Before Paradise Was...

By Curtis Shelton

When two, renowned archaeologists go searching for the infamous gate to the Garden of Eden, their exploits take them from Texas to Iraq to where the two great rivers talked about in the bible, come together.  

 

Their extraterrestrial encounters and exploits take them through outer space and time to millions of years and civilizations past.  It is there that they are a witness to events that boggle their minds and just may overwhelm yours.

 

So sit back and enjoy as Cal and Scott take you for the ride of your life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467838306

Curtis Shelton

Curtis started his life’s journey on Valentine’s Day 1943 in an old farm house in East Texas.  His life took him from the humble beginnings of abject poverty to a middle class upbringing as an Army brat.  His life’s experiences have included his own time in the military and stints as Police Officer, High School Teacher, Principal and Church Pastor.   He currently resides in the small suburb of Wylie, Texas and is a manager of customer service for a large internet company.  His is blessed with a beautiful wife, who has achieved business success in her own right. God has also blessed him with one awesome daughter and a gorgeous and smart teenage granddaughter.   He was educated at what is now known as Texas A&M university at Commerce in East Texas with a BA degree in Political Science, History, and Secondary Education.   Although this is his first attempt at writing a novel, there are plans in the works for sequels and a movie as he continues in his writing.      

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Evidence

Cal! You can’t sleep on that tractor son. You’re going to fall off that thing, and it’s gonna run over you. Then we’ll have to send you off to college in toe-sacks!

The malicious sun and biting sand only served to hunker Cal further down in his seat as he continued to snooze. Even the bumps and rattles of the demon vehicle blasting down the badly paved back road did little to discourage his napping.

Cal’s daddy worried that he was working his son to hard. Another year and college would have to be paid for. Cal had a good shot at a full ride down in College Station, but Hal Winston knew that sometimes things have a way of slipping through the cracks. And he would not see Cal Winston go without an education like he had.

Mr. Hal, as Cal’s friends called him, would get his son up hours before school so that he might have some help with milking the cows and feeding of the livestock chores

Every day Cal would go down and milk Jersey and Ms. Hanna. Ms. Hanna was a big old Guernsey who would just stand there, gentle as can be, and feed until Cal finished milking her. Jersey, on the other hand, was a mean little cow but would give two gallons every morning and every night of creamy, rich milk. Her butter brought top dollar in town, a fact that might have saved her life after her run-in with jinx the cat.

A stray cat had become accustomed to meeting Cal and helping with the milking chores. Cal would carefully wash each teat and then give the cat the top off of each one. To show its appreciation, the cat would rub up against Cal and Jersey. One morning Jersey’s foot came down on the cat’s tail. In retaliation, the cat turned and clawed blood from Jersey’s hind leg. The nearly full bucket went flying against one wall of the stall while the cat landed on his feet, running after hitting one of the other walls. Cal escaped under the stall gate. Bucking horses and bareback bull rides had not put fear into him as much as this one little cow. He felt lucky that he had escaped with his life still in him.

After the cows, it was the hogs, and then the chickens and gathering of the eggs. Then it was school. After school, it was football practice and then home again to the chores. Cal knew that as harsh as the work was, he was helping to contribute to his family’s support, and that fact kept him tireless in his efforts to do his part.

Cal loved to drive the tractor. For one thing, he loved getting to sit down while driving a magnificent machine and calling it work.

One Saturday he was bush hogging on the tractor. As he mowed, the dust and debris would kick up and make him close his eyes in order to protect them from the debris and the hot Sun. Occasionally when that would happen, Cal would inadvertently fall asleep at the wheel. Fortunately for Cal, Mr. Hal would always be close by and catch Cal as he would doze off. Mr. Hal yelled as loud as he could, waking Cal and saving him from falling beneath the huge, churning blades behind the tractor.

