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Episode Ten: Path of Resistance
ON THIS DAY in St. Peters Basilica in Vatican City, about five hundred people crowded the main chambers. People milled about the dozens of masterworks and statues pointing in awe and explaining various bits of information to their spouses and companions. At least one hundred of those were gathered in silent reverie before the Confessio—the Tomb of St. Peter near the heart of the Basilica.
The Basilica itself always struck Father Elias Tobin with its magnificent beauty and architecture. He usually was found here, wandering freely among the people smiling at onlookers and happily answering any questions that may arise from the curious or the inquisitive. His features were soft, round and welcoming and indicated a much younger man than his 49 years. His large brown eyes appeared to constantly smile and reflected an undying love for God. His walk was relaxed and movements always shallow and unthreatening. He was clearly contented and people reacted to that. He always enjoyed strolling through St. Peter’s Basilica. His favorite masterwork was the Statue of St. Veronica nearby The Papal Altar and Baldacchino. Hers was a subtle gracefulness. The way her robes flowed and floated about her body, arms and hands. It was a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Father Tobin always seemed to find a unique peace when he passed her. She was of comfort to him.
But not today.
He hurried through the crowd, his face stern with anxiety. A young woman spotted him and extended a hand to ask him a question. Tobin rushed past her leaving her confused at his apparent discourtesy. Tobin, of course, was oblivious. He didn’t even see her. His focus was on the Altar of St. Michael the Archangel. Tobin’s expression was forceful, worried. He spotted the enclave that housed the masterpiece up ahead. He stopped and discreetly observed the crowd. Eyes darting from side to side. He inched forward trying to predict the movement of the masses. His next action was the always the most difficult. It depended on his ability to anticipate not only people’s movements, but their glances as well. It was absolutely vital he choose a moment when everyone’s gaze was away from the Alter. Usually a moment like that only lasted a few seconds and he had to move swiftly. It was definitely a skill he had to master—but one he could not afford to be without.
He sensed a ripple in the tidal flow of the people. The surge of the crowd; the patterns of their gaze; the direction of their conversations. He prepared himself and edged closer to the Alter, appearing to admire the artwork in silence. Turning his head to view the movements of the people behind him and to his left and right he was excited to see a gap opening up. A large portion of the crowd was moving away at the same time. Thank God he didn’t have to do this often.
Perfect, almost time. He recited a short prayer before he moved closer to the Alter.
There.
The people moved away. No one appeared to be watching. In one quick movement, Tobin stepped past the ornate gateway up to the Alter. He moved to the right of the painting and squeezed himself between the enclave’s marbled flanking wall and the pillar on the right of the painting. As always, Tobin was concealed within a unique shadow cast by the unusual position and gazed at the crowd one last time. Another group of people were passing by. Now was the time. His right hand pushed at the base of the pillar. It gave just a fraction of an inch. At Tobin’s back, a secret panel opened up and he slipped through. All of it lasting only a few seconds. No one was the wiser. The crowd moved on to the next exhibit.
Tobin briskly walked down a long stone corridor, lit only by small candle sconces every few feet. The entrance at the statue was his only choice as he was pressed for time. The others would’ve entered through the museums on the far side of Vatican City. No time for Tobin to enjoy such luxury. It was one of the many tunnels beneath St. Peter’s Basilica but it was not part of the latticework of grottoes. This was an offshoot known only to a small circle of Special Patriarchs, of which Tobin was a part. Knowledge of this tunnel had been passed down throughout the generations of Papal rule, devoid of any religious markers, script or ornamentation. There were no symbols, glyphs or prayers anywhere in its design. Its purpose was clear; sheer utility.
The tunnel was built in the second half of the second century, under the rule of Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Somehow, in secret, a band of slaves set out to construct it. The tunnel was believed to be near the heart of the grotto, perhaps even serving as one of the founding structures of the grotto. These slaves did not believe in a Christian God. They were Islamic. They were building the tunnel for a faction of the Roman Catholic Church that still exists in the 21st century. A sect that secretly influence much more of humanity than any scholar could imagine.
