The Mayan Resurrection

by Steve Alten

  The whisper of her name reverberates in her mind like a tuning fork.

  Jacob rasps, choking on his own blood, ‘Free him.’

  She lays her son’s head down gently and stands. Grips his sword in both hands. Staggers to the calabash tree, its glow fading fast—

  —and thrusts the blade into the trunk with all her might.

  The Siren’s scream echoes in Mick’s mind, and suddenly the haze lifts.

  The Succubus is clutching her side where a stream of black ooze sprays outward like oil. She wheels around, her demonic vermilion eyes spewing hatred at Mick.

  No! Impossible!

  Michael Gabriel smiles triumphantly. Never underestimate the power of love.

  Another wound bursts open, this one in her throat. She flops on her back, gagging on her own excrement—

  —as an eternity of shackles are stripped from Mick’s being.

  *

  The heavenly glow of the calabash tree increases its brilliance as white bark melts into gobs of mucuslike goo.

  Thrashing about within this rapidly liquefying mound are two figures. One is Lilith, her pale flesh gushing an oily excrement; the second is Michael Gabriel, his torso held from behind, the Succubus’s fingernails digging into his back.

  ‘Get off my man, bitch!’ Dominique lashes downward with the sword, severing Lilith’s arms at the elbows.

  Devlin circles overhead, but refuses to get nearer to the painfully brightening light.

  Dominique drags Mick’s lifeless form from the tarry ooze. ‘Jake, he’s not breathing!’ She removes her mouthpiece and forces it past her soul mate’s blue lips and into his mouth.

  ‘Come on, Mick—breathe!’ She shakes him, then starts mouth to mouth, but is unable to resuscitate him.

  ‘Oh God, no … not after all this.’ Removing a pony bottle of air from her exoskeleton, she straps it over Mick’s face, then begins CPR—

  —as a second white light appears at her back, its unearthly glow warming her skin.

  Dominique turns. Her jaw drops open, releasing the regulator. ‘Jacob?’

  The brilliant light-force that is Jacob Gabriel rises from his deceased physical form, casting a heavenly glow throughout the spiritual dimension.

  En masse, the Nephilim gravitate toward the source.

  ‘Like moths to a flame …’ Dominique whispers.

  The energy from Jacob’s soul bathes their skin, miraculously washing away the gray soot, revitalizing their flesh. Limbs are restored, the torturous orbs dropping from their rejuvenated bodies.

  Dominique’s mind is in a daze. And then Evelyn Strongin’s words, spoken so long ago, are whispered into her consciousness.

  There is a Hell, Dominique, but it is not a real place. Those who enter the afterlife possessing negative energy reside in their own self-imposed Hell. Judgment, blame, and guilt can distort or destroy one’s own sense of self. Unless we allow love to purify the darkness of our souls, Hell can be a very forbidding place.

  ‘Love …’

  Tears of joy pour from Dominique’s eyes as, one by one, the lost souls of New Eden’s colonists, held so long within their self-imposed purgatory of guilt and shame—smile … then disappear in a blink of heavenly white light.

  Devlin hovers above the melee, flapping his wings, screeching at the top of his lungs. ‘No! Get away from him! Leave him be!’

  The remaining Nephilim push in tighter, desperate to embrace their newfound savior.

  And then they are gone, all but Jacob, who moves toward her, bathing her in his loving light.

  The alabaster ooze from the calabash tree melts like snow as it is kissed by Jacob’s angelic glow, restoring Lilith’s earthly beauty, healing her wounds.

  Jacob kneels by Lilith. Touches her face.

  Lilith opens her eyes, now filled with a childlike innocence. She looks up at Jacob and smiles.

  Jacob takes Lilith’s hand, then turns to his mother. He points to Mick, who is now breathing on his own. ‘Be happy.’

  Dominique chokes on the lump in her throat. ‘I love you.’

  Jacob smiles. And then he and Lilith are gone.

  Mick groans.

  Dominique rushes to his side. She strokes his thick mane of silver-gray hair and stares into his brilliant, azure-blue eyes, recognizing the look of schizophrenia. ‘My poor baby, what did they do to you?’

  The Underworld rumbles like thunder. Crimson flames shoot out from the serpent’s open mouth, an emerald eruption of energy still pouring from the fifth-dimensional conduit. The subterranean ceiling is fragmenting, exposing curtains of brilliant white light.

  Devlin snarls at her from the edge of the pit. Spreading his wings, he dives into the maelstrom.

  And then everything is gone.

  Dominique finds herself kneeling by the edge of the artificial lake, back on the planet’s surface. Hurricane-force winds howl in her ears, threatening to swoop her up into its vortex. She looks around, blinded by volcanic dust.

  Mick is lying by her side, the Guardian’s transport pod rocking twenty feet behind them.

  Stooping painfully, she positions Mick’s arm across her shoulder and half carries, half drags him to the spacecraft. She pulls him inside. Seals the hatch.

