by Tom Rich
Two seconds.
Felix spun and fired a single slug into Breeze’s abdomen.
Breeze doubled over and stumbled backward. He hit the floor and rolled into a fetal position, gasping without voice.
Felix reeled off orders. Two of the soldiers stretched Breeze out on his back. Breeze screamed and tried to kick and thrash, then seemed to grow weak all at once. A third soldier grabbed Breeze by the ears and held his head steady. Nomar drew a knife from inside his shirt. He knelt by Breeze’s head.
Breeze found new strength to buck his chest and turn his head. “It wasn’t me!” he screamed. “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!”
A fourth soldier kneeled and held Breeze’s head steady.
With two swift downward jabs Nomar’s knife pierced Breeze’s eyes.
The screams caused Antony to vomit into his lap.
The smell of the vomit changed Lydell’s idea about what was happening. “This is real,” he said. “Damn. Damn. This is real.” He pulled his knees up and buried his head in his arms.
Aly halfway fainted. For several minutes she had no idea who or where she was.
Sylvie peed.
Two soldiers gagged Breeze and tied him into a tight ball then kicked and spit on him.
Felix shook his head in disgust over the bound man groaning on the floor. He pointed across the room. Four soldiers went into the flickering glow, one wheeling a dolly.
Nomar took a radio from his belt and relayed a message. He positioned himself next to the elevator.
“It’s that empty shaft,” said Sylvie. “There’s something evil down there.” She felt pressure on her right shoulder.
Antony was leaning into Sylvie as he fought to push himself up against the wall. “I…I make it right,” he said.
“Kid,” said Pelfry. “Sit down.”
Felix approached Antony, an amused look on his face. He looked up and down at the vomit dropping in chunks from the boy. Felix shrugged his shoulders as a means of asking Antony his intentions.
“You’re not hurting the girl,” said Antony. He stood to his full height.
Felix rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Ahh, I see.” He lowered his hand, opened it slowly to Sylvie. “You mean, of course, the pretty girl.”
Antony steadied his darting eyes onto Felix.
Felix said, “Well, my friend, I believe you have found a way to keep possession of your testicles. But what action will you take?” He extended the pistol, letting it lay flat in his open hand, the barrel pointing away from Antony. “You wish to disarm me?” He pushed the gun forward in small increments.
“I do what I have to do.” Antony twisted his neck, took his eyes from the gun and darted them around the room.
Felix gripped the pistol and let it hang at his side. “That is wise,” he said. “Perhaps you could kill me. But how would you save the girl with so many soldiers to stop you.”
Antony slumped against the alcove wall.
“I will offer you a solution,” said Felix. “A trade. Does that interest you?”
Antony’s sullenness dominated his fear. “You think I’m playing. You think I’m just a boy.”
“Oh? Then think of what I am about to offer you as a step into manhood.”
The two stared at each other for a moment.
“Come,” said Felix. He half turned, coaxed by gently waving the pistol.
Antony settled his eyes on the bound, blinded man groaning on the floor.
Felix looked where Antony was looking. “Unlike some in this room,” Felix turned to Antony, “you have earned my respect. Come. There will be no retribution.” He waved the pistol. “Come.”
Antony pulled himself from the wall.
“Antony?” said Sylvie. She touched his leg.
Lydell peeked out from between his arms. He watched as Antony slowly followed the man with the pistol to the elevator. Then they were too far away to hear.
Antony heard mechanisms at work inside the elevator shaft. He expected whoever—whatever—he had to trade with was about to arrive.
Felix pointed his pistol into the black void next to the elevator. “For the girl,” said Felix. “The pretty girl.” He waved the gun for emphasis. “For her freedom.”
Antony looked at Felix, not understanding.
“This one thing only can save her,” said Felix.
“What thing?” asked Antony. The hum in the elevator was rising in volume.
“Step into your manhood,” said Felix. “Step into the darkness. For the girl. For her freedom.”
Antony stared into the shaft in disbelief. The sound, rising in volume, rising up the empty shaft, was no longer a hum, but a buzzing. He shook his head, looked at Felix.
