The Creation: Axis Mundi (The Creation Series Book 1)

by The Behrg

  Malcolm crashed out on the bus ride, his knees tucked up against the seat, Knicks hat askew.

  Malcolm, giving his closed-mouth grin and two thumbs up in front of the helicopter, his eyes appearing as closed as his mouth.

  The one shot he repeatedly discovered, over and over, was one that had never been taken: Malcolm lying on the ground, his head completely flattened, an oval arc of pulpy tissue splattered around it like a devil’s halo. The image never left Grey’s mind.

  He clicked forward through a long stream of clips, Faye almost glowing in every one. Her candid expressions, the angles of her face, that coy smile. Every movement a lesson in seductiveness.

  He slammed the lid closed, shutting the computer down. He didn’t want to think about her.

  She’s all I want to think about!

  Rain beat against the house like an angry neighbor at the door. A constant dribble of water fell into the bucket Sir William had placed beneath the leak in the roof, as bad as the annoying tick of a clock.

  Ping – Ping – Ping.

  Upstairs, the old man was sleeping through it, though Grey was sure his inebriated state had assisted with that task.

  Grey stretched his legs out onto the glass coffee table surrounded by mismatched chairs and couches. The others had left on their first reconnaissance mission, Grey opting to stay back when Donavon insisted on going despite being ill. Every time Grey looked at the actor he felt a need to spill his guts, tell him what had almost happened. And what had.

  That wasn’t me, that monster I turned into. I would never do that.

  And yet he knew he would have.

  Ping – Ping.

  But then what Faye had done to him? How was that any better?

  He still wondered if it had all really happened.

  This state of confusion, this … infatuation; it wasn’t like him. She had a hold on him that went beyond anything he had ever felt before. Like a drug, it was changing him – his nature, his thought process, reactions. And as much as he wanted to never see her again, to stay clear of her forever, he couldn’t deny the yearning scraping out his insides.

  Would they have another moment together? Had her opinion of Donny-boy changed like Grey thought it had? And if so, did her feelings towards Grey have anything to do with it?

  Is she as infatuated with me as I am with her?

  He lifted the lid back up on Kenny’s machine, quickly typing in the password Kenny had given him. He scrolled through another dozen photos, finding one of Malcolm toying with a ginormous ant with a stick. He dropped it into the folder marked X.

  Malcolm X. Fitting in so many ways.

  His face, smashed, like a dropped pie.

  He decided if it was the only footage he ever showed from this trip, he would make sure the world saw a memorial for the intern. If, of course, they made it out of Venezuela alive.

  Grey slid the USB satellite adapter back into the port on the laptop, raising the antennae, for all the good it would do.

  Still no signal.

  Strange how disconnected he felt from the world while surrounded by nature. But his world had always been a virtual one, born and raised in the cloud.

  Over the rattling rain he heard a noise outside, more like a vibration. Maybe Faye and the others had given up on their stake-out for the night; God knew the weather was bad enough.

  An image of her walking through the door popped into his head – her hair clinging to her face, wet clothes gripping her so tight they might as well not exist. She would see him sitting there on the couch, her green eyes lighting up.

  The noise came again, something scraping against the door.

  Grey slid the laptop onto the table and stood, when the front door split open with a loud burst, blowing outward. A short but stocky man in a dark camouflaged suit rushed through the open doorway, barrel of his rifle shoved into Grey’s face.

  “Down! Get down!”

  Grey fell back into the couch, hands raised.

  The red-bearded man slammed a foot against the rocking chair in front of Grey. The chair overturned with a racket of noise, one of its spindles breaking at the top. The man’s eyes crinkled beneath his red eyebrows, as he shouted, “Where are the others?”

  Grey’s hands were already raised above his head. He pointed upward by lowering three of his fingers.

  Another body swept past, climbing the curved metal staircase in two bounds, long black hair flowing behind him like a phantom. Grey heard Sir William’s surprise as he was woken from sleep.

