A huge floor space lay in front of me, a cool blue that stretched the length of the warehouse. Besides several huge wooden crates stacked to one side, the only other objects here were three SUVs at the far end, their engines bright red and white, hot from their race to get here. Several warm-colored shapes milled around them.
Okaasan was here … and someone else.
A moment later, I was back in my body. I glanced around. The two men still lay unconscious. I crouched and opened the door.
At the far end, near the SUVs, Okaasan lay on the concrete, her blouse red with blotches of blood. Her pant leg was soaked in it. Jackson had a laptop open on the hood of the SUV. Its screen glared at me, critical and unforgiving. He spoke—I didn’t hear what he said—and a man hauled something out from the backseat of an SUV, something heavy that hit the concrete with a dull thump. Jackson strode over to the shape and kicked it. The bundle reacted with a moan.
“You’re friend didn’t deposit the money,” Jackson yelled. Then he turned the lump over with his foot and I gasped.
It was Mack.
Jackson noticed me first. I must have looked small and insignificant walking across the floor with a wooden stick in my hand, but he cocked his weapon and pointed at me.
“No, Junya!” Okaasan yelled in Japanese. “Get away from here!” The man beside her rewarded her with a kick in the stomach.
Seven men stepped forward to face me, weapons up and ready. Their anger was palpable and I was an easy target. But I felt as if I was watching everything in slow motion, every detail vivid, every motion accounted for.
“Don’t shoot him! We need the money!” Anthony rushed toward Jackson and grabbed for his gun. Jackson responded with a swing of his rifle butt and smashed Anthony in the jaw. He crumpled like a stack of wooden blocks.
“Get him!” Jackson yelled.
Three guys spread out. I slowed down, sucked in a deep breath, and let my anger rise.
The shortest of the three leaped forward and I sent him sprawling onto the concrete. The other two moved forward, but now they really were moving in slow motion.
I exploded into action. Limbs flailed and bones snapped. As the last man fell to the concrete, I turned to Jackson. The remaining men moved to flank me, their weapons up. Anger seethed out of me—I couldn’t stop it—and I thought of Shoko, remembered her saying this energy wasn’t from the gods, but I didn’t care.
I took another breath and started forward, my body expanding with rage I could no longer control.
Jackson squinted at me. “What the hell?” He swung his submachine gun up and leveled it at me.
My neck tingled in warning, and a long moment later a muzzle flash expanded in front of the gun, widening into a plume of fire. Okaasan screamed, or at least it looked like a scream. Her mouth dropped opened, but the sound that came out was deep and low, like a slowed-down recording. I let go of the bokuto. Part of my mind registered how long it took to fall, but the rest of me was focused on those bullets.
I squeezed my eyes shut and threw all my energy outward. Somewhere far in the distance I thought I heard someone laugh. Then silence.
When I opened my eyes, they were all motionless. I stepped to the side and watched the line of the bullets drift past at walking speed. I drew my wakizashi and walked toward Okassan. She was a mess. Her face was bruised, swollen and bloody, but that was nothing compared with how her thigh looked. The bullet wound lay open, a bloody gash caked in dry blood. By the look of her blood-soaked pants, she’d lost a lot.
I turned toward Jackson. There was humor in his eyes. He liked what he did, I could tell. He liked the money, too. He had an offshore bank account, and his mind whispered the account number and password into mine.
I smashed my elbow into his throat. He tipped backward and crashed onto the concrete then I knelt beside Okaasan and slipped the hilt of the wakizashi into her right hand. I noticed she wore a smile that hadn’t been there before.
“You know what’s going on, don’t you?”
I was tiring fast. Using my energy to keep them all frozen in place was like sprinting while holding up a barbell.
My energy slipped as my rage lessened. Men started to stir, and my neck screamed out a warning. From outside, I sensed boots on asphalt, SWAT teams in black armor, police cars easing to a stop.
