Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast

by Bard, Richard

  Timmy said, “I’m going back for the rifle. Be up in a second.”

  “No time!” Sarafina said, pointing to the canopy of trees stretching below us to our left, where twinkles of flashlight beams interrupted the darkness. “They’re coming.”

  Ahmed scrambled over the edge and followed her gaze. “One of the side paths must lead up here.” He reached down, grabbed Timmy’s hand, and hauled him up.

  “This way,” Sarafina said, running into the trees.

  We followed closely, and twenty paces later we were standing at the edge of a narrow rope bridge that spanned the chasm separating our ridge from the mountain. The bridge was about half the length of a football field and dipped low in the middle. It looked ancient, though I could see signs of maintenance. The handwoven ropes had been repaired here and there, and several of the rough-hewn, wooden planks that made up the walking platform had been replaced. There were six support ropes, each one as thick as my wrist, looped around stout logs that appeared to have been pounded deep into the earth.

  “Don’t look down,” Sarafina said. She grabbed the rope handrails and jogged across, each step causing the bridge to bounce and sway.

  The handrail was a little high for me but I could still reach it. I focused on skipping every other plank as I ran across.

  “Oh, crap,” I heard Timmy mutter behind me as he stepped onto the swaying bridge. Even though he’d been willing to jump out of an airplane to save our lives, he hated heights.

  A minute later we were all across. We turned and spotted the flashlight beams climbing the trail toward the bridge. It only took a moment for us to realize that was a different group from the one we’d spotted earlier on the opposite side of the ridge.

  “Both trails lead to the bridge,” Timmy said.

  Ahmed took out his pocketknife and started sawing through one of the support ropes. The blade was sharp but the rope didn’t split easily, and after several strokes it became obvious he wouldn’t be able to cut through all six ropes in time.

  “Dammit!” His face was red as he exerted more pressure, each stroke causing strands of fiber to split and curl away. “If only I hadn’t dropped the rifle.”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. He wouldn’t have dropped it if I hadn’t slipped.

  If we get caught...

  I slung my backpack off my shoulder and reached inside for the mini.

  Suddenly, Timmy was dashing back across the bridge. I realized he was going for the gun.

  “No!” Sarafina said, starting after him.

  “You can’t,” Ahmed said, stepping in front of her. “He can make it back in time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ahmed glanced at the partially cut rope and pocketed his knife. “He must.”

  A half minute later we heard the first burst of gunfire.

  Angry shouts echoed across the canyon walls, and the flashlights bounced and flittered more quickly. There was a scatter of gunshots and Timmy dashed out of the trees, carrying the assault rifle. He took a knee, aimed in the direction he’d run from, and fired a burst from the AK-47. It was answered by several more shots. Timmy ducked and rolled and came to his feet at the end of the bridge. He glanced across at us, then back over his shoulder, then back at us.

  I gulped.

  “Run!” Sarafina screamed.

  Instead, Timmy seemed to draw in a long breath. He said, “Love you all!” then opened fire on full auto at the support ropes on that side of the bridge. The first rope shredded and one of the handrails collapsed.

  “God, no,” Sarafina said.

  Ahmed pocketed the knife. “Allah is with you, my friend,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

  Timmy aimed at a second rope and opened fire. But only two shots rang out. The rope jiggled but remained intact. Timmy removed the magazine, examined it, and gaped at us.

  Ahmed gasped, his hand slapping the magazines attached to his web belt. “Run!” he shouted, waving Timmy toward us.

  Timmy spun around as if he’d heard something behind him. There was a shout and he threw down the rifle and dropped to his knees.

  The boss man stepped from the trees.

  There were two guards on either side of him, and they stood in a semicircle in front of Timmy, each with a weapon trained on him. The boss man said something but he was too far away for us to hear his words. Timmy replied, shaking his head. The man spoke again and Timmy’s head shakes grew more insistent.

