Tomahawks & Zombies

by Joe Beausoleil

  Tomahawks and Zombies.

  The found journal of Jake Wanderingspirit

  By Joe Beausoleil

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Joe Beausoleil

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, live, dead or undead, is unintentional and strictly coincidence.

  Editor’s note:

  In spring U.N peacekeepers and provisional troops found this journal on the battlefield at Wounded knee. Earlier pages dealing with pre-infestation, daily issues are not included. Likewise pages too stained with dirt and blood have been removed.

  This journal is rare as it records events leading to the first examples of the Mayan curse from as close as ground zero as found to date.

  The author traveled a great distance meeting fellow survivors along the way, as well as recording day to day experiences. This is the uncensored journal.

  The author’s art work is not currently included as we lack the resources to include them in the publication. It is our hope that further editions will have the art work which adds another level to the history of one of mankind’s darkest times. We felt the story was important enough to rush publication.

  If this journal is found please return to:

  Jake Wanderingspirit

  12919 88 Street NW

  Edmonton Alberta

  T5Y 4Y

  Editor’s note:

  As of publication the address given at the start of the journal was boarded up and abandoned.

  December 16th

  In the air somewhere over the United States.

  Two goals on this trip to Mexico. Get to a Mayan pyramid by the end of the Mayan long calendar ( 4 Ahau 3 Kank'in. That's December 21st to you and me) and have a wild time while I'm here. Ron is coming for the women and the free drinks. Dave, well, we will have to work on that guy. I have been working twelve hour days mostly graphics and conceptual art for a new video game (Pyrrhic Victory tm.), the push was on to be ready for the Christmas rush. We did it. It’s selling well. Now I need a break. No computers, no twitter, no blog. Just a pen, paper and a sketch book. Kicking it ol’ Skool. It was harder than I thought to get a group together. As people get older, your friends all pair off, and are busy doing their own thing, work, house, kids. So it’s hard to pull a group together for a trip. Ron is cheap and Dave's wife keeps him on a short leash. A sweet deal on an all-inclusive package sealed the deal for Ron but Dave took some serious peer pressure to commit. That and I had to promise to get him on that Christmas Eve flight home no matter what. Since his marriage I haven't seen the guy very often so it's good he came along.

  The millennium panic was a hoax and a distant memory. Nothing changed when the computers flipped over to the year 2000. The end of the Mayan long count calendar will be the same; nothing will happen but it will be cool to experience the date changing at a Mayan temple. I’ve travelled, seen the Great Wall and ruins in Thailand, so to see something made by my Native American ancestors is exciting. People often think us Indians were primitive, and backward but look what great cities they made. Without the wheel or iron tools they managed to make amazing buildings and pyramids, from Machu Picchu, to the Mayan temples all around central America, Anasazi structures like Mesa Verde, the mounds in Ohio and medicine wheels on the Prairies. Okay, maybe a ring of stones in a field isn’t too impressive. The Americas had a thriving culture long before it was “discovered” but they don’t bother teaching you that in school. It’s easier to gloss over the whole people were already here before Christopher Columbus “discovered” us thing. I was never sure how you could discover a place full of people. Anyhow I like ruins and am excited about this whole trip.

  December 16th

  Cancun, Mexico.

  The flight was uneventful; while Dave was sleeping/snoring Ron stole his bread roll. Ron’s chewing woke Dave up so he changed spots with me because Ron, “Chews like a pig.” They both have a point, Dave does snore and Ron can chew with his mouth open. To keep the peace, when Ron got up to go to the washroom I took the seat between him and Dave. Coming from -25 Celsius, landing in sunny Mexico the heat hit us in a welcoming way. Also welcoming us were loads of armed Federalies, the G-20 meetings in Mexico City are underway, and like a good party the hardcore protestors like to be fashionable late. Rumour is they are sneaking in all over to avoid detection, which is why they are in Cancun. When we don’t match any of their photos we are into Mexico.

