RANDOM VIOLENCE - book#6 in my Bloodscreams Series = Writing as Geoffrey Caine
TWO
Dr. Abraham Stroud felt a disturbance in the
universe here in the Canadian
Badlands in Alberta near the Drumheller area. He pinched himself to determine
if he was back where he was in charge of a new archeological dig. Of
course, he had felt such disturbances before—in fact, ever since the first time
that he was called on to combat supernatural forces, ever since the meatball
surgeons at a field hospital had saved him from death when they’d plucked him
from a pile of dead bodies cast into a common grave in Vietnam. And ever since
surgeons in a German hospital equipped with the wherewithal to slap a steel
plate in his head had done so. An archeologist now, one who had discovered and
vanquished vampire and werewolf covens, zombies, and gargantuan cemetery worms,
Abe knew the stirrings in his head and soul amounted to a new call for his
services and likely his fortune, along with his mercenary squad.
However, this time the disturbance was somehow
larger and more demanding than any he had ever felt. He was busy, of course, in
the midst of the most important Canadian archeological find of prehistoric
beasts ever uncovered. He and his students had been busily categorizing what
seemed to be a limitless number of creatures from the Sabre-toothed Tiger to
the Woolly Mammoth roaming eons ago in what was on the map today as The
Badlands of Alberta, Canada. Everyone associated with the dig, Stroud’s backers
at the university in Florida, and the Canadian Archeological Society—major
contributors in both money and influence—were all ecstatic at the reports
coming from Stroud that in part read:
Some
species never before seen or known to have existed have been uncovered here.
This is a major, major find, gentlemen and ladies. Some of the evidence
suggests a number of strange and odd creatures without a name or classification
save that they appear to belong in the reptile family.
Stroud lifted the skull of a creature no one had
ever seen before. At least not in modern times. It appeared to be part reptile,
sure, but it also appeared to be part hominoid – human. Could there have once
been a race of reptilian-like homo-sapiens? Stroud recalled his brief brush
with a kind of were-creature that inhabited the bayous of Louisiana that
amounted to a were-gator, an
alligator that walked upright like a man. At the time, he’d had his hands full
with an entire coven of Bayou Wulves, werewolves of an evolved nature in that
same vicinity, and as a result, he had not pursued the were-gator to uncover
any others of its kind. Now this.
The skull was a far, far cry from a human skull, and
yet there were marked similarities about the forehead and the crown. While the
jawbone and what few teeth had been found still attached appeared more
reptilian—crock-like. It might well be evidence of a creature that lived and
died off without anyone’s ever knowing about it until now.
The skull was ugly and horribly misshapen, reminding
Abe of the old joke about a camel being a horse designed by a committee.
Whatever forces of nature had designed this beast, said forces had to have been
interested in a thinking man’s reptile most assuredly. Close to the raptor dinosaur
in design but not quite, Abe thought this creature might well have had wings
too. Larger, more ferocious, more cunning than the raptor, this thing walked
like a man.
The ugliness of the brown, dirt-encrusted skull
stood at the opposite end of the spectrum of skulls found in other parts of the
dig. Known skull types, even those of the Woolly Mammoth and the Sabre-toothed
Tiger were sleeker, smoother, and more compact. This thing, Abe thought as he
held it up to the light in his tent, this is pock marked with huge bony bubbles,
and atop the head, sticking out like tree stumps, were two broken off horns. Whatever this creature was, it
must have been a brutal beast and a terrible foe, and a brainy one at that. The
size of the cranium had to house a sizable brain. The real question that likely
would never be answered was whether or not this creature used its brain in ways
that were human-like. Whether its kind hunted in packs or individually—and how
successful were they? Had they died out from catastrophic events, pestilence,
meteors, climate change, or had they cannibalized themselves to their own end?
Stroud was unsure how he could ever know the full
truth about the creature he had no name for. He wanted to give it a name that
might reflect on himself. After all, it was his diligence in locating the dig
here and in its game-changing discovery. Humanoid
Stroudius, he quipped and laughed. Maybe he’d leave the naming for the
students; make a game of it, a lottery. Student with the best name gets a day
off and a jet ride to the playground of his or her choice, a ride on Stroud’s
private jet.
Stroud’s financial situation had only gotten better
and better with each of his triumphs over the years. Stroud Foundation
funds—funds to combat all manner of evil in the world—had catapulted since the
very public and out in the open battles he had done with the Bayou Wulf clan in
Louisiana and more recently the war he had waged against the giant fluke works
of New York City that had come to be called the Subterraneans.
Stroud took his precious oddly shaped, once horned
skull to his workbench where he pulled a lamp on a swivel arm over it. He
studied it in its every detail as he picked at the final layer of encrusted
dirt and debris about the hills and valleys around the cheek bones, the mouth,
nose, and eye sockets. Once done with these areas, Abe worked off a large chunk
of earth, fused to the area between the stumps of two horns—the forehead and the
crown. This was a stubborn patch of glued-together earth and grass, a
clay-based earth.
Abe, impatient to finish clearing off every speck of
earth from the ancient skull while thinking about the Greek and Roman
depictions of the Minotaur—half man, half bull—got the idea that perhaps—just
perhaps—he was holding the skull of a Minotaur in his hands, or at least what
passed for one in ancient Canada. There had to be more like him, Stroud
thought. “There has to be. What would a lone ‘minotaur’ be doing in a land not
on any maps of the day?” Stroud also wondered if this creature walked on two
legs or four…or if it crawled on its belly snakelike. A snake with a humanoid
head and horns. It sounded damned biblical, but they would not know anymore
until or unless the dig provided a lot more bones belonging to the nameless
species. Until then, all was pure speculation.
