The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  Taking the chance, she dashed across the expanse, weaving between the party lanterns and tall flares, until she reached the end of the stores. Pulling the handle of the back entrance to the garage, she found it locked. A quick assessment of the door furniture told her that breaking a window would not help; it was secured with an internal Yale lock.

  Her heart pounding with fear, she bolted around the corner of the buildings to the drive side. Another handle rattle of the locked car entrance, left Mary with no other option but to run. The loose chippings in the courtyard ground against Viktor's rapid steps. He was already on her tail. Mary took a sharp left off the drive and between the equidistant rows of grapevines as they stabbed the undulations in the hillside. Within a hundred feet of her escape, she realised that she was trapped. The supporting cables and old wizened growth fenced her into the narrow lane. All Viktor had to do, was aim and fire. There was no way of dodging the bullets, nowhere to hide. Her only hope was to outrun him, and pray that he would stay faithful to Luca’s wishes to keep her alive.

  The descent gave her a strange momentum, almost as though she was flying. She knew that if her legs did not keep pace with the forward thrust, she would topple down the remainder of the track, with two potential results; capture or serious harm. Adrenalin surged through her muscles, her heart metabolising glucose fast enough to make her nauseous, but still she ran on. Through the aching cramp of lactic acid building in her calf muscles, through the oxygen depletion strain in her chest, past the dry mouthed gasping; she neared the floor of the valley. This never seems to get any easier.

  A dark mass of vegetation lay ahead, marking the end of the vines and the property boundary. A thicket of trees coated the parched dust like an ominous blanket. Finally, some cover. I can lose Viktor in there. Scrambling over the wire fencing, Mary crawled across a small ditch and into the woodland. It took a moment for her sight to adjust to the darkness, but at least the sandy soils limited the low-level shrubs. Zig zagging between the rough trunks, she could hear the sound of snapping branches, behind her, and also ahead. Confused, she stood still, looking back to gauge Viktor's position. He was at least fifty yards away. If only she could get to a road, perhaps flag down a car. She turned to resume her running and…thud - A rifle butt smashed her in the face.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mary’s head throbbed. Blunt force trauma ripped open the thin flesh of her forehead. Blood trickled, dripping from her hairline as her upper body swung against the back of her assailant. His shoulder dug into her abdomen, tearing open the stitched wound from the bullet. A muscular arm clamped her legs together against his chest. Every step he took jarred, adding to the distress. How did Viktor…? A woozy fever flooded her logic from the pressure building in her inverted skull. I don’t understand? I was almost away… She passed out of consciousness briefly, until the man dropped her into the boot of an old car. She could feel the spare wheel digging into her ribs. Mary forced open her eyes just before the lid slammed shut. In the orange glow of street lights, she saw his face. He was young and lean with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Mary detected not a hint of malice from his features, just a self-satisfied smile of success. He had captured his quarry.

  The heady mixture of stress hormones, kept her in a state of high anxiety as she bumped along the cramped space. The stink of spilled petrol made her gag, and contracted the membranes in her sinuses. Exhaust fumes seeped in while they idled at a junction, before the roar of speeding tarmac sucked away all noxious gases, leaving her gasping and cold. With a judicious wriggle, Mary pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and applied increasing pressure to her head. The gash still exuded enough blood to leave her faint, but she needed her wits about her. With every fibre of strength, Mary fought to stay awake and aware of their journey.

  I am okay. As confined as it is, I can still move. There are some advantages to being a pip-squeak after all. Swallowing back her claustrophobia, Mary ripped at the plastic casing holding the tail lights in the rear body panel. She got a shock from the exposed wires delivering electricity to the indicators. Riled, she summoned an electromagnetic surge and blew out the remaining lights. Scraping and pushing at the charred plastic, Mary managed to dislodge the entire fitment, and push it out onto the roadside. Lying on her side, she looked out at the freeway, hoping to signal a driver or passenger for help. The road was clear; the nearest vehicle was miles behind them, their headlights mere sparks in the distance.

