The Final Reality (Alex Pella, #3) Read online

  Illion remained silent, still in shock. Not sure whether to be angrier with Ernst and the other SS soldiers or with himself for being deceived, he kept further comments to himself.

  Pointing to a staircase located in an adjacent corridor, Ernst signaled the two unoccupied soldiers to lead the way. Now with their two hostages, they all descended the steps, heading down to the third and most sacred level. Evenly spaced along the wall, golden torches burning smokeless flames lit the way.

  Upon exiting the staircase, they were met by three men donning elegant silken red chu-pas standing motionless in front of a magnificent golden door. It was almost as if the men were in a trance as they made no indication of noticing the group’s arrival. Etched in white upon the door and also sewn into these men’s gowns were elaborate depictions of bulls along with what appeared to be magical symbols.

  More torches with smokeless flames adorned the walls of this narrow hallway. Unlike the two levels above them, this level possessed no glass ceiling.

  The group slowly approached as the three men ahead of them remained stationary, as if carved from stone.

  Ernst cautiously pointed to the door.

  Without hesitation, one of the SS soldiers slowly moved forward in a crouched position. With a knife in his hand, he gradually approached the men. Unsure if they were actually alive, he wanted to be as careful as possible. Steadily he reached out his left hand, ever so slightly, moving it towards one of the men’s face.

  Just as he was about to touch him, one of the other guards sprang to life. Swinging a sword he had hidden behind his back, he swiftly chopped off the SS soldier’s arm at the elbow with one clear swipe. Blood began to squirt from the stump, spraying on the floor and staining one of the men’s red chu-pas.

  Ernst and the remaining soldiers immediately pulled out their concealed Luger pistols and opened fire, emptying all eight rounds in their magazines. The shots reverberated in the small confines of the hallway and continued to echo in their ears even after the last bullet had been fired. The guards were quickly killed—even their fellow SS soldier lay motionless on the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

  Lha-mo-chun ran over to the fallen bodies and knelt down, staining her chu-pa in the growing pool of blood. The little goddess placed her hands together and bowed forward, whispering a prayer as she gently rocked back and forth.

  Illion walked by her side and placed his hand on her shoulder. Stunned by what had just transpired, he had trouble uttering a sound. After a brief moment to compose himself, he whispered, “I am so sorry. I did not know.” Illion’s lowered lip quivered. “You must forgive me.”

  Ernst marched over the fallen bodies. With a freshly loaded Lugar in one hand and the golden keys in the other, he turned to Illion. “Don’t forget the motherland Illion. You know as well as I that the war is all but lost.” Pointing at the golden door, he added, “Unless what we find behind here is a miracle, Germany as we know it will cease to exist.”

  “If men like you represent the Germany of today, sir,” Illion replied, “I certainly look forward to the Germany of tomorrow.”

  “Then you are nothing but a fool.” Ernst fumbled with the keys in the lock until he found one that fit. With a loud click, the door split vertically down its center and opened automatically away from him. The light from the adjacent room poured out like a tsunami and flooded the hallway. Ernst shuddered as the light’s cool presence chilled him to the core, as if it were attempting to reach deep inside him.

  “Please,” Lha-mo-chun pleaded, still on her knees and wringing her hands. “You must not enter. You know not what you are about to do.”

  Illion placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, realizing her pleas fell on deaf ears.

  Ernst and the three remaining SS soldiers slowly entered the room. As if a veil had lifted from the intense light, the glory of this inner sanctum clicked into focus. The room radiated light without any visible physical source. Golden cases filled with scrolls were perfectly aligned around the room’s circular perimeter. On its walls were long, beautiful tapestries and rugs decorated with geometric designs, depictions of bulls, and what appeared to be the same magical symbols seen on the chu-pas of the temple guards. Vases with similar portrayals stood on marble pedestals next to most of the shelves.

  What is this place? Looking at all the scrolls, Ernst could only assume that this room represented some sort of ancient library or possibly even a long-forgotten repository of knowledge.

