Vapor

By David Meyer

Vapor Copyright © 2015 by David Meyer

Guerrilla Explorer Publishing

Cover Design Copyright © 2015 by Guerrilla Explorer Publishing

Cover Art Copyrights:

1) Sky - Guerrilla Explorer Publishing

2) Reliquary - Guerrilla Explorer Publishing

3) Sand Dunes - Guerrilla Explorer Publishing

Publishers Note:

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, scanning, uploading, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system, or the Internet without prior written permission of the Publisher, copyright owner except where permitted by law. Your support of the author’s rights is greatly appreciated.

First Edition – April 2015

ISBN -13: 978-0692429358

ISBN-10: 0692429352

Manufactured/Printed in the United States of America

To H.J.J.

Thanks for the inspiration and wonderful memories.

But we’re still coming for you …

The world was damaged, far beyond repair. Nothing could help it, no one could save it. Earth had been pushed over the proverbial cliff, so to speak. Hence, there was no reason for me or anyone else to worry about the future. Past generations had already decided it for us. But the past itself?

Well, that was still up for grabs.

A light wind kicked up outside the protective confines of our large dome tent. Thousands of dirt particles thudded against the tear-proof multilaminate covering. The tent, sixteen feet tall with a thirty-one foot diameter, had been specially constructed to withstand powerful tempests. But the storms plaguing the region, a small slice of land not far from Jerusalem, were no ordinary storms.

They were dust storms.

“What’s taking so long?” The feminine voice sounded huffy, out of breath. “You said you’d be done by now.”

Twisting around, I saw Lila Grinberg. She wasn’t skinny, but not fat either. The lack of a visible bone structure gave her an almost cartoonish look. Her resting face, a slight frown and vacant eyes, made her appear vaguely stupid.

But looks could be deceiving.

I arched an eyebrow. “This isn’t an exact science, you know.”

Her lip curled in annoyance.

“Hey Lila.” Dutch Graham’s gravelly voice rang out, breaking the silence. “There’s a shower in that farmhouse, right?”

She stared at him, confused.

Graham sauntered forward, a crooked grin upon his face. Scuff marks covered his dark brown boots. His gray pants were wrinkled and soiled. The pits of his blue and white striped rugby shirt were stained with sweat. “I’ve got to look my best for the reporters.”

“There won’t be any reporters,” she replied.

“But you’re Lila Grinberg.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Lila had transcended the field of archaeology. And she hadn’t done it by sitting in dusty libraries and churning out articles for obscure journals. Instead, she’d sensationalized her work. She wasn’t the first archaeologist to do so. But she was, these days, the most successful at it.

Four years ago, she’d called a press conference from a dig site in northern France. Surrounded by reporters, she revealed her latest target, the remains of a mythical dragon that had supposedly terrorized the area during the sixth century. She remarked that dinosaur bones, dug up by ancient fossil hunters, might have inspired dragon myths. An excitable reporter asked whether she thought the dragon could’ve been an actual dinosaur that had somehow outlived its brethren. Her answer?

Yes.

That one simple word had turned a small media event into a full-blown frenzy. Reporters dubbed her the
Dragon Hunter
and began journaling her every move. Television personalities begged her to appear on their shows. Production companies bid for access to her dig.

Eventually, she’d dug up some old bones, enshrined in a tomb. Testing showed the bones traced back to the Jurassic era. But since dating wasn’t a precise science, many media outlets reported the possibility the bones could be much younger. Further tests were promised.

The saga, of course, had never ended. Like most of Lila’s subsequent publicity stunts, it sort of trailed away into nothingness, making way for her next set of headlines.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. Research grants went to the bold, the famous. The ones who knew how to spin a tale for the media.

Lila glared at Graham. “Not everything I do is public, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“There isn’t a story here.”

“So, make one up.” He smirked. “That’s what you do, right?”

While they bickered, I twisted toward the dig site. A deep hole had been carved out of the ground. A stone reliquary, seven feet long by four feet wide, lay at the bottom of the hole. Strange relief carvings adorned its lid. They portrayed a terrible dragon, blazing fireballs, smoke-filled skies, and masses of dead people and animals.

