Children of the Fifth Sun

by Gareth Worthington

  “Not yet, but,” she began, “if I may?” Minya reached for the Antikythera device.

  The General nodded in approval, and Alejandro handed it to her.

  She placed the device into a rectangular depression at the top of the box. A light click sounded from the union of the two objects. She then moved the largest dial on the front of the smaller mechanism.

  K’in fidgeted, swaying from side to side and making a low-frequency warble.

  Kelly frowned at the creature. “Hey, guys?”

  His bid for attention went unheard. Minya moved the dial slowly and carefully. “Here, I align the symbols to make them show the coming of the gods.” As she spoke the final word, the larger box clanked open. One of the side walls had been hinged and now sat slightly ajar.

  K’in was becoming more agitated, nudging Kelly with his nose and blinking furiously.

  “Hey, guys. Moby’s not happy over here.”

  They weren’t listening.

  Minya carefully pulled back the box door and peered inside. A familiar blue-green glow emanated from inside. An orb, much larger and more complex than the one at Paradise Ranch, showed a vastly intricate network of vessels through its transparent skin—a neural network.

  K’in reared onto his hind legs, raised his head in the air, and let out a strange gargling sound. Every member of the group jumped in their seats and turned to face the animal.

  “What the hell is it doing?” the General demanded.

  “I don’t fucking know, but I’ve been trying to tell you for the last five minutes he ain’t happy.”

  “Keep it still—we need to make it bond with the orb,” the General said.

  “It? He’s not an it, K’in is a he. Just back the fuck off, all right. You ever been attached to one of those things? Well, I have, and it’s no fun. He’s scared, so just fuck off!” Kelly shielded K’in with his legs.

  Wiezorek leapt to his feet and pulled a P229 from its holster in the back of his pants. He pointed the gun at Kelly’s head. “Do as the General says, Mr. Graham.”

  “Oh, put the peashooter down, John Boy. Does your mommy know you have a gun?”

  “Wiezorek, put it down!” Freya stood between the young officer and Kelly.

  Tremaine picked up the conjoined devices in his arms and slowly backed away toward the door.

  “Wiezorek,” Freya shouted, before calming her voice. “Ethan, put the gun down.” She lowered her hands, hoping he would mirror her movement.

  He didn’t. Instead, he took a step forward and jerked his gun. “Do as the General says.”

  With lightning speed, Freya reached into the back of her combat pants, released one of the two Berettas, and pointed it at the young pilot.

  Simultaneously, the XO drew his own weapon and pointed it at Freya. “Now, Ms. Nilsson, you might wanna calm down. This could get messy. Why don’t we all just relax?”

  “Freya.” The General took a step forward and then hesitated, trying to quiet his voice. “Freya, put the gun down.”

  “Why? So you can shoot Kelly? I don’t think so.”

  “Freya, it’s me. Trust me,” he pleaded.

  “How can I? I don’t know who you are anymore.” A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it away and steeled her resolve.

  Kelly watched her nervously. He eyed the second Beretta strapped to her belt.

  “Stop this,” Minya yelled. “You have bigger problems.”

  The General glared at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I told you. There was good news and bad news. Bad news is I am funded by the Chinese government. I radioed them two days ago that I found something. They’re coming.”

  * * *

  An explosion tore through the back of the room. Metal and plastic warped and ruptured as the door ripped from its hinges and slammed into Tremaine. His skull was crushed by the force, his body was thrown to the ground like a rag doll. The devices he’d been holding smashed into the floor, shattering into their various components; cogs, wheels, and levers flew everywhere. The orb spilled out from inside the box and plopped onto the floor. Its translucent skin split open, releasing the fluorescent liquid.

  Several men in white combat gear rushed into the smoke-filled room, yelling and screaming in some Chinese dialect. Their gas-operated, Type 79 automatic machine guns were the only things visible in the smog.

  Kelly pulled the Beretta from the back of Freya’s pants and pointed it directly out in front of him.

  “Alejandro, Minya, Ilari. Get behind me.” Freya ordered.

