by Otto Schafer
Jerry struggled, kicking and trying to gasp a breath as his face turned from a horrible shade of red to purple. He flailed wildly, hammering his fist down upon the arm holding him with the steely grasp.
Breanne watched in horror as the British man’s eyes bulged from his head as if about to burst from his face like a cork from a champagne bottle. She watched as Jerry dangled over the pit, clawing at his own chest, and she knew his heart was failing. She had seen it play out in the span of a second from the tiny flash in the corner of her eye. The panic racing through Jerry was enough to put him into cardiac arrest. Even if Apep was to stop, to somehow realize the horror of what he was doing, it was already too late – Jerry’s heart was failing.
But Apep wasn’t stopping. There would be no change of heart. She looked through Jerry’s eyes and into Apep’s, and they were not human. They were yellow embers of hate relishing the fear… and they smiled. Oh, how horribly they smiled. The eyes smiled back at him and through him to her. She pressed her own eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see – but still she saw.
“Thank you, Gerald, but I no longer require your services,” he said as he released the man’s throat from his grasp, carelessly discarding him into the pit like some useless piece of trash.
Breanne covered her face and screamed.
Jerry sucked in a gasp, deep enough to release a terrified screech, only to be cut short as he collided with the golden Ark at the bottom of the pit. His body came apart upon impact in a horrifying explosion of twisted flesh and bone.
Muffled screams rang out in the pit as Breanne continued to scream through her hands. But hiding behind her hands hadn’t stopped the splatter of blood and flesh from finding her, as it hurled in all directions around the pit.
As her scream faded to sobs, she heard Apep’s laughter from atop the pit.
“When I get out of this pit, I will end you! Do you hear me up there?” Paul shouted. “So help me God – I will end you!”
Apep continued to laugh before finally settling down enough to address the young Moore. “It’s just that today’s, well, it’s just such a damn fine day after so many bad ones. Today is a day of joy, a day of promise, and, yes indeed, a day of laughter.”
“You’re insane. I’m going to kill you for what you have done!” Paul shouted.
“Oh my, I don’t think so. As fun as this has been, I think it’s time I bid you adieu. I’ve much work ahead of me, much preparation. Now, admittedly, I am a little rusty, having gone so long without the power of the Sentheye, but what the hell, let’s give it a try, shall we? I imagine it’s like riding a bike.”
Breanne wiped the blood and bits from her face, and for the second time in minutes her stomach wretched and she heaved. She felt herself slipping back to another time and place. No! Don’t! Not now! Not the car! Then something else. Her mind flashed a picture, a frozen frame of time still to pass. Only a glimpse of a particular moment to come. “Paul, we need to move now – get Daddy!” she yelled, running towards Edward.
Edward was awake, but his injuries appeared severe. “Ed, can you move? You have to move!” she begged.
“My leg is broken, maybe my ribs too, but yeah – I can move,” he said, taking her hand.
She heaved, pulling him to his feet. “We have to get to the tunnel now!”
She looked back to find Paul dragging her unconscious father towards the tunnel, pulling him along with one hand like he weighed nothing. She frowned, not understanding. Adrenaline or fear? Perhaps a combination of both.
Apep stood next to the pit, one arm extended towards the giant crane. His hand was splayed open, palm facing the sky. He mumbled ancient words, and as he did, he drew on the power inside the stones. He drew on the Sentheye. As he moved his hand toward the pit, the crane followed, but the tracks were not moving. The crane wasn’t even turned on. It was as if the crane was being dragged toward the pit by an invisible tow truck, but there was no tow truck… there was only Apep. The crane’s giant bulk dug into the earth, trying to make a stand against whatever force pulled it. Like a young child stubbornly trying to refuse being pulled along, the crane stood no chance against Apep’s power. Slowly, the crane was dragged through the soil, dirt mounding in front of the giant steel beast.
Apep laughed. “Indeed, I do remember how to ride a bike!”
