The star positions in the sky confirmed I had enough night left to return to the dig site. If I snooped around, permits notwithstanding, I might well come up with a winning strategy for the beach excavation. It would impress the troop. Once on a familiar dirt road, I remained on it for the remainder of the way. Arriving at the tents, I headed down to the beach, ignoring the posted 'Scheduled site' signs. As I reached the beach, something caught my eye.
To my left was a small excavation where none should be, on the beach. No one had authorisation to go there yet. I'd just tortured Robertson to issue the permit and the planned excavation was scheduled for tomorrow. I approached the hole, noticing a shovel lying by the side. I had surely disturbed the vandals. The last storm had exposed fresh new ground and they had dug right in it. Though the moonlight was faint, I clearly saw several objects in the hole. I bent down on one knee to examine them more closely.
There were several pottery shards, quite obviously belonging to the same vessel, perhaps an amphorae of some sort. Good quality stuff, fairly thin for an amphorae, well turned. Several pieces revealed a rich pattern of black chevrons and spirals, underscored by running waves, all on a solid layer of white slip. Other fragments revealed parallel grooves and bands of dotted lines, reminding me of Morse code. More noticeable was a large chunk with an unusual inset circle, which was split into quarters by an inscribed cross, each quarter filled with a variety of bizarre symbols, vaguely resembling pictographs or hieroglyphs. I had never seen pottery quite this thin used for amphorae. In fact, I had never seen this type of pottery before.
Cradling the fragments in my hand, I stood up. A noise in the hedge nearby attracted my attention. Before I could move, a round object, about the size of a doughnut, shot out from the hedge and landed on my chest. I had time to note a thin silver wire trailing behind it before eight smalls hooks levered out of the doughnut and, cutting through my clothes, attempted to grasp my skin.
Electricity coursed through the hooks, flowed along my skin, and discharged harmlessly into the ground. Had I been a non-spore human, I surely would have been electrocuted and, at the very least, rendered unconscious.
Curious, I let myself drop to the ground anyway. I wanted to see who the aggressor might be. Lying motionless, I peered through lidded eyes. A form moved away from the thicket, reeling in the silver wire as he approached. A bald man. No! It was the giant I'd seen by the tree.
He stood over me and somehow triggered the doughnut. The eight hooks retracted simultaneously, allowing him to reel it back into its cradle. Turning back to me, he opened my hand and retrieved the pottery pieces, dropping them into a satchel attached to his belt. A thin smile graced his blubbery lips briefly before he spoke into a small microphone held in his hand. I did not recognise the language. It was soft and sibilant, hardly any consonants, almost musical.
He glanced away while he spoke, a huge mistake on his part. I stood up silently, remaining in his shadow all the while. The giant towered over me, at least a foot and a half taller, his neck almost out of reach. I jumped up and bit in, sucking deep. A metallic-tasting liquid filled with small solid pieces flooded my mouth. The feel was so alien, so unexpected, that I choked, spitting the foul stuff out.
The giant reacted rapidly, reaching behind and grasping for my head. His clawing hands grabbed empty air because I was bent over and spitting out their polluted blood. Not giving his spurting neck wound the least bit of attention, he twisted around, his arms coming at me like meaty pistons. I easily avoided him, leaping out of the monster's reach. Finally, one hand clasped his bleeding neck and he aimed his electro-device with the other.
Before he could depress the trigger, I leapt again, this time delivering a strong kick to his solar plexus. It should have sent him flying but instead he stood there, impassive, and took the kick without so much as a whimper, then smashed my head with a roundhouse that came out of nowhere.
I was thrown sideways by the impact and crashed into the embankment. Sand and dirt fell, partially covering me. I was baffled, having never encountered anyone who could stand up to me. Spores easily gave me the strength of ten men. The giant was incredibly tough. I needed time to think. Stealth might be a better option rather than outright confrontation, so I remained where I had fallen, pretending I was unconscious once more.
