Chapter 1

Morning Star

Prologue

Phelps Kansas

April 23, 1947

 

Part 1

 

The crash of the screen door, raced through the house like a shotgun blast. Loud footsteps tromped through the entrance hallway, waking the sleeping cat contently napping on the steam radiator. The footsteps stopped and the room fell still. Only the sound of the rain tapping on the tin shed outside broke the silence. In the center of the room stood a terrified young man, dripping water on the floor and shaking from the cold. For a moment, the room was quiet and the cat laid its head back down, squeezing its eyes shut for another nap.

"Mother!" screamed the boy from the kitchen. "Mother help! Dad’s been hurt!"

The stillness was again broken, but this time by the sound of hurried, muffled footsteps from above. He looked up and listened to the footsteps scrambling from the upstairs bedroom, across the hallway and down the staircase. The door swung open at the bottom of the staircase striking the wall behind. His mother entered the kitchen and stood, panicked, winded and wide-eyed. Before her stood a boy of fifteen years of age, soaked from head to toe, and covered in mud. His horrified mother looked into his eyes perceived his fear, and hot lead shot through her veins.

"What is it Jesse?" she asked. It was hard for her to remain calm.

"It’s Pa!" he cried. "The tractor rolled him over and he’s stuck underneath!"

She stared at him in disbelief, lost in the moment of confusion, keeping her eyes riveted to his.

"Is he alright?" she asked. Her hands began to tremble, and she tingled all over.

"I don’t know," he replied. “He looks real bad, you need to call the sheriff," he cried, "And the neighbor’s." The boy looked out the window at the storm. He was lost in a daze. " I need to get back out there," he said with a tremble in his voice.

"Go!" his mother, yelled at him. "Do what you can, I’ll get help!"

He scrambled back out of the kitchen letting the screen door slam behind him. Quickly, he dashed through the front gate, through the mud, to his pick-up truck idling outside the house. He opened the door and jumped inside slamming the door shut behind him.

His mother ran to the phone and turned the crank until the operator came on the line.

"Central, how may I place your call?" the operator asked.

"I need the sheriff!" she cried. "My husband’s been in an accident!"

"Hold the line and I will connect you," the operator replied.

Depressing the clutch, the boy shifted the truck into gear and spun out on the mud-covered driveway. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight, and his heart began to race as he turned the corner, heading towards the barn. The windshield wiper swished back and forth clearing the rain from his view, and he strained to keep control of the vehicle on the soft ground. The boy passed the woodshed and drove to the barn.

He slid to a halt, put on the brake, and jumped out of the truck letting it idle on the muddy roadway. His first steps were uneasy, slipping on the rain soaked ground finding it difficult to balance. Steadying himself, he ran to the tool shed attached to the hay barn. Once inside, he pushed aside a wheelbarrow and knocked over several pitchforks in attempting to locate a section of tow chain that he knew was buried under a pile of sheet metal stored inside.

Pushing an oil barrel aside, he located the chain under a pile of rusted machine parts and gripped it firmly. He stood and pulled hard. The chain dislodged abruptly from under the pile knocking him off balance, knocking him to the ground. He reached up to get a grip on the workbench, and cut his hand on a sharp edge of angle iron. With no time to waste, he gathered the chain into his arms and lifted.

The chains’ massive weight strained his shoulders and back and its length was awkward to control. Scrambling to his feet, he darted out into the rain and lifted the chain into the back of the truck. The liquid steel mass of chain landed with the rattle of a metallic snake. He opened the truck door and jumped inside, wiping the water from his eyes, smearing blood and grease across his face and neck.

Looking in his rearview mirror, the boy saw his mother standing at the doorway of the house watching him. He knew the phone call to the sheriff was made and help must be on its way. This comforted him some as he slammed his foot down on the clutch and grabbed the gearshift. Mud shot out from under the rear tires and he spun out down the road towards his father.

"Hold on dad!" he said out loud. His attempts to keep the truck centered on the road ahead were strained by the abnormal slant of the surface, combined with the slippery mud. Past the barn, the road dipped slightly, declining past the bullpen towards the pasture. The road then evened off for a hundred yards to the cattle gate at the far end. He scanned out his drivers’ side window noticing the bull, ankle deep in water, standing in its pen by the feed troth. The bulls’ dark eyes followed the truck as it past by seemingly unaffected by the storm. His father was feeding the cattle when the accident happened, and seeing the bull reminded him of what his father was doing, making him flush with anger.

It was over a mile though the pasture to where his father was lying pinned under his John Deere. He past through the open gate to the pasture, finding the ground more solid. He was able to drive alongside the road, on the grass avoiding sinking in any farther, making better time to the accident scene.

The sky was gray, and the rain continued to pour as flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder shot across the countryside. Scanning through the windshield, he could see his father’s cattle gathered together in a huddle. The cattle had been congregated around the tractor while his father was dumping hay on the ground, but for some reason they had now moved off some distance from where they once were.

As he came over the hill, he now realized why the cattle had moved off. The John Deere tractor was scarcely visible over the horizon, and sinking slowly into the soft ground. He parked the truck thirty feet from the accident scene, and exited the vehicle. Running as close to the tractor as he could, he searched for his father who was pinned underneath. To his astonishment, he could no longer see him.

A large sinkhole had formed, and the tractor was slowly being swallowed up along with his father. Mud and water were puddled at the bottom threatening to drown his father before he would be saved.

"Dad!" Jesse yelled down to his father.

Silence. Then a moan and cry of pain.

"Dad! The sheriff is on the way."

Jesse stepped in closer and felt the ground start to give way under his feet near the edge of the crater. He backed off and watched the mud sliding down the embankment, into the hole from where he had stepped and moved back a safe distance. Jesse ran around the edge to get a better look at his father and realized he was no longer making any sounds. The hole, already six feet deep, was visibly getting deeper by the minute, and his father was difficult to see under the tractor.

Surrounding the John Deere were bubbles that surfaced from below the water, creating the illusion of the tractor boiling in a pond. His father was no longer visible and he struggled to get a better view running back and forth near the edge of the hole. The splatter of rain on the pasture and the beating of his heart were the only sounds audible now. He needed to act now or lose his father forever.

Wiping his hands on his jacket, he turned around and ran back towards the truck, which was idling quietly alone in the rain. He found it difficult to run, slipping and sliding on the wet ground falling to his knees, muddying his trousers. Once reaching the truck, he lifted the door handle, got inside and stepped on the clutch. The gearshift was pushed into first gear and he slowly moved the truck forward towards the hole. Edging at a snail’s pace, feeling out the soft ground, he drove until he could no longer see the hole over the hood of the truck and stopped.

Letting the truck idle, he jumped out, ran to the back and dropped the tailgate. He leaned over and grasped the tow chain with both hands, pulling it to the open end with a loud scraping sound. The cuts in his hand burned as he lifted the chain out and drug it around to the front of the truck where he fastened one end to the bumper with the hook. The other end of the chain he dropped down the edge of the hole, letting it splash in the puddle of water next to the tractor. He noticed the tractor was now nine feet deep and still sinking.

"Hold on Pa!" the boy, yelled as he shimmied down the chain to the tractor below. The mud and water made his grip on the chain shaky at best. Holding tightly, he slid slowly down the embankment to the overturned tractor at the bottom. Near the bottom, he reached out to the axle of the John Deere and used it as leverage to put his leg on the frame. He pulled himself on top of the only solid object around him and balanced on the narrow frame.

"Dad! Are you ok?" Jesse asked, craning his neck to look under the tractor. With no response, he grabbed the chain and started wrapping it around the axle, pulling out as much slack as he could. When the slack was completely used, he connected the hook on the end to the chain itself and looked back up at the edge of the hole, which was getting further and further away. The chain became taut as they slowly descended deeper into the hole, causing the tractor to shift with the moving ground.

Jesse grabbed the chain and with all his strength began to climb up; knowing at any moment the chain could give way and snap back at him injuring him severely. The grease of the chain in combination with the mud, water and blood made his journey difficult at best, impossible at worst. Hand over hand he continued upwards unwilling to let his father die this way, not looking back.

At the rim he was belly flat on the mud kicking and straining to find solid ground. Every bit of struggle sent more mud and rock sliding down to the bottom of the hole splashing water on the tractor and his father. He could hear plopping sounds from below as the mud clods broke the plane of the water surface.

At the top of the hole, he rolled over on his back and struggled to stand. He ran back to the truck, which was still in idle, and put it in reverse. Slowly he gave it gas attempting to pull the tractor out of the hole. Maybe from a lack of experience, maybe from the excitement of the moment, the boy did not realize that this chain had no way of ever pulling the massive weight of the tractor out of the hole. He did not even realize that he may be injuring his father, or even be killing him.

The tires spun and lost traction. The truck slid forward, closer and closer to the hole while the tires spun in the opposite direction. The boy’s heart now was in his throat and he felt a hot flush now realizing his mistake. He immediately turned off the engine, leaving it in gear, and stopped the wheels from moving. He then set the parking break and looked out his window to see if this stopped his forward progress. The movement had slowed, but he now heard the sound of the bolts in the bumper starting to creak and snap.

From behind, he heard the unmistakable sounds of police sirens and turned to see two vehicles passing through the pasture gate. An overwhelming feeling of relief struck him, knowing help was on its way. Sheriffs’ car was followed by his neighbors’ red grain truck, which was more suited to the muddy ground with its wide tires.

Just then, the bottom gave way in the sinkhole, and the rear of the tractor fell in leaving the entire support of its weight on the chain. The pickup truck jolted, quickly picked up momentum and slid towards the hole. The closer it slid, the quicker the pace picked up, and the more terrified the boy became.

Grasping the door handle, he lifted it and shoved out. He was too late to get out, and the truck was pulled into the hole disappearing from view. Jesse’s mother, riding in the patrol car, could hear the sound of metal on metal as tears welled up in her eyes again.

Part 2

 

Two hours passed until the sheriff could locate a construction crane and transport it out to the accident scene. The rural fire fighters did not have the type of heavy equipment necessary to retrieve such a heavy object from so far below, and had to scramble to find something suited for a job of this nature. The pickup truck had come to rest on top of the submerged tractor; the truck half buried in the soft mud.

By this time the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the scene was a mess of emergency vehicles, emergency personnel, and horrified bystanders. The hole receded twenty-five feet and the vehicles at the bottom came to a final rest, no longer sinking deeper into the Earth. The crane was belching black smoke and the operator swung it into position over the pickup truck. A hook was attached to the cable, and a man hung from a strap attached to the hook, dangling precariously above the hole. Jesse’s mother cried as she watched the man descend into the hole to retrieve her son.

"Ten more feet!" a fireman yelled to the crane operator. The cable slowed its descent and everyone watched the action unfold. "Hold it!" he yelled and the cable came to a halt. The man on the cable unhooked himself and balanced on the drivers’ side of the truck cab. He bent over and wiped mud away from the window trying to see the boy inside.

A moment later he yelled, "He’s alive!" to the amazement of the crowd. The man tried in vain to open the door, which was jammed shut in the crash.

"We have to take the whole thing out!" he yelled to the sheriff standing watch over the entire operation. Hearing this, the sheriff ran to the crane operator and spoke with him briefly. The operator nodded his head and the sheriff returned to his post alongside the sinkhole.

"Can you tie the cable around the axle?" the sheriff yelled to the man in the hole.

"Yes," he replied and he returned to the task at hand.

Minutes later the rescuer gave the ok and he climbed back up onto the cable, keeping his feet on the steel ball above the hook. The sheriff gave the signal and the submerged truck jerked hard almost knocking off the man on the cable. A moment later the truck gave out a groan as it lifted out of the pool. Mud poured out from the bed and cab as it slowly rose from the depths below.

"Hold it!" yelled the sheriff to the crane operator, noticing the chain was still attached to the bumper of the pickup truck and sunken tractor. The sheriff gave the signal to lower the truck again and stopped it when the chain went slack. The rescuer then leaned out over the hood and disconnected the chain letting it disappear into the mud below. The crane lifted again taking up cable, until the truck was clear of the hole. It then slowly swung to the left, hovering over solid ground. The sheriff waved his hand and the crane operator gently set the truck down.

The firemen and sheriff’s deputies rushed to the vehicle and tried in vain to open the doors that were jammed shut from the force of impact. One of the firemen, axe in tow, broke out the glass on the passenger side window allowing the firemen to extract Jesse to safety. The boy was laid to the ground conscious and lucid.

"Mother!" he yelled to the crowd wiping mud from his eyes.

"Jesse!" his mother shouted back as she pushed through the crowd. She knelt down; her heart filled with relief as a huge weight was lifted from her spirits.

"I’m sorry," he cried. "I tried to get him out."

"I know," his mother replied, tears streamed down her face.

The boy was set on a stretcher and placed into the ambulance. His mother watched as the ambulance drove away with her son. She wandered back over to the sinkhole and looked down into the pool knowing her husband was still under the tractor beneath the pool of muddy brown water.

It was getting late and the gray skies had started to turn red. It was difficult to see anything now and she asked for a ride to the hospital. Over the horizon the sun, hidden behind the clouds, was setting for the evening. The task of body recovery would have to wait until morning. The crowd dispersed and night set in.

Part 3

 

The next morning an attempt was made to recover the dead man’s body. The skies were now clear and the storm had blown over the night before. The sun, rising over the horizon, reflected in the pool at the bottom of the sinkhole shooting a shimmer of red light against the side of the pit. The water was still.

 

Two men were lowered into the hole on the crane wearing fishing waders and rubber boots. Attached to the giant hook on the end of the cable were several heavy-duty construction chains capable of supporting the weight of the tractor.

Penetrating the surface of the mud, the men felt around in the slime for key places to attach the chains to the frame securing it as best they could. They signaled the crane to lift, and it groaned and whined as it pulled the massive beast out of the sucking mud, into daylight.

The tractor rose out of the hole dripping mud and water back into the pit from whence it came. It was swung out of the hole and was placed next to the smashed pickup truck. The truck was still covered with drying mud and dents covered its surface. Frustrated, the sheriff stood alongside the rim of the hole with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in dismay. He stared blankly down at the muddy pool below where the tractor once was.

On the left bank of the hole something caught his eye. It looked like a cavern carved into the north bank of the crater. The cavern was revealed when the mud level dropped after the tractor was removed from the pool. The tunnel was a graceful half-moon shape penetrating into the side extending less then ten feet above the surface. Mud had entered into the cavern, and it was slowly draining back into the main sinkhole. "Was this the reason for the sinkhole?" the sheriff thought to himself. "An underground cavern?" This required more investigation than he was capable of.

A bucket attachment originally designed to haul concrete was connected to the crane and dropped into the mud below with a splash. They found it useful in removing the sediments one cubic yard at a time quickening the pace of recovery considerably. The bucket took out large bites reducing the quantities of mud very quickly, draining the cavern even faster, and revealing how massive it actually was.

It wasn’t long before the bucket found pay dirt grabbing the dead man’s leg in its steel jaws. The sheriff gave a signal and the body was hauled from its Earthly grave, dripping and lifeless. Its arms dangled down like a rag doll in a dog’s mouth shaking back and forth with the motion of the crane. The long arm swung to the right and hovered above solid ground, releasing the body, letting it crumple to the ground. The sheriff called the ambulance to pick up the body, meanwhile covering it with a tarp so bystanders and family members would not see it.

With the remains recovered, the situation was now officially over as far as the law was concerned. The sheriff though had a personal curiosity as to the nature of the cavern carved into the side of the hole. The amount of mud extracted from it led him to believe it was of a massive size needing to be investigated by someone with knowledge of geology.

A call was made to the University of Kansas geology department to see if he could contact an interested party.

 

 

Part 4

 

Two days later a car with Kansas State plates and a university logo painted on the side pulled up to the farmhouse to meet the sheriff. Two men exited the vehicle and approached the sheriff who was standing alone in his brown and black uniform. One man put out his hand.

"Dr. Stan West," he stated shaking the officer’s hand.

"Chad Hine, grad assistant," the other man said. He did not offer his hand.

"I’m glad you decided to come out," the sheriff told them, "This is a long way from Manhattan."

"No problem," Dr. West replied, "This is my favorite part of the job," he said with a smile.

The men walked to the sheriff’s car, which was parked in front of the farmhouse and crawled inside. The sheriff started the car and pulled away from the farmhouse, driving down the narrow gravel road. The tires made a grinding sound as the passed over the rocks and gravel.

"I don’t suppose you guys get to many calls like this?" the sheriff asked as he drove past the hay-barn.

"We get calls on all sorts of things," the grad student replied, "Usually someone thinking they have struck oil or gold, looking for confirmation,"

"This is no gold," the officer said laughing, "But damn peculiar!"

"This cavern you mentioned. Is there anything out of the ordinary about it?" the grad student asked.

"Two things," The sheriff replied extending his first two fingers on his right hand. " First you don’t get many sinkholes in good pasture land, and two, the cavern is too symmetrical."

The two teachers from the university were quite impressed with the backwater sheriff’s scientific curiosity and judgment.

"Symmetrical?" the doctor asked.

"Shaped like a thirty foot pear, skinny on the top and wide at the bottom," he replied, keeping his eyes on the pasture ahead through the windshield. They had just past through the cattle gate and were on the last leg of the journey to the work site.

All that remained at the accident scene were the crane, and a backhoe. The backhoe was equipped with a front mount blade that aided in dispersing the extracted mud across the pastureland. The only sounds they could hear as they approached the scene were the clanking of metal machines and the rumble of the engines on the wind swept prairie.

"What a mess," the doctor thought to himself as they parked alongside the crane. The men exited the car and the sheriff walked to the rear of the vehicle, popping the trunk, revealing three sets of waders and boots inside piled in a heap.

 

"You’ll want to grab a pair," he said to the men and they all reached in and took a set for themselves. They struggled with the bulky rubber suits finding it awkward to move in them easily. The men walked over to the rim of the crater and stared down in disbelief.

"I have never seen anything like this before," the doctor said adjusting his waders.

"We’re going down, right?" the grad student asked with his head tilted in curiosity.

"That’s why I called you here," the sheriff answered. "Follow me," he added and they walked the edge of the crater to where the crane was located.

"We attached the bucket so we could go down inside," the sheriff told them. "We’ll need to take some supplies with us," he added pointing to two gas lanterns and two square end shovels leaning up against the bucket. The men gathered up the gear and strained to climb into the bucket that created quite a tight fit for the three of them. With a signal from the sheriff, the crane operator pushed a lever and the bucket raised them off the ground with a noticeable jerk, knocking them off balance.

The long arm swung them over the crater until they were centered over the cavern on the north side. Once in place, the sheriff waved to the crane operator and they slowly descended thirty feet into the hole.

Moments later the bucket struck ground, sinking a foot into the mud.

"Here we are," the sheriff said swinging his legs over the bucket. He slid off the side and landed knee deep in sucking mud. "Crap!" he yelled, and waddled slowly out of the deep end towards the cavern like a penguin. The other two men quickly followed climbing to higher ground at the mouth of the cavern.

The grad student trudged to the side of the tunnel and scraped the mud off his boots with the shovel. He stepped to the side of the tunnel and touched it with his hand like it was an eggshell. Wiping off an area at eye level, he examined it close and backed off. He looked at the mud on his palm and then to the sheriff.

"This has too many even shapes and straight lines," he said to the men. "The shape is too perfect, too man made," he added turning back to face the other two. The space reminded him of the inside of a railroad passenger car with windows running the length of both sides. He noticed what looked like rows of evenly spaced seats receding into the darkness. All three men stood dumbfounded as they craned their necks looking up at the vastness of the cavern.

"Let’s get these lanterns lit," the sheriff said producing a flip top lighter. The doctor turned on the gas, lifted the globe, and allowed the sheriff to ignite the mantels. With a tweak of a screw, the globes burned a brilliant white, illuminating the entrance and shooting dark shadows dancing on the walls. The sheriff then lit the grad student’s lantern and turned to journey inside.

"Are we going to be safe in there?" the doctor asked.

"We have no idea if the structure is sound," the grad student added. "It could cave in at any time."

"I’m willing to take that risk," the sheriff replied and went forth into the cavern. A moment later he was joined by the other two men, lanterns and shovels in tow. The deeper they went the darker it became. The only natural light visible was that seeping in from the mouth of the tunnel. The lanterns cast a harsh glow on everything they touched projecting black shadows that moved as they did.

"These look like chairs," the grad student stated in a matter of fact tone. He moved closer to one of them and wiped the mud away from the top of one of the objects. "Trans Pacific Airlines," he said aloud as he read the writing illuminated by the lantern.

"Airlines?" the doctor asked. "Let me see that!" The doctor moved in closer and put his lantern right up to the writing and read it for himself. "This is a plane?" he asked out loud. "The only planes of this size I know of are all military, not civilian use," he added.

They made their way further into the structure. "That explains a lot," the grad student said. "The regularities, the symmetry. Those cut outs up there must be rows of windows."

"This is impossible," the doctor replied. "We are twenty feet below the surface of the Earth! How could a plane find its way under the ground? Did it crash? Where are the passengers?"

"Down there," the sheriff answered, pointing to the floor. Assorted bones were scattered all over the floor in a mix match of body parts. Long bones, ribs, and skulls were the most noticeable remains littering the ground.

"Watch where you step!" the sheriff instructed the men.

"We have to get the authorities!" the doctor yelled to the sheriff. "I refuse to go on any further!"

" I am the authorities!" the sheriff yelled back. "Now follow me or get out!" he barked at the two men. A moment of tension and silence filled the room, as they tried to make sense of the events unfolding. The sheriff turned and proceeding into the cavern followed by the two worried college teachers.

"If this is an airplane then there should be a cock pit," the sheriff said coldly. "Maybe we can get some information there,"

The lights continued to dance on the walls as they moved onward, deeper and deeper inside.

"This is it I think," the sheriff said pointing to a closed door a few feet in front of them. He grabbed the handle and gave it a hard pull knocking mud and water into the air as he freed it from the grip of its tight hinges. The door broke loose and fell to the floor splashing mud in all directions, covering the men. The hinges snapped under the pressure and the doctor took notice of there rusted condition.

"Bring the light over here," the sheriff said directing them to move in closer. "What the…?" the sheriff asked as he reached into the cockpit extracting an object from the floor. In his hands he held the skull of a dog, its fangs long and sharp, and its eyes hollow and empty. "Now this is one for the papers," the sheriff said looking back at the men. To his amazement they did not seem surprised by this discovery at all. "Doesn’t this seem a bit odd to you?" he asked with his brow furled in a questioning look.

"We’re no longer playing this game," the doctor replied.

"What game?" the sheriff asked. "You think I planted this here?"

"Absolutely," the doctor replied. The mood in the room was noticeably changed.

"You don’t recognize us?" the grad student asked the sheriff.

"Should I?" the sheriff responded.

The grad student stepped forward and set his lantern on the floor. "Your leader has fallen because he is a flawed spirit. He was given free will and used it to turn from his creator, only to be cast from heaven and forced to dwell here for eternity. You as well, cast from heaven along with a third of the angels are flawed, and unable to see the truth and the light standing before you."

The sheriff panicked, but held his ground. The two men standing before him raised their shovels in an attack posture. With a graceful and swift motion, the grad student took a swing at the sheriff striking him hard on the shoulder, knocking him down, crashing to the ground. Stunned and dazed, the sheriff pulled his 38-caliber pistol, raised the gun and popped off six rounds into the men, dropping them to the ground. The lanterns fell and the lights went out, and in the darkness the sheriff’s eye’s glowed red. "You should never bring a knife to a gun fight," he said out loud.

 

Chapter 1

 

October 24, 1999

Dr. Tony Rhine stood at the bottom of the lecture hall looking up into the faces of his students. To his right was an overhead projector with a transparency illuminated on the silver screen propped up against the black board. He stood at the podium dressed in a white shirt, slacks and a tie. Not too daring for a twenty-nine year old college professor in a mid-western university.

The students sat, notebooks ready, waiting for the lecture to begin. Faces of interest, faces of lethargy, and faces of hangover looked down upon him as he paced back and forth across the cream tile floor. He shuffled some transparencies in his hands, settling for a different one, focusing the projector for the third time.

He looked up at the student body and switched on his microphone. "Today I have a special treat for you" he said. The faces did not change. It was too early in the morning. "I have written a paper. Something I hope to have published soon." He straightened his podium out acting unusually nervous for someone who speaks in public for a living.

"We are not currently working on the topic I have chosen," he said scanning back and forth. "You will not be tested on this material. I am looking for some feedback."

The sound of notebooks closing reverberated throughout the hall and a collective sigh-of-relieve swept the students hovering above.

"Think of this as kind of a day off and relax," he said with a rare smile.

"Is this extra credit?" a voice perked up from the rear followed by chuckling.

"No Brad, this is not extra credit. Maybe for your brain, but that is about it." He answered. "Well hold it!" he said scratching his ear. "If any of you want to submit a paper based on today’s lecture, I will consider it extra credit. It must though, be on the same subject as what I am going to be speaking about," he added. "Ok Brad?"

"Alright Dr. Rhine" Brad said and the class erupted with laughter.

"For those of you who want the extra credit, I advise you to open your notebooks again and get you pencils ready. I will make copies for anyone who wants one. Of my lecture that is."

Tony took a deep breath and faced his audience with his original material. Just like working a stand up gig he thought. He looked down to his prepared paper and spoke aloud.

"I believe that most people have in inaccurate perception of the passage of time," he started off, keeping his eye on his best student. "People tend to think of it as a highway, the past disappearing quickly behind us with the future lying just ahead. We are like passengers in a car watching the landscape move past as we move down the road. If we wish, we could turn the vehicle around visiting our past, or speed up visiting our future. This is based on our human need to place a measuring stick on everything around us, and to explain concepts beyond our comprehension. Take for example the outdated need to explain life and death by creating an all-powerful God, who watches over us and rewards us with an afterlife.

The human animal, only a few steps out of the jungle, has already mastered the technology to travel in space, invented machines to do his labor and discovered many of the secrets of physics. Yet he prays to his creator like his ancient ancestors did and credits all of creation to an omnipotent being. He cites the first theory of thermodynamics which states "matter can not be created nor destroyed" to justify this belief. His yardstick firmly in place gives him the confidence to meet each new day without the anxiety or fear of death. Thanks to his creator he will have a seat waiting for him in heaven.

Like many of his outdated ideas, his perception of the passage of time is skewed by rules of science written by men, who had limited knowledge of the discipline, and lived during the age of discovery. If it is possible to record actions then it must be possible to move through the story and travel to different chapters. If he only had the technology to travel through a magic door, which could propel him through time, he could land in his past or visit his future.

Once again, I believe that most people have in inaccurate perception of the passage of time. Time is not a river. It does not flow, and you cannot travel to and from as you wish. The distant past is just as close to you as the recent past. Your future is just as close to you as the present. There are no destinations in time; there is just our human explanation of a concept, which we have no true idea of. We have to make sense of it in a way we can understand. How can we possibly understand the concept of infinity? Time has no beginning, nor end. Time is here and now, we are in it. The age of the dinosaurs is just as close as the age of man. The creation of the universe is just as close as the current day.

We try to visualize the many births of the universe, seeing mass explosions of matter creating the area we call space. We tend to think of it as something far and away. So far away it is beyond our comprehension. Time is not just a series of events caught on film to review with a beginning middle and end. It is here and now. It is a sliver of existence. If you could reach out of it you could touch the gas clouds that formed our galaxy as easily as touching the robes of Jesus.

Infinity is an easy concept to understand if you release the outdated rules of science as man has envisioned it. As far as time is concerned, time is not infinite. There was no beginning and there will be no end. Man’s yardstick was a good tool to help explain this concept but it is now time to throw it away and rethink the laws of physics. People justify God by saying, "Something can’t come from nothing." The answer is that there never was "Nothing". Matter was not created; it has always been here. If you throw away the yardstick and stop thinking of time as a river it will start to make sense.

You may ask then, how do we explain the aging process of the universe? Plants grow, changing shape and color showing a definite difference from month to month, and year to year. Animals grow old, reproducing in order to continue the line. If there is no such thing as time then why is there a physical change we can observe in the world around us. To answer the question you must realize that aging is the process by which matter and energy change physical from, at a consistent or inconsistent rate.

This rate will be incorrectly assumed as the concept of time, because different objects do age at different rates according to the speed they are traveling in relation to each other. Moving objects age at a lesser rate than stationary objects. By this time you will think that I have contradicted my first statement about the concept of time. I have not." Dr Rhine said pointing his finger to the ceiling, not taking his eyes off his manuscript. "My argument is that objects do age, it is just that we humans do not comprehend aging and have created a theory about it called time, in order to explain it.

With this new understanding, it is then possible to be able to move through the aging process. I will call the process time in order to make it more understandable. As I stated before, aging has different rates for different objects which makes it possible to be able to travel forward at a different pace. If you slow down and the world around you continues at your old rate, it would appear you were traveling forward.

To those around you it would appear you have frozen in time. If you met up again at a later moment it would appear as though you traveled forwards in time. In fact all you have done is slow your aging process.

The physical body one once occupied in 1956 no longer exists. The Earth at that point of aging is not stored somewhere to be retrieved at a later time. Once something has passed a certain point in the aging process it has ceased to exist. We can record light waves of the period on film and record sounds on tape; this is but a collection of images and not the object itself. The film itself will age and turn yellow and crack eventually returning to the elements which made it.

It is now that we should rethink and reexamine how we perceive the theories of physics laid down centuries ago. At an earlier age, supernatural explanations were used along with scientific theories in order to understand the physical world around us. We no longer believe the world is flat and that the Earth is the center of the universe. Many of these outdated ideas were created at the same age as the discovery of gravity and electricity. At one point it was believed that man could not fly, but we know this now to be untrue. Witches were created to explain death and disease, and black cats were considered evil. These concepts of magic are from the same time period as the people who first created many of the scientific theories we think of today as fact. The problem with this thinking is that black cats are not evil, and many of these facts are untrue.

I can believe in the concept of time if it is used only as a measuring tool. A way of placing events into history in relation to other events. On paper we can establish a frame of reference using plotting points of years and months. This is still plagued with the problem that different objects do age at different rates, but since the rate is so minimal it can be overlooked for recording purposes. If we were interstellar travelers we would need one calendar for us, and one for all of the places around us. Since we travel little in comparison to each other, the aging difference is almost undetectable, maybe a few minutes over a lifetime." Dr. Rhine stated.

The class was dismissed early, allowing the professor to his office where he could make some typographical corrections. It was now lunch break.

 

Two hours later

 

The doctor moved his mouse button to the file box, saving the document to his hard-drive. Clicking on the print icon, he slid back across the room in his office chair to the printer, flicking the unit to the on position. A buzzing sound indicated the printer was warming up and soon out popped a hardcopy of the paper he had read to his students. It always seemed easier to proof the documents on real paper verses reading it off the screen. He had been working for weeks on this paper with the deadline closely approaching. He was to submit the report for approval the next day and he wanted the opinion of his colleagues in the science department before he sent it off. If it were accepted it would be printed in the university scientific journal.

Dr. Rhine was under the same pressure to have his work published as any other college level professor knowing well it was "publish or perish". If you weren’t creating new ideas and publishing them your career as a teacher could be shortened greatly. A subject very close to his heart inspired his current paper. For the concept of time and time travel were subjects he had been interested since boyhood. He had theorized that time travel was an impossibility of physics and the fascination of science fiction.

He had been an instructor at the university for two years and was assigned one of the smallest offices in the science department. He called it "the closet" and for good reasons. It was narrow and long and could only be accessed by way of another adjoining office. Although he had been there almost three years, he was still one of the newest faculty in the department. The man who’s office he walked through to get to his was only a year in seniority and only had a slightly larger office.

After proofing the paper and reading his students reviews, he looked through the glass that separated his office from his neighbor seeing him sitting behind his desk. "I need a second opinion," he thought to himself walking to the other room. Professor Alex Parsons, a rather short unattractive man in his fifties occupied the other office and was currently buried in the Opinion page of the local paper when Dr. Tony entered the room.

"What’s the crisis today Doc?" Tony asked.

"Alphabetical order or by importance," he replied, eyes glued to the paper.

"Sounds like more than I care to deal with…uh, would you consider doing me a favor?" he, asked. "I need to have my submission critiqued for the Journal, and I was wondering…"

"Why waste your time…no one really reads those things," Alex replied.

"I know," Tony said. "But I think I have some good points, and was actually interested in your opinion." Alex paused and took a deep breath. He set down his newspaper and folded it in a haphazard manner.

Tony took notice of the front cover headlines concerning a story about the abduction and murder of several coeds from the University. One of the names seemed vaguely familiar to him. He bent over to take a closer look when Alex interrupted pulling the paper away.

"Sure…just leave it on my desk, I’ll give it a once over," Alex said. "Are you still on that kick about time, and the meaning of the universe crap?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, at least I have a hobby, all you do is put in your time around here, waiting for retirement," Tony said jokingly.

"I think you get a kick out of offending the Christians," Alex said.

"I just tell it like it is, if they want to believe in tall tales and fables, it is there own business. God is a number you know," Tony said.

"Don’t be too sure of yourself professor. You are just dealing in theories, and yours is no better than anyone else’s," Alex replied

"I have science to back me up. Reliable, repeatable, provable science."

"Your so called science is far less reliable as you think."

"How can you say that when you yourself are a teacher of science?"

"As a man of science and a teacher I must realize that we are dealing with theories and not facts. No one was around to record the beginnings of life," Alex said confidently.

"Yes, but man was around when Jesus Christ walked the Earth, and man still endowed him with supernatural powers," Tony said. "Man recorded Jesus’ work and failed to make an accurate journal of his life. He has become the object of fables and fairy tales."

"You may find out different one day young man," Alex said smugly.

"I just might," Tony replied and returned to his office.

Tony glanced up to the clock on the wall. It was forty-five minutes till his next lecture and he had to prepare. He sifted through the large stack of papers on his desk and tried to make sense of his lesson plans. Today’s lesson was on the formation of the planets and the force of gravity and inertia that holds them all in orbit. Astronomy was also one of his favorite subjects and taught it with enthusiasm.

A familiar voice from the science secretary piped over his intercom. "Professor Rhine…there are a couple of men here in my office that would like to speak with you." She said, "Shall I send them in?"

He again glanced up at the clock and pressed the communication button. "Yes Mary, send them on in," he replied. "What now?" he thought. "I hope I’m not in trouble. Probably some salesman were here to sell me siding." He was actually well prepared and could give this lecture with little preparation. He approached his work with great eagerness.

Through the window he could see two well-dressed men carrying briefcases at their sides. "Now I’m in for it," he thought to himself. He followed them with his eye as they walked though the other office, into his office and stood silent before him. They had a no nonsense look about them seeming quite anxious to speak with the doctor. Tony waited for them to speak not even considering introducing himself.

"Dr. Rhine?" asked the man on the left.

