Eli looked down at Peter’s and Jenny’s hands locked tightly together, then back up at both their faces in disbelief.
CHAPTER TEN: Recharged
It took quite a bit of explaining to calm Eli down. No matter how many times Jenny assured him that she had no interest in Peter—well, at least in dating Peter—Eli kept coming back to the fact that they had been caught holding hands.
Peter tried over and over to explain that they had been holding hands out of fear, not love, but Eli would not buy that argument either. According to Eli (as well as Matt and Irene), Peter and Jenny had just walked out the door when Eli decided not to wait. There was no time for Peter and Jenny to have had their adventure with Bartholomew because they had been gone less than a minute.
Jenny tried several times to explain the term fungible, then switched to defining malleable. Eli and Irene understood the terms, eventually. Matt—not so much. No one, however, understood how walking in to a church and speaking with a short, bald man with a large mustache had altered time. Eli in particular was convinced that something else must have happened.
“You were the one who didn’t want to mention this Bartholomew to begin with. Now you want us to believe that in the minute you were gone you had this long conversation with this guy, and the only thing you really learned is that Orb was the one who had the river dammed?” Eli shook his head. “Oh, and that you like holding hands with my girlfriend!”
Finally, a frustrated Jenny screamed at Eli, “I never said I was your girlfriend. If you want to believe we’re standing in Mexico because of a magical Orb but you refuse to believe what Peter and I are telling you, then go to hell, Eli!”
Jenny stormed off down the street, no longer worrying about keeping her skirt aloft but still conscious of the gaps and holes in the cobblestone road. Eli stared at her, perplexed, then back at everyone else. Peter motioned to Eli that he should go after Jenny and, after a moment he did.
They watched him catch up to Jenny, who refused to stop walking, and then plead with her as they both disappeared around a corner. Matt then turned back to Peter, smiled, and said, “I guess we know the quickest way to get your brother worked up, right?”
Peter stared at Matt, and then beyond him at the darkened room that lay behind the giant, open door. Without answering Matt, Peter strode past and went straight for the coolers. He was not sure why, but he was suddenly hungry. Very, very hungry.
***
A couple of hours later, as the sun began its descent, Eli and Jenny reappeared at the door to their quarters. They were not holding hands, and did not look particularly happy, but Peter thought it was at least a small positive sign that they were not yelling at each other.
Eli stared at Peter, who sat leaning against a wall reading a book. Peter’s shoes were, as usual, off, and the bottoms of his dirty feet cried out for a washing.
“Where are the others?” Eli asked.
Peter set the book down on the dirty floor, stood up and stretched. “Trying on more clothes at that same place you found.”
Peter looked down at his soiled clothes, then shrugged. “I left them there.”
Jenny walked over to the coolers, opened one up, and took out a glass bottle emblazoned with vines and flowers. She held it up and confirmed that it was water. Fancy water—with bubbles. She struggled for a second with the slippery twist-off top and Eli made a move as if to help. She saw him and raised her elbow to ward him off while doubling down on her effort to open the bottle. Eventually, she was rewarded with a loud hiss.
Jenny took a long pull at the open bottle, clearly satisfied with herself for being able to open it. Eli smiled at her but if Jenny noticed it was not obvious. Eli then scowled at Peter. Peter tried to figure out what he was going to have to do or say to make his brother get over his jealousy and trust him again. Peter decided Jenny’s approach was a good one. He ignored Eli and his dirty look and bent down to pick the travel book up off the floor.
He dusted the book off by slapping it lightly, then turned to Jenny. “Bartholomew was right, Jenny. There’s an annual pilgrimage here for Catholics and another one based on a native religion.”
Jenny, who was taking a short breather from the drink, asked, “What are you reading?”
Peter held it up so she could see, and said, “Travel book. I found it in the same store that has all of the clothes.”
Peter passed the book to Jenny. She quickly looked at the cover, which showed a large, setting sun, and then turned to the pages that Peter had earmarked by folding down the top right corner. Her fingers tracking her progress, she spent a minute reading through the information before she looked up and handed the book to Eli, declaring, “I’ve never even heard of this place and it takes up two full pages in this guide. Weird!”
Eli hungrily read through the information. Peter felt a little better when he saw Eli was mostly back to his normal self.
Jenny used the time to stare at Peter.
“You didn’t want new clothes?” Jenny asked.
Peter looked down at his clothes, which were not much cleaner than his feet. Jenny’s question was polite but implied she thought he could use some new clothes. He realized it was silly but could not help the fact that her comment made him want to keep his filthy clothes. Jenny might be his brother’s girlfriend, but that did not make her his mom.
“Maybe tomorrow. With the dirt floors it’s not like anything is going to stay clean.”
Jenny looked down and pulled sadly at her skirt, which now had a brown fringe that clung to the bottom three inches. “Yes, you’re right about that.”
Eli closed the book and added, “Peter doesn’t exactly care much about being clean.”
Both Jenny and Peter stared at Eli, trying to figure out if this latest comment also came from jealousy, or was simply true. Peter ignored the bait and replied, “I think we should take Orb’s warning more seriously and stay here in this room as much as we can.”