  It’s a short trip, one week, we are anxious to hit the ground running to see the sites (beach/ocean/girls/drinks, then repeat.) after checking in at our resort and dropping off our bags, we quickly changed. The plan is to venture into Cancun. I’m writing this while we’re waiting for Dave. Ron pounds on the bathroom door in hopes it will get Dave to move. It seems to have the opposite effect. Come on let’s go! Finally he is ready so we are off…

  Something we all agree upon; cute girls and the beach was full of them. With cold beer in hand we walked in the sand, listening to the ocean and watching the sun reflecting off the glistening bodies in small bikinis. Did I mention the girls? The sand was so hot we had to high step to the ocean to cool our feet. No one volunteered to put sun screen on one another. Ron got pretty red.

  The night was spent at a local restaurant being serenaded by a mariachi band. Why does the fattest guy have the smallest guitar and the smallest guy have that big bass guitar? After about half a song I tipped them so they would leave us alone. Three dudes being serenaded is not romantic, it’s embarrassing. There isn’t much happening at the resort bar so it’s a quick drink then bed. I fell asleep with the sounds of “The lonely bull” echoing in my mind… and Dave’s snoring in the next bed.

  December 17th

  Day spent between the pool, and the pool bar. There is a swim up bar, manned by a girl who knows how to pour a drink. Not sure what to tip when drinks are free? But I tip early, as tipping when you leave does nothing to get you good service. There is an oversize chess set near the pool. The waist high pieces gave the game a different perspective. Beat Dave two games to one. I tried to play a game with Ron but he doesn’t have the patience to play. He asked if it would be rude to polish the bishop. He soon abandoned the game to scope out the pool area, moving our towels closer to a couple girls sunbathing topless. Playing with the zoom on his camera before someone’s boyfriend approached, and then he pretended to be taking photos of flowers. He showed us his handy work later. He is a pretty skilled photographer for a perv.

  December 18th

  Pretty much the same as yesterday. Dave wanted a rematch and beat me three games to one. I was buzzed by the second game. The hotel night club was nothing special, 80’s music with mostly older Americans shaking it on the dance floor.

  December 19th

  After trying a different buffet in the hotel (there are four different themed ones) the plan is to head into town to a night club Ron heard a tip about. Ron’s not too impressed with the “foreign food”, He wants red meat and potatoes. I don’t think he grasps that tacos and burritos aren’t foreign considering his location on the planet.

  Later…much later.

  Some things just shouldn’t be written about. It’s best there isn’t a written record or more importantly photographic evidence. A wild fun night but no more tequila for me…ever.

  December 20th

  While waiting for
Dave to get ready, I turn on the TV (the resort has a few channels in English). The news was talking about the G-20 meetings held in Mexico City wrapping up but the protestors are still out. The anarchist known as the Black Bloc were unusually quiet for the whole conference but are now really starting to wreck havoc. The news showed them smashing windows and returning to their huddle so they could change clothes and then escape into the crowds. Bored with that Ron grabbed the remote and flipped it to a sports channel playing Mexican baseball league highlights.

  Here in Cancun it is business as usual, which means street vendors hassling you to look at their goods, cheap beer, and hot women. On vacation you have to look at everything. It’s hard to turn down little kids selling Chiclet’s or bracelets but I only need so much gum. Dave gets annoyed by the vendors constantly calling out. It’s just people hustling for a living, to them we must seem rich. We are in retrospect, I guess. I found some wrestling masks for my nephews for Christmas, and then off to some of the nightclubs. We chatted up some nice looking girls…Swedes. Ron is really into the blondes, maybe it’s his Ukrainian heritage. One day he’ll learn that brunettes are where it’s at.

  December 21st

  Cancun Mexico.

  I dreamt last night. A nightmare I had when I was a kid. Black and white. Abbot and Costello vs the Mummy. I was there, not sure if I were the fat one or the skinny guy but the mummy was there, and the Wolfman and Dracula. All of them after me, I used the empty sarcophagus to keep them from reaching me. I usually don’t dream, at least not in a long, long while.

