by Tara Ellis
“We have to leave,” I say again, moving over to the door. “Thank you for talking with us. Really. I hope that you and your wife are alright.”
We make our way out into the blessedly cool air on the front porch, and Baxter runs ahead to the truck. Jake finally raises his head and looks around groggily as Chris puts him in the back seat, trying to figure out where he is.
“If you can’t stop it Alex, then come back. I have a very pure, isolated virus that I can infect you with. It should work,” he says encouragingly.
Appalled, I turn away from him and stumble across the driveway. I will never give up, I will never join them. I will finish what my father and now I am meant to do. That is my destiny.
TWENTY ONE
Sitting huddled on the front seat in the darkness; I stare out the window and watch the receding lights. Lights that before had represented safety but now seem to mock me, like the shining eyes of the billions of people whose only hope for a cure rests squarely on my shoulders. I’m feeling that weight now and am having a hard time not collapsing under it.
I point to the right when we reach the end of the driveway, and Chris turns out onto the two lane county road. “Where are we going?” he wants to know.
“To a hunting cabin. One that Dad took Jake and me to several times. It’s like over fifty years old, but will probably be there for another hundred. I’m not even sure who it belongs to, but there was never anyone else there when we went.”
“Right. The cabin from the note. I thought maybe he meant the Professor’s place.”
“No, I never met Mr. Hassan before Dad died. He didn’t even live here then. So I figure he’s got to be talking about a place that only Jake or I would know, like with the duck blind. That letter wouldn’t make sense to someone else reading it.” We ride in silence for awhile and I watch the line in the road rush at us.
Jake calls out my name and I turn to check on him. Baxter is draped over him in place of a blanket and he is curled up under his paws. He must have fallen right back to sleep, because he appears to be saying my name in a dream. Setting a hand gently on his forehead, I try to reassure him. Shuddering, he sighs and turns over; holding onto Baxter’s leg like it was a teddy bear. I double check the guns on the floor to make sure they are secured with safeties on and then turn back around.
“Do you think he could be right?” Looking back out at the trees creating a dark tunnel for us to travel through, I ask Chris my greatest fear.
“Right about what?”
“Not about wanting to change; there isn’t anything that would excuse the murder of millions of people. I mean about God. Is it possible he did this? I mean, he sent plagues on the Egyptians before. Do you think this is God’s plan?”
This time it’s Chris’s turn to smile without it reaching his eyes, but for him, it isn’t due to a lack of emotion. Sadness is all I see as he stares back at me. “Absolutely not,” he answers without hesitation. “Our God is a loving God; he wouldn’t do this to us. Even during the times of Revelations, it is made clear that we will always have a choice. The Egyptians also had a choice; were given numerous opportunities, actually.
“We are to do the will of God, which includes following his commandments, the greatest of which is to Love him and each other and to not murder. He wouldn’t take away our ability to love or drive us to murder millions of people. That’s the work of evil Alex, not God.”
I know that he’s right, that even in the letters from my dad he refers twice now to this virus being evil. The Professor has come to see the changes caused by the virus as a step forward in evolution and doesn’t want to be left behind. To deal with his guilt he has to come up with an excuse to make it okay and blaming it all on God is an easy out.
“We need to hurry.” A new sense of urgency has overcome my fatigue and doubt. “We can’t let this happen. It has to be stopped.”
Reaching out across the seat, Chris takes hold of my hand. The physical contact reassures me that I’m not alone and I push aside all my fears. I need to concentrate on finding the cabin and moving forward.
“There’s a gas station up here a ways, isn’t there? We should stop and get some stuff. I’m starving.”
I can’t believe he’s thinking about food. “We don’t have time for that Chris! People are probably dying right now! And what if they’re looking for us? We can’t risk being seen anywhere.”
“Alex, think about it. How long until we’re at the cabin? Then what? I guarantee you there is going to be some sort of traveling and hiking involved if we have to go find this lost pyramid. When was the last time that any of us ate or drank water? Do you even have any left with you? Because I don’t. I think we’re going to need some energy or else we’ll fail. That isn’t an option.”
Looking at him, I weigh what he’s saying. I hate how reasonable he can be, making me feel a little stupid and childish. Sighing, I give in. “Alright. But I only have a few bucks and we don’t dare use a bank card.”
“I’ve got almost twenty dollars. It should be enough for water and snacks. We’ll park out of sight and you guys can stay in the truck. I’ve got sunglasses and a ball cap in my backpack and I won’t say anything. I doubt their resources are that organized yet.”
Half an hour later we’re back on the road, eating a late dinner of cheese crackers and pepperoni sticks. Chris was right and the guy didn’t seem to give him a second thought.
Jake woke up after we stopped for food and I tried my best to explain what was going on, without being too elaborate. He seems to have accepted things for what they are and the rest has also helped. He’s at least eating, and even laughed at Baxter trying to lick the peanut butter off his cracker.
We’re deep in the Cascade Mountains now, heading northwest. We turned off the main road a ways back and the blacktop eventually gave way to gravel. Chris was forced to slow down to navigate the narrow, rutted road and I’m doing my best to watch for the markers that I vaguely remember.