“Hold that thought.” Perking his ears, Graham tilted his head skyward. “I think the wind’s picking up.”

Lowering a pair of lightweight metallic goggles to my eyes, I turned toward the translucent entranceway flap. A sturdy elastic strap kept the goggles in place. Their rubberized eyecups sealed to my face. But the goggles were more than just eye protection.

They were a miracle of modern technology.

Despite the rapidly diminishing sunlight, they allowed me a small glimpse, etched in greenish hues, of the surrounding terrain. Once-vibrant farmland had been transformed into a lifeless desert. I saw dead and decayed plants, barely holding on to the arid soil. Rusty hand tools lay half-buried in the dirt. Shriveled animal carcasses and bleached bones were strewn inside former livestock pens. Abandoned buildings—a barn, a two-story farmhouse, and several dilapidated sheds—were less than a hundred yards away.

“He’s right.” I glanced at Lila. “The storm’s getting worse.”

She shrugged. “So what?”

“So, we should wait for it to pass.”

Her jaw clenched tight. “No.”

“But—”

“I said, no.”

I stared at her, unsure of what to think. Despite being a publicity-hound, Lila had a solid reputation among her peers. So, why was she choosing a speedy salvage job over safety of the artifact?

I glanced at Graham. “You heard her.”

“She’s an idiot,” he replied.

Lila’s jaw dropped. “You know I can hear you, right?”

I groaned inwardly. I’d circled the world and I had yet to meet Dutch Graham’s match in terms of charm and charisma. But those gifts came at a steep price, namely a severe case of obliviousness. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d embarrassed me in front of others. Still, I let it slide for the most part. He was, after all, the closest thing I had to a father or even a family member.

Graham was the last of an earlier generation of explorers. For him, science had always played second fiddle to adventure. He had a knack for getting into and out of dangerous situations and had the scars to prove it. His battle wounds included a mechanical left leg as well as a patch over his right eye.

Although his best days were behind him, he still maintained the edge of youth. His demonic thirst for wine, women, and poker had led many of his colleagues, past and present, to call him
El Diablo
behind his back. While they meant it as an insult, Graham wore the nickname like a badge of honor.

Over the years, he’d become somewhat of a futurist, devoting much of his free time to CryoCare, a fledgling business in the small but growing field of cryonics. But he still accompanied me on the occasional salvage job. It was a good thing too. In addition to his growing expertise with computers, he was a master tinkerer with an uncanny knack for fixing and repurposing broken-down machines. Even better, he’d begun to develop his own technology. My high-tech goggles were his latest invention.

“He didn’t mean that,” I said.

“Actually, I did mean it.” Graham crossed his arms. “This is dumb, Lila. And you know it.”

“It’s the best of two bad options,” she replied. “You know as well as I do that God’s Judges roam these parts.”

All Israeli citizens were required to join the Israel Defense Forces. Most of them were in the reserves. When the drought started, looting and riots had become a problem. The Israeli government had called up the reservists. Battles raged for months. As supplies ran short, many reservists decided things were better on the other side. They deserted their posts and formed local militias. A particularly violent one known as God’s Judges now occupied the area in which we stood.

“Getting that reliquary of yours is challenging enough,” Graham said. “Doing it in the middle of a dust storm is downright stupid.”

“He’s right,” I said. “I say we rebury the reliquary, wait for the storm to pass. Another hour or two won’t matter.”

“Unless it does.” Her voice turned cold. “You are Cy Reed, right? I mean
the
Cy Reed?”

I frowned. “Yeah, but—”

“You own Salvage Force?”

I nodded.

“And you specialize in extreme salvage jobs, right? The ones where artifacts are lost or in extreme danger?”

I gritted my teeth. “That’s right.”

“And that means you don’t work in front of bulldozers like other salvage experts, do you? You work in war zones, amidst natural disasters … the worst kind of hell this planet has to offer.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’ve saved hundreds, maybe thousands of artifacts. So, how come you can’t save mine?”

