Book of the Dead

by Greig Beck

  It can’t, it’s impossible, he thought. And impossible is what everyone kept saying. But he’d been there, he’d seen it, the thing that grabbed Frank, held him tight, and then pulled him struggling into the dirt. It couldn’t have been real. He must have been in shock, delusional, that was it.

  Andy crushed his eyes shut as Frank’s struggling, frightened voice continued to torment him. He remembered the fragment of skull belonging to Bill Anderson, and his friend’s screams took on a horrifying dimension. He tried to blank them out.

  He sat back, feeling nauseated. In the cave-in, they’d lost Jackson, and Matt Kearns and Miller had needed to pull both him and Captain Tania Kovitz to safety. The official report was that both men, Jackson and Frank, had been lost in the collapse – much easer to understand – much easier to believe.

  He groaned, not wanting to be here any more, and envied the professor. Matt Kearns had left, and he was here to try and clarify his geological findings, no matter how inexplicable they were.

  Andy looked around the room: it was stuffed with military types. Tania had invited him to this meeting just twenty-four hours after losing his friend. He felt like shit, but he guessed that if there were answers to be had, he couldn’t possibly say no. Besides, he liked Tania…liked her a lot.

  After he was introduced around the room, he had shaken plenty of hands, sat down, and took the offered coffee. No one sat with him, no one talked to him, and he was pretty much ignored. That suited him fine.

  Andy studied the crowd as he sipped his coffee. Henry Decker, the general, was top dog. He was large, square and, though the years had turned slabs of muscle to padding, he still looked formidable and sharp.

  Just along from him was Major Joshua Abrams in animated conversation with Captain Tania Kovitz. The tall man turned to stare back for a moment, before nodding and then continuing his briefing or argument with his officer.

  He watched Tania for a while – she was like a magnificent jewel among granite cliffs. Looking at her calmed him. Her brow furrowed as she spoke; she was obviously not happy with something the tall officer was saying.

  General Decker clapped his hands once. “Major.”

  Abrams crossed to an open computer on the long table. Andy dragged his chair over to it and began to tap at the keyboard. The far wall lit up behind them, and the room quieted. There was a map of North America, covered in red spots – continental measles, Andy thought. He quickly recognized that many of the dots corresponded to sinkholes he was familiar with. The first thing that struck him was the number – hundreds – and a lot of hundreds at that. The second thing that struck him was that the sizes of the red dots varied.

  “Too damned many,” Decker said his jaw jutting. He turned to Abrams. “Do you have a time plot?”

  Abrams tapped at the keys again. The screen went blank, and then a clean map of the USA was displayed. Another tap and dozens of small red dots appeared.

  “One month ago,” he said, and then pressed another key. The map became more crowded with dots that were twice as big.

  “This is two weeks ago.” Once more Abrams changed the graphic. This time they came back to the final screen; the dots were twice as big again. “And now we see where we are today.”

  “Exponential growth,” Tania said. “As time progresses, the sinkholes increase in size and in depth.” She stepped a little closer to the screen. “And as Mr Bennet has informed us, the ground, the subsurface, the entire geology of the areas varies little between most of these sites.”

  “You know, when we test drill a new geology, we use a small-bore drill – call it a string,” Andy said. “Once we’re happy with it, we use bigger drill kits. Thing is, we start small until we know what we’re dealing with or we get better at it. That’s what this thing looks like to me – the first ones were trials.” Everyone turned to him. “And whatever is doing them is getting better at it.”

  The silence stretched.

  “Whatever is doing them.” General Decker paced toward him. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? What the hell is doing them?” He folded his arms, scanning the room. “Anyone?” He waited. He lifted his hands. “Well, come on, people: thoughts, ideas, theories, anything? You’re supposed to be my best and brightest. That’s why you’re all here, goddamnit.”

