbed two levels. When they entered the cistern chamber, the archangel Martha was standing on the water’s surface. The radiance of her body was much diminished, and her wings were charred sticks. As she walked across the water to them, she winced with each step. Her long mahogany hair hung limp and dull at her shoulders, and her halo was missing. Her once-sheer gown had turned coarse and grey. She clearly was not healing but only hanging on.
“Greetings, Master Prophecy,” she said in a tired voice. “Thank you for coming without delay. There is news. My fear of Black Obama finding us had been justified. Three of his officers are even now charging across the landscape on their way here. They will arrive within the hour.”
Like flipping a switch, Poppy was instantly on. “There’s no time to lose!” he declared. “We’re throwing the bolt! Son, go down to gather the family. Tell them to bring only what they can carry. Then collect your guns and loose ammo and —”
“I prithee stay!” Martha said, raising a once-resplendent arm. “And allow me to finish.”
Hose
a halted, and he and Poppy turned back to the angel.
“With the respect due you, Master Prophecy, as I’ve already told you, your redoubt, while effective against marauders and brigands, will be no obstacle to the powers of the Antichrist.
“You humans have advanced the machinery of war to such an extent that we angels can no longer watch when you take up arms against each other. We weep as your armies crush your enemies into bloody pulp. Much of your weaponry is immoral on its face and used in a cruel and ungodly manner.
“One small missile is all it would take to obliterate your gate and any of your sons guarding it.
“Nay, do not, as you say, throw the bolt, Master Prophecy. Not yet. It is premature.”
“Then, what do you figure we should do? You said three of Obama’s men are on their way.”
“I propose that you do not resist these men, except to show your displeasure. Hide the key to the pit where they cannot find it and let them have the run of the keep, going wherever they want. Let them search until they are content, and they will leave you in peace. For now.”
Poppy clearly was not sold on the idea.
Hosea said, “Lord, they won’t be looking for the key.”
“They won’t?”
“No, lord. They don’t even know about it. Remember, you and Adam dug the trumpet out of the ice. The rangers never even saw the marble.”
“Your son is correct,” Martha said. “They will seek only the trumpet. And they will not find it because it no longer exists.”
Poppy smiled through his shaggy beard. “All right, we’ll do it your way. I’ll find a place to hide the key.”
“But, lord,” Hosea said, “what about Ginger? They’ll discover her in the powder room and use her against us. They’ll say we kidnapped her or something.”
This too was true. Poppy looked to the angel for an answer.
“Worry not, Master Prophecy. There is still time for you to spirit her away somewhere for a few hours.”
“Which trail are the feds using to come here?”
The angel glanced over her shoulder. “The one that hugs the skirts of the mountain.”
Hosea said, “The Mizina spur.”
“Good,” Poppy said. “Find your brothers and spread the alarm.” He removed the Bearcat key from his bib pocket. “Tell Proverbs to take his betrothed to his cabin for the rest of the day. Tell Deut to go along. Tell them not to come back till dinnertime. Then bring the angel’s marble up here. Quick now. Then clean up the powder room. Get the cot and stuff out of there. Get the boys to help you.”
When Poppy and the angel were alone, the angel said, “Where are you thinking of hiding the key?”
“I’ll find some nook or cranny in one of the dead-end tunnels. It’s small enough.”
“You already know my choice for a hiding place, Master Prophecy, and I will not repeat my argument except to emphasize how ruinous it would be if Obama’s men removed the key from this sanctuary.”
“Duly noted.”
“And to look forward to the aftermath of this crisis.”
“Explain.”
“I am convinced by now that my beacon has failed, and I believe I know why. It lacked the necessary fuel. On Earth, you cannot raise a signal fire without sufficient fuel. I pray we try again, send up a second flare, but this time tap into a much more heavenly energy source.”
“I don’t understand. What heavenly energy source?”
“The forces that the Father uses to glue together all of His creation down to its tiniest bits.” When Poppy didn’t immediately understand, the angel continued, “What you call atomic energy. In Heaven we have watched with alarm the unfolding disaster at the Fukushima-Daiichi nuclear power plant. Since its destruction last year, abundant energy escapes freely into the sea and sky. We could concentrate some of that energy to fuel our flare.”
Poppy vaguely recalled news stories about this. A nuclear disaster in Korea or Japan or one of the other yellow nations. At the time, he’d taken it as divine retribution for the region’s godlessness, and he had shed no tears for their misfortune (as long as their radioactive dust didn’t drift over Alaska).
“That’s a long ways away. How do you expect to get the flare over there?”
“One of your sons would need to take it there in person. I think Adam is competent to do so, and his love for the Father is strong. But the journey would not be without risk, and he might never return.”
“You want me to sacrifice one of my sons for this?”
“Yes, but only if he is willing. Behold, Master Prophecy, much sacrifice is demanded from each of us in desperate times.” Her own sacrifice was on open display in her suffering and weakness. “But there are worse fates than martyrdom. Martyrs to the Father’s cause are exalted in Heaven for all time.”