I stared at her for a long moment. Then I looked at Graham. “Prepare for excavation.”

He shrugged. As he walked away, I knelt next to the pit.

“How can I help?” Lila asked.

“You can’t,” I replied. “Not in here anyway.”

She frowned.

“Get to the barn. Prep the packing materials. And keep an eye out for us.”

Lila turned around. Moments later, she disappeared outside.

We’d arrived on the scene roughly seventeen hours earlier. Lila was alone, having discharged her team until further notice. She’d told us about God’s Judges, about how they were ransacking the countryside for resources and supplies. To keep them from finding her dig site, she wanted us to conduct a high-speed excavation.

We’d gone to work, clearing soil from the area and transporting it to the barn. Now, we were ready to extract the reliquary from the pit. Afterward, we’d transfer it to Lila's full-size pick-up truck and she’d drive it to a secure location.

Lila planned to return for the excavated soil and rocks at a later date. Then her team could sort through the contextual evidence in peace, searching for more clues about the reliquary and those who’d buried it.

Looking into the pit, I saw a complicated mechanical system. We’d secured it in Jerusalem prior to meeting Lila. It included a hydraulic jack and an even larger metal cradle.

Beverly Ginger stood next to the system. She cut an eye-popping figure in her long sleek boots, clingy leggings, tight long-sleeve shirt, and fingerless gloves. My goggles, still utilizing night-vision, shed a greenish tint on her. But I remembered the various hues of her clothes, namely burgundy, black, gold, and black again.

“Are you ready down there?” I called out.

“Ready,” she replied.

“Deploy the cradle.”

Beverly flicked a switch. A soft rumble rang out. Then a steel plate shot forward from the cradle, accompanied by a shrill clanging sound. It passed underneath the reliquary without touching the stone.

“Cradle deployed.” Beverly said. “Ready for cradling.”

“Cradle it,” I replied.

She wrapped several steel cords around the reliquary’s sides and hooked the cords to mechanisms on the cradle’s opposite end. She flicked another switch and the cords tightened, gently pulling the stone box all the way into the cradle where she proceeded to secure it with more cords.

“Cradled. Ready for lifting.”

I looked at Graham. He stood next to a small gantry crane near the pit. A chain hoist connected it to the cradle. “Lift it,” I said.

Graham worked the control panel. The gantry crane burst to life. Metal creaked loudly as the chain hoist grew taut. The crane groaned as it began to lift the cradled box out of the pit.

“How’s it look down there?” I called out.

“Good,” Beverly replied.

Another stiff breeze kicked up, flinging more dirt particles against the dome tent. Glancing at the flap, I saw swirling air currents, stuffed with dirt. They looked whitish as they streaked across my field of vision.

“It’s getting worse out there,” Graham said.

“It’s getting worse everywhere.” I walked to the gantry crane. “It’s called climate change.”

“If you say so.”

“You’ve got a better explanation?”

“Bad luck.”

“Did bad luck cause the African drought? Or the one in America? What about the tsunamis in India? The floods in China?”

He shrugged.

I kept my gaze locked on the rising reliquary. “You’re a denier?”

“I’m a realist.”

“Then you should be agreeing with me. Manmade climate change is a real thing, backed by consensus science.”

“Scientific consensus?” He made a face. “Consensus once held the earth was flat, the sun revolved around the earth, and substances burned because of a nonexistent element called phlogiston.”

“Science has come a long way from those days.”

“Don’t be too sure about that.”

The wind turned vicious. The covering started to buckle. The exterior frame quivered. The anchor poles shifted in the soil.

“Beverly,” I said. “Get up here.”

“But the machine isn’t done yet,” she replied.

I studied the gantry system. The crane continued to move at a smooth, steady pace. “It’ll be fine.”

Swiftly, she climbed a ladder, her boots scuffing against the metal rungs. At the top, she stared outside. Her eyes widened as she took in the growing storm. “We need shelter.”