by Sharon Sala
U.S. Naval Observatory
The place was in chaos. Phone calls were going out to observatories all over the world for verification of an unknown meteor that had appeared out of nowhere in the sky. But it wasn’t the sudden appearance that had everyone at the Naval Observatory worried. It was the very small margin of space there would be between it and earth when it passed. Unless something changed, it would be the closest call in recorded meteoric history.
The observatory was in chaos as a young scientist came running with a frantic look on her face.
“Has anyone seen Dr. Runyon? The President is on the phone.”
Someone shouted at her from across the room. “He was on the observatory platform.”
As she turned to go look, she spied him entering the room.
“Oh thank goodness, there he is,” and bolted. “Dr. Runyon! Dr. Runyon! The President is on the phone in your office.”
Runyon had been expecting this, but didn’t really know what to say. He shut the door behind him as he entered and picked up the phone.
“This is Dr. Runyon.”
“Please hold for the President of the United States.”
He circled his desk and sat down as he waited for the call to connect. Moments later, he recognized the voice on the other end of the line.
“Dr. Runyon, President Farley here. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
“Yes sir. It’s a pleasure to speak with you. How may I help?”
Farley went straight to the issue at hand. “What can you tell me about this meteor? Why did we not know about it sooner?”
Runyon sighed. “I can tell you that initial computations have it measuring about twice the size of our sun.”
Farley gasped. “That’s huge. How could you not see that before?”
“We don’t know why, but we do know that it did not show up on any telescope, in any country, until three hours ago.”
“How can that be?”
“Sir, we have no idea. It wasn’t there, and then it was. It’s like it popped out of a black hole or something. In all my years of looking at the universe, I’ve never seen anything like it. The only thing we can find in written history that could relate to this appearance is a vague reference to some prediction back in the 13th century.”
There was a long awkward silence as Runyon waited for the President to continue, and then finally, he did.
“Just how worried should we be?” Farley asked.
“With regard to the possibility of it hitting earth… unless it takes a drastic change in course, not worried at all. It will be a spectacular sight to behold, and it might affect the gravitational flow of tides and the earth’s temperature, but only temporarily. Someone here introduced a theory that there could be the possibility of a Tsunami, but that’s just speculation.”
“You don’t think it will, in any way, damage the ozone layer that protects us now? You can’t be more specific than that?” Farley asked.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but without prior data to back it up, we don’t know what it will affect.”
“Yes, well, thank you, and of course, if there is any change whatsoever, I expect an immediate notification,” Farley said.
“You have my word,” Runyon said.
“Thank you for your help,” Farley said.
Runyon waited until he heard a click and a dial tone before he replaced the receiver, then went back to the telescope. Unless one knew where to look, it wasn’t yet visible in daylight, but it would be by dark. And in three days time, it was going to pass so damn close between the earth and the sun that everyone was going to feel the heat.
***
Layla woke abruptly as the first rays of sun came over the eastern horizon to find she was alone. She glanced behind her. The Anasazi spirits were gone, although last night’s fire was burning again. She had a brief moment of panic, fearing that Niyol had already left her before she heard footsteps, and recognized the stride. Panic settled as she peered over what was left of the pueblo wall. He was carrying the carcass of some kind of bird already ready for the fire. When she realized he hadn’t seen her, she slipped over the other side of the wall and hid, still determined to catch him off guard.
When he entered their camp, she heard his footsteps stop; obviously taking in the fact that her bedroll was empty and guessed he’d just put the bird near the fire to start cooking. She heard him moving around and knew he was looking for her. When he finally headed to where she was hiding, she tensed. Just as his shadow grew large on the wall behind her, she leaped up and took him tumbling to the ground.
The shock in his eyes was evident.
Layla was grinning. “It’s a good thing you cannot die.”
For Niyol, it felt as if a door had just shut in his face, and at the same time, he knew a sense of satisfaction. She had learned her task well. But instead of laughing with her, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled until she was lying beneath him. Their time together was coming to an end and it was painful beyond understanding. A very human emotion washed through him. He wanted to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Layla asked.
“You have learned well.”
And just like that, she got it. When she learned what he’d come to teach her, he would be gone. Fear shot through her so fast she struggled to breathe.
“Are you going to leave me now?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
Layla choked on a sob, and fisted her hands in his hair.
“Is this a time to make love?”
Niyol leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.
“It is a time to make love.”
When he got up to strip, she also stood; tearing off her clothes in short jerky movements until she was standing naked in the sunlight, wearing nothing but her necklace with the little silver bird.
He laid his hand on the small charm, feeling the swell of her breasts against his palm.
“Singing Bird.”
Despair rolled through every fiber of her being. She had never loved a man like she loved Niyol, and resented having it yanked out from under her in the name of fate. Her lips twisted bitterly.
