Ancient Echoes (24 page)

“Was there any follow-up? Were all six men truly lost out
there?”

“I'm sorry to say Mr. Phaylor wasted quite a few resources
trying to find those men. As far as we could tell there was never any trace of
them. Not anywhere.” Beads of perspiration appeared on Zonovich’s forehead.
“How did you find out about all this?”

Did the idiot really think she would tell him? “Thank you,
Milt,” she said. “You've been most helpful.”

“You aren't thinking of reopening that inquiry now, are
you?” He glanced longingly at the scotch on the wet bar. “It's all nonsense,
but with us pushing to get the FDA to approve our new 'healthy bones for all
women drug,' rather than targeting only the post-menopausal group, we don't
want to do anything to make them look askance at us. That pill will make us
tens of billions of dollars.
With no competition.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness from
her voice. She had pushed the concept, trying to get the numbskulls in R&D
to come up with something that would undo the damage Felicia's bones had
suffered. All they developed was a way to maintain strength and suppleness in
already healthy
bones,
not repair damage to weak ones.
PLP would make it so that taking one little pill every day would enable
thirty-year old women to bounce up from falls like eight-year olds.
Unfortunately, it also had a tendency to destroy their livers.

She walked to her door and opened it.
“Good-day,
Milt.”

He quickly exited.

Washington D.C.

JIANJUN COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling
he was being followed as he hurried from the Smithsonian back to his hotel
room. He double locked the door, stretched out on the bed, took out Francis Masterson’s
Journal, and once more began to read. Soon, he was caught up in the early
nineteenth century world.

 
I have never known such Despair. Noah Handy has
often tried to cheer me by making my Horoscope and claiming my life will be a
long one, but the good Soul does little good.

I have no faith in Astrology. No faith in anything
anymore.

If there be a God, He has abandoned us in this Alien
land.

The air crackles with Dryness that leaves my throat
perpetually parched and sucks the life from my Skin. My lips flake and peel,
and my fingers bleed.

After the Fire, we waited until fairly certain there were
no more
Hot
embers to burn the horses' hooves, but
they were too frightened to enter the Charred land, and in fact, we shared the
beasts' trepidation. We endeavored to return to Captain Clark's trail, but the
Signs used to guide us had vanished. The slate had been wiped clean, and all
that remained were Compass, Sextant, and Stars.

Our mission had failed, for neither the symbol, nor
Alchemical text, nor Gold
were
to be found in this
wasteland.

How could we find our way? The forests had burned, and I
say the word in plural for the burned Vastness went on as far as the eye could
see.

Lost, with none but our Wits as guides, we continued
Westward
.

The mountains grew more steep and dangerous than I had
before experienced, with Soil so loose that when a mule packed with necessary
provisions lost his footing and rolled downhill into a stream and was killed,
we were unable to go after it to extricate our Supplies or even to harvest the
mule for food. Hail stones the size of robins’ eggs pelted us, and rattlesnakes
slithered everywhere. Voracious wood ticks converged to feast on both men and
horses. At times we sweltered in heat, yet above us on the mountaintops lay ten
feet of snow.

Sadness filled me, for I had never imagined such a
contrary, hateful land, such a place of sudden senseless Death.

And, as happens when God turns his back on Man, the Devil
enters with his minions.

After days of wandering, one morning we awoke with
glittering Knives thrust in our faces. The hands that gripped them were those
of fierce and loathsome Heathens. These were not the gentle Nez Perce whose
women oft times marry hairy barbarians, as they called the French trappers. These
were from some other tribe, one our guides knew not.

Six men, seven women, and ten children, all poorly
clothed in Deer and sheepskins, yet well armed with knives, bows and arrows
pointed with honed Obsidian, appropriated our horses, mules, and supplies, and
forced us to follow them.

Our guides labored to convince them our intentions were
pacific, but that if any Harm befell us, more White men with powerful guns
would descend on them and kill them all. Most were unconvinced by such
Bellicose
braggadocio.

Their regard for us changed, however, when we
demonstrated to them use of our Rifles to fell big horn sheep. With that, we
became instant friends and benefactors.

We spent the cold
Winter
with
them, hunkered down in their wretched Wikiups and caves to guard against a
stabbing, miserable cold. Food was scarce, and every night my Belly ached from
emptiness. Worse was the ache in my heart when I thought of my own sweet
Susannah.

To this day I envision her in her home, seated by a
fire-warmed hearth, and I long to be with her. I wonder if she is still
awaiting my return, or if she has already forgotten me and our Promise to each
other. I should not doubt her, for she is as Faithful a woman as has ever
walked the Earth, yet I do. Loneliness and fear have become my Companion and my
Enemy.

In
Spring
we attempted to bid
Farewell and be on our way. That was when we learned we could not depart.

The Tukudeka spoke of a Bad place, of Earth’s thunder
that swallowed men. We had no understanding of what new sinister dread they
spoke of until they drew a figure on the ground for us.

We stared with shock and wonderment for it was the exact
symbol that had inspired our President to commission this Journey. Had we now
reached our Goal only to be thwarted by our inability to leave this place?

The Tukudeka said a white man, a Holy man, had come and
used that symbol to create a place
so
frightening as
one could not Bear to look at it without fearing he had succumbed to Madness.

Despite this warning, under the leadership of Captain
Crouch, a stern man who had become ever more Harsh and Unforgiving, we vowed to
reach the Goal we had been sent to achieve. We would escape, or die in our
attempt. We were
Free
men, and would rather die than
to live as prisoners against our will.

One night, a battering rainstorm raged. Knowing the
gushing rain and shrieking wind would assure us from being heard, we gathered
up all belongings we could carry and crept away while the Tukudeka slept.
Although we were not guarded, the horses were, so we were forced to flee on
foot.

