Surviving Eden Read online

  Surviving Eden

  Episode 1

  By

  Scott Marcy

  Copyright © 2014 Scott A. Marcy

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2015

  Second Edition, 2017

  Strange World Survivor Publishing

  www.ScottMarcy.Net

  Table of Contents:

  Map

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Free Preview of Episode 2

  Map

  Introduction

  Tarina’s pointed ears poked through her golden locks. The elva, a female Elven, placed an Oracle Scroll in her lap and drew her finger along the leather, turning virtual pages to the proper place. Elven children that passed from child to adult – graduates of “The Ascension Ceremony” – sat on the floor and lounged on pillows. Both speaking and hearing the sacred tales was an honor – a sign of their inclusion into the community.

  The young elvas kept fussing with their choker necklaces – their clan’s crest embossed upon the front oval. Each necklace was unique to the girl and designated her status in the community. Many thought it unfair that boys never wore them, but few elvas vocalized their complaint: it was an honor and sacred duty to wear it. To defy the necklace was to defy their sacred traditions and the one who inspired them – God. So they accepted their lot in life, but the strangeness of the it took time to fade.

  The elvans, the boys, eyed the girl’s chokers with some interest, but the girl’s ring-less fingers fascinated the boys most. Upon wedding, the priest would emboss their husband’s crest in the ring’s oval. Fathers were already busy negotiating the fate of their children. They wanted the best marriage, the best future. The boys thought in simple terms: each one wanted the prettiest girl, and they imagined their crest on her ring.

  Tarina found the correct page and drew in a deep breath. “Tonight we shall speak of ancient lives, for myth and legend have their roots in fact. Before the Black Castle, before the Hargal Wall, before the settling of Asgard, and before the great wars – men, elves, and dwarves lived solitary lives, uninterested and isolated from one another. Complacent. Vulnerable. Their enemies, however, viewed them with great envy and conspired in the shadows. The unlikeliest of persons, a stranger from the lost world of Earth, would spark a conflict and that would burn across the world ….”

  Chapter 1

  Alex Dubois chased his headlights, searching the darkness, longing to fill the void: an indefinable ache, one that drove him through the night. The road snaked through the wilderness, disaster at the edge of every curve, danger looming with every tree. Another car’s headlights raced at him with a suddenness that stung his eyes. Backcountry roads are treacherous by day and deadly by night. Why was he driving so fast? Where was he going? He had no idea, but something compelled him.

  He received two week’s severance, a few thousand dollars for years of devotion. Coworkers wept and then departed, a slip of paper sundering the bonds of love and friendship. This was supposed to be a vacation, the long rest that he promised himself on all those double shifts. But he could not forget their faces, and he could not take his foot off the gas pedal, and his hands refused to release the steering wheel.

  When he came to a fork in the road, he slowed and turned left, leaving the well-traveled path. He eased off the gas and struggled to read the road signs. Tired of the Airstream trailer he pulled, he searched for the resort. Maps were for sissies and women – that axiom got him hopelessly lost. He struggled to remember the directions: “Turn left at the fork and take Drake Road all the way to the resort.” The resort and the City of Gleason seemed like a modern version of “Brigadoon”, a city forever shrouded in mist.

  “Gleason, Kansas: 24 Miles,” stated a road sign. He breathed a sigh of relief and savored his victory: found without a map. If he stayed on this road, he would make it. He performed a mental inventory of his plans. After a day’s rest, he would contact his second cousin, Rory Vakhal and spend time with his family. He turned on the radio, but all he received was static; so he plugged in the audio player – a puff of smoke arose from it.

  “Damn it!”

  He opened a window and tried to wave out the smoke. Far ahead on the road, he saw the single light of a motorcycle. It was going so fast – too fast. “Slow down and save a life, you idiot,” he said as if the rider could hear him. The light grew brighter, larger by the second. Was a freight train coming at him? It was huge: a ball of light the size of a water tower. He eased off the gas and moved his right foot to the brake. The light blinded him; he threw up his hands, squeezed his eyes shut, and screamed.

  Bathed in pure white light, he floated without a care. Nothing mattered; perfect peace overshadowed him: the kind one feels when cradled in their mother’s arms. He could see in all directions, but all he saw was white mist. A moment later he emerged, like a man exploding out of deep waters. He sucked in a desperate gasp and slammed on the brakes. His pickup truck threw him around like a bucking bronco, but the seatbelt restrained him. He fought to keep the truck straight as uneven ground wrenched the tires.

