Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

  The tribe sings the marriage song. Nockwe, watching them, sees him hand her a shiny octagon. She holds it up to the light, admiring it. It is quite a fortune, quite a find. He slips it onto her finger, in the Western way. He says something to her in her ear. She smiles and kisses his cheek.

  She gives a long glance to Mahanta, who stands next to Nockwe. The newlyweds leave for their hut. The tribe sings on.

  Nockwe stared at the ring.

  Nockwe felt as though the trinket were wrapped tight around his neck. He didn’t know how long he was stood there.

  He felt heat. The temple was burning. He was tempted to throw the ring down, but instead pocketed it.

  Nockwe burned far hotter than the temple. I am a fool.

  64

  James weighed his options as he watched Edward jog to the entrance of the abandoned establishment. Is he just going to go to the front door and knock? Ask for his girl back?

  The most sane impulse James felt was to run. There was an idiotic, honorable side to him that was winning out, however. He tapped the steering wheel of the car nervously and checked the windows above for guns. None yet. He checked the other side of the street for guns. None yet.

  He’d abandoned plenty of chumps in his lifetime. It would actually be quite intelligent to abandon chump #74, who apparently had a death wish.

  He considered his position. It would be nothing for one of those men to pop out of the shadows and pump him and his car full of holes. On second thought, they would probably just shoot him and save the car. He’d heard of it happen enough times. He’d cleaned up the messes from plenty car chases and drive-bys. He’d tended to the wounded of both sides.

  This priest is no priest. And these natives are no natives. Drugs? Guns? I don’t know.

  He knew what he was seeing. It was the same sort of pattern he’d played out in Melbourne. It was the same game he’d tried to play in Sri Lanka.

  Was this white man one of them? Certainly things weren’t as they seemed if he was just going to walk into the warehouse unarmed.

  The more Edward explained to James, the more questions he was left with.

  James thought about Callista. Edward had said Callista was in there. I do care about Callista. Maybe Edward was just playing him. How could he even know that she was in there?

  The door to the building was unlocked. Edward opened it, about thirty meters away from Seacrest.

  “Actually, I just need something to care about,” James said aloud. It was the first genuine sentence he’d uttered in a while.

  He promised himself that if anything came out of the warehouse besides Edward or Callista, he’d jet, all handshakes to the contrary.

  James could no longer see Edward, but he heard gunfire. The ricochet of bullets echoed through the street. James tensed and gripped the gearshift.

  More gunfire. He saw flashes of light and heard odd screams, shouts in the Onge tongue.

  The struggle moved deeper into the building, muffled now but far more intense. It sounded like a full-blown war in there. The noise moved up to the second floor. More shots. What the hell is going on?

  Surely, the priest was dead. What the hell was he thinking?

  James eased up to the open door. The interior lighting cast a soft glow into the dark street. He kept his feet just centimeters from the pedals, ready to jam the accelerator at the slightest motion.

  Let’s have a see. James craned his neck to get a glance inside without having to leave the car. Two dead Onge lay just inside the door. Jesus Christ. He saw no sign of Edward.

  James put the car in park. He fumbled in his glove box for his gun. The Onge had stolen that one. He groped under his seat. His backup was still taped there. He yanked it out and checked the street again. It was empty.

  The gunshots grew sporadic and seemed to emanate from a higher point in the building. James got out of the car and scrambled to the side of the door. He poked his head around the side and got no reaction. He lowered his body and swung out into the doorway for a full view, gun at the ready.

  The room was large, originally a shipment receiving area. Huge, decaying pallets full of boxes made up the pathway he had to navigate. James counted eight bodies in the room, but no Edward. All the bodies were Onge, all were armed, all but two had shots to the head.

  Jesus Christ. Styles never was a priest. James had no idea what he was.

  The spatter of guns ceased. The screaming stopped. James heard a car start in the distance. It seemed to be on the other side of the building.

  “Here we go,” muttered James. Other cars revved.