  Ernst was momentarily taken aback by the presence of a football-sized, perfectly clear crystal levitating in the center of the room. Its presence captivated his attention. As he watched it rotate methodically, he felt at ease, as if his whole body were at peace with both itself and nature.

  Approaching the crystal, Ernst noted that directly underneath it, inlaid in the floor, was what appeared to be a ten-foot circular representation of the Earth. While the undulating gold most likely symbolized the world’s continents and their actual topographic landscape, a naturally flowing sea of silver appeared to represent the planet’s oceans, rivers, and lakes.

  However, the world on the floor looked much different than the planet Ernst was familiar with. Is this the Earth? Ernst asked himself, vaguely recognizing a few familiar continents.

  “Should we take some of these scrolls?” asked one of the SS guards.

  Ernst ignored the man, knowing the real prize levitated just beyond arm’s length. He then slowly stepped onto one of the golden continents. As he entered the inner sanctum of the circle, he felt the same strange sensation he experienced after first stepping foot into the Valley of Mystery. Ernst’s hair began to stand on end, and his body felt as if electricity coursed throughout it.

  Now edging himself closer to the crystal, Ernst slowly reached for the prize as if he were Eve plucking the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden. Inside, Ernst knew that what he was about to do was wrong. He also knew that for the sake of his homeland, family, and career, he must proceed.

  “Stop!” Illion screamed from the room’s doorway.

  With blood covering her chu-pa, Lha-mo-chun stood next to his side. Tears still in her eyes, she pleaded, “The crystal must not be touched. For the sake of the entire planet, please leave this place.”

  One of the SS soldiers pulled a knife on the two, impeding any further entrance into the room.

  With both hands, Ernst grabbed the crystal. For a brief second, his mind transcended this mortal plane and entered a different state of existence where time ceased to exist—a place whereby all that ever occurred in the universe’s past and future was commencing in that exact moment. The entirety of the war flashed before his eyes.

  “What have I done?” Ernst lamented, finally coming to his senses.

  The silver seas around the continents on the floor stopped flowing and grew eerily calm. Dropping into his hands, the crystal collapsed into Ernst’s grasp, losing its ability to levitate. The chills and sense of electricity that once ran down his spine had left.

  Slowly, the ambient light emanating from the room began to dim.

  A rumble from the earth underneath their feet made all in the room stumble slightly to their side.

  “We must leave this place,” Lha-mo-chun insisted, “before it is too late.”

  With the crystal in hand, Ernst ran out of the room just as it went completely dark. After grabbing a few of the scrolls, the SS soldiers followed him along with Illion and Lha-mo-chun up the flights of stairs and above ground. The underground city complex shook as it crumbled.

  As they reached the surface, Ernst saw the glass plates circling the stone wall in the center of the valley shatter into countless pieces. One by one they fell into the earth as if engulfed by a sinkhole. Only about 100 of the city’s inhabitants were able to make it above ground before all of the staircases also collapsed into the earth.

  The mountain valley around them began to shake as boulders came tumbling down from the earthen embankments around the city. While the robotic
men, women, and children walked methodically away from the danger, those donning the silken gowns ran frantically.

  Ernst instinctively followed the silken-gowned inhabitants, presuming that they most likely knew the safest route out of this crumbling mountain valley. Boulders crashed into the city, killing or maiming many in their paths of destruction. One of the SS soldiers behind him took the full brunt of one boulder and was crushed to death by its massive weight.

  The two other SS soldiers were lost in the commotion, running haphazardly among the city’s inhabitants and falling debris.

  As Ernst exited the valley, the land behind him crumbled to the ground, most likely killing everyone who had been left behind. Smoke and dust swirled in the air, dimming the sun and bringing darkness over the land.

  What have I done? Ernst lamented.

  As he entered further into the desert, the earth continued to shake around him. Keeping a foothold grew increasingly difficult as the ground seemed to escalate in volatility.

