Galton slept uncomfortably in a vinyl chair that faced the window of Caesar’s room in the intensive care wing of San Pedro Lions Inter-Community Hospital. Outside, rain poured in torrents, disturbing Galton’s slumber, as it had for a week since the incident at the beach house. Adelaide and Fiero stood in the hall drinking coffee and discussing Caesar’s condition. He lay in an induced coma, and although his physical body was improving, his brain activity was diminishing more each day.

“We need a miracle, Fiero,” Adelaide said. “Will you pray with me?”

Fiero nodded, and they bowed their heads. They prayed for Caesar’s recovery, not only for him and for themselves but also for the sake of the world.

The island had been buzzing for a week as people discussed the recent mysterious events. Many had seen the rogue wave rise out of the ocean and speed toward the shore. That had been strange and terrifying enough. But for those who were too frozen in horror to turn and run from it, the sight of the monster wave stopping, hovering for a moment, and then receding and flattening before reaching land remained an even greater mystery.

The island was also awash in rumors. Ancient tales of South American voodoo were told and retold, magnified and embellished. People reported seeing an apparition that appeared in the middle of a fiery storm cloud as the meteor showers began, and the story had spread and been confirmed again and again. It was in the newspapers and all over the Internet and had become a staple of cable news. Reporting on the spate of natural disasters—the hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, and tsunamis whose violent destruction had gripped most of humanity for months—had all but ceased, replaced with stories about a series of freakish storms sweeping the European and Asian continents. The news reports strained credulity, but it was all on film and videotape. Tornadoes made of fire and preceded by a shower of meteors were leaving total destruction in their paths. Death tolls were climbing, and people were losing hope. Some were losing their minds. In church pulpits and television stations around the world, pastors and preachers blamed the horror on the permissiveness of society and said it was divine retribution. Some claimed it was the end of the world as predicted by whatever religious text they subscribed to. Political parties blamed each other. But all anyone really knew was that the anomaly was unpredictable and unstoppable.

Galton stirred from his semi-slumber, yawning and stretching in his easy chair.

“About time you woke up, jefe,” Fiero said as he and Adelaide entered the room.

“Who can sleep with all this noise around here? If it ain’t the wind or rain, it’s the dang television.”

Although they alone carried the weight of the truth, they felt helpless in the face of the widespread devastation that was sweeping the globe and the inner devastation that seemed to be destroying Caesar’s mind.

“He moved his hand today while you were sleeping,” Adelaide said.

“Why won’t they bring him out of the coma?” Galton asked.

“Doc says he needs more time,” Fiero said.

They all knew the doctor was right. Caesar had suffered a brain hemorrhage, ten broken ribs, and a perforated lung. Adelaide told the emergency room attendant that he’d been swept from the beach by a wave and thrown into the boat docks the week before. But Caesar’s condition puzzled the doctors. They couldn’t understand how he’d survived. They were even more amazed by his rate of physical healing, which was so rapid that his bones seemed to knit together overnight. The swelling in his brain subsided before the doctors could drill to relieve the pressure. But the brain scans showed a small tumor sitting above Caesar’s pineal gland. The doctors had decided to induce a coma and watch him closely for a few weeks before deciding if surgery were an option.

Galton, Fiero, and Adelaide looked up at the television hanging on the wall as a breaking news bulletin flashed. They knew—everyone in the world knew—what the breaking news would be about. More meteor showers and fiery tornadoes were raging across Europe and Asia. Words and pictures on the screen confirmed it, even with the sound off. The anomalies had hit Spain, Italy, Ukraine and now Kazakhstan. Then the talking heads came on, with their names and affiliations listed at the bottom of the picture—meteorologists from the National Weather Service and its international counterparts, scientists from NASA, experts from Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution—none with any answers, none with any solutions. The breaking news was old news now, and had been for a week, repeated and repeated and repeated again.

“We’re not going to make it,” Adelaide whispered.

Galton pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you, Adelaide. I should’ve told you twenty years ago.”

