Star Song

By Thomas Macy

Star Song is a Christian Sci-Fi adventure with a touch of romance. Scripture says God cast Satan to the ground; Lucifer was cut down to the earth. The Chosen is a clandestine group of Christians in northern Colorado committed to a common goal: make a home around another star, leaving the Devil and his demons behind. At last they have found a way to make the journey. When Simon discovers the woman he loves is part of some cult planning to use the dead to travel through space, he implements a plan to rescue her from the Chosen but winds up enmeshed in their adventure.

"Star Song is an interesting story with a strong appeal to fans of sci-fi and Christian romance; it is a delightful read." -- Divine Zape for Readers’ Favorite.

"It was unique and full of surprises. This book made me think in a good way. I must say I want more." -- Maureen Dangarembizi for Readers’ Favorite.

"This is a wonderful sci-fi adventure and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it to all." -- Grant Leishman for Readers’ Favorite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Macy
• Release date: Oct 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463521304

Thomas Macy

I grew up as the son of a small town weekly newspaper editor. With no lack of paper, I 'wrote' from before I could write. But, as life happened, I immersed myself in my growing family and my computer programming career. My writing was limited to a few hours here and there. I wrote short stories, composed Bible studies, and just plain loved researching and writing. Then, in 2003, I came across the account of Rebecca Ann Johnson and, after verifying its authenticity, decided it was begging to be told. Today, my wife Sandy and I live in Windsor and, now that I am retired, I spend a lot more of my time in the craft of writing...that is when I am not feeding her flower fetish.

Book preview

Star Song

by

Thomas Macy

See http://www.StarSongBalm.com for fun stuff, photos, links, etc.

Had there been no creation there could have been no fall and no redemption. In the mind of God, all things occurred at once; but, in the sequence of time, creation comes first.

From Of God and Men by A. W. Tozer, copyright 1960 by Christian Publications, page 119. Used with permission.

Copyright © 2018

Thomas B. Macy

P.O. Box 927

Windsor, Colorado 8005

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1721286632

ISBN-13: 978-1721286638

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB),

Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,

1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my father who instilled in me a love of science fiction. The cafeteria cleanup scene came from a story idea he shared with me long ago. He’s been gone since 1997, but what is time anyway?

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Traveling with the Dead

Stowaway

Playing God

Frames of Reference

Miscalculation

The Stars Sing

Cold

A New Home

An Unexpected End

The Balm of Gilead

The Growing Storm

Life and Death

Demon

Leaving

Rebellion

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to Kathleen A. Goering (Goering & Associates Editing Services, 1260 Honeysuckle Ct., Windsor, CO 80550) for her expert proofreading and insights into the English language. My friend Dr. Lowell Miller helped me understand the complexity of the human enzyme key-lock structures of our bodies. In one of our Bible studies he touched on how this complexity argues for a Designer. Numerous friends let me bounce my thoughts off them. My wife, Sandy, and my children and grandchildren put up with some of my weird ideas and were always willing critics.

The background cover image is a NASA picture (NASA ID: 0302063) of the Omega Nebula, slightly modified for this book. It can be found in original form at https://images.nasa.gov/details-0302063.html.

Traveling with the Dead

Love. Simon shook his head. What am I doing? Traipsing out into the prairie! His phone showed 5:30 in the morning. No question about it now. Nora was in trouble. Obviously, she wasn’t herself. But as weird as she was about some things, he still loved her—his ginger.

He started the car, pressed on the gas till his tires squealed, and roared out onto the street. Pushing past the speed limit, he drove east out of Fort Collins on Highway 14, heading for the Pawnee Buttes and Dr. Paul Stearn’s Encampment. How could Nora be so foolish! Traffic was light, and, in ten minutes, he was past Ault.

His car topped a sharp hill and his stomach lurched. He had eaten too much of his Mom’s cooking and had nibbled on dessert while the three of them played the usual after-dinner games of cribbage. Right now that seemed almost a lifetime away. They of course questioned him about Nora; usually she came with him. He didn’t go into all the details, just said she needed to work—at that Encampment. A little dish with cake rested on the seat next to him. His mother had told him to make sure she got it; it wasn’t for him! He gasped at the thought: she might never get it.

