The Mayan Resurrection

6

The barrier island of Longboat Key is an eleven-mile stretch of land located between the tropical waters of Sarasota Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. Considered a private island-paradise, the resort town is home to 8,000 permanent residents and 150 relocated members of the National Guard and their families.

Follow the pristine alabaster beach south past Fire Station Number 2 and you will reach a restricted zone. What was once the Quick Point Nature Preserve has been turned into an Army base. Perimeter electrical fencing is monitored around the clock by security cameras and armed flying drones keep trespassers away. The entire island and surrounding waters are considered a no-fly, no-boating zone, the restriction enforced by 20-mm guns mounted on turrets on both the Gulf and Bay sides of the preserve. Two Coast Guard cutters patrol the surrounding Gulf waters. Boaters and divers are no longer permitted south of Fire Station Number 2.

Three concrete-and-steel dwellings set in a wide ‘H’ formation, occupy the southern tip of the island. The building on the right is a training center, complete with classrooms, the latest virtual-reality combat simulators, a weight room, basketball court, and a Faraday chamber, impervious to electromagnetic waves. The building on the left is a three-storey residence, its luxury suites occupied by the bodyguards, Salt and Pepper, and the private staff that serves the occupants of the central facility.

The six-bedroom, eight-bathroom beachfront home at the center of the ‘H’ belongs to Dominique Gabriel and her two sons. The house has two wings, separated by an enormous kitchen, dining room, living room, virtual-reality chamber, and den.

Dominique waits patiently while the ABC 20/20 film crew sets up in her living room, under the watchful eyes of her bodyguards. Today marks the first appearance her family has ever made before the cameras. With the presidential election only a week away, and Ennis Chaney trailing Peter Mabus in the polls, Dominique feels it important to address the issue that has been swaying public opinion over the last thirty-six months.

Barbara Walters makes her way carefully across the living room carpet, now covered in a myriad of electrical wires. The renowned reporter has come out of retirement just for this interview.

‘Hello, Dominique, I’m so glad to finally meet you.’

‘Me too. I really appreciate your network coming on such short notice. Mabus’s lies have gotten way out of hand.’

‘Our viewers will want to hear all about it. When do I get to meet the twins?’

‘They have a karate lesson in twenty minutes. I thought we’d do it then.’

‘Terrific, wait… did you say a karate lesson? The boys are only three. Isn’t that a bit young?’

Dominique only smiles.

Dominique registers the heat of the lights on her face as she sits opposite the ABC host on the beige L-shaped sofa.

‘Tell us why, Dominique, after all these years of living in seclusion, you felt it important to share your family and home with our viewers.’

‘Peter Mabus has been using the public’s fear to spew his hatred and lies for too long. This man is a phony, his entire political campaign taking advantage of a religious renaissance that has swept the country since the events of December 2012. What happened back then was not religious or sacrilegious in nature, it was simply an extraterrestrial event. Thousands of years ago, an advanced race of humans came to our world to prepare modern man to face the 2012 threat. These humans, who called themselves the Guardian, helped educate ancient man. They were our allies, our friends, our leaders. They taught our ancestors about astronomy and architecture, and built great temples and shrines, which they used to conceal relay stations that would be used in 2012 to emit a high-energy EM beacon. It was this beacon that thwarted the nuclear missiles that nearly destroyed us. My husband, Michael Gabriel, was one of the Guardian’s genetically chosen humans, one of the few amongst us capable of accessing the Guardian’s vessel to activate the array. He was not the Antichrist, as Peter Mabus’s fanatical followers make him out to be, he was a man, confused about his destiny, but he was a hero, and he risked his life to save us all.’

‘And what happened to Michael? Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know. The biological entity he entered was capable of moving between dimensions, at least that’s what I’m told. Both the entity and Mick disappeared.’

‘But there’s also another possibility, isn’t there, Dominique? That maybe the entity self-destructed?’

‘Yes, that’s possible.’

‘Let’s talk about your sons. Peter Mabus makes them out to be demons.’