As we come around one particularly steep bend, Jacob calls out from the back seat. “Hey! There’s that one sign with the moose head on it! I always thought that one was kinda cool.”
Chris stops and I lean over him to peer through the driver’s side window. Barely visible under outstretched cedar branches, is a brown marker with a moose head at the top, marking the trail.
“Good job Jake!” I tell my brother. His help really has been critical. I take a moment to look at him closely, dreading a time when he might start to sniffle or show other signs of the flu invading his body. What I can see of him looks rather normal and I try to focus on the task at hand.
“Okay Chris…I don’t know if the truck will fit through there or not, but maybe we can manage to get it off this road.” I jump out to help guide him in between the trees, pulling some branches aside to make room. It’s a tight fit, but he’s able to go a couple hundred feet up the barely recognizable road before having to come to a stop. There is a downed tree and its way too big to even consider trying to move it. We’ll be on foot from here.
Gathering all of our stuff, Chris takes the heavier bag with the skull, tucking the handgun into his pants. I sling the rifle across my back and his backpack with the food and ammo. I am especially thankful for the flashlight Chris brought. Once all the lights go out on the truck, the dim moonlight barely penetrates the thick canopy of trees and we are plunged into a complete darkness.
Jacob moves close to me, and I put an arm around him. He has never liked the dark. Before we set out, Chris walks back to the head of the trail and takes a couple of minutes to bend the sign over. It’s buried too deep for him to pull it out, but in a short time, he has it almost flat on the ground and I doubt anyone would notice it driving by. That isn’t something I would have thought of and I’m thankful he’s so smart.
“I don’t have any shoes!” Jake complains and looking down at his pajama-clad body, I see that he is indeed barefoot. I hadn’t even thought about it.
Going back to the t
ruck, I rummage around in the back seat for awhile and come up with some running shoes I had stored in there from cross-country season. They are two sizes too big for him, but I tie them on as tight as possible and they seem to do the job.
“How far is it?” Chris asks me as we help each other climb over the large tree trunk. Giant mushrooms are growing all over the surface, making it slippery.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” I admit. “We had always driven all the way to the cabin. Dad borrowed this cool jeep from one of the other cops he worked with, so we never had any problems getting there. I know it took several minutes so I’m guessing it’s a good three miles or more.”
“Well, at least we know no one else can make it up this road either,” he observes. “And there aren’t any other cars around. Odds are we’re alone out here.”
On the other side of the tree, I help Jacob down and Baxter easily leaps to the ground. My eyes have adjusted a bit to the dark and looking around at the woods surrounding us; I really hope that Chris is right.
TWENTY TWO
Saturday morning I wake up to a loud woodpecker banging on a nearby tree. Taking in my surroundings, I see a one room cabin in the faint morning light and remember where we are. It was nearly two hours of walking through the dark mountains to get here last night. It must have been closer to five or six miles away and Chris had carried Jake on his back for most of it.
Chris is sprawled on the wooden floor, sound asleep. Baxter has decided he likes him, and is snuggled up close to keep warm. Jacob and I are sharing the one small cot in the space, with a thin blanket only big enough to cover our legs and half our bodies. When we had come camping here with Dad, we always brought foam pads and sleeping bags. Too bad none of that stuff was still here.
I never thought I would be able to sleep. Actually, at first I had wanted to search for the clue and maybe set out again last night, but by the time we got here it was obvious that wouldn’t happen. Even though we were all beyond exhausted and emotionally drained, I figured my mind would keep racing or nightmares would plague me. I guess at some point though, the body just takes over, because I barely remember my head hitting the pillow and nothing else until now.
Having left our phones behind, I don’t know what time it is, but I’m guessing still pretty early. Even so, I’m eager to get moving. With every passing minute I’m afraid that more people are dying. I keep seeing that pit and imagine thousands of them all over the world. Shuddering, I pull the blanket up around my shoulders and close my eyes, trying to focus on the birds singing outside.
After a few minutes, my uncovered feet get too cold and I’m forced to acknowledge where I am and what is happening. Sitting up all the way, I re-adjust the blanket so that Jake is almost totally covered and carefully slide off the cot from behind him. Thankful that I had a sweatshirt with me yesterday, I pull the hood up to help hold in some body heat and slip into my shoes. Maybe that will help keep my feet warm.
My stomach grumbles and so I find the backpack with the food in it and decide on a breakfast of granola bar and yogurt covered raisins. After carefully counting how many bottles of water we have, I select one and only drink a third of it, since it will have to last me most of the day. Once again, I’m glad that Chris is with us and had insisted on stopping for the food. We would be in a lot of trouble if we didn’t at least have the water. There is no water or electricity in this cabin and while there’s a stream not too far away, it’s never safe to drink it without boiling it first.
