by S. T. Boston
“How many?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“We don't know,” she said truthfully. “Hundreds I'd guess. We will be monitoring Earth very closely over the next few years; it is our hope that without leadership, they will choose to melt into obscurity and live out the rest of their lives in the mess they created. We have no real way of tracking them all down and bringing them to justice, at least, not yet. That's not to say we won't try. One thing is certain though, we will make sure that the message is delivered. Those on Sheol have some very tough times ahead, and those directly responsible will be made to pay. The man you killed, Adam, was called Buer. He was a very high ranking Elder on Sheol, one of the people directly responsible for the war. There is only one who is above him, named Asmodeus; ultimately it will be him we will look to bring to justice for this.”
“How will you do that?” asked Adam, enjoying the touch of her hand in his.
“That's not something you need to worry about right now, we will do what we need to.” Oriyanna released his hand and stood up, the cape falling perfectly around her figure, as if it had a memory all of its own. “Do you mind if I borrow Adam for a while?” she asked, looking at Sam. “There is something I'd dearly love for him to see.”
“Knock yourself out,” Sam replied. “I mean sure, yeah, of course,” he corrected, noticing the confusion on her face from his first statement. “I'm quite happy resting up here.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, gesturing Adam forward. “Follow me; I think you will want to see this.”
Adam got to his feet a little shakily, steadying himself on the side of the bed until his legs seemed as if they could take his weight. “Do I have a pair of shoes?” he asked, noticing the coldness of the floor on his bare skin.
“You won't need shoes,” she replied, reaching the door as it magically slid open, creating a break in the perfectly shiny metallic wall. “Trust me.” Adam followed her out into a narrow hall. The large window stayed to his left, the glass was so clear it looked as if you could fall right through. “The city you see before you is called Unia,” she said proudly, gazing out at the view as they walked. “It is the city of the Elders. The governing council of Arkkadia operate from here.”
“It's breathtaking,” he observed. The towering glass skyscrapers were colossal when compared to some of the biggest on Earth, and far below, he could see the grid-like city streets. Tiny people were hurrying about like ants. There wasn't a single trace of a car or any other type of motorized vehicle. “Where are we going?” he asked, tearing himself away from the scene.
“You'll see,” she teased. The hall opened out into another large, sterile room. Oriyanna paused and placed her palm onto what seemed like a flat metal wall, much the same as the one in their room. To his surprise, a part of the wall slid open, revealing a lift. Shaking his head in wonder, he followed Oriyanna inside, transfixed by the way the material on her cape moved as she walked.
His stomach lunged as they quickly descended down through the building. His ears popped with the change in air pressure before they finally came to a smooth, gentle stop. As the door slid open, he followed Oriyanna out into another large room, almost identical to the one they'd just left. A beautifully inscribed, shining archway stood proudly in the centre. Adam was in no doubt that it was made of the same substance as the Ark and Key Tablet.
“I guess you don't go much on furnishings,” he commented, surveying the area.
“We have found over the years that there is no use in material things,” she replied, glancing back at him. “This way.” She paused and took his hand, not in a comforting way but much more intimately, reminding him of the way she had held his hand back in the airport when she'd used it as part of her ploy to get the tickets. Only this time, it didn't feel like she was acting. Walking half a pace in front, she guided him to the arch and went through.
Adam felt a strangely familiar sensation, for a brief second his hair seemed to stand on end as small, excitable waves of electricity danced over his body. The cold hard floor gave way to sand, and in the blink of an eye, he stood with her on the beach. “How?” he stammered, realizing where he was.
“Not too many days ago, you spanned six hundred light years just as quickly,” she coaxed, clearly enjoying the baffled look on his face. “Surely, just a small jump of a few thousand miles can't be that hard for you to believe?” He looked back; the arch seemed somewhat out of place, sitting in the middle of the perfectly white sandy beach. “What I showed you, back when we were in that lodge, was a real place,” she said softly. “I was born not far from here, and this is the one place I can come to that is constant and remains virtually unchanged.”