  The truck glanced off a boulder and came to a sudden stop. He lingered in silence, taking deep breaths and checking his body. Other than a few aches and pains, he was fine, a happy ending … then flames erupted. He yanked on the seatbelt, as though he could rip it off, but gathering his wits, he released the mechanism and forced open the door. He jumped out and landed on all fours, hitting the ground with a splash.

  By the light of the flames, he saw brown vegetation, soggy marshland, and the boulder. His single largest asset was going up in flames, and it was about to burn up his Airstream trailer. He splashed to the rear of his truck and grabbed his fire extinguisher. After ripping out the pin, he blasted the white foam through the radiator. The flames flickered and then died.

  Once again, the darkness enveloped him. Cloudy breaths jetted from his mouth, and he gave the smoldering engine the last blast of foam. Confident the fire was extinguished, he searched for signs of civilization. The moonlight allowed him to see a great distance, but that was peculiar: there was no moon that night. It was September 15, the middle of the month. When he looked up, his jaw went slack, and he felt weak.

  Two moons and a ringed planet filled the night sky, phantoms of an otherworldly vista. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The two moons were so large, the closer one leading the chase across the sky; blotches of green, blue, and tan covered them – they were alive: water, forests, and deserts. A giant loomed behind them: a purple planet with a blue ring around it, much like Saturn. But it was so close, as though it world smash into the planet.

  “That’s impossible.”

  He felt like he had been sucking on coffee grounds. He needed to calm down. His whole body, his mind, vibrated with energy, and his skin felt like a million ants crawled over it. His truck was not doing much better: it stunk like a dead cat, but at least
he managed to put out the fire.

  Sitting on top of a large rock, taller than his truck, he saw the entire clearing by the moonlight. Where the green field ended, a forest began, and beyond the forest, he saw mountains: tall, white capped giants, the kind that make’s one feel like an ant upon the ground. Where did they come from? Where was he?

  After a long night filled with howls, hoots, and terrifying sounds, the sun emerged over the horizon. It was a beautiful sunrise of pinks and reds, stretched across the sky, brilliant orange clouds across a panoramic view, but the sun was in the wrong spot. What had once been north by his reckoning was now south, so south was now north. He wished he joined the Boy Scouts as a kid.

  Seated on his rock, his eyes searched in vain for a single road, farmhouse, or ranch in the entire valley; it was a real wilderness. Just beyond the forest to the southeast, he saw a river and some fields. In every direction, high forest, rolling fields, and wilderness surrounded him. He longed to hear an airplane or even the blast of a truck horn.

  He had a feeling that the entire planet watched him, like a fly that landed on the tip of its nose. He hoped it did not have a flyswatter. I need to get control of myself, he thought, and hike to civilization. How? What direction should I take? There’s nothing around here!

  The sun rose in the east, and the mosquitoes fled to the shade. What started as warmth on his skin turned to a blistering heat. He trudged through the marsh and made it to the edge of the forest. Isn’t this how people get lost, he wondered. Yet there were no sounds of rescue: no sirens, no helicopter, nothing to give him hope.

  Alex returned to the trailer and grabbed a spool of string. He tied it to a branch and ventured into the forest. The high pine trees provided blessed shade, and the rust-colored needles cushioned his steps. After walking awhile, he came to the end of the string, but the forest continued. He tied off the string and then kept walking, trying to memorize each step back to safety. At the top of a gradual slope, he saw the shimmering blue waters of a river.

  He pulled down the brim of his hat and wished that he had brought a pair of binoculars. Beyond the shimmering blue waters, he saw an endless tract of forest, and where the forest ended, the real wilderness began. Not a road, smoking chimney, nor any other sign of civilization greeted his yearning eyes. The endless wilderness made him long for a filthy dumpster beside a weathered gas station, an indifferent attendant, and a payphone.

  Alex sat on the ground and sighed. In other circumstances, he would have found the panoramic vista beautiful, but fear dispelled such notions. He tore open an energy bar and then savored the chocolate, peanut buttery goodness. Too soon it was gone, leaving behind the sweet aftertaste of home. He crumpled the wrapper and raised his hand to throw it but paused. Alex opened his hand, and the wrapper unfolded. He licked the last few crumbs from the inside of it and then stuffed it into his pocket. He didn’t want to be the first man to litter a pristine wilderness, and neither did he wish to lose this last vestige of home.

  He sat, perched on the hilltop, for hours. When the sun was straight overhead, he gave up hope of seeing an airplane and trudged back to the string. He blazed a trail by marking the trees with a knife, and he gathered up the string into a spool.

  He slept for a few hours, and each breeze eased his troubled mind. When he awoke, his stomach rumbled. Was it dinner time? All the clocks stopped, so it was hard to tell. Being a bachelor, he had few food stores, and he exhausted it after one meal.