  The three of us stood frozen. One of the guards pointed at us and all eyes turned our way. Timmy swiveled around on his knees to face us. His mouth was wide open, as if he was shocked we’d remained in sight. After a moment, he hung his head.

  The boss man stepped behind him, grabbed Timmy’s hair, and pulled his head back. His other hand held a knife and the blade glimmered in the moonlight as he held it against Timmy’s throat. The boss man stared at us, as if awaiting our response.

  I swiveled my backpack around and unzipped the top. I pulled out the mini’s case and held it in front of me with trembling hands, focusing my thoughts on the men surrounding Uncle Timmy. The mini’s surge of power caused my skin to prickle. But it wasn’t enough. The mini needed to be free of its housing. I twisted, pressed, and squeezed, but nothing seemed to open the case. In a moment of frustration and panic, I screamed, launching my thoughts at it.

  There was a click and the case opened like a clamshell in my palms. I pulled the mini from the case with my right hand, and the full force of the shiny black pyramid from another world was suddenly a part of me.

  My senses expanded outward, stretching across the chasm until I could feel the hatred emanating from the men around Timmy. I breathed in the foul odors of their sweat, heard their quickened breaths, and the anxious pounding of their hearts. These were living beings and I possessed the power to kill them. If I didn’t, Timmy would die.

  What would Dad do?

  I knew from the stories I’d overheard from Dad and Tony that killing someone changed a person forever. But I had no choice. I drew in a deep breath...

  “Wait,” Sarafina said, placing her hand on the mini.

  The contact broke my concentration. I stared up at her.

  “We can reason with them.”

  Was it possible? I lowered my arms. What if she was right? She was my older sister and I had always trusted her. Maybe she could sense something I couldn’t? But I found myself shaking my head because something deep in my stomach disagreed with her. I remembered something Dad had said: Only reasonable men can be reasoned with.

  The mini’s energy was inside me, anxious to burst forth and do my bidding. I was unsure what to do. The choice was made for me when Sarafina stepped forward and stood at the entrance to the bridge. Ahmed moved beside her and my view was blocked. I lowered the mini as I squeezed between them. Uncle Timmy’s eyes got huge and he was shaking his head despite the blade at his throat. I reached out with my mind and felt his fear for our safety. I also felt his overwhelming sense of guilt. He’d wanted to protect us and failed.

  Just then the second group of poppy guards appeared from the front trail. They joined the others behind the boss man.

  Sarafina gathered her courage. “We meant you no harm, sir. Our plane crashed and we’re simply trying to make our way to our family. We returned all your money and our parents will gladly pay you more if you help us. Won’t you please release our uncle?”

  The boss man hesitated a moment, as if confused. Finally, he said, “You wish to bargain for this man...your uncle?”

  Sarafina nodded, and the man said something in Chinese to the men surrounding him. They laughed, and it brought a wide smile to the boss man’s face.

  Then he sliced Timmy’s neck from one end to the other.

  Chapter 34

  Fujian Province, China

  A WATERFALL OF BLOOD spilled from Uncle Timmy’s neck.

  My sister’s scream pierced the night and echoed between the canyon walls. Ahmed moved forward like he was shieldi
ng us from the violence, his fists white and shaking. I collapsed. The mini and its case tumbled to the ground as I grasped my throat, feeling Timmy’s pain like it was my own. His fear was inside me as his blood flowed down his chest.

  Then the boss man kicked Timmy over the edge.

  He disappeared into the darkness and I trembled from the depth of his terror as he fell through the air. Then his life vanished abruptly and I was left cold and empty.

  The boss man and his guards sprinted onto the bridge.

  “I will not stand by any longer,” a thickly accented voice said behind me.

  We spun around and stumbled aside as a dark form appeared from the shadows. The short figure was dressed as a monk, his features hidden within a cowl, his brown robes seeming to merge with the shadows as he glided past us and stood at the edge of the bridge to face the boss man and his guards. The bridge’s thick support ropes stretched on either side of him.

