Throwback

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Along the wall there was a stone water basin and at the far end a fire pit had been constructed and blackened wood rested therein. Hawk held the torch above his head, trying to get a sense of the ceiling height, but it wasn’t bright enough. There was a raised dais in the center of the space, and torches were mounted in sconces on the walls. Hawk walked around the chamber and lit torches one by one with flicks of his thumb.

  The lighter brought him back. The feel of the plastic in his hand, the blue-orange flame floating above the stainless steel. Such a simple thing. Something he’d taken for granted his entire life. All the time he’d spent the last few months smacking rocks together to get a spark, all the energy exerted and wasted.

  The glow of torchlight lit the chamber, revealing its vastness. The ceiling stepped inward as it went up, and open corridors ran along the walls as the ceiling tapered away into darkness a hundred feet up. Great balconies stood out at each step, as the structure narrowed to a point. Hawk thought it was a gathering hall, and the center dais was the stage.

  Hawk got water boiling and Svet cauterized Enyo’s wounds and used sinew thread and a curved fish bone to stitch him up. Then she used leaves and palm fronds to bandage the wound. The Russian cursed frequently as she worked, and thankfully for Enyo he’d passed out. When she was done she moved on to Max and said, “It would help to have that vodka now.” They had salt to make saltwater, and Svet’s healing cream, but that was it.

  “You will be fine,” Svet said. She kissed Max’s forehead and cleaned the bite on his shoulder.

  “And Enyo?” Hawk said. He knew the answer, but he hoped he was wrong.

  “No good. He lost lot of blood, and I can’t stop infection,” Svet said.

  Exploration of the temple would be put off until necessities were taken care of. Svet devoted all her time to Enyo, while Max and Hawk hunted, prepared food, searched for herbs, and helped Svet. They also guarded at the main entrance at night, which left little time for anything other than survival.

  A week passed in this way, the routine consuming them, weariness turning the time travelers into zombie machines. Enyo was doing much better. His fever had broken, and his cuts were healing. Max’s wound festered, and he developed a low-grade fever, and was tired and hungry all the time. He’d taken to laying before the fire most of the day, only getting up to go to the bathroom, eat, and drink.

  Svet played her ukulele on the eighth night, and Max and Enyo fell asleep, snoring and wheezing like little kids. Svet plucked at the strings, playing in rhythm with the night symphony that buzzed like electric inside the temple. The open windows let the sound in, and the conical interior enhanced it like a speaker.

  She stopped playing, laid the instrument aside, and sighed.

  Hawk said, “Where are we Svet?”

  Svet sighed again, and ran fingers through her hair. A tear slipped down her face, and she wiped it away in anger and her face tightened. “I think Max caught some parasite or pathogen in his open wound when the thing bit him. He is getting worse and there is nothing I can do for him.” She sniffed and wiped her face again. “Enyo. I don’t know how he’s not dying from the same thing, but he’s not. He’s healing and might live.”

  “Will he ever be able to travel?”

  She looked away and said nothing.

  Luck is a funny thing. As soon as you get some you start worrying about when it will run out, like luck was blood and without it death would soon come. In this case Hawk knew that to be a literal truth. He and his friends had been very lucky thus far. While they’d watched what animals ate before they tried it themselves, the party had been extremely fortunate to have avoided getting sick from some toxin or poison unknown to their immune systems.

  Hawk had no doubts that with the proper equipment Max could find hundreds of unknown pathogens in the jungle just waiting to try out the human body as a host. They were fresh meat. Meat that had been cut, scraped, stabbed and beaten, but somehow none of these viruses had taken hold.

  Until now.

  Losing Max was unthinkable, but their immune systems were on twentieth century time, and Hawk had feared from the outset this greatest of threats, and was why his first reaction had been for them to wear their spacesuits when they came down.

  “There really is nothing you can do for Max?”

  She looked at him, her icy blue eyes searching his, then her gaze dropped to the Viking.

