“Cabrones—vamonos!” Felix yelled after slamming his door and resting an elbow on the window’s edge. “If you two are in a hurry tenemos que salir de aqui, pronto!”
Jim looked at Rico and said, “Fuck it—why not.” And they ran over. Rico plopped onto the crocheted seat cover that appeared to be handmade with every color of the rainbow and scooted next to Felix. Jim had to slam the door several times to get it to shut, then, like Felix, rested his arm atop the window’s edge. With a tap of the key the old beast roared to life.
“I call her Esperanza,” Felix said. “She might be old and beat to hell but—nope, we still pray she’ll get us there.” He revved it twice and laughed, clearly fucking with his new passengers. Neither really got the joke.
The muffler sounded like it was shot full of holes; but the motor purred with a contently broken-in rumble. Felix slung the column shifter into reverse. After backing out he forced it into second gear, confessing in Spanish that first gear was busted. It made a long grinding gerrrr, eeeeen sound as he worked it in. The tassel decorations hanging about the inside of the truck swayed back slightly as he pressed the petal to the metal, keeping the clutch a good deal depressed. He had to clutch the hell out of it but finally got it up to speed. Dust flew high into the air as the truck headed out of town; their elbows protruded the windows like chicken wings.
Jim loved the ride and let loose a smile—first in a while. Been a long time, he thought holding his hand out the window sifting the dry desert air. For a moment he forgot about the war and the wall, and the codes, and relished the present. Rico glanced at the speedometer which read 70 mph. Felix gunned it a little more after noticing his gander. And Rico made a half-cocked smile at Felix wondering where they were headed, but he didn’t feel uneasy with the old man. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it really was his father.
“No quieres morir aqui—hijo es muy bueno que hayas vuelto.” Rico didn’t understand, admittedly, but only to himself, his Spanish was a tad rusty. Felix angled his head up and over to Jim throwing his voice over the gusty air and loudly humming motor, “I say you do not want to die here Señor. You do—you don’t go back. No, this ain’t a normal map Señor.”
Jim simply shrugged it off with a weightless smile. His expression said it all; and the old man noticed. As far as he was concerned there was nothing this DC knew that Rico didn’t. The ride itself was nothing more than a probe into Rico’s mind. Likewise Felix wasn't hell bent on making them believe anything either. He seemed laid-back with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude. And both were solidified in their opinions.
Although the truck had plenty of space on its springy bench seat Rico couldn’t help but feel like he was the rope in a tug-of-war. He tried to keep his lucidity peaked, as Jim had instructed to him earlier, not to let the idea meander, mutate, or dissipate: this is just a dream character.
Felix reached under the seat and pulled out a large leather wrapped flask. “Señors?” he said after taking a swig himself and shaking it off. Jim looked at Rico and grinned.
“Another, Fuck it?” Rico laughed, and he shrugged his shoulders and turned up the flask. “Mezcal, wooo-damn! Bueno, gracias Papa.” Watching him Felix snickered. It’d been a long time since that flavor stung his tongue, easy to tell by the look that uglied his face. And he passed it to Jim.
“Damn is right!” Jim said shaking his head and blowing fire. Felix watched him with a missing-toothed grin, taking good note of his bald head.
“You need a hat Señor,” Felix blurted. He reached behind the seat searching for something. “Desert sun not good for bald head.” The truck swayed a little hitting the rocky side of the road. Jim and Rico gripped the seat. Felix pulled out a large sombrero and handed it over to Jim. It was colorful and decorated, unlike the simple straw hat he had.
“Uh. Thanks?” Jim said looking at the hat before deciding to actually wear it. This is turning out to be an all around fuck-it day he thought, then put it on. “It doesn’t look half bad.” He inspected himself in the trucks chrome side-view mirror. He sort of wished he had his hair again, but told himself—he wasn’t looking back. Rico raised his brow and gave him a thumbs up, telling him that it fit quite well—for a gringo.
