My apologies for the delay, and for missing last week.—GB
After a car accident leaves his father in a wheelchair, Patrick Keller’s family has to move from Salt Lake City to the rural desert town of Vina Profunda, Utah. His older brother and sister are having a rough time with it but he’s determined to help out his parents however he can.
On his first day at his grandfather’s house, Patrick finds a curious metal mask in his late uncle’s belongings, as well as notes and clues hinting at the existence of an ancient city buried deep under Vina Profunda. He quickly makes friends with a trio of local boys who are trying to find the entrance to that deep city. They have metal masks of their own.
And that’s not all they’ve found…
The masks control powerful ancient Sentinels that run off of energy absorbed from rare minerals, and nothing is more potent than Vina Profunda’s supply of local dinosaur fossils. Patrick and his friends have found the Sentinels, and are very close to finding the deep-earth gate.
The problem is that other people want the gate too—people with their own Sentinels—and they’ll hurt people to get to the gate.
With interior illustrations by Cedar Sanderson, FOSSIL FORCE is a rip-roaring boys’ adventure novel for all ages, featuring a hard-working family, an exciting setting full of rich lore, and the trials of youth as a teen boy gets his first taste of real power.
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End of Chapter 1
A faint golden glow appeared on the center of the mask’s forehead. Patrick couldn’t be sure if it was there before, but as he watched, the glow sharpened and refined into a symbol of some sort, like a foreign language he couldn’t read. Some lines swooped and curved and others were straight. A light bulb went off in his mind and he went back to Uncle Randy’s map.
Near the center there was a perfect circle the size of his palm, directly over the border between V.P. and the Indian reservation. Inside the circle were four crudely-drawn figures that looked like people. Underneath each of the four figures was a symbol made of swoops and straight lines, distinct, but the same language. One of them matched the symbol glowing on Randy’s mask.
Snatches of conversation from downstairs made him flinch. Grandpa and Mom talking—no, arguing—about Link as they came to get the moving truck. Patrick went very still.
“Dad, it’s not that I’m ungrateful. You know that! But we’re still his parents and that’s our job. Kent said he’d handle it and you ignored him,” Mom said.
“Hannah, I done told you this’d happen if you tried to bring up them kids in the city. It ain’t that you two failed him or nothin’, it’s that life is too easy out that way and he fell for it. Couple of weeks here and he’ll shape up as long as you remember how it’s done,” Grandpa countered.
“It’s not for you to decide!”
“I will not abide Lincoln taking advantage of a brother half his size in a hunnert-degree heat on my ranch, sweetheart. He’s lucky I don’t break my boots in his—”
Their words cut off as they climbed into the truck and started the engine. Patrick bit his lip and waited for them to leave before he bounded downstairs two steps at a time, eager to put distance between himself and the strange mask.
***
Far to the north and high in the mountains, a man woke from a deep sleep in the back of his tired old box truck. Something was wrong. His mask was calling to him. Rolling off his cot, he rummaged around for a locked box under his rucksack. It took him a second to dial in the six-digit code and open the lid. The perfectly glazed back face stared up at him with a sharp, glowing white symbol on the brow. A gravelly rattling noise emanated from the false face, uttering words that very few people in the world could understand.
The man listened. Then his eyes went wide. “By the Core…”
Pressing the mask on, he frantically opened his guidebook, flipping through pages of maps until he came to the Mountain West of North America. Through the lenses he saw a beacon of light that marked his location in a place known to the locals as Yellowstone, in a state called ‘Wyoming.’ Next to it was the state of ‘Utah,’ and in the southeast quadrant another beacon lit up, bright and perfectly round like a ring.
“The gate,” he whispered airily, staring in disbelief. He almost screamed with triumph. “We have a gate!”
Things had changed. He didn’t know what, or why, or how, but they’d just gotten their biggest break. Years of scratching at rocks and coming up with nothing, and now the impossible just fell into his lap. Nobody could fake a gate. If it was there and it was active, he was going home.
And he was going to burn it to the ground.
Tearing his mask off, he shoved his feet into his shoes and started up the truck’s engine, then flipped through his paper atlas to chart a course for Vina Profunda, Utah.
Beginning of Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Meet the Guys
“Why can’t I drive?” Link argued. “I’ll take Sandy and Patrick, you can stay here and keep unpacking.”
Patrick focused on his breakfast, not looking at Link or Sandy on either side of him. Mom dutifully flipped eggs and potatoes at the stove as the skillet sizzled. It was early Monday morning. Grandpa had been awake since five and was already out doing chores.
“I need the van to take Dad to his first meeting with the new therapist today. There’s a bus coming by at six forty-five and you’ll be on it,” Mom said.
“So take Dad in Grandpa’s truck and I’ll take the van.”
“Ha,” Mom said, fake-laughing.
“Or I’ll take Grandpa’s truck.”
Mom turned and pointed at him with the spatula. “Link, don’t even joke about that. If you mess with his truck or anything else on this ranch, he’ll have you mucking stalls with your teeth.”
“I won’t need legs to kick your butt if you do that, Link,” Dad said from the next room. Patrick held his breath to choke down a laugh, stealing a glance at Sandy, who shook like she was being tickled.
“Mom, I am seventeen,” Link said, with all the severity of an innocent man on death row. “I shouldn’t have to ride the bus!”
“Then walk,” said Grandpa, coming through the kitchen door. “Or stay here and shovel manure. Quit buggin’ your mom about dumb stuff.”
Link may have gotten comfortable backtalking Mom, but Grandpa was a different story. Patrick was now as focused on his breakfast as a brain surgeon. Link quieted down and shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
“All good?” Grandpa pressed.
