Eye of ra, p.1
Eye of Ra, page 1
EYE OF RA
Kipjo K. Ewers
2016
THIS IS A EVO UNIVERSE BOOK
PUBLISHED BY EVO UNIVERSE, LLC
Copyright © 2016 by Kipjo K. Ewers
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by EVO Universe, LLC, New Jersey, and distributed by EVO Universe, LLC, New Jersey.
www.evouniverse.com
ISBN-13: 978-1533455130
ISBN-10: 1533455139
ASIN:B01GIZ4HS6
FOR THE PEOPLE…
Table of Contents
ALSO BY KIPJO K. EWERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FOREWORD
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY KIPJO K. EWERS
The First
EVO Uprising
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again, I would like to thank God Himself for giving me the gift of words and blessing me with the breath of life and longevity to make sure it did not go to waste.
I would like to acknowledge the three men who inspired this book.
First, my dad, Milton Bakongo Ewers, who is the epitome of what it is to be a father. He was a hardworking man who came from the small island of Jamaica and built a business all by himself while supporting a family of four. He made sure I had the best education and knew the importance of it, who I was and where I came from. He never missed a holiday or birthday, and when he had time off, was there to see me play baseball, or act in a play. Dad, I thank you for being there for me and providing me with a wonderful childhood. I love you man.
Next I would like to thank my brothers David and Asante Ewers, who helped me fuel my imagination, and were the best friends a guy like me could ever have growing up. From G.I. Joe, to Transformers, to playing ninja, there was not a day that was boring when I was with you guys. We no longer live and play under the same roof, but there isn’t a day that I don’t think about you both. This book is for you guys as well.
Finally, I’d like to acknowledge all of the fathers, sons, brothers, nephews, uncles, grandfathers; the real men of the world, because there are many who aren’t. Thank you for being a father to yours and other people’s children, a respectable husband to your wife, a brother to your fellow men and women, and a protector for the weak and defenseless. It may seem like a thankless job sometimes, but trust me; you are making a difference in someone’s life. Thank you for being a man.
FOREWORD
There is none …sit back and enjoy the story!
PROLOGUE
April 4, 1945. Ohrdruf concentration camp, located south of Gotha, in Thuringia, Germany. Part of the Buchenwald concentration camp network and the first Nazi concentration camp.
On that day, it was the first camp liberated by the United States 4th Armored Division and the 89th Infantry Division.
On that day, good men, sons, brothers, and fathers who traveled halfway around the world to join the fight against a tyrannical dictator and his murderous regime happened upon sights that would haunt them until their final days.
Brave soldiers lost their lunch upon seeing the stacked piles of bodies, some covered with lime, others partially incinerated on pyres.
Standing in the midst of the gruesome and deplorable scene, First Sergeant Bradley Jackson forced his eyes to be forever stained. On one side of the camp, emancipated prisoners in their own filth, more dead than alive, were being treated by military medics. On the other side were their captors sitting on their rears in the dirt with their hands behind their heads, nervously wondering their fate. He wanted the image burnt into his skull, so that if he made it back to the States, he could tell the world what he saw, to ensure this would never happen again.
As he contemplated dragging out a couple high ranking commanders of the camp, shoving them face down in the dirt, and placing several rounds from his side arm into the back of their skull, a Private First Class trotted over to him with an unnerved countenance.
“First Sergeant, sir,” he swallowed. “I think you need to come with me. We found something that you need to see to believe.”
“Peterson, whatever you found can’t be more fucked up than what I’ve already seen,” returned the irritated First Sergeant. “Suck it up, and get Private …”
“Sir,” Peterson nervously cut him off whispering. “We found a secret facility under this camp. You really need to come with me, and see this.”
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
First Sergeant Jackson followed Private First Class Peterson to something that resembled an entrance to a fallout bunker. Its location was way off from the actual camp itself. A detail of four soldiers stood guard at the entrance. Lying dead on the ground were three Nazi soldiers, one Obersturmbannführer which stood for “SS-Senior storm unit leader”, and what appeared to be two scientists in white lab coats.
“What the hell happened here?” scowled the First Sergeant.
“We caught the sons of bitches while they were coming out,” explained Peterson. “The two in white coats were carrying those two cases over there. Looks like they were trying to run with whatever they could escape with. Corporal Higgins is down there. I got to warn you First Sergeant … downstairs is like you’ve descended into the sixth level of hell.”
First Sergeant Jackson nodded as he descended the steps of the bunker into the unknown. Halfway down he stopped and shuddered. He turned and hocked a spit to prevent puking from the foul odor that invaded his nostrils.