Breanne and Edward scrambled towards the tunnel. She glanced back up towards the top of the pit and was instantly halted in stark terror. The frozen frame she had glimpsed came to pass as dirt rained down over the side of the pit and the giant crane blotted out the morning sun. Her hesitation lasted only a split second before she pushed Edward down into the hole of the tunnel. She threw herself into the tunnel behind her brother. She landed hard on top of Edward, causing him to grunt in pain, but there was no time for apologies or forgiveness as they both scrambled like combat soldiers under fire, belly crawling for safety, Breanne on her hands and knees and Edward dragging himself as he pushed frantically with his one good leg. They made it only a few feet away from the opening before the crane crashed into the floor of the pit in an earth-shaking crunch of steel. The braced ceiling creaked and flexed, threatening to collapse on them, and if the crane had hit the tunnel full-on, it surely would have.
Paul grabbed hold of the wrists of both his brother and sister and began pulling, simultaneously dragging them both. If Breanne didn’t know better, she would swear she was being dragged by a horse. Once Paul had his momentum, he didn’t stop until he reached the slope to the lower chamber, where he had left their father.
They sat there, gasping.
For a moment, everything was quiet. The only sounds were their heavy breathing and Edward’s grunts of pain. Breanne wanted to start crying again, but she did not, would not – not now.
“I don’t understand why Pops isn’t waking up,” Paul said. Then, shifting his attention to Edward, he began assessing his wounded leg. Paul removed his Ka-Bar tactical knife, the single piece of military equipment he never left home without. He flicked open the knife with an easy snap of the wrist and quickly began cutting the leg of Edward’s cargo pants all the way up to the knee.
“How… bad… is it?” Edward asked.
“Pretty goddamn bad, bro, but from what I can tell, you’ll live. Good news is you’re not coughing up blood and your breathing sounds okay, so I don’t think you punctured a lung. Your leg’s broken, but the break is clean and somehow the bone hasn’t come through… yet.”
“Sucks… to be… me,” Edward grunted.
Paul smiled. “Well yeah, I mean, you’re ugly as shit. Whatever happened back there didn’t fix your face, but you’ll live.”
“Dick.”
“Agreed. But like I said, that’s the good news. The bad news is this – I need to set that leg before we can even think about how we’re going to get you out of here.”
Edward grimaced at the notion.
“Bre, grab me some small pieces of wood.” Paul began cutting the lower portion of Edward’s pant leg into strips.
Breanne searched the area, finding a few pieces of wood around the same size that had splintered from the support structure when they had moved the altar earlier in the day. She handed the wood pieces to Paul. “What now?” she asked.
Paul pressed his lips into a tight line. “Now you hold his shoulders down.”
Breanne swallowed and nodded.
“Ed, this is going to hurt like hell,” Paul said, positioning himself to set the leg.
Edward didn’t say a word – he just nodded and closed his eyes.
“One, two, three!” Paul flexed his hands, forcing Edward’s leg bone into alignment with a fierce thrust.
Edward lurched and reared, screaming out in agony as he was flooded with pain. “Fuck me!”
Breanne held fast to her brother’s shoulders as tears streamed down her face. She leaned in with all her weight, trying desperately to hold him still as his body bucked. Just as she thought she wouldn’t be able to hold her big brother do
wn, he suddenly went lax, slipping into unconsciousness. It pained her to see him in agony, and when he passed out she was almost relieved – almost.
Paul went to work right away, positioning the splint and tying the strips of cloth around the wood slats to hold them firmly in place. Once he was satisfied with his work, he searched the tunnel, scavenging another piece of wood. He found a long piece of two-by-four that could serve as a makeshift crutch.
