A Preview of THE PHOENIX CONSPIRACY

     In March of 1997, a strange and profound object appeared over the Phoenix skies. The enormous V-shaped craft was lit up by multiple glowing orbs and was estimated by many to span the width of five football fields, to perhaps as much as a mile in length. One thing is for certain, it captured the attention of many. The sighting was witnessed by over 10,000 individuals and the phenomenon is known in UFO circles as The Phoenix Lights. In 2007, former Arizona Governor, Fife Symington, came out publicly and announced he believed the strange encounter was, “Extraterrestrial in nature.” It was truly profound indeed, a former governor proclaiming Phoenix was visited by aliens from another galaxy. Like Fife Symington, I too was a witness to this historic event. I climbed out of my vehicle on the dark highway of Interstate 10 and watched in awe as the enormous ship sailed over my head without so much as making a sound. It appeared to be defying the laws of gravity. I can’t say this mysterious craft came from outer space, but I can say with absolute conviction that this event forever changed my life. It became the motivation to my creation The Phoenix Conspiracy, a young-adult thriller with tremendous crossover appeal, and is based in part on real events.

     My oldest son, Skyler, coauthored this novel. Skyler is a graduate from UT Austin and is a very talented and astute reader and writer. We have added a significant LGBTQ+ character named Dexter Carter, a former football jock and openly gay drag queen. We desperately need more stories that feature and support the LGBTQ+ community and gives them a voice in a world where they are far too often marginalized or condemned. But UFO’s and drag queens are just the tip of the iceberg in an original novel that is sure to bring controversy and intrigue as the story covers the history of the world famous Fatima Prophesies, and suggests quite candidly that the Catholic Church may have manipulated and deliberately misrepresented the final prophesy to hide the identity of the last Pope and possible extinction of our planet. 

     Lastly, we’ve added a significant character named Eden Baxter, a teenage burn victim who has been badly disfigured in an arson fire. Eden himself is based on a real-life teenage boy named Rocky Dennis, who was disfigured at birth with a rare disease known as Lionitis. (Rocky’s story was featured in the 1985 hit movie “Mask” starring Cher.) I had the good fortune of seeing Rocky in person before he passed away. I was deeply moved by how a deformed teenager carried himself with such pride and dignity. I’m honoring Rocky’s legacy in our character, Eden. Skyler and I are honoring every teenager who has ever been ridiculed, harassed, judged or bullied for their appearance or uniqueness. Eden will discover, through alien intervention, that he is an eternal being having a temporary earthly existence. 

     The Phoenix Conspiracy is a truly original UFO thriller; current, controversial and offers excitement and hope to our world that is far too often shrouded in darkness and despair. Skyler and I hope that you will be intrigued enough to take a closer, more intimate look. 

Are you ready for a sneak preview of THE PHOENIX CONSPIRACY?

J. Scott  Scheffer

I – A Secret Mission

 

Spring, 2027

 

Across the barren landscape of the Arizona desert, the skies and sands are a mosaic of light. For miles and perhaps eternally, there is nothing. The enigmatic horizon forms a rippling wave, and an immense heat emanates from the desert floor, pluming into the eyes and nose, its foreboding breath intoxicating the senses. To exist here is to step from a black cave into the light, and perpetually experience that disillusioning glare of the world beyond. Should one gain the opportunity to scour entirely its panorama, they may take notice of the quiet drone of desert life, but to attempt as much is to expose oneself to the pull of its madness. A rattlesnake writhes across the desert floor, and far above, hungry vultures dot the sky in black, riding the currents of the afternoon air in dizzying circles and figure-eights as they search for and separate death from the light below.

 

*

 

The horizon materialized, and something appeared. Growing from a point of darkness into distinction within moments, three quad runners manifested themselves. Their mufflers blared, sounding slowly above the casual drone of madness’ descent as they approached. One stopped abruptly, kicking up sand and scree. It idled beside a towering saguaro cactus, whose outstretched limbs formed a humble scarecrow watching over the barren Arizona desert.