Then again, Stroud cautioned himself, “If you start
talking out loud like you are doing inside here, you risk being called a fraud.
He knew that every step of the way.” He knew one thing for certain: the dig here in Alberta must be recorded and
religiously preserved.
His thoughts were interrupted by a ping on his Mac,
and a glance at his watch told him it was Jessie, his wife now of a year and
thirty odd days. She called Abe every night at this ungodly hour, unable to
sleep as it were. She was pregnant with their son, and as much as she would
have loved to see Canada—“No thanks! Not on a dig”. For this reason, she’d
remained at home in Andover, Illinois in the safe confines of Stroud Manse.
She came on screen, and he worked up his best
cheerfulness and smile, putting away any of the dark thoughts that he’d been
juggling in his mind. She had enough to do seeing that their son was healthy
and being cared for in the womb.
“I
miss you terribly, Abe. When can you come home even for a weekend?” she asked,
a radiant glow surrounding her.
Abe
saw her aura as a bright yellow with orange splashes here and there, like the
sun itself, he had told her. “I am hoping to get back soon, sweetheart, but
we’re looking at something here that may be a breakthrough.”
“Ahhhhh, yes, breaking news!” she teased.
“Can you share? I am bored and going out of my mind. There is one art gallery
and one museum in Andover, and they are in the same room!”
“I
know, I know. You have access to the chopper, so go shopping in Chicago, or go visit
your folks in NYC.”
“I have done both, Abe,
but I am freakin’ eight months along, so I’m going nowhere. Just staying close
to home and sticking close to my doctor!”
“Tell me what your last
visit with Dr. Shelby was like. All’s well, I pray.”
She
frowned but began telling him of the waiting room gossip and politics.
Stroud
half-listened as his mind wandered back to the strange find uncovered here in
Canada. In his mind’s eye, he saw the Arctic land bridge and whole tribes of
people coming across from Asia and with them something ugly and evil following,
chasing, a wickedness that had come this way eons ago. How old is evil, he wondered to the beat of
Jessie’s voice, and a strange, unfamiliar fear began to seep into his
consciousness like nothing he’d felt before—not even when he thought himself
dead in a stack of bodies in Vietnam. No…this was something new…or was it? Was
it something ancient yet knew only to Dr. Abraham Stroud in 2015?
“Are
you listening to me, Abe Stroud?” shouted Jessie. “You know very well I will
not be ignored.”
“Oh,
sorry…sorry dear. My mind wandered a bit but I am here. You know there is
nothing more precious to me than you and our child, Jess.”
“If
that’s true, then why are you there and we are here?” The conversation had
taken a sudden tone of gloom.
“It’s
my work, honey; it’s what I do.”
“No,
Abe, it’s who you are, and I knew that when we signed the pre-nup, I did, but I
am not sure I can live this way—with you gone so often.”
“Hold
on, Jess! Don’t go. I need you and Gideon.”
“You
certainly need something,” she countered. “This work-a-holic behavior is wearing on me, Abe.”
“I
promise, I’ll be at your side soon, darling. There’s important work going on
here, and I suspect an incredible discovery.”
“What
sort of discovery?”
“Not
sure I should say what it is over the internet, babe.”
“The
hell you say! Just tell me.”
“A
new species of humanoid, we suspect.”
“New?
How new?”
“OK, not new—old!
Ancient and extinct, newly discovered.”
“Wow, sounds like a
huge deal. What? Like the bloody missing link or something?”
“Possibly…or
something.” Abe found this completely
foreign, having to explain such things and their importance to a wife.
Jessie
waved her hands and said, “Show me.”
He
frowned now. “No duplicating. This has to remain our secret until we publish our
findings, hon, understood?”
“Abe,
I no longer work for any government agency. No more undercover work to elicit
information from you. Do you get that?”
He
laughed lightly. “Understood.”
“Well
then? Show me what is so damnably important.”
Stroud
went to the horned skull with its huge jaw bone. He had to hold the two parts
together, and they precariously fit like two ends of a shredded napkin where he
held it up to the Skype screen. “This is crazy. Anyone might rob this
information, so have a quick look and that’s that.” Abe was saying as Jessie
stared aghast at the skull.
“Abe…what
the hell is that thing?”
“We
don’t know; fact is, we need to come up with a name for it. I was thinking
Gideon, you know, after the boy, but then—”
“No!
No, no, no. Do not name that thing after your son, Abe, after our son. Name it
Tom, Dick, or Harry but not Gideon, ever! Banish that thought from your mind.”
“Sure,
sure!” Abe picked up on her fear. He could see it in her eyes. “I was only
joking, baby. It’s OK.”
“I
don’t like the look of that thing, Abe. Not one bit. I think I’m not feeling
well. Going to lie down now.”
“Sure,
sure! I didn’t mean to upset you, Jess.”
“I
know…I know. Say goodbye and remember, we want to see you this weekend if at
all possible. Love you, miss you, and goodbye for now.”
Abe
was speaking over her with words of endearment when she went off. He still had the
unknown in his hands—the two parts of the skull: gorilla like snout and jawbone
against the rest of the skull. His students were in a fever to find more like
it; they’d be in a race to find another come sunup.
He
wondered if Jessie had been able to make out the two broken off horns on the
skull. She may well have not seen them or if so, perhaps she had no notion of
what they were. Skype did not always get every detail. Still her sudden onset
of illness worried him some; then again, she was well along and anything might
set off a bout with nausea. He brushed it off.
Unable
to sleep, he laid down and stared at the top of his tent where phantoms played
within the fabric.
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