The corridor began to slope downwards then end at an ancient stairwell carved from the stone.
A simple wooden door waited for Tobin at the base of the stairs. It also was nondescript with no markings or identification of any kind. The only thing of interest was a small peephole. The door was secured with an antique padlock. Tobin produced a copper key from his robes and inserted it into the lock. He clumsily removed the lock and placed it on a nail hammered into the stone. Instead of pushing the door open, he took in a breath, carefully examined the door as if searching for some marking. He placed his palm on a section of the door just below eye level, fingers splayed apart, careful to administer even pressure. Beneath his palm, a section of the door shaped in the outline of his hand, depressed inward. Tobin leaned forward and peered through the peephole.
A soft red light scanned his iris and pupil. The door clanked metallically, recessed backward a couple of inches and slid upwards out of the way. Tobin was free to pass through. He walked briskly through another curved passage, down another incline and into a great hall. Before him, ornate pillars supported fifty foot ceilings. The room was at least ten thousand square feet. Fantastic tapestries and inked bas reliefs adorned the walls—all of them depicting ancient battles throughout the ages. There were gold, marble and granite sections of entire walls. The hall was illuminated by what seemed to be a skylight in the center of a large dome at the midpoint of the ceiling. White light reflected off the gold and white marble.
The huge room hosted a long antique table shaped in a ‘U’ around the room’s perimeter, upon which flamboyant table lamps glowed every few feet.
Seated at the base of the ‘U’ were fifteen cloaked individuals. They sat in shadow. All hooded. Tobin approached the table toward the central figure.
"You know why I’m here," Tobin said. His voice echoed throughout the chamber.
A woman answered. "Of course, Father," she removed her hood and revealed she was an elderly woman, about seventy years of age. Her wispy gray hair floated in a breeze that circulated the hall.
"What do you wish to do?" Tobin asked.
"I’m not sure we can do anything."
Tobin squinted, "The Church is in danger."
"The Church is not in danger," she said. "It’s just that—this has come much sooner than anticipated."
Tobin wiped his brow with a kerchief. "It’s the people who are in danger. They’ll know the nature of God. We will no longer be able to protect Him."
The woman clasped her hands and leaned on her elbows. "All isn’t lost, my friend. We—"
"Sister Hinatran," Tobin interrupted, "This organization is threatened unless we somehow regain control of the humanarchy."
Hinatran grimaced. "I’m afraid that concept is as outdated now as the Devil was millennia ago. There is currently no way I can see that we can control human direction."
"But that’s absurd. What of our brothers in the Middle East? Have they been able to stop this? To maintain control?"
"Father Tobin," she said. "Not the Muslims nor the Christians, nor the Roman Catholics can maintain control in these circumstances. Not anymore."
"But how’s that possible? Surely it isn’t up to God."
"Of course not. And don’t begin believing your own postulations. God is secure. No one can reach Him. And no one has knowledge of us. Of the real Church."
Tobin looked away in thought. He shook his head. "My God. If anyone knew about us. There would be chaos."
"That can never happen," she said.
"How can you be so sure?"
"I am sure."
Tobin looked at her and smiled. "Well. It was something I had to get used to. A female Roman Catholic Priest."
"It is important the Church maintain the will of Christ. Even if it is only a perceived will. To only allow males to receive the sacraments. You and I and our brothers and sisters elsewhere are here to simply guide humanity. From a distance. In the shadows. It has always been."
"Yes, we have been lucky. Our Pontiffs have always been proficient at securing our anonymity."
"Why shouldn't they? They are well taken care of. And they're our public face. We depend on them. That's why we choose them carefully."
"Perhaps so," Tobin sighed. "Nevertheless, our numbers are dwindling in the Americas and across the globe. The youth are disillusioned. They are choosing different paths than their parents."