  A single shot echoed out from the smoke. Ilari yelped and then fell silent. His body slumped to the floor, next to Tremaine. Kelly grabbed Alejandro by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him behind the group near to K’in, who was crouched down. Minya had dived to the floor and was crawling to the same spot.

  Kelly tried to see through the debris and soot, with no success. He could only feel the fear emanating from K’in.

  * * *

  A Mexican stand-off. The Chinese soldiers, the General, the XO, and Kelly’s group all pointed their weapons at each other. The problem was that Kelly was severely out-gunned. He had only one pistol, which he held nervously, his arms shaking. Conversely, the three Chinese soldiers in front of him were holding machine guns, and the General, XO, and Wiezorek to his left were brandishing two side arms each.

  Freya was standing to Kelly’s right, just a pace back, still clinging to her weapon. She was using her legs as a human shield to protect K’in, Alejandro, and Minya, who were crouched low to the floor, their eyes flicking from person to person. Tremaine and Ilari’s broken bodies lay in the middle of the death circle.

  The atmosphere was thick with adrenaline. Kelly watched the tiny clouds of warm breath from each person puff rapidly into the freezing air. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, and he guessed everyone else’s did the same. He closed his eyes for what seemed like an eternity. K’in was scared, so very scared. Kelly had to admit, he was terrified, too. How the hell were they going to get through this? One twitch or one murmur and all hell would break loose. It couldn’t end this way. He wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t lose someone else—not again. He had to save Freya—at all costs. The images of Carmen and Izel filled his mind. Each image stabbed him like a knife in his heart.

  Perhaps it was his inner monologue distracting him, or maybe she was too quick, but Kelly had failed to notice Freya had lunged forward. Too late, from the corner of his eye, he watched the scene in slow motion. Her arms outstretched, Freya launched herself at the Chinese men. In millisecond-response time, the soldiers opened fire on her. Automatically and without thought, Kelly retaliated. The bullets seemed to move so slowly that he could perceive their trajectory and velocity. He watched several of them spark and ricochet off the internal metal walls. To his left, the General, Wiezorek, and XO had dropped to their knees, presumably to avoid the mid-level spray of ammunition and counter attack with kneecap-destroying shots.

  Then, the scene suddenly jerked forward and joined the realms of normal space and time. Smoke and debris filled the room, obscuring all sense of orientation. The awful sound of lead tearing through human flesh was accompanied by pained gargling that echoed all around. A shrill scream ended the onslaught. Kelly, still standing in the same position as he had for the entire gunfight, gazed around. In the haze, he could make out the moving shapes of the General and XO—they were still alive. But Wiezorek was down—sprawled lifeless on the cold floor. Fuck. The stupid little shit was too young to die.

  Kelly scanned to his right. The broken bodies of the Chinese soldiers were strewn about the floor. All were dead. But where was Freya? He couldn’t see her. He called out, but there was no reply. He dropped to the floor and scrambled about on his hands and knees in the gray, gun-derived mist. Frantically, he felt around until his hand fell on a slender leg. “Freya!”

  “I’m here.” She coughed.

  He continued to feel his way about her body until he enc
ountered something warm and liquid trickling down her torso. His heart stalled, and his stomach knotted. No, not again—this couldn’t be happening. Angrily, he waved his arms and swept away the smoke so he could see. As it cleared, his tear-filled eyes found a river of blood pouring across Freya’s combat pant-covered legs. No. Not her. Why not him? How had he survived again? It wasn’t right. But as he studied her, the whole scene came into focus. Following the crimson stream to its origin led him to K’in, lying on top of her, panting weakly. Blood flowed from several open wounds gouged into the animal’s side. For a fraction of a second, Kelly was relieved that Freya was unscathed. But it was instantly snatched away as his mind comprehended the cost of her survival. “What happened?”

  Freya lifted her head and, under K’in’s weight, forced herself onto her elbows. “I don’t know. I tried to make a run for one of the Chinese soldiers, but K’in leapt and pinned me to the floor. He covered me with his body. He saved me.” Her voice was thick with shame and guilt.

