Stone Signs

By David Kirk

It is the year 3079 C.E. and Dan Kelley, a young history professor, unintentionally discovers prehistoric cave symbols carved into the back of a uniquely crafted paving stone. The stone was created by a mysterious mason who years earlier buried similar stones mapping a peculiar course across the uninhabited prairie. Following those clues Dan was able to retrace his parents' path and uncover details of their disappearance, which had left him orphaned at age four. Does the new discovery of the cave symbols offer any insight into his parents' demise? What do these symbols mean? Similar symbols appeared on the other side of the world, but from a much earlier era. Could this commonality be evidence of a "first language" of the human race? If so, what is the message? Join Dan on his return expedition to the desolate prairie as he seeks to answer these questions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Kirk
• Release date: Sep 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370409631

David Kirk

David J. Kirk, a U.S. Navy veteran, earned his master's degree in personality psychology from Rhode Island College. He worked as a counselor and human resources manager. David then became an instructor at Rasmussen College in Fargo, North Dakota where he taught psychology for four years. An avid writer since sixteen years old, he has published three novels and one book of short fiction. He lives with his wife in Logansport, Indiana.

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STONE SIGNS

David J. Kirk

STONE SIGNS

Copyright 2016 by David J. Kirk

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

All rights reserved.

Fiction

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Also By

Acknowledgements

Disclaimer

Start of Stone Signs

About the Author

For Dawne

ALSO BY DAVID J. KIRK

Novels

Particular Stones, 2011

Cornerstones, 2014

The Hiraeth Dialogues, 2015

Short Fiction

In the Big Flood and Other Stories, 2014

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Linda Blakkan

Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

http://www.midnightmusedesigns.com

Author photo by Elizabeth A. Kirk

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of science fiction and any relationship with actual work going on in paleoanthropology is contrived. All dates and dating of prehistoric artifacts are fictitious. However, as Mino will tell us, If you need to know where and when a moral tale took place, you’re missing the point.

The Author

CHAPTER 1

Some people say today, in 3079, that we’re living in the post-apocalyptic world now. Others say it’s yet to come. My question to you, class, is our species crawling toward re-enlightenment or limping toward extinction? I framed the question exactly the way my mentor had sixteen years earlier. This is an essay, but I want a few references supporting your conclusion. Three pages. And what type of references?

Scho-lar-ly! everyone yelled back in unison.

Oh, and Mr. Collins. A shy twenty-two-year-old lifted his head to look at me. I got an Amber Alert from the police this morning, and guess what’s missing? Your paper due last week. I already gave you an extension.

He smiled, Monday. Promise.

Okay, I said, have a good weekend.

Eight students dashed toward the door. I always found it interesting how it took them ten to fifteen minutes to drift into class but less than ten seconds to leave. However, the two seated in front, Mark and Dana, just stood facing me and leaned on their desks. These were my two top seniors, headed for our graduate program, who always stayed afterward to chat. I took special care with them since our struggling History Department was in such dire straits.

I know you are probably sick and tired of me talking about motivation, but in the study of history it is such an important consideration, I told them. "It’s not just what someone did, and what date they did it on, but why they did it. Did a Russian kid bully Napoleon in the schoolyard? Is that why he invaded Russia? I’m not saying it happened. I just want you to keep in mind that such a minor incident might be the motivation for an action having global significance.

And what the heck was up with Hitler? He did the same exact thing. You know, after Hitler took Paris, he went there and actually visited Napoléon’s grave. Didn’t Bonaparte whisper to him, ‘Don’t attack Russia in winter’?

Dana smiled. I think it had more to do with what General Lee said to his troops returning from Pickett’s Charge: ‘I thought we were invincible.’

That’s it. I said. Neither of the commanders had lost a major battle before those campaigns. They hadn’t taken one on the nose yet. That is a major motivational aspect of all three disasters.

I saw my friend Brett from archeology quietly tiptoeing into the classroom and decided to ham it up a little. And that’s why motivation is so important in history. As Dana here pointed out, Occam’s razor tells us that usually the simplest explanation is correct. Nevertheless, sometimes history throws us a curve. It’s not like some other researchers of the past, like archeologists, who play in the mud all day and look for petrified Neanderthal poop.