Meanwhile, Breanne knelt at her father’s side. This was all her fault. Why couldn’t she stop him from opening the Ark? Why wouldn’t he listen? She hadn’t insisted enough. She hadn’t stopped him. Now he wouldn’t wake up. His breathing seemed normal, but he still wasn’t waking up. It was like he was in a deep sleep or the other word for deep sleep. The one playing at the edge of her mind, and one she dared not say, not even think. Please wake up, Daddy. Please! she pleaded silently. She gently shook him, hoping somehow it might rouse him from unconsciousness, but if dragging him down into this tunnel didn’t stir him, gentle nudging wasn’t going to either.
“I’m going to look outside the tunnel and see if that psycho is gone. If he is, I’ll see what we need to do to get out,” Paul said.
Before Breanne could answer, it happened again. She saw something flash from the edge of her vision – something that shouldn’t be there. “Paul, wake up Ed,” she said.
“Maybe we should just let him rest for a bit while I try to figure out a plan to get us out of this pit.”
“We don’t have time, Paul! We have to get out of this tunnel right now!” she said, scrambling to her feet.
Paul’s eyes widened. “Why, Bre? What’s going to happen?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise – he knew she could see it. “Apep is going to flood the swamp!”
“Bre, if he floods the swamp, this tunnel will flood!”
“We’re going to drown, Paul!”
35
Do You Accept?
Wednesday, April 6th, 4:05 p.m.
Day One
Petersburg, Illinois
Garrett turned the knob and shouldered open the dojo door as he had a thousand times. The familiar smell of sweat and lemon cleaner hung in the air. Despite their run-in with Jack, the boys had arrived at the dojo directly after school as instructed.
Mr. B was standing in the middle of the mat, waiting, already dressed in his black dobok. He gave Garrett a long, hard, assessing look. “You cut your hair,” he said flatly.
Garrett nodded. It was all the talk at school – some liked it, some hated it. When Lenny had seen it, he had pulled back, eyes wide. “I’m going to need some time to process what you have done to your head, bro.” But for all the opinions, Garrett simply didn’t care. He knew it was just hair, but somehow he felt different – as if cutting it marked the end of one thing and the beginning of something else.
“Change quickly and let’s get started,” Mr. B said evenly.
The boys removed their shoes and hustled to the locker room. They changed into their white doboks as quickly as possible and returned to the dojo. As they changed, Mr. B had set up two folding tables, each with three rectangular concrete patio blocks standing up on end, like giant dominos.
Garrett felt his apprehension rise, the scene reminding him of his test for black belt. He had passed each stage with ease, demonstrating perfect technique in his forms, his sparring, and even the required written essay on the history of taekwondo.
Everything had been going perfectly until they came to the part of the test where he was required to demonstrate power in the form of an open-hand palm strike through a concrete patio block. He had never attempted to break concrete before. He had broken plenty of wooden pine boards, even as many as five at one time, but never concrete. The concrete patio block sat only about a foot off the ground, spanning two cinder blocks.
“Look beyond the concrete, past it, then go there,” Mr. B had said.
Garrett had positioned himself over the concrete patio block, careful to make sure his technique was perfect, his left foot out, his right foot back, his shoulders squared. He took in a deep breath, then leapt into the air, mustering all his strength into the force of the strike as he drove down with the full weight of his body. But when his hand struck the concrete, it did not break – and it hurt like hell.
He’d tried two more times to break the patio block, but his hand was deeply bruised and hurt so bad there was no way he could continue striking the concrete. Lenny crushed his block on his first attempt and passed the test, while Garrett would have to continue to wear the half-red, half-black probationary black belt. He never told anyone – not Lenny, not even his mom – but he cried himself to sleep that night, so disappointed in himself for failing the break.
From that moment on, every time Garrett came to class there was a concrete patio block set up just for him, and every day Mr. B would say, Look beyond the concrete, past it, and go there. And every day he would look at that brick like he hated it, get into position, and strike it, but the damn thing just would not break.
This went on for a few weeks, but then one day he came into class and noticed something different about the patio block. It was there, just like always, set up the same way, but this time it was wet. Then he remembered that somewhere he had heard if you soak concrete in water it becomes softer. That’s when he realized Mr. B must have soaked the block in water to make it easier for him to break! This must be a trick to build my confidence or something, he thought.
