The End of the World Club

by J; P Voelkel

  “No harm done? He was painted blue and tied to an altar. Oh, Toto, I don’t expect you to like all my friends, but that’s just plain bad manners. Who knows what would have happened to Santino if one of your ancestors hadn’t fired off that musket.…”

  “It was not a musket,” said Landa. “It was a harquebus.”

  There was another pause.

  “You have so much to teach me, Toto,” said Lola. Max was shocked to hear by her tone. It was almost flirtatious.

  “Yes,” said Landa, “I do.” He sniffed the smoky air. “But first I must go and teach my imbecile servants how to put out a fire.…”

  “And I need to prepare for our big day. May I try on the yellow necklet, Toto? It would go so well with my wedding dress.”

  “I am sorry, Princess, but it is mine, all mine, and I will never be parted from it.”

  “You have to give it back to Ah Pukuh.”

  “Never.”

  He’s a lot braver now than the sniveling wimp from earlier tonight, thought Max. Wearing the Yellow Jaguar has changed him.

  “But you swore to him, Toto. You swore to Ah Pukuh that you would return it. I thought your word was your bond?”

  “I think we both know me better than that.”

  Lola let out a little scream of joy. “You mean we’re keeping it?”

  “I mean I’m keeping it.”

  Lola ignored this subtle distinction. “Oh, Toto! We have our very own Jaguar Stone! I must wear it at the wedding tomorrow. Just imagine your guests’ faces as they see me walking down the aisle. They’ll know that you have riches beyond their wildest dreams. And if a silly girl like me isn’t scared to wear it, they’ll realize that tonight’s, er, spectacle was just a bit of fun.”

  “Bueno.” At this juncture, Max pictured Landa stroking his ludicrous goatee as he thought through Lola’s vision. “But can I trust you to give it back?”

  Lola laughed. “You don’t need to trust me, silly. I have no choice. Once we’re married, all that I have is yours. I’m just a woman, Toto. My job is to look pretty, make tortillas, and bear children. What would I do with a Jaguar Stone?”

  Her fiancé made a high-pitched braying sound. It took a few seconds before Max realized he was laughing. “What indeed?” agreed Landa.

  “So may I wear the necklet? Please! Please! Please!” Lola sounded like a little girl jumping up and down with excitement. “I want to try it on right now, so I can practice fixing my hair for the wedding.”

  “Very well, why not? As my bride, you may wear the Jaguar Stone. But straight after the ceremony, you will give it back.”

  “Your wish is my command, Toto.”

  There was a clanking of beads as Landa took off the necklace and retied it around Lola’s neck.

  “I have been a bachelor for too long,” he murmured. “I look forward to having a woman about the place.”

  “I can still smell burning,” said Lola quickly. “I hope the fire isn’t spreading.”

  Max heard Landa’s pointed black boots click on the tile floor as he rushed out of the library. Then, “No! No! No! Idiotas!” as he chided the hapless servants in the corridor.

  Okay, so this was awkward.

  How would he reveal himself to Lola, without her knowing he’d been eavesdropping?

  “You can come out now, Hoop,” she called. “By the way, I like your hair. Not sure about the makeup.”

  Max froze.

  “Come out!” she repeated.

  Bossy. Bossy. Bossy.

  “How did you know I was there?”

  “You never were much good at hiding,” she said. “Remember the first day we met? How I snuck up on you by the clearing?”

  “Yeah,” said Max. He came out from behind the pillar. “I also remember that you were supposed to meet me in the square at Polvoredo. What happened?”

  Lola avoided his eyes. “I’m sorry about that, Hoop. It all happened so quickly. Toto and I fell in love.”

  She was wearing the yellow necklet.

  She looked beautiful. Like a princess.

  “By Toto, you mean Antonio de Landa?”

  “Yes! Isn’t it wonderful? We’re getting married tomorrow!”