Overcoming the horrid scent, he continued down the steps and reached the bottom, where he continued down a narrow hallway. The smell grew several times more pungent as he walked through two steel swinging doors into a room that appeared to come out of the pages of a mad scientist horror comic book.
He covered his mouth, finding trouble keeping down the rations he had eaten early that morning, as he was smacked and choked by the strangling odor of death, human waste, and other putrid scents. Around him were bodies in cages and on examination tables. Some appeared to have died from whatever inhuman experimentations they were subjected to, while others were clearly shot so that they could never tell the tale of the horrors they had to endure. He shook his head in disbelief, and for the first time in his life he questioned the rationale of a God he had prayed to since he was a child in Sunday school, for making a race that could do such nightmarish things to one another.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he uttered.
“That’s not who’s down here, sir,” answered a voice to his left.
Jackson kept his rock solid visage even though Corporal Higgins’ voice scared him out of his skin. He turned and faced the Corporal and Chief Medical Doctor, who had the glasses and face of the typical poindexter he used to pants in grade school atop a solid six foot one linebacker’s frame that demanded respect.
What disturbed him even more was the euphoric smile plastered all over his face. In his mind, it was highly inappropriate given their surroundings.
“What the hell is this Higgins?” Jackson demanded to know. “Some type of experimentation in germ warfare?
“No sir,” Higgins looked around with a near dazed look. “I believe what we’re standing in is the Third Reich’s attempt to push the boundaries of human evolution, and they almost cracked the seal.”
“I’m not an egghead, Higgins,” snapped the First Sergeant.
“Neither am I sir,” respectfully answered Higgins.
He opened a thin black leather ledger with the Nazi emblem in gold on the front that Jackson was not aware he was holding.
“From what I can tell from my subpar German,” Higgins began to explain. “This is the Nazis’ superhuman program.”
“You’re pulling my short and curlies, right?” The First Sergeant asked in disbelief.
“Not in a million years, sir,” responded the Corporal. “We’re going to need someone with a more advanced degree than me to decipher this, but from what I can make out, they found a way to introduce a type of virus that if the subject survived the effects of the infection, would change them from the inside out. Make them stronger, faster, more durable, and able to heal quicker. Probably even improve their mental capabilities.”
He quickly glanced around the room before meeting the eyes of the baffled First Sergeant again.
“As you can see, there were a lot of failed tries,” he gulped.
“Where the hell did they get such a thing?” The First Sergeant furrowed his brows. “They just cook it up?”
“No sir,” Higgins nervously shook his head. “They got it from Egypt.”
“Egypt?” Jackson screwed up his face.
The Corporal turned and walked away, knowing that the First Sergeant would follow him. They walked further into the lab, passing more corpses laid out on slabs or in cages that had gone through more abominable ordeals. Finally, they came to two more steel doors and walked through into a near sterile room that was colder than the first room. It was a miniature lab purposely kept sanitary for its current resident. The First Sergeant’s eyes appeared for a split second as if they were going to pop from their sockets as they ga zed upon what Higgins wanted him to see.
Against the wall of the lab stood a huge glass cylinder tank that sat on a metallic base with instruments all around it that ran the length of the floor to the ceiling. Floating inside the tank with wires attached to different parts of her body, in a solution that clearly was not water, was a naked young woman with long raven hair. Her features from what he could make out were either Middle Eastern or African, while her blank expression, and near emaciated physique told Jackson that she was deceased, or he at least hoped it did.
“Apparently the rumors of Hitler dabbling into the occult and supernatural were true,” sighed Higgins.
“Higgins, remind yourself that I only finished high school and make some damn sense,” snapped Jackson. “Who the hell is she?
“She is an over two-thousand-year-old Egyptian woman,” answered the Corporal. “Maybe even older.”
“Ain’t she supposed to be more shriveled up than that?” A perplexed Jackson pointed, raising an eyebrow.
“You are correct on that, sir,” Higgins nodded. “What I’m going to tell you next is going to sound insane, but apparently the Nazis sent an expedition to Egypt. They were looking for the supposed tomb of the Egyptian god Horus.”
“Tell me you think you read that wrong,” he slowly turned to him.
“My German isn’t that bad, First Sergeant,” Higgins shook his head. “Horus is supposed to be the god of the sky and kingship.”
“So what … she’s Horus?” The First Sergeant turned looking at her again.
