Ancient Echoes (32 page)

“Human? An alchemist, here, involved humans?” The idea
appalled Michael.

“Homunculi were little humans created in a flask,” Quade
explained. “They were often discussed by medieval Arabs. Whether they actually
created homunculi is unknown, but they certainly wrote as if they did, and I
see no reason for them to lie. They even debated whether using the fluids of
these ‘little men,’ as the word means, to cure diseases in normal men, was
moral. It’s much as we will someday debate cloning humans for the sole reason
of taking the cloned being’s body parts. Is it moral and ethical, or is it
simply good science? All of this, chimera and homunculi, erode the boundary
between the artificial and the natural.”

“This is our proof, then,” Michael said with a shudder. “An
alchemist was at work here, and may still be.”

“Yes,” Quade nodded, ever emotionless and scientific. “There
are things at work beyond mortal understanding.”

“But look at the way this beast was killed.” Michael stood,
and then backed up as the full realization of what the sight before him struck.
“It was killed with knives, and anger.
Great anger.”
He peered into the dark forest and wondered what other strangeness lurked
within. “We should get away from this creature, back to where we can keep an
eye on the compound,” he said. “The forest has eyes. I can feel them on us.”

They no sooner left, than the creature awoke. It slowly
struggled to its feet,
then
stared with curiosity
after the two men who found it.

THAT NIGHT, RACHEL Gooding hurried
back to the community house from the outhouse, her head filled with both hope and
despair after hearing Charlotte’s tale of the search party trying to rescue
them. Sam Black suddenly appeared on pathway.

“I need a woman to warm my bed tonight.” He slurred his
words as he looked her up and down. “You’ll do.”

She backed away. He smiled. “You can’t outrun me, missy.”

“Get out of here, Sam!” Will Durham stood in the doorway of
his hut, his gun pointed at his fellow villager. “You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had my fill of liquor,” Sam said. “It’s something else
I’m craving now.”

“You heard the Captain.” Will
stepped
between the two. “The women are to be left alone.”

Sam spat on the ground.
“Until he wants
one himself.”
He tried to sidestep Will, but Will pushed him back.

“You'll have to go through me, Sam.”

“These whores aren't worth fighting amongst ourselves!” Sam
shouted as he backed away. “Hell,
there’s
others. And
them that’s not so scrawny.”

Will took hold of Rachel's wrist and whispered to her, “Come
inside with me until he’s gone.”

In her relief to escape Sam, she did as he said. Not until
he shut the door behind her did she realize she might have gone from the
proverbial frying pan into the fire.

“I won't hurt you,” Will
said
. “But
go out there now and someone might.
If not Sam, then Arnie or
Gus.
Maybe Kohler himself.
It's been a long
time since any of us have been around women. Some of the men, clearly, have
forgotten how to behave.”

“But not you?” she said, a mocking jeer to her voice.

“I don't force women.”

“Oh? You're irresistible, are you?”

“To one, I was. The woman I love. You're safe with me.”

That stopped her, and she nodded. The room had a small
cot-like bed, one chair and a desk-size table.

“Take the bed. I have
work
to do.”
Will picked up a chip of obsidian, sat on the chair, and began to sharpen it.

She sat on the bed’s edge, unsure of him or any of this. She
watched him work.

The accuracy the villagers could achieve with bows and
arrows amazed her. She saw the hateful Sam Black take down a Canadian goose in
flight the day before. “Why do you do that?” she asked as he finished one and
picked up a second. “You have guns, why bother with bows and arrows?”

“When the bullets are spent,” he said, “the guns are
worthless. The arrows can be fashioned by us, and this way we can always eat.”

“I see,” she said. He continued to sharpen the stone and
said nothing more.

“Have you really been here thirteen years?” she asked.

So many seconds passed before he answered she thought he
wasn’t going to. Then their gazes met, and she saw
a sadness
in his that struck her. He seemed every bit as unhappy to be here as she was.
Perhaps just as trapped in
his own
way. Whatever it
was, she felt she may have found a kindred spirit.

His hands stilled. “That must seem an infinite amount of
time to one
so
young as you.”

She studied his face. Up close she saw that despite the
beard, his skin was youthful. “You aren't exactly old, you know.”

His gaze flickered toward her then away. “I've always been
plagued with a youthful demeanor.” He gave a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

She wondered if he and the others were part of a military or
special operations mission that had gone bad. It would make sense if all this
was classified, and would explain the secrecy surrounding this place. Fear for
her situation and a hope that
Will
just might tell her
the truth, emboldened her to ask, “Are we in danger here? Should we be afraid
of you? All of you?”

His response wasn't what she'd hoped for. “There is evil
here. It isn't our fault, but it has happened. If you can get away, it will be
better for you.”

“What do you mean?”

He put down the obsidian, his face harsh yet desperate.
“I'll protect you, Rachel. I'll do whatever is in my power to protect you. But
I may not be enough.”

“My God, Will!” she cried, frightened by the change in him.

He clasped his hands together and stared at the floor, as if
realizing he had said too much. “I'm sorry that you and the others are caught
up in this.”

“What is it?” She was near tears. “What's going on here?”

“It's more than I know, and what little I know, I can't
explain,” he said. “But I can tell you this. I wasn't always this way. I was a
good man once, loved by a kind and gracious woman. I gave all that up and came
here, and nothing has ever been the same.”

“Why did you come?”

“Why did
you
?” he countered. “I suspect for the same
reasons—adventure, something new, interesting, and with thoughts of what it
might mean to my future to have had this experience, something few people could
even imagine.”

“To beef up the résumé,” she said.

He chuckled. “You have an interesting way with words,” he
said.

She looked surprised. “Not me—you're the one with the odd
accent. Where are you from?”

“I can't say.”

