Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy)

by Tara Ellis

  Encouraged by his words, I look around us, fearful that there are other shiners and not knowing what to do next. Closing my eyes, I take a slow cleansing breath and try to listen to my instincts. An owl hoots in the distance, calling to me and a slight breeze blows through my hair. The night then becomes very still and I am aware of a growing pressure…like the weight that I have been bearing is about to come crashing down. Chris is right. As hard as this is, there are bigger things happening and I have to move. Now.

  Untying my sweatshirt, I wad it up and put it under his t-shirt, over his wound. “Jacob,” I say, turning to him. His skin glows white in the pale moonlight that is starting to show through the trees. Eyes wide and glassy with fever, he looks at me with desperation. “I need you to push down on this like I am. Keep pressure on it. Can you do that?”

  Nodding his head, he places his hands where I show him and sits down next to Chris. I hug him tight, refusing to let myself think it’s for the last time, and then check the 45 to make sure it is ready to shoot and place it in Chris’s bloody hands. “There might be more Shiners. In fact, it wouldn’t make sense if there wasn’t. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll be okay for awhile, I think.” he says softly, as I prop him up against a tree. Rummaging through our bags, I come up with the emergency candle, first aid kit and flint. I place it all next to him and then take the bag with the skull and rifle ammo.

  With Chris and Baxter watching the trees, I risk clicking on the flashlight to look at the GPS. Amazingly, we ran in the right direction and are even closer to it now. Walking over to the fallen Shiner, I confirm that I hit my mark. It isn’t Mom. Going back, I shut the light off and reach for my rifle leaning next to Chris.

  Before I can pick it up, Baxter rushes past me snarling and leaps just as Mr. Jones comes into view, gun raised in my direction. Latching onto his arm, Baxter forces him to drop the gun and then won’t let go. I try and aim my rifle, but can’t get a clear shot. Jacob starts screaming his dog’s name, and I watch in terror as the man that used to be our friend takes hold of Baxter’s neck with his free hand. His intent is clear and there is no way I’m letting it happen.

  Rushing forward, I raise my rifle like a club and hit Mr. Jones across the head as hard as I can. With a sickening thud, he falls to his knees but doesn’t go down. Baxter releases his arm but is obviously dazed and making an odd wheezing noise.

  I take a couple of steps back and try to finish him, but he’s already moving with incredible speed in the opposite direction. I take a parting shot, but it slams harmlessly into a tree he just ran past.

  Reassured somewhat by the gun he left behind, I pick it up and hand it off to Chris. “Maybe he’s the last one,” I suggest. “I think they would have come at us at the same time, otherwise.”

  Baxter has recovered, and is growling again. Going to him, I place a hand on his loyal head and call him a good dog. He’s not having any of it though, and his agitation grows. I take hold of his collar and try to tell him to stay. I can’t lose him now, not after all of this. But it’s like he’s gone wild, and he starts twisting and pulling away from me. “Baxter! Stop it! Its okay, stay…” the worn leather collar he arrived with nearly two years ago can’t keep him back any longer. It snaps in half and I am left holding it in my hand as Baxter heads for the trees.

  “Baxter!” all three of us yell at the same time. I glance down at the broken collar before tossing it and pause. Picking up the flashlight I had dropped, I look closely at the leather and then back at where Baxter disappeared. Burned into its underside is yet another image of the vulture.

  “I have to follow him!” I tell Chris, and toss the strap at him as I run off after my dog, my loyal friend that was always meant to see me through this to the end.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Crashing through the woods with my rifle at the ready, I’m trying my best to keep site of Baxter up ahead of me. Every once in awhile he’ll pause and look back at me to make sure I’m still there, but he isn’t wasting any time.

  I try not to think too much. We are beyond things making sense and so I just follow my dog with the confidence that he will take me to the pyramid. Knowing that Chris and Jacob are left somewhere in the mountains behind me, spurs me on and gives me more energy than should be possible.