My two students looked at each other, puzzled, until Brett broke the silence.

Very funny, Dan. He applauded my performance. Don’t listen to him, folks. He was an electrician before he became a teacher and obviously took a few jolts to the brain.

Dana waved and Mark said, See ya Monday. They left the room.

Those two are great, Brett added. I had Mark in one of my lower level classes. Are they headed into your graduate program?

Yep. So, Brett, what do I owe for this visit? Do you need to borrow some money?

Hey! I resent that. No, I’ve come to give you an opportunity to get out of here for an hour or so.

Man, I’m backed up on reading, and I have that stupid budget to …

What you need is fresh air. Winter’s over. Come on. Don’t fret over the stupid budget. The dean just rounds everything off the way he wants it anyway.

Where we going?

To the military base. Some contractor was digging over there and found a skeleton.

On the way back to the history office suite, Brett explained to me that every time any human remains were discovered someone from the university and the medical examiner’s office had to remove them and approve letting the construction project continue. While millions of people had perished during the Youngest Dryas and subsequent Chaos, no one was interested in those. The sheer volume rendered any type of identification beyond the resources available. However, if remains were older than a thousand years, like an Old World cemetery or Native American burial ground, special care would be required.

I opened the glass door to the suite and said, Leah, I’m going over to the base. See you in about an hour. She didn’t respond and appeared to have tears in her eyes. It was an issue I was well aware of but had no desire to get involved in at the time.

Out in the parking lot, my friend said, You don’t mind driving, do you?

I just shook my head, So that’s why you asked me to go.

My wife had to use the car today. Heck, you didn’t think it was because I liked you? he joked and patted me on the back. As we approached my old, diesel pickup truck, Kelley, when are you going to get an electric car? You know these things are going to be outlawed soon.

Hitchhikers shouldn’t be so choosy.

As my truck sputtered up North Shore Drive, we chatted about work. So, he asked, how are things going in History?

Somewhere between ‘not good’ and ‘real bad.’

How’s recruitment going?

I had this one PhD candidate, Liz, almost talked into it. She finishes up in June and wants to teach. Then this past winter was the worst in a decade, with over nine feet of snow, and now she’s not so sure she wants to stay up north.

You’re not going to take the terrible Dr. Drake, are you?

Who’s that?

"She started here last fall. She’s a paleoanthropologist. Katz in anthropology has been screaming at the dean to put her somewhere else. He thinks she’s a lunatic. You know what they call her? They named her after Tyrannosaurus rex. They call her ‘T. Wreck.’ My boss in archeology doesn’t want her. I heard your name was mentioned."

What are we going to do with a paleoanthropologist?

It might not be too bad. Have her do some one hundred level history courses to help you out then her own thing in her specialty. You need some more full doctors in your area, Dan.

I’m not going to take her unless Principi tells me to.

How is he doing?

He says he’s coming back, that his condition is improving. He’s been out sick for two months now.

We made a right turn at the bridge leading to the base. The guard at the gate asked if I knew the way to the old parade ground. Having chased a few teenage dependent daughters at this base back in high school, I knew the place well and had no need for directions.

The once large grassy field was dotted with partially erected new structures in various stages of completion. An idle backhoe sat next to a pit, its civilian driver reading a book. Four dislodged flag poles, still attached to their concrete anchors, lay horizontal on the grass. Fatigue-clad marines stood around the pit while the apparent leader of the group waved us over.

While Brett pulled on his high-top boots, he said, Let’s go look in the hole.

As we approached the site we saw two construction workers, a woman from the utility company, and several marines standing around looking into the pit. The first sergeant in command of the site greeted us, Are you the guys from the university?

Yeah, Brett responded, and then jumped down into the hole. A full skeleton, face down, lay partially buried in the black mud.

The sergeant asked me, What was here in the 22nd century before the big freeze up?