Suddenly everyone was moving. Okaasan rose to her knees and in a single motion buried the blade deep into the man who’d kicked her. I dived and pushed Okaasan to the floor as gunfire erupted, so many shots I couldn’t keep track. I lay on top of her, my rage dissolving into terror.
Then it was over. Police in black tactical clothing stood over us, their guns pointed at me.
CHAPTER
39
Bubba had spilled his guts to the police, so as far as they were concerned, it was a clear case of kidnapping. The sword, found near the body of one of the men, they took as evidence that these were the men responsible for the carnage that had occurred that night in the alley.
I rode with Okaasan in an ambulance. Mack, still unconscious, went in another. Most of the other men were dead. I hadn’t seen what happened to Anthony or Jackson, but I hoped they were dead, too.
“Thank God this is over,” Okaasan said later that night from her hospital bed. We were alone, the nurses having finally left and Lin having gone back to Grandpa’s bedside.
“You know it’s not.”
She stared at me a long time. Then she squeezed my hand. “Junya, that energy you used …” She suddenly looked scared. “Don’t ever use it again! If you accept this power, Bartholomew will have you, stronger than he ever had Edward.”
“But I feel it inside me. And it saved you, so how can it be bad?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather die than watch you carry this inside you.”
“All you ever talk about is death!” I yelled, suddenly angry. “It doesn’t solve everything!”
She looked stunned. “Go to the Elders, Junya. They will help you—”
“The Elders already made up their mind.” I told her what Shoko had done.
She emitted a low cry, like the sound of an injured animal.
I stood up. “So you tell me who the evil ones are, because I don’t know anymore.”
“Don’t say that!”
“I’m going to return the gold and burn the map. Then I’m going to find Bartholomew.”
“No, Junya,” she whispered, reaching for my hand. “You’ll die!”
I walked away without looking back.
Grandpa’s driver was waiting outside the hospital. I got into the car. “Take me to the Mojave Desert.”
A little over six hours later, the exhausted man dropped me off beside Highway 62, several miles east of Twentynine Palms. With the nearest town miles away, I was alone under a dome of a billion stars, something I had time to appreciate now, perhaps for the first time in my life. And like the sky, things were clearer now.
The eastern sky grew pink, silhouetting distant jagged mountains. I’d always wanted to see a sunrise in the desert. As the light grew, it revealed strange-looking trees with long prickly branches, low bushes, and piles of huge smooth stones. At first glance, the desert seemed empty, but I could feel life, hear the scurrying of small creatures.
A large diamondback rattlesnake lay coiled nearby on a smooth slab of granite. We sat side by side, lulled into awe by the wonder of the dawn. The birds kept up a constant chatter. For them, the night was almost over. But the darkness in my heart was deep, and even the light of day couldn’t touch it.
I glanced at the snake. Its tongue flicked out every so often, unconcerned by my presence. Its energy was in sync with mine. We’d been drawn to each other for a reason yet unknown, so together we watched a thin slice of sun peek over the distant mountains, casting long shadows, bringing light but not yet warmth to the cold ground. I’d worn my leather jacket over a T-shirt but it wasn’t enough to keep me warm. Oh, well—in less than three hours, this rocky land would become an
inferno.
I looked at the snake. “I bet you’ve seen this a thousand times.”
The snake flicked its tongue and stood its rattle up a little higher, perhaps a little more proudly. As the sun cleared the mountains, the snake slithered off toward the rocks. I called after it. “You’ll help me find it?”
The snake looked back at me, flicked its tongue, and disappeared among the rocks. I lifted the heavy canvas bag, checked my katana and bokuto, and followed the snake.
I heard the rattle and, not long after, found the snake coiled in the shade. When it saw me, it stopped rattling and tested the air with its tongue. In the pile of rocks behind the snake I found a narrow vertical opening, just big enough to fit through if I crouched. Without help, I’d never have found the entrance—the opening was invisible from a yard away. The cave itself was roomy, large enough for three or four men, and surprisingly bright, with daylight streaming through the gaps between the boulders overhead. The ceiling was black from ancient fires. I sensed nothing, good or bad—it was a cave, nothing more. I unloaded the gold and stacked it near the back wall. My watch went on the top of the pile.