  Seven, eight, or even nine? Ernst contemplated, attempting to gauge the size of the earthquake. Now alone in his journey, he then set out cautiously in a southern direction, hoping to find India.

  Two figures caught Ernst’s attention from the corner of his eye. Surprised by the sight, he noted Illion carrying Lha-mo-chun in his arms.

  No matter, Ernst thought. The war is lost. As he continued to run, a brief and vague vision entered his mind. He recalled seeing it when initially touching the crystal. Most of what he had glimpsed now seemed a blur, but this one image continued to grow in clarity.

  Ernst stopped running and stood still, shuddering as the image came into focus. Looking at the crystal in his hands, Ernst could not help but focus on one thought: Humanity is doomed.

  Chapter 1 - May 2, 2086 - Philadelphia Art Museum

  Chapter_1

  May 2, 2086

  Philadelphia Art Museum

  Chills ran down Benjamin’s spine, making him shudder as the tingling progressed, unadulterated, throughout his body. Though there was a crisp chill to the air, the unusually cold spring morning did little to generate such a response. Instead, the putrid smell of sickness and disease inundated his senses. The horrid odors seemed to cling to every part of him; he could almost taste the air.

  Benjamin ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, attempting to get a few strands out of his eyes. Used to a buzz cut all of his life, he felt as if he needed to constantly scratch his thick hair, which was in desperate need of a cut and wash.

  Looking around the room, Benjamin attempted to imagine how this brilliant museum once appeared. He recalled how as a child he had once visited this place during a seventh grade school trip. That was ten years ago; he could hardly fathom now how much excitement and joy he had felt running into this particular room, looking at all the armor and swords with such amazement.

  Ben, walk don’t run, he recalled one of his teachers cautioning as he sprinted from exhibit to exhibit. Don’t touch that, another scolded as he ran his hand along the metal armor of a fully suited medieval knight sitting on an equally fortified black replica of a horse.

  As he looked at the floor, Ben saw what was left of this once mesmerizing exhibit. A few stray metal plates and shattered pieces of the horse lay strewn across the white, porcelain tiles, already cluttered by broken glass debris from all the shattered windows. Though saddened about its destruction, he felt overwhelmed by the memory of how excited he was to tell his mother and father about what he saw during his museum tour. When he arrived home later that day, he could hardly catch his breath.

  The swords, the suit of arms, the guns, he sputtered to them over a home-cooked dinner. He could barely eat as he went on and on that night regaling them with the details of what he had spotted during the day.

  Innocence lost, Benjamin lamented.

  Benjamin took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting he was in the present and not the past. His lungs were overwhelmed by the unfettered smell of urine and stool. Attempting not to gasp, he almost vomited.

  He zipped up his jacket, struggling to stay focused, but the memories persisted in his mind’s eye. He remembered how vibrant both his mother and father looked at the time. Always impeccably dressed, his mother wore a beautiful floral dress and had her blond hair tied into a bun. In addition, he could recollect how intently his father listened to his stories that evening. A hulking man dressed in a gray jumpsuit with Armor Assembly written on the sleeve, Benjamin’s father was jolly despite having just finished back-to-back grueling shifts at work.

  The Disease it was simply called. Benjamin shook his head in disgust. His mother was the first in his family to be claimed by the plague that had engulfed the planet just four years earlier. Before claiming the lives of its victims, The Disease first took their dignity and sanity. Benjamin recalled how his beloved mother had withered away helplessly in their home. With no cure at the time and the hospitals overwhelmed by infection, most people were left to die in pain without any medical assistance. Two of Benjamin’s grandparents and one uncle soon followed his mother.

  The sick and wounded lying around Benjamin on the floor, huddled under blankets, had triggered the memory. Having been barricaded in this room for almost four days with little food and water and no medical supplies, they were trapped. Two had already died while a few others were soon to follow. Without access to any form of sanitary facilities, the sick were forced to wallow in their own excrement.

