Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2)

by Robert Storey

  Trish set off at a run, dodging round disapproving medical staff as she made her way back to the ward.

  When she got there she stopped and stared in stunned amazement at the sight before her. Sarah was sitting propped up in bed and Jason sat next to her, holding her hand.

  A nurse waved her inside with a smile and Trish walked forward as if in a dream.

  Jason looked up as she entered and Sarah turned her head and mustered a tired smile, and it was then that Trish knew that whatever else happened, everything was going to be okay.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Sarah accepted a glass of water and sipped at it as Jason helped hold it to her mouth. The refreshing liquid trickled down her parched throat like a heavenly elixir, and when she’d finished, she rested her head back on her pillow in satisfied relief.

  She glanced over at the bed next to her and the poor man still fighting for his life, then looked down at her own sorry state. Bandaged hands, chest and feet. A bit more, she thought, and I’d look like an Egyptian mummy. She reached up and scratched at the bandages covering her head before a nurse pulled her hand away and gave her a disapproving look. Sarah did as she was told, even though the itching on her scalp sought to drive her mad.

  The nurse bustled around her seeing to this that and the other, adjusted the intravenous drip and then moved away to annoy someone else.

  Sarah owed these people her life, but just lying there like the invalid she was made her want to scream. And then there was the smell, a persistent stench of disinfectant mixed with a host of other unpleasant aromas, some of which she suspected were naturally produced. And even worse, she thought, some of them probably come from me. She sighed. ‘I can’t stand hospitals.’

  ‘You should count yourself lucky.’ Jason yawned and then stretched. ‘You’ve been asleep through most of it.’

  ‘I just want to get out of here.’

  ‘That’s a good sign,’ Trish said, ‘and Jas is right, you should count yourself lucky. Things could have been a lot worse, they expected you to have neurological problems. And they say all your vitals are normalising too, we couldn’t have hoped for better.’

  ‘They haven’t told us why the sudden change, though,’ Jason said, ‘even after they did all those tests and scans.’

  ‘I don’t think they know.’ Trish glanced over at the nurses’ station. ‘Haven’t you seen them, the confused looks and hushed discussions. They’re surprised, I think, at how well she’s doing.’

  ‘So am I,’ Jason said, and then looked at Sarah. ‘You’ve been getting better by the hour. Give it a few days and I reckon you’ll be up and about.’

  Sarah shifted in her bed. She wasn’t sure about a few days, she’d been conscious for half that and her body still ached all over, although she felt strangely elated. They told her it was probably the result of the morphine she’d been getting, but even so, apart from the general agony, she felt pretty great considering she’d had major surgery a week earlier. She still couldn’t believe she was alive. Everything told her she should be dead, but somehow here she was. She didn’t know how to explain it and perhaps she never would. Jason just told her to accept it and be thankful and she’d decided, for now, it would take too much effort to do otherwise.

  When she’d first woken, recent memories had tried to assemble themselves into chronological order, but her time before the hospital remained jumbled in a blur of pain and suffering, and any thoughts of her experience underground had been locked in a fortress of self-imposed ignorance. She didn’t want to process any of it, not yet … not ever … and so she concentrated on what mattered most – her friends, who resumed a conversation they’d been having on and off for the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘And she said it wasn’t safe?’ Jason said. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Trish, in exasperation, ‘how many more times? She said it wasn’t safe and that we should leave; that’s when she told me Sarah was awake.’

  ‘And she didn’t say why?’

  ‘No. But she meant it; you could see the fear in her eyes.’

  ‘But no one knows we’re here,’ Jason said. ‘Unless she meant no foreigner is safe.’

  A flash of recollection made Sarah frown. ‘Perhaps someone does know we’re here.’

  ‘The people that were after us, you mean?’ Trish glanced round to make sure no one would overhear. ‘Terra Force?’

  ‘They’re inside a base that has GMRC influence,’ Jason said. ‘Perhaps the GMRC are looking for us on the surface, too?’