  The boss man hesitated in the middle of the bridge. He held a hand in the air and the men with him lowered their rifles. They seemed to be conferring with one another.

  My mind was assaulted by the dark sensations of Timmy’s death. They threatened to overwhelm my own senses and I started to close off the world like I had when I was younger. It was the tingle of energy from the mini at my feet that kept me in the present, as if it had latched on to a part of my mind and demanded that I pay attention to the world around me.

  “It’s been a while,” the boss man said.

  “Yes,” the monk replied, standing just off the bridge with his legs spread and his hands hidden within his robes.

  “Yes?” the boss man asked. “All you have to say is yes? No words of wisdom or comfort after so many years?”

  “You shouldn’t have murdered that man,” the monk said. “His blood is on your hands.”

  “And what do you know of blood, dear brother?” the boss man said, wiping each side of the bloody knife on his pant leg. “Your outdated vows preclude you from living life to the fullest.” He turned his swollen jaw to one side and spit. “Now remove yourself. This is no concern of yours.”

  “I shall not permit you to pass.”

  “You won’t permit us?” the boss man said with a chuckle. “A miniature monk against nine armed men? And what of your vows?”

  “I have taken many vows. A few moments ago I took another.”

  “Is that so? And what vow was that?”

  “To protect the children behind me.”

  I felt a spark of hope from my sister and resented her for it. She needed to get a clue. Hadn’t it been her eternal optimism that prevented me from killing the boss man when I had the chance?

  But my anger quickly soured my stomach. It wasn’t her fault and I knew it. Blaming her was a lame attempt to make me feel better, and I realized the emptiness caused by Timmy’s death was nothing compared to my overpowering sense of guilt.

  I could have prevented it.

  The boss man said, “And what of your primary vow?”

  “Sometimes vows conflict.”

  “You sicken me, brother. You’ve dedicated yourself to an order that trains endlessly with weapons that have been used for killing for many centuries. And yet that same order now proclaims that it is sacrilege for your weapons to cut flesh? You won’t even butcher an animal to provide food for your table. Do you not see the foolishness of your ways? You claim to be overseers of the land and protectors of its resources, while in reality all you do is huddle in your monastery and bring unrest to the population by making flyers that speak of the ill treatment of bears. This is not worthy of the brother I once had. Our father would be ashamed. Your life has been a waste.”

  The monk pulled his cowl back, revealing a bald head that shone in the moonlight. His skin was bronze and he appeared to be in his fifties, with a clean-shaven face and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that suggested he smiled a lot.

  He wasn’t smiling now.

  With a sweep of his arms, his robe fell from his shoulders to the ground. He wore an earth-colored tunic over baggy pants. The pants were tucked into calf-high socks wrapped with elastic straps that disappeared into moccasins. A sash crisscrossed his chest and wrapped around his waist to hold two shimmering swords with hooked ends. His hands hung loosely at his sides. Despite his short stature, he had a commanding presence.

  The guards on the bridge stilled. Regardless of the odds that favored them—nine men with rifles against one with swords—these men had probably grown up listening to legends about the monks who lived on the mountain. Monks who were seldom seen and always to be avoided. The moment stretched, and I used the opportunity to scoop up the mini and its case. I stuffed the case in my backpack but kept hold of the mini. I wouldn’t hesitate again to use it. In fact, a part of me longed for the opportunity. The realization frightened me.

  “You make a pretty sight,” the boss man admitted. “But your time has passed and we both know you are bluffing. You would sooner throw yourself from the mountain than allow your blades to taste our flesh.” He moved forward with confidence. The guards followed.

  The monk moved in a blur of movements. He lunged with his right foot as his arms crossed in front of his body, each hand coming away with a sword that he swung in wide arcs over his head and downward to either side.

  The blades sliced through the bridge’s first two support ropes without slowing.

  “Shoot him!” the boss man shouted. The guards at the front raised their weapons.