  “Antonio de Landa? The guy who stalked you and drugged you and held a gun to your head at the Black Pyramid?”

  “Oh, that. It was all a big misunderstanding. He’s explained everything. He was taking me to the top of the pyramid to propose to me, not to sacrifice me. He wanted the Maya gods to bless our union. He says it’s written in the stars. That’s why he collected all those photographs of me. He says I’m the only one for him. But now he understands that a proposal is more romantic if the bride is fully conscious at the time.”

  “Oh, come on, Lola! We’re talking about a descendant of the guy who destroyed Maya culture!”

  “That’s ancient history. Let it go.”

  “Let it go? What about our mission? Have you forgotten why we came to Spain in the first place?”

  “I’m sorry, Hoop, my plans have changed.”

  “How can you stand there and say that, wearing the Yellow Jaguar? Do you know what I went through to get that thing? I walked through a giant snake, I talked to a ghost, I survived an earthquake.…”

  “I said I’m sorry. I’ll sort it out. Ah Pukuh is our best man. I’ll have a word with him tomorrow and ask him to cancel your debt. But you need to go now. Toto gets very jealous. He has this crazy idea that you and me had a thing.”

  “We still have a thing! We’re the Hero Twins! Come with me, help me deliver the Yellow Jaguar to Xibalba—and then marry Landa if you want to.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  She bit her lip. “He needs me.”

  “What did you mean when you asked him to keep his promise? What did he promise you?”

  “He promised to love me forever and ever.”

  “You’re lying; I know you are. Come with me, Lola. I’ll help you escape, somewhere he can’t find you—”

  “I don’t want to escape.”

  “What about Hermanjilio and Lucky Jim? Are you abandoning them?”

  “I’ll have more chance to help my people when I’m a wealthy aristocrat.”

  “What? You’ve never wanted money.”

  “You don’t know what I want.”

  “What about Lady Coco? Is she here?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her since Polvoredo.”

  “Where is she?”

  “The monkeys can look after themselves. They’ll be fine.”

  “Lord 6-Dog isn’t fine. He was shot.”

  A look of pain flashed across Lola’s face. “You need to go,” she said, turning her back to him. “I have a wedding to get ready for.”

  Max stared at her. “That’s kind of selfish, isn’t it?”

  She faced him again. Now her eyes were hard. “You should know,” she said. “You’re the world expert on selfishness. Why don’t you just go and leave me alone? I have a new life now.”

  “You can’t stay here with that madman.”

  “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about.”

  “It’s all a trick, Lola. Do you know why he calls you Princess?”

  “He thinks I have royal blood.”

  “He’s using you. He’s pretending you’re a Maya princess, so he can rewrite history. He wants to do what his ancestor Lorenzo never could and marry Princess Inez, so he can inherit the Jaguar Throne and the castle at Polvoredo and who knows what else?”

  “How do you know I’m not a princess?”

  “Because baby princesses don’t get abandoned.”

  Lola flinched as if he’d slapped her.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Get out!” she snapped. “I never want to see you again!”

  They heard the click of Landa’s boots returning.

  Lola picked up a stack of charred papers and began to sort them.

  “Toto!” Lola’s face lit up a
s her husband-to-be entered the library. Her expression changed to concern. “Are you limping? Did you hurt yourself out there? Oh, my brave firefighter! Let me find you a chair.…”

  Landa’s cold gaze fell on Max. “And who is this? He looks familiar to me.”

  “He should look familiar, Toto. He’s one of the famous Plague Rats. They played at our party tonight!”

  Landa surveyed Max with distaste. “A princess does not associate with the hired help.”

  “It was you I was looking for, sir,” said Max. “I wanted to ask you something—”

  “My fiancé is tired,” said Lola. “Now is not a good time. I’m sure the rest of your band are waiting for you—”

  “Actually,” said Max, “they’ve gone without me. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”

  “That’s out of the question,” said Lola. “It’s late, we’ve had a fire, and there’s a small matter of a wedding tomorrow. My fiancé will arrange a car for you, señor. Are you hungry?”

