by Otto Schafer
Lenny bowed, stepped into position, and took a deep breath, exhaling very slowly. Pausing for a moment, he closed his eyes. Garrett knew he was clearing his mind and visualizing the break just as they had been taught. Then, falling into a comfortable fighting stance, he chambered his right fist. With a loud kiup! Lenny thrust his fist forward and opened it to a knife-hand strike. His rigid hand passed through the first brick, resulting in a chain reaction that broke the next brick and the next. They didn’t explode like when Mr. B performed the strike in the alley so long ago, back when the boys first met him, but they broke nonetheless.
“Yes!” Garrett shouted as he threw a fist into the air for his friend. Mr. B shot him a disapproving look, but he couldn’t help himself. Now it was Garrett’s turn to break. Ready to take his position next to the table, he stepped forward and bowed to Mr. B, but his master did not bow back.
“No,” Mr. B said evenly.
Garrett’s eyebrows quirked. No? Had he heard that right?
“Lenny, come here.” Mr. B beckoned, grabbing ahold of Garrett’s table. He nodded for Lenny to do the same. Lenny obeyed and together they carefully placed it atop the other table – the table Lenny’s blocks had sat upon. The blocks Garrett were to break now stood over eight feet in the air.
“Now, find your focus and break the blocks. Use any strike you like, but I would suggest a roundhouse kick as your best tool in this situation.”
Mr. B bowed and stepped back.
Slack-jawed, Lenny looked at him with eyes wide.
“But, sir, that’s more than two feet over my head. I can’t reach it, and even if I could I wouldn’t get there with the power to complete a three-block break,” Garrett said, hoping this was some kind of joke, but finding no humor in it.
“You can’t! You wouldn’t! You fill my ears with excuses! You lack focus! You lack belief in yourself! Find it now or you fail the test! Now complete the break!”
Garrett didn’t understand why this was happening. He didn’t understand why his teacher was so angry with him. Why couldn’t he just perform the break as Lenny had? At least then he had a chance. He considered pushing the table over and watching the blocks fall to the floor. There was a small chance they would break when they struck the mat, but he knew that was not what Mr. B wanted. Then what? he thought. He couldn’t really expect him to perform a roundhouse kick eight feet off the ground
“Complete the break!” Mr. B snapped again.
“Master, focus isn’t going to get my foot eight feet in the air with enough power to break those blocks,” he said, pointing up at the patio blocks. And with that he felt his eyes beginning to blur with confused anger.
Lenny stepped forward. “Mr. B, I couldn’t make that break in a hundred tries. Why can’t he just do it the way I did? He could do it the way I did – I know he could!” Lenny’s voice pleaded.
“Stop! I am not asking him to make the break you did, Lenny.” He looked hard back to Garrett. “I am ordering you to make this break.”
Garrett took a deep breath, trying not to let his emotions take over.
“Fine, I will give you another option,” the master said. “You will spar with me. I will give you as much time as you want to score three strikes on me, but if you quit, can’t go on, or give up in any way, the test is over and you fail. If you fail… never come back here again,” he said, showing zero emotion.
What the hell did I do to deserve this? Then the answer came to him as suddenly as the question. The cigar box. Could Mr. B have found out I looked inside? Suddenly he felt sick. If he knew Garrett had looked inside the box, then it was also possible he knew he had seen the ring.
“Do you accept?” he asked.
“Yes… I accept,” he said heavily, his shoulders slouching as he surrendered to whatever fate Mr. B had destined him for. He needn’t throw a single strike to know he’d already lost. He had sparred with the master many times over the years but never, not one time, had he landed a strike on the man. He was untouchable, like sparring with a ghost. On rare occasions, he and Lenny had even gone doubles against him, neither landing a strike. But what other choice did he have? An eight-foot, three-block break was physically impossible.
Mr. B turned and walked to the center of the dojo. “Lenny, you have not passed the test yet. When Garrett and I are finished, I will tell you if you pass.”
Lenny bit back his protest, bowed, and sat down, but he made no effort to hide the confusion creasing his face.
