“Marcus,” I called, and he almost bumped into me as he walked backwards through the corridor, getting a shot of the path behind him. Light reflected off his dark skin as he spun toward me.
“What is it?” he asked, aiming the camera at my face. I pushed his arm away and pointed at the carving. “Cool. The moon.”
The room was dusty, the walls carved with intricate designs. A bench sat near a table, and I walked to it, lowering my palms onto the surface. Anticipation burned in my lungs, and my heart beat loudly in my ears. I blew on the table, sending motes of ancient dust adrift, revealing a single shape on the tabletop.
A hexagon.
I reached for it, but the shape was empty, devoid of the item I was searching for. “It’s not here.”
Marcus was closer, his camera jutting over my shoulder for the shot. “That’s a bummer.”
I turned, resting as I leaned against the table. Suddenly, I felt every bug bite, every mile we’d stalked through the treacherous journey here, and I ached for the lost funds to make this trip. It had been for nothing.
My sister was right. It was time to give up on these foolish dreams.
“What now?” Marcus asked, letting out air from his cheeks.
“We go home.”
Marcus’ shoulders slumped, and he’d started for the exit, when I heard the footsteps. I shoved my apprentice to the side, slapping my palm over his mouth. “Quiet,” I hissed through my teeth. I pulled the old Beretta from its holster, acquired a few days ago from a seedy fellow a hundred miles from here. I flipped the safety off and kept one hand on Marcus, indicating he should stay put.
The corridor we’d entered had a single exit, and I moved forward, Marcus trudging behind me while he continued filming. We’d left a lantern in the main room, and a shadow blocked the hall’s entrance momentarily before stretching away from us.
Each breath felt far too loud as I listened to the muffled footsteps, and I had to turn to Marcus, pressing a finger to my lips. His eyes were wide with panic, and though I’d never shot someone, I was confident enough with a gun. My hand still trembled as I clutched the metal grip.
We returned to the circular open room, our ropes hanging from their secure mounts above ground level, and I motioned for Marcus to start the climb. He didn’t hesitate. His compact camera slipped into his pocket as he darted for the exit. Whoever had followed us had gone into the adjacent archway, down another corridor. I wasn’t going to wait for their imminent return.
Marcus was up the twenty-foot rise faster than I thought possible, and I clutched the ascender as the ground under my feet shook violently. Dirt and debris rattled loose from the ceiling, and long cracks formed in the stone walls and floor. The entire place was about to collapse.
Fear drove me up, my gun returned to its holster, and just before I arrived at the top of the hole, I saw the figure dash into the room. My abandoned lantern cast its glow over the black-clad man. He stared at me, but I couldn’t make out a face in the shadows.
“Rex, time to hustle!” Marcus called, and I felt him clutch at my armpits, helping to hoist me above ground.
The earth shuddered, and I knew what was about to happen. Part of me felt terrible for doing it, but that man hadn’t come to befriend us. “Cut the ropes.”
Marcus did so without hesitation, and I pulled at him while rain poured over us from the storm. The stone slab cracked, and water rushed by our feet as we splashed from the causeway. I breathed heavily, my lungs aching from the effort by the time I let us take a pause, and we gaped at the location we’d emerged from, seeing the entire region buckle and drop.
“What the hell just happened?” Marcus shouted.
My gaze spun around, and I caught sight of the searchlight. I heard voices heading for the opening. Whoever we’d left down there hadn’t been alone.
“We need to hide,” I told Marcus.
There were ten of them, and I yanked my binoculars from my pack, keeping most of my body behind a thick Ceiba trunk. I saw six men, all wearing black, and four locals holding assault rifles. Marcus must have seen the arsenal as well, because he was already running deeper into the trees.
It was going to be a long trek home, and we were leaving empty-handed, but at least we were alive.