  James ran back to the Corvette. He sent it roaring around the corner of the warehouse. Several cars were ripping down the road ahead. He had a feeling Callista was with them.

  Edward ran out to the sidewalk with an assault rifle looped around his back. James braked as hard as he could. The car fishtailed. He almost hit Edward, but the man did not even react or move. The car stopped just inches from him. He got in. “Go,” he said. “They have Callista.”

  James started driving. He suppressed his thousand questions. A man such as this was not asked questions. Rather, he divulged information when he wished. That was just the way it was. James had run into a few of such men in his lifetime, and had survived because he understood the nature of such relationships. He found it odd that he did not feel threatened in any way by Edward.

  “Get behind them. Get closer,” said Edward.

  There were two sedans, then three Jeeps.

  “They’ll be going off-road,” said Edward. “There are no highways in that direction. They’re going away from port. We’ll need one of those Jeeps. Get closer.”

  They drew near the first sedan. Edward stood up in the Corvette despite the bumps and swerves. James checked him. Somehow, Edward kept his body steady. He reacted to every motion of the car at the moment it happened, almost as though he could anticipate what bump or swerve was next. His legs and hips were like shock absorbers. James had never seen anything like it.

  Edward lined up his shot and fired twice.

  The two back tires of the sedan popped. The car spun out of control. The corvette zipped past. James was able to stay cool, not unused to gunfire, but this was a bit up close and personal for even him. He took care of business after all the shots were fired.

  They travelled a long, ill-used road that ran alongside the eastern side of the city, northwest to southeast. It led to nowhere before looping back into town.

  “Get behind that second one,” said Edward, concentrating on the car ahead.

  A man stood from inside the sedan with his head out the sunroof. He brought a rifle to bear on the Corvette and started firing. The man only got out two errant shots before Edward took him out with another bullet.

  James stopped trying to figure it out. Maybe he would wake up in a minute, hopefully still alive.

  Two more shots from Edward. The second sedan spun out, too.

  “Duck,” said Edward. This time, James heeded with no argument. He was glad he did. He heard bullets whiz directly over his head. “Clear.”

  James looked back. There had been several Onge in the sedan who had fired at them from the window as they passed, even as their car still spun.

  James realized these Onge were strange like Edward. Their shots were fired so well they would have killed them both, even though they’d been aimed from a vehicle doing a 360 spin on two wheels. James swallowed his panic. Panic would do him no good. For now, at least, he was joined to this crazy American’s hip.

  “The Jeep,” said Edward. James accelerated. The Onge had already started firing at them. Potshots whizzed by. “Just a little closer.” They were still a hundred meters away. James closed the distance cautiously. He had no desire to have three Onge with semi-automatic rifles filling his Corvette with holes.

  A bullet nicked the hood. “Dammit!” yelled James.

  “I think you’re entirely too emotionally attached to this vehicle,” Edward deadpanned. He stood up
from his seat and leveled his gun at the jeep. He emptied the clip into its gas tank. The Jeep exploded. They sped past. James watched in the rear view mirror as the surviving Onge pulled their dead and injured from the wreckage.

  “My God,” said Seacrest, eyes back on the road.

  “Watch it,” said Edward.

  “I think you’re entirely too emotionally attached to this God of yours,” deadpanned James.

  Edward glared at him, slamming the remaining clip in noisily. “I meant watch the road. This is a used clip. It only has four bullets in it.”

  “How do you know?” James asked. Edward didn’t answer. James looked over to see why the American didn’t reply.

  “They’re firing,” said Edward matter-of-factly, pointing to the road. They’d gotten in range of the second jeep. “We’ll need to go closer. I can’t miss a single one of them. We’re about a kilometer away from the end of the road and we’ll need the jeep by then. The last jeep we’ll need to track down off-road. Cali must be in it.”

  James swerved around a truck parked out in the lane. Edward stayed down. The shots were getting more accurate. James yelled, “How do you know how many bullets are in the clip?”

