by Stu Jones
“Jenna, I’m sorry—”
“Stop, Kane. You don’t need to apologize anymore. I’m serious. We understand.”
Sam piped up from the rear. “We’re with you, Kane. We always have been.”
“We’ve talked about it.” Jenna looked him in the eyes. “What else are we going to do? We have to help you get your kids back.”
Courtland turned to Kane. “We’re all behind you, Kane—until it’s finished.” The group before him responded in agreement.
Kane paused to consider it. He had a handful of people, including a few of whom were still wounded, a few children, a reformed criminal thug with broken legs, an angelic caregiver, and a giant filled with the power of heaven. There were no more than twenty-three to their group— and that included the children. If rescuing his kids was even remotely possible, he was going to have to trust again. Just like Courtland said, he was going to have to trust—that anything was possible.
A dry, dusty wind rose hundreds of feet out of the Palo Duro Canyon, whipping Tynuk’s long, dark hair against the unshielded nakedness of his lithe frame. He stood near the edge of the canyon, flanked on either side by warriors much older than him and twice his size. Their unmistakable iron grip encircling his biceps remained a clear reminder that he was without question their prisoner. And though surrounded by so many of his own people, many of whom had come to see the spectacle, he felt completely and utterly alone.
He knew it was foolish to believe that he could survive this—foolish to believe that he had any chance of overcoming the trials of the ancients. But deep in his chest, there was a spark. The tiniest glimmer of hope that the ultimate path of the spirit was somehow greater than his current situation. He remembered something his grandfather had told him years ago. He said that belief without trust was nothing more than fantasy, but belief bound to trust required a personal investment, a showing that you truly had faith that your belief would sustain you. His grandfather had wisely likened the description to a chair. One could believe that it would sustain one’s weight, but it wasn’t until you trusted in it by sitting that you truly found out if your belief was real. It was time to trust.
Queenashano stepped forward as the crowd parted to make way for the Comanche war chief. As he walked, he wore a confident smile upon his face that betrayed his true intentions. He knew Tynuk was as good as dead. Queenashano stopped before Tynuk, raised his hands to the small crowd, and spoke in Comanche. Tynuk struggled to make out the entire meaning.
“We are but a small war party, encamped here on the mighty Palo Duro, and soon we will again move westward to rejoin with our brothers who now move under the guidance of Penateka. I have sent a rider to inform him of our situation and how our return shall be delayed by the running of these trials.”
The crowd of short, round-faced people murmured their approval, as warriors in light battle dressings firmly gripped their weapons in the morning half-light. Tynuk surveyed the group. No more than 150 people, and that included the women and children—none of whom were warriors. The old patriarchal culture was still strong in this New Comanche Nation.
“This boy,” Queenashano said again, “claims to be a great warrior. He claims that Nuk’Chala instructed him in our ways, and he believes he has a right to carry a sacred Comanche war belt that he himself did not earn. He is at best a liar and at worst a murderer and a thief. Our ways demand that he be put to death if he is guilty of these things. But there is still some part of the story missing, and I will not make a rash decision in this matter just yet. Instead he will be forced to endure the trials of the ancients—the sacred ritual that our ancestors created for separating those of pure purpose and unmatched skill from the rest. It is in these trials that his fate will be determined. Though he may succeed, one false move, one misstep, will mean his end.”
This solicited another murmur of acknowledgment from the crowd. Queenashano turned to the group. “Who will answer this call and test the boy?”
“Nu suana takwainitu!” Neraquassi stated as he stepped forward, his eyes and the bridge of his nose now black and blue.
“Nu suana takwainitu,” stated another proudly dressed warrior.
“Nu suana,” called another as he stepped forward and placed a fist over his chest.
This continued until eight warriors in total had stepped forward to accept the challenge of administering the trials.
“Very good.” Queenashano stepped forward toward Tynuk. “Are you ready to begin, young Tynuk?”
“Yes,” the boy stated simply, his face betraying no emotion.
“Very well, then. The trials have begun. Now I will ask you three very important questions that you must answer quickly without contemplation. Should you pass this test, you will carry them with you in your heart on this journey.”
Tynuk remained motionless.
“Whom do you love the most in this life?”
Tynuk did not hesitate. “My mother.”
Queenashano continued. “What do you value most in this life?”
“The teachings I have received from Grandfather Nuk’Chala.”
A few warriors in the crowd snickered, but Queenashano quickly silenced them with a wave of his hand. “And what is your purpose in this life?”
“To serve the Great Spirit with everything that I am.”
Queenashano looked long and hard at the boy, his steely gaze attempting to penetrate through the boy’s emotionless visage. He motioned at the sky. “Taahpu, Big Father, cares not for us. He has left us to our own devices. You are a fool for answering this way.”
Tynuk clenched his jaw. “Those are my answers. You don’t have to like them.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the clan leader straightened and casually waved his hands toward the naked boy as he spoke to the crowd. “He has failed the trials already.” Queenashano turned to the men flanking Tynuk. “Kill this bastard child and throw him into the canyon.”
