Crypt Quest #1: Rising Darkness

The Trojan Horse

Screeching tires against the concrete landing strip brought Reese Hunter out of his window-seat, sky-bound reverie. The slim, mid-20s traveller had been daydreaming for a good while and, after snapping out of it, he came to realize his plane was landing.

    The arm of his middle shade leather jacket creaked, slightly, as he reached for and felt the day of growth of stubble around his jaw. After an eternity of airborne trekking, topped with connecting flights in Istanbul and Ankara, the traveller was ready to return to Earth. His passage through the heavens meant time spent not working— at least not in the practical, mow-the-lawn sense and facilitated an equal measure of anticipation and strive.

    "Ah, Turkey, your elusive harbour of beauty and culture is finally here," Reese narrated to himself, using more words than necessary.

    The elderly man, next to him, turned in shared appreciation. "She's a looker, alright. The Ottomans sure did know how to pick 'em."

    "Huh?" Reese snapped out of his second-level reverie, forgetting he was sitting with strangers. "Oh, right. In fact, humans have been living off these areas for centuries— dating all the way back to the Stone Ages; to Troy, to the Hattians to the Akkadian Empire, these lands have been occupied over and over again throughout time immemorial."

    Blinking and lost, and now standing with bags hanging from his arms, the old man pointed contentiously. "I don't know what crazy nonsense, mumbo-jumbo you're talking about, but this land, here, is my land. You new-age troublemakers are nothing but trouble!"

    "I'm not— I'm not taking over your country. I was just saying that civilizations come and go—"

    The wrinkle-infested gentlemen was now walking down the main aisle, in line with the already-flow of exiting passengers, gaining distance, as he would have anyway. "You stay away from me! I'm telling my son about you!"

    Reese now was blinking in much the same way the old man had been seconds ago: Lost and confused.

- - -

Stepping out of customs and into a sea of omni-directional welcomers, Reese began a visual scan for a sign of what to do next— a literal sign— specifically, one with his name on it. He had pre-arranged a meeting for his post-landing grind, and he recalled the pleasantly sounding woman over the phone as being quite helpful. In the meantime, he had no idea what she looked like and an unconscious part of him was curious about her.

    "Reese?" her voice burst out from two hairy, multi-layer-dressed, overweight men.

    When he looked at the two unshaven, burly gentlemen, he wondered if one of them was, in fact, Claire. No, of course not; but then again, maybe? ...Maybe?

    "Can I help you?" one of the sweatshops interrupted, in a thick and deep Turkish accent. "We are not, how you say, 'interested' if that is what you look for. Though, we can help you in finding the right... person."

    Confused and unsure how to respond, Reese began talking anyway, "I'm not—? Why would anyone—??"

    "He's with me." Claire broke through, from behind and then between the two men and took Reese's arm. She led him out to behind the crowd, toward the front doors of Çanakkale Airport, where there was less of a flight-end horde.

    Surprised, he found her abrasiveness quite interesting. Though, that wasn't the reason for this trip, and his drifting thoughts were clearly evidence of a long flight. "Claire Farhi? Nice to finally meet you."

    "Likewise." She shook his hand. "The Touring Agency has prepared an extensive, informative and exciting itinerary for you. Your papers have gone through, your cheque has cleared, and I'm pleased that we could do business with—"