White Bird (A Mayan 2012 Thriller)

by Tom Rich

  “Was the stela completely blank?”

  “Yes. No. It was blank, but there was the guy’s name on it. Some king. And, shit!” She looked around the clearing. “How could they get the stela out of here?” She looked to the top of the pyramid. “You think they had a helicopter?”

  “And the name was?” Tencho said very slowly.

  “I don’t remember. Really, I don’t.” Her eyes stopped raking the night sky and met his. “But I think you know.”

  He said nothing. His eyes held hers.

  “Dammit, Tencho, those guys are wearing uniforms. From a government agency. And now they’re…” not the time to cry, not the time to cry, “they’re dead. And what if that was just interrogation? They do things like that down here, don’t they?”

  “Those uniforms are left over from the days of the old army. You did not notice how worn they looked?”

  Aly’s shoulders slumped. “Such a poor country.” It was always the details of clothing that turned on her waterworks at the movies: Cinderella’s rags, Charlie Chaplin eating his shoe, the little girl’s red coat in Schindler’s List. But she couldn’t seek pity from Tencho. Not after what he’d done. She managed to hold it in.

  “We cannot take the trail,” said Tencho. “We will make our way through the forest.”

  “Impossible,” said Aly. “It’s hard enough in the daytime.”

  “You must listen to me.”

  “But… Okay.”

  “When I was young, very young, I returned to my village one day from attending school in another village. While I and the other children were gone, the army had come and destroyed the village. They burned it along with the men who were our fathers and uncles. Everyone else was disappeared. The older children said that would be our fate as well because we attended the school. All we could do was go into the forest and survive. We learned and we survived. We became so skilled in the forest that when the soldiers came into the mountains to hunt the guerillas and kill my people, we stole their supplies and disappeared into the night before they could catch us.”

  “And now you’re on the run again because of me.”

  “These men are not from a government institution.”

  “But they have friends who will come after us, don’t they?”

  “Stay close. Do what I do and we can travel quickly.”

  Tencho’s skill for finding openings through the thick growth baffled Aly. It was as if the darkness had triggered an extra sense. Several times he stopped to ask if she needed to rest. Each time Aly said, “Onward.”

  Her adrenaline finally ran out. They stopped at the base of a massive tree. Aly sat in a fold between roots rising high out of the ground.

  “Look, Arby wouldn’t do what you think he did,” Aly said after two minutes. “I don’t know about the artifacts. But even if they weren’t in the country he would never leave me behind to take the fall. I know that just because I know it.”

  “If you are certain. I only know that he was not inside the pyramid.”

  “No. He wasn’t. And I don’t know where… Unless he found another site? Something related to the miniature pyramid? You think—”

  “The pyramid is not some trinket for tourists to enjoy.”

  “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” Aly leaned back into the darkness between the tree roots. After several quiet minutes, “Let’s go.”

  Now Aly felt the full fatigue of her day with every step, with every tight cluster of trees she pulled herself through. More than that, she didn’t feel herself. She’d left too much back in the pyramid; had too much drained by the ol. And now, because of the darkness, and the enclosure of the forest, she couldn’t get it back.

  She’d always found the light of a full moon to be restorative. She remembered the time she and Blue made a nighttime commando raid on the sculpture park north of Cincinnati. They’d slipped onto the property after three a.m. and studied the patterns of the roving security guards while sticking just inside the tree line. When they felt confident enough, they raced from one large sculpture to another. The light of the full moon would have exposed them, but they kept in the shadows, contorting themselves to fit the various shapes cut into the night. Aly felt the experience to be a defining moment; melding into art and the man she always wanted to be with by the light of the moon.

  If the world did end, thought Aly, and Mark Twain was right about only Cincinnati remaining, the park was too far outside the city limits to be saved.

  And Blue is on tour with his dark-haired singer.

  ~ ~ ~

  Their arrival to their village disoriented Aly. All of her previous entrances had been from one side or the other on the single footpath that sliced the village in half. Emerging suddenly from the trees presented a new angle on the small cluster of huts. It was as if she’d never been to this place. Even when standing before her hut.

