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

by Tara Ellis

  TWENTY

  The professor’s house is a large estate several miles outside of town. I call out a direction to Chris every once in awhile, but it only involves a few turns. Most of my energy is spent trying to keep my composure for Jacob’s sake. I’m glad that he is at least talking now, but I’m having a hard time answering his questions.

  “Why did she do that?” Is the first thing out of his mouth, and probably the most difficult to address. “Who were those guys? Why was she with them?”

  “Shhh,” I tell him, when he begins to cry. “I’m not sure, Jake. Mom isn’t herself right now, you know. This virus is making people do really weird things. It’s okay though, they can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.” My guilt is almost too much to cope with, but I push back the rising black tide and focus on what is important. We have to make it through this and then we’ll deal with everything else.

  “What was in the shot?” he demands, rubbing at his arm. “Was it medicine? Why wouldn’t she tell me what they were doing? She hurt me, Alex!”

  I’m pretty sure that there was blood in the syringe, probably her own. I didn’t stop to examine it, but that’s what it looked like and it would make sense based on Chris’s theory about secondary infections. But I can’t tell Jacob that.

  “I don’t know, Jake,” I lie. Well, it’s a half-truth, because I can’t be sure, and he’s had enough trauma for one night. There’s no way I’m telling him what it most likely was. In fact, I don’t think I’m ready to accept it either, that my little brother could be lost to me too.

  “Hey! Were those guys dead?” he says abruptly, sitting up straight. “Did Chris kill them? Won’t he get in trouble?”

  “No, he isn’t in trouble,” I say calmly. “He was protecting us, Jake. We’re going to go see Professor Hassan now. You know, the guy that gave you Baxter? Dad left me a note that he wrote before he died, that said the professor would know what to do to help make people get better. He used to be Dad’s friend.” I’m hoping he won’t notice I didn’t answer the first part of his question.

  When I look back down at him however, I see that he has a dazed look and his eyelids are growing heavy. The shock of it all is taking its toll. Sleep might be the best thing that could happen to him right now anyway, so I pull him in a bit closer and try to keep him warm. By the time we reach the estate ten minutes later, he is sound asleep. I envy his ability to escape this living nightmare.

  Before Chris turns off the main road, I check out the back window to make sure there’s no sign of headlights behind us. We drive up a long, winding driveway that’s lined on either side by tall oak trees. Pulling into a large parking area, I look up at a beautiful, A-frame log house. Green lawn spreads away from it, ending at the darkening woods in the distance.

  Chris comes around and opens the back door. Silently, he reaches inside and effortlessly picks up Jake. As he takes him from me, I stop him with a hand on his wrist. “You didn’t have a choice,” is all I say. Pausing, he finally looks at me and I can see the turmoil he’s feeling inside.

  “Can you carry the backpack?” he asks, clearly not wanting to discuss the shooting.

  I pick up the heavy bag in response and drop down off the seat and onto the ground behind them. The sun is well below the horizon now, and night is setting in. The windows in the house glow warmly, confirming the impression I’ve built up about it as a place of refuge and protection. Now that we are finally here, I hope that we can get some answers and maybe even a few hours of sleep.

  As we walk across the wide front porch and I ring the bell, I can imagine how we must look, the three of us huddled there with Baxter sitting at our feet. The door is opened almost immediately and I recognize the pudgy, middle-aged man as the same one that came the day of Dad’s funeral. He had introduced himself as an old family friend from Egypt and we had never even thought to question it. When he moved into town later that year, he invited me out here for a visit but I never took him up on it. He’s barely taller than me, with short salt and pepper hair and a pointed beard. The graying hair on his face stands out in stark contrast to his bronze Egyptian skin. He stares at us down his hooked nose, over his glasses and looks as if he isn’t that happy to see us.

  To my surprise, instead of inviting us inside or asking why we are here, he simply kneels down in front of Baxter. Grabbing him behind the ears, he holds his face close to his own and looks intensely into his eyes.

  “Baxter, old friend! It is a pleasure to see you again.” Baxter chuffs at him politely, but rather than licking him like I would expect, he gently pulls his head away and sits back on his haunches, watching the professor.

  Chuckling, he slowly stands back up and finally addresses us. “Well, what are you doing just standing there? Come in, come in!” Chris and I glance at each other and then follow our odd host inside.

  The main part of the cabin is all open and includes the dining room, kitchen, and a huge stone fireplace in the family room. Towering ceilings make space for the wall of windows on the front of the house that I’m sure give an amazing view in the daytime.

  There is a large fire roaring and I’m finding it a bit warm, despite the cool air of the spring night. Limping slightly, Professor Hassan directs Chris to lay Jacob on the only couch in the large room. Jake stirs slightly, but with the light of the fire warming his face, he settles back down and doesn’t wake up.

  We go and sit around a big wooden table on the opposite side of the room so we can talk without disturbing him. A gigantic cat is perched on a bench near us, keeping a close eye on Baxter, who choses to lie on the floor by the couch. He in turn is watching the cat. I give him a look to let him know I’ve got my eye on him. He sneezes in my direction and places his head on his paws, pretending to be uninterested.