“No, the supposed tomb of Horus that they found was not his tomb at all,” Higgins answered. “It was actually the location of the tomb that housed her. Her name is supposed to be Sekhmet, the same as the Egyptian goddess of fire, war, vengeance, and healing. She’s who they were taking the samples from to create the virus.”
Jackson’s heart felt as if it was close to bursting out of his chest at the rate it was beating. He took several steps forward to get a closer look at her.
“You said earlier, that they were close to ‘breaking the seal,’” Jackson asked without looking at him. “How close?”
“Again, we need someone with an extremely advanced degree in genetics to decipher all of this,” Higgins swallowed. “But from what I can make out, whatever they were extracting from her, if properly synthesized, is capable of turning regular humans …into gods.”
A cold sweat washed over the First Sergeant, as the wheels began to turn in his skull.
“Aside from you, and the detail upstairs,” Jackson glanced his way. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“Sir, no sir,” Higgins answered.
“Keep it that way,” the First Sergeant commanded. “Two questions, is she dead, and do you think this can be moved?”
“If you look closer, you can see that her head is actually severed from the rest of her body, so I believe so,” he responded. “Which is crazy because the readings here say that there’s no sign of brain activity or heart rate, but the cell samples I’ve examined show very little deterioration and are very much alive, and I don’t have the slightest idea how that is possible. As far as moving it, it appears to be designed for transport.”
“Get upstairs and tell the detail to remain where they are, guard the front entrance with their life, and to keep their mouths shut about this,” ordered the First Sergeant. “Get an encrypted message to General Eisenhower and tell him he needs to get his ass here preferably by the end of day today or early tomorrow morning before the break of dawn. Tell him we need three large inconspicuous transports that can move without detection from both enemy and allied forces. Then get back here, and help me gather all of this data, we’re going to take the written stuff, and burn all pictures and images. No one must see what we’re hauling back to the States …ever.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Higgins acknowledged.
“Higgins,” Jackson stopped him one final time, “Do you think anyone else, knows about this?”
Higgins hesitantly paused before answering, understanding what he was referring to.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure about the grunts, but those in high command that we captured probably know.”
“We can’t take any chances, there were no prisoners of war on this base,” the First Sergeant gave his final order. “Can you make it happen Corporal?”
“If I can pick the right guys,” fumbled Higgins. “We can make it look like an attempted escape during the dead of night.”
“Get to it then,” authorized the First Sergeant.
“Sir, yes sir,” the Corporal nodded.
As Higgins turned on his heel heading back upstairs to carry out the First Sergeant’s orders, Jackson walked closer to the containment tank to get a much closer look at Sekhmet.
“With your help, we’re going to make America a country not to be fucked with, our Holy Grail,” swallowed First Sergeant Jackson. “God help us if we’re not ready for this.”
Unbeknownst to the First Sergeant and even the Corporal, the monitors of that era, though primitive, were picking up activity. It was the most miniscule of activity that the human eye or ear could not detect, but that activity was slowly increasing.
CHAPTER 1
March 23rd 1994, Marcy Park South, Brooklyn New York:
Laurence awoke another morning once again disappointed.
He was not dead.
Instead he laid on the same filthy mattress he had slept, had intercourse, and got high on for the past six months staring at the same urine stained half burnt wall where basehead Bobby had caught on fire, watching the same rat chewing on a half-eaten biscuit.
Lazily lying there, he positioned his arm into view, staring aimlessly at the latest track. Needle number four hundred and seventy-five had not done the trick. Either later that afternoon, or that night, he’d have to switch to his toes or rear for his next shot. The calloused wounds and sores on his right arm were the same as his left and would not allow him to penetrate the vein anymore to get an injection off.
In the midst of the self-assessment of his deterioration, an arm that did not belong to him flopped over him as he felt a frail body pull close to his back for warmth. With her stringy napped up dark hair and size two frame, she looked like a porcelain doll that had been left in the mud.
A backed-up bladder in need of emptying was a higher priority than being a human heater, and somewhere between gentle and harsh, he swiped her arm away. She moaned as she rolled away, wrapping up in the ratty soiled blue comforter they slept in for warmth.
As he attempted to sit up, he winced in excoriating pain. Instinctively massaging his right surgically scarred knee, the intense rub down did very little to alleviate the ceaseless pulsating soreness within it. He would need another shot sooner rather than later.
He attempted another roll, this time putting all the weight on his left leg to stand up. Hopping around on one foot, he fell forward and almost crashed into a wall as he threw his hands out to stop his forward motion. Caught between sleep and the effects of chasing the dragon, he looked outside of two of the only windows in the rundown apartment that had never been cleaned before or since he began residing there.