The road was empty, save for a lone clunker speeding through the desert leaving behind a mountain-sized plume of dust. A few alarmed hares jumped aside as the noisy old rattle-trap sped by. The three sipped some more mezcal passing time, eventually eliciting Felix to pull out the whole bottle. In no time at all they were each a bucket of laughs, tipping and spilling over. Felix told them some wild tales and threw in plenty of jokes. Jim half understood because of the Spanish but the liquor helped to fill in the blanks.
The road was quite bumpy at times and they drove for a good half hour. Three men, in good company; and they finally made it to the end of the line. Felix slammed on the brakes—having realized he’d almost missed the stop—and the truck skidded sideways; the shock of his almost-fuck-up sobered him up a bit. The others held on for their lives. As soon as it stopped Felix jumped out. The dust plume caught up with them forcing Jim and Rico gag uncontrollably. Felix had seen it coming and energetically ditched to avoid it, then couldn’t help himself but laugh at the two sitting in the truck with a dust bomb. “You gotta open it from the outside,” he yelled to them. And his laugh turned into an all out wail.
Only scraggly walking paths veered off in opposite directions along a magnificent edge; before them, a drop off that’d give flat-Earth theorists a hard-on. Jim and Rico, still gagging on dust, headed to the cliff’s edge. And yes Jim surely saw the old man laughing. It made him reflect onto his old self, before Amy. He knew he would’ve been pissed about the dust and likely would have delivered to the geezer a swift kick in the ass—or worse. But, as much as he didn’t want to, he was beginning to like the nutty old DC.
Felix hopped back into Esperanza and putted the pift-pift-pifting beast slowly around a huge boulder between the road and the drop off, edging it in with second gear. Jim thought about the poor clutch, hoping the bucket of bolts would make it back. Snapping out of it, he regained his lucidity. It’s just a dream map. We can call the director and log out anytime.
Then the old man shut her down and headed to the side of the cliff. Jim and Rico were still clearing their lungs with a few lingering hacks. Near the edge Felix kicked some dirt away and revealed it. A rope ladder dropped out of sight. He pointed down, “Ahí está—allí abajo"
“Wow!” Rico gasped. His eyes were bloodshot but he was finally able to see clearly.
“What’s down there?” Jim asked peering cautiously over the edge. “The bunker?” Felix nodded, half shaking his head at the same time. Serious for a change, he headed back to the truck.
The view sobered them up. The canyon was vast and beautiful—shocking really. Green, perhaps vegetation or trees, could be seen on the far side. Is that the thin sliver of green I can see from atop the wall, Jim thought, then again slapping himself. Just a map, NOT real! But it was there: part of him just wanted to hop back in the crazy old man’s pickup and drive, and drive, and drive. But he had to lock himself to reality. It is just another map. He’d never had a problem staying lucid before, but now, something was different. “Rico, if this is where the codes are, we never would’ve found it,” he said.
“I’ve never known about any of this Jim, maybe he really is—”
“Or perhaps, a part of your subconscious is taking us on a wild joyride. When you're logged in you have to be quite diligent,” Jim interrupted, “our minds love to rationalize—and get too deep into things. On the odd chance this pays off—well, like we agreed earlier, fuck it.”
Felix came back with a rope. He’d tied one end to the truck’s bumper. He wrapped the other end around his waist then swiftly headed down the ladder. “I’ll yell then you go Señor. You don’t want to fall here so por favor—use the rope.” The old rope ladder cracked and stretched and Felix descended from view. Jim and Rico questionably met each other
's gaze once again: Rico shrugged his shoulders, and Jim replied with a wry smile and a slow shake of his head.
“Aye yai yai yai yai!” A scream echoed through the canyon.
“Uh, that must mean it’s your turn Rico,” Jim said mockingly. Rico rolled his eyes and pulled up the rope. His turn it was, and he headed down the side of the cliff letting Jim the party-pooper be last.
“Wooo, hoo, hoo, hoo!” Another loud yell reverberated against the canyon walls.
Jim let out a single puff of a laugh, “Fuck it.”
My turn, woo fucking hoo, he thought and headed down the rope still wearing the large sombrero. He didn’t bother tying himself to the safety rope.