I pull the thin shade all the way up on the only window in the front of the cabin. It lets in enough light so that I can clearly see the huge stone fireplace that takes up the whole far wall. There’s nothing fancy about this place, but it’s obvious that whoever built it was a good craftsman and stone builder. It’s probably local river rock that was hauled up here to build the hearth.
Moving closer to it, I start examining each rock, feeling along the crevasses that are filled with mortar. It reaches all the way to the ceiling and is ten feet wide. This might take awhile.
“What are you doing?” I jump at the voice behind me and turn to find Chris propped up on one elbow watching me, petting a seemingly content Baxter.
“Do you remember what the note from my dad said about this cabin?”
“I have a good memory,” he says, getting up. “But not that good. What did it say?” Baxter watches him with wishful eyes and then jumps up on the cot with Jacob when he realizes he isn’t getting any more attention for now.
Going back to the bag, I take the letter out of the front pocket and hand it to him. I go back to my task as he reads that part to me. “’…Then you must go to the cabin and let its warmth guide you.’ Oh…I get it. Those are a lot of rocks.” He observes, looking up at the ceiling. Getting a granola bar and water for himself, he joins me at the fireplace.
We search silently side-by-side for nearly an hour. My anxiety is steadily rising as it gets later and a sweat breaks out on my forehead. The stakes are way too high. This is taking too long. I’m thinking I should wake Jake and have him help us, when I go to put my hand on a small rock near the bottom back corner and pause. Getting down on all fours, I look closer at it to make sure. My heart quickens and I smile excitedly at Chris. “A vulture!” I exclaim, jumping up. “I think I found it!” Painted in black ink on the rock, low to the floor is a clear image of the hieroglyphic vulture.
Chris gets the flashlight and looks at it for himself, nodding in agreement. Pushing at the rock, he finds it solid. “I don’t get it. Are we supposed to take it out or something, or does it mean that the fireplace is where we’re supposed to look? Maybe it’s on the inside. That is where it’s warmest.”
I take the flashlight from him and look again, contemplating what he’s said. He could be right, but my instinct tells me otherwise. I am learning lately to follow my instinct. Running my fingers around the edge, I notice that while there is mortar, it’s a lighter color than the rest. Perhaps because it isn’t as old?
I look around the almost bare room, and settle on the fireplace set. Grabbing the wicked looking poker, I use the pointed end to start chipping away at the cement around the rock. It’s actually pretty soft and starts crumbling with just a few strikes from the metal.
“Smart,” Chris says and I smile at his compliment. Jacob wakes up from the noise but sits silently on the cot watching me, absently petting his dog. His eyes look a bit glassy and red around the rims but I tell myself it’s because of everything he’s been through. Nothing else.
In less than ten minutes I’ve scraped out enough that the rock is starting to wiggle and in another five, I hand the poker over to Chris and start working it with my hands.
When it finally comes free, I give a shout of triumph and look expectantly at the space behind it. My hopes falling, I shine the flashlight into it, sure that there must be something there. It’s empty.
“Look at the rock, Alex.” Not realizing Jake had come to stand beside me; I nearly drop the rock on my foot and then laugh at myself. Following his directions, I hold the freed rock up and sure enough, there is something written on the back of it in the same dark ink: 48*28’46.28N, 119*53’.46W
“They’re just numbers!” Jacob complains, obviously disappointed.
“No. Not just numbers. They’re GPS coordinates. Chris, do you have something you can write these down on?”
Digging back through the backpacks, he finally finds a small notebook and a broken pencil. I read the numbers off to him and then look once more at the rock to make sure there isn’t anything else on it. Before setting it back in place, I scrape it across another rock until the ink is rubbed away. I sweep the mortar crumbs and dust into the cracks around the hearth so that it isn’t obvious, remembering my dad’s words that this information is sacred.
“That’s got to be the location of the pyramid,” I say, feeling a huge sense of relief as I stand and wipe the dust from my hands. Chris, however, doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. He has a fro
wn on his face and is looking rather frustrated.
“Well it’s great and all, but unfortunately we have absolutely no way of locating those coordinates on a map,” he states. “Remember, we don’t have our phones. We’ll have to go back to town and get one.”
“No. I don’t think we will.” He just stares at me, and rather than try to explain, I walk over to the only cabinet in the room. Opening the bottom cupboard, I’m relieved to find the bag is still there. Dad always left this at the cabin, so we would have some essential items no matter what. Pulling out the medium sized, camouflaged duffle, I unzip it and start taking stuff out.
A decent first aid kit, emergency candle, stale energy bars, flint, a knife and finally at the bottom…an old GPS unit. Holding it up so Chris can see it, I tell him why it was there. “Dad always liked to locate his favorite hunting spots and fishing holes with this. The mountains and woods around here are dense and steep so it would be easy to get lost. It’s pretty ancient, but it works.”
“Well thank goodness your dad was prepared!” His mood dramatically improved, Chris looks over the older device and tries the power button. To our relief, it turns on. Handing it back to me, I try to remember the right buttons to push and after a few minutes have it to where I can enter the new numbers. After searching for a satellite, the image finally comes up and it takes us awhile to make sense of the map.
