by The Behrg
In a single sweeping motion, Dugan rolled to one of the first guards he had shot, lifting the man’s rifle still attached to his shoulder and turning it on the mass of bodies leaping free from a second vehicle. Men fell like the fronds of a dying tree. With his other hand, Dugan pulled free a small serrated knife attached near his boot. He hurled it at the driver. It sunk deep into the man’s neck, his head falling forward into the wheel.
The jeep immediately lurched forward, its ghost driver unaware of the passengers falling out and being mowed down. It accelerated into the remaining hull of the helicopter, burying itself into its depths.
The explosion that followed was blinding, but silhouetted the last remaining soldier. Without even sighting, Dugan sprayed the gun in an arc, pulverizing the man with round after round. The soldier’s body split open before it hit the ground.
“Drop it!”
Dugan recognized the voice of the alcalde.
General Gutierrez.
With disgust Dugan hurled the gun down with the arm of the soldier still wrapped around it. He turned around to face the man who had betrayed him.
Gutierrez stood with one boot crushing the hand of a fallen soldier – one of his own men. He held an AK-47, its butt pressing into his considerable gut. Sweat dripped off the man’s face, giving him a shiny appearance. Three other soldiers stood with him, their rifles trained on Dugan as well.
“I sorry, my friend, but jou were not de highest bidder.”
“I didn’t know there were other offers.”
“Dere are always other offers.” Gutierrez’s face split into a smile, his thick mustache, like two eyebrows rising.
Behind the General, two men dragged the body of the Shaman toward a third jeep.
“This isn’t over,” Dugan said. “It doesn’t matter where you go or where you hide him, I will find –”
A Glimmer sparked from near the General’s waist, something slamming against Dugan so hard it swept him from his feet. He landed, leaning against a hunk of twisted metal.
“I think, no, jou won’t,” Gutierrez said.
Another Glimmer flashed against the dark backdrop of night. Not a Glimmer, a spark, igniting as a second and third bullet travelled down the corroded short barrel of the general’s rifle. They hit Dugan in the gut, lower than the previous slug which radiated heat from his right pectoral.
So this is what it’s like to die twice in one day. Dugan’s only consolation was that he no longer felt a need to cough.
“Help – Let go of me!”
Two soldiers carried Dugan’s daughter, her limbs flailing with every step. One of them pulled free a machete, setting it against her neck. Her body finally stilled.
In that moment she locked eyes with Dugan, tears spilling down her face. “Dad?”
“Jour daddy is dying, princesa,” Gutierrez said, adding something in Spanish so quickly Dugan couldn’t understand him. Or maybe it was the world losing its focus once again.
They carried her the rest of the way to the Jeep, her screams on an endless loop, a hurt child calling for her father.
“Dad? Dad!”
She hadn’t called him that since her ninth birthday.
Gutierrez raised one hand in farewell as he climbed onto the back of the remaining vehicle. The jeep slowly grew smaller, rocking back and forth on the muddied and uneven field.
More gunfire ripped through the night but it seemed far away, someone else’s concern.
First the Shaman, then his daughter.
Everything he loved. Everything he had fought for.
A tall soldier suddenly stood before him, his face so young he didn’t need to shave. His dark eyes calloused of emotion.
So young. So young to feel nothing.
Dugan watched as the man raised a nine millimeter toward him, the Darkness staring back at him from that tiny round hole. And then those eyes bulged with surprise, the boy’s mouth drawing open.
Oso stepped out from behind him, letting the boy fall as he pulled his blade from the back of the soldier’s neck. He knelt beside Dugan, cradling him in his arms.
He removed Dugan’s vest, guiding it gently over his arms, raising him just enough to pull it free. Dugan counted three holes in its front, only two on the back, though it was hard to trust anything he was seeing anymore.
“The book …” he said, forcing the words out.
Oso nodded. Reverently, he removed the notebook from the inner pocket of the vest. Dugan couldn’t remember putting it back there.
But it was safe. Unmarked.
Those names would be remembered.
In some ways Dugan had always known his name would end up in that book. He had no home to return to – not in the States and certainly not here or anywhere else the hunt might have taken him. On a blank line in that notebook, it was the only place in the world he really belonged. It would be a homecoming of sorts, welcome faces and names greeting him as he joined their ranks.
Instead of leaving with the book, Oso pushed it back into Dugan’s hands. His eyes, imploring.
Rojo suddenly appeared beside him. “Oh, no.”
Oso pointed with his lips at something in the distance.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll bring it. Hold tight, Dugan, we’ll get you home!”
How to tell them he already was?
As soon as Rojo left, Oso slid his black plated knife from its sheath. He placed one finger against his thick lips.
Shh.
Before Dugan could make the connection that Zephyr had been right about the native all along, he felt the tip of the blade plunge into his side. The pain quickly exceeded that which Dugan was capable of, and the world, with a quiet finality, slipped to black, replete in
Darkness.
