The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (3 page)

He turned away from the death below and tried desperately to pierce the frightening storm and the darkness that fought to hide their unseen killer. Then he saw it as well as felt it. A brief flash of chain lightning illuminated the sky to the south and that was when the wave became visible.

Noah’s eyes widened and he took hold of the Ark as he searched for the peak of the giant tsunami but was failing to see it. Then he finally realized why—he was looking for the wave at several hundred feet and not high into the sky. His eyes roamed to the heavens and then he saw it. The deliverer of death. The wall of water was forty miles away and closing fast on the two-rivers region, and as far as he could tell the wave was over a mile in height.

“God protect us,” Noah screamed as he now hurriedly entered into the dark as the sound became unbearable. The wave was destroying everything man had accomplished in his first age and the world would soon be changed forever as they fought to start again. Finally the tsunami crested at thirty miles out and was over a mile into the sky. The white foam of its roll was self-illuminating because of its lightning-white brightness against the blackened night sky.

The sea struck the land with the force of two worlds colliding. The water hit and then rebounded into the sky and then hit again. The water of three differing seas scrubbed the land clean of all features as it took tree, shrub, and beast in its rush north. Noah looked far below at his drowning neighbors as they went under. The strange shadows below ceased their killing and then vanished inside the Ark just before the final verdict of man was handed down.

Noah felt his legs pulled out from under him as his sons finally broke their paralysis and attempted to get their father under control as he fought the door against the hellish winds. As they pulled him inside they latched the doorway and Shem quickly started slamming pitch into the seal, and then they made their way back to what they hoped was the strongest section of the Ark—its exact center. The animals were screaming and trying to break free of their restraints as the ship rocked sharply to the side as the first of the advancing waves struck. The trees securing the Ark stopped the roll of the four-hundred-foot behemoth but could not stop the whiplash that came when the trees snapped back against the onrush of advancing water.

The roar of the wave was deafening. Children added their screams to those of the animals as the sound was seemingly coming from the heavens far above them. It was almost as if the planet itself was crying out in pain and anguish. Noah prayed that the crest of the tsunami was now low enough not to engulf the Ark and crush it under its incalculable weight.

The wave struck the giant ship and all heard the sound and feel of the trees securing the Ark to the earth being torn out like turnips. This time the Ark had nothing to stop its roll and it went over onto its side, throwing men, women, children, and their thousands of animals into the leaking walls.

The wave snatched the Ark as if it were a feather in a windstorm. The force of the blow coupled with the spin of the ship sent Noah and his family against the sides and held them in place by sheer centrifugal force alone as the ship spun in a circle. Still the sea rose as the great oceans to the south, east, and west finally met at the junction of the two rivers. The Ark was taken almost a half mile into the sky by the roll of the largest tsunami ever to hit the planet, and still the earth moved from the disaster brought upon their home by the advanced race of Atlanteans.

The Ark was traveling northward at a speed approaching one hundred miles per hour and the ancient home they left behind was now nothing but an inland sea.

*   *   *

The known world and the first age of man ended at exactly 7:35 in the evening of October seventeenth, in the year 13,002 BCE.

TRABZON, TURKEY (THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE)

SEPTEMBER 18, 1859

With aching legs and pounding hearts ready to burst from their chests, the four men stopped and tried to hear the sounds of the night around them. The rain was making it impossible to know how many of the devils were nearby. Real shadows blended perfectly with the darkness that had seemed to engulf their world since leaving the mountain. An hour earlier they had lost professors Beckley and Thorsten, and student assistant Harold Iverson, at the small boat where they had attempted to rendezvous with their ship, which awaited the return of the expedition in the choppy bay.

The three men had fallen to the silent and very deadly shadows that had come at them from hiding. They had reached for the men and then drew them screaming into the blackness beyond this life. The devilish shadows had even brought down a burly Turkish policeman who was assisting them with their equipment. Now the citizens of the small port town had been alerted to the research team’s presence and the remaining four were on the run from not only the shadowy killers of the mountain, but also the much-angered Turkish townsfolk.

