Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. (25 page)

***

Hours later they reached the first fork in the river, a fork to the right that Steven knew from the map to be a dead end. It was the first marker on the map by which to chart their progress. He also saw that if it was to scale, they still had a very long way to travel.

Over the next days, the jokes having all been told, the life stories having all been exchanged, the subject of religion exhausted, and the glorious highlights of sporting events relived, the team grew sullen. Minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed like days. Sleeping became a way to pass the time, just as waking became the harbinger of despair, the hopeful illusion of walking in the sunshine evaporating upon awakening.

Every noise echoed with an endless abrasive sound. Any conversation above that of a whisper became an annoying public discourse. Even the water lapping against the raft was like the constant ticking of a clock.

The occasional side trip to use the bathroom became a cause for celebration and the chance to rid some energy.

Ashlyn had taken to teaching Tai Chi at each stop, explaining that the meditative techniques helped to free the mind and body of anxiety.

On the twelfth day of their journey, the rafts strung out over a distance of seventy-five meters, Steven’s raft was third in the line out of four when they heard a shout of warning from the lead raft. The tranquil ride of the trek changed. The tunnel narrowed. The water moved faster, becoming choppier. Steven yelled for everyone to clip their flashlights to their belts even as the raft sped down the narrowing chute.

Suddenly the raft was pitched high into the air. It landed hard, bounded off the wall, and spun them around. The churning rapids tossed them violently, threw them into the rock, and vaulted them upward.

In near total darkness, over the din of crashing waves, Steven and his crew heard faint screams from the team aboard the
first
raft as they went over a waterfall—and only a brief moment later, the shouts from the second raft.

Steven’s raft jolted as it came to the edge. “Jump out as far as you can!” screamed Steven, going on intuition. As the raft lurched away from beneath them, Ashlyn’s grasp upon Steven’s arm tore away.

There was no sense of up or down, only tumbling through the air.

Pitched into the water, his feet settling on the soft, sandy bottom, he felt a twinge of pain. He rose into a world of near total darkness. Spinning around, he frantically shouted Ashlyn’s name. He could sense her anxiety, her helplessness. A roving flashlight twinkled brightly as it scanned past him and then back again, stopping on him. So intent was his focus, that he barely registered the sound of someone plodding through the water and of people talking to him as they pulled him to shore.

Around him, screaming shouts tried to warn the last raft that was at the edge of the precipice. “Jump! Jump out as far as you can!”

The crew on the beach had two flashlights illuminating the rocks at the base of the falls. Steven gasped as he saw two crumpled, broken bodies, one with his skull split in two, the other with his arm severed—neither of them more than a twisted husk. As Steven looked at those who were dead on the rock, a third crewmember landed squarely between them, his rib bones splintered, thrusting upwards in a bloody pulp through his shirt. His last scream echoed long after his final breath.

“Admiral, you’ve got to sit down!”

“Ashlyn!” Steven screamed her name out as he scanned the shadows, hoping that she was one of those safely ashore. “Has anyone seen Ashlyn?”

“No, sir. We haven’t found her yet.”

“Another raft! Grab it!” someone yelled.

A dark, shadowy figure came crawling up out of the water, dragging the dead body of yet another crewmember behind. Steven felt ashamed, but relieved to see that it wasn’t Ashlyn.

“Ash!” Steven shouted into the darkness, a surge of rising panic tightening his chest.

There was no answer.

“Ash! Ash! Where are you?” shouted Steven frantically as he walked back into the river. He swiped away the heavy mist from the falls that clouded his eyes.
Ashlyn, answer me!
said Steven, trying to contact her within his mind.

From somewhere under the drone of the crashing falls came a very faint voice. “Over here.”

“Ash, where are you?” Steven shone his light to the left away from the falls. On the far side of the river, half-in and half-out of the water was Ashlyn. She fought hard against the current to cling to a small rock that was only inches above the surface. To her left, not four meters away, was the dark hole through which the river exited. “I’m coming, hold on!”

