Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) (12 page)

“We
have
to stop them,” I say with desperation. 

“
Then let’s go,” he says, pulling me to my feet. 

As we stumble back out onto the trail, I struggle to regain the strength in my legs, which are threatening to turn to jelly.  Chris takes my hand in his and leads the way, holding on tight.  As we push ahead, I look up again at the rising smoke…the ashes of our friends. 

We walk in stunned silence until we reach the end of the marked trail.  My tears have dried but anger burns hot in my chest, pushing me on.  When we’re done here, I plan on making an anonymous call to 911.  I don’t care what the risks are, we have to try and let people know what’s happening.  I move ahead past a ‘No Trespassing, Private Property’ sign, and briefly survey the overgrown game trails.  “This way,” I say sharply, pointing to our left.

As we trudge through the long grass growing stubbornly in the gaps between the evergreens, Chris moves up alongside me.  “Alex, I’ve been thinking about the numbers involved in all of this.”

I look sideways at him, not sure what he means. “What numbers?”

“The earth’s population is roughly seven billion.  If your friend on ATS was right and this virus targets our DNA based on purity, than we can assume the US is going to have one of the highest infection rates.  It has one of the most diverse populations in the world and inner-racial births.  So if we drop it down from 80% to 70% for world-wide infection, that gives us almost five billion initially infected.  We’re basically ground zero though.  It seems like it took about four days for it to spread to the East coast of the States and I would think the rest of the world is one to two weeks behind them.  That means we can assume t
he Shiner’s will be infecting those left and then killing anyone who’s immune everywhere else too…but we have a little time.”

The full meaning of what he’s just
said slowly seeps in and I stop.  Chris takes a few steps before he realizes I’m no longer beside him.  Looking back at me, he must see the knowledge of his statement in my eyes because he immediately looks regretful and doubles back.

“No,” I say, putting out a hand to stop him, walking backwards into a tree.  “No.  You can’t be right.  I’m not very good at math, but even I can figure out what half of two billion is.”

Ignoring my pleas, he steps in front of me and takes me by the shoulders.  “Maybe I
am
wrong Alex.  There could be others out there that know more than we do and are trying to stop this right now too.  We can’t count on that though…the bodies in that pit, as horrible as it is, are
nothing
compared to what could happen if this isn’t stopped.”

Seeing the truth in his eyes, I close my own against it.  Taking a deep breath, I draw strength again from the fire burning in me and for the first time in over a year, say a silent prayer;
God, please…please, if you can hear me; give me the strength I need for this.  I can’t do it by myself.  Please help me.

Feeling a sense of peace and resolve that defies explanation, I push away from the tree.  “We need to keep moving then,” I say to Chris,
confidently meeting his gaze.  I see a mixture of grief, compassion and something I can’t quite define before he lets go of my arms and turns away. 

Looking up at the sun that’s
now making its way to the horizon; he starts off at a brisk pace, almost jogging.  I do my best to keep up.  Within fifteen minutes, we emerge through some foliage and find ourselves on the edge of a large marshy area, full of cattails and frogs.

“It’s not much farther,” I tell him, turning right and walking along with the shoreline on our left.  There is no trail now, just the water to guide me.  The familiar smell of moss and pond water surrounds us and I know we’re close. 

Hopefully nothing has happened to our secret hunting spot, and my pulse quickens at the thought.  Any number of things might have destroyed it, from falling trees to rising waters or vandals.  Just when I’ve convinced myself that all I’ll find is wreckage, I catch sight of a distinct structure.  “There it is!” I shout, excited.

Running the rest of the way, tripping over roots and scratched by vines, I finally reach the duck blind.  Seeing it brings back a rush of emotions and tears start falling before I can stop them.  Kneeling down in the dirt, I reach out and run my hand over the smooth boards that line the floor of the three-sided enclosure.  Its partial roof barely qualifies as one, and is covered by a camouflage net that is tattered and faded, tendrils of fabric flapping in the slight breeze.  The walls however are solid, its posts set deep into the soft ground. 