Eli looked around the empty, now mostly dark room. “Great. Let’s hang out here with all the spiders and scorpions.”
Peter, who had noticed representatives from both those categories while he sat reading, looked around again via the dim light provided from the open door and the small, dirty window in the wall. “I don’t like it any more than you, Eli. I just get the sense that we should stay here.”
“Is something wrong?” Jenny asked.
Peter shook his head. “No. At least I don’t think so. I just think we’re pushing our luck walking around this place.” He looked though the open door at the deepening shadows outside. “It’s getting dark. We should light the lantern.”
Jenny nodded and, as though Peter had given her an order, went to retrieve the lantern from where it sat next to the coolers. Eli gave Peter another curious look, which Peter tried hard to avoid.
Jenny struck a match on the side of the box of kitchen matches they had found on the floor, turned the knob on the side of the kerosene lantern to raise of the wick inside the glass, then stuck the lit match inside to light the wick. The wick caught fire immediately and all the shadows nearest the lantern shrank under the force of the light.
She set the lantern down on a cooler, blew out what remained of the wooden match, then dropped it to the dirt floor and squished it under her shoe. The three of them then stared at each other for a minute, trying to think of something to say. Prior to Eli’s fit of jealousy, the main problem had been talking over one another. They all felt strange, and a little sad.
Finally, Eli broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I don't know what I’ve been doing.”
Jenny looked at Eli, then Peter, who smiled a little in return.
“It’s not your fault, Eli.” Jenny said. “Everything is happening all at once and none of it really makes any sense.”
She took half a step toward Eli and extended her hand. Eli shifted the travel book to one hand, then used his free hand to take hers. He drew closer and then touched his forehead gently to hers, sighing softly.
Peter, who now very much wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else, looked down at his dirty feet.
“Peter?” Eli asked.
Peter dared a short peek up and saw that Eli had stopped his partial cuddle with Jenny and was now facing him. “I promise I’m over it, Peter. It won’t happen again.”
Eli stuck his hand out and Peter grudgingly took it. As they shook, Matt and Irene, decked out in outfits more appropriate for a traditional Mexican wedding—in 1900—walked in. They looked pleased with themselves. They also looked shocked to see the brothers shaking hands.
“What are you guys agreeing to?” Matt asked, fighting back a cry from the elbow in the ribs he received from Irene.
The brothers hastily dropped their handshake. Jenny moved over to grab Eli’s hand again. “Everyone has agreed to be friends once again.” She used her free hand to lightly pet Eli’s shoulder.
Peter felt slightly ill from the level of hormones in the room and wondered why it was that he was the only one without a significant other—not that he had any interest in girls. As far as he could tell they were a lot more trouble than they were worth. Then again, everyone really seemed to like all that kissing. He decided it was time to change the subject. “I think we should shut the door, get something to eat and then stay in for the rest of the night.”
What to Peter had sounded somewhat like a stern command apparently did not translate that way, as Irene leaned close to Matt and nibbled on his ear. “That sounds good to me.”
Matt jumped a little, then smiled. Peter, now officially nauseated, threw his hands in the air and walked over to close the door. If he’d had the option to stay somewhere else, far away from the amorous teenagers, he would. Unfortunately for him, he did not have that option.
Heaving the door shut, he walked back over toward his blanket, grabbing the travel book out of Eli’s hand as he went. He used his free hand to move the lantern from the cooler to a spot in the dirt near him, making sure most of the light would be cast on his spot, then he plopped down heavily, turned away from the others, and began reading details about many other places in Mexico that he would probably never see.
The other teenagers returned to their blankets, and the rest of the evening was filled with the sounds of snuggling.
***
Sometime later, in the middle of the night, Peter awoke to a loud thud. He blinked in the darkness, sat up straight, and tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. It did not help that the lantern was off, but the next loud thunk made it clear that whatever was making the noise was just outside the front door.
“What is that?” Eli hissed from across the room.
“I dunno,” whispered Matt. “It sounds big, though.”
As if in agreement with Matt, the loudest, most awful-sounding growl that any of them had ever heard started up from outside the door. The growl ended with a deep, menacing cough that was closer to a roar.
Peter abruptly stood up, cupped his hands against the sides of his mouth, and yelled, “Succor! Succor!”
As Peter yelled he instinctively moved away from the door. The stone wall behind him scratched at his back and arms as he slid along its rough surface.
His cry was answered by furious scratches at the door and yet another loud thunk as whatever was outside again threw itself at the thick wood. Moments later the crashing and scratching sounds paused and were replaced by a series of softer growls. Soon the air was filled with growls and the unnerving, clicking sound of teeth gnashing together. The growls grew lower, and more serious, and were then joined by a series of high-pitched yips and squeals that sent chills down Peter’s spine.
Then came a sound that Peter had only read about in books—the horrible noise of a bone being bitten, crunched into pieces. The yips turned into screams, compelling all of them to stand up on their blankets, clutching each other and staring in terror at the darkness that enveloped them.