Garrett strained to control his inner turmoil as he wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his dobok. He met Mr. B in the middle of the dojo where, following tradition, they bowed first to Lenny, then to each other. Next, they shook hands, but before letting go of Garrett’s hand, Mr. B pulled him close.
“Focus your mind, Garrett. It really is that simple.”
Garrett assumed a fighting stance, sliding his right leg back and holding his left arm up, bent at the elbow. He held his right fist chambered next to his ribcage, ready to launch on command. Mr. B fell effortlessly into a similar position, and the two began to circle.
Garrett launched the first attack, throwing a combination roundhouse kick, front snap kick, followed by a front knuckle punch.
Mr. B moved with subtle motions that were small, purposeful, and impossibly quick.
Garrett’s opening attack not only failed, but Mr. B did not block a single strike as Garrett’s assault simply found air. However, the flurry did leave Garrett’s side exposed.
Mr. B fired a single palm strike into Garrett’s right ribcage.
Garrett exhaled sharply with a loud Oomph!
The force sent him scrambling backward as he tried desperately to maintain his footing and not end up on his ass. The strike to his ribs made Jack’s earlier stomp feel like a love pat.
Lenny flinched.
Garrett regained his composure, pulled a sharp breath, and launched into another attack, throwing combination punches and kicks, all easily blocked by Mr. B. The attack ended again with a single open-palm strike, this time to the solar plexus. Garrett gasped, straining to suck in the air stolen by the vicious strike.
For several minutes this continued as Garrett launched attack after attack, all ending in a single strike from Mr. B. The strikes became progressively harder and landed in more sensitive areas.
Garrett launched the next attack with everything he had, using his entire arsenal, from helicopter kicks to roundhouse kicks – even a jump spinning back kick, just for good measure. Not only was he unable to land a strike, Mr. B didn’t even bother to block the assault. Instead, as before, he simply moved out of the way of every single attempt.
The irritation on Mr. B’s face was evident as he stepped forward with a ridge-hand strike to Garrett’s throat, causing the boy’s feet to be lifted into the air until they were horizontal with his head. He landed hard on his back, all the air evacuating from his chest in a guttural oomph. For the second time, he gasped helplessly for air that he could not find.
Lenny stood. “That’s enough!” he shouted.
“Lenny, sit down,” Mr. B ordered.
“No, I don’t think so. He’s had enough,” Lenny said, even louder.
The rotund man turned to Lenny and squeezed both hands into fists. His knuckles cracked, like popcorn popping. “What are you going to do, Lennard? You can stand next to your friend and fight me, but win or lose you fail the second-degree black belt test. By fail I mean you are never to return here again. Ever. Or you can select the better choice – you can sit down.” He pointed to the spot Lenny had stood from.
“Master, I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know why you are doing this, but I don’t think there is any choice at all.” Lenny walked over to Garrett, who still lay on the floor.
Trying not to vomit, trying to push the pain away, not wanting to get up, Garrett lay there, holding his throat, trying to find breath. As many times as they had sparred over the years, he had never been hit like this, never with so much fo
rce. In his heart, he knew this was not a winnable fight. His time here at the school was over – he had failed. But he could not let Lenny throw away his martial arts training, and he would not let him get kicked out of the school. Not for him. Not for something he had done.
Lenny knelt down next to his friend. “I’m here, man, I’m here.”
Dragging himself to his hands and knees, Garrett reached up and grabbed Lenny’s collar, pulling him close. “Lenny, thank you, man. Now… please… go sit down,” Garrett said, trying to ignore the fire in his throat dominating all the other pain.
“But Garrett, you can’t win this alone – let me help you,” Lenny said, as he searched Garrett’s eyes for understanding.
“You… can’t, Lenny… it has to be me.” He collapsed back down onto his stomach.
“But Gar—”
“Go sit down,” Garrett croaked.
Lenny hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly returned to his seated position at the edge of the dojo.