  “Anyone know what an ant lion is?” Andy looked around the room at the blank faces. “It’s a little critter, a bug, with massive jaws, that creates a pit in the soil, and lies at the bottom of it. What makes its trap unique is that the ant lion softens the soil so that any ants unfortunate enough to fall into the pit can’t climb back out. They get grabbed by those massive jaws, and are pulled below the ground, where they’re torn apart and eaten alive.” Andy sat back feeling drained as he worked at trying to shut out his friend’s screams – pulled apart and eaten alive. He knew he’d never really be able to shut them out.

  Decker stared at him. Andy stared back. “Bugs.” Decker looked from Abrams to Tania. “Well, Captain, is that what you’re telling me you think it is? Bugs?”

  “No sir,” Tania said. “We’re still analyzing the samples we found, but we’re not ready to suggest any basis for the sinkholes or the other anomalies just yet.” She shot Andy a warning glance.

  Andy shook his head. “I didn’t say it was bugs, I’m just saying that something weird is going on down there, and something did pull my friend into the hole – right into the freaking rock and soil, damnit.” Andy was on his feet leaning on his knuckles and trying hard to rein in his frustration.

  “The birds.” He looked up. “Birds…Are there dead birds at all the sites? Suiciding?”

  “Yes.” Abrams said. “All of them…And that’s another mystery. We’re actually using the birds as an indicator now. The ground seismic sensors are useless at predicting these things. There’s no initial disturbance, and even during an occurrence, there is little vibration. But hours before an event, the birds gather overhead, and then just minutes prior to the land dropping, they simply fall out of the sky.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but no, they don’t fall…They dive bomb the site,” Tania said quickly. “As Mr Bennet said – they suicide.” Tania moved to the computer. “And that’s not all.” She called up another image of birds circling an area over water, and then in the next image, they were seen flying straight into it. “These are not sea birds, and they are drowning themselves. We’ve sent down divers and mini-subs where this happened, and we saw evidence of seafloor drop. It’s happening on both land and at sea, and, once again, no vibration.” She turned to Andy. “They couldn’t possibly see it, but they knew.”

  The seconds stretched, and everyone in the room continued to stare at the image of the birds. Decker broke the silence. “How? How do they know?”

  Andy cleared his throat. “Well, they have senses we don’t. Birds can detect a magnetic field, that’s how they migrate long distances even when there are no landmarks.”

  “Is this something you’ve come across before?” Decker asked.

  “In my fieldwork, I’ve come across highly magnetized soil deposits…and they can certainly throw off sensitive equipment. If it was more powerful, then it might just be creating some sort of magnetic field disturbance that affects the birds.”

  Decker nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well–”

  “I’m not sure,” Tania cut in. “Look at the ocean shot again.”

  All eyes turned to the screen. Tania flicked between surface and underwater shots.

  After a few moments, Decker shook his head. “I don’t see anything else.”

  “That’s right. I don’t either – where are the sharks and rays? These creatures have a highly developed sense of magnetic determination as well. If some sort of magnetic anomaly is strong enough to get the birds’ attention from the sky, then it should be an irresistible force for cartilaginous creatures below the surface.”

  Decker grunted. “Yep.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose. “So, maybe no
t magnetic, and here we are, back at square one.”

  “Maybe not,” Abrams said. “Captain, take us back to the time line, second to last.”

  “Yes sir.” Tania called back up the second-to-last dot image of the country.

  “Thank you, excuse me.” He took over, shrinking the image slightly and then calling up a page that had been scanned in. It too was a map of the North America, and red dots had been hand-drawn on it.

  “We’ve been fielding a lot of calls from the concerned public, and theories that ranged from alien crop circles, mole-men, and death cults, to, well, you name it and we’ve been sent it. To date, the cover story for all the phenomena – the bird migrations, bad smells, and the sinkholes, is that they are all related to weather pattern changes due to climate change. It’s holding so far, but for how long is anybody’s guess.”