  We have an early bus to get to the ruins. I set the alarm an extra 30 min early to take into account Dave’s sluggishness. Our trip is just a week and this is the day set aside for going to the ruins! The Mayan calendar ends and here I am waiting for Dave to change! Five thousand years in the making and I’m waiting while he brushes his teeth. Get a move on it, buddy.

  Waiting for the bus we stopped at a small street shrine. It's covered with images and statues of skeletons wearing colourful robes; one is even wearing a wedding dress. An old lady sees me looking and explains the skeleton woman is Santa Muerte, or Holy Death.

  Dave didn't want anything to do with the shrine but Ron, followed the locals lead, laid a cigarette at the altar and I placed a small bottle of tequila that they were selling. Back home we do something similar, offering a pinch of tobacco in thanks. I place the small bottle before the creepiest looking skeleton, she was holding a large scythe in one hand and a globe in her other. It’s a mixture of Mesoamerican and Christianity beliefs.

  “The scythe cuts the negative energies that are all around. At the moment of death it cuts a silver thread. The globe in her hands shows she can reach anywhere.”

  That's what my guide book says.

  It also goes on to say that this death cult was once underground but is gaining in popularity, especially with those on the margin of the law. Drug cartels, taxi drivers, vendors, street people, pickpockets, prostitutes, and gang members have created their own religion that reflects the violence and struggle for life that is their reality.

  “Just the kind of people we want to hang out with,” Dave sarcastically said.

  I bought a small charm; if the world ends like the Mayans say then I'll be covered.

  The bus ride is uneventful (someone had god awful gas, I suspect Ron). We arrived mid afternoon.

  Coba, Mexico. This is it! The end of the Mayan calendar and one big party down here (mostly tourists). I picked Coba, because it was more out of the way (it’s in the jungle and parts of the ruins are still over grown), plus it’s the only ruin that you can still climb.

  Dave says, “The Mayans didn’t say the world ends at this date - it’s just how we interpret it. The calendar ends today but what does that mean?”

  Ron’s guess is, “that the guy carving that shit into the stone said that's enough, the next guy can take over.”

  A passing backpacker over heard us and put his two cents in, “Could be the end, could be a new beginning.” His dirty blonde dreadlocks rock back and forth as he increased his pace passing us. We follow; we have no choice, the crowd surges pushing us along.

  The smell of incense fills the air; there is drumming and a Mayan ceremony. We stand at a respectable distance not wanting to interfere with their ceremony. It looks like the real deal, not something put on for tourists, the people in it aren’t dressed up, just regular clothes except for the priest, dressed in a head dress. I have no idea what is going on but the crowd of tourists gasp when the lead priest drags an obsidian blade over his forearm. He lets his blood drip over the altar. It's been hundreds of years since that alter has received blood, in the past it was the hearts of captured warriors. The blood from this priest's forearm will have to quench the gods’ ancient thirst. From behind us I hear our dreadlocked friend explain that they usually sacrifice a chicken and isn’t sure why the priest cut himself. With the somber part of the ceremony over, the crowds explore the ruins, and the stalls selling food and souvenirs in a carnival-like atmosphere with the descendants of the Mayas, locals and tourists mingling together. Maybe it is a new beginning after all.

  We grab some food from a stall and wander away from the crowds. A weathered stone skull in the ball court wall grins at us. Was it the losers who were sacrificed or the winners? The goal was to get the ball through the small hoop at the top of the slanted walls without using their hands or feet. Or that’s the rules they interpret, no one has played this game in eons. Standing in the in the ball court, I wonder how anyone would be able to get a ball through the hoop. It’s clear to me that like hockey and lacrosse this was more than just a game, it was mock warfare. Our tribe against yours.

  We spent hours checking out the ruins, taking photographs and climbing to the top of the temple. It’s steep, but getting down is the most challenging part.