  The Disease, Benjamin sighed. He had naively believed that its cure would be the end of the suffering. Instead, it had proved to be just the beginning—for not only him but also the entire planet. What most angered him was that The Disease was manmade and supposedly released inadvertently. The New Reality, Benjamin cursed, knowing they must have been behind it.

  Benjamin stood up and stretched his back and legs. Though he had been a Boy Scout in his younger years, he certainly was no longer prepared to sleep three nights on a cold, hard floor. He felt stiffer than the pieces of armor that used to adorn this very room. Looking down, he grabbed a Spanish era sword that was lying next to him.

  Just in case.

  “Ben, I made some coffee and picked up a dozen donuts,” Christine jested as she sat against an empty glass case. Taking a bite from a ration bar wrapped in foil, she reached out and offered, “You want some?”

  “Is that jelly filled?” Ben responded, with a slight smirk. “You know I would prefer the Boston Cream.”

  Christine smiled. Her big blue eyes and vibrant red hair seemed to illuminate the room. Though she had only known Ben for a few months, she felt very comfortable with him. She knew that as the de facto leader of this rag tag bunch he had done everything he could to keep them alive. Now outcasts in their own home city, they, along with many others just like them, fought for their own survival. With the Art Museum now surrounded, she knew it was just a matter of time before they all met their creator.

  “You have to eat something,” Christine insisted. “What if the Lopers break through before help arrives? You need to stay strong.”

  “How much food do we have left?”

  “If we’re lucky, maybe another day.”

  “Is that it?” Ben asked. “What if we reduced rations by half to stretch things out a little longer?”

  Christine’s eyes said it all. With a tilt of her head and one-raised eyebrow, Benjamin knew what she meant. The rations were almost completely gone. They could be stretched no further. With the cold weather, starvation would set in sooner rather than later. Thankfully, a sole water fountain provided them with all the liquid they needed. Though the water was tinted brown and emitted an unusual smell, it served its purpose.

  Christine took one final bite of her ration and threw the wrapper on the ground. Wearing a ragged and torn blue coat and equally tattered pants, she stood up and gave Benjamin a hug. Looking up, she asked, “Any word on help?”

  Benjamin smiled. “Maybe today,” he said, attempting to respond optimistically. Bu
t he knew the truth. The chance that they were to receive any form of help, especially within the next day or two, was slim to none. Most groups like his were also in hiding, scared to show their faces.

  Looking past Benjamin’s smudged glasses and into his hazel eyes, Christine wished she could believe him. Deep down, she knew he was attempting to be optimistic and provide her and the rest of them with a tiny hope. Despite the lack of substance to his words, his optimism did bring her some solace.

  Christine took her right hand and lightly caressed Benjamin’s stubbled face. Right now he and the rest of the group here were all she had left. She especially appreciated Benjamin who had taken her in after her entire family had been murdered. Traumatized and nearly suicidal, she felt grateful how he had personally nursed her back to both physical and mental health.

  “Thank you,” Benjamin responded, enjoying the momentary tranquility.

  Benjamin then looked around the room at people huddled amongst the broken glass display cases and the bits and pieces of history cluttering the floor. Many were bunched together under blankets or simply leaning against a wall as they awakened to another cold morning.

  “How’s Bruce?” Benjamin asked. “I don’t see him.”

  Christine grabbed him by both arms. “He passed last night.” She let the news sink in before continuing. “Sepsis got the best of him”

  She then pointed to the corner of the room where a few large quilted blankets covered the silhouettes of three bodies underneath.

  Shocked, Benjamin was left speechless. Bruce’s death had been so quick. It was just yesterday that he accidentally cut himself on a jagged piece of armor on the floor. Now, not even twenty-four hours later, sepsis had taken his life. It seemed so appalling and senseless—especially now in 2086 with modern science. A simple antibiotic could have easily saved him.

  Benjamin shook his head. What type of leader am I? he lamented. People die under my watch, and I don’t even know it happened.