The giant took the time to shock me a second time with his device, shaking and pinching my body to ensure I was unconscious. Satisfied, he took off down the beach, leaving me where I lay. At least he wasn't out to kill me, which gave me the advantage since I had no such qualms. The moment he was out of sight, I got up and followed after him. He was easy to track on the beach, his deep footsteps leading me on.
When he entered the thickets, it became more of a challenge but we were now further inland and the surf noise had lessened so my hearing came into its own. I could tell exactly where he was, crashing through the thicket a quarter mile ahead. I hurried out of the bushes and ran as fast as I could along the open field, catching up to him in no time.
I couldn't forget I'd seen three giants in all today. If he caught up to his friends, I'd be hard put to succeed in a fair fight.
Fortunately, I didn't intend to fight fairly.
I hurried past his position until I reached the end of the thicket, marked by a sturdy oak tree, exactly what I had hoped to find, something stronger and higher than the thicket brambles.
I hopped up to the lowest tree limb and began my climb. Once high enough, I stopped, hugging the trunk, my left arm resting on a branch. Only my head could be seen. I examined the area, focusing primarily on where I expected the giant would exit the thicket.
He surprised me by coming out near the oak tree instead, coming to a stop fifty feet below the branch where I stood. He was talking into his hand again, speaking in the same strange language. Though I couldn't make any sense of it, the tone was unmistakeable. He was informing someone about the reason for his delay: namely me.
I waited until he headed across the field, toward a distant road. I gauged his position carefully and propelled myself from the trunk with force. I flew through the air, heading straight towards the giant, my aim perfect.
At the very last moment, I uttered a guttural 'Hey!' He only had time to turn his head toward the noise before I was on him, my hands grasping for his bulbous head. I clamped his skull between them and held tight as my body went flying past. Using all that inertia, I was able to twist the giant's head completely around.
I heard a satisfying 'snap' before letting go and landing on my feet. The giant flopped loosely before rolling to a stop. Though fairly sure he was dead, I approached carefully, ready for anything.
His dead face stared up blankly, as he lay on his stomach, his neck twisted around. I rolled the body over, examining it quickly in the bright moonlight. His clothing was simple, tight shirt and pants made of a fine weave stretchy material. Inside the satchel attached to his belt, I found the odd electro-gun and another device with a screen, perhaps a scanner of some sort. In the bottom of the satchel lay the stolen pottery shards.
Flipping the lid closed on the satchel for now, I jury-rigged a strap out of his belt, and hung the bag on my shoulder. I examined the countryside, wondering where he had been headed. There was a road straight ahead. Perhaps that was his destination. Looking along its length, I noticed a rectangular shape at the edge of a thicket, which could be a vehicle.
I crawled the rest of the way, slithering through the long wheat stalks like a snake, worrying all the while about the other two giants. It was all for nothing. The van was empty. I entered through the passenger door and looked around but found nothing more than an empty water bottle and a local map.
Bringing the water bottle with me, I returned to the giant's body. I removed the odd radio/microphone assembly on his wrist and dropped it into the satchel. I untwisted his neck, searching for the bite wound I'd inflicted earlier on his neck. To my surprise, I found it almost healed, a slightly reddened scar, instead of the op
en gash it ought to be.
I lifted the legs up into the air, ripped the jugular vein open again, and stuck the water bottle into the jagged wound. Gravity did the rest. Blood, or what passed for blood in that strange man, filled the water bottle. I vividly remembered the disgusting feel of the chunky liquid in my mouth.
I dropped the legs to the ground, capped the water bottle, placed it into the satchel, and continued my examination of the body. Everything about the giant was odd. His hairlessness was across the entire body. I doubted he ever had hair. His skin and muscles were tough and elastic. I remembered hitting the giant's stomach. It had felt like a brick wall.