  ‘Computer, get us on board the Guardian’s transport as fast as you can!’

  The pod struggles to lift against the monstrous currents of air and debris.

  Dominique holds on, unable to think through the insanity of the moment as they are inhaled within the hurricane’s vortex. She squeezes her eyes shut, memories flashing in her mind as the space vehicle whips around the eye wall of the storm as if caught in a washing machine.

  Flash: She is back in the Miami mental asylum, sitting before her new director, Antonio Foletta, discussing her new patient.

  ‘Why was Mr. Gabriel incarcerated?’

  ‘Mick lost it during his father’s lecture. The court diagnosed him paranoid schizophrenic and sentenced him to the Massachusetts State Mental Facility, where I served as his clinical psychiatrist.’

  ‘Same kind of delusions as his father?’

  ‘And the mother. Archaeologists Julius and Maria Gabriel were convinced that some terrible calamity is going to wipe mankind off the face of the planet. Mick also suffers from the usual paranoid delusions of persecution, most of it brought about by his father’s death and his own incarceration. Claims that a government conspiracy has kept him locked up all these years. In Mick Gabriel’s mind, he’s the ultimate victim, an innocent man attempting to save the world …’

  Flash: Her first visit with Mick. The handsome paranoid schizophrenic with the ebony eyes moves closer, inhaling her scent. ‘I swear on my mother’s soul that I won’t harm you.’

  Flash: She is in the Gulf of Mexico, on a boat with Mick, after helping him escape. ‘Mick … back in the asylum when you asked me if I believed in evil. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘I also asked you if you believe in God … if you believed in a higher power.’

  ‘I believe someone watches over us, touching our souls on some higher plain of existence. I’m sure part of me believes that because I need to believe it, because it’s comforting. What do you think?’

  ‘I believe we possess a spiritual energy, which exists on a different dimension. I believe a higher power exists on that level, one we can only access when we die.’

  ‘I don’t think I ever heard heaven described quite like that. What about evil?’

  ‘Every Ying has its Yang.’

  ‘Are you saying you believe in the devil?’

  ‘The devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, what’s in a name?’

  Flash: Back in Chichén Itzá, on the winter solstice of 2012, the prophesied day of doom. Ennis Chaney grips her by her wrist, refusing to let go, as Mick walks purposefully toward the dead alien serpent’s open mouth—the entrance into the nexus.

  ‘Let me go! Mick, what are you doing—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dominique. I love you—’
/>
  He steps over the bottom rows of teeth and enters the serpent’s mouth … leaving her forever—

  Forever …

  ‘I love you Dominique …’

  Forever …

  ‘Ma … thank you. I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too, Manny.’

  Forever …

  ‘Be happy.’

  Forever …

  Her eyes flash open as she screams, ‘Jacob!’

  The transport ship leaps clear of the olive green whirlwind, climbs into the atmosphere, and races into space.

  Mick’s eyes flash open as he regains consciousness. ‘No … no!’

  Dominique grabs hold of him as the pod rockets higher. ‘Shh … it’s okay—’

  ‘No! I am One Hunahpu! I am One Hunahpu!’

  ‘Mick, it’s me, it’s Dominique—’

  ‘Abomination … trying to kill me … seeping into my mind … I am One Hunahpu … I am in control … I control my mind, not the Abomination.’ He tears at his hair. ‘Oh, God, oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God—’

  Dominique struggles to restrain him as invisible hands guide the ship toward the potato-shaped moon.

  Mick thrashes wildly, his madness like a raging tsunami. ‘My mind … a safe haven. My mind … protects me … a cave. Oh, God, let me die! I want to die! Let me die, let me die—’

  The moon-shaped vessel appears in the view screen, an immense eighteen-mile-long, twelve-mile-wide iridium transport ship, its hull pockmarked by indentations and one very massive crater-sized dent.

  ‘Abomination! Abomination! I will focus on the cave walls and not the exit and the Abomination cannot harm me!’

  ‘Mick, stop, it’s me! It’s Dominique!’

  A tractor beam grabs hold of the pod, guiding it inside a landing bay.

  The craft stops with a jolt. The pod’s hatch pops open, revealing the three Guardian elders.

  Mick is screaming, tearing at his harness.

  The female Guardian reaches inside the pod and touches her palm to his forehead. ‘Sleep.’

  Mick’s eyes roll upward, and he passes out.

  The younger male grabs his wrist, effortlessly lifting him out of the ship, hoisting his inert body over his shoulder as if carrying a small child.

  The female reaches inside the pod to assist Dominique.

  She pushes the female’s hand away. ‘You lied to us. Why didn’t you tell us this was Earth? Why didn’t you tell us the Nephilim were dead?’

  The female offers her a motherly look … as she touches her forehead.

  Dominique blacks out.

  An azure lagoon, surrounded by a lush tropical jungle. A cool breeze stirs the palm fronds.

  Dominique climbs onto the foam cushion, lies back, and floats.