Tynuk felt the men on either side of him tense and shift as one drew a knife from his belt, and even in his momentary shock, Tynuk knew he only had milliseconds to react. As the warrior on his right came across, thrusting the knife into where Tynuk’s chest had been just moments earlier, the boy dropped his weight and yanked to the right on the arm of the man to his left. The bloodcurdling shriek that followed told him everything he needed to know. The man on his left fell to the ground with the knife buried deep in his chest as the man on his right lunged toward him.
It was in this moment, as he calculated his next movement, that something flew into his face. At first he thought the wind of the canyon had blown dust into his eyes, but as they began to burn and his vision distorted, he knew it was something far more sinister. Someone had thrown or blown something at him. The boy cried out and tried to clear the chalky, white cloud away from him as the burning powder seared its way into his eyes and up his nostrils and crawled its way into the back of this throat. He was so preoccupied with the imminent feeling of suffocation that he hardly realized the other man had grabbed him again. Before he could think, his body was already reacting as he dropped his weight again, this time twisting and pinning the man’s hand to his shoulder as he spun. Tynuk felt his toes curl and grip what had to be the edge of the canyon as he hip tossed the man over the edge and into the abyss. Strangely, the man never made a sound as he pinwheeled into the dark emptiness of the canyon.
“Wunu hupiitu!” Queenashano threw his hands in the air, his warriors stopping short, their short spears aimed squarely at the blinded boy.
“What did you do to me?” Tynuk gasped.
Queenashano laughed. “You are skilled, boy, but you have failed the trials before they have even begun. You failed to answer correctly. You have shown us the weakness of your true heart. Now it is time for you to die.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance! What did you do to me!”
“Since entering the spirit realm is part of the trials, I brought with me the ground powder of the datura plant. In medicinal d
oses it allows a warrior to walk in the realm unseen, to truly know the spiritual. But since you have already failed the initial test, I have instead given you a lethal dose. There is no cure for what will happen now. Even with all your skill, you cannot fight it. It is known as ‘the devil’s snare’ for good reason.”
“You poisoned me…” Tynuk tried to calm his mind as he repossessed himself. He was trapped against the cliff face, and time was running out. There was only one thing left for him to do.
“Wait for him to weaken and fall; then sever his head and throw the rest of him over the edge.” Queenashano spoke to his warriors with utter confidence.
Only one thing left.
Queenashano and the rest of the Comanche war party watched with visible astonishment as Tynuk turned and flung himself from the canyon rim, his body soaring out into open space, falling, tumbling quietly into the mists below.
6
THE MENACING CLOUD cover that had rolled and churned endlessly above them for the last year and a half, since the end had begun, was now finally showing weaknesses. Whether it was perceived or actual was anybody’s guess. Whether Mother Nature was actually ridding herself of the filth in her atmosphere was still questionable, but the breaks in the oppressive cloud cover were unmistakable: tiny cracks of light shining through the oppressive barrier of soot and storm.
“The light shines through the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it,” Kane mumbled to himself as he watched the slits of light open and close, open and close, shifting against the blackened ceiling of the world. He went over everything again in his mind. “Like ice-skating uphill” was the analogy that came to mind when he considered what was to come next. Ice-skating uphill.
Courtland had told him that he’d recovered Susan’s body and buried it next to Molly at the radio station. Kane had all but demanded that they stop one last time at the radio station, so he could say goodbye before they departed and headed west. Courtland had of course agreed and set the others to scavenging the area of the station while they waited on Kane.
Kane arrived at a sloping sand hill and touched his hands softly to the tops of two short rebar crosses that jutted out of the sand at the foot of a few short mounds.
“Well…” Kane paused, his eyes drifting past the garbage-tainted ocean to the horizon beyond. The scene would be beautiful if it weren’t so depressing. “I’m still here.” He smiled weakly. “Guess that’s my curse. I get to stay while everyone I love slips through my fingers.” He looked to the somewhat-fresh grave and lowered his head. “Hey, baby.” Kane paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’m going to get our kids back. I don’t know how, but I made a promise to you, and I’ll die before I stop trying. That means I’ve got to go west now. I have to try to catch up to the bad guys before they get too far—before they get away from me.” Kane struggled to fight back the emotional tidal wave that gathered in the dark recesses of his heart. Strange, the way old failures always had a way of threatening to steal his resolve. He swallowed and ran a hand over his beard. “I just wanted to say goodbye, since I may not get another chance. You were the best part of me, and…I miss you, baby.” A tremor shook through his body, and Kane thought for a moment that he might lose his composure. “I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t even save myself. I did my best, sweetie, but I tried to do it on my own—I suppose that’s the whole point. I’m not big enough to save us. I won’t cut God out of this anymore. I won’t make that mistake again with our babies. I promise.” He ducked his head. “You and the kids are my heart. I love you so much. Always will.”
Kane took a breath, composed himself, and turned his focus on the second, well-worn grave. “Molly, this is Susan, whom I told you so much about. I’m glad you guys get to rest here together. At least that makes me feel a little better.” He paused, searching for the right thing to say. “We’re going on an adventure, Molly. I know how much you loved a good adventure. Wish you could go with us—but you can’t…” Kane patted the cross one final time. “Take care, kiddo. I’ll never forget.”