  “He’ll be in there,” Aly said. “He’ll be asleep and we’ll wake him and tell him everything and I guess we’ll bug out. Tencho, I’m going to make it very clear to Arby what you did for me and he’s going to give you whatever help you need. I promise. He’s a good guy. A really, really, good guy.”

  Tencho turned his eyes to the hut. Aly led him inside.

  Even though she didn’t need to, because the space was so small, she called into the darkness, “Arby? Dr. Arbanian?”

  Tencho drew to her side.

  “Shit!” Aly stared at a wall.

  A moment later a thin beam of light sliced across the room. Tencho had found a flashlight.

  The beam hit Dr. Arbanian’s cot. Aly said, “Stop. What’s that?” She moved closer. “God, what are those?”

  Tencho steadied the light. After a moment, “Eight fingers and two thumbs.”

  Aly realized the dark spot on the cot was not a shadow. She felt faint. “What”?

  “They tortured him.”

  “No. This isn’t right.”

  Tencho moved the light around the cot. “He said nothing. I believe to protect you.”

  “What?” Aly felt her legs going. “No. How could you know that?”

  “That is his tongue.” He jiggled the light. “It is a form of respect from the people who did this to him. He did not speak in this world and his tongue would only be a hindrance for speaking in the next.”

  Aly dropped to her knees and vomited. Once her stomach was empty she continued to dry heave.

  When she finished, Tencho drew Aly to her feet. He wiped her mouth with a cloth. “We will sleep in my house until dawn,” he said, “then leave this place.” He took her by the hand.

  On their way out the light found Dr. Arbanian’s Dodgers cap hanging on a peg by the door. Aly’s tears let loose.

  She fell to the floor in Tencho’s house and sobbed herself to sleep.

  12: Sylvie

  In a small bungalow, somewhere in Hollywood, there played the muffled, opening strains of “Let’s Make the Morning Never Come,” the hit theme song to the hit movie, Ten ’til Midnight. The film made quite a splash before tucking itself away into its own tiny niche of the cultural memory. Two years after its debut video sales had leveled off into a brief flurry around Valentine’s Day and the occasional frantic husband dashing in for a last minute anniversary present. And the theme, recently heard at the beginning of a commercial for a national florist, then reprised in the last five seconds for the clever finish, sometimes sparked a dying flame in couples who saw the movie on their first or second or third date, and sometimes did not. Everyone involved with the film made money, and most principal players moved up a notch in their careers. The player whose career should have received the biggest shot in the arm was Sylvie Averling, the picture’s female lead.

  By the age of four, Sylvie was the seasoned veteran of half a dozen television commercials. At six, she was making the rounds of family sitcoms in a variety of guest appearances. Looking several years beyond her age at thirteen, she joined the cast of a hit teen drama as a minor character. As the num
ber of her scenes steadily increased, the number of friends she’d made on the set decreased. After four seasons Sylvie became the first cast member to leave. The show folded midway through the following season. Meanwhile, Sylvie’s career rushed her through a series of teen comedies typical of the day, and into a slasher trilogy filmed simultaneously. Friends, so-called friends and ex-friends called for favors. All Sylvie wanted from any of them was distance.

  Kenneth “Breeze” Fabritzi, a long-suffering indie director getting his first shot at a mainstream studio picture, then picked Sylvie out of the Beautiful Crowd for the lead in Ten ’til Midnight. The magic Sylvie and Breeze created brought her to the sterling edge of Hollywood success. But in that rarified air Sylvie found there to be many holes in her life; holes she plugged with alcohol and cocaine and any other drug that came her way. For the next two years the only cameras Sylvie appeared before were those of the paparazzi, who dutifully recorded her soaring iniquities through the nighttime inner sanctums of the Beautiful Crowd, and her semi-nude, dawn splashdowns in public places. Eventually, even the paparazzi lost interest.