“That’s all of it,” I said as I stood up.
The earth gave a small rumble. I reached for the wall, nervous, but only a gust of wind passed over the rocks. It blew sand through the cracks.
I crawled out of the cave. The heat struck me and I stumbled. Another gust of wind roared toward me, spinning and twisting, becoming a dust devil as it boiled across the dirt road. I ducked back inside the cave to escape it.
Inside, I stopped dead. There was a layer of dust on the pile of gold now, and the watch was gone. The earth gave another shudder, more violent this time. The ground moaned and rattled, sending dust and small rocks down onto me.
After what seemed like hours, the earth became silent and I crawled back out of the cave. I braced for the heat, but instead a cool breeze touched me. The mountains were the same but the desert was gone. Now banana trees and date palms swayed in the warm breeze, the rocks replaced by deep green vegetation.
Somehow, I was on the other side.
A thin trail led away from the cave and I followed it, wary but enjoying the squawk of parrots and the feel of the breeze on my face. I pulled a mango off a low branch, peeled the thick skin with my teeth, and ate it as I walked, juice dripping off my chin. But even here I felt the darkness inside me. My bokuto and katana were heavy, but I’d need them soon enough. Shoko had tried to kill me. I knew she, or others, would try again.
After a few minutes I came to a wide clearing with a stream trickling through the center. Off to the side, under a stand of date palms, stood a pueblo-style hut, a mud block structure with a straw roof—the same one I’d seen when I was daydreaming on Grandpa’s hospital bed. I walked through the soft grass and peered through the doorway.
“Come in, James.”
The inside was humble but comfortable, with colorful woven rugs on the dirt floor, a simple wooden bed, and a low table. Square-cut timbers crossed above me, supporting the straw roof. Grandpa sat on a straw mat, looking healthy and strong.
He smiled. “Come inside. I promise this won’t hurt a bit.” He motioned with his hand and I sat on the rug across from him. He looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, and happier, too. Before I could assemble a reply, two young girls, with almond skin and dark shiny hair, maybe ten or eleven years old, entered the hut. They wore white robes and beaded turquoise jewelry, and they carried earthen bowls overflowing with fruit, nuts and dates. After they placed the bowls on the mat, they knelt nearby, their faces impassive but their eyes curious.
“I put the gold back,” I said.
He nodded.
“So what are we doing here?”
He chuckled. “I thought maybe you could tell me. I assume I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead.” I was quite sure of that.
“Too bad. I would happily stay here forever.”
I motioned around us. “What is this place?”
“This is where I woke up after the old Indian found me in the desert.” His face was radiant, lost in his memories, before a cloud moved across his features. Maybe, like me, he was waiting for the Gatekeepers to come again—but the only movement outside was the swaying of the grass and the rustle of palm leaves.
“I wish I could change things,” he whispered.
“The gold wasn’t the treasure. You know that, right?”
He sighed. “The gold was real. I could feel its weight, feel its power.” He shook his head. “To me it was the road to the happiness I craved.”
“But you live like a prisoner.”
He shrugged. “We make our own hell. I made my deal with Bartholomew, and off I went to conquer the world.” He thought for a while. “But later, wealth and power began to lose their luster.” He spread his arms to take in everything around us. “I understand now. This place was the treasure. The gold became my obsession.”
“When I saw you with that machine gun, … you were like a stranger to me.”
His eyes met mine. “Deep down I always knew Bartholomew wanted the map but it was mine to keep … and protect. It was my ticket back here.” He shrugged. “The only thing that kept me going was the thought of this place.” He stared down at his hands, turning them over. “Where did my dreams go?” He looked up at me. “This wasn’t supposed to be my destiny.”