“WHAT TOOK YOU so long?” Poppy complained when Hosea returned, out of breath from pushing a hand truck up the ramp.
“Sorry, lord. I came as fast as I could.”
“What’s all this?” The golden marble lay in an old coffee can sitting in a wooden crate on the hand truck.
“It’s heavy, lord, even for me.”
The marble appeared to be the same size as before, but his son was right, and Poppy needed both hands to lift the coffee can. It must have weighed thirty pounds (14 kg).
“All right. Go now. There’s plenty to do.” He turned to the angel. “How do you explain this key getting so heavy?”
“Actually, it’s not any heavier. The key seeks its appointed lock, which is located in the underworld, and strains toward it.”
That made sense, of a sort. Poppy held the coffee can at the edge of the cistern and peered into the depths. “Say I drop this in. How deep is the bottom?”
“The key knows no bottom.”
Well, that sounded profound, but unhelpful. How would they be able to get the marble out again?
Poppy decided against the cistern. He used the hand truck to take the key further up the third-level tunnel. Most of the excavation in this part of the mine had been exploratory in nature, and the tunnel and spurs were narrow and rough. The angel followed him well beyond the point he had ever explored on his own. From reports by his sons, Poppy knew of a particular excavation on the left side of the tunnel that had seemed promising to the miners of old. They had discovered a vein there that assayed eighty percent pure copper, richer than the ore in the main chamber on the second level. But it had been an anomaly, and the vein terminated only a few dozen yards in, so they backfilled the excavation and abandoned it. When Poppy found the site, his headlamp revealed a floor-to-ceiling jumble of broken limestone debris.
“There’s a good spot,” Poppy said to the angel, pointing at a large boulder sitting partway up the rock pile. He strained to haul the coffee can up to it. The angel neither helped nor objected, and Poppy tipped the can and spilled the heavy marble into a dark crevice in the rocks. It might be difficult to ferret it out later, but not as hard as recovering it from the bottom of the cistern.
FD4 1.0
SOMEONE WAS ROUSING her from a long winter’s nap. “Ginger, it’s me, Deut. Wake up. We have to go.”
“Deut?”
The cell was bright with the light of several LED lanterns.
“Yes, it’s me.” Deut kept her distance from her former friend so she wouldn’t accidentally inhale a demon. “Get up. We’re going.”
“Going where?”
A boy outside the door said, “What’s taking so long?”
“Proverbs?”
“No, it’s Corny,” Deut said. “We’re leaving this place. Can you sit up?”
“Are you helping me escape?”
Deut didn’t know how to answer truthfully and so said nothing.
“Are my parents here?”
“Just hurry, Ginger, please. Proverbs has a sno-go ready for us. Let’s put your boots on, okay?”
Ginger sat up. She was already wearing her parka, hat, mittens, and every other stitch of clothing Proverb
s had brought her.
“I have to pee,” she said.
Deut told Corny to leave the doorway, and Ginger emptied her bladder in the honey bucket. When she was done, Deut called the boy to begin cleaning up. He, too, avoided getting too close to their guest.
Deut grabbed up an armful of sleeping bags and led Ginger out of the cell. Days of fasting and forced bed rest had weakened the once athletic girl, and she made slow progress down the tunnel and slide. Proverbs awaited them at the bottom with the family’s new sno-go and a sled. Both girls got into the sled, and Proverbs covered them with the sleeping bags. Then he drove through the yard, past the house, and up the Stubborn Mine Trail. Ginger closed her eyes dreaming they were bouncing along to town and the community airstrip where her dad was waiting.
Proverbs drove at a modest speed and didn’t stop until they reached the fork in the trail. To the left was the trail to Trapper’s Slough and his cabin. Straight ahead would take them to the Bunyan place, where Ginger probably preferred to go. He looked back at her in the sled. Her big, beautiful eyes were shut. She was asleep, and it was up to him to decide her future. It was his responsibility to do what was best for her.
So he turned left to his cabin. Someday, when she was restored to grace, she would thank him.
FD5 1.0
WHEN POPPY RETURNED to the big house, Adam and Hosea were waiting for him.
“Are we ready?” he asked them.
Adam said, “Yes, lord.”
“The angel says to string them along.”
“How do we do that, lord?”
“Refuse to cooperate at first and see what they do. Make ’em have to work for it, but eventually give in and bring ’em up to the keep. Let ’em have free run of the place. They’ll be hunting for the trumpet because that’s all they know about.”
He glanced out the window. “Is Proverbs and the girl away?”
“Yes, lord, with Deut.”
“Good. Now, where’s breakfast?”
Sue, who was spoon-feeding Mama P in the warm corner, set the bowl down and went to the kitchen. The children had already eaten lunch, and they were silently skulking about. Even the two babies had the good sense to keep their big heads down.
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