by K. T. Tomb
He was high up, on one side of the natural steps in this strange place. High up, by the curved roof…the curved roof that, if you were to represent in a simple diagram, you might draw as a long curve.
In the theater of waking…Marlowe…
He had discovered it at last. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to find the bedchamber of Selene, whatever that was. Manny checked the firearm in his hands; a pump action shotgun, not much help to take out the governor who was so far away.
A crack and a whining ricochet alerted him that he had been spotted, and he dove for cover behind a rocky outcrop to his left. He chanced a look at the Governor was still pumping rounds. Kang lay there, still alive, but with blood staining his filthy clothes dark crimson. He was firing a rifle himself, but one handed and his aim was way off.
It was up to Manny to save him.
Chapter Ten
His position was hopeless.
Kang was too far to get to without Manny getting himself shot. There were three soldiers and the Governor himself to tangle with, and Kang was clearly injured.
The volunteers were shooting like the unregulated militia they were; blazing away, shell after shell, and generally hitting well wide of the mark. Manny took a chance, squeezing off a shot at one of the soldiers below him who was trying to move closer to Kang take a clear shot. The recoil from the shotgun bit into his shoulder, and the shot went low and to the right, kicking up a huge spray of dust and pebbles. The soldier scrambled for cover. The dust lingered in the air, and it seemed all wrong to Manny. Rock shouldn’t just implode like that.
He didn’t have time to think about it, as the soldiers, caught between Kang and Manny, began suppressing them with a constant stream of fire over their heads. The three guards were backing away to get out of the way, edging back towards their leader. Quincy was screaming instructions at them, almost purple in the face from exertion and rage.
Manny used the troopers’ temporary retreat to scoot around the curved wall opposite the Governor, bringing himself closer to Kang. He no longer had the dark tunnel behind him to hide from bullets. Kang was now a mere ten or so feet away and breathing hard.
Manny had watched enough cop shows on TV and action movies to realize now that he had been lied to by the silver screen his whole life. Making a shot hit its moving target while was nearly impossible.
Rather than the steady hand that was perfectly lined up aiming down the sight, he found that both he and the soldiers were just pointing in the general direction of each other and hoping for the best. Out of all the shooters, Quincy seemed to be the most skilled, his aim much closer to Manny’s head with the pistol than the buckshot and solid shells of his guards.
Firing another couple of shells at the enemy, who were now in deep cover behind more of the strange rock formations that peppered the chamber, Manny finally made it to where Kang was laying. His shoulder was a mess, but not as mangled as it would have been if he had been hit by one of the shotguns; Quincy had winged him with his pistol. Keeping his head down and poking the gun’s barrel to point in the direction of the soldiers, Manny tried to think about what he could do for Kang.
“Manny, I’m ok. You should not have come back here.”
His breathing was halted with the pain of speaking.
“Like hell,” Manny said, “my Grampy’s ghost would have come after me forever if I let these assholes kill you while I got away.”
He forced a smile, but he knew it was unconvincing.
“Thank you, you are a brave man. We are in grave trouble, I fear.”
Manny turned back in time to see one of the soldiers attempting to flank them for a clearer shot. Manny didn’t even think about it. He aimed, not expecting to hit anywhere near his target, squeezed the trigger, and felt the kick of the gun’s recoil. On the other end of the kinetic chain of energy the solid shot passed through the soldier’s cheek and exited the back of his skull in a spray of bone fragments, chunks of flesh and a red mist.
Manny retched.
Christ, what the hell had he done? He had killed a man; admittedly, one who was trying to kill him, but still. Another human being had died at his hand. It felt like he would never be happy again. He wanted to weep, to take back what he’d just done, but he knew that was childish.
“Never easy, the first time.” Kang said, simply.
A redoubled barrage of shots from the remaining soldiers and Quincy drowned out anything Manny was thinking of saying, so he just nodded, slightly glazed-eyed and numb.
