The Fourth Prophecy

by Ernest Dempsey

  She grimaced as she turned the wheel sharper to the left. The car shook and bumped along the dirt, but it kept going up, higher and higher toward the fence along the top.

  Behind her, the first cop tried to follow behind and hit the hill at too steep an angle. His front-right quarter panel dug into the dirt and brought his pursuit to an immediate and horrific stop. His car’s momentum lifted the trunk off the ground for a second before it slammed back to the ground in cloud of dust and smoke.

  The driver of the squad car directly behind him crashed into the back of the first, unable to react fast enough to avoid the collision.

  The third cop veered around the other two but was rapidly running out of space. He deftly steered his vehicle onto the grass and stayed in the chase, climbing at a steeper angle than Erika’s car.

  She took one quick glance back and saw the cop coming after her along with three others blocking the main exit down below.

  Erika smirked. She wouldn’t be going out that way, and there were no other cops in sight, not yet at least.

  Gravity pulled at her vehicle, doing its best to pull her off course so she would smash into the hill to her right, but she held the sedan true and reached the top just in time. The sedan left the ground and took flight, sailing into the middle of the fence and crashing through it. Her head jostled back and forth as the car landed on the asphalt of the upper street. The front bumper scraped asphalt but hung on as she stepped on the accelerator and steered the car onto a dark street leading to the east side of town.

  The last cop behind her struggled against the steep hillside, desperately trying to get his car to climb. His angle was too sharp, though, and as the vehicle lost momentum, the back wheels started spinning uselessly on the dirt and grass. Before he knew it, he was sliding backward down the slope to the bottom.

  Erika wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  Sirens sounded in the distance above her engine’s groan. Blue lights flashed down the corridor of abandoned warehouses and buildings to the right. It was time to ditch her car and pick up another ride.

  At the next intersection, she pulled on the hand brake and whipped the car down the street to the left. An old knitting mill on the right and a warehouse on the left were surrounded by chain-link fencing that had seen better days. Many of the bricks on both buildings were covered in graffiti.

  There. On the left, the warehouse gate was open. A rusty chain hung from one side, broken long ago by intruders or simply by time wearing it down.

  She jerked the wheel and steered the car into the parking lot, guiding it toward the loading area where 18-wheelers used to load and unload cargo. A ramp off to one side ended in an opening that looked just big enough to fit her vehicle.

  Blue lights continued splashing on other buildings to the right and left as the cops kept up their search for the thief.

  Erika’s foot touched the floorboard as she gave the car all it could handle. She raced across the lot toward the warehouse door, only letting off when the front wheels hit the ramp.

  The car bounced hard, and the bumper took another hit, this time nearly coming free. She kept the sedan straight, though, and it zoomed up the ramp and through the rubber flaps that blocked the entrance.

  Inside, she slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed on the slick concrete floor. Her eyes went wide. A forklift that had been sitting there for decades was right in front of her, the huge forks pointed directly at the windshield.

  She pumped the brakes harder, desperate to keep the sharp steel from taking off her head.

  The car lurched forward, but the brakes stayed engaged, yanking the sedan to a stop mere inches before the forks touched the windshield glass.

  Erika let out a sigh of relief and then switched off the engine. Cops would certainly see light coming from an abandoned warehouse. The last thing she needed to do was to make it easy for them by drawing attention to herself.

  She got out of the car and grabbed her gear bag. She took a quick look inside to make sure the amulet was still there. The bizarre glow escaped through the zipper, telling her it was still intact.

  After zipping it closed again, Erika slung the bag over her shoulder and strode toward the ramp she’d come up just a few moments before. She pulled back one of the rubber curtains and peeked out into the night.

  Sirens were blaring all around. A squad car raced by with its blue lights flashing wildly. The cop kept driving up to the next street and then turned right. She’d made it to the warehouse in the nick of time.

  Erika stepped out of the warehouse and jumped down from the platform. She kept close to the building, sticking to the shadows in case another patrol came around. She also crouched low as she skirted the building and rounded the corner toward the street. Sirens screamed again as another cop sped by.

  It would only be a matter of time before they started checking every one of the industrial buildings. She had to get out of there immediately.

  Across the street was a rundown church that looked like it hadn’t held a service in a decade or more. Behind that were small residential homes, probably built in the 1950s based on the architecture—or what was left of it.

  Erika burst from the shadows and ran across the drive to the fence. She took shelter next to a huge oak tree, peeked out from behind it to make sure no one was coming, and then sprinted to the other side of the street.

  Once there, she plunged into the shadows by the church and ran to the back, where she took a second to catch her breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, partly from the exercise and partly from nerves.

  She took inventory of the area and noticed a truck that looked like it was thirty years old. No way it was going to run. Rust on the side and on the hood, flat tires; that thing wouldn’t go a hundred feet even if it would start.

  Erika knew she couldn’t just hop in a car and drive happily to safety. There would be roadblocks on every thoroughfare between where she was standing and the interstate.

  The only thing going for her was the fact that no one knew what she looked like. The mask covering half her face took care of that. Now that she was away from the car, the mask made things worse, so she ditched it in the bushes behind the church.

