The Button: Book I of II

By Vlad V.

When Pete and Gary Godfrey stumble upon a skeleton in an ancient burial chamber, their lives are forever altered. They activate a bizarre crystal cube clasped in the skeleton's hand, and once its terrifying power has been awakened, things quickly spiral out of their control. The brothers have put themselves and the entire city of New York in danger, and soon they fall into the crosshairs of an NSA agent driven by a shadowy agenda. The deadly implications of their find could change the course of human history, and they have no choice but to solve the mystery of the cube before it annihilates them all.

The first in a two-part work, The Button is a Science Fiction/Thriller that asks if humanity is far older than we've been led to believe. Was our species more advanced in some distant past? Is there a conspiracy to hide a secret history from the public? Perhaps the answers lie in the Godfrey brother's accidental discovery, but they'd better work fast, because the countdown has begun...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780985707477

Vlad V.

Vlad V. is the author of The Button, Yorick, and Brachman’s Underworld. His novella "The Sleep Artist" was published in Insanity Tales, a collection of dark fiction, in October 2014 (Books & Boos Press). His most recent release is his novella "Float," published in Insanity Tales II: The Sense of Fear in October 2015 (Books & Boos Press). His first kids' book, The Moon is Dead!, was released in January 2015. Vlad is also the founder and managing editor of The Storyside, a publishing collaborative with a truly innovative business model that is dedicated to bringing the best in independent fiction to the market. An editor, publishing consultant, freelance writer, and former newspaper correspondent for the Lowell Sun and Fitchburg Sentinel & Enterprise, his work can be viewed at www.TheVlad.net. His books are available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Smashwords.com, and through most bookstores.

Book preview

ONE

Chance was about to betray an ancient secret in the wilds of upstate New York. The Godfrey brothers followed the Corkscrew Trail down from the peak of Mount Grace, and into a labyrinth of wind-bent trees where low pines huddled together, as if for warmth. Pete and Gary found themselves hiking between walls of shadowy pine, the Corkscrew twisting every twenty feet or so. Gary suddenly stopped, and Pete bumped into him.

Christ, Gary. Don’t stop so quickly.

Then stay off my heels, man. Hermit Mountain is to the east, right?

Yeah.

Gary pointed into the tightly woven branches, his reach easily spanning the width of the trail. And that way is east, right?

I have a compass if you really need to know.

I’ll be right back.

What? Why?

I think there’s a clearing on the other side of these trees. See that animal path? Gary pointed to a tiny opening below their knees, perhaps six inches wide and no more than a foot or two high. It had probably been made by something like a fox or a raccoon, and it was easy to miss. Something thinks that clearing is interesting. Maybe they’re right.

We should stay on the trail.

Rules are made to be broken, little brother, and I haven’t gotten any good pictures of Hermit Mountain yet. Gary rubbed Pete’s shock of blond hair into a violent mess, as if he was still a little boy and not a man in his early thirties. Pete slapped his arm away, but couldn’t help grinning.

Bullshit, bro. You’ve taken a thousand pictures.

I forgot about Hermit. And it’s not that many. Not even close.

Yeah? Look at the screen. What’s the counter up to?

Gary glanced at the shiny new Nikon in his hand. What does it matter? It’s Saturday, and it’s not like either of us have anyone to rush back to, do we? A twinge soured Gary’s voice.

Relief or longing, Pete couldn’t quite say. Maybe it was a little of both. Do you know what’s over there?

No, but I reckon it’s high time to find out, son, Gary replied in a cowboy’s drawl. Then he looked right into Pete’s gray eyes and dropped the cheesy accent. I want to remember this day, man. Things have been … He took a deep breath, spread his arms wide, and turned a slow circle. His fingertips rustled the branches. Do you smell that air? Do you really smell it? Go ahead, smell it.

Pete took an experimental whiff. It is nice.

Piney, right? Like Christmas.

Ho-ho-ho.

Gary peered into the trees, toward the sunny patch on the other side. I’ll be right back.

Watch your footing. The ground looks pretty soft under there. I’m not carrying your ass all the way back to the car if you sprain an ankle.