  Hawk said, “After everything we’ve been through. All the monsters we’ve fought off. It might be the smallest of them all that gets us in the end.”

  32

  A week later Enyo was much better and Max had gotten worse. Svet tended to her lover constantly, but there was only so many times she could dampen the cloth on his forehead. He was burning up, and his shoulder wound was red and puffy with pus at its center. Hawk and Svet hadn’t spoken about it, but Hawk could see the Russian was slowly losing it, her love for Max and the fear of his loss tearing her apart.

  If Max had no luck, Enyo had all of it. His wounds had closed, and though he would be forever without his fingers, he’d already learned to work chopsticks with the three-fingered hand, and was up and about, even helping around camp.

  Max moaned and cried most of the time, and Hawk took to taking long walks to get away from the misery. He felt for his friend, but at the same time there was no happy ending to this story and the physicist was grating his nerves.

  Hawk’s initial evaluation of the temple had turned out to be accurate. All the hallways led to a viewing platform or an open hallway that looked out on the vast cavern with the dais at its center. Who had gathered here and why? Where had they all gone?

  As to where the people came from, there was an etching in the main hall that showed a massive door with starburst decorations around its edge. In the picture the door stood open, and odd seven fingered beings with tails were depicted coming through the door. In the open door a great staircase descended into the earth, implying that the people who gathered in the temple had come from underground.

  Hawk’s mouth almost hit the ground when he’d discovered the door existed in a subbasement below the dais. It reminded Hawk of the secret hatches used by magicians to perform their escape tricks. It was set in a stone wall, and had no handle, no lock, and no hinges were visible. Hawk tried to pry it open, but made no progress. Whatever was hidden below the temple would stay a secret. Was there a connection to the light beacon? Hawk wandered the dark halls of the temple, reviewing the etchings, many of which made no sense and showed scenes of upheaval and destruction.

  The sound of Max screaming echoed through the stone corridors, and Hawk worked his way back to the main hall. Max tossed and turned as Svet tried to hold him down. “He got very agitated suddenly,” she said.

  “Dreaming probably,” Enyo said. He’d appeared from behind the wall of tables that made up their living space.

  Max was yelling at someone named Michele. Hawk didn’t know who that was, but Max sounded angry and betrayed.

  “Why?” Max sputtered. “What did I do? I did not kill him. I did not!” Max yelled, and then let loose with a string of German curses.

  “What are we doing here?” Enyo said. “He is in pain.”

  Svet’s eyes strayed to the Viking strapped to Hawk’s waist.

  “Is there no hope at all?” Hawk said.

  “If you believe in God now be the time to ask for favor,” Svet said.

  Hawk fingered the Viking. He knew what needed to be done, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Enyo, how do you feel? Can you travel?”

  Enyo looked at Max, frowning, thinking exactly what Hawk was: does it matter? Enyo shook his head, and said, “I can. My leg still aches when I walk for a long time, but if we take breaks I think I’ll be alright.”

  “Not yet,” Svet said. She wiped Max’s brow with a wet cloth and kissed his forehead.

  Another week passed in this manner as Max slipped closer to death, and Enyo built up his strength. They restocked their s
upply of dino-jerky, made new bows and arrows, a supply of spears, and searched the area around the temple, but found nothing unusual. If the people who’d lived below the earth were still here, there were no signs of them.

  Hawk and Svet wandered the temple, discussing the etchings, trying to make sense of the one that they both felt provided them their biggest clue.

  It was a picture of a wooded scene, with lines depicting light rays shining through the trees. In the distance, a column rose into the sky, a block of dots and dashes that looked like fire or light. Crowds of beings walked through the trees, toward the light. It was the only etching that provided a clear message. All the others showed scenes from the jungle, the odd figures performing menial tasks, as if the etchings had been provided to teach those who viewed them how to do basic things like light a fire, cook food, and defend oneself by making weapons.

  Svet said, “It’s almost like these were created to teach their young.”

  This made sense, but why wouldn’t the elders teach the younglings themselves? The bigger question for Hawk was where had they all gone?