  There was a short concrete wall directly behind the building. From there, a chain-link fence ran along the top, blocking two adjacent yards from the church property.

  She climbed the wall and flew over the short fence with ease. There were lots of fences between the houses and their property. She glanced up to make sure no one was on their back porch. As far as she could tell, no one was, but she’d have to keep an eye out. The last thing Erika needed was to get popped in the back by some random person thinking she was a trespasser.

  She ran through the darkness, staying close to the fence on her left as she worked her way up the street between the homes. No chance she was going to hit the streets or sidewalks until she’d put some distance between herself and the cops.

  Chapter 22

  Chiapas

  “Where are my men?” Martinez roared.

  He stared down at the bottom of the waterfall where they’d left two guys to keep watch. There was no sign of them anywhere.

  Martinez pointed his weapon one way and then the other, sweeping the landing below in case the one responsible showed their face. One of the remaining gunmen with him also checked the area, waving his weapon around in a similar fashion while the others kept an eye on the Americans.

  “Did your boys get lost?” Sean asked.

  Martinez fired him an angry sidelong glance.

  “Get down there, and see what’s going on,” Martinez ordered one of his men. Then he motioned to another to do the same. “You, stay here with me, and keep an eye on these two.”

  The men nodded, and the two he’d told to climb down began their descent.

  Martinez kept his weapon ready as he watched the men carefully climb back down the rock wall. He also kept his eyes on the entrance to the secret landing in case an intruder came through
. Maybe he was being paranoid, but his men knew better than to abandon their posts. Such a mistake would be punished severely. Martinez had drowned men for less than that.

  The first two made it to the bottom and swept the immediate area to make sure there was no threat. They gave the all-clear sign and motioned for the rest to come down.

  Martinez narrowed his eyes, still searching for the missing men. Then he motioned with his pistol to the two Americans.

  “Nice and slow,” he said. “Or I will shoot you myself.”

  Sean and Tommy cast each other a knowing glance. Something was going on, and they believed the disappearance of Osvaldo’s men was the work of guerillas.

  They carefully lowered their feet over the edge and started the tenuous descent. The wet rocks made it even more difficult going down than going up. It was also much harder to spot the right places to grab or place a toe, and the lights from the men below weren’t helping a great deal.

  When Sean felt his boot hit the ground, he let out a breath of relief. Tommy touched down immediately after him, and the two men stepped back away from the wall while their guards kept watch. One of them pointed his flashlight up again so the last two could make their way down safely.

  Martinez moved fast, working his way deftly down the wall until he reached the bottom. His head was on a swivel the second he touched the ground. He waved his gun around on full alert, wary there was trouble near.

  Still no sign of his other two men. Martinez’s growing concern wasn’t for the missing gunmen. Those types were easily replaced. His was concerned for his own personal safety.

  Paranoia swelled in his mind with every passing second he didn’t find the two guards. Had one of the governments finally sent someone to take him down? Was it the Mexicans or the Americans? Or was it someone else, a rogue hit by someone with revenge on the brain? Perhaps it was one of the other cartels coming to level a score or take over the operation.

  He shook off the thoughts and flicked his head up at the Americans. “Get them back to their cage.”

  Sean felt the little diary still stuffed in the front of his pants. He knew if Martinez and the others found it, he’d never get it back. Climbing the rocks would have exposed it if he stuffed it in the back of his belt, so the front was the only place.

  Moving around was awkward to say the least, but it had done the job even though at one point he feared the book would slide down one of his pant legs.

  He shifted uneasily, making sure it was secure, and then fell in line behind one of the guards in front as the man led the way back across the narrow ledge to the riverbank.

  “I hope this is not your doing,” Martinez said as he climbed on to the ledge behind the last of his guards.

  The first to arrive on the other side pointed his weapon at Sean, who was focused exclusively on the rock wall two inches from his nose. One by one, the men traversed the rocks until they were all safe on the other side. It was only then that the skinny guard in the rear spotted something in the water.

  “Boss,” he said in Spanish, pointing at the pool of water lapping the sand and pebbles along the shore. “Look.” The guy had fear written all over his face as he stared down into the black liquid.

  Martinez followed his finger and realized the problem immediately. The two missing guards were floating facedown in the pool.

  “Get them out of there,” Martinez ordered in a panicked rage.

  The skinny guard and one of the others hurried down to the water’s edge, leaving the two Americans with the boss and one other guard.

  Sean and Tommy knew this was their chance. They’d been waiting for the opportunity to present itself. Now they’d received their wish.

  Martinez, momentarily losing his focus, watched as the two bodies were dragged from the water and flipped over. The men’s throats had been cut from ear to ear.

  “What happened?” Martinez said out loud.

  He started to turn to Sean, ready to threaten him again, but Sean’s fist crunched into the smuggler’s jaw before he could fully face him.

  The blow knocked Martinez off balance, and he nearly tumbled down the slope to the water. The only thing that stopped him was Sean grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back for a second dose.