  The first sunset marked the beginning of his reluctant adventure. Dreams of rescue and starchy fast foods began to fade. Anxiety replaced hope as his stomach emptied. The only way to survive in the wilderness was to hunt, but all he had was a knife and a fishing pole. He wished for a high power rifle with a scope, but such wishes are frustrated desires and do nothing to fill an empty belly.

  The funny thing about going to bed early is that one wakes up early, and in Alex’s case, he woke up in the middle of the night. He went outside and inhaled the crisp night air. The moons were so big. It’s like he could reach out and touch them. The stars were sharp points of light, and there were so many of them. They must be close or really big.

  He sat on the rock and took a load off his weary limbs. With nothing but time and darkness, his thoughts returned to the beginning: a year ago, that was when events were set in motion. After years of dedicated labor, his regional director called a company meeting - he remembered it like yesterday – they were all gathered in warehouse number three; it was empty, an ominous portent. Mr. Holmes climbed up on a forklift and shuffled through some papers. He looked like his best friend just died.

  “I’m sorry, but the company is down-sizing. All of you will be given a severance package commensurate with your years of service ….” The rumble of the crowd and the buzzing in his ears grew louder by the second.

  Mr. Holmes shook everyone’s hand with a mournful expression, but he kept his job. It was surreal. Both supervisor and laborer carried boxes out to their cars; as if leaving work for the day, they departed, never to return. It was over. His whole division was gone, shut down, outsourced to a third-world nation. How do you compete with a man that works for pennies?

  He went home to an empty house and found a “Dear John letter.” His girlfriend, Trina, expressed her love for him and her desire to be a star. She moved to Hollywood and took up acting. Six months passed, and Alex received a phone call from Jeff, Alex’s longtime friend. High most of the time, Jeff lived in his parent’s basement and played video games. When he wasn’t playing video games, he watched online porn. Jeff saw Trina in an adult video.

  Alex’s house was dark, and the cat was indifferent, and the dog ran off. He popped a beer and sat in the dark. A .38 police special, a gift from his brother, was in his sock drawer. After fetching it, he spun the chamber and wondered if he should check out (take a dirt nap, see the other side, dance with death, die).

  A preacher came on the TV, and the camera zoomed in on his face. “… You’ll know it when God is on the move. He’ll shut down your life, one piece at a time. If you’re smart, you’ll take the hint. If not, he will force you to move. Maybe you’re at that point today. Call our free prayer line and speak with a counselor ….”

  Alex never called the prayer line, but he did put the gun away. He always wanted to travel and move out west. Most people said to him, ‘You watched too many cowboy movies,’ but why not. What did he have to lose? The irony of that conclusion now haunted him.

  Maybe God had this in mind for him. The notion brought comfort to him. If God brought him here, He would provide. At that moment, he wished for a beer, an ice cold beer, one with condensation running down the glass. He wondered if Coors delivered. If they saw this environment, they would open a brewery. Just beyond the river to the west lay golden fields. Wild wheat grew all around Colorado. He stopped and ate some of the wheat. It was chewy. At that moment, a slice of bread sounded like heaven.

  “I’M HUNGRY!”

  Chapter 2

  A mid-afternoon rain raged and shook the trailer, transforming the marsh into a small pond. When it passed, Alex ventured outside, and the mud squished beneath his boots. It was almost if the storms were on a five-hour schedule. One could set your watch by them.

  He heard birds singing in the trees and the drone of insects in the fields. He froze in place when a rabbit emerged from underneath a bush. It hopped across Alex’s path and stopped to stare at him. It twitched its nose and pondering this strange new creature. Alex tried to get a little closer to his supper, but the rabbit sprang away.

  Alex seldom hunted, but he spent a lifetime eating meat. Animals died to feed him, but killing the rabbit seemed worse – so much more personal. It wanted to live just as much as him. Fish, on the other hand, deserved to die, and he was going fishing. A poem by Robert Frost came to his mind as he walked through the forest.

  The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

  But I have promises to keep,

  And miles to go before I
sleep,

  And miles to go before I sleep.

  The breeze swayed the treetops, and squirrels leaped about in a mad scramble for food. Alex’s stomach would have loved to sample squirrel meat or rabbit stew. Every thought that entered his mind centered on food. He reckoned this must be the way my ancestors lived. All of nature is one grand buffet.

  The leaves were overturned from his excursion the previous day. Between that and the marks on the trees, it made a convenient trail to follow. With each step he took, the water grew louder, like city traffic. Splashing and gurgling came from ahead of him. He could smell the moist air, heard a noisy clatter, and saw low hanging fruit: wild grapes perhaps – another item on the menu.