He almost missed it. A flash of green, lighter in hue than the wind-whipped plants that crowded the trail. He stopped abruptly, catching himself from taking another tumble, and swung the dive light onto the object. A whistle! The green whistle on its lanyard, the one Gordon had given her. Better than a bread crumb, he thought, scooping it up and stuffing it into a pocket. Of course, the killer might have found it on her… tossed it aside. Shut up! Run!
Ahead, rudimentary metal banisters began appearing. Many were incomplete, just support poles jutting from beside the steps, but wherever a railing was fully in place, Boone grabbed hold and pulled himself up the mountain at greater speeds. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably on the order of minutes, Boone reached a fork in the trail beside a tiny roofed shelter with a bench inside. Across from the shelter, a sign for Bud’s Mountain pointed ahead and to the left. The terrain was flatter here, devoid of steps, and Boone flashed his light across the muddy ground. Boot prints. Deep ones, so he’s carrying a lot of weight. Boone took the fork to the right and dashed up the trail.
As he reached a bit of a bowl in the terrain, Boone paused, gulping in lungfuls of humid air. The wind swirled here, and he was somewhat shielded from the rain by the thickening of the foliage around him. Strange, moss-laden trees surrounded him and huge ferns that looked like something out of a prehistoric diorama dotted the landscape. Weird moss balls, like alien pods, hung from nearby branches, their bulbous shapes swinging in the wind. I read about this… what was it called? The elfin cloud forest. Must be near the top.
A sudden cry jolted his heart and he swung his dive light into the trees to the right of the trail. It sounded like a scream, but… weird. As he heard it again, he realized what it was and his suspicions were confirmed when his light found the source: a goat. It blinked its vertical pupils in the blinding light, then bounded away into the trees.
Something else danced at the edge of his peripheral vision and he swung his head back to a spot above the trail. Peering up into the darkness, he squinted through the rain. Did I see something? He ran a few more steps, looking for a better angle. There! In the distance was a steep set of steps and above, a light flashed between the trees before being swallowed up in the rain and dark.
Boone launched himself up the trail.
“So… let me get this straight…” Emily said. She was sitting in a puddle beside the trail next to a pair of arrowed signs. They both said Scenic View and they pointed in opposite directions. “If you make the sacrifice at the top of a volcano, the volcano will erupt?”
“Not just one… all of them… but I need to awaken one to begin the cycle.” The man was shining his light on a water-logged map that fluttered dangerously in the wind. For the third time, he aimed the beam at the signs with their contradictory arrows, then returned with frustration to his map.
Behind her back, Emily felt the duct tape tear again as the little piece of rock she’d palmed bit into the material. For the previous half hour, perched atop her captor’s shoulder with her arms behind her back, she’d had free reign to scrape at her restraints as the man concentrated on the strenuous work of hauling her up the slippery steps, all the while spewing a mad monologue of his beliefs and desires. Seems like he’s got a chubby for volcano-induced End Times, she thought, feeling the edge of the rock tear another few strands of tape.
“Which one…?” the man muttered angrily.
Emily was certain that with one good yank she could tear her wrists free. This momentary confusion—two summits this lunatic had to choose from—presented an opportunity. “Don’t you need a virgin for this? Because, I got news for you—”
The man barked a laugh—or what passed for a laugh, a mirthless rattle of sound. “Virgin sacrifice?” he scoffed. “That’s just silly.”
“And you said something about the full moon… you do realize we’re in the edge of a hurricane, and you can’t see bollocks…”
“I don’t have to see it to know that it’s full!” he snapped in growing irritation.
“But the sacrifice, it has to be at the summit, right?”
The man savagely wiped a sleeve against his face, wicking away some of the rain before looking back at the soggy map.
“And… it looks like there are two ways to go…” Emily said.
“I know!”
“What happens if you pick the wrong one?”