  Trish moved her chair closer. ‘But how would they know we got out?’

  Jason shrugged. ‘Perhaps that Goodwin fella told them – if he survived.’

  A memory of fire and blood sent pain lancing through Sarah’s head. She grimaced and pressed the heel of her hand against her eye.

  ‘You okay?’ Jason said.

  Trish reached out and touched her shoulder in concern. ‘Sarah?’

  The sensation subsided and Sarah gave a nod. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I can get the nurse,’ Jason said.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, I’m okay, honestly.’

  Trish sat back and gave Sarah a final look of appraisal before turning back to Jason. ‘Even if Goodwin did tell them, they’d have no idea where we went.’

  ‘Richard wouldn’t rat us out,’ Sarah said, ‘he’s not that type.’

  Jason made a face. ‘You hardly know him.’

  ‘You don’t have to know someone to know someone,’ Trish said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It’s called intuition.’ Sarah paused for breath as she fought to suppress the past. ‘And anyway I don’t mean anyone from … down there.’

  ‘Then who? Trish said.

  ‘The militia at Copán.’

  A look of realisation stole over Trish’s face. ‘The monument you defaced before we found Sanctuary, of course!’

  ‘Shhh,’ Jason said, as one of the nurses looked over at them, ‘keep your voice down.’

  Trish leaned forward in her chair. ‘How could they know, though? Do you think the driver of the pick-up told them?’

  ‘Or the helicopter pilot,’ Jason said, ‘who knows? It makes sense, though. We only just got away from them last time. If they’ve found out we’re back …’

  ‘That was a year ago,’ Trish said. ‘Do you really think they’d remember?’

  Jason gave her a look, a ‘what do you think?’ kind of look.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Trish put her hand to her mouth. ‘The explosion, the shaped charge we used to get out. We caused loads more damage. If they were angry before, they’ll be apoplectic now.’

  ‘Then that must be it,’ Jason said, ‘your nun meant the militia, which means we’re in trouble. They control this whole region. The police won’t get in their way, no one will; if they want us, they’ll just come in and haul us out.’

  ‘Even with Sarah in recovery?’ Trish said, alarmed.

  ‘They won’t care, if they want to string us up, it just makes their job easier. We’re all in one place, easy pickings.’

  ‘Then we need to think about getting Sarah out of here.’

  Jason frowned. ‘I know I said she could be up and about soon, but she’s had brain surgery, she needs proper care. We can’t drag her out on some kind of mission.’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’ Sarah tried to sit up, felt dizzy and slumped back onto her pillow.

  ‘See,’ he said, gesturing at her.

  ‘Then one of us should keep watch,’ Trish said, ‘while the other stays with Sarah at all times.’

  ‘We need to find that nun,’ Jason said, ‘that’s what we need to do.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Trish stood up and moved to the door. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ she said, and she slipped out into the corridor and disappeared through a pair of doors.

  Jason reached out and gave Sarah’s hand a squeeze. ‘We’ll look after you.’

  Sarah didn’t respond. All she wanted to do was to go home a
nd rest. Home, she thought, where is that now? England, London, my flat with Mark … Sanctuary?

  Does it matter? she wondered. Wherever that place of familiar safety might be, she knew the fickle finger of fate would have other ideas. Doesn’t it always? she thought, as her eyelids drooped closed. It certainly seemed that way.

  Chapter Eighty

  ‘What do you mean, they don’t have a nun?’ Jason said. ‘You spoke to her.’

  Trish sat down. ‘I know, but that’s what they said and I asked about ten different people, from doctors to the janitor. They all said the same thing; the chapel is run by a priest who comes in at weekends.’

  ‘Then who the hell did you speak to?’

  Trish shrugged.

  ‘And you’re sure you didn’t dream it?’ Jason said.

  Trish glared at him.

  ‘Then she could be anyone.’ Sarah looked from one of her friends to the other.

  ‘She could have been on a flying visit,’ Trish said.