  After ten or fifteen minutes, I jump over a fallen cedar tree and almost trip over Baxter who is sitting on the other side. Tongue hanging, eyes bright, he looks at me expectantly. “What?” I ask him.

  He barks at me once in response and shuffles to his right a few feet and then barks again. Feeling exposed, I remove the backpack and take out the GPS. Hating to turn the flashlight on, I look to see where we are and find that we are right on top of the coordinates. Feeling both excited and frustrated, I turn the light away from me and start looking around.

  Mostly surrounded by trees, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. I guess I expected to just walk into a clearing with a pyramid in the middle of it…but there is neither a clearing nor a pyramid. Stepping closer to Baxter, I notice that the steep hillside behind him is more than just earth.

  Dropping to my knees, I dig at the dirt with my hands. The soft, loamy soil comes up easily and ten inches down I encounter smooth, flat rock. Standing up again, I try to grasp what I am looking at. It isn’t a hill…well, I mean it looks like one, but I don’t think it is. If the pyramid has been here for thousands of years than it could very well be reclaimed by the forest.

  Walking up the steep incline twenty feet, I again dig at the surface and this time it’s only six inches down to the same chiseled stone. There are trees here, but they are thin and the roots are exposed… like you would expect to see on the rocky edge of a cliff or something. I believe I am standing on top of the pyramid.

  My heart racing, I run back down to the bottom and start following the slope, looking for anything that might indicate an opening. “Come on Baxter! Find the door!” I call to him, hoping that he understands.

  After a hundred feet, I encounter large rocks jutting out, covered in moss. Running my hands over them, I notice that although the corners are worn and rounded, it’s clear that these used to be symmetrical blocks of stone, spaced about ten feet apart. Tearing at the branches, roots and vines growing and hanging down in between them, I know that I’m standing at the entrance.

  Once I have made an opening large enough to fit through, I turn the flashlight back on and call to Baxter. Alexis… Jumping back, I aim the light into the darkness beyond, where my whispered name came from. I can’t see anything, and so step through and towards my destiny.

  The passageway is long and narrow, reminding me of the tunnel in my dreams. Looking carefully at the rock walls on either side of me, I am not surprised to see hieroglyphics. After a couple of bends to the right and then the left, it opens up into a large central chamber, the ceiling too high above me for the weak light to reach. The fluttering of wings assures me that I am not alone.

  My breath coming now in quick, ragged gasps, I move to the center of the room. To my dismay, there isn’t any obvious sign of where I’m supposed to place the skull. Slipping the straps off my shoulders, I’m thankful to set it down and carefully remove the crystal skull. Not sure what I should do next, I put it on the dirt floor.

  Baxter comes to me, sniffing. He looks at the skull and then me, trying to figure out whether he should be concerned or not. Chuffing, he moves past me and starts walking in a circle, nose to the floor. His excitement growing, he begins to dig and I silently watch him.

  As some sort of rock formation comes into view, I get in on the action and start to claw at the dirt alongside him. Before long, we’ve uncovered a platform about 1x1 foot. My first thought is that I should place the skull in the middle, but when I run my hand over it to wipe off more of the dirt, I realize there is a small depression in the center. Getting down close to it, I blow some dirt out of the small crevasses and then use the flashlight to inspect it.

  It is, indeed an impression and
if I’m right, it’s the reverse of the image on my wooden medallion. Our family crest. My hands shaking, I pull it out from under my shirt and slip the chain over my head. As I suspected, it’s a perfect fit and it slides into place there is a deep, booming click from far under me and the ground shudders. I cry out in alarm when the whole floor starts to drop away from the walls, and I find myself descending below the surface like an ancient elevator.

  After ten feet, I see new walls take shape and torches spaced around the newly formed room flash to life. I’m guessing the fresh oxygen created some sort of chemical reaction. Five more feet and it groans to a stop and I can clearly see another entrance on the far side of the huge, underground room.

  Afraid to remove the medallion incase it might make us rise back up; I leave it there and pick up the skull. There are more torches leading down another hallway on the other side of the opening, so I head that way.

