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

by Tara Ellis

  Stopping, I try to get my bearings. I’ve been leading us for a while now, and hold up my hand to indicate to Chris what I’m doing. “What do you think?” he asks tiredly, shifting Jake’s weight from one side to the other.

  “We’re close,” I assure him, looking around on the ground with the flashlight. “I don’t see any sign of that path anymore, Chris. Maybe it doesn’t matter now, so long as there aren’t any ravines or big hills between here and there. Should we just try to keep going to it in a straight line?”

  “What else can we do?” He says logically.

  “I’m thirsty,” Jake moans, sliding down from Chris’s back. As his feet hit the ground, he stumbles and almost falls. Chris catches his arms and helps steady him.

  “Here,” I say, handing him the last bottle of water. As he takes it from my hand, Baxter begins to growl a warning. Startled, I direct the flashlight towards the trees he’s pointing at and gasp when a set of eyes a good six feet off the ground glow back. “Shiners!” I yell, panic washing over me.

  Chris moves so fast that I hardly register him scooping Jake up before he’s running past me, and I force myself into motion. Shadows come to life as I follow them and dodge low hanging branches, weaving through the towering trees. Darkness chases and then surrounds us, making it harder to see. Resisting the urge to look behind me, I expect to be grabbed at any second. This causes my adrenaline to surge through me and propels my legs even faster.

  Finally, I catch up to Chris, who is struggling to hold onto a terrified Jacob. He’s squirming, trying to get free and Chris is telling him to keep still. I’m about to call out to them when the tree trunk near my head suddenly explodes, sending out splinters, some of which find my face.

  Falling to the ground, I instinctively cover my head with my arms and roll away, waiting for the next bullet to find my back. When the impact doesn’t happen, I remember that I have a rifle slung over my shoulder and scramble onto my stomach. Propped on my elbows, I slide the backpack off first, and then bring the rifle around and up to my shoulder, chambering a round in the same motion. Struggling to see in the dim light, I try to distinguish the trees from other shadows and look for anything moving.

  “Alex!” Chris whispers, much closer than I would have guessed. Looking behind and to my left, I can just make out him and Jacob on the ground.

  “I’m okay!” I croak, looking quickly back in the other direction, sure someone is sneaking up on us. I wipe at something in my right eye and realize that it’s blood. Feeling my forehead, I find several cuts from the flying wood, but nothing serious. Nothing I can do about it right now.

  How did they find us? How could they have followed us or even known where we were going? Maybe Professor Hassan decided to get in on the movement early, or even more likely, the guy at the gas station called someone. I have a feeling things are more connected and organized than we could have ever guessed. If Mom really is a genius, then it wouldn’t have been hard for her to figure out that I wasn’t actually sick and was up to something. Especially if she saw that book. That would explain why I was allowed to go on for so long; they were just waiting for me to make this move. Feeling stupid, I scan the area in front of me with a great desire to shoot something. I hope my mom isn’t out there though, because this time I won’t be able to hesitate.

  Baxter must be guarding Jake, because he starts growling again from behind me and Chris tries to silence him. It doesn’t work though and the growling gets louder and turns into a high-pitch bark that I have never heard him make. My skin crawls as the fight-or-flight instinct in me battles it out. Finger on the trigger, I frantically search for whatever it is that Baxter sees.

  Sensing movement to my right, I start to bring my rifle around, but before I can, a shot rings out, immediately answered by my dad’s 45 that Chris has. He must have missed, because the Shiner steps out from behind a tree to get a better shot, but I’m ready. Taking aim for the dimly luminescent eyes, I pull the trigger and am assured by the following thud of a body hitting the ground.

  Holding the rifle in my right hand, I hook my left arm through the backpack straps and pick up the flashlight. Crawling on my stomach, I make my way over to Chris, who’s moaning. Jake is saying his name and crying, and I refuse to acknowledge what it all means.

  I quickly reach them and assess what’s happened. Chris is on his back, holding his side where blood is rapidly flowing out between his fingers. I put my left hand over his and look into his eyes. “You can’t leave me,” I say hoarsely, fighting back the tears. “We aren’t done yet.”