Regaining a little composure, Peter reached down and tried to find the lantern. He then remembered he had walked away from it trying to put distance between himself and the door. Peter dropped to his knees and began crawling along on all fours to where he believed the lantern had been left. He used his left hand to sweep in front of him, trying to avoid crawling headfirst into the wall. There was another loud crunch from outside, and one of the screams was silenced.
Peter, still crawling, tried to remember how the rope interacted with the latch to keep the door shut. Did it latch, or did pulling on the rope simply pull the door in, or out?
As if in response, the door again shuddered from the impact of a blow. Peter continued to hurriedly sweep the ground in front of him and was finally rewarded with what felt like the round metal base of the lantern. He ran his hands down the sides of the lantern, cursing to himself about the lack of light.
The door groaned again from another impact, and a corresponding growl.
“Peter!” Jenny cried. “Where is the lantern?”
“Peter?” Eli chimed in.
The ancient wood of the door, which Peter remembered was impossibly thick, made a splintering sound with the next blow. One of the girls screamed.
Peter grabbed the lantern with his right hand and stood warily, trying to find the cooler where Jenny had set the box of matches.
“I’ve got it!” Peter yelled to everyone. “I’m trying to find the matches.”
All the others were screaming now, which did not help Peter’s nerves, or his concentration. He felt himself tuning them, and the crashes, out, as he slowly walked to his right in what he thought was the direction of the coolers. The screams reached fever pitch just as the crashing stopped in favor of loud clicks. Whatever was outside was now pulling on the rope, trying to disengage the latch that, thankfully for them, still worked even with a rope as a handle. Whimpers could still be heard from outside, but the large growls were muted—as if whatever was making them had a rope in its teeth.
“Hurry, Peter!” Eli yelled.
Peter continued to his right, then stubbed the big toe of his right foot on something hard. He bit back a yelp—not that anyone would have heard it with all the growling going on outside—bent down and used his left hand to search the space in front of him. He took a few cautious steps and was rewarded when his hand found the slick, plastic top of a cooler. He slowly moved his hand back and forth and soon bumped the side of the matchbox. He grabbed it, slid it open and winced as he felt several matches slide past his fingers and drop to the dirt floor. He turned the box right-side up and managed to grab a match still in the box between his trembling fingers. He slid the matchstick against the side of the box. Nothing.
He tuned out the growling and the screaming and used the fingers on his right hand to feel the two ends of the match. He had been striking the wrong end. He carefully reversed the match in his fingers and struck it again. This time his effort was rewarded with a small ball of flame as the match lit. He almost cried out in relief but instead forced himself to shove the box in his pocket, grab the lantern and push the match into the hole to light the mantle before it burnt out. The match contacted the crispy end of the mantle—and nothing happened.
With all the others screaming his name, Peter dropped the spent match to the floor, wedged the lantern between his knees, and dug the last match from the box he clenched in his hand. He slid the match against the side was immediately rewarded with a small flame. He again tried to light the mantle. Once again, nothing happened. A sickening thought occurred to Peter. He gently shook the lantern and heard no liquid within. It had run out of kerosene, which is why it had gone out and left them in darkness.
There was a can of kerosene in the corner, but as Peter clenched the last match between his fingers he knew there was no time—no way—for him to find the can, refill the lantern and light it. Peter extended the match toward the door with his left hand, dimly seeing the others screaming and clinging together. He held the lamp behind him in his right hand by the wire handle—prepared to bring it down
on the head of whatever came through the door. He watched as the rope jerked once, then again. He heard the click of the latch being opened and the grunt of something pushing against the door.
The heavy door swung open so far that it slammed against the stone wall. In the dying light of the match, Peter and the others saw a shape even darker than the night itself. A shape that looked like the biggest dog he had ever seen. A dog the size of a pony. The darkness was juxtaposed by a set of gleaming white teeth and a bright red tongue. The teeth almost glowed as they mashed together, another deep growl passing between them.
The match burned Peter’s fingers and he dropped it, flung the lantern forward in a largely useless attempt to defeat the intruder, and then furiously scrambled on all fours trying to find any of the unused matches that had fallen to the ground. Peter’s heart sank as he felt the hot breath of the beast on his feet, then heard it cry out in pain and anger. Something else was now growling. It did not sound nearly as big as the giant dog-creature and the noises it made were strained and muffled.
Peter used both hands to whisk the dirt in front of him and, with growls and screams from both his friends and the beasts locked in combat filling the air, his right hand found two of the fallen matches. He flipped over onto his rear, dug the empty matchbox out of his pocket and struck another match.
With the benefit of a second opportunity to view their foe, Peter saw that the giant dog was actually a black wolf. The wolf had turned away from Peter and was snarling and biting at a small coyote that had—as its last act—clamped its mouth around the skinny lower part of the wolf’s right back leg. The wolf screamed in rage and indignity, sinking its teeth again and again into the muzzle of the coyote, which held its bloodied mouth clamped shut around the wolf’s leg in a death grip.
The Promise of the Orb Page 14