“You do not trust I would let her go?” said Felix. “Look at these men. These men around you. You have seen how I command them. If they ever heard me speak one lie—even the smallest lie to my greatest enemy—they would never again follow my orders.”
Antony wondered how he could hear this man through the loud buzzing. It was like a billion bees were coming up that empty shaft. He looked around, took in the grim men bearing arms, all of their eyes on him. Antony heard voices, yet none of these men’s lips were moving. Antony looked back into the shaft. He said, “How…far down?”
“How far down. How far down.” Felix pondered very seriously, looked at Antony. “I do not know how far down. But I am certain of one thing. I am certain you would never come out.”
The blood drained from Antony’s face. He took half a step back. Voices, not bees! Accusing voices!
The men with rifles were not speaking. The voices were not theirs, so they were not hurling accusations at Antony. Nor was the man standing in front of him. The man who commanded these other men. The man Vee had called Felix. The badass “Mexican looking dude” Lydell had said was a Gomez brother.
Antony now feared that the voices were in his head, feared that something in the dark shaft had put them there.
How could that be?
And now Antony knew that to step into the shaft would be to step into something worse than death. To step in there would be to step into an eternity of accusations. Not accusations of stealing, because Antony did not steal the tools that had gone missing from his shop class. But accusations of Antony being too “cool” to refute the charge of stealing. Accusations of not “stepping up” to prove he was too honorable to steal. Accusations of Antony selling out to take the easy way.
There was honor in these men around him. They were bound together by the fact they would never lie to each other. They proved who they were on a moment to moment basis by never betraying that honor. And because of honor, these “Mexican looking dudes” would never betray themselves just to get by in a white man’s world.
The voices ceased. Antony turned from the shaft.
Felix said, “I understand.” He gestured with his pistol to the empty space between Sylvie and Lydell.
Antony shuffled forward, scanning the floor as if looking for a pebble to kick.
“As I promised, my friend,” said Felix after Antony, “you will not lose your testicles on this evening.”
Antony sat without meeting anyone’s eyes. Sylvie took his wrist. He jerked it free and stared forward.
The elevator door slid open. Kurtwood Franz stumbled out. The two soldiers who shoved him followed.
Sylvie sat up straight. “Something’s not right,” she said.
Franz, straightening himself as much as he could, listed to his right.
“Looks like he’s favoring broken ribs,” said Pelfry.
There was blood on Franz’s shirt, but no visible wounds. He quickly surveyed the scene, then flashed a look of confidence announcing to everyone concerned that he would soon gain control of the situation. His eyes found Sylvie. He pointed. “Don’t worry, babe, this is like a rehearsal.”
Felix drew up to Franz. “You are the builder of this place.”
Franz smiled. “And you are?”
Felix
moved his face to within an inch of Franz’s. “I am the one who spared your life because your blood was not worthy to spill inside our temple.”
Franz took half a step back. He seemed about to embrace Felix, but swept the arm from his good side instead. “And look what I have built for you.” He looked to Felix as if expecting a favorable reaction.
Felix scowled.
Franz went to the nearest alcove and scooped a number of small sculptures into his arms. “These have power,” he shouted over his shoulder. “They fill my temple with k’ulel.” He turned and lumbered back to Felix, tilting to one side, laboring not to drop any artifacts. “The k’ulel here is strong.”
One of the soldiers drove his rifle butt into the side Franz favored. Franz dropped the sculptures and fell to the floor.
“I do not feel the k’ulel,” said Felix. He bent down and retrieved a sculpture. “But I see you have stolen much more from us than I believed.”
Franz struggled to his knees. “There is k’ulel here from the blood of a king!”
Felix turned the sculpture in his hand, examining it closely. “You are the most disgraceful looter of all.”
“Not a looter,” said Franz. “All of this belongs here. Think about why you couldn’t kill me that night. It’s because I was chosen to tell the story of the coming of the Fifth Creation. I didn’t know it then, but I was chosen—”
Franz took a blow to the ribs on his good side. He sprawled face down.