  With Baxter walking softly beside me, we follow the light and go another couple hundred feet before reaching yet another room. This one is even larger than the first, but brightly illuminated with what must be a dozen torches. Looking more closely at them, I see that it isn’t even fire, but some sort of gas burning. Or at least, that is the closest comparison my brain can come up with. I remind myself that this was built with technology greater than what we have today, and don’t waste any time trying to figure it out.

  In the center is what appears to be a huge spiral staircase, also illuminated. Crossing to it, I look up into its depths and feel a strong sense of peace wash over me. I start to climb.

  It seems like forever that I am ascending the stairs, and I wonder how something made of stone could be so tall yet not fall over. Just when I think that I can’t make it another step, I break through into a room and I’m disoriented for a moment. The floor is covered in what were once rich, woven mats; the walls angling to a point fifty feet above me in what has to be the top of the pyramid. The stone is decorated with familiar, ancient hieroglyphs mixed in with double helix DNA strands and other odd shapes that I’ve never seen before.

  Set in one of the three walls, across from the stairwell is a recessed space two feet square and three feet off the floor, filled with light. I am drawn to it, and my breath catches in my throat when I see a hollowed nook in the floor of it that I am betting to be a perfect match with the skull.

  Relieved to be rid of its weight, both literal and implied, I gingerly set the crystal in place. It fits like I knew it would. Leaning my rifle and flashlight against the wall, I step back to look at it and notice a finely carved wooden crucifix attached to the wall just above the opening. I know that it had to have been put there by either the last sentinel during the 1700s or else my dad, since this pyramid was built before Christ was even born and Christianity wasn’t known here until then. Seeing it helps solidify in my mind that Gods plan has always been to set us free, and that it is my father’s final marker. I made it.

  With renewed hope, I look at the blood on my right hand…my blood, and face the skull. Closing my eyes, I send a prayer for success and then reach out and smear it across the pyramid on the skulls forehead.

  TWENTY SIX

  Nothing happens. Crouched down, I am at eye level with the skull, staring into its empty sockets. I expected it to at least light up or something, but there is no indication that anything changed. “No, no, no…” I mutter, backing away from it. This can’t end like this. It has to work! Clawing desperately at the clotting wounds on my forehead, I manage to get a fresh supply of blood oozing down my face and my fingers through it. Maybe it was just too dry.

  Stepping back up to the skull, I wipe the wet blood over the pyramid carving. Then, for good measure I smear it around the whole thing, in case it’s supposed to go somewhere else. Now it looks like its wearing some macabre war paint and has a sinister appearance. Shaking my head at its lack of activity, I don’t know what else to do. I wish that Chris were here…he would have an idea. He’s the smart one.

  “Having problems, dear?” I spin around at the raspy voice behind me and discover that Mr. Jones is emerging from the stairwell. Baxter’s hair rises on his back, and he growls menacingly. That Baxter didn’t even hear him coming proves how stealthy the Shiners are. I can’t help but notice the large hunting knife in his left hand, the odd light from the torches glinting off the metal.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, looking around the room for anything I can use as a weapon. I chastise myself for setting the rifle down. It’s too far away. By the time I could reach it, he’d be on me. Other than the mats the floor is bare. He begins walking slowly, tauntingly towards me with that odd grin on his face. Baxter must sense that he is at a disadvantage and stays by my side instead of attacking.

  “Because this is what the world needs. A time of renewal and union. Once we are ready, they will come back, and we can’t let you stop it.” He shouts the last words, his eyes glowing brighter, the grin turning to a sneer.

  I back up to the wall, with the skull behind me and the cross pressing into my neck. I raise my hands above my head in a pleading gesture. “Please, don’t hurt me,” I beg.

  “Oh I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures me, moving to within a couple of feet. “I’m going to kill you!”

  He closes the last of the space between us and I grab desperately at the cross on the wall behind me, bringing it around. As he raises the knife to plunge down into my chest, I surprise him by stepping forward to meet him. Lunging with all my strength, I come up under his arms, ramming the tip of the cross into his stomach and we fall back onto the floor together.

