The Spiral Road, page 15
part #1 of The Spiral Roads Series
“We should head back to my tent.” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling his way down her neck. She shivered response, as his hands roamed her back under the hoodie and her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, not that she needed one.
She slid down in front of him, slithering through his arms, as her hands fought with his belt and zipper, and his tried to block her for a second. Her giggling made him even more excited. Looking around, he saw no lights close, and reluctantly allowed her to put her tongue piercing to good use again. In a little while, he was no longer reluctant.
Cynthia James spent her Saturday in her office, piles of research materials and books covering her desk. She had her desktop computer running various monitoring programs and feeds, from multiple observatories and satellites. She was keeping an eye on the hypergiant WR104, and also pulling together centuries of anthropological and archeological research, photographs, stories and data on the Spiral symbol. Never let it be said that Cynthia James couldn’t multi-task. Her ever-present tea accompanied her in her search for connective threads of the mystery.
Searching half-forgotten information from college, and her anthropology thesis materials, had revealed a plethora of information. Much of it was contradictory, or in some way unrelated to the central core of her questions. She discarded that information, and added other items to her growing file. Certain things had become more clear, but she still lacked a connection strong enough to determine a link between the star and the Objects.
Generally, the spiral was thought to be associated with ancient snake worship and animal energy. In Australian rock-art, it was most often found depicted with serpentine shapes. A few clearly depict a snake entering a hole, and a snake leaving a hole. The Ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail, is often found in relationship with it. This has long been thought to represent immortality. How any of that might relate to the star WR104 seemed unclear.
But the snake entering the hole, that one tickled something in her brain.
The spiral had long been thought to represent astronomical alignments. For example, the spiral running right to left is seen as the winter sun, the left to right being the summer sun, the double spiral representing the equinoxes. At those times of year, ancient peoples had walked the double spiral paths, in pre-historic mounded temples, to celebrate the turning of the year.
Some more modern theorists held that it represented the spiral shape of our galaxy. The problem with that was that no one had ever seen our galaxy from outside it; our view from Earth is blocked by lanes of dust and our position within the Sagittarius arm. It was also more of a double spiral, with a yin-yang shape around the yolk of the core, as had only recently been discovered with radio astronomy. Also disturbingly similar to the Japanese symbol for ultimate harmony, itself associated with the spiral symbol in that culture. All over Eurasia and Japan, recovered ancient earthenware vessels clearly show snakes in a spiral form, said to protect the contents. They may have predated the yin-yang symbol and eventually morphed into it.
In China, the snake became a part of the alphabet three thousand years ago, and there the Rainbow is said to be the Snake elevated into the sky, and contains the snake in the character for rainbow. Australia also had a Rainbow Serpent mythology. Celtic mythology had the snake and the spiral worked heavily into their art, eventually evolving into the complex knot work, and Triskelion of more recent eras. The Swastika was a stylized spiral, also representing the labyrinth. Those existed in prehistory as places of serpent initiation. In ancient Egypt, the labyrinth was known as the Amenti - the snake path taken by the dead to journey from death to resurrection. It was Isis, the Serpent Queen of Heaven, who was to guide the souls through the twists of the Amenti. The path towards the center leads to treasure. What treasure?
From Mayan and Inca ruins, to ancient Greece, and in cultures from the Scandinavian countries to those in Northern Africa, the Spiral was their oldest art, their oldest mythos. The Christian era had erased the snake as a cultural worship symbol and associated it with evil. Strictly out of a need to eliminate competition, as the historical record appeared to show. Yet the Horn of Plenty symbol survived, and was incorporated, describing the spiral shape spewing forth a plethora of flora and fauna. There may have been some real relevance in these stories, creation myths and patterns of worship existing before the written word.
It was with great skepticism that she viewed the current understanding of the scientific principles underlying their knowledge. Even modern evolutionary researchers, with the best of equipment, had a hard time explaining certain discontinuous anomalies within the DNA of humans. Certain other species as well. Recent comparative studies showed a seven-percent drift from the DNA of five-thousand-year-old and modern-day human specimens. That was more than twice the difference between humans and chimpanzees, although that difference lay along an alternative genetic line. Even the staunchest evolution advocate was having a hard time believing that environmental pressure alone, such as agrarian lifestyles, had brought on such a great mutation. Some other, hidden process seemed to be at work.
And what about the fossil evidence that showed almost identical modern humans existing on this planet for a hundred thousand years, without developing anything like the technology found today? What spurred the changes? Was an outside influence of some kind involved? She found the idea that a steady-state had suddenly altered itself without apparent cause anathema to her mathematical side. And along with the research on spirals came multiple cross-references with ancient alien theories, visitor tales, descriptions of gods in various mythology, and populations of technically advanced ancient people, such as the Annunaki.
She was almost there. She could feel it, reaching out to her from the dimness of time, calling out a warning that should have been clear.
16
Lucy walked for an hour until she reached the highway. She stopped at the large paved road, with cars and big trucks flying by. The traffic was light at this hour, but she wanted to stay far away from the frightening blasts of air and noise. So she turned right, the way her bus always did, and walked along the sunken borders of the highway. It had no streetlights, and passing cars were elevated so far above her they couldn’t have seen a little girl plodding along if they had been looking.