43. The Bunker
It was thousands of feet high, a dent carved into the cliffside. “How did you build this Papa?” Rico asked. Looking up he could see Jim’s feet working the difficult to manage rope ladder. “The view is amazing. You have chairs, a railing, what a place!” Jim descended into view. He put a foot on the railing and hopped into the thirty-foot wide cave.
“You should see it when the sun sets—y las estrellas. Magnifico. But this is not my bunker Rico. My bunker is a cold hole under our old house. I don’t go down there, no need, nothing there—except black widows. I come here sometimes, to think, a relejarme—your codes are here.” He walked to the back of the cave and returned his attention momentarily. “You haven’t seen anything yet. The land of pensamientos, la tierra de los sueños.”
Jim couldn’t imagine any codes being there. Nuts. I waited this long—what’s another few minutes, then fuck this, we’re out of here, he thought.
The old man pressed his hands to the rock wall at the back of the cave. He closed his eyes and mumbled in Spanish. He appeared to be deep in concentration. Jim impatiently exhaled and glanced around at the view; it really was quite magnificent, a painted canyon banded with reds and yellows, deep browns and pale tans.
There wasn’t much else. The cave went back about twenty-five feet, dead-ending into a smooth barrier of light tan stone. Like an amphitheater the ceiling was a dome, almost perfectly round and the floor relatively flat, dry and dusty. Similar to those at the saloon, a couple of wooden rockers waited to be used. A small cooler sat next to one, and the charcoaled remains of a camp fire affront them. A few gold and green beer bottles littered a sloping corner. Oddly enough, there was purple graffiti on the cave walls, which looked more like artfully crafted symbols. Felix was between two of them. Jim tilted his head looking at one: an animal, long ears, leaping—
“He camps out?” Rico asked, stealing Jim’s attention, nudging the dead fire pit with a foot.
“No,” Jim said, answering a completely different question, one that taunted his growing impatience. “No codes here. Come on, let’s go. We’ll take the truck.” He looked at the DC. He was frozen in the corner, humming against the wall. A dead-end, totally useless, big waste of time. He thought, What the fuck is he doing back there anyway? And—it’s just a map, no need for that piece of shit truck either. His thoughts jump-started his mouth and became words, “Actually we can just call the director and log out from here. They’re probably shaking their heads wondering what in the—”
“Listo,” Felix announced loudly. “Vamonos Señors.”
“Where to?” Rico asked. Both turned to see—nothing, nowhere. What?
Felix raised an arm, then wiggled his fingers, and put his hand on the wall once again—but this time it passed right through! The wall had become an illusion. He stepped inside and disappeared leaving them alone. They stood looking at each other, dumbfounded. Jim considered himself a veteran so it wasn't a look he surrendered easily.
“Andale!” Felix said, his voice echoing hollowly from the inside. Then his arm appeared through the wall waving them over. “Apurense cabrones.”
“You were saying?” Rico chuckled.
In light of the nifty magic trick Jim sighed like he could continue on a bit more. He went first this time followed closely by Rico. As Rico entered the wall seemed to gel up, and he found himself stuck and yelling for help. Jim reached into the hundred-foot-tall grey stone he’d stepped out of, feeling for him. He touched his chest then spidered his fingers to find an arm. He reached down for his hand and pulled, and tugged. It was like pulling a mammoth through a tar pit. Rico was coming but slowly. As he heaved a third time he finally made it.
“Uh, I felt like you were stretching me apart,” Rico groaned. He shook the odd feeling of distortion while blinking his eyes rapidly, looking up at the boulder he’d just emerged from. “Weird feeling, like glue, like even time clung together in gobs.”
“Don’t get weird on me again,” Jim joked. And then they saw it.
It was a pleasant starry night. Felix stood at the edge of yet another cliff, hat in hand, his hair blowing slightly from a noticeably cooler breeze. Blindsided by the immensity of it they shuffled over. Jim and Rico, a pair of round-eyed zombies, their jaws hit the ground. Even for Jim—who’d logged in to almost every other map—this view was nearly incomprehensible. Rico mumbled vaguely, saying something to himself.