  “Your mom is sick.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. I look at the man who is supposed to give us all the answers and am not sure how I feel about him.

  “Yes. She got the flu last Saturday. Actually, I think it started Friday night, right after the shower,” I explain. Not sure what to do with the heavy backpack, I consider taking the skull out now, but instead set it carefully on the floor next to my chair.

  Nodding, he pushes back from the table and stands up again, rubbing his hands together and muttering quietly to himself. He seems agitated all of a sudden and unable to sit still. “Now you decide to come. Not this morning, not last night but now.” He’s looking at me somewhat accusingly and I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.

  “We just found the directions to come see you,” Chris says, his tone cautious. “We had no idea until this afternoon that you had anything to do with all of … this.”

  “Of course, of course,” he says quickly. “I’m sure you came as soon as you knew.” Seeming to accept the explanation, he sits back down and places both his hands on the table. “Now! I believe you have something to show me before we discuss anything further.” He looks at me expectantly, eyebrows raised.

  At first, I just stare blankly at him. Chris nudges me and points to my neck. “Oh!” I gasp, feeling stupid. Reaching inside my t-shirt, I pull out the seal and hold it out for the professor to see.

  Pulling his glasses further down his nose, he studies the wooden carving for almost a full minute. “Excellent! I knew Adam would have made the proper arrangements. Your father was a very smart man, you know. I had hoped that I would have seen you much sooner however. You’re a bit late to the game.”

  I am both relieved to have confirmation that we’ve come to the right place, but my unease is growing the longer we’re here. I look to my left at Chris, and my concern is mirrored in his face.

  “We came as soon as we got it figured out. It wasn’t easy,” I tell him slowly.

  “Ah, nothing involving the Khufu Bast is easy.” Removing his glasses, he spends some time cleaning them thoroughly with a large black knit scarf hanging around his neck. After replacing them, he studies me for some time. “You look just like you
r father, you know.” He finally says, smiling broadly.

  I thank him, trying to be polite but my patience is getting thin. There’s no time for small talk. “I need to know what’s happened,” I tell him bluntly. “We know that the virus outbreak came from the Holocene meteor shower and that it’s somehow changing everyone. People with purer DNA are less likely to be infected, but they’ve started using blood to make them sick now and are then killing anyone who is still resistant. I think my dad was involved in the Khufu Bast to somehow find an anti-virus?”

  “I am sure you have many questions,” he answers, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I need to start at the beginning. It is complicated.” Pausing long enough to make sure he has our attention, he finally starts giving us the information we’ve been desperately seeking.

  “Five thousand years ago that same virus was released just like it was last week, except for it started in a different location. Back then, our bloodline wasn’t diluted the way it is now. Egyptians were all of Egyptian decent, and so on. Some races were more naturally immune to the disease than others were. The infection rate at that time was much less than it is today. Those that were unaffected rose up against the changed ones and after a bloody battle, defeated them. Some were kept alive and used as slaves since they were very intelligent and nimble.

  “Historical records have been lost over the years and other information intentionally withheld or changed. But you need to know that there was in fact a highly technological society that existed in ancient times. Much more advanced than what we have today.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I had scoffed at the conspiracy theories I had read about this type of thing and now wished that I’d instead spent some more time looking into it. When it’s obvious we don’t have any questions yet, the professor coughs slightly to clear his throat and then continues.

  “The first great Egyptian pyramid is in fact a weapon. Its main purpose is to release an anti-virus that was developed after that first outbreak. A very elite society of high-ranking Egyptians was formed, called the Khufu Bast, or ‘Pyramid Protectors.’ Over the following thousands of years, as new races and colonies rose up on other continents, they would travel to them and share the knowledge of the pyramids with their leaders. A sentinel was then assigned to watch the pyramid, and to wait for the day of the prophesized meteor shower, to release the anti-virus. They knew that it would be during this century, but were never certain of the exact date. The Mayans thought they had it figured out, but were obviously off by a few months.” He chuckles at his own joke, but stops when we don’t share in his humor.

  “So why didn’t they just release the anti-virus on Saturday, if there are these sentinels all over the world?” Chris asks. “Aren’t they still protecting the pyramids?”

  Sighing, Professor Hassan taps at the table, obviously thinking about how he is going to answer. “It isn’t that simple,” he finally says. “You see, it’s a one-shot deal. If it were to be released before the infection was here, it would be rendered useless. For that reason, there were certain safeguards put in place to prevent that from happening. There is one pyramid weaponized on almost every continent. Some of the knowledge has been lost over the years so we no longer understand all of the technicalities of it, but basically, they are linked together and all of them have to be activated before any of them release the anti-virus.

  “Unfortunately, the location of the pyramid on the North American continent was lost during the small pox outbreak during the late 1700’s. You have to understand that by this century, there were not that many Khufu Bast alive and only one was assigned to each location. It was months and sometimes years between communications with those remote places. That pyramid was small, had been overgrown for centuries, and was unknown to the current native tribes. By the time the sentinel’s death was discovered, his body was long gone to the mountains, as well as the maps and other papers with the location of the pyramid. The only artifact recovered was the crystal skull. All we know is that it’s somewhere in the Northern Cascades in what is now Washington State.