  Or his drunken stupor.

  Their host came down the metal staircase, hands waving about. “I’m going, I’m going!” Sir William stopped at the bottom of the landing, looking past Grey. “Oh, good hell.” He trod over to the kitchen bar, pouring Scotch from the bottle into a dirty glass.

  In the open doorway, a man stood wearing a dark cargo vest and nylon hiking pants. But it wasn’t his outfit that was remarkable; it was his stance, his demeanor. And the man didn’t even seem to realize it.

  He took in the entire room with a single glance, carrying himself with a confidence that would be obscene on anyone else. But this was an alpha wolf, a man who led while standing silently in a room.

  The soldier with long black hair, who looked more like a Venezuelan than the other two, made some kind of movement with his lips and hands, motioning above him on the stairs.

  The man at the door nodded. “Hello, Frederick.”

  A hinge from the door scraped lightly against the broken frame with the wind.

  “Dugan,” Sir William said, knocking back the last of his liquor.

  “I hear you have friends who are looking for me. Care to make introductions?”

  Verse XVIII.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Faye and Kenny hovered over Donavon who sat beneath the awning of a school building situated across from the police station. Despite the location, there was still plenty of graffiti on the walls. Donavon leaned his head back against the mustard-colored brick wall, his eyes closed.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” Faye said.

  “Neither did you,” he muttered.

  The rain fell in droves just beyond the alcove. Even for someone who lived in New York this felt torrential. They would have gone back by now if they had had a car, or any way of transporting Donavon without letting him get soaked. The last thing he needed was pneumonia alongside his stomach flu or food poisoning.

  The Main Street of the town had turned into a river, water running over the lip of the curbed sidewalk before the school and pooling in the vestibule they had crowded into. It was difficult to tell if evening had arrived or if it was only the storm clouds. Either way, the man she sought wasn’t coming today.

  They heard a noise back at the station – a door slamming.

  The alcalde, chief of police, ducked beneath an umbrella one of his men held, running from the station to the jeep parked out front. He had arrived only a few minutes before. Faye was under the impression he was the type to delegate rather than sit behind a desk.

  After safely transporting him into the passenger seat, two of the men returned to the station, the others accompanying him in the jeep. With the alcalde leaving, it was a certainty Dugan wouldn’t be showing.

  A gurgle sounded from Donavon, rising not from his throat but stomach. He grimaced, rubbing at his side. Faye wondered if the slop he was sitting in was only mud, then instantly regretted the thought.

  The jeep started, headlights glowing, giving the rain life. Specters danced in the road, water covering the entire expanse as if a stream had arisen from the ground. Water sprayed out in dual rivulets as the jeep barreled down the road.

  “I wish we had a car,” Faye said, holding one hand out of the archway, rain pelting it.

  It was warm.

  “As soon as it lets up, we’ll go.” Despite her best efforts she couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “Try again tomor
row?” Donavon asked.

  “Not with you we won’t. You’re staying in bed.”

  Kenny flicked a three-inch long cockroach off the wall. Rather than fall, it sprouted wings, flitting around like a moth.

  “We shouldn’t have brought the camera,” he said. His long hair had frizzed out, making him look almost like Weird Al Yankovich. A much heavier version of him, anyway.

  “I thought you said it was waterproof?” Faye said.

  “Water resistant. There’s a big difference between a light shower and walking beneath the Niagara.”

  He brought out a small metal case that looked like it might hold business cards, opening it. He removed a rolled joint, putting it to his lips.

  “You want one?” he asked, his words muffled. He held the case out as he searched for his lighter.

  Faye shook her head, going back to the archway and staring out at the dark skies. Such relentless anger in those clouds. The thing was, she did want one.

  You’re never clean.

  The Priest’s voice echoed in her head.

  “I’ll take one.”