2
Cassie’s hand stuck in the air, her question spilling from her lips before I’d indicated she could ask it. “Professor Walker, are you suggesting a higher power called on them?”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I said. I was only reminding you that each of the civilizations we’re studying this semester showed proof of worshiping deities, many relating to the skies and beyond.”
“Like heaven?” Luca asked. I saw a twinkle in his eyes. He loved to stir up debates in class, and tended to time the comments with the last five minutes remaining in the lecture. I appreciated his spirit.
“Sure. Kind of like heaven. As a people, no matter where we originated from, we always look to the stars for unanswered questions. All around the world, we have sun gods, or gods who ride dragons to Earth, visitors from afar. We have dozens of races paying homage to entities from space—or the heavens, if you will, Luca. We still do it to this day,” I told them, crossing my arms as I leaned against my desk at the front of the classroom.
The seats were mostly full, which was a good sign. Many of the college classrooms would be missing forty percent of their students before Thanksgiving weekend, so I took pride that mine stayed engaged in my lessons.
Cassie’s arm flew up again, and I smiled at her. She wore a sweatshirt, the college’s acronym printed across the chest. Had I looked that young when I’d started post-secondary? It wasn’t that long ago, only twenty years, but standing there, watching my students, it felt like a lifetime had passed.
I nodded at her. “Yes, Cassie.”
“Do you believe in heaven?” she asked, and everyone regarded me with interest.
“I…” I didn’t know how to answer them, but the bell rang, the clock striking three, and I shrugged as they started to rise. “I guess you’ll have to wait until after the holidays to find out. Everyone stay safe and enjoy your time with your families. Don’t forget that your paper is due when class resumes, so make sure you take a break from football and eating pie to comb through the assignment.”
A few of them groaned at the news as they flipped laptops closed and slung packs over their shoulders. The rush to escape was on, and it only took a minute before I was alone in my classroom again. The silence was welcome.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I tugged it free, checking to see who it was. My sister was asking what time I’d be arriving. I sighed, sitting in my leather chair, and I spun around, stopping to gawk out the window. Most of the oak trees in the courtyard were bare-branched; a few desperate auburn leaves clung with hope.
I found myself regretting my decision to leave town for the holidays. It had been a year since Mom had passed away, and the wound was fresh in my mind. Seeing Beverly and the kids would only remind me of what I was missing.
The phone was heavy in my hand as I replied, I’ll be there by six. I hit send and slipped it into the breast pocket of my tweed blazer. I’d accepted the role of classic professor with open arms: the loafers, elbow patches, complete with beige pants. I stifled a laugh, wondering what my dad would have thought of all this. From the pictures I’d seen of him at his college, he’d have told me to change into jeans and a t-shirt. Thinking of him made me check his old watch. The leather straps were cracked and had been repaired on numerous occasions, but the watch still ticked. I spun the mechanism around a dozen times, winding it, and slid my sleeve into place.
I flipped my laptop open, checking emails, and saw an incoming call from my old professor. With a smile, I accepted, tilting the screen until I was in the center of the video chat window. “Doctor Klein, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Are we using titles now, Doctor Walker?” the man asked. He was nearing sixty, but to me, he still seemed li
ke the forty-year-old man that had mentored me from a young age. His hair had more gray in it, and his neatly-trimmed beard was whiter than ever, but he’d always taken exceptional care of himself.
I’ve never cared to be called a doctor. I’m proud of my achievements, but at the end of the day, I study old relics and teach anthropology classes. “Let’s skip the formalities, Richard.”
“Good. I heard you were in Mexico.” Richard leaned away, picking up a cup with Harvard written on it.
I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn’t told anyone where my true destination had been, instead opting to pretend I’d left for some rest and relaxation. “A few months ago. I can’t believe we haven’t spoken since then.”
“That’s how life gets. I’ve been busy, and you, with the new job…”
So that was what this was really about. “Richard, the job is going well. I think I’m getting through to these students.”
