Vic: Event

By Jerry Gill

Vic is going to visit the site of the 1908 Tunguska event.  An attempt to stop her is made before she leaves. Why?   When she gets there, she finds something from far, far away. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Darrow Co
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781889823690

Book preview

From Chapter 9

The sounds of her pistol and the compact explosion merged and magnified under water. The small concussion knocked Vic back, stunned her and drove a fresh blast of agony through both ears! She shook her head and blew against her closed mouth to clear her ears. Her lungs ached for a breath of air, but she could not just rush upward.

Visibility was twenty feet, and Vic spotted another creature. It was just within the range of discernability and coming fast! Vic pushed low and toward the creature as it spat its spines of death!

Her right hand and wrist were useless, she could not even feel them…

Prologue:

100,000 years ago when life was stupendously savage and every day was a test of your will to live, an epic love was born. Two cave dwellers, Nat-ul, daughter of Tha, and Nu, son of Onu, each a stupendously mighty hunter and warrior to match that time, vowed to love each other as long as the moon would rise in the night sky, which, in their primitive fashion, meant forever. They both died in geologic cataclysms on the very day following their sacred oath. Buried by mountains, one would think their story ended. Yet, since that time the wise of every generation and every culture have proclaimed that true love never dies. There is a reason they say this. In 1896 the moon still rose in the night sky when Nat-ul was reborn as Victoria Custer and as a young woman, the educated Nebraska farm girl vividly recalled her former primeval life and eternal vow. One thousand generations did not cool her love and the recall restored her savage, stone-age instincts and defiant boldness. Now, under the pen name Vic Challenger, she writes adventure travel articles and her work allows her to literally comb the globe in search of present-day Nu. She realizes her quest may take a lifetime and mortal peril may become her incessant companion, but she is determined to do whatever it takes to reunite with her eternal love and time doesn’t matter!

In 1919 Vic remembered her primitive past and swore to find Nu. In early 1920, she began her search in Mexico and learned of Stu, a nomadic artist who may be present-day Nu. By September of that year she traveled with high school friend Lin Li to visit Outer Mongolia. In 1921 Vic and Lin visited Scotland and later took a trip down the Amazon. It’s 1922 and the dust hasn’t settled from earlier mayhem in Australia when Vic is off to do a favor in Siberia and everyone thinks it will be a picnic. Turns out, Vic, Lin and new friend Joe, and the local Evenki have an epic battle in their futures!

Chapter 1 Mysterious Portrait

The Monday after her return from Australia, Vic was eager to get to work. Her assistant at the paper, Jenny, left a somewhat cryptic note pinned to her front door screen. Though she tried to remain detached, it raised her hopes.

At the paper, Vic first visited her editor to tell him about the trip and drop off her first set of articles. After an hour with him, she took her unprocessed film to the photographers. Then she made a beeline for Jenny.

Jenny’s desk was in the central office with several others, at the far side, next to a window. Jenny saw Vic come in and stood and waved a paper. Got him, Vic!

Vic and Jenny grew to be great friends since Vic went to work for the Sun. Jenny didn’t know the story of Nu and Nat-ul. She did know Vic wanted to meet artist Stu James or any artist who painted primitive subjects.

In Mexico, her friend Oliver, or O, told Vic of a man who painted a cave girl who was the spitting image of Vic. That artist became the central thrust of her search for Nu. She shared that quest with anyone she could and always explained it as an interest in his paintings.

Jenny told Vic, It began two weeks ago and runs for another 6! She handed a flyer to Vic. Art Show at The Merimont Hotel in Omaha. In the list of artists, Jenny had circled Noted artist of prehistoric creatures, Stu James!

Jenny nodded toward the editor’s office. You just came back; think he will let you go?

He’d better, Vic almost laughed. I dumped six weeks of articles on his desk, so I’ll only be a nuisance if I hang around here!

There was no problem. Vic’s editor thought it was a good idea to do a more local story like an art exhibit in Omaha. That was the angle that Vic played up. She collected some film from the photographers who kept a supply for her camera and waved to Jenny. Vic pedaled home where she packed one change of clothing in case she stayed overnight.