"Yes I am Tony Rhine, what can I do for you?" he replied.

"I am sorry to bother you doctor but we are here concerning a matter of national security," the man said.

Tony looked at him with puzzlement.

"You sure know how to cut through the bull don’t you?" Tony asked.

"We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the importance of the matter," he said. "And we are not able to discuss it here you understand?" stated the other man.

"Not really…I do have a class in thirty minutes." Tony said.

"I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation doctor. You need to cancel your classes for at least today, and reschedule the next week with another instructor."

"I can’t just pick up and leave!" Tony exclaimed.

"We cannot force you to go with us, but please give us the chance to show you what this is all about," the man said.

Tony reclined back in his chair taking a deep breath. He studied the men before him and scratched his ear. He reached over picking up his warm coffee and took a sip. He sat for a minute thinking about what they had said. It was evident that the two men before him were ready to explode, waiting impatiently for an answer.

"Who are you again?" he asked.

"We cannot say," the man replied.

"This is damn strange. Why me?"

"You are an expert in a certain scientific field, and that is all I can say," the man said.

"Give me an hour," Tony said.

"We have a car waiting for you outside, and a plane at the airport. Time is critical. You can make arrangements after you have arrived."

"Arrived where?"

***

The trip to the airport was awkwardly quiet. Tony knew he would get no answers from them and was content to stay in the dark. The car was an unmarked government vehicle with several modifications made to the interior including a mesh steel barrier between him and the driver. He felt like a prisoner. Tony was single and did not need to inform anyone of his whereabouts. He did make arrangements for the Government to come in take care of his house.

At the airport he was driven straight to a small two-engine passenger plane with the capacity to hold twelve people. On board he discovered his fellow professor Alex Parsons reading the newspaper sitting alongside with several military types dressed in tan camouflage. It seemed strange that they were dressed this way. He felt like he was going to war. He didn’t bother to address Alex because he knew he had no more information that he. He just nodded at Alex in acknowledgement

"You will be briefed upon arrival doctor," the man said. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Tony watched out the window as the plane quickly rose into the air and the ground became smaller and smaller. His mind wandered as he tried to make out the tiny objects far below. He scanned the horizon and it amazed him how the Earth met the sky. It was hard to believe that this was all an accidental act of nature but in his mind he knew this it was.

***

An older man met Tony at the destination airport He was in his sixties, rugged with age, unlike the military personnel he had been with for the last two hours. He looked intelligent and somewhat classy with just a little gray hair. The older gentleman seemed different, and as out-of –place in this situation as Tony. The small mid-west airport was brimming with military vehicles and soldiers. It looked like the United States were preparing to go off to war. "What was so special about this place?" he thought to himself. Alex joined him by his side and waited for the gentleman to speak.

"Good afternoon Dr. Rhine and Dr. Parsons," he said in an authoritative tone. "I’m glad you were able to come today. We would not have sent for you if this weren’t of the utmost importance," he said.

"I hope we can get some information soon, I am starting to get agitated with all this cloak and dagger stuff," Alex stated.

"Follow me," he said, "My name is Jesse Brinkman. I recommended you both to consult with this project. I contract with the US government as a consulting scientist in the field of physics and other related fields."

"What are we here to consult on?" Tony asked.

"You won’t have to wait long. We are taking you to it now," Jesse said. He directed them to another military vehicle and they got in. The car sped off smoothly on the airport Tarmac driving out the gate to the airport exit. The first four miles were paved asphalt roads that quickly deteriorated the further they drove. They then followed county roads for miles kicking up dust and racing by fields of corn, milo and wheat. The windows were down and the smell of the dust and crops vented into the car. It was over eighty degrees and they were sweating profusely. The sky was mostly clear and the sun beat down like a hammer.

In the distance they saw a Hummer parked alongside a barricade pulled across the road. A soldier was baking in the heat holding a rifle in his arms and another was sitting in the passenger seat. Behind the Hummer, in the distance was a cloud of dust and smoke rising behind a hill. As they approached they could hear the sounds of heavy machinery clanking and moving. The tops of trucks could be seen belching smoke and rising and falling behind the horizon.

When they arrived at the checkpoint the guard passed them through maintaining the same speed. "They must come here often," Tony thought. The closer they drove the louder the sounds became. At the top of the hill, Tony could make out a small city of tents and shelters. Machines and men were all around, like at a construction site. There were cranes; dump trucks, backhoes and bulldozers scattered all about the area.

They parked in an impromptu parking lot adjacent to one of the tents. The tent was itself just a top of canvas suspended on twelve poles with tie downs. They exited the car and were directed to seats under the tent. The heat was still roasting, but the shade was nice.

Jesse Brinkman stood before the men, and offered them a drink. Both men eagerly took them up on it.

"Now gentlemen, I will explain everything." Jesse said.

"We have, or shall I say the owner of this property, discovered something quite fascinating." Jesse said. "Fifty some odd years ago, my father owned this land. He and I were out on this very pasture feeding the cattle," he stated pointing out towards the work area. "Back in those days, we had to take the hay out on a scoop loader on the old John Deere. Maybe it’s the same today. I don’t know for sure, I’m a bit out of touch on modern farming practices," he paused and sipped from a glass of water on the table. "It had been raining like a son of a gun for a week and the ground was just soaked."

Tony and Alex sat patiently on the folding chairs as Jesse spoke; swatting bugs and wiping sweat from their brows as he talked. Tony had a difficult time paying attention watching out the corner of his eye, the machinery working nearby.

Jesse spoke on. "I lost my father that day," he said looking to the ground. "He drove over some soft ground and he tipped. I mean the tractor of course."

"I’m so sorry," Tony said feeling solidarity with the man.

"Thank you. You never get over that kind of thing. Even at my age."

"Did he hit a buried pipeline?" Alex asked.

"No," Brinkman answered. "It was a sinkhole of a magnificent size. It dropped twenty-five feet before it stopped.

"Oh my God!" Tony gasped. "How old were you when this happened?"

"Fifteen," Jesse Brinkman answered. "I ended up in that hole myself. I tried to save him but the ground was to soft."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Alex asked. Tony was shocked at his rudeness.

"A discovery was made that day Dr. Parsons!" Jesse barked at him. "The most significant scientific discovery of all time."

"I apologize," Alex said. "Go on."

"It was because of this discovery that I chose to leave farming and pursue science as my career. I will let you know that you are not the only Ph.D. under this tent Dr. Parsons," he paused for a moment and took another drink. "We found a time machine."

"Time machine?" Tony asked.

"Not an H.G. Wells time machine. It was, and still is, a civilian wide body airliner. A Boeing 747 to be exact."

Silence.

"Where is it now?" Tony asked Jesse.

"See that hanger over there?" he asked pointing past the heavy machinery.

"Yes," both men answered.

"It has been excavated, studied, cataloged and everything else you can think of, right in there."

"It was never moved?" Alex asked.

"Couldn’t. It would have fallen apart."

"Why?"

"It was way too old and in such a poor condition. It would not have stood up to reassembling process."

"How old is this thing?" Alex asked.

"Let me take you down and show it to you. I’ll let you take a guess." Jesse said.

They climbed into a transport vehicle and drove closer to where the heavy machines were working. They drove over rough pasture grassland attaining top speed of 35 mph heading towards the hanger across the field. The closer they got the larger the building became. Minutes past as they surveyed the area wondering how an operation of this size could remain a secret for so long. The farm had been turned into a secret military base and they were about to get to see one of the biggest secrets they had.

As they approached the building, they noticed a drop off getting closer to the front end of the vehicle. The vehicle stopped, letting them all out. As they walked closer to the hanger, they could start to make out the writing on a sign, posted by the front entrance reading "Keep out, violators will be shot on site."

Jesse led the men to the front door flashing his papers for the guard to read. Two men, armed with M-16 semi-machine guns stood guard outside the main door with two more men stationed at the ends of the building. The door swooshed open and the three men entered into the air-conditioned building shivering.

"We keep it at sixty-eight degrees at all times. We’d like it cooler, but the men find it difficult to work in those conditions," Jesse said leading them through the foyer to the hallway.

"Is this some sort of musem?”

"You could say that I suppose. I never thought of it that way," Jesse replied.

"This has been here since, since when?" Alex asked.

"My father came upon it in 1947. They estimate the planes actual age at 50,000 years give or take century."

"The plane?"

"Yes. I said it was a time machine."

They past a vending machine room and bathrooms finding themselves at a check in desk by a large black sliding door. A soldier manned the post with a clipboard and a .45 pistol at his side.

"Brinkman, Rhine and Parsons," Jesse stated to the man. The pages flipped, names were checked, and the door slid open. The scene was unreal.

Tony and Alex stepped forward into a huge room filled with lights, machines and personnel scurrying around like mice. They were taken aback, having to absorb what they were seeing. Looking down into a gigantic pit was the skeletal remains of a Boeing 747, aged and decaying.

"Why the urgency?" Alex asked. "If this thing has been here as long as you say it has, I don’t think it is going anywhere."

"That is true," Jesse replied. "That brings us to the reason why we called you. I will explain later."

The men rode an elevator to the bottom of the excavation. The mesh doors slid open clanging as they separated.

"Dr. Brinkman," Alex said.

"Call me Jesse, I prefer it, less formal you know," Brinkman interrupted.

"Ok then, Jesse," Alex said scanning the massive dig site. "I am curious. You say this plane has been here somewhere around 50,000 years. How can you be so sure of that date?" he asked.

"We can’t be positive Alex. As a man of science I am well aware of your knowledge in the dating process of ancient artifacts. Carbon tests are fallible and we are well aware of that. We had to take in consideration, the biology we found surrounding the plane in the rock and soil layers."

"You did a comparison?" Tony piped up.

"Absolutely, I hear you are quite an expert on this sort of thing," Brinkman said.

"It is my preferred field of study. Is that why you asked me here?" Tony asked.

"Not really. The reason why you and Alex were asked here will be made clear to you very soon. I promise."

Along the sides of the deep walls, were office and workspaces built for the scientist to conduct their study. The dig had been here over fifty years and the plane was taken apart painfully slow over time, in order to allow for proper study. The workspaces were very modern with the best equipment the United States could afford. The men entered into a room with a sign on the door reading "Director."

Jesse sat at his desk and offered the other two a seat and coffee. The work site was plainly visible through the large glass window in the office.

"What are those?" Alex asked pointing to a box of bones on the bottom shelf of a storage cabinet.

"Remains," Brinkman replied.

"There were people on that thing?" Tony asked.

"Of course. 232 to be exact," Brinkman answered.

Alex Parsons picked out one of the short bones from the box and examined it. He squinted and turned it over and over, looking intently at it.

"I am not an expert in biology or archeology, but I think your conclusions on age are inaccurate Mr. Brinkman." Alex said.

"I am an expert Alex, and I assure you the tests brought back the results I spoke of," Brinkman replied.

Alex shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.

"You have had this plane for over fifty years? Were you able to identify the call number, or the owner of it?" Tony asked.

"Yes we did."

"Hold it!" Alex interrupted. "You have not explained how this thing ended up this far underground."

Brinkman leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head looking at the skeptic before him. "I’m sorry. Let me explain," he said as he pointed over to a huge map on his wall. "Somewhere between 50,000 and 100,000 years ago the center of the United States was covered by what is referred to as the Niobrara Sea. It split the North American continent into two separate land masses."

The men looked at the map on the wall and saw the large body of water filling the center basin of the continent. Jesse stood up and walked over to the map, pointing to the central area of the sea and looked back to the men. "We are right about here, in central Kansas. At this time in history, we would be under about fifty to seventy-five feet of salt water."

"I see where this is going," Tony spoke up.

"You think this plane crashed in the Niobrara Sea 50,000 years ago?" Alex asked sarcastically.

"Yes I do," Brinkman replied. "And so do about twenty other scientist’s that have worked on this project for the last fifty years."

"There must be a hundred different reasons why this thing ended up here."

"I agree Alex, probably more. This will become painfully obvious very soon. I guarantee it."

"You still haven’t explained how it ended up under the ground," Tony spoke up.

"I’m sorry, let me get to that," Brinkman said. "We believe the plane made a somewhat controlled landing on the surface of the sea but quickly took on water and sank. When it struck the bottom of the sea it plowed a good twenty feet into the soft mud floor and lodged there. Over time, and I don’t think it took very long from the evidence, it was completely covered."

"Fossilized?" Tony asked.

"In a way," Brinkman answered. "Over time the continent rose and the sea drained off the land leaving the plane trapped in the soil as it solidified. The water leached out over time leaving the plane intact inside."

Alex sat with his arms crossed.

"Jesse, you said you were able to identify the plane," Tony said.

"Oh yes, that is right. This is a Trans Pacific Airlines 747," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Did they ever report one missing?" Tony asked.

"They didn’t have to," Brinkman said. "This plane is currently flying over Denver as we speak."

" That is impossible." Tony said. "Everything I know is wrong."

 

Chapter 2

 

July 1, 1969

 

Two boys walked heel to toe atop the hot steel railroad tracks racing to see who could get to the bridge first. With arms extended, both boys balanced precariously on their own narrow rail, keeping a watchful eye on the other. The older of the two young men outdistanced the younger one with his slightly longer strides, and circus like high wire technique. Turning to see how far he led the other boy, he miss stepped and stubbed his foot on railroad tie, tripping, and falling hard to the ground.

"Damn!" yelled the injured boy, as he turned over holding his knee in pain. He looked at the injury and noticed a large blood soaked tear in the denim of his jeans. Gently, he peeled the cloth back and exposed a sizable bloody cut on his kneecap. The other boy stepped off the track and came to see what he was yelling about.

"Mom’s going to be mad," the younger boy said, staring at the blood soaked wound. "She told us not to go out here and now were in big trouble."

"No were not!" his older brother replied. "She isn’t going to know how this happened. I’ll just tell her it happened while I was riding home on my bike."

"You’re such a liar."

"So? Beats the hell out of being grounded!"

"I don’t like lying to mom,"

"Then don’t!" he barked back. "Let me do the talking."

Matt, the older boy, closed both of his eyes and clenched his teeth together. Wincing from the pain, he leaned back, and waited for the burning to stop. "Give me a minute," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He rocked back and forth on his hips leaning his forehead up against his thigh allowing the pain to subside.

"Hurry up!" Robby yelled impatiently. The younger boy paced up and down the tracks like a nervous bird. Matt rolled around on his behind, and with his hands supporting him, struggled to stand. Taking a hop on his good leg, he attempted to put weight on the injured knee and felt a burning pain. He bit down hard, and clenched his jaw again as he maneuvered and balanced along the tracks. His gate was unsteady, but he could walk with the sharp pain limping along as he went.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," Robby said to his brother, and they continued back down the tracks from whence they came. Walking on the railroad ties was difficult at best with his odd gate and limp. The going was slow and tedious, compounded by the hot sun beating down on them, and the thick stagnant humid air surrounding them. The overgrown vegetation alongside the tracks brought forth a wide variety of smells and flying insects, which constantly buzzed about and bothered them.

The two brothers had walked these tracks many times before. The trains passing by could be seen and heard from the boy’s doublewide trailer, located on the outside perimeter of the trailer park. It was the boy’s only escape and adventure to walk the tracks down to the bridge were they could climb down to the creek below, and explore the stream bed. Many times they had come across an Indian arrowhead, or a sample of petrified wood. Many times they just broke bottles and vandalized the bridge. Either way they found a way to get away and have a place of their own.

"You ok?" Robby asked.

"What does it look like!" Matt barked back. "Hurts like a son of a gun!"

"You want to stop?"

"No, I have to get home and change before mom gets home."

Robby looked at his brother’s knee as he tried to keep his footing on the odd spaced ties. He saw the blood soaking into his brother’s pant leg running down the side of his shoe.

"You’re bleeding pretty badly."

"What am I supposed to do about it!" Matt yelled at him. He stopped and turned to his brother. "Wait here till a train comes by and hop a ride?"

"You’re a jerk!" Robby replied. "Do whatever you want," he added and walked back down the tracks without him. Matt hobbled slowly behind, groaning with each step he took. Minutes past by and the boys trudged onward, the tracks seemed to go on forever. Up ahead was a curve in the tracks bordered on both sides by tall trees and weeds for as far as the eye could see. The two boys, fourteen and sixteen years of age, had walked almost three miles to the bridge in relatively short period of time. The return was slow and agonizing.

"What time is it?" Matt asked.

"4:00," Robby replied.

"Crap! We’ll never make it back in time."

"We have an hour."

"It’ll take that long to get to our bikes. I can’t even ride with my knee like this. Plus it’s starting to hurt more." Matt stopped and bent over grasping above his thigh, attempting to stop the pain from traveling to his brain. "I’ve got to sit down," he said and stepped off the tracks to the gravel along side the tracks. Putting his hands down carefully, he leaned over without bending his knee, sat down and cried in pain. His eyes closed and he squeezed his leg tight taking a deep breath. A tear trickled down his face.

"You want me to go get help?" Robby asked. He looked down upon his brothers’ injury and his stomach began to turn.

"Hold on," Matt replied. "Let me think a minute."

"Think about what?"

"I need to figure out what you will tell mom."

"I’ll tell her the truth!"

"Give me a second!" he barked back. "You will not tell her anything, but what I tell you to."

"I am sick of this, and I am sick of your crap. I am leaving and I am getting help whether you like it or not."

A moment passed as Matt looked about at his surroundings and dire straits. "Go ahead," he said. "And hurry."

Robby took one last look at his brother and turned back to the tracks. Walking away he said. "I can go faster without you anyway. If I can get help we still might beat mom home." He picked up the pace and ran down the tracks stepping on every other tie in an awkward sprint home.

Matt sat there in pain with his hands smeared with blood. He wiped the dirt from the cut and let out a yell as the pain shot though his knee. The sun was still high above, and it beat down on him like fire from the sky. He again wiped the sweat from his brow, and smeared blood across his forehead in the process. He needed to get out of the heat.

The two boys had lived in the area since they’re family moved there in sixty-five. Many a time they make this journey, but they never veered from the steel tracks and the path it cut through the woods. The trees and brush surrounding them were virgin territory, and off limits, even to them. Tic’s, animals, and the threat of poison ivy kept them on their narrow path to the bridge, and the woods made these two brave explorers nervous.

A yellow jacket flew by and Matt froze in place. His eyes moved, but his head stood firm as he watched it buzz back towards the trees. He tried not to bother the insect as it flew by in fear of being stung and compounding his problem. "Damn bugs," he thought.

In his right ear he heard a mosquito buzzing and swung at the insect with his hand, missing it completely, smearing more blood on his face. The mosquito flew away and landed on his sweaty back away from his view. The heat was unbearable and the hot air around him was stagnant and stale. He needed to get into the shade before he died of heat exhaustion he thought, and scanned the vegetation for a place to rest.

Slowly standing, he limped over to a stand of marijuana growing freely along side the tracks. Parting the plants he spied a run-down wood shed, fifty feet into the woods under a canopy of branches. The shed had grayed with exposure to the elements and part of the roof had fallen into itself, exposing the interior. The path to the shed was covered with low growing shrubs and thistle, not an impossible journey for the injured boy, but a difficult one he needed to make. Along side the shed, surrounded by weeds, was a cement platform covered from the shade of the trees above. "A place to sit," he thought, and stepped through the marijuana into the woods.

His first steps were uneasy. The thistle scraped his leg as he past by, stinging with their sharp bristly flowers. The pain was still sharp as he bent his knee with each step, but the bleeding was beginning to stop and the air was starting to cool. The shade felt better than the hot sun that had burned his neck red.

An unrecognizable putrid smell carried in his direction with the slight breeze that had picked up as the afternoon wore on. The smell hung in the air like a cloud surrounding him, making him gag. For a second he thought of turning back, but moved on towards the cool shade on the cement slab.

It was the season for mid-summer thunderstorms, and he could feel the weather changing since noon, and the sky began to fill with clouds. The heat and humidity had become overwhelming and a cool breeze had begun tossing the leaves about on the ground. He knew it would storm soon and hoped he would be home before it began to rain. The cool breeze also carried the smell of death.

"Something must have died out here," he thought, gagging on the stench. He would just sit tight on the cement slab and keep watch and listen for his brother till he came back to get him. The smell was just an inconvenience he would have to put up with until help arrived.

Light trickled down from the foliage above dancing on the weeds that covered the ground for as far as the eye could see. The tracks he had made through the weeds were hard to follow as they disappeared from his view, swallowed up by the vegetation.

The concrete was warm to the touch in the mid-summer heat. The shade did little to keep it cool and heat radiated from it like the burner on a stove. He sat down on the slab letting his bad leg rest on the concrete, his good leg hanging over the edge. He leaned back and put his weight on the heels of his hands letting his face point straight up into the sky. Sweat dripped onto the concrete slab and insects buzzed near, curious about the new visitor.

Forty-five minutes passed, and there was no sign of his brother. By now the sun had begun its journey to the west, and was casting long shadows across the wooded area. Huge cumulous clouds had moved in threatening to block the light, dropping rain as each minute past. Cracks of thunder echoed from a distance signaling the presence of an impending storm. Matt had leaned back and was resting comfortably on his back looking into the trees above watching the leaves dance back and forth. The heat from the cement slab felt good on his back and for the first time he felt better. The pain in his knee was starting to subside, and now was no more than a dull ache.

Jest then, he heard a rustling in the weeds. An animal he thought. Sitting back up, Matt cocking his head in the direction of the sound. Twenty feet to his left stood a coyote in a defensive posture, teeth exposed, growling at the boy. On the ground under the animals head was a torn piece of meat, shredded by the jaws of the beast. To his horror he noticed that the animal had torn the flesh from a human leg partially hidden under a bush. "Oh God!" he said aloud pushing himself away from the animal. All of a sudden, he realized where the horrid smell had come from, and he held back throwing up, finding it difficult to stop gagging.

The two made hard eye contact and froze in their tracks. The coyote gave out a long low growl, its fur bristling on its neck solid as a rock. Matt moved his eyes slowly around looking for a stick or branch he could use as a weapon to defend himself. There was plenty of broken branches all around on the ground, but he feared moving and setting the animal off opting to wait him out.

The wind picked up and sent the stench his way making his eyes water. The leaves in the trees started to rustle in the breeze, waving in unison above him, signaling the start of the thunderstorm. A lightning bolt flashed and a crack of thunder shot through the woods, which spooked the coyote as well as Matt. Neither moved and neither sent a signal to the other. It was a stand off of the worst kind.

The sky was getting darker, as it was now past 5:30 p.m. The air was noticeably cooler and a breeze shot past Matt giving him the shivers. A cold front had blown in, and changed the hot humid air into a thunderstorm. Sprinkles landed on the cement slab, creating dark spots wherever they landed and drops of water landed on the leaves of the vegetation. The sound of the rain on the leaves tapped all around him and sizzled like bacon in a frying pan.

Minutes past and the coyote stepped forward. Then stopped. Forward again smelling the blood on Matt’s pant leg. Fresh meat was better than rotten meat he seemed to be saying.

"Get the hell away from me!" Matt said under his breath trying not to alarm the animal. The last thing he wanted was to spook the animal and send it attacking. He was ready to put up his arms and defend himself, but did not know how much good it would do. He planned to grab the animal by its neck if it attacked and strike it in its face and eyes. He really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

The vegetation was now being tossed back and forth in the wind; the sound of leaves whipping around was almost as loud as the snarls of the coyote. He was petrified and shaking in the cool air awaiting the imminent attack of the canine.

From out of the woods, the sound of a rifle crack broke above the sounds of the wind, and the animal took off running in a sprint through the trees. Matt looked to his right to where the sound came from. He saw his father, running through the weeds towards him, with rifle in tow followed closely by his brother. A sigh of relief came over the boy as his father came to a halt next him.

"Are you alright?" Matt’s father asked.

"Yeah," Matt replied. The boy squinted in fear, looking towards his father who was holding his rifle in ready position. He could see his father was very upset and the look in his eyes was that of pure anger. The rifle was leaned up against the cement slab and his father moved in closer. Looking down at his son’s injured knee, his father took a deep breath, reeled back his hand and slapped the boy across his face.

"I told you not to come out here!" he barked at the boy. "You don’t know how to listen do you?"

Matt put his hand to his face and looked away from his father.

"It’s going to get real nasty out here in the next hour. Supposed to storm all night. Tornado’s and all kinds of crap," his father yelled angrily. "Let’s get the hell out of here!"

"Hold it," Matt interrupted expecting another swat. He looked to his dad and judged his reaction before speaking.

"What is it?" his father asked impatiently.

"There’s something I got to show you," he added, pointing to where the coyote was before.

"This better be good boy!" his father said. His teeth were gritting, and his jaw was clenched.

"Look over there," Matt said pointing to the bush where the coyote was.

His father picked up the rifle from against the cement slab and walked through the brush towards the area Matt was pointing.

"What the hell is that smell?" he shouted over the wind. He stopped in his tracks at the bush and covered his mouth gagging. He looked down and pushed the leaves aside exposing what was underneath. He was shocked and horrified at the site.

He was a hunter but nothing could prepare him for what he saw. Under the shrub, lay the half-eaten body of a small child. She was maybe eight years old, naked, and vacant of life.

 

Chapter 3

 

July 1, 1969

The boys’ father turned back to face his children. Next to the cement slab his two boys were sitting upon, he spied the door of the shack swinging open in the wind. He noticed drag marks in the dirt and weeds that were bent towards him, leading from the doorway to the dead child at his feet. Along the pathway were bits of flesh and torn clothing that had been strewn about by the coyote, as it shook meat loose from the dead child.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, smacking the pack repeatedly against his left palm. Extracting a single cigarette, he placed the butt end in between his lips and lit a match cupping the flame from the wind. He brought the flame to the end of cigarette and sucked the fire till the end glowed red. Smoke shot from his nose, which was quickly dashed off by the wind into the woods. The cigarette helped conceal the odor of the rotted carcass and the actions helped him change focus for a moment while he gathered his thoughts.

He looked up and a raindrop stung his eye. The sky was turning dark. He took another drag off his cigarette and walked to the shed, careful not to step on any of the body parts strewn about the area. Grasping the door, he stepped up into the building, grabbed his shirt and covered his nose. The smell was overpowering.

The spaces between the slats let in a trickle of light that allowed him to see contours of the interior of the shack. He no longer felt the sprinkle of rain on his face, and the wind was subdued in the structure, only whistling through the cracks as it past through the building. He again reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed the matches out of his cigarette pack tearing one free from the rest. He lit the match, and it immediately went out in the breeze. For a fleeting moment he saw, in the corner, a trap door in the floor with its lid open.

Stepping lightly in the dark, he crossed the creaking floor and knelt down. He grasped the lid, and looked into the darkness of the hole through the floor.

"Dad?" Robby asked from the doorway.

Startled, the father turned his head to the boy and yelled, "Go back and sit with your brother!"

"I want to leave!" the boy cried.

"Did you hear me boy!" the father barked back. "We’ll go when I say it’s time to go. Now go back and sit with your brother!"

The boy hung his head low and sulked off back to the concrete slab. With the matches still in his hand, he struck up another flame, illuminating the hole, showing a set of steps heading down to a lower level. He sat on the floor and hung his feet down reaching the second step, putting on weight to see if it was in condition to support him. Standing erect, he felt it was safe and took a step down, then another until his head was even with the floor. He placed his hands on the edge of the hole and continued down four more steps till he felt his foot step onto a dirt floor.

Again, a match was lit with a dim yellow dancing flame. Down under the floorboards, the burning match was like the sun. He was able to see clearly with the small flame, the stonework foundation surrounding him, and he was taken aback by its condition. The basement was in much better shape than the building led him to believe. It was also much larger than he suspected from above.

The room was six sided, stone wall construction with a single door centered on each wall. All of the doors were closed with the exception of one to his far-left swung wide open. The doors seemed oddly out of place, as if they were new additions to the structure. The cellar did not show the wear of the years, like the building above had. The match went out. Another took its place, and he walked to the open door noticing right away that there was a padlock dangling from the door left in the open position. The lock looked brand new.

He stepped through the doorway into pure darkness. By now the odor was second nature to him, and he no longer felt nauseous. Another match was lit, illuminating the interior space revealing a long hallway receding far enough back that the match light was unable to penetrate. It reminded him of a mausoleum. He noticed along the sides of the hall, rows and rows of hinged doors, five high, spaced evenly down the length of the underground passage.

The doors were all closed and locked shut with a padlock hanging next to the door pull. The hinges were galvanized steel, gate style, and looked the same age as the other new hardware. The doors were unpainted cedar of simple construction, with a symbol carved in the center, which was unrecognizable to the man holding the match.

He leaned in close to examine the writing and burned his finger. He dropped the match to the floor leaving him standing in the dark digging in his pocket for his matchbook. He was down to his last three and struck up another match, then walked further into the chamber, examining more of the doors as he went. The deeper he moved the cooler the air became, unusually dry for a cellar he thought, and he moved slowly further into the dark passageway.

The hall seemed to go on and on as he walked deeper and deeper. He looked to the ceiling surprised to see the wood beam supports free of spider webs and rot that he would expect in such a place. He finally stopped in his tracks. Thirty feet into the long hallway, he came across one of the doors on the bottom row, seemingly torn open and hanging from its hinges. Teeth marks were visible in the wood and splinters were strewn all around the door. Mixed into the debris was the rest of the body from the little girl in the woods.

Shivers ran down his spine now that he realized he was standing in some sort of graveyard. "How many bodies were stored down here?" he thought, while lighting one more match. "How come I have never heard of this place?" It was time to go. He had only been a resident in this town for four years and was not totally familiar with the local customs and traditions. He knew of the city cemetery, but it was entirely possible that this was a private one. Anyway he now felt he was trespassing on the dead and needed to get out.

From the main room, he heard the creaking of footsteps on the staircase. He turned to see a light bouncing about the entrance getting brighter and then dimmer. The light brightened again then dimmed through the doorway in the larger main room.

"Damn kids!" he said aloud and walked back up the hallway to the main room where he was greeted with a bright flashlight beam in the eyes. Squinting in the glare, he raised his hand to block the light and yelled, "Get that damn thing out of my face!"

The beam lowered down enough for him to see there were more than two people standing before him, and he put down his hand. The beam of light moved to the right illuminating his two sons standing together at gunpoint.

"What the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed.

They boys were silent. His eyes began to adjust back to the dark and he could now see a man standing before him wearing camouflage coveralls and a cap. In his hands he was holding a deer rifle. He scrambled for something to say.

"Hey I’m sorry mister, that’s my gun outside but I wasn’t hunting on your land. I don’t hunt out-of-season. That’s not my style."

The man was silent. Only the breathing of the boys penetrated the air.

"What’s your name?" the man asked.

"Johnson. Dennis Johnson," he replied.

"Does anyone else know you are here?"

"No. My wife is at work and my daughter is at home." For a second he hesitated. He knew he should have lied. .

"You live in the trailer park. Don’t you?"

"Yeah, Do I know you?" he asked.

"I don’t know. Do you?" the stranger chuckled, and his companion joined in.

For a moment the Dennis felt better, thinking the situation was more relaxed, more in control.

"Get back in there," the stranger said. He was soft-spoken in his tone, but pointing the rifle back down the hallway letting him know who was in control.

"What?" Dennis replied, curling his brow.

"Turn around and march your behind back in there."

He looked to his sons for a second, then backed into the hall. He kept his face pointing at the man with the gun.

"You too!" the stranger barked at the boys, and the other man gave them a shove. The two boys followed their father into the hallway and the two-armed men stood in the doorway blocking their escape.

"What do you want with us?" the father asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "What are you doing in here?" the stranger asked bringing his rifle to eye level. The captives flushed with heat and fear.

Dennis swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say. "I just saw the shed…and…"

"And what?"

Dennis scratched the back of his neck and looked around at the ground. "Hey, we didn’t mean anything."

"You just like to trespass?" the stranger said

"No."

With a squeeze of the trigger, the rifle muzzle lit the room, flashing with a loud bang. The father fell to the ground clutching his neck. Before the boys could move the second man fired four shots from his twelve gauge shotgun, spraying the boys with lead shot, tearing into them, ending their short lives. The man with the rifle handed his weapon to the other man and stepped forward pulling a pistol from his belt. Chambering a round he aimed it at the man on the ground and fired a single shot into his head. A flash and a bang ended his life. "Someone is going to pay for this," the first man said. "Who ever left this place open is gonna get it bad. Real bad."

"Seth isn’t going to like this," the second man said.

"Seth will never know."

***

Anne Johnson was on the phone when she heard a loud knock at the door. She excused herself from the call and answered the front door of the doublewide trailer. Standing on the landing, draped in plastic rainwear, was the sheriff and a deputy. They stood back lit from the street lamp in the driveway.

By this time the thunderstorm was in full force, the rain sizzling on the ground like bacon in a frying pan and lightning flashing across the sky. Seeing the two officers at this time of night surprised the girl. She was home alone, her mother not back from searching for her father and brothers, missing since before suppertime. Her worries now turned to anxiety as she tried to make out the features of the men in shadow.

"Hi, I’m Sheriff Lester Spade and this is my deputy Leroy Barnes," the taller man stated to the girl. Rain pelted him from above. "Is your mother home?" he asked silhouetted in the darkness.

"No," she replied, "My mom and grandma are out looking for my dad and two brothers."

The sheriff turned to his deputy for a moment and then back to the girl saying, "We need to get a hold of her as soon as possible."

"Is this about my dad and brothers? Are they ok?" she asked.

"Yes it is, it is important we get a hold of her. There has been an accident."

She opened her eyes wide and swallowed hard. "Are they alright?" she asked.

The sheriff hesitated, then said; "Your brother was hurt this afternoon in a two car collision. He has been taken to Topeka. Your father and other brother are at the hospital here in town. I have come to offer your mother a ride to Topeka."

Her body relaxed and the tension released its grip on her allowing her to sigh in relief.

"Thank God no one died!" she said smiling back.

"Maybe we can find her at your grandmothers," the officer said, "Can you tell us where she lives?"

"I can call her if you wait a second," she replied, heading back into the living room.

"No, it would save time if we just drove over there. I can take all of you to Topeka at the same time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" he asked the girl.

The question struck her odd. She hesitated then answered, "Yeah, sure."

"You grab a coat and we will wait for you in the car," the officer said and the two men turned and walked back into the rain, down the steps to the car idling in the driveway. The men opened the doors and got inside watching all a while through the swishing wiper blades. Minutes later the front door opened and the girl came out turning to lock the door. She ducked her head trying to dodge the rain quickly jumping inside the patrol car in the back seat.

"Ever been in a patrol car before?" the sheriff asked her, looking through the rear view mirror, backing out of the driveway.

"No," she answered nervously. She shivered in the cold looking out the window as they traversed the narrow streets of the trailer park.

