Within twenty-four hours, another twenty-nine identical creatures had been found in various locations across the globe. Then, on the evening of December 19, the world watched in fascination and horror as television cameras recorded the formation of a monstrous maelstrom within the Gulf of Mexico. From the center of the vortex emerged eight winged creatures, all of which quickly dispersed over the Northern Hemisphere. Two of these objects would land later that night in the southwestern region of the United States, two more in Florida, and one each in Georgia, Kentucky, and Indiana. The last object headed east to perch upon a mountainous ridge overlooking the Arecibo telescope in Puerto Rico.

On the morning of December 20, exobiologist Marvin Teperman confirmed to the world that the seven pure-fusion detonations had actually originated from the objects released by the alien vessel buried beneath the Gulf of Mexico. Referring to the objects as “drones,” the exobiologist theorized that the thirty-seven creatures now dispersed throughout the globe contained enough fusion power to vaporize upwards of a million square miles of land. Teperman further went on to state that the alien devices were rigged to a solar fuse, which explained their nighttime release and dawn detonations. Somehow the mysterious array, originating from within the Kukulcan pyramid, had managed to jam the firing mechanisms, preventing the drones from exploding.

Should the array falter, Teperman warned, the drones would detonate.

And once again, the masses panicked.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

DECEMBER 20, 2012
MERIDA HOSPITAL,
YUCATAN PENINSULA

A soft breeze filters through the Venetian blinds, cooling his face. As the feverish haze lifts, he hears the distant voice of an angel, her familiar words echoing in his mind.

An thou gone so? Love … lord—ay husband, friend. I must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days.

Swimming against the tide of unconsciousness, he forces his eyes open to slits, just enough to see her sitting over him, reading from the paperback.

“Oh, God, I have an ill-divining soul. Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyesight fails or thou lookest pale—”

“And trust me, love,” he rasps, “in my eye, so do you.”

“Mick!”

He opens his eyes as she pushes her cheek to his, registering her hot tears and the excruciating weight on his chest as she hugs him, whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He struggles to speak, his throat parched.

She positions a cup of water to his lips, and he takes a few sips.

“Where—”

“You’re in a hospital in Merida. Raymond shot you. The doctor said the bullet stopped an eighth of an inch from your heart. Everyone says you should be dead.”

He forces a smile, rasping, “They jest at scars that never felt a wound.” He attempts to sit up, the pain pushing him back down again. “Maybe a small wound.”

“Mick, so much has happened—”

“What day is it?”