“Manny, I think I have an idea how to get us out of here. Do you know where we are?”
“Kang, I don’t think this is the right time for a geography lesson!”
Manny could do without Kang being so cryptic. Kang smiled through what must have been considerable pain. “We are in an ancient magma chamber, or possibly the result of a sub-surface pyroclastic surge that blew out the earth. Did you notice how the bullets are destroying these rock formations so easily?”
Manny didn’t exactly know what a pyroclastic surge was, but he knew where magma came from. The rocks and stalagmites were not very durable, as was evidenced by the cloud of hanging dust was mixing in with the gun smoke and the innumerable fragments strewn along the chamber floor.
“So what?” he asked Kang.
“So, the rocks are fragile; the ceiling is fragile too, I would bet.”
Manny looked up, to where the small window to the sky was. From his new position he could no longer see the moon overhead, the angle now displayed a bright, dense patch of the Milky Way. Manny was struck for a moment by its beauty; light pollution concealed almost every star back home. He knew what Kang was hinting at if they both fired at the ceiling of the chamber, there was a good chance it would collapse, and end the shootout.
The face of the man he had just shot flashed in his mind’s eye, with that expression of determination he’d had as the slug from Manny’s gun took off half of his head. Manny scrunched his eyes closed and kneaded them with his palm in an attempt to shake the nightmare.
“Kang, if we shoot the roof, won’t that bring it down on our heads too?”
Kang actually smiled.
“Yes. But we are sheltered a little under here. The rocks are not as dense as granite, so we’ll be fine. Our only other option is to wait until we run out of shells, and then you can get beaten to death and I will bleed out; the bullet went straight through my shoulder, if the fighting stops, we can bind the wound. If the fighting continues much longer, we are both dead. I do not think you are lucky enough with that gun to take out these three men by yourself.”
Manny had no desire to kill anyone again. He knew he would be haunted for a long time, probably forever, by the face of his victim. The guy was just following orders…with a force of will, he kept his focus in the present, and checked his gun. He was on the second magazine but still had several bullets in it and a third magazine in his pocket.
“OK. Where do we aim?”
Kang pointed at the window to the stars.
“There, the ceiling is weakest.”
Both of them raised their weapons, as another volley of booming shots impacted on their disintegrating cover and the walls above their heads.
“On three!” Kang had to yell over the din, “One…two….Three! FIRE!”
Both men emptied their shotguns into the roof, pumping to reload. On the third joint shot, Manny could see the ceiling of the chamber splitting its structural integrity, failing as simply as a house of cards that had been hit by a light breeze.
Rocks tumbled, and men’s voices shouted in panic. Manny dropped the shotgun and, grabbed Kang under the armpits dragging him as close to the wall of the chamber as he could and praying that it would be enough to stop them from being buried alive.
The world went red, then black.
Manny passed out of time, and everything was good. He forgot where he was. There was no pain in his beaten body. He forgot all of his concerns about treasure, and about the man
he had killed. He forgot about Kang, mysterious and aloof. He forgot that Kang was bleeding out, feet away. He forgot about the men trying to kill him, and he forgot about his grandfather.
An old man’s voice spoke words he had not heard.
Colors blind the eye. Yes, he knew that now.
Sounds deafen the ear. Of course, Manny understood.
Flavors numb the taste. He had gorged himself, flavors of all types, stupid flavors that he didn’t need. Flavors that hurt others.
Thoughts weaken the mind. He thought nothing.
Desires wither the heart. He wanted nothing, except to live. And live, and live, and live, and do that to the best of his ability.
Was he alive?
He couldn’t tell in the darkness which was also red and gold. He was nowhere and everywhere at once, and he felt no pain, or shame, or guilt, or wanting.
Manny came to with an uncomfortable rock nestled in the base of his spine. In his head was the sound of a dozen breaking windows, and he felt slightly pudgy hands moving over him. He tasted the salty iron of his own blood which was running down the side of his face; it reminded him that he had a body, and that it was alive.