Hinatran grinned. "They are learning there is more to life, Father. In many ways, the faithless are closer to God than any of our Pilgrims."
Tobin furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.
"Father," Hinatran said. "You forget all this is a tool. Nothing more. All of this structure and hierarchy is designed to conceal us and conceal us well. It's completely irrelevant that people are straying. That really isn't important. What's important is that we continue to protect God."
"Of course."
"It is essential that we must continually remind ourselves of the truth. To keep our purposes clear."
"Yes," Tobin said. "Of course."
"Imagine if it were to get out that the true nature of faith was that there is none," Hinatran said. "No Islam. No Christianity. No Buddhism. No Hinduism. Nothing. Just us. And people like us maintaining a single, four and a half thousand year old doctrine that no one can know about."
"The faithful would rise up," Tobin lamented. "They believe what we have taught them."
"No," she said. "People wouldn’t believe it my friend. That’s what we were counting on then; it’s what we count on now. They wouldn’t believe it and we would be free to do what we’ve always done under cover of our God concepts."
Tobin inhaled deeply. "Which reminds me; we still need to confer with Benedict."
Hinatran nodded. "He’s on his way."
"He’s adapting quite well wouldn’t you say?"
"Quite well. They all do. After the initial shock has passed and they read the Doctrine."
Tobin took a step forward and paced. "So much history. So much structure. It’s an overwhelming burden."
"One we all agreed to, Father. Greater men and women than you have held the burden. As have lesser men and women."
"I know. I know." Tobin calmed. "So what do we do? We can’t just let this all collapse. Chaos will still overwhelm the world. We would destroy ourselves much sooner than we predicted."
"You, Tobin, must travel to Syria and work together directly with Afaf al Fahad. She is expecting you. You will leave immediately."
"Afaf. I heard about the desecration. Is she all right?"
"She is safe. Her protectors know how important she is. And she has tripled her protection since the incident. It is her life. Her burden. It is much more difficult for her than it is for us."
Tobin huffed. "If she were to ever be discovered, she would be put to death in an instant."
"She is fine."
"Do you think we ca—"
A low rumbling shook the chamber. An earthquake.
Hinatran looked up at the dome. "It’s started."
::
People in the main chamber gasped in panic as a rocking motion swept through St Peter’s Basilica. It was accompanied by a low-level rumbling coming from deep underground.
"Earthquake!" Someone yelled. That’s when everybody started screaming and heading for the door. But with over five hundred people all trying to squeeze out the Basilica, the crowd bottlenecked and came to a halt. At this point people just started pushing and shoving one another. Visions of mighty statues toppling over raced through people’s minds.
Then the rumbling stopped.
The swaying motion ceased. People gradually calmed, stopped screaming and looked back into the Basilica.
"Everyone relax," a security guard said.
Was it over?
"That wasn’t so bad," someone said.
Then;
intense static electricity suddenly swept over the crowd. People yelped in surprise as hair was raised and long skirts fanned out and lifted. Confusion washed over everyone and they continued to push out the door.
"Everyone don’t panic!"
Then the whistling began. A strange, otherworldly whine that seemed to come from everywhere. People looked back into the Basilica to see what it was. But they saw nothing. At first.
In the middle of the air, in the wide open space in the main hall about twenty feet up, was a light.
It started as a thin wisp of blue light circulating, fading in and out.
"It’s a sign!" someone barked into the crowd.
"A sign from God!" someone followed.
A young woman, no more than twenty, looked in awe and wept at the apparition. "It is God."
The light quickly coalesced and grew with explosive speed. The incessant whine faded and grew into a prominent rumble. The light started spinning. It’s blue aura increasing with every revolution.
There was a vortex of light forming in the center of St. Peter’s Basilica. Lightning flashed off of its coils and licked the surrounding structure. Wind kicked up.