  ‘Dominique? Dominique, dear, it’s time to wake up.’

  She opens her eyes, staring into the female’s face. ‘Where—’

  ‘Safe. On the transport.’

  Dominique sits up, feeling light-headed. The female Guardian helps her off a free-floating medical table, then points to a solid wall.

  A viewport projects upon the metallic surface. The image reveals they are traveling in outer space, the silvery red world growing smaller in the distance.

  Jake …

  Dominique turns to the female. ‘Jacob is dead. Why did he have to die? To save a bunch of evil people?’

  ‘The Nephilim were not evil, my dear, they were lost lambs, led astray. It was God’s will that they be saved. Jacob’s sacrifice

  saved his own soul and theirs.’

  ‘And Devlin?’

  ‘That, I cannot say.’

  Dominique rubs her eyes, thinking about everything. ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘The Earth we knew is long gone. By returning through the wormhole and into the past, we may yet be able to prevent the holocaust that destroys human civilization.’

  The female’s attention turns inward as she listens to an incoming telepathic message. ‘Come. Michael needs you.’

  Dominique follows her through a short corridor into the main compartment of the transhumans’ transport ship. She looks around, incredulous.

  There are close to a million of them—eight-foot-high cryogenic pods, set in countless rows on multiple levels throughout the eighteen-mile-long vessel.

  Dominique peers inside the frosted glass at the gangly being inside. ‘The posthumans?’

  The female nods. ‘Their souls are finally at peace.’

  She leads Dominique to an immense vaultlike door at the very core of the ship. At the female’s telepathic command, the door swings open, revealing the interior of a spherical chamber.

  The two women enter. ‘This chamber is a secured pod, its power source and life-support systems independent of the rest of the ship. Its walls create white noise which serves to shield its occupants from telepathic communication, in essence, rendering it a quiet zone.’

  At the center of the chamber are two drained cryogenic pods. A myriad of hoses and wires run from each machine into the floor, linking the pod to a series of enigmatic devices lining one wall of the room.

  Harnessed within one of these cryogenic glass chambers is Michael Gabriel. He is unconscious and naked. The elder male Guardian hovers over him, securing a series of star-shaped electrodes to points along his scalp, crown, forehead, solar plexus, heart, sacrum, and feet.

  Dominique moves closer. ‘What are you doing to him?’

  ‘The experience of fighting off the Abomination for so long has damaged One Hunahpu’s mind. The only way to restore his sanity is to rebuild his memories.’

  The female takes Dominique’s hand. ‘The posthumans’ technology gives us the ability to manipulate Michael’s mind, to place him into soothing, safe virtual-environments that will allow us to nurture him back to sanity. But the therapy requires a hands-on guide, someone who knows One Hunahpu intimately … someone he trusts.’

  Dominique stares at the empty cryogenic pod. ‘What do I have to do?’

  The male Guardian speaks. ‘We’ll place both of you under a light anesthetic, then link your mind to One Hunahpu’s using the posthumans’ virtual-reality device. Your consciousness will maintain complete control over the device, giving you access into One Hunahpu’s thoughts, allowing you to guide him through his rehabilitation.’

  ‘Why the anesthetic?’

  The male gazes at her with his piercing blue eyes. ‘The VR device will not activate until you enter REM sleep. The anesthetic assists in this endeavor. Since it will take many sessions before One Hunahpu begins to show progress, I suggest we begin the first therapy sessions immediately.’

  ‘Therapy.’ Dominique laughs nervously. ‘That’s how the two of us met.’

  The female smiles. ‘He loves you, my dear. The therapy will not only heal his damaged mind, it will allow the two of you to be together. Once inside the pod, you will not be able to distinguish your shared virtual existence from the real world.’

  Dominique is beyond exhaustion, her body in constant pain. ‘I think I could use a break from the real world.’

  ‘Remove your clothing.’

  She strips down, then allows the male to assist her into the pod. He connects the seven neural chakra links, then attaches a dime-sized anaesthetic patch to the back of her neck. ‘This will help you to sleep.’

  Dominique tastes a metallic bitterness in the back of her throat. She looks up at the Guardian elder, swallowing hard. ‘I’m cold.’

  ‘You’ll feel comfortable in a few moments.’

  The female leans over her and smiles. ‘Pleasant dreams, my dear …

  My dear …

  My dear …

  My dear …

  The male checks Dominique’s vital signs. She’s stable. We must hurry, before the star goes supernova.

  The male Guardian quickly connects a tracheal tube, intravenous tubes, and elimination hoses to Mick and Dominique while the female fits plugs into Dominique’s nostrils and ear canals. Is cry
ogenic suspension really necessary?

  This was all discussed. One Hunahpu’s mind is in chaos, but it is still quite powerful, and it still has access to the nexus. If left unbridled, it could potentially affect the ship’s trajectory through the wormhole. Placing him in cryogenic suspension is the only way we can shield his mind from the higher dimensions.