Vic worked up a slight sweat in her rush to the station. She purchased her ticket only five minutes ahead of the ten o’clock train departure. Mr. Colter, the station master, told her to lean her bike in a corner, and it would be OK.

The trip went by in a blink. Part of the time, Vic focused on how she might approach Stu James. The rest of the time, her conscious mind was a blank.

If Stu James is the present incarnation of Nu, I will just, just, just… It was not an easy process. Of course, there was the other possibility - that Stu James was not Nu. Then what? Well, she would get a story about an artist and start fresh on the search for Nu. Either way, the day promised excitement and to alter her future work a bit.

Vic carried only a valise which held her change of clothes, her camera, and a journal. She was at the door before the train came to a stop and quickly hailed a cab. In ten minutes, she was at the hotel and didn’t notice how unconscious hesitation slowed her.

The layout of the old hotel was like a horseshoe, and the art exhibits were in the beautiful central outdoor court. A minute after she exited the cab, the hair stood on Vic’s neck, and she had goose skin. She approached the circle of colorful canvases watchful for depictions of mammoths and cave dwellers. She was most keen to see the art which set her after Stu James - the painting of her as a cave girl.

Vic’s hoped that seeing her would awaken Nu’s memory the way location and events in Africa prodded her recall. She did not know what she would say but was confident she would think of something. Of course, Stu James might not be the present incarnation of Nu, but how then could he paint an image of Vic as a cave girl? Didn’t that suppose a memory of that primitive time? Or could it be a coincidence? That seemed a stretch to Vic, or perhaps it was a hope.

Even from behind, Vic knew Stu James when she saw him. Shorter than O but tall by any other standard, his thick black hair hung to his shoulders. All around him were paintings of mammoths, wooly rhinoceroses, and other extinct creatures familiar to Vic.

Stu was with a customer, and it gave Vic a moment to admire his exquisite work. As the patron departed, Vic turned to Stu as he turned toward her.

His mouth popped open, and he dropped his cup of coffee. For a moment they stared at each other, then Vic said, I’m sorry!

Oh, no. Why? You are not at fault! Stu said as he stooped to pick up the broken cup.

From your reaction, it must be true. You do have a painting of me or someone who looks like me.

As Stu stood, his look was more dumb-founded than when he first sighted Vic. How did…

Oliver is a friend in D.C. He told me.

The artist chuckled, Oliver, the man who makes me feel small.

That’s him. Right away, Vic felt more relaxed. She was a reporter probing a mystery, not a woman in search of her lost love because Vic had no doubt - Stu James was not Nu!

There was more to this, though. Vic tingled, and she had a mild goose skin, and of course, there still was the painting.

They both wanted to sort out this unusual phenomenon. It was a bit past noon, so Stu asked a concierge to watch his space, and he and Vic went into the main dining hall for lunch.

The maitre d’ knew Stu and seated them at a table by the enormous French doors which opened to extensive flower gardens.

They ordered without a menu then Stu James asked, Would you like to see the painting?

Of course, Vic wanted to see it.

It’s in my room. I’ll fetch it; should make quite a conversation piece.

The waiter brought iced tea after Stu left and Vic sipped hers as she stared out at the azaleas. Her subconscious mind may have been at work, but her conscious mind was empty. There was naught to think until she saw the painting and heard the story.

In a few minutes, the sensations which began earlier suddenly increased. A chill went up her spine. She looked around the room and shifted in her chair to see if position change heightened the tingling. How could this be? Could Nu possibly, coincidentally, be another diner?

Then the far doors swung open, and Stu came through with a covered canvas in one hand and an easel in the other. As Stu neared, Vic noticed he had a stiff leg and also noted that the sensations increased!

Stu set up the easel and placed the painting. Then he removed the cover, dropped it to the floor, and sat down.

Vic appeared un-phased, but a riot had commandeered her mind! Every cell of her body vibrated with excitement!

Vic’s gaze covered every inch of the painting, and it amazed her. Finally, she said, I agree with Oliver. It does seem as detailed as a photograph. Such realism! You are a gifted artist, Stu!

