Port-au-Prince, Haiti
1:15 a.m.
JAKJAK LED US TO the tunnel he and I had hid in earlier. He’d brought one of the lanterns from the Lexus. In Haiti, lanterns were indispensable. He lit it with some kerosene left in an old can. Then he offered us the last two cans of the twenty-year-old soup.
Jakjak’s hiding place had a mattress, salvaged from the wreckage, and some sheets. Keyes ran her hand over a wall and looked at the dirt on her palm. “Damn poor maid service I’d say, but I’ll take the room.”
Jakjak grinned. “Glad you like your room, Madmwazèl. I’ll be at the reception desk down the hall, in the cave on the right. I’ll let you two have the honeymoon suite here.”
As Jakjak turned to walk away, he coughed and spit up thick, black blood.
“Let’s go to the hospital tonight,” I said. “To hell with the police.”
“Doktè, you go there by yourself, ’cause I ain’t goin’ and gettin’ myself arrested.”
I hoped tomorrow wouldn’t be too late.
Keyes asked, “Where can I go to work on my computer tomorrow? I’ll try to learn what’s going on.”
Jakjak answered, “Madmwazèl, you can go to the Duran house. It be near the hospital. You can trust the minister’s wife.”
When Jakjak turned to leave, I put my hand around Keyes’ waist and pulled her close. It felt good to have her with me. When I leaned over to kiss her, I saw a shadow move.
I jumped in front of Keyes and strained my eyes to see in the dim light of the lantern. Another moving shadow. And another.
All of a sudden, the cave was alive with shadows shooting back and forth. I looked for the people making them, but I saw no one.
Jakjak fell to his knees and cried out, “Anmwe! Iwa, protect me from the spirits of the dead!”
The shadows danced and moved in a strange fashion. An eerie soft moaning filled the air. I raised my fists and uneasily backed toward the exit. I motioned for Keyes and Jakjak to stay behind me.
Suddenly, one shadow bolted upright. I jumped back. Keyes cried out. Jakjak fell backward and put his arm across his face.
Standing my ground, I squinted in the dim light at the figure now appearing a few feet from me. It was a woman, over six feet tall, with her teeth bared. Keyes and Jakjak stopped their retreat and watched.
She thrust her hands out toward us as she gyrated her body back and forth. There was something magical about her motions.
She stepped forward, and her height dramatically diminished to less than five feet. She had gray hair and her ancient body was crippled and bent over. My first thought was that she was to be pitied, not feared. But that changed as I watched and listened.
The old woman looked at me with round, searing eyes. Her hands continued to undulate, mesmerizing us all. Her voice was bold and commanding. “I am Sanfia, ordained by Bondye, God of the universe.”
Jakjak shook with fear and covered his face.
“Do not fear, Jakjak.” Sanfia moved to him. “With powers given by Bondye, I came to you two nights ago and saved your life. You were under attack by evil spirits, but I cast away the cat.”
“How?”
She glared into his eyes. Abruptly, she stood tall over Jakjak and looked down at him. He fell back, swooned by her powers. “Jakjak, I was at your side while you lay dying on that pile of dead spirits.”
Jakjak’s voice trembled. “Are you my mambo?”
“Wi. I have been appointed by God.”
“I know I’m a zombie, but the Doktè here says I’m not.”
“He’s wise for a medical doctor. Had I wanted to make you a zombie, you’d be a zombie.”
With a bold flourish, she again thrust first one hand and then the other at Jakjak, like one of the witches from Macbeth casting spells. With that, she was again short and bent over. I was in awe of her magical display.
“Yes, God gives me potions to do that,” the old woman said. “But the great Bondye needs you for greater deeds.”
“Am I dead?” Jakjak asked.
Sanfia’s height again increased dramatically, and she leaned over Jakjak. He leaned backward to look up into her gaze, and in a blinding flash, her eyes turned green. He clutched his face in his hands.
“Give me your magic that I’ll not have to feel the surgeon’s knife tomorrow,” Jakjak begged Sanfia.
