The Giza Death Star Revisited: A New Steemit Novel Chapter 14
The Giza Death Star Revisited: A Novel Based on the Work of Joseph P. Farrell
Prev. Chapters: Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13
Chapter 14
None of them saw the splendor of the desert sky at night. Although they dined on the patio, they munched pensively and passed serving bowls around without looking up. They played with the food on their plates as much as ate it. The jackrabbit was delicious, fried in garlic, butter and lemon, but it wasn’t enough to keep their minds off the gravity of the situation.
Gravity. Get it? There was little of the usual jocularity. Occasionally one of the somber diners would look up and start to speak, only to think better of it, and go back to the food. The only talk going on was among the coyotes, whose yelps and howls provided a playfully haunting dinner serenade.
After the meal, and the dishes were washed, they retired to the living room to ruminate further. Faro drummed the arm of an old upholstered wing-backed chair while Georgeann leaned with her rump on an end table leafing through a Nexus Magazine, perhaps hoping something would jar her mind. Frank stood at the mantle puffing on a colonial style clay pipe. Melissa stood by the large front window peering into the night.
“Hey! Hey! Look!” She shouted turning towards the room.
They turned towards her, and behind her through the window they saw the ghostly brightness of tungsten lights growing brighter in the distance, exactly in the direction of the hole!
“What’s happening?” asked Faro as he sprang from his seat and rushed to the window.
“Oh my God!” wondered Georgeann. “Is the hole reversing?”
Frank chimed in, “Not a chance. That looks like human activity to me.”
“You told us no one knew about this.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Frank dashed back to the mantle and grabbed a Winchester Model 94 .30-.30 that hung above it. Melissa snatched a Model 1100 20-gauge from a cabinet by the front door. Frank was about to toss a 10/22 across the room to Faro when he saw him produce a matte black M1911 .45 semi-automatic from his jacket, so he tossed it to Georgeann instead.
“I believe in going all in,” stated Faro, brandishing the weapon. “Quick! To the bat mobile!” he exclaimed thrusting his finger high in the air without a shred of humor and bolted for the back door, outside of which was the Land Rover.
The four of them raced for the back door shoving aside the kitchen furniture in every direction.
They literally leapt into the vehicle and sped off as fast as the rough terrain and the desert blackness would allow them. The dim headlights of the old Series IIA cast such a kaleidoscope of shadows from the low brush and stony rubble that it was almost as hard to track as if it’d been pitch black. Jackrabbits and kangaroo rats darted and dodged every which way in the approaching lights.
Faro held his hat on with one hand while using his .45 to brace himself on the dashboard. Above the din of bouncing he hollered over to Frank, “You know Georgeann told me earlier it’s too bad this thing doesn’t have a machine gun mounted in back!”
“I’ll keep that option in mind next time I’m at Landrover Ranch!”