‘Peter Mabus is a selfish, self-righteous asshole who preys upon the public’s ignorance. My sons are wonderful children, gifted, yes, but innocent children.’

‘Can we see them?’

‘Of course.’

‘Stay tuned, 20/20 will be right back with the first exclusive footage of the Gabriel twins.’

‘And… cut!’

Barbara pats Dominique on the knee. ‘You’re doing great. We’re already set up in the gym. Do you need a break?’

‘No, I’m okay.’ Dominique accepts a bottled water from a technician, then leads Barbara out of the house. A brisk ocean breeze messes up her hair as she crosses the compound to the athletic facility.

They enter the secured building and follow an interior corridor to the main gym. The grunts and groans of young children can be heard within.

Dominique pushes open the door.

The three-year-old Gabriel twins are dressed in white karate outfits with black pants. White-haired, blue-eyed Jacob wears a black belt, his dark-eyed, ebony-headed brother sporting a green obi.

The cameras are rolling as Master Gustafu Pope places a two-inch concrete slab across the top of two cinder blocks. ‘Okay, Jacob, remember, focus your mind. Move into the moment and harness your inner strength.’

The white-haired three-year-old steps up to the slab and takes a forward stance, his weight displaced perfectly over his bent left knee, his right arm slightly bent as it arcs slowly overhead, practicing the breaking movement. The blade of his right hand comes to rest at the center of the top slab.

‘Permission to break, sir?’

‘Permission granted.’

Barbara Walters and her crew watch in amazement as the small boy closes his eyes and meditates, his shallow breaths growing gradually into a low growl as he gathers strength, his right arm continuing its downward practice swings over and over, pressing the concrete heavier with each successive strike.

Suddenly, the blue eyes flash open, the boy’s face a mask of rage. With a tremendous, ‘ki-yahhh!’ he slams his open knife hand against the slab, the impact of his slender right wrist striking the concrete like a bullet hitting glass.

The slab collapses to the protective mat, the concrete split in half.

The crew applauds wildly.

The boy doesn’t so much as smile. He bows to his instructor, then takes his place next to his brother.

Master Pope turns to the dark-haired twin. ‘Immanuel.’

The dark-eyed boy ignores him, too engrossed in playing with his toes.

‘Immanuel, join me please.’

The boy rolls over and stands, then bunny-hops over to his instructor.

‘Manny, these nice people want to see how well you can break a board. Do you want to show them?’

The boy runs to his mother, hugging her legs.

Dominique picks him up. ‘Sorry, he’s a little shy.’

Barbara strokes his hair. ‘He’s so cute, but so much different than his brother. Jacob seems so mature, I mean, I know he’s only three, but-’

‘The Hunahpu gene is dominant in Jake, recessive in his brother. At times, Jake possesses the awareness of an adult.’

‘Can I meet him?’

‘Sure. Master Pope?’

Master Pope signals Jacob to stand. Student and teacher bow to one another, then the white-haired boy hustles over to his mother.

‘Jake, this is Barbara.’

‘Hi.’

‘Hello. Would you mind if I ask you and your brother some questions?’

‘Okay.’

‘How were you able to break that thick slab of concrete with your tiny hand?’

The boy points to a bone along the outside of his right wrist. ‘We strike this bone over and over until it calcifies and the nerves deaden. Then we learn to focus.’

‘Wow. You sound so grown-up for a three-year-old.’

Jacob shrugs.

‘Tell us what else you can do.’

‘I like to swim.’

‘How far can you swim?’

‘I do a mile in the pool every morning before breakfast.’

Barbara’s jaw drops. ‘A mile?’

‘I can swim, too,’ chimes in Manny.

‘You can? And how far do you swim?’

Manny buries his face against his mother’s chest.

Dominique strokes the boy’s jet-black hair. ‘Manny can swim ten laps in the pool, can’t you, Manny?’

‘I like to read,’ Jacob says, his bright blue eyes blazing.

‘You can read? That’s wonderful,’ says Barbara. ‘What do you like to read? Do you read Sesame Street books?’