“I am the healer. You need no other doktè. I poured God’s medicines in your mouth. You will be made whole.”
“How did you find Jakjak in this tunnel?” I asked.
“For thirty-five years, I’ve been coming through secret caves to this prison beneath the Palè Pwezidansyèl, the Presidential Palace. God gave me a passage to enter so that I could minister to the prisoners of Haiti during prior administrations.”
I looked around. “But who are the others who hide in the shadows?”
She snapped her fingers, and two men in short-sleeved T-shirts and jeans emerged. They were tall and muscular, and their faces were stern.
Keyes and I were startled, but Jakjak recognized them. He turned to me and said in a shaking voice, “Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre. They’re in my sanpwel.”
Sanfia slapped Jakjak. Her long, curled fingernails scratched his face. “Our societies must never be revealed to nonbelievers.”
Jakjak stepped back and trembled as Sanfia transfixed him with her intense, piercing stare.
Abruptly, she turned and snapped her fingers twice. Two more men popped upright, one close behind Keyes. Keyes gasped and jumped closer to me.
“Benoit and Shaza,” Sanfia said.
In the flickering light, these men looked odd, and their skin was sort of a pale gray. Their black skin was caked with a white material, like whitewash had been painted on. Unlike Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre, who were well-built and a little overweight, these men were petite and emaciated.
Before I could speak, Sanfia thrust her hands over her head. “But you are blancs, white people, and you are in danger. Evil men have found this place. It is not safe for you to stay here. They will kill you. Put away your lantern and follow me. Quickly.”
Sanfia reached for Keyes’ hand. Keyes hesitated, but clasped Sanfia’s hand and moved forward, behind Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre. Jakjak and I followed the women. Benoit and Shaza brought up the rear. We walked from tunnel to tunnel in the rubble, the broken walls of the earthquake-damaged basements all around us, until finally we emerged into the night skyline of Port-au-Prince. I noted how few lights were on in Haiti’s largest city. The city was extremely slow to recover from the earthquake.
We’d taken only a few steps outside when Jakjak dropped to his knees. He was breathing laboriously. As I rushed to his side, Sanfia clapped her hands and Jean-Pierre lifted Jakjak into his arms before I could reach him.
I called out to Sanfia. “Jakjak is sick. Help me keep him alive until his surgery tomorrow.”
“I know of his surgery, and Bondye will protect him with his magic, even if you do not subject him to the white man’s fallow ways.”
The white man’s fallow ways. So that’s what I’d trained so long to learn. I just hoped Sanfia’s talk didn’t convince Jakjak not to allow me to operate on him. He would die if something wasn’t done—and soon.
My mind raced with paranoid thoughts about Sanfia. Was it safe for us to be led by this megalomaniac? Was she here to help, or was she leading us into a trap? But there was no one else around to aid us, so I had to trust her. Hoping for the best, I followed the procession out of the city.
We continued around piles of stone and bulldozed stone buildings, and then through an open field to a wrought-iron fence circling a graveyard. The rich glow of the full moon illuminated a vast maze of gravestones and above-ground vaults. The troupe never slowed as it moved around the graves and past the house-like vaults. Finally, we reached the anonymous doorway of one of
the crypts.
Sanfia stood in front of the door and said softly, “L o o ouvri.”
The door opened slowly, and we entered the small space in total darkness. Two coffins were stacked on each side. I took a deep breath of the stale, pungent atmosphere and tried to hold my breath and wait for fresh air, but it never came.
We all crowded into the room, which was only slightly longer than the six-foot-long caskets. Not until the entrance door had closed did Emmanuel turn on a flashlight and open a wooden door on the other side. He descended a steep and narrow stairway, scarcely three feet wide.
I took the first step down, and the stone stair rocked. I fell forward, striking my head on the low ceiling. Though dazed, I kept going, stepping carefully on the loose stones and bracing myself against the side walls. The others followed behind me.
At the bottom of the stairs, the space widened to eight feet. Water dripped from the earthen ceiling, forming mud puddles, which we walked through. The wooden braces supporting the ceiling were bowed and looked as if they could collapse at any moment.
