by S. S. Segran
“Me neither.”
Marshall scanned his notes again. “Your story does seem to match what little I was told by the Elders. Except, as you said, for the mass suicide pact.”
“But it looks like there could have been survivors, and we may have a location,” Jag said. “Israel.”
Aari looked up. “And I think I know where in Israel. It’s by the Dead Sea.”
“Does it have a name?”
“Masada.”
Kody threw open the laptop at the center of the table and quickly typed a search. “Well, would you look at that. It’s actually one of Israel’s most popular tourist spots. It’s even a UNESCO World Heritage Site.”
Aari pulled the laptop toward him. “There’ve been archaeological digs all over the place. They’ve even found a few remains in the caves you mentioned earlier, Marshall.”
“Looks like only the plateau is accessible, though, not the caves,” Mariah said. “If it’s a popular tourist site, we’re gonna have an issue getting down there.”
Tegan disagreed. “Given the state of the world right now, tourism’s probably down. More than that, if the place has already been excavated, wouldn’t the box have been found? Who knows where it could be.”
“It might be in a museum somewhere,” Jag said.
“Good point. Give me a sec.” Aari typed a new search entry and scrolled through pictures and articles. The others hovered around him; he could almost smell their impatience.
At last he pushed the laptop away. “If they did find the box, there isn’t a single mention of it anywhere. Which is pretty strange, seeing as ancient seeds would be the one thing that would get both scientists’ and historians’ knickers in a bunch.”
Mariah glumly drew her nail in circles on the tabletop. “No mention of seeds at all?”
“They did find some, but unless Judean date palm seeds in clay jars are what we’re looking for, that’s not it.”
“So the box is still buried in one of the caves?” Kody asked.
Aari shrugged. “Maybe.”
“We need to check it out,” Marshall said.
“There are a lot of caves. How do we find which—”
The Sentry held up his paper between two fingers. “That’s where the last piece of information comes in. The cave we’re looking for has a mark on the ceiling that’s shaped like a crescent moon. It’s supposedly located near a double cave.”
“A double . . .” A light switched on in Aari’s head. “I just read that. That’s where some remains were found, in a double cave at the southern slope of Masada.”
The energy in the room grew so palpable, he thought that electric sparks might go off if they moved even an inch. Smiles began to form all around.
Then Aari’s face fell. “Well, this is all fine and dandy, but so what if we get the seeds? Trees take a long time to mature. By then who knows how many people will have died.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Marshall said. “But when I asked Elder Nageau, he said that these seeds, once planted correctly, grow fast. Insanely fast. We’re talking four weeks, tops.”
Jag rubbed his temples. “Dema-Ki people, man. You guys have some crazy stuff. Borderline sorcery.” The side of his mouth curved up. “And I’m glad.”
“Even if that’s all true,” Tegan interjected, “a lot can happen in those weeks.”
“Which is why we need to find those seeds as soon as possible.” The Sentry slid his folded notes into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m gonna start searching for flights. You guys should get packing. Fit as much as you can into a bag, and maybe a carry-on just in case. We’re heading out as soon as we can.”
The friends trickled down to the main floor and stood in a circle, saying nothing, allowing the exhilaration on their faces to speak for them. Then they dispersed to their rooms.
Aari stared out of the huge windows by the foot of his bed, observing the snow-covered trees. He would miss the view and the Lodge. They’d been living in the French Alps for just over a week but the friends already considered it home. Even so, he was eager to finally head out.
After all the waiting, all the training, all the preparation, he thought, this is it. The mission is finally about to begin. A slight thrill danced up his spine. I can’t wait.
PART TWO
22
Jag watched Ben Gurion Airport recede in the passenger-side mirror of the rented Ford Expedition. Almost immediately upon leaving the airport, he already had a feel of the pace of life by how aggressively the locals drove.
Airport security was ludicrously tight. There had been a three-hour delay as Israeli health authorities tested a new screening method pioneered by their own scientists on every passenger entering the country, taking blood samples and cheek swabs. The friends were relieved to receive a clean bill of health after the long wait.