“We’ll get her with a tethered raft, Admiral. A swimmer can’t fight against that current. Maria, see to the admiral’s wounds,” said Tomlinson.

“Ashlyn, hold on. The raft is—” A chill raced through Steven, leaving him lightheaded.

“Stand still, sir. You have a bad gash on your head. I’ve got to stop the bleeding,” said Maria.

The cavern grew dark.

“Steven, come-on. You have to sip this. It’s warm,” encouraged Ashlyn.

“What happ—” Steven stopped mid-sentence, his head throbbing with pain.

Ashlyn saw him wince. “Take it slow, you aren’t well yet. Do you remember the waterfall?”

He fought to remember. “Yes, we went over. The rocks—how many people?”

“Not now, you need to rest.”

“Ashlyn, please. How many?” Steven then closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Four more days passed before Steven awakened to the sound of a crackling fire and the warmth of a thermal heat blanket.

Hearing the whispering voices of his team that was standing in a circle about twenty meters away, he saw their heads bowed while someone recited a prayer. Between their legs, illuminated by their flashlights, he could see the outlines of stacked rocks, forming several graves. When the group finished, they quietly turned around and headed back to camp.

“Steven!” Ashlyn ran to him. “You’re awake!” Ashlyn gave him a hug that nearly strangled him.

“Water,” said Steven, his throat parched.

“Of course.” Ash put the canteen to his lips. “Slowly, not too much, or you won’t keep it down.”

“It’s good to have you back, Admiral,” said Tomlinson. In unison, the rest of the crew voiced their agreement.

Ash lowered the canteen.

“Sir, there are more paintings on the wall here that you’ll want to see.”

“It’ll wait, Tomlinson,” said Ashlyn. “Give him time to get oriented.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Who?” asked Steven, staring at the grave.

“Reeves. He died yesterday, but we haven’t said any words for him yet. He had joked about the Titanic. I guess he was right.”

“How many died?”

Ashlyn studied his eyes before answering. “We lost seven to the falls—three others are missing, carried downstream. Brummon has a concussion; he hasn’t awakened yet.”

Ash removed the bandage from Steven’s head and checked the wound for signs of infection.

“The rafts? Did we save the rafts?”

“We saved two of them. The others were damaged beyond repair. Is that too tight?” asked Ashlyn as she reapplied the bandage.

“It’s fine. What’s making the fire?”

“Tomlinson found that the moss on the cavern walls burns just like wood. He’s resourceful—and we were desperate. Everyone was fighting hypothermia until he got the fire going. Without it, none of us would have made it.”

“How long have we been here?”

“Over a week, but don’t worry about that right now. You need to eat, a little anyway. You need to rebuild your strength. I’ve got some cooked fish ready for you.”

“Fish? How?”

“The emergency kits on the rafts had small tackle kits inside.”

Ash moved to the fire, returning a moment later with a filleted fish. “Trout!—Phillip!” Steven’s mind raced to the consequences of anyone else following them down the river. “Ash, we have to stop the crew from thinking that it’s safe to follow us!” A stabbing pain shot between his temples, doubling him over.

“Take it easy,” Ashlyn said, reassuring him. “I saw to it already. We turned the transponder off. I overheard you explaining the pings to Novacek. It was a good precaution. Come on now, I want you to eat a little of this.” Ashlyn, handed the plate to him.

After having eaten only four or five small bites, Steven laid the plate down and took her hand. “Thanks, Ash. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Kissing the tip of her index finger, Ash then touched it to his lips.

Three days later Brummon awakened. Steven gave him two additional days to get oriented and make sure he was fit for travel before getting the team underway again.

With only two rafts, they were uncomfortably crowded, carrying six people in one and four people plus the equipment in the other.

As for the picture that Tomlinson had found by the falls, ever since Steven had seen it, excitement coursed through his veins. For the most part, the picture had simply been a copy of the map they had found earlier. There was only one difference. It was subtle, yet astounding. Instead of Steven’s intended destination being represented by a tree in flames, it was now represented by the symbol of a double tetrahedron.