  Smiling slightly, he puts one of his bloodied hands on top of mine. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, Tiger Eyes, but you have to keep moving. I have faith in you, Alex. It’s what you are meant to do.”

  Encouraged by his words, I look around us, fearful that there are other Shiners and not knowing what to do next. Closing my eyes, I take a slow cleansing breath and try to listen to my instincts. An owl hoots in the distance, calling to me, and a slight breeze blows through my hair. The night then becomes very still and I am aware of a growing pressure, like the weight that I have been bearing is about to come crashing down. Chris is right. As hard as this is, there are bigger things happening and I have to move. Now.

  Untying my sweatshirt, I wad it up and put it under his t-shirt, over his wound. “Jacob,” I say, turning to him. His skin glows white in the pale moonlight that is starting to show through the trees. Eyes wide and glassy with fever, he looks at me with desperation. “I need you to push down on this like I am. Keep pressure on it. Can you do that?”

  Nodding his head, he places his hands where I show him and sits down next to Chris. I hug him tight, refusing to let myself think it’s for the last time, and then check the 45 to make sure it is ready to shoot and place it in Chris’s bloody hands. “There might be more Shiners. In fact, it wouldn’t make sense if there wasn’t. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll be okay for a while, I think.” he says softly, as I prop him up against a tree. Rummaging through our bags, I come up with the emergency candle, first aid kit, and flint. I place it all next to him, and then take the bag with the skull, and rifle ammo.

  With Chris and Baxter watching the trees, I risk clicking on the flashlight to look at the GPS. Amazingly, we ran in the right direction and are even closer to it now. Walking over to the fallen Shiner, I confirm that I hit my mark. It isn’t Mom. Going back, I shut the light off and reach for my rifle leaning next to Chris.

  Before I can pick it up, Baxter rushes past me snarling and leaps just as Mr. Jones comes into view, gun raised in my direction. Latching onto his arm, Baxter forces him to drop the gun and then won’t let go. I try and aim my rifle, but can’t get a clear shot. Jacob starts screaming his dog’s name, and I watch in terror as the man that used to be our friend takes hold of Baxter’s neck with his free hand. His intent is clear and there is no way I’m letting it happen.

  Rushing forward, I raise my rifle like a club and hit Mr. Jones across the head as hard as I can. With a sickening thud, he falls to his knees but doesn’t go down. Baxter releases his arm but is obviously dazed and making an odd wheezing noise.

  I take a couple of steps back and try to finish him, but he’s already moving with incredible speed in the opposite direction. I take a parting shot, but it slams harmlessly into a tree he just ran past.

  Reassured somewhat by the gun he left behind, I pick it up and hand it off to Chris. “Maybe he’s the last one,” I suggest. “I think they would have come at us at the same time, otherwise.”

  Baxter has recovered, and is growling again. Going to him, I place a hand on his loyal head and call him a good dog. He’s not having any of it though, and his agitation grows. I take hold of his collar and try to tell him to stay. I can’t lose him now, not after all of this. But it’s like he’s gone wild, and he starts twisting and pulling away from me. “Baxter! Stop it! It’s okay. Stay!” The worn leather collar he arrived with nearly two years ago can’t keep him back
any longer. It snaps in half and I am left holding it in my hand as Baxter heads for the trees.

  “Baxter!” all three of us yell at the same time. I glance down at the broken collar before tossing it and pause. Picking up the flashlight I had dropped, I look closely at the leather and then back at where Baxter disappeared. Burned into its underside is yet another image of the vulture.

  “I have to follow him!” I tell Chris, and toss the strap at him as I run off after my dog, my loyal friend that was always meant to see me through this to the end.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Crashing through the woods with my rifle at the ready, I’m trying my best to keep sight of Baxter up ahead of me. Every once in a while he’ll pause and look back at me to make sure I’m still there, but he isn’t wasting any time.

