A Genesis Found

By Wilson Toney and Lee Fanning

In 1938, Civilian Conservation Corps cadet John Patton Jr. found the key to our darkest secret-an anomalous skeleton neither animal nor man. Uncertain of its implications, Patton hid the discovery away from the world-though never forgetting what he found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adventure Classics
• Release date: Feb 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781949561623

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Copyright © 2010, 2015 Arkie Fanning. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information: Wonder Mill Cosmos, 151 McNutt Road, Hartselle, AL 35640.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Toney, Wilson.

A genesis found / Wilson Toney

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1506160009

1. A Genesis Found (Motion picture). 2. Mound State Monument (Ala.) --Fiction.

3. Mississippian culture --Alabama --Fiction. 4. Civilian Conservation Corps (U.S.)—Alabama --History --Fiction. 5. Civilization –History --Fiction. 6. Archaeology --Fiction.

7. Extraterrestrial beings--Fiction. 8. Adventure fiction. I. Toney, Wilson. II. Fanning, Walter Lee.

PS3570.O434 .G45 2010

813.54 –dd22

2010925515

Cover Design by Lee Fanning

Photography by Samantha Hernandez

agenesisfound.com

Third Edition; originally published as part of A Genesis Found: The Film Companion, Wonder Mill Films, 2010.

Printed in the United States of America

Published by Adventure Classics 2022. ACB#0002

adventureclassicsbooks.com

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For the Pattons, the Toneys, the Wilsons and the Fannings.

1

The shovel moved slowly. The shoveler slower still. The man (maybe boy) stopped to wipe his brow. He reflected for a moment, Days are endless, nights more so. But then, what do you expect? There’s a depression on!

John Patton Junior dumped a shovelful of rich red dirt into the ever-increasing mound behind him. Only the Government could find it practical to pay a person to empty one mound by creating another. A flash of white showed in the red dirt, almost translucent against its rich red background, yet another bone was found. Patton stopped his whittling of the mound long enough to sing out, with more excitement than he felt Found another one!

Patton’s fellow workers, looking for an excuse to stop their own digging, stopped and looked over to him. Then they went right back to their daily bread winning. Gone were the days when they would all throw down their shovels and gather around. You get used to everything, even finding skeletons. Besides, their boss would just holler at them to get back to work. And the day was filled with enough hollering without encouraging more of it.

Tim Shaw looked at Patton and exclaimed, How big you reckon he’ll be? Tim’s voice was pure Mississippi, but Patton’s Alabama ear had no trouble understanding him.

What’ya mean? Patton responded.

I heard they found some out here ten feet tall. Giants! You know- supposed to have done the grunt work on building these things. They’re even mentioned in the Bible for Christ sakes!

The things Shaw was referring to were the man made mounds that these young boy men were being paid thirty bucks a month (or at least that was what was sent home to Mama, the boys got a dollar a day spending money and room and board) to shovel from one place to another. These mounds were large hills of earth that some other, probably complaining, young men had built hundreds of years earlier, long before this part of the world had even heard of, much less seen a white man. There were a lot of them and the Civilian Conservation Corps was duly investigating them. For those of you that are historically challenged, the CCC was a child of the depression. A Government program that took young men off the street (or farm, mostly, in the South) and put them to work doing things the Government thought was useful, like desecrating this ancient American Indian graveyard. To the Government’s credit, it wasn’t malicious, just science.

I doubt he’s ten feet tall, Patton replied. Probably only nine feet ten or so.

A Ford truck, black of course, came bounding over the rough terrain, dodging mounds like a pinball. Even from a distance you could see the big Fedora hat that the driver was wearing. Patton recognized the truck, he saw it most days, and knew the driver as well as could be expected. The driver was the chief scientist of the Moundville dig, as it was known. He was a doctor, but not the kind that can fix you if you get snake bit in this wilderness, but a doctor of archaeology. While Patton knew what that word meant, most of the others working the site were clueless. But they all called him Doc, either out of respect or laziness.

The Ford showed off its brakes, coming to a sudden stop. Doctor Walter Jones stepped out of the driver side, almost knocking his much loved Fedora off in the process, but with a deft move developed by long practice in the protection of his trademark, his hand shot up and steadied the hat. The commander of the camp stepped out of the rider’s side. His name was DeJarnette, but he was an American all the same. He was older than dirt, sturdy military type, rough and not at all loved by his charges. But then few bosses are.

As the day was dwindling, and the efforts of the workers more so, DeJarnette found an opportunity to gain some good feelings from the boys and he announced, All right boys, let’s pack it in loudly a good two minutes before the official quitting time.

Tim Shaw grinned, grabbed a wad of Double Bubble from his pocket unwrapped it carefully, looked at the comic, he had already seen this one before, which wasn’t surprising, popped the gum into his mouth and let the comic and the wrapper slip from his fingers. They floated gently in the slight Southern breeze, and landed almost on the foot of DeJarnette.