A yacht club, I responded. You know the body of water separating the base from the city of Centura? They found a number of boat hulls buried in the silt.

You got to admire the guy, the sergeant laughed while he looked at the skeleton, he stayed with his boat until the bitter end.

Just then Brett popped his head up. Hey, you guys won’t believe this! Do you know who this is? The crowd inched up to get a better view. It’s Frankenstein! Look, there’s a bolt holding his head on.

A few of the marines laughed, but the first sergeant didn’t think it was funny. Okay, Doc, can the jokes and just finish up so we can get back to work here.

As my inappropriate colleague crouched down to do some field tests, I turned to look at what had already been dug up. There was a neatly stacked pile of stone pavers next to a pile of dirt which had been removed from the hole. What do you have going on here, Sergeant?

Right here they’re going to put in a pumping station for the lines running out of those new buildings over there. This was the old, original parade ground. The brass wanted a new one over by the main gate near the commanders’ headquarters. There’s better parking and access over there for the public when we have our ceremonies.

So to put in the pump you had to remove the old flag pole display?

Yes. This was one of the first sites surveyed here when they constructed the base right after the navy commander’s building.

I walked over to the stack of pavers and immediately noticed they were not the usual thin variety offered at the home store. These were nearly as deep as they were wide. Next to the stones was a pile of dirt containing all sorts of small treasures. I found a very dirty 1954 quarter, a 1,125-year-old relic that was completely worthless today. I walked around to the side of the pile where I spied the jackpot.

Partially sunk into the dirt was an octagon shaped stone. I smiled while the memories came flooding back. Due to the marine sergeant’s report of when this flag pole display was erected, I knew the mason who did the stonework was August Viche, an obscure craftsman who was known for these odd, eight-sided decorative designs. About 100 years ago, he placed a number of them around Thompson, the majority being borders along the sides of a road leading around the edge of the base. He incorporated some of them into decorative stone patios.

While I brushed the dirt off the face of the rock, I noticed this one was larger than the ones along Perimeter Road. Those were a mere eighteen inches across with this one being over two feet. Although I liked his work, August and I had a more personal connection.

Little was known about the guy. He was contracted by the defense department to do decorative stonework for the new Thompson Defense Base, which he did from 2951 through 2953. After a pay dispute, he walked off the job and was never seen again. I could find no birth or death certificate on the guy, national health insurance account number, or government ID number. He seemed to come in from and return to nowhere.

A couple of years ago, during our investigation of the death of my parents out in the uninhabited prairie of central Illinois Territory, we discovered the existence of five sites of four stones each that would lead people with knowledge of the trail to an obscure hunter-gatherer tribe who lived in the area. I spoke with the matriarch of the tribe who confirmed the stonemason was one of them and had indeed placed those stones. Our only physical evidence was that the stones were octagon-shaped.

So I had to have that rock. Sergeant, what are you going to do with this material you dug out?

He responded, We’re going to try to recycle the pavers over at the new parade ground if we can.

How about this dirt pile?

Oh, we’ll use it for fill somewhere.

I put my hand on my new found treasure, Can I have this stone?

He walked over for a closer look. I don’t see why not, it’s just going to be buried somewhere. Wait, I’ll get a couple of men to load it in your truck.

After two marines put the rock in my pickup, the four of us walked back to the hole. Just then Brett stuck his head out.

Sergeant, here. He tossed a small object to him, and we looked at a rather expensive ring. After rubbing off the dirt, we observed a black stone with a ship’s anchor inlay consisting of small diamonds. I guess this boat captain was a rich one. Having a lot of money didn’t matter much back then.

I added, I read that many of the large yacht owners here bought up whatever gasoline they could find, packed the wife and kids on board, and tried to make a run for it.

To where?

Up Lake Michigan, down Huron, and eventually out the St. Lawrence Seaway. They figured if they could make it down the Atlantic seaboard to the Gulf of Mexico they would escape the freeze up. Only a handful made it. I guess with everyone rushing south, gasoline supplies were quickly depleted. Many of the boats out on the lakes ran out of fuel and froze into the ice. About 500 years later, when the glacier retreated and the lake thawed out, those boats just sank.