Jacob giggles. ‘That’s for babies.’

Barbara looks up at Dominique. ‘What does he read?’

‘He just finished Huckleberry Finn. But he downloads a lot off the Internet.’

‘Amazing.’

They are back in the living room, shooting the last segment of the taped interview. The boys are outside, playing in the fifty-meter pool under the watchful eyes of Salt and Pepper.

‘Dominique, what’s Jacob’s IQ?’

She smiles uncomfortably. ‘I don’t know. I’m told it’s off the conventional scale. Manny’s is high, too-’

‘But nothing like his brother’s?’

‘No.’

‘What do you tell Jacob when he asks about his father?’

‘I tell him his father’s with the angels.’

‘While you were tending to Manny, I asked Jacob about his father. Do you know what he said?’

‘No.’ Dominique’s heart pounds in her chest.

‘He said his father’s in someplace called She-bal-ba. He also told me that one day, he and his brother are going to travel to this She-bal-ba, defeat the evil warlord, and rescue Mick.’

Dominique bites her lower lip. ‘He has quite an imagination, doesn’t he?’

‘This She-bal-ba, what is it?’

‘It’s nothing. Just some Mayan folklore. I hate putting parental controls on the Internet, but I guess I’ll have to.’

‘Dominique, this doesn’t sound like an Internet situation, it sounds like the Mayan studies the boys’ paternal grandparents spent their lives investigating. She-bal-ba? Evil warlords? I mean, this is serious stuff.’

‘You want to know what’s serious? In the last three months, there have been two attempts on the boys’ lives. In August, four members of the Aryan Nation made it up the beach in scuba gear, armed with Uzis and grenades. They came within one hundred yards of our home before security shot them. Then two weeks ago, a mob, incited by Peter Mabus and his radical regime, stormed the front gates using seven military vehicles and a trailer packed with explosives. Seven people died, including two American soldiers assigned to guard the compound.’

Dominique turns to face the camera. ‘I’m a single mother, trying her best to raise two wonderful boys in a loving environment. I’d give anything for them to lead normal lives, but those weren’t the cards we were dealt. Ennis Chaney’s leadership helped save the world, he supported Mick when few others did. The president is a stable hand at the helm during these rocky times, exactly what we need. What we don’t need is a knee-jerk God-fearing reaction based on bully boy tactics. Elect a fanatical monster like Peter Mabus, and America no longer becomes a melting pot of liberty, it becomes a haven for the privileged few, a nation as close-minded as those Muslim-dominated countries we’ve been conditioned to hate over the years.’

Jacob stands next to his mother. He holds her hand, staring into the camera.

‘Please don’t vote for Peter Mabus. He wants to kill my family.’

Belle Glade, Florida

Three-year-old Lilith Eve Robinson stands next to the television set, staring into the white-haired boy’s brilliant eyes. ‘Grandpa Quenton, look! He has pretty blue eyes just like me.’

The minister drains the rest of his gin as he thumbs through his monthly bills. ‘How many times I got to tell you, child? Turn that goddam television off and get to bed!’

‘Yes, sir.’

Lilith powers off the set using the remote, then crawls onto the sofa, pulling the wool blanket over her head.

Quenton tosses the empty liquor bottle into the kitchen trash. ‘I’m goin’ out. Don’t you even think’a movin’ your ass offa that couch or I’ll whup it good.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The minister staggers out the front door, slamming it close behind him.

Lilith listens. Waits until the car pulls out the driveway, then turns the television back on. The interview is over, the older woman back at her desk, talking to a colleague.

At the bottom of the screen is the 20/20 e-mail address.

Lilith commits it to memory, shuts off the television, then climbs onto her foster grandfather’s chair and boots his computer. She signs onto the Internet, and types in 20/20 ’s address.

DEAR JACOB: I HAVE BRIGHT BLUE EYES, JUST LIKE YOU, AND I CAN READ AND WRITE , JUST LIKE YOU, AND I LOVE YOU. PLEASE LET ME LIVE WITH YOU. LOVE LILITH EVE.