  Tania motioned to the screen. “But then this came in. Notice where they positioned their red dots…and then.” He called up the final dot position of the country. Every dot hand-drawn on the map corresponded to an actual sinkhole location.

  “As I said, this was sent before they occurred.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “Last week it meant nothing – this week, it is the most compelling lead we’ve seen.” He looked across to the general. “Someone has reached out to us…from Syria.”

  “Jesus Christ. Is it a friendly, or are they doing this as a warning?” Decker ran a hand up through his hair.

  “They’re a friendly, we think. Doctor Hussein ben Albadi – an academic – he checks out. He says the sinkholes are all part of some ancient prophecy. He also sent this…”

  Abrams called up an image of a symbol. He paired it with the ones Tania had taken in the Iowa sinkhole: they were almost identical.

  “Yep, we got a pattern emerging here,” Decker said.

  Abrams nodded. “Albadi says he’s got further proof and an explanation about what’s happening now…and what’s about to happen.”

  The general turned slowly. “And exactly what is about to happen?”

  Abrams smiled flatly. “The end of the world, of course.” He then spoke softly. “Seems that to fully understand the prophecy, it needs to be read in its original language. Also there’re some vital components that need to be obtained; he can’t get to them, but he thinks we can.”

  “This might be the break we’re looking for.” Decker looked back at the screen. “You’re my science officer, Joshua; get a team together, whatever you need, whatever it takes, make it happen. We are about one more sinkhole away from a damned national, no international panic.”

  *

  Matt Kearns walked quickly down Cambridge Street, turned at Fifth, and then again into Thorndike. His apartment was a top floor of a weatherboard building – it had seen better days, but the street was leafy, he could walk to work, and it was well within his budget. Once he knew for sure he had a position at Harvard, he could decide then whether he would kick it up a level.

  Besides, he thought, since his relationship with Megan had gone down the tubes he didn’t need to feather a nest for someone else’s tastes anymore. Spartan was good, in fact: just a TV, bed and refrigerator was fine as far as was he was concerned.

  He opened the downstairs door, waved to Mrs Styles who always seemed to be lurking just inside, and climbed the dozen stairs up to his apartment. Inside he looked around. Spartan is good, but lonely, he thought glumly, missing Megan. Matt suddenly remembered the waitress from a few days back, and her smile. We’ll have to do something about that – best cure for heartache, he thought, cheering himself.

  He dropped his satchel, went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, twisting the top off, and then sinking into a battered brown leather armchair. He sipped, enjoying the coolness of the leather against his back after the warm afternoon walk. He had nothing on so could relax and decide later whether to go out for a few drinks or order in and then coach-potato it for the evening.

  He drifted back to the job in Iowa, and how the cave had collapsed, killing the soldier. They’d nearly all been killed – they’d got lucky. But he knew sooner or later his own luck would run out. He shivered despite the warmth – the sound of the old geologist somehow trapped in the dirt wall still haunted him. He’d experienced some weird things in his time, and this ranked right up there.

  Captain Tania Kovitz had invited him to a debrief with her superiors, but he had declined. The money had been good, but he was glad it had been a short job. He gulped a mouthful of beer, groaning as his phone trilled. He pulled it from his pocket, and glanced down – the caller’s number was unknown. His finger hovered over the cancel button for a second or two, but then, bored, he lifted it to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Matthew Kearns?” The voice was rich, deep and cultured.

  “Yes. Who’s speaking?” Matt asked, sipping again and waiting for the sales pitch.

  “Edward Mercer.”

  Matt sat forward, almost spraying beer across his room. Edward Mercer was the president of Harvard. Before he could even think about it, Matt was on his feet and smiling. He probably should even be saluting. “President Mercer, sir.”

  This has got to be good news, he thought, his heart starting to race. During his interviews he had meet with several of the senior faculty members and the executive team, but not the president. The man wouldn’t call just to give him the kiss off – he’d leave that to one of the plebs. He went to sip his beer again, but instead put it down and walked to the window.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” Joyful expectation welled up in his chest. He wiped his hand on his trousers.