A soldier collected the dropped sculptures.
Franz managed to pull up to his knees. “I do it with film. It’s the story of how I was chosen to find the Ch’ak of Ukit Took.” He searched the room for Breeze; finally realized the bound, bloody mess lying a few feet away was the man he’d been working with on his screenplay. Franz received a blow to the back of his neck.
“And your story includes teaching that man ancient rituals for killing children,” said Felix. “Just to do your bidding.”
Franz managed to lift his head to look back and forth between Breeze and Felix. “What? No.” A foot shoved his face to the floor.
Two soldiers carrying the Ch’ak of Ukit Took approached. They placed it in front of the empty shaft. Two other soldiers brought the blank stela on the dolly and stood it next to the ch’ak.
Franz tried to stand. He could rise only to his hands and knees. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”
“Just go down, Woody,” whispered Sylvie. “Just go down and stay down.”
A blow to the middle of his back flattened Franz onto his stomach.
Aly stirred, shook her head and came back into herself. She looked across Sylvie. Pelfry seemed to be sizing up the room. Was he looking for an opening, a weakness? The boy Sylvie had called Antony was staring and not moving. The man on the other side of him had his knees up and his head buried in his arms. Aly looked to the man who’d been shot in the shoulder. He stood rigid and quiet; his bleeding slowed to a trickle.
The elevator door slid open. On board stood a man wearing a ceremonial headdress. Otherwise he was naked. And painted entirely blue.
Franz gasped, certain he was witnessing the return of Alvaro Xaman from the Underworld. He crawled a few inches, oblivious to the soldier spitting on him. “What more proof do you need?” he said to Felix. “This is the man I sent to contact you. He crossed back into your time to bring you here. See how it’s all coming together? This proves I’ve been right all along. This proves I’ve been chosen to—” The soldier placed a foot on Franz’s back. He shifted his weight forward, pressing Franz’s face to the floor.
The blue man stepped from the elevator.
Four soldiers wearing ceremonial masks swarmed around Avendano Xaman. Avendano extended his arms in a T. The soldiers tilted him back and lifted him over their heads. All at once the four erupted into loud screams. With slow, slow movements they turned Avendano until they faced the ch’ak. They lowered slowly toward the floor by bending at the knees. When they could go no lower they eased steadily up, their right feet continuing off the floor and rising higher once they stood fully erect. All four feet stomped down together. The procession had moved forward a few inches. While continuing to scream, they repeated the process with their left legs.
“What are they doing?” said Sylvie.
Aly took in the scene. She understood. “Don’t look. I’m telling you, don’t look don’t look don’t don’t don’t look.”
Twenty feet away Franz looked over his shoulder. He winked at the man standing over him. The soldier reared his rifle back to smash Franz in the head. Franz managed to flip over and grab the rifle butt as it came down, catching the soldier off guard. Franz got leverage by bending his knees and bracing his feet against the floor. He pulled the soldier off balance. The soldier fell forward and the end of the rifle barrel went under Franz’s chin. The weapon went off when the soldier landed on top of it. The discharge took off the top of Franz’s head and spread his brains across the elevator door.
Sylvie closed her eyes. “Oh my god.” She slumped against Aly.
Aly began flirting with the hope that her own end would come as swift.
The People of the Maize, caught up in their ceremony, did not acknowledge the gunshot. Felix joined in the frenzy. Nomar joined in fits and starts, but could not quite get his mind off the captives. The remaining soldiers, including the one that had discharged the gun under Franz’s chin, were drawn into the screaming. Nomar grabbed Franz’s killer and pointed. The soldier reluctantly took a position where he could glance back and forth between the procession and the captives.
Pelfry saw that an opening had presented itself. He’d already decided the man with the shoulder wound, Jeffery Paxton, would be of no help. He leaned across Antony to address Lydell. “Hey,” said Pelfry. “Hey, my man. Hey.”
Lydell didn’t move.
Pelfry shook Antony. “Kid, you know his name? Hey, man,” he said to Lydell. “We can get out of this. But you and me, we have to work together. Hear me?”