Cal grabbed the side of the Jeep’s windshield in effort to keep from falling out. Sweat oozed from his soaked body. He reached up for his backward turned baseball cap and swiped his brow and thought to himself; I never would have thought, me being a West Texas boy, that I would find the heat and sand to be the most bothersome part of this expedition. I remember back in Lubbock, it could get to 107 degrees in the shade, and there was no shade to be found"

Whew, Cal sighed. Just a few minutes of that wind under this hat without letting in too much of that desert sun feels nice on the brow.

Scott’s knuckles were white from the death-like grip his hands had on the steering wheel. Years of trekking Central Expressway back in Dallas paled in comparison to the tension he was dealing with right now. I can’t be on the wrong road, he thought. There is only one road south, and if there is only one road, then why do I feel lost?

All of a sudden, the Jeep skimmed over a large pothole. It leapt like a horse kicking its left front leg into the air, and after about two seconds slammed back to the pavement. Both occupants left their seats about six inches before being rudely re-seated.

Jesus Christ, man! Cal yelled, complaining and showing his lack of appreciation for Scott’s driving ability; Hitting these desert boulders at 80 is not going to leave us long for this world. Are you going to slow this thing down, or am I going to have to get out and walk? Where are we anyway?

Where are we? Scott began yelling back at Cal above the noise from the Jeep’s leaky muffler. You’re asking me? You’re the navigator, and all you do is wake up once in a while long enough to complain about my driving. I didn’t ask to be your stupid chauffeur. Anyway, I’ll tell you what you can do if you don’t like my driving—you can take your complaining and stick… Oh my God! Hold on man; we’re airrrrr—boooorrrne!

Scott shook the sand from his bushy head wondering if it was really still on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he had never left the back of a bull and landed any harder.

Everything hurt. Scott barely saw movement in his left field of vision. He felt the blood and dirt and sweat on his face as he blinked his eyes frantically trying to tell what was going on.

Scott was never quick on the panic button, but fear gripped him as he eyes began to focus on the crumpled Jeep at the edge of a huge crevice about fifteen feet away.

Frozen in place, he watched as the Jeep belched and moved forward with a metal-on-rock screech. He held his breath as the wrecked vehicle teeter-tottered toward the huge canyon, cried out, then slowly straightened back up and caught itself. Scott knew without a doubt that the slightest movement from Cal would cause the Jeep to plummet from the edge of the cliff with him still buckled in the passenger seat.

Scott’s hands went immediately on the ground in push-up fashion in an attempt to get up and get to Cal and pull him out of the Jeep.

During his varsity days at Coronado High, he could drop down and give you fifty pushups in a matter of seconds. This day was different.

Aaiiiiiooowwuh The blood-curdling scream burst from his parched lips as his left arm collapsed like a snapped twig and one of the bones jutted through the skin of his forearm and into the dirt.

Scott’s head felt like it was splitting wide open, but he was determined not to yield to the pain. With a fresh rush of adrenaline, and using his other arm, he managed to raise himself enough to see if he could tell how bad his situation was. He was spitting sand and blood as he lifted his head in the direction of the Jeep, but the excruciating pain caused him to collapse in a prone position, gasping for breath and relief.

Scott was never much of a religious man, but he had gone to church growing up, with interests other than God or the trappings of religion.

Scott’s grandmother was one of those sweet, old religious ladies who believed she must be in church every time the doors were open. The problem was she couldn’t drive. Scott’s mother and father did not go to church and did not want to be bothered with taking Momma. At the time, Scott was only fifteen and not yet a licensed driver, but in rural Texas, no one would ticket him for so noble an endeavor as taking Momma to church.

But that was only one of Scott’s reasons for going to church. He had also had a crush on the preacher’s daughter. Karen stood about 5’2 and had what Scott called fiery, red angel hair flowing down almost to her hips. When Karen would throw one of those Do you really wanna fight me fits, he would even call her Chili-Pepper." Sometimes that would stop her in her tracks and sometimes it would melt her anger and she would let go with one of her winning smiles and that would cause Scott to go blissfully goofy.

Every Sunday, Karen would stand at the