Clarity's Doom (Ancient Origins Book 1)
Clarity's Doom
by
C.L. Scholey
Ancient Origins Book 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Clarity’s Doom
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by C. L. Scholey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0989-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0990-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This story is dedicated to those of us who have had to pull ourselves up and begin again.
Chapter One
“There are no answers as yet to the devastating sinkhole in Newfoundland.”
Click.
“Deer Lake images of Viking village, recent sighting of massive sinkhole.”
Click.
“Scientists have no indication as yet to how deep the enormous sinkhole is…”
Click.
“When ocean and land collide to form a sinkhole, sightings of sharks and horses create strange bedfellows…”
Clarity reached to turn off the radio, punching the button with an annoyed finger. The static from the airwaves lingered in the confined space, taunting with numbing quiet. Every channel broadcast the same thing. Massive sinkholes erupting or eroding in places stretching across the planet. The frequency at which the anomalies appeared was growing in consistency. So much so, some people were too afraid to venture from their homes, until homes started disappearing. Entire towns slipped into mass voids, claiming the lives of thousands. Gone without a trace. Video and cell phones caught terrifying glimpses of strange abnormalities, sending graphic images to news stations or the web.
Speculation was rampant. Aliens, to government conspiracy on handling overpopulation. Some people insisted government officials weren’t what or whom they appeared to be. Drastic images, real or photo-shopped showed certain members of parliament hovering over the ground. Pictures that were immediately blown off by authorities or openly revered by naysayers had many up in arms. Many more were certain the return of Christ was forthcoming.
Disaster lurked in every corner of the Earth. Eyes were everywhere. No longer was a person’s last breath sacred. Each new picture or footage more gruesome than the last. Every scenario replayed in the minds and hearts of anyone watching. The scenes were next to impossible to avoid, and in Clarity’s line of work she couldn’t look away. Science wasn’t for the faint of heart; it was for truth seekers.
The images assaulting her mind made Clarity shudder. It was impossible to turn off the pictures of one’s cognizance—a damning revelation. People, cars, malls, villages one moment there, the next vanished into the earth. Screams of terror cut short as individuals and families were swallowed whole into the bowels of Hell. People’s faces became set in masks of forlorn desperation to the lost and grieving.
Sinkholes, though not rare in entirety, gave birth to a new breed of panic. The holes were never ending, leading where no one knew. No traces of bodies were found over the course of two years. On rare occasions, there was the odd vehicle spotted on a sinkhole’s cliff. Embedded metal rooftops formed seals against the sometimes smooth, sometimes banked hole sides.
Fracking was blamed, but there were some scientists, Clarity included, almost included, as she hadn’t finished her studies in geology, with unorthodox ideas. There were so many new ideas in the world, and science was growing by leaps and bounds. Shade balls and thirsty concrete were invented, to name only a couple, to explain how the sinkholes could be caused. There were many farfetched ideas.
Many children vanished. Sucked into unforgiving holes. The sad gravesites boasted a sea of wreaths and flowers, stuffed animals and other childhood paraphernalia to mourn a senseless, unexplained loss. So heart wrenching were the losses, families set up an endless stream of nonstop videos of loved ones to play and replay mounted on screens near the devastating sites. Videos of Christmases past, birthdays, holidays. Tributes to the dead. Tattered papers of hand-written poetry curled in the air. Expressions of grief, as though words could find their way into the unknown where whispering souls now treaded.
Governments denied any allegations of human blame and imposed strict bans on photos leaning toward environmental disasters. A battle they were fast losing in today’s technological society. Clarity understood the idea behind the government concept: Mind your own fucking business, and if we want your opinion we’ll give it to you. The ostrich effect wouldn’t work in a society fueled by zealous curiosity—and outrage. Politicians weren’t always the smartest; they were often the biggest bullies. When the masses stood up to the bullies, they were put in jail, their assets frozen, stolen because asking informed questions came at a price. Political temper tantrums.
One theory Clarity couldn’t pinpoint in the beginning was the lack of identifying marks of smallpox inoculations on a certain age group, if records were correct. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea as to why none of the victims possessed the one tiny mark. Of those lost to sinkholes the age group indicated forty-seven years and younger. As well as seventy-three years and older.
Stages of the development of the shot could have been different in the older generation. Problems developed when touching the mark—as the inability to open the eyes for a short period—hospitalization was required. Mass inoculations were reintroduced for children from the late ’60s to early ’70s, eradicating the disease in developed countries, then stopped once the threat appeared to have passed.
Bodies were also lost in third world countries, and there was no proof of actual age groups. But it was a theory that gnawed consistently, as those missing appeared to be within the same age groups. Lack of records was a huge hindrance when trying to discover if the theory proved correct. One single age group seemed untouchable if medical records could be believed. An undying question nagged Clarity. Just over a decade after discovering Area 51, mass inoculations went global. Clarity wondered if there was something in those doses people didn’t know about.