I tried breaking his upper arm. As I suspected, I found the bone sturdy and resilient. It took several tries before I could crack it. Even the layout of the man's face was odd. I mean, he had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but the proportions were off. The mouth was too wide, the eyes too far apart, the forehead too prominent, the thick jaw too heavy and the skull much too large.
I didn't think he was human. He looked like a human, granted, but his size, physical strength, and skull shape, implied a different ancestry than homo sapiens. I didn't think he was Neanderthal either. They were nowhere this big and the face was wrong for them too.
I lifted the giant to my shoulder again and brought him to the van. Seeing a curve in the road not far ahead, I opened the driver's side door, placed the giant in the seat and buckled him in. Releasing the parking brake, I pushed the van along the road with one hand, while steering with the other.
Soon the vehicle was going at a good clip, aiming straight for the curve. I let it go, slamming the driver's door shut before it went off. It kept rolling straight off the road, crashing into the thicket and ditch. I hurried to it, noting the popped-open hood and buckled front end with satisfaction. It looked like a genuine accident. To complete the effect, I reached into the engine compartment and ripped off the gas line, slipped the line into my mouth and inhaled, filling my mouth and lungs with gas. I dropped the gas line, hurried to the driver's side, and forcefully exhaled the flammable liquid onto the giant. The gas spray covered everything in its path.
Reaching in with my hand, I smashed the giant's head over the steering wheel and into the windshield, with the hope my actions would be sufficient to cover the true evidence of his death. The less these giants knew about my involvement, the better.
Returning to the front of the van, I ripped a wire off the battery and shorted it against the car body. Sparks exploded violently and the engine burst into flames. I pulled away and looked around for kindling. Finding several dry brambles from the thicket, I bunched them together and shoved one end into the engine compartment blaze, setting it afire, then tossed the burning brambles into the vehicle.
The gas fumes exploded violently, setting the giant's body ablaze. Keeping an eye on the raging fire, I hung the satchel from my shoulder and headed back across the countryside, as the sun's rays peered over the horizon. Dawn was breaking. I began a game of straight-line walking, having to climb over two houses and one large barn before reaching the dig site. I saw Howard Tennison standing by the hole dug by the giant. He was shaking his head. After a while, he grabbed his geo-phiz equipment, some tubular thing with several prongs going into the ground, and started surveying the beach.
I made sure Tennison did not see me and hurried back to the Metropole. Locating my window on the second floor, I jumped to it and climbed in. Once inside, the first thing I did was to take a shower. I do not actually get dirty, or sweaty, but odors, like burning gasoline, tend to stick to me for a while. A quick shower took care of that and I was ready for a new day.
As I dressed, waiting for Parsons to arrive, I reflected on what an excellent first vacation day this had turned out to be.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
There you are, reveals all done. Rest assured tons more reveals remain in the series, many of which will change the meaning/importance of the events in book one yet again. The series is circular, meaning that, by the time you get to the end of the series, book one will have become book five and can be read as such.
So, for all you beta-readers so inclined, I would, as always, appreciate a review of The Caves of Etretat, particularly if it was 'flavoured' by reading chapter one of Weissmuller's Vacation. Thanks.
An Interview with the Author
Q: What are you working on now?
Q: What made you write The Vostok Juncture?
A: Vostok Juncture was an interloper. I had no plans for writing it after the Caves of Etretat epic series. I was all set to write The AntiCorp but, one night, I watched a documentary, titled The Lost World of Lake Vostok. By the time it was finished, Vostok Juncture was born, a flash of crazy story images too strong to be denied. It had to be written as soon as possible.
Q: Did you see it as a precursor to The AntiCorp?
A: Not at the beginning. Vostok Juncture had fantastic possibilities for action. I'd also fallen in love with two movies, both called The Thing, about men in an Antarctic camp, stuck with an alien creature that ate and replaced them one by one. Trust was hard to come by. There was nowhere to run. The Vostok Juncture provided the elements necessary for me to create a similar situation. The connection to AntiCorp came as an afterthought. I was dead-set against writing another sequential series. I wanted each book to be a stand-alone read. My solution was to position The Vostok Juncture at a specific point in time, within the AntiCorp storyline. The two stories are connected but not dependent on each other.