 “I love you too, Lionel,” she replied. “I …”

“Ay, no!” Fiero shouted. His eyes were wide as he pointed at the television screen. Galton grabbed the remote and turned up the sound as images of another blazing twister filled the screen. The camera was zooming in and focusing on a shape hovering inside the storm.

“…make out the figure of a woman with long hair,” the news announcer was saying. The shot cut away and was replaced by new footage, images of yesterday’s storms in Spain and Italy.

“The same figure can faintly be made out in all three storms. Since the first images were revealed yesterday, rumors of a final cataclysm that will wipe out mankind have been sweeping the Internet. Authorities from governments around the world stress that these are just rumors, with no basis in science, and were created by a small group of conspiracy theorists who base their ideas on the fictional writings of an obscure archaeologist named Caesar Guevara.

Galton opened his mouth to speak, but a high-pitched beep suddenly sounded from Caesar’s heart monitor as the glowing green screen above his bed flat-lined.

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, one of them pushing a crash cart. An orderly shuffled Galton, Fiero, and Adelaide to the edge of the room, then lifted Caesar as another orderly slid a board under him. The first orderly yanked the top sheet aside and began pumping Caesar’s chest. A nurse placed a bag valve mask over Caesar’s face and began squeezing, timing her movements to the orderly’s heart massage. The orderly stepped back as another nurse put gel in two places on Caesars chest, and a doctor placed two defibrillator paddles on top of the gel spots.

 “Clear!” the doctor yelled, and Caesar’s muscles contracted slightly as a charge of electricity jolted him.

“Clear!” the doctor yelled again and the procedure was repeated.

After four tries, they gave up. Dr. Zaneh looked at his watch, preparing to call the time of death. Adelaide sobbed in the background.

Caesar started shaking violently. The code blue team jumped back in astonishment, but the nurses and orderlies shook off their fear and horror and tried to restrain their patient. But Caesar was bucking like a wild bull under a rodeo rider. IV needles were ripped from his arm, leads flew from his head. In the next instant he went limp. Adelaide cried uncontrollably and Fiero covered his face. Galton leaned back against the wall and then fell to his knees. They all knew the end was near.

Galton heard Fiero gasp and felt his hand on his shoulder. He stood up and looked at the bed. Caesar was sitting up, motioning for the stupefied doctors and nurses and orderlies to clear the room. He looked at Galton and nodded.

Galton lurched to the bed and grabbed Caesar’s hands. “You’re alive,” he whispered as tears flowed down his face.

Doctors and nurses regained their senses once again and attempted to check Caesar’s vital signs.

“Everyone stop,” Caesar said as he pulled his arm away from a nurse who wanted to take his blood pressure. Everyone stopped. Time itself might have stopped.

Caesar looked at Galton. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”

“Mr. Guevara, you are in no shape to leave this hospital,” Dr. Zaneh said.

“Fiero, clear the room!” Galton shouted, but the hospital team was already leaving. Dr. Zaneh was the last to go. He stared at Caesar one last time, and then closed the door behind him.

“Anna needs me, Lionel,” Caesar said. If I don’t get to her, she’ll destroy us all.”

“How do you know, Caesar?”

“I see what she sees. I see it all, and I know where she is.”

Adelaide moaned and her eyes rolled back in her head. Words of an unknown language babbled from her mouth. Caesar had heard that language before.

Adelaide came around. “She spoke through me,” she said. “I could feel her.”

“She’s heading to Mongolia,” Caesar said. “We’ve got to beat her to China before it’s too late.”

“China? Why China?” Galton asked. “And why Europe, why has she hit the places she’s hit?”

“They were simply in her path. She’s searching for something, something she knows I can use to stop her. It’s hidden in the Gobi desert.”

Galton hesitated a moment but then nodded his assent and slapped his hands together in a mighty clap. “All right, Caesar,” he said. “We’ll follow you anywhere. If you say Gobi, Gobi we go.”

Fiero rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Here we go again.”