Jakjak screamed. I turned to see what had frightened him. The bones of an elbow stuck from one wall. A few seconds later, he screamed again and I almost screamed, too, as I rubbed against a pelvic bone projecting from the other side of the tunnel.
Is this the grave site Sanfia has selected for us? I had the strange feeling Sanfia was going to kill us and leave us there.
Jean-Pierre stopped as Jakjak again fell to his knees. I walked over to them. Jakjak trembled and was breathing hard and fast.
“Doktè James, I’m scared.”
I put my arm around his shoulder and hugged him, as much to comfort me as him. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you up,” I said, but truthfully, I felt as insecure as Jakjak in that spooky place.
Then something dropped on my shoulder. I let Jakjak go and swung my hand to brush it off. It hit the ground beside Jakjak. He crawled away from it. I leaned over and peered at the dirt floor, expecting to see a tarantula or a snake. But it was worse than either of those two: a jawbone, with rotting flesh on it. I lifted Jakjak, hoisted him to my back, and rushed to catch up with the others.
Emmanuel stopped at another door.
Sanfia moved to the door and knocked three times. “L o o ouvri,” she said again.
The door opened, and we filed up two steps into what appeared to be the basement of a large house. Emmanuel flipped on a switch that illuminated two low-wattage bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
I looked around. In several places, the walls had been cracked by the earthquake and dirt flowed into the rooms. A shovel and broom leaned against the wall, and the linoleum floors looked like they had been scoured with meticulous care. A split in the ceiling of one room was supported by two ceiling-to-floor joists. Three closed doors were on either side of the hall.
As we walked toward another stairway, I heard knocking coming from behind two of the doors. At the third door, a voice kept repeating, “Ede mwen.” Another voice screamed, “Silans! Silans!”
I didn’t know any Haitian Creole, but I knew the first person was calling for help and the other one was trying to shut him up. I stopped and listened. I heard moaning coming from at least three different people in that room.
I couldn’t help but reach for the door. I turned the handle. The door swung open, and a hand grabbed my collar and jerked me toward the room. Before I could react, Benoit stepped to the door and shouted, “Sispan fè sa! This is your friend.”
The man whimpered and opened his hand, and I fell back into the hallway. I tried to see what was in the dark room, but all I saw was a thin hand with long fingernails before Sanfia leaped in front of me. Although she was scarcely five feet tall in her bent-over posture, her face was now even with mine.
“Do not disturb my guests! And never enter my rooms without my permission!” She glared at me with her red eyes for what seemed a long time before retreating to her former position.
I was speechless. Despite her age and tiny stature, the woman commanded my attention and certainly held the position of authority in this group.
Sanfia nodded at Emmanuel, who came to my side and said, “Sanfia takes in street people. Sometimes they get drunk.” Then, he shoved my shoulder and barked, “Move it!”
I resisted a moment but then followed the group, with Sanfia leading the way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sanfia’s Home
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
2:30 a.m.
IT HAD BEEN A long day. As we entered the dining room, I inhaled the heady aromas of freshly prepared foods. I leaned over the table and closed my eyes, enjoying the scents of the eight beautifully presented, steamy dishes. Three Haitian women peeked from the kitchen, but Sanfia closed the door.
Sanfia looked me directly in the eye, “Food is expensive in Haiti since the earthquake,” she said as she held out an empty hand toward me.
I reached in my wallet and gave her one of the one-hundred-dollar bills.
She tucked the money in her bra, whispered to Emmanuel, and went back downstairs to the basement. The men smiled and nodded.
Keyes, Jakjak, and I sat at the table as Emmanuel uncovered the food. Waving his arm across the table, he said, “Food from my mama’s kitchen.”
One of the women hiding in the kitchen giggled. I was cautious about what I ate, fearing poisons. But I was hungry, and the rice and red beans, fried pork with scallions and peppers, cornmeal with black beans, and fried plantains looked and smelled delicious.
Emmanuel held up a quart bottle half-filled with a brown liquid and then filled the three glasses. “Clairin my papa cooked. He makes it from molasses, but be careful. He cooks it twice and it be real strong.”