The older man sipped his drink and set the cup down, steepling his fingers. “You were my best student. Your father would want you here, teaching in my department at Harvard, not for some two-bit college…”
I cleared my throat, speaking low. “I know what I’m doing. I get that you’re trying to protect me and my career, but I won’t work there. I’ve told you a hundred times.”
“I understand, but please consider it at least. I’ve had some issues with the new Method and Theory professor, and I’ve already suggested the perfect replacement.” Doctor Richard Klein knew how to push the right buttons.
I tapped my desk, seeing someone approach my office door. She looked through the glass, and I lifted a finger. “Richard, I have to go. I hope you have a great Thanksgiving. Say hi to Janelle and the kids for me.”
My mentor rubbed his chin and nodded. “You heading home?”
“I am.”
“Tell me you’ll contemplate taking the position.”
I sighed and smiled at him, not wanting to argue. I’d only make myself late for dinner. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Splendid. Take care of yourself, Rex.”
The call ended, and I shut the laptop, waving Jessica inside.
“Do you mind if we speak for a moment?” the president of the college asked. She looked as professional as ever, her curly black hair dropping to her shoulders, barely skimming her jacket. She was part of the reason for my wardrobe change since I’d started here. A strict dress code was mandatory for the professors at this college, and I was happy to oblige.
“Sure, Jessica. Come in.” I stood, coming to sit on the desk, and she took the first-row seat Luca had occupied.
“Rex, I know this wasn’t your first choice of schools…” she began.
“I love this job.” I couldn’t help but cut her off, and I zipped it, sealing my lips. I wondered if she’d overheard any of my conversation with Richard.
“Regardless, with your father’s tenure at Harvard and your subsequent graduation there, I assume you had your sights set on teaching in his footsteps. I just wanted to say how delighted we are with your performance so far, and that we’re thrilled to see you thriving in our administration.” Jessica smiled, and I returned it.
“I’m glad to hear that. I know what you said makes sense, but I’m ready to carve my own path. Hopefully, that involves teaching here for as long as you’ll have me,” I assured her. She got to her feet, reaching her hand out. We shook, and her grip lingered a few seconds longer than I expected.
“Are you doing anything for the holidays?” she asked.
“Leaving town to visit my sister and her husband,” I told her, and she nodded. “How about you? You and Mr. Hansen doing anything special?”
Jessica cleared her throat. “There is no Mr. Hansen.” She walked to the doorway and turned before exiting. “See you in a few days, Rex.”
What was that? I snapped out of it. If I was going to make it to my hometown by six, I’d have to put a move on.
An hour later, I was driving west in my five-year-old SUV, the heated seat on low as the temperature had dropped substantially. Growing up in the bedroom community north of Springfield had been boring as a kid, but once I was out of Boston’s traffic, I appreciated the open air and the quiet roads. It was still busier than normal, even though it was mid-week. The holidays always created a mad rush to and from the big cities, but it didn’t seem as bad today as previous years.
My music was interrupted as someone called me. I glanced at the screen, seeing Marcus’ name, so I tapped the phone button on my steering wheel. “Marcus, what’s up?”
“You have to be kidding me. Didn’t you see my text?” he demanded, his voice high-pitched. It tended to do that when he was excited.
“No. I’m driving to my sister’s. What did it say?” I asked.
“Turn on the radio,” he said.
I went to do so, but he was on the Bluetooth. “I’ll have to hang up first.”
“Fine. Call me back. This could be it,” he said ominously.
“Could be what?” I questioned out loud as I scanned through the radio stations. I used my satellite radio to pick up what I thought to be the most reputable news feed, and waited for an advertisement to stop.
“Welcome back to Across This Great Nation with Bill McReary. Today, we’re with astronomist Dr. Lisa Bronte. Lisa, what can you tell us about the anomaly discovered last night?” My interest was piqued, and I shifted in my seat, waiting for her reply.