  Appalled at what I’ve had to do, I roll away from him. He’s dropped the knife and is looking down in astonishment at the carving that is protruding from his mid section. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, scooting back on all fours.

  Blood is rapidly pooling beneath him and his head falls back as his breathing slows, becoming ragged. I gag at the coppery stench of his blood and sit back on my heels, not knowing what to do. Eyes fluttering, he gasps once, and then focuses on my nearby form.

  “Alexis,” he whispers, reaching out to me with great effort. Looking into his eyes, I see the kind Mr. Jones I’ve known all my life. Loud, violent sobs rack my body as I lean forward and take hold of his offered hand. Baxter stops barking and lies beside us, whimpering. “It’s okay dear,” he says softly. “Thank you...” Closing his eyes, his hand goes limp and I know that he is gone.

  Burying my head in my arms, I cry for Mr. Jones and everyone else that I am unable to help. This was all for nothing. My blood isn’t pure enough. Now I have lost all the people that I love and there is nothing left for me. Baxter licks my face, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “I still have you, don’t I buddy?” Although he is a big dog, he somehow manages to climb into my lap.

  We stay that way for several minutes, consoling each other. I finally get enough of a grip to contemplate how I can drag Chris back to the cabin, if he’s still alive. Looking down at my hands resting in Baxter’s fur, I see that they are covered in blood and can’t help but feel like it represents the blood of the world.

  I know that in reality the blood on my right hand is mostly mine. Mr. Jones’s blood is still damp on my left forearm, and the rest of it that covers my left hand is all Chris’s. So much blood, swimming with both infected and uninfected DNA. I wonder briefly if I’ve now been exposed, or if Chris’s purest DNA would somehow offset the effect. Wait.

  Sitting up with a jolt, I startle Baxter and he leaps off my lap. “My blood isn’t good enough Baxter, because I’m only 50% Egyptian,” I explain to my friend who stares at me with interest. “But Chris is 75% Okanogan Indian, a tribe that is native to this region. Native Americans have been in this area for thousands of years, back when this pyramid was built.”

  Excited now, I get to my feet and go back to the crystal skull, my smeared blood dried on its surface. With cautious hope, I place my left hand on the forehead of the skull and push against it. Almost im
mediately, it starts to vibrate. Crying with relieved joy, I step back from it and watch as it begins to glow, intricate patterns of light running throughout the inside of it.

  As the intensity builds, the vibration spreads to first the walls and then the floor. A low hum fills the air and the hairs on my arms stand on end. Kneeling down on the floor, I hold onto Baxter as light gathers in the space over our heads.

  With a low rumbling sound and the scraping of rock against rock, the top fifty feet of the pyramid lifts off above us and rises up into the night sky, dirt and small trees rolling down it. After everything that has happened, I am still not prepared for such a site and I’m mesmerized by it.

  Energy pulsates in the air around me and reaches a crescendo as it starts to crackle. Tendrils of electricity reach out from the piece hovering, and it begins to spin. Slowly at first, but then it quickly gains momentum. Faster and faster it goes, until huge bolts of light shoot out from multiple directions, reaching out through the night sky to places unseen.

  “The anti-virus,” I say with certainty. “We’ve done it!” I think back to what the Professor had said and now Mr. Jones and I know that this might be only the beginning. But what the creators of the virus don’t understand is the human desire to fight for our freedom and our value of life. To simply be alive, isn’t enough.

  A thicker beam of light erupts from the top of the spinning triangle and then also out the bottom, engulfing me. As I gaze up into what I hope is our cure, letting it wash over me, I finally realize that our greatest gift, and weapon, is love. I mean, who can ever win against something as powerful as that?

  With a renewed sense of purpose, I gather my stuff and then turn and head for the stairwell. Pausing at Mr. Jones’s body, I only wish that he had been a few minutes later. I take some peace in knowing that he is with his wife. I have no doubt now that there is so much more to this life than what we can simply see. My dad will always be with me, and will be waiting for me when it’s my time to move on. But that won’t be tonight.