by Jacob Whaler
“I know exactly where to go, and I’ll only be there a few minutes. He won’t be able to track me in that short of time.” Matt has already made up his mind. “Besides, I have one of these handy little things.” He pulls a little stone box out of his pocket. “I found it on the floor in the room where Ryzaard was holding us. Naganuma showed it to me when he was teaching me about the Stones. He called it a cloaking box. If you drop the Stone inside, it turns off. Makes it impossible to track.”
“And impossible to use, right?”
Matt doesn’t answer. He puts the cloaking box into a pocket of the backpack, slings the whole thing over one shoulder and walks out of the room. “You’ll just have to trust me.” Taking the handlebars of the Harley, he pushes it out the door and down the steps to the ground. “Take a few long swims in the ocean. A last run on the snow. Enjoy yourself. Something tells me we don’t have much more time here.”
“Matt.” Jessica’s face loses its color. “What if he comes here?”
“Ryzaard?”
“Yeah. What if he comes while you’re gone?”
“He won’t. How could he know where we are. Even if he has some idea that I’m in my own world, he can only jump to a place if he knows where it is. And in this case, he doesn’t. Like I said, I’ll be back in no time.”
He swings his leg over the motorbike and settles down on the seat. Then he looks back at Jessica, trying his best to smile.
She stares past him to the ocean on the horizon, her face set in stone. “Take me with you. Please.”
“I can’t, Jess.”
After an eternity, her eyes move to Matt, and she mouths the words that cut and heal his heart at the same time.
I love you. No matter what happens. I love you.
A huge lump swells in Matt’s throat. He opens the throttle and eases the motorcycle onto the beach, knowing that Jessica is running behind him. It’s too painful to look back, so he stares forward, clenching his jaw. As he gets up to speed, the wind squeezes a single tear out of the corner of his eye. He casts a quick glance back.
She’s standing alone on the sand, straight and elegant.
Just like the last time he saw his mom alive.
CHAPTER 13
Kent walks across the grass between tents, leaving them behind, and enters into the cornfield. It’s no use trying to sleep. The conversation with Little John plays in his mind like an old song that won’t let go.
We don’t have much time if you want to see your son alive again.
He stops and looks up through the corn that is now higher than his head. The Milky Way blazes across the blackness above him, like a gash in the fabric of space.
“He’s a good man.”
Kent jumps at the sound of the voice and looks around through the jungle of cornstalks.
“Over here,” the voice says again. A tall man with aviator sunglasses steps out of the darkness behind Kent and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry to startle you like that. I heard you get up and thought I’d join you on a walk.”
“Little John wants you to keep an eye on me?”
“He just wants to know whether he can trust you.” The man moves ahead through the corn. “But like I said, he’s a good man.”
“And a liar.” Kent says. “All those lies about finding the Stone in the Congo. He needs to come up with a better story.”
The tall man laughs. “He likes to tell it that way. I guess he just wants to add a little mystery and drama to the Stone.”
“Do you know how he really got it?”
“I do.” The tall man walks side by side with Kent. “I was there when it happened.”
Kent opens his arms to the wetness of the dew on the corn leaves. A sticky residue clings to the palms of his hands. “Before you tell me, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, as long as it’s not about the sunglasses.”
Kent moves deeper into the endless green field. “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you. I never see you without them.” Kent stops and looks up at the tall man. “Some sort of eye condition? Sensitive to starlight? Cancer of the retina?”
The tall man grins without showing any teeth. “I don’t have to worry about any of those things anymore.” He slowly removes the sunglasses, revealing two empty sockets with nothing but a thin covering of stretched skin over the holes. “Satisfied?” The reaches out a hand to shake with Kent. “My name’s Jake. Good to meet you, Kent Tiberius Newmark.”
Kent shakes the hand in silence as he stares at the eyeless face.
Jake puts his sunglasses back on. “Trust me, it’s better this way.” He turns to walk ahead through the cornfield. “You want to know about Little John’s Stone, right?”
“Yes. And about my son’s Stone.”
“I can’t tell you much about your son, but I do know a thing or two about the Stones.” Jake stops and pulls an ear of corn, husking it in one quick motion of his large hands. He offers it to Kent.
“No thanks. I like mine cooked.”
“Just thought I’d ask.” Jake starts chewing on the cob. “John and I go way back. He looks a lot younger than me. Thanks to the Stone.”
“You’re both the same age?”
Jake snorts and spits corn out of his mouth. “Naw. He’s older by decades. I was a homeless kid living on the streets of Los Angeles when he found me. I guess you could say I was the first of the Children.”
“Children?” Kent stares at the ground. “Where have I heard that term before?”
Dropping the corncob on the ground, Jake picks another one. “That’s what he calls his followers. And they mostly are young. Older folks just don’t get it.”
“So, he’s a prophet?”
“He sees things. Ever since he got the Stone. Just glimpses and fragments of the future. He says it’s like watching a movie with most of the frames missing.”
Kent doesn’t like where the conversation is heading. But he can’t help but wonder. “What has he seen?”