  Max nodded his head hopefully.

  “I will go and find some leftovers for your journey.”

  She put down the charred papers and swept out to the kitchen.

  Landa took Max by the elbow and steered him toward the library door. “My driver will take you where you want to go, señor. But tell me, what was your question?”

  “It was something you said at the party, sir, about the historic union of two great bloodlines?”

  “Ah,” said Landa, “you are interested in genealogy?”

  “You said this marriage would fulfill your family’s destiny. What destiny is that?”

  “It will be the final jewel in the Landa crown. I will attain the greatest prize of all.…”

  “Which is …?”

  “Immortality!”

  “And how does that work exactly?”

  “Thanks to my wife of royal Maya lineage, I will unite old and new worlds. When my best man, Ah Pukuh, takes power in the next bak’tun, he has promised me the throne of Middleworld while he himself rules the cosmos!”

  Max stared at him openmouthed. He was insane.

  Surely Lola couldn’t be in love with this raving megalomaniac.

  But there she was now, at his side, face shining with admiration.

  “Brrr,” she said. “I love your Galicia, Toto, but I wish it was as warm as San Xavier!” She gripped a woolen shawl tightly around her and held out a brown bag of food for Max. “Safe journey, señor.”

  And with that she turned away to carry on sorting fire-damaged papers.

  “Good night, Princess” said Max.

  She didn’t even look around as he said good-bye forever.

  Out in the hallway, Landa was shouting orders in Spanish, and flustered servants were scurrying around at his beck and call. He screamed at a little maid who was scrubbing the floor and kicked over her bucket. Then an old man carrying a tray of wineglasses slipped in the water and fell at his employer’s feet. Instead of helping him up, Landa aimed a savage kick to the old man’s head.

  Glad to be escaping from within reach of those pointed black boots, Max slipped outside and looked for the car that had been arranged for him. A shiny black stretch limousine with darkened windows materialized out of the gloom.

  The rear door opened and Max got in.

  As they rolled down the gravel driveway, he relived his meeting with Lola. How had it gone so wrong? He couldn’t believe that she’d stayed behind with Landa and the Yellow Jaguar. Of all the people who might have scuppered his mission, he never thought it would be her.

  He felt sick.

  Sick because he had only two days left to live.

  Sick because Lord 6-Dog had died in vain.

  Sick because Lola wasn’t the person he thought she was.

  She was no better than those sewer rats.

  They’d been on the road for quite a while, when he realized that the driver hadn’t asked for a destination.

  But where should he go?

  To Polvoredo?

  To San Xavier?

  He made up his mind.

  He was done with all of it. He’d had enough of Spain. He was finished with the Maya. He’d failed in his quest and he was going home. Let the Death Lords do their worst.

  He just hoped he could get to the airport in time for the first flight to Boston.

  He tried to open the sliding-glass window between himself and the driver. It was locked.

  He looked around for an intercom system but couldn’t find one.

  He tapped on the window. “Airport! Airport!” he shouted.

  The driver paid no attention.

  They seemed to be going very fast. Max was thrown to one side or another every time they took a bend in the road. The world was dark outside the car, but every so often the headlights illuminated trees and hedgerows in the drizzle.

  Max knocked again on the glass.

  “Slow down!” he yelled.

  If anything, the driver went faster.

  Now Max was kneeling on the floor of the limo, rapping with both hands on the glass. “Stop! Where are we going? I want the airport. Air-o-porto!”

  The driver didn’t even turn around.

  Then, in a moment that would give him icy chills for as long as he lived, Max Murphy looked in the rearview mirror. The driver met his eyes and smiled. It was the driver from the tour bus. The Fast Bus to Hell.

  They were gathering speed, careening wildly down wet country lanes in the pitch-black night.

  Max sat back on the seat and frantically tried his door handle.

