Pulse

by Jeremy Robinson

  “We had hoped so,” she replied.

  The man thought for a moment, then headed for the cave entrance. “Follow me.”

  He led them through the large mouth of the cave, into the darkness beyond. The tunnel had been largely clear of debris, but the floor was all but invisible in the darkness. If not for the light ahead, allowing them to keep watch on the man’s head, he could have easily left them behind. “You can lose the accents,” the man said. “I know you’re Americans.”

  Rook didn’t bother asking how the man knew, and didn’t argue the point. He dropped the accent and asked, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  Alexander Diotrephes.” He hurried on, into the light.

  They entered a large chamber, lit by several standing halogen lamps. The floor was covered in a grid of intersecting strings—an all-out archaeological dig was indeed underway. Several workers looked up at them, watching with suspicious eyes, but none said hello. Alexander waved to them and they returned to work. “Please stay on the path. A single step could destroy thousands of years of history.”

  Rook took note of the two-foot-wide path, lined by strings. It wound its way through the cave. Whoever had laid down the path had meticulously worked their way through the cave, avoiding any and all archaeological finds, which were marked by small, bright orange flags.

  “We have cataloged one hundred and twenty artifacts including knives, spear tips, and bone fragments. But our greatest discovery makes the rest of this seem trivial.”

  “The last holdout of the Neanderthals is trivial?” Queen asked.

  Alexander stopped in front of the rear wall of the cave. It appeared as though they’d hit a dead end. He flashed a smile. “You wear the symbol of our founder,” he said. “I’m sure you know his name.”

  “Herakles,” Queen said, using the ancient pronunciation.

  Alexander nodded, then stepped aside, revealing the Herculean Society symbol etched in the stone wall. He continued to the side and then disappeared into the wall. Queen and Rook followed after the man and found a cleverly disguised entrance that could only be seen up close. He waited for them in a dimly lit staircase. “What we have here is a citadel of sorts. This is where Hercules spent his last days on earth, teaching his ways to his followers, safeguarding his secrets and ensuring his status as a god among men.”

  “Then he wasn’t a god?” Rook asked as he followed Alexander and Queen down a winding staircase, making sure to keep a watchful eye behind them. If things went wrong, the cave system was a strategic nightmare.

  “Hardly. An amazing man. The most amazing man. Worthy of adoration and praise. But fully human. That is the legacy of the historical Herakles. The pinnacle of humanity. The bar for which we all grasp.”

  A solid wooden door blocked the way at the bottom of the stairway. Then he surprised them again by flipping open a faux rock and revealing a hand print identifying pad. He placed his hand on the pad, and waited as a blue light passed over his palm and fingers twice. The door unlocked and swung inward, allowing them entrance.

  The room on the other side was as modern as it was large. While the stone walls, stalactite-covered ceiling, and ancient carvings revealed the cavern’s age, the computer terminals, lab tables, and rows of refrigeration units spoke of a long-term, modern occupancy. If there had ever been evidence of Neanderthal occupation here, they had long since been crushed underfoot...or vacuumed off of the splendidly polished stone floor.

  Rook felt sure that this is what Pierce must have suspected. And with no one else around, it was time to drop the ruse and get some answers. Rook drew Pierce’s 9mm and aimed it at Alexander. “Sorry, buddy. But we’re going to ask you some questions and we’re going to need some answers. And fast.”

  Rook expected any number of reactions from the sizable man. He’d seen tougher men urinate, weep, and buckle at the knees when confronted with their own death. But Alexander reacted by grinning and chuckling. He knew something that allowed him to keep his calm, to the point of casually accepting the presence of a gun. He sat down on a stool, clasped his hands on his lap, and asked, “What is it you want to know? Hmm?”

  As Queen and Rook looked into the now excited eyes of Alexander Diotrephes, they failed to notice the two figures approaching them...on the ceiling.