  Slowly, Kelly hoisted K’in’s body and pulled him off Freya, freeing her. He rolled the creature backward so he lay face up in his arms. Kelly rocked K’in back and forth like a child. “I’m sorry, Moby. I’m sorry.” Kelly’s voice was soft, virtually imperceptible.

  The room was silent. Kelly sensed the other people, those that survived, gather around him—the General, XO, Minya, Alejandro, and Freya. He hugged the broken animal close and gazed around. Death was everywhere—Tremaine, Wiezorek, Ilari, and the Chinese soldiers. A hand rested on his shoulder. It was Alejandro. Kelly raised his head to see the old man, whose face was no longer scathing or disappointed, but sad and empathetic. He knew Alejandro could feel him through K’in. Looking into his father-in-law’s eyes, Kelly’s strength finally waned. He broke down. He cried for K’in, for Izel, for Carmen, for Chris, for Victoria, for every dead person in that room, and for all he had held inside for so long.

  K’in lay gasping like an exposed fish in Kelly’s arms. The creature opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to speak—to say something to Kelly. His eyes were no longer blue and bright but were once again black, dull, and empty. He stared at Kelly. Kelly stared back, and in that moment, he knew why K’in had done it—why he’d saved Freya. As K’in exhaled for the last time, Kelly’s the hope for the world and his own salvation slipped away into darkness.

  In the murk of his own sorrow, Kelly could hear a new commotion erupt around him as a group of soldiers spilled into the room. The U.S. search team had found them—not that it mattered anymore. Kelly ignored their screaming and bawling of orders to drop all weapons and kneel on the floor. He forced their voices from his head so they sounded muffled and distant and clung to K’in’s lifeless body, holding it as close as he could. It was all over now. It was done.

  Location: A small Island, somewhere off the coast of South America

  The sun was bright on his face, warming and soothing. In contrast, the cooler sea water lapped about Kelly’s ears as he floated outstretched. He dropped back into the crystal-clear water and dove several feet. Thousands of tropical fish parted like a submarine curtain, granting him the ability to pass through the cacophony of color and life.

  Reaching the slope of the beach, he climbed out of the wash and pushed his wet feet into the hot sand. It felt wonderful as the grains wedged themselves between his toes. The spit of land was deserted and only green, tropical trees dotted the vast expanse of white. He picked up his towel and a large pair of yellow fins he’d left next to a nearby rock and trudged down the coastline toward his shack.

  The wood dwelling was painted white and had a thatched roof. It stood on stilts three feet off the ground. Impressive, he thought. He’d built it himself. He climbed the stairs and opened the front door. The interior consisted of only two rooms: one to sleep in and the other to sit in. There was no television, no radio, and no link to the outside world at all. Near the yellowed mattress, laid haphazardly on the floor, were a fishing rod and spear.

  Kelly flopped his wet body onto the bed, allowing the seawater from his shorts to soak into the dry sheets. He lay there for a few moments, his long, chestnut-brown hair stuck to his forehead and a graying beard starting to show on his face. He thought of all that had happened in the weeks leading up to and after their capture by the U.S. search team.

  Most of California and parts of the surrounding states had been decimated by the virus. Some doctor, a Dr. Cooper, working for the CDC and a Colonel in the U.S. military had been turned into national heroes. Apparently, the Colonel had volunteered to be infected with the virus and receive the experimental treatment. The media had been fed some bullshit story that it had been a rogue mutation of Ebola that had come in on a flight from Africa. There was no mention of the Chinese whatsoever, or the attacks in the South China Sea, or at Paradise Ranch—it was as if they had never happened. Kelly wasn’t sure how the Americans had been able to avoid World War III with the Chinese but figured it was none of his business. He didn’t want to know. Given all the secrecy he had encountered, he didn’t rule out anything, not even collaboration between the two countries.

  What really bothered him was every trace of K’in had also been erased. The released government files were reduced to a childish prank dreamed up by two tech guys called Jeremy and David, Google nerds. The panic had subsided, and the religious groups had taken no more than a few weeks to calm down. It seemed the human community was in no way ready to face the truth. It was easier to swallow the lies and pretend they were and always would be the apex life form on Earth. But Kelly would always know.