Garrett lay there, bile creeping up the back of his throat, trying to piece it together. Why was everyone telling him to focus? Wasn’t that what he had been doing? He had tried everything he knew, thrown every attack he could think of. What have I missed? Then Coach Dagrun’s paranoid whisper returned to him. You know the place. Find it today – you will have to find it when you aren’t running, Garrett – that’s your door. That’s the way to your focus. Was the answer there, in Coach’s words? Something told him it was, but how?
“Do you yield, Garrett?” Mr. B asked.
He rolled to his side and looked at Lenny, now sitting on his knees with his hands on his lap. He figured he must look pretty beaten because Lenny’s eyes begged him to stay down. He gave Lenny a weak smile and crawled to his hands and knees again.
“No… I don’t yield,” he said, looking up at the hulking man.
“Very well then, rise,” Mr. B said, motioning for the student to come to him as he settled back into his fighting stance.
Garrett pushed himself up. Blood, thick and coppery, filled his mouth – the result of a tooth puncturing his inner lip. Respect wouldn’t allow him to spit on the floor but he couldn’t swallow it either for fear of puking, so he spit it into the elbow of his dobok sleeve.
Lenny winced.
He sucked in a breath and felt the sharp pain from his ribs. He looked Mr. B in the eyes and let all his fear go from his mind. “I want… you to know that… that I know who you are! I know what you are!” he said, pointing at Mr. B.
Mr. B’s eyebrow rose. “Do you?” he asked, deadpan.
“You’re a Keeper of the Light! Your people killed Abraham Lincoln! You know I have his journal! You know I know about the temple, and that’s why you’re doing this to me!” Garrett said in an aha tone, like he had just announced Colonel Mustard did it in the Conservatory with the candlestick.
Lenny slapped his palm to his forehead, looking as if he might faint right there on the edge of the dojo mat.
Garrett exhaled a long breath and felt a massive weight somehow lift off his shoulders, a soul-crushing, unseen monstrosity he had been carrying around for over a week, gone with the few words he had spoken.
Mr. B’s eyes widened in surprise, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Garrett let out a guttural war cry and launched himself at Mr. B in a dead run.
36
The Flood
Wednesday, April 6th, 9:30 a.m.
Day One
Oak Island, Nova Scotia
Paul dragged his unconscious father toward the opening to the pit. There was no time to waste; they needed out of the tunnel and fast. “When is it going to flood, Bre?” Paul asked in a panic.
“I don’t know!” she shouted, doing her best to support Edward as they followed closely behind.
“Well, what do you see?” Paul asked, looking up at the hole and realizing the entire opening above him was blocked by the crane boom.
“I… I don’t see anything now! It was like a flash. Apep was standing near the dam and water was gushing into the swamp – filling the tunnel!”
“How… do you know… his name, Bre?” Edward asked through gritted teeth as he collapsed onto the floor of the tunnel.
“I heard it in a dream,” she said, knowing the explanation sounded crazy. But to her surprise, Edward only nodded.
“Bad news – we’re trapped in this tunnel,” Paul said, still assessing the obstruction.
Breanne’s face contorted in terror. “What! No. We can’t be – we’ll drown!” She positioned herself under the opening next to her brother and began pushing on the crane boom, trying hopelessly to get it to move.
“You can’t move it, Bre! That boom weighs tons, we’re trapped. We need another way out!” Paul said.
They heard it before they felt it – water! It was rushing towards them from the rock-filled portion of the tunnel leading back to the swamp. A moment later, cold ocean water rushed over their feet, like a small wave lapping onto shore, except this wave didn’t recede – it just kept coming.
Breanne screamed. She felt trapped. She was trapped. Just like in the car. God! She was trapped like in the car.
“Listen to me, Bre, we have some time. Stay calm. You are okay. We are okay. We just need to think of a way out of this. In the meantime, I need you to breathe and think. Focus on the problem,” Paul said with a glassy calm. If there was one thing his military training and time in the field had taught him, it was the ability to stay calm.
Edward struggled to push himself to a seated position.
