Eve of Man (The Harvest Book 2) (5 page)

No longer in a hurry, Eve decided to walk back to the
temple. The woman would not be ready to leave for a few hours, giving her time
to rethink her plans. Half way up the path she stopped. An image of a man
appeared. He stood facing away from her at the edge of a large body of water.
The surface consisted of choppy waves frozen in place. The man turned from the water’s
edge and walked towards her, passing through her and continuing down the path. Eve
watched him go until his image vanished. Her brow creased in thought. How had
she missed him? Tempted to follow, Eve shook her head, another time, another place,
she thought, and continued up the path.

The Bering Strait was over fifty miles wide at the
narrowest point between Russian Cape Dezhnev and the US Cape Prince of Wales.
Land temperatures remained below zero and the wind was relentless in trying to
penetrate through the thickest layers of clothing in an effort to reach your
bones.

Kyle stood on the Russian side staring out across the sea,
where the treacherous waters were a mass of frozen choppy waves, disappearing
into a vast cloud of nothing. Despite having not a single clue or fact indicating
land existed on the other side, his resolve had not weakened. Ada’s pleading
and tears, although tough to bear, couldn’t change his mind either. Leaving
behind his friends and adopted family was tough, but that was all in the past now.
The task ahead was all that mattered.  He walked back to the Mercedes, which
sat idling with the heater on full blast. Inside he pulled out a wetsuit and
began to undress, stopping to scan the landscape. His eyes came to rest on a single
guard post, ready to give up its few remaining boards to the elements and
topple over. “No one is out there,” he assured himself in a whisper and then
smiled, thinking he had the right to feel a little paranoid.

With a bit of effort Kyle maneuver his body into the
wetsuit. The material was designed for use by the military elite and capable of
withstanding the coldest of conditions through the suit’s unique ability to
generate heat from body movement. Kyle assumed those conditions included
swimming in the Bering Strait. Records indicated the water temperature at this
time of year should be in the thirty degree range. Based on the sheer magnitude
of ice, Kyle surmised those numbers were far lower. 

The plan had been to swim to Big Diomede Island where
a Russian weather station and border guard had been based. After months of no
communications from the personnel stationed on the island, Kyle didn’t expect
to find anyone hanging around to answer questions. From the station he would
swim to Cape Prince of Wales, and again search for survivors. A small fishing
village called Deadbear sat near the cape where he hoped to acquire
transportation to take him to Colorado. If luck graced him this day, he might
be able to walk to the other side.

Grabbing the keys from the ignition, Kyle hid them
under the floor mat, paused in his task, thinking the chances of the vehicle
being stolen were remote. Overshadowing this fact was the expectation that he
wouldn’t be returning and if someone did take the truck, they probably needed the
vehicle more than he. With this in mind he placed the keys on the seat and
jumped out, not bothering to lock the doors.

At the water’s edge, Kyle took one last glance across
the ice bound sea before rechecking that his compass was functioning, and his
backpack was secure. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his headgear into place.
“You got this man,” he said out loud and nodded in response to himself before
stepping out onto the frozen Strait. True to the military’s boasts, the suit performed
as intended, keeping the frigid temperatures from penetrating through to his
body. If Kyle had had the luxury of observation, he would have thought to
commend the military for a job well done. However, he was focused on putting
one foot in front of the other. Despite what others called a lax lifestyle, he
was in excellent shape. The benefits of good genes and youth, but this was no
jog around the flat track. His full concentration was required.

After two hours of walking and climbing, Kyle’s
agility was being put to the test by the strong winds and by having to navigate
the uneven terrain. Although thankful for not having to swim, the ice was no
cakewalk. Every so often the ice shifted, threatening to throw him off balance.
At one point it succeeded in doing just that and Kyle had to grab for the edge
of an ice sheet to keep from falling into a hole. He hung there for several
seconds before clawing his way up onto a flatter section. Every few feet he’d spot
another opening in the ice, a hole into the abyss below. If he fell into one of
those it wouldn’t be a ‘showstopper’, it would be a ‘game over’. Keeping this
in mind, he picked his way over the ice using extreme caution.