“Windwalker, make love to me now before I die from need.”
“You cannot die,” he said softly, and then picked her up in his arms.
She locked her legs around his waist as he walked her toward the motorcycle, dropped her backward onto the seat; and with the handlebars pillowing her head and her legs still locked around his waist, he mounted her without hesitation.
Chapter Eight
The sun was in her eyes, so she closed them, concentrating instead of the stroke of his taut erection inside her womb. She felt a sense of desperation in him as well, as he took her harder and faster than they’d ever gone before. She lost conscious thought as the first orgasm shot through her. It rolled up her body like fire burning across a prairie, then ebbed back to her core and burned all over again. Just when she thought it was finally over, he laid her down on her bedroll and took her there, again and again.
Their bodies were bathed in sweat as they moved toward an ever-growing madness. For Layla, it was storing memories of this man for the years to come, while Niyol was dealing with pain of losing all physical connection with her. To never touch her like this again—to never kiss her lips, or sink himself into the wet depths of her sex—to never feel the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck as they slept—it was a grief he did not want to bear. They chased the lust until it pulled them under, but it was love that bound them there.
The sun rose a little higher into the sky.
The scent of the cooking bird was in the air.
Once, for a brief second Layla caught a glimpse of an eagle circling far above their heads before yet another orgasm shot through her.
She had lost count of how many, and was weak, spent, an
d crying when he finally let go and gave up his control.
This time when she felt the orgasm rip through him, she knew the madness of his physical pleasure, but also his sorrow and resolve.
***
George Begay woke up with a gasp and ran out of the house in his shorts. The sun was just coming up as he looked to the East, then above the mountain. His heart began to pound. It was there, just like in his dream.
He dashed back inside, made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash the sleep from his eyes then began to dress. A few minutes later he was in the kitchen making coffee when his phone rang. A little early for conversation, but he was up, so he answered.
“Hello.”
“George, this is Montford Johnston. Did I wake you?”
“No. I was making coffee.”
“Have you been outside yet?” Montford asked.
George felt a sense of despair. So he wasn’t the only one who’d seen it. It was beginning.
“Yes.”
“There is a fire in the sky.”
“Yes, I saw it in my dream.”
“Is that the sign? Does this signal the beginning of our exodus?”
“Yes.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Montford’s voice was a little softer. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” George said.
Montford sighed. “So am I. What do we do?”
George thought back to the dream, and what he saw happening.
“Tell the chiefs. Beat our drums, say the prayers, and don’t stop. The drums will call Layla to us, and the prayers will call the Old Ones.”
“Will other tribes come here to the reservation?”
“Yes.”
“Will the white man come with them?” he asked.
George thought of all the intermarried families. “No. They won’t believe until it is too late.”
***
Layla practiced her archery because it kept her from weeping. Her heart was breaking and there was nothing to be done. She shot one arrow after another into different targets then trudged, with lagging steps, through the heat to retrieve them.
Niyol was on a rock standing lookout a short distance away, but she felt his gaze. She’d seen his eyes fill with tears as he’d handed her some of the cooked meat to eat. She’d taken it without hunger, and chewed without tasting, knowing she would need all of her body strength in the days to come.
Twice in the afternoon the wind had come up without warning and swept through the gorge like a massive leaf blower, blasting waste and dead leaves from the path. It was as if the earth also knew change was coming, and was ridding itself of the chaff.
It was dusk before Layla saw the fireball in the sky. The moment she did, she ran to Niyol, who was busy re-packing the bike. After their last hasty exit, they only unpacked what they needed at the moment should the need for another swift getaway arise.
“Niyol! There’s something coming in the sky. Did you see it?”
He looked up, judging the distance still left between it and earth.
“I saw it.”
Layla grabbed his arm. “What is it, a comet?”
“Firewalker,” he said, tying the last of their things onto the bike.
Layla pulled him around until they were standing face to face.
“Stop! I don’t need vague. I need specific. Does this have anything to do with me and what I’m supposed to do?”
He felt her panic. It was to be expected.
“It signals the beginning of the end.”
Layla’s stomach knotted. “Of the world?”
He shrugged. “Of this world. There are many others.”
She began shaking him in anger, because she was afraid if she started crying, she would never stop.
“I’m asking you! Is this world, this earth, and every living thing on it really going to come to an end?”
“It will burn and crumble and nothing will survive.”
Her voice was trembling. “Then how will we?”
“You will already be somewhere else.”
“How will we know what to do?” she whispered.
“There are others there. They will show you. They have been waiting for you for a very long time now.”
“Waiting for me?”
He put his hand on the bird charm hanging between her breasts.