The rider pulled off his goggles and removed his helmet, running his fingers through his sweat-soaked cornrows that hung loosely down his broad shoulders. Eighteen-year old Dexter Carter gazed into the abyssal horizon, and through squinting eyes discovered a shimmering lake as it quivered atop the sand. Dexter was African American with a muscular six-foot seven frame. Once a star linebacker for his high school football team, the Phoenix Defenders, he was still a towering mass of muscle. He blew out his knee in the homecoming game, and much like the lake wavering before him, his lightning-fast reflexes and jaguar speed slowly began to fade away. As of late, he’d gained some weight, and was now tipping the scales at nearly three hundred pounds. But a new, flamboyant Dexter had been reborn. Once his football career had ended, Dexter decided once and for all, it was time to come out. No longer worried about the backlash from the boys in the locker room, Dexter announced on Facebook that he was gay, not that everyone was totally surprised. When he came to the Christmas Ball alone, dressed in drag, he raised a few eyebrows. But he put to rest all rumors when he made his announcement official on social media. Even the most outspoken and homophobic students were not going to openly condemn or ridicule a six-foot seven black man who had formally made a name for himself by crushing quarterbacks on the opposing teams. So, Dexter was officially out of the closet and happier for it.    

A second quad drove up carrying two passengers. 

“Hey Tech, why’d you stop?” asked Spencer Dunbrooke, Dexter’s closest friend. Spencer had been calling Dexter “Tech” for years - his long-time fascination with computers and high-tech gadgets spiraled into an obsession once his football career ended.  And they had something in common, both were now former football jocks destined for mediocrity. (Spencer, a seldom-used third string quarterback, had been cut from the squad when a random drug test came back positive for drug abuse.)  

Spencer turned his ignition switch off, wiping the dirt from his goggles and removing his helmet. His deep, sea-blue eyes were sapphires searching the desert sands, his tanned face and squared jaw accentuating his handsome features. He wore ragged jeans and a ripped t-shirt that danced among swirling spirals of dust as he let out his unruly auburn hair in the dry midday heat. 

His girlfriend, Shelby Hart, sat behind him. She removed her helmet and shook out her long, bleach-blonde hair. At nineteen, Shelby was two years older than Spencer, who “enjoyed the mystique of dating an older woman”. Tall, lean and beautiful, she made her raggedy Goodwill attire sexy and fashionable. Shelby was a high school dropout, living in a grungy downtown apartment with her mother. Desperate to get out of Phoenix, she anxiously awaited Spencer’s graduation, entertaining ideas of moving away and having kids.

A third quad racer crawled up and came to a stop. Fourteen-year old Eden Baxter was a tiny doll sitting atop the giant quad; frail at four feet, seven inches tall and a paltry hundred pounds, he was by far the most puny kid in school. However, it wasn’t just his miniature physique that made Eden unusual. His racing helmet had a darkened face shield hazily shrouding a blackness which, once removed, the hot sun blazing upon him, revealed itself in his disfigured features. Eden looked like a monster.

Eden wore his stringy red hair pushed over the right side of his head, where his scalp had been burned away. His right ear was a melted lump of flesh. His long sleeve turtleneck covered his smoldered back, neck and arms, which when revealed resembled both the texture and palatability of convenience store beef jerky. His right hand jutted out of his shirt-sleeve, a claw; his fingers were charred nubs, all except his thumb and forefinger devoid of nails and fingerprints.

Eden’s face was an ungodly sight, shocking most people - even his friends hadn’t gotten used to it. His lips and mouth had burned away on the right side, revealing crooked yellow molars set deep in his cheek bone. A mangled stump of a nose supported circular, wired-rimmed glasses, the right lens completely darkened to cover the charred and empty socket, its previous tenant liquidated by fire. Amidst the hellscape his consciousness called home, a diamond in the rough splintered away. His most stunning feature, a brilliant emerald-green left eye, looked out in wonder through its clear lens onto a cruel and punishing world.

            “I’m glad you guys finally stopped,” breathed Eden, his voice hoarse and foreign, pulling the attention from the air like a dark stain on a clean rug. “Why didn’t you three wait up for me?”