The SUV accelerated under several overpasses before matching with the flow of traffic as they headed away from Tel Aviv. Jag could see clusters of red-roofed buildings scattered amongst stretches of farmland. What a contrast, he mused. Fertile farms against a dry landscape. A curious assortment of rundown houses standing next to modern mansions caught his eye. Interesting. Do people live like this across the country?
As he sat beside Marshall, quietly taking in the passing scenery, he was struck by a brief flashback to their road trip to his grandparents’ farm in Kansas just a few months before. It was after Tegan and Mariah had broken out of the New Mexico Sanctuary where they’d been held by Tony Cross, Reyor’s personal lapdog.
Jag slumped in his seat, his mood darkening. It was bad enough that Tony had abducted the girls and tried to capture him, Kody and Aari, but then Jag had lost his grandmother as a result of the crop destructions. It left a searing void that continued to haunt him. All the love from his family and thoughtful advice from the Elders had done little to quench his thirst for retribution. If they couldn’t get to Reyor first, Tony would have to suffice.
“The weather’s much cooler than I expected,” Kody noted out of the blue from the back of the seven-seater, yanking Jag out of his reverie.
“It’s almost November, you doorknob,” Aari retorted from the middle row. “And get your hand out of my window, will you?”
Jag glanced in the rearview mirror in time to catch Kody pulling his hand back. Mariah, beside Aari, studied a travel brochure she’d picked up at the airport. “Israel’s so tiny,” she said, “According to this, it’s barely the size of New Jersey, and yet the amount of conflict that goes on around here is absurd. Wars, skirmishes . . . why?”
“Many reasons,” Aari supplied. “History, politics, religion. I mean, this is ground zero of the monotheistic world. More than half of humanity calls this region their Holy Land.”
“Okay, well, why does it all happen here? Why not somewhere else?”
“Funny you should ask that. I asked Mr. Gregson that exact question once after History class. He answered my question by holding up his snack.”
Kody’s voice popped from the very back. “Snack?”
“Sit down, Scooby. Gregson held up an apple. He said asking why this part of the world has turned out special is like asking why the stem of the apple is at the center and not somewhere else on the fruit. Then he walked over to the world map on the wall, asked me to point out Israel, and weirdly, it’s pretty much in the center. For some reason, when we defined west and east, this region ended up nearly smack in the middle. I’m not saying it’s providence or anything, but just like the stem on the apple, it is what it is, I guess.”
“This is also a land of mystery and prophecies,” Marshall added as he pulled down the sun visor. “It’s actually really interesting stuff.”
“For example?” Tegan asked.
“Like when it was said that the Jews would be exiled from the Kingdom of Ancient Israel and then return, and it would happen over and over. And that they’d go through a lot of tribulation. History aligns with that.”
“So it’s happened a few times, then.”<
br />
“Yeah. They were scattered far and wide, and it was said that they’d return to Israel when the Messiah returns at the End of Days.”
Jag raised an eyebrow. “But they’re already back. So, what? Is it the End of Days?”
“It kind of does feel like it, doesn’t it?” Marshall shrugged. “The Jews started returning when the Edict of Toleration was signed between the British and the Ottoman Empire in—”
“1844,” Aari finished. “Well before the formation of the State of Israel after the second World War.”
“Are you kidding me, Aari?” Mariah exclaimed.
“Uh, what?”
“Seriously? The Edict of Proclamation in eighteen . . . whatever? I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but you? Oh, no, not you, Mr. Know-It-All!”
Jag could see Aari trying not to smile as he said, “You mean the Edict of Toleration.”
Mariah grabbed the boy’s head and shook it. “Give me your brain, you loser!”
The car filled with laughs as Aari pulled away. Once the merriment subsided, Marshall spoke up. “What you said was right, Aari. So, yes, it would seem that there are quite a few parallels to prophecies. If you believe in that sort of thing.”
Jag started to laugh again and couldn’t speak for a full minute. He tried to collect himself and, still chuckling, said to his bemused friends, “I guess that’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Tegan asked.