When she broached her question to higher powers years earlier, the reintroduction of a new inoculation appeared almost overnight. Mass amounts of children and adults were targeted. The plan included all except seniors and those already marked with the smallpox vaccine. Newer records hinted any unable to seek medical aid were at risk, as well as those who refused the shot. Clarity was still trying to figure out exactly what risk the others were exposed to.
Unconsciously, Clarity touched the moon shaped indentation on her upper left arm. The shot was mandatory in her line of work. There were those in the public who refused the needle. Some suspected tiny tracking devices or microchips were inserted under the skin. Clarity had no clue, she remembered being ill for four days after the shot, and in fact many experienced the same problem, but not all. There was a roundish small pink mole where the shot had punctured, but the smallpox inoculation left a mark as well. Some like Clarity became feverish to the point of delirium. Strange dreams followed Clarity after she recovered. Many she didn’t want to dwell on.
Clarity groaned. “Work day is over. Leave it at work. It belongs at work. It stays at work.” Her mantra. One day Clarity planned on getting married and having children. When she was at home, she wanted only to be a mother and a wife. As with everything else in her life worth achieving, Clarity began with practice.
She turned her little silver Jetta on to her street and swung into her driveway. The townhouse was small, clean, in a quiet neighborhood, bought and paid for with her own money. Clarity worked hard, continuing to make a name for herself in her career. Even if it was only a small name, it was a start. Nothing was given to her in the beginning of her profession—the Mrs. Ingalls of the woods—until a different company snapped her up.
Clarity was in possession of an elevated IQ and because of her expansive knowledge and aptitude, the company she now worked for kept her happy. Her boss, an older gentleman, developed an interest in her aptitude early. His special interest wasn’t physical and there was nothing she could put a finger on, but he seemed to be grooming her for bigger and better. His persona seemed different in a way that nagged at her. His mannerism was beyond worldly, more universal in nature. The idea made her shudder sometimes, smile at other times.
Pushing the door handle of the car, the blast of warm, heady summer outside air assaulted Clarity as she swung her legs to the ground. The skirt she wore was hiked to her upper thighs. Her shades slipped down her nose as she ducked back in for her purse on the passenger side floor. Ass in the air for a mere moment, she felt her skirt settle to cover her revealing panties. The driveway was sticky under her heels; the pavement sweating. The accompanying sucking sounds irritating as she moved to the porch. Three steps up, she punched in her lock code, twisted the knob, and she was inside away from the sweltering heat of the day. Entering into the solid wall of stale air made her groan.
Oppressive ominous, blah.
She tossed her large leather purse onto a blue easy chair and the multitude of contents clanked before settling. Clarity strode for the kitchen, heels clicking across the hardwood floor. There was a bottle of Blue Light waiting for her in the fridge. When she cracked the seal, a spiral of smoky air wafted when hitting the heat, and she lifted the opening to her lips, closing her mouth around the sleek coolness. A fine drop of wetness slid from the bottle to land on her throat, and she shivered when the liquid dripped between her breasts, her warm skin already heating the moistness. The black microwave caught her image and she saw the heat of the kitchen was curling tendrils of her hair, moistening her temples with sweat.
Half the bottle drained, chugging like a pro, she sauntered to the ancient AC in the living room and switched a button. The cool air was a relief, and she lifted her shirt to cool her belly. Regardless, she would be happy when the central air was installed next week. Central air hadn’t really been a concern when she bought her home in the cold winter month of February. It was now the blistering heat of what was appearing to be a long stifling summer. Her cell phone chimed the song of her choice and Clarity sighed as she read who the caller was. She put her beer down and took off her earrings before answering.
“Hi, Edward.”
“Hey babe, I can’t make it tonight. I’m still crunching numbers.”
She knew he would be. Edward was married to his job. She slid off her heels, a balancing act with the cell pressed to her ear.
“Not a problem, Edward. I’m beat. It was a long day. It’s too hot to eat anyway.”
Clarity flopped into her favorite chair, reached down and deftly undid the top three buttons of her shirt, shrugged and stripped it off. Her curtains were closed to the blazing sun. She decided the furniture wouldn’t be offended if she tossed her bra. She glanced down at her white, high, firm breasts with dusty rose nipples showing the outer glow of a tan she was working on when possible. For a second, she smiled cheekily thinking to tell Edward she and her naked body were headed for a cold shower, then decided against it. No doubt he would tell her ‘that’s nice’ in the indifferent tone he used when consumed with a project. Not flattering.
“Rain check?” Edward asked.
“Sure.”
“Talk to you soon.”
Silence. Edward was no doubt working on his task before he hung up with her. Clarity tossed her phone beside her and chugged the rest of her beer. Half-naked, she walked to the kitchen, ditching her heels to clatter to the floor. Barefoot now, she reached her hand into the fridge and grabbed another bottle of beer and headed to the shower, losing her skirt to the tile bathroom floor followed by lace panties. She placed the beer bottle on an empty square shelf meant for soap. Clarity gave her head a quick shake—
who the hell uses hard soap anymore?