  I try not to think too much. We are beyond things making sense and so I just follow my dog with the confidence that he will take me to the pyramid. Knowing that Chris and Jacob are left somewhere in the mountains behind me, spurs me on and gives me more energy than should be possible.

  After ten or fifteen minutes, I jump over a fallen cedar tree and almost trip over Baxter who is sitting on the other side. Tongue hanging, eyes bright, he looks at me expectantly. “What?” I ask him.

  He barks at me once in response, shuffles to his right a few feet, and then barks again. Feeling exposed, I remove the backpack and take out the GPS. Hating to turn the flashlight on, I look to see where we are and find that we are right on top of the coordinates. Feeling both excited and frustrated, I turn the light away from me and start looking around.

  Mostly surrounded by trees, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. I guess I expected to just walk into a clearing with a pyramid in the middle of it, but there is neither a clearing nor a pyramid. Stepping closer to Baxter, I notice that the steep hillside behind him is more than just earth.

  Dropping to my knees, I dig at the dirt with my hands. The soft, loamy soil comes up easily and ten inches down, I encounter smooth, flat rock. Standing up again, I try to grasp what I am looking at. It isn’t a hill. Well, I mean it looks like one, but I don’t think it is. If the pyramid has been here for thousands of years than it could very well be reclaimed by the forest.

  Walking up the steep incline twenty feet, I again dig at the surface and this time it’s only six inches down to the same chiseled stone. There are trees here, but they are thin and the roots are exposed, like you would expect to see on the rocky edge of a cliff or something. I believe I am standing on top of the pyramid.

  My heart racing, I run back down to the bottom and start following the slope, looking for anything that might indicate an opening. “Come on, Baxter! Find the door!” I call to him, hoping that he understands.

  After a hundred feet, I encounter large rocks jutting out, covered in moss. Running my hands over them, I notice that although the corners are worn and rounded, it’s clear that these used to be symmetrical blocks of stone, spaced about ten feet apart. Tearing at the branches, roots, and vines growing and hanging down in between them, I know that I’m standing at the entrance.

  Once I have made an opening large enough to fit through, I turn the flashlight back on and call to Baxter.

  Alexis

  Jumping back, I aim the light into the darkness beyond, where my whispered name came from. I can’t see anything, and so step through towards my destiny.

  The passageway is long and narrow, reminding me of the tunnel in my dreams. Looking carefully at the rock walls on either side of me, I am not surprised to see hieroglyphics. After a couple of bends to the right and then the left, it opens up into a large central chamber, the ceiling too high above me for the weak light to reach. The fluttering of wings assures me that I am not alone.

  My breath coming now in quick, ragged gasps, I move to the center of the room. To my dismay, there isn’t any obvious sign of where I’m supposed to place the skull. Slipping the straps off my shoulders, I’m thankful to set it down and carefully remove the crystal skull. Not sure what I should do next, I put it on the dirt floor.

  Baxter comes to me, sniffing. He looks at the skull and then me, trying to figure out whether he should be concerned or not. Chuffing, he moves past me and starts walking in a circle, nose to the floor. His excitement growing, he begins to dig and I silently watch him.

  As some sort of rock formation comes into view, I get in on the action and start to claw at the dirt alongside him. Before long, we’ve uncovered a platform about 1x1 foot. My first thought is that I should place the skull in the middle, but when I run my hand over it to wipe off more of the dirt, I realize there is a small depression in the center. Getting down close to it, I blow some dirt out of the small crevasses and then use the flashlight to inspect it.

  It is indeed an impression, and if I’m right, it’s the reverse of the image on my wooden medallion. Our family crest. My hands shaking, I pull it out from under my shirt and slip the chain over my head. As I suspected, it’s a perfect fit, and as it slides into place, there is a deep, booming click from far under me and the ground shudders. I cry out in alarm when the whole floor starts to drop away from the walls, and I find myself descending below the surface like an ancient elevator.

  After ten feet, I see new walls take shape and torches spaced around the newly formed room flash to life. I’m guessing the fresh oxygen created some sort of chemical reaction. Five more feet and it groans to a stop and I can clearly see another entrance on the far side of the huge, underground room.