  Road signs were dimly lit, facing the wrong way to be useful or unintelligible. The only thing she was sure about was the direction they were headed. West for approximately fifteen minutes and then due south. Not that this information helped her any. Calming her nerves, she had one final chance to secure help. With a few clean gulps of air from the narrow aperture in the rear panel, she laid flat and centred her mind.

  “Dan! I am in terrible trouble. Can you hear me?” She wasn’t sure what assistance her brother could supply, being over five thousand miles away, but he was her last hope. “Dan…please don’t be asleep.”

  “Not asleep. I’m here. What’s happened?”

  Mary could not contain her relief. “Thank God. I need you to call Yelena and see if she can pull some strings with her US contacts.”

  Tears erupted from her ducts and spilled down her temples, but she maintained the connection with the one person she could always rely on. Over the course of her journey, Mary relayed as many details as she could, emphasising the urgency with which Yelena needed to infiltrate the Summerfield Retreat.

  “How can I convince her that this is a genuine threat? What evidence can I give?” His anxiety for his sister’s welfare transmitted down the connection to Mary. She felt it as keenly as her own.

  “Tell her that Senator Bonovich has put a hit out on the Californian governor. He’ll be dead within hours, that should be enough to convince her that I am telling the truth.”

  “Jesus, Mary. What have you got yourself tangled up in?”

  “Please don’t. I can hardly believe it myself. So much for lying low, eh?”

  “Have you any way of us tracking your whereabouts? Road signs, highway numbers…anything?”

  “Not really, we headed South from Napa.”

  “South? Do you know how big the state of California is? There’s a whole lot of land south of Napa.” His frustration manifested in hurried transmissions. He was trying his best not to sound alarmed, but their neural networks were inextricably linked; whatever filtered through his mind, passed directly into hers.

  “Wait… the car is slowing down. The tyres are rumbling over rough ground. I think this is it.”

  “How long have you been travelling?”

  “No more than an hour. Got to go, we’ve stopped moving.”

  “For God’s sake, Mary, do whatever needs to be done to protect yourself. Do you understand? Forget morals and ethics, get the bastards before they get you.”

  “Love you, Dan.” Cuffing the tears from her eyes, Mary severed the connection. She couldn’t let Dan feel her terror.

  The car shook as the man left the driver’s side and slammed the car door. Mary held her breath, holding up her hands and tensing her stomach muscles against attack. No sounds of footsteps, no voices, coughs or snuffles, no way to ascertain his location. Her own breathing laboured in anticipation. Was he going to leave her in the back of his car? What was the delay? Was he preparing a kill room with plastic sheeting to foil forensics? Either way, Mary psyched herself up to deliver a jolt of energy powerful enough to make him piss himself, or worse. If he lived, he would regret having ever heard of Miracle Mary.

  She cocked her head closer to the gap in the panel, sure that she could hear distant mumbling. As it grew louder, she knew that her assailant had alerted another person to her arrival. Could she feasibly fend off two attackers at the same time? Kneading her hands into tight fists, she readied herself for the onslaught.

  The boot lid hinged open, revealing two male silhouettes, against
a stark porch lamp. Squinting, Mary bolted upright.

  “I’m warning you now, let me go or you may not live to regret it. I will hurt you.” She reared up at them, bearing her palms and panting with indignation. The younger of the two men moved away from her threats. The older man, blinked slowly and acknowledged her fear.

  “We welcome you into our lives and our home. Be at peace, Mary. I am Abraham, this is Isaac.” They stepped aside to allow her to scramble from the car boot and adjust her clothing. “I apologise for the methods employed to bring you here. Let us break bread together and talk.” He signalled for Mary to enter the large wooden structure behind them. Mary looked Abraham up and down. The long grey hair and beard, the cotton robes and sandals, all a perfect cliché for a religious commune leader.

  “Why would I trust you? You bashed me over the head with a big gun and kidnapped me.” She started walking along the service road, oblivious as to the direction she was heading. “If you don’t follow me, I may not report you.”