  “It’s simple. Each clip has thirty bullets,” said Edward. James just shook his head. This priest didn’t make any bloody sense.

  “How much closer do you need to get?” asked James.

  “Now is fine.” They were still sixty meters away, quite a shot. Edward stood up and squeezed the trigger. Four bullets came out, just like he said. Three of the four men dropped. The jeep swerved. The fourth Onge in the passenger seat grabbed the wheel and got the vehicle under control. “Missed one. Pull up next to him.”

  Jesus Christ! James did not believe his eyes. It was only the demand of the road that kept him from trying to work out what the hell was going on.

  “Come at him fast,” said Edward. James brought the car around the jeep. He had no problem outpacing it.

  James caught glimpse of the last jeep as he maneuvered. It was about half a kilometer ahead and had reached the curve that turned the road back into town. The jeep ignored it and ramped off-road.

  How does this guy know all this? It was just as Edward had said.

  When the front of the Corvette was even with the back of the Jeep, Edward launched himself with a sort of running leap from the car door. He flew through the open frame of the Jeep and jammed the Onge’s head into the steering wheel with all his momentum. The jeep swerved dangerously in the Corvette’s direction, but James had anticipated and already peeled off. Edward pulled the unconscious Onge off the steering wheel and took control. He waved at James. They both stopped their vehicles and the doctor embarked.

  “They’re getting away,” said James. Edward started driving.

  Cali’s captors were just a dust cloud a kilometer away. James and Edward transitioned from pavement to dirt at full speed. The jeep lurched dangerously but stayed on course. The dust cloud wasn’t getting any closer.

  “Put him in the back of the Jeep,” said Edward, indicating the Onge. “We’ll need answers from him.”

  drove for half an hour with his foot to the floorboard. Callista’s captors must have been doing the same over the rough terrain. The dirt gave way to grassland. Still, they followed. Finally, the cloud he was chasing disappeared. He jammed his hand on the steering wheel.

  “Just keep going in that direction,” said James. “Look at all the tracks they’re leaving. We’ll be able to find them. They must have just hit some wet ground.”

  It wasn’t long before the tracks disappeared. “We lost them,” Edward said.

  “Pretty good chance they’re just going straight ahead,” said James. “The coast is probably just about twenty kilometers away.”

  “Which way would we go to be closest to Sri Lanka?” asked Edward.

  “Well, I don’t have a map in my head, but I would guess we’d bear left a bit.”

  Edward dodged the Jeep around a couple trees. The jostling stirred the Onge in the back. His head was bleeding. He moaned.

  “Take over,” said Edward. “Bear left a bit.” As soon as James touched the wheel, Edward abruptly left the driver’s seat and climbed into the back with the Onge. The Onge had almost come to his senses and was gripping the front seat, weakly trying to pull himself up. Edward pointed his empty gun at the native.

  65

  Callista heard the crackle of the radio. The Onge kept speaking in their strange tongue. She couldn’t see Edward’s jeep anymore. He’d gotten so close. She had no idea what sort of training the Jesuits had put him through to be able to do what he did, but she was glad. The Onge had been beating her and he’d saved her.

  Her head spun. A while back, just before Edward had come, she’d felt warmth on her temple. She was glad to feel it dry up.

  The Onge chattered nervously. The two in the back seat, one on either side of her, kept their guns pointed erectly behind them from the Jeep, as though Edward might swoop out of the sky at any moment.

  Her arms were bound behind her, which made it hard to stay in her seat during the bumpy ride. The ropes weren’t fitted very well around her. She’d been re-tied hastily in the jeep. She worked busily at loosening them further. At present, it wouldn’t do her a bit of good with a hulking Onge on either side of her, but she never knew what circumstances would present themselves.