When we would come here to hunt, there was just enough room for all three of us to sit inside, and then Dad would pull the netting down to cover the open backside, sort of like a tent.  There are three small window-like openings in the front, water-facing side.  We would lean our rifles through them and wait for the ducks to come in.  It was a good spot, and Dad had been very proud of it.

Looking at it now, I begin to scrutinize it in a different way.  I hadn’t given much thought as to where something might be hidden. 
I find myself anxious again at the realization that we might not find it.  I look around at the lowering sun and start running my hands over the boards of the floor urgently.

“The last hieroglyph was burial,” Chris says, kneeling down beside me.  “Do you think it might be under the floor?  Maybe we should start pulling up the boards.”

I’m about to agree with him when I reach the far left corner and my fingers encounter something different in the wood.  Leaning my face down closer, I squint to see in the murky light.  “Do you have a flashlight?” I ask Chris, “I forgot to bring one.”

Digging around in his backpack, he comes up with one and hands it to me.  Shining it in the corner, my heart races again, but this time in excitement.  Etched clearly, deeply into the floorboard is the picture of the vulture.  I turn to look at Chris, and he already has a large screwdriver in his hand.  I move aside and he quickly wedges it under the edge of the plank and pries it up.  The wood protests only briefly and gives way with a loud pop.  Chris crawls back and I shine the flashlight into the space that was under it. 

“There’s something there!  Hurry Chris, pull off another plank.”  I slide over again as he pulls off the next board, and then another one.  Underneath is a large space nearly filled by a big burlap sack, over a foot in diameter.

Reaching down, I try to lift it up and find that I can’t.  It’s too heavy.  I let Chris take a shot at it and with some effort, he works it out of the tight space and up onto the floor.

Sitting there, we look at each other, the bag between us.  So much depends on what’s inside. Now that the time is here I’m afraid of finding out that there’s nothing we can do about the infection.  “Open it,” Chris says quietly; and I draw confidence from him.

I untie the cord wrapped around the top of the sack.  As the knot slips off, the cloth drops down, revealing something that looks like a metallic box, shrink wrapped inside a thick, black plastic.  I was expecting something old or ancient looking, like everything else has been up until now, so I’m surprised by it.  Reaching out, I unzip the plastic, breaking the seal.  As the shrink-wrap expands, releasing its grip on the box, I look at
the darkening woods behind us, paranoid that we aren’t alone.  I quickly pull the plastic off, eager to get this done and get back home to Jacob.

The large box is a foot tall and long, with no obvious way to open it.  It looks like one of those fire safes and I know Dad keeps something similar in the back of the closet in his office.  I’ve seen inside that one several times though, including before his funeral to retrieve his will.  That one opens with a key…but I don’t see a key hole anywhere on this.  Imbedded in the top is a three inch square black screen, with what looks like one small button.  I push it, and a blue grid lights up across the screen.  I look up at Chris, unsure of what to do next.

He’s studying it, his face dark in the gathering shadows.  “Put your thumb on it,” he says finally, looking up at me.

The screen has gone dark, so I push the button again and this time when it lights up, I place my right thumb in the middle of the grid.  At first, nothing happens, but then there is a slight mechanical, whirring sound and a click as the lock on the lid is released.  “How…”

“He was your dad,” Chris interrupts.  “He could have gotten your print from any number of things.

Not wanting to waste any time discussing it, I open the lid and look inside.  There is a purple velvet sack, like what you expect to find precious jewels in, holding something large and round.  Reaching in, I pick it up.  It’s slightly smaller than a bowling ball, but just as heavy.  Perplexed, I awkwardly remove the velvet as I hold it against my body and am so unprepared for what I see that I almost drop it.

Staring up at me is a perfectly carved skull out of what appears to be crystal.  I look at Chris, mouth open and to my amazement he starts to laugh.  “Are you serious?” he says, reaching out for the carving.  “A crystal skull?  Just when you think it can’t get any weirder.”