I’ve hiked once or twice before, you know.

With one hand pushed out in front of him and the other clutching his camera, Gary hunched his broad shoulders, lowered his face, and then forced his way forward. The branches poked their spiny fingers into his black hair, and sought the fleshy targets of his lips, nose and eyes, whipping back into place as soon as he passed. His boots marred the smooth dirt of the animal trail, undoing in moments what had taken an entire season or more to accomplish. He began whistling the song, Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

He’s hiding something, Pete thought. His older brother’s whistling was as much a cover as his incessant picture-taking. When Gary finally resurfaced the week before, his hair was long, almost shaggy, and he was generally unkempt. And this was a man who wouldn’t be caught dead in public without a morning shave and a freshly pressed suit.

People don’t invest with the shabbily dressed, was Gary’s motto.

When Pete asked about his estranged wife Eleanor, Gary snapped, And how’s Brenda doing? We Godfreys sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t we?

Pete scowled as if someone had pissed in his mouth; Brenda wasn’t coming back. He held his tongue rather than risk starting a fight, however. A question for a question was no answer at all, and his curiosity was flavored with a bitter splash of worry. Gary was just so unpredictable.

And his eyes … so distant, like he’s retreating in and out of a place where no one else can go.

Pete glimpsed his older brother breaking into the clearing. Hurry up! This is protected environment. I don’t want to get a ticket from one of those park rangers.

We’re the only ones around for miles. Gary gave him a ‘thumbs up,’ which was barely visible through the tangled branches.

There’s a ranger coming.

Keep an eye out!

Pete shook his head. Authority held no power over Gary. The bright red blob of his windbreaker winked in and out of sight as he began walking around the clearing, taking pictures. He raised the camera up high, and then stood on a stump or a large rock to get the lens above the level of the short, stifling pines, which were maybe ten feet tall in this area.

Are you almost done?

Hold your horses!

Pete stooped and pushed the branches aside so that he could see the clearing a bit better. Gary was walking away from him, his face up close to the digital screen.

The wonders of modern technology, Pete thought. Gary can take ten thousand pictures. How many will he keep? A dozen?

Gary kept shooting as he walked. The ground collapsed beneath him, and he fell hard on his ass, his legs dangling over some precipitous edge for the barest moment, before the earth crumbled and he plummeted over the side in a streak of red.

TWO

Gary!

Pete charged into the branches. He stumbled, fell to his knees, and then bounced back up and propelled himself through the trees. He burst into the clearing, hurried toward the drop not thirty feet away, and then skidded to a halt. An unobstructed vista of Hermit Mountain loomed in the east, and although he wasn’t close enough to see over the edge, he could tell from the empty space beyond that the mountain sloped sharply downward.

Had Gary fallen a hundred feet, or a thousand?

Crimson smeared on a dark floor of green flashed through his mind, and he scrambled to the trees growing along the edge of the clearing, hoping that the ground would be more solid because of the root structure holding it all together.

Gary!

No answer. Pete yanked his backpack off – the less weight, the better – and then inched toward the precipice. He lay down on the ground and crawled the last few feet, his heart beating in his throat. Grabbing a knobby root in a death grip, he peered over the side. Gary was lying on his back about twelve feet below, on a wide shelf of rock. He grinned up at Pete from atop a pile of dark earth. Beyond him an abrupt drop of several hundred feet gaped like an open mouth before Mount Grace succumbed to the foothills clustering around its base far below.

Holy crap, man! Are you okay?

Now that’s what I call a rush. Gary sat up, brushing dirt from his chest and shaking his head to toss the pebbles out of his hair. He peered at the crumbled slope beneath Pete, and his smile vanished.

Pete … you, ah … better come down here.

Is something broken? Are you hurt?

Hurt? No, no. Just … you’ve got to see this.

What is it?

Gary shot him an exasperated look, so Pete retrieved his backpack and then half-slid, half-stumbled down the slope and onto the ledge. Gary nodded toward the dark entrance of a small cave or tunnel. He’d been standing on its roof, and it had crumbled beneath his weight, exposing it to the world. Gary held up his arms and wiggled his fingers. Hands-to-wrists, Pete hauled him up and out of the dirt.

