Forgotten Origins Trilogy - Box Set: Infected, Heritage, Descent

by Tara Ellis

  I untie the cord wrapped around the top of the sack. As the knot slips off, the cloth drops down, revealing something that looks like a metallic box, shrink wrapped inside a thick, black plastic. I was expecting something old or ancient looking, like everything else has been up until now, so I’m surprised by it. Reaching out, I unzip the plastic, breaking the seal. As the shrink-wrap expands, releasing its grip on the box, I look at the darkening woods behind us, paranoid that we aren’t alone. I quickly pull the plastic off, eager to get this done and get back home to Jacob.

  The large box is a foot tall and long, with no obvious way to open it. It looks like one of those fire safes and I know Dad kept something similar in the back of the closet in his office. I’ve seen inside that one several times though, including before his funeral to retrieve his will. That one opens with a key, but I don’t see a key hole anywhere on this. Imbedded in the top is a three-inch square black screen, with what looks like one small button. I push it, and a blue grid lights up across the screen. I look up at Chris, unsure of what to do next.

  He’s studying it, his face dark in the gathering shadows. “Put your thumb on it,” he says finally.

  The screen has gone dark, so I push the button again, and this time when it lights up, I place my right thumb in the middle of the grid. At first, nothing happens, but then there is a slight mechanical, whirring sound and a click as the lock on the lid is released. “How …”

  “He was your dad,” Chris interrupts. “He could have gotten your print from any number of things.

  Not wanting to waste any time discussing it, I open the lid and look inside. There is a purple velvet sack, like what you expect to find precious jewels in, holding something large and round. Reaching in, I pick it up. It’s slightly smaller than a bowling ball, but just as heavy. Perplexed, I awkwardly remove the velvet as I hold it against my body and am so unprepared for what I see that I almost drop it.

  Staring up at me is a perfectly carved skull out of what appears to be crystal. I look at Chris, mouth open, and to my amazement, he starts to laugh.

  “Are you serious?” he says, reaching out for the carving. “A crystal skull? Just when you think it can’t get any weirder.”

  Handing it over to him, I watch as he holds it up, examining it. Having been a member to one of the biggest conspiracy theory websites, I am of course familiar with the legendary crystal skulls. Thirteen of them have been found in different parts of the world and some believe them to be anywhere from 5,000 to more than 30,000 years old. Others think they are a hoax, but the jury is still out.

  There is actually quite a following for some of the different theories, including the lost civilization of Atlantis, or that they stem from some super ancient society and are computers. I can’t believe that I am looking at what seems to either be one, or a great copy of one. The only difference that I can see is that on the forehead there is a carving of a pyramid, with rays coming out from it, very similar to the carving on the medallion. I reach subconsciously for the weight at my neck, touching it through my shirt to assure me it’s still there.

  “You know about the whole crystal skull thing?” I ask Chris as he stands up, cradling the skull in his arm.

  “Sure I do. I’ve read a lot about it. There are even some Native American legends surrounding them,” he explains as he steps out of the blind and into the fading light of the day. Holding it out to get a better look at it, the sun hits it, and we both marvel at the display of prisms reflected through it. So it’s definitely quartz crystal.

  Going off instinct, I take the skull from Chris and with some effort, hold it so that the thin rays of sunlight hit the statue at the base of the skull. As it begins to glow, I see that the intricate surface carving is redirecting the light, bouncing it off the many angles until it comes out the front of the carved pyramid in a solid beam.

  Realizing my head is in the way of the beam, I move it to the side and then follow the light, almost dropping the crystal again. Chris gasps in surprise and moves in closer. Projected into the shadows of the trees, hovering in the air almost like a holograph, the prismatic light isn’t scattered, but cleverly constructed to form an elaborate design.

  “That’s a double helix,” he almost whispers, in awe. “A strand of DNA.”