  Isaac’s boots scuffled along the tarmac drive. He raced ahead of her and lifted the hem of his polo shirt, allowing her sight of a hand gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  Abraham called after her. “Of course, we would rather this was all done without any violence or bloodshed, but if we must resort to extreme measures, we will.” He gave her time to consider his statement, before repeating his offer of hospitality. “Would you like some tea?”

  Isaac was huge against her tiny frame. The thought of enduring another bullet, with the potential for a more final outcome, did not appeal. She turned to face her new captors. “Just tell me what you want from me. If I can be of service, I will consider it. Otherwise, I really don’t have time for all this. I am sorry if I insulted your religious sensibilities, really I am, but I never intended offence to anyone.”

  The older man smiled, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “Please, it is late, and you must be tired. Let us take tea together.”

  Mary gazed all around for signs of life in other buildings. There were no other lights, or properties unconnected to Abraham’s for miles. He seemed to comprehend her impulse to flee.

  “Five miles.” He said.

  “What is?” She looked back at his smug face.

  “Five miles to the nearest neighbour, in any direction.” Again, he gestured towards the entrance. Five miles was too far to run with a younger, fitter Isaac on her tail. Without a mobile phone or access to a vehicle, Mary had few options open to her. Isaac grew impatient with her indecision and took the gun from his waistband. He flicked his wrist, waving the pistol towards the door. Flattening her palms in readiness, she took a breath and charged through the entrance, arms raised in defence. Three young women stood before her, each supporting a look of shock for a moment, before approaching her in greeting.

  Mary surveyed her surroundings. The foyer in which the ladies fussed about, opened onto a massive communal room, packed with people of all ages. A staging area was just visible at one end of the hall, as was the high-level stained glass, which looked modern and dulled by the darkness outside. This was clearly their room for collective worship. The young women peeled her jacket from her arms, and ushered her towards a smaller anteroom at the end of the foyer.

  “Ladies, please don’t rail road me. I really need the use of a telephone, if you would be so kind?”

  They ignored her request, shuffling and jostling until Mary was sitting on a pile of cushions next to a square coffee table with a tea tray set down at its centre. Abraham sat opposite Mary, the ladies sat either side of her, while Isaac blocked her escape in the doorway. A loaf of homemade bread nestled in a napkin lined basket in front of the old man. He picked it up and ripped it in two, passing one half directly to Mary. She leaned forwards and took it from him, suspicious of its ingredients. Peering up through her brows, she frowned at Abraham and slowly laid the bread down on the table.

  Abraham laughed. “You think we would poison you?” He split his half again, passing chunks around the room. Each woman tore a piece and ate the offering, muttering their thanks to the lord. Abraham chewed on a large mouthful himself before lifting the tea pot and offering it to his guest. “We thought you might like Earl Grey, being from England and all.” He poured the pale liquid into her teacup, pushing quarters of lemon on a saucer towards Mary. “There is milk if you prefer…?” It was all so civilised after such a rude delivery and introduction. In truth, Mary hated Earl Grey; the Oil of Bergamot was too scented for her tastes, but an hour or so of travelling in a car boot had given her a thirst. She took a few sips, trying to keep her look of revulsion at bay.

  “We have watched your story unfold online for a number of weeks now, Mary. You cannot imagine how excited we were when we discovered that you were staying nearby. We gave thanks to God for bringing you to our humble dwelling.”

  The women genuflected and muttered, “hail Mary, full of grace.”

  Mary finished the tea and rose from her uncomfortable, cross-legged position. “Well, it’s been a blast. Thanks for having me. Now if you could direct me to the nearest town…” She held her head. That bash must have given me a slight concussion. “Whoa…” The room spun in one of her eyes, the other remained closed tight. Balancing with outstretched arms, Mary staggered, clutching onto the obliging women at her side, and finally, lost consciousness as she slipped from their grasp and slumped to the floor.