Thanks, Gary said, shaking off the remaining bits of soil.

Don’t mention it, dickhead. You scared the hell out of me.

Do you have a flashlight?

Pete arched an eyebrow. What if the rest of it collapses?

Don’t you want to live a little? Just give me a flashlight. Once upon a time you were a Boy Scout, so I know you have one.

Pete turned around so that Gary could rummage in his backpack. It’s in the smallest pocket, near the bottom.

Gary dug it out and pointed it at the cave. Are you ready?

Sure, Pete said, licking his lips.

Gary clicked the flashlight on, and the brothers stumbled back. A desiccated corpse sat against the right-hand wall of a small cave, its legs poking out in front of it like someone resting against an alley wall, its chin resting on its chest. Its skull was adorned with thin, bristly hair and a shriveled layer of parchment skin, and it was wearing what appeared to be a long-sleeved shirt.

The body … isn’t moving, Pete managed. The word ‘body’ conjured up images of soft flesh and rot, but there was none here. It’s a skeleton, not a body. And of course it’s not moving. It’s dead.

I think it’s been here awhile.

Pete took a deep breath. We need to call someone.

Why?

"It’s a body." He pointed as if to say, ‘Can’t you see that?’

It looks like it’s been here a long time, so it’s not a murder scene or anything, or at least not anymore. Let’s check it out.

Gary strode forward and ducked into the cave before Pete could protest.

This is why hikers vanish, Pete called. The thought of getting buried beneath all that dirt was paralyzing.

Nah, it’s cozy, Gary replied. Pete eyed the narrow slit, which was barely five feet tall and two feet wide. Just stand in the entrance, okay? If I get buried, you can dig me out.

Why would I do that?

Gary snorted, and Pete ducked into the cave before he could change his mind. He’d expected it to smell damp, and was surprised to find the air was dry and stale.

The flashlight illuminated the skeleton, and the intellectual part of Pete was suddenly intrigued. What he had mistaken for a shirt was actually a beige animal hide coat, with faint bluish-gray markings snaking across the chest and arms. Its legs and part of its torso had begun sinking into the earthen floor long ago. Toes poked out of the soil like tombstones.

How many centuries did it take to get like that? Pete wondered. He cleared his throat and found his voice. The clothing is made from animal hides, Gary. It must be American Indian. That coat is a called breechcloth. It’s a rectangular piece of tanned animal hide, usually worn between the legs and tucked over a belt, so that the flaps fall down in front of and behind it. I wonder if it was completely sealed off until you came along and exposed it.

The teacher speaks.

And you should listen. Those are leggings, which were pretty common among tribes that existed in colder climates. Around here…I’d say it’s made from deerskin, or maybe moose. Pete stooped down closer to the body. Markings that vaguely resembled hieroglyphic symbols decorated the entire length of its clothing. Some appeared to be suns, discs and animals, but others were completely alien. Hell if I know what these markings are though. I’ve never seen anything like them.

Your history degree is actually paying off for once.

Hundreds of high school freshman can’t be wrong. Don’t touch anything in here, okay? This place needs to be respected, because whichever tribe this person belongs to deserves to know about it. Someone will need to collect evidence too.

Think he’s got any buddies? Gary asked, shining the flashlight around the cave.

Pete held his breath, expecting to glimpse the vacuous glares of other corpses peering back at them. Instead, the flashlight revealed the cave to be about ten feet in diameter, with a ceiling that arched up into a dome that was just short of seven feet. The walls appeared to have been formed by mud bricks of some type, but that was just a guess.

My God, Gary. It’s not a cave. I think it’s a ceremonial burial chamber of some kind, Pete whispered. It must have been here so long that the plants and trees grew up around it. That’s why we couldn’t see it for what it is.

The beam slashed through the chamber. No paintings or drawings decorated the walls, and some of the crumbling, woven baskets stacked up along the arc of the rear wall had toppled over, spilling their blackened, unrecognizable contents across the floor. Flat, edgy stones poked out of the dirt in places, and Pete thought they might be the remains of old tools.

Gary centered the beam of the flashlight back on the skeleton. Maybe you’re right.