Both his Mom and Dad thought the world of Nora. They assumed from the start that she and he would tie the knot. If his parents had their way, their only child would have married years ago, and grandchildren would be coming to these evening dinners. He gripped the steering wheel. That’s what he wanted. And, until tonight, that’s what he thought Nora wanted. Yeah, they both liked the country life, but he didn’t want to move too far away. Grandchildren should know their grandparents. And his parents would no doubt spoil the young-uns. But, unless he got to her before those religious nuts did something stupid, all of that was just a dream anyway.

Just a couple of hours ago, all this changed. After dinner with his folks, he had driven the five blocks to Boardwalk Park at Windsor Lake where he and Nora often came to talk about their plans. He should have gone home from there; sometimes ignorance is bliss. Instead, when she still wouldn’t answer her phone, he went to her apartment. She wasn’t there, and neither were most of her prized possessions. Again, he could have just gone home. But, no, hoping to find some kind of clue as to what was happening, he had gone to Stearn’s CSU office in Fort Collins. Campus security wouldn’t like the way he left it, but he came away with what he needed.

Over the past month, his relationship with Nora had changed, and he didn’t know why. A nasty feeling of betrayal slithered into his chest, and he tried to push that thought aside. Impossible! No, Nora was in some kind of trouble. That video he’d found when he ransacked Stearn’s office, looking for some clue as to what happened to her, told it all. He remembered hearing about religious fanatics in the 1990’s, Davidians or something, who committed mass suicide. And another group that killed themselves to reach an extraterrestrial spaceship following some comet. It wasn’t betrayal; some religious cult had its grip on her.

For the last year he and Nora had talked about marriage, the things they wanted in life, a plan for the future. But the couple of times he brought that up this past week, a dour mood had shadowed her face. In fact, she’d gradually grown more sullen over the last month. He frowned. He had told himself that was just her being a woman. Still, why in the world would she have lately been questioning his salvation—unless she was involved with some weird religious group? Yeah, she and her friends tended to go overboard with this religious stuff.

Between long flat stretches, shallow rolling hills periodically hid the sun as it rose just north of where the highway disappeared over a distant bluff—nothing but brown grass and a few tufts of trees as far as he could see. He had often wondered why Stearn developed his project in such a desolate area. Now, after seeing that video file, he had the answer.

With no other cars ahead, Simon again pushed the speed a bit faster. The Encampment was close now, and every minute might make a difference. Craning his head up, Simon let the car’s visor block the sun just enough so the road was still visible. At the same time, he stretched left and right to relieve the tension that continued to draw his neck tighter than a guitar string ready to snap.

Just this past Monday she had gone so far as to say he needed to turn his life over to Jesus; she couldn’t be unequally yoked. Who talks like that anyway? Why not just say he had to become a Christian. Besides, he attended church and prayer meetings with her. What more did she expect? She was the one involved in some cult. No way did he want to get into something like that. He’d do whatever it took to save her from Stearn’s grip.

Grumbling, he finally passed the Pawnee Grasslands sign. After a few more miles, he turned north on a gravel road and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. Behind him a dust cloud rose up where he had passed. When a car topped the hill ahead of him, they each eased to the side to make room for the other. Slowing down even more, he let the dust settle until the road was visible again. Then another car. And, in a few minutes, another. He tasted the dust and cursed under his breath. Usually, these byways wouldn’t see this much traffic in a month!

Reaching the top of a small hill, he slowed. The lane to the Encampment was just ahead, with a van parked on the edge of the road waiting while someone closed and chained the entrance gate. The lady hopped back in the vehicle, and it headed his way. As it passed, the faces of those inside stared at him. Six men and women. According to Nora, never more than a handful of folks worked out here. That would have been everyone. Obviously, she had lied about that!

He’d visited Nora at this Colorado State University extension campus, and it was always just like she said, a few scientists doing genetic research with farm animals. But those visits had always been planned, purportedly because the small staff and the nature of the studies required limiting access. For five years she had spent more time in the Pawnee Grasslands than on the main campus in Fort Collins.

And what about all those other cars? The only thing in this part of the Grasslands was the Encampment. But he hadn’t seen her car.

He slowed to a stop in front of the sign that read Pawnee Grasslands Breed Development and Test Center. This was what Nora and her friends called Dr. Paul Stearn’s Encampment. Supposedly, they did genetic research here. That was Nora’s field of expertise and why Stearn had recruited her from the CSU School of Veterinary Medicine. She’d written a paper on Genetic Diversity Requirements. He tried to read it once—tried being the key word. He shook his head. How could someone as smart as Nora be gullible enough to get involved in a cult!