  Kenny handed Donavon the case, tossing him the lighter and taking his first puff. “They don’t call it the rainforest for nothin,” he said.

  Headlights appeared further down the road, their beams flaring through the curtains of rain. They must have forgotten something. Faye wondered where the alcalde lived; if he required men watching his own home at all times just to keep the people from uprising.

  The aroma of marijuana filled her head. She scratched at her arm, an old nervous tic.

  The headlights grew, twin eyes of a monstrous beast shining with irreverent light. Faye ducked back within the alcove, the jeep skidding to a halt in a gush of rainwater. But it wasn’t the jeep – it was larger, its wheels like giant gears sitting beneath a machine created for one purpose only.

  War.

  The back door opened and a man fell out. He landed on his shoulder, the water swallowing his head only to spit him back out. The man struggled to his knees, splashing in the water.

  It was Sir William.

  “Frederick!” Faye shouted.

  He bobbed his head, casting about. With the shadows of the covered patio he must not have seen them.

  Faye stepped onto the sidewalk, her running shoes sinking in water. “Over here!”

  Sir William swung his arm. “Run, Faye! Run!”

  The driver’s door opened, a Venezuelan with long hair leaping out. He wasn’t in uniform and didn’t look like any of the soldiers Faye had seen. He yanked Sir William to his feet gripping him by the back of his shirt, a long machete sliding just beneath his throat.

  “No!”

  Faye ran out into the road, buffeted by the rain and wind. Two men trudged from around the other side of the vehicle. Grey, his hands bound in front of him, face darkened, maybe bruised. He was led by a bald bearded man holding a wicked looking rifle.

  “Faye! Get back!” Donavon called.

  Both Kenny and Donavon stood at either side of the columned archway outside the school. Kenny fumbled with the camera, raising it just as a white light sprung from its top, bathing her in its glow.

  She spun back around, her confidence surging knowing this was being filmed. “Let them go!”

  The man behind Grey smiled, his beard rising with his grin.

  “You’re on camera, streaming live to the world!” It was a bluff but maybe they wouldn’t know any better.

  “Only stream here’s the one you’re standing in, darlin’,” the man with the beard said. “You the one looking for Dugan?”

  Cold steeled through Faye’s veins, nothing to do with the rain soaking her. She brushed the hair back from her face. “You’ll take me to him?”

  The bearded man raised his gun, aiming it now at her. “Uh-uh, stay where you are cowboy!”

  Donavon stood halfway between Faye and the school’s awning, his unslung hand raised, palm out. “This is a misunderstanding,” he said. “I’m an actor and producer; we’re scouting for locations.”

  Grey suddenly brought an elbow back, turning as he rammed the man with the gun behind him. “Go!” he yelled.

  Before his words had left his mouth, he was falling, the man slamming his foot down on top of Grey’s back as he stepped forward, gun positioned to fire.

  “Wait!” Faye yelled. “I’m his daughter!”

  Grey brought his head up, dirty water spilling from his mouth.

  “I’m his daughter.”

  A man appeared at the edge of the vehicle, his confident gait undeterred by the stream that had replaced the road. A red dot glowed near his mouth as he pulled a cigarette away.

  “Faye?” the man said.

  His voice, like a glacier splitting in two.

  “Dugan.”

  Verse XIX.

  Dugan let the cigarette fall from his fingers. It bobbed in the water, floating along the current like a piece of straw.

  His daughter stood before him, clothing and hair plastered to her body by the rain. So much had changed – her head shaved on one side, her lean muscular frame, so different from the pudgy girl he remembered. Yet she still had that spark in her eyes, that fire nothing could quench.

  For a moment Dugan regretted the choices he had been forced to make in his life. The moment quickly passed.

  “Long way to come for a reunion,” he said.

  Faye’s lips quivered. With the rain he couldn’t tell if she was crying or just cold. “You bastard.”

  “You get my postcards?”