“Can't or won't.”

“Won't,” he replied firmly. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I won’t
let anything happen to you.” To her surprise, he reached out and gave her hand
a reassuring squeeze. He kept his touch light, and he withdrew it after only a
moment. The brief encounter forced her to realize how cold the Professor and
Melisse were, how completely self-centered Brandi was, and how very afraid and
alone she felt. She responded to Will's touch with a mixture of gratitude for a
simple kindness, and something more.

“You're trapped here, aren't you?” she asked with sudden
insight.
“Just as we are.”

“It’s not worth pondering,” he said.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, “for us both.”

His voice dropped as he swayed ever so slightly toward her.
“If the chance arises for you to escape, do it, Rachel.”

“Come with us,” she said. “Let's leave, all of us together.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can,” she pleaded. “You know this area so much better
than the rest of us. You must have some idea of what to do, which way to go.
Help us, please.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his
own. His fingers and palms were callused from hard work. As she looked from
their hands to his face, she felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly before
he pulled his hand away and picked up the arrowhead.

“Let me think about it,” he whispered.

She nodded.

“It’s quiet now, outside,” he said. “I suspect the others
will soon be asleep. It’s my turn to keep watch all night. First, I’ll walk you
back to the community house. Don't worry. I'll make sure you’re safe.”

He held her hand as he led her back.

She went straight up to her pallet without a word to the
others. She didn’t want to answer their questions about where she had gone for
so long or why Will Durham had been with her.

She lay down, exhausted. With Will’s assurances of her
safety echoing in her mind, for the first time since this madness began, she
slept peacefully and deeply.

AS MICHAEL AND QUADE watched the
compound and scouted the area that night, they found more peculiar tracks of
chimeras. Strange animal noises, some guttural, some howls, and some
high-pitched shrieks made it difficult to relax, let alone sleep. Michael kept
watch while Quade slept for four hours, and then they reversed roles. He
wondered, however, if he dared sleep.

He shut his eyes and hoped for rest, hoped to stop his mind from
racing. A sweet perfume slowly filled his senses. The scent of peonies, Jianjun
had said, the scent rising up from Lady Hsieh’s tomb.

He opened his eyes. She knelt beside him.

“You will find a copse of pines to the east. Go to them,
Michael,” she whispered. He sat up and reached for her, but she was gone.

Quade sat about twenty feet away, his back to the supposed
sleeper.

Quietly, Michael stood, picked up his Remington 700, and
walked east. In the starlight the trees looked like a massive nothingness, a
void, but he kept going. Once he reached them, he continued forward another
five-hundred feet, blackness all around him. He was ready to turn back,
convinced he had been dreaming, when he saw a flicker of light.

He crept close. Around a campfire, five men slept.

He jerked backwards and bumped into something.

“Quiet!” Quade whispered. “I followed, curious about where
you were going. How did you know they were out here?”

Michael made no response, but stared at the men in sleeping
bags. The firelight showed them to be young, clean-cut, big and burly. Beside
them were M107 sniper rifles.
Military grade.

“Any idea
who
they are?” Michael
asked fiercely. Shades of Mongolia, when government troops moved in on his dig
site, killing and stealing, came to mind.

“No,” Quade said indignantly. “They aren't government.”

“Then they’re contractors.
Mercenaries.”

Quade opened his mouth to ask why he thought that when
Michael shoved him to the ground.

The shot was wide, but close. Michael fired back while Quade
flattened himself.

The sleepers were immediately up and
armed,
their movements fast and efficient.
Professional.

Quade and Michael ran back through the trees, shooting at
their pursuers, but knew there were too many of them, too well-armed and
well-trained for the two of them to last long.

The pines provided some shelter, but they quickly reached
the edge of the copse. The ground was barren after that. They could do nothing
but keep going, the night darkness their only friend.

They timed a run-and-shoot, ducking behind thick tree
trunks, knowing if they went much farther they would have no shelter. They
stopped, determined to hold their ground.

A bullet struck Michael in the upper arm. It bled heavily,
indicating the brachial artery must have been hit. He clamped down hard on it.
With only Quade able to shoot, the snipers moved in.

“This way!” a voice called. Two men armed with only bows and
arrows were near. They crouched and gestured at them to run to the hillside.

Michael looked over the area. If they climbed up that hill,
they would be exposed.

“Hurry!” the second man said, as he backed away.

They had no choice.

Quade fired shot after shot as he and Michael ran. At the
same time, the two strangers kept their arrows flying fast and deep into the
trees. Michael and Quade reached them.

Instead of a suicidal uphill climb, one of the strangers
pushed them into what looked like a small crack in the mountainside. Michael
bent down in the low, narrow space and soon reached a dug-out stairway that
descended to a tunnel.

Torches lined the walls, providing light. A slab of rock
worked by means of an intricate pulley system, and the last man into the tunnel
pulled a rope, causing the slab to slide over the opening, hiding the steps
from the outside world.

“The name is Will Durham,” the youngest of the two said.
“This is Gus Webber. We shall lead you to safety.”

MICHAEL AND QUADE followed Durham
and Webber through a tunnel into the village and straight to Ben Olgerbee’s cabin.
There, Olgerbee cleaned and dressed Michael’s gunshot wound. A poultice he
smeared over it numbed the pain and stopped the bleeding,

Kohler arrived and immediately began to question Michael and
Quade.

“Who are the men shooting at you, and why?” Kohler demanded.

“We don’t know,” Michael replied.

“We watched them follow you for some time,” Kohler admitted.

“We never imagined anyone would follow, considering where we
are,” Michael said.

“So, you know where we are?” Kohler
said,
his voice dismissive, mocking.

“Not exactly.”

“I have a good idea.” Quade muttered,
then
stared at Kohler without expression.