The screaming resumed and people forced themselves out of the Basilica. The vortex grew in intensity until visual images could be seen within its undulating folds. Visions of icy mountains and vast tundra. Snow spewed out of the mouth of the vortex gathering on the statues of St. Peter and St. Andrew.
::
Grace and Deacon continued through the long ice tunnel watching every step as the floor became jagged with chunks of ice and stone.
"There’s an opening up ahead," Deacon said.
"How far?"
"About twenty meters directly ahead. We’re almost there."
"You think it’ll be safe?"
Deacon smiled. "You mean do I think if any of those creatures will be waiting?"
Grace nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."
"I don’t know."
"Can’t you use your psychic powers and find out?"
Deacon laughed. "Can’t you?"
She hesitated. "Oh. Okay. Let me try."
Deacon turned his head toward her. "Well?"
"I can’t tell. There’s nothing."
"Give it time, Grace. Patience."
The tunnel opened up. Grace and Deacon found themselves outside. It had stopped snowing. They saw a wide snow-covered beach before them. And farther out was a vast lake completely iced over. On the other side, miles in the distance were a range of craggy mountains. "That’s them," Deacon said. "The dark mountains. That’s where we’ll find God. And perhaps your father."
Grace pointed out toward something. "What’s that?"
Deacon focussed. "What’s what?"
"That. Out there. Is that a person?"
Deacon strained to see past the glare of the snow. "I can’t tell. I think so. It looks like a person."
"What the hell’s he doing out there?"
Deacon shook his head. "Perhaps he’s doing what we’re going to have to do. Walk out to the mountains."
Grace scanned the panorama. She saw something immediately and pointed to it. "What’s that?"
She saw a massive disturbance under the ice. Like something breaking the surface, cracking the ice as it moved. "Oh my God, what the hell is that?" she cried.
"It’s heading right for him!" Deacon yelled.
Grace jumped down onto the beach and ran to the lake’s edge. "Hey! Hey! Heeeyyyy!"
Deacon followed. "It’s no good! He’s too far. He can’t hear us!"
"Oh my God!"
The disturbance shifted direction and now was in direct line with the figure. Grace and Deacon saw the figure running away from the thing, attempting to make it back to shore.
Grace cried, "Oh No! Oh No!"
Then it broke the surface. It was enormous. A hulking black mass of scaly muscle exploded out of the ice and arced out of the water. Cords of great muscle peeled back and exposed a massive mouth that opened to reveal row upon row of needle-thin teeth. The creature had no eyes to speak of. Its body arced above the ice and plummeted down again mouth first. Directly on top of the poor figure. The crash sent a monstrous tidal wave toward the shore.
Deacon’s eyes couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Grace! Run! Back in the cave let’s go!"
The pair struggled to gain footing on the icy surface and scrambled up into the tunnel. Deacon lifted Grace up first. "Run! Go!"
She turned and helped him up. "No time for me just go!"
"Just move your ass, old man!"
Immense folds of water mixed with slabs of broken ice and rolled toward the shore, gaining size and momentum as it advanced.
"Run! Run!" Deacon screamed.
A deep shadow enveloped the tunnel. The roar was almost deafening.
Deacon struggled to maintain his gait. "Go Grace! Don’t stop!"
Huge slabs of ice were crushed and churned into the wave as it approached the shore. It was at least twenty feet high and it still had half a mile to go before it made landfall. The ice at the water’s edge cracked and swept back as the suction pulled everything into the wave.
Grace and Deacon ran as fast as they could but in their minds knew there was probably no hope of escape. The tunnel had almost been a straight line. Their only chance was if they could make it back to the monastery.
The wave crashed onto shore. Hundreds of bizarre marine animals crashed into the cliff face along with it.
The water and ice hurtled through the tunnel toward a fleeing Grace and Deacon. It was moving too fast. Almost at their heels.