  Now the quiet notes of “Let’s Make the Morning Never Come” reminded Sylvie that if she stayed focused, stayed clean and sober and relied on her talent, she could have it all back.

  Sylvie reached into her bag. No need to check caller ID. This phone was reserved for Kurtwood Franz: her lover, her rock, her soon-to-be producer. “Hey, Woody.”

  “Hey, Vee Vee”

  “God I love it when you call me that.”

  “Won’t be long until the whole world calls you Vee Vee.”

  “Think?”

  “Just like J Lo.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something.”

  “Working the program? Staying clean and mean?”

  “Same as yesterday. Only now it’s eight months and two days instead of eight and one.”

  “Breeze have you busy yet?”

  “He’s still out of town scouting locations. And, really, I have my part down. Why wouldn’t I? It’s me exactly. So, no. It’s tough not being busy. Too much time for the blues, you know? What did you do this morning?”

  “I, sweet love of my life, spent the morning forming one genius of an idea.”

  “Oh? Have you ever formed any other kind?” Her voice rose into a tiny falsetto. “And am me too wittle of a girl to understand Daddy’s big idea?”

  “Self esteem, Sylvie. The powers are within you. Keep that in mind twenty-four seven. Don’t even joke about it.”

  “I miss you, Woody. It’s tough when you’re not out here. I’m all alone.”

  “That’s about to change. I’m telling Breeze to bring the entire production to Indiana. That way I can keep two eyes and even more hands on you.”

  “Whoa-ho! Time out. Ti-ime out. Damn, Woody. I don’t think so. Breeze doesn’t like being told that sort of thing. I mean really, really doesn’t. Artistic control, that sort of thing, et ceterah rah rah.”

  “I knew you’d be overjoyed.”

  “No, now, come on. You and me together? That part sounds great. But Breeze is impossible to budge when it comes to his work.”

  “I’m the executive producer. He does what I say or I pull the plug.”

  “And there goes my comeback.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll fix things with Breeze. You may have forgotten, but I have nearly as much money as you have talent.”

  “Definitely do not put it to Breeze like that. Look, if you’re really keen on this, maybe I should float the idea past him first. Yeah, I’ll work the money angle. Only I’ll suggest that cheaper production costs in the Midwest will give him more time to shoot. He loves setting up every scene and tearing it down a thousand times. Get my point? Play to his artistic vanity.”

  “You’re a shrewd one, you are. Why don’t you give it all up and come help me run my empire?”

  “Dahhh-link, I must act. You already have the lahhh-gest paht of me. But my public needs me evah the so much more.”

  “Ahh, and who is this I’m speaking to?”

  “Why, Madame Vouvray, ahv course.”

  “I see. And does Madame Vouvray understand what it is that Daddy needs?”

  “But ahv course, dahhh-link. Madame Vouvray knows all, sees all.”

  “And what does Madame Vouvray see about Daddy’s special needs?”

  “Madame Vouvray says not to worry about special needs. Everything Madame Vouvray does is special. Everything Madame Vouvray does is to help Daddy see his destiny.”

  “Destiny. And what about this destiny, Madame Vouvray?”

  “It is yet unclear. But there are ways.”

  “What can you tell me about the ways?”

  “The way must be clarified. The pahth must be illuminated. Others have tried, but…”

  “But?”

  “They have been guided by an impure light.”

  “And?”

  “And…only the light of the moon can be trusted. The light of Omega Moon, the last moon before…”

  “Before what?”

  “The last moon before the Cult of the Something Serpent…”

  “Quetzal Serpent. Go on.”

  “Sacrifices…they must be… Woody?”

  “What is it, Babe?”

  “I’m tired of—I really need to get to a meeting. It’s been a few days. You mind?”

  “Now? There must be meetings all day out there.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, there are. But there aren’t many where I won’t cause a big commotion. You know, because of who I am?”

  “See why I want you here in Indy with me?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll work on that. Look, I don’t want to be late. Call me tonight, okay?”

  “I need you with me on this, Vee Vee. I need you to believe so that I can believe.”