For the briefest of moments, Adam saw a flicker of sadness in her beautiful blue eyes. Reluctantly, he looked away from her and drank in the scene before him, his senses thirsty to experience it all for real. Everything was there; the glass-like blue water, the tiny islands on the horizon, gleaming like jewels under the magnificent large red sun. The mountains looked even more spectacular than he'd remembered; looking around in awe he picked up a faint floral smell which drifted on the light breeze; a new addition to what he'd experienced in his unconscious dream, but welcome nonetheless.
“This is real, isn't it?” he asked a little doubtfully. “I'm not still back in the pyramid, dying at the bottom of that lift shaft?”
“No,” she purred, taking hold of his other hand just as she had before, but this time he couldn't feel himself being pulled away from her. Instead, he felt drawn in. “This is quite real,” she whispered, leaning forward and kissing him. The kiss enveloped him like a warm blanket; he pulled her in closer, suddenly longing for the physical comfort that came with it. “Stay here with me?” she asked when they finally parted.
“What, on the beach?” he replied, his mind still spinning from her intoxicating touch.
“No,” she laughed. “On Arkkadia. Stay with me.”
“Y— you m—ean… mean that?” he stuttered, flopping down in the sand and gazing out across the ocean. Oriyanna sat beside him and placed her arm around his waist before resting her head on his shoulder.
“I do,” she replied. “But only if you want to?”
“Of course I want to,” he said. “But…” he sensed her looking up at him. “But Lucie, my sister. I need to know if she's okay.” His heart seemed as if it was being torn in two. “I can't just stay here. And what about Sam?”
“He would be more than welcome. What you have done is known all over the planet , and there is no problem with you both staying, should you choose to do so. You have more than earned it.” Adam dug his free hand into the soft sand and screwed it into a fist, releasing the fine grains from between his fingers.
“I can't,” he finally said, holding back tears of frustration. “I don't know what kind of world I'll be going back to; I don't even know if she's still alive.” He turned his head and gazed down into her eyes. “But I need to know.”
“I understand,” she replied sadly, sensing his pain.
“Sam can stay if he likes, but I can't. I owe it to my parents to look out for my sister.”
“Oh, I doubt very much he will stay if you don't,” she said, smiling sadly. “He will be asked, though.”
“You could come back with me?” Adam suggested.
“I am afraid I can't,” she replied reluctantly. “My place is here; I don't have a choice, and I suspect that soon I will be heading to Sheol to join the war.”
“How long do we have?” asked Adam, reaching over and gently brushing her hair back from her face. As he did, she nestled her cheek against his palm.
“Eternity,” she replied softly, enjoying the touch of his skin on hers. “You have many years of living to do, Adam Fisher. This goodbye will be nothing more than a blink of an eye. Go and do what you have to do, as will I. When you are ready, I will be here.” She leaned in and kissed him again, as they both fell back against the soft, white sand.
Epilogue Part Three
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br /> Adam hit the full stop key on the old, antiquated typewriter for the last time and reeled the paper out of the machine while it offered up a series of fast, mechanical clicks. His MacBook Pro sat silent and dead on the other side of the room, a constant reminder of how things used to be.
“Is it done?” asked Lucie, leaning into the study, her hands cupped around a steaming mug of fresh coffee.
“I think so, although I'm still not sure Sam will read it,” he replied, smiling at her. “He never was one for literature. Is he downstairs?”
“No, he's in the garage. He sourced a part for his motorbike, thinks he can get it running again.” In an almost instant response to her statement, the uncommon sound of a revving engine echoed up from outside. “Sounds like it worked,” she smiled, walking into the room and placing her mug on the desk before she picked up the thick manuscript her brother had been working on for the past six months. “I guess things will gradually start returning to normal now.”
Adam leaned back in the chair. “Well, when you've seen the things that we have, you have to ask yourself what constitutes 'normal'.”