A cave girl stood against a background of fern-like vegetation which would seem odd to any modern but which Vic found appealing and familiar. Three unusual domed hills rose in the distance. The muscular girl held a bloody ax in one hand and the head of a long-toothed cat in the other. She wore only a loincloth while long thick hair covered her breasts. Her cold, black opal eyes stared out at the observer. The scar inflicted by the cave bear when Nat-ul was seven, was perfectly placed on her left cheek.

Besides that conspicuous facial scar, four thin white lines ran from the cave girl’s right hip to her knee. On the left hand, which held the cat’s head, the small finger angled outward a little at the second knuckle. So detailed, Vic told the artist. The scars on my hip, I mean those lines on her hip and her left hand. Why? She shrugged and was silent.

How could she keep her story secret and ask Stu how he knew of the lion which raked her hip when she was twelve? Or of the battle between her tribe and another when she was fourteen? That was when an enemy club smashed her hand and gave her a slight deformity. How did he know where to place and shape the scar on her cheek? Vic hoped he would finish her sentence with a concise, rational explanation. Instead, Stu added to the mystery.

That’s how it needed to be.

Vic eyed the details of Stu’s art for several more minutes. There was no discrepancy. It was her; it was Nat-ul with the three domes of her beloved Barren Hills in the background!

Then the waiter brought their meals, 20-ounce t-bone steaks. When he sat the plate in front of Vic, his eyes got wide, and he grinned. Mr. James! Your model is here! Do you aim to paint another portrait?

Vic looked up with a smile and told him, I don’t model now.

Shame. He eyed Vic up and down and then the painting and looked back at Vic. In sincerity, he whispered, Ain’t a man in this room who wouldn’t pay a thousand dollars to hang a picture of you on his wall. If I had it, I’d pay two…

Vic was quite red, her eyes wide. When the waiter noticed her reaction, he stopped and reddened a bit himself. Sorry, ma’am. Sorry, Mr. James. The man looked back at Vic. No offense meant. You’re just a doozy, a real looker, and I never imagined I’d ever meet you in the flesh. He reddened again and ran his eyes up and down Vic’s pink day dress. I mean, not like…, he pointed at the painting.

Vic gave the man a good-natured laugh and told him, It’s OK. No offense taken and thank you for what I consider a great compliment.

Indeed I did mean it as a compliment, and it looks like y’all are ready for a refill on tea. I’ll fetch it.

Vic and Stu ate in silence for a few minutes, then Vic said, There’s more. There has to be. Please tell me about how you painted this. I keep secrets very well. If there are aspects which you wish to keep private, no one will ever hear it from me.

The artist didn’t answer, and they ate more steak in silence. After a few minutes, Stu leaned back and sighed. There are parts of the story I prefer to keep secret, for reasons which will be obvious.

I swear I’ll keep it to myself, but I really need to know how you painted this.

Stu told the story. Before the war, he lived in New York, on the seventh floor of an old, outlawed tenement. Another bachelor lived on that same floor, and they often greeted each other in the hall or stairway. Stu often painted street scenes out in front of the building. A few times, the man came from work when Stu was on the sidewalk, and he stopped for a moment to comment.

"I think he was a dock worker or maybe worked in a warehouse, but he never actually said, and I never asked. I’ll always remember when he requested that I do this painting. Congress made a declaration of war with Germany on Monday, April 2, 1917. It was all anyone talked about. People seemed to hold their breath until President Wilson signed the declaration on April 6. That was the day he rushed from work and searched me out. He didn’t know my room, so he stood in the hallway and bellowed, Artist man, I need to talk with you! By the time I heard and looked out, half a dozen other doors were open, and other angry tenants shouted for him to shut up."

Stu took a sip of tea. He wanted me to paint a cave girl for him. I told him I only painted buildings and stylized New Yorkers, but he refused to take no for an answer. Promised to pay $500 for it. I needed the money, so I finally gave in.

The job took five weeks, and Stu painted for hours every day. The man never returned to work but sat with Stu. He described every minor detail and ranted at any deviance from his mental image!

It was the best art instruction I ever received! Stu told Vic. "He saw the girl in his dreams; saw her for years, he said. He described how she appeared in dreams and was fanatical in his demand for accuracy in every detail. At first, it angered me that nothing I did pleased him! He insisted every stroke re-done, again and again. It was maddening, but as the days passed