“Look, let us face facts, gentlemen. Not all of us are going to make it,” Professor Kensington said in a staccato, out-of-breath voice as he pressed his back to a wet and age-worn brick wall. He looked at the oilcloth in his right hand and then thrust the parcel into Ollafson’s shaking fingers. “It’s your show, old boy, your theory, your discovery. Get this to whoever will listen.” He held the cloth to the chest of the older Scandinavian professor until he accepted the charge hesitantly. “The three of us will cause a commotion. You get to the boat and then to the ship,” the younger man said, smiling briefly, “and to place a dramatic point on this conversation, old man, don’t look back.”

The professor took the bundled artifacts and then looked to his colleague. “I can’t do that. I cannot leave you behind!” Lars Ollafson shook his head as he looked from frightened face to frightened face. “How will you explain a dead policeman to the authorities without explaining why he had to die and what it was that killed him? They will think you mad!”

“The authorities will be the least of our worries, Professor,” Kensington answered and again smiled sadly. “Now, when we move, wait a moment and then get to that boat. Don’t ever stop, no matter what you hear. This find must make it back to the States at all costs.”

“But…”

“Believe me, Lars, I’ll accept being caught by the Turks, but those others from the mountain I would just as soon not deal with. Now, you have to—”

Kensington was stopped in midsentence when suddenly the oil lamp bolted to the side of the brick wall flared and then slowly died. As they nervously watched they saw the shadow cast by the wall start to expand, as if the darkness was drawing an awakening breath.

“Damn, they’ve found us again!” Kensington said harshly as he reached out and took Ollafson by his coat collar. “Please, old boy, that thing cost the lives of everyone except you on this expedition.” He patted the older professor on his shoulder as he looked around him through the relentlessly falling rain. “Good luck, Professor. Get someone, anyone, to listen to our story. Make them understand that it is up there, waiting for man to reclaim it! Now, off with you, sir!” he said and then sprinted from the safety of the small alley followed by the two remaining men from the shattered expedition.

Lars Ollafson saw the three men, his last remaining friends in the world, leave him alone in this hostile, far-off empire. He heard the shouts and the angry voices of the villagers as they gave pursuit. He thought to himself, and not for the first time, that it would be far luckier if his friends and colleagues were caught by the Turks rather than the darkness that had already claimed more than eighty-two lives. He knew the townsfolk, angry after finding their dead policeman, were preferable to facing the shadow creatures. Hanging would be a far better fate than being dragged into the shadows and lost forever to God only knew what evil dwelled on that cursed mountain. Yes, he thought, hanging by the Turks was a far better alternative than the damnable shadows.

He waited as long as his nerves would allow. The old man looked down at his small package and closed his eyes against the raindrops. He shook his head and then without thinking another moment he ran from his hiding place. He heard a scream fill the night above the din of falling rain and shouting men. He squeezed his eyes closed and fought his way to the dock. He saw the boat before him. One of his companions was still half in and half out of the boat, having fallen where he had died a half hour before when a shadow lurking under the old, rickety pier had reached for the man’s throat and taken his life as the others cowered in fear only feet away. The sailor’s skin had turned an icy white under the touch of the darkness and then it seemed the life had drained from his eyes with a suddenness that explained to the educated men in no uncertain terms that they were dealing with a part of nature that no man had ever seen before.

Ollafson quickly shoved the dead man’s feet over the side and let the body slip beneath the dark waters of the bay. Professor Ollafson swallowed and allowed a whimper of sadness and fear to slip through his bearded features as he watched the body of the young man vanish from view.