“Yes, Grandpa,” Link managed.
Grandpa nodded. “You want a set of wheels that bad, you can fix up the Power Wagon.”
“The what?”
“My old man’s truck, in the barn. Vintage 1956. Only needs a few things.”
Link perked up again. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Motor, tranny, rear diff…”
Link slumped back in the chair. “Real funny.”
“Laughter softens the sting, Link. Life’s been a kick to the teeth for everyone and we all got caught without a mouthguard, most of all Kent,” Grandpa said, loud enough for Dad to hear. “Now’s a great time to get used to doing without. Embrace that, boy. You wanna go back to Salt Lake, your best bet is to get your pops back on his feet.”
“What’s my second-best bet?” Link muttered.
“Smile, go to school, turn eighteen, then go take on the world. Maybe join the Navy, or if you really hate making money, go to college.”
“There’s always trade school,” Mom added. She handed Grandpa his breakfast and he joined the kids at the table, planting a quick kiss on Mom’s forehead.
“I’m a streamer,” Link said.
“Sure, whatever that is. Until then, you’re gonna help me tack some lumber together in the evenings. You’re gonna be a great hand.”
“Oh, uh…no thank you,” Link said.
Grandpa paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and locked eyes on Link. “Boy, I ain’t asking.”
Link nodded, defeated, and finished his breakfast. Mom quietly carried a plate to Dad in the living room. The silence filled the dining space with the kind of tension Patrick couldn’t stand, so he swallowed a mouthful of potatoes and cleared his throat.
“Grandpa, do you know what time my bus comes?”
“An hour after theirs,” said Grandpa, pointing to Sandy and Link. “You’re big enough to ride Randy’s bike if you want, but it needs fixin’. Middle school is a lot closer than the high school. You can make it a little faster ‘an the bus if you cut across my land. Couple other kids ride that way. Should even make some friends.”
Grandpa was right about Randy’s bike—it had two flat tires and a broken chain, and Patrick didn’t think Mom and Dad would spare the money to fix it just yet. Paperwork in hand, he boarded the bus when it came by, hoping for other eighth-graders, but it was not to be; just a few sixth-graders sitting up front, and a seventh-grade girl with her nose stuck in a book. Patrick sat at the back and tried not to think about being the new kid in a small town.
The bus ride took less than ten minutes. Mom had given him an envelope full of papers to take to the front desk, and Patrick was headed that way when some kid he didn’t know came running over to him from the bike rack.
“Westover! Hey, Westover! You’re him, right?”
Patrick frowned. This kid had short brown hair and freckles, and a very toothy smile. He wore a faded BYU shirt, and Patrick fought the instinct to mention that his family were Ute fans. Better not make enemies on day one.
“I’m Patrick,” he said, a little confused.
“Yeah, but you live at Westover’s ranch, right? I’m Tyler.” The kid held up his knuckles for a fist-bump, and Patrick obliged him.
“He’s my mom’s dad. I’m Patrick Keller.”
“Cool. I’m Tyler.”
“You said that.”
“Yeah but you probably forgot already.”
Patrick didn’t want to tell him that he was right. Chill out, he thought to himself.
“Hey, sorry about your uncle, by the way. My mom said he died in Syria or something.”
“Uh…yeah. Something. That was a few years ago. Are you…”
“Here to show you around! Yeah. My mom knew your mom back when they were kids. I saw you guys at church yesterday. Come on, office is this way!” Tyler gestured for Patrick to follow, like they already knew each other.
“Weird,” Patrick said quietly to himself. But he needed friends, and he’d been worried about how to make one, so hey…
Tyler wasn’t shy about being helpful. If anything he was a little too eager, meeting Patrick between classes to show him around. At lunch they got a table to themselves, and by then Patrick was kind of hoping that Tyler had other friends.
“Do you normally eat alone?” he asked.
Tyler unwrapped his sandwich and lanced a straw through his juice box. “Yeah, it’s nice when I’ve got extra reading to do.”
“The teachers make you read at lunch?”
Tyler took a huge bite and shook his head. “Fwen,” he mumbled.
“Your friend makes you read?”
“Sorta. My two best friends don’t go to this school but we’re working on a project together.”
Patrick took a bite of his own sandwich to avoid saying what he thought, that Tyler didn’t have any friends and was expecting Patrick to pick up the slack.
“And I know what you’re thinking: Vina Profunda is too small and there’s only one middle school. But! You’re forgetting about the Rez. My buddy Steve lives out there, and my other friend Howie is home-schooled. They’re coming by the shop later today, I’ll introduce you,” Tyler said.
“The shop?” Patrick imagined Tyler’s family running some kind of general store, where they lived in the back and made horseshoes and cowboy hats.
“Yeah! My parents own Bailey’s Bikes, we hang out there all the time.”
Patrick relaxed a little. A bike shop. Now that was useful. “Hey, what does it cost to replace a chain? And tires, I guess.”
“Not much. You got a bike? Dad lets me take any parts that he can’t resell, long as they’re safe. Bring your bike and we can figure it out.”
“That’d be awesome. But, uh, isn’t it too hot to ride bikes?” Patrick asked.
Tyler stared at Patrick like he had extra eyeballs on his forehead. “Bro, you sound like you’re from the city when you ask that stuff.”
“I am from the city.”
Tyler waved him off. “I’m just playin’. Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna like Steve and Howie. I swear Howie has read like five hundred books, and Steve knows all the neat hideouts on the Rez. We’ll get you set up.”
“Cool. Thanks, man.”
Read the rest of Chapter 1 with your copy of FOSSIL FORCE!