The interior of the car was dark. Voices cracked and sputtered from the car radio, and red dots of light zipped back and forth on the scanner mounted under the dash.

"What’s the address?" he asked her, picking up the radio microphone.

"825 west 25th street," she replied.

The officer depressed his microphone button and stated to the dispatcher " Denton, twenty-six in escort, white female, Anne Johnson to 825 west 25th street." The phrase ended with a squawk from the radio.

"10-4 on escort, Denton out," the dispatcher replied.

She sat back and watched the houses pass by. Watching the raindrops fall through the bright lights, she wandered off in a trance as the water past through the street lamps above. Thunder crashed from behind, then again, over and over. She felt uneasy sitting in the back seat of the patrol car feeling like a criminal herself, staring at the back of the two officer’s heads. Their uniforms made her feel secure and nervous at the same time.

The car came to an intersection and dipped in the rut. The car raised, and dipped again as they past through over the bumpy brick streets. The bright lights of downtown were distorted through the rain speckled side window as she was peering through.

Minutes past and they finally reached their destination. Her mother’s car was parked in front of her grandmother’s and lights were on in front of the house.

"Stay here, we’ll be right back," the sheriff said to the girl and they exited the vehicle, walking up the steps to the house. The interior of the car was slowly getting brighter as a car pulled up pulled up from behind. The car turned off its lights and the patrol car was once again dark inside.

From the other direction she watched as a pickup truck, and a van pulled up to the curb across the street and park. This struck her as odd considering the time of night and the fact she knew most of her grandmother’s neighbors. These vehicles did not seem familiar to her.

Looking back out her side window, through the rain smeared glass she saw her mother and grandmother hurrying as fast as they could to the patrol car, with umbrellas held above them for protection. Close behind, followed the two lawmen, which were herding the two women like shepherds. The rear door opened and Anne scooted over allowing the other two women to enter the car.

"It is sure nice of you to offer us a ride," the grandmother said.

"No problem ma’am, that’s what your tax dollars pay for," he said with a chuckle. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb driving down the rain covered brick streets.

"What happened?" the mother asked, worried and shivering in the cold. "Was anyone in the other car hurt?" she asked.

"No, the other party was not injured," he replied. "Just a few bumps and bruises."

"Who was it?" she asked.

The officer hesitated and looked to his deputy. "They were from out-of-town," he responded nervously.

"You don’t know their names?"

"We’re not able to release that information."

"Even if no one died?"

"That’s correct, plus the state troopers are handling this. I am not at liberty to discuss the details right now."

"I see."

"I can ask them when we see them if I can release the information."

"Thank you officer."

The car turned and headed down Main Street towards the city hospital.

***

Back at the grandmothers’ house, a man was directing the van, helping it back up to the side door. A group of people had already entered the house and began gathering up the household items and possessions. It was imperative they remove all traces of its former occupants before dawn. They had to be erased.

***

Mrs. Johnson sat between her mother and daughter Anne in the back seat. It was a tight and uncomfortable fit for the three of them, bumpy at times, claustrophobic at times. The car stressed and groaned under the heavy load.

"We past the hospital back there," Mrs. Johnson said, craning her neck to see it pass by her window.

"I know," the sheriff said. "I have to make a quick stop first, it’ll just take a minute."

The three ladies became anxious awaiting their stop at the hospital. They did not appreciating the hold up.

"Can’t you just drop us off?" she asked.

"We’re almost there. It won’t take but a second. I promise"

"I’d rather not wait if it’s ok with you?" she asked.

By this time they were blocks past the hospital and heading quickly to the edge of town. The sheriff stopped talking to the women and it became awkwardly quiet in the car.

"I don’t mean to be rude, but I think we should head back," the grandmother said in a stern tone.

"Maybe you should be quiet," the deputy said with a smile. He glanced back and then turned back to face out the front.

"Quiet?" mother asked in shock. "My family is hurt and you want me to be quiet?" She became angry and tried to keep it inside.

"Shut up!" the deputy yelled back while turning around to face her. "You hear me!" He reached out to grab her by the coat and she jerked back out of his reach. Giving her a stern look, he turned back around and shook his head in disgust.

The women were stunned by his words. The car was now a half-mile outside the city limits and starting to slow and turn to the right. The car drove onto a gravel road speeding out into the country, picking up speed as it went along.

The car flew over the hills and valley’s attaining 60 mph scaring the passengers in the backseat, just as the officers wanted to do. Rows of corn and milo sped past the car illuminated by the high beam headlights in a blur, confusing them as to their location.

Ahead in the distance, sprung an outcrop of trees just past Sandy Creek Bridge. The car again slowed and turned into the grove of trees disappearing from the roadway. Fifty yards inside, the car stopped and the men got out leaving the headlights on. They both moved to the rear of the car and opened the back doors simultaneously.

"Get out," the sheriff said calmly trying not to alarm the women. They hesitated. The sheriff pulled his revolver and pointed it at the grandmother, " I said get out," he reiterated. The older woman exited the driver’s side and the other two the passenger’s side.

"What is this?" the grandmother asked, keeping her eye on the sheriff’s gun.

"Shut up and go stand in front of the car," he stated. "About ten feet away." He pointing his free hand in that direction. The women obeyed and walked to the front of the car, standing illuminated in the headlight beams. The raindrops were visible as they past through the bright lights along with the mist from their breaths. They shivered in the cold, scared and shaking.

"Turn and face the car," the sheriff ordered them in a military tone. They obeyed. "On your knee’s."

The women again obeyed and dropped to their knees blinded by the bright light ten feet before them.

"What are you going to do?" the mother asked.

She was answered with a hard pull to her hair and a kick in the ribs. The other women kept their eyes front, afraid of drawing his attention and a repeat of the treatment.

The deputy squatted down behind the mother and grabbed her arms, pulling them back around her and cuffing them. He did the same to the daughter. The sheriff stood behind the grandmother and pointed his pistol at the back of her head. In an execution style, he popped off a shot dropping her flat to the ground. The deputy followed quickly with the mother before she had a chance to scream. The sheriff took care of the daughter. On the ground lie the last remains of the Johnson family.

"Collect the cuffs," the sheriff said to his deputy as he walked to the rear of his patrol car. Popping the trunk, he pulled out a two-gallon gas can and carried to back to the death scene. He waited till the cuffs were confiscated then poured gasoline on the three bodies until the can was empty. He backed up, lit a cigarette and tossed it in the fumes. He backed away from the heat and stood behind the trunk of the car with the deputy. In the dark, the sheriff’s eyes glowed red in the night

 

Chapter 4

 

Sonja Penner and Dorothy Larson joined Tony and Alex at the site, both of which were staff scientist’s brought in by Robert Brinkman to assist on the investigation. Sonja and Dorothy were also experts in the field of physics, Sonja holding a minor in history and ancient civilizations. She was a woman in her forties, a very stuffy professional type of individual with a no no-nonsense approach to her work. She was a strong female who stood on her own giving off an aura of power and intelligence. Dorothy was a more docile woman not imposing her ideas on others staying in the background until called upon. She was in her mid-twenties having only been out of school for a few years working her first teaching job in a small community college prior to working for the government.

It had been a week since they had arrived and Jesse Brinkman refused to tell the men of their true purpose until he thought the time was right. Sonja was helpful explaining some of the details of the operation and how the remains were identified.

"At this time the government has a large DNA database which they could use to identify the remains of the passengers by sampling the skeletal remains and letting a super computer search the files of current US citizens," she stated. "This database was unknown to most all citizens, the samples gathered at birth and sent to a secret government agency in order to keep track of the goings on of its people."

Tony knew this searching was not necessary. He had worked the paradoxes over and over in his mind trying to figure out how and why they were even able to find the plane. He knew there was no reason to identify the passengers, because it would be impossible to stop the events from happening again. If it were, the plane would not be there. The team met for lunch in Robert Brinkman’s tent.

"I’ve been thinking this over." Tony said.

"And…" Jesse added.

"You realize the answer is already here," he said.

"The answer?" Jesse asked.

"Yes, we are dealing with a time paradox," Tony said. "The answer was planted in the wreckage and I am sure you have already found it,"

"Explain."

"If you were able to stop the plane from departing in on the day it crashed, it would not be sitting over there now. The second you do anything that could stop it from taking off, time will shift and we will too."

"I think I’m starting to understand," Alex said.

"For example, if we were to find the names of all the passengers and lets say kill one of them, the event could shift the flow of time and may possibly change the path of the plane. It also could possibly change the departure time or do something that would prevent it from coming in contact with whatever sent it hurling back in time," Tony said.

"As of now no such thing has happened," Alex said. "Because it is still here. If we did something to change time, we wouldn’t even know it."

"Correct!" Tony said. "I think we have already been through this time line. I think we have our answer somewhere on this site. We sent ourselves the answer. We just need to find it."

"Answer?" Brinkman asked. "In what form?"

"A recording device." Tony replied.

"And how do you know this?"

"You would have sent it. You would have made this as easy as you could. You realized we would sit around and brainstorm. We would have picked the most obvious answer."

"I see," Alex said. "If what you say is true, I’m surprised you haven’t tripped over it already."

Everyone looked puzzled trying to imagine what kind device Tony was referring to.

"We did," Brinkman said. Brinkman stared blankly for a moment thinking hard. "I was shown something about thirty years ago, on the first day of cataloging, that was very odd."

Dorothy perked up. "You’re telling me in the future we planted a recording device on this plane and sent two hundred and thirty two passengers to their deaths?"

All were silent for a moment.

"Yes but now it is possible to save them," Tony said. "We have discovered a recording device which explained how this happened, the event can now be prevented it from occurring again."

"I think your theory is flawed." Alex Parsons said.

"If it is Alex, we have four years to think of another." Brinkman said. "Let me show you what we found that day. It is in the morgue."

The group climbed into a military transport vehicle and drove across the camp to the metal shed, which housed the many boxes of remains found at the site. An armed guard stood at the door and several personnel were shuttling boxes into the building non-stop. Brinkman showed his identification to the guard and the group entered the building. Large shelving units held the boxes into well-organized groups and each was labeled with a date and approximate location of excavation.

Brinkman walked along the rows of boxes looking for the ones dated to the first day. He asked a clerk to assist him in finding the correct container and was led to a box with red writing and a label printed on it. It was marked because of a special artifact found with the remains. The clerk unlocked the lid of the box and opened it exposing the contents inside. The group huddled around peering inside looking for whatever Brinkman had been referring to back at the office. Carefully Brinkman reached into the box and started placing the remains of one of the crash victims on the counter top in a random fashion. After a few moments he produced the artifact in question and set is aside the pile of remains.

"Oh my God!" Tony said in amazement. Upon the table set polished chrome humorous bone with a snake of wires protruding from several locations along its length. The wires connected to several unidentified objects resembling sensors. Engraved on the shaft of the artificial bone read the date September 28, 2008 and the name Tony Rhine underneath. Tony looked in shock as he viewed his own remains laid out on the table. He now realized how this went down and understood that he had volunteered for a suicide mission knowing he would discover the device at the wreck site and somehow learn what had happened. It was a strange sensation coming to know he had been here before and this was the second time he had been through the timeline. He did not know for sure this was the second time through; it could very well have been the 3000th time for all he knew. He might be caught up in a continuous time loop forever reliving these events over and over again.

Tony reached out and picked up the skull and held it in his hands. He was horrified peering into its hollow eyes and thinking one day this would be all that’s left of him. "How did it feel to die" he wondered? "How could he and this pile of bones occupy the same space in the same time?" Everything he knew about physics was wrong.

"Did you see this?" Sonja asked. Pointing to the back of the skull.

"What the hell!" Tony said as he turned it around. "What could have done this?" he asked examining an indentation and crack at the rear of the skull. "Something bashed in the back of my head and left a huge fracture."

Alex peered over his shoulder and took a look. "Looks like you went fast. Probably dead before the plane hit the water." He said with a grin.

"I can see that Doctor, I was just wondering out loud what could have done this to me," Tony said in a sarcastic tone.

"There are also burn marks there, see them," Sonja said pointing at the same area.

"Maybe the plane caught fire," Alex Parsons said. "Happens all the time. A fuel tank explodes and the whole thing gets ripped into a million pieces."

"That’s true," Tony said. "But this plane is intact."

"Mostly intact," Brinkman said. "A large section of the rear of the plane is missing."

"Missing?" Tony asked.

"We think the plane may have had to make a forced controlled landing. We know the area was covered by a sea, but a plane with its fuel capacity could have flown five hundred miles in search of land."

Robert Brinkman placed the metallic humorous bone and sensors into a box heading off for the lab. Tony, lost in a trance, stood staring at his bones piled up in a mix match of different parts, some missing some broken. He had to tear himself away and follow the rest of the group to the research vehicle. At the last moment he grabbed a bone from the table and placed it in his pocket. A good luck charm.

His mind raced as he made his way out of the building and into the transport vehicle. As it sped across the complex he thought about what he would have done if he knew he would find himself at a later time. He knew he would have to use today’s technology and make it as obvious as possible. They had stumbled upon this on purpose and he was hoping to keep right on stumbling. He thought it would be difficult to make a record of anything because over time it would deteriorate into an undistinguishable decayed mess.

The only object that stood the test of time that he knew of was bone, but that was if it had the opportunity to fossilize, and he knew the conditions were too poor for this to happen. The stainless surgical steel would not rust having the best chance of protecting anything electronic inside.

He knew this was some sort of recording device surgically implanted into his body just prior to boarding the plane. There were no places to attach the tendons to the device so he could imagine his arm was useless after the surgery. Most likely it had to be put into a sling or it would have dangled limply at his side looking unnatural. It would have been easy to get past the metal detectors and onto the plane, he would just have had to explain he was injured and had pins put in his arm to help the bone heal correct.

The sensors must have been hooked up to his optical nerve or light pin receivers were inserted into his retina to record the actual light entering the eye. The resolution would be poor due to the low number of sensors that could be safely implanted. Maybe ten by ten making it one hundred pixels per square inch. Poor even by today’s standards. The unit’s size told him that the recording time must have been very limited due to the ability of the memory circuits to hold much information. No more than an hour of streaming video or one thousand stills collected. The image timer must have either been preset, or he was able to record using a remote radio device that started at a push of a button. Audio sensors could have been placed anywhere with small microphones just breaking through the skin.

They reached the lab and everyone gathered around the recording device.

"Look for a portal," Tony said.

"How would you know…?" Sonja said.

"I would have planned it that way," Tony said. "With a simple hookup to a computer of today’s speed."

Brinkman flipped it around till he found an indentation in the shape of a square with the word "Port" engraved on it. He grabbed a pair of needle nose pliers and peeled off the tab exposing a standard telephone jack.

"A modem connection," Alex said. "Clever, I’m surprised the sensor wires did not double as an output."

"I’m sure they did." Tony added.

"We have known for a long time what this was," Brinkman said to the group. "We have interfaced with the recording device through the sensor wires finding we were unable to tap into the memory chip without a password."

"Password?" Alex asked.

"Most likely put there so we would not access the information without the good doctor present," Brinkman said. "I can image that you made that a condition before you made the trip on the plane in the first place."

"How did I ever get involved in this in the first place?" Tony asked.

"The time line has already shifted we think. Whatever events occurred prior to this that led you on this path have disappeared. It is now a moot point."

Tony looked down at the mess of wires and stainless steel.

"What is the password Tony?" Brinkman asked. "You have the key to unlock the whole thing. That is why you were brought here."

"How about Alex? Why is he here?" Tony asked.

"Dr. Parsons," Brinkman said addressing Alex.

"Yes?"

"We have a box in the morgue with your name on it also."

 

Chapter 5

 

July 2, 1969

 

Viola Mae Johnson’s home was clutter of photographs, trinkets and various other odd decorative items. They were her memories of a lifetime swept up into boxes and disposed of into the back of an awaiting van. The pile grew, as her possessions were tosses aside, broken and discarded like common trash.

It was well past midnight and the house was a buzz with a diverse crew of workers emptying the house as fast as they were able. The lights were on and sounds reverberated from the house but no one was listening. Not really. The neighbors knew what was going on. Many were participating in the work. It was a cleaning, the duty of the members to eradicate any sign of their presence to the outside world.

The majority of the town’s folk were members, but not all. Some long-standing residents of the town were unaware of the membership, unaware of the underlying motives of the people in the community. It was a secret society of like-minded people with a common understanding; God and religion that made up the membership. The membership of the church.

This neighborhood was all church. All except for Viola Mae Johnson who moved here in 1942 with her husband Richard and son Dennis. The cleaning crew was a committee referred to as the "Sword", who’s sole purpose is to erase any signs of the church.

This was a job they had not done often, only a dozen or so times since the church was founded in Denton Kansas in 1932. The church, a secret society for the preservation of Lucifer, depended on anonymity to insure its survival. A good one fourth of the town was not church, but a strict code of silence and secrecy insured the church would not be discovered.

New members were carefully cultivated and absorbed through a process of teachings. The teachings were harmlessly spread through the missionary work of young members, deceiving the public, disguised as Christian missionaries. Potential new members were interviewed, questioned and then evaluated to see if they would be good candidates for membership. Those who showed an interest were asked to pray, and join the church, slowly being introduced to the true purpose and nature of the church. No one quit. No one had to.

The official name of the church was "The Children of the Morning Star." Morning Star, being the true interpretation of the name of Lucifer, the beautiful light bearing angel whom was cast from heaven. The church resembled any other church in town. They had a large Gothic style building in the center of town topped off with a cross and many stained glass windows portraying scenes from the bible. To all that passed by it was a Christian church, no different than any other church they would see in any town.

The only difference being the building was a front only used to deceive the rest of the town. Cars lined the streets near the church every Sunday, but no service was held inside. Services were held in a special place out in the country under the stars. Every Saturday evening, the church members would gather at the church building and park their cars along the streets. The members would then car pool together leaving as many empty cars in front of the church as possible. The next day the church would appear to be filled with parishioners, but the church would remain empty. Ushers kept strangers out of the building.

Brother Follett and Brother Thomas stacked boxes on a two-wheel dolly for the others to roll outside to the awaiting trucks. The men filled and stacked boxes repeatedly keeping focused on the task at hand, refraining from wasteful conversation.

"Brother Follett! Brother Thomas!" shouted a faint voice from the basement below. The two men ran to the stairwell and stopped at the open door.

"What is it?" Follett shouted down the staircase into the dark.

"Come quickly!" the voice replied, and the two men scrambled down the steps as fast as they could. At the bottom they turned only to be blinded by a single sixty-watt bulb next to the breaker box in the electrical room.

"Where are you?" Thomas asked, looking around for the source of the voice.

"Over here in the furnace room!" the voice shouted.

The men followed the sound around the corner then stopped in their tracks. Holding a flashlight, Brother Davis shined a beam of light into a small dark room illuminating a naked young man cowering in the corner. Around the mans neck was a collar of iron, welded shut with a chain attached to it leading to an iron pipe sticking out of the cement in the center of the floor. The room smelled of rotted food and feces. The walls were cracked and mildewed, stained with dark streaks running from ceiling to floor.

The man did not speak. He looked maybe twenty years old, unshaven with hair running the length of his back. He held his hand up to block the light from the flashlight blinding him, squinting as if he had never seen light before.

"Has he said anything?" Thomas asked.

"No, I just arrived here myself." Davis replied.

"He looks like a Goddamn monkey boy." Thomas added taking the flashlight. He stepped into the room, keeping the beam on the creature before him.

"What is your name?" Thomas asked.

The creature just stared back. The other two men stepped in closer blocking the doorway.

"What is your name?" he asked again.

The creature shifted, dragging its chain across the floor like an animal in a cage. As it moved Thomas noticed the name Alex scarred across its right shoulder and chest.

"Alex?" he asked looking down upon the monster before him. "Is that your name?"

No response.

"Alex, I am here to help you," Thomas said taking another step closer.

The creature gripped the chain tied to his collar and pulled trying to get away. There was nowhere to go.

"What do we have here men?" Thomas whispered to the two behind him.

"I have no idea." Davis replied.

Let me see!" boomed a familiar voice from behind. Everyone stood back and allowed the dark figure to enter the room.

"Looks like an ape." Seth stated.

"Yes sir." Thomas replied, shaken by Seth’s sudden appearance.

"You weren’t going to invite me to your party?" Seth asked Thomas.

"I didn’t think you wanted to be bothered by this," was his lame reply, and he knew it.

"You didn’t?"

"Yes sir."

"Who is the high priest my son? Who is your spiritual leader? Who do you answer to here on Earth?" Seth asked condescendingly.

"You sir."

"Then why are you making decisions for me?"

A moment passed. "I am sorry sir."

"Just pray my son that your actions do not keep you from your plan of salvation."

"I beg repentance."

"That is a wise choice." Seth stated, glaring at Thomas. "Now go get me five men! We will need help here!" he yelled at Davis and Follett.

The sheriff’s car pulled up to the house; the two men just back from their morbid duty. Two officers exited the vehicle and went separate directions. The deputy headed off to the end of the street where barricades were placed so non-church members could not drive past the house. A yellow work truck with the words "Denton Light and Water Dept." was parked by one of the barricades and workmen pretended to be hard at work running a hose down a manhole.

The sheriff walked across the terrace and up the steps to the house. By this time the house was on its way to being empty. The sheriff looked to his wristwatch, 2:00 a.m. it read, and he proceeded into the living room. He scanned the bare walls and patterns left by the furniture in the carpet satisfied with the progress.

"Hello Brother," said one of the cleaning crew to the sheriff. This was the common church greeting.

"Hello Brother," was the sheriff’s response, he said it like without thinking. "I see Seth’s car parked out front. Do you know where he is?"

"In the basement," he answered.

The sheriff rubbed his chin, gritting his teeth in anticipation of his encounter with Seth.

The sheriff walked into the kitchen to the stairwell and looked down the steps to the basement floor. A faint jingle of metal and the sounds of muffled voices reverberated from below. He stepped down one slat at a time as the boards creaked under his feet. He was listening, trying to make out what the voices were saying. He noted Seth’s voice immediately

"Sheriff!" Seth’s voice boomed from around the corner. "Your services are required here."

The sheriff came around the corner and joined the men standing at the doorway. Seeing Seth, the sheriff bowed his head and said, "How may I serve you father?"

"Have you seen this creature before?" Seth asked, pointing into the small dark room.

The sheriff raised his head and took a look at the man illuminated in the beam of the flashlight.

"No sir, this thing is unfamiliar to me," he replied.

"I thought we owned the market on keeping secrets," Seth said, and walked back out to the main basement room followed by the three other men. "Take him to the church," he added as he turned to the men.

"I beg your pardon father, but we know nothing of this creature. Are you sure this is the wise thing to do?" Follett asked.

"Am I sure?" Seth asked, his brow low on his forehead. "It is this kind of dissonance that will be our downfall!" he barked at Follett.

"I am sorry," Follett said back swallowing hard.

"I require no apologies, only obedience!" Seth yelled at the man now cowering down shaking. "I see no reason not to inform the council of your words."

"No. Please! Father I shall repent!"

"Yes you shall. I will see to that," he stated. "There is a faction among the flock, a dangerous splitting of the members which is detrimental to the survival of the church. If I find you are among them I shall see that you join our Father post haste."

"I shall obey." Follett said.

"Take him to the church! Now!" Seth barked to the three men before him.

 

Chapter 6

 

The group gathered in the laboratory, with the stainless steel artifact, ready to attempt to extract the recorded information locked inside. The room was lined on the inside with multiple computer terminals hooked to a mini mainframe processor and a satellite hookup to a larger faster system. All the electronics imagined for field exploration were incorporated into this lab and was manned with some of the military’s top on site research personnel.

Jesse Brinkman asked one of the technicians to hook up the phone plug to the recording device and attempt to download what information was on it. The group watched intently as the line clicked in and the tech started working on the computer trying to draw forth what was hidden for so many thousands of years. The sound of a modem connection was emanating from somewhere above and a box appeared on the screen of the computer terminal with the prompt "Password" above a row of four spaces, blank spot and then another five spaces.

"Show time," Jesse said to Tony. "We ran our computers on this for years, running the entire dictionary, random numbers and the kitchen sink trying to crack this passkey. We figured we had a five- percent chance of breaking it without your assistance. We could have saved a whole lot of time if it weren’t for this damn code."

"Come on Tony," Alex piped up. "What’s the password?"

Tony looked at the screen and recounted the number of spaces he had to fill and looked at the blank spot between the two segments. He hummed, rubbing his nose and closed his eyes.

"It’s ok to guess," Brinkman said. "I don’t think your going to break it, or we would have a long time ago."

Tony leaned over and typed "Jack, space Emily" then hit the return key.

The computer answered with a beep and a prompt reading "Access granted."

"This was too easy," the technician said. Tony just smiled knowing it would be a very simple process. The window simply stated "Saved to disc drive." Below it said "Best viewed with any media playing software created after 1997 and before 2008, click here to view file." The tech turned to Brinkman looking for directions.

"Who is Jack and Emily?" Brinkman asked.

"My parents," Tony replied.

"Let’s see it." Brinkman said and the technician clicked on the box. The screen went blank for a moment and a prompt box came up stating the file was being read. From a set of speakers mounted on the wall came the sounds of people chatting in real time and on the screen was a still frame of the back of an airliner seat and the back of someone’s head.

A digital clock was counting backwards from thirty minutes on the upper right hand corner of the screen as the sound of glasses clinking and music came from the speakers. Every thirty seconds a new still appeared on the screen showing different views of the back of this persons head and sometimes a shot of a magazine in the viewer’s lap. It was evident that the recording device was constantly recording and was probably looping every thirty minutes recording over the previous recording keeping the images current.

Tony got shivers down his spine seeing images he made realizing he was viewing the last thirty minutes of his life. It made sense to him that the recorder was set up to stop recording after the electric current in his body was determined to be no longer detectable. This way they could get an accurate determination of what it was that sent the plane to its watery death.

"I want copies of this," Brinkman said to the tech as the he watched the screen intently. There was almost no degradation in the quality of the picture and sound making the playback crystal clear. The video was only hampered by the low resolution of the camera sensor placed in Tony’s eye and a slight motion blur that occurred when a still was made in the turning of his head.

Minutes passed and the images were very uneventful other than the sound of distant thunder crashes and an occasional glimpse of a flash of lightning. It seemed the weather was poor and some of the passengers could be overheard talking about it remarking about the rain and lightning outside their windows.

The group listened intently for anything unusual, hoping to find out what it was that sent the airliner crashing into the sea. Tony was on the edge of his seat straining to listen to the sounds from the speaker and looking for anything out-of-the ordinary on the computer screen. Jesse, Sonja and Dorothy all had strained looks upon their collective faces as this bizarre movie unfolded before them. Only Alex stood in the back almost seeming uninterested by what was happening and made no effort to join in the group acting like he had better things to do with his time elsewhere.

More sounds of thunder shot over the speakers as a view of the storm appeared on the screen. Louder crashes became more frequent, seeming to interfere with the electronics of the recording device. The clouds in the distance seemed to light up in the still frame and the reflection of Tony’s face could be seen in the glass of the window. His breathing became more noticeable and rapid and he could be heard murmuring getting more and more agitated as the file played on.

"This weather might be something important," Tony’s voice said emanating from the speakers in a low-key tone. Tony’s jaw started to ache as he clenched his teeth listening to himself speak. He could feel the terror in his trembling voice becoming scared with each passing moment. He could feel the panic in his own voice and now could feel what it was like to face immanent death.

Sonja noticed Tony’s behavior and came over placing her arm around him to try to make him more comfortable. Tony didn’t seem to notice with his eyes fixated on the screen, his ears glued to the speakers. Brinkman leaned back against the counter and watched Tony’s reaction feeling like he should just lay low and let this thing ride out. He was not an overly emotional man and felt it was best to not try to comfort Tony.

On the screen the images began to download at a faster pace. The device must have been programmed to read Tony’s heart rate and adjust recording speed accordingly creating more documentation of the moment of crisis. The images jumped from one area to another as Tony spun his head in all directions in a panic. The audio led them to believe that the other passengers were worried about the weather, but had no clue as to what was about to happen to them.

Then it happened in an instant, as one thunderous crash of sound distorted the speakers causing everyone in the room jump. For a second everyone was startled and Tony lost his breath as they waited for the next image to dump. What they saw shocked and amazed them.

The cabin was flooded with clear bright daylight and all signs of the storm disappeared as the sound of cabin changed and the thunder was gone. The next few images were from Tony peering outside his window at a bright blue sky and an ocean of blue water that stretched for as far as the eye could see. The clouds were high and wispy and not of the type that created the storm they had just been in a fraction of a second ago.

"The water," Sonja said. "Oh my God." She couldn’t get a grasp on what she was seeing.

The clock on the screen read three minutes twenty five seconds and counting backwards to the end of the file and of Tony’s life.

"This is it," came from the speakers as Tony started to speak. "I hope everyone at home is getting this," he continued. "It was a bolt of lightning that sent us back. I can see that now. Outside my window I can see the ocean but I can’t see anything that would cause the plane to go down. It is very clear outside." His tone changed to a very scientific almost detached manner. It was like he was the announcer of a football game and he was describing someone else other than himself running down the field. The clock now read two minutes and fifteen seconds and the passengers now seemed in bewilderment but no longer in a panic over the thunderstorm.

"I’m going to look around," he said through the speakers and the images showed his view as he stood up and walked down the aisle noticing rows and rows of people sitting in their seats watching him.

"Sir…Sir!" could be heard from a female voice and the view turned as his head spun to face the sound. "You can’t go in there!" she exclaimed. The clock now read one minute thirty seconds on the screen as a picture of a short man in the isle carrying a bag appeared with a woman walking towards him. The images remained on the view as the images began to dump at a rate of one per second. Tony was in a panic, his breathing was loud and audible and he seemed to freeze in the isle.

The man was partially blocked out by the woman on the screen but something familiar rang out about his manner and overall demeanor. A moment later the man seemed to pull something out of his bag, and the flight attendant began to struggle with him. The view turned again away from the skirmish and it sounded like Tony was running in the opposite direction from the skirmish, panting noises reverberated from the speakers.

Just then a loud pop was heard followed by a crash as Tony struck the floor of the plane. The countdown read five seconds and counting. Then the screen turned black and a new window prompt came up asking if we wanted to exit the program. Tony was dead.

 

***

Later that evening, each member went to his or her own respective rooms to retire for the day with a copy of the file to play on their personal computer. Dorothy had run the file several times as she got ready for bed listening to the audio and occasionally glancing at the screen to coordinate the action as it unfolded over and over. She sat down at the computer desk and started to brush her hair when something caught her eye. On one of the screen dumps she could see a group of passengers heads, as Tony had turned to see behind him.

She peered closely at the monitor thinking she recognized the face of Alex Parsons sitting several rows behind Tony, looking away from him towards the right. She stopped the program and froze the screen as it appeared at that moment and attempted to enlarge the image. As she did it got more and more distorted as the pixels became bigger squares.

She reduced it back to normal size and just sat looking at the image becoming more and more convinced it was Alex. She prompted the computer to the next image and the hair on her legs stood up as she saw the face of Alex looking right at her. Tony must have known he was on board she thought. This was odd that they weren’t sitting next to each other she concluded making a note of her findings in her journal. She took note of the color of his shirt and the approximate location of his seat. It was possible that Alex’s remains also contained a recording device somewhere in the morgue. Maybe they split up in order to obtain different points of view for the records and they knew each other were on the plane. It made sense now.

Dorothy picked up her cell phone and dialed Tony’s number. She was going to ask him over to show him her findings when she heard a knock on the door of her room. On the other end of the phone Tony answered hello as she made her way to the door with t he phone curled up under her neck.

"One second" she said, as she opening the door.

From across the campus the loud screams of a woman could be heard startling Tony, causing him to drop the phone. He scrambled out the door towards the sound seeing a bright glow emanating from the direction of Dorothy’s building and ran in that direction yelling for help. A large group of military personnel came running with fire extinguishers and any tool available to put out a massive blaze.

Dorothy had made it outside the burning building and managed to escape the hottest part of the fire but was her caught in a blaze of yellow flames. Several men forced her to the ground and the flames were put out, she was horribly burned, but still alive. She had been doused with gasoline and set afire.

 

Chapter 7

 

July 2, 1969

By dawn, all traces of Viola Mae Johnson were gone. All that remained was the empty shell of her house and the ghosts that remained behind. The house was cleaned with bleach, the carpet shampooed, and acid misted on any surface that may retain any biological traces such as hair or fingerprints. Soon no one would remember Viola, and her memories would be dashed away by the members of the church. No one would remember her name or speak of her in public again, washing her from existence.

It just so happened that the doublewide trailer owned by Dennis Johnson caught fire, burning to the ground, killing all the members of family that same evening. A strange coincidence anywhere else except for this town.

Brother Follett sat patiently in his car three blocks from the church building watching as Seth and the sheriff exited the North entrance of the church and get in a white Ford sedan. A moment later they pulled out of the church parking lot and turned down the street, driving in the opposite direction. Brother Follett had been sweating out this moment since they first discovered the man creature in the basement of the house the night before. He was exhausted and feeling sick to his stomach from lack of sleep and stress induced by the anxiety dwelling deep in his head. Seth did not know it for sure, but Brother Follett was one of the rebellious church members he was talking about.

Brother Follett put his car in gear and drove down the street to the church. He turned into the gravel lot and parked his car under a silver maple tree across from the back door of the church. He turned his key, shutting off the engine and reached into the glove box pulling out a seven inch serrated hunting knife covered securely within a leather sheath. He pulled the knife free and used it to cut a length of twine from a roll he had lying on the seat. He ran the twine through the leather of the sheath and wrapped the rest around his calf under his pant leg fastening it so it would not move as he walked.

He stepped out of his car and gave his leg a good shake to check the knife to make sure it was secure and well hidden. His eyes squinted in the bright morning light as he scanned the church lot for any other members he might come across. Gathering his courage, he walked across the grounds making scrunching sounds as his heels scraped across the gravel lot. Reaching the back of the church, he grabbed his key set from his belt and unlocked the padlock.

With a tug and a click, it opened allowing him to open the door and gain entrance. The church layout was familiar to him as all the brothers took turns maintaining the façade, doing chores and cleaning the premises all for the good of the church.

The morning sun lit the interior of the building well illuminating the bare white walls and hallways. Every step he took echoed off the walls and throughout the empty rooms to his dismay, as he tried to maneuver covertly about inside the huge building.

Peering through the hallway, he peeked into the large room on the main floor used for services in most Christian churches. In this building it was a barren wood floor from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. He did not expect to see anyone here, but had to check anyway. Back down the hallway he went and turned to face the staircase leading to the lower level.

Faint voices could be heard conversing from below. He took his first step down the stairs stopping at the landing half way down. From there he moved like a stealthy cat after a mouse keeping an open ear to the voices he was following. He peered around the corner to see two of his fellow brother’s guarding the wild man who sat naked, chained to a sewer pipe that ran the length of the wall, floor to ceiling.