  The other guard saw the sudden movement and swung his gun around to shoot Sean, but Tommy lunged forward, jumping on the guy’s back. He wrapped his arms around the guard’s throat and squeezed while the gunman shook, twisted, and spun around in a wild attempt to throw Tommy off.

  The two guards by the water saw what was happening and took aim with their weapons, but the odds of hitting their allies were as good as hitting the enemy.

  Martinez swung his pistol around and fired just as Sean ducked and delivered a fist into the guy’s midsection. The breath escaped Martinez’s lungs, and he doubled over just in time to catch Sean’s knee in his nose.

  The smuggler yelped as his face was turned into a bloody mess with crimson leaking from his nostrils, which now resembled a busted pipe.

  Tommy’s guard was losing consciousness, spinning slower and slower now. Desperate, the gunman pulled the trigger, firing rounds aimlessly into the darkness.

  Sean instantly hit the ground, fearful he might catch a bullet. The two men down by the river weren’t so lucky. Hot metal splashed into the pool all around them before tearing into their chests, legs, and arms.

  Sean poked his head up to see what happened. The two other gunmen fell back into the water, faces looking lifelessly up into the night sky.

  He started to push himself off the ground, but the right side of his jaw was met with the top of a boot. Blunt pain shot through Sean’s face and head as he rolled through the leaves and came to a stop in a shallow depression in the ground. Martinez stalked toward him, gun still in his hand. He shook his bloody head dramatically as he reached Sean, who was struggling to get up again. This time, he drove the tip of his boot into Sean’s ribs—then again into his abdomen, ribs again, then midback.

  Each blow rendered pain worse than the one before and made getting up more difficult. He winced and tried to roll away, but Martinez grabbed him by the hair and made him look up into his eyes.

  “It was a good effort. I’ll give you that, but now you’re gonna die.” He pistol-whipped Sean across the face, blasting the American into a haze.

  Sean’s fingers scratched at the dirt and leaves. The toes of his boots dug into the earth. He tried to fight the pain and get up, but everything hurt.

  Martinez raised his weapon and aimed it at Sean’s head. “Goodbye, Señor Wyatt.”

  His finger tensed on the trigger.

  Tommy’s guard collapsed to his knees and then fell over prostrate with the big American still wrapped around him. Tommy looked up and saw the scene unfolding twenty feet away.

  “No!” he yelled.

  Martinez shuddered and turned toward Tommy with a confused, horrified look on his face. Tommy didn’t know what the guy was doing until he was fully facing him. Then the American saw the arrow protruding from his neck. Martinez’s gun went off. Then it fired a second and third time before the man dropped the weapon and started clutching at the projectile in his throat.

  Someone had shot him through the back of the neck, narrowly missing his spine. Not that it mattered. The wound was mortal.

  The drug runner fell to his knees, still desperately feeling at the bloody wound with soaked fingers. His eyes said it all. He was dying and he knew it. Maybe a lifetime of regret flashed through his memory, or perhaps it was just regret for not killing the Americans.

  Either way, the moment only lasted a few seconds before he toppled over onto his side, dead.

  Tommy stood up and nudged his guard’s body to make sure he wasn’t getting up. The lifeless corpse remained still. Tommy’s next priority was checking the area. Someone had shot Martinez in the neck with an arrow. The other four guards were down in the water or on the shore. They all appeared to be dead.

  Who’d shot the arrow? And
why?

  Tommy ran over to his friend and helped him to his feet. Sean grunted and put his hands on his knees for a second, catching his breath and letting his stiff muscles recover.

  He stood up straight and grimaced again, grabbing at the ribs on his right side. “That guy really packed a wallop,” Sean said, looking down at the dead smuggler.

  “Where’d the arrow come from?” Tommy asked.

  Sean’s head turned one way and then the other as he probed the dark forest for an answer. “I…I have no idea.”

  “I do,” an oddly familiar voice said from the shadows.

  Sean sighed, both from irritation and from the pain still throbbing through at least seven parts of his body.

  “Where you been, Pablo?” he asked before he even saw the man. “I was just asking Tommy here what happened to you.” He looked at Tommy. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yep,” Tommy agreed. “We were worried about you.”

  Pablo stepped from the darkness amid a thick stand of trees. He was holding a black compound bow that matched his cargo pants and military-style tactical jacket.

  “You left me in a cave,” Pablo said in a menacing and irritated tone.

  “Oh come on, Pablo,” Sean said. “It wasn’t that bad. You were on a beach.”

  “Not to mention the fact we could have killed you right there if we wanted,” Tommy added.

  “Then you should have done so,” Pablo said. “It was a mistake leaving me alive because now I have to kill you both.”

  Sean’s face scrunched into a confused frown. “If you were going to kill us, you would have already done it. You saved us—well, me—from a ruthless drug cartel leader. So, thanks for that.”

  Pablo dropped the bow to the ground and pulled out a pistol from his jacket. He aimed it at Sean’s head. “I saved you so you would know it was I who would be taking your life. I told you no one is permitted to locate the forbidden temple. It must stay hidden forever.”