She walked for a very long time, it seemed. The culvert was dry, and had a concrete tile running along its center. She walked in it most of the time, only rarely having to skirt around a pile of debris. It had been a while since the last big rain, but it was still clear and an easy path. Occasionally it dived under a driveway or side road, and she was careful to look both ways when crossing. Eventually the traffic had died to only a car every few minutes or so, mostly heading out from the town of Hazzard, home from the bars. Passing on the opposite side, they ceased to bother her. She heard sirens in the distance, wailing like lost dogs.
But she was tired, and little girls can’t walk all night. It was also dark, quiet and scary, and at the next pipe under a driveway, she ducked down and looked in. It was dark but dry. She fished her nightlight out of her backpack, and held it into the hole. Three feet across, it was dry, and clean from the frequently hard rains. Only a fifteen feet in length, she could see a dim circle on the other side. She crawled in and was instantly warmed by the concrete surrounding her. She turned and sat with her back to the curved wall, her head barely a foot from the low arch above her.
Opening her lunchbox, by the light of her nightlight, Lucy ate a cheese stick, and drank a juice box. Walking was hungry work! Saving the rest of her meagre supplies for tomorrow, she lay down with her backpack under her head. Full of clothing, it was fairly comfortable. Hugging Puppy to her chest, she covered her head with her hoodie. She stared at her nightlight, missing the bubbles that would rise when it was plugged into a socket, then turned it off. She would need it again she thought. Snuggling herself into her backpack, she tried to close her eyes and sleep.
Images of her mother drifted through her mind, times they spent playing games when she was little. The diner, where sometimes her mother sat her in an empty booth and fed her pie while she colored. The trailer where they lived together recently, shabby perhaps, but in her mind's eye now a place of peace and happiness, compared to where she was. Eating pancakes with her mother in the tiny kitchen, laughing together over silly things and singing to the small radio she kept there. Tears leaked from her closed eyes, until she finally fell into a deep sleep, sheltered by the concrete pipe and the quiet, Kentucky night. She never even noticed the possum enter the other end of the pipe and sniff her shoes, before turning around and wandering back out.
The next morning Lucy was awakened by the sound of traffic, a big truck hammering by. The vibrations shook the road, along with her sleeping place. It was so early, the dawn light was still deeply pink, and Lucy crawled out of the drainage pipe, tugging her belongings out with her. It was chilly, and she shivered and pulled her hoodie tighter. She looked around and realized she had no place to pee, so she went into the woods along the verge and did so there. She was used to that from her days spent wandering the hills behind her home. Sometimes, you just have to go.
Once she had repacked her backpack, she started down the road. She was actually just outside the main section of town, having made it nearly the entire seven miles from her home before exhaustion had taken her. As she approached the outskirts, Saturday morning traffic began to increase. But no one took notice of a little girl, dressed for a play date or maybe a day care, walking along the road. Soon she passed some buildings she recognized; the diner where her mother had worked, with the little brick apartment building off of the main parking lot behind it, where they had lived. She eagerly ran over to the fenced-off pool, looking in to see if it was as pretty as she remembered.
It was empty, and cracked, peeling blue paint lined the walls of it. Graffiti had been sprayed on them, and the fence gate was locked. It had leaves and a scum of algae in the deepest section. She frowned in disappointment. The apartments looked much dirtier than she remembered as well. She wondered if what she remembered was never real, but only the things she wished she remembered. It was a revelation usually reserved for much older people, and she didn’t like to think it. She wandered back to the diner, where a large, white church bus and a number of pickup trucks were parked out front.
She stood outside for a moment, remembering the smells, and the good food, and after a moment she pushed open the door, and slipped inside. The heavenly smell of bacon, biscuits and molasses, sausage and gravy, pancakes and melted butter assaulted her. She stood and inhaled, her eyes closed, taking in the pandemonium of cooking noise and voices. This was just like she remembered, and she revised her earlier assumption. Some things we do remember correctly. That made her feel warm about her memories of her mother.
She walked down the row of booths, passing a number of children in groups, most of them near her age or a bit older. The adult chaperones were trying to maintain order from a table they inhabited out in the floor, where they could see the booths. Food had yet to be delivered and the children were chattering away at top volume. The working men lining the counter smiled at one another with crinkled eyes, sipping coffee and reminiscing about their own childhoods. The waitresses, harried into a hustle, were trying to run the counter and take orders from the adult chaperones for fifteen children. Lucy went completely unnoticed in the chaos.