“I DON’T KNOW! But I won’t get it wrong. They won’t let that happen! Why do you think I’m looking at this?” He flapped the map in his hand and fate gave Emily a gift. A gust of wind tore the map from his fingers, sending it flapping down the trail into the bushes. “GODDAMMIT!” He dashed after it, his flashlight swinging from side to side.
Emily didn’t hesitate, tearing her hands free and bringing the little bit of rock around behind her ankles. Got to start a cut at the back, where he won’t see. She managed to begin a small tear before she saw the flashlight settle on something. Sodding hell, he’s found it. But I’ve got a start. She quickly snugged her wrists together behind her back. They were still covered in duct tape, and with the rain, mist, and dark it wasn’t likely he’d notice.
The man returned, cursing. Crumpling one side of the map in an iron grip, he shined the light on it once more. Emily snuck a look over her right shoulder. In the mist she could make out a little metal tower, but something much larger was just beyond it. A building! And… red lights? Wait, no, they’re gone. She raised her eyes. The rain and clouds blotted out the sky but after an interval the lights returned, like little animals’ eyes blinking on and off in the clouds. The communications tower! Holy crap, it’s huge. That little tower in front of it must be its baby. Emily remembered seeing the big tower from below during the last week, the few times the top had been cloud-free. Then, that building must be for controls or maintenance. If it’s unlocked, that might be my salvation. If I can just free my legs, I know I can outrun him. I don’t care how strong he is, he’s got to be exhausted from carrying me up here… with a busted toe, no less.
“Which way?” the man asked the night. Then he raised his head, listening.
Blast, he’ll just supply his own answer and then I’m screwed. “Hey, what’s your name?” she called out above the wind.
In the glow of the flashlight, Emily could see that had thrown him. He blinked, turning toward her. “My name…?”
“Mine is Emily.
“Yes… I know.
“Oh, right, when you captured me. But hey, Emily is so formal—my friends call me Em.”
“Em…”
“Right, good. And you?”
“I have many names. Hephaestus… Vulcan…”
“Okay, yeah, I can see where we’re going here, but I mean your real name. The one your mother and father gave you.”
The man made an odd sound, almost like a stifled sob. “Aidan.”
“Aidan. That’s a beautiful name.”
“It means ‘fire.’”
“Well… that seems… on the nose.” Shut up, Emily! But the man didn’t appear to have heard her. “Listen, what happens to you? After?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s say you… do… whatever you do… to me…” She forced herself to go on. “And the volcano goes: ‘Good job, Aidan! Boom!’ What happens to you?”
Aidan smiled, the hesitation of a moment before vanishing as he spoke with quiet fervor. “I will Ascend and become one with those I serve.”
“Yyyyeah, okay, but what if it doesn’t happen? Like those other times you told me about? You’re on top of a mountain with a Category 5 hurricane coming. You’re going to be killed.”
“No. The building under the communications tower is concrete. If the ritual does not bring about The Great Awakening, I will shelter there and wait for the storm to pass.”
“What if it’s locked?”
The man patted
a side pocket of his coveralls. “Prybar.”
“Oh… well, you’re prepared.”
“I have many tools,” he said, setting his flashlight down beside Emily and reaching for the backpack he’d dropped beside the trail.
Unzipping it, he withdrew a machete and Emily’s heart rose into her throat. She felt her body start to tremble, out of her control. The handle was wrapped in duct tape. It fixes everything! her mind crowed. The blade was almost black, scratched and pitted in places, but one area where it had clearly been cared for was the edge. It gleamed.
“You won’t feel any pain,” he said softly. “It’s all been a learning experience for me, but I know how to do it properly, now. When a volcano erupts, the top is removed, and the lava and ash… the blood and breath… flow from the rupture. So, too, with you.”
He spoke as if this were a comfort and Emily finally lost her composure, tears streaming from her eyes, joining the rain on her cheeks. It was now or never. She glanced at his open backpack, spying the tops of several plastic water bottles. “I’m thirsty,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to die thirsty.”
“Of course. You have earned this kindness… Em.” He thrust the tip of the machete into the wet earth behind him and turned for the backpack.