He opened his eyes to see Quincy searching his pockets. Out came the spare shotgun magazine and Quincy instantly sent it flying across the debris. The Governor of Montserrat punched him hard in the face. Quincy was covered in a yellow dust, drying blood and sweat, looking like a golem dragged from ancient myth. Manny felt his pocket grow tight against his leg as Quincy shoved his hand in and retrieved the ancient treasure map of Captain Boysie Marlowe.
“You did well finding this place, ” Quincy said, “but you are not the only one who knows about the hidden treasure of Captain Marlowe. There are records in the government offices that go back for generations, with the stories of people who have tried to find it and failed. Now, before you die, know that you will join them in failure, and I will claim the fortune for myself. Of course, it will be heartbreaking to tell your family, and the leash holders of this Chinese agent, how you tragically died after escaping arrest for the murder of some of your fellow prisoners.”
Quincy studied the map for a moment, then laughed without humor.
“I am surprised you made it this far. Of course, that is where it is. Sous frère is the Soufriere Hills Volcano, of course. The theater is this place, formed centuries ago when the main volcano last erupted. Sleepy Selene…”
He looked up at the exposed sky, and Manny’s sluggish gaze followed his.
“That must be the moon, referring, naturally, to the Goddess Selene; and her bedchamber will be where the moon sets.”
Quincy pulled out a mobile phone, dialed, and spoke briefly into it. Manny was in danger of passing out again, but he was sure that Quincy said something about bringing a vehicle to their location. Maybe he had passed out again because he was woken by a firm slap in the face. Quincy. He had almost forgotten about that bastard.
“I really should thank you. Your little adventure has cost me some good employees, but on the other hand, with the treasure, I can pay the Cartel, buy more product, and live comfortably for a long time, but I have to know; who are you?”
Quincy actually looked curious. Manny could barely answer.
“My family’s map… Padraig sent me to find it. Stupid idea.”
Quincy laughed, and drew his pistol, pressing the barrel to Manny’s forehead.
“On that, we are agreed. Goodbye.”
Quincy pulled the trigger. The hammer struck no bullet. His clip was empty. Manny barely noticed Quincy give a disappointed look.
“Alas! Saved from the firing squad. I guess I’ll have to let you die under these rocks instead. I have somewhere I need to be.” Quincy tucked his weapon back in his belt, put the map in his pocket, and walked away.
Manny couldn’t remain conscious any longer, and he retreated to a place where there was no pain.
Chapter Eleven
Manny woke up suddenly.
He was coughing and had the strange sensation of moving backward while still lying down. Looking up, he could see Kang, exertion all over his face, half his torso was covered in his own blood and caked in dust and detritus. The shotgun Manny had taken from the soldier was now being used as a means to pull him from the debris. His arms were looped over it, with his hands ending up behind his back. It was incredibly uncomfortable.
“Wait, Kang,” he said, “I can stand, I think.”
With Kang’s help, he climbed to his feet and looked around at where they were. Kang had managed to drag him a considerable distance despite his own injuries. They were now standing close to the lip of the crater that used to be the chamber. The trail of Kang’s blood showed where they had come from, which told Manny he had been out for quite some time. Not two miles away, now in the open air, they could see the ominous shape of the Soufriere Hills volcano, smoking happily into the sky. The moon was now low in the sky, and through a trick of perspective, it seemed to be heading into the mouth of a cave, on the upper right-hand side of the volcano. The strangest sight was the houses all around them. They were covered in ancient ash which still pulsated with latent heat as if they had not been covered to the rooftops in the pyroclastic flow for over two decades. Here and there street lamps protruded a foot or so from the solidified lava, giving the illusion that perhaps the town was populated by a race of tiny people. In truth, the town had been evacuated, deserted and dead. He looked at Kang, who was clearly exhausted.