When he worried the rough terrain would never end, the
surface changed from jagged to flat, with no transition to forewarn him. Flat
ground was a gift horse whose mouth he would not look into. Kyle walked on, concentrating
hard on the task at hand. After another thirty minutes, realizing he’d walked
into a thick gray-white mist, he stopped to find his bearings. He was
surrounded. Fog so thick he could barely see his feet, giving the allusion of
walking on a cloud. He pushed on. A half an hour later he heard the sound of
splashing waves ahead. He proceeded slow and easy. Soon he arrived at the edge,
where ice turned to water. A wave splashed up in his face startling him. The
time had come, the true test of his endurance was about to commence. Kyle
removed his regular boots, replacing them with split toe flippers made of the
same material as his body suit. He walked to the edge, took a deep breath and slid
into the water.  

Knowing the international relay team took six days to
swim the entire Strait gnawed at him a bit before he’d set out on this quest,
but when doubt threatened to unravel his will, he only had to think about doing
nothing. This thought alone vanquished the most daunting of his fears. The plan
was go, or no other option. A ‘no go’ wasn’t on the table. He couldn’t explain
this to Ada or Will or the many others who tried to talk him out of going.
Sometimes a man had to man-up and do the necessary thing, right or wrong. 

As he swam his solitary swim, being tossed about like
a rag doll at times, Kyle thought back to before the great white mass devoured
the United States, back to the last time he had contact with his family. Lost
in thought he hardly noticed the moment when the water ceased pulling him in
every direction. Pausing to take in his surroundings, he looked around at the
thick fog that enveloped him. The waters had turned calm and silent. An eerie
calm that sent a shiver went down his spine. In his short time on Earth he’d
lived a rather charmed life. Even after the mass cloud appeared his world had continued
to be filled with good people who took care of him, even loved him like their
own. He’d crossed paths with a few mean assholes, but never met anyone he
considered evil. He’d often wondered if he would recognize evil were he to come
face to face with the beast. He wondered no longer.

Kyle was cognizant of the quiet, of how each stroke
seemed to bounce off the white wall of mist and reverberate across the sea.
Would they hear him coming? Did they exist? He kept moving, swimming faster,
harder, cutting through the still waters like a torpedo.  The only thing on
Kyle’s mind was reaching that island. Every stroke he thought would be his
last. When another four hours had passed, his foot hit a rock beneath the
water’s surface causing him to almost jump out of the water. He stopped to
catch his breath and calm his nerves. It was nothing, only a rock. A rock! Land
was close. He waved his fist in the air with measured excitement and continued
swimming, albeit at a slower pace, taking close to an hour before finding a
spot to climb ashore.

With wobbly arms Kyle hauled his fatigued body up on
the rocky shore, his muscles protesting the further demand to perform. He
crawled far enough to be clear of the water, before collapsing on the rocky
beach, exhausted to the state of being numb. After several minutes, Kyle rolled
over and opened his eyes.  Up above the sky was a dull gray, to his right, sitting
above the horizon, were three suns. Shading his eyes, he squinted and blinked
several times, but the suns didn’t falter or change in number.

Kyle struggled to a sitting position and then to his
knees and finally to his feet. He faltered a bit, almost falling backwards, and
leaned forward to gain momentum to walk. Not far from the shore was a crowd of
buildings and one room shacks huddled together, some sat only feet from the
water, while others were nestled into the steep embankment. No one came running
to see who he was or if he was ok. The island, with its close to vertical
slopes covered in snow and ice, reminded him of a ship floating out at sea. A ghost
ship perhaps, commanded by a captain and crew from the netherworld.

When he reached the first building, Kyle leaned on the
door unable to lift his hand to knock. The door gave way, spilling Kyle into a
small reception room of sorts. Plastic chairs, a desk, and a picture on the
wall made up the modest room. He collapsed into the nearest chair. After
several minutes he raised his head and looked about; his eyes came to rest on
the picture.