Poor guy, the sergeant added, couldn’t even swap his diamond ring for a tank of gas.

After a marine helped Brett out of the pit, he announced, Sarge, due to my tests and that ring, these remains are from a victim of the mini ice age and of no interest to archeology. This is a medical examiner’s case.

He’s on his way, the sergeant said. Just sign off on this form here.

Brett and I returned to my pickup. While we drove off I asked, I’m surprised you didn’t pocket the ring.

Oh no. They have some strict laws here about grave robbing, especially on federal property. There was this big case a few years back where this reclamation company operating out of a site near Old St. Louis was sponsoring all sorts of grave looting. Several were arrested. There is even a murder trial connected to it. Seems some poor guy and his wife who worked there tried to take off and turn them in. They tracked them down and shot them out on the prairie.

Without letting on, I just nodded, Yeah, I heard about that.

***

I knew after dropping off Brett in the parking lot I should have gone straight home. But no, I had to go back to the office. Big mistake.

I was greeted at the reception desk by an irate Liz. I asked, Where’s Leah?

The young woman stood up and leaned forward. She went home early … again! Dan, this is the second Friday afternoon in a row I got stuck watching this desk. I’m a doctoral candidate and you know full well that these are my reading hours. But no, I get to sit here and answer the phone. You have to do something with that girl!

I’m sorry; she’s having some boyfriend problems.

I don’t care. So tonight I get to sit in the laundry room and read Julius Caesar’s book. I have a social life too, Dan. So check your inbox. Some preacher wants to set up a meeting with you and your wife needs you to bring home a quart of milk.

Well she has my direct line, why didn’t she call it?

Because you turn your phone off for class and forget to turn it back on, that’s why. She was afraid you wouldn’t check your voice mail before coming home and not bring the milk. I’m not kidding, Dan. You’re trying to recruit me for a faculty position here, and this is the kind of thing that’s making me wonder if I should stay or not. She stormed out and back to her office.

After sitting at my desk and flipping my phone back on, it was ringing away.

History, Kelley.

Principi here, my absent boss responded.

Tell me you’re coming back soon, sir.

He sighed and said sarcastically, Oh, I’m feeling better, Dan, thanks for asking.

Sorry, sir.

Trouble in history land?

Yeah. Leah’s missing in action again, Liz is ticked off, and I’m going to throw this stupid budget request out the window.

Give Leah an ‘either or.’ She can’t be bringing those boyfriend problems to work. Tell her it’s full time or she’ll be leaving us. If she decides to stay, set up mandatory counseling. What she really needs is to get the jerk out of her life. But talk to her soon. We can’t afford to lose Liz. I’ve already got her on the fall schedule. Oh, and take my last year’s budget request, add 10 percent to each line item, then send it in. They’ll only give us 5 percent, but that’s the way it works. In the justifications, sprinkle in phrases like ‘student focused,’ ‘student centered’ and ‘academic excellence.’ The dean loves that crap. Okay?

Okay.

Plus I think we need to take Dr. Drake. Dr. Katz has been hounding me for a few months. He called me today and even offered us some of his budget money if we take her. We need the staff.

You sure? I hear she doesn’t get along with anyone.

Yes, do it. Katz has been treating her pretty badly over there, so I hear some of that acting out is justified.

Okay. So are you feeling better?

Yes. The doc says he’ll clear me to work soon after a few more tests. I know, it’s Friday afternoon and you probably want to get going. Have a good weekend, Dan.

You too.

***

On the drive home I reflected. I was such a happy electrician. After a pretty stormy childhood, I started working on my electrician’s certificate while still in high school. Then it was on to an apprenticeship with Ron’s Electric and finally employment as a staff electrician. After the navy and my marriage to Marie, Ron started letting me work into a partnership. I was up to about 50 percent of the business when things changed.

