by James Hilton
Her rifle was hidden on the other side of the trees, closer to the men, so she couldn’t risk going for it. Through one barely open eye she watched them. Hoping that they would not see her hiding place.
When the smaller man moved away, leaving the big guy alone, her fingers brushed the butt of her holstered pistol. If she so wished, she could steal upon him and put two in the back of his head. But they were watching the same men she hated. The men inside the compound. The two arrivals were not her enemies. But why were they spying on the camp?
Watch an’ learn, chile.
The big guy’s back seemed as wide as a bear’s. A sleeping beast… yet she knew he didn’t sleep. He was watching the compound with a discipline that she had never seen before. And suddenly the smaller man was there again, next to the big one. No sound, no warning, just there.
Who were these men? Certainly, men of skill. A half-remembered passage from her mother’s beloved Bible sprang to her mind: There were giants on the Earth in those days. Men of old, men of renown.
Something about the two men had struck a chord with her, that was for sure. Were these men of renown? The big guy nearly qualified as a giant; he looked like a wrestler.
The two men broke from their position and set off at a run. What had they seen? Were the men from the compound approaching?
She unfolded her body from the V-shaped tree root in which she had ensconced herself. The men were moving at a good clip, fading into the emerald foliage. She bolted after them, grabbing her rifle as she passed it.
They flitted stealthily from tree to tree. Somewhere ahead she could hear other voices. She knew that these voices would belong to the men from the camp. They would be out to play one of their sick games, games that always left an innocent body on the ground.
Would these two men have the power to stop it? Is that why they were here?
Her feet made no sound as she skirted the path taken by her quarry. She kept the rifle close to her body, afraid that one of them would glance back and see her black-clad figure in pursuit. A pained scream sounded through the trees. The men increased their speed.
Ahead, they split up, knives drawn, the big one going left while the smaller, faster man cut right. Ghost pressed herself against the side of a tree, its smooth bark warm against her shoulder. She could see three men through a gap in the trees. She knew there would be more. She recognised only one of them. The guy with the tattoos. That cruel bastard. She remembered how hard his hands were.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered how this would play out.
Then the carnage began.
The big man raced into the clearing. The breath caught in her throat as he took off the bald man’s head with one swipe. For the next few seconds her mouth hung open behind her lightweight mask. The two men tore into the group, blood spraying in every direction.
Damn it, who were these slayers? Professionals, certainly. No one could deal death so efficiently in such a short space of time.
Ghost scooted sideways. The natural cover was sparse so she took a few backward paces, taking care to remain unseen by the combatants.
A series of pistol shots rang out in rapid succession.
A brief glimpse of blond hair. No, not just blond. White hair. Him!
A nightmare memory invaded her mind with a suddenness that caused her to stumble. The white-haired man, his hands tight around her throat as he rammed inside her with bestial aggression. Behind him men had cheered.
Gritting her teeth so tight she could taste blood, Ghost rounded the wide tree trunk. Dodging the edge of the cenote, she sought her target. She was only steps away from the big man with the knife. He had impaled the tattooed bastard. She brought her rifle to her shoulder, the shock of white hair in her sights.
Then the world exploded.
She tumbled backward, the rifle slipping from her grasp. She went down ass-first, dimly aware of her legs folding over her head. Then she was falling. Something unbelievably hard slammed into her back. Then water, an unexpected cold, engulfed her. She tumbled, unable to breathe, vision dimming.
Is this how it was to end? Dead in a damned sinkhole?
You ready to lay down an’ die?
Water rushed into her mouth.
You had enough chile. Just give it up…
Purple spots swam across her vision. She didn’t know where the surface was. There was something huge in the dark water next to her.
You failed. Just like you failed Lauren.
No!
She kicked out with a new-found determination. Then her face broke the surface and she sucked in a desperately needed breath. Some twenty feet above her the circular rim of the cenote channelled and intensified the daylight, causing her to wince.
Beside her a man bobbed to the surface. Scars cut a lattice on the upper left side of his face. This was the big man she had followed.
Coughing the last dregs of water from her throat, she swam towards a raised outcrop of limestone. The big man with the scars slowly dipped lower in the water. His head went under.
Without conscious consideration, she turned and powered back to him, catching him around his wide neck. Damn it, he felt like a sack of rocks. With effort, she hoisted him onto her chest and again kicked out with her legs. After what seemed like an eternity of struggle, she reached the outcrop. Dragging him by his left arm, she managed to pull him far enough that his head and chest were clear of the water.
His chest rose regularly. He was alive but unconscious.
The opening of the cenote above gave way to a much wider, bowl-shaped cavern below. Her rifle was nowhere to be seen. Her hand went to her hip. The Glock was still secure in its holster.
The big man stirred, his eyes opening briefly then sliding shut again.
Ghost drew her pistol. The Glock 19 was an efficient weapon at up to fifty yards, give or take. At this range, she could kill him with a popgun.
You save him just to kill him now?
No.
Then stop being a damn fool an’ put away that shooter.