“Thanks, man. You’ve saved my life twice now. I feel bad for thinking you were a a prick.”
Manny tried a grin, but his body was punishing him through every pain receptor available to it. Kang responded weakly.
“Not a problem. I owed you, remember, for coming back for me in that tunnel. Manny, there is something important you must do for me. First, please help me here.”
He pointed to his shoulder.
Peeling back Kang’s shirt, Manny sucked in his breath at the sight of the wound and shredded flesh. Not that he was any kind of expert in gunshot wounds, but it looked pretty bad. Kang seemed to be holding up surprisingly well, all things considered. Kang instructed him to dust off his shirt, and then tear it into pieces in order to make a crude compress. With a bit of effort, and Kang’s own button down shirt converted into a makeshift sling, Manny managed to patch him up a little. His hands were now slick with Kang’s blood.
“Good, now, we must stop this Governor Quincy. I don’t know what he is seeking, but he must not get it.”
Manny looked at him quizzically.
“Why do you care? He’s running dope, so what? His stuff goes to the United States, not China.”
Kang nodded.
“That is true, but China is a new market. Our borders are opening, and there is trade between the opium gangs of China and the cocaine cartels of South America. Money, drugs, and firearms are being traded freely. One branch of the money trail led one of our diplomatic attaches here; to Montserrat. He expected to find money laundering or a minor distribution network. What he discovered was the Governor himself was running a major cocaine supply chain. You see? The money flows from here to Columbia, cocaine comes back in return and the money, in U.S Dollars, is used to purchase opium and weapons from China. The opium dealers then buy more weapons and produce more opium. It’s perfect capitalism.”
He managed a wry smile. Manny was taken aback by his frankness. Kang had been so tight-lipped before. He had to know more.
“So, who are you, Kang? Who do you work for?”
Kang almost brushed his question off but then relented.
“Chinese secret service; I came here to protect our diplomat, and put an end to this evil business, if I can. Kang Xiaoping is the diplomat, by now he should be well on his way back home. He is far more important to my country than I am. When we found out that Kang Xiaoping had been discovered as our source of information, I arrived here in secret and replaced him. I am the man they send to die for more important men. So this i
s what I must ask you to do; we must stop Quincy, and if I die in the attempt, I need you to survive and tell my government what you and I have learned here.”
Manny nodded slowly. This was some deep crap he was in. Chinese spies and a pan-continental drug and arms trade is not what he signed up for. Manny felt the only right thing to do was to tell Kang, or the man who was calling himself Kang, his own reasons for being on Montserrat.
He recounted the tale of Captain Marlowe and how the map came to be in his family so long ago. He told Kang about his grandfather, the king of Motown, and the birthright that he had been denied. He found himself laughing, for the first time since he had stepped off the tiny plane from Antigua.
“It’s funny, Kang. I know that’s not your name, but…it seemed so important, at the time, for me to prove to everyone that I was worthy of being given something for nothing. I don’t want the treasure anymore. I’ll help you stop Quincy from getting it, but I don’t need it now. There was something else; I had forgotten all about it until I was losing consciousness after Quincy hit me. Do we think when we are unconscious? Because it was…like something out of a dream.”
He recounted the awful poetry that his grandfather Padraig McMillan had left him in the briefcase, two days and a lifetime ago.
“Colors blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavors numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.”
Now Kang was laughing despite his injury; seeing the bemused look on Manny’s face, he explained.
“This is Chinese philosophy, from the Tao Te Ching! Your ancestor clearly had a keen mind, which you perhaps will develop in time as well. What do you suppose this means?”
Manny thought hard and eventually spoke uncertainly.
“Well…I thought it was just some cryptic crap, to begin with, but now I’m not so sure. I thought the part about ‘desires withering the heart’ was a bit brutal, like Grampy Paddy was telling me off for not doing anything with my life, but then, if I desired to do something, wouldn’t that weaken the heart too?”
