by Terry James
“I wanted to pray out loud. You need your sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Well, you will get to talk to the Lord face to face if you’re not careful, Babe. And, you’re dying of pneumonia would sure keep me from getting sleep.”
Susie said nothing but cuddled closer to her husband.
“Those young people are in good hands, I’m confident,” he said. “Don’t you have faith?”
“David is the only one among them who knows Christ,” she said. “But, I know the Lord has this for them to do.”
Christopher lay back on two pillows he first fluffed, then he pulled his wife to himself. She rested her head on his chest, still wrapped tightly in the blanket.
“I dreamed that something dark was following them, Chris,” she said. “It was like one of those creatures they talked about, you know, the things Clark has been researching.”
“Bigfoot?”
“Yes. That’s it. I dreamed the thing finally found them…in that mountain, the tunnel, or whatever the place. It attacked them…”
“It’s just the stories you’ve heard from Lori, and Laura about Morgan and the thing that apparently stood on the path when the dog intervened, and about the story Nigel Saxton told about what happened coming down the mountain.”
“Maybe so. Maybe that’s all there is to it. But, those …monsters… are real. Look what happened to Clark. They’re in danger, Chris. We need to keep them in prayer.”
The rottweiler lifted his head in the sphinx position beside Nigel Saxton. His forehead wrinkled, and his ears came to attention while he stared into the darkness ahead.
The group lay sleeping in the hour just before dawn would break outside the tunnel. Saxton had figured out loud before they settled down to get much needed rest that –based upon the time traveled—they were less than a mile and a half to the hole in the cliff face he and the dog had entered before their previous trip toward Alamosa.
Jeddy’s guttural growl awoke the Brit, who put a hand on the dog. The rottweiler stood, his fur, Saxton could feel, was bristled. The canine sensed something ahead. Nigel fidgeted with the snap on his backpack and withdrew the semi-automatic. He pulled back the receiver with thumb and fingers, chambering a .40 caliber round.
He pulled one of the long flashlights from another part of the pack, knelt, and quietly stood to follow the dog toward the direction he led.
“What’s wrong, Nigel?” Cassie, who was unable to sleep, whispered, startling the Brit.
“Don’t know. The dog senses something up ahead.”
Jeddy had disappeared, but when Saxton and the girl rounded a corner in the tunnel, they saw the rottweiler in attack mode, his body swelling by the second, his powerful muscles tense, spring-loaded for dealing with whatever threatened.
Nigel swung the flashlight beam around the sides of the cave, but neither he nor Cassie spotted the object of the dog’s fury.
Then a form appeared, as if out of nothingness. It was a creature that stood almost the height of the high cave ceiling. The thing screamed, its mouth gaping to display canine teeth of several inches; its hideous, blood-red mouth dripping drool; and its ruby-colored eyes gleaming in the flashlight’s beam.
“Jeddy! No, Jeddy!” The Brit shouted to the dog, who stood his ground, snarling at the hairy, man-like thing that hunched a bit, crouched slightly, then reached toward the dog and the humans, its huge arms and hands presenting a deadly challenge.
Saxton raised the pistol and sighted the thing’s almost-human head. He squeezed off three rounds, but the bullets seemed to pass through the creature’s skull without contacting solid bone and tissue.
“Go back, Cassie!” Saxton poised for another series of shots while shouting the instruction to the girl.
Cassie turned to do as told but came face to face with another creature like the one Saxton faced. She shrieked, causing the Brit to glance behind him.
Jeddy launched his 115 pounds from his position between Saxton and the monstrous beast, past Cassie. The only thing she could see was the outline of the gigantic creature that blocked her way, its eyes catching the occasional reflection of the flashlight’s ray bouncing off the cave walls.
Saxton fired several rounds into the beast that confronted him, to no effect. The thing leaped forward, and in an instant grabbed the Brit, lifting him from his feet and crushing his arms with leathery hands five times the size of human hands.