31
The percussive blast from the grenade slammed into Danny, knocking him clean off his feet. The bastard with the white hair had thrown it into the clearing at their feet along with the crossbow. The rapid shots from the pistol had kept him busy, the bullets thudding into the dying human shield. Then came the double blast. Danny had been close to grenades before, but never this close. Only the body he used as a bullet-catcher had saved him from being ripped apart. A high-pitched squeal sent pained shocks reverberating through his skull. Darkness extended over him, warm and comforting. Just lie down for a little while, take a rest. Get back up when your head is clear. No! If he stayed down, he was dead.
Get up!
Casting aside the man whose throat he had just opened, Danny used the tree against which he had been slammed as a leverage point. Hand over hand, he climbed to his feet. The ground beneath him felt as unsteady as a ship on rough seas. Something was stinging his eyes. He rubbed the back of his hand across them; it came away stained red. He wasn’t sure who the blood belonged to.
Bodies lay strewn around the small clearing. The woman they had failed to save, impaled by the crossbow bolt. The two men Danny had taken down with his knife lay like crimson-coloured marionettes.
“Clay?” called Danny, his voice little more than a croak. “Clay?”
A spike of furious concern powered Danny to his feet. Where the hell was Clay?
“Don’t move!”
Danny pivoted towards the unfamiliar voice, his hands snapping up into a fighter’s guard. He listed to one side. Something painful tugged at the joint of his left knee.
“Get on your knees. Hands on top of your head. Do it!”
Danny stared at the white-haired man with an angry indignation. A tricky bastard, and dangerous, to be sure. Danny regarded the pistol that was aimed at him with the same indignation. The man knew enough to stay well out of arm’s reach.
“If I have to tell you again, I’ll gut
-shoot you and leave you out here to die slowly.”
Danny held his position.
“I know you’re fast. I saw what you did to my men. But you’re not faster than a bullet, and that’s what you will get if you don’t get on your knees.”
Danny continued his baleful stare but dropped first to one knee, then the other. He placed his hands on the top of his head, lightly interlacing his fingers. “Where’s my brother?”
“Brother?” White-Hair smiled, his pistol never wavering from Danny’s chest. “The big guy was your brother? Huh.”
“Where is he?” Danny’s voice was like a winter wind.
The white-haired man made an arcing motion with his free hand, with an accompanying whistle. “He went into the hole. Sank like a stone. No great loss, I think.”
An ice-cold fist twisted the contents of Danny’s stomach. White-Hair skirted towards him in a loose circle, the pistol always trained on him.
“Keep facing forward.”
Danny grudgingly acquiesced. If the man planned on shooting him, he could have done it easily from across the clearing. He obviously had something else in mind. At least he was still breathing.
Clay.
He refused to believe his brother could be gone. Clay was one tough son of a bitch.
The blow to the nape of Danny’s neck was not totally unexpected, but it hurt like a bastard anyway. His head was still reverberating from the grenade explosion. The new assault sent Danny tipping forward onto his hands, darkness again pushing in at the corners of his vision. Through sheer force of will, Danny levered himself back up onto his knees. He raised his hands but was a fraction too slow. The heel of White-Hair’s boot crashed into the side of his face with brutal effect.
Darkness swept over him like a blanket.
* * *
The throbbing in the side of his face was the first thing he became aware of, even before he opened his eyes. A thick glob of congealed blood filled the cavity between his teeth and his left cheek. Sitting slowly upright, he pursed his lips and spat out the bloody lump. Danny worked his jaw, first opening it wide then squeezing his teeth shut. No broken jaw, no dislodged teeth, just good old-fashioned pain. Alrighty, then…
He was surprised to find he wasn’t bound or handcuffed. As he stood, he took in the room: a simple rectangle, maybe six by fifteen, no windows, no furniture, a single inset bulb, cinder-block walls, one door. They must have brought him inside the compound. “Well,” he said to himself, “you wanted a closer look.”
Knowing it was futile, Danny checked his pockets and belt for weapons. Nothing. His phone, watch and wallet were gone too. He still had his belt, with the hidden set of lock picks, but the door had no keyhole. Danny’s eye twitched as he silently berated himself. The skin on the side of his face was tender to the touch. The white-haired bastard had caught him a good one.
He had plenty of time to berate himself. Getting blown on his arse by a grenade was something that should never have happened. He would have been killed if it weren’t for the man he’d been using as a shield. And where was his brother? Was he still alive?
After what seemed like an hour or so, he heard the voices. Men’s voices, maybe four. The words were muffled but Danny guessed their intent. They were coming for him.
32
Celine Chavez pressed her ear to the door, but could hear nothing but her own pulse. She and Rebecca had been brought back to the main house and locked in a room she hadn’t seen before.
Rebecca’s head drooped forward as she paced in front of Celine.
“What’s happening?” whispered Celine. “Where are they taking us?”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder only long enough to hook a single finger and point downwards.
Feeling like her mouth had suddenly been sucked dry of all moisture, Celine wondered again what had befallen Gillian.