“Ending all that with ‘if you believe in that sort of thing’. Look at us. We’re literally at the center of a major prophecy. We can’t really count ourselves as skeptics anymore, can we?”
There was a collective, amused snort from his friends. Even Marshall smiled. “No, I suppose not . . . hey, what’s this?”
The car rolled to a stop behind long lines of vehicles. Jag moaned. “Look at this traffic!”
“The cars further ahead are moving,” Marshall said. “Maybe there was an accident.”
Jag looked at the time on the dashboard. 11:23 a.m. As long as we get to Masada well before closing hours, we’re good.
He held his hand out the window, feeling the parched air on his skin, then turned to take a good look at the others. They were anxious about what was to come, he knew, and did what they could to keep themselves occupied. Mariah had pulled out a novel and was already engrossed. Aari looked out at their rolling surroundings, seemingly lost in thought. Kody, in the back, flipped through one of his favorite superhero comics and shared an earbud with Tegan, who had her eyes closed.
It’s a good thing we got to rest at the Lodge, Jag thought. Dunno how much of that we’ll be getting from now on.
A discord of honking erupted ahead, startling him. He heard yelling and shouting, though whether in Hebrew or Arabic he couldn’t tell.
“Head’s up,” Marshall murmured. He tapped the controls on his door and all the windows automatically closed. Jag leaned over to the Sentry’s side to get a better view of the situation.
A driver several cars ahead had jumped out of his vehicle and was running in their direction, screaming and pointing. Jag, befuddled, turned to look out his window. A face straight from the depths of hell smashed against the glass. Jag tried to pull away but was jerked back by his seatbelt as it locked with the sudden motion. His heart beat madly in his chest. The man’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes were partially glazed. Crimson dripped from every orifice on his face, and saliva and specks of blood flew from his mouth. Through the gruesomeness, there was something in his expression that Jag couldn’t quite place, but it brought about a sorrow so deep he felt almost ill.
Marshall reached over, protectively placing his arm between Jag and the window. He seemed unfazed as he watched the demented man beat at the glass. “He’s sick.”
Two soldiers in olive green uniforms approached, shouting, their assault rifles trained. The man faced them, staying perfectly still as they neared. Jag’s eyes darted between the two parties. He had his hand on the door handle, ready to help, but Marshall gently removed it, shaking his head.
The man suddenly let loose a feral cry. He flew toward the soldiers, ignoring their yells of warning. Two shots sounded. The man dropped to the ground, convulsing. Jag went limp in his seat, unable to shift his gaze from the sight.
It took half an hour before the scene was dealt with by emergency responders and traffic began moving again. Neither the friends nor the Sentry spoke, and it wasn’t until the SUV was cruising down the highway that Jag whispered, “He was scared. He was reduced to an animal, and he was sick and it was either fight or flight and he fought. Or he tried to. But he was scared and trying to find help.”
“There was nothing we could do,” Tegan said quietly. “If we’d stepped out, we could have gotten the disease. We’re vulnerable. It sucks, but it wasn’t our place to step in.”
Jag cupped his hands over his face. It was like looking at a terrified child. And then a violent beast. Oh, my God.
“I’m gonna find a spot to disinfect your side of the car, Jag,” Marshall said. “For the time being, don’t roll down the window. You too, Aari.”
They passed a number of small towns until they found an empty gas station and pulled off the highway. The Sentry gave the SUV’s doors and windows a quick wash, then thoroughly scrubbed the exterior with a bottle of disinfectant. Jag got out to lend a hand but Marshall shooed him back into the vehicle.
Mariah sat with her hands pressed tightly between her knees, looking distraught. Jag rubbed her leg. “’Riah?”
She stared into the distance, unblinking. “Do you remember when we got caught in that riot during the summer?”
“I do. Unfortunately.”
“I’d never felt so sick and helpless in my life . . . until that man came up to your window and got shot.”