The other creature started to move toward Cassie. The rottweiler feigned a leaping attack toward its midsection, but quickly moved to the right, then locked his crushing jaws on the thing’s leg. It screamed and hit at the dog.
The blow was glancing, but still enough to knock Jeddy against the cave wall, stunning him. He recovered almost instantly and again locked his jaws on the back of the thing’s left leg.
David and Kristi, led by Clark, scrambled toward the melee, seeing in the light caused by Saxton flailing against the creature’s head. The beast, nearest them, with the rottweiler hanging onto its leg, turned to face them.
David Prouse framed the monstrous thing in his flashlight beam. Its fangs gnashed while it let out an unearthly scream of fury. Then it half-turned, reaching a gigantic arm toward Cassie. David rushed forward in a crouch and slammed into the thing. But his 235 pounds did nothing to move the creature, who grabbed him and held him level with its mouth, bringing him toward itself for ripping him with the dagger-like canines.
Clark had forgotten about the flashlight he had grabbed from Saxton’s pack when rushing to the noise in the darkness. He would use it as a weapon. He flipped it on, and the brilliant shaft of light shot to the thing that was about to end the life of David Prouse.
David dropped to the cave floor. The thing had…had vanished!
Clark’s surprise wore off instantly and he rushed past Cassie, who went to David. Kristi joined her in helping him to his feet.
The thing choked Saxton, whose face was reddened, the veins on his forehead standing out against the flesh while he continued to flail at the beast’s head with the flashlight.
When Clark’s light beam hit the beast and the man in their death struggle, Nigel Saxton, like David Prouse moments before, dropped to the floor of the cave.
Then the beast was gone! There was not a trace…
Chapter 21
Mark Lansing called upon his Vietnam-era training to maintain his sanity. The torture wasn’t physical, like some of his fellow pilots experienced in those days at the Hanoi Hilton, as the North Vietnamese chief torture facility was nicknamed. But, not knowing the status of Lori…of Morgan, was torture of the worst psychological sort.
The young, tall man in the red uniform had promised he would see his wife and daughter. But, the promise remained unfulfilled, while he lay atop a hard bed, his head propped on a pillow covered in material he had never seen or felt. They had instructed him to get some sleep and said he would be reunited with his wife and daughter the next morning.
The wall parted, and he recognized the face he saw in the opening.
“Mr. Lansing…Mark,” George Jenkins said. “Hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable.”
“Where’s my wife and daughter?”
The question caused Jenkin’s pleasant façade to melt to one of seriousness.
“That’s why I’m here, to see that you are taken to them. But, first, we need to chat a bit, if you don’t mind.”
Mark sat on the edge of the bed while the black ops chief pulled a hard, plastic chair closer.
“Your nation is in crisis, Mark,” Jenkins said, his facial expression becoming reflective while he looked to somewhere other than in Mark’s eyes.
“You have served your country in a heroic way. During the time of Vietnam, the Six Day War. Those were times of crisis.”
The DOD black ops chief stood and walked to behind the chair, gripping its back with both hands.
“But this nation faces one infinitely more complex today, Mark. You and your family are among the ve
ry few who can help with this war on terror we face--that all of the civilized world faces, really.”
Mark listened without expression but wanted to shout questions at the man whom he saw as enemy, not as a friend. What about Clark? His daughter? His wife? Was this how citizens who are valued by their country are treated? What about all the strange, demonic things of those years ago? Things that now raised their hideous heads into his life? Sequestered, not allowed their freedom?
But he held his peace. There would be time to get answers. For now, he would go along quietly.
“I know that things that have gone on in the past, and the events happening as of late are perplexing, Mark. But, they are not without reason, not without purpose.”
Jenkins paced behind the chair while he talked.
“To get right to the point, it is all about developing technologies to deal with America’s…and the world’s, for that matter… crises brought on by the terrorism that threatens to overwhelm us all.”