Suddenly, a man appeared out from behind a rock formation in the tunnel in front of Grace. She skidded to a halt and screamed in surprise. She ran right into him. He was dressed in the same skins as she. He gripped her and yelled, "Down here if you want to live! Quickly!" The man promptly jumped into a small ice chute that sloped down steeply. She heard him yell from somewhere in deep below, "Hurrrryyy!"
"Deacon!" Grace screeched. "Down here!"
"No Grace , wait!"
The water rushed through the tunnel. Just seconds away now.
Too late. Grace had already jumped.
"Oh boy!" Deacon quickly jumped in as well.
The main wave rushed past the small hole but not enough to bypass Grace and Deacon’s impromptu escape route. A good portion of the wave chased after them down the small opening.
Grace, Deacon and the mysterious man slid downward on a seventy degree incline. The water was too fast. It washed over all of them until all were sliding at incredible speed inside a chute of water and ice.
The chute opened up into a vast grotto. The man, Grace and Deacon fell into a pool of water at the bottom. The wave overflow washed out with them but no longer was a threat as it dissipated into the large pool.
::
Maru surveyed the scene before him. He saw a great lake full of broken ice. The water was moving violently as if it had just seen a great calamity. Maru’s followers gathered behind him. They all walked to the edge of a shallow plateau. It was the same view Grace and Deacon shared just moments before. Maru was standing on the same rock formation that housed the exit tunnel. But they had no way to know a tunnel was just below them.
Maru looked down onto the beach and saw great sea creatures struggling to crawl back to the water. Then he peered at the distant mountain ranges. "The dark mountains," Billy said.
"How are we going to get there?" asked a woman.
"I don’t know," he said.
::
Sand edged around the base of a steep rock face that formed part of the east wall of the canyon. He, his men, and Abigail had successfully made their way away from the main tent and along the canyon’s edge for ten minutes without being spotted. Sand figured he had to travel just another five minutes, sauntering along, before they got to the wide arroyo where the fissure was situated. Sand carefully observed his surroundings and the men who came within close proximity.
"Just a little farther," Sand said.
"Sir," Hinel said. He indicated an approaching man with a gun.
"Just be calm," Sand said. "Let me handle it."
The Arabian man came up to Sand and seemed agitated at their presence. He pointed his rifle at the group and spoke in Arabic. Sand understood and answered back in the native tongue. "No sir," Sand said. "We are just moving Dr. Moon to a position closer to the anomaly. Her wheelchair was damaged in a small rockslide."
The Arabian replied, "I don’t recognize you or her. You will come with me. All of you."
"Turn me toward him," Abigail said to Hinel.
Sand looked at her. "Abigail," he said. "You shouldn’t strain yourself. Your injury."
"Turn me around, Hinel," she said. He did.
Abigail came almost face to face with the Arabian man. Her appearance temporarily caught the young man off guard and he flinched at her albino eyes. She spoke in perfect English. "Do not worry young man," she said. "We are of no threat to you."
Abigail’s calming demeanor struck the young man to such a degree that he relaxed enough to lower his weapon. From behind Hinel, Roger moved around, grabbed the man’s rifle, locked him in a choke hold and quickly snapped his neck. All without one shot being fired.
Abigail yelped, "No!"
Sand was elated. "Excellent work Abigail."
She turned to Sand, "You didn’t have to do that. He would’ve let us go."
"Guess we’ll never know," Sand said. "We’ll have to move fast. He’ll be discovered soon. I want to get into that fissure."
Sand’s henchmen moved the body against the rock and covered it with dirt.
"Alright," Sand said. "That’s good enough, let’s move."
Inside the tent, Kapen was in a heated discussion with Dr. Hood. "You’re a physicist," Kapen said.
"Yes, a particle physicist."
"Well," Kapen said. "I have heard of your Large Hadron Collider. Although I don’t pretend to know exactly what it does. I do know that there was a strong possibility that something was going to go wrong."
Hood was irritated. "No. That’s not true. There were speculators. Uninformed and ignorant."