Handing it over to him, I watch as he holds it up, examining it.  Having been a member to one of the biggest conspiracy theory websites, I am of course familiar with the legendary crystal skulls.  Thirteen of them have been found in different parts of the world and some believe them to be anywhere from 5,000 to more than 30,000 years old.  Others think the
y are a hoax; but the jury is still out. 

There is actually quite a following for some of the different theories, including the lost civilization of Atlantis
, or that they stem from some super ancient society and are computers.  I can’t believe that I am looking at what seems to either be one, or a great copy of one.  The only difference that I can see is that on the forehead there is a carving of a pyramid, with rays coming out from it, very similar to the carving on the medallion.  I reach unconsciously for the weight at my neck, touching it through my shirt to assure me it’s still there.

“You know about t
he whole crystal skull thing?” I ask Chris as he stands up, cradling the skull in his arm.

“Sure I do.  I’ve read a lot about it.  There’s even some Native American Legends surrounding them.”  He explains as he steps out of the blind and into the fading light of the day.  Holding it out to get a better look at it, the sun hits it, and we both marvel at the display of prisms reflected through it.  So it’s definitely quartz crystal.

Going off instinct, I take the skull from Chris and with some effort, hold it so that the thin rays of sunlight hit the statue at the base of the skull.  As it begins to glow, I see that the intricate surface carving is redirecting the light, bouncing it off the many angles until it comes out the front of the carved pyramid in a solid beam.

Realizing my head is in the way of the beam, I move it to the side and then follow the light, almost dropping the crystal
again.  Chris gasps in surprise and moves in closer.  Projected into the shadows of the trees, hovering in the air almost like a holograph, the prismatic light isn’t scattered, but cleverly constructed to form an elaborate design.

“That’s a double helix,” he almost whispers, in awe.  “A strand of DNA.” 

I knew it had looked familiar, but now that Chris states the obvious I’m overwhelmed by the implications.  Unable to hold it up any longer, I lower the skull and watch as the blueprint for human design fades away.  What right does that have to be doing inside an artifact that could possibly be thousands of years old?  I look down at it, not sure if it’s good or bad.  Since it was from my Father, I decide not to throw it like the bowling ball it reminds me of.

Setting it down carefully on the soft ground, I go back to the box and look inside, seriously hoping to find some sort of an explanation or directions.  In the bottom of the box is a single piece of folded parchment paper.  In the center, holding the sides closed is a very formal looking glob of red wax, the impression of the medallion carving clearly in the middle of it.

Lifting it out, I wave it towards Chris.  “Looks like you were right,” I tell him as he comes to sit next to me.  “It must have been my dad’s personal seal or something.”  A sense of urgency is pushing at me and I almost rip the paper as I try to open it faster than the wax will allow.

Inside I find my dad’s unique script and my hopes rise as I start to read it out loud:

Alexis;

I knew you would find it!  I’m sure at this point you’ll have more questions than I’m able to answer, but in case this is found by anyone other than you, I have to limit what I say.  I know by now you’ll appreciate that.  If the anti-virus were to fall into the hands of our adversaries, the damage they would unleash is almost as bad as the virus itself.

It’s critical that you find Professor Alim Hassan.  He would have been sent to replace me after my death and would have been in contact with you.  You should know where he is.

Go to him.  Take the skull.  He will be able to answer all your questions and explain what it is you need to do.  Then you must go to the cabin and let its warmth guide you.  Do not trust anyone else.

You are now part of the ‘khufu bast’, or the ‘Pyramid Protectors’.  It is your heritage, your bloodline.  The medallion is the Mubarak family seal, passed on for 5,000 years to the first-born son, but now to my first-born daughter.  The knowledge is sacred and protected Alexis.  Show this seal to Professor Hassan and he will know that you can now be entrusted with the information necessary to stop the spreading evil.

It is a plague from an unknown world, maybe even the devil himself, sent to steal our free will and prepare us for servitude.  We have risen against it before and with God’s help will do it again.  Do not lose faith Alex.  I love you-