Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

The world seemed to slow down, so slow he could almost see it spinning on its axis. A sharp pain touched his neck, then something red and warm splashed in front of his face, every individual droplet visible. He lifted his hand to his neck, touched the torn, jagged skin. Blood. Too much blood.

  Long, sharp claws ripped through his clothes, through his skin from chest to groin, piercing and slicing. As he watched his stomach torn from his body and lifted into the air, he opened his mouth, but no sound came. He fell to the ground, silently praying for the mercy of death.

  o0o

  No one said a word.

  When their companion hadn’t woken them at the end of his night patrol duty, they went in search.

  Now, the Hammer and his men looked down at the body and wondered what could have done that to a man. After they buried Gomez, they walked away from the grave.

  “This is wrong, man,“ Nose spat out the words. “This is so wrong.”

  “Fuck,” Fish muttered, which meant he agreed.

  “It had to have been a grizzly,” Hammill said. “Nothing unusual. Nothing supernatural. We increase our patrol. No one goes it alone. We watch each other’s back.”

  A twig snapped.

  They pulled their guns and aimed them in the direction of the noise. They aimed at each other.

  Hammill took out his nyala hunting knife, strong, sharp, and brutal. Whatever was out there, whatever did that to Gomez, wasn’t going to get away.

  They hunted it, following its blood trail deep into the forest, and eventually, they smelled it and knew they were near.

  Hammill saw it first, and his courage nearly gave out at the sight. The creature looked more apelike than anything he had ever seen in the Americas. The possibility of this being the infamous Sasquatch flashed through his mind before he dismissed it. For one thing, it was no bigger than a man. It had to be some kind of bear.

  He motioned to his men to stand still, to stop talking.

  It turned at that moment. With a roar, its mouth opened baring fangs. He tightened his grip on the knife. It leaped, and he felt the fangs dig into the arm he raised to protect himself.

  He stabbed at the monster’s gut, twisted and ripped upward. He didn’t want to think he heard his own voice screaming, joined by his men as they unleashed the fear and anger held inside since entering this strange land.

  Blood squirted onto his face, his hair, his hands, and he didn’t know if it was his own or that of the creature as his men joined in the frenzied attack. They also used knives. They stabbed it over and over. They wanted it to suffer. They wanted to kill it in the same way that it had slaughtered Gomez. Still, it fought hard.

  Then the creature slumped down, its life gone.

  None of the men looked back at it. They didn’t know, and didn’t care to know, what it was. They dragged their leader away to flush the bites with antiseptics, sew him up, and try to ignore the panic-stricken dread that consumed them all.

  Chapter 36

  AS MICHAEL REACHED the spine of a high, jagged ridgeline, he saw a plume of smoke. He motioned for the others to drop down as they crept forward to the edge of a cliff. All gaped in wonder at the scene below.

  Beyond the sheer drop they saw a clearing, and within it, a fenced compound. It appeared to be a grim, bleak place. The smoke came from the chimney of a tall, central building. A figure sat in a tower beside it. Michael wondered what he guarded against.

  “I saw a man and woman carry firewood into the compound,” Michael said. “The man appeared middle-aged, wavy brown hair streaked with gray. The woman was tall, fit, with short blond hair.”

  “Could be Melisse Willis,” Jake said. “But the man wasn’t one of the missing.”

  “She didn’t look or act like a prisoner,” Michael said.

  “Women’s looks can be deceiving,” Quade murmured, causing Charlotte to give him a quick glance.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let them know we’re here until we learn more about them,” Michael said.

  He watched the man in the guard tower leave it. No one replaced him.

  Jake noticed that a split rock face below them formed a deep crevice, one he might be able to climb down. “This is a good opportunity to scout around. I don’t want to lose it. I’m going down there.”

  Charlotte went with him to the point of descent. She stared into the steep, vertiginous, and narrow fissure. “You could get stuck in there,” she said. “I should go first, and if I get into trouble, you’ll be able to pull me out.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jake countered. “No way I’d let you do that!”

