Lost Eden
J. R. Rain
LOST EDEN
An Adventure Novel
by
J.R. RAIN
and
ELIZABETH BASQUE
Acclaim for the Stories of J.R. Rain:
“Be prepared to lose sleep!”
—James Rollins, international bestselling author of The Doomsday Key on J.R. Rain’s The Lost Ark
“I love this!”
—Piers Anthony, bestselling author of Xanth on J.R. Rain’s Moon Dance
“Dark Horse is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”
—Gemma Halliday, award-winning author of Spying in High Heels
“Moon Dance is a must read. If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter, be prepared to love J.R. Rain’s Samantha Moon, vampire private investigator.”
—Eve Paludan, bestselling co-author of Witchy Business
“Impossible to put down. J.R. Rain’s Moon Dance is a fabulous urban fantasy replete with multifarious and unusual characters, a perfectly synchronized plot, vibrant dialogue and sterling witticism all wrapped in a voice that is as beautiful as it is rich and vividly intense as it is relaxed.”
—April Vine, author of Unbound
“Is it possible to redefine two genres in one book? I don’t know, but J.R. Rain has left a lasting impression for the vampire and mystery genres.”
—P.J. Day, author of The Sunset Prophecy
Other Books by J.R. Rain
STANDALONE NOVELS
The Lost Ark
Elvis Has Not Left the Building
The Body Departed
Silent Echo
Winter Wind
SHORT STORY SINGLES
The Bleeder
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE
Moon Dance
Vampire Moon
American Vampire
Moon Child
Christmas Moon
Vampire Dawn
Vampire Games
Moon Island
Moon River
Vampire Sun
Moon Dragon
SAMANTHA MOON
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Teeth and Other Stories
Vampire Nights and Other Stories
Vampires Blues and Other Stories
Vampire Dreams and Other Stories
Halloween Moon and Other Stories
Vampire Gold and Other Stories
Blue Moon and Other Stories
Dark Side of the Moon and Other Stories
JIM KNIGHTHORSE SERIES
Dark Horse
The Mummy Case
Hail Mary
Clean Slate
Night Run
JIM KNIGHTHORSE
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Easy Rider and Other Stories
THE WITCHES TRILOGY
The Witch and the Gentleman
The Witch and the Englishman
The Witch and the Huntsman
THE SPINOZA TRILOGY
The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo
The Vampire Who Played Dead
The Vampire in the Iron Mask
THE AVALON DUOLOGY
The Grail Quest
The Grail Knight
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
The Bleeder and Other Stories
The Santa Call and Other Stories
Vampire Rain and Other Stories
THE VAMPIRE DIARIES
Bound By Blood
SCREENPLAYS
Dark Quests
Co-Authored Books
COLLABORATIONS
Cursed! (with Scott Nicholson)
Ghost College (with Scott Nicholson)
The Vampire Club (with Scott Nicholson)
Dragon Assassin (with Piers Anthony)
Dolfin Tayle (with Piers Anthony)
Jack and the Giants (with Piers Anthony)
Judas Silver (with Elizabeth Basque)
Lost Eden (with Elizabeth Basque)
Deal With the Devil (with Elizabeth Basque)
NICK CAINE ADVENTURES
with Aiden James
Temple of the Jaguar
Treasure of the Deep
Pyramid of the Gods
THE ALADDIN TRILOGY
with Piers Anthony
Aladdin Relighted
Aladdin Sins Bad
Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman
THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY
with Elizabeth Basque
Zombie Patrol
Zombie Rage
Zombie Mountain
THE SPIDER TRILOGY
with Scott Nicholson and H.T. Night
Bad Blood
Spider Web
Spider Bite
THE PSI TRILOGY
with A.K. Alexander
Hear No Evil
See No Evil
Speak No Evil
THE ABNORM CHRONICLES
with Eve Paludan
Glimmer
Other Books by Elizabeth Basque
THE MEDIUM MYSTERY SERIES
Echo Park
Hollywood Hills
Silver Lake
THE SHARPENED EDGES TRILOGY
The Gathering
The Rage
The Hunger
FRANKENSTEIN REBORN TRILOGY
I, Monster
Of Monsters and Men
Prometheus Rising
Co-Authored Books
THE MERCY CRUZ SERIES
with P.J. Day
Mercy’s Magic
California Witch
THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY
with J.R. Rain
Zombie Patrol
Zombie Rage
Zombie Mountain
VAMPIRE SUPERHERO TRILOGY
with H.T. Night
Vampire Superhero, Volume 1
Vampire Superhero, Volume 2
Vampire Superhero, Volume 3
Lost Eden: An Adventure Novel
Published by J.R. Rain
Copyright © 2013 by J.R. Rain and Elizabeth Basque
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. All rights reserved.
Dedication
To Sylvia Vasquez and her boundless energy.