“Remember what I told you Señors,” Felix said turning right to face them both. “There are rules here just like back on Earth, so—cuidado. You do not want to die here, especialmente si te gusta tener un cuerpo.”
Jim noticed how the old man loved demonstrating the ol’ throat-slashing hand gesture. It was at least the third time he’d made it, sloshing spit at the back of his throat, each time with a—sceeeek—noise to boot. He found himself getting more and more curious about Felix as they journeyed together, and likewise taking slightly more heed to his warnings.
“Your mente wouldn’t make it back time,” Felix continued. “If you're lucky you might get to join me in Pueblo Viejo, Old Town, permanently.”
Jim looked at him then down at the cityscape below. He put his stubbornness aside for a minute, and for the first time, besides just hearing Felix, he listened. He thought, Could he really be telling the truth?
“For now, esperamos, we wait. Relajate aqui.”
Rico’s knees got weak so he took a seat three feet from the edge of the drop. There was a myriad of grassy-mottled grey boulders to sit on spread about the colorful pebble-littered ground. It was surely a night-and-day contrast from the place he’d just stepped out of, and it wobbled his mind. Besides, he spent most of his time caged. This was a lot coming at him all at once, quite a difference from his normal office-type job managing the control room.
Together the three of them gazed at the countless wonders filling the seemingly magical new world. Felix held his chin up, hands on his waist; he enjoyed the fresh air with deep rejuvenating breaths. In the distance left, miles away, a dozen waterfalls worked their way down cascading tiers. The spotty forest around the rocky falls was like a painting; vivid spring green trees were broad strokes and dabs. Darker larger-than-life evergreen trees permeated the higher altitudes and mountains beyond. Sparkling whitewater edged glimmering lakes, ejecting mist that made for cool twilight rainbows. Rivers branched through gardens of kaleidoscopic flowers, one meandering its way near the base of their mountainside. Others flowed through and around the magnificently glowing city poised straight ahead. Varying segments of turbulent white water churned then became calm again; and there were people, frolicking and fishing below.
Rico pointed like a happy child at this and that and smiled brightly. The light made his teeth glow as if he was near a black-light bulb. Likewise with an attracting florescent glow, the colors of the land popped vividly. And refreshingly, although they were perched high above, the water’s mist could be felt arriving with an occasional gentle breeze. Look, she caught a fish!
The sky was overflowing with stars, populous no different than Jewel City at night, but most stunning were the addition of two galaxies, two moons—one a shadowed sliver, Martian red, the other full, cratered and grey—and one immense swirling gas planet, light blue with purple and white coalescing bands; all reflected o
nto the beautiful lakes giving the world an ambiance of enchantment and a glow of cool welcoming light.
A winding path could be seen and Jim traced it with his eyes. It zigzagged down the mountainside from the right, eventually over a bridge and into the heart of the city. Tall technological skyscraping wonders reached high. And disappearing into space: elevators!
Massive mountain-sized ships, there were two, floating cities made of unblemished gleaming metal; platforms overextended the base on which a myriad of thin illuminated buildings speared the sky. Slowly they crisscrossed the landscape making huge fuzzy shadows. Large and small spaceships, even personal vehicles darted gracefully about the sky, slowing as they entered the city, speeding like light as they left. All were soundless and graceful. Jim recalled the days of his youth, and all of the neat technology, but this, this was…
In the distance hundreds of miles beyond the city majestic snow-capped rocky mountains edged the world. To the right, an ocean and a beach, and island mountains on the violet horizon, some smoking like volcanoes. People were everywhere, out and about enjoying themselves but the world was not overcrowded—just right. Not an unhappy face could be found. Assisted by thin backpack hover devices, some flew into the sky and dove or crunched into a cannonball then crashed into the water. Gravity was obviously less. Jim noticed people jumping great distances, competing and doing a form of gymnastics—he supposed. So, he gave it a try, and jumped straight up; without trying very hard he put at least six feet between him and the smooth colorful pebbles at his feet.
“One could sit here