Steven believed he understood the meaning. Rather than the symbols being contradictory, they were complimentary, building upon the message conveyed. Moreover—if he was interpreting the meaning correctly, it challenged everything he had come to believe.

***

For the next nine days they drifted uneventfully. It was a pleasant surprise when they turned a bend in the river and saw the exit. They drifted out into the early evening glow of a nighttime sky. After weeks of darkness, the light from the three moons hovering on the horizon was breathtaking.

Brummon hopped out of the raft first and waded to shore where he proceeded to kiss the ground. His emotional response spoke for all of them, and they cheered him on.

Steven ordered Richardson and Tomlinson to scout the area, verifying they were alone and safe.

As for the rest of the team, a few did stretching exercises, while the others seemed more intent on setting up camp.

“So, what’s up next?” asked Ashlyn as she saw him studying the stars.

“We’re on foot the rest of the way. We’ll be heading southeast, to a pass that goes between the two largest mountains. They should be visible at first light.”

“How much time do we have?”

“It’s only a couple of hours after sunset, so we’ll make camp here and get a sunrise start.”

“Do I have permission to take a bath, sir?” Ash asked.

“A bath? I guess so, as long as you take Paris and Maria with you,” said Steven.

“That works for me! I’m sure they’ll want one too. When the recon team returns, we’ll go downstream a hundred meters. I can trust that you won’t hide behind a bush and watch, right?”

“I don’t know, watching three women bathing together—” quipped Steven, “that’s awfully tempting.”

Ashlyn, standing next to Steven, bumped him with her shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

***

Two hours later and unable to sleep, Steven left camp for a quiet walk along the river. His troubled thoughts fell to times past. Three hundred meters south of camp, he stopped to sit on a large, round boulder along the water’s edge. Overhead, the large triad of moons cast their reflections over the sparkling ripples, coloring the river a dark wine. It was a beautiful, but sorrowful, reminder of just how far away from home he was.

Though he had been pondering for weeks about how Renee had experienced her vision and thereby had foreknown his fate, he had come no closer to finding an explanation. Now, as he contemplated never seeing his wife and daughter again, the sorrow in his heart escaped. As tears welled, he pictured Sandee’s sweet, dimpled smile and the sparkle in Renee’s eyes. His heart broke. He had no choice but to assume that his family was forever lost to him.

Staring at the night sky, Steven wondered which of the distant specks of light was Earth’s sun. He reached up, seemingly touching the stars with his fingers. His former life seemed so close and yet that life was now across an impenetrable void. He felt small and alone.

“All I ask is for a tall ship—” said Steven softly to himself.

“And a strong wind at my back,” said Ashlyn, her gentle voice shattering his reflective agony.

Like an angelic figure, Ashlyn took a step forward out of the shadows. The light glimmering off her bare shoulders sensually spoke of the beauty hidden beneath the loosely wrapped silver, thermal blanket. When the blanket fell open, the moonlight highlighted Ashlyn’s curves in a parade of silver crescents. The shadows themselves seemed to exist only to accentuate her femininity.

Dragging the blanket along the ground behind her, Ashlyn was a willing slave to Steven’s desire. Her long, slender legs carried her gracefully across the warm sand and into his waiting arms. Her seducing eyes closed, her lips slowly, tenderly found his. The ever-present tingle exploded through them with the volatility of a forest fire, begging them to surrender to the erotic sensuality embodied within the flames. As Steven’s lips kissed the taut tendons in the hollow of Ashlyn’s neck, her nimble fingers removed his clothing.

Alone, their gnawing passions were unleashed. Within each of them, their auras stretched outwards, and like lovers performing a ritualistic mating dance, the two became one. The dance was one of unbridled passion, one of lust.

Coaxing him to lay down on the thermal blanket spread beneath them, she stood over him, her feet straddling his waist. Steven’s view was that of long, trim legs, jutting breasts, and bountiful temptations.