  There was a part of her that could not remain as cool as her outward appearance. That part was screaming at Edward, screaming for Edward, grieving and resentful. That part wanted her to throw herself out of the Jeep. It was the part that kept telling herself, You’re going to die. They’ll keep beating you. They’re going to sacrifice you. They’re going to rape you. You’re going to die. It was the part of her mind she couldn’t rest.

  She contained it, though, and occupied herself with the rope. She watched the Onge. She was encouraged by their edginess. Even though she didn’t know a word they were saying, she could tell they were racing toward a finish line, that they were running from her Edward.

  She prayed that Edward could win.

  66

  Edward recognized the Onge. It was Lee’tep, Nockwe’s cousin. Edward liked Lee’tep; he wished he hadn’t slammed him so hard. For now, though, Lee’tep was an enemy. The Onge would kill Edward if he had the chance, if only out of fear. Edward would not give him that chance.

  “Lee’tep,” Edward said down the barrel of his unloaded gun. The native’s head was bleeding quite a bit. Edward ripped off a piece of his own shirt with his left hand and handed it to the Onge. If Lee’tep so much as tensed a muscle, Edward would kick him off the jeep. He would take no risks. “Put this on your head. You’re bleeding.”

  Lee’tep did so, impressed by the gun so close to his face.

  “Where is the tribe?” asked Edward.

  “At the village,” said Lee’tep. Edward could see he was lying.

  “Lee’tep,” said Edward, as though scolding a child. Edward chose the traditional Onge tongue to address Lee’tep. He had to startle the man, to trick him into giving him the confirmation he needed. “As your master sees your lies, so do I. I am the devil to your god. For every fortune he might seek, I can create demise. For every blow he may strike, I may strike back. We are in a deadly dance, he and I, and I cry to see the tribe in the middle. For the tribe there should be mercy…” Edward paused, then changed the pace by slamming home a question. “How far north is the tribe off the coast?!”

  “I’m not telling you!” yelled Lee’tep. He’s on the coast.

  “You shall! You are a cowardly hog!” It was quite a curse in traditional Onge. Edward saw Lee’tep restrain himself from jumping at him. “I am sure that Manassa has not the might he brags of. My only prayer is that the tribe be not armed for war. I fear an army could tip the balances in Manassa’s favor.”

  “Well, prepare to meet your death, Devil, for Manassa has at his command one hundred and fifty men armed with the lightness and the bang-bows.�
�� Lee-tep spit at him

  Edward spoke in English. “James, turn the car to the right a bit.” He then resumed in Onge: “I turn to the north, to catch your Manassah by surprise from his rear.”

  Lee’tep examined the scenery outside the jeep and got his bearings. Edward could tell the man almost said something, but then decided better. “My Lord will give you death no matter your surprises.”

  Certainly, we’re headed straight for them, now.

  “Stop the Jeep, James,” said Edward. He pitched Lee’tep out of the vehicle. The Onge watched them drive away. “Now drive. And watch out. We’re about to go straight into hell and I don’t have any bullets in this damn gun.”

  “There aren’t any guns in here?” asked James as he drove.

  Edward looked around more closely to humor him. He’d seen the guns drop of out the limp bodies’ hands onto the road. Only a few clips remained on the floorboards, for guns they’d left in Lisbaad.

  67

  It was a couple hours before dawn when Edward and Seacrest finally reached the sea. Edward’s trance had long since worn off and his body ached fiercely. He had many more t-pills but decided to wait for action.

  At first they didn’t realize they’d found the tribe. The rocky coast was unpopulated. Edward suspected they might be too far north. Half a mile to the south along the shore was a ridge which hid the rest of the coast from view. He never doubted that the tribe would be somewhere near. He was certain.

  They ditched the jeep and trekked to the ridge. Just past the high point, the sea cut deeply into the island. Edward spied a dozen skiffs free floating in the harbor. He strained his eyes to catch the tribe. They would be somewhere on the coast.

  At the bottom of the harbor’s “U” shape, a single torch appeared. Then more. Edward could make out the shapes. They were marching to the sea. Edward and James had beaten them there.