  He, of course, knew that she did. Dugan paid a lot of money to track his daughter’s whereabouts, and to keep her safe.

  “I heard you got married.”

  The man standing beside her with a lineman’s physique looked at her sharply. He could have fit the mold for one of Dugan’s men – was certainly large enough – though despite his set jaw, Dugan sensed he was much softer than he looked. An egg that hadn’t been boiled long enough. The makeshift sling wrapped around his arm certainly didn’t help.

  “Engaged,” Faye said.

  “Where’s the ring?”

  Faye withdrew her hand, clenching it into a fist and shoving it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. The man beside her rested one hand on her arm.

  The kid on the ground splashed about, trying to free himself beneath Rojo’s boot.

  “Tell your soldiers to let them go,” Faye said. “Capturing an old man and a college kid? You must be real proud.”

  Dugan smiled but didn’t raise a finger toward Oso or Rojo. Always wiser to keep pieces off the board that had already been removed. “I heard about your little protest. Still trying to save the world?”

  “Are you still trying to destroy it?”

  “Difficult to do one without the other.” Dugan smiled. God, it had been so long. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “No. You don’t get to pretend to be a father, pretend to have missed me. You lost that privilege a long time ago.” She was shaking now. “Did you know when she died she was calling your name? You didn’t even come to the funeral!”

  Dugan continued to meet her eyes without glancing away. He had come to terms with his choices a long time ago.

  “You are despicable – you’re not even human! What you and your … syndicate do? Murdering entire villages all to find the next weight-loss drug? To, to make the pharmas their next billions? Oh yeah, I know what you really do. I’ve followed your movements, the body count you leave in your trail. How I’m the only one who’s been able to track you is beyond me.”

  That’s because the others that try are all dead, Dugan thought.

  “What did she ever see in you? Or did you give her as much choice as the holy-men you put your guns to in order to get their secrets? She never loved you.”

  “Are you through?”

  “Not even close! You have to be stopped and I am going to be the one to do it.”

  An odd silence fell with the last of her words. The light from t
he camera behind her caused Dugan to squint.

  “You’ve grown into the woman I always hoped you’d be,” he said.

  Faye brought her hand out from her sweatshirt, raising a silver derringer.

  “Don’t!” Dugan yelled.

  Not to Faye; to Oso and Rojo.

  He put his hands out toward them.

  Tension zipped through the air like electricity leaping between falling drops of rain.

  “Faye, what are you doing?” the man said beside her.

  She didn’t answer, just stepped away from him, a foot closer to Dugan. Water drizzled down her face.

  “This is the only way to stop you,” she said. “One death to save how many? Hundreds? Thousands?”

  Dugan spoke slowly, carefully. “Exactly why I do what I do.”

  “Don’t do this, Faye,” the man on the ground said.

  “Shut up,” she said, biting her lower lip.

  “Dugan?” Rojo said.

  “No,” Dugan yelled back. “I’ve got this.”

  The pupils in Faye’s eyes shrunk ever so slightly. “You never had this.”

  She pulled the trigger.

  Noting the change in her eyes, Dugan dropped a half-second before. Felt the bullet zip past his cheek. Faye’s eyes widened at having missed. Dugan lowered his shoulder and slammed into his daughter, following her down as they dropped to the water. Her gun flew from her grasp.

  They hit, with Dugan on top; he felt the breath leap out of her. He swept his other foot around, expecting her quarterback boyfriend to come to her aid. Struck his ankles so hard the boyfriend toppled with a groan, landing in the water.

  Oso was there beside him, his curved black blade falling just short of breaking skin on the boyfriend’s neck. Behind them, the Englishman stumbled back against the Humvee, glancing around for a place to flee.

  Dugan rose, retrieving Faye’s gun from the stream in the road. “I never expected you to understand and I don’t need your forgiveness.”

  He popped open the barrel of the small handgun, both chambers empty, and snapped it back in. “But one day, one day I think you might. Understand.”