The prisoner sat still and silent as he watched the two men sitting on fold out chairs chatting. He seemed mildly interested but afraid at the same time. Just then Follett saw one of the keepers get off his chair and walk to the captive.

"Hey monkey boy!" the keeper said as he taunted his victim and raised his leg as if to kick him. He turned to his friend and said "Watch this," and he took a swing at the prisoner’s head. The swing connected and the man fell back to the wall.

"Kick him in the ribs!" his partner shouted.

"What is your name Monkey boy?" he yelled again to the prisoner who was now cowering against the wall. "I don’t know what Seth has planned for you monkey boy, but if I had my way I would have you on the slab tonight," he said laughing.

Brother Follett, feeling more at ease, came around the corner from which he was hiding, clicking his heels on the tile floor.

"Brother Jake, Brother Paul, how is our friend this morning?" Follett said, crossing the floor. His voice caught them off guard.

"He is a dirty filthy animal." Brother Jake responded stepping towards Brother Follett meeting him half way across the room. "It does not matter how he is. He is just lucky to be at all."

"Yes he is," Brother Follett stated looking down upon the terrified creature chained to the wall. "Do we know why Seth decided to spare him?" he asked.

"He has not said anything to us," was the reply.

"This man looks retarded," Follett scoffed pointing at it. "Does Seth now show compassion for the weak and helpless?" he asked rhetorically. "Lucifer demands a sacrifice! Who are we to deny him?"

From behind Follett, a low booming voice replied, "I do not deny my Lord!"

Follett turned his head and reached down to his pant leg pulling the knife from its sheath. The sheriff, standing next to Seth in the doorway, pulled out his revolver.

"You lead the resistance?" Seth questioned as he looked to Follett. "I assumed it was you and now I know."

"Lead?" he asked back. "There are no others. I stand-alone. I have seen the truth, the light and the way," his voice echoed off the walls.

"Oh there are others Brother Follett, that is one thing I am sure of. I have seen a change in the heart of many members and now I know who instigated it."

"Why do you save this man?" Follett asked Seth pointing to the helpless creature. "I see change in your heart Seth. Something in your heart made you spare this mans life."

"Yes something did, but not what you think,"

"Seth, you can repent, it is not too late."

Seth chuckled at Follett’s attempts to point fingers in his direction and said, "No Brother Follett, I have not changed. I shall not repent. I have seen to it that our Lord Lucifer has his sacrifice."

"You don’t mean this creature? He is too old for the sacrifice. You know the doctrine!"

"You think I am going to sacrifice him?" Seth said laughing. "You fool!" he added taking a step forward. "This creature as you call him is no sacrifice. He is your Messiah. The chosen one."

Follett clutched his knife harder as he listened to these words.

"It has been written that he would be delivered as an empty shell that we would fill with the spirit we maintained in the secret vessel of the church."

"Secret Vessel?" Follett asked, "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Of course not. I am the sole keeper of the doctrine."

"What is the vessel?"

"Not what my Brother," Seth replied stretching out his arm. "Let me introduce you to the vessel."

The sheriff took a step forward, and his eyes glowed red.

 

Chapter 8

 

 

"I find it interesting that in the age of cavemen, we invented a God in order to explain the supernatural, and now that we are modern man we have chosen do disbelieve our own past, and choose to continue to believe in the God," Tony said.

"Don’t be so sure young man," Brinkman replied. "We have some new results on the skeletal remains that may change your mind."

"You sound like old man Parsons," Tony added. "He’s into that kind of stuff too, like creationism, God and all that miracle mumbo jumbo. What do you have that’s so interesting anyway?" he asked.

Brinkman paused and rubbed his chin." You know about the DNA database that we’ve been checking all remains against?" Brinkman asked.

"Yeah, It’s all that CIA, DOD, NSA crap spy stuff," Tony said.

"Crap?" Brinkman asked. "You won’t think so for very long."

"I’m listening" Tony said.

"We checked the DNA from your remains in storage against a sample we took recently."

"You’ve been digging through my hairbrush?" Tony asked.

"It’s all necessary and quite legal," Brinkman replied. "And the results were beyond belief."

Tony sat confused waiting for an explanation like a dumb dog staring at its master waiting for a treat.

"You don’t have DNA," Brinkman said. "At least like any I have ever seen before."

Tony thought he was joking and waited for the real answer. After a moment he spoke up and asked, "You think I am an alien or something?"

"You have sequences and strands that no other man woman or child has" Brinkman said. "Beyond the normal set."

Tony did not know what to say. He rubbed his hands together and contorted his face as he absorbed this information. He looked at Brinkman, then at the floor, and back again scratching his ear as he twisted and bobbed his head like a bird.

"Nope, don’t get it," he said. “I don’t have any extra body parts growing out of me. Sorry."

"Not all DNA has to do with physical make up you know," Brinkman said. "It may have something to do with your talents or mental abilities."

"Mental abilities?" Tony asked. "I can’t levitate spoons. I wish I could. Neat party trick."

"Or it could be a by-product of your travels through time," Brinkman said. "Like a mutation made from radiation bombardment."

Tony stumbled for the right words to say. "You don’t think that’s it do you?" he asked.

"No," Brinkman answered. "I think there is a much larger story going on than either of us understand. You are special Tony."

"If I were special I could have stopped Dorothy from being attacked and almost burned to death," Tony replied.

Both Tony and Brinkman sipped their coffee and headed back out into the field ready for another day’s work at the site. Tony’s mind was full of the images of Dorothy running through the dark of night in a ball of flame being trampled on and put out by military men. The smell of her burned hair and skin still sickened him and he felt guilty for feeling this way.

The two men caught a ride to the site on a Hummer feeling the extreme heat once again burn their skin like fire. Brinkman wore shorts and sunglasses and Tony opted, for a wide brim hat, and jean shorts, to go along with his sandals. In the back of the vehicle were there work uniforms strangely suited for work in the cold.

Alex and a crew of many men, met Tony and Brinkman at the entrance of the building smoking a cigarette. Alex wore a tank style T- shirt, allowing a long scar to be visible, running the length of his chest from shoulder to opposite hip. The scar was almost invisible hidden behind a mat of dark chest hair and glistening sweat

"So did you learn anything from the download?" Alex asked Tony.

"Yeah, I did," Tony responded. "Something became painfully obvious to me after viewing the recording."

"What was that?" Brinkman asked as he blocked the sun from his eyes.

"That time travel is a naturally occurring event," Tony replied.

Alex wiped the sweat from his brow and took a drag off his cigarette, squinting as the bright sunlight beat down upon him. He put his hands on his hips and shuffled his feet as if he were nervous.

"Naturally occurring?’ Alex asked not believing what he had just heard.

"Just like life in the universe," he said. " If the conditions are right, it just happens, spontaneously, no God, no miracles."

Both men just looked at him waiting for him to tell them it was a joke. Even though they were all men of science, to make such a claim was to stab at one’s faith and belief systems, obviously Tony had no such beliefs. The temperature was approaching ninety degrees and there was no breeze as the men continued to try to understand the problems they were facing.

"And what is your theory Doctor?," Alex asked.

Tony turned and looked at Alex like the skeptic he was. There was no use trying to convince this man for he had predetermined values and beliefs that no one, especially Tony could shake. Alex had the look of an opponent waiting to do battle. No matter what Tony said it would not pass the judgment of his senior colleague.

"It was the lightning," Brinkman said.

"That is correct," Tony said as he quickly turned his head in amazement. "It stood out like a sore thumb."

"Are you trying to tell me lightning somehow sent that plane back in time?" Alex asked. "You didn’t even believe traveling back in time was even possible two weeks ago and now you have stamped your seal of approval on your own theory."

"The video proved it," Tony said.

"The video proved nothing," Alex replied. "I saw nothing that would lead me to believe lightning had anything to do with this. It was an act of God."

Tony started to get agitated and argumentative with Alex hoping to prove him wrong. The only problem was that he only had a theory and had little evidence past the recording, which was average to poor at best.

"Somehow the electricity effected the plane at the molecular level, changing its properties enough to phase it out of our space and time. I will need time to work out the details but it isn’t important now anyway," Tony said.

"And why not?" Alex asked.

"It’s not like we are planning to duplicate it. Now that we know what happened we can stop these passengers from facing the same fate twice."

"Twice? You assume this is only the second time this loop has occurred?"

"You are correct. We may be in a forever looping chain of events, but let us hope it is not and we can stop it before it recycles again."

"How do you propose to do that?" Alex asked.

"Retire the plane, I don’t know. It can’t be that hard."

"If this a never ending time loop, there will be no way to stop it from repeating. If we are the only three men who know of the truth of the matter, then it is not possible, that we would be able to stop it from continuing to the same fate," Alex said, "The most plausible scenario is that we will be unable to stop it. Most likely we won’t live long enough to try."

"All we really have to do is clean up this mess and bury it under some secret military installation and pretend it never happened," Tony said. "As far as I am concerned this is a closed book. I am satisfied with my findings, I am sorry you are not Dr. Parsons."

"What makes you so positive?" Alex asked.

"I have studied time travel since I first read science fiction comic books as a child. I have spent twenty years on and off researching and formulating ideas and concepts concerning its likelihood and had come to the conclusion as a grad student that time travel into the future was not only plausible but possible and happened all the time. Time travel into the past is another story all together."

"Go on," Alex said. "You seem to be contradicting your own research paper."

"I will admit I don’t know all the answers. I just think the popular concept of time travel is incorrect." Tony said. "From the stand point of physics you can draw some conclusions that I will stand behind as fact."

"Like what?" Alex asked.

" If you approach the speed of light, your body in relation to whence you came slows the aging process," Tony replied. "In effect, allowing your home base to continue to age at a faster rate. Once you again incorporate with once you once left you will have found yourself in your future and you will appear to them from the distant past," Tony explained.

"What on Earth travels at the speed of light? How can this be a naturally occurring event? You’re theory is flawed," Alex said.

"Not everything has to move very far or in the same direction," Tony rebutted.

Brinkman just watched the men go at it. Alex was set aback by this last comment and had no answer. Tony felt he had finally got him on that point.

"It would be like a microwave oven," Alex said. "Like a burned instant burrito."

"True, but not if all the matter was moving in the same direction. You don’t burn up when you walk do you? All your molecules head in the same direction."

"I see," Said Brinkman. "Makes more sense to me now."

"Sounds like science fiction to me," Alex said, and he headed off leaving Tony and Brinkman to discuss the issue further.

"I may have a job offer for you." Brinkman said to Tony as he watched Parsons disappear behind into the building. "If you don’t mind working for the government that is."

 

Chapter 9

 

July 5, 1969

It was the first Saturday night of the month, the night reserved for the New Moon Sacrifice. Torches were lit and the members of the church huddled around the concrete slab, next to the run-down shack, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Standing next to the slab, dressed in black and red was Seth, the high priest of the church. To his left, two sheriff’s deputies restrained Brother Follett from behind, forcing him to kneel in a twisted, contorted, painful position. The sheriff stood silently by watching. The torchlight flickered on the men dancing in and out shooting shadows that danced on the trees surrounding them.

"Welcome children," Seth said to the flock, his arms raised up to the sky. "We have once again come to show reverence to out father, the Morning Star." He looked out to the attentive audience, silent and hungry for each word he spoke. "This is a special night," he said pausing, scanning the crowd. "Not only because it is the mass of the Sacrifice, but because the prophecy has been fulfilled!" he shouted.

The crowd gasped and a collective murmur resonated throughout the mass of astonished parishioners.

"Our savior has come, and tonight we will be with him," Seth said bowing his head with the words. The crowd was silent; the only sounds penetrating were those of the crickets chirping in the midsummer night heat.

"Not all is well," he added. He slowly turned to face Brother Follett who was restrained and bound. "Some among you have turned your backs to the church. Some among you have plotted to destroy the very foundation that keeps us together. Some of you no longer speak the truth!"

Follett’s eyes burned through Seth’s as he spoke about him to the crowd, their mutual stare locked them together, like the horns of two fighting rams. He pulled and tugged, but was unable to free himself from his captors wanting desperately to attack his accuser just ten feet away.

"No! It is all a lie!" Follett yelled to the crowd. He was answered with a punch in the kidney from behind. He gasped for air as he reeled from the pain.

Seth seemed to glide on air as he walked over to Brother Follett who now was doubled over in agony. "Brother Follett has graciously named all of his coconspirators," Seth said sweeping his hand across the crowd. "During a moment of repentance he reflected on his actions and prayed for forgiveness. As you can see he has once fallen again," he added looking down upon the prisoner.

"You…" Brother Follett yelled. Before he could get out another word he was again punched from behind.

"Brother Follett had decided to repent for his sins to the father. I shall make sure he keeps his promise," Seth said and took a single step away. "If any of you decide to confess your sins I will again baptize you releasing you of your sins. All the father asks is repentance."

Faces in the crowd turned to look at each other, members trying to decide who among them were of the rebellion.

"If you come forward now, I will spare you of our fallen brother’s punishment." Seth said to the crowd. "If you make me force you out like rats in a sewer, you will feel the punishment."

"I gave no names!" Follett screamed. He was immediately shoved to the ground, gagged and beaten before the mass of church members.

"He lies!" Seth yelled. He again turned to the crowd. "I will give you but one chance to confess freely! Those of you who refuse will pay the ultimate price!"

From the crowd, a small group of members approached the slab and climbed up onto it. The faces of the congregation twisted to hate as they witnessed these few come forth and proclaim their disdain for the church.

"What crime am I being accused of?" a woman from the small group asked. "Is it a crime to speak the truth?"

Seth turned away from the woman ignoring her and addressed the mass. "Three days ago, this sacred ground was violated. Our burial vault, hidden for over thirty years, was discovered and then desecrated by an outsider. One of you unlocked the entrance to the chamber and allowed this to occur. One of you was trying to subvert the church and sabotage our mission."

"We are guilty of nothing I say! You have no proof any one of us doing this."

"If you are not guilty, then why do you come forth?"

"We come forth to expose you!" she yelled.

The crowd churned and voices grumbled throughout.

"Me? How dare you?" Seth asked.

"You are such a fool!" she yelled to him. "A blind fool so self-absorbed with your own glory and power to see that Brother Follett was coming to kill you!"

"Kill me? I am the great protector! You’re…"

"You are the great deceiver, the prince of lies incarnate!" she yelled now looking to the crowd. "You unlocked the gate to the chamber allowing the intruders inside! You wanted the church discovered so you could expose the secret to the whole world. Brother Follett was only trying to protect what you were trying to destroy!"

Seth stood dumbfounded on the slab, his eyes glued to the women accuser before him. He looked to the crowd and again raised his hands. "She is trying to save herself. I am the keeper of the doctrine, the high priest. Why would I want to expose it to the outside?" He asked.

"You’re power hungry, and a mad man!" she barked back at him. Your love of power is only dwarfed by your hate of keeping the secret."

"You are insane." Seth said calmly and called for his deacon’s to silence her. They gagged her and dragged her off the slab before she could do any more damage and insight the crowd into an uncontrollable mass. He looked to the sheriff standing by the shed and said "Tonight I shall present to you the son of our Lord, but first I must make a sacrifice to his holiness worthy of him." He held out his hand and the sheriff walked over presenting him with Follett’s hunting knife. "With this I shall show reverence to my Lord."

The crowd was now silent as they watched the ceremony-taking place on the concrete slab before them. The calm night air, rest upon the hundreds of parishioners, as they stood in awe of the power of the sacrament about to unfold, unshaken by the previous scandal.

"All souls he takes he claims as his own." Seth said looking down at the knife in his hand. He looked up and held the knife above his head. The crowd yelled in approval. He walked over to Follett and motioned the two deputies restraining him to bring him to his feet. "Brother Follett!" he proclaimed to the crowd. "The decision of sacrifice has been made in the name of our Lord Lucifer. In his name I thee baptize!"

The knife plunged deep into Follett’s heart and remained there as Seth watched him fall to the ground, striking the slab with his skull.

"Our Lord is pleased!" he stated to the crowd as blood drained from Follett’s body onto the concrete. "It is now time for the prophecy to be fulfilled."

The sheriff deputies, now freed from restraining Follett, walked over and helped haul up the wild man they had found in the basement of the Johnson house, onto the slab. The man looked about wildly at the many faces staring back at him from below like a scared helpless child. His arms were forced out to his sides, held fast by the deputies, his pose resembling that of Christ on the cross, his body resembling a tortured soul. He tried to pull free, but the four men holding him gave little as he struggled to get away.

"Don’t be afraid my son." Seth said to the prisoner touching his face with the back of his hand. "You are a caterpillar waiting to be reborn into a beautiful butterfly." Seth nodded to the sheriff standing close and said, "The time is now."

The sheriff stepped in front of the prisoner and faced out to the crowd, blocking the man from view. He knelt down on one knee and drew his service revolver, placing it in his mouth with his thumb on the trigger. His eyes grew red for a second. He then he pulled the trigger. Pop went the gun, and the sheriff fell to the side landing hard on the slab. The prisoner standing behind was released from his captors grip and grabbed his abdomen as blood poured forth from the bullet wound.

The prisoner dropped to his knees and stared at the blood on the slab, mute and bewildered. His long dirty hair fell back as he lost his life, collapsing back to the concrete slab. Both the sheriff and the prisoner lied flat on the concrete lifeless and limp. The crowd began to rumble and Seth raised his hand to silence it without taking his eyes off the two dead men at his feet.

 

 

Chapter 10

 

July 5, 1969

 

The wild man rose up, standing before the crowd, healed of its bullet wound. Its eyes were now the same color red the sheriff’s eyes had been a moment before. There had been a transformation of body and soul. The monster, mute from the day it was discovered, now opened his mouth before the astonished crowd and proclaimed," I am the son of the Morning Star!" The crowd stood silent in fear.

Seth backed away in his master’s presence bowing down on one knee.

I have not come to judge the living nor the dead," the wild man said, addressing the crowd. "I am here to fulfill a promise to my father, to fill his kingdom with faithful, reverent, souls. Your only purpose is to assist me with my task."

Standing naked and dirty, the Son of the Morning Star gripped the iron collar from around his neck and tore it off with both hands letting it, and the chain fall to the concrete with a clang and a rattle. "I stand before you as your savior, your God on Earth," he stated scanning the mass before him. "My father has given me a name. A name for which you shall all call me by. My name is Alex!" he yelled to the silent group while pointing to the scar on his shoulder and chest. "My father branded me, putting forth my name for all to see." He paced the slab becoming more animated. "From this day forward you shall call me master. You shall call me your savior. The outside world will know me as Alex. I shall know you as my slaves."

His red eyes darted back and forth making hard eye contact with several members of the church. "Your only goal is to die and be reborn into an eternity with my father, you have no higher purpose than that!" he said raising his hand to the crowd. "Scorn me and you scorn the father. Please me and you do the same." He walked over to Follett’s dead body and placed his foot on his chest. "This man now dwells in my father’s home. He lives in eternal bliss!" He paused. "You too will one day know of my father’s love, but before then you will go forth and collect souls for his kingdom. This is your one and sole purpose! To love, reverence and populate the kingdom of my father!"

The crowd shouted and cheered back.

"Bring me some clothes," Alex, the Son of the Morning Star demanded, "For I know now that I am naked."

Seth stood and grabbed a robe off one of the church members standing close by. He turned and walked to Alex bowing and offering it to him. Alex just looked down upon him.

"You wish to control me?" Alex asked Seth.

"No my Lord! I only wish to obey you," he replied, looking up to him.

"You cannot lie to me. I am the King of Lies. I know what dwells in your heart."

"I do not lie to you."

Alex paused for a moment. "Stand before me and repent."

"Repent?"

"Stand!"

Seth stood and faced Alex terrified. "Why do you fear me? Is it not your only desire to reside in my kingdom? Do you fear leaving this place?" Alex asked.

"I, I don’t…"

"That’s right. You don’t know. Your mouth speaks, but your heart deceives."

"I have always led the way for your coming."

"You have used me for your own personal gain. Until now you ruled over these people. Now they are mine. What purpose do you serve now?"

"I will serve you. You are my master now."

"For how long? At what point will your envy take over? I need not a conspirator in my ranks. For you I have no trust, or need." Alex stated. "What is it you crave most?" he asked.

"To please you." Seth answered.

"Your dishonesty pleases me," he replied as he reached out and grabbed Seth’s head, twisting it until his neck snapped. He joined Brother Follett and the sheriff on the slab.

"Tonight was a good sacrifice," Alex stated to the crowd. "My father is pleased tonight."

 

Chapter 11

 

April 12, 2000

6 months later

 

Jennifer Davis stepped out of the university library into the cold dark night after an evening of study and research for a paper in biology class. The light emanating from the building faded quickly as she paced down the sidewalk towards her off campus apartment. She could see her breath as she huffed and puffed, always keeping an eye out for strangers and looking back over her shoulder on a regular basis. It was well known that several coeds had been killed at the university but none in the last seven months or so.

Her destination was ten blocks off campus mainly down poorly lit residential streets, and she hadn’t planned to stay at the library after sundown. With her books in tow she counted her steps as they danced in a rhythmic pattern. She tried not to concentrate on the stars in the sky above, or the bite of the cold air on her face. She was trying to listen for any sounds that were out of the ordinary and looked for any movement that might be a signal trouble lurking in the shadows.

Across the street she could see the brightly lit up sign from a gas station/ quick mart and several people moving about inside. It gave her a bit of comfort knowing she could call out for help if needed and she continued briskly across the parking lot towards the roadway. Her books seemed to grow heavy in her arms and her fingers began to tingle as the cold night air nipped at them. She wore only a light jacket not realizing the temperature would drop so suddenly after sundown.

From out of the shadows of the science hall building, came forth a familiar male voice calling out her name. She listened as the voice called out to her again.

"Hold up a minute," the voice yelled and the sound of fast paced footsteps became louder as her pulse began to speed. She froze in her tracks waiting to see who’s face matched up with the voice.

A sigh of relief came over her as she saw Prof. Alex Parsons emerge from the darkness in an almost cartoon fashion waving his arms and waddling like a penguin.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked her. "I am heading home myself and I saw you heading off campus, thought you might like the inside of a warm car instead of freezing your toes off out here."

She didn’t even hesitate. "Sure, I’d really appreciate it Dr.. Parsons."

"You can call me Alex, honey. My car is right over here," he replied as he directed her to his four-door navy sedan parked at the far end of the lot. They made their way through the lot passing between cars not saying anything to each other. She felt comfortable with this man for he was the Professor in her Physics class and had a very fatherly appeal about him.

He unlocked the door and hit the automatic unlock button making a click in the remaining three doors. The lock on her door raised into the up position and she opened the door and got in. Once inside it seemed very quiet and the car smelled to her like it had been well cleaned and well kept. She figured he must have been obsessed with neatness except that his pants were always too baggy and his hair was constantly messed up.

He turned the key and the car started up hardly making a sound. It seemed to purr like a kitten as he put it into reverse backing out, then switching gears and making his way down the lot towards the entrance to the street. Jennifer watched out the passenger window as the gas station grew further and further away from her. After looking both ways Alex pushed on the gas and headed down the street.

Jennifer watched as the car made its way to the first turn towards her apartment and she wondered how he knew when to turn, maybe he knew someone else who lived in the building and they had mentioned her name. The radio was turned off and she tried to think of something to say to break the silence and end this awkward moment. He kept his eyes facing out the front of the car with his hands on the three and nine o’clock position on the steering wheel and she just stared out the side window watching the streetlights pass by as the car sped along.

"How are you doing in your other classes?" he asked her. She almost was startled by the sound of his low booming voice.

"Uh…fine, I guess," she struggled for an intelligent answer. She clenched her books tighter as she looked at him.

"I wish more students spent time in the library instead of the clubs," he said. "You’re doing the right thing with your free time."

Jennifer thought about how she was actually planning to go out to the clubs after she got home, but had no intention of telling him. They were four blocks from her apartment and she was starting to get anxious about getting out of the car. He was beginning to get a little creepy and she didn’t really like talking to him as much as she thought she would. The heat from the vents did feel better than the nipping of the cold night air and she was content to ride this out for four more blocks.

As they approached her apartment he suddenly turned to the right taking her by surprise down the wrong street. She felt a hot flash and a moment of panic as she was forced by the turn to lean towards the Professor and grip the passenger door handle. He didn’t even flinch as continued down the side street in the wrong direction, which made her feel obligated to speak up.

"My apartment was in the middle of that block back there," she said.

"I know honey; I was just going to drop you off in the alley behind the apartments. There is a driveway leading to the backdoor."

She puzzled a moment wondering how he would know this, but then realized he has been a teacher in this town for almost a decade and may have been there before. She had only lived in the city for the two years she was a student. For all she know he had lived in the apartments before. He made the turn into the alley and drove to her driveway putting the car into park.

"Thank you Professor," she said and got of the car shutting the door behind her. She turned as she walked towards the apartments and saw him staring at her and it again, started to creep her out. She was glad to be home, she thought to herself. The headlights from his car shot her shadow harshly against the side of the building as she sauntered towards the door, hearing him put the car in reverse and pull out of the driveway. A sigh of relief came over her.

Jennifer pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door to a long steep set of stairs that led to her apartment at the top of the building. It was a chore to climb all the steps and she couldn’t wait to move somewhere else or find a house needing another roommate. The books in her arms felt like sacks of rocks as she trudged up the steps each one creaking and groaning with each stride One sixty watt bulb lit the entire staircase illuminating the cracks and yellow stains on the walls.

At the top of the stairs she produced another key to her door, unlocked it and entered setting her books on the kitchen table next to her dirty dishes and disheveled papers and magazines. She checked her answering machine and headed to the kitchen to look for something to eat peering inside her empty refrigerator. The cupboards were almost as barren and she searched the freezer for anything to toss in the microwave oven.

The clock on the wall read nine thirty five and she thought she could run to a cash machine and to a fast food restaurant, still having time to make it to one of her favorite clubs on the edge of campus. All she needed to do was con one of her friends into driving her, which she did, on a semi-regular basis. She picked up the wall- mounted phone in the hall next to the kitchen and dialed up one of her friends. A busy tone greeted her and she hung up again heading for the kitchen.

Again she searched in vain for anything to eat in case she could not locate a patsy to chauffeur her around tonight, because she dreaded walking in that dark cold night again. She leaned back against the counter and put her hands on the edge, hanging her head as she thought. The idea of ordering a pizza came to mind until she looked at her trash can and saw a pile of stacked empty pizza boxes sitting there that should have gone to the trash two weeks ago.

Frustrated she made her way back into the living room where her heart skipped a beat and her breathe made a gasping sound seeing Professor Alex Parsons, standing behind her dining room table. His briefcase lay open on the table with the lid propped up and his right hand hidden behind the top of the case. He didn’t look surprised by her reaction and was quite calm, almost business like in a way as he looked at her across the room.

"What…?" she bellowed out.

"I think you forgot something in my car Jennifer," he said and lifted a pair of her underwear from the case, tossing it out on the table. She looked at it in bewilderment realizing he had been in her apartment and had stolen this. She froze in her tracks as he pulled a pistol from the case and approached her. He grabbing her by the back of her ponytail and yanking her head back hard. He placed the barrel, of the pistol under her chin and sent a knee into her stomach dropping her to the ground in one swift motion.

On the floor he placed his shin on the back of her neck constricting her windpipe, and aimed the pistol just to the right of her ear squeezing off two quick shots making a pop, pop sound like a cap gun. He grabbed the back of a chair and lifted himself up not looking at what he had done. In a flash he was out the door and down the steps racing back to his car in the back lot of the apartments.

 

Chapter 12

 

The back door of the house opened into the garage and Alex stepped through it letting the screen door slam behind him. Light leaked in around the edges of the garage door allowing enough light for him to search for what he needed. Around the car, he walked to a rack full of garden tools hanging off the unfinished wall. He stood scanning the selection.

Running his hand back in forth along the long tools, he grasped a garden shovel, a hoe, and tree saw. Carrying the tools under one arm, he walked around to the back of his four-door sedan and unlocked the trunk allowing it to pop open. Pushing aside a roll of plastic lawn bags and his tire iron, he let the tools fall into the trunk with a clatter of metal on metal.

He placed his hands on the lid of the trunk looking down at the selection, pondering his choice. This was not the first time he had done this, but he was always looking to perfect his craft. "Rope!" he remembered and went to his workbench, unraveling it from a peg hook by the work light. The rope was tossed on top of the shovel and hoe. He once again took hold of the trunk and slammed it shut. "There, that will do it," he thought.

He looked to his watch reading, 3:10 p.m. in digital numbers. "Time to go!" he thought and scrambled into the driver’s seat. Reaching to his visor, he pushed the door opener button watching in his rear view mirror, as the door climbed up allowing in the bright sunshine from outside.

The car was started and put in reverse. He pulled out into his driveway checking for cross traffic, making his way onto the residential street. The sounds of children screaming and yelling could be heard emanating from the local elementary school three blocks away and Alex sped off in that direction.

The gray skies above did little to illuminate the dead dried leaves and brown grass left by the changing of the seasons. Alex Parsons drove slowly past the elementary school watching carefully as the children played on the swings, running, chasing each other kicking and screaming. He had circled the school several times and was starting to get nervous as one of the playground monitors took notice of him. He did not vary from his course continuing to watch the children as he slowly sped by.

It was 3:20 p.m. and school was to be let out in ten minutes. He parked his car a block from the playground hiding behind a group of trees and waited for the children to pass on their way home. He had been here and done this before, planning it in his mind over and over. All the pieces were in place. It was time for another catch.

In the distance he saw several groups of children walking away from the school and his heart began to pound. He looked in all directions trying to see if anyone was around to notice him and started the car. He had one child in particular in mind and set off to capture him

The car sped off with almost no sound, and after a few passes, pulled alongside a small child walking alone. His eyes met the boys and the car came to a stop. Alex got out of the car, came up to the boy and knelt down in front of him.

"Ryan?" he said to the small boy. "Your mother asked me to give you a ride home from school today."

The boy looked into Alex’s eyes turning to the car without saying a word. Alex had the look of someone’s father and the disposition of a kind older man. He seemed very trust worthy and the boy believed him without question. Alex ran ahead of the boy and opened the passenger side door and let him in pushing the door lock just before shutting it.

Alex got in, put the car in drive and sped off down the street. He turned quickly away from the school so that no one would spot the boy in his car and told him to slide down in the seat so he would be protected in case of an accident. He smiled at the boy and told him he would be home soon. The boy sat silent just staring out the side windows, watching the trees pass by, as they drove onward.

"How are you doing?" Alex asked the small child.

"Fine," he replied looking at the door handle.

"I’ll have you home in five minutes, don’t you worry."

The child did not answer. He just sat quietly staring up to the window.

"How old are you?" Alex asked trying to make conversation keeping the boy calm.

"Six," he replied.

"You sure don’t talk much do you?" Alex asked with a smile.

"My mommy says we are going out to eat."

"Really?" Alex said trying to sound interested. "Where are you going to?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders and refused to make eye contact.

"You like pizza?" Alex asked.

"Yes."

"Me too. Pepperoni is my favorite."

Alex took notice of a car in his rearview mirror speeding up quickly, closing the distance between them. Hot lead shot through his veins and he had to struggle to keep his composure with the boy. Through the windshield of the car behind him he saw a woman waving her arms frantically and then heard the sounds of her horn honking. He had to think fast.

Up ahead, he spied between the rows of parked cars, an alley cutting the block in two. He reached out and turned on his blinker, signaling a right turn. Slowing to a crawl, he made the turn, driving down the narrow path. He tried not to make any abrupt moves that might set her off. The woman behind him stopped honking, turning to following him just a few feet off his bumper.

He came to a stop, put the car in park and let it idle. She stopped behind him and turned her car off. Exiting the car quickly in a panic the woman raced over to Alex before he was able to get all the way out of his car and stood before him out of breath.

"Who are you?" she said trying not to yell.

Scrambling for the right lie he stated, "I’m a friend of the family and I’m doing a favor for his mother."

She looked at him with disbelief. "And your name is?" she asked.

He knew he was caught and said "Alex." He paused looking in her eyes. "And what is your name, you nosy woman?" he asked.

She was taken aback by his comment now fearing being alone in the alley with him. Her thoughts rested with the child, knowing she had to take him from this stranger.

"Cathy Anderson if you must know," she said back to him, thinking she should just scream for help.

"Well Cathy, I see we have a problem here."

She looked into his car and looked at the small child huddled down in the passenger seat. "Let me have the child" she stated firmly, "I don’t care where you go after that."

"Really? Why don’t I believe you?"

"The child is my only concern."

"I believe you," he said calmly, "You seem very sincere, I bet you have children of your own."

She refused to tell this man about her own family trying to keep the conversation on the matter at hand. "Give me the child," she reiterated.

"I don’t think I can do that."

She stepped back and looked around the alley. "There is no way you are leaving here with that child."

"I wouldn’t be so sure Cathy."

His use of her first name angered her. She stepped to the front of his car and looked down at his license plate trying to memorize it. She then looked behind his car noticing hers parked there.

"Do you think you can block me in here?" he said with a smug grin. "Are you willing to risk your life for this child?"

She didn’t think anyone would really be capable of driving over someone, playing on what compassion this man may still have. "Yes I am," she said.

"How about your three young one’s at home?"

Her eyes shot open wide. "How do you know? Have you been stalking my family?"

"Absolutely not Cathy. At least not yet," he said as his eyes began to tint red.

She stepped around to the passenger side of his car and grabbed the door handle finding it locked. He entered the car and slammed the door shut. He quickly put in the key and turned the car on. She ran to the rear of his car attempting to get to her own car. Alex put his car in reverse and waited for her to run between his rear and her front bumpers. At the right moment he slammed on his gas and rammed the woman in the legs. With a crash of metal and breaking bone the woman screamed in agony. The cars separated and she fell to the ground in a heap. He hit the gas again and crushed her torso between the cars killing her instantly.

"I guess you were willing to die for the boy," he said under his breath putting the car in drive, speeding down the alley. The young boy looked to Alex not saying a word. He just looked out his window at the trees passing by. They made it to the end of the alley, then turning out onto the brick-street.

Up ahead, Alex spotted a police car coming down the street in his direction. He kept his eyes forward and his hands firmly on the wheel, driving like the police car wasn’t there. As he neared the patrol car, he happened to make eye contact with the officer, seeing that he was locked in a stare with him. He felt that the officer had recognized him. They passed. Immediately, Alex watched in his rear view mirror, as the patrol car made a quick U-turn in the middle of the street. The patrol car’s lights turned on flashing red and blue in a rhythmic pattern and the siren blared throughout the neighborhood.