I stared at him, feeling sad. It was as if he never knew that his life was his to make. When he looked back at me, his eyes were hollow and expressionless.
“They watched me all my life, afraid of what Bartholomew might do or what I might become.”
“You know all that?”
“I know it now.”
I became annoyed at him. “You have choices—you’ve always had choices. Maybe not with Tomi, but you had a chance to get out, to give the gold back—to live a different life. Look at what I’ve inherited from you.”
“Well, I’m not going back.” He reached for a plump date. “There’s nothing left for me but a world of lies—theirs and mine. Maybe in death I can find peace.”
I stood and walked out into the sunlight. A few minutes later, he followed me.
“You go back, Grandpa, and make things right. Don’t leave us. Don’t leave Lin.”
His gaze dropped to the ground.
“You can become a new man if you want.”
He shook his head. “It’s too late.”
“Bartholomew will leave you alone. I’m going to make sure of that.”
His eyes widened. “How? What can—”
“He wants to meet me.”
He stared at me a long moment. “There’s no such thing as a fair deal.”
“We’ll see. Now go back.”
He shook his head. “Go back to what?”
I glared at him. “If you really can’t see what’s waiting for you, don’t bother.” I turned away. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Guess it runs in the family.”
CHAPTER
40
I returned to the cave and passed back through the gateway, back to the wicked heat of the Mojave. When I emerged, the diamondback was coiled not far from the cave entrance, its rattle shaking like a maraca. I stopped about five feet away, not liking the energy it was giving off.
“What’s wrong?”
It shot out at me, its mouth open wide, its fangs bared. My katana sliced through the air. The snake’s headless body swung away and thumped against the rocks, but its head, still very much alive, sank its fangs deep into my left forearm.
I screamed and dropped the katana, but the bodiless head held on, jaws locked, fangs buried deep into the muscle. I slammed my arm into a boulder again and again until the head finally came off. It bounced once and came to rest on the sand.
I fell to my knees, clutching my arm. It felt like someone had hit it with a red-hot sledgehammer. I stared at the snake’s head. Its eyes still showed life, its tongue still moved.
Then I
understood. I was alone in the Mojave, without water, with a poisonous snake bite—a death sentence.
Bartholomew was waiting for me.
My energy drained away like water wrung from a sponge and the desert sand sucked it up, leaving no trace of it, taking me with it.
I fumbled with my leather jacket and left it on the ground. I did a slow spin, assessing each direction, wondering where I should go—not that it mattered. A gust of wind surged past me and sent a dried-up sage bush tumbling toward the shimmering haze to the east. I followed it.
The pain radiated from the four small holes and was getting worse. I managed to walk for about half an hour, weaving between the boulders and small bushes, trying to pick the straightest route between them. The sun was high and hot, well over a hundred degrees. I stopped and looked around. There was nothing to see, just sand and boulders, all the way to the distant mountains.
I was tired, more tired than I would have imagined I could be. The pain was horrible and I couldn’t move my left arm. The forearm was twice its normal size, swollen like a red water balloon. I sat on a flat rock and mopped my face with the bottom of my shirt to get the grit and sweat off. I looked at the shirt—it was dry. I wasn’t even sweating. Well, that was good; it must not have been as hot as I’d thought. Screw Bartholomew. I’d make it to the highway, to help, after all.
A nice cold drink would have been great, and the thought of it got me up, but as I stood I got a head rush far worse than any brain freeze. My head throbbed and I staggered, holding my head. I looked around through half-open eyes. I needed to figure out which way to go, but I wondered why I even cared. I was sleepy and the heat was nice, so unlike the cold and fog of San Francisco, and it wasn’t that hot after all.
I looked down at my feet, confused. They weren’t cooperating. I was kicking stones, shuffling through the sand like a toddler. Little cacti, balls the size of brussels sprouts, stuck to my socks. Brussels sprouts—I hated them! Okaasan said they tasted like candy, but she must have eaten some horrible candy in her time. Maybe while she was washing clothes in the creek.
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