“He talks about flashes of light, earthquakes, cities leveled, a cleansing of civilization, a throwing off of the fetters of technology.”
“The end of Abomination, right?”
“That’s part of it. But also the beginning of something new and wonderful.” Jake rips off another husk and throws it into the darkness.
“You still haven’t told me where he got the Stone.”
Jake shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not much of a story.”
“Try me.”
“If I tell you, will you promise me two things?” Jake stops. His sunglasses turn and focus directly on Kent.
“What two things?”
“First, you won’t ever tell anyone else, and second, you won’t let it diminish your opinion of Little John.” The tall man’s right eyebrow rises above the sunglasses. “Agreed?”
Kent smiles, but sees no trace of humor on Jake’s face. “Scout’s honor. I won’t tell a soul. And I won’t think less of the little man.”
“Don’t ever say that in front of him.”
“He’s got a temper, has he?”
“Like you can’t believe.” Jake clears his throat. “But back to the Stone. Little John found it in the garbage.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“He was a homeless drunk when he found it, digging through a pile of trash in some back alley in Beverly Hills. That’s the honest truth. Now don’t you ever repeat it.”
“Hard to believe someone would throw a magic rock like that away. But I guess anything is possible. Now I understand why Little John told me the story about the Congo. The truth is just too hard to believe.”
“There’s more.” Jake stops, turns and looks down at Kent. “It’s the main reason Little John is so interested in you and anxious to find your son.”
Kent feels a tingling that starts in his fingertips. It runs up his arms and down his spine. Far away to the east, the rumble of thunder rolls across the field. “That’s exactly what I’ve been waiting to hear.
I’m all ears—”
“Quiet!” Jake lifts his chin and cocks his head. “Attack ships. Black Harpy 2-47s. Five of them. Coming fast.”
A low thump thump thump reaches Kent’s ears, like the beating of drums miles away. It is coming closer.
“Get down,” Jake says. “Now.” He pushes Kent to the moist soil and crouches beside him.
A deafening sound shakes the air and vibrates through the ground. Five dark shadows roar twenty feet over the tops of their heads in quick succession, like a cresting wave moving past them. Cornstalks bend like prairie grass, almost revealing their hiding place. The sound diminishes slightly, but then stays constant.
“What’s going on?” Kent says. “This is the middle of Iowa. What are military attack-helis doing here?”
“They’re hovering over the camp. We have to get back.” Jake jumps up and takes off running in the direction of the tents.
Before Kent is fully aware of what’s happening, he’s chasing Jake through the corn with stalks and leaves whipping his face, blurring his vision. The clearing comes into view. Five black beasts float in the air above the camp. The flimsy nylon tents strain to hold up under the beat of the rotor blades. Dozens of men in battle gear rappel down cords like spiders dropping to the ground.
Kent lunges for Jake and catches him just below the knees. He takes a heel to the chin, but holds on, bringing Jake down into the mud only a few feet from the edge of the corn.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jake struggles to get up. “I’ve got to get to Little John.” He turns and beats fists into Kent’s back.
“It’s too late.” Kent hurts from the blows, but he holds on. “We can’t help him. If they capture you too, who will lead the Children?”
Jake stops fighting and becomes still. Kent hears him sobbing quietly.
“Little John knew this would happen.” Jake beats fists into the ground. “He told me the Abomination would eventually find him and take him away. He saw it. Someone else leading the Children. That’s what I was about to tell you.”
Kent pulls himself into a prone position and grabs Jake’s hair, turning his head. “Who did he see leading the Children?”
“Your son.”
CHAPTER 14
Ryzaard looks down on the round tents in the field below. Powerful beams of light from the Black Harpies illuminate the entire area. “Jerek, how’s the Null Box doing?”
“I engaged it when we were still a mile from the target, on your orders.” Indicator lights glow green all the way up the sides of the canisters at the back of the cargo bay. “Power supply is stable. The Null Box is fully operational. Any Stone within a hundred meters is now effectively dead. Including yours, sir.”
“No problem. We have the advantage of surprise.” Ryzaard closes his eyes. The gentle hum of the Null Box moves up through his feet from the floor. “Do not allow it to stop, even for a microsecond. A Stone Holder is down there. I don’t want him to jump away.”
“Will do,” Jerek says.
“Captain Jones.” Ryzaard turns to face the pilot.
A military voice crackles in Ryzaard’s earphone. “Sir.”
“Secure each tent. No one leaves, and no lethal force at this point. I want everyone alive and in their tent until I personally locate the target.”
“Roger that.”
“Diego, what was the last reading on the location algorithm?”
Diego stares into a slate in his hands. “Just before engaging the Null Box, all satellite readings pointed to the center tent.”
“Let’s start there.” Ryzaard turns to the pilot. “Bring her down. I will be getting out. Diego, come with me. Jerek, you stay here and keep your eye on the Null Box.”
The attack-ship floats to the ground. Ryzaard takes off his helmet and jumps out the side door into the damp night air. With his tweed jacket whipping wildly in the churning wind of the rotor blades, he walks briskly past the tail of the ship to the tent in the center of the circle. Two black Stones rest in the slots of a leather harness on his chest. For the first time in many days, he cannot feel their presence.