Jag, not knowing what to say, reached out and kissed the top of her head. Marshall retuned a minute later and as they veered back onto the highway, he said, “I know I keep mentioning this, but make sure you’ve got your masks with you at all times.” He glanced at Jag briefly, then into the rearview mirror at the others. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you guys. You are too important. Don’t ever forget that.”
As strange as it felt to be the Chosen Ones, Jag knew Marshall was right. For the sake of bringing an end to a growing apocalyptic nightmare, they couldn’t take unnecessary risks.
He subconsciously slid his hand to his backpack on the floor. To avoid attention, they’d opted not to bring their masks from the Lodge onto the flight, so Marshall had asked one of his friends from the Israel Defense Forces to meet them outside the airport arrivals area with new ones. The former commando readily supplied six full-face masks that were designed for protection from biological agents.
Traffic slowed as more residential and commercial buildings appeared. Jag checked the car’s GPS. “We’ve just entered Jerusalem, ladies and gents.”
Aari and Tegan were the most thrilled. They took out their phones, eagerly snapping photos. “Did you know,” Aari started to ramble, almost breathless from excitement, “that over four thousand years ago Jerusalem was called Urusalima, which means the City of Peace? Which is ironic because the amount of war and destruction Jerusalem has seen in its lifetime is beyond ridiculous. And did you know that there are over two thousand archeological sites here? And also, did you know that—”
“I’m just super stoked to be visiting a historical place that’s in one of my favorite video games,” Tegan said, bouncing in her seat. “Marshall, any chance we’ll be passing by Acre or Damascus? Or Masyaf?”
“Acre is behind us and to the north,” Marshall replied. “And Damascus and Masyaf are way north. In Syria.”
“I was kidding about the last two. But will we at least be passing the Dome of the Rock?”
“If only. Believe me, I really want to see all these places too, but with what happened earlier, the disease has probably already found its way here. We should stick to our plan and avoid population cente
rs, which means we shouldn’t drive into Jerusalem.”
“Bummer.”
“Hey, when this whole thing with Reyor is done and over with, I’ll gladly bring you guys back here for sightseeing and all the other good touristy stuff. As long as the world hasn’t burned down completely by then, of course.”
“I’m holding you to your word, Marshall.” Jag heard a smile in Tegan’s voice as she spoke. “Don’t disappoint.”
The Sentry chuckled. “Love you too, kiddo.”
There were several checkpoints along the way, but the group was always waved through without incident. Having American passports sure helps, Jag thought.
They left the district of Jerusalem and coasted along the highway. Most of the traffic seemed destined for the city, leaving the lanes practically car-free. All around them was desert, a stretch of golden nothingness save for some shrubbery. The sun shone brightly, forcing Jag to pull down his sun visor. From the back of the SUV, he heard Kody clear his throat. He rolled his eyes good-humoredly, knowing what was coming.
“So, it’s one in the afternoon,” Kody started slowly.
“Well,” Marshall said, “we’re a good distance from crowds, and I do see a restaurant coming up on the GPS . . .”
“Yes. Yesss.”
Jag swapped amused looks with Marshall, then suddenly sat up straight. “What’s that?”
“I think,” Marshall hummed, “that’s some kind of a rest stop.”
They turned onto a smaller road surrounded by a stunning vista of the Judean Mountains. Next to a parking area, a large stone retaining wall with a long teal plaque read “SEA LEVEL” with accompanying Hebrew and Arabic script.
“Check out the Bedouin,” Marshall said, nodding at a man garbed in a long white tunic and a red-and-white headdress. He stood next to a placid, colorfully accessorized camel. “He probably lets tourists take photos for a small fee.”
“But I don’t see any tourists,” Tegan said. “And there probably aren’t going to be any for a while . . .” She trailed off. “Marshall, could you stop the car?”
The Sentry complied. Tegan got out and ran over to the Bedouin. Jag watched as she flashed the man a wide smile. He let her stroke the camel, then took a photo of her with it. She passed him a few coins, then asked him something. He beamed and nodded. She stood beside him, held out her phone at arm’s length, and snapped a picture. Then, when she passed him a few more shekels, surprise and joy radiated from him.