  47

  New Hampshire

  Word about the man who had entered the blazing inferno spread through the campground faster than the fire could devour the house. The crowd swelled to nearly a hundred people. Women gasped as the story was told. Men explained why they hadn’t charged in. Kids watched with wide, nervous eyes. King made a mental note of the teenager taking video of the scene on his cell phone. If Bishop made it out alive, that was one video that couldn’t be allowed to make it onto YouTube. If he didn’t make it...

  King tried to ignore the possibility. But it had been nearly a minute since Bishop had entered the cabin.

  The whine of fire engines sounded in the distance. Plymouth was responding quickly. If the fire spread, the whole campground could go up in flames. Just as King began to focus on the possibility of having to evacuate the campgrounds, an explosion blasted a hole in the cabin’s roof. Smoke billowed from the fresh, four-foot hole. King shook his head in frustration. The place was falling apart. Bishop was—

  The smoke split as a figure launched from the hole, clearing the remainder of the roof and plummeting two stories to the ground. A sound like snapping branches shot out as the man struck the ground. His legs had broken from the impact. The man fell to his side and rolled to his back, as if protecting something in his arms.

  Despite the thick black coat of soot, King recognized Bishop’s bulky form. Thor did, too. The dog whined at Bishop. No one else would recognize him, though. The kid with the video camera would probably make a small fortune from the video. He grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as an intense pain racked his body. He rolled onto his knees, holding his torso up with one and still clutching the other, and a thick blanket, to his chest.

  King walked closer, wary despite knowing it was Bishop. Something didn’t feel right. Part of him wanted to run over and support his friend who was clearly in severe pain. But another part of him, a voice he wanted to squelch, but couldn’t, shouted just the opposite. Run.

  Bishop should not have survived.

  Still King moved closer.

  Bishop’s skin was twisted and bent. Beat red. Melted. The elephant man and Quasimodo combined had nothing on him. His breathing was deep and fast, rough and ragged. Primal. Frantic. He had been altered, inside and out, reshaped by flame into a monster.

  The crowd saw this, too, and stepped back as King took another step forward. Motion on Bishop’s face stopped him. Something was changing.

  A woman hollered in fear and pushed her way back through the crowd. She’d seen what King was now seeing. Something impossible.

  As Bishop began to bellow—in rage or pain, it was impossible to tell—his charred skin flaked away before their eyes, falling to the dirt road like soft feathers. Some pieces were caught by a breeze and carried off above the crowd. People ducked and shouted as the burned, papery flesh hovered in the air. As the skin fell away, it was replenished by a new layer. Fresh hair grew atop his skull, which had been burned bald in the blaze. The red, gnarled skin on his face smoothed and straightened. Thirty seconds after leaping from a burning building, nearly on fire himself, Bishop’s shout sounded human again. He had been healed.

  As Bishop’s scream faded, King headed off the crowd before they could jump to any conclusions about the man in front of them. Good or evil. Angel or demon. Religious people tended to go one way or the other. Either way, he had to get Bishop away from these people. How he failed to realize Bishop had been injected with the regeneration serum on Tristan da Cunha was beyond him. He should have realized it when Bishop had taken the brunt of the explosion and survived without a scratch. The question was: Would Bishop lose his mind?

  As he knelt down next to Bishop, Kin
g could see smoke and steam rising from his flesh and burned clothing. The man had endured the horrors of being burned alive and survived. He kept his right hand behind his back, ready to draw his weapon if necessary. It would be an awful thing on so many levels, but if Bishop went regen on this crowd of people, few, if any, would survive.

  Placing his left hand on Bishop’s shoulder, he said, “Bish...”

  Their eyes met. When he spoke, his voice was like a growl. “I’m here. It’s still me. But if I lose control... If I become like the others. Use it.” He looked at King’s arm, still behind his back, ready to draw his weapon. “Take my head off.”

  Nothing further needed to be said. Both men knew the score. If Bishop lost control, his head would soon follow. It was the merciful thing to do. Bishop would rather die than hurt an innocent, or a team member for that matter.