Alex panicked. He stomped on the accelerator pedal, forcing it to the floor, and spun his front wheels, shooting the car down the residential street at over 60 mph. He ran stop sign after stop sign missing several cars by inches as the patrol car followed closely behind him. The police sirens blared, as the two vehicles were shot through the streets like bullets heading for an unknown target. Alex knew he was heading for a dead end and needed to go eight blocks north in order to hit the highway and make it out of town.

He slammed on the breaks, sending the car into a slow spin. The car slid on the pavement turning slowly until it was perpendicular with the police car. It caught the brick-street and flipped repeatedly over and over, coming to rest on its roof.

 

 

Chapter 13

 

Tony set the newspaper on Brinkman’s desk and just shook his head.

"I had no idea." He said in disbelief. "Parsons was the one the whole time. I sat next to him for years, and the whole time he was the one! Sick bastard, I never liked him."

Brinkman sat back in his leather chair and puffed out cigar smoke watching Tony rub his forehead and squint his eyes.

"His DNA was all over the place” Most of them do," Tony replied. He thought for a moment. "Dorothy!" he exclaimed.

Brinkman nodded. "We suspected him the whole time. We found skin under her fingernails and the DNA matched his."

"And you did nothing?" Tony asked.

"We had no other proof," Brinkman said. "No witnesses. Nothing."

"This has been a very strange week," Tony said as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. " I need sleep."

"I’m sorry to tell you this, under your stress, but it gets a lot stranger."

"What now?" He asked.

"Speaking of DNA my friend. If you remember our last conversation about your DNA, I said it was unlike any other string I have ever seen. Well, I wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth."

"I’m not surprised," Tony said sarcastically. "Go on."

"As you know the US government has accesses to information that the general public does not, in order to insure and maintain national security."

"Of course."

"This goes no further than this office."

"I understand."

"Ok," Brinkman said tapping a pen on his lower lip. "I don’t know how much you know about ancient artifacts and religious relics. You have heard of the shroud of Turin haven’t you?"

"Yes, it supposedly has the burned on image of Christ on it."

"Well this has nothing to do with that fake."

"Fake? How do you know?"

"We’ve known the truth for the last thirty years. All this study they are doing now is just for show."

"How do you know?"

"Let’s say that the technology we use is probably fifteen to twenty years ahead of the private sector. Do you think Bigfoot is running around in the forests of Washington State? We have known the truth ever since the first spy satellite was put into orbit."

"Is he?"

"I would tell you, but I would have to kill you." Brinkman said with a smile. "But I digress."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Many old European churches keep artifacts in their churches as shrines. They are usually only brought out for special ceremonies and such."

"I am familiar with this," Tony stated

"Not all of the relics are, you see."

"You’re just full of secrets aren’t you?"

"That’s my business." Brinkman said leaning forward in his chair.

"We have had an on and off relationship with the Vatican for years. During WWII we were able to gain access to their private vaults and collections."

"Why?"

"Doesn’t matter, its all politics anyway. Fact is though, we were given access to something the church holds as probably its most prized possession."

"The Holy Grail?" Tony asked.

"That fails in comparison my son. In a air-conditioned, vault seventy-feet below the pope’s chamber, lie the crown of thorns."

Tony sat dumbfounded. "They still exist?"

"Yes, and many other things that I will not go into now."

"Why are you telling me this?

"I can’t go into the details, but we were allowed a sample."

"You desecrated it?"

"No, we took a very small sample from one of the blood stained thorns. At the time we were only interested in blood typing the sample. Hoping to see if the blood was indeed human."

"Was it?" Tony asked.

Brinkman paused and leaned back in his chair. "Yes and no," he stated.

"In what way?" Tony asked.

"I’ll get to that," he said standing. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured a cup of steaming hot coffee. "Would you like some?"

"No, please go on."

"DNA testing was thirty-five years away. When it was available we tested the sample. It was amazing, absolutely astonishing. The sample showed most of the same patterns of human DNA and some we had never seen before. Until now."

"What are you getting at?" Tony asked.

"Remember when we picked through your comb, as you put it? Your tests match those tests to a one hundred million to one degree of error."

 

Chapter 14

 

Saturday, October 23, 1973

 

Pastor Jack Rhine stood in the wind, blocking the sun from his eyes, gazing upon the stone brick Gothic style church before him. On the marquee was written in white letters, the name of the Minister, the Reverend Alex Parsons, and the schedule of services. Above his name, carved in stone, was the name of the church written across the top in tall letters. It read "Freedom Church."

In his hand the pastor held a crumpled envelope, and a photograph with a picture of his missing brother Seth, bordered by several unidentified men. In his other hand he held a brass key which came in the envelope with the photograph.

He turned over the picture and read the writing on the back as he had done so many times before. It read, "If you want to know the truth, here is the key. I’m sorry I can not tell you anything more. Be careful." At the bottom was the address of the church scribbled in red ink.

He walked across the street into the shadow cast from the huge building. His pace quickened and he ran up the steps to the front doors. He looked around to see if there was anyone on the grounds that could assist him. He saw no one. He turned to the door again and knocked several times and stood back waiting for a response. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday and he realized, as a Pastor himself, that the chances of anyone being here now were slim.

He pulled on the door and was surprised to find it locked. His own church was rarely if ever inaccessible to the public making him wonder why it was closed. He looked down at the key as he rolled it between his fingers. He thought for a moment and placed the key in the lock turning it with a click.

The door pulled out easily and he stepped inside the narthex, which was filled with stacks of boxes, taped shut and neatly arranged alongside the walls. He did not dare look inside he thought as he stepped over to the next set of doors.

The doors to the main room were dark stained glass with artwork portraying the birth and death of Jesus. He noticed right away that they were covered in dust and had lost their shine, no longer shimmering from the light that passed through the window.

He tried these doors first giving a little tug to see if they were locked. . They opened with some resistance as he shoved boxes across the floor on the other side. The scraping sound of cardboard on wood was the only sound he heard besides his own breathing.

Standing in the main hall, he looked out to the vastness of the room and stood numb staring out at the scene before him. His veins turned to ice as he saw rows and rows of children’s skulls facing away from him towards the altar. The positions of the skulls resembled the game pieces of a chess game on a chessboard. From one side of the room to the other, and from the back of the room to the front, they lined up neatly spaced one foot apart. The only thing interrupting the pattern was a two-foot pathway running the length down the center to the altar.

A twenty-foot cross-hung upside down above the altar at the far end of the room sending terror throughout this man of God. Pastor Rhine, his heart in his throat, walked lightly forward keeping his feet within the narrow path, horrified at the site, as he neared the altar. Halfway to the altar, he looked back at the many vacant eyes looking to him and said out loud, "The poor children."

He noticed along the walls, stacked four high, were more boxes neatly arranged and taped shut. It scared him to know what lie inside. He turned back and walked to the altar stepping up onto the platform beneath the overturned cross. Before him, set side by side on the altar, were six adult skulls facing out to the crowd of faceless children. They seemed to be addressing the congregation in a silent, spiritual cry.

The pastor walked around the altar and stood behind it looking out upon the many vacant faces looking back to him and his eyes began to water. He placed his hands on the altar and bowed to say a prayer for the dead. Looking down upon the skulls he noticed writing engraved on the back of them. He read as he scanned across them, "Follett, Davis, Thomas, Rhine!" The voice screamed in his head. It was Seth!

A hot flash came over him and he looked to the ceiling closing his eyes. Bible verses shot through his mind in an attempt to calm him. "Though I walk through the valley of the…" He stopped, "No!" he screamed in his head as he opened his eyes.

He reached out without thinking and grabbed Seth’s skull, and stuffed it in under his jacket. In a panic, he shot around the altar and darted out onto the main floor tripping and landing in the midst of the children’s skulls, sending them across the floor in all directions. He looked down to see the helpless, innocent, empty eyes looking back at him and scrambled to his feet.

Regaining his balance, he took off down the center aisle, pushing his way through the narthex. He stopped winded, with the skull tightly clutched under his jacket doubled over feeling ill. Taking a calming breath he moved to one of the boxes stacked alongside the wall and tore open the lid. His energy drained from his body as he looked upon the mismatched assortment of children’s bones within the box.

Stepping back he found the main door and pushed it open running out into daylight. Outside the building, he stopped and attempted to regain his composure trying not to attract attention to his find. Quickly, he trotted down the steps, walked across the grass, and kept out a watchful eye for anyone who may be watching.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the drivers’ door while grasping the skull under his jacket. The door swung open and he quickly tossed the skull on the passenger’s seat covering it with a stack of papers from the backseat. Once inside, he shut the door and started the ignition only to see a teenage boy on the sidewalk watching him.

The boy darted into the alley. Pastor Rhine put the car in drive, stomped on the gas pedal, and spun the tires as he left the church behind.

***

His heart pounding in his chest, the Pastor pulled his sedan into the parking lot of the Denton Valley Inn putting the car in park. Turning off the car, he opened the door, skull in tow, and ran to the staircase along the side of the building. Climbing to the second story landing, he proceeding down the walkway to his room at the end of the Inn. He fumbled for his Inn key, facing the bright red door keeping a firm grip on the skull now under his jacket.

The door opened before he could get the key inside. Standing before him in the doorway was his wife Emily, holding their three-year-old son Tony in her arms. She looked him in the eye and said, "Is something wrong Jack?" curling her brow.

"Grab everything!" he cried as he raced inside gathering up clothes and bags. He found an open suitcase, and with his back turned to his wife, placed the skull under a shirt, zipping the bag closed. He turned to see if she saw him do this noticing a grave look of concern on her face.

"Where are we going?" she asked, clutching Tony tight to her. "We just got her two hours ago!"

"I know! Something came up and we can’t stay," he said, gathering up the bags on the bed. "Get down to the car. I’ll be right behind you!"

She hesitated, then turned grabbing her purse and walked out of the room with her child in tow. He tossed the room key on the bed and left the room with their baggage under his arms. He left the door open. "We need to hurry!" he said to her as he came up from behind. She picked up the pace and they both ran as fast as they could down the black iron staircase to the ground below.

Far off in the distance Pastor Rhine could make out the sounds of police sirens breaking over the horizon. His heart was now a humming bird in his chest. The bags were tossed haphazardly in the back seat and the three of them entered the car.

To his right the Pastor saw the Inn clerk dash out of his office waving his arms and shouting incoherently. "Forgive me Lord," he said out loud, put the car in reverse, and stomped on the gas pedal. He then threw the car into drive and took off out of the parking lot watching the clerk in his rear view mirror through the dust.

"What’s going on?" Emily yelled to Jack as little Tony began to cry.

"I will explain later!" Jack yelled back keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead.

The scenery zipped by at 70 mph as the cool October wind blew in through the open window. Keeping an eye in his rear view mirror he saw the tiny flashes of police lights and the faint sounds of sirens racing from behind him.

By this time they were clear of Denton Kansas and were well on their way out of the county. Still the city police pursued him.

"What did you do?" Emily yelled. "Why are they chasing us?"

Pastor Jack looked over to his wife and son and said, "I found something."

"Is this about Seth?"

"Yes. That’s all I can say for now."

The four-door sedan was at top speed at 85 mph. The police behind him made up for lost time and were in the process of overtaking him any minute.

"What’s that up ahead?" Emily asked, pointing out the front windshield.

Pastor Jack squinted as he peered down the road at the two specks on the path ahead. "It’s a roadblock!" he shouted and slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. He applied the breaks and brought the car down to 35 mph until he was about fifty feet from the deputy’s cars blocking his path. It took only seconds for the city police to pull up from behind and block his retreat.

Sweat dripped from Jack’s forehead. He looked to his wife who was holding Tony tight to her chest and clenched his jaw. He spun his head around looking for a way out mumbling to himself.

"You’re scaring me!" his wife said.

The deputies in front of him exited their vehicles and approached the Pastor and his wife with pistols drawn. The police in the rear were coming from behind, shotguns in tow.

Jack gripped the wheel, and with his eyes closed raised his head to the heavens above and said, "Lord, if you can hear my prayer. I ask thee for thy divine assistance in our time of need."

Pastor Jack Rhine’s young son reached out and touched him on the arm. Jack looked over to the boy without saying a word and a calm came over him. The look in the three-year-olds eyes took the fear from his heart, and for the first real time felt the presence of his Lord God.

"Daddy," the young child said. "I hear you."

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the two patrol cars blocking their path separated, shooting off the roadway like toys to a child. Flying end over end, the patrol cars landed in the pasture hundreds of feet apart, in a cloud of dust.

Without hesitation Pastor Jack Rhine spun his tires and charged the men before him. His confidence restored by the power of his God, he drove down the centerline as the deputies unloaded shot after shot into the car. Glass broke, steam shot out from under the hood and pieces of metal flew off the car with each blast, but the car sailed on past out of reach of the lawmen.

 

Chapter 15

 

Sunday, October 24, 1973

 

"The body of Christ," Pastor Rhine stated, holding the host before the parishioner.

"Amen," the woman said, accepting the sacrament on her tongue. She turned to the right, and walked away, allowing the next person in line to accept communion.

"The body of Christ," he stated again, receiving the same response from the man standing before him. Holding out his hand, the Pastor placed the host on his palm and the man stepped to the side placing the host in his mouth.

"The body of Christ," Pastor Rhine said to the woman before him.

Then a loud commotion from the fifth row disrupted the ceremony.

"Help!" shouted a woman from the left side of the church. More voices raised, and people began to stir uneasy. From the other side of the church a man yelled "Somebody call an ambulance!"

Pastor Rhine stepped off his pulpit, running to the front pew, leaving the line unattended. Holding the plate of host’s in his hand, he scanned the crowd watching people collapse and fall, before his eyes.

By this time, the church was a mass of confusion and fear. The line waiting for the sacrament dispersed running back to his or her perspective seats, looking to see if anything was wrong or anyone was hurt.

Pastor Rhine darted to the other side of the pulpit and looked out onto the other side of the church. He spun his head around and looked to his deacon who was as dumbfounded as he.

"My husband!" someone yelled.

"My daughter!" a voice shouted above the crowd.

The front doors of the church opened as parishioners ran out the building terrified of what was going on inside. A group of men lifted a woman to their shoulders and carried her down the isle, out the front door into the bright sunshine outside.

Pastor Rhine ran back up to the altar and looked down to the host’s in the chalice he was holding in his hand. Fearing he had somehow poisoned his parishioners, in a panic he tossed the host’s onto the tabletop spilling them, knocking some to the floor. He stopped, dazed and confused, looked at what he had done. The deacon ran to him and grabbed his arm.

"Pastor! Are you alright?" he asked the confused clergyman.

"Mike, what’s happening?" he asked the deacon.

"The people are getting sick Jack!" he stated. "I’ll call for help!"

"No! Let me," the Pastor said in a daze, and ran through the side door to the prep room. He picked up the telephone and spun the dial, calling the police department. The phone rang, then again.

"Philips police department," the voice on the phone stated.

"This is Pastor Jack Rhine, the pastor of Trinity Church. I need an ambulance here. Something has happened."

"One moment, hold the line," the voice stated and the phone went silent.

Pastor Rhine stood with the phone to his ear listening as people shouted and screamed from the main hall just outside the prep room. It felt like minutes passing as he held fast to the silence on the line.

Deacon Mike Vostler ran to the doorway and stood panting, trying to catch his breath.

"What is it Mike?" the Pastor asked trembling.

"People are dying Pastor!" he shouted.

Pastor Rhine set the phone down, running past Mike to the altar. He looked out upon the small group still left in the church, seeing bodies lying in the isles. Running down from the altar, he scanned the pews moving towards the back of the church. In his mind, he did a quick count and added up more than two dozen dead, or dying people.

"Pastor!" Mike shouted from the doorway to the prep room. "The police are on the phone. They want to talk to you!"

Pastor Rhine turned, running back up the aisle, robes flowing in the wind, jumping onto the raised platform of the altar in one leap. He darted into the prep room and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" Pastor Rhine asked with the phone to his lips.

"Pastor," the unfamiliar voice addressed him. "This is a little reminder to keep your mouth shut!"

The phone went dead. Then a dial tone. He did not know if the voice on the phone was the police or someone else he did not know. It did not matter now, for he needed to call his wife, who was home with their son Tony.

He dialed his home phone number and let it ring. Four, five, then six times it rang. Nothing. He quickly put the phone back down on the cradle and bowed his head. Placing his hands on the table top, he grit his teeth and squinted his eyes. He was in shock.

"Pastor!" Mike shouted from the altar outside. "Come quickly!"

Pastor Rhine ran out of the prep room to the altar, and looked out to where Mike was pointing.

Standing at the back of the church, holding their son, was Emily covered in blood. The Pastor took off in a sprint running to his wife, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a steam engine. He stopped a few feet short and reached out to take the young boy from her red blood stained arms. The Pastor used his white robe to wipe blood from Tony’s face and he set the boy on the carpet.

He stood up and looked his wife in the eye. She was in a daze. "Emily?" he asked.

"Jack," she said staring off into space.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"They told me. They told me to tell you."

"What Emily? Tell me what."

"Not to tell the secret," she replied, then fell to the floor limp.

"Emily!" he yelled and dropped down to his knee to help her.

"Jack, please do as they say, for Tony," she whispered, blood bubbles coming from her lips.

"I promise Emily, I will tell no one."

A smile came across her face, then she was gone.

 

Chapter 16

 

An array of halogen lights glared down from the forty-foot ceiling, brightly illuminating the open bay in the secret US government research facility. The building was sectioned off into different investigation departments with laboratories; offices and field experiment areas set aside inside to test ideas and theories. Dr. Tony Rhine was assigned one of these areas and was leaning back in his chair sipping his coffee with one hand and tapping a pen on is desk with his other

Twenty feet from him sat what resembled a train boxcar. The ends were cut off and a plethora of wires and electronics ran in all directions meeting up to a single snake conduit. The snake connected to a large terminal, which in turn connected to his personal computer on his desk. His office consisted of this open area set up with no walls; doors or windows, and he loved the freedom of movement and space it provided him to work in.

He was working on a time portal based on his theory that time travel was a naturally occurring event brought about by sudden charges of electricity. He was trying to duplicate in the laboratory, what had happened on the recording using a safe area and controlled conditions. He theorized that all areas struck by lightning were altered time wise, and that over the billions of years the Earth was pock marked with small areas of time shifted matter. In theory, the Earth was not one consistent age, but was many billions of different ages separated by tiny variations, depending on the power of the lightning strikes.

Tony had given up his job at the university in order to study the phenomenon for the US government full time, biding time until the his true purpose would be realized. The Pacific Airliner is due to disappear in a few months and Brinkman informed Tony that he would be a part of the research team assembled to investigate the event when it occurred. The last date recorded on the airliner was June 14, 2001. They found various timepieces among the possessions of the passengers and were able to correlate the date to that day. He did not know if he would be included in any real research concerning the flight, even admitting that his presence may interfere sending the loop around once again.

Today was like most days, sitting idle trying to imagine how the process worked. He had been working on the problem for several months now with no visible results to speak of and was beyond frustration. Somehow he needed to be able to reverse the natural vibration of matter in a way to send it into an alternate path heading backward into time. He theorized that the amount of electricity was proportional to the actual distance traveled backwards and any amount of current would start the process.

"Why don’t you just unhook all that stuff and send a natural bolt of lightning through the damn thing?" his lab assistant said.

"Natural? We are in a building," Tony replied with a smirk. He looked to the ceiling and wandered off in thought.

On the television monitor by his desk, was a picture of a digital clock positioned within the chamber with the correct date and time showing. If anything happened, videotape would record any time shifts and a comparison of electrical power and time variance could be calculated. As of this time, no shifts had been recorded and the tape continued to loop over and over.

"I might as well pray to God!" Tony said under his breath. " That’s the only thing I haven’t tried yet,"

"Maybe we need some divine intervention," his lab assistant said slurping his coffee. "Too bad you’re a heathen. We could use the help."

"What?"

"I read your paper."

"What paper?"

"You published that paper on your personal theory of time travel back when you were teaching."

"That paper! Usually those things get filed away in a library and no one reads them."

"True. My sister was in your class. She said you were a real ass."

"Me?"

"You pissed her off with all your anti-God rhetoric. She thought she was in a religion class."

"Rhetoric? I don’t think so." Tony stated. "I don’t discount God. That would be unscientific. I must consider all variables."

"Sure doctor."

"Are you patronizing me?" Tony said with a grin.

"God is a variable to you. I find that funny."

"And why do you say that?’

"To most people, God is their savior. To you God is a math calculation. Two plus two equals God."

"Two plus infinity actually," Tony said with a chuckle. He shuffled in his seat and leaned forward. "I admit I can get a little preachy sometimes, but as long as I can find no direct evidence of God,"

"No evidence!" his assistant spoke up. "What do you call the tree’s and the ocean’s and all of the animals?"

"That is a result! That is not evidence of what spawned it."

"Spawned? You mean evolved?" the assistant asked.

"Yes, evolved."

"You are a Darwin fanatic."

"Darwin had the right idea you know. Pretty damn smart for back then."

"It’s only a theory you know."

"Did I say it wasn’t?" Tony asked. " I realize it cannot be proven. As a man of science I realize that our theories evolve also. That is the magic of science."

"Magic? You sound more religious than you let on," the assistant said smugly. "You have to have faith to believe in evolution."

"Common sense."

"One man’s common sense is another man’s foolishness."

"Philosopher?" Tony asked, "You must have had a double major?"

"No, I had a minor in religion."

"Isn’t that a conflict of interest?"

"Not to me. Science and religion can work hand in hand."

"More like stabbing each other in the back." Tony sipped from his coffee again and grinned at his assistant sitting across the room. "Would it make you feel better if I tried the unknown variable?"

"A little prayer never hurt?"

"Telepathy."

"Huh?"

"That’s what prayer is. Telepathy to God."

"You make me laugh," the assistant said grinning. "You analyze everything to death. No wonder you’re not married."

"Now that’s below the belt." Tony said. "Ok, I’m willing to walk on the other side for the sake of science. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Pray."

"You’re kidding?"

"No." Tony said shrugging his shoulders. "I never had a reason to practice before."

"This is nuts. Haven’t you ever been to a church before? Didn’t you’re parents ever take you?"

"When I was very young. My dad was a Pastor. They both died when I was still a kid."

"Oh! I’m sorry, I crossed the line there."

"It’s ok, you didn’t know. Now what am I supposed to do? Get down on my knees and put my hands together?"

"There is no set pattern. It is a personal thing between you and God."

"Ok, I’ll give it a shot."

"Go for it!"

Tony tried to keep a straight face, looking to the ceiling, and stated out loud, "Oh God in heaven, please show me the way," Tony said hitting the run key on his keyboard. His assistant’s eyes lit up seeing the image on the screen change and stood up pointing to the television monitor speechless. He ran to Tony’s monitor to make sure it wasn’t a technical glitch and then to the clock itself, holding his head with his hands. He turned to Tony.

"What did you do?" the assistant asked.

"Nothing!" Tony said looking up at the skylights above. He smiled at his antics and then jumped out of his chair as he focused on the clock and saw the time and date were off by over twelve hours. "What the…?" he said. "I did it. I really did it." The readouts on the computer screen showed that less than the power in a single D cell battery sent the clock over twelve hours back in time. The clock had been sitting there for over four months before they even started so they would be able to calculate the time in case the experiment worked. It was now the time to call Brinkman.

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

July 18, 1980

 

Rain poured down from the sky in heavy pounding drops, stinging when they struck bare skin. The sky was dark and the stars were hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds shooting forth bolts of lightning and crashes of thunder. The wind was whipping by at a brisk 20-mph. Making visibility very poor. It was all he could do just to keep an eye on the yellow lines that divided the highway. In the car with him was his young son Tony, who was gripping his seat in terror, watching his father try to get them home.

"Daddy I’m scared," Tony said.

"It’s ok son, I’m taking it slow" his father replied.

It was difficult to see the road when the headlights from the oncoming cars created a blinding glare on the windshield, finding the vehicle slightly veering off to the right whenever a car approached. He knew he was scared too, wanting to get home as soon as possible. They were fifteen miles from the edge of town, nearing the worst stretch of highway so far. The road dipped and turned making driving a chore, even on a good day. The road had ruts in them from the semi-trucks that used the road, forming long lakes of rainwater, which sometimes caused the car to hydroplane. He compensated by driving to the left, staying just outside the puddles of water. This sometimes brought him close to oncoming traffic, which used the same trick to keep out of the ruts.

Pastor Jack Rhine kept a tight grip on the wheel and leaned forward in a ready, ridged stance waiting for the worst. Tony was strapped in with a seatbelt, his father not using one. Minutes passed by so slowly as he kept trudging along through the downpour, nervously scanning the road ahead.

“How much longer?" Tony asked.

"About ten minutes," Jack replied nervously, not wanting to speak. Tony turned and stared outside the window, watching the rain streak by, listening to the sound of the wiper blades swooshing by in a rhythmic pattern. Tony had confidence in his dad knowing his father would get him home. Tony was ten years old, still very dependent on his father. His father, the Reverend Jack Rhine, was a strong man in spirit and a good father; he would not let his son down. He knew the rain had to let up soon.

"I’m pulling over," Tony’s father said. "I need to let this cool off for a while."

The car slowly veered to the side of the highway finding its way to the shoulder. The car remained running as the wipers zipped back and forth cleaning the windshield for a second at a time. Tony could see his father was more relaxed now, prying his white knuckles off of the steering wheel.

"We’ll just wait here for a few minutes until this lightens up…. Ok?" he asked Tony.

"Sure dad, I don’t like the rain either," Tony replied.

Tony noticed the reflection from the rear view mirror on his dad’s face. The rectangle of light now flashed with red and blue lights. He turned to look though the back window at a blur of police lights approaching right behind them slowing down. Tony’s father turned also.

"Oh no!" he said. "I bet they think I’ve broken down."

He waited as the car came to a stop and a patrolman in a yellow rain coat exited and approached the side of the car. He could see the glare of a flashlight bouncing along the glass of the door. The officer came to the side window and tapped on it with the light. Pastor Rhine rolled down the window, and bullets of rain found its way into the car. Squinting at the blinding flashlight and the wind swept rain he asked, "Is there a problem officer?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing mister," the patrolman replied rudely.

"I was just waiting out the rain."

"Parking on the shoulder is against the law you know."

"No, I didn’t. I had no idea. Plus this is kind of an emergency."

"Emergency? Lots of folks drive in worse weather than this."

Young Tony watched as the officer and his father carried on the conversation. He watched intensely the way the policeman argued with his dad and became angry. He saw the police officer point the light in his father’s face trying to intimidate him. He took a good look at the face of the man, burning his image into his brain. He did not want to forget this.

"If you don’t move right along I’ll have to issue you a citation," the officer stated.

Tony’s father took a deep breath and looked out the windshield. The rain had not let up and in fact intensified. He took a quick look over at Tony and turned to the officer.

"I’m going," he said. Under his breath he added, "Bastard."

From out of the corner of Tony’s eye, in a flash, he saw the officer slam down his flashlight on the side of his father’s face. His head reeled and spun towards Tony sprinkling him with blood drops. His dad lay there in his seat knocked out and bleeding. Tony froze as he saw the officer pull out his gun and unload several shots into his father. Spurts of blood landed on the dash and windshield as the shots rang out. The flash from the pistol left images in his eyes and the sound shocked him. As soon as it started, it ended and the policeman was gone. Only rain showed through the driver’s side window. His father was dead.

Tony opened his door and stood out in the rain. He looked to his father slumped over in his seat, then back at the police car parked behind his father car. He watched the officer sit in the car, slam the door shut, and turn off his overhead light. Through the windshield Tony watched the man’s eyes glow red and he began to tremble.

The officer looked over to Tony and turned reaching behind his seat. He pulled an object forward and opened his driver’s side door again. Stepping out, he stood and yelled to Tony, "Hey! Don’t move!"

Tony bolted and ran down into the ditch heading out to the farm field bordering the highway. The grass was slick and he scrambled to climb up the other side of the embankment grabbing a hold of the fence post for leverage. He turned to see the officer standing backlit in his headlights with police lights flashing, holding a rifle to his eye. A shot fired. Then another shot broke through the air striking the ground at Tony’s feet. "

The police officer jumped into the ditch taking off after the boy. Striking the wet grass he fell and rolled to the bottom, splashing into the cold water collected there. The flashing of red and blue lights made it difficult to get his footing in the water, bouncing light in all directions. He reached under the water, unholstered his pistol, and brought it to head level looking for a target.

Tony fell through the barb wire fence, slicing his calf in the process. He felt the sting of the cut, but had little time for the pain. His only escape was to hide out in the tall corn in the dark. He ran to the edge of the field and sunk his foot up to his ankle in the mud. It was slow going from now on, but the small boy had the dark on his side. Rain poured and thunder cracked all around, but no one, not even the police officer could find the small ten year old Tony Rhine in this corn field.

Moments later the police lights were turned off and the car drove off down the highway leaving his dead father and the car behind. Tony watched it all from the rain soaked field and his tears added to the rain on the ground.

The face of the man was forever etched in Tony’s memory.

It was determined that the man responsible for the incident was posing as a police officer, because no officers were in the area at the time of the shooting. Tony’s description of the man was to vague to fit any of the local, county, or state patrol officers on duty that evening, and the case was set aside. Tony struggled to understand the reason for the brutal murder. The man took nothing from them, saying nothing that would give a clue. His father had no enemies, owing no one any favors. Tony spent many days and nights pondering the senselessness of the killing trying to remember if there was any reason why the man made such a waste of his father. Did his dad provoke him? What did he miss? It happened so fast that he wasn’t even sure he could remember exactly what took place or if his description of the imposter was accurate

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

14 Months later

 

Tony sat silent, strapped tight into his web seat, across the isle from commander, Capt. John Ramsey. Feeling nauseous from the turbulent ride, he closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw tight, trying to keep his mind on his mission. To his right, lined on both sides of the C-130 Hercules, were rows of seats occupied by marine paratroopers in ready status. Sixty-four men sat ready like sardines in a can, waiting to be let out

The inside the massive transport plane was dark, except for the dim lights that dotted the long passageway back to the cargo hold. To his left, a radar center manned by two men kept track of data coming in over the monitors. They sat diligently staring and scanning the dials and readouts keeping in constant radio contact with the navigator and pilots.

"Radar contact," one of them said into his headset microphone. "Bearing two-niner, niner."

"I have confirmation," the other man said tapping on a button at his console.

Tony could feel the plane roll as it slowly banked into a turn. He looked to his watch to confirm the time. According to the information gathered at the excavation, the Trans Pacific Airliner they were following was to disappear in ten minutes.

"We are tracking," the radar operator stated. "Maintain present course," he added.

Capt. Ramsey unbuckled his seat belt and motioned Tony to do the same. The drone of the turboprops made speaking difficult, so the he used hand signals when possible when communicating with his men. With a motion of his hand, he signaled Tony to follow him to the control center of the plane, between the cockpit and the radar station.

Both men squeezed past the radar panel and the sound lessened, as the moved away from the massive engines located midway through the plane. The two men joined the mission specialists who were sitting at a television monitor, watching an unobstructed view of the outside. Cameras were placed in strategic locations on the inside, and outside of the plane, allowing the men to keep track of any strange phenomenon that may occur. The pictures on the screen changed every two seconds, sliding through all of the views every half minute.

"Bring up the cockpit," Ramsey said to the men.

With a touch of a button, the screen froze on a full color view from a camera mounted over the pilots’ shoulder pointing out the window. On the screen was the aft end of the Boeing 747 airliner surrounded by dark storm clouds and dark skies.

"How close can we get and still be safe?" Ramsey asked the specialist.

"In these conditions," he said pausing to think. "One mile minimum."

"Make it a quarter mile. We can’t afford to miss this chance."

The specialist, stone faced, called up to the pilot and co pilot to make the change. The four men watched on the monitor, as the plane they were following grew larger on the screen.

"Won’t they know they are being followed?" Tony asked.

"Normally yes," Ramsey replied. "But we have control of their communications. The tower only tells them what we want them to."

"The backwash from the 747 caused the C-130 to shake in its wake. Tony watched the monitor shake and shimmy as the plane rocked making him feel more nauseous.

"Do a scan," Ramsey said and the pictures on the monitor changed in a pattern. All outside mounted cameras showed dark skies and occasional lightning strikes. Above the monitor sat a recording device making a visual document of the mission.

"Time?’ Ramsey asked aloud.

"Coming up on three minutes sir," said the mission specialist pointing to a digital clock mounted in the console.

Ramsey turned to Tony and said, "Time to get strapped back in." The men squeezed through the narrow path and the noise became louder again. Ramsey yelled to Tony, "Once you sit down, plug the lead wire from your helmet into the jack on the armrest. Then pull down your blast shield and flick the switch on the right side of your visor. You will see a projection on your shield from their station."

Tony gave Ramsey the ok sign with his hand and shuffled back to his web seat along the side of the fuselage. Reaching the seat he sat and buckled in and put the plug into his armrest. He switched the button on his visor, pulled down his blast shield and a view of the 747 popped on his shield.

He shook in his seat, as the turbulence became worse. His stomach began to feel queasy and he swallowed hard. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He was going to witness time travel, a phenomenon he did not believe in three years ago.

The upper right corner of his view showed a digital clock counting backwards from forty-five seconds. He was feeling flush with anticipation and fear as the images of his remains from the excavation flashed in his mind.

Thirty seconds and counting. The lightning flashed more frequently and the thunder sounded in the plane.

Fifteen seconds. Ten seconds. Flashes of light, crashes of thunder. Five seconds, four, three, two then one.

His monitor went black as the plane bolted violently with a thunderous crash. He was tossed about, only held in by his seatbelt. The plane came to a rest and his monitor came on again. The next thing Tony saw on the screen was the aft end of the 747 surrounded by beautiful blue skies and wispy white clouds. The storm was gone. It was just like he was reliving the recording found at the excavation, only he was on a different plane.

Both men flipped up their visors and unbuckled their seatbelts. Down the line sat sixty men patiently awaiting orders from their commander.

Ramsey walked quickly back to the control center followed by Tony on his heels. Ramsey leaned over the shoulder of the mission specialist and looked into his monitor.

"Ok boys," he said calmly. "I think we’ve done it."

"What do we do now?" Tony asked.

"We have to contact the airliner," Ramsey said looking Tony in the eye.

"Can you do that from here?"

"Yes sir. This is the mission operation center. I supposed you weren’t briefed on this?"

"I’m just glad they let me come along," Tony said with a grin.

"You know this may be a one way trip?"

"I was made very aware of that," he replied.

Ramsey was a tall, broad shouldered man with a dark mustache and stubble. Tony felt inadequate being in the same room with this man.

Ramsey put a wireless head set microphone on his head and tapped a button on the control panel. Talking into his microphone he said, "Trans Pacific one two one come in."

The speakers in the cabin crackled and a voice answered, "Trans Pacific one two one here. Over."

"This is Capt. John Ramsey, U.S. Marines commander. We are currently one mile aft of your current position tracking. Over."

