Days' End (10 page)

The chaos and destruction were indescribable. Entire cities reduced to rubble, fleets gone, and carcasses of every variety strewn about like toys in a child’s room. Reports were still sketchy at best. The number of missing persons was disturbingly high.

The eastern seaboard was for all intents and purposes gone. New York City, Atlantic City, Miami—all were all a pile of wreckage, death, and grief.

The images of New York City he found especially disturbing. The once proud, once rebuilt city of New York had been reduced to ruins. After the World Trade Center attacks, media images had been of a demolished building being swarmed by rescuers and volunteers. The current pictures and live video were of a decimated city with a few floundering people left.

It didn’t even look like a city anymore. It looked like a construction site discard pile. Car parts, ship parts, and body parts littered the landscape. The few survivors picked through the debris as they had on that fateful day in September of 2001, hoping, praying to find others alive. Alastair could only mourn, knowing that even if some people had survived the initial impact of the wave, they had most likely drowned or had been battered to death in the churning waters.

The image that kept popping up in all of the stories was of a mother and her infant son from southern Georgia. While she had done all she could to protect her child, she had been unable to outrun Mother Nature. According to the news story, she had heeded the warnings and attempted to move inland, to higher ground. She hadn’t had a car so she had started out on foot. She hadn’t been fast enough. The picture was of her, covered in mud and waste, the remains of her dress torn and bloody, sitting on what appeared to be the concrete steps that should lead up to the front door of a house. However, there was no welcoming front door behind her, only a vast wasteland of wreckage. Shattered boards and beams mixed with branches and tree roots littered the landscape where the house had once stood. She sat curled around her deceased child, quietly weeping. Tears streaked down her face and collected on her chin, where they eventually dripped on to the lifeless toddler in her lap. She slowly stroked the child’s hair and gently rocked him.

How could God allow such a thing? thought Alastair. Although he was not religious like his father, he did believe in something out there that was more powerful than himself. How could any God, Allah, Buddha, whomever, allow something this dreadful to happen? Alastair, while not having children of his own, could only imagine the wretched pain and despair the woman in the picture was feeling. The tenderness with which she was holding the small boy, and the hopelessness in her face, would be forever etched in his memory.

Late February-Early March, Outside Castle Rock, CO

The days came and went. The reconstruction process was painfully slow, but Nysa could see some progress being made. She kept her assistants occupied, checking on equipment and keeping things clean and tidy, so as not to annoy Dr. Leyden. He might be good at his job, but his people skills were lacking.

By the end of two weeks, Nysa was able to spend longer stretches at the computer on her own. They had another computer brought to the lab so that they could work the program at the same time. Occasionally, because Dr. Leyden was so focused on the task at hand, Nysa practically had to order him to leave the lab and get some fresh air. Although he protested, he always seemed mellow upon his return.

Nysa ate, drank, slept and lived DNA reconstruction. Finally in mid-March they saw a quickening of the process. As the strand was reassembled and fewer pieces remained, the jigsaw was taking shape. They completed the second phase of the experiment on March twenty-sixth, just before two in the afternoon.

March 23, Los Angeles, CA

It was awful trying to get through his days without Nysa. Alastair was terribly lonely and spent more and more time at work. He hated going home to an empty apartment every night. He was grateful for the box of letters Nysa had left for him. Without them, he thought he would probably have quit his job and gone looking for her already.

On the brighter side, his supervisors were taking notice of his long hours at the office and had given him a small bonus—not much, but it was a nice gesture. So Alastair went to work early, left late, went to his AA meetings and generally avoided the apartment except to shower and sleep.

He stayed up–to-date on world affairs. The fires in the U.S. southwest had finally been extinguished and the tsunami-affected parts of the world had money flooding in from corporations and individuals alike. As always, it wasn’t enough but it would certainly get the rebuilding process started. Israel was going at it with Lebanon, but what else was new in the Middle East?

Alastair was intrigued by an upcoming eclipse. According to an article he read, on the twenty-ninth there would be a double eclipse for the first time in recorded history. The moon would eclipse the sun in the morning, and the Earth would eclipse the moon that night. He thought it pretty cool that he would be able to witness something astronomers stated occurred once every four million years.