  I knew it had looked familiar, but now that Chris states the obvious, I’m overwhelmed by the implications. Unable to hold it up any longer, I lower the skull and watch as the blueprint for human design fades away. What right does that have to be doing inside an artifact that could possibly be thousands of years old? I look down at it, not sure if it’s good or bad. Since it was from my father, I decide not to throw it like the bowling ball it reminds me of.

  Setting it down carefully on the soft ground, I go back to the box and look inside, seriously hoping to find some sort of an explanation or directions. In the bottom of the box is a single piece of folded parchment paper. In the center, holding the sides closed is a very formal looking glob of red wax, the impression of the medallion carving clearly in the middle of it.

  Lifting it out, I wave it towards Chris. “Looks like you were right,” I tell him as he comes to sit next to me. “It must have been my dad’s personal seal or something.” A sense of urgency is pushing at me and I almost rip the paper as I try to open it faster than the wax will allow.

  Inside I find my dad’s unique script and my hopes rise as I start to read it out loud:

  Alexis,

  I knew you would find it! I’m sure at this point you’ll have more questions than I’m able to answer, but in case this is found by anyone other than you, I have to limit what I say. I know by now you’ll appreciate that. If the anti-virus were to fall into the hands of our adversaries, the damage they would unleash is almost as bad as the virus itself.

  It’s critical that you find Professor Alim Hassan. He would have been sent to replace me after my death and would have been in contact with you. You should know where he is.

  Go to him. Take the skull. He will be able to answer all your questions and explain what it is you need to do. Then you must go to the cabin and let its warmth guide you. Do not trust anyone else.

  You are now part of the “Khufu Bast,” or the “Pyramid Protectors.” It is your heritage, your bloodline. The medallion is the Mubarak family seal, passed on for 5,000 years to the first-born son, but now to my first-born daughter. The knowledge is sacred and protected, Alexis. Show this seal to Professor Hassan and he will know that you can now be entrusted with the information necessary to stop the spreading evil.

  It is a plague from an unknown world, maybe even the devil himself, sent to steal our free will and prepare us for servitude. We have risen against it before and with God’s help will do it again. Do not lose faith, Alex. I love you-

  Dad

  Silence hangs between us for a couple of minutes. Finally, I re-fold the paper and put in the pocket of my backpack. I look at Chris then, and am encouraged to see him gathering all our things with purpose, the despair so obvious before now replaced by hope.

  Setting the safe back under the floorboards, he slides the skull into its bag and places it in his backpack. Lifting it up onto his shoulders, he then reaches out a hand to me. I take it and he pulls me to my feet.

  “We have to get back to Jacob as fast as possible,” I say to him, already headed back the way we came. “We’re leaving. Tonight.”

  “You know where this professor is?” he asks as we trot along the edge of the murky water, sensing that I’m not ready to talk about the note.

  “Yes. He’s the one that called the other day; I remember now where I’ve heard that voice. He’s the same man that was at Dad’s funeral and gave us Baxter as a gift. He came over a few more times afterwards and had dinner with us once. I thought he was weird though and caught him snooping in Dad’s office. He said he and Dad were childhood friends and taught at the University together. After Dad moved here the professor went on to get his PhD in biology, genetics I think. Says he doesn
’t like to be called doctor because he will always be a teacher. I’ve never been to his house, but I know where it is.” Almost falling over a stump, I catch myself and then run to catch up with Chris.

  As we turn onto the game trail, I see that the sun is almost below the tree line now and my newfound hope gives way to fear. Mom will be home soon and I know with certainty that my little brother is in danger. I should have never left him alone. I begin to run and pass Chris, my legs carried by desperation.

  NINETEEN

  The ride home is torture. An overwhelming need to get to Jacob has grabbed me and won’t let go. I’m already driving ten over the speed limit and it takes all my will to keep from going faster. We can’t take the risk of being pulled over, not now. It’s safe to assume that most, if not all of the police force are Shiners. I still plan on calling the authorities, but after I have Jake and know that he’s safe.

  Chris is sitting silently beside me. We left his car back at the parking lot. We would be coming back this way to go to the professor’s house, and I have more gas than he does. No sense taking both vehicles.