  ‘A flying nun?’ Jason said with a straight face, before puffing out his cheeks. ‘But she told you she ran the chapel.’

  ‘Look I don’t know what to say, that’s what they said.’

  ‘Then what do we do now?’ Sarah said.

  No one spoke as the nurse, who’d been seeing to the other patients in the room, walked over to check Sarah’s charts.

  ‘Permiso,’ she said to them, ‘forgive me, the monja, the nun you speak of, I have seen her.’

  ‘You have?’ Jason said, shocked.

  ‘Sí, señor.’ The nurse gave him a shy smile and then looked at Sarah. ‘She left something for you, señorita.’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Sí, she told me to give it to you when you were feeling better. Shall I get it for you?’

  Sarah nodded and the nurse left the room while the three friends waited for her return in confused anticipation.

  The nurse came back and placed a small padded envelope on the bed.

  ‘And she said nothing else?’ Sarah said.

  The nurse shook her head and moved away.

  ‘¡Gracias!’ Jason called out, making the woman blush.

  ‘Open it, then,’ Trish said.

  Sarah picked up the package and tore it open, then upended it onto the bed.

  A small black rectangle fell out and Sarah, feeling tired after her brief exertion, just stared at it.

  ‘It’s a car key,’ Jason said, picking it up, ‘and an old one by the look of it.’

  Trish reached out to look inside the envelope. ‘There’s a message.’ She pulled out a piece of folded paper and offered it to Sarah.

  ‘You read it,’ Sarah said.

  Trish opened it out. ‘It’s in Spanish,’ she said, concentrating. ‘Follow the map and for … I’m not sure what this means … follow the map for – no – to find safe haven.’

  ‘Safe haven,’ Jason said, ‘what else does it say?’

  Trish turned the paper over. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What map?’ Sarah said, confused.

  ‘Perhaps it’s in the car.’ Trish passed the paper to Jason.

  ‘If there’s a car,’ Sarah said.

  ‘My turn.’ Jason got up and made to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Trish said.

  ‘To look for the vehicle that goes with this key. That woman, nun, or whoever she is, would have left it close by if she wanted us to find it.’

  Before Sarah or Trish could voice their concerns Jason was out the door and giving them a parting wave through the glass partition before disappearing from view.

  ‘Idiot,’ Trish said. ‘It could be a trap for all he knows.’

  ‘Who’d want to trap us?’ Sarah said. ‘No one knows we’re here.’

  ‘Someone would trap us for that thing in your chest.’

  Sarah looked down at the bandage masking the offending object and reached down to touch it.

  ‘And apparently the militia know we’re here,’ Trish continued, ‘and sooner or later we’re going to have to accept the GMRC or whoever wants that pendant will come after us again, unless we can stay off their radar, which, all things considered, will be pretty difficult, if not impossible.’

  ‘Not if we stay in central or southern America,’ Sarah said, ‘or China, maybe.’

  Trish didn’t look convinced, perhaps because civil wars still raged in the south and to get to China without detection would be a mission in itself.

  Thoughts of what they needed to do next circled Sarah’s mind and she willed them away. It was still too soon. Everything was too soon. She closed her eyes again to clear her mind and before she knew it she’d drifted back into the arms of sleep.

  ♦

  Sarah awoke the next day to find Trish and Jason discussing something that lay on her bed. She looked around at an unfamiliar room. ‘Where are we?’

  Trish looked up and gave her a smile. ‘Morning, sleepy head.’

  ‘The doctor had you moved to this recovery room,’ Jason said. ‘They needed the space in UCI for someone else.’

  ‘We thought you’d wake up when they moved your bed, but you obviously needed the sleep.’ Trish held up a map. ‘Jason found something.’

  ‘It was in a beat up old car parked in a side street next to the hospital,’ he said. ‘It works, too. The car, I mean, I gave it a quick run round.’

  Sarah sat up and saw a tray laden with food on a trolley next to her. She’d never felt so ravenous. She pulled it onto her lap and attacked it with a vengeance.