A moment passed with only the humming of the engines.

"We have no radar contact, no confirmation. Over."

"Affirmative Pacific. We are tracking you on radar at this time and have you on visual. Over," Ramsey said.

The room was silent as the pilots of the 747 strained to make sense of the situation. "We have lost contact with the tower," the pilot responded. "We have lost track of our current position. Can you assist?" he asked.

"Yes Trans Pacific," Ramsey said.

"What the hell is going on?" crackled the voice across the speakers.

"Captain, can you leave you cabin microphone on? I need to brief you on the situation."

"Affirmative," he replied. A moment later he said, "Cabin microphone on. What is the current situation Captain?"

"We need to get you on the ground as soon as possible Trans Pacific."

"That is not possible at this time."

"What is the problem?"

"We will have to locate a suitable landing area."

"Of course, we will guide you to Kansas City International."

"Kansas?" the 747 pilot asked. "Do you still have me on visual?"

"Yes Pacific."

"Then how do you expect me to land this bird?"

From the cockpit of the C-130, a voice broke over the speakers. "Capt. Ramsey, you may want to come into the cockpit and make hard visual."

Ramsey turned and pulled on the door to the cockpit and stepped inside. He looked out the front window and saw the 747 in clear view over an ocean of blue water below.

"Where did this water come from?" he asked out loud.

"We don’t know sir," was the reply from the pilot.

"Can we talk to them in here?" Ramsey asked the crew.

The pilot flicked a switch and said, "Go ahead sir."

"Trans Pacific do you read?" Ramsey asked on the open-air microphone.

"We haven’t gone anywhere Captain," the pilot said with a nervous chuckle.

"We need to assess the situation."

"I’ll say," was his reply, as the pilot became more nervous and less professional in his speech patterns.

On the speakers, shuffling sounds emitted from the 747. A clang, then a crash and some muffled voices popped and hissed in the air.

"Trans Pacific?" Ramsey asked out loud.

Over the speakers the faint voice of the co-pilot said, "Let me check." A moment later, in a much louder voice he was heard saying, "What are you doing in here?"

"Trans Pacific? Come in," Ramsey said trying to stay calm.

A loud crash shot out of the speakers and the sounds of men screaming followed. Silence.

"Trans Pacific!" Ramsey shouted looking out the windshield. "Trans Pacific, you are emitting a smoke trail!" he shouted as the dark streak past by his view.

The speaker again crackled and in the background the pilot could be heard yelling, "We have explosive decompression! We are reducing altitude!"

Tony joined Ramsey in the cockpit watching in dismay. He knew what fate the Trans Pacific airliner was facing from the remains at the excavation. Someone had set off a bomb in the plane, dropping it from the sky. "History is repeating!" he thought. "Only I am not in the plane."

The 747 sank quickly from the sky and the C-130 attempted to keep up with it as it fell.

"Hold on!" the C-130 pilot yelled as he pushed the yoke forward dropping the nose of the plane into a dive. The Smoke emanating from the 747 became thicker and darker shooting out in a huge plume.

"They are not going to recover!" the pilot yelled. "I’m leveling off."

The C-130 raised its nose and regained its level flight. The G-forces of the bank made Tony ill as it pulled him to the floor.

"Pacific come in!" Ramsey shouted. "Pacific come in!"

"Over the speakers the signal sputtered and spit crackling sounds intermittently laced with the sounds of screaming men.

Then unexpectedly an unfamiliar voice shot forth from the speakers and yelled, "Welcome to Hell!" as the plane ditched into the sea with a massive spray of water.

"We have lost radar contact," said the radar operator over the intercom.

The mood became sullen as the crew realized the fate of the passengers of the 747. They were shocked by the massive loss of life and the strange last comment from the plane’s radio.

 

Chapter 19

 

"What is our position?" Ramsey asked the pilot.

"We have lost GPS," he replied.

"I bet," Tony said with a smirk.

"What does that supposed to mean?" Ramsey snapped at Tony.

"The GPS, it’s history."

"Is there something you want to share with the rest of us?" Ramsey asked.

Tony took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck biding time. "We have no GPS because the satellites are no longer there."

"No longer there? Where did they go?" Ramsey asked.

"They didn’t go anywhere. They haven’t been put up there yet."

Ramsey stood dumbfounded. "What the hell are talking about doctor?"

Tony pointed out the window at the vast open sea and looked to Ramsey saying, "Twenty minutes ago we were flying over central Kansas. Do you have any idea where Kansas went?"

"No, but I bet you do."

"Yes I do commander. That Trans Pacific 747 is settling on it right about now."

Ramsey paused for a moment as he tried to figure out what he was saying. "Are you saying Kansas is under that water?"

"Ask the pilot."

The pilot cocked his head towards Ramsey standing behind him and said, "Yes sir. Our last reading puts us two hundred miles west of Kansas City International."

"You last readings must be wrong," Ramsey said hanging his head. He turned and looked to Tony. "How do you know?"

"Brinkman explained it all to me. He didn’t brief you on this?"

"Who the hell is Brinkman?"

Tony stood dumbfounded wondering if Brinkman informed the crew of their true mission. How else would he get seventy-five men to volunteer for a suicide mission?

"Captain, can I speak to you in private?" he said pointing to the mission control room.

They walked through the door and the Captain asked the controllers to leave for a moment. Tony hesitated, as he looked the commander in the eye.

"Captain, what is the purpose of this mission?" Tony asked.

Ramsey looked at him with an odd curiosity. "Surveillance of the Trans Pacific Airliner," he replied.

"That’s it? Just watch it and report back your findings?"

"That’s correct. Why? Is there something else I should know about?"

Tony felt the whole responsibility falling on his shoulders. He hated Brinkman right now for putting him in this position. "I don’t know how to tell you this." He hesitated and looked to the floor. "We are no longer, no longer, I can’t explain this right," he said waving his hand around nervously in front of Ramsey

"Spill it mister!"

Tony looked up and faced him eye to eye. "We have jumped. Jumped in time," he said disbelieving his own words. Ramsey closed his eyes, turning his head towards the cockpit. He turned back to Tony and said, "I don’t believe it, but it would explain a few things if it were true."

"They lied to you. I’m sorry, I had nothing to do with the mission, I swear. They just asked me if I wanted to go."

"You knew this was going to happen and came along anyway? What is wrong with you?"

"It’s a long story. We need to get this plane headed in the right direction."

Tony walked back into the cockpit followed by Ramsey. He squatted down on one knee and got the pilots attention. "How far can this thing go?" he asked.

The pilot replied, "two thousand miles with our current fuel levels."

"How far would it be to, let’s say, Ohio?"

"Well within our range if our last coordinates are correct."

"We need to head that way before we run out of fuel."

The pilot looked up to Ramsey for confirmation then hand plotted the course to the best of his recollection. Tony stood and rubbed his chin thinking. He asked, "How long will it take to get to our destination?"

"Our current cruising speed is three hundred seventy miles per hour. I estimate four hours," the pilot replied.

"We have four hours to form a plan captain," he said to Ramsey.

The plane banked to the left and leveled out heading into the sun. For as far as the eye could see, a flat plane of water stretched, from horizon to horizon. The glare of the sun reflected off the C-130’s windows blinding the men standing behind the pilots.

"Where did all this water come from?" Ramsey asked.

"Niobrara Sea, ever hear of it in marine school?"

"No, just how to take out smart jerks like you with one shot," Ramsey said with a toothy grin.

 

Chapter 20

 

Four hours later

 

"Capt. Ramsey!" yelled the pilot over the intercom speaker.

"Go ahead," Ramsey said over his headset microphone.

"We have land in site,"

"I’ll be right there!" he stated signaling Tony to follow him. They squeezed past the rows of anxious marines sitting patiently awaiting orders from their commanding officer. Tony looked at the men and wondered why they would need paratroopers for a surveillance mission? He stopped Ramsey before entering the cockpit and asked him, "What’s all the hardware for?"

"What are you talking about?" Ramsey asked.

"You have six pallets of who knows what loaded in the cargo hold, and a platoon of men waiting to jump out of this plane. Seems a bit much for a surveillance mission."

"You didn’t think I was going to tell you the truth did you?" Ramsey asked. "I take orders, and these orders did not include briefing you on the true nature of our mission."

"Now that the mission seems to be a moot point, are you going to fill me in now?"

"The mission may not be moot. Yet," he replied. "Let’s get in here and get this thing on the ground."

The two men entered the cockpit and stood behind the pilot and co pilot in the center of the small room. Before them they saw the vast expanse of untouched land. For as far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, lay a prairie of dark green grassland.

"This is beautiful," Tony said scanning the view.

"Should this be hard to land on?" Ramsey asked the pilot.

"Better than landing on a mountain I guess," the pilot replied.

Over the intercom the radar operator broke in, "We have made radar contact with an unknown object currently on intercept."

The pilot spoke up on the microphone asking, "Best guess radar?"

"No best at this time," the radar operator replied.

"Track and report," the pilot said. "Did you get all that commander?" the pilot asked Ramsey.

"Yes," he said staring out the window lost in thought. He shook his head, regaining his bearings. "We do not need a threat at this time. I want you to turn east and avoid what ever this contact is. Search for a possible landing site and get back to me."

"Yes sir," the pilot replied and Ramsey and Tony left the cockpit.

The two men walked out to the area between the radar station and the paratroopers, turning to face each other.

"Since we both seem to have information vital to this mission I suggest that we start briefing each other on what we know," Ramsey said.

"I think it is your turn captain. I have already filled you in on what I know."

"I think you skimmed the surface Dr. Rhine," Ramsey said sternly. "I need to know what happened to Kansas?"

Tony bit down on his lip and hesitated. "It seems you have become the unwitting pawn in a science experiment the U.S. Government was conducting."

"Go on."

"You first. I want to know what all this crap is doing on this plane. Why all the men and gear? That was an American plane wasn’t it? Why would we be spying on our own planes?"

Ramsey shook his head looking to the ceiling. He looked to Tony and said, "The Trans Pacific Airliner was in a hi-jack alert status. It was a domestic terrorist we were after."

"Oh," Tony said making sense of the situation. "That’s how they did it."

"Did what?"

"One second captain," Tony said. "What was the name of the terrorist in question?"

"Alex Parsons," he replied.

Tony took a step back and rolled his eyes. "Alex Parsons is in federal prison. Has been for nine months now."

Ramsey looked dumbfounded. "What the hell!" he yelled. "What is going on here?" he barked at Tony.

The intercom broke in and the pilot said, "We have a possible collision threat! Emergency maneuvers!"

The plane banked hard and the two men were flung against the hull of the plane knocking them to the floor. Just then a dull thud sounded throughout the fuselage and the pilot once again spoke over the speakers, "Engine two out!"

Ramsey stood and tried to regain balance as the plane rocked back and forth. He turned to the paratroopers sitting in ready status and yelled, "Everyone up! Get ready to abort!"

The troops stood and attached their static line hooks to the wire and awaited the cargo door to open. At this speed they were unable to use the side doors in fear of being injured or killed.

Ramsey pointed to the troops and told Tony to join them as he made his way up to the cockpit. "Get ready to abort!" he yelled to the radar operators and mission specialists manning their posts. The men left their chairs and filed past Ramsey as he slid past their stations. Just then, a massive crash and sounds of breaking glass shot forth from the cockpit, and the door before him buckled with an impact. The sound of rushing wind whistled under the door and the sound of the wind became deafening as he stood staring at the buckled metal door of the cockpit.

Grasping the door handle, he unlatching the lock, allowing the door to strike him, sending him shooting down the hallway. The wind carried blood, bone, and flesh down the hall of the plane, as well as glass shards and broken twisted metal. He strained to stand grasping anything he could to regain his balance. Shielding the wind from his eyes, he looked down to the cockpit seeing the massive hole in the windshield made from some sort of impact. The inside of the cockpit was covered in blood. He assumed whatever came through struck the back wall and exploded all over the place. The pilots had to be gone.

He turned and scurried back to the troops standing awaiting orders. "Lower the hatch!" he yelled over the sound of the rushing wind and pointed to the release lever on the side of the plane. With a grumble of hydraulics, the back lift lowered and the cabin lit up with the light from outside. Down the ramp went until it locked into place giving the men a clear path to escape. Grabbing his parachute and buckling it, he barked out orders to his waiting men. "Go!" he yelled and the men began diving out of the plane allowing the static lines to pop open their chutes moments after exiting the plane.

Ramsey stood watching his men leave the plane holding tight to the webbing along side the fuselage of the plane. Once all the troops were gone he approached the ramp and fought falling out watching his men float to the ground. He immediately noticed something out of the ordinary as he scanned the scene before him. There were birds, or what looked like vultures gliding about his men slowly flapping huge wings darting in and out. He then watched in horror as his men were one by one being attacked by these creatures as they floated to the ground below.

He knew the plane was falling to the ground feeling it shake and shimmy as the plane made its death plunge. He reached over to a lever attached to the rail loading system and pulled it unlocking the pallets allowing them to freely roll out the back of the plane. Moments after leaving the plane, the chutes on the pallets caught air and slowed down their descent.

The plane was now empty and falling to the ground below. It was time to go Ramsey thought and stepped towards the ramp ready to jump.

All of a sudden something grabbed one of the hydraulic arms and pulled itself onto the ramp. It stood tall and dark, flapping its massive leathery wings behind it in the wind. With its two bony clawed fingers, it grasped the edge of the opening and pulled itself into the plane. It had the face of a canine with red eyes and thin gangly legs that held up its massive seven-foot frame.

Ramsey swallowed hard and using his well-honed reflexes pulled his M-16 machine gun from his side. With a three shot burst, he blasted the beast in the chest sending it falling back out the opening of the plane. It was now or never.

He attached his static line hook to the wire and jumped from the plane watching it fly away as he fell. The chute opened like a giant mushroom and he was yanked, slowed in descent. He held his rifle in a ready position.

From above, a second beast swooped down and hovered twenty feet off of Ramsey gently flapping its immense leathery wings. It matched Ramsey’s decent keeping an eye on him as he gently floated downward. Blinking its red eyes, the beast moved its head in closer and smelled the air around the man, flaring its nostrils in and out.

Ramsey examined the creature while keeping his finger on the rifle trigger. He sensed intelligence in its mannerisms and behavior, allowing the beast to come close enough to get a good close look in its eyes.

The creature then folded its wings and dove out of Ramsey’s view. He looked down and watched the beast power-dive two thousand feet below, gracefully landing among a flock of its own kind. Ramsey tried to maneuver his chute away from where the creatures were below, hoping to land in a safe place far away. His men were scattered along a five-mile stretch of land, armed only with their rifles and training to help them survive. He felt like they were fish in a barrel to these creatures and he hoped desperately that some of his men would make it to safety

Minutes passed and he was now two hundred feet above the ground and could see his men running along the ground being chased by the creatures. The pops of rifle fire could be heard from below like firecrackers on the 4th of July. At one hundred feet, he was able to spy an open section of land and pulled on his parachute chords to steer himself in that direction The creatures below herded some of his men into a large group surrounding them like sheep in a pen.

Ramsey clenched his teeth preparing his body to land hard on the ground below. Holding the parachute straps with both hands, he awaited the imminent impact only seconds away. The ground rushed up at him quickly. He was ready to slam feet first into the hard surface below. Closer and closer he came, his view filled with the green grass of the prairie.

He struck the ground hard rolling to a stop, tangled in his parachute chords. Unbuckling the pack, Ramsey scrambled to his feet pulling the M-16 from behind his back holding it in ready position. Spinning in a circle, he scanned the area looking for any threats, keeping the machine gun out in front. For the moment, he was alone. He then pulled a knife and cut away the chute from around him, allowing the breeze to carry it away. He stood alone, miles away from his men.

His hand reached to his belt and grasped the two-way radio releasing it from its snaps. He brought the radio to his lips and said, "Fox one come in, this is Fox commander, over." He waited for a reply scanning the horizon for any sign of his men. Again he said into the radio, "Fox one come in! This is Fox commander, over!" There was no reply. He needed to rejoin his men at any cost and took off running in the direction that he last saw his men from the air. Sixty pounds of gear on his back wore on him as he sprinted across the tall grass prairie towards his men. His throat was dry and his shoulder stung as the strap dug into his muscles.

One hundred and fifty yards into his run he came to a stop panting, trying to regain his breath. He buckled over with his hands on his knees ready to vomit any second. He saw out of the corner of his eye a shadow on the grass cross his path then dart away. He raised his head and swallowed hard as he saw one of the beasts circling above him like a vulture. His gun was in ready position with half of the thirty round clip left unspent.

Another beast joined and then another until there was twenty or so of them above him silhouetted against the bright sun in the blue sky. He again grasped his radio and made a plea for help. "Fox one leader come in! This is Fox commander I am under attack, I repeat, I am under attack!" He placed the radio back on his belt and held the rifle in ready position.

With the grace of a school of fish, the entire group of beasts came down from the sky like a tornado touching the ground. They landed with the elegance of a flock of birds completely surrounding him, blocking any chance for escape. They all stood tall and lanky with wrinkled brown skin and massive leathery wings. Their eyes all glowed red and they blinked with an odd curiosity as the beasts examined him.

One of them stepped forward and folded its wings behind its back. It cocked its head as if it were confused by the soldiers’ appearance. The nostrils on the beast flared and took a deep sniff. It took another step forward. Ramsey stood still, trying not to spook it waiting for it to make a move. He had fifteen shots left in the clip and another full clip on his belt that he could exchange in two seconds. He might be able to take out ten of them before he was ripped to pieces.

"Are you the Son of Man?" the lead creature asked in a high pitched whine.

Ramsey just stood dumbfounded looking into its red eyes. "What?" Ramsey asked, furling his brow.

"Are you the Son of Man?" it asked again in the same tone.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he replied. "What the hell are you?" he asked the creature.

"You are not the Son of Man?" the creature asked with a single-minded curiosity.

"I am the son of my father if that is what you mean," he replied.

"The father?" the creature asked.

"This is getting pretty stupid," Ramsey replied raising his rifle to the creature. "Back the hell up!" he yelled and put his finger on the trigger. "Back up and let me out of here!"

The creature looked to its right then to its left. Looking back at Ramsey, it raised its wings and took a step forward. Ramsey let loose a three shot burst into the creature killing it instantly. It fell to the ground in a crumpled mass of flesh and blood. The surrounding creatures jumped on it and tore it to pieces devouring it mercilessly, twenty feet from Ramsey. Until now, he had felt he could control the situation and escape. Now he felt it was only a matter of time before he would meet the same fate.

The mass of blood and flesh before him sickened him and the smell of the creature made him gag. Another creature stepped towards him and he raised his rifle to greet it. It stopped and backed off. He now knew the creatures indeed knew fear.

From behind, he heard the rapid popping sounds of machine gun fire and the engine sound of an all-terrain vehicle (ATV) approaching. He spun around to see the beasts scattering and taking flight as the ATV approached, guns blazing. The mass of creatures took off like a flock of dove scared by the sounds of the rifle fire. The machine gunner took aim and took out one of the creatures’, thirty feet off the ground, sending it crashing to the ground only feet from Ramsey.

Ramsey waived his arms and got the attention of the ATV driver. The vehicle cut through the tall grass and stopped next to him allowing him to jump into the backseat. The ATV had two bucket seats in front, a bench seat in the back and a machine gun mounted behind the back seat. The vehicle was now filled to capacity with the addition of the captain.

"Are you alright captain?" the driver asked.

"I am now," he replied.

"We received your transmission sir, our radio is not transmitting. It must have been damaged when it touched ground."

"Is the other ATV running?"

"Yes sir, they are setting up a command post now sir."

"Let’s get there!" Ramsey yelled and the ATV spun its tires taking off towards the post.

 

Chapter 21

 

 

"Over here!" yelled the sergeant from across the command post. Tony helped unpack one of the pallets and scrambled to stack the supplies where the sergeant told him. The second ATV was used to haul the pallets to the campsite by use of a hitch on the rear bumper. Wheels dropped from the underside of the pallets allowing the pallets to be pulled behind the ATV. They had managed to locate a wooded area along a creek close enough to the drop zone for all the remaining men to collect.

"It’s the other ATV!" one of the lookouts shouted peering through his binoculars Tony paused and looked in the direction of the ATV and saw they were making good progress cutting through the tall grass. Behind them the winged creatures kept their distance, afraid of the fire from the machine gun mounted on the back.

Closer and closer the ATV drove growing larger in his view, humming louder as it approached the post. Fifty yards and closing the gap, the ATV began to bounce in a rut uncontrollably coming to an abrupt halt. Steam escaped from under the hood and the glow of yellow flames shot forth from the engine compartment. The soldiers jumped off the vehicle and made a dead sprint for camp leaving the ATV behind.

"Get some cover out there!" someone yelled and some of the men ran out into the field to assist those running for their lives as if they could sense something was wrong, the creatures dropped from the sky and swooped down on the men. Rifle fire popped from different areas and two of the creatures fell dead to the ground.

"Run!" Tony yelled as the men closed the gap, now twenty feet from the camp. The popping of gunfire and muzzle flashes filled the air all around camp. Ramsey and his rescuers were waist high in tall grass running for their lives holding their guns over their heads just feet from safety.

Just as they reached the edge of camp two of the men disappeared into the tall grass without a sound. Then another and another until only Ramsey and two others were left. Ramsey stopped, seeing his men vanish before him, and yelled for the other two to do the same. They were no more than ten feet from safety, but something stood between them and the woodlands.

"Halt!" he yelled and everyone stopped in their tracks. "Sergeant, I need this area cleared!" he yelled pointing to the strip of grass before him. The sergeant waved his hands and pointed to the area before the three stranded men. Five soldiers stood on the perimeter of camp and proceeded to blast their guns into the grass clearing the area of whatever stood between them and safety. The sergeant waved his hands and the firing stopped.

Ramsey looked to the man standing to his right and then to the one on his left. "On three we are going to run," he stated calmly. "Got it?"

The two men nodded and Ramsey looked to the sergeant. "If anything moves, kill it." The sergeant nodded and the five soldiers stood ready to blast anything that moved in the grass. "Ready?" he asked. "One, two, three," he said and the men in unison, took off running.

Guns blazed as two of the men were pulled down into the grass. Ramsey dove and fell to the ground in the wooded area pulled to safety by his men. He stood and looked back at the tall grass. "Where are they?" he screamed.

"I don’t see them," the sergeant replied.

"Me neither," replied one of the soldiers scanning the area.

"Something is wrong here," Ramsey said and looked to his sergeant. "How many men do we have?"

"Thirty seven now," he replied.

"That’s it?" Ramsey asked looking to camp. "What happened to the rest?"

"We were strung out quite a distance. I suspect there are another thirty or so still out there."

"How long will they last alone?" Ramsey asked. "Where is doctor Rhine?"

Tony ran up to the captain and stood out of breath. "Right here sir," Tony said.

Ramsey pointed to the five armed soldiers and then to the tall grass. "Keep this area under heavy guard." He then motioned for Tony to follow him into the woods. They stopped and Ramsey stood with his arms crossed staring into Tony’s eyes. "Brief me doctor," he stated angrily.

Tony hesitated and looked away from Ramsey. He took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "This was all an experiment," he said.

"Experiment?" Ramsey asked grinding his teeth afterward.

"This was an experiment to see if time travel was possible."

"I don’t believe you for a second."

"Then how do you explain what is going on?"

"I don’t," Ramsey said. "Something is not right, I do know that. What it is I do not know."

"You have to trust me. We were supposed to end up fifty thousand years in the past. I think we did it," Tony said gesturing with his hand pointing to the area around them.

"Are you saying fifty thousand years ago there were huge bat dog things flying around?" Ramsey asked.

"Yes and no," Tony replied. "I don’t think we are exactly where we thought we would be."

"You seemed to know back on the plane. You told the pilot where to go."

"I will say that I think we are in the right place. I just don’t know if we are in the right time."

Ramsey paced in the dirt looking to the ground. He turned and faced Tony again. "One of them sons of jerks spoke to me,"

Tony’s eyes opened wide. "What did it say?" he asked.

"Don’t ask me what it means, but it asked me if I were the Son of Man."

Tony processed the information. "Son of Man?" he asked looking to the side.

"Jesus Christ," someone spoke up from camp.

Ramsey looked over to one of his snipers standing next to a tree relaxing. "What did you say private?"

"Jesus Christ," he replied again.

"I hope you’re not trying to be funny. I have no funny left in me," Ramsey said to the man. "Who are you son?" he asked.

Pvt. Jackson sir," he replied.

"And what do you know about this Pvt. Jackson?" Ramsey asked.

"Do you know your bible sir?"

"I guess not private. Won’t you please fill us in?" Ramsey said sarcastically.

The private stepped away from the tree and approached the men. "For the Son of Man is Lord, even of the Sabbath day. Mathew twelve-eight," he said to the men before him.

"You know your verses well," Tony said to the private holding his sniper rifle at his side. "Does your religious convictions interfere with your duties?" he asked.

"The sixth commandment reads, "Thou shalt not kill." It is improperly translated from the Hebrew word for murder. It is alright to kill for riotous purposes."

"You do your homework private," Tony said. "So you’re saying this thing was asking the captain here if he were Jesus?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you private," Ramsey said shaking his head. "I want you to set up a post in one of these trees. Keep an eye out for those damn things."

"Yes sir!" the private said and headed out to scout out the best location.

"What do you think now?" Ramsey asked Tony.

"If I didn’t know better, I would say those things look an awful lot like demons to me."

"Let’s get on the same page," Ramsey responded coldly. "We have time travel and now demons. What will be next?"

"Captain, in all your years, have you ever seen anything like those things before? Can you explain what happened to your men just feet from the edge of camp?"

"No, and neither can you!" he barked back.

"At least I’m willing to try!" Tony snapped back. "One of the damn things spoke to you. We know they’re intelligent. Why don’t you try to speak to one of them?"

"They killed half my men!"

"You don’t know that for sure!"

"The hell I don’t!" Ramsey yelled and stormed off towards his men working in the camp.

Tony couldn’t help but make the connection between what Brinkman had said earlier and what this creature had supposedly said. Brinkman said Tony shared the same DNA pattern with blood remains of Jesus Christ. This creature seemed to be seeking out Jesus Christ. Were they looking for him? He put the thought out of his mind and walked back to camp.

 

Chapter 22

 

That evening, Tony looked to the sky above examining the stars, puzzled by what he saw. Sitting on a fallen tree, he unpacked an electronic instrument from a steel box and placed it on a tripod. He pressed a switch and the gadget began to hum. Lights blinked in a rhythmic pattern darting back and forth across the illuminated screen. He pressed another button and the internal compass spun until it found North.

He waited for the machine to read the stars above through its camera and give him a readout. It blinked an error message and asked to be reset. "What the hell?" he thought and pressed the reset button. Again it came out with the same message. Tony stood up and craned his neck looking to the black sky above. His eyes caught the problem and a shiver went down his spine. There was a bright orange object just to the left of the center star of Orion’s belt.

"Hey you! Come over here," Tony yelled to one of the guards motioning with his hand. The guard ran over and stood holding his rifle in ready position.

"Did you see something sir?" he asked looking off into the pasture.

"No, I mean yes, I want you to look straight up and tell me what you see."

The guard looked up and said, "Stars sir."

"Anything out of the ordinary?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, there’s an orange moon up there. I didn’t know we had two of them."

"We don’t," Tony responded. "I was just curious if you were seeing the same thing I was. Thank you. You can go now."

"Yes sir," he replied and ran back to his post.

Tony now realized his machine was reading an error because it did not recognize the star pattern with this object in view. He leaned over and punched in an override code. "Just tell me what I need to know," he said to the machine watching it blink. The machine’s readout glowed green in the dark making reading it quite easy. A long beep followed by a short one told Tony it had finished its computation. Tony sat back on his rear as he finished reading the display. It read plus or minus fifty years of the date 2010. He now knew they did not time travel at all.

Other than the strange orange object high above him, the star pattern looked as familiar to him as it did a week ago before the mission. He suspected it all the time. We went nowhere. Or did we? He sat and rubbed his temples thinking about the possibilities.

"Rhine!" he heard from camp and looked up at Ramsey coming towards him. "What have you found out?"

Tony chuckled under his breath and closed his eyes. Looking up at Ramsey he said, "I can only guess at this point."

"Alright then, guess."

Tony picked up a rock and tossed it at the tree next to Ramsey. "Best guess would be…" he said and paused thinking how to say it.”We jumped dimensions."

"Dimensions?" Ramsey asked unconvinced.

"My star time calculator tells me we have not jumped in time at all. At least not within fifty years."

"Fifty years ago there were no seven foot tall bat things running around on the Earth. Are you telling me these things sprung up in fifty years?"

"No I am not. We are in a different reality."

"Yes you are Doctor Rhine. Where are the rest of us?"

"I don’t know."

"How do I get my men home?"

"You don’t," Tony said firmly.

Ramsey stood silent. He paced back and forth thinking of what to say. "Are you telling me that this hi-jacking has turned into a suicide mission?"

"Looks that way," Tony replied leaning back on his palms. "You said this might be a one way trip."

"At least we had a fighting chance against a hi-jacker. You knew about this all the time?"

"Yes I did. I had no idea you weren’t in on it. I realized back on the plane when you told me about this hi-jacking scam, that they used this as a cover story to get your team on the mission."

"Cover story?"

"They knew you would never volunteer for a suicide mission."

"Why the hell did you doctor?"

"I knew my fate. I had nothing to lose. I am sorry."

"I bet you are," Ramsey said and turned back to camp. Tony sat alone in the dark with his machine contemplating the fate of the men. He was truly sorry.

Ramsey stood behind a group of his men sitting around a campfire and looked at their faces afraid to tell them the truth. He chose not to. "I need five men to volunteer for a recognizance mission."

"Where to captain?" one of the men asked.

"There is some kind of settlement due East from here about twenty miles. Two of the men identified it from the air on the way down to this God forsaken hell hole."

"What kind of settlement sir?"

" That’s what we need to find out. Any volunteers?"

No one raised their hand or spoke up. Ramsey pointed to the first five closest to him and told them to ready the ATV. "I want this mission going in fifteen minutes!"

Tony came up from behind Ramsey and asked, "How much fuel do you have?"

"Over half a tank. They can go two hundred miles I estimate."

"Where are your reserves?"

"We had five hundred gallons on the C-130. The other ATV ruptured its fuel tank and burned. That is it."

"Maybe we should wait until light? That is our only working vehicle."

"Doctor!" Ramsey shouted losing patience. "Maybe you haven’t figured it out yet, so let me make this perfectly clear. I am the commanding officer; I make all the decisions concerning where we eat, where we crap, where we take a leak. If you don’t like it I would ask you to take a long walk out in that field. Do you understand me?"

Tony stepped back and swallowed hard. "Yes sir," he replied and walked back to his tent.

The sounds of gunfire shot forth from the far end of camp. Machine guns and rifle fire filled the air, along with the muzzle discharge flashing against the trees like a strobe light. Ramsey’s radio crackled and sputtered finally uttering forth a voice from within.

"We need support in section three! We’re under attack!"

Ramsey put the radio to his lips and yelled, "Air support to section three!"

"Negative on the air support!" the voice, said across the radio. "We need ground support! This is something different!"

Ramsey took off running towards section three yelling for the recognizance team to be ready to roll on his command. The closer he came to section three the louder the gunfire became. He squatted down behind the sergeant in command of section three and tapped him on the shoulder.

"What do we have?" Ramsey asked ducking down behind a fallen tree.

"Don’t know sir," the sergeant answered. "Whatever it was took out two of my men standing guard. They weren’t the same as those things before."

"You didn’t see them?’

"I got a quick look sir. It is awful dark out there."

"What did you see?"

"About six feet tall, on four legs. Looked like a buffalo or something."

"A buffalo?"

"Crap I don’t know. It came out of the tall grass and took them out."

"Are you using your night vision?"

"Yes sir. I can’t explain it."

"Alright sergeant, do not let this perimeter get compromised again!"

"Yes sir," the sergeant said and scurried around the fallen tree to assist his men.

Ramsey peeked over his cover and looked out into the darkness. The rifle fire had subdued to a few pops here and there. He ducked back down and checked his rifle clip making sure he had adequate rounds available to defend himself if necessary.

From Ramsey’s radio, a voice yelled, "Recognizance team ready to roll on your command sir!"

"Go! Repeat go!" Ramsey yelled into his radio and clipped it back on his belt.

"Affirmative, team out," came from the radio, then silence. Ramsey looked to his sergeant keeping his head ducked behind the fallen tree. "Do you have night vision?" Ramsey whispered.

"Yes sir," the sergeant replied and handed over his night vision goggles to the captain. Ramsey put the glasses to his eyes and peeked over the log. For as far as the eye could see, the area was clear.

"Sergeant," Ramsey said, "Is there anyone posted on the other side of camp?"

"I have two men posted."

"Send ten more to assist. I have a feeling they are checking for weak spots."

"Who is checking?"

"You tell me sergeant," Ramsey replied and took off running towards the other end of camp with the night vision goggles in tow. He ran through the brush and over ground clutter passing the campsite on his way to the other side of the woods. He could hear the footsteps of the ten men reassigned to the other end of the woods behind him.

Minutes later, he stopped at the edge of the woods and looked out onto the vast dark grassland before him. His men gathered around waiting for his orders. He placed the goggles to his eyes for the second time and his heart began to pound. "I need five men in a line over there," he said pointing to his left, "and five over there," pointing to his right. "We have an enemy threat approximately two hundred yards out spread across the field." He stood silent for a moment listening to the sounds of the night trying to see if they were making any sounds. "Do we have a flare gun?" he asked his men.

"Yes sir," replied a man from the right side.

"Let me have it," Ramsey said holding out his hand. The private handed Ramsey the flare gun and stepped back. Ramsey pointed the gun at the sky above his perceived threat and pulled the trigger. The flair shot fifty yards into the night sky and popped open with a brilliant yellow flame that lit up the night like day. For the first time the men could see something on the horizon. A few men stepped forward gawking in amazement as they observed the strange sight before them.

"What the hell is that?" one of the men asked.

"Looks like some sort of extinct dinosaur," another answered.

"What is that on top of it?"

"I don’t know," he replied as he strained to make sense of the creatures standing out in the field.

"I need a tripod mount machine gun here ASAP!" Ramsey shouted. "What ever those things are, they are not compromising out position!"

Two of the men took off running back to base camp to retrieve the gun. Ramsey motioned for one of his men to come over. "Take these," he said and handed the man his night vision goggles. "I want you to inform me the second those things start to move. If they attack, take as many out as you can. Got it?’

"Yes sir!" the private replied and put the glasses to his eyes.