DeJarnette looked like something unmentionable had been shoved in his face, a face that twisted into a grimace as he shouted, Pick it up, Shaw. Wearily, DeJarnette shook his head, as if he was tired of telling the same thing to the same boys for way too many a time. Retirement in three years, he thought, just three more.

Shaw smiled and picked it up. Just then DeJarnette turned to talk with another boy and Shaw let the papers go again. This time a real wind caught the papers and they scampered across the flat earth showing colors of bright red and blue. You could still see Joe Blow for at least five feet before the gaudy strips disappeared into the pine forest that surrounded the mounds. Find it now, Copper, Shaw said under his breath.

Doctor Jones approached the mound where John Patton was standing, stretching his long legs in a walk that looked more like a canter. Patton was looking down at the bone that was peeping out of the dirt. It looked like an eye socket, but at best that was a guess as Patton was hardly an anatomist. Seen anything like this before Doc? Patton asked the approaching older man. Patton spoke without inflection in a good, country Southern drawl. Jones, being city bred, did not know if Patton had spoken in jest or was serious; even after years of interaction the subtlety of the speech patterns of rural people still sometimes evaded him. It was, after all, Jones’ main job to have seen stuff like that many times before.

Oh yeah, Jones replied, his voice was flat, different than Patton’s, he wouldn’t be dropping his G’s, but still strong. We’ve been finding these all over the site. It was a truthful understatement. There were relics all over the site, including skeletons, but they were all over the Southeast too.

Jones glanced down at the protruding bones, nodding his head, Yes, looks like American Indian circa 1400- Moundville III to be precise, just at a glance of course. We’ll find out more when we do real science on it. Jones transferred his gaze to Patton. Patton looked at Jones. Blue eyes staring at brown. Recognition showed in the aging brown eyes that were staring,

You’re in my Archaeology class, aren’t you?

Yes sir, Patton answered, John Patton Junior, sir.

Jones extended his sun brown if slightly aged hand and Patton grasped it with his sun brown but young hand. There weren’t that many students interested in archaeology and Jones always made it a point to make over any he came into contact with. Teaching positions, after all, were hard to come by in this depression and harder still if you ran off any potential students before you squeezed a buck or two out of them. While it was true that the CCC provided the opportunity for these particular students to go to his archaeology class free of charge, it still didn’t hurt if there were more of them there instead of less. Might hook one to come to his real University class if this damned depression would ever let up.

There’s not many of you, Jones said ruefully, And that’s a fact.

No sir, Patton replied proforma; there were other things on his mind. I was wondering sir, Patton continued, You talked about how the site was possibly abandoned by 1400, um, I was wondering when you thought these were buried? They seem….

Shallow? Jones asked and answered at the same time.

Yes sir, Patton said. I know erosion’s a factor but they just don’t seem as deep as other artifacts we’ve found here.

I agree with you, Jones said. These were buried well after 1400 A.D.

What does that mean sir? asked Patton. That folks were here longer?

Jones shook his head and stated, There’s no indication that anyone lived here, Mr. Patton, just that they were buried here.

It turned into a graveyard, huh? Patton asked.

Jones nodded. I think this place was a spiritual sanctuary to the people that lived around this site. It was a pathway to the afterlife, maybe even to God, for a long time, even after the site itself was abandoned.

What makes you say that sir? Patton asked in earnest.

Jones wanted to say seven years of college and thirty years of experience but didn’t. Again, teaching jobs were hard to come by and it didn’t pay to insult prospects. Instead Jones stated, Let’s just say it looks that way, shall we, Mr. Patton?

Jones threw his left arm out wide, motioning with his hand at the multitude of mounds about them. Patton for the first time really looked at the mounds. They were everywhere. On the top of one someone had arranged a group of skeletons in a circular pattern like a macabre ring around the rosy. On another mound a group of skeletons had been arranged into a pattern vaguely resembling a hand. In the middle of the large hand was a heap of bones that looked like a spot or a pupil. It could be a large eye looking right at you from a hand. Of course, Patton was young and the young always see differently than the old. Jones would have just seen skeletons, if he saw anything at all.

DeJarnette’s bark of Let’s get a move on Patton brought Patton’s mind away from mystical patterns and back into the present.

Doctor Jones dipped his fedora at Patton and then ambled back to the truck. DeJarnette, strutting like a banty rooster, fell in behind Jones and strutted to the truck. The difference in not just their walk but also their body language was not lost on Patton. To one he was at least a human, to the other just a wart in the path of progress. The truck rumbled to life then began to dodge mounds on its exit.

Patton watched for a second then gave a slight nod of his head. He spoke aloud, although there was none left to hear as all of the other boy-men had departed, Want a ride, Mr. Patton? No thanks Doc, I prefer to walk a half mile after a twelve hour day in the sun. Then he wearily picked up his shovel and rake and headed back to that paradise of sweating bodies and burping contests that was the barracks.

* * *

Patton wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief that was already soaked. It was a tossup as to whether it removed as much sweat as it planted. The so-called bed he was lying on was harder than rock, the blasted light was shining right in his eyes and the bed bugs were threatening a riot. Another glorious night in the Hotel Moundville. Oh well, in hard times one puts up with a lot of crap and this temporary barracks (sure they will build a permanent one, sure they will) was marginally better than a cave somewhere. Probably.