  ‘There’s a route marked on it,’ Trish said, showing her the map as she ate. ‘It directs us to a house on the outskirts of a small village in southern Honduras. It looks remote, so it might be beyond militia and GMRC control.’

  ‘You think we should go?’ Sarah said, between mouthfuls.

  ‘What other choices do we have? We don’t have our passports, money, or anything else for that matter.’

  ‘We do have money,’ Jason said, ‘I forgot to say; I found this in the door pocket.’ He held up a wadge of well-used notes.

  Trish gave him a stern look of disapproval and held out her hand. He passed her the cash and gave Sarah a wink.

  ‘There’s quite a bit here,’ Trish said, counting out the money, ‘enough to see us good for a few months.’

  ‘So this mysterious nun really is looking out for us?’ Jason said.

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘So do we follow the map or not?’

  Trish looked at Sarah. ‘What do you think?’

  She gave a shrug and continued eating as her friends discussed what to do.

  After much debate and a few arguments, it was eventually decided that following the map was a bad idea. Who knew what awaited them at the other end? They had money now and their destiny was their own and, until Sarah had been released from hospital, they would take it in turns to watch the building’s entrance for signs of any militia activity.

  And so that’s what they did. The days came and went, Sarah’s strength returned, and there were no signs of armed men swarming into the building. The warning from God’s vanishing messenger had been false, although there was always a nagging doubt at the backs of their minds that maybe it wasn’t the militia they should be worried about. And that reservation grew bigger and stronger until they reached the tenth day, a day before Sarah was due to have an operation to remove the pendant from her chest.

  It was lunchtime and Sarah was watching TV and enjoying her last meal before she was nil by mouth. Jason had just returned from his stint as lookout down in the lobby and stirred Trish awake from a deep sleep.

  ‘Your turn,’ he said, shaking her shoulder.

  Trish groaned and opened her eyes. ‘So soon?’

  ‘I can go back down if you want?’

  Trish rubbed her face and sighed. ‘No, it’s okay, I’ll do it.’

  Sarah offered Trish a drink of water before turning her attention back to the ancient television that hu
ng on the wall and the Honduran news channel that streamed on it. She broke off another piece of bread and popped it in her mouth before almost choking on it.

  She pointed at the TV in horror.

  There on-screen, as plain as day, was a reporter speaking into the camera outside a familiar set of Mayan ruins.

  Seeing the source of Sarah’s reaction, Trish stood and turned up the sound.

  The reporter spoke in Spanish, but Sarah got the gist of the broadcast and the images told them all they needed to know. In the bottom right corner was the caption:

  DESTRUCCIÓN

  EN COPÁN RUINAS!

  ‘What are they saying?’ Jason said, anxious.

  ‘They say the site has been vandalised,’ Trish said, ‘desecrated by outsiders.’

  An image of the area where they’d blasted the hole was shown.

  ‘They’re saying they think it’s the same people who destroyed another monument last year.’ Trish sat down on Sarah’s bed as crude photofits of three people appeared.

  ‘Is that meant to be us?’ Jason said.

  They all looked round as the door to the room opened and a nurse walked in.

  Jason jumped up and switched off the screen.

  The nurse didn’t seem to notice their discomfort; instead she swapped out Sarah’s empty water jug for a full one, checked the monitoring equipment and a nearby chart and then felt Sarah’s pulse. Satisfied, she mentioned something in Spanish about the doctor coming by later and then left without another word.

  Jason turned the TV back on and amazingly, or perhaps worryingly, the same story was still being broadcast. Their photofits remained on display, but shrunk to quarter size, and the reporter interviewed a man who stood in front of a small aeroplane.

  ‘Is that who I think it is?’ Trish said.

  ‘If you think it’s the helicopter pilot who brought us here,’ Jason said, ‘then yes, that’s exactly who it is.’

  A new picture came up on-screen, an image that made Sarah feel sick. It was a picture of a hospital. ‘Is that this building?’