  December 22

  Back in Cancun. The guys are pissed when they find out our hotel has a tour that goes to a nearby temple. Apparently, I wasted a day of drinking in exchange for some culture. If we drink doubles we can make up for the lost day. By consensus (two votes to one) I get the first two rounds at a bar in town, Ron says he will get a round when we get back to the hotel. Cheap skate, it’s free there. Between rounds he teases me on how that Mayan priest looked like my dad. He kind of did, in many ways the natives here look similar to those up north. They are lot shorter here, not like the taller thin Natives you find on the prairies. ..Well that’s before KFC and McDonald’s now there are chubby girls and diabetes. For dragging him to see “a pile of rocks,” Ron tells me that when we get back he’s taking me to the Ukrainian cultural village, east of Edmonton for some real culture/punishment. Girls in babushkas, I can’t wait.

  The resort food is good, plus free drinks so it’s all good. Ron is even adapting to the menu. We are debating to take a tour where you can pet a dolphin or a tour boat ride into some swamp. Ron is threatening to punch a dolphin, and I believe he’d try it just have some bizarre bragging rights. Best to keep him away from animals so we head back to town. After Dave scared away the hot Swedes from the other night, we try to teach him the difference between a casual glance at cleavage and leering; the latter he has down pat.

  After too many drinks in too many clubs it looks like Ron got lucky. He left with a cute American, although Dave said she was slightly crossed eyed and had a bit of a paunch.

  “Just Ron’s type,” as Dave put it.

  Dave and I finish our drinks, then enjoyed a walk in the lively streets before hailing a cab back to the resort.

  December 23

  Wow Jake, the only guy to keep doing his grade eight journal assignment for the next fifteen15 years. I can only imagine the shit he has written about me in the past, I flipped through a bit. Lies, filthy lies sprinkled with truth. For the record I did fart on the bus going to those ruins. It was a protest fart because there was a damn cheap and easy tour from our hotel.

  Anyhow yes that chick had the biggest fakest tits I h
ave ever seen (see my drawing opposite page) she said her parent’s bought them for her for graduating high school. Can you believe that? All I got for graduating school was an ol’ beat up farm truck. Anyhow here’s to you, Jake, and the hope that you too can play with some boobies while on our trip! Dave’s don’t count. Boobs!

  December 23

  Cancun

  Obviously Ron has discovered and molested my journal. I’ll have to keep some crayons handy in case he wants to make more entries. No hard feelings, I didn’t even mention that his fiancée left him for a used car salesman, all be it, a BMW salesman. I put that in just in case Ron wants to snoop again. He drinks a lot more since that happened. He sure is taking advantage of the resorts free drinks. A friend back home, who had been to an all-inclusive before, suggested we bring our own mugs for drinks. The hotel glasses are small. Ron brought a huge travel mug and is using it like a pro.

  We head to the market for some last minute gifts. There are loads of cheap stocking stuffers here. We buy machetes that come in a leather sheath. Not sure why? They were cheap and had some nice leather work. Hell, a man needs a machete, it’s simple as that. It could be good for yard work or camping. Ron also buys a leather gun holster. Dave mocks the purchase noting that Ron does not even own a pistol.

  “I can put my phone in it or my TV remote.”

  We call it day. It’s an early flight tomorrow so we are, staying on the resort; a quick dip in the pool, one last look at the topless girls before heading back to the room. Okay, two looks but just to see if Dave has the hang of the glance. While packing I have the TV on, most of the stories are about the G-20 conference in Mexico City. The conference is over but the riots are out of control. The police started firing tear gas into the crowd. Fired high in the air they arc in the sky leaving a blue tail trailing behind before bouncing and landing in the crowd. A protestor with a bandana over his mouth and nose picks up a smoking canister lobbing it at the police, who eagerly bang their shields with batons before charging in groups snatching up trouble makers. The police line parts as mounted police, the horses with Plexiglas shields over their eyes and an armoured truck with water cannon mounted on top, push through. The police have all the toys and love to use them. This shouldn't affect our direct flight home. Dave says, “It better not.” and shoots me a dirty look. What? Like I'm responsible for the riots?