She sat down in the very last booth in the far corner, behind a group of five girls and boys in the next booth. They were giggling and talking, and she sat quietly and listened, as she often did at school. Just being near other kids made her feel lonely, yet somehow happy, as if just being with them elevated her to person status. She swung her heels, wondering if she should get out her travel yogurt and eat breakfast here. She decided they might not like it if she did, and was thinking of leaving, when the waitresses appeared with the other kids’ food. Cheers erupted, and as the waitress was delivering it to the booth behind her, she noticed Lucy sitting quietly on her own.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I’ll be right back with yours, they missed one in the kitchen.” She patted Lucy on the shoulder before she could say anything, and whirled away. Lucy had no idea what to do; she had no money. Even an eight-year-old girl knew you needed money to do anything, eat anything. But she sat there and waited, expecting someone to be angry with her when she told them she didn’t have any money. In moments, the waitress had returned, placing before her a child’s breakfast consisting of two small pancakes, two slices of bacon and a scrambled egg, with orange juice to drink. Lucy’s mouth began watering immediately.
“Aren’t you Teresa’s little girl?” the tall waitress asked, as Lucy looked up at her with big eyes. She didn’t know who the lady was talking about. “How is your momma these days? We never see her down here anymore.” The waitress had started working there just before Teresa left, but remembered her pretty little blond girl with the big cornflower blue eyes, and this was her, no doubt about it.
“She’s sleeping.” Lucy told her solemnly. She hadn’t yet touched her food.
“Oh, so you’re going on the Kings Island trip with the church then?” she indicated the kids behind them. “That's great honey, you have a good time! Your momma should get some rest while you're gone, when you get back I know she will want to hear all about it.” The waitress nudged the syrup jug at Lucy. “Eat up now, you’re gonna need it!” She rubbed Lucy vigorously on her shoulder, and spun off to flirt with the old guys at the counter some more. Tips were tips.
Lucy stared at the food steaming in front of her, and shrugged to herself. If she didn’t deserve it, they wouldn’t have brought it to her. Maybe they still owed her mother some money, and were feeding her in place of it. She didn’t care, and stopped worrying as she forked mouthfuls of food into her mouth. The taste was as glorious as she remembered, although the diner syrup was thinner than the Karo Momma kept at the house.
Kings Island! That was something Lucy had heard of, all the kids at school had been with their parents, except her and another boy in her class. She had seen pictures of it there, the school did a yearly field trip to it for the upper elementary grades. She had yet to reach those yet, though, so she didn’t expect to go anytime soon. It was a magical place she had heard, much closer than the mythical Disneyland, just a few hours away from her home. She ate and wondered what kind of rides she would ride if she were there. Her mother had taken her to the county fair last year, along with one of her boyfriends, and she hadn’t been tall enough to ride anything really good. Just the teacups and some kiddie rides, but she had loved every minute of it, the smells, the sounds of screaming kids and adults, the whirl and whoosh of the rides clanking along. Oh, and the pretty lights!
The chaperones for the children, five already-stressed adults, four women and one older gentleman, with the bus driver in his blue-collared shirt, stood and began paying bills. Some corralled children and their items, jackets and backpacks. Moving the large herd towards the door, they held it open as the line of children poured out to the parking lot, spreading in a gaggle of running children. As the last adult was about to leave, the waitress that had recognized Lucy called out to her.
“I think you missed one!” She pointed to the back booth. The flustered lady turned, her silvering hair indicating her middle years, and quickly moved along the booths, pulling at Lucy, picking up her backpack and lunchbox for her as she did so.
“C’mon honey, we have to get moving now,” she muttered, ignoring Lucy’s weak and surprised protests. “I know you’re not quite done, we’ll get you a snack on the bus, okay?” She smiled at the waitress, who waved at Lucy, being propelled from behind towards the exit. Lucy waved back in confusion, but didn’t immediately begin to throw a fit.
In the parking lot however, as the lady towed her towards the bus, she balked, and pulled back against the hand of this stranger. She didn’t belong on the bus, and tried to say so, although all that came out was a squealed ‘No!’. The lady stopped and came around to squat at her eye level, and looked Lucy deeply into her eyes.
“Now, little miss, we have to get on the bus, if you want to go to King’s Island. You want to go to King’s Island don’t you?” She smiled warmly, reassuring the girl in her calmest, adult-to-child voice. Lucy paused, and thought about it for a minute. The lady waited patiently for the child to decide what was in her own self-interest.
“Yes.” Lucy said, firmly. “Yes, I do.” Why not? No one would care, and she so wanted to go have some fun, forget the terrible memories that popped up any time she stopped thinking of something else.
“Well then child, get on the bus and we will all go together!” she clapped enthusiastically, as Lucy marched ahead of her and climbed the steps into the bus, the other children oblivious to her entrance. Lucy walked down a few rows, and found a seat next to another little girl, this one black, with pretty white ribbons in her pigtails. She turned to Lucy and grinned.
“Hi!” she piped. “My name is Hannah!” Lucy fell into a fast friendship with her almost immediately, as only young children can.
At the front of the bus, the silver-haired lady was having a discussion with the other chaperones.
“I swear, some of these poor kids, so neglected. That little blonde girl didn’t even know where she was going. I think her mother just dropped her off without telling her anything.” She shook her head, the older gentleman taking her hand and squeezing. “And I think she was hungry too, she was mopping up that food like it was the first hot meal she’s eaten in a week.” The woman’s outrage was palpable.
“That's why we do this Mary, the Lord knows they need us.” He looked over his shoulder at the under-privileged kids. “If no one else will suffer the little children, Jesus will.”