“Sorry Eden,” said Dexter.

Shelby was staring at him. She always did; Eden was used to it. The clap of judgment had long droned into a perpetual hum in his ear, an inevitability.

“What’s the lake up ahead?” Eden asked curiously, still catching his breath. He grabbed his inhaler from his backpack and took a puff of Albuterol.

“It’s a mirage,” said Dexter. “Just an illusion, created by the hot sun reflecting off the desert sand. We could ride until hell freezes over and never reach it.” He glanced at his phone, checking the GPS.

“Let’s not.” Each word came out as sharpened steel scraping against metal. Eden twisted off his gas cap with his gnarled right claw and peered down into his gas tank. Impatience seeped through the skin of the teenagers from the hostile sand and smoke. “Why are we way out here? We should turn around before we run out of gas.” Dexter ignored him. Pulling up his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his once-cut washboard abs looked like a spare tire.

“Eden,” said Dexter, still examining his GPS, “if I’d told you what I’m up to you would have ratted us out to your parents. They’d never have let us come out here.” He slid his phone back into his pants pocket.

“I’d never rat out anyone,” Eden insisted.

“You’re a snitch, Eden,” Spencer agreed. “Plain and simple.”

“Okay, drop it, Spencer,” said Dexter sternly. “We’re here now; I guess I should come clean with all of you. Here’s what’s happening…”

Eden wasn’t listening. He’d set his helmet down, and was trekking towards a harem of desert shrubs sprouted up between two boulders and an assortment of rocks and rubble, a goblin scurrying across a barren lunar landscape. 

“Eden, where are you going?” Shelby called out to him.

“Dexter’s story has to wait,” Eden disappeared behind a boulder, nearly out of earshot. “I’ve gotta pee!”

“Why don’t you go help your brother?” Shelby nudged Spencer, testing his patience.

“For the last time – he’s not my damn brother!” snapped Spencer. “He’s just some freak my parents adopted. Eden can pee all by himself!”

Eden reappeared a minute later and trudged back to the group, zipping up his pants with his gnarled claw. Shelby lit a cigarette and took a long inhale as Eden climbed back on his quad; Shelby glanced at him.

“You want a hit?” she offered the cigarette to Eden.

“What are you doing!” Spencer sneered. “His lungs are seared and you’re offering him a cigarette? Maybe he’d like some barbecued brisket as well!”

“Sorry!” Shelby snapped back. “I wasn’t thinking…”

“No!” Spencer glared at her, “you weren’t thinking, as usual!”

“Please just stop!” Eden blurted. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Please just leave her alone!” As Spencer continued his verbal attack on Shelby, Eden lifted his hand to his scarred temple and fired an imaginary gun, its bullet vaporizing in the afternoon glare. He slumped over his bike in an exasperated last breath; from his tortured expression, it didn’t appear to be a joke. He looked at Dexter.

“Alright, let’s hear your story.”

Spencer and Shelby stopped arguing. As Shelby rustled through her purse, Spencer poured his canteen of cool water over his head, shaking his hair like a Labrador Retriever. Shelby brought a tube of Chapstick to her lips; a second wind overcame the group as they turned attentively to Dexter.

 “Do you guys know Barbara Watson?” Dexter began.

“You mean thee Barbara Watson,” asked Spencer. “That voluptuous girl from our chemistry class?” Shelby gave him a sideways glance, and did not look happy.

“That’s the one,” said Dexter.

“So, you brought us out to the middle of the desert to tell us you want to bust a move on Barbara Watson?” Shelby scoffed.

“No, sugar!” he replied. “In case you forgot…” and he batted his eyes, “I’m gay! We’re BFF’s, I want to help her!”

“Help her what?” Seeing Spencer’s ears perk at the mention of Barbara’s name put Shelby in a poor mood.

“Do you guys remember her brother, Vince?”

“Yeah,” Shelby murmured thoughtfully. “He was a senior when I was a freshman. Nice guy, average looks…nothing spectacular. He’s probably twenty-two or twenty-three by now.”