  “Matthew, do you know what Harvard requires?”

  “Sure.” An easy one, thought Matt. “Veritas, or better said in the original and full Harvard motto: veritas, christo et ecclesiae – the Truth for Christ and the Church. Harvard requires the truth above all.” He smiled. Nailed it – next question?

  “Yes, that’s the motto. But that is not the major requirement of a modern university the size of Harvard. That is not the lifeblood that nourishes it, and us.”

  Oh-oh, he thought. Trick question: bummer. Matt sat down and reached for his beer. He tried again. “Good teaching staff?”

  “Matthew, also correct, but sitting above them all is the most important substance to a modern teaching entity.” He paused. “Money, Matthew; it’s money. With it, we flourish, without it, we shrivel and die.”

  “Money, of course. I was going to say that, but, you know.” Matt rolled his eyes and sipped.

  “I knew you were,” Mercer said. “Last federal budget, the government allocated eighty billion dollars to health research and development. We need to ensure that a large portion of that funding heads toward our own department’s work right here. The more we get, the better it is for our…students. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes sir, I do. It’s vitally important for our students.” And for a late-model AMG Mercedes pulled up in the faculty parking bay, he thought and toasted the air.

  “And as Harvard educators, we should do everything in our power to keep that lifeblood flowing, right?” Mercer said smoothly.

  “Couldn’t agree more, sir.”

  “Good, very good, because you can help. There is one reality, I’m afraid; the fact is, there is not really an opening at Harvard right now.”

  Matt’s stomach sank.

  Mercer went on. “And I’m sorry to be commercially brutal, but it seems you need us more than we need you right now. You’re a talented individual, but there are plenty of those who would kill for a professorship at Harvard.” He let that thought hang.

  “Hm-hmm.” Matt sipped again, feeling his opportunity slipping away. He’d try really hard not to burn any bridges by telling Edward Mercer what he thought of him, and the lucre-green lifeblood running through his withered old veins.

  “Matthew, people who succeed in life take chances, seize opportunities and make things happen themselves,” Mercer said with building enth
usiasm.

  Matt waited.

  The Harvard president continued. “And an opportunity has arisen. One that if seized could put you in the box seat for a full tenure, with all privileges and seniority restored. Straight back into the high-ranking fold, as it were. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like you’ve got my attention, President Mercer.”

  “I knew you’d be interested. Your file said you were a go-getter,” Mercer said, the words clearly delivered through a smile. “There’s a little fieldwork that needs to be done. Basic translation stuff, simple as that – Middle Eastern languages, ancient Greek, Latin, various other vocabularies and dialects…right up your expertise alley, I would say.”

  Matt shrugged. “Sounds straightforward; where’s the fieldwork site?”

  “Syria,” Mercer said quickly.

  “Syria?” Matt frowned. “Uh, bit of a war zone, right now isn’t it?”

  “Won’t be a problem. It’s away from all the major cities and the fighting – more out in the leafy suburbs. Matthew, this is urgent and important…especially for you. There’s a plane leaving for Aleppo tomorrow morning. You’ll be met by Captain Tania Kovitz, an archeologist, and will be introduced to the rest of the small team. You’ll also have a military escort, so you’ll be as safe as can be.”

  “Tania Kovitz? I know her.” Matt sighed, feeling a knot starting in his stomach. “How long is it for?”

  “In and out; probably only a few days.”

  Matt nodded. “And I’m guessing, seeing as this fieldwork will allow Harvard to improve its portion of the R&D budget allocation, that it must be a government job…military.”

  “Professor Kearns, Matthew.” Matt could hear the confidence in the president’s voice – the man obviously knew he was now hooked, and that it was time to reel him in. “All of that is way above my pay grade. There are people who are much better informed than me, just waiting to answer any and all questions you may have.”