A chain and lock secured the gate. An attached placard read Closed for the Weekend. That didn’t sound good. About a mile off in the direction of the lane, the top of an old two-story house was just visible. Pulling ahead, he veered into the shallow barrow ditch, and turned off the car.

Squeezing the steering wheel in his fists, he pushed himself back into the seat. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip. He should have told Nora his concerns. Maybe she would have tempered her extremism. The way she talked about her boss, it was like she idolized him. She’d worked for Dr. Stearn for as long as Simon had known her. Five years was plenty of time to develop influence over someone. But the prof didn’t seem like that kind of person. Simon had listened to the man’s talks. In real life, none of Nora’s friends seemed like radical zealots. But that only made this all the more sinister.

He took a few deep, slow breaths before opening the glove box to retrieve his tablet. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out the thumb drive he had found by chance in Stearn’s office. Inserting the little disk, he pressed the start button. What he had seen seemed surreal. He needed to watch it again, as if this time it would be different and he could just go home.

When it booted up, it still displayed one ominous file—a video named ProjectConfirm.MP4. Perhaps subconsciously he had hoped it would not be there. He double clicked it, and a younger image of Nora’s friend Angela appeared on the screen.

I’ve given your proposal some thought and like the possibilities. I’ll take a few minutes and respond to your questions. As you requested, I have not mentioned your project to anyone. First, my ties are limited; a little family in New York but we’re not close. Nothing romantic. Nothing to—prohibit me from—relocating. Second, obviously I don’t have a prototype yet, but the math is sound. Just like before, she talked about the status of some kind of energy conversion.

I have no reason to doubt that the dead will be able to take us anywhere.

Though he had heard it before, it still felt like a slap across the face.

Sixth, as far as speed, the dead will not be limited by our normal boundaries. However, the speed of light will remain a limit even for my dead. To complete testing AND provide real transportation by the dead, I will need at least four years and possibly five. Seventh, you ask about my view of demons. I don’t place importance on the subject one way or the other. As far as I am concerned, their existence or lack thereof has nothing to do with my work. However, what my colleagues believe on the subject, will NOT affect my work with them. Eighth, I hope you are serious about the funding. This won’t be cheap! I will plan to meet you on Wednesday, as requested, at your Encampment. If you have more questions, bring them. I’ll go over as much of the math as you want at that time.

Angela talked a bit longer about relativity and her dead before ending the video.

Gasping, he realized he’d been holding his breath. Simon smacked the steering wheel with his palms and crawled out of the car. He shook his head trying to grasp the fact that this video probably dates to near the start of the Stearn’s Project. And, now, these people had somehow been duped into joining a cult. Dr. Paul Stearn—CSU math professor; Angela—a physicist and engineer; Nora—an expert in genetics. And how many other intelligent people were involved? How could this happen? And over something so ridiculous! Traveling with the dead! And Nora is concerned about my salvation?!

Somehow she justified the idea of interacting with the spirits of the dead. No way! If she saw this video, she’d be out of Stearn’s project in a second.

Wondering what kind of trouble he might get into, he climbed over the gate and headed toward the Encampment. Suddenly, a kind of calmness settled on him like a blanket on a cold night, his anxiety subsiding, kind of like he had crossed a line—a feeling boundary. He still wondered what Nora might say. But he didn’t worry. He would just talk it out with the woman he loved. He knew the feeling was mutual. She would see the foolishness of this involvement with the dead and come home with him. If she didn’t…No! She would; she had to.

When the Encampment came into full view, he stopped. Animals were queued up in loading chutes being herded into one of the Quonset huts. Other workers transferred hay. Still others moved machinery. A group of children played in the shade of the old house. This was definitely not the four or five person operation Nora had told him about. But why should that surprise him? This was a cult after all. They even involved their kids. Simon’s gut churned. If this ended in some kind of mass suicide… He shook his head; he didn’t want to consider that possibility, not yet anyway. His anxiety began to rise again.

Sir. One of the workers wearing greasy coveralls walked up the lane toward him carrying a large wrench. You can’t be here. Did you read the sign?

Uh, yeah. I saw it. But I need to talk with Nora Wyndham.