"Black holes wasn’t it? There were fears it would cause black holes and quantum particles?"
"Strangelets," Hood corrected. "And yes we did see micro black holes. But as predicted, they each had a lifespan of less than point zero, zero, three seconds. But that isn’t the point. What we did see are new combinations of particles after protons collided. Naturally occurring magnets for dark matter. Those harmonics are what temporarily ruptured the dimensions."
"Temporarily? And how do you know that exactly?"
"Our people are working on it."
"What you people should be working on is—"
The outside light filtering through the tent suddenly went dark. As if an eclipse had occurred. One of Kapen’s workmen burst through the tent portal. He looked panicked. "Sir! You should see this."
::
Grace, Deacon and their unknown rescuer treaded water for a few moments. The man sounded anxious. "We’ve got to hurry. Swim. Swim!"
The three paddled toward the rocky shore more than thirty feet away.
A large air bubble exploded out of the water just a few feet from the group.
"Hurry!" the man screamed. All of them sped up their pace.
Grace screamed. "Something just brushed by my leg!"
"Don’t stop!" the man warned.
Deacon was falling behind. He was running out of energy. Grace looked back. "Go, Grace," he breathed. "I’m too old. I can’t keep up. Go on!"
She turned and paddled back toward him.
The man glanced behind and saw Grace swimming back to save Deacon.
"C’mon!" the man screamed. "Leave him!"
Grace continued to swim toward Deacon. "I’m not leaving him!"
Another massive surge of water burst just behind Deacon. From the disturbance, several long slender spines emerged from the pool. They were pink and seemed to be made out of fleshy mucous. The strong smell of ammonia filled the grotto.
Grace screamed as she struggled to drag Deacon by the collar toward the shore.
The man shook his head in frustration. "Dammit!" He then proceeded to swim back to the two of them.
Grace screamed as more spines emerged from the depths. They seemed to be formed around a large ovoid creature. The partially decomposed corpse of a man laid impaled over several of the spines. It rose up with the creature. To her horror, the corpse moved and let out a bloodcurdling wail of sorrow, "Hellllp meeee!" it screamed and tried to clutch her with an outstretched hand.
The man reached the pair and helped drag Deacon toward the shore. New spines shot out of the water around them like spears and sank quickly to reemerge somewhere else. They were trying to impale the swimmers.
The central mass of the creature, covered in spines like some kind of enormous marine porcupine, turned its great bulk and revealed two more bodies impaled. They too wailed in agony, "It hurts… help us! Please help us!"
"C’mon!" the man yelled. "Keep moving!"
Spines continually shot up around them. One grazed Grace’s leg and she screamed in pain. Another knocked Deacon’s arm up.
The shore was finally within reach.
They struggled and strained to keep up their strokes.
The creature, apparently unable to move from the middle of the pool, sank below the surface, the unfortunate bodies along with it, screaming in pain as it sank.
Eventually, the three crawled up onto a rocky ledge. All of them were out of breath and collapsed onto the rock. Grace took a good look at their rescuer. He was young, maybe Grace’s age. Short brown hair and pale complexion. Muscular. He wore the same Baku skins that were so common here. Only his belt held a few extra tools, or perhaps weapons made from bone and wood. "Thanks," Grace said to him. "You saved our lives."
"You’re already dead," the man said.
Grace huffed. "What was that thing?"
"The Mikamok," he said. "It can’t move from the middle of the grotto but it can stick you with those poisonous spines. A fate much worse than death as you can’t escape. The water softens your flesh and acid seeps out of the spines into your body… forever."
"Who are you?" Deacon asked.
"My name’s Robert."
"What is this place?" Deacon asked. "Do you live here?"
"My tribe lives here."
Deacon perked up. "Your tribe?"
"All we have is each other," Robert said. "So your tribe is all that matters."
Deacon nodded. "Okay. Can we meet your tribe?"
"You already have," he said.
