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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

“I’m not telling you how that spire works; I’m telling you how it could work.  How it would be possible based on what we know today and what we can observe.  Most people who experienced what I just did would likely conclude it was some kind of trick or illusion.  But I don’t think so.  I think something very real happened in that canyon.  We just don’t understand it yet.”

“But whatever it is,” said Angela, “is an individual experience.  A one-time experience that’s different for each person.  How is that possible that it’s so unique to us?”

Townsend thought it over.  “Neurons.”

“Neurons?”

“If electrons are somehow binding together in that place under extreme concentrations, why wouldn’t all the nearby electrons be affected, including the ones in your head?  After all, that’s what neurons are—electrons within brain cells.”

Angela sat motionless on the bed, dumbfounded.  “Wow.”

“What else?” said Rickards, causing the professor to look back up.

“Excuse me?”

Rickards frowned.  “Where are you going with this?”

Townsend stared at him, blinking, until glancing at Angela.

“Professor?”

He continued mulling.  “The rest,” he said, “has to do with Mike Morton’s data.”

Angela leaned forward.

“The glass,” Townsend replied simply.

“The spire.”

He nodded.  “Silica, in that particular form, is rare.  It requires immense heat to create it.  Or immense energy of some kind which rarely happens in nature.  Not with that kind of clarity.”

“And?”

Townsend continued.  “It’s so rare that I only know about its existence in one location in the world.  This canyon of yours would officially be the second.”

“Where’s the first?”

“In the desert of glass.”

31

31

They were 250 miles south of Cairo, 400 kilometers, and were no longer following the mighty and meandering Nile River where most of the country’s north and south traffic was concentrated.

Instead, Egypt’s Highway 60 was much more remote—a generous term of the word, Mona was thinking.

Barren was more like it.

Kharga was halfway between Cairo and the border of Sudan along a two-lane black asphalt road so dark and straight, it looked like it could have been paved yesterday.  Over a hundred miles, perfectly preserved by the country’s hot and bone-dry desert conditions.   It was one of the driest on the planet, where all things took longer to break down in what could be considered a more modern version of mummification.

Another car appeared on the horizon before them and gradually drew near until finally zipping past Omar’s speeding dark blue BMW X2.

All around them, the desolation was astonishing.  Dry, barren desert in every direction.  Vast stretches of the waist-high brush as far as they could see from the road, interrupted periodically by kilometer-length streaks of bright hot sand, like a lifeless ocean leaving nothing of note, even in the distance, except a few subtle ridges rising from the shimmering horizon, covered by the same endless baking landscape.