  ***

  It was hard to choose between the throbbing of her head wound or the pulsing in her temples from the drugged Earl Grey, both seemed to accentuate every movement and sound and translate it to her brain as pain. This cannot be happening again. She tried to forge a connection to her brother’s mind, but the drug appeared to be hampering her attempts. How is it that people think it’s okay to make me bend to their whims? I doubt they would do the same to Dan or Lachie. She tried to touch her forehead but found her wrists tied together. Focusing her efforts on sitting up, she spied her jeans and t-shirt folded neatly on a chair, her trainers sitting on the floor beneath. A cold damp sensation jolted her awake. One of the women from the foyer was applying a wet sponge to her feet. She moved it in long strokes from her ankles to her toes, each time muttering an incantation which included her name. ‘Our new messiah, the prophesy is made whole. Mary, daughter of David, second king of the Holy Land, is with us. God sent us his son to show us our folly, forgive our sins and pay for our weaknesses. Now he sends us his daughter.”

  The other two women were on bended knee at their side. Each intoned their agreement of the prayer with a collective, “Mary, full of grace.”

  As the swirling inside her head lessened, it dawned on Mary that these women had stripped off her clothes and dressed her in a thin cotton gown, similar to a nightdress favoured by grandmothers. Her underwear had been replaced with fabric bindings, wound around her bust and a second woven between her legs and around her pelvis. This is too weird. If I can just get out of these bonds, I could give them a small shock, not enough to kill them, just enough to make them run away. She chewed at the nylon rope, tugging the knots with her incisors. That was when she noticed Isaac standing in the darkest corner of the room, his arms folded across his chest, the barrel of his handgun resting on his left elbow. He gently shook his head in warning. Plan B. Wait for an opportunity to take out Isaac first.

  The more dominant woman, laid the sponge down and picked up a small wooden bowl which glistened with aromatic oil. Dipping her thumb into the viscous liquid, she reached up to Mary’s forehead and made the sign of the cross on her skin. Next, she dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists. It was sweeter and spicier than the bow resin Mary once used, prior to her violin lessons at school. The other woman rose from their kneeling position and combed her hair, braiding two plaits either side of her face and joining them together at the back of her head like a crown.

  “There…” The foot washer said. “You are ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Mary batted the women away with he
r bound hands when they tried to help her to her feet.

  “Now, we eat.”

  Isaac opened the door and lead the ladies and Mary from the anteroom, back through the foyer and main hall, and finally out via a fire escape into the cool night air. Braziers and flaming torches lit a pathway down the neat lawn to a circle away from the main building. Surrounded by her hand maidens, Mary walked down the dewy track, bare foot and shivering, partly from the frigid temperatures, partly through anxiety. Within the wide expanse of the circle, a long table was laid with simple bowls of fruits, nuts, bread and oils. The closer they got to the table, the more she could smell the caramelising of rendered fat. A whole pig turned on a roasting spit, the logs in a pit beneath covered in ash and glowing embers.

  A procession of Abraham’s flock followed them from the main hall. Some of the men took their seats at the table, the remainder plus women and children sat on blankets on the ground. Standing central to them all, was Abraham. Is this for real? Am I hallucinating from that bloody tea, or am I still unconscious and this is some Alice in Wonderland type of dream? Look for a bong smoking caterpillar called Absalom, with the voice of Alan Rickman.

  Abraham beckoned Mary and untied her hands. “Sit here, if you will. We have much to discuss.”

  Mary complied, rubbing at the welts on her wrists and watching the women flitting around the table in a delayed blur. Wine goblets were filled and passed around the men, bread broken, meat carved from the turning pig.

  “The day of reckoning is at hand. The city of Las Vegas is vanquished, and with it, the sinful will turn against one another and implode. If ever there was a sign from God to mend their wicked ways it was thus. We must celebrate.” Abraham raised a goblet to the stars and those about him followed suit, and then drank heartily.

  Mary slowed her breathing and tried to concentrate. Her mind still swam in a fog of conflicting chemicals. “What did you put in that tea?”