“So it's all in here, then?” she asked, thumbing through the wad of paper as Jinx came slinking into the room and busied himself twisting about her feet.
“Everything,” he sighed, thinking of Oriyanna, as he did almost every hour of every day.
“ 'Watchers, by Adam Fisher',” she read, studying the front cover. “I like it!” She flicked to the second page. “For my sister Lucie,” she read proudly, “Sam, who has become more like a brother than he will ever know, and Oriyanna – even though we are apart, you still fill up my senses. I particularly like the next bit,” she said, smiling. “Dear Reader; As hard as this may be for you to accept, this is not a work of fiction.” She placed the papers back on his desk and collected up her coffee. “Do you really think people will believe it?”
“I don't know,” replied Adam, his voice distant. “Whatever they choose to believe, it makes for one hell of a story.”
From The Author
First, let me start by thanking you for not only purchasing Watchers, but also taking the time to read it. The actual story had been in my head for nearly ten years. Thankfully, the independent publishing revolution has allowed me to both write the story and publish it with relative ease.
While the book falls into the Sci-Fi / Thriller genre, I have tried to keep a balance and not make it too heavy on the Sci-Fi part, with the hope that I can span both the Sci-Fi and classic Thriller/Action genres and produce a book that many people can both read and enjoy, without feeling blinded by science and theory.
The subject of the ancient alien theory has fascinated me for quite some time, and while I have used some of these theories and studies to base my book around, I have also used a fair bit of artistic license to adapt it and make both the timeline and the plot fit. Whilst I don't personally believe every aspect of these studies, there is some fascinating evidence to support it. I think we just need to read into it with an open mind and be prepared to ask that ever frustrating question: What if?
If the book has captured your imagination and you would like to read some of the non-fiction based studies, then there is a wealth of information both on the internet and in published books.
I would like to offer my personal thanks to my friend Sarah, who first encouraged me to write Watchers after I explained to her the basic plot line, long before I even put my fingers to keyboard (the modern equivalent of pen to paper). Then, as I began to draft out the first chapters, she took the time to read it in its early form and went on to help me edit the book, helping shape it into the novel that you see before you now.
So, after many months of work and many evenings and early weekend mornings in front on the computer, much to the frustration of my very patient fiancée, Laura, this is where I shall sign off. Maybe now you can go and read a little of the non-fiction based studies that inspired me to write this book. I dare you.
Connect With The Author
Twitter - @Steve_Boston32
Facebook - www.facebook.com/watcherseBook
Watchers Book Two: The Silent Neighbours – Preview
The world has changed. A little over two years ago, the Reaper virus raged across the globe, leaving a billion people dead. As the planet slowly gets itself back on its feet, tensions arise as oil prices soar and Russia puts a stranglehold on supplies, leading to a new nuclear arms race. As the world's superpowers rush to bring their nuclear defence systems back online, there are those who hope to utilise this fragile new world to deadly effect.
Unwillingly thrown into the fight once again, Adam and Sam find themselves in a battle against evil, a fight that will decide the fate of the human race on Earth once and for all.
* * *
The stars hung brightly in the sky, suggestive of a thousand fairy lights connected by an invisible mess of tangled wires. Sam Becker hunched his shoulders down into his Berghaus jacket and pulled the collar up an extra few inches, to try and keep out the biting cold sea breeze, which was like a frozen blade against his skin. Steadying the tiller on the small, four horsepower Honda engine, he gunned the twist grip throttle until it reached the stop. As the small Honda maxed out, he whipped his wrist away from the engine, instantly killing the motor by activating the emergency cut off.
Eyes fixed firmly on the approaching shore, Sam focused on the rhythmic sound of the water lapping at the aluminium hull, and the continuous distant whistle of the biting wind. Fruitlessly, he tried his best to relax. Just as he began to think he'd killed the engine too soon, a breaker picked up the rear of the boat and fired him toward the shore, faster than the feeble outboard could manage at full revs.