  “The kids?”

  Bishop uncurled his hunched body as he stood. He held a ball of blankets in his arms. As he reached his full, towering height, the blankets fell open revealing two unconscious children, free from burns.

  The crowd erupted with cheers. A slew of “Praise Jesus” and “Thank the Lord” went up. The clamor was drowned out by the blare of two fire engines rounding the corner and entering the woods.

  “They...need to be treated...” Bishop said.

  “Take your time,” King said, taking the kids one by one and laying them on the ground, far from the blazing home. Thor licked their faces gently, then lay down beside them. Being compassionate wasn’t part of the dog’s job description. He was just being a golden retriever.

  As King checked the kids over, feeling for pulses, listening to their breathing and watching their little chests rise and fall, the crowd kept a safe distance from him and Bishop. He could hear them whispering about Bishop, but ignored their words.

  When King finished with the kids, Bishop took his arm. For a moment he looked enraged, but it could have just as easily been the discomfort of his quickly healing wounds. “There is no time.” He winced as pain shook his body. He growled lightly, tensed, and then returned to himself. “Knight activated his GPS. I was on my way to get you. He’s found something.”

  “Or someone found him.”

  “He could be in trouble.”

  Two firemen cut through the crowd and approached. After giving Bishop a wide-eyed once-over, they turned their attention to the kids on the forest floor. “What the hell happened?”

  “He saved them,” someone shouted.

  “They need to be treated for smoke inhalation,” King said. “They’ll live.”

  “Was there anyone else inside? I was told the home belongs to an elderly couple,” one of the men said, then looked at Bishop again. “And...is he...okay?”

  “The house was empty,” Bishop said. “I checked all the rooms.”

  “You...went in there?” the fireman asked, looking up at the burning cabin.

  With furrowed brows and anger in his voice, Bishop replied, “No, I always roll around in soot before I—”

  Before he could finish, two streams of water blasted the cabin as the fire crews attacked the blaze. But they were too late. The weakened structure collapsed. As the second floor and attic crashed down, smoke, sparks, and hot embers shot out among the crowd, sending folks scattering. The two firemen covered up the children, shielding them with their bodies.

  But when the smoke cleared, the two men who had saved the children from the fire, and their dog, were gone. The crowd searched the surrounding woods for the men, but they’d disappeared.

  Like angels.

  After fifteen minutes of slow, but bumpy, travel, the pickup truck came to a stop. Knight peeked out from the side of the tarp and saw the driver look up and wave. He couldn’t see the recipient of the wave, but guessed a camera was watching because what looked like a moss-covered rock wall moved into the mountainside and then slid away, revealing a subterranean tunnel leading inside the mountain. He ducked beneath the tarp as the truck drove forward. Looking through the back of the tarp, Knight saw the secret door close behind them as double sets of ceiling-mounted lights passed by on the ceiling above.

  He lowered himself down again and looked at his fellow passengers. After searching their bodies he discovered the gray-haired, liver-spotted couple were Doug and Linda Crowell. Both were over eighty and owned a cabin in the Pinckney Bible Conference Grounds. Both were alive, though severely sedated. What Manifold wanted with them was anyone’s guess. Neither were scientists. Doug carried a long-since-expired mill worker I.D. card. And given the amount of flour on the apron Linda wore, the only science she was currently involved in was the chemistry of making snickerdoodles.

  As the truck slowed, Knight peeked out. They were about to enter a large loading dock of some kind. He hated leaving the couple. They reminded him of Grandma Dae-jung, but staying would only get him killed. And their chances of survival dropped with his death. Knight slipped silently from the back of the truck and dove into the shadow of a support beam.

  The truck stopped in a brightly lit parking area. The driver and passenger were met by two more men dressed in security uniforms. Gen-Y. The four men joked and laughed as they casually pulled the elderly couple from the back of the truck, took them by arms and ankles and carried them away. After the group left, the loading bay went dark.