After their meeting, Alastair and his sponsor Bryan went out for coffee. They were going to meet some of the others at Starbucks in Woodland Hills. During the ride, the music was interrupted with news that a meteorite had hit in China. News reports will still coming in, but preliminary reports showed it to be quite sizable and indications were that it had hit somewhere close to Harbin. Although not quite as bad as a landing in Hong Kong, the property damage alone was expected to be in the hundreds of millions of dollars.

Alastair turned off the radio and groaned. “I’m getting sick of listening to this stuff. With Nysa gone, I could use a little hope and happiness in my life. Except for the Dodgers being in first place, all the news is about fires, earthquakes, tsunamis, and now meteorites. Where are the stories on dogs rescuing small children from drowning? I want to hear about the two-year-old that dialed 9-1-1 and saved his mom. I think I need to start logging on to HappyNews.com and not CNN.com. It’s just too depressing right now.”

Bryan chuckled. “That’s not what sells, man. ‘If it bleeds, it leads,’ right? People like being scared. They like seeing others more miserable than themselves. How are you supposed to get by in life spending most of your time at a job you hate, if you can’t come home and see people worse off than you?” Bryan smiled and slugged Alastair in the shoulder. “By the way, how is your Fourth Step coming along?”

“Step Four asks us to make a searching, fearless and moral inventory of ourselves,” Alastair responded.

“I didn’t ask what it is, I asked how it was coming along.”

“I really don’t understand why I have to do this again. I did it with my last sponsor.”

Bryan started to respond but Alastair cut him short by snapping the radio on. George Strait was crooning about reaching Amarillo by morning. “Let’s just listen to some music. I’m not in the mood for this right now.” He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

The next day Alastair called his father. He could use a nice father-son chat to make him feel better. His father answered on the second ring.

“Good morning, Dad. How are you today?”

“Hanging in there. Got some more work to do on this week’s sermon, but it’s coming along. How are you doing?”

“Bunch of bullshit at work, but what else is new?” Alastair replied. He gave his father the rundown of the most recent events in his life, found out what his father was doing to keep busy, and engaged in some small talk. “I’m worried about Nysa,” Alastair suddenly blurted out before he could stop himself. He hadn’t intended on discussing his concerns with his father, but now it was out there and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

“What seems to be the problem?” his father replied, concern in his voice over the sudden shift in topic.

“I don’t know,” Alastair grumbled. “It’s not really that we have a problem, it’s just her job. I’m just worried about her I guess.”

“Why?”

Alastair let out a sigh. “Nothing I guess. I’m just being paranoid. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Anytime, Alastair,” came the reply. “Really, anytime.”

“Goodbye, Dad,” and Alastair set the phone gently in its cradle.

The Church is filled with fools. I have succeeded in replacing the original with the fake I had made so long ago. It came at a high price: I have to silence yet another member of the Vatican. While it is unfortunate that he had such a short time to live his dream, he should thank me for getting him there in the first place. I groomed him for the position after all. I influenced the right people and bought others. As repayment for my generosity, I asked only for some time alone with the shroud. He granted my request, arranged for my visit, and granted me as much time as I desired. The switch was easy, the objects being almost identical. Now I am in possession of the most important historical relic and the Church is holding an item that is worthless by comparison.

Nobody suspects what I did. The only person who is aware of my identity is going to be dead in less than six hours. I have arranged to make any links back to me, or inquiries into his cause of death, unavailable.

I have conquered the Church again. They are imbeciles. I know now that I can accomplish anything. There is nobody—nobody—who can oppose me and succeed. I will have all that my heart desires and more. This curse will come to an end one way or the other. I have been trapped in this life for far too long.

March 26,

Outside Castle Rock, CO

Dr. Leyden had completed his portion of the work and was taking a well-deserved break, spending a few days relaxing and touring the rest of the facility. Tuesday, feeling unusually friendly, he approached the security guard he had encountered previously while out running. The guard was eating lunch in the main cafeteria.