Grace and Deacon looked around and saw several hooded men, all dressed in Baku skins, appear around them from the shadows.
"Oh shit," Deacon said.
::
Maru and his followers climbed down from the plateau onto the icy shore. Once there, they moved toward the water’s edge. Maru kicked the slimy tendril of a sluggish sea worm as it crawled into the water.
A ragged woman from among the group stepped forward, even in front of Maru. She raised her head to the wind and closed her eyes. "Do you hear it?" she said.
"Hear what?" Billy asked.
She breathed in deeply. "It’s God. He’s there. He’s talking to me."
Maru leaned closer to her and grinned. "What’s He saying?"
She was elated. "He’s waiting for us. He’s asking why are we waiting? To go to Him now. To go—"
"Marigold?" Billy said. "Marigold?"
She didn’t answer. She just slumped in Maru’s arms.
He had stabbed her in the back with his blade. Maru reached around and slit her throat to keep her from saying any more.
Maru turned to his followers. "She was unclean," he said. "Unworthy of an audience with God. It was His will. From now on only God can talk to me."
Billy was horrified. He watched as Maru dropped her at his feet. Maru turned and raised his knife. "I alone can judge if someone is clean enough to talk to God. Understand? Until I ordain it, He will only talk to me."
Billy was unsure but afraid enough to comply. "What does He say?"
Maru stepped over Marigold’s quivering body and raised his head to the wind just as she had done. He closed his eyes.
Billy stepped forward. "What do you hear?"
After a moment, Maru opened his eyes. His teeth clenched and his expression hardened. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone. "He wants us to go to Him," Maru said quickly.
"But how?" Billy said. "How do we get across?"
Maru had been watching the huge slabs of broken ice; how they bobbed and floated across the crests and troughs of the waves.
"We go across on the ice. Like a boat. We’ll use the ice."
::
Sand, Abigail and his two henchman moved quickly along the rock face into the lower arroyo where the fissure resided. Hinel looked skyward and grew suddenly fearful. "Look at that," he said.
Sand looked upward and saw great cloud formations moving in a circular pattern. Ribs were forming in the pattern and converging into a central void opening up over the canyon. Like the dark shape a hurricane might make if viewed from above. Or a black hole. "Is that a storm?" Hinel asked.
"There’s no wind," Sand said.
"You must move quickly if you wish to make it to the fissure alive," Abigail said.
"Why?" Sand said. "What is this?"
"It’s your answer," she replied.
"I don’t understand. Answer to what?"
"You wanted to know if God exists," she said. "This will end your confusion."
"What are you talking about, old woman?"
"I suggest you move."
Sand considered her words for no more than a split second before he decided to very wisely heed them.
"C’mon. Let’s go," he barked.
"What the hell is that?" Hood said as he and Kapen craned their necks skyward.
"It looks like a storm brewing," Kapen said.
Hood squinted at the sky. "It looks like a hurricane. But there’s no wind."
Kapen felt a droplet hit his face. He yelped in pain, reached up and wiped it off his face. It was a red liquid. "Ouch. That hurt."
"Ahhh," Hood said. One hit him on the cheek. He touched it and rubbed the substance between his fingers and smelled it. He then touched it on his tongue. He spat it out immediately. "Acid. It’s acid rain. Inside. We should go inside."
Kapen ducked back inside the tent, "It looks like blood."
Hood was right behind him. "I know. Very unusual. I’ve never heard of acid rain that’s this red before."
The two of them stood and looked out into the canyon. A rumble of thunder rolled across the valley. Soon they heard men screaming in pain and saw them running for cover under rocky ledges and other tents.
Kapen looked up at the roof and saw a couple of drops begin to eat through the canvas. He yelled at his men, "Shit! Cover the computers! Cover the computers!"
He looked around. "And where the hell is Sand?"
Sand, Abigail and his henchmen stood under one of the many rocky outcroppings. "You didn’t give us much time Abigail," Sand said.