  We haven’t said much since leaving the woods. In a way, I’m grateful. This is taking me awhile to make sense of. I am thinking of the other people in my life that I love, in addition to my mom and brother. I’m actually relieved now that Missy and my grandparents were sick. At least I don’t have to worry about them being killed. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I speed up just a bit more.

  “He used the word ‘anti-virus,’ ” Chris says next to me, making me jump.

  Thinking back over the message, I try to remember what it said. “Something about it falling into the hands of our adversaries, that it would almost do as much damage as the virus?” I ask.

  “Yes, pretty much. When I read up on the viruses, they talked about reverse-engineering. If you can isolate the genetic material, you can use it, manipulate it. Can you imagine what someone could do with this virus?” He looks at me from the passenger seat, and I marvel at his ability to see the bigger picture. All I can focus on right now is getting around the next curve, and he’s thinking about reverse engineering a virus. Amazing.

  “I don’t know, Chris. Honestly, I’m not looking that far ahead right now. I guess that might explain though why this is all so secretive. Obviously, the Khufu Bast is a secret society, and there is at least one other group trying to find whatever it is they have. Why didn’t he just tell me though? Or at least leave something a bit more obvious behind that I would find sooner so we could have prevented all of this?”

  “It wouldn’t have been safe to do it before the meteor shower,” Chris suggests.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, still not getting it.

  “They killed your dad, Alex. They obviously knew about the virus, and that your dad had access to this anti-virus. I’m thinking that whatever he’s leading us to is a critical link in stopping the infection, and whoever killed him did so to keep that knowledge from getting out. They would have been watching you. Waiting for you to lead them to it.” That thought creeps me out a bit, and I wonder if he might be right.

  “I’ll bet you that they were well prepared to escape before the Holocene shower,” he continues. “I think they want to use it, not be controlled by it. They’ll probably lay low until the initial phase is over. Once all the symptoms of this “flu” are gone, the carriers won’t be contagious by the air-borne method anymore. It’ll only be blood borne.”

  “What if they aren’t in hiding, and are still watching me?” I ask, looking in the mirror again. To my relief, I don’t see any headlights behind us.

  “They would have done something by now, Alex. Probably would have right away.”

  Not liking the idea of my father’s killers stalking me, I have to accept the fact that I can’t do anything about it right now. My anxiety amplified, we turn the corner onto our block, and as I push the garage door opener, I know immediately that something is wrong.

  Just ahead, sitting in our driveway are two strange cars. Chris and I exchange a knowing look and I hit the accelerator. My truck jumps the curb and I come to a screeching halt halfway in the garage, the door still slowly rising.

  Leaping down, I’m met by frantic barking coming from in front of the truck. As I run for the door leading into the kitchen, I pass Baxter. He’s tied up to a workbench, foaming at the mouth. I don’t have time to set him free because coming from inside the house is a sound I’ve prayed to never hear.

  My little brother, the one I promised to protect, is screaming. Not the kind that means he is hurt or mad, but the blood curdling kind born from the terror of death.

  My vision again narrowing, I am vaguely aware that I am inside the house and flying down the hallway. Time slows down and my hearing actually recedes, as I get closer to his room. His door is slightly ajar, the light spilling out.As I come up on my dad’s office, I veer inside and without even thinking, grab the loaded service revolver from the duty belt hanging next to the desk. Dad had taught me how to work the double release on the holster and I press the levers with ease. Holding it at the ready, I brush past Chris on my way back out the door, not even acknowledging him.

  Quickly crossing the hallway, I hit Jake’s door with my shoulder as I slam a bullet into the chamber. Raising the weapon, I take in the nightmarish seen before me. Two men that I have never seen before are on either side of Jacob’s bed, holding down his arms and legs. Mom is standing at his side, her back to me, holding a syringe over his bared arm.