  With K’in’s death, Kelly had also lost a part of himself. It wasn’t easy to explain to anyone, but he was empty. Sure, the sickness that resulted from being away from K’in had subsided. But that wasn’t it. It was more like he had been shown paradise for a brief moment, and then it had been ripped away. After that, nothing felt the same. Food didn’t have the same taste. Drink never quenched his thirst. He was empty.

  Kelly sighed as thoughts of his hollow soul turned to Freya. She had asked him, with wide and expectant eyes, to stay a while in Washington. She was to be removed from the field to do more executive things. This new position had been a gift—a last act of respect by the U.S. Government for the General before he had been taken to prison for his part in the whole debacle. Kelly had refused the invitation. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to stay. He did. It was just, in his heart, he knew he still wasn’t ready. Guilt over Izel remained, and as much as he wished he could let go, it wasn’t fair to Freya to live in the memory of his dead wife. Freya had said she understood, but Kelly could read in her face she was disappointed. Better to hurt her a little now than a lot later.

  Anyway, he wanted to be as far away from civilization as possible. He hadn’t been fond of it in the first place, but now, he disliked it more than ever. He’d figured something should come from K’in’s death. So he’d moved to a remote part of Peru, somewhere he could perhaps do some good—help the villagers build schools, or fish, or mine, or whatever they needed. Kelly knew he could never replace K’in, but he could at least do the right thing—do something that would make his own life have meaning again, real meaning. He had imagined he would not be allowed to live without supervision or, at least, would need to report to someone somewhere at regular intervals. But it seemed the General, in an altruistic moment, had vouched for everyone on the mission—Kelly was free to go.

  Kelly and Alejandro had been allowed to leave and continue with their lives, never speaking of what they knew. The fact that both men preferred to live in third-world countries and away from any laptop or mobile device probably factored heavily in the decision. As for the rest of the General’s ragtag gang. With K’in dead, they had all been reassigned. Since the General had taken full responsibility, it had been decided they were merely following orders. The U.S. Government sure did like its scapegoats.

  Like most evenings, this inner monologue ended as it had begun in the morning: with Izel, Carmen, a
nd Chris. He wasn’t a religious man, yet it helped him cope to imagine them all together in a better place—wherever that place may be. After everything that had happened, it was impossible to refute anything—even the possibility of an afterlife. He only hoped if one did exist, his decision to do good for others and himself would bode well. Still, at least they were at peace even if he never would be.

  Kelly reached behind his head and pulled a small, silver tin from under a large, crumpled pillow. He laid the tin on his chest and opened it. The cold metal tightened his skin. Rummaging within, he pulled out a wrinkled envelope. It was already open, ripped at one edge. Kelly pulled the single piece of white paper from inside. On its surface was a barely legible scrawl in black ink.

  I forgive you.

  A.

  Location: Dulce Base, New Mexico, USA

  The black sedan pulled up to the barn. A light wind whipped up the dry, red dirt into eddies that disappeared into the powder-blue sky. Both passenger side doors, front and rear, were flung open. Two large men, dressed in similar black suits with white shirts and black ties, stepped out. Each wore a small earpiece attached to a spiraled wire that disappeared down the back of their shirt collars. The rearmost man walked around to the other side of the car and opened the remaining passenger door. A pair of willowy legs slid out. Lucy stood and straightened her pencil skirt. She nodded to the secret service agents. They sidled up close to her and marched alongside toward the rickety-looking structure.

  A stout-framed man, dressed in a loose, button-down shirt, was already waiting at the large double doors. He walked briskly to meet her. “Good afternoon, Madam Secretary.” He seemed quiet and friendly enough with an easy disposition. Yet he spoke and moved with deliberation. “I know why you are here, but—”

  “I want to see them, Dr. Parnham,” she replied.

  “Yes, I understand. But—”

  “You can either show me now, or I will have you arrested, and I will find someone else to show me. As you are the director of science here, I would rather you did it.”