I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave. She’s busy just now.

He glanced around. Look, he said, I just need to see her for a few minutes. Tell me what building she’s in and I’ll go to her. Won’t interrupt her at all.

Can’t do that. The worker moved toward Simon reaching for his arm. Now, if you’ll just head back out, I’ll tell her you need to talk with her, and she can contact you.

Simon moved to the side avoiding the other’s hand. When?

When she has time.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he held it out toward the fellow. For some reason there’s no cell reception here. Just how is she supposed to contact me?

The worker shrugged.

Simon refused to budge. Staring past him at what must have been the office, he yelled, Nora! A few close faces turned his way. But the shout was mostly buried in the cacophony of sounds rising up from all around the Encampment.

A lady with a snug pair of well-worn jeans that accentuated her figure in a comfortable kind of way, started toward him—Angela, Nora’s friend. Braided black hair hung down from under a wide-brimmed hat. With her brow furrowed and her mouth turned down into a frown, her dark eyes focused irritably on him. She was quite the eyeful.

Simon, she said in a tone that left no doubt he was an interruption, what are you doing here?

I need to see Nora.

You’ll have to wait till she goes back to Windsor.

Why not now? What’s going on here that you won’t let me see her?

"Nothing’s going on. She’s just deep into some animal studies and can’t be disturbed. You know her genetic tests need to be done in a clean room."

Three other men joined the one with the wrench, blocking Simon’s way to the buildings.

You’ve got to leave! Now! said the man in the greasy coveralls.

Simon glanced from face to face. They weren’t about to let him pass.

Angela smiled condescendingly. I’ll tell Nora you were here; I promise.

He frowned. This woman traveling with the dead was making excuses for Nora?! Confronting Angela was out of the question. He couldn’t force his way past these people. With a hesitant look over his shoulder, he headed back toward the gate. Like a wave smashing into the shore and then receding and pulling things with it, leaving the grounds sucked the life from Simon. His whole body felt empty as he topped the hill. The Encampment—and Nora—disappeared behind him.

All kinds of possibilities wrestled about in his head, none of them good. If they’d told her he was here, she would have come out—he grumbled—unless she was a prisoner. But, in all probability, she was a willing participant. He would have to sneak in and bring her out.

As he sat in his car on the side of the road, his mind played again what had just happened. With all these people, this wasn’t the little operation Nora had described to him. And all the animals being herded into one little Quonset hut? What was that all about?

But, then, nothing concerning a cult would make sense. He squirmed uncomfortably and gripped the steering wheel. Going back, after being warned, would probably be dangerous. He didn’t know most of these people and what they might do.

Lots of fish in the sea, he grumbled. He could easily catch another. But he wanted Nora; being with her, well, it just seemed natural.

Shaking his head, he tried unsuccessfully to erase thoughts of ghosts, dead people, and energy to travel with spirits. Whatever hold this place had on her, he needed to get Nora someplace safe. He wasn’t about to return to Windsor and leave her here in whatever this was.

§

Nora sat at the desk, staring at her computer, fingers on the keyboard, attempting to analyze the genetic profiles. For the last five years she had concentrated on assuring that the Chosen was a genetically diverse set of individuals able to guarantee long term viability. Configuring such a gene pool wasn’t an exact science. So she calculated and re-calculated the probabilities even though it was too late to correct any deficiencies. And now she couldn’t even fret in peace!

She wasn’t seeing the screen. Angela said Simon had come looking for her. He shouldn’t have! Until he appeared, thoughts of him had finally been pushed to the back of her mind as she prepared for what was to happen today. She had even been able to work with Sylvia, the one sitting where Si should be. Now, that’s all she saw—his face. She glared sideways at the lady across the table from her.

Only three days earlier, Sylvia had become part of the Project. With a concerned look, she stared at Nora. What’s wrong?

Forcing her face to relax, Nora interlaced her fingers, inverted her palms, and pushed out, stretching the muscles in her arms. She took a deep breath and released it slowly.

I’m leaving someone who I thought would be coming with us. He showed up. She glanced upward. Wanted me to leave with him and talk about our-our relationship. He expects me to—her voice broke—to spend Monday with him. What would he think? She hadn’t even left him a text or a letter explaining what was about to happen. Not only was she giving up the future she had wanted, but she was breaking the heart of the man she loved. No! She was ripping it out, stomping on it, and grinding it into the dirt.