  Locked, of course.

  He had a very bad feeling that this ride could only end in death.

  (And he was right.)

  They seemed to be entering a village now.

  Little houses flashed by in the headlights. Inside those houses, good people were sleeping, unaware that a demon from hell was racing through their dreams on a shortcut home.

  There was a bump, a thud, a screech of brakes, and an almighty impact as the limo crashed into a stone wall.

  Max was thrown out of his seat and hit his head hard against the door.

  Slightly concussed, he got to his knees and peeped out the window.

  Lights were coming on in the little houses, and he could see people converging on the car from all directions.

  The driver got out and started to run.

  Max banged on the glass. “Help! Help!” he called.

  An old man put his toothless face against the rain-spattered window.

  The face disappeared, to be replaced by a shotgun.

  Max pressed himself into the farthest corner of the limo.

  Bang! The old man blew the lock off the limo door.

  The door swung open, and Max climbed nervously out into the drizzle. An old woman with a pitchfork grabbed his arm. She was shrieking and crying and pointing at something on the wet road.

  It was a flattened goose.

  Max tried to look sorry for the scrawny fowl that had met its end under the wheels of his limo. But inside he was not sorry at all. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been the goose or him. He didn’t know what gruesome fate the driver had planned for him. All he knew was that if that goose had not run across the road when it had, it would have been Max Murphy who was dead meat.

  A group of angry farmers had caught the driver and were dragging him back to the scene of the accident. As the villagers clustered around, accusing him and prodding him and screaming at him, Max sank into the background. His head was throbbing from the accident, and all this shouting was making it worse. He wandered down the lane to find somewhere quiet and dry to sit down.

  Eventually, he came to a barn.

  It didn’t smell too bad inside, although the floor was wet and muddy.

  He listened for the sounds of cows or horses but heard nothing but the dripping rain.

  He stumbled against a long box on the ground, filled with straw. Some kind of animal feeder, he supposed. The straw looked comfortable. H
ead aching and brain in a whirl, he decided to lie down for a moment. Makes a pretty good single bed, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, his backpack clutched to his chest, lulled by the patter of rain on the barn roof.

  Chapter Eighteen

  DAY OF THE LIVING DEAD

  Max Murphy lay in his coffin, gasping for air.

  He’d been buried alive.

  The wooden coffin was exactly the same size as his body, as if it had been tailor-made for him. It was unbearably hot in there, and he had a sense of motion, like the rolling of a ship, which was making him feel dizzy. His arms were pinned to his sides but, gathering the last of his strength, he curled his hands into fists and began to pummel weakly on the lid.

  To his surprise, it flew open easily.

  At first, all he saw was a gray sky and a bird of prey—a vulture?—hovering above him. He could hear whistling and screaming and raucous laughter. He peered over the edge of the coffin and locked eyes with a fluorescent green devil. All around him, hideous ghouls were thrusting their garishly painted faces at him and clicking their fat tongues. The Grim Reaper floated by, pursued by a dancing skeleton.

  There was a smell of bonfires. A wailing of bagpipes filled the smoky air like the screeching of a cat having its claws pulled out one by one.

  Was this some kind of hell?

  Had he died in the car crash after all?

  He lay still and did a pain check. Nope, nothing was hurting.

  But did the dead feel pain?

  He peered over the side again and tried to make sense of what he saw.

  He was in the middle of a funeral procession.

  In front of him and behind him, a crowd of sobbing people dressed in black were making their way up a steep hill. Most walked in groups of four or six, each group carrying an open coffin between them on their shoulders. From his vantage point, Max could see the corpses coming up the hill behind him: men, women, and children, lying white and silent in their Sunday best, all carried by solemn pallbearers.

  Max leaned over the side to see who was carrying his coffin.

  A phalanx of stout old ladies looked up at him disapprovingly. One of them had his backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “Put me down,” he shouted. “I want to get out! I’m alive!”