Mr. B pointed at the block and said the same thing he always said. “Look beyond the concrete, past it, and go there.”
Garrett got into position and prepared for the umpteenth time to strike the block, though this time his confidence was high because the block had obviously been soaked in water. As he assumed the position to strike, Mr. B repeated the words, “Look beyond the concrete, past it, and go there.”
Garrett looked over the edge of the block and focused on the floor. He leapt into the air and launched his hand downward with the same open-hand strike that had failed to break the concrete time and time again, but this time the concrete yielded – shattering into pieces. Garrett’s hand continued downward until it struck the floor.
Lenny was there, of course, and cheered audibly for his friend. “I knew you could do it!”
Even Mr. B smiled approvingly as he handed him his black belt and bowed. “Well done.”
Garrett looked down at the floor, ashamed.
“What is wrong, Garrett?” Mr. B asked.
“I didn’t really break the block,” he said sadly.
Mr. B frowned. “Leave us for a moment, Lenny.”
Lenny crossed the dojo and began to do his warm-up routine on the heavy bag.
“What do you mean, you didn’t really break it?” Mr. B asked.
“You soaked it in water to make it softer, easier for me to break.” Tears began filling his eyes. “I can’t take my black belt, not like this,” Garrett said, handing his belt back to Mr. B.
Mr. B smiled. “Garrett, are you aware that it rained today?”
Garrett crinkled his brow and nodded.
“And are you aware I store the patio blocks out back?”
Again, Garrett nodded.
“Come here, let me show you something.” They stepped over to the broken pieces of block now littering the floor. Mr. B reached down and picked up a piece of the broken block. “Garrett, I want you to look at this.” He held out the broken piece of concrete.
Garrett looked but failed to understand right away. It wasn’t until he turned the piece of stone over in his hand that he could see only the very outside of the stone was wet. “You mean you didn’t soak it in water?” he asked, hope filling his voice.
“No, Garrett, it simply rained.” He handed the belt back to his student. “Besides, who on earth told you soaking concrete in water made it softer? That is ridiculous,” he said, smiling.
From that point forward, Garrett’s confidence never waned and he had never
again failed to break a patio block, whether it be for practice or for demonstration. But what he saw before him now shattered that confidence. Three blocks? And they were freestanding. They would have to hit the blocks so fast and hard they shattered before falling over. They had seen Mr. B do it, but they had never attempted a break like that. Garrett swallowed hard, unable to help the worry that played at the back of his mind. What if he couldn’t do it and Lenny could? He didn’t want to go through that again.
Over the next hour, they went through what felt like a pretty normal test, minus the fact that it was just Mr. B and the two boys. When it was time to be evaluated on forms, Lenny went first, executing his forms with flawless precision. Garrett went next, and all in all he thought his forms were good. Not as good as Lenny’s, but his technique felt tight and movements crisp.
After forms, he and Lenny sparred with each other, and this part Garrett actually felt good about, that is until Mr. B yelled for them to stop.
Approaching Garrett, he said, “Where is your focus?”
“What?” Garrett asked uneasily.
“Your focus – find it.”
Garrett frowned, that word again… focus.
Mr. B yelled, “Break!” and the two began sparring again.
But Garrett was off his game now more than ever, and if anything, the odd comment made him less focused.
A few minutes passed, Garrett trying to find his rhythm, before Mr. B motioned them to stop again. The boys were allowed a quick drink but told not to speak. They hustled to the water fountain, then back again, never saying a word. Mr. B explained the next part of the test would be the final part – the break. Again, Lenny was to go first, performing a knife-hand strike through the three concrete patio blocks. The blocks stood like a miniature row of ominous headstones, each spaced a few inches apart. Garrett knew this break was incredibly difficult and would take perfect form and perfect technique to execute.