  But the monk never stopped moving. He maintained his low-slung stance as his upper body twisted smoothly to one side, the spinning blades glinting as he swept them downward through the two remaining support ropes on his left. There were loud snaps as the taut lines gave way and the left half of the bridge collapsed.

  “Nooo!” the boss man shouted as the planks beneath his feet dropped. He and his men abandoned their weapons and grabbed for the remaining handrail. Several of them didn’t make it.

  The monk’s upper body moved fluidly to the opposite side and the blades followed in an arc that severed the remaining two ropes.

  The bridge snapped like an overstretched rubber band, causing the boss man and the remaining guards to lose their grips.

  The monk stood motionless, his body balanced in a forward crouch, his arms and swords extended behind his body as if cocked to swing forward again if the need arose. His eyes were closed. The chorus of screams from the falling men echoed up the canyon walls and sent chills up my back. They cut off suddenly, and then the only sounds I could hear were the pounding of my heart and the sharp intakes of breath from my sister and Ahmed.

  No one moved, until the monk stood to his full height and whipped the swords in a smooth arc and slipped them beneath his sash. Then he folded his hands in prayer, bowed toward the chasm, and sang a chant. I didn’t understand the words but the rhythm and tones were soothing—and filled with pain.

  Finally, the monk put on his robe and turned to face us. “I am deeply sorry for the loss of your friend. He showed tremendous courage on your behalf. His actions honored both himself... and you.” His look lingered on the mini in my hand and his eyes narrowed. I reached into my pack and placed it in its case.

  “I’ve been watching you on and off since your plane crashed,” he said. It was him I’d sensed during our trek!

  “You’ve all been through quite an ordeal,” he added, “and you performed exceptionally well in the face of extraordinary circumstances. I only wish I’d interceded sooner. I’d thought you all were safe when you made it across the bridge. But when your friend ran back over…” His voice trailed off.

  “Thank you for saving us,” Sarafina said, wiping a tear from her face.

  Ahmed dropped to his knees at the cliff’s edge with arms outstretched over the chasm. “To Allah we belong and to Him is our return,” he said. It was a translated verse from the Qur’an. As he continued he switched to his native tongue of Dari. I couldn’t understand the words, but when he unclipped the t
wo magazines from his belt and tossed them over the edge, I realized that in addition to a prayer of peace for Timmy, he was also seeking forgiveness for his own shortsightedness. He must’ve blamed himself for not having given the ammunition to Timmy when Timmy ran back to retrieve the weapon. Of course, I knew it wasn’t Ahmed’s fault that Timmy was dead.

  It was mine.

  The monk lowered himself to his knees beside my brother. He closed his eyes and his lips formed soft words I couldn’t hear. Sarafina took my hand and we knelt down beside them to offer our own silent prayers.

  After several long minutes, we rose and stepped clear of the edge. Ahmed turned to face the monk. “What you did just now...the way you moved? It was as if Allah himself guided your blades. You delivered justice in His eyes.”

  The monk bowed. “I pray you are right, my son,” he said, his eyes going distant for a moment. “I pray you are right.”

  He started up the path and motioned for us to follow. “Come. You will be safe at the monastery.”

  Chapter 35

  Fujian Province

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG and quiet march up the mountain, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt over Timmy’s death. Or the guilt. Ahmed and Sarafina had given up trying to get me to talk about it after the first hour or so, though from their glum demeanor I knew that they were also haunted. I’d drawn into myself and they knew from experience it was no use trying to coax me out of it. I’d not spoken a word, even when the monk had introduced himself. His monastic name was Shi Yan Du but he’d asked us to call him Little Star, after the nickname his mother had given him as a child.

  “I may no longer use my monastic name,” he’d said without further explanation.

  The dawn sun was just peaking the mountain when we first saw the monastery. It was breathtaking, like something out of a storybook. The multilevel structure was perched on a huge outcrop of rock that stair-stepped beneath the peak of the mountain, its golden, pagoda-style rooftops glimmering under the sun, a rolling ocean of green forest surrounding it, stretching as far as the eye could see.