  Knight entered the space, comfortable in the dark, and checked the door. Locked. A dull green light caught his eye. He approached it slowly, wary of a motion sensor. But as he neared, he made out the shape: a downward pointing triangle positioned eight feet up on the wall. He searched the wall, finding the door’s central seam. He worked his way left and found a single button. He pushed it. It glowed bright yellow and the double doors slid open. A large freight elevator. “Going down.”

  Knight stepped inside and scanned the options. The levels were labeled by letters: G, L, Y, and P. He chose to start at the beginning and work his way through. After pushing the G button, Knight took out his silenced Sig Sauer and smashed the overhead light. Crouched in darkness, he waited for the doors to open again.

  Thirty seconds later they did. After his eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming in, he moved slowly into a hallway. A loud repeating pop filled the air. The sound repeated over and over, each time followed by a guttural grunt. His nose caught the ripe smell of human sweat and his imagination filled with images of regens, torture chambers, and human guinea pigs strapped to tables. He knew Manifold was fully capable of producing all three.

  He slid against the wall, approaching a four-foot-by-eight-foot window that looked in on the room where the sounds and smells came from. He took a deep breath and prepared to steal a glance. With a practiced quickness, he could look in the room, memorizing every feature to sort out in his own time. But when he turned his head and looked into the room, his head locked in place. What he saw was so outrageous, he couldn’t look away.

  48

  Rock of Gibraltar

  Alexander Diotrephes crossed his legs and leaned back on a lab table, cool as can be, and answered the first question Rook posed, “George Pierce is an archaeologist. A fine one at that. But his allegiances are in the wrong place.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Rook asked.

  “He is committed to revealing history to the world.”

  “You’re an archaeologist. You disagree?”

  “Did I say I was an archaeologist?”

  Rook thought about it. He hadn’t.

  Queen circled Alexander slowly. “And the problem with learning from history?”

  “History is doomed to repeat itself no matter how much we know about it. There were two world wars, virtually back to back, facing the same enemy. No one learned from the first war. No one doubts that there will be a third world war. It’s as much a part of our future as the wars of our past. But digging up the past isn’t just useless, it’s sacrilege. When ancient relics, theories, and...intellectual properties are dug up by archaeologists like Pierce, they automaticall
y take a kind of finders-keepers mentality. He believes that he has complete freedom to reveal what may have once been a closely guarded secret to the world. I simply say it is not the place of archaeologists to make such a decision.”

  “You expect archaeologists to track down the descendants of the original owners?” Rook asked.

  “Or the descendants of the grave they’re exhuming, yes. Do you think the pharaohs wanted to be dug up and displayed in museums, or ground into powder and sniffed like drugs, or sold at auction? The modern world talks about religious freedoms and protections, yet we so quickly ignore the beliefs of those who came before simply to satiate our curiosity. It’s offensive.”

  “Cry me a river,” Rook said, then looked at Queen. “I’m betting he’s a vegan, too.”

  That got a grimace out of Alexander. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “And yet, you come here, armed, and expect me to answer all your questions?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  A shadow fell over Rook. It hammered him in the back. He fell forward, losing the handgun beneath a lab table. A second form fell from the ceiling, but Queen dove out of the way, rolled to her feet, and raised her fists. But there was only Alexander, sitting with his cocky smile. She noticed his eyes flicker, ever so briefly, behind her. She turned and kicked out, catching her attacker by surprise. She was happy to hear a grunt and crack of bones.

  But when she turned to face her foe, it had retreated to the shadows. She could just make out the swaying head and shoulders, but could clearly see the yellow, reflective eyes.

  Rook crouched and dove for the gun. Just before his fingers reached the weapon, a dark hand reached out and snagged it. There were five fingers, but the cracked, gray skin and impossibly thick fingernails looked inhuman. Rook stood in a flash. He recognized the skin. These were the same things they found in Pierce’s office. He looked for it, but the creature had joined the other in the shadows.