  Let me? Her anger flashed. Hands on hips, she said, “If you get stuck, you big oaf, who would rescue you?”

  She’s worried about me? He felt both infuriated and elated. “And you could break your damn neck,” was his retort. “What do you know about mountain climbing?”

  She was stumped a moment. “I’ve climbed pyramids.”

  “Whoop-di-do!”

  “She’s got a point,” Michael offered as he peered through his rifle sights at the compound. “If you two go in that direction, Quade and I will head north and see what’s on the other side of that village.”

  Jake nodded, then mulled over Charlotte’s words. God save him from such a stubborn woman. “All right, we’ll both go. But if they capture us, Michael, we’ll give you a sign only when we’re sure they can be trusted. Until then, be wary.”

  Jake looped a rope around Charlotte’s waist. As he tied it securely he tugged on it, drawing her toward him so they stood only inches apart, each too aware of the other’s nearness. Their eyes met and held before he broke it off to concentrate on making sure the knot was strong. He next looped the rope over his own waist, chest and shoulders, in effect, binding the two of them together. He made sure his jacket cushioned the rope, intending to use his body as a brake in case she fell.

  He wore gloves, but she removed hers for the climb, not trusting them to grip the rock sufficiently tight. She walked toward the crevice. It created a wind tunnel and an icy breeze struck her, numbing her fingers and chilling her face. She took quick, urgent breaths as she eased herself onto the face of the cliff. She looked back at him. Despite the worry that lined his face, he gave her a nod of assurance. She felt flustered and at the same time warmed, which was good because the very next moment she felt she had stepped out onto nothingness.

  The loose, spongy ground let small rocks roll under her foot and clatter against the cliff as they dropped. She shifted left and breathed easier when the ground felt solid once more. Slowly, she descended, trying not to think about the sharp pain in her cold hands.

  She put her foot onto a slightly jutting boulder that appeared secure, only to have it tumble free under her weight. She began to fall, but almost immediately, the rope tightened. Jake, she thought, reassured, yet wondering what kind of insanity possessed her that she volunteered to dangle more than a hundred feet off the ground and trust her life to a man she'd just met.

  As the boulder plunged straight down taking smaller rocks with it, Charlotte found solid footing on the cliff face and clung there. She held very still a moment and wondered if the people in the compound heard the noise. The angle of the crevice made it impossible for her to see the compound or surrounding area.

  From the top of the cliff, Jake could see the compound. When he saw no movement, he gave her a thumbs up, then nodded and gestured downward.

  “So far, so good,” she said, then drew in her breath and took another step. The next boulder held. Then another. Suddenly, her footing gave way and once more she dropped straight down the slope until she jerked to a stop, the rope tight around her chest as it caught, bunching up her jacket with it. She felt smothered by the rope and jacket. She was just about to tell Jake to relax the tension of the rope and allow her to climb the rest of the way to the bottom when she saw something coiled just below her foot. “Jake! Stop! Don’t let me slip!”

  He strained to hold her in place. “What is it?” />
  “A rattler,” she gasped.

  “Shit!” He braced himself.

  “He's leaving,” she said. “Give him time.”

  Just then the rope that had been wedged against the jacket, slid up and over the material. She dropped down in a sudden, jerking movement, before the rope caught again under her arms. The rattler lunged, fangs protruding. She cried out.

  “Charlotte!” Jake yelled. The rope relaxed and fell past her, followed by a cascade of large and small rocks. Suddenly, Jake slid past her then somehow managed to stop himself and scramble up to her side, his face stark. “Where did he get you?”

  “I don’t know. I saw him spring at me, but I didn’t feel anything. There’s no pain. He must have hit the sole of my boots.”

  They climbed down to the ground where he wrapped his arm around her waist and ran with her to the shelter of the brush. He checked and double-checked her legs and ankles. He found no bite marks. The two then lay low listening for any sign they had been spotted. She heard his breath, felt his heartbeat. Her senses came alive, and it had nothing to do with the danger they faced.

  All remained quiet around them.

  She eased herself away. He let her go. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll scout around.”