Breanne blinked numbly and reached for Edward, helping him out of the water. Then she and Paul heaved their father up, and he sagged back against the wall of the tunnel. They needed her. Her father needed her. She couldn’t let herself go there. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Dammit, breathe. Just breathe.
The water rose.
Edward leaned back heavily. “The water is rising… Listen… The lower chamber… leads to the Ark room… remember what Pops said? … The ark room never got wet. It was… high enough to… to stay dry even when the chamber was flooded,” he grunted.
“That’s not an option, Ed. Or did you forget the plants that tried to kill us?” Paul said.
“If it is a choice between high ground or drowning, it may be the only choice.”
“Then what? What do we do when we get there? We’ll be trapped and probably killed!” Breanne argued.
“Maybe, the plants died… when we took the Ark… took their power?” Edward said.
“There is no way I’m going back there!” Breanne said.
“What choice do we have, Bre? If we stay here, we’ll drown!” Paul said.
Edward shivered as the cold water flowed over his legs. Because he was unable to position himself into a squat like his siblings, half his body was quickly becoming submerged. “He’s right, Bre. If we go… we have a… chance to figure something out, but if we stay… we’ll drown for sure.”
Breanne shot Edward a worried look. He was losing color in his face and looked as though he may pass out or go into shock any minute. “You can’t make it through the chambers and up that climb, Edward,” she said sadly. “And how would we get Daddy there without drowning him?”
“But we’re going to drown anyway if we don’t move now!” Paul shouted, his calm slipping. “We have no other choice!”
“We do have a choice!” she shouted back.
“What? Tell me, Bre, because I don’t see it! All I see is us dying if we don’t move now!”
The water was moving swiftly, getting deeper by the second, almost up to their knees now. Breanne struggled to hold on to her father to keep him from washing down the tunnel. She knew the sudden increase in water flow must mean the swamp was filling faster than the tunnel could take it in, increasing the pressure through the tunnel.
“Paul, move the crane!” Bre ordered.
“What? I told you, that thing weighs a couple tons – we can’t move it! Not even if we all push together!
Now goddammit we’re out of time. We have to move – now!” Paul grabbed ahold of his father, preparing to drag him.
Breanne grabbed her brother by the arm. “Paul, listen to me. Not us – you’re right. We can’t move it. But you can!”
Paul locked eyes with her. “What are you talking about?”
“You can move it, the same way you dragged Daddy and Ed when the crane fell!”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. We have to move now before it’s too—”
“It’s already too late! Look at the water. The lower chamber will be filled by now! How are we supposed to get Daddy through – he isn’t going to hold his breath, is he? I know you can do this. Can’t you feel it in your mind?” she asked.
“Feel what?” he asked.
“Feel… different,” she said, her eyes pleading for him to feel what she felt. “Listen to me. Whatever was in that Ark, it did something to us – it changed us. I know you can feel it! For God’s sake, Paul, you dragged Daddy and Ed at the same time. That’s nearly five hundred pounds!”
The tunnel was over half full now. The water rushed past them, vanishing over the slope into a finality – icy, dark, and awful. When the bottom chambers finished filling, their fate would rapidly rise to meet them.
Paul turned away from her and peered desperately back towards the slope leading to the lower chambers.
Breanne began crying, holding her father close, trying frantically not to let him slip away from her grasp in the ever-pressing gush. Edward held on to a board with one of his massive arms as he tried to help hold their father with the other. But in his condition, he was little help. Breanne watched helplessly as Edward’s eyes rolled back, then forward, then back again. He was going into shock. His consciousness was slipping away along with his grip and, any second, he would be washed away from her, gone from her life… just like her mother.
Paul chewed his lower lip.
“Please, Paul!” she begged.
Paul made his decision and pushed himself into a squatting position under the opening to the pit floor. He looked back at her. Reaching above his head, he grabbed ahold of the twisted steel of the crane boom with both hands and pushed. He strained with every ounce of his strength, pushing and pushing and pushing and then… nothing. It didn’t budge, not even a little.