  “Their whereabouts are protected with our lives and only allowed to be written in one place to prevent its discovery by anyone other than Khufu Bast. Back then, mapping techniques were still primitive. Of course, hindsight is 20/20 and I think there were many mistakes made that lead to our situation today, but they did the best they could. Amazing that any of us are left, really.”

  Chris excuses himself to use the bathroom and we wait for him to return. The information tumbles loosely around in my head, and I am trying my best to make sense of it. Pyramids, ancient technology and sentinels? I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone.

  Chris returns and our host looks at us expectantly. I’m not sure where to begin. “So was my dad one of the sentinels?” I might as well start there.

  “Yes, yes, he was here trying to locate the pyramid. I was his replacement after he died, but had nothing to work with. He was very good at protecting our secrets. For the past two hundred years, over a dozen of us have attempted to find its position. We’ve been close the last ten years, but it wasn’t until your dad called for a special meeting two years ago, that we finally believed it had been achieved. Without much time to spare, either.”

  “Why don’t you use a satellite or get the government involved?” Chris asks, never failing to see the bigger picture. That would certainly make the most sense.

  “The government!” The professor spits the words out as if they were foul and glares at Chris. “For the past two hundred years there has been another group forming, called the Mudameere.”

  “The who?” I ask, not recognizing the word. I know he is speaking Arabic, the native language of Egypt, since I had heard my dad use it before. But I don’t know the language myself.

  “It is Arabic, meaning Destroyer,” he explains. “Their sole intent is to locate our secrets and twist them around to their own benefit! They have been supporting and promoting their own within numerous governments, especially the U.S. For this reason, we have been forced to retain all our ancient ways, including documentation and communication. Everything has to be completely off the grid and either written or verbal. One slip and it could all be lost, the past five thousand years of effort and hardship, all for nothing. Meanwhile, the Mudameere have embraced the new technology and used it against us. We had ten members assassinated recently, including your father.”

  He looks at me as he says this and my suspicions are finally confirmed. I knew my dad’s death hadn’t been a mugging. “Why kill him?” I ask. “If they thought he knew where the pyramid was or had special knowledge, why not just take him, and make him tell them?” Chris nods his approval at my question and I’m a little proud of myself for thinking ahead.

  “They tried that before, multiple times when they first formed, with other Khufu Bast. It became obvious that we are trained early on in the art of torture and will not talk regardless of what is done. So they changed tactics. Instead of trying to unlock the final secret of how to activate all the pyramids, they decided to simply prevent us from releasing it. A goal much more easily achieved, especially since we still hadn’t found the last pyramid. When they killed your father, they successfully destroyed our final hope. Or so they thought. They watched you, you know.” He says while looking at me. I squirm a bit in my seat at the idea.

  “That’s why your dad didn’t tip you off prior to the Holocene shower. He knew the Mudameere would be watching and that it would be deadly if you were caught looking for it. They, of course, have since gone into seclusion. Thousands of them escaped underground with their food rations and other essentials, days before the outbreak. They will simply wait it out and then emerge to what they think will be a new and better world. One that they can take full advantage of the benefits of this virus without the side effect of losing their free will. They have geneticists and biologists ready to isolate and manipulate the viral DNA. Imagine it, a society of highly intelligent
, efficient sock puppets that they think they’ll be able to control. We shall see. We shall see.”

  He’s getting irritated again, and has begun to tap harder on the table, looking back and forth between us like he’s expecting something.

  “How do we activate it?” I ask hopefully, eager to get to the final point. If I’m right about my dad’s last message, I know where to find the directions to the pyramid.

  “Why bother?” he says loudly, his dark, bushy brows furrowed. “The Holocene virus is here. That’s what the scientists are calling it now. It has spread almost everywhere. Even if the anti-virus works, the Mudameere will already have preserved samples and will eventually unleash their own kind of evil.”

  I know that the professor is a scientist himself and understands what he’s talking about, but I find it hard to believe that he of all people would have given up. He should know more than anyone, especially as Khufu Bast, that if an anti-virus has been created before, it can be again. It doesn’t make sense.

  “It’s quite beautiful.” The change of tone in his voice causes me to look closely at him. “The virus, that is. A work of art. I’ve seen it, all of it. Studied it. I only had a few days with it at the lab, but even in that amount of time, I saw it for what it really is. Did you know that viruses have little bits of either DNA or RNA? Never both. There are over five thousand known viruses and most have just a few of these pieces. The Holocene virus has hundreds of both! I have been fighting to stop it my whole life. Devoted everything to it. I would have, too, if given the chance. But it’s too late now.”

  “What if it weren’t too late?” I plead, wishing he’d stop sounding like he admires it. “What would we have to do to release the anti-virus?” My voice has risen and my last statement comes out more like a demand than a question.