“Did Bricker tell you everything?”

“Every detail. Frankly, I don’t usually get involved in campfire tales, but the fact there’s a child at risk is more important.” Tarik clasped his fingers inside his pockets while listening to the man’s seemingly condescending words. “Are you Mr. Sandori?”

Tarik nodded. “Yes, sir. While I’m not thrilled by your choice of words, I’d be in your debt if you and your men would help find my grandson.”

Tilda turned slightly. “We’ll certainly utilize our every resource. We’ll meet in my barracks to get things rolling.”

The group walked across the bare, dusty ground towards the interior of the camp. Upon entering the general’s dim office in the barracks, they all nestled around the table. The heat of mounted floodlights around them warmed the cool air, beaming circular light patterns across the table. Tilda sat with a notepad and pen in his hand. “Where did your grandson disappear?”

“Around highway 72, somewhere between Senigot and Mount Faizon,” Tarik replied.

“And what time was it?”

“Three, maybe three-thirty.”

Tilda glanced at the clock on his desk. “Two-fifteen a.m…almost twelve hours. Normally only at the twenty-four-hour mark would this require police intervention, but under the circumstances, we need to act now.”

Two other sergeants sat beside him. “What’s your first order, General?”

“Rally all troops from Unit B6. They’re personally trained by me, and best suited for this. Move out.” While they exited the bunker, the others continued planning. “Based on your original location, we’re going to establish a search radius of one hundred miles. Since we’ve no information regarding the perpetrator, we can’t be sure how far he intended to take Kori.”

Miles shook Tarik’s shoulder to soothe him.

“So you’ve no guesses as to why your grandson was kidnapped?” Tilda asked.

“I do, but I don’t think it’s really pertinent here. It’d just be more campfire stories for you guys,” Tarik said, slinging his arms.

“I understand you’re frustrated, but every detail will help get us closer to finding him.”

“No, you know what’ll help, shutting your mouth, gettin’ the hell out there and knockin’ over every damn tree ’til we find him!”

“Tarik…” Miles said.

“Look, my past is responsible for this. Whatever the motivation, we have to get out there and stop it! Discussing it won’t do shit.”

Tilda slipped his notepad in his pocket, and calmly stood up. “As a general I’d have you doin’ pushups on your knuckles for that…but as someone who’s also a grandparent, you are correct.” He opened the office door. “We won’t waste another moment. The search is on.”

They walked out of the bunker and moved quietly across the camp grounds until reaching Unit B6. Two soldiers patrolling the area greeted them. “General, good evening. We already got word you were on your way.”

“Are they ready?”

“Yes Sir.”

They allowed Tilda to enter the bunker first, and in the center of the room stood two lines of eight soldiers beneath the bright lights.

“Attention, you lowlife boot-shiners! At precisely 0300 hours we leave on a mission, to locate this man’s missing grandson. You will be packed and equipped to vacate at that time. Munitions is sending two ground transports as we speak. Report out front at 0300. Fall in.”

The soldiers dispersed across the bunker to pack their cargo sacks and ready their weapons. Tilda and the others waited outside for their vehicles. He started marking specific points on his map with a highlighter. Soon the two camouflage-colored, four-wheel-drive, off-road mobile units came barreling across the field. Bright high-beams penetrated the dense night air. From behind the wide windshield and heavy, metal grille sat the driver. She pulled the boxy, twelve-foot transport alongside the bunker. Her passenger hopped down the steps and saluted Tilda.

“Everything is equipped, Sir. What is our trajectory?”

Tilda gathered them around and shined his small flashlight onto the map. “I’ve plotted our course. First we head southeast, combing beyond Senigot borders. We’ll circle further south through Gaidonville, then move southwest, skimming outside Calderfield.”

“I’ll notify the other driver,” she said.

“How long you expect this route to take?” Olivers said.

“I project six to eight days. We have to take care to not overlook any possible route,” Tilda said. After a few minutes the soldiers trickled out of the bunker and lined up before him. “Lieutenant, you three hitch up in the first car.” The others shuffled into the droning vehicle while Tilda rallied the remaining soldiers. “Attention! The transports have arrived. Your orders are as follows: search every point along our trajectory in search of eight-year-old Kori Sandori! He was kidnapped near Senigot City earlier this afternoon. Over the next week we will not stop until he is found and returned safely. Now then, this half, take the first vehicle. The other half will board the rear vehicle. Move out.”