He sat down again in the chair and leaned back, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing. “This war declared by President Bush is unlike any other in the history of mankind. Wars have traditionally had specific battlefields, battlefronts, specific beginnings and endings. Vietnam, with the Viet Cong and their terrorist-like attacks-- was a transition to the type we face now. Many times, the lines were blurred in that one. But, it still had aspects whereby there were ways to project strategies for conventional forces to win against the enemy, and so forth. This one –the war on terrorism--has no such aspects. There are no definable scenarios for conventional ways to end it –or even to fight it. And, it’s worldwide. So, we must find ways to fight it that defies conventions.”
Mark said nothing, looking into Jenkins’ eyes, while the black ops chief continued.
“It is true that we’ve had to stretch the boundaries of conduct and ethics in some cases to find solutions to this new kind of war. But, with civilization itself in the balance, if there were ever a case of ends justifying means, this is it.”
Mark interrupted, but in a tone that was low key. “And, that’s why my wife and daughter are kept from me? Why my son was used, then discarded, or whatever?”
The white wall behind Jenkins split apart. Mark watched the young woman walk to whisper in Jenkins’ ear. She turned, then, and exited the room.
George Jenkins stood and said, “I’m sorry, Mark. We will continue this later. I’ve some urgent matters to attend to.”
Two minutes later the black ops chief, followed by April Warmath, were met by Blake Robbins at the center of the enormous, half-oval room. The three stood looking out the bubble of glass-like material from a point high above the chamber’s floor. The platform, encased in the crystal-clear material, gave view of the activity below.
“What’s this about their son? You found him, but lost him?” Jenkins said to Robbins, who didn’t turn toward Jenkins; rather, he continued to watch the bustle of lab-coated scientists going about the business of the chamber Jenkins was visiting for the first time.
“The coordinates on Saxton were correct. The satellites put the BORGs within the mountain passage. Everything went according to planning, until the BORGs were dispatched.”
“Dispatched?!” Jenkins said with incredulity.
“They weren’t recalled. Something ejected them from the inner mountain.”
“What about the things? Were they…damaged?”
“We don’t know where they are, or what happened to them.”
Jenkins spit swear words, then said, “Incompetent fools! Are you all so inept?!”
Robbins turned from watching the goings-on below. He wore the tinted goggles, which he removed.
Jenkins’ face became ashen, seeing Robbins’ eyes were those of indwelling, black, ominous orbs that could plumb the depths of the soul when looking into human eyes.
“You have been made the overseer of security, George,” the thing inside Blake Robbins growled. “Your underlings have simply followed your leadership. Perhaps it is time for us to assess the effectiveness of that leadership.”
Jenkins let his eyes meander from the abyss that was the young man’s glistening eyes to April Warmath. He desperately felt the need for support. He found only two despicably black pools where the pretty green eyes had been moments before.
“Perhaps it is you, George, who is the incompetent fool.” The words came from April’s lovely, red lips, but the voice emanated from another place and time.
“We are instructed to bring forth Mark Lansing. It is time to put aside unproductive human diplomacy. It is time to explain what is intended, and to show the Lansing sire the undesirability of the alternative.”
Jenkins started to speak. His mouth, which had begun to form a word, transitioned into the hint of a smile. The DOD covert operations chief’s eyes grew large and black while his soul gave up its humanity to possession.
First rays of sunlight glinted off the snowfield while Nigel Saxton surveyed Xavier Pass with the powerful binoculars. He handed the instrument to David Prouse, who scanned the area then gave the glasses to Clark Lansing.
“We came from that area,” the Brit said, pointing toward a region that turned gray against the gargantuan mountain in the distance. “We were somewhere near the foothills of that peak,” he said, taking the binoculars handed back to him by Clark and trying to focus on the place where he and the rottweiler had spent time in the old man’s cabin.