  He recalled the pueblo dwellings at Mesa Verde National park in Arizona. The Anasazi had lived in elaborate cliff side dwellings high above the valley floor. Hawk remembered wondering what had scared the Indians so thoroughly that they’d gone to such lengths to protect themselves.

  Then they all just left. Pots still hanging over fire pits. Utensils resting on work surfaces. By all accounts the Indians ran, leaving most of their belongings behind. Is that what happened to the ancient people that had once lived in, or under, the temple?

  What they hadn’t found was any etching, symbol, anything in the shape of a polyhedron, like the markers in the jungle. If there was a connection between the two, Hawk expected to find something in the etchings, a clue that tied the shape to the temple, but he found nothing. None of the etchings showed a polyhedron, or any clues as to the markers.

  “Svet, we need to move on,” Hawk said. They were falling into a rhythm that would lead to dotage. Hawk understood that to be his fate, but not before reaching the beacon.

  The Russian sighed as Hawk watched her emotions play across her face; anger, frustration, and then fear. Fear of losing another person she loved. “What are you to suggest?” Her eyes fell on the Viking.

  “How soon can we be on our way?”

  “What about Max? I can’t leave him.”

  “Can you bring him awake?”

  “Da.”

  “Will he understand what I tell him? Answer questions?”

  “Maybe. I see where you going and I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Hawk said.

  Three days later Svet brought Max awake with the pretense of feeding him. She spooned soup into his mouth and wiped his chin after each spoonful. Hawk sat beside Max’s bamboo rack, and placed the Viking on the bed next to the German. Max eyed the weapon and gurgled.

  “Max, can you hear me?” Hawk said.

  Max nodded. He was pale, sweaty and dark rings circled his eyes, which were red cinders shrunken into his head.

  “We need to move on, Max. What can we do for you?”

  Hawk and Svet had discussed how to broach the situation with the scientist. Asking someone if they’d like to be murdered was a touchy conversation. Both Svet and Hawk said there was no way they could ever put their friend out of his misery, so they’d agreed to let him do it himself if that was what he wanted and they believed he was of clear enough mind to make the call.

  “There… noth you can do for me,” Max said. “I’m on fire inside.” Tears leaked from his eyes.

  Svet wept, wiping Max’s forehead with a damp cloth. “No, my love, there isn’t.”

  Max picked up the Viking. “Wish we ha… get rid of pills,” he said. His bony fingers gripped the gun and he brought it to his chest and held it tight against his breast. “Go. Thank you. Both of you.”

  Max was no longer recognizable as the man Hawk had known and respected. His ankles and wrists were swollen, and he was as white as powder. He shivered and shook, even as sweat rolled off him and his shirt darkened. He’d lost so much weight there was literally nothing left but skin and bones, and Hawk didn’t understand how his friend could still be alive.

  Hawk put his hand on Svet’s shoulder and squeezed it. She wanted to stay, tend to Max until there was nothing left but dust, but Max had made it clear he didn’t want that. He wanted to be remembered for the man he was, not the skeleton he’d become, and he didn’t want to hold them back.

  They left Max with the Viking, strapped on their supply bags, and exited the temple for the last time. It was possible they’d be back, but Hawk wasn’t ready to think about that. They made their way through the dark hallways in silence, the pictures of a forgotten race from a long-lost Earth reminding Hawk he knew nothing. Enyo trailed after, coughing every few seconds, but having no trouble keeping up. Hawk had his arm around Svet, and the Russian cried until there were no tears left.

  When they got to the entrance the party paused under the stone overhang. Sunlight drenched the jungle, and Clint and Mixie were nowhere to be seen. The dinosaurs had kept their distance since their siblings had been killed, but Hawk saw them at night patrolling around the temple, and when Hawk had revealed himself, the beasts paused in confusion, not knowing if he was friend or foe.

  Hawk had decided to sneak past the animals, and as they came around the side of the temple to head west they found the carcass of a mid-sized dinosaur that had been killed, but not eaten.