End of Chapter Two
To continue with
The Creation Series
Purchase the Next Installment Here:
The Creation: Let There Be Death
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The Creation Series was an idea I had a few years ago that, like most good ideas, grabbed onto me with hooks. While what you have read is just the beginning, this series goes deep, exploring pseudo-Christian beliefs in a very non-religious, yet deeply frightening way. Part fantasy, part horror, part thriller & sci-fi, it’s a series that is difficult to pin beneath a single umbrella.
Having had the opportunity to live in Venezuela for two years I thought I might include a note regarding the differences between my creative work and my experiences within the country. This novel truly does not do justice to the kindness I received, nor the respect with which I hold the amazing people I met. The Venezuelan culture is one in which people would literally give the shirt off their backs to help another in need. My characters were not created from people I met but rather the dark corners of my imagination. Any liberties taken in the novel are my own.
As to the country itself, the Gran Sabana is one of the most breathtaking places I have ever visited. Words come up wanting when attempting to portray such beauty. The tepuis, cenotes, and hundreds of waterfalls, the Rainforest and sheer magnitude of nature … it all leads me to look upward, marveling at the Great Creator who could devise such a world. How tiny and insignificant we are, and yet how important in His eyes.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the start to The Creation Series. If you have, I would be honored if you would consider leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or another media outlet. Reviews make such a difference in the algorithms of a book’s discoverability, and are the best “virtual tip” an author can receive. Also feel free to drop me a note about your thoughts at my website, or stop by to say hi. I respond to every email.
I’m excited to continue this journey with you through the seven day period of The Creation, although a slightly more deranged version than you may be familiar with. The coming days are more frightening than you could ever predict. Thank you again for reading my work and embarking on this journey with me. I promise there will be many more to come!
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A Preview of
The Creation: Let There Be Death
“And God said, Let there be light: and there was light … And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.”
Genesis 1:3,5
Chapter Three
Verse I.
The Earth Observer – NASA’s Earth Observing System (EOS) Project Science Office
EDITOR’S NOTE: This article is taken from nasa.gov. While it has been modified slightly to match the style used in the Earth Observer, the intent is to reprint it with its original form largely intact.
As part of an ongoing effort in measuring the anthropogenic impact on the Amazon ecosystem, satellite data has been interrupted in a thirty-mile radius within the Canaima National Park in South-Eastern Venezuela, a region known as the Gran Sabana. The Global Environmental Defense Administration (GEDA) utilizes satellite imagery to calculate the rate of deforestation, as well as monitor and track agricultural engineering and biosystems fluctuations within the Amazon Rainforest.
Anthony Rojas, Director of the Tropical Forest Program at GEDA, stated, “While the rate of deforestation has slowed to a comparative crawl when looking back over past decades, we are dangerously close to reaching what might be considered a calamitous tipping point,” caused by the Amazon emitting more carbon into the atmosphere than it absorbs, he explained. “An ecological collapse of the Amazonian ecosystem is on par with the far-reaching effects of a global nuclear disaster, resulting in irreversible and catastrophic changes to our world climate – changes, mind you, that should be preventable. Being blinded as we are at this time to activities that could be taking place in this dark region in the Amazon is beyond worrisome; it’s the equivalent of the entire network of the NSAD (National Security and Defense) shutting down just prior to a potential terrorist attack.”
According to scientists from NASA, the recent seismological activity in the region should have no bearing on the uplink of transmittable signals or frequency spectrums within the satellite communications systems. More testing and man-hours were being assigned.
NASA Earth Science in the News
Peter Lynch, NASA’s Earth Science News Team
Verse II.
The newly formed tabletop mountain in Southern Venezuela, recently named Tepui Byrd, was a geologic abomination, an abnormality in geomorphology. Smooth edges plummeted to the savannah below showing no signs of the erosion of sediment and sandstone over millennia that should have created such an impressive sight. Instead, the perimeter of cliff edges surrounding the radius of land propelled skyward were like the walls of a tower —impenetrable, and created for but one of two purposes: to keep people out, or keep people in.
The community of Venezuelans that made up the town of Santa Elena de Uairen now resided upon the top of Tepui Byrd, though its residents were largely unaware of the dramatic change. A few individuals experienced headaches caused by the sudden rise in elevation; others noticed a slight loss of breath. But most retired to their beds enraptured with the events of the evening — talk of the skirmish between the local policia and the Americans was on everyone’s tongue.
By the time the sun crested the lowest rise of Tepui Byrd the following morning, its presence was all but unnoticed, fauna and flora oblivious to its nurturing rays. For a new light had superseded the old, the source of which could not be found.
This new light simply was.
Plant-life that existed beneath the dense canopy of trees, not needing the sun’s sustenance but leeching life from other foliage, now experienced light for the first time. Dark gullies and shadowed landscapes were lit as if from within, a white light that bore no heat and had no source and was everywhere at once.