“Well, Bill, we don’t know much. The image only shows a small dark object against Pluto, so this will be speculation and conjecture, but there is a chance it’s not just a hunk of asteroid from the Kuiper Belt.”
“What makes you say that, Dr. Bronte?” Bill asked.
“This is early days, but it doesn’t appear to be moving.”
“Which means?”
“If it broke free from something, it would have a trajectory. You need reverse thrust to completely stop out there.”
“What are you saying, Doctor? That this is a vessel from outer space?” Bill asked, and I cracked a smile.
“Doubtful, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on it,” Lisa told him.
They went on to discuss what it most likely was, and that ranged from a distortion of gas to a large meteoroid. I turned it off and returned Marcus’ call.
“You can’t be serious,” I said as soon as he answered.
“I thought you were looking for proof?” he asked.
“Proof? That’s not what this is about,” I told him.
“Then why are you searching for these strange artifacts from your dad’s book? You want evidence of visitors from another world, don’t you?” he asked.
I stared forward, staying within my lane as I cruised down the highway. I saw the signs for my hometown, and the familiar local shops’ billboards along the ditches, advertising a couple of businesses I used to frequent as a kid. “Marcus, I told you I’m done with all of that. My days of dragging you into underground chambers are over.” I cringed as I recalled the man killed in the cavern’s collapse. I still didn’t know who’d been chasing after us.
“But what if there’s more?” he asked, and I could picture his face: sullen and withdrawn, as it always had been when he’d first been a student of mine. I knew he’d come from a tough background and had been looking for a real future when we’d met.
“There is, but I can’t spend my life in pursuit of the invisible. It’s time to let this rest.”
My tone had a sense of finality to it that Marcus seemed to pick up on. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on this anyway. Just in case,” he said.
“Fine. You do that. What are you up to for the holidays?” I asked him, and the pause explained the upcoming answer.
“Catching up with some friends. Enjoy your sister’s house. Say hi for me,” Marcus told me.
“I’ll get you a piece of pie. I’ll be home Sunday. Want to stop by for dinner?” I asked him.
“Sure. I’ll bring the beer. Talk soon,” he said, ending the call.
; Everything tended to feel smaller when I returned home, and this experience was no different. Except that for the first time, my mom wasn’t here. The welcome sign was convivial: stark white, with our town’s name painted in red. I drove through Main Street, slowing as I did so, and pulled over, deciding I shouldn’t arrive empty-handed. The little market my sister and I used to frequent as kids with our mother was gone, replaced with a gym.
“Rex? Rex Walker?” someone asked from the sidewalk. Cool air rolled through my half-cracked open window, and I squinted toward the friendly-voiced man. I climbed out of the SUV, tilting my head, trying to recall his name.
“It’s me, Turner Denworth,” he said, grinning ear to ear. His teeth were straight and too white, his hair perfectly styled, and he wore an oversized trench and an obviously expensive suit.
“Of course, Turner.” I shook his hand, squeezing tighter than I’d intended.
“What brings you to town?” he asked.
“Completely random. Nothing to do with the fact that it’s Thanksgiving and my sister lives here,” I told him with a smile.
“Always were a sarcastic one, weren’t you? How is Beverly?” he asked.
“I thought you’d know everything about your community.”
I’d seen his re-election posters plastered on the billboards as I’d driven into town. He ignored my jab. “Do you mind asking if I can count on her for her vote?”
“No problem, Turner. It was good catching up,” I lied. I’d never liked the guy, not since he’d dumped my sister for some cheerleader in Springfield twenty something years ago. I thought he was smarmy then, and he hadn’t changed a bit.
“Oh, I’m sorry about your mother. Must be difficult coming home,” he said before getting into his BMW. He backed out, leaving without a wave. I watched him go, wondering if it was a mistake to visit here. I could be at my townhouse in Boston, listening to Bach and stoking my fireplace over a glass of red wine. Instead, I was looking for a grocery store in a town I barely recognized.
Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Page 2