Q: What made you choose action as the genre?
A: I always liked action stories but never imagined myself as an action writer. Writing and, more importantly, editing the Caves of Etretat introduced me to the importance of pace. I chased that concept, sacrificing detail to find it. The series was an amalgam of genres and action was developed as a counterpoint to balance less energetic scenes. Reviews from readers convinced me they enjoyed the action more than the rest. This pushed me towards writing a pure action story, where everything else would be in the background. The result is quite satisfactory, convincing me to keep action as the main genre for other stories.
Q: The Vostok Juncture seems straightforward on the surface but is it really?
A: The story is tricky. I wrote it without flashbacks or time interruptions. It moves forward unstoppably, following the events in Vostok Station for about two days, which is what makes it seem straightforward. However the story itself is inverted, following the antagonists rather than the protagonist. If you were to push it further, you could say none of the main protagonists are even there in the story. The megacorps and AntiCorp are the ones calling the shots but only their proxies are present. All we really follow is a bunch of peons doing what they were told and hoping to survive. Who can the reader root for?
Q: So no Hollywood ending then. Isn't that risky in a book?
A: I don't write books to make readers feel good. I write books to entertain them. I believe the only way to do that is to push the envelope. Don't stick to the usual storylines, twist them around. Add levels of complexity to the story, play games with the readers. I went to extremes doing that in the Caves of Etretat series. Strangely, the main issue I explored back then was good versus bad. Is there even such a thing or is it all subjective perception? I took four books to answer those questions. The same issue is addressed here, making readers question long-established concepts. Also, for those uncomfortable with my extreme ending, I wrote an alternate ending providing a more 'Hollywoody' outcome.
Q: Are you planning any other books?
A: There is another interloper. It almost gained the upper hand over Vostok Juncture. I fought it off for a year but I long to go back to the 'Caves of Etretat' series.
Q: I thought the series was done. You certainly can't continue that story. It's a closed loop.
A: You're right. However, I can go back and fill in some blanks. For example, between books one and two, Weissmuller, the immortal serial kil
ler, took a two-week vacation. His main reason was to get away from the irritating O'Flanahan. I've come up with a humdinger of an idea about what an immortal serial killer can get up to in fourteen days. It should be a blast. If that one works out, I have a few other Weissmuller stories in the back of my mind. Check for it next year.
THE SIRENNE SAGA
Unknowingly manipulated to become the key in the final phase of a complex conspiracy spanning millennia, Paul Sirenne is led to discover hidden knowledge and gain fantastic new abilities, preparing him for an ultimate confrontation beyond the forces of good and evil.
The 'Caves of Etretat' series is a four book, epic adventure which follows Sirenne as he learns the answer to the primordial question: why are we here? Inextricably woven into actual history and intrinsically based on ancient esoteric principles, the series gradually reveals an alternate perspective on the nature of reality, explaining the why and the how of our existence through Sirenne's personal evolution.
Delve deeper into the mysteries of Paul Sirenne's story in all four books:
Book One: The Caves of Etretat
In the first novel of the series, Paul Sirenne uncovers a lost family secret, leading him on a historical treasure chase, shortly after his father is found brutally murdered. Assisted by three friends via the internet and hunted by a serial killer, he ends up in touristic Etretat, France, on the trail of a hundred year old mystery, hidden in Maurice Leblanc's book 'The Hollow Needle'. Falling in love with Leblanc's great-granddaughter and running at a breakneck pace, he deals with puzzles, theories, codes and historical mysteries, leading him to believe that Leblanc held a secret war against Adolf Hitler for the control of an incredible complex of caves hidden next to Etretat.
The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four Page 31