“Well,” said Dexter, “he joined the Army at nineteen, and was stationed at Camp Pendleton. Barbara has stayed in touch with him over the years - he visits on holidays and such. He was due to get out of the Army in November, but two weeks ago he called Barbara and told her he’d been assigned to a top-secret government mission. The whole thing was pretty cryptic; now he may not be getting out of the Army at all. He couldn’t discuss the details. He said he’d try and call back in exactly a week’s time to let her know he’d reached the destination for his assignment, but after that, he won’t be able to call her again...”

“Bizarre,” breathed Eden. “I wonder what the government is up to?”

 “A few days later, Barbara came to my apartment asking for my help. She told me about Vince’s call and asked me if I could track his phone the next time, so she’d know where he was. She was hoping I might have the program to track the call, which of course, I do.”

“Tech, you’d better hope her parents didn’t track her to your place,” snickered Spencer, gently elbowing at Dexter’s side.

Dexter glared at him. “Trust me…they ain’t worried!”

“Alright, alright, finish your story.”

“Vince called Barbara yesterday at the appointed time, and I was tracking the call on my computer. They spoke briefly, but before Vince could say much, Barbara heard a commotion; there were angry voices and it sounded like a struggle. Then the line went dead. The good news is, I got the coordinates. However, my fear is that the government was tracking me tracking Vince.”

“Let me guess,” Eden’s lone green eye scanned the desert, its barren landscape void of any significance. He motioned with a wave of his arm, “his phone call came from somewhere out here?”

“Good guess.”

“Wow,” breathed Shelby. “It sounds exciting and dangerous!” Her life as a dropout hadn’t until this point yielded the whirlwind excitement she had previously hoped. This had prospect.

“There’s nothing out here but sand, cactus and rocks,” Spencer scowled.

“What about those mountains to the east?” said Eden, struggling to lift his arm to point in the general direction. The sun sweltered; his skin was the searing paved asphalt of a suburban cul-de-sac, entropy pulling the life from each hollow collapse of his chest into breath. They looked toward the mountains, perhaps five miles across the desert, quivering like waves across the white ocean.

“That’s a long way off,” Spencer squinted.

“It’s closer than a mirage.”

“Well, that’s where his call came from, according to my GPS,” said Dexter.

“I say we head back,” Spencer argued. “We don’t owe Barbara Watson anything. If we run out of gas, or the quads break down, we might not make it back. Who knows what we’ll come across out here - snakes, coyotes...” His fingers spindled up Shelby’s back, sending chills through her body and pulling goosebumps up from a thin sea of sweat dousing her skin. “Tarantulas…” She swatted him away.

We might not make it back. Though this was the truth, it was far more likely they succumb to madness in the heat, their minds pulled from their mouths and out their ears like water from a screaming kettle. Or worse, the blackness of the desert night should fall and reveal, like the dark side of the moon, another world equally filled with despair. A world in which their blood might coagulate, freezing and thawing, leaving, as dusk pulled away the cover of night, their faces snaking with blue veins where their capillaries had exploded like a glass of water popped into the freezer. Perhaps, in a number of weeks, they would be found, mouths atrophied in the O-shaped utterance of the last words: If only it were the tarantulas!

“What’s the matter,” Eden interrupted their antics. “Are you afraid to die?” He put his helmet on and gunned his idling engine, speeding towards the mountains in a cloud of dust and smoke.

“Count me in,” said Dexter. “It’s why I came out here. We don’t owe Barbara anything, but if I do her this one little favor…she might introduce me to her best bud Cooper Collins!” He winked at Spencer, donned his helmet and took off after Eden. Spencer groaned.

“He wants to bust a move on the homecoming king…and get us killed in the process. Get on!” he snapped at Shelby, putting on his helmet. Shelby climbed up behind him, and they lurched off, following Dexter and Eden.

After several miles, they came to a large wooden sign, faded and battered from the elements. It read:

     Private Government Reserve.  DO NOT ENTER.