“They have been waiting for Singing Bird and what she brings with her,” Niyol said, and when she would have asked more, he stopped her. “We will rest now. The men will come from the sky at daylight, but they must not step foot here. They don’t belong.”
She lay down beside him, even though it was still light, because she was too shocked to do anything other than what he’d told her to do. She was thinking about her Muscogee kinsmen in Oklahoma, and the other native tribes all across the country. Were they aware? Were they coming? Would she ever see them again?
Niyol’s chest was a wall against her back. The wind kept blowing strands of his hair across the bend of her elbow. The even rhythm of his breathing was the calm before the storm. But when she closed her eyes and tried to rest, instead, she saw the deep creeks and shady woods of her Oklahoma childhood—remembered the feel of hot sand beneath her bare feet as she ran up the rows in their watermelon patch; of crawling into a warm bed on a cold night while the snowfall blanketed everything outside in an icy white comforter.
Tears rolled. She took a deep breath, trying to still the wave of despair welling up inside her, but it was no use. There was a catch in her next breath, and then she was choking on sobs, grieving for a world already lost.
Niyol felt her pain as if it was his own. He’d seen into her mind and her heart and knew her sorrow. She carried a great burden—one she’d known and chosen long before her birth as this woman—one that ensured the lineage of their great nations did not end when this place became dust.
He held her tighter and closed his eyes. He could see her grandfather’s face. They knew. He could hear the drums and the singing—they were calling out the Old Ones.
He looked deeper—farther—to the others who were scattered across this continent. Many had accepted what was coming and were preparing to die. It was their choice. It was their way. But some were coming here as fast as their rides would take them—some by bus—by car and motorcycle—and even by plane. They knew the time was short. If they were not already gathered on the reservation when Layla Birdsong went back for them, it would be too late.
***
Lydia Foster was standing out on the balcony of her hotel room, sipping a glass of wine. Considering she was a fifty-something woman with a little too much wear and tear, she still felt attractive.
Athens was stunning, both by daylight and dark. The local women were beautiful, the men as dark-eyed and sexy as she’d imagined. Her blonde hair, curvy body, and near six-foot height had been the subject of comments several times today. She hadn’t expected it to be such a turn-on; being looked upon as something other than the nerd who studied legends and myths, but she liked it.
The majestic ruins that she’d toured today were now backlit on the hills beyond the city by a myriad of lights. From this distance, you could almost believe they were still in their former glory.
She took another sip of her wine, admiring the beauty of the stars strewn across the night sky. It took a few moments for her to realize one of the stars was not only red, but it was moving.
Her pulse leaped. Was this going to be her first UFO sighting? She’d never seen any, but she believed that they existed. But after watching a few moments more, decided it was most likely a man-made satellite of some kind.
All of a sudden there was a commotion in the street below. She leaned over and looked down. People were spilling out of doorways onto the sidewalks, pointing up and talking in loud, frenetic tones. She didn’t understand e
nough of the language to know what they were saying, but she caught the words, television and newscast. It was obvious they were all talking about the same thing—the big red star.
Curious, she walked back into her room and turned on the TV. It took a few moments for her to find the station that broadcast in English. After a quick view of the broadcast, it became obvious what she’d seen was a meteor. When they switched programming to an interview with a man named Runyon; head of the U.S. Naval Observatory who was tracking the trajectory, she turned up the volume.
She sat down on the end of her bed and took another sip of her wine as she began to listen, and within moments of what he was saying it suddenly hit her.
This was the cataclysm.
This was what the Mayans had known—what the Gypsy Chronicles had predicted—why the Windwalker had appeared and spirited Layla Birdsong away.
A sudden feeling of dizziness swept through her as all the blood drained from her face.
So she’d waited too long to take her dream vacation. Such was life. She’d been missing the boat ever since the day she’d been born. A huge sadness washed over her as she emptied her wine glass. If this was the beginning of the end, she didn’t plan to die in bed. She dropped her room key in her pocket, picked up her purse, and left the room.
***
The traffic on the highways and interstates was always busy, which continued to surprise economists considering the price of gas it took to travel. But for the past twelve hours, it had been increasingly worse.
Florida highway patrol reported long convoys of vehicles coming out of the Everglades with luggage tied on top. Obviously, the Seminole nation was on the move.
Texas and Oklahoma reported long lines of vehicles, all bearing license plates from local tribes driving both lanes of Interstate 35, heading north.
Lines of cars, motorcycles and motor homes had traffic so backed up on both the east and westbound lanes of Interstate 40 that truckers were bitching on their radios, wondering where the big powwow was, and wishing they’d all get the hell off the roads so people could do their jobs.
The convoys came out of Canada, crossing the borders into the Dakotas where they joined up with the Indians going south.