"This wasn’t my doing. Sorry."
The four of them watched the churning sky above the snow-spewing fissure just twenty feet to the east of them. They were just seconds away from the rope ladder that dangled from the fissure’s maw. They felt the numb cold of the gathering of snow at the base of the opening.
"We should try to make it to the ladder," Sand said. "Abigail can hold onto your back as you climb."
"And what about the acid rain?" Roger said.
Sand never took his eyes off of his prize. "If we move fast enough, we can make it."
A sudden gust of wind roiled the sandy ground and created a miniature whirlwind. Sand particles flew everywhere mixed with the falling acid rain blinding almost everybody. Abigail squinted as did Sand and his henchman. "We’ve got to try and move now," Sand said.
"We can’t even see!" Hinel said.
A screeching whine was heard. Almost like tires on asphalt. ‘What’s that noise?" Sand yelled. The sound leveled out and changed into an eerie squealing loud enough that some of the valley workers had to cover their ears.
"What’s going on?" Roger screamed.
"There! There they are!" It was Kapen and several Arabs and military soldiers. They were shielding themselves from the acid rain with portable tarpaulins. "Stop them!"
"Get her on your back now!" Sand barked at Hinel. "Move!"
Hinel shifted Abigail so she was able to hang onto his neck. "Don’t choke me," he said to her. Hinel shifted her grip so it wasn’t blocking his windpipe.
"I can’t hold on," she pleaded.
"Hang on just for a few moments, Abigail!" Sand said. "Let’s go!"
The strange whine faded and a bright blue light was seen forming in mid air in front of the fissure.
The four had made it to the ladder and were ascending as quickly as they could. Snow, acid rain and wind battered them as they climbed, but more importantly, obscured them from the people below.
Abigail could feel the pain of the acid but was disciplined enough to endure it. The others just gritted their teeth in silent defiance.
"They’re on the ladder!" Kapen yelled. "Stop them!"
A soldier raised his rifle.
"Wait!" Kapen shouted. "What are you doing? I’m not going to let you kill them!"
Grissom spoke up, "They’re a security risk. This is too important. Back off."
Grissom turned to the young soldier. "Take them out."
The soldier raised his weapon and aimed carefully. He tried to steady his crosshairs in the wind and find a target. He let off one round.
The bullet hit the rock face four inches from Sand’s arm. "They’re firing at us!" Hinel yelled.
Sand was oblivious. "Keep climbing!"
The blue strand of light intensified and grew quickly into a swirling vortex. This one was violent and unpredictable. Flashes of lightning clicked off of the rocks and a few of the workers below, shocking them unconscious.
"Jesus Christ!" Hinel yelled.
"Keep climbing!"
Grissom was incensed. You couldn’t even see the ladder behind the churning vortex. "Fire! Fire!"
The soldier fired his weapon into the maelstrom hoping to hit at least one of them.
He did. It was Sand’s second henchman, Roger, climbing behind Sand and Hinel. He fell back and landed in the massive snow drift below. Shot in the back. He was dead.
Sand was the first to make it to the base of the fissure, snow rocketing above him out into the desert. He turned to help Hinel and Abigail. "C’mon! C’mon! You can make it." Sand grabbed onto Abigail and pulled her up. Hinel made it up next. He stood in front of them in the mouth of the fissure. He suddenly jerked and his expression went blank. He fell backward down the rock face. He was shot where he stood. Hinel landed almost on top of Roger, blood seeping out across the snowdrift.
Sand huddled on the cave floor with Abigail. In her mind, she knew they wouldn’t survive. They couldn’t communicate with anyone below; the roar of the snow prevented that. If they stood and waved to surrender, they would most certainly be shot. If they stayed where they were they would most certainly freeze to death. And if they ventured deeper into the fissure they would die as Abigail sensed something waiting for them.
Something horrible.
::
Coming Soon:
EPISODE ELEVEN:
WAR OF THE CABAL
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