  My head is filled with my brother’s screams. His body is writhing on the bed, the covers kicked off and scattered on the floor. “Stop it!” I yell, my voice sounding far away. “Stop it, Mom!”

  I have the gun pointed at her back only a few feet away … but I can’t pull the trigger. I can’t shoot her. Before I can determine if he’s been injected or not, she turns on me. With a speed that isn’t human, the gun is knocked from my hand. I’m propelled through the air and slammed into the wall behind me, her fingers at my throat.

  Her face is inches from my own as I begin to black out; the pressure against my carotid arteries cutting off the blood to my brain. Frantically pulling at her wrist, I see the syringe raised above me in her other hand and look in her eyes one last time. Shimmering slightly, there is only a casual curiosity at my anguish.

  As the edges of my vision fade away, she suddenly begins to contort violently. My neck is released and her face pulls into a hideous grimace as she falls backwards onto the floor. Standing behind her is Chris, my dad’s Taser in one hand, the fallen gun picked up and in the other. Two copper wires lead from the Taser and into my mom’s back.

  Turning from me, he confronts the guys advancing on him and unlike me, shoots without hesitation. Several shots explode in the room and the percussion breaks through my paralysis.

  I fall to my knees, rubbing at my throat, struggling to regain control over my body. “Alex!” Chris is in my face, yelling at me. “Alex, did she expose you?” Concentrating on his eyes, his nice, normal eyes, I swim to the surface of my consciousness and my surroundings start to come back into focus.

  “Alex!” he shouts again, and I slowly stand back up with his help.

  “I’m okay,” I gasp, trying to push past him. “I’m okay; she didn’t inject me with anything. Jacob!” He finally releases me and I stumble over Mom’s writhing body and towards the bed. Jake is curled into a ball, moaning.

  One of the men is lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, holding his stomach and making strange, gurgling sounds. The other one is sprawled across the top of the partially exposed mattress, face down and not moving. Blood is rapidly spreading out into the foam from under him.

  Chris hands me the Taser and scoops Jacob up in one swooping motion. As we reach the door, the electricity stops flowing and Mom’s body becomes still, her breathing loud and rapid. Pressing the trigger, I wince slightly as she begins seizing again. I can’t take a chance that she’ll recover faster than normal. I drop the device
and step out of the room.

  Chris is already disappearing outside through the kitchen door. Breathing hoarsely, I run back to Dad’s office and grab my rifle off the gun rack. Pulling out the top drawer of his desk, I take a set of keys and open the only locked cabinet. Quickly selecting two boxes of ammo, I race back down the hallway, the sound of the crackling Taser following me.

  Once in the garage, I pause long enough to untie Baxter from his leash and we both scramble into the backseat of the running truck, where Jake is. Before I even have the door closed, Chris is backing out of the driveway recklessly, taking out our mailbox, and clipping the bumper of one of the other cars.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob,” I whisper, pulling him into my lap. “I’m so sorry I left you. I should have never left you.”

  Tears fall from me uncontrollably and I sob out the last words. Struggling to wipe the damp hair from his face, I cup his cheeks with both of my hands. Forcing him to look at me, I search his face for answers.

  Tires screeching, we fly around a corner and then back onto the road that leads out of town. Chris turns on the headlights to push back the night and we accelerate up the country road.

  “Are you okay, Jake?” I beg, desperately wanting him to smile and just be my silly little brother again. To go back in time to the day we were sitting around our fishing hole, unaware of anything so evil and terrifying.

  But he just stares at me, eyes wide and full of knowledge a boy his age shouldn’t have. In answer, he simply holds his left arm out in front of me. Looking down, my breath catches. Panic claws at my throat and robs me of any encouraging words

  A small line of blood trickles out from a puncture wound in the crook of his arm. Baxter whines softly and pushes his way onto both our laps, sniffing at it. I pull the sleeve down on his Batman pajamas, covering the small wound, trying to hide the reality. I can’t help but think of a word used by my dad in his letter. It’s our bloodline. I close my eyes against the image and gather Jacob close.