Sylvia leaned toward her across the table. So, why isn’t he coming?

Nora took a deep trembling breath trying to control her voice. The…the Elders say he’s still tagged.

With a questioning look, Sylvia’s head tilted a bit to the side.

That’s the term we’ve used for someone who is not a Christian. The idea is that demons can attach themselves to him.

Do you all really believe there are demons and angels—here? Sylvia waved her arms around.

Nora’s mouth curled into a wry smile and she nodded. She understood the woman’s doubts. "Well, we hope not here. But, yes. Once you come to grips with the existence of a spiritual world, you can take literally what the Bible says about a physical and a spiritual realm…"

Yeah. Paul mentioned that, interrupted Sylvia. Said the Devil and the fallen angels were cast from God’s presence to the Earth.

Nora nodded.

But I thought that was only figurative.

No. It’s reality. That’s one of the reasons for the Project’s secrecy, why we have a War Room where prayers are made twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We are asking God to keep demons away from the Encampment so they won’t know what we’re doing. We want to make a home without demons. And that’s why the guy I planned on being here…isn’t.

Furrows formed on Sylvia’s brow. When Paul explained the need for a relationship with Christ, I decided I wanted that. Obviously, there’s a lot I need to learn. She looked around. When finally he told me about the Project, I had a hard time believing him. Even if it was real, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of it, until he brought me here. She slowly shook her head as if at a loss for words. I’m just glad I’m here.

Those were the same words Simon would have said if he had been permitted to come. Her eyes began to tear up again.

Sylvia’s face blanched. Clearing her throat, she stood up. I think I’ll go to the lab and work on your in-transit plan.

Sitting at her table, Nora stared off into space and was alone. Muffled voices sounded outside. The Chosen were there—happy people, most having someone special in the Project. Here she was, shut away, encased within four shiny walls.

Her eyes began to well up. Stop it! She slapped the table. You’ve got work to do. She balled her fingers into fists and squeezed her eyes tight; but all it did was wring out the tears and make room for more. She looked around for a box of tissues. There wasn’t any.

This is what she’d become: a woman alone in a small office shut off from everyone, her eyes and nose running and not even a tissue.

Stowaway

From his vantage point behind the oil field tanks about a mile north, Simon watched the entrance to the Encampment. The only sign of activity had been the arrival of two vans shortly after 8:30. They bounced along the lane and disappeared over the hill on the way to the ranch.

Inch by inch, the sun rose higher, closer to the top of the tanks. It took forever for the tanks’ shadows to slide off his car and stretch on to the east. No one else came or left.

His stomach growled. He glanced at the cake his Mom had packed for Nora; a fork was in the container with the slice. His folks doted on her as much as on him. One day he and Nora would have the same kind of relationship his parents had, at least that had been his plan. Grumbling, he picked up the container. In this heat, the cake wouldn’t make it till he got her out. He nibbled on it as he watched for activity on the lane. Carrot cake, his and his Dad’s favorite.

The sun beat down on him through a cloudless sky. Periodically, a breeze blew in the window cooling the perspiration on his neck. Finally, a dust cloud appeared as those same two vans rounded the top of the hill and headed toward the gate. A passenger unlocked it; the vans exited. The gate was relocked, and the vehicles proceeded on out toward Highway 14.

He set the empty container on the seat. He had waited long enough. Running across the gravel road, Simon carefully stepped over the barbed wire fence and trotted in the direction of the main yard. When the top of the house came into view, he hunched down and moved slowly to the crest of the rise not more than a hundred yards from the closest Quonset hut. His shirt felt like the sun was melting it to his back, and the Encampment shimmered in the heat.

The pens were empty and only two workers walked about the yard. As they both left a Quonset hut, one of them walked to the next hut while the other went to the house as if involved in some kind of inspection. The one looking at the Quonset hut came out first and waited for his partner. Then they proceeded to the barn, paused, and looked back around the empty grounds. They walked in and closed the door. The Encampment had transformed into an abandoned farm.

Sprinting to the back of the Quonset hut, Simon pulled himself up against its side listening. Silence. No animal noises. No talking. Nothing! Peeking around the corner, he sprinted to the barn. Putting his ear against the door he concentrated on sounds. Again, nothing.