Fear shrieking in her thoughts, Emily tried Boone’s trick of slowing the breath, focusing on each inhalation and exhalation, and then snaked a hand from behind her back as Aidan dug through the backpack. When he turned back to face her, a water bottle in his hand, she struck!
The flashlight wasn’t the heavy kind the police carried, but it had some heft. Snatching it from the mud, she swung it against Aidan’s temple as hard as she could and the man grunted, falling back on the muddy trail with a splat. She brought her other hand around to above her ankles, the piece of rock held firmly, viciously digging at the little vee she’d begun in the duct tape. Emily watched with terror as Aidan rose to his hands and knees, mere inches from the machete. Savagely ripping at her bonds, she winced as she slipped and cut her calf. With superhuman effort, she grabbed hold and tore the gash in the tape apart, leaping to her feet… and nearly pitching onto her face as pins and needles erupted in her newly freed legs.
“You… BITCH!” The dark shape rose.
Emily staggered into the driving wind and rain, running toward the tower.
“You… BITCH!”
Boone heard the savage voice as he reached the top of the stairs. He hurtled up the trail, spotting a flashlight on the ground. A dark shape was rising from beside it, something metallic in its hand catching the light. Dousing his own flashlight, Boone suddenly realized just how dark it had become as the wind began to howl through the thick branches of the cloud forest. Keeping his eyes on the spot of light ahead, he ran, wincing at the pain in his knee from one of his earlier tumbles. The panic he felt for Emily was still there, but he calmed it. He just yelled at her, so she’s probably still alive. But from the rage he’d heard in the man’s voice, that might be a temporary condition if he didn’t act fast.
The man was moving away, presumably after Emily, and Boone ran toward him, quickly sifting through his options. First: get him to stop chasing Emily. Then: take away his weapon. He gained on the bobbing flashlight, then shouted. “Hey! You!”
The light stopped. The outline of the broad-shouldered man turned. Boone could make out the weapon, now. A machete. Or cutlass, as Sid’s dad would likely say, Boone thought. The same weapon that had decapitated those victims on the other islands. The flashlight swung up to focus on Boone, illuminating the fat drops of rain that fell from Irma’s outermost bands. The light began to move toward him.
“I know you,” the voice said, raised to be heard over the wind.
All at once, Boone’s course of action clicked into place. He reached up to his throat. “And I know you. Imke de Wit sent me.” He grasped the blue bead and tore the cord from his neck. “She wants me to give you this.” He held the cord up, the bead hanging from it in the beam of light. The flashlight’s advance halted and Boone tossed the necklace at the man’s feet. The man started to aim his light at it and Boone swung his own dive light up and flicked it on.
Emily had been right about how ridiculously bright the thing was, and its sudden ignition was blinding, forcing the man to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Fortunately for Boone, it was the arm with the machete. Boone didn’t risk a capoeira tumble to close the distance, not in this soup of mud and moss. He simply dashed forward, dropping his light at the last moment as he hurled himself on the man, his large hands gripping the man’s arm and applying a wrist-lock. Boone’s skills in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu weren’t as showy as what he used in capoeira, but they were extremely effective. He planned to simply snap the man’s wrist, but when he began the maneuver, forcefully applying the pressure, it was like trying to bend an iron bar. His opponent dropped his flashlight as well, reaching for one of Boone’s own wrists. Boone twisted, keeping his grip out of the man’s reach.
In the glow of the fallen flashlights, Boone assessed his foe. Even in baggy coveralls, it was clear he was extremely muscular. He was making horrible, rage-fueled sounds, almost a gargling in his throat, as he fought to free his machete arm. That arm was corded in muscle, straining to resist the wrist lock. The man kicked out a boot, catching Boone on a bare shin with a glancing blow. With a supreme effort, Boone threw his body weight onto the inverted arm and finally the man released the machete. It landed with a splash in a nearby puddle.