Pete pointed to the weird markings on the skeleton’s clothing. I’ll bet those markings are ritualistic, or maybe biographical.

And maybe it’s gibberish.

All that work for a little gibberish? No.

Gary shrugged. I think I’ll call him Chief. Is that all right, Chief?

Show some respect. I’ll bet you don’t act like that on Wall Street, Pete frowned.

I’m much worse at work. And I don’t think the Chief minds very much. What’s that?

A necklace of dusty turquoise beads hung around the skeleton’s neck, vanishing below its collar.

Turquoise, I think. Huh, weird.

Why is that weird?

Well, turquoise is usually found with tribes that lived in the Southwestern states, so it’s a little odd that it’s here in upstate New York. I’m not sure though. It’s been years since I’ve studied any of this stuff. Freshman history doesn’t exactly have the most dynamic curriculum.

Gary bent over and reached toward the corpse, ready to yank his hand back.

Don’t touch that. It’s evidence, Pete said.

Gary ran his fingertips over the skull anyway. It shifted slightly on a creaky neck. I’m no forensics expert, but it sure feels real. Gary looked thoughtful, and swept the flashlight back over the baskets. You think those are supplies for the afterlife?

That’s exactly what I think. Many ancient peoples buried their dead with jewelry, tools, treasure, food and other things. This chamber could be something along the lines of an Egyptian pyramid, only a lot smaller and more primitive.

Treasure, huh? Gary squatted in front of the skeleton, reaching for the necklace. Excuse me, Chief.

What the hell, man?

Gary ignored him, took hold of a turquoise bead between a thumb and a forefinger, and then tugged the necklace out from beneath its crusty coat with a few short jerks. A huge, brown tooth flopped onto its chest, and Gary yanked his hand back with a hiss. The tooth was nearly six inches long and wickedly curved. The brothers gaped at this centerpiece.

"What the hell kind of mouth did that come out of?" Gary croaked.

A big one, Pete replied in a shaky voice. It must be a fossil. It was probably found in a riverbank or something, and then fashioned into a necklace.

Yeah, but what did it come from? A dinosaur? Or maybe it’s prehistoric, from something like a Saber-Toothed Cat? That would make it, what, a few thousand years old?

Ten thousand, easy. That’s about when scientists think those cats went extinct.

Gary whistled. Gears were turning in his head, and an unpredictable twinkle burned in his eyes. Pete didn’t like it at all. Pete, we’d better bring an artifact home as proof.

No.

"Smarten up. This could be big. This is our discovery."

That doesn’t mean we own it.

That’s exactly what it means. Gary waved a hand around the chamber. This stuff might be valuable.

Eleanor’s been raking him over the coals, and I’ll bet he could use the money, Pete thought. We’re not grave robbers. And we shouldn’t stay in here. If your weight made the ceiling collapse to begin with, then the rest could bury us at any moment.

Gary grinned. Nice try. Let me take some pictures. I want evidence.

Yeah, okay, fine. Just hurry up, and don’t touch anything else. Everything needs to stay exactly the way we found it. The longer we’re in here, the more likely it is that we’ll disturb something. We shouldn’t have come in at all.

Lighten up, man. Aren’t we up here to have a little fun? Gary handed the flashlight to Pete, aimed his camera, and then zoomed in on the skull. He snapped a picture, and the flash needled into the hollows of its eye sockets. Pete shivered. He was a trespasser.

Gary shot half a dozen pictures, and then focused on the necklace adorned with that massive tooth, flanked by dull blue beads. Then he zoomed in on each symbol, working his way down the chest until he reached the skeleton’s hands. Its palms rested flat on the dirt on either side of it. Did you see that?

See what? Pete had been squinting at the baskets, partly to avoid the blinding flash of the camera, and partly because his curiosity was infecting him with the urge to open some of them up, despite his reservations.

Watch. Gary took another picture. The spidery fingers of the skeleton’s right hand clasped something that sparkled just a little bit in the sudden light. Gary crouched down until he was eye-level with the skull. Did you see it?

"Oh, come on. Don’t touch anything else. You’ll screw up