  “No.” Charlotte grabbed his arm. “I’m going with you.”

  His anger flared at her constant willingness to put herself in danger. “Listen, I could scout a hell of a lot faster without a citified Fed tagging along worrying me.”

  Her cheeks burned at the words, even as she realized the wisdom of his words. “I’m sorry I’m such a bother. Go. And good riddance!”

  As quickly as it came, his fury vanished, replaced by regret at his harsh tone. He gave her a jaunty grin. “Wish me luck?”

  “Humph.” She folded her arms and settled back further in the brush to wait.

  Jake took three steps, and stopped as two men stepped out from behind a hillside, their rifles aimed at him and Charlotte.

  Chapter 37

  THEIR CAPTORS LED Jake and Charlotte to the community house where they faced Thaddeus Kohler. Four men stood behind him. Melisse, Rachel, and Brandi stopped placing clean dishes, forks, and platters of food onto the table to stare at the two strangers.

  “Who are you?” Kohler asked.

  “Jake Sullivan, Sheriff of Lemhi County,” Jake said. He gestured toward the women. “I've been trying to find those students and their professor.”

  “And her?” Kohler’s gaze drifted over Charlotte with curiosity, from her straight blond hair, along her thin, angular body, now held stiffly rigid, to her heavy-soled boots.

  “She's my deputy,” Jake said. He moved closer to her, clearly protective. “Charlotte Reed.”

  Kohler’s gaze moved between Jake and Charlotte. “I see.” He continued. “Who are the others?”

  “What others?” Jake asked innocently.

  “We are not fools, Sheriff Sullivan,” Kohler said. “The two men who travel with you, and the men following you.”

  Jake and Charlotte glanced at each other. “Following us?”

  Kohler gave them an icy smile. “We suspected you did not know.”

  “You’re right,” Jake said, his jaw tight. “There’s a reward for rescuing the students. Some damn fools might want it for themselves.” He gazed hard at Charlotte. “Are they Feds? Friends of yours?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said with a sneer.

  “Where are the rest of the students and their professor?” Jake asked Kohler.

  “I am the one who asks questions here, Sheriff,” Kohler said. “But there is no reason to keep from you that Lionel Rempart and Vince Norton are quartered in the stable.”

  Jake did a quick count in his head. He already knew the fate of Ted and Brian. That left Devlin Farrell unaccounted for. He faced the women. “Are you all right?”

  “We’re well enough,” Melisse said. “Except that we don’t know how to return home. Apparently, neither do they.”

  At Melisse’s words, a chilling thought came to Jake. He faced Kohler. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

  “My name is Thaddeus Kohler.”

  Jake recognized the name of the paramilitary team leader who disappeared some thirteen years earlier. But as he looked over these men, a couple of them looked too young to have been here that many years. “How long have you been here?”

  “Thirteen years,” Kohler replied.

  At Charlotte’s sharp intake of breath, Jake met her eye. She, too, understood who these men were.

  “What is this place?” Charlotte asked.

  “I wish I could explain it.” Kohler shook his head. “But I cannot.”

  “We’d like our guns back,” Jake said. “We need to be able to protect ourselves.”

  “You will, as soon as we’re sure we can trust you.”

  Jake braced himself, his eyes narrow slits as he coldly regarded Kohler.

  Kohler's face grew taut. “Tieg, show the sheriff to the stable. The female ‘deputy’ will remain with the women.” He waited as all the men left, and turned to follow them out when Charlotte stopped him.

  She handed him her last pack of cigarettes. “I’m sure some of your men will enjoy these. There’s no reason for us not to be friends, you know.”

  Kohler took one out and smelled it, then broke off the filter. Charlotte stuck a match and lit it for him.

  “I want you to know,” she said, “that if you have any information about what’s going on here, and if it’s in any way connected to the Egyptian hieroglyphics on the pillars, I may be able to help. But I’ll need more information. A starting point.”

  “Egyptian what?” he asked.

  “Writing.”

  He nodded. “We didn’t know. The symbols were strange to us. None of us has ever seen Egyptian writing.”