The two teams boarded the vehicles with Tilda following in suit. He pulled the heavy door shut behind him, and the transports wheeled across the camp through the main gates. Tarik and the others sat cramped in the rear of the transport, surrounded by the banter of soldiers. Between the buzz of the engine and the troops’s random chattering, he could barely hear himself think. Two rows of seats lined either side of the walls, with cargo and weapon crates along the floor. Heavy lights hung across the ceiling, and a portable computer terminal rested in the rear corner. Tarik watched some of them horsing around, snacking, and skimming magazines while they rode. The navigator came through the front and entered the back area of the car.

“Attention, all soldiers! Our first checkpoint is due ten miles south. Mr. Sandori provided photos of the boy in question. Each of you take a copy and do not lose it.”

He started handing out color printouts of Kori to the soldiers, and the car quieted down briefly while they took time to assimilate the boy’s likeness. A man occupied one of the back seats near Tarik. He had buzzed, coppery-red hair and bristly curls growing at the front, with a few freckles dotting his mildly husky face. His thick brows scrunched while his dark brown eyes fixated on the photograph, then he glanced at Tarik. “‘Scuse me, sir?”

“Yeah?”

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Tarik Sandori.”

The thirty-two-year-old stranger half-grinned, subtly exposing the tiny gap in his teeth. “Funny, I had a friend with that same last name.”

“What?”

The guy pulled a pack of gum from his sock and chewed a piece, then offered the pack to Tarik.

“Eh, I’m good,” Tarik said.

“Nah, like I was sayin’, I had an old buddy a few years back. Name was Niko. Miss that goofball.”

Tarik’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? He was my son.”

“Damn, I had a hunch! I don’t believe it. You’re his dad?”

“You guys know each other?” a couple other soldiers said.

“Nah, I was friends with this guy’s son back in the day!”

“Get the hell outta here.”

“Swear on my mom,” the red-haired guy said, raising his hand.

“So you guys were friends?” Tarik said.

“Sure as hell. Name’s Rodger Gulver.”

“Nice to meet you, Rodger. Ya know, thinkin’ back, Niko said he had some other friends out there. Thought he was just full of crap.”

Rodger briefly exchanged gum with some of his comrades while he listened. “Oh yeah. He stayed at my place when I lived in Rodella. He and uh, Alia…yeah, they were good people. Don’t see too many guys like them.”

“No, you don’t,” Tarik said, slouching a little.

“This makes things interestin’. Don’t worry, these soldiers are the cream of the crop. Tilda says we’re nothin’ but a buncha limp-limbed, tear-jerkin’ puss-whiners, but we’re his favorites. Easy,” Rodger said dryly.

“I appreciate your help.”

He flung his arm around Tarik’s shoulder and jostled him. “Anything for my best buddy’s dad.”

“Okay, Gulver, guess we oughta make you captain of this mission,” another boy said with a snarky tone.

Rodger laughed. “Fine, go run it by Tilda and see how many black eyes you come back with.”

“How long have you been in the armed forces?” Tarik asked.

“‘Bout a year. Studyin’ to be a nurse officer one day.”

“Gutsy.”

Rodger folded his arms behind his head. “Not as gutsy as puttin’ out fires for a living.”

“You were a firefighter?”

“For ‘bout two years. Thought I’d give this a shot.”

“Pansy!” another guy called, kicking his boot jovially.

“Shut your pie-hole, Janson! I ain’t gonna wipe your ass when you get your arms blown off!”

The guys laughed. Even Tarik could start to feel his spirits rekindling. Being around those young men, rough-housing and shooting the moon scratched the surface of many old memories of being around his son. Everyone in that car seemed as brusque, rugged, and full of gusto as he and Niko used to be. With their first destination nearing them every second, something within him hinted that the miracle he’d been praying for didn’t lie too far off.

* * * * *

Val Hagen’s RV sat parked in a field in the woods of Matherland. A streamy fog crept along the moist grass, and tiny raindrops pitter-pattered against the roof. Inside the boxy, mobile laboratory, the remaining four participants of his archaeological escape sat around a desk in the main area. Gunnar and Manius uploaded data into their computer system while Oscar and another man flipped through notes. Oscar read his notebook, engrossed, while several other books lie splayed open in front of him.

“Anything new?” the man asked.

“A few useful tidbits,” Oscar replied.

He barely moved at all, still adamantly focused on figuring out where his next clues lie.