“Good morning,” Dr Leyden said as he approached the table. “May I join you?”

The guard looked up from his meal and shrugged his response. Dr. Leyden took it as a yes and sat down. “My name is Dr. Shannon Leyden, and you are?” he asked, extending his right hand.

“Thomas,” the younger man replied and shook his hand firmly. Dr. Leyden thought it odd that Thomas did not offer his last name, but he accepted the reply without further questioning. They sat for a while exchanging small talk and having a pleasant conversation. As they ate, Dr. Leyden accidentally knocked the ketchup off of the table. Before it could hit the ground, the guard’s hand shot out and grabbed it out of midair. The movement was eerily snake-like.

“Nice catch,” Dr. Leyden commented. Thomas merely shrugged again as he set the bottle back on the table. Dr. Leyden noticed the muscular forearms that extended up into a well-built, well-toned upper body. With a build like that, and the reflexes of a cobra, this was not a man to be tangled with. He also now had a look in his eyes that made Dr. Leyden extraordinarily uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It was almost as if the younger man was amused by the world while at the same time extremely hostile toward it…as though if you ceased to entertain him he would kill you just to find out what your reaction would be to his attack.

Dr. Leyden tried to continue the conversation and not focus on the creepy feeling he was experiencing. He discovered that Thomas was from nearby Manitou Springs. He had previously worked for Mr. Scario but would not discuss what that work entailed.

Dr. Leyden continued poking and prodding with his questions. Over the next half hour or so he was able to determine that Thomas was not originally from Manitou. He was ex-Special Forces, but Dr. Leyden didn’t know with which branch. Thomas implied that the other guards were as well. This disturbed Dr. Leyden. While he could appreciate the need for security, he was uncomfortable with the fact that a bunch of Seals, Rangers, Recon, whatever, were guarding the premises. It seemed to be a bit excessive even if they were cloning the first human being. They were in the middle of nowhere in a building that appeared from the outside to be a nondescript cabin or bed and breakfast. Nobody would give it a second look.

“Well, I’d better get back going. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Dr. Leyden said, pushing back from the table and standing up. Thomas nodded and looked out the window. Dr. Leyden shrugged, grabbed his trash, and meandered to the trashcan, passing Jacqueline as he went. She had been eating alone, speaking to and looking at no one.

He popped in a movie he had requested from Bekki the previous evening and lay down on the bed to watch it. He drifted off to sleep while it played. Awakening a couple hours later, he was drenched in sweat and shaking. He could not remember the details of his nightmare, only the feeling that he was in the company of Death himself. Although the temperature of the room had not changed, he could not stop shivering. His blood felt like ice water coursing through his veins. He got up off of his bed and cranked up the thermostat. It didn’t help. The room was empty but dread remained his companion.

He decided he needed a walk outside, an opportunity to lose himself in the beauty of the outdoors. A fresh snowfall had blanketed the landscape the prior evening and he hoped to enjoy a stroll through the virgin powder. He changed out of his damp clothing, showered, and left his room. He went upstairs and, as he opened the doors to the lobby, the chill in the air was like a slap in the face.

“Don’t stay out too long,” Bekki called from the front desk. “It’s deceptively cold outside.”

Dr. Leyden grunted a reply and moved out into the frigid air. While he had dressed warmly, the wind seemed to cut right through his jacket and go in search of any crevice that allowed access to his warm body. Between the outside air and the deathly cold that remained from his dream, he was as miserable as he remembered ever having been. He continued on his walk, determined to warm himself up.

A steady thumping noise interrupted his thoughts. He looked around to locate the source of the sound and saw a helicopter lifting off from the roof of the compound. Strange, he thought. Who could be leaving in a helicopter? Maybe there had been a medical emergency. He hurried back to the building, doing his best to avoid creating his own medical emergency. Between the patches of ice and tree roots sticking up all over the place but hidden by the snow, he almost didn’t succeed. He stumbled, rather than walked, into the lobby of the building, shaking the snow from his jacket.