  “That’s for me,” Enyo said.

  “What is?” Hawk said.

  “My watchdogs bring me offering,” Enyo said. Then seeing the confusion on Hawk’s face, he said, “Like bird dog. They think they’re bringing me food.”

  The animal carcass was several days old and badly decayed. The eyes had caved in, and rib bones were visible under the corpse’s leathery skin. The smell was horrid—that well known scent of something that’s been dead too long and gone unburied.

  With a look back, Hawk took a mental picture of the vine-covered temple. The wedding cake of green creepers sat on its strong foundation, and Hawk had the strange feeling he’d seen the building somewhere before. How hadn’t he noticed it before? Where had he seen it?

  Svet sniffled. Hawk still struggled with leaving Max behind. He’d been drilled his entire life to never do that. Never leave a mate behind, no matter what. And what had they left Max for? Nothing. A light in the sky that would most likely turn out to be nothing at all. An illusion. A freak of nature that wouldn’t help them one bit.

  But he didn’t know that. Hawk ran fingers through his hair and cracked his neck. The quest for the beacon was their life. Getting there was all that mattered, even if it meant shedding those they loved. It had been Svet who pointed out there was really no decision to make. Stay and wait for Max to die a painful death, or let him go out on his own terms.

  The path thinned out, and large green leaves reached out to grab them as they passed. They hadn’t gone far when the faint sound of a gunshot froze them in place, and Svet wept anew.

  33

  Hawk lost track of how long he trudged through the jungle. The forest was a uniform green, thick patches of ferns and conifers packed so tight the party was forced to squeeze through thick stands that left them scratched and bloody. Svet didn’t talk much, and Enyo talked too much. The Chinese astronaut never shut up, and after Hawk snapped at him he became shy and reserved, as if Hawk had disrespected him. Hawk apologized, but the damage was done.

  The three time travelers walked on in a daze, sleeping, foraging, walking, repeat. The jungle density kept most of the big predators away, and they’d been left undisturbed for the most part. Smaller critters stole food and things from camp, but Hawk felt comfortable in the forest. He’d become part of the never-ending jungle.

  Hawk climbed a tree one night to confirm they were still on course, and the beacon light was closer, though still some ways off
. Hawk’s feet were blistered, bug bites covered his face and arms, and he’d caught a nasty stomach virus that made him puke every eight hours. He didn’t have a fever, yet he still worried that some prehistoric pathogen worked its way through him looking for a place to set up camp, the memory of Max’s simple bite never forgotten.

  “How long have we been walking?” Svet asked one morning as they traversed a stream that cascaded down a series of rock steps where the land had never settled after an upheaval.

  “A couple of weeks,” Hawk said.

  “Twenty days,” Enyo said. “Give or take a day or two.”

  “Any idea how far we’ve come? How far to go?” Svet asked.

  Hawk ran his fingers through his hair and stared back down the trail they’d just cut through the dense jungle using stone hatchets. “I don’t know. When I checked three days ago I’d say we’d gone maybe half the distance?”

  Svet let out a long-exasperated sigh. “Twenty more days?”

  “If we’re lucky and don’t run into trouble,” Hawk said. “And what are the odds of that?”

  Svet and Enyo said nothing. The odds sucked, and Hawk knew it.

  As Hawk’s partners pushed through the forest they looked beaten. Svet’s head was always down. She had two dead lovers to think about now. Two losses to torment her. Enyo hardly spoke since his confrontation with Hawk, and he felt horrible about it and tried to patch things up more than once, but it was clear Enyo’s feelings had been hurt and he had no interest in making amends, at least not yet. Unlike in their former lives, Enyo would have to get over it. Hawk was a third of the population.

  On what the party believed to be the twenty-eighth day since leaving the temple, the jungle opened up and the trees became more spaced out. Sunlight streamed into the forest as the canopy thinned, and by lunch the party was at the edge of a large clearing.