Painted on the canvas was a small unmanned fishing
boat being tossed about on an angry sea. He stared at the picture not seeing
the boat or the waves or wondering where the fisherman might be. Soon, though,
his mind caught up and he noticed something odd about the picture, something
that didn’t quite belong. The artist had splattered dark paint across the
canvas. As his gaze traveled upward, he saw that the paint had been splattered
on the wall and ceiling as well.  Not able to find the logic in this, his numb
mind worked hard to resolve what he was seeing. Several minutes passed before a
complete thawing and his thoughts processed with more clarity. His mind
suggested to him that maybe it wasn’t paint. He dropped his gaze to the floor
beneath his feet where more paint...more-paint-on-the-floor. Not paint. Not
paint at all.

“Oh shit.” Kyle sprung from the chair and stumbled
backwards out the door, yanking his headgear and taking deep, deep breaths of
the cold air. Blood. He checked the steps where he stood, but they were clean. He
sank down. Blood splatter, everywhere. Blood. The word repeated in his head, like
a broken record not to be ignored. Kyle smacked his hands together and stood
up. Bracing himself for the worst, he went around to the other buildings, only
to find the same sights awaiting him. He searched a few of the closest shacks, this
time finding bodies to associate with the blood. The bodies were twisted and
frozen, some having the appearance of being ripped open and gutted. After checking
inside three houses he quit opening doors. These were no longer homes, they
were tombs. At the fourth house he sat outside on the steps and hung his head.
Dead. They were all dead. Goddamn it, he swore and pounded his fist on his leg.

Although his hopes had been dealt a huge blow, Kyle
wasn’t giving up, not now, not ever. All he could think about was getting to
Alaska. Besides, what else was he going to do? Swim back to Russia? No way. He
would rest here, on this island of death, and head out in the morning. If the
waters were calm all the way across he could reach land by nightfall.

Having strengthened his resolve, Kyle put his mind on
deciding where he should sleep. The houses were out of the question. After a
quick inspection of all the buildings, Kyle decided on the first one he’d
entered. Once he moved passed the reception area no signs of blood, and more
important no gruesome remains, were found. In the back, behind the reception
room, he found a small kitchen and an even smaller room with space enough for a
twin bed. He turned on the water, letting it run while he inspected the pantry.
When he returned with food in hand, to his amazement, and gratitude, hot water
flowed from the tap. After further inspection he found the hot water tank under
the sink ran on propane and discovered the range was propane fueled as well. A
hot shower and hot meal made up for the cold bed.

Later when the dark settled in outside, Kyle, dry and
full of soup, settled under several layers of thick blankets. The quiet was
eerie and disturbing, but being past the point of exhaustion Kyle fell asleep
before he could over think each and every sound. Sometime in the night he
stirred in his sleep and almost awoke when a piercing screech broke the silence
of the night. The sound was primal in every sense of the word, but sleep
reclaimed him before his mind’s sensors had time to process. He later dreamt of
flying demons screeching through the night.

The next morning Kyle woke up later than planned and
found moving an arduous task when every muscle protested against his slightest
efforts. He lay back thinking maybe he would wait to leave until the following
morning, in order to give his body time to recover. Spending another night in
the ghost town wasn’t an appealing prospect, but failing out at sea was even
less desirable. Kyle lay his head back down and closed his eyes. Soon his
breathing became deep and rhythmic. Dreams of flying demons did not return. The
next time he opened his eyes was in the middle of the afternoon. He was still
sore, but felt better rested. He showered and headed for the kitchen where he
heated two cans of chicken and dumplings soup. He added two tins of sardines
and a box of crackers. The crackers weren’t the crispiest, but hauling food
across the Bering Strait was not part of the plan, and he was grateful to find
anything edible. He didn’t expect conditions in Alaska to improve, but hoped at
least he could scrounge up enough to eat until, until...

“Until what?” he asked the empty room.

Based on what he’d seen thus far, the chances of
finding survivors seemed improbable. Kyle cleaned up the kitchen, putting
everything back the way he found it. A search through one of the closets
provided a parka, ski mask and gloves. In the kitchen he found galoshes. They
were a size too big, but an extra thick pair of socks fixed the problem. Once
dressed, he ventured outside to investigate the island. Again the first thing
he noticed was the three suns. He checked his watch, then the suns, and back to
his watch. It didn’t make sense, but with no one to discuss the why and what of
the suns, Kyle walked on towards the shore.