Kane turned and did not look back as he moved with as much speed as he could muster toward the front of the station. As he went, his mind swirled with mixed memories of the past, beautifully horrific tokens of his ultimate failures.
He rounded the corner, wincing with the effort, to find everyone in motion, carrying items, gathering the few supplies and weapons they had, or had discovered, and loading everything up into the caravan of older, beaten, and charred vehicles. It was time to put the past behind him. He needed his mind right for what was to come next.
Kane took a moment to inventory their resources one last time. In addition to whatever they’d found here, they had twenty-six people, five vehicles, eight rifles and handguns, a handful of various ammunition types, and just enough scavenged food, water, and fuel to get this journey started. They would need more resources soon, or they wouldn’t make it far.
Kane huffed and rubbed his forehead. And where exactly were they going? Courtland had told him west—that Malak was headed to some as-yet-unknown location in New Mexico or Arizona. All they could do was go up to catch Interstate 40 and head west. About the only thing they had going for them was the fact that Malak and his savage group were anything but subtle. He wouldn’t know yet that they were being followed, and it was more than highly likely that they’d be carving a trail of death and destruction across the heartland as they went—a trail that would be all too easy to follow.
Kane took a shallow breath and eyed the group, who now appeared to be slowing. He winced and leaned back against the outer brick of the clinic. The wound in his abdomen had stopped weeping and started itching. He supposed it was a good sign, though the change didn’t do anything for his comfort. As long as no further complications arose, he should be on his way to a full recovery. How long that would be, however, was a whole other question.
Courtland motioned from across the way, questioning if he was ready to depart. Kane nodded slowly.
“Hang on, Kane,” Jenna said as she approached and slipped under his arm to help him to one of the vehicles.
“I’m fine,” he managed to say as he made a painful grimace.
Jenna nodded. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help,” she said as she helped him toward the caravan of vehicles. “Get to say goodbye?”
“Yeah,” Kane muttered.
“I never got to meet Molly or Susan, you know. I think the three of us would have been friends.”
“They would have loved you. I have no doubt.”
Jenna smiled, opening the door to an older-model Chevy truck and helping Kane into the passenger seat. She produced a full-size GLOCK handgun and pressed it into his hand. “Here. It’s one of the few. I know you feel vulnerable without one.” Jenna smiled again.
Kane bobbed his head sincerely. “Thank you, Jenna. Really. Thanks for…everything.”
“Don’t thank me, Kane. Everything happens for a reason. After all this—I really believe that.”
Kane winced with morbid thoughts. “I just can’t stop thinking about my kids. What they must be going through…”
“Don’t do that.” Jenna shook her head. “Don’t do that to yourself. We’re going to find them. We’re going to find them, and we’re going to bring them home, OK?”
Kane nodded and lowered his head.
“You ready for this?” she said, her question reaching much deeper into his heart than he anticipated.
Kane took a minute as his eyes wandered up the lonely stretch of ruined highway before them, to the unknown fate that awaited each of them. He turned to Jenna with a weariness that seemed to know no end.
“I guess it’s time to find out,” Kane said and shrugged as he pulled the door to the truck shut.
As the small entourage of vehicles pulled away, a woman closely watched from inside the shadow of the blackened radio station. Kane was alive, and she had just found her ace in the hole. She turned and limped away from the cover of the building,
toward a hidden vehicle that was awaiting her return. It was time to finish these cowards. She had waited far too long already.
“We’re going to follow them.”
“Follow them?” the ugly man snapped at the woman, who was acting like she was in charge.
“You’re really too stupid to live, aren’t you? Kane is alive. Malak wanted him dead. What that means is Malak thinks Kane is dead, or he wouldn’t have left him alive! He’s going to want to know this.”
“So what are you saying we do?”
“Take Kane a fucking bouquet of flowers and a get-well card,” Shana quipped. “What do you think, you idiot!”
“Call me an idiot again, and I swear—”
“You’ll do what? Idiot,” Shana snapped, raising her AK-47 rifle and staring a hole in the ugly bandit who looked on with disdain.
He quickly glanced at the other two apparently dim-witted Coyotes they had gathered in their search for Kane’s group. Neither of the men flinched at her openly threatening him. He dropped his head. So, she was going to be in charge after all. The dirty man gave an exasperated sigh. “What are you proposing, woman? Get to the point.”
“The name is Shana. And the point is, ass clown, that we can’t return to Malak empty-handed.” She dropped her rifle and let it hang from a sling on her shoulder. “Do you want to go back like that? Would you want to face him empty-handed—a failure?”
“What kind of question is that?” the man mumbled.
“Exactly. You don’t. And neither do I—which means we have to make ourselves useful again.”
“And?”
“We’re going to follow Kane’s group and exploit them. We’re going to find out what their plan is and return to Malak with news of his pursuers.”
“You know where Malak was headed? How to find him?”
“I know where we can find out.” Shana winked and tapped the side of her head. “You gotta use your noodle, dipshit. Because when we take this group to him on a silver platter, he’ll have no choice but to draw us back into the fold, maybe even make us generals in his army.”