Origin

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

About Bruce Savage

Books by Bruce Savage

Disclaimer

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

WAIT!

FROM THE AUTHOR

About Bruce Savage

Bruce Savage was born in Lewiston, Maine in 1967, the youngest son of 16 brother’s and sister’s to Winfield Strout and Blanche Strout. He published his first successful work when he was 10 years old in Boy’s Life magazine. The publication paid him $1 for a joke he wrote. So excited about his accomplishment and seeing his name published he pursued the art of writing for the next 40 years. In 1984 he enlisted in the United States Army and served his country in Germany. In 1999 he graduated from Columbia Southern University with a Bachelor’s in Computer Science and Information Systems. He held several positions with several fortune 500 companies until 2002 when he dove head first and full time into the world of writing and publishing. Since then he has produced 11 novels and counting. Casualties of War was his first novel followed by Psycho.

He is currently working on many other novels that will be available soon as well as the screenplay for Russian Games. He currently lives in Florida and the Philippines with his wife Julie and his daughter. He frequently enjoys making donations and contributions to ending poverty and supporting those less fortunate and he is an avid animal rights supporter.

Bruce Savage – ORIGIN

Books by Bruce Savage

The Novels:

GOD’S ASSASSIN

NO MERCY FOR THE DEAD

EUROPA'S CHILD

RUSSIAN GAMES

QUEST FOR THE TABLET

ORIGIN

SHORT SCARY STORIES

PSYCHO

CASUALTIES OF WAR

KNOW YOUR ENEMY

MORE SHORT SCARY STORIES

For previews and information about the author:

Visit www.brucesavage.com.

Disclaimer

ORIGIN

By Bruce Savage

Copyright © 2015

ORIGIN eBook Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without the express permission in writing by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

First Edition 1.0

Bruce Savage – ORIGIN

Copyright

Copyright © 2015 http://www.brucesavage.com/

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 1517788978

ISBN-13: 978-1517788971

Bruce Savage – ORIGIN

Visit: www.brucesavage.com or your favorite book seller to order additional copies.

ORIGIN – BRUCE SAVAGE

Dedication

This novel is dedicated all the fans of classic Science Fiction and the great alien conspiracy.

Chapter 1

I knew that night that we are not alone. That was the night that my brother disappeared. And the same night the crop circle was found in my father’s field. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for thinking the way I do, but I know I’m not. I know that there is a connection. There has to be. Everyone believes that some drifter took my brother. But I don’t think so. I was there. I know what I saw. Things like that you just don’t forget. Things like that you just don’t make up. I know there are things in this world that cannot be explained. Things that just don’t make sense. Things that most people blame as an act of God. But my brother disappearing wasn’t an act of God. It wasn’t! And no drifter took him. They took him. The people from the crop circle. I saw it. I saw it with my own two eyes. What I have to say is the truth. What I have been through…is the truth.

I suppose I could start telling my story by opening with a cliché or quote from Charles Dickens, It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Which wouldn’t be too far off from the truth.

My little brother Taylor (who earned the nickname ‘Tag’ because he always had to tag along everywhere I went. As is the duty and station of little brothers) and I grew up on a farm fifty miles outside of Kansas City.

The usual could be said about farm life and growing up in the country. As most people suspect living fifty miles from the nearest city left very little to do other than the usual of raising hell from time to time and listening to the gossip and stories that the locals would tell when a visit to a neighbor was on the agenda.

It had been a pretty dry summer and my father had reached the limit of what he could do for the crop. ‘It was in God’s hands now’, he would say hoping and praying for rain. Another week of dry weather and this year’s crop would be done for. Luckily, my father always prepared for the worst and expected the best about life. Even if the crop didn’t come through this year we still would be in pretty good shape for the winter and spring. Until it was time to plant and try again. Don’t take me wrong. We were not well to do, but we weren’t exactly poor either. Our farm had been in our family for quite a long time and had been passed down from generation to generation. When my grandfather had passed away a few summers ago he had left my father a nice little chunk of change in his will for a rainy day. It was not a whole lot of money. But enough to take the edge off of years when the crop wasn’t doing so well and to make sure that the farm stayed in the family and didn’t end up on the auction block of the bank like so many farms around here had ended up.