Lydell mumbled. He turned his buried head back and forth in his arms.
“Okay, my man. I’m going on the assumption you hear me. When the time comes, you and me are going to do this together. There’s just the one guard paying attention to us. When I give the signal, we rush him. You hit him low. I’ll hit him high and take the gun. Just keep low after that. We can do this. I’m a cop. I’ve had the training.”
Pelfry straightened. The guard was standing above him. Sylvie had tried to warn him with a nudge, but he hadn’t noticed. A rifle butt came down and caught him across the bridge of his nose. Pelfry lost consciousness for a moment. When he came to, the soldier walking away turned in circles in one direction, split into two, three then four identical pictures, accordioned back together, then spun in separating circles the other direction. A wave of nausea caused Pelfry to fall across Antony.
Sylvie managed to pull Pelfry upright. She patted him on the cheek. “Can you still go? Can you still do it? What if I try to distract him?” She slapped Pelfry. His head lolled. “Fuck it! What if I go with you.”
The guard looked over. Sylvie let go of Pelfry. He folded forward.
When the guard once again appeared occupied, Sylvie tried to get Paxton’s attention. “Jeffery.” She tried to find a rhythm to the screaming so the guard wouldn’t hear. “Jeffery.”
Paxton cocked an ear.
“Jeffery. Think about in the limo after that morning show. Think about that, Jeffery. Are you remembering? That was my anger fuck.”
Paxton squeezed his wound, but didn’t look back.
“Try to imagine my glad-to-be-alive fuck. Jeffery!”
Paxton wavered on his feet. He took two steps away from Sylvie.
“Jeffery?” pleaded Sylvie.
Sylvie’s revelation sounded surreal to Aly. The movie star has been screwing the rich boyfriend’s chauffeur? “Is this a movie?” Aly said.
“Yeah,” said Sylvie. “And any minute now Breeze will yell, ‘Cut!’ and eve
ryone will stand up and stretch out and get ready for the next take. And there’ll be food. There’s always tables and tables of food on movie sets.” She turned to Aly. “Are you hungry?”
Sylvie’s eyes scared Aly as much as anything else in the room. More so. Sylvie’s glare matched the intensity of the screaming.
The screaming grew louder. The soldier guarding the captives joined in.
Sylvie turned from Aly. She reached over Pelfry and shook Antony. “Get his attention. Antony. The man next to you. What’s his name? Is he your dad? Hey, man. It’s go time. You and me.”
Lydell kept his head buried.
“Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.” Sylvie started to rise.
Aly grabbed Sylvie’s arm. “You always have a soundtrack going on, don’t you.”
Crouching, Sylvie looked at Aly.
“Like at Clove’s,” continued Aly. “Eliot singing ‘Let’s Make the Morning Never Come.’ And then ‘Closing in on the Fire’ came on, and you did your dance on the bar, and the entire world was in your hands.”
“Get in character!” demanded Sylvie. Her eyes switched back and forth between fear and fierceness. She stood.
“Sometimes I hang on the viaduct,” sang Aly, “sometimes I hang at the End of the World. Right now I got a great notion, to jump up and help this crazy girl.”
“Call me crazy?” said Sylvie. She gazed down at Aly with fear in her eyes.
Aly wanted the fierce Sylvie. Even the angry Sylvie doing the scene from Penance. But time was running out. She’d take whomever. “I’ll go with you,” said Aly. “To get the gun.”
Sylvie nodded. “Just like Laura Croft.”
Aly said, “Okay. Okay. Then we’re really doing this?”
Sylvie started shaking.
“Hey,” said Aly.
“What?”
“Am I high or low?”
“Shit!” said Sylvie. The guard was looking at her.
The screaming stopped. The slow moving procession had finally reached the ch’ak.
The guard aimed his weapon directly at Sylvie. She slid back to the floor. He kept the weapon trained on her as he turned his eyes to the ritual.
Aly knew what was coming yet couldn’t take her eyes from the scene.