After returning from our last expedition south regarding my parents, Ron’s party boy son realized his meal ticket was slipping away, and he began working for us. Ron stopped my stock option and started giving junior a lot of the more lucrative jobs. My problem was the kid didn’t have a license, yet was being allowed to do projects on his own. Marie and I decided half an electric company and me working for the son was not where we wanted to be. We sold back our half to Ron.

Dr. Principi had been relentless all during the eight years it took me to get my bachelor’s degree in history to switch careers and teach with him. I finally gave in. I got my MA in a year and then started on a doctorate. Dr. Principi went all out for me, got me funding and gave me a part-time instructor job. He recently became ill and had to take a few months off. I was doing fine up until he wanted me to be acting chairperson in his absence. I soon realized I was in over my head.

After the eight mile commute, I pulled across the Ice River and into our compound. Our homestead was between the southern border of the city limits and the federally owned uninhabited territory. Although bright spring sunshine was warming up the area, a thick canopy of trees kept things kind of cool. The woodstove chimneys on our log cabins were belching smoke. I drove up to our newly constructed machine shed to see Wheeze, our implement mechanic, working on a tractor just inside the large sliding doors.

Wheeze, can you help me unload this rock?

Our tall, tattooed friend walked toward my truck wiping grease off his hands with a towel. Hey, what did ya bring home? Once he got close enough to observe, he sighed, Wow, just what we need: another rock. Did you get this for Marie’s anniversary? He looked at it again, Hey, this looks like the rock we dug up down on the prairie a couple of years ago.

Same author.

We lifted and carried it inside the shed to an old metal tub and set it in. The rock was too big to lay flat so we leaned it against the side. A thick coat of mud covered the bottom.

When I returned to the truck, I was greeted by an approaching wife and kids. Marie smiled, What did you bring us?

Annie, four, and Patrick, three, had looks of anticipation on their faces until I announced, A rock.

Oh, goodie, Marie teased. Did you get my milk? I stood speechless for a few seconds until she sighed, I knew you’d forget. I’ll go see if I can borrow some from Angie.

I walked the kids back to our cabin. I was looking forward to a quiet meal and some play time with the kids. Of course I knew I would need to crack open the books later. It seemed I spent any free time reading and writing.

***

We were late for the weekly afternoon meeting on Sunday, and all the member/owners of the Anchor Farms, LLC, were already present. After getting Annie and Patrick busy with a board game behind us, Marie and I took our seats at the large conference table.

Here sat most of the Eagles, our old club name. Ten of us met at the Centura Orphanage in elementary school and formed an alliance that has lasted to this day. We were considered a gang back then, but our motivation was pure survival. Bullying, robbery, and assault were constant threats by a nasty group ruling south side Centura in those days. So we formed up and fought back. Some say we fought back a little too hard.

However, we prevailed. Many of us advanced in our education and held good jobs. We also made a homestead claim to four square miles of land south of the city and began raising and selling crops, vegetables and livestock. Two of our members were missing. One was a lobbyist who lived in Atlanta but remained a shareholder. Empire Murdock was killed in an accident while serving in the military.

Big Ben Holden, our company manager, and, during the early years our club president, called the meeting to order and began reading the minutes. He was flanked by his wife, Angie. They were a textbook odd couple. Ben was very tall with premature gray hair, soft spoken and politically correct. He managed by consensus. Angie was not even five feet tall, out spoken, brash, and ready to argue at the drop of a hat. Her build and long black hair gave the impression of a young, sweet girl; however, anyone taunting or teasing her had better check for missing limbs afterward. Angie and Ben were childhood sweethearts since elementary school.

Lawyer and law professor, Frank Davis, sat with his new wife, Christine Hightower. Ms. Hightower used to be the lawyer for the Eagles, back when we had frequent use for one. Since marrying Frank, the conflict of interest led to her referring us to another legal firm for our current Anchor Farm needs.

Clyde Hastings and spouse, Dr. Mary Hastings, both were there. He was a boxer in high school and now a nature photojournalist. Clyde was rather quiet, but when he did make a point it was with authority and logically thought-out. Mary was new to the group but catching on. With the guidance of Angie, she soon realized that a sense of