Of the hundreds of thousands of birds nested within the trees of the new tepui, every one of them lost its sight. The new light penetrated the nictitating membrane and cornea of their eyes, dissolving the thin layers of sclera and reaching the lens. Like a light bulb burning out, the photoreceptors consisting of rod and cone cells were overstimulated to such a degree that they went dark within minutes. Without vision, birds struck wildly into tree branches and trunks mid-flight, broken necks and wings sending their ruined bodies to the jungle floor.
Boars and capybaras, tapirs and giant anteaters, cougars, mountain lions, a jaguar and its three cubs, a family of giant river otters, several dozen sloths, fifteen different species of monkeys, and thousands of snakes and lizards were all simultaneously blinded, along with every other mammal and reptile within the newly confined boundaries of the raised tepui.
A handful of illegal cattle ranchers, along with their livestock, woke to sheen of pure light quickly replaced with complete darkness.
A permanent darkness.
Similarly, every man, woman, and child that happened to be outdoors — most due to the lack of a home from the devastating earthquake — was struck blind.
A curse, some muttered; a plague, said others, while a select few knew the source of this unnatural state, or at least believed they knew, uttering his name with fearful reverence.
The Shaman.
Verse III.
It had been more than twenty-four hours since Father Remmy Shumway had opened his gateway to another world, coming in the form of a needle, vein, and ample dose of diamorphine dissolved in a splash of water and fresh lemon juice. The locked chest in his quarters throbbed in the back of his head just as strongly as his broken arm — maybe more so, considering the one solution would resolve both of his pains.
Eat, drink, and be merry … For tomorrow we die, he thought, the scripture passing through his frontal lobe like a locomotive.
Only tomorrow, he realized, might finally be today.
Remmy had given up his bed for Momo, the oldest woman in town who had claim to not only grandchildren or great-grandchildren, but great-great-grandchildren. Many of her descendants slept in the adjoining assembly hall. The fact that in Venezuela fourteen-year-olds were often impregnated certainly helped in creating her vast progeny. Her raspy snore followed the movements of her thin bony chest.
Another dozen men and women lay on the tiled floor of Remmy’s quarters, children nestled between them, thin pieces of cardboard beneath to act as cushions. Families that had lost everything from the earthquake, everything but each other.
At least for the fortunate ones.
Every available square inch of the church had been converted into a temporary domicile for as many of the displaced families as they could fit within their brick borders. And all Remmy could think about was how badly he wished they would leave so he could throw open his chest and offer his forbidden prayers to the needle and flame that would remove his pain.
But there were other ways to dull pain. Other ways to forget.
Quietly he rose, stepping between bodies and limbs like a ballerina avoiding tripwire. Blood rushed to his arm which was bound in a makeshift sling consisting of torn shirts literally donated off the backs of two of the men now sleeping in the other room. Their generosity, however, did little to squelch the increased throbbing from his movements.
He turned the handle of the door, opening it just wide enough to slip through. Any further and it would have bashed against a slumbering girl curled on the other side. The young girl clutched a filthy dishtowel tightly in her arms. Not even a stuffed bear or animal to call her own.
The short hallway was filled with more bodies; a man stirred only to move to his other side, his head resting between someone else’s feet. A sob carried from somewhere down the corridor. A familiar sound. The tapestry that covered the opening to the church’s storage room hung askew. And beyond it, the body … the Englishman.
Sir William Francis.
Remmy shivered, despite the humidity in the hall. Combine the suffocating heat that always followed rainf
all with the number of people in the church and it would be an atrociously warm day. They would need to move the body, the corpse, and quickly. Before the smell sunk into the walls.
He brought one hand out to pull the tapestry back when a voice spoke to him.
“Wait.”
His heart beat faster, the arrhythmia of his aged muscular organ causing him to take a step back. That voice — it hadn’t been his acolyte, Josue; Remmy knew the child’s voice almost better than his own. Had God finally decided to step from behind the curtain and accept Remmy as his servant? Was he ready to be His servant in more than just name?
“Father?”
Remmy’s eye twitched in response. He turned about, seeing a man standing opposite him in the hall. One of the Americans from last night, the cowardly one who had preferred staying at the church rather than heading back to the astronomer’s home.
The dead astronomer’s home.
Could showing respect be mistaken for cowardice?
“I wouldn’t,” the American said. Grey wasn’t it? “There’s something you should see first.”
Remmy’s arm pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. He had a stash of Zohydro hidden away in a rotted suitcase in the storage room. Ten times as strong as Vicodin. He supposed it would have to wait.
Slowly he made his way over to the younger man, accidentally stepping on an outstretched hand hidden beneath a thin wool blanket. Grey moved with equal fervor, pulling back the curtain separating the hall from the assembly room.
An inordinate amount of light seeped from the room into the hall. Like staring into a chrome bumper reflecting the sun’s glare.