“It isn’t that far,” he said. “But, it’s so small, it would be impossible to make it out from here. Maybe if we had a telescope.”
Kristi took the binoculars. “Well, there’s nothing out there that’s moving. Not that I can see,” she said, handing the glasses to Cassie, who moved the instrument from right to left while Saxton talked.
“Somebody knew where we were. That means they still know where we are, my friends. Those animals, or whatever they are, were sent to intercept us. The thing that had me by the collar intended the same thing for me that the one who attacked you, Clark, had in mind for you.”
“Still can’t figure why the things vanish like that,” David said.
“That’s been my experience --talking to people since I started looking into these sightings. No one can find a trace of the things. How is it that something that size gives everybody the slip? That’s what happened to me in Idaho in 2001. The thing was in the headlights. It turned back to the woods and was just…poof! The thing was gone.”
“Are we going to try to find that old guy?” Cassie said, handing the binoculars back to the Brit.
“Yeah. Guess we had better,” he said. “He seemed to bring Jed and me a spot of good luck.”
The snow field had melted considerably in the warmer weather and sunlight since the time Saxton and Jeddy had left it, traveling the tunnel toward Alamosa. Still, a path had to be broken through the foot-and-a-half deep snow, and Nigel, followed by the rottweiler, the girls, then Clark and David, led the way toward the spot where he thought Zeke’s cabin was nestled near the mountain’s foothills.
More than 40 minutes later, the others stopped when the Brit put his right hand up, after stopping to assess their location.
“This is the spot,” he said, standing on the carpet of snow. “It has to be the spot. Those two distinctive trees sat directly behind the old man’s cabin,” Saxton said, looking perplexed while at the center of the area where he was certain he and Jeddy had stayed with Zeke.
All sense of time eluded him. How long had it been? Hours, for sure. His beard had grown to the prickly point.
Mark paced the room where Jenkins left him--how many hours ago? He had finally slept –from sheer time elapse, he considered. But, it had been rest well needed. Now he had a fresher mind, since waking up after bouts of fitful sleep that had preceded the deeper, longer one.
The big wall roared apart, causing him to spin in surprise toward the black-uniformed men.
“Let’s go,” one of them said solemnly from behind the
dark goggles.
He started to question them, to ask where they were taking him, and why. But he decided against it, not wanting further to delay in learning about whatever was going on. He would at least be out of the cage that masqueraded as a sterile hotel room. Maybe, just maybe, they would take him to Lori…To Morgan.
He walked between his escorts, observing the strange, undulating movements of the corridor surfaces. The atmosphere about them seemed to breathe with indefinable influence that made the air that surrounded him pulsate with pressure. Mark thought how the sensation was not unlike cockpit pressurization in the F-4 Phantom fighters he flew in Vietnam and the Middle East. But, then, the pressurization, once done, was finished for the duration of the mission. This was constant pressurization, then release. Though it was not an unpleasant sensation.
The very air seemed to consist of colors when the oval-shaped gleaming metal wall split apart, and he walked between his escorts into the gigantic chamber. Hues of every description filled his eyes, the odors of the chamber, like the pressurization sensations, not altogether unpleasant. The psychedelic ambience tended to mesmerize one’s thoughts, he concluded while the three of them walked past the lab-coated people, who sometimes turned to glance at him through the black, slitted glass, behind which their eyes hid.
His escorts nudged him onto a round cylinder that stuck four inches high from the stainless steel-like floor. The cylinder began moving upward and soon came to a stop when the round platform surface was flush with the room floor. Mark scanned the area, seeing it was surrounded by a clear bubble that allowed 360-degree viewing of the chamber.
“Greetings, Mark Lansing,” George Jenkins said, approaching him from a nearby console of control devices. But, the voice was not of the black ops director. It was strange, like an echo in an empty 50-gallon drum.
“At last we can achieve good things for America, for the world,” the thing inside Jenkins said in a strangeness of tone that implied its delight.