As the bow hit the shingle beach with a satisfying crunch, Sam was on his feet and jumping ashore, a spiked tie-off rope clenched in his cold, gloved hand. Driving the spike down hard into the shingle he heaved the front of the tender onto the beach, leaving the rear end bobbing in the shallow water. Satisfied the small boat was secure, he hiked his kit bag onto his back and scurried up the shingle bank, his feet making more noise on the loose stones than he would have liked.
The large and looming chateau that was Sam's folly lay in a blanket of ominous darkness at the edge of the beach, surrounded by long grass scrubland to either side. The chilled breeze stirred the unkempt plants, making them swoosh softly and invisibly in the night, a multitude of whispering voices announcing his arrival.
Reaching the edge of the shingle beach, Sam hunkered down by the wire perimeter fence and slid the backpack off his tensed shoulders. Removing his damp thermal gloves he dove an icy hand into the bag and removed a pair of latex ones. They offered nowhere near the same amount of warmth, and the cold sea air blowing in off the English Channel instantly felt as if it were slicing right into his flesh. Satisfied that they were in place, he closed the bag and removed a small pair of wire cutters from a pocket on the side. Starting at the base of the fence, he began snipping deftly at the thick wire, one section at a time. Each time a thick strand of plastic-coated wire gave way, it sent a shockwave of pain through his numb and throbbing fingers.
Satisfied that he'd produced a hole big enough to gain access, he pushed his backpack through and lay down on the coarse grass which had sprung up along the fringes of the beach. With small, wriggling movements he squeezed his way through the self-made breach and emerged on the other side. He was in.
Bending the wire back and disguising the hole as best he could, Sam collected up his bag, dusted himself down and ran in a half hunched position across the grounds and toward the building, his soft-soled shoes almost silent on the grass. An impressive, yet silent fountain lay to his right; it almost seemed as if the concrete gargoyle sitting proudly at the top had his stony gaze on Sam the whole way.
When he reached the back wall of the magnificent, beachfront property Sam breathed freely for the first time in what felt like an age. Back pressed to the masonry, he slipped along the building line si
lently until he reached the door. It was precisely where he'd estimated it to be when studying the satellite image of the house. Utilising the kit in his pack once again, he removed a small screwdriver from the same pouch and proceeded to pop out the beading from around the bottom UPVC panel. Timing the removal of each bead with a strong gust of sea air, he snapped all four panel retaining beads out of place. Despite the wind helping to disguise the noise, each time one popped out it sounded alarmingly loud in Sam's ears.
Pausing for a second to slip the screwdriver back into his pack, Sam removed a small electronic pass-card reader from his bag and gripped it between his teeth. With hands far too numb and cold to be performing such a delicate operation, he tapped the loose panel with his fingers, right at its base, and it fell in. With a swift and surprisingly accurate movement, he caught the top before it clattered onto the tiled floor on the other side. Allowing himself one more deep breath, he climbed headfirst through the gaping hole he'd just created.
The warmth of the chateau hit him like a deliciously snug blanket, but there was no time to enjoy it. The alarm panel immediately began beeping angrily to itself, as if annoyed by the midnight intrusion. Scanning the kitchen, Sam located the box by its flashing red light. He had precisely twenty seconds. His soft black plimsolls made almost no sound as he briskly padded across the darkened kitchen, which appeared big enough to host a TV cook off competition; camera crew, celebrity chefs and all. However, such shows were a thing of the old world, the world before the Reaper virus.
Reaching the panel, he removed the pass-card reader from his teeth and slid the credit card sized section into a slot at the base of the impatient panel. Holding the LED number pad in his shaking hand Sam watched wide eyed as the small electronic device worked its magic. Ten seconds, he thought to himself. The seconds ticked by painfully slowly, as each one of the six-digit deactivation code numbers appeared in bright red on the screen. With no time to spare, the full code finally blinked back at him. Not pausing for a moment, Sam hit the enter key on his control box and instantly relaxed a little, because the main alarm control box stopped its low pitched rhythmic beep and pinged to a welcoming green glow.