  “I see,” she said, but nevertheless, his words surprised her.

  His haughty presence seemed to bristle as if he recognized her surprise at his lack of knowledge, but when his eyes met hers, her breath caught. She hadn’t seen such emptiness since the day she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror shortly after Dennis’ death.

  “I’ll think about that ‘starting point’ you mentioned.” With that, he left.

  Charlotte considered herself a good judge of character. As much as she wanted to trust Thaddeus Kohler, she could not.

  Chapter 38

  New York City

  JIANJUN GOT ON the Acela Express in Washington D.C., and three hours later stood outside Penn Station. His worry about Michael grew, and if this silence continued, he might have to go to Idaho himself. He knew nothing about the place, and wondered if people there still considered chop suey to be Chinese food.

  New York City was a welcome detour.

  He took a cab to an Upper East Side address, and exited it in front of a tall, narrow limestone building. He walked up the steps and rang the bell. A woman dressed in black gave him a haughty once-over. He introduced himself as Michael Rempart’s assistant, and asked to speak to Mr. Phaylor. If Calvin Phaylor was as interested in alchemy and events in Idaho as Jianjun believed, using Michael Rempart’s name would open the door for him.

  The housekeeper left him waiting in the entry. It must have been beautiful once, with black and white marble tiles on the floor, elaborate raised-plaster designs on the walls, and a wide carpeted staircase up to the living quarters. But the carpet was frayed, and the walls in need of fresh paint. Dim lights and lack of furniture left the room devoid of warmth. Shutters barred the outside from view.

  The housekeeper returned and offered Jianjun a choice between the stairs or a small elevator in a back corner. He took the stairs. The housekeeper heaved a sigh and slowly climbed up behind him.

  On the second floor of the home, she showed Jianjun to a large living area and left him alone. The room was even less well lit than the foyer, and furnished in dark Victorian antiques covered in green and black velvet. Heavy damask drapery framed the wind
ows. Jianjun nervously sat on the edge of the sofa. The place was right out of the Addams Family, with the housekeeper a female version of Lurch.

  Ten minutes passed before the double doors opened again. A male nurse pushed Calvin Phaylor’s wheelchair, an oxygen tank attached to it. The once strong founder of PLP appeared rail thin, his skin tight over a six foot tall frame. His white hair was baby fine, long, and fly-away. The nurse stopped the chair a few feet from Jianjun, then quietly slipped out of the room.

  Jianjun jumped to his feet, bowed, and introduced himself.

  Watery blue-gray eyes fixed on him. Phaylor flicked his fingers impatiently toward the sofa. “Yes, I know who you are. Sit! Sit! Is Michael Rempart in Idaho? Have you talked to him?” Phaylor asked, then reached for the oxygen mask and breathed deeply, as if those few words had cost him.

  Jianjun sat as told, then answered the question. “Dr. Rempart is there, but I haven’t heard from him recently.”

  Phaylor’s lips tightened. “What do you want from me?”

  “Any help you can give. I know you’ve looked into what went on in Idaho centuries ago, and what is out there now.”

  Phaylor frowned and Jianjun knew he was going to lie. “I’m not sure—”

  “The Book of Abraham the Jew,” Jianjun said quickly. “Alchemy.”

  He had Phaylor’s full attention. “I see.” He wheeled himself to the bar. “Move this crap off me,” he ordered, pointing at his oxygen tank. “I want a smoke and a drink.”

  Jianjun took the tank from the chair, closed the feed valve, and carried it to the far side of the room. He hoped the tank was well sealed.

  Phaylor poured them each a single malt Scotch. Jianjun rarely drank any alcohol other than beer, but took it nonetheless. Phaylor told him to carry his drink as he rolled toward the elevator. They rode up to a roof deck facing the East River.

  Phaylor removed a cigar and matches from his shirt pocket. He seemed to enjoy the feel of the brisk wind against his grainy skin. He lit the cigar, clearly relishing the taste. Jianjun placed the drinks on a patio table, and sat.