The room in which they had been placed was little more than a closet. The men had ushered them inside without any explanation. Celine again pressed her ear to the door, but jumped back as the handle turned, followed by the click of a lock disengaging. The door opened and the same two men who had locked them in beckoned them out. Celine thought briefly again about making a break for it. But where would she run to?
With one man leading the way and the second one tailing, they were hustled through another door and down a steep staircase cut into the natural bedrock.
Celine gasped as she stepped from the stairway. Rebecca’s comments had not prepared her for this. The massive room looked like it had originally been a cavern but had been excavated and extended. The walls were cut smooth in places; elsewhere they were rippled and contoured like a riverbed. A row of electric bulbs was connected to a single thick cable that had been strung above head height and pegged to the wall in loose loops. The cable stretched the full circumference of the cavern. The centre of the room was a wide circular pit, about seven feet deep. Several dark red smears stained the walls of the pit. Seven rows of bleacher-style seats had been fashioned in the manner of an amphitheatre. A dozen or so men sat in a group, all at the far side of the pit. Several of the men looked up from their conversations, their eyes roving over Celine and Rebecca with interest.
A new knot of apprehension tightened in Celine’s stomach as she was shoved forward. The man behind her bent close. Celine flinched as his lips brushed her ear.
“Sit down here and don’t move.”
Celine sat, feeling the heat from Rebecca’s leg against the outer edge of her own thigh. Another dozen or so young men and women were escorted into the cavern. Many shared the same unfocused look in their features. The essence.
One of the young men stared directly at her. His head tilted to one side as he scrutinised her.
“Marco!” Celine stood up as she recognised her friend. Marco Kenner quickly raised his hand to his chest, his palm angled towards her. He gave a slight pushing motion with his hand. Celine sat down, her attention flicking from Marco to the guards, then back to her friend. She mouthed the words, “Have you seen Laura?”
Marco gave a noncommittal shrug. He rubbed a hand through his thick brown hair, usually pristine but now hanging in unruly strands over his forehead.
Celine pointed to the empty seat next to her, and Marco edged over and sat down. The guards were preoccupied with bringing another four young women into the cavern chamber, and the others who had come in with Marco were also sitting down now. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to Celine and Marco.
Celine hugged him. “I was so worried about you. Are you sure you haven’t seen Laura?”
Marco leaned forward and cupped his face in both hands. Talking through his fingers, he said, “I’m not sure when I saw her last. My head is so messed up, I can’t think straight. I think they separated us when they first brought us here.”
“I was in a room with Gillian, but they took her away this morning. I haven’t seen her since either.” Celine realised she was still hugging Marco, but didn’t let go. He had always been like a big brother to her, watching out for her at school, keeping the asshole jocks from bothering her too much.
His brown eyes looked like pools of warm chocolate as he leaned a little closer. A single tear rolled down his face. “A man came into my room… He… He strangled me with a towel, rolled up like a rope.”
“Oh Jesus, Marco.”
He continued, his voice wavering a little. “He kept doing it over and over. I tried to fight back but I couldn’t stop him. He’d choke me until I blacked out, then I’d wake up and he’d attack me again. Over and over. I thought I was going to die.”
Rebecca leaned in, too. “That’s just one of the many sicko games they like to play.”
Celine was about to ask another question when an imposing voice cut across the chamber.
“If I tell, will you listen?” Master Ezeret had entered the chamber and now stood at the far side of the pit, his arms outstretched.
The men closest to Ezeret clapped their hands. “We will listen,” came t
he collective response.
“If I show you, will you see?”
“We will see.”
“If I challenge, will you rise?”
“We will rise.”
“Who here is ready to be challenged?”
One of the men sprang to his feet. “I am ready.”
“Will you face death yet not turn your face away?” asked Ezeret, pointing at the volunteer.
“I will not turn away.”
Ezeret smiled broadly, his fingers teasing his sculpted facial hair. He beckoned the man forward. “Then enter the pit if you dare.”
Ezeret turned his gaze to the captives. With what looked like no more than a second’s thought, he flicked out a finger. The guards moved to either side of the young man that he had chosen and propelled him to the edge of the pit.
Celine’s breath caught in her throat as the young man was pushed over the edge. He landed in an untidy heap. He was so slim he looked almost feminine, his short blond hair matted to the back of his head by dried blood. His left eye socket was ringed by a livid purple bruise.
Celine found herself gripping Rebecca’s and Marco’s hands as Ezeret lifted a polished wooden box. He slowly opened the lid, pivoting to display the contents to all. Two knives, their blades long and straight, sat on a silken interior.
“Are you ready to face the trials?” Ezeret asked his follower.
“I am ready.” The man plucked one of the knives from the box. He moved to the edge of the pit and dropped inside.
Ezeret turned to the younger man, who was using the wall of the pit to pull himself upright. “Are you ready to face the trials?”
The young man looked around the chamber. Celine gripped the hands of her companions tighter as she recognised the look of utter hopelessness on his face. Ezeret repeated his question but, after again receiving no response, tossed the second knife into the pit.