  Afraid to remove the medallion in case it might make us rise back up, I leave it there and pick up the skull. There are more torches leading down another hallway on the other side of the opening, so I head that way.

  With Baxter walking softly beside me, we follow the light and go another couple hundred feet before reaching yet another room. This one is even larger than the first, but brightly illuminated with what must be a dozen torches. Looking more closely at them, I see that it isn’t even fire, but some sort of gas burning. Or at least, that is the closest comparison my brain can come up with. I remind myself that this was built with technology greater than what we have today, and don’t waste any time trying to figure it out.

  In the center is what appears to be a huge spiral staircase, also illuminated. Crossing to it, I look up into its depths and feel a strong sense of peace wash over me. I start to climb.

  It seems like forever that I am ascending the stairs, and I wonder how something made of stone could be so tall yet not fall over. Just when I think that I can’t make it another step, I break through into a room and I’m disoriented for a moment. The floor is covered in what were once rich, woven mats, the walls angling to a point fifty feet above me in what has to be the top of the pyramid. The stone is decorated with familiar, ancient hieroglyphs mixed in with double helix DNA strands and other odd shapes that I’ve never seen before.

  Set in one of the three walls, across from the stairwell, is a recessed space two feet square and three feet off the floor, filled with light. I am drawn to it, and my breath catches in my throat when I see a hollowed nook in the floor of it that I am betting to be a perfect match with the skull.

  Relieved to be rid of its weight, both literal and implied, I gingerly set the crystal in place. It fits like I knew it would. Leaning my rifle and flashlight against the wall, I step back to look at it and notice a finely carved wooden crucifix attached to the wall just above the opening. I know that it had to have been put there by either the last sentinel during the 1700’s or else my dad, since this pyramid was built before Christ was even born and Christianity wasn’t known here until then. Seeing it helps solidify in my mind that God’s plan has always been to set us free, and that it is my father’s final marker. I made it.

  With renewed hope, I look at the blood on my right hand … my blood, and face the skull. Closing my eyes, I send a prayer for success, then reach out, and smear it across the pyramid on the skull’s forehead.

  TWENTY SIX

  Nothin
g happens. Crouched down, I am at eye level with the skull, staring into its empty sockets. I expected it to at least light up or something, but there is no indication that anything changed. “No, no, no,” I mutter, backing away from it. This can’t end like this. It has to work! Clawing desperately at the clotting wounds on my forehead, I manage to get a fresh supply of blood oozing down my face and run my fingers through it. Maybe it was just too dry.

  Stepping back up to the skull, I wipe the wet blood over the pyramid carving. Then, for good measure, I smear it around the whole thing, in case it’s supposed to go somewhere else. Now it looks like it’s wearing some macabre war paint and has a sinister appearance. Shaking my head at its lack of activity, I don’t know what else to do. I wish that Chris were here. He would have an idea. He’s the smart one.

  “Having problems, dear?”

  I spin around at the raspy voice behind me and discover that Mr. Jones is emerging from the stairwell. Baxter’s hair rises on his back, and he growls menacingly. That Baxter didn’t even hear him coming proves how stealthy the Shiners are. I can’t help but notice the large hunting knife in his left hand, the odd light from the torches glinting off the metal.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, looking around the room for anything I can use as a weapon. I chastise myself for setting the rifle down. It’s too far away. By the time I could reach it, he’d be on me. Other than the mats, the floor is bare. He begins walking slowly, tauntingly towards me with that odd grin on his face. Baxter must sense that he is at a disadvantage and stays by my side instead of attacking.

  “Because this is what the world needs. A time of renewal and union. Once we are ready, they will come back, and we can’t let you stop it.” He shouts the last words, his eyes glowing brighter, the grin turning to a sneer.

  I back up to the wall, with the skull behind me and the cross pressing into my neck. I raise my hands above my head in a pleading gesture. “Please, don’t hurt me,” I beg.