John, Henry, and Chadwick started running immediately. They heard the gunfire behind them but weren’t about to risk slowing down to observe its outcome. Instead, they ran straight for another circle, this one void of monoliths. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t so empty anymore.
More men materialized, this group struggling with a giant.
Henry realized at once what was happening and veered to the right, limping as fast as he could for another circle. John and Chadwick were following behind and encouraging him to hurry.
Charles was leaning out from behind one of the massive stone monoliths, staring through the scope of a rifle and taking out one impure abomination at a time, working the bolt-action as fast as he could. Then he heard a noise behind him and turned, seeing another group of savages standing in an adjacent circle. He swung the rifle around even as he watched a man with only one eye and seven fingers step out of the crowd and release a shining arrow at him. It pierced his heart before he could move out of its way. He managed to fire a few more shots even with the crystal arrowhead protruding from his back… until a silvery flash sent his head tumbling to the ground.
The giant managed to break free from its captors, picking up the man nearest it and ripping him in half. In blind fury, it opened its mouth and revealed multiple rows of teeth while letting out a ground-shaking roar. The awful sound got the attention of the genetically-tainted army, and the impure turned their attention away from the trespassers, instead attacking the giant. They wanted to put it down before it could summon others of its kind.
Once in the cover of the cedar forest, Paul and Hunter turned and watched the giant effortlessly crush the heads of its subjugators with one hand while skewering multiple others with a stolen sword in the other. It wore a gold band around its neck.
“Where’s Henry?” Paul whispered while quickly replacing the empty clip with a full one from his pocket.
“Over there,” Hunter pointed.
They watched as Henry, John, and Chadwick attempted to flee from a group of men brandishing spears.
Paul swore and was about to run after them when Patrick grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. Looking up, Paul saw Henry run into the center of a gypsum-covered circle…
And disappear.
John and Chadwick, following half a step behind Henry, disappeared, too.
“What the—”
“Where’d they go?” Hunter asked, standing straight.
“We need to get out of here, now.” Patrick started to run, pulling George along with him.
“We’re not leaving them!” Paul yelled.
“They’re not here!” Patrick screamed. “Run!”
After watching the giant throw a man about twenty yards through the air, his back breaking against a monolith standing erect in another circle, they swore and chased after the Irishman.
****
They tripped and fell forward onto the ground. Scrambling quickly to get up, John turned to help Henry and Chadwick. “Come on, get up!” But neither of them were moving, just staring out past him, their bodies limp and unresponsive to John’s tugging. “Get up! They’re…” He looked up and expected to see a blade of some sort spinning toward his head, but there was only empty forest. He spun around. A beach rested just fifty yards away.
Chadwick forced himself to his feet. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. He turned, looking up above and all around them, taking note of the circle they were now standing in.
“It’s a sort of transporter?” Henry asked in astonishment.
John didn’t understand. “What do you mean, ‘transporter’?”
“Ley lines?” Chadwick guessed.
“You’re kidding.”
John had no idea what they were talking about, but a week in this place should have prepared him for something like this. It hadn’t. Teleporting from one place on the island to another? But before the question could further assault his reason, he noticed something closer to the beach. A grove of trees. “What is that?” He began walking to it, leaving the ancient and mind-shattering mechanism behind.
“Wait,” Chadwick called out after him.
But John was already there, holding a hand over his mouth.
Henry walked up behind him. “‘And Ahaz burnt his children in the fire, after the abominations of the heathen whom the Lord had cast out before the children of Israel…’ Second Chronicles,” he whispered. “Sacrificed to every green tree.”
John turned away from similar sacrifices still hanging bound to the palmettos. It was too much, and his own memories of dead children were beginning to creep up on him. Bombs, gunfire… He’d seen kids crying on their dead parents, had seen parents holding their dead children. This, however, was different. Though “collateral damage” was hardly excusable — people pushing buttons miles away and instantly creating widows, orphans, and blowing to pieces precious little ones — this revealed a whole other level of cruelty. This was the intentional torture — the sacrifice — of one’s own children.
Chadwick walked past them and continued down to the surf. “I’m guessing we’re on the complete opposite side of the island now.” He had studied John’s map rather intensely over the last few days, and so John had every reason to believe him.
“We have to go back,” John said, his voice breaking over the sight and the memories it induced. “We have to help them.”
“There’s nothing we can do for them, Johnny.”
And then a horror-filled, “Guys…” escaped Chadwick’s lips.
They spun around.
Walking lazily along the beach toward them was one of the flying creatures that had killed Chris. It was moving on insect-like legs, its wings folded back, its tail curled up over its shoulders, and a massive stinger rocking back and forth with each step. But it was its face that was most horrifying.
Peeking out from beneath long blonde hair… was a man.
John and Henry started backing away from the grove of desecrated palmettos, urging Chadwick with frantic hand gestures to follow them. But Chadwick seemed too stunned to move, too horrified to run.