Boone’s triumph was short-lived, as his full-body effort to force the disarm had thrown him off balance and the man finally got a hold of him. A callused hand grabbed Boone by the throat, forcing him to release the man’s wrist. His strength is insane! Boone thought as the fingers tightened on his neck, realizing that madness probably did play some part in how powerful he was. Before his opponent could bring his other hand into play, Boone snapped a knee up into the man’s sternum. White light seared his vision, as he realized he’d used his injured knee, and the blow had minimal effect. Resorting to a move frowned upon in capoeira tournaments, Boone executed a telefone, or telephone, clapping both palms against the man’s ears and sending a burst of air pressure into the man’s ear canals, causing sudden pain, maybe even rupturing the eardrums, if he was lucky.
The man screamed in agony, losing his grip on Boone’s throat. Boone snapped a quick bênção, or blessing kick at the man’s chest to drive him back, the simple frontal kick meant to give him some breathing room.
Boone hadn’t yet seen Emily and started to call out for her, but stopped himself. No. She may be hiding. Or trying to get around us, back to the steps. He didn’t want her to give herself away, so Boone instead focused on the task at hand. Time to finish this, he thought, taking two ginga steps and swinging a simple martelo—a hammer kick up toward the man’s temple. To his surprise, his target was shielded, as the killer whipped his arm up in an efficient block. Wonderful. Not only is he strong, but he has training. Boone decided to risk the kick he’d shown off to Sophie. He’d once used it in Bonaire to drop a man who was menacing a friend with a knife, but hadn’t used it in an actual fight since, as it had resulted in a fracture of his opponent’s skull. But if that happens this time, I’ll go on to live a long and carefree life.
Capoeira’s famous meia lua de compasso, or compass half-moon kick, was probably not something his opponent had seen, and if you were unprepared for its unorthodox delivery, it could end you. The muddy trail was saturated, so Boone decided to fake a slip, falling back toward a firmer section of ground he’d felt in his ginga footwork, planting his hands firmly on the ground beneath his legs and hunching over. The man moved in, looking for his own quick victory. Boone continued his motion, turning it into a low spin, sweeping his outer leg and whipping it up and across at blinding speed.
It might have been a perfect kick. If. If the ground hadn’t been so slick and his supporting foot hadn’t slipped. If he had bee
n fighting barefoot, in his accustomed manner. If his knee wasn’t screaming at him. The kick went high and Boone tried to regain his balance, preparing to tumble away with an aú cartwheel, but a low whoosh heralded the arrival of his opponent’s fist, smashing into the side of Boone’s head. He turned with the blow, staggering away in a sloppy spin as his ears rang from the impact. He cartwheeled back further, nearly falling, dizzy from the blow. If I hadn’t rolled with that punch, he would’ve taken my head off, Boone thought, then realized the man was crouching down for some reason. Seeing an opportunity, Boone advanced, lining up for another attack.
“Boone! Look out!”
Emily? Thank God— But Boone suddenly realized why the man had crouched as a gleam of metal caught the light of a fallen flashlight. He barely had time to leap back as the machete blade whipped through the air, the curve near its tip striking a rib before sliding across his flank, slicing a shallow gash in his skin. Boone continued to retreat, knowing he’d narrowly escaped disembowelment.
The lunatic charged, madness shining in his eyes as sheets of rain flew horizontally across his path. Preparing to dodge and counterattack, Boone took two steps back… but only one of those steps met with the ground. In the driving rain and darkness, he hadn’t realized he’d left the trail and had been on the edge of a ravine.
“BOONE!”
Emily’s scream receded into the howling wind as Boone pitched backward and fell from the cliff.
The Servant roared with triumph. How fitting that the mountain itself would claim the interloper. Another cry from his Chosen drew his attention back toward the communications tower. It was too dark, the rain too heavy, to see her. But she is there, and there is nowhere to go. He turned and went for his flashlight but paused, looking at the one his opponent had dropped. It was much brighter than the one the Servant had brought, and he claimed his spoils of war, returning with it to the edge where his foe had fallen.
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