He quickly untied the boat from the wooden cleat and then hastily sat on the wet bench and started rowing blindly from the dock. He chanced a look back at the small village. He was confused, as instead of seeing candles and lanterns alight from the noise interrupting their sleep, it seemed the villagers were actually extinguishing the lights of their homes, not wanting anything to do with the strange calls and screams of the night around them. He spied many of the angry men of the small town returning quickly to their homes as something had quelled their anger over the murder of their local constable. It was as if the men thought the darkness around them was a far greater threat than the foreign devils they pursued. As he watched, the shadows seemed to engulf the small seaside village. He saw shadows lengthen and then roll slowly through alleys and streets looking for the men who had invaded the mountain.

He tried to breathe through his sobs of terror and sadness as he rowed toward the awaiting vessel that would take him from this nightmare land. He chanced a look forward and hoped the
Agatha Anne
, the ship that had brought the ill-fated expedition to the Ottoman Empire, was still there.

As he rowed he saw the oilcloth-wrapped bundle awash in seawater on the bottom of the small skiff and he couldn’t help but think it was something they were never meant to take from the accursed summit.

The lives of eighty-two men had been lost on the black slopes and the pass leading to the flatlands after their running battle from the summit. The fortunes of six American and three British families lost for the simple cost of discovery. Now he alone had the task of persuasion ahead of him. Ollafson knew he had little time to act as the world was near the point of tipping into darkness more fearful than even the shadow demons of the mountains. He knew trying to get those in American power even to listen to his fantastic story would be a battle as fierce as the one they had just fought on that blackest of mountains. He would now return home to a country that was about to rip its own guts out in an internal conflict that would change the face of the world forever just as a flood had almost fifteen thousand years before.

The year was 1859, and in America, brothers would soon be killing brothers by the thousands.

RAPPAHANNOCK RIVER, EASTERN VIRGINIA

JULY 28, 1863

The small detachment of cavalry was hidden behind a stand of trees that lined the southern bank of the Rappahannock River. The rainstorm hid the small unit well from the eyes they knew were upon them across that small ribbon of swollen water. Men and horses had been through many years of war and were disciplined not to utter a sound even in the driving rain. Horses didn’t whinny or snort and men sat stock-still in their saddles. The experienced cavalrymen knew the art of war and how to achieve their ends.

All eyes were on the lone rider in rain gear who sat upon his horse just at the edge of the southern side of the Rappahannock. The rebel officer was on a large roan with a gold-trimmed Union saddle blanket, something he’d had since his earlier days as an officer and a gentleman for the enemy he was now facing—the U.S. Army. The man silently continued to watch and wait.

On the northern side of the river a singular figure on horseback lightly laid spur to his mount and the horse and rider moved easily out of the cover of trees. He eased his horse toward the water’s edge and then lightly placed pressure on his knees, telling his mount that was far enough. The horse stopped and pawed at the swollen, swiftly running river.

The rider’s men watched silently. Most had hands on pistols just beneath their foul-weather slickers, as the meeting taking place was not something they could have ever imagined since the whole bloody mess had started in 1861. The man at the edge of the river moved his head only slightly and looked at his men. He knew they were as anxious as he to receive their guest, but unlike his men his apprehension came in the form of knowing just who it was that had braved the storm and several miles of Confederate pickets to attend the meeting. This man was either the biggest fool in the world or the bravest, because the army he was here to see had just suffered its first humiliating defeat just twenty-one days earlier in a small valley whose name would forever haunt the men who fought there those long, lost days—Gettysburg.

The man turned back to face his opposite on the far bank. He then looked toward the dark sky and wondered if God would ever allow his army to see the clear moonlit sky again. It was as if the Lord had forsaken their cause in the span of three days of hard fighting that left General Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia hurt and on the run. The man with the feathered, plumed hat then fixed the man across from him with his dark eyes.

Major General James Ewell Brown Stuart, Confederate States of America, waited on the United States to make the next move. Stuart, Jeb to those who knew him best, felt the rainwater running through his thick beard but fought the temptation to wipe it clean, deciding if the rain did not bother his adversary across the river he wouldn’t allow it to bother himself. He waited.