Twice distilled? That makes it close to absolute alcohol: 180-proof!
We all were hungry, even Jakjak, as sick as he was, and we heaped large portions on our plates.
Keyes tasted the clairin. “Wow, this’ll knock the socks off a monkey. Do you have any water? I have work to do tonight.”
Emmanuel spoke. “Water will make you sick. Cholera is but one of the things you can get.”
He picked up Keyes’ nearly full glass and downed the clairin. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and smiled. “Alcoholic beverages are all safe. And they’re good for you.” He held both his arms in the air, shuffled his feet, and gyrated in a tight circle behind Keyes as he added, “And it makes you dance good.”
“Thanks for telling us that.” I laughed. “Now, pour her a little more so she can wash down her food, and don’t drink it this time.”
I wanted to snatch the clairin from him and drink it straight from the bottle, but I restrained myself. I was drinking a lot when I’d arrived in Haiti and had continued drinking when I was on the Ana Brigette. It was time to stop. I had to think clearly. I wanted to be clean and sober when I went back to my two sons in Jackson City.
I still wasn’t certain that Sanfia and her people were our friends. I’d heard of black magic and the Vodoun cults in Haiti even before I came to the country. While working on the hospital ship, I’d heard the patients talk about the cults and the fear Haitians had of them. If their own people were afraid of Sanfia and groups like hers, maybe there was a reason for outsiders to fear that we may be at risk.
Emmanuel interrupted my thoughts. “Sanfia tells us to stay here and help you for as many days as you need us. What would you have us do?”
“Jakjak needs surgery. We need to be—”
“At the hospital in Léogâne at eight. Yes, I know. I’ll have Dr. Duran’s Lexus waiting for you at five-thirty. I’m to drive you. You have only a couple hours to rest, so why don’t you sleep awhile?”
I nodded in agreement, even though I was still apprehensive about many things—including our personal safety, Jakjak’s well-being, and how we were going to get rid of the terrorists on the Ana
Brigette. But I was tired, and those would be tomorrow’s worries.
“There is but one bedroom on this floor. That’s for the two whites.”
“As pale as Jakjak is, I think there are three whites here tonight,”
I joked, not expecting an answer.
Jakjak looked in a mirror and turned to me. “We can’t expect Miss Hart to sleep with no strangers, so are you volunteering to go upstairs?”
I looked at his serious stare for a moment before he laughed and slapped me on the back. “Just kiddin’, Doktè.”
Keyes palmed some of her money and placed it in Emmanuel’s hand. Without looking at it, he said, “Thanks. I’ll give this to Sanfia. We aren’t allowed to keep any money.”
Jakjak walked upstairs with Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre. Benoit and Shaza went down to the basement.
Keyes opened the door to the bedroom. There was no bed, just a mattress on the floor. The sheets were yellow with age and showed a half dozen repaired tears, but they were clean.
Elizabeth looked at me and then away. She turned her back to me and slid in between the sheets on the bed, her clothes still on. She assumed a fetal position on her side of the bed with her back to me. I lay down next to her and gently rubbed her back.
She started to purr a bit and seemed to enjoy my touch, but she didn’t move. I pulled the sheets partway down, but she pulled them back up. She looked down as she spoke. “We’ve been through a lot, Scott, and ... ”
“No worries.” I looked at her beautiful face and kissed her forehead. “Let’s just get some sleep. I think we both need it.”
But a few minutes later, she stirred. “It’s just, well, we need to go slow.”
I’d waited two months for this moment and was happy to wait another few minutes. I gently caressed the back of her neck.
With hardly any body motion, she pulled off her blouse. I tried to keep my eyes focused on hers, but couldn’t. I watched as she slid the sheet off her body and peeled her panties over her legs.
She let my eyes devour her.
Suddenly the bedroom door flew open.
Keyes screamed and jumped to her feet, covering herself with the sheet from the bed. Men entered the room and were coming at us. I jumped in front of Keyes and looked for something to use as a weapon.
The Zombie Game Page 8