After a day’s labored Journey, we discovered what the Red
Men had feared.

As a mere Mortal, my paltry words can little express the
Unnatural sight before us. Two massive pillars, perfectly round with strange
symbols at the top, soared high into the sky, far taller than any building back
home. Glowering mists surrounded their peaks. They stood atop a Pyramid the
size of a three-masted schooner.

My knees quaked at the sight, for I immediately realized it
was not anything of this World, but something surely created by the
Darkest
minions of the Netherworld. Tears of fright sprang
to my eyes.

Lightning bolts lit the Sky and Thunder sounded. I was
sure those tall rocks had vision and watched us approach.

I tried to speak of my fear, of a sense of Evil
enveloping me, but my voice shook so, I could not.

At that moment, our scout Miles Weiser, who had been at
the rear of our party, ran to us shouting that the Tukudeka were riding toward
us. All of us knew the
Horrific
fate of anyone who
disobeyed them.

Captain Crouch ordered us to run for the pillars, for the
Indians feared them and might not approach. Mr. Weiser refused, saying he must
try to save Mr. Borah, the other scout, who was lagging behind.

We approached the pillars. The storm had strengthened,
and the pillars themselves seemed to be the source of Lightning and rolling
Thunder, just as the Tukudeka had warned. Perhaps my words have an aura of
Madness, and so they may, for ensuing events showed that it was not any known
Reason that here ruled.

The Tukudeka appeared in the distance with savage cries
and Murderous intent.

Captain Crouch shouted that we were to Ascend and stand
between the stones, that there, the Tukudeka would not attack us, they would
not risk the Magic they so dreaded. Orril and Asa Munroe, Noah Handy, and
Reuben Hale did as ordered. I did not wish to leave my Captain’s side, however.
I believed he might fight to free the scouts, whom we feared would be tortured
and killed. If so, I planned to assist him. He accepted my presence with a
cold, almost angry, nod.

Our four Companions stepped between the stone pillars as
Crouch had ordered.

As soon as they did, Stillness descended. Thunder ceased.
I glanced at the sky, and then toward my companions, and, as God is my witness,
the four were no more.

I fell to my knees, agog at the Madness that had
occurred.

The Tukudeka also saw, and turned and fled.

And now, as I remain here, I know my own Death fast
approaches.

Captain Crouch and I have waited through the day and into
the night at the foot of the looming mound that bears the pillars. He snarls
dire Imprecations and strange Musings. Miles Weiser and Eli Borah have not
found us, nor have our four companions returned. The first two are surely dead
or will soon be. We know not if we will ever see the
Others
again this side of Heaven.

As we sit and await our fate, growing hungrier and
thirstier with each passing hour, I have spent these daylight and moonlit hours
completing here the woeful story of our Secret Expedition.

We will attempt once more to sneak past our Watchful
pursuers this night and find safety. But hear this, if we do not Succeed, as
Dawn breaks, we shall walk between the pillars of our own desperate Volition.

Here lies certain Death for us. There, we can only hope
we shall not enter the mouth of Hell.

I shamefully admit I have lived my life without God. I
did not want to believe in Him or His laws as I went about my days and nights
enraptured with the Occult and the
Other
. And yet, now,
in my time of greatest need, it is to the God of my fathers that I turn. I pray
to Him, not for life, but for forgiveness for the foolish way I lived before I
let Him fill my Heart.

The crescent moon is high, and Captain Crouch says we
must leave soon. My eyes fill with tears as I end this Record of our piteous,
forsaken Expedition. I shall enfold it in Sheepskin, and secrete it under a
boulder.

Someday, I pray it will be discovered. If Ezra Crouch,
Orril and Asa Munroe, Reuben Hale, Noah Handy, and I, Francis Masterson, are
never seen again, know that we were once Good and True men, working to serve
our Country and our uncertain God. I bid thee farewell.

May a Generous and Almighty God have mercy on our
souls.

Li Jianjun shut the small volume. It was four o’clock in the
morning but he was wide awake. The story was so bizarre he couldn’t help but
suspect someone had a very grand imagination.
A Mormon Jules
Verne.

But what if it was true? He remembered Susannah Revere’s
letters. They had looked legitimate. Was this the reason no one ever heard from
her fiancé, Francis Masterson, again?

He had to tell Michael about it. Michael would know whether
to believe it or not. Jianjun had seen too many strange things since meeting
Michael to dismiss anything out of hand.

He called Michael’s cell phone, but as expected, the call
wouldn’t go through. He tried the motels and hotels in and surrounding Salmon
City asking for Michael, and still no luck. He called the Salmon City police
who connected him with the county sheriff’s search headquarters where he talked
to a deputy who said he last saw Michael with some blonde woman.

That figures, Jianjun thought. And to think, I was worried
about him.

He shut off the light and went to sleep.

He didn’t know that for the past few hours, once again, his
every step had been watched and recorded.

EARLIER THAT DAY, Hammill had
stopped his ATV at the top of the mountain ridge and looked at the horses Charlotte
Reed and her fellow search team had used, but now had abandoned. “Damn it all!”

It had taken longer than he expected to find three
double-seat ATVs in the Salmon area, and then they had to rent U-Hauls to get
them out to Polly Higgins’ ranch. Once there, it was child’s play to follow the
tracks of four horses into the wilderness, and they quickly closed the distance
between them.

But just as the horses could not descend the steep mountain,
neither could ATVs. They got off and ran, slipped and slid down the mountain.
The pillars surprised them, but they believed the pillars meant they were near
the end of the mission, that they would soon find the university group.
Exhilarated, they jogged toward the pillars, but stopped when Charlotte Reed
and the others came into view.