  “I know. I…I gotta go.”

  “Love you.”

  Sylvie broke the connection.

  She sat motionless for several minutes. When she finally came back into herself she hit MEMORY 1 on her phone. The notes from “Let’s Make the Morning Never Come” played. She hit the button again. And again….

  13: Sad Chick

  Aly awoke on the kitchen floor of Tencho’s unfinished house. He stood a few feet away cooking a breakfast of beans and rice on a butane stove. He’d brought her backpack over from her hut. A knapsack stood beside it. Aly wondered if the knapsack was from the old army, like the uniforms of Fishhook and Hernandez. She assumed Tencho had his pistol packed inside.

  Tencho handed Aly a plate. They ate in silence.

  “Your canteen is filled,” said Tencho when they finished. “I put everything into your pack I thought was yours. Take out anything not needed. It is best to travel light.”

  Travel to where? Aly rummaged through her pack. “Just one thing,” she said.

  She went to her hut; a one room shack with a dirt floor, no electricity or plumbing and, until now, she didn’t realize how much she loved it. But she couldn’t go in. Aly opened the door, reached in without looking and felt around until she found the peg holding Arby’s Dodgers cap.

  Tencho had their gear outside when she returned. “It is best you not wear that,” he said when seeing the cap in Aly’s hand.

  “Not a problem. I hate the Dodgers.” She stuffed the cap into her pack.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tencho barely said a word the first three days they hiked. They stuck to the high trails and managed to see no one. The morning breezes kept the forest cool and the sky above the trees clear of clouds. As the sun crossed noon each day, wispy strands of white formed high in the deep blue and cast a drifting haze into the low-lying hills. Depending on which side of the ridge they were running, the land sweeping below was either a patchwork of farmland, or a dry, brown badland dotted by cacti and short, twisted trees. Afternoons cast long shadows into the valleys. That’s when Aly felt loneliness creeping in; when thoughts of Arby enduring torture to protect her, and Tencho being separated from his wife and children in a way
he probably never imagined, drained her energy.

  Her loneliness increased as the lowering sun drew long streaks of pink and orange over the lowlands. Nighttime had been Night Town for Aly those last several months in Cincinnati. She’d grown accustomed to the pace of this land; loved it, even, which convinced her she was over and done with the Party Girl phase of her life. Just now, though, she missed the roiling, shoving, loud urgency of the crowded barroom. She missed the leaning nonchalance of the young hipsters exhibiting their cool within the chaos. And the heat of too many bodies on the dance floor. And the dim light outlining Trish behind the bar. And the pockets of total darkness where you could hide until flashing explosions of stage light briefly exposed you. Even the tang of body odor and the rank smell of urine wafting from the men’s room. Aly especially missed Trish’s barmaid mannerisms when mixing one of her infamous Tailgaters.

  And the music I was almost part of. Music that was to be the soundtrack of my life.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aly estimated they hiked thirty to forty kilometers each day. She had no idea where they were going, or if they were running to or from something. She had plenty of questions concerning who the two uniformed men could be. Were they really from the culture ministry? Did they torture and disappear Dr. Arbanian? Was that the work of someone else? She let all that ride for the time being. Tencho was the one who’d put himself on the line when he shot Fishhook and Hernandez. He had enough to think about as far as how to get to his family and where to go from there. The only thing apparent to Aly was that Tencho had no intention of bringing any authorities into play.

  On the third night they camped in a spot that was open to the sky. The first two nights Aly had fallen asleep immediately after dinner. But on this night, watching from her back, the sky provided a show unlike anything she could get at home in the city. The only other time she’d seen so many stars was on a hiking trip in the Wind River Range of the Wyoming Rockies. The overwhelming depth of light scattered about the dusty spiral of the Milky Way had made her feel that everything was possible. The others in her party all agreed that the presence of countless other worlds made them feel insignificant. Only Aly suggested that they might be the only beings in the universe capable of observing its unfolding, and that somehow they had a responsibility to honor that gift.