A large man dressed in carbonite armor with camopaint on his face stands at the entrance to the tent. The barrel of a black pulse rifle points up. He nods curtly as Ryzaard moves past him into the tent interior.
Inside the tent, a small bald man with a large belly lies on his back on a cot. He’s got nothing on but his boxers, a filthy white T-shirt and a leather pouch around his neck. Two soldiers stand on either side of the man, their guns pointing squarely at the man’s head.
So this is my quarry.
The little fat man is still asleep. Ryzaard can see the rise and fall of his chest and hear snoring through the sound of the helicopters outside.
One of the soldiers moves a step forward. “Sir, we tried to wake him. It’s like he’s in a coma. I’ve never seen anyone that could sleep through this.”
“Just makes our job easier.” Ryzaard walks closer to the man and looks down at him, studying him like a specimen under a microscope. Gently, Ryzaard slides the Boker out of its leather sheath and contemplates the blade. As he leans over, it comes within centimeters of the little man’s hairy chest.
It would be so easy to plunge the blade into that chest and collect the Stone. But the real payoff will come only by keeping the man alive and using the Stone through him.
It’s what Ryzaard had hoped to do with Matt.
Ryzaard slips the blade under the leather pouch on the man’s chest and brings it up quickly, cutting through the string. The sleeping man flinches, readjusts his position, and resumes snoring. Ryzaard’s fingers drop down and close around the pouch and the claw shape of the Stone beneath the leather.
Diego approaches from behind. “Shall we?”
“Yes, by all means.”
Diego presses a thin aluminum tube against the sleeping man’s shoulder and touches the end with his thumb. Compressed air hisses as the fluid in the tube empties itself into the man’s bloodstream.
“Did you adjust the dosage?” Ryzaard says. “By the looks of him, we might need enough to put an elephant to sleep.”
Diego lifts his slate. “I just checked in with Jing-wei. This will put him out for the next thirty-six hours. When we’re ready, we’ll wake him up with a burst of adrenaline.”
“Good enough.” Ryzaard’s eyes drop down to the cot. “Enjoy your sleep, little man. Things will be different when you wake up.” He walks to the tent door and looks to one of the guards. “Get him loaded on our chopper. Diego, come with me.” Ryzaard walks out into the night and surveys the camp.
It is impossible to predict where a Stone will turn up. Who would have ever thought they would find one in the middle of a cornfield in Iowa?
He passes Captain Jones on the way back to his ship. “Good work, Captain. An excellent execution of plan.”
“Thank you, sir. All in a day’s work. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Ryzaard pats him on his armored shoulder. “Yes, indeed.” He moves off across the grass.
“Sir?”
Ryzaard stops and turns. “Yes, Captain Jones, what is it?”
“What about the camp? And the people? We’ve rounded up twenty prisoners. How would you like me to handle them?”
Ryzaard chuckles. “The usual protocol.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Kill everyone. Torch the camp. Leave no trace.”
Five helicopters rise in the night, their underbellies illuminated by the burning inferno below. The sky is pink above the horizon to the east.
Ryzaard looks over his left shoulder into the cargo bay. The little man lies strapped to a stretcher next to the Null Box. “Everyone secure?”
“We’re good.” Jerek gives the thumbs up signal.
Ryzaard looks at the pilot. “Are the charges set?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an object that looks like a thin slab of black glass.
“Yes, sir. Armed and ready.”
&n
bsp; Ryzaard nods and touches his thumb to the black glass.
Four helicopters explode in a fireball of orange flame that billows up and out of sight, leaving popcorn-shaped clouds of ash in their place. Debris rains to the ground with trails of fire and black smoke.
“Let’s go home,” Ryzaard says.
The only remaining attack-ship turns and heads east, toward the sunrise.
CHAPTER 15
Matt shoots down the beach on the Harley near the water’s edge, spitting up a rooster tail of wet sand behind him. Tears streak from his face. Leaving Jessica standing on the beach is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But it’s the right thing.
Hopefully.
He grits his teeth, determined not to turn the bike around and go back to her.
He has to do this alone.
An endless stretch of sand runs ahead of him to the horizon. He won’t need the Stone to make the jump back. The motorcycle should take care of that. If Naganuma sent it for him, he has surely arranged for it to take him back. His Stone is safely in the little cloaking box, undetectable by Ryzaard and his location algorithm.
After ten minutes of racing down the beach, nothing has happened.
Matt has another idea. With the bike still running full throttle, he works the Stone out of his backpack and takes it from the cloaking box.
Now the Stone is live. A trace of fear touches his mind, but he quickly dismisses it.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath of salty air. In his mind, Matt sees himself on the road to Naganuma’s Shinto shrine deep in the mountains of northern Japan. Almost instantaneously, the temperature and humidity of the air shifts. The sand below the motorcycle fades into a hard, gravely surface. When he opens his eyes, large cedar trees shoot past him on the right and left, and he’s on a winding road making the climb up to the shrine.
Back on Earth.