He pushed the door and it moved silently. The inside was dark, the only light coming from two windows that had cloth curtains drawn. The walls were empty. It had been stripped clean. And there was no sign of the two people or where they might have gone, like they just vanished. Simon stood alone, ready to rescue the woman he loved. But how could he rescue someone who wasn’t there from something that didn’t exist?

He ran to the other hut, the one to which the animals had been herded. Empty. The only light shone dimly in the open doorway revealing a single room in the far corner, just visible in the shadows. He walked over and pulled on the door. He should have brought a flashlight. Grumbling, he stepped over the threshold. His stomach lurched to his throat stifling a scream when his foot found only air. His right knee buckled as his left hand caught the doorjamb keeping him from falling headlong into blackness. Dragging himself back onto the threshold, he moaned and rubbed the throbbing shoulder. Must have torn every one of its muscles! Wincing at the pain, he squinted into the darkness. Cables of some kind hung down. He tossed a pebble, and a plunk sounded after a couple seconds.

An elevator?...To where—or what? Wherever it led, it would no doubt take him to Nora. At least that was his hope. But he didn’t know how deep the hole was. Sure, he heard the sound of the rock hitting something. He remembered a math problem about falling things accelerating at 32 feet per second squared. But even if he had a stop watch and paper and pencil, he was in no mood to focus on solving a math problem.

Lying face down and peering into the black abyss, he inched his hand along the edge. There! One hand rail. He snaked his fingers a bit further. And the second. Between them was a crossbar. The top of a ladder? Scooting around, he hesitantly slid his legs over the edge while gripping the threshold with quivering arms; he hated heights. Stiff, and fighting his mind’s fear, he hugged the floor as he stretched his legs into the pit until his foot rested firmly on a rung of the ladder. Ever so cautiously, he extended the other reaching for the next rung. With his cheek and right arm embracing the ground, he slid his left arm down, inch by inch, until his sweaty palm gripped the top cross bar. Quickly he moved his right hand next to the left, stepped down one rung, and hugged the ladder. Gasping for a breath, he held himself there and glanced down into complete blackness. Above him, the cables might have been visible as gray lines in the dark beckoning him to return from this pit. He took two deep trembling breaths and lowered himself one rung.

Hand under hand, foot under foot, he moved deeper into the earth counting the rungs to take his mind off of what he was doing. But, when he got to seventy-five, he paused; in all probability, he would need to climb back up to get out. How much further should he go? The dead were buried; he certainly didn’t want to wind up that way. He took a deep breath, let it out, and proceeded. If Nora needed his help, how could he even consider stopping! At ninety-seven, his foot touched something flat and solid. He let go.

Standing and trembling from the inside out, he tried to move but his feet stayed put. With a starless, empty void pressing in, vertigo made him reach out for the hand rails. He was in a pit, in total darkness, with a shoulder that barely moved, and a body that ached all over. Something could fall on him, or he might tumble over a ledge—he could die here! He closed his eyes; didn’t know why; it was still dark. He surely hadn’t thought this through!

Elevators usually had some kind of hatch on the ceiling for emergencies. At least in the movies they did. Getting down on his hands and knees, he began feeling for something that might be an opening.

Yeah! At least it felt like it might be an access of sorts. His fingers followed the edge till they touched small cylindrical objects—hinges. On the end opposite from the hinges, he used his fingernails to get leverage. But it didn’t budge. He was about to curse out loud when he realized he was kneeling on the hatch. Scooting around, he tried again and it rose easily, revealing a soft light that chased away the closest darkness.

Licking his lips, his mouth turned into a restless grin. He made it—at least he was out of that vertical tomb. This had to be better than where he had just been. The elevator was empty. Wood paneled, with an old fashioned calendar on the wall, it resembled an office in a barn. He swung down and landed on the floor.

Outside the elevator, the lights were subdued, and the sounds of livestock echoed off metal walls. Barely audible, the sounds of people weaved in and out of these animal noises.

Simon did a quick peek out the door. The room was huge and filled with pens containing more animals than some farms. They were lined up in restraints that reminded him of milk cows in a dairy. Along one wall, all kinds of feed were stored including a huge haystack. Everything was tied down. Probably for air flow, the stack was about a foot and a half from the wall, room enough for a man. When another glance around this manmade cave revealed no one to attach to the voices, he ran, hunched over, to the hay and crawled behind the stack.