And then the creature stopped and looked up. A pointed, scorpion-like leg brushed blonde hair out of its face, its blue eyes coming to settle on Chadwick. Its mouth turned slowly upward in a twisted grin, showing a massive set of lion’s teeth. And as it stood up, stretching out its wings, it unleashed a shrieking cry, snapping its long tail in the air like a whip.
“Move!” John screamed to Chadwick.
Summoned by his voice, the monster snapped its head around toward John, seeing both him and Henry for the first time, and launched itself straight into the air with a powerful down stroke of its wings.
Henry started firing the MP5, and the sound of it finally snapped Chadwick out of his stupor. He ran as fast as he could, firing his own submachine gun up into the air as he joined John and Henry in trying to find cover in the forest. They ran back the way they’d come and straight through the henge, the scorpion-tail plunging into the ground a mere second after they disappeared.
****
Their momentum carried them a few strides out of the circle and into some other part of the island. Spinning back around to face the henge, six stone monoliths decorating this particular site, Chadwick and Henry raised their weapons in anticipation of the creature’s pursuit. But nothing else materialized between the standing stone slabs.
Nearby palmettos and cedars rocked gently in the breeze while small birds chirped casually from their branches. It was still here, peaceful.
But maybe the creature transported somewhere else, hunting them from another direction…
They took the time to catch their breath.
“Where are we now?” John asked, bent over, hands on his knees.
Chadwick consulted the map he’d stored within his photographic memory. “We’re in the interior…”
“Should we go back in?” John asked, studying the mysterious circle.
Henry shook his head, not liking the idea. “
What if it takes us right back to that thing?”
“Or to the altar,” Chadwick added.
Henry nodded. “I think I like our chances here better.”
“You sure you know where ‘here’ is?” John was still looking around. But it was quiet, no sign of anything hunting them.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “As long as we can’t see that pyramid and don’t have giants chasing us…”
Chadwick agreed.
“Alright,” muttered John, not thrilled with either option. And Chadwick began leading them toward the coast, where they figured they’d have a better chance at pinpointing their exact location.
As they traversed the tropical terrain, John thought this part of the island must resemble what it looked like four hundred years ago when the Sea Venture showed up. He mentioned the thought to Henry, but Henry was too worried about his friends to care about anything else. He was moving quickly, as if hurrying somewhere might bring about news of the other SEALs. And though Chadwick was keeping stride, he had once again become wrapped up in some internal dialogue, debating with himself the impossibilities of this reality.
As they continued on, John began replaying the conversation he had with Henry a week ago, about his conviction regarding the taking of lives and his promise to God. All of that was beginning to cloud now. Where did Old Testament slaughter and New Testament love intersect for the Christian? Did it? He never thought it could. A Christian by definition, after all, was one who followed the teachings of Christ, and so his entire belief system was founded on that example, and not on the practices of King David or any other Old Covenant warrior. Jesus said that those who lived by the sword would die by the sword, to turn the other cheek, to love your enemies. He said that His kingdom wasn’t of this world or else His servants would fight. But the things in this place… Were they even capable of being loved? The Nephilim, the fallen ones, the heroes of old, the objects of God’s divine wrath in a past age… Were they even redeemable, these monsters? Or, as in the Old Testament, was the only way to deal with them through bloodshed? Would John be justified in killing these impure men? Certainly he wouldn’t have thought so on the other side of this bizarre dimension, but here, now… He wasn’t so sure anymore. The line was blurring. And yet, regardless of whether or not the extermination of an evil people was justified in the age of grace (which certainly it wasn’t, though it could be possible that this place was under some other set of God-rules), there was the issue of his own personal spirituality. If blowing the heads off people was deemed permissible, or even God-honoring as it had been in the Old Testament, where would that leave him as the last man standing and heading back home to his wife in Pennsylvania? The psychosis of violence was something he had buried at the foot of the cross, and if he were to resurrect it now, if even for some righteous cause, he knew there was little chance of being able to bury it again. He would be raising the beast, summoning it to help him now and trusting that it would kill itself once no longer needed. Unlikely. Instead, as his nightmares were suggesting, he might just be one kill away from reacquainting himself with John Carter, Army Ranger and murderer of innocent children. He didn’t know if he would ever see Kristen again in this lifetime, but if so, he wanted to be sure which John Carter she would be welcoming home.
Bermuda’s typical plant life, or what it must have been before settlers introduced foreign species to it, suddenly began giving way to strange fruits and vegetables that, as far as they knew, weren’t home to any place on earth. More beach ball-sized melons, grapes the size of baseballs, vegetables protruding from the ground in rainbows of colors… And then they stumbled upon gardens, rows upon rows of meticulously planted food.
“You hear that?” Henry asked, freezing.
They listened.
“People,” John whispered.
“Come on.”
They walked around the gardens, following the sounds of activity until they were amongst ferns twice the size of themselves and facing an expanse of huts identical to the ones John and Chadwick had seen their first day here. This one, however, was not deserted.