Ramsey took off running back to base camp to organize the defense of his position. Dashing through the woods, he could hear the distant sound of machine gun fire in front of him. "I’ve been decoyed!" he thought and picked up the pace sprinting back to his first position. He ran through base camp and yelled to his men to guard the supplies and stay put. Back into the woods he ran breathing heavy and tiring as he weaved between the tall trees.

Back at his old position he again ducked behind the fallen tree, locking a full clip into his rifle. All around him were the sounds of gunfire and the smell of smoke. He poked his head over the log to see two dead creatures, bloody and shot up, lying next to two dead riders. The riders looked human.

He reached to his belt and unclipped the flare gun. He quickly reloaded it and shot a round into the sky above. With a pop and a fizz the flare opened up and illuminated the scene for all to see. Ramsey watched as one of the creatures ran from the tall grass onto the clearing at the edge of the woods. Its long fur whipped around as it spun in a circle guided by a sword-wielding rider. The human atop the creature tried in vain to cut down the soldiers hiding in the woods, only to be shot by a volley of machine gun fire and sent crashing to the ground.

In the light of the flare, Ramsey could see the other creatures’ retreat back into the tall grass. A moment of silence followed as the men waited for their orders.

"Collect the dead!" Ramsey shouted to his men. "Take the bodies back to camp!"

Back at base camp the bodies of the human warriors were laid out side by side, riddled with bullet holes and covered in blood. The soldiers gathered about and looked upon the dead at their feet. The three were human males between twenty and forty years of age dressed in rags and skins.

"They look like people," one of the soldiers remarked. "Or at least they used to," he added with a chuckle.

"Get some light over here," Ramsey said and knelt down beside one of the dead men.

"Who are they captain?" one of the men asked.

"How the hell should I know," Ramsey replied not taking his eyes from the body before him. "Why don’t you ask him yourself?"

Tony pushed his way through the crowd gathered around and stood facing Ramsey across from the dead men. Tony held a flashlight on the bodies reflecting the light in the wet blood. Tony knelt down and stared at one of the men with a curious look upon his face.

"What is it Rhine?" Ramsey asked.

"I’ve seen this man before," Tony replied.

"Where?"

"I think I have seen his picture before."

"Go on!"

"This sounds strange, but I remember a picture hanging in my grandmother’s house. This guy looks like…" Tony stopped and scratched his chin looking to Ramsey. "Don’t get me wrong here. He just looks familiar."

"Like who?"

"My Uncle Seth," Tony replied.

"You know this guy?"

"No. He died before I was born."

"You think this is your dead uncle?"

"Of course not! I said it just looks like a picture I’ve seen before. That’s all."

"How can you tell anything with all that blood?" one of the soldiers asked. "He’s shot up pretty bad."

Tony leaned over the dead man and wiped the blood from his face. "You’re right, this can’t be my Uncle Seth" Tony said.

The dead mans’ eyes opened and Tony shot back.

"Watch out!" Ramsey yelled and stood, stepping back from the body.

The blood covered body sat up and braced itself against the ground with its palms down on the dirt. "Did someone say my name?" it asked looking around at the crowd gathered around.

"Is that your name? Is Seth your name?" Tony asked.

He turned his head to Tony and said, "Yes, Seth is my name. Who are you?"

"Tony," he replied. "Tony Rhine."

Seth’s eyes opened wide as he looked upon Tony. "My brothers’ son?" he asked.

"Yes, I think, but how?" Tony asked.

"It is beyond you my nephew. It is good that you have made the journey."

"Journey to where?"

"Hell my dear nephew. You have come to Hell!"

 

Chapter 23

 

Private first class Jack Adams looked to his watch. It read 0535. The recognizance team had been out for more than six hours and had settled in for the surveillance of the city. The sun had cracked the plane of the horizon and shot forth-long shadows across the tall grass prairie.

"How long have we been sitting here?" Pvt. Easton asked.

"About three hours," Adams replied.

"How long are we supposed to sit here?"

"Until the captain contacts us on the radio with orders."

"What if he is dead? What if his radio is broken?"

Adams sat silent for a moment looking out upon the city two miles before him. He again looked to his watch and took a deep breath. "I’ll give him till 0600."

"Then what?"

"Then we’ll head back!" Adams shouted.

"Why don’t you just contact him?" another man asked.

"We have strict radio protocol we follow. I am just following orders!"

The ATV sat quiet, parked in the tall grass close enough to observe the city, but not close enough to be detected. Movement could be seen around the city and a steady stream of smoke rose from one of the buildings inside. Through the binoculars, Adams could make out tiny figures all about the city. He could not tell if they were human.

"How many rounds do we have left for the pop gun?" Adams asked the machine gunner at the back of the ATV.

"About eight hundred rounds I think. They won’t last long at thirty rounds a second," the gunner replied.

"I have movement!" Easton yelled pointing to the sky above. The men looked up and strained to find the object he was pointing at. "It’s one of those flying things that attacked us when we parachuted!"

"Keep down!" Adams whispered. "I don’t think it has seen us."

The winged creature flapped its great leathery wings in graceful arcs as it slid though the blue sky above. Nothing but wispy clouds surrounded the creature overhead.

"Crap!" Easton said as he watched the creature slowly bank to the right and circle above the ATV like a vulture. "Kill it!" he whispered to his commander.

"No!" Adams whispered back. "Not until it is a direct threat. I don’t want to alert anymore of these things to our position."

The creature broke off its circling pattern and slowly descended to the ground landing thirty feet in front of the ATV. It folded its wings and stepped forward parting the tall grass with its seven-foot frame. The gunner held it in his sights.

Adams stood in his seat and drew his pistol on the creature and yelled. "Stop!" The creature stood still, blinking its red eyes, examining the ATV. Sniffing the air around the men, it flared its nostrils and dipped its head examining the ground. The creature raised its canine head and looked at Adams in a curious way, as if he were trying to place his face.

"It’s a freaking animal! Shoot it!" Easton yelled.

"Shut up!" Adams barked back not taking his eyes off the creature. His gun sighted on its massive head.

"I may be many things, but an animal I am not," the creature spoke through its toothy jaw.

Adams lowered his gun a few inches and curled his brow, shocked that the creature just spoke to him. He waited a moment to suck this all in and then asked, "What are you?"

The creature stepped forward, then stood on its thin gangly hind legs raising its wings. "What do you think I am?" it asked.

Adams thought for a moment. "I have no idea what you are, but if you take one more step forward you will be a dead one for sure."

"Who are you?" it asked.

"Pvt. First class Jack Adams U.S. Marines," he replied.

"Are you the son of man?"

One of the men in the back seat spoke up and said to Adams, "I think he’s talking about…"

"I know what he’s talking about. I spent more time in Sunday school than I care to remember. I never thought it would actually come in handy someday," he replied to the solder. Adams raised the gun again to the creature and pointed it between his red eyes and said, "No, I am not the son of man. Are you supposed to be some sort of demon?"

"Some sort you ask? I am the real thing Pvt. First class Jack Adams."

"You’re searching for the messiah? What makes you think he is here?"

"He is here, somewhere. The Morning Star has seen to that."

"Morning Star? Who the hell is the Morning Star?"

"He is the master of this domain."

"Satan?"

"That is one of his many names," it replied.

"So this is Hell?" Adams said with a chuckle.

"You find this funny?"

"No I don’t. If this is Hell then what is that city doing over there?"

The creature turned its head and looked over its shoulder at the city behind it. "Have you ever heard of Sodom?"

"The city destroyed by God? You’re telling me that he sent the city of Sodom into Hell?"

"You will soon see for yourself. It is just a matter of time."

"What do you mean by that?" Adams asked, his arms aching from holding up his pistol.

"You will soon become a permanent resident of the city."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"I do not plan anything. It is the master’s plan."

"Looks like I can do pretty much as I please. I could put a bullet in your skull if I wanted."

"True. You still have free will. God gave that to you. Once you are reborn into Hell, all freedoms will be rescinded."

"How does one become reborn?"

The creature licked its lips and bared its teeth. "All souls he takes, he claims for his own."

"Takes? So you are saying as long as I am alive he has no power over me."

"Correct, but it is only a matter of time for you are trapped here for eternity. You can not live forever."

Adams felt a hot flush as the message struck home. Gritting his teeth, he pulled off a single shot between the creatures’ eyes knocking it back to the ground. It sat motionless.

"Is it dead?" Easton yelled.

"I don’t know. Get us the hell out of here!" Adams shouted to the driver and sat back in his seat.

The driver started the ATV and put it into gear. With a spin of the tires on the grass, they turned around trying to avoid running over the creature on their way back to camp. The gunner sat on his pedestal locked into position ready to fire upon any other creatures that may follow.

"There’s another one! Turn around!" one of the men yelled.

"There all around us!" another screamed.

From all directions, swooping down were the leathery winged creatures attacking the ATV. The men pulled their guns and fired at them as the ATV bounced along the uneven surface.

"We’re not going to make it back to camp!" Easton yelled.

"Head for the city!" Adams yelled to the driver. "If we’re going down then we’re taking out as many of them as we can!"

With that order, the driver turned the ATV around and headed towards the city at 50 mph.

 

Chapter 24

 

"Do we have contact from the recon team?" Ramsey asked his radioman.

"Not yet sir," he replied.

"Keep me posted," he barked back and rejoined Tony who was sitting next to the three prisoners tied to a tree. By now all three were alive and their wounds were healed. Tony was dumbfounded.

"So you say this is Hell?" Tony asked Seth looking around at the surroundings. "Looks like Kansas to me," he added with a chuckle.

"Of course my son," Seth replied.

"Don’t call me son!" Tony snapped at him. "There is no Hell!" he barked at Seth and stood up. "Hell is a product of Christian rhetoric. That is all. A means to keep the masses in line, the ultimate punitive punishment. Not a real place."

"Then how do you explain what you have seen before your very eyes?" Seth asked.

"I am sure there is a reasonable scientific explanation," Tony replied.

"Then how do you explain me?"

Tony looked down at Seth bound to the tree with nylon rope. He licked his lips and scratched his chin thinking. "I don’t claim to have the answers,"

"You said yourself that I had died before you were born," Seth said.

"That is what my grandmother told me. I never saw your body. I have no proof."

"Of course not. Your father would never have let you see it."

"Leave my father out of this!" Tony said angrily.

"He is my brother as well as your father. I can speak of him if I wish."

Tony got down on one knee and faced Seth staring into his eyes with anger only he knew. "My father was everything to me. I would do anything to see him again."

"Maybe you will," Seth said under his breath. "Why are you so angry at me?"

Tony leaned back and took a deep breath. "I am not. I am just tired and confused. That’s all." Tony stood again and paced back and forth before Seth thinking. "If this is Hell, how did you come to be here? My grandmother never spoke ill of you."

"Your grandmother hid the truth from you. Your father was a man of God. I was a man of Satan. The family did not know until it was too late."

Tony stepped forward. "You were a Satan worshiper?" Tony asked.

"Let me explain my dear nephew. There are two ways to enter the kingdom of the Morning Star. One is to live a life of unrepentant sin, the other is to be stolen from God by Satan himself." Seth paused and looked into Tony’s eyes. "All souls he steals, he claims for his own."

"What about judgment day? I thought no one went anywhere until God judged the living and the dead?"

"Some have been prejudged. Some have been stolen. Not all wait until the Day of Judgment."

"That doesn’t sound very biblical," Tony said.

"What do you know of the bible?" Seth asked. "I can feel in your heart you are a non believer."

"I may not be a believer, but I have made it a point to study…"

"Study? You have turned the scriptures into a school project," Seth said mocking Tony.

"All I have to have is proof. I admit these events have turned my point of view."

"I see," Seth said and paused to read Tony’s face. "Some have crossed over. Some, the Morning Star has judged for himself. He is jealous of his creator. He does not want the Messiah to come and judge the living and the dead. He is selfish, wanting to keep what he has stolen."

"What has he stolen? What are you talking about?"

"You for one thing," Seth replied.

Tony could not believe his ears.

"He has tricked you and these men into traveling here. The Prince of Lies planted the airliner you discovered. You followed it here and now you are trapped. You shall be baptized into Hell."

"Satan planted the airliner? I knew time travel was impossible. I was correct."

"Not that being correct has done anything for you now. You will soon be baptized into his kingdom."

"How is that done?" Tony asked.

"You have come as a living spirit. Once you have been released you will be trapped here forever."

"Released wouldn’t be the same as killed would it?"

"Yes it would," Seth replied.

From the side Ramsey stepped in and interrupted saying, "What happened to my men. The one’s who didn’t make it to base camp?"

Seth looked to him and said, "They have been baptized, as you will be soon."

"Why us?" Tony asked.

"One among you is the son of man."

"The son of man?" Ramsey asked. "That is the second time I have heard that one."

"I see now," Tony said. "If you manage to trap the Messiah in Hell, he would be unable to judge the living and the dead. Satan would in effect stop the Second Coming of Christ."

"You are correct," Seth replied.

"Which one of us is the Christ?" Tony asked.

"It is you," Seth replied.

Tony became flush and he swallowed hard. "Me?" Tony asked remembering what Brinkman had said about his DNA and the blood on the crown of thorns. It started to come together in his mind.

"What are those flying monsters that keep attacking us?" Ramsey asked.

"If you are familiar with your bible commander, you will remember that one third of the angels were swept from heaven when the Morning Star was banished."

"They are fallen angels? Why don’t you look like them?" Ramsey asked.

" I am not an angel. I have given myself willingly to my Lord. I was once human like yourself commander."

 

Chapter 25

 

 

The gunner set his machine gun to shoot in three shot bursts to try to conserve ammunition. With a flick of a lever, the gun went from full automatic to semi-automatic.

The ATV bounced along the uneven ground parallel to the city boundary, two miles away. Without warning, they burst out of the tall grass onto a dirt road, then back into the tall grass on the other side.

"Turn around!" Adams yelled to the driver. "Get on that road and head towards the city!"

The ATV made a wide arch in the grass and turned back to the road. Once they found the dirt path they pressed through the gears attaining 80 mph. The road was smoother and the men were able to fire with more precision at the flying creatures attacking them. Behind the ATV, a trail of dust kicked up alerting all to their location.

With the wind in his hair, Adams turned to his gunner and looked back. Seeing one of the creature’s swooping down at them from behind he yelled, "Look out!" to his gunner. Spinning on his turret, the gunner pulled the trigger and three shots fired out of his gun in rapid succession. He pulled the trigger again, and three more shots burst forth striking the creature, sending it rolling to a stop in a cloud of dust.

Adams turned again to face forward watching, as the city became larger in his view. "Get ready!" he yelled. "Take out as many as you can!"

In the distance, they could see that a crowd of humans blocked the entrance to the city. The closer they got, the more the crowd parted until they cleared a path through the main gate.

Shifting down, the ATV slowed to 40 mph as it passed through the crowd and drove into the city. Slamming on the breaks, the ATV skidded to a halt kicking up a plume of dust that drifted in the breeze.

"Fire!" Adams yelled and all five men shot into the mass of people surrounding the ATV at random. Easton jumped onto the hood and fired his machine gun from his hip spraying the crowd as he spun in a wide arch. Blood, flesh and bone shot into the air as the bullets made contact with the city dwellers running for their lives.

The crowd shifted and many fell as they were struck down by gunfire. Many pushed closer, fearless of the barrage of bullets spraying in their direction.

In a panic the rear gunner flicked the switch on his gun resetting it to full automatic. Without looking, he pulled the trigger and swept the area in one smooth motion cutting down Easton who was still standing on the hood. Easton fell dead almost cut in half. To the rear gunners horror he watched as Easton bounced off the hood of the ATV and fell to the ground with a thud.

Moments later the ATV was swamped and the remaining four men were pulled off the vehicle and carried away. Along the entrance gate, twelve long poles jutted forth from the ground rising twenty feet into the air. The men were hauled to the poles and strung up, tied by leather straps, lifting them a foot off the ground. Easton’s dead body was laid at their feet.

"What are you going to do with us?" Adams yelled to the crowd. There was no response, just murmuring. "Who is in charge?" he yelled in vain scanning the faces in the crowd. He looked to his right at the two men hanging beside him then to the man on his left.

The leather dug into his wrists and the pain was unbearable. He knew this was going to end up bad but he did not plan on the suffering.

"Look!" one of the men, shouted. "Easton is moving!"

At their feet Easton pushed off the ground and stood erect. "What the hell?" Adams thought. "Easton! Cut us down!" Adams yelled to the man standing before him.

Easton looked blankly at Adams as if he did not know who he was. He turned to the crowd and a man walked forth and handed him a long knife. He took the knife and approached Adams hanging before him.

"Cut me down Easton," Adams whispered.

Easton took the knife and cut Adams across the belly spilling his insides onto the dirt below. Adams gasped for air and looked into Easton’s lifeless eyes waiting to die.

 

Chapter 26

 

Three days had passed with no word from the recognizance team. The burned out ATV was salvaged and pulled into camp. Its rear mounted machine gun, still in working condition, was set up as the main defense for camp. Four tripod-mounted machine guns were flanked around the ATV manned at all times.

"Hey captain! When are we going to eat?" one of the men yelled out.

"I’m working on it!" Ramsey shouted back.

The food supply was gone and sixteen men remained at camp growing hungrier each hour. Ramsey needed to find food in a hurry. "Rhine! Get over here!" he shouted across camp.

Tony came running over and stood before the captain. "What is it?" he asked.

"You’re a doctor right?" Ramsey asked.

"Yes I am."

"I guess you’re pretty damn smart, what around here do you think is safe to eat?"

Tony frowned at Ramsey and said, "Don’t they teach you survival skills in boot camp?"

Ramsey chuckled at Tony’s ignorance. "Yes they do," he responded. "But this place isn’t normal. I have no idea what is safe and what may be poison."

"And you think I do?"

"This was your mission. I expect you have some answers."

"I don’t know any more than you do commander," Tony snapped back and turned to the tall grass prairie. "What would you usually eat in a situation like this?’

"You don’t want to know."

"I may not be military, but I am in this just the same as you."

Ramsey bent over and picked up something from the dirt. In his fingers was a six-legged insect squirming, trying to escape. "If it comes down to it, these make a pretty good lunch," Ramsey said tossing the bug at Tony. The captain laughed at Tony when he jumped away from the insect. "Do you wonder why there would be bugs in Hell?"

"I suppose they sinned against God," Tony said

"You should know," Ramsey said sarcastically. "If you are who our prisoner says you are, you should be able to break bread and feed us all. Why don’t you give it a try?"

"I am not who he says I am. I am sorry."

"Too bad," Ramsey said sighing. "I’d like a free ticket out of here."

One of the soldiers walked over from the campfire and stood next to Ramsey. "Captain?" he asked.

"Yes private."

"I have an idea," the soldier said looking to the ground.

"Go on."

"When we captured those three, they were riding some big hairy cow or something," the private said.

"You want to eat one of those things?" Tony asked. "They have been sitting out in the sun for four days!"

"Me and the other men are hungry sir," the private said.

"I realize that. Eating rotted meat will kill you!" Tony snapped back.

"We plan to cook it sir."

Tony looked to Ramsey. "I would advise against it," Tony said.

"Desperate times doctor," he said to Tony. Looking to the private he said, "Get three other men, go out and retrieve some of it. We will make a determination then." Looking back to Tony he said, "If you get hungry enough, you will eat your own arm. Believe me, you don’t want to know what I know."

The private took off to camp to gather a party.

***

Twenty minutes later a voice cracked over Ramsey’s radio. "Commander come in."

"Ramsey here," he responded.

"Sir, one of them is gone.’

"Probably some scavengers dragged it away. Is there a problem?"

"It just seemed strange sir. There are no remains. It is if it got up and walked away."

"The other one is still there?"

"Yes, it is in better condition than I thought it would be."

Ramsey thought for a moment. "Continue with the mission. Contact me if there are any problems, over." Ramsey put the radio back on his belt and scratched his forehead.

"I nailed both of those things dead," Pvt. Jackson said startling Ramsey from behind.

"I know. I saw them myself." Ramsey said, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Who knows what they have for scavengers around here. It may have been drug off."

***

An hour passed and Tony sat on the ground next to Seth and the other two prisoners. "Who are your friends there?" Tony asked Seth.

"That’s rude Tony. You can ask them, they won’t bite," Seth replied.

"If you don’t mind, I’d rather speak to you," he said to Seth. "I hope you guys don’t mind," he said looking to the other two bound to the tree.

"If that’s the way you want it fine. This is Brother Follett, and next to him Brother Thomas."

Tony smiled at them and said, "Glad to meet you," with a sarcastic grin The two men looked over at Tony and glared at him. "What’s wrong with them?" he asked Seth.

"You are the enemy, remember?" Seth replied.

"Yeah, that’s right," he said laughing. "So how long have you been here uncle?" Tony asked.

"I crossed over in 1970. I believe that was the year of your birth?"

"Yes it is. What an odd coincidence," Tony said.

"Maybe not as odd as you think," Seth said.

Tony smiled at Seth and dug his foot into the dirt. "So you have been here thirty years now?"

"Doesn’t feel like it," Seth replied. "Seems like only yesterday."

"I bet it does." Tony smiling at his uncle. "Is this place all you dreamed it would be?"

"And more my nephew. You can not fathom the glory of his presence."

"Who are you talking about?" Tony asked.

"The Morning Star of course," Seth replied.

"Satan?" Tony asked.

"If that is what you wish to call him."

Tony looked over to camp watching the men eating. The smell of the roasting meat sickened him and the sight of the massive beasts’ leg cooking over the fire made him ill. Ramsey walked over and stood before the prisoners and looked down to Tony.

"Are you going to eat?" Ramsey asked.

"I think I will take my chances on the vegetation," Tony replied.

"I agree," Ramsey said. "The maggots make me sick. Jackson isn’t touching it either."

"Why not?" Tony asked.

"Jackson is a farm boy. He said spoiled meat is like poison. He is out scrounging in the woods for some nuts and berries."

"That is a wise choice," Seth said.

"Why? Is there something we should know?" Ramsey asked Seth.

"If you have been observing Commander Ramsey, nothing here stays dead for long."

"Oh my!" Tony spoke up. His eyes wide open.

"What is it?" Ramsey asked.

Tony looked to Ramsey and said, "The other beast. It wasn’t dragged off. It got up on its own and left."

"Very good nephew," Seth said with a grin.

Ramsey looked back at his men and then back at Tony. "Are you saying that thing will come back to life?"

"Inside them. If they eat the meat it will come back to life inside the men. It will kill them!"

Seth began to laugh out loud. Then Follett and Thomas joined in. Ramsey ran back to the campfire and yelled for the men to stop eating. Tony watched from his seat becoming flush with heat. He jumped as he saw the massive leg of the beast twitch as it cooked above the fire. Its clawed feet jerked back and forth knocking it off the rack and into the hot coals kicking up sparks and embers.

"Throw it up!" Ramsey yelled to his men. "It is poison!"

The leg now in full motion jerked violently trying to get out of the fire disembodied. From the edge of the woods the agonizing screams of the animal shot across camp.

The men scattered in all directions buckled over in pain. Some were trying to throw up and others were falling to the ground dead as the reanimated meat inside them killed them like poison.

Bursting forth from the woods, the massive longhaired beast lumbered into camp on its remaining three legs. It hobbled towards the campfire and with its open jaws, clenched down upon its remaining leg and pulled it from the fire. With the leg in tow, it limped back into the woods disappearing from view.

Tony looked in horror as one by one all of the remaining men fell lifeless to the ground. Ramsey was helpless to stop it.

***

Twenty minutes later after the commotion died down, Tony, Ramsey and Jackson walked among the dead. The strained horrified looks on the dead men’s faces sickened them. Seth and the other two prisoners sat silent watching them survey camp. Tony walked over to Seth and kicked dirt on him. "You bastard! You knew this would happen!"

Seth spit out dirt and blinked his eyes clearing his vision. He looked up to Tony hovering above him. "Of course I knew. I have come to baptize you all. I only have three more and my mission is fulfilled."

"We ought to put a bullet in him!" Jackson yelled.

"What good what that do?" Tony asked. "You can’t kill the dead. We found that out the hard way."

"There must be something we can do," Jackson said. "We have some control over them. If you can tie them up you must be able to kill them for good."

Tony looked to Seth. "How about it uncle? Is there a death beyond this?"

"Do you think I would tell you?" Seth replied.

"There must be," Jackson said. "There must be something beyond this. We just need to find out what it is."

"We better find out fast," Ramsey said. "I don’t think our men will stay dead long."

"What are you saying?" Jackson asked.

"Nothing stays dead here Jackson!" Ramsey yelled. "Weren’t you paying attention?"

"These are our men. They wouldn’t do anything to us," Jackson said.

"Our men are gone. We need to dispose of these bodies before it is too late."

"Too late for what?" Jackson asked.

"Before they stand up and kill us!" Ramsey yelled. " I for one want to stay just the way I am." Ramsey pointed to the camp and said, "Start grabbing bodies and pile them up by the ATV."

With that order the three men dragged the bodies to a central point twenty feet from the ATV and lined them next to each other. The thirteen soldiers fell dead in the same area making gathering them an easy task. Taking turns, the three men grabbed the dead men by their hands and feet and tossed them onto an ever-growing heap of bodies. It took fifteen minutes to complete the pile and the men gathered around the ATV.

"What do you think happened to our other men? The ones who didn’t make it to camp and the ones who died during the attack?" Jackson asked. "Are they out in the tall grass watching us?"

"Maybe, I don’t know. They may have been waiting for our numbers to thin down a little before attacking." Ramsey replied.

"Our own men trying to kill us? That sounds so wrong."

"They stopped being our men as soon as they died."

"Jesus Christ this sucks!" Jackson said. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Just watch," Ramsey said and jumped up onto the ATV. With a flick of a switch the safety was turned off and the commander aimed the machine gun at the pile of bodies. "Stand back!" he yelled. "This is going to get messy!"

Pulling the trigger, the gun shot thirty rounds per second into the pile of bodies sending flesh and bone flying into the air in all directions. Blood covered everything in a twenty-foot radius of the pile, dripping off the vegetation and streaming down the sides of trees. The sound of the machine gun bounced off the trees and rattled in the heads of those standing by. The flash at the end of the gun shot forth twelve inches illuminating the area like a strobe light.

Tony looked away not being able to stomach the horrific sight before him. Splatters of blood and chunks of flesh sprayed his body and everything around him making him gag. A moment later the firing stopped and the barrel of the gun was allowed to slump down and smoke. Tony uncovered his face and looked to the pile now reduced to a blend of flesh and bone mixed with blood and hair. Tony bent over and tried to throw up only producing dry heaves.

"That ought to do it," Ramsey said looking down upon his work. He jumped off the ATV and stepped over to the pile and kicked some of the body parts around looking for anything needing cut up. Ramsey looked to Tony seeing him visible shaken by the sight. "Get over it. The faster you do the better you will be."

Jackson looked at the pile and shook his head with disgust. "What a waste," he said and joined Tony. "You’re a mess," he said looking at Tony’s face. "Next time don’t stand so close."

"There had better not be a next time," Tony said wiping the blood away. Tony walked over to Seth and bent down on one knee next to him. "I don’t think they will be coming back to haunt us."

"Don’t be so sure of yourself," Seth replied. "You do not know the power you are dealing with."

"If Satan is so powerful why doesn’t he just come get us and get this over?" Tony asked.

"He is, in his own way," Seth replied.

"I don’t think he is all so powerful. We got you tied up pretty good."

"Yes you do, I will admit that."

Tony sat back on his rear looking at Seth. "I don’t get it," Tony said. "Why all the games?"

"Games? I find your choice of words interesting."

"What would you call it?"

"It is the way it has to be."

"That is a cop out if I ever heard one. If I am the Messiah like you say I am, Satan would never be able to capture me."

"He would if you lacked faith."

"The Son of God would not lack faith."

"How is your faith?"

Tony stopped dumbfounded. He had no answer.

"What’s the plan now?" Jackson asked.

"With our numbers down, we need to prepare for attack."

"Three against a whole city. That is just freaking fantastic! It is just a matter of time!" Jackson yelled. "No one is coming to rescue us!"

Ramsey chose not to speak for he knew Jackson was correct.

Tony stood and faced the other two soldiers. "They want me and we have no way to defend ourselves. Maybe I should surrender. It could save you two."

"Save us? We have no food. We are outnumbered. It is a matter of time. I think we have twenty four hours at best," Ramsey said.

"Twenty four hours," Jackson shadowed. "This sucks!"

Chapter 27

 

Jackson tossed roots and berries on the ground next to Tony. "You better eat this," Jackson said, looking down upon his starving companion.

"Do you think this thing is safe?" Tony said, examining the long stiff root. He looked up to Jackson and blocked the sun from his eyes. "I’m not sure about this."

"If you don’t eat, you won’t last long. You better take your chances on these." Jackson bit down on a root, tearing off a piece.

"How’s it taste?" Tony asked.

"Like plastic," Jackson replied laughing. The root crunched in his mouth as he chewed it like a cow.

"You’re a brave man Jackson." Tony said, picking up a root from the dirt.

"The Lord will carry me through."

"You really believe that don’t you?"

"Of course, only a fool would choose not to believe in God. He is my protector."

" How does he do that? Protect you?" Tony asked snapping the root in two.

"Pray my friend. Just pray," Jackson replied.

"I envy you in a way, private."

"Me? I’m just a grunt. You are a doctor. You can’t possibly want anything I have."

"You have something to believe in," Tony said "That is more than I have. Right now my qualifications don’t seem to be helping to much."

"I see your point sir."

Tony held the root in his hand and looked at it again. "I suppose you prayed before you ate?" Tony asked smiling.

"I was brought up that way. I always give thanks. You ought to try it some time."

Tony sniffed the root and nibbled a piece off the end. "I’m not sure what I have to give thanks for," Tony said discontentedly.

"You see that?" Jackson said pointing to the dead corpses across camp. "You can give thanks that you are not in that pile."

"I can’t. I don’t have the sincerity in my heart." Tony said looking away.

"That’s ok doctor," Jackson said. "I prayed for you already."

Tony looked to Jackson and took a bite of the root he had been nibbling on. It tasted like wood. He did not care, for it felt good in his belly. "What about the commander?" Tony asked.

"He gave me the roots. He wanted you to test them out."

Tony’s eyes opened wide.

"I’m just kidding, now eat." Jackson said laughing.

Tony picked up a handful of the red berries covered in dirt and wiped them clean. He tossed one in his mouth and his face puckered like he had just tasted a lemon. "Damn that’s sour!" he said then swallowed. "I need something to drink."

"So do I. I’ll grab some water."

"No, I’ll do it," Tony said and stood up shaking the dust off his pants. "I can’t wait that long," he added and walked over to the water storage bin at the other side of camp. Tony moved ever closer to the remains of the men scattered about the camp, keeping his eyes away from the site. The main pile had settled with gravity and spread out covering a thirty feet area. Flies swarmed about and the smell of death drifted upwards from the rotting flesh.

Grabbing the aluminum cup from the side of the plastic water bin, Tony pushed the button at the bottom of the container allowing the cup to fill with warm stale water. His back to the death scene, he could still see remains splattered before him on the trees and ground. The water bin had spots of blood on it that Tony tried to ignore as he filled his cup.

"Hurry up!" Jackson yelled from across camp.

"I’ll be there…" Tony said, and stopped frozen in mid-sentence. Before him, smeared on the water bin, he saw one of the bloodstains pulsating. About the size of a quarter, the stain collected itself like a water spot on wax paper. With a steady vibration it slowly slid down the side of the container as if it was seeking out a destination.

Tony backed up and looked around noticing more of the blood moving on its own. He turned to the trees and saw large sections of blood and flesh crawling on its own, down the sides of the trees and moving towards the body pile behind him. He was too scared to turn and face the pile alone. "Jackson! Get over here now!" he yelled and set the cup back on top of the water bin.

"Jackson ran over to Tony and stopped by the water bin. "What is it?" he asked.

"Look," Tony said pointing to the blood crawling down the leg of the table.

"What? It’s just blood," Jackson said.

"Look closer."

Jackson bent over and examined the blood. "Oh my God!" he said and stood up. "That thing has a mind of its own."

"If that is moving…" Tony said and again stopped his sentence. He looked to Jackson and then turned to face the pile of bodies behind him. Jackson followed his direction and gazed upon the pile.

Both men noticed right away a severed head lying on the ground looking up at them. Its eyes blinked and its mouth moved but no sound came out. "Oh Shit," Tony said. "They’re coming back."

"It didn’t take as long as the others," Jackson said staring at the eyes of the severed head.

The men could see the pile moving, as body parts reformed and reanimated. Flesh and blood crawled across the ground collecting in the ever-growing mass of bodies. Coherent shapes were forming as the body parts reconnected and wounds healed.

Jackson grabbed his radio and called his commander. "Ramsey! We have an emergency! Get over to the water bin ASAP!"

"Roger!" the commander snapped over the radio.

"We have to do something now!" Jackson said scared.

"We have no gasoline! What should we do? Shoot them again?"

"We have to buy some time. I have an idea," Jackson said and grabbed his radio again. "Ramsey, meet us at the ammunition depot!"

"What is it Jackson?" Ramsey asked over the radio.

"I’ll explain when we get there. Jackson replied.

Jackson and Tony both ran across camp into the woods where the ammunition was stored. Ramsey met them there a few minutes later. "Grab everything you can carry!" Jackson yelled.

"What is it?" Ramsey asked again.

"I’ll show you in a second," Jackson said grabbing up boxes of shells and clips. "We need grenades. Stuff them in your back pack."

Tony stuffed his pack with grenades and Ramsey filled up on shells and clips.

"I’ve got all I can carry," Tony said.

"Me too," Ramsey said.

"Ok let’s go," Jackson said and he led the other men back to the water bin at a full sprint. The weight of the ammunition wore on them like a ton of bricks but the adrenaline powered them onward.

At the water bin, Ramsey looked on in shock. By this time many of the bodies were well formed and on their way to regeneration. Ramsey stood close to the pile and did a quick survey of the situation. "Everyone grab a grenade," he barked and reached into his pack. "When I count three, we pull pins, toss and duck. Got it?"

Both men nodded in agreement.

Ramsey counted off, "One, two, three," and they pulled pins and tossed the grenades into the pile. Diving to the ground, the men covered their heads as the grenades exploded. The blast sent debris flying, covering the men in flesh and blood as the three explosives exploded in the heap. Ramsey stood and looked at the bodies again. "Once more!" he yelled and all three men grabbed for another grenade. Ramsey looked at the doctor and said, "You look like shit," with a grin on his face. "Ready, one, two three," Ramsey yelled and they again tossed the explosives into the pile. Three explosions rocked the area sending more body parts flying in all directions.

Wiping the blood from his face Tony asked Ramsey, "Now what are we going to do?"

"We are going to make a run for it," Ramsey replied.

"Run to where?"