“You really want to go through with this? Even after what Krazner told you?”

“Absolutely. For a species to evolve it must adapt to it surroundings. The Hexors are too secretive, hence their existence is shrouded in mystery. They don’t want to be shunned for being different, but the more they hide, the more people want to learn about them. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts,” said Oscar.

Manius chuckled. “That means he’s nowhere near close to giving up.”

“Mr. Krazner clearly knows more about the Matherland ruins than he wants me to know. Whatever secrets hidden there are meant to stay there,” Oscar said.

“So you’re crazy enough to go out there?” the guy said.

Oscar turned his nose up. “Crazy is a word used by the insane.”

“What?”

“My father Ingamar once told me I was crazy for giving up my security as heir to his pastry shop. He’d built his own empire with nothing but time, experience, and his own hands. Having his son expand his vision was a dream he cherished.”

The man leaned closer. “What are you hinting at?”

“He was proud of what he’d achieved. After growing up in an impoverished life, all he wanted was to give me the advantages he never had, but I wanted to pursue my own passions. Baking was his, but mine was in books—I loved to read. Knowledge was waiting to become mine, and at virtually no cost! After getting a taste of the bakery business, I decided to collect knowledge, much like how I collect old relics.” Oscar turned back a few pages in his notebook and showed the man some crude sketches he made. “Every new detail I obtain is more potential money in our pockets. My father himself said, ‘the world is waiting to make you rich.’ Most folks don’t have the gumption to look for those riches.”

“It’s a nice story, but what about our safety? The entire crew abandoned us.”

Oscar huffed. “They are the crazy ones.”

“Has anyone heard back from Heidi?” Gunnar asked.

“No, she hasn’t returned my calls,” Manius said, “she made her intention to leave very clear. She asked us to drop her off at the airport back in town.”

“Unfortunately that leaves us virtually no manpower for this next dig.”

“We’ll worry about that later. What we need to focus on is establishing our next dig site,” Oscar said. He motioned them forward and flipped through an atlas. “From what I gathered from Traith, his great grandparents once lived here. They were followers of Hexorism, and supposedly a ritual temple exists somewhere south of here.”

“Rituals for what?” Manius said.

“Based on how he described their behaviors, I suspect a sacred place where they could sacrifice to their gods. Apparently even being born with unique abilities, they could access greater powers from other worlds! I must find out what abilities they possessed.”

Manius brushed back his thin, greying hair. “How far from the mark are we?”

Oscar traced his finger across the map toward a patch of land. “It seems a short distance through this forest west from Lairen Town.”

“Probably off the beaten path,” Gunnar said, looking through his phone. “When should we leave tomorrow?”

“Early afternoon,” Oscar said, stroking his mustache. “Perhaps we should detour into town first.”

“For what?”

“Now that our destination is set, we’ll need to acquire some new hands. I think it’s time we spread the word a bit.”

“How so?” the other man said.

“I’m not entirely sure yet. We need a way to attract people with archaeological backgrounds.”

The others looked at him strangely. “Is there more?” Manius said, half-simpering.

“Manius, do an online search for any sort of museums or archaeological societies nearby.”

Manius stepped across the room and sat by the computers, then pulled up the internet application.

“What’s your clever idea this time?” Gunnar said, sipping his coffee.

“If all goes well we can have an entire excavation team ready in a day or so,” Oscar said.

“That soon?”

“Fingers crossed, my boy.”

“What’s so valuable in this temple?” the man said.

Oscar lifted an eyebrow, and slid closer to him. He opened one of his musty old books, lined with bookmarks. “This, my friend, is privileged information. You’ve never seen anything this rare in your life.” One page he came across contained a series of black-and-white pen drawings across its yellowing, ripped surface. Amid the lines of scribbly foreign writing appeared drawings of six strange objects. Despite their primitive quality and crude details, they appeared as mundane, work-a-day items. “In my search, it’s become apparent that these Hexors are connected to these artifacts here. I haven’t been able to locate anymore information yet, but I believe these old relics have some correlation to their power.”

“They look pretty insignificant though.”

“Looks deceive, my boy. You learned that firsthand the moment you saw those walking hellions. If only I could fit these links together.”

“What’ll happen if you find out?”

Oscar gripped his fist. “If I discover the secret of the Hexors’ powers, I can finally earn my way back in the running as the world’s most storied archaeologist.”