I remember a day or so before my brother disappeared there was a man at the farm looking for work. A drifter is what my mother had called him. I tried to imagine what that meant and settled on the conclusion of a person that had no home. After all, I was only ten at the time and had limited contact with the outside world other than the locals. My brother and I were both home schooled since I was old enough to start learning. My mother would teach us Math and English in the morning and then give us lunch, a break, and then wrap things up in the afternoon with History and reading from the Bible. We were a Christian family. Not heavily religious, but religious enough to not miss church on Sunday morning and end the day with reading from the Bible and making sure we said our prayers before we went to sleep.

My father; I remember, felt sorry for the man and the condition he had appeared in at our house. I snuck a peek at him when he arrived and could see that he looked like he had been traveling quite a bit. He had on a tattered pair of jeans that was held up by an old leather belt and a dirty blue button up dress shirt with a rose embroidered on the pocket and a pair of sneakers that had definitely seen better days.

My mother had shewed me away into another room and reminded me of her favorite quote, Children should be seen and not heard. She would say. I still don’t have a clue as to what that was supposed to mean. After all children make noise, that is their job isn’t it? Either way I did as I was told and went in the other room, but I could still hear bits and pieces of my father talking to the stranger in the doorway. I didn’t get the whole conversation, but I would have to assume that my father took pity on the man and offered him some work. I remember as the man left he kept on saying Thank you sir! Thank you sir! To my father as he found his way back to the road. My father closed the door and started talking to my mother after the man was some distance from the house. Sound had a tendency to travel quite a distance in farm country.

Are you sure we can afford to hire someone right now dear? With the crop the way it is? My mother asked.

Well, no I’m not entirely sure we can afford it. But I had to do something for the poor man. Did you get a look at him? He must have been walking all day looking for work. Ever since the feed mill closed over in Carson a lot of people have been out of work and desperate. Living hand to mouth. We’re not exactly at that point yet. However, it would not hurt to help someone out. I think he desperately needed a break. After all it’s only for a couple of days. To help me get the equipment cleaned up and the fences over on the north end fixed.

Well if you need the help then I guess it’s alright. I don’t see any harm in helping a stranger from time to time. Especially times like these. My mother replied.

He said he’s staying at the Carson Motel. He’ll be back first thing in the morning ready for work. We will see how it goes tomorrow. If he even shows up. It’s quite a distance to walk from the Carson Motel. I know it’s at least ten miles. My father said sitting down at the table. It was close to suppertime and my mother made pot roast, my father’s favorite meal.

Richard Isaiah Johnson don’t even think of sitting at the table with those dirty clothes and hands. You know better. My mother barked at my father.

How do you expect me to teach Taylor and Mathew any manners when you go and do things like this? My mother said scolding my father. He quickly got up from his chair, grumbled a few words under his breath, and headed off to the bathroom to wash up. He knew better than to challenge my mother on things like this. After all, in her kitchen she was God and the law. And that’s the way that was.

Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my father’s voice. I couldn’t hear him clearly, but I knew that he must have been talking to that drifter guy that had come the day before. I quietly got out of bed and climbed down making sure not to wake up Tag. He slept in the bunk below me. I preferred the top bunk seeing I was the older. And simply because it was my mother’s decision to have me sleep up on top instead. She didn’t want Tag to fall out of bed from such a high place, which was something he did often, at least once a week. Once I knew that Tag was still asleep I crept my way to the window to take a look at what my father and the drifter was doing.

I could see my father and the man loading the back of my father’s truck with fencing wire. I suppose they would be working on the north fence today. For some reason or another, the north fence kept getting torn down by Harry Thompson’s cattle. The north fence was close to Johnson creek where the