Author’s Note:
Lost Eden: An Adventure Novel was, in a previous incarnation, a screenplay. Screenplays are, admittedly, a challenge to read. They’re formatted so that actors can quickly find their lines, sound guys can quickly find the explosions, CGI guys can quickly find the special effects, and those with A.D.D. can quickly read the story (which just might be everyone in Hollywood, at least those I encountered).
Like Judas Silver (also originally a screenplay) I quite enjoyed the story of Lost Eden—it’s a true rip-snorter, in the tradition of The Mummy and Tomb Raider—but I knew many readers would never get a chance to read it because of the quirky formatting.
That is, until it occurred to me that I could adapt the screenplay into a novel. The proverbial light bulb went on, and I immediately recruited the extremely talented, Elizabeth Basque to help me out. The following novel is the result.
So if you’ve read the original screenplay (it’s available here), then you know the story about the search for the lost Garden of Eden (although you might get a kick out of this novelized version). And for those of you coming across Lost Eden for the first time, I do hope you enjoy the ride...it’s a wild one! —J.R. Rain
Lost Eden: An Adventure Novel
“Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, to know good and evil. And now, lest he put out his hand and take also of the Tree of Life, and eat, and live forever.” So He drove out the man; and He pla
ced cherubim at the east of the Garden of Eden, and a flaming sword which flashed back and forth, to guard the way to the Tree of Life.” —Genesis 3:22-24
Chapter One
The lifeless Omanian Desert spread out under the glare of the sweltering hot sun. White, windblown sand dunes were beautifully arranged like so much folded silk, for miles around. One could easily die out there in half a day, in the harsh rays of the raging sun.
There, in the middle of the dry sands, was a place known as “The Empty Quarter.” Rows of gleaming Bentleys and Mercedes were parked, contrasting with many heavy-laden pack animals.
Inside The Empty Quarter lay a straightaway race track, specially made for camels. Next to the race track were makeshift bleachers.
At the starting gate were a dozen or so unruly camels, all mounted by very, very little jockeys. Children.
On this day, the whole place was humming with activity. Rich sultans sat high in the stands. Servants used umbrellas to shade them from the heat and sun. All of the spectators, rich and poor, were eager for the camel races to begin.
Before the races could begin, the jockeys had to be prepared. Behind the scenes, and out of the spectators’ view, a slave master used his rough hands to secure each jockey to the camels. There were no saddles. As his hands tightened the leather straps, a little jockey gasped in pain.
She was young, even for this type of work. Twelve-year-old Tessla bit her lip as the slave master gave one last pull, securing her to the camel itself. Her dark eyes hid her pain, but nothing could hide her exotic beauty. Like many of the other jockeys, she was a Bangladeshi, kidnapped and forced to participate in the Omanian camel races.
During the 1990s, all the child jockeys were gaunt and malnourished. In fact, they’d been purposefully starved to achieve the lightest weight possible; the lighter they were, the faster the camels could run.
The slave master spoke rapidly to her in Arabic, “Today, you ride Sultan Shimbala’s camel. If you value your life, you would do well not to fall off this time.”
Tessla knew better than to mock him, even with her expressive eyes. She looked down respectfully. “Yes, Master Abdullah.”
Slave master Abdullah finished tying Tessla and cruelly whipped her camel forward. The beast suddenly snorted and bucked violently. If not for the tight leather straps, Tessla would have been thrown off. Instead, she was tossed about like a rag doll.
The slave master grinned wickedly and tended to the other young jockeys.
After he left, a young boy next to Tessla began crying softly. She looked at him, her eyes now kind and gentle. She spoke to him in their native Bangladeshi tongue, “Do not cry, Shan’ji. They will punish you if you cry.”
“I do not care,” Shan’ji answered.
Tessla looked around cautiously and leaned closer to the boy. She whispered in his ear, “I’m going home today, Shan’ji.”
Shan’ji gasped. “But...how?”
“My mother has found help,” she explained, excited. “An American. Do you remember the young sultan who visited the camels last night?”
“Yes.” Shan’ji smiled now. “He was very kind. He gave me candy.”
“He was no sultan,” Tessla told the boy. “That was the American. A boy, really. Just a few years older than me. He is going to help.”
The young boy looked at Tessla with wide eyes, now brimming with tears again. “Can I come, too, Tessla? Please! I will be good.”
“Shh!” Tessla said, glancing around. “I promise I will come back for you, Shan’ji. I swear this. I will not let them keep hurting you.”
* * *
Jack Rome worked his way beneath the bleachers, hidden from the crowds above. Although he was American, He wore a head cloth and robe in the traditional Arab style, the twenty-year-old son of a colonel stationed at a nearby US Army base.
He caught sight of Tessla conversing with a young boy. He watched as Abdullah, the slaver, beat one of the other child jockeys brutally, and Jack Rome’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints of steel. He wanted to do something to save them all, but today, it was Tessla’s turn.
Tessla sat high on her camel, searching. She spotted Jack Rome in the distance. She smiled to herself and tried not to look at him.