Just fifty yards from their position, between them and the scattered huts, was a group of children playing some kind of game with a ball. An audience of older kids and men had formed loosely around the boundaries of the game. They were cheering, screaming, and hopping up and down.
It was impossible to determine what the object of the game was, but apparently a loser was picked rather than a winner. Or maybe it was a king of the hill-type game where the last one remaining proved to be the victor, because the smallest of the children was suddenly being attacked by the other four boys. It was either punishment for losing, the stakes high, or this was how they honored the winner. Maybe they thought he cheated. In any case, the three intruders watched in total unbelief and horror as the crowd became elated by what must have been the alluring aspect of the game. Despite the young boy’s pleading, the other four mercilessly twisted his head right off his shoulders.
“Oh, God…” Chadwick turned away, covering his mouth.
The blood-covered boys tossed the corpse into the gathered crowd like it was a football thrown to eager fans after a touchdown. What the mass of people started to do with the young boy’s body, John couldn’t tell. But what the kids did next was even more atrocious. They kicked the ball they’d been playing with out of the playing field and instead began using the boy’s head. Now it seemed like the only point to playing was to do as much damage to the adolescent face as possible, eliciting the loudest and most frenzied cheers from those gathered around them.
There were other people walking nearby and attending to everyday chores, but none of them seemed the least bit concerned with the murderous game being played, or the gathering of adults cheering it on.
And then a near-naked woman came running into the playing field, picked up the head, and tried to make a break with it. But one of the players, only four feet tall, grabbed her by the back of her hair and yanked her off her feet. He spun her around and flung her through the air. She flew sixty feet before striking her back against the corner of a nearby hut. It was clear that she broke something because she couldn’t move, just screamed in agony, cursing the boys who had killed her son.
That’s when the boys gave up the game and moved on to their next challenge. Her.
Now even Henry looked away as the woman’s cries of pain reached new boundaries.
The crowd applauded louder.
John rose to his feet, unable to just sit and watch.
“What are you doing?” Henry asked, reaching up and grabbing his adopted brother.
“I have to help her.” And he shrugged Henry’s hand off him.
Henry protested, “No. It’s not what you think.”
“No one should have to suffer like that.”
“John!”
But it was too late. He was already out of the ferns and sprinting empty-handed through the open grass.
When the first savages saw him, they were simply too shocked to react, and John was able to make it all the way to the woman before a single person began moving to stop him. But then he realized that they didn’t want to stop him, that he was just a bonus in their sick halftime show. He grabbed the first boy from off the woman and threw him to the ground. Then he moved in to pull the other three off. By the time he had the boys sprawled in the grass behind him, he realized that the woman’s screams were not, in fact, the screams of hopeless anguish he thought they were.
She licked her lips.
And then one of the boys was on his back, clawing at his face. John spun and backed into the hut to knock him off. But the kid wouldn’t let go, trying instead to bite into his jugular.
The crowd of people did not come to the aid of the children but continued to watch as spectators only, rooting for whomever might first deliver a lethal blow — whether John or one of their own, they didn’t seem to care.
John grabbed the kid’s face and flipped him onto the ground. The
child landed hard, and the air escaped his lungs. Before John could begin to feel bad about it, however, two of the other kids were rushing him, a crazy, bloodthirsty light in their eyes. John kicked the first in the head, but the other one leaped off his feet and struck John with a tackle that an NFL linebacker would’ve envied. They both went flying backward.
The crowd erupted.
Straddling John’s chest, the boy howled with euphoria, certain he was about to taste the stranger’s blood in his mouth.
And then there was a loud crack noise, and his head disappeared.
Henry and Chadwick were charging the scene with guns blazing, the crowd instantly reduced to twitching casualties, the demon-crazed boys finally silenced.
John pushed the headless corpse off him, half afraid it might still try to strangle him. He ran toward the woman, hoping that his most recent evaluation of her had been wrong. She was lying still on her back, her eyes closed, her son’s head having rolled to within an arm’s reach of her.
“No! John!” Henry called, trying to get there in time.
But John leaned forward, checking to see if she was still breathing. She wasn’t. He sighed in defeat and turned back to Henry and Chadwick.
“Johnny!” Henry screamed, raising his MP5.
John spun around.
She was standing, eyes wide with unnatural hunger. She roared.
John tried scrambling away, but she was too close. All he could do was cover his face as she landed on him, her sweating, stinking skin rubbing all over him. He could feel her fingernails, like razorblades, searching for arteries, her teeth clamping on his throat. Trying to push her off just seemed to excite her more. She leaned back and smacked him across the face so hard that he nearly lost consciousness.
Henry grabbed the woman by the hair and pulled her off him. He swung her around and let go of her, raising the submachine gun and emptying the remainder of the clip into her chest as she stumbled backward. She collapsed, staring up at him through a crooked grin.
Progeny Page 28