"Does it matter?" Ramsey barked back at Tony. Ramsey pulled his M-16 from behind his back and swept the pile in a wide arch mixing up the body parts one final time. Allowing the smoke to clear, he examined the pile looking for any bodies that were far along enough to cause them trouble. He stepped in close and got down on one knee poking the remains with his rifle barrel.

"Do you have to do that?" Tony asked.

Ramsey looked over his shoulder at Tony and said, "Yes, why don’t you give me a hand?"

"I think we should just get the hell out of here!" Tony snapped back.

Ramsey turned back to the pile before him and watched a hand and forearm crawl out from under the pile. He put the barrel next to the hand and let it grab onto the end lifting it into the air. The hand gripped tightly to the hot metal. Ramsey turned to Tony and flung the arm at Tony letting it land at his feet. The hand grabbed Tony’s ankle hard scaring him, sending him into a panic. Kicking his leg, the hand lost its grip on Tony and landed three feet away from him. Tony pulled his pistol and shot the arm several times. The arm continued to move in his direction crawling on its fingertips.

"You’re a real jerk!" Tony said to Ramsey.

"You’re a real chicken shit!" Ramsey snapped back. Ramsey walked over and picked the arm up off the ground and flung it back on the pile of body parts. "Let’s get out of here before anymore of these things come back!" Ramsey yelled

The three men took off across camp into the tall grass prairie. The grass, three feet tall was easy enough to maneuver in, but did not allow them to see the ground they were running on. In a sprint the three men ran through the field in a single file. Ramsey led, followed by Tony and Jackson.

In less than a minute, the woods became a distant spot on the horizon. The men stopped for a rest bending over and panting like dogs. Trying to catch his breath, Tony asked, "Where to commander?"

Ramsey scanned the horizon looking over the endless sea of tall grass. "We’ll continue on this direction until we come across a landmark."

"Fine, let’s go," Tony said and they continued on at a slower jog ever mindful of the uneven surfaces of the ground. Further and further they ran, carving a path through the untouched grasslands. The blue sky met the green grass on the horizon, dotted with intermittent clouds and a bright sun that glared in their eyes.

Two miles had passed since they abandoned camp and Ramsey once again stopped to catch his breath. Tony and Jackson pulled up behind him and released their packs, letting them fall to the ground.

"Do either of you have field glasses?" Ramsey asked between breaths.

"Yes captain," Jackson said and dug through his pack producing a pair. He handed them to Ramsey.

Ramsey scanned the area ahead of them and then swept back looking towards camp now five miles away. "Shit!" he said looking through the glasses.

The other two men looked back to camp, squinting, trying to see what he was looking at.

"What is it?" Tony asked in a panic. Ramsey handed him the glasses. Tony looked back to camp and saw tiny figures of men cutting through the tall grass running towards them. The figures grew larger and larger in his view, seeming to be running at a full sprint. "They’re not slowing down!" Tony yelled.

Jackson could now make out tiny figures with his naked eye. With mechanical precision, he dug through his backpack and retrieved a powerful riflescope. In seconds he had the scope mounted and a clip inserted in his sniper rifle. Chambering a round he placed the sights to his eyes and snapped off three shots. Pop, pop, pop went his gun without a hint of a flinch. Tony saw three men fall in the tall grass.

"Damn you’re good!" Tony said under his breath.

Three more shots and three more disappeared into the tall grass. The smoke from the rifle dispersed into the wind. In rapid succession another three shots popped.

"That’s nine, there should only be four left," Ramsey said.

"There’s more than four!" Tony said looking through the glasses.

"What?" Ramsey asked.

"There not staying down very long. The first three are already back up!"

Jackson shot until his clip was empty and dropped it with a flick of a lever. Wasting no motion he placed in a new clip and began firing again.

"They’re getting back up as fast as they drop!" Tony yelled.

"How close are they?" Ramsey asked.

"Mile and a half at the most," Jackson replied between shots.

Ramsey looked around trying to find shelter. It was if they were in the middle of the ocean and the sharks were bearing down on them with no place to hide. "We got to run!" Ramsey yelled.

Tony stood fast, watching the action unfold through the field glasses. His heart began to sink as he realized it was only a matter of time before the enemy caught up with them.

"Come on!" Ramsey yelled taking a few steps away. He stopped amazed that the other two did not follow. "What’s wrong with you?"

Tony put down the glasses and looked to Ramsey. "We need another plan if we are going to get out of this."

"Getting the hell out of here is my plan!"

"Where are we going to go?" Tony yelled at Ramsey. "Maybe it is time to surrender."

"Surrender?" Ramsey shot back. "I will never surrender! Do what you want doctor. It’s your hide, not mine!"

Ramsey turned and took off running leaving Tony and Jackson to defend their position alone. Jackson brought his gun down and let it dangle at his side. Looking to Tony he said, "I never liked that bastard anyway." Jackson turned to face the enemy. "I have one last plan before we surrender."

"What? You can’t kill them!"

"We don’t know for sure. Maybe they can only regenerate so many times. Maybe we are using the wrong approach."

"What else is there? I don’t think harsh language will work."

"I have nerve gas." Jackson said. "In a grenade."

"Nerve gas? Are you kidding?" Tony asked.

"Do you have a better idea?" Jackson asked.

"Yes. Let’s just give up."

"Maybe Ramsey was right. Anyway we have about thirty seconds before they get here."

"Won’t the nerve gas kill us too?" Tony asked.

"Only if you get some on you. Just make sure you throw as hard as you can and then duck. Put your head in your backpack if you have to."

Jackson reached into his bag and pulled out two nerve gas grenades. He handed one to Tony and kept one for himself. "We need to lead them a little. Pull the pin and wait for me to yell "now". Toss that thing as far as you can, then hit the ground and hold your breath."

"I thought nerve gas…"

"You’re right. Forget the breathing thing. If it gets on your skin you are dead. Get ready." The enemy was now within a hundred yards and closing fast. "On three," Jackson said calmly. Fifty yards and closing fast. "One, two, three…" Jackson said. "Now!" he yelled and the two men threw their explosives as far as they could. Tony and Jackson both hit the ground hard and waited for the sound of the detonations.

Two loud explosions rocked the area. The sprinkling sound of dirt falling back to the ground surrounded them in all directions as they listened to hear if anyone was still running through the tall grass. All they could hear was their own breathing and the sound of the breeze blowing above them.

Minutes passed and still no sound of their pursuers. Jackson and Tony could see each other through the grass and Jackson signaled to Tony to keep silent. Jackson looked up through the grass to the sky keeping an eye for anyone that may come along. More time passed and they both began to feel better about their predicament. A cool breeze blew over the prairie bending the tall grass over like the waves on the ocean creating the only sound besides their own breathing.

Then from a distance they heard a familiar voice calling out to them. "Doctor Rhine! Jackson!" Jackson signaled to Tony not to move. The voice was that of Captain Ramsey, somewhere off in the distance.

Tony whispered, "It’s Ramsey!"

Jackson used his hand to signal Tony to be silent.

Once again the voice called out to them, "Doctor Rhine! Jackson!"

"It may be a trick!" Jackson whispered back.

"That’s Ramsey’s voice! I would know it anywhere!" Tony whispered back.

"We cannot expose ourselves."

"He might get killed!"

"That is not our problem!" Jackson snapped back. "Now shut up!"

Tony lay silent on the ground listening to the voice call his name, feeling guilty about not coming to his aid. He looked at Jackson, two feet away, and became angry with him for not helping the commander. The voice continued. Tony shuffled in the grass and got into position to stand. Seeing this, Jackson reached over and grabbed Tony by the cuff of his pants and tugged at him. Tony pulled away and slowly rose until he could see over the top of the grass. He looked around in the direction of the voice and saw Ramsey standing fifty yards away alone.

Tony sank back down and said, "He’s alone! I don’t see anyone else around."

"It’s a trick!" Jackson whispered as loud as he could.

Tony stood up and took the field glasses from around his neck. He looked through them finding Ramsey standing with his back to him. Ramsey continued to call out their names slowly turning like a lighthouse beacon. Tony yelled, "Over here commander!"

Ramsey turned around to greet the voice calling back to him. Tony’s heart sank as he saw the commander’s neck slit from ear to ear. Ramsey called out in an undistinguishable growl and forty men rose from the tall grass, surrounding Tony and Jackson in all directions.

"Jackson! Get up!" Tony yelled.

Jackson rose above the grass and spun around observing the soldiers surrounding them. "Damn!" he said realizing they had no way out.

"Who are those men?" Tony asked.

"We lost track of over half the platoon. They never made it to base camp. Now I see why," Jackson replied.

Ramsey signaled to the soldiers and they closed in on the two captives. Tony and Jackson looked around watching the men get closer, walking calmly through the grass covering all escape routes. In a few minutes they were completely surrounded. The soldiers were shoulder to shoulder in a circle facing the two men cowering for their lives.

Ramsey approached. "You are the last," he said to the frightened men.

"The last what?" Jackson asked looking at the gash across his throat.

"The last to be baptized," Ramsey replied.

Tony looked around at the men surrounding them and tried to see some life in their eyes. They were all alive, but they seemed distant and vacant inside. Tony looked back to Ramsey and noticed he was looking past them into the field behind them. Tony turned to see three huge hairy beasts lumbering through the tall grass, each carrying a rider atop. The closer they came, the louder the sound of the massive creatures became.

A section of the circle opened and the beasts stepped inside. The circle again closed trapping all inside. The three beasts came to a stop twenty feet from Tony and Jackson and the riders dismounted. Tony knew right away that it was Seth, Follett and Thomas.

"My nephew!" Seth said as he walked over to Tony. "It was only a matter of time."

Tony looked to Seth and felt helpless to save himself. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"The ultimate sacrifice," Seth replied.

"I don’t want to die," Tony said calmly.

"Look around nephew," Seth said holding out his hand. "Does anyone here look dead to you?"

Tony looked around at the men. He looked to Ramsey and said, " His throat is slit. What kind of life is that?"

Seth looked to Ramsey. "Are you in pain?" he asked.

"I feel no pain," Ramsey replied.

Tony noticed that the cut was healing and was considerably smaller than it was a few minutes before. "What about his mind?"

"What about it?" Seth asked.

"He looks like Ramsey," Tony said and then paused. "But there is something different about him."

"Like what?"

"Ramsey would never give up. He would never trick his own men into giving up," Tony said.

"Is that true?" Seth asked Ramsey.

"That is not true," Ramsey replied.

"See nephew, you are wrong about that. I imagine you are wrong about quite a few things."

Tony brought his pistol out of his holster and chambered a round.

"What are you going to do with that?" Seth asked. "Don’t you realize by now your bullets do not kill us?"

Tony put the gun to his temple. "It is not for you. I will not let you take me. If I go it will be by my own hand."

Seth looked at Tony in shock. "Do not do this my nephew," Seth said trying not to alarm him.

"What do you care? You get me either way."

"It is not time yet."

Tony took the gun from his head and pointed it at Seth’s forehead. He pulled the trigger and the gun popped with a puff of smoke. Seth’s head jerked back and then recoiled back to its original position. Seth looked to Tony with a bullet hole in his skull.

"What did that prove?" Seth said angrily.

"Nothing," Tony replied. "It just made me feel better."

From behind, Tony and Jackson were tackled and wrestled to the ground. The soldiers they once relied on now bound them and tossed them on the backs of the great hairy beasts like they were saddlebags.

 

Chapter 28

 

The captives entered the city of Sodom strapped to the back of two great beasts. Both men were bound with leather straps, encircled completely, guarded closely by their former comrades. The two massive hairy beasts lumbered through the main gate of the city parting the crowd like oil and water. The long dangling hair of the animals swayed with each long stride in a graceful dance giving a sort of strange elegance to such an ugly creature.

The beasts were brought to a halt with a crack of a whip and the crowd closed in for a closer look. The city was a flurry of excitement with the arrival of the new prisoners and everyone came to see the new captives.

"Cut them down!" Seth yelled. The city inhabitants, dressed only in skins and rags, converged on the prisoners like a pack of wolves on prey. Tony and Jackson were cut loose, pulled from the backs of the beasts and allowed to fall to the ground with a crash and a plume of dust. "On your feet!" Seth barked at the two men. Tony stood holding his left wrist, grimacing in pain. Jackson rose and brushed off the dirt from his face.

"What are you going to do with us?" Tony asked. He held his hand up and shaded the sun from his eyes. The crowd was all in silhouette.

"It is time. He wants to see you," Seth replied. "He has been waiting a long time for this moment." Seth waved his arm to the crowd and yelled, "Bring them!"

The prisoners were grabbed and forced to walk along with the mob through the crowded city streets. Tony’s wrist hurt more with the pressure placed on it to make him comply. He scanned the area around him looking at the faces of the crowd trying to place them, trying to tell where he was. The faces gave no clue to location or to culture. It was as if it were a mix of all men and women, a melting pot of all kinds of people. Only the wrinkles in their skin and the rags they wore gave them any kind of continuity of character.

They walked past stone buildings and hay filled carts to an open courtyard where Tony and Jackson were shoved to the ground. Once again Tony struck his wrist and he turned over on his back holding his arm in agony.

Seth walked over and kicked Tony in the ribs. "Face down!" he yelled and kicked some dirt in Tony’s face.

Tony turned over and looked to Jackson lying beside him. He dared not speak. Tony spit the dirt from his mouth and wiped out his eyes with his shirtsleeve, blinking rapidly. Scanning the area around, Tony saw they were completely surrounded by the crowd. There was about twenty feet between him and the perimeter, creating a natural boundary that encircled them.

Seth stood before the prisoners, now joined by Follett and Thomas. Tony had to strain his neck to look up to see their faces. The three were speaking amongst themselves periodically looking down at the two lying on the ground. Seth left the group and walked over to Tony. He held out his hand to the crowd and someone tossed him a tall wooden staff. Seth raised the staff and brought it down upon Tony’s back striking him hard. "Do not gaze your eyes upon me!" Seth yelled.

Tony lowered his head and rested his face on his right hand. He looked to his right and saw a man kneel down on Jackson’s back restricting his abdomen. Jackson wheezed trying to get a breath. "What are you doing?" Tony asked. "What do you want with us?"

Seth knelt down and grabbed Tony by his hair and jerked his head back. "You will learn to show respect!"

Tony glared at Seth and pushed off the ground with his good hand. In a flash Tony had his hand around Seth’s throat and forced him back in a fit of rage. Tony pinned Seth on his back and began beating him in the face. To his astonishment no one stopped him. Tony stopped and backed off. He looked at Seth’s face and watched blood trickle from his smiling face. Seth sat up and looked to Tony. "You will never learn my nephew," Seth said with a grin. "Do you think you can hurt me anymore?"

Tony saw the blood reverse and reenter the wound. In a second Seth was healed. "You son of a gun!" Tony yelled.

Tony was struck from behind and forced again to the ground. Several men held his arms and legs restricting his movements and pinned him to the ground.

"You are correct. I am a son of a gun," Seth replied.

"Why do you do this? If I cannot hurt you, why do you fear me so?" Tony asked.

"Let him go!" said a voice from the crowd. Tony was released and his captors melted back into the crowd.

Tony once again pushed off the ground and stumbled to his feet. Jackson quickly joined him at his side. The crowd parted and a single man entered the circle. A man Tony had not seen for almost two years stood before him dressed in the purple robes of royalty.

"Alex?" Tony asked. "Is that you?"

"Yes doctor, it is I. Alex Parsons," he replied.

"But how?"

"It is so simple my friend. You had all the information you needed. You just chose not to believe."

"What are you talking about? You should be in Federal prison."

"I am," Alex replied. "In another time."

Tony stood silent thinking. "What other time? I have calculated no time difference."

"Maybe time is not the best word to explain what I mean. Think of it as a slice of reality."

"Another dimension?" Tony asked.

"Yes and no," Alex replied. "I live in all times at the same time. I am in Federal prison. I am teaching college. I am hear with you now, and I am killing your father at this very moment."

"My father?" Tony asked in shock. "What are you talking about? He died almost twenty years ago."

"To you maybe. To me it was yesterday."

"What do you mean you killed him?" Tony asked. "He was murdered by a highway patrolman. I saw him with my own eyes."

"Who’s eyes did you see?" Alex asked.

"The patrolman’s," Tony replied.

"Look into my eyes and tell me what you see."

Tony looked into Alex’s eyes and saw the man who killed his father. "It was you," Tony said. "You killed my father."

"Killed is such a harsh word. I like to say I claimed him for my own."

"I don’t understand this. I worked alongside you at the university for years. Why didn’t I recognize you then?"

"You tell me," Alex said with a grin. "If you weren’t so cynical and blind to the truth, my plan would have never worked."

"Plan? What plan," Tony asked.

Alex paused and rubbed his chin. "I have someone I would like for you to meet," Alex said. Alex snapped his finger and the crown parted behind him. A single figure stepped out of the opening and stood beside Alex.

"Dad?" Tony asked in amazement and shock. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Tony, it is I." Pastor Jack Rhine replied.

"You are dead. I saw you get shot," Tony said.

"I have been reborn my son, and soon you will join me,"

Tony was in too much shock to try to make sense of the situation. He grasped for straws and his heart began to pound. He needed answers. "You are not my father!" Tony shouted.

"I will not argue with you son," Jack Rhine said. "If you choose not to believe, there is nothing I can do to change that."

"If you are my father then you are dead. If you are dead then this must be heaven. As far as I know I am still very much alive, and I don’t think they allow living people into heaven!" Tony shouted.

Jackson whispered to Tony, "Jesus rose into heaven as a whole being, body and all."

"Very good," Alex said. "You could take a lesson from your friend here Tony."

"Ok, let’s say Jesus did go to heaven as a whole live man. There are two of us here. I don’t think either one of us qualify as the Son of God."

Alex smiled. "I would not be so sure of yourself Tony," Alex said. "But then if you were, my plan would have failed."

Jackson stepped in closer to Tony and nudged him on the arm. "I don’t think this is heaven," he whispered.

Tony looked to Jackson. "Of course not. This is some sort of second dimension. A dimension where time has taken a different course. That explains why my father is still alive. In this dimension, he never died."

"If that is so, Tony," Jack Rhine said. "Then you should run into yourself here somewhere. There must be two of you."

"Absolutely," Tony replied. "That only makes sense."

"Call out Tony," his father said. "See if you are correct."

Tony knew he was being played for a fool. "Ok father," Tony said pausing to collect his thoughts. "Tell me where I am, and what I am doing here."

Pastor Jack Rhine stepped forward and stood before his son. "It is time to believe Tony. It is time to cast away your skepticism and believe. Look around you. Look at me."

Tony looked around and examined the people and the buildings surrounding him. He looked back to his father standing before him.

"This is Hell my son, and you are never getting out," Jack Rhine said shoving his son to the ground. "You had better get used to it fast."

Tony looked up to his father in horror as he walked back and rejoined Alex. "My father would never hurt me!" Tony screamed.

"Your father is now mine," Alex said. "All souls I take I claim as my own. He is your father in body, but not in spirit. Not anymore."

Tony looked at the pair in horror, forgetting for a moment the agonizing pain in his wrist. All his life he wished he could have done something to save his father that fateful day, now reunited, he hated the man he used to love. It sickened him. "Why father?" Tony asked lying on his back.

Pastor Jack Rhine smiled at his son and said, "You will find out soon enough."

Alex stepped away from the Pastor and held his hands up to the crowd. His purple robes hung from his arms hovering inches from the dirt he stood upon. "Hear me now!" he yelled to the crowd. "In ten days we shall gather at the coliseum." Alex turned slowly as he continued, "And we shall baptize these men before the eyes off all." Alex looked down at Tony and pointed at him. "Tomorrow we shall end the Second Coming forever! Tomorrow the savior is mine!" Alex paused and scanned the crowd. A smile crossed his face and he raised both hands to the sky. "Take them to the prison!" he yelled and turned away. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Alex and Pastor Jack Rhine walked through the masses disappearing into the crowd.

Tony and Jackson were picked up and carried overhead by the crowd across the courtyard to a doorway in a large stone building. The wood doors were unlocked and opened allowing the mob to carry the two prisoners inside. Tony and Jackson were shackled to the wall with heavy chains and locked behind an interior door. Only a sliver of light penetrated the darkness illuminating the dust that swirled in the air.

The exterior door was shut with a crash of wood and stone and locked from outside. The men were in almost total darkness. The stone walls concealed any sounds from the outside world.

The sliver of light shot a dot on the far wall and Tony’s eyes began to adjust to the dark. He could make out the faint outline of Jackson shackled on the wall next to him. "How are you doing Jackson?" Tony asked.

"Considering the circumstances I would say I’m doing wonderful," Jackson replied sarcastically. "Since we aren’t going anywhere soon, I have a few questions for you."

Tony shuffled in his restraints and the metal clinked against the stone wall. "Go ahead," he replied.

"Who are you?"

Tony paused thinking the question was ridiculous. "I am professor, Dr. Tony Rhine," he replied.

"Ok, now who are you really?" Jackson asked. "They sure seem happy to have you hear for some reason." Jackson waited for the answer. A moment passed and he added, "And why did he call you the savior?"

"I would rather not get into that," Tony replied.

Becoming angry, Jackson said, "I am in this too. I would appreciate it if you clued me in."

"Jackson could not see it, but Tony was shaking his head in disgust. "Fine!" Tony said and rested his head against the stone behind him. "They seem to think I am Jesus."

"They do?" Jackson asked. "I kind of got that vibe myself."

"You’re kidding, right?" Tony asked.

"I am a very religious man," Jackson replied. "Unlike you, I don’t require absolute proof. I have faith."

"What makes you think I am him?"

"I have seen demons. I have seen the dead rise. I believe I am in Hell, and I believe I have seen Satan in the flesh."

"No you have not!"

"Was that your father?" Jackson asked.

Tony was silent. He had no answer. "I don’t know," Tony replied. "I still think I we have jumped dimensions somehow."

"Did you ever consider that maybe Heaven and Hell are dimensions?" Jackson asked. "Maybe the world we came from is just one of three dimensions. We just ping pong back and forth between them."

"And maybe monkeys fly out my behind!" Tony replied. "I will never believe I am in Hell and there is no way I will ever believe I am Jesus Christ."

"Ramsey said the demons asked if he were the son of man. Who do you think they were talking about? There are only two of us left and I am sure it is not me."

"If I were the Son of God, I could free myself from these restraints right now," Tony said. "Or maybe not. Even Jesus could not get himself off that cross."

Jackson shook his head. "Jesus had to die that day. It was prophesized. If he had come down off the cross, the ransom would have never been paid. He died for our sins. He was the sacrifice."

"He chose to die? I find that hard to believe," Tony said smugly.

"We are going to die and be reborn into Hell just because you are to cynical to even try to believe it."

"What do you want me to do? Just toss out my common sense?"

"I want you to get some faith. What will it hurt? We get baptized in ten days!"

"Why ten days?" Tony asked. "Why don’t they just get it over?"

"It makes sense."

"How?"

"It’s in Revelation’s 2:10" Jackson replied.

"I don’t suppose you want to share it with me?"

"What good will it do. You don’t believe anyway."

"Just tell me the verse!"

Jackson paused a moment then sighed. "I don’t know it exactly. It has something to do with the devil putting some souls in prison for ten days and tormenting them. Those who are faithful to God will not suffer the second death."

"We are living out a prophecy in Revelations?"

"Well, not exactly. You, I mean Jesus is supposed to be on the other side of the fence. It looks to me like your friend Alex there made a plan."

"A plan?" Tony asked.

"To stop the Second Coming. To keep Jesus from judging the living and the dead." Jackson replied.

Tony thought a moment. "It would make sense," Tony said. "How else would my father, a riotous man of God be trapped in Hell?"

"He did say that every soul he stole he kept for his own," Jackson said. "Maybe he has no intentions of giving up what he has stolen."

"At judgment day, this place would fill up with sinners. Why would he want just these pitiful few?" Tony asked.

"Maybe he likes stealing from God. He has pride. At the judgment he would have to give up his spoils."

"Yeah I see, I think he prefers to steal from God rather than fill this place with sinners."

"We have ten days to figure something out doctor. I hope you get some faith before then." Jackson said.

Chapter 29

 

On the tenth day of captivity, the prison door swung open filling the small room with bright light. Tony and Jackson were blinded as they were hauled out into the courtyard tripping over their food bowls scattered on the floor. It took a while for their eyes to readjust to the sun and to the presence of their captors.

Four guards armed with long spears prodded the men into the back of an enclosed cart and then closed the door, tying it closed with rope. The two captives looked out between the slats of the cage and saw that the courtyard was vacant except for the guards posted nearby.

A crack of a whip sent the cart moving. The massive beast that pulled the cart lumbered in a slow yet steady pace along the dirt courtyard. The wheels made a grinding sound as they ground over the loose sand and rock strewn about the area.

"Where are you taking us?" Jackson yelled.

His answer was a stab in the leg from one of the guards walking behind. There would be no talking. Tony scanned the area, surprised to see no one around. The city seemed deserted. He looked to Jackson who was holding the bloody wound with his hand grimacing in pain.

"That jerk!" Jackson whispered.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked.

"Hell no," he said surprisingly calmly, and wiped sweat from his brow with his free hand. "We’re going to die today," he added looking off in a daze. "I should enjoy the pain. It may be the last feeling I have."

Tony looked to the floor of the cage. His head began to ache and his skin became hot and sweaty. "It must be ninety five degrees in here," Tony said.

"I expected Hell to be a lot hotter than that," Jackson said almost jokingly.

"I didn’t expect Hell to have blue skies and green grass either," Tony responded. "I think most people have it wrong."

"Why don’t you write a book about it," Jackson said with a smile.

The cart rolled further across the courtyard down the main street towards the coliseum. They were now rolling over cobblestone and the cart rattled with each stone they moved over. They were flanked on both sides by stone buildings and strange animals not familiar to either of them. Behind them, keeping pace with the lumbering beast, were the guards ready to strike at them at any moment.

"I didn’t think Hell was a place," Tony said. "My grandmother told me Hell was an eternity from God. That’s what my dad used to say when he preached."

"I don’t know what to tell you friend. Maybe this is another sacrifice." Jackson said. "I guess you haven’t been to prolific in the miracle department so far."

"There aren’t any lepers around for me to heal," Tony said with a grin.

"I got one for you."

"What’s that?" Tony asked.

"My leg," Jackson said looking at the blood running down his calf. "It would be a great test."

"Test your Lord? That is blasphemous!" Tony said.

One of the guards struck the side of the cage with his spear startling the two men. Tony moved away from the door and sulked into a corner. He looked to Jackson and closed his eyes. He reached over and placed his hand on Jackson’s wounded leg. Moments passed with only the sounds of the cart rolling and the guards’ footsteps behind them. Tony opened his eyes and looked at Jackson’s wound. There was no difference.

Jackson whispered, "You have to believe. You have to have faith."

Tony retracted his hand and folded his arms across his chest. Frustrated he turned and looked outside the cart at the buildings passing by.

In the distance they could hear the sounds of a massive crowd. They knew the coliseum was close and soon they would meet their fate. Louder and louder the sounds became as they heard cheers and yelling bouncing off buildings in all directions. Tony turned and looked over the beast pulling the cart at the huge building before them.

A moment later they were in a dark tunnel entering the building. The sounds of the cart bounced off the stone walls echoing back and forth. The opening of the tunnel grew smaller and smaller as they moved deeper inside the building. The door to the entrance was closing and the tunnel became very dark. Clanking and clopping sounds were the only things the two men could hear now. The crowd was to far away. The further they moved the more the tunnel lightened. The crowd noise became louder as they neared the exit moving ever onward.

Exiting the tunnel they broke into the bright daylight and the crowd roared with excitement. The show had arrived. Tony and Jackson scanned the stadium looking at the people in the stands surrounding them. It reminded Tony of a bull-fighting arena, the way the high walls prevented anything from escaping into the crowd. The coliseum was massive. It was three times the size of a football stadium, but in a perfect circle. They were wheeled out to the center of the field and stopped next to a sixty-foot tall obelisk where the beast was unhitched and led away.

The cart was untied and the two captives were pulled out and brought around to face in the direction of Alex who was sitting on the kings throne. Alex sat flanked on each side by two leathery winged demons that kept watch over him like a hawk. Surrounding them were many servants and guards who tended to Alex like the royalty he was.

Tony looked up to Alex, who was sitting high on the royal platform. Restrained from behind, Tony was forced to stand at attention as Alex looked down upon him. Jackson joined Tony at his side and both men felt spears at their backs.

"Tony!" Alex said leaning back in his throne chair. "The time has come." Alex slowly stood and walked to the edge of the platform. "We have gathered to rejoice at your baptism." Alex raised his arms to the crowd and the masses cheered. He pivoted at his waist as he turned to face everyone in attendance. His arms fell to his sides and the crowd went silent. "You should be very happy. Not everyone gets this kind of special treatment." Alex said.

"You call this special!" Tony yelled.

The guard on Tony’s right slammed his fist into Tony’s abdomen sending him to the ground wheezing.

Alex turned to the demon on his right and motioned for it to come close. The great winged creature walked over on its thin gangly legs and stopped beside Alex. Alex spoke quietly to the creature and then turned his attention back to Tony who was now back on his feet. The creature spread its wings and glided down off the stage landing ten feet from Tony and Jackson. The breeze from its landing blew a sick stench towards the men that made them gag.

Tony looked into the creatures red eyes and his heart began to pound. He did not want to die this way. "What do you want from me?" Tony said to Alex not taking his eyes off the creature.

"Your life," Alex said.

"Then get this over and stop playing games with me!" Tony barked back.

Jackson was stone silent too scared to speak up.

"Soon enough," Alex said. "But first I want to do something I have been waiting for, for all eternity."

The guards pushed Tony forward. The winged demon took flight and grasped Tony at his shoulders lifting him up to the stage and depositing him at Alex’s feet. Tony fell with a thud and rolled to a stop two feet from the end of the stage. He looked down at Jackson who was still being held by the four-armed guards. Behind him stood the sixty-foot tall stone obelisk rising into the sky.

"Stand," Alex said softly. "I need to have a moment alone with you."

Tony stood and faced Alex. This was the same man he worked side by side with for years at the university. He was also the man who was put into prison for the killing of college students on the same campus. Tony hated this man with all his heart. "What do you want, you son of a gun?"

Alex stepped in close. Close enough to touch Tony. "I want to see the eyes of the Son of God for the last time. This is the revenge I have been waiting for since I was cast out of heaven." Alex stared deep into Tony’s eyes. The crowd was silent.

Alex stepped back and grinned. "Turn around," he commanded Tony.

Tony trembling in fear, turned to face the crowd which was seated in the ever rising rows of the stadium. Before him was his last comrade. The last person he knew was alive. Tony felt pressure on his back, and with a forceful shove was knocked off the stage to the ground thirty feet below. Tony landed hard, but the ground was unusually soft. The crowd cheered and Tony was carried off by the guards to another holding cage alongside the obelisk.

The cage door was opened and Tony and Jackson were both forced inside. A rope above the cage connected to a yardarm at the top of the obelisk that pulled them off the ground and up towards the top. One of the hairy four legged beasts walked away from the obelisk with a rope tied to it that connected to a pulley on the yardarm. With each step, the cage lunged slowly upwards into the sky.

Jackson looked down at the ground getting further and further away. "This is it," Jackson said.

Tony tried to comfort Jackson, but he knew he was correct. "My death is a God damn spectator sport?" Tony asked.

"How can you say that?" Jackson asked.

"What am I supposed to say?" Tony cried. "I’m about to die!"

Jackson lunged forward at Tony and grabbed him by the collar. "You stupid son of a gun! If you just opened your mind for one second you might just get us the hell out of here!" With that Jackson slapped Tony across the face and sulked back to the other side of the cage. They were now almost to the top. Tony stood dumbfounded and turned away watching the crowd encircling them.

The cage rose above the deck of the obelisk and the yardarm swung over. Two guards opened the door and let the men out. The top of the obelisk was forty feet by forty feet square, about the size of a tennis court. At the corners of the surface were four winged creatures standing like gargoyles, keeping watch over the men. Standing in the center of the platform was Seth and Tony’s father Pastor Jack Rhine.

Tony and Jackson stepped forward approaching the two other men. Jackson noticed right away that they were both armed. Seth had a dagger in his right hand and Jack had spear.

Tony stopped ten feet from his father. "So this is how it is going to end?"

Jack stood silent.

Tony was at his end. He cared no longer. He looked over to the edge of the platform and though about jumping off. He turned to his father. "Will you gain any pleasure from this?"

"What I gain is not important," Jack replied.

"You are a tool?" Tony shouted. "You are a pawn for the devil?"

Jackson noticed this was the first time Tony used the word "devil."

Tony lunged forward and grabbed the spear from his father before he had a chance to react. Seth stepped forward only to receive a kick in the ribs from Jackson. Seth rolled on his back. Tony ran to the edge of the obelisk and tossed the spear over the edge to the dismay of the crowd. He walked back over and said to his father, "I will not fight my own father!" Tony shouted. He turned to face Alex sitting on his throne across the stadium. " I will not fight my father!" he shouted loud enough for Alex to hear.

"Watch out!" Jackson yelled and Tony turned in time to see Seth running at him at full speed. Tony stepped aside and allowed Seth’s momentum to carry him off the edge of the obelisk. He fell sixty feet to the ground and landed hard. His body broke apart upon impact.

One of the demons approached Tony. With anger only he knew, Tony walked to the center of the platform and stood with Jackson. Tony’s father stood defenseless only ten feet away. The demon moved in close and squatted down on its thin hind legs.

"You can do it," Jackson said. "Just believe."

Tony looked to Jackson. "I do, with God as my witness I believe." Tony stepped in next to the demon and stood fearless before it. "Do with me what you wish," Tony said. The beast looked at him with surprise. It backed up frightened. Tony approached and it backed up further. Tony raised his arm and pointed to the sun. He said," I am the Son of Man! And all of you will fall before me!" He spun and moved his arm across the sky. As his hand passed the demon, the demon was shot off the obelisk and exploded in midair falling to the ground in a mass of blood and entrails.

Tony walked to the edge of the platform and looked down upon the beast. He looked to Alex who was now horrified, standing before his throne. "It will not come back," Tony said calmly. He did not raise his voice, but Alex heard him loud and clear. Tony breathed hard. He was angry. He was angry with Alex and it was time to pay.

Tony turned and walked back to the center of the platform. He looked to Jackson and said, "You will be saved my son."

Jackson saw the Lord before him. "I believe you!" Jackson said and fell to his knees.

Tony turned to his father and stepped in close. He put his arms around the man and hugged him with a love he held for twenty years. Tony stepped back and looked into his fathers’ eyes. "I now know the path I must take. I shall return and judge the living and the dead. I shall revenge your death."

Tony raised his arms to the sky and spoke aloud a prayer to the sky above. He had the faith.

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Keith Trimm
Bildmaterialien: Keith Trimm
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.04.2013

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