Jack slipped from under the bleachers to a massive tent that doubled as the camel stalls. He brushed past the sign that, translated, read: STAY OUT. Jack Rome could speak, read and write Arabic, but he didn’t always pay attention to the rules.
An armed guard, however, did, and, spotting Jack, he followed the young man, calling for back up on his radio.
Jack searched quickly through the stalls and found a suitable camel. He opened the stable gate and, pulling the creature by its reins, spent the next few seconds trying to coax it out.
But the camel would have none of it—and promptly spat a glob of snot in Jack’s face. Jack wiped his eyes. “Oh...disgusting.”
He heard the race broadcaster speaking quickly in Arabic, announcing the start of the race. Jack listened briefly, and then pulled once again at the camel. “C’mon, you cranky old goat. We don’t have much time.”
The camel bucked violently, and it was all Jack could do to just hang onto the reins. Athletic—and seemingly impervious to danger—as he was, Jack leaped easily onto the creature’s back. The camel bucked some more, but Jack was like a parasite; he wouldn’t let go. Finally, the beast settled down. “Now, that’s better,” he told the beast.
Jack could tell by the cheering crowd that the race was about to begin. He knew the drill; the camels were being positioned by handlers into the starting gate. He didn’t have a moment to lose. It would be close, in fact.
He gained control over the camel and steered it toward the tent’s entrance. Jack pulled aside the flap and watched. Luckily, Jack had just missed the two burly guards that moved with determination toward the stalls.
At the starting gate, a man raised a pistol. The camels were anxious, ready to run. The young, tiny jockeys were nervous.
The pistol fired. The camels bolted forward in a thundering cloud of dust. The ground shook with their passing.
The children resembled bobbleheads, each bouncing atop their respective camels. Only the leather straps kept these kidnapped Bangladeshi slaves from falling off and being trampled to death.
Tessla was in the thick of the pack. She kept her head down and used her whip to urge her mount forward. Slowly, she pulled away from the rest of the camels and soon led the pack.
Sultan Shimbala, a middle-aged man dressed in a gold-embroidered head cloth, looked on with imperialistic pleasure, grinning widely as his camel took the lead. Next to him, a young slave boy fanned him. Shimbala, caught in the moment, leaped to his feet shouting, urging his camel forward.
From Jack’s view near the starting line, he recognized little Tessla in the lead, and smiled.
“Just one more minute, Tessla,” he said under his breath.
Great clouds of dust hovered over the desert race track, stirred up by the pounding hooves of the dozen or so camels. Tessla was in the lead, hunkered down low, her face set in a grim determination that was about more than winning.
The track was surrounded by tents, old trucks, more camels, and milling caravans. The charging camels were stretched out, some lagging far behind Tessla. The poor beasts ran awkwardly, their ungainly legs never meant for sprinting. They completely lacked the grace of thoroughbred horses.
“You there!” an angry voice shouted in Arabic, startling Jack. “What are you doing with the sultan’s camel?”
Chapter Two
Jack whipped around. The two Arab guards, each brandishing curved scimitars, had found him.
“Shit,” he said, again under his breath. But thinking fast, he spoke in perfect Arabic, “I am the sultan’s trainer. Now go away. I’ve got work to do.” He turned his back contemptuously on them, hiding his fear of the dangerous men.
But the armed guards advanced on Jack and he turned back to watch them. One of them raised his sci
mitar menacingly before him.
“Remove your head cloth,” he commanded.
Sweat dripped steadily down Jack’s face. His panicked eyes desperately scanned the cluttered stalls, which were filled with all manner of grooming tools and racing equipment.
Suddenly, the crowd outside erupted in a wild cheer. The guards, distracted by the cheers, looked away. As they did so, Jack sprang into action. He grabbed the handle of a shovel and swung it around hard, cracking it across the closest guard’s temple. The man crumpled down, out cold.
The second guard, infuriated, lunged forward, thrusting his scimitar. Jack parried the blade instinctively with the shovel handle and kicked the guard in the face, dropping him to the ground, too.
Jack’s camel reared up on its hind legs. Jack struggled to stay in the saddle, and through sheer force of will, he gained some semblance of control over the humped beast.
Finally, Jack turned his attention back to the racetrack and the cheering crowds. Tessla had easily won the race. As the remaining camels and jockeys crossed the finish line, her handler stepped out to take her reins, but instead of slowing down, the little girl cracked her whip across the camel’s flank.
With his race camel victorious, Sultan Shimbala waved a triumphant fist. He was immediately congratulated by those in his royal entourage—until one of them suddenly pointed toward the finish line. Shimbala looked. His eyes narrowed, and his wide grin turned quickly into a frown.
Tessla’s camel continued forward, thundering past her Arab handler with no hint of slowing down. The man ran out in front of her, raising his arms to stop her, but she whipped the camel even harder, urging it forward, and bearing down on the little man.