The book Patton was reading, Certain Aboriginal Finds on the Black Warrior River Basin, was hardly a page-turner but attempting to read it beat just lying there sweating. Besides, despite the archaic phrasing used by the author, it was beginning to make some sense.

Tim Shaw had the bunk next to Patton, either by accident or to repay Patton for some misdeed in a previous life. Shaw was always talking and Patton was often his intended victim. Patton did his best to keep Shaw from knowing that he was a bore and a pain, but his best wasn’t always good enough. At this moment, Shaw was chewing gum rapidly, his jaw moving as fast as a piston, the ever-present bubble gum visible at about every third chew. Shaw was also reading, kinda. His selection was more sedate than Patton’s; it was a pulp magazine with a pretty picture of a skeleton’s hand shooting straight up from a grave. Every word in the pulp was probably true.

Shaw evidently found a particular passage somewhat less than scintillating as he tossed the magazine to the floor and growled, All right, I’m not stomaching this no more. He turned to Patton and asked, Whatcha reading?

You wouldn’t like it Shaw, Patton replied truthfully.

Shaw shrugged and laughed at the same time. Probably true, he said and continued, That some kind of a school book?

Somethin’ like that, Patton answered.

Shaw took a knife from his duffle bag without leaving the bed. He was close enough to the dirt floor to play mumbly peg. The floor being compacted dirt (if they were lucky it was just dirt, but there were a lot of farms nearby and God knows where the dirt came from) was less satisfying to Shaw for throwing his knife into; a nice wood floor would have satisfied his inner vandal more, but one must make do in these trying times.

Sure do care about this stuff, don’t you Patton? Shaw asked.

Patton glanced wearily at Shaw before answering; it looked like it was going to be one of those nights. And what’s wrong with that? asked Patton.

Nothing, I reckon, Shaw reckoned. Just creepy to me is all. Who’d want to dig up corpses, everyday all day long?

It ain’t creepy, Patton returned, defending his potential profession, it’s science.

Shaw had the knife in his hands and was cleaning his nails. It didn’t occur to him that given that the knife had just been pulled from the dirt that it might just be leaving more grit behind than it was removing. If one wanted a true picture of a Southern redneck they could do worse than to take a snapshot of Shaw.

Science, eh? Shaw said doubtfully, So’s Frankenstein. I just think some things oughtta stay in the ground.

I thought you wanted to find a giant, Shaw, Patton said very seriously.

Shoot, Shaw exploded, I don’t wanna find nothing. Next thing you know we’ll be stumbling onto some kinda cursed tomb. Mummy will start chasing us all the way to Mobile. Shaw laughed. Backwards place like this, I wonder if even God knows what’s out there.

Well He don’t have to, said Patton, It’s our job, be it giants, cursed tombs or buried treasure.

Shaw’s head jerked around. He gazed intently at Patton.

Treasure? he asked, out there?

Patton grinned at Shaw and said, It’s a local secret. Patton said it with conviction. You being a North Mississippi yokel, I ain’t so sure I should tell you.

Shaw took a second to let the sentence sink in, then a wide grin came onto his amiable face and he said, Aw, you’re pulling my leg.

Patton shrugged. He continued to look at Shaw.

I heard we might be looking for it, Patton said, It’s just- then Patton put his finger on his lips and winked.

That would be nice, responded Shaw through a smile that showed the first ravages of chewing tobacco (with just a nice shade of yellow), No sir, wouldn’t mind stumbling onto that. As much of my pay they send back to the folks, it’s like I’m working for free, can’t even spare a dime for no new reading material. You sure you ain’t got something else Patton?

You ain’t got a Bible, Shaw? questioned Patton.

Come on, I can’t read that good, Shaw said. Sides, what else is a preacher for?

Patton sighed, It’s against my better judgment, he stated wearily, and that’s God’s truth. Patton reached under his mattress and pulled out a magazine.

Shaw watched Patton’s movement with more than average anticipation. Visions of Spicy Detective Stories were galloping through his mind.

Patton tossed the magazine and Shaw scooped it mid-air. Lou Gehrig couldn’t have made a better catch. Eagerly Shaw pulled the magazine cover up to eye level. It was a Scientific American. Shaw looked like he had just lost his life savings in the market. Shaw’s eyes went from the magazine back to Patton.

It’s all I got, Patton said.

Shaw shrugged. He slipped his gum out of his mouth and slapped it under his bed rail.

Patton resumed his reading hoping that Shaw had his fill of talking for one night. As Patton turned the page he came upon a beautiful colored plate showing the Rattlesnake Disc. It consisted of a hand held upright with an eye in the palm; the hand was surrounded by a horned rattlesnake. Patton was jolted. He pulled his journal from beneath his bed and looked at the illustration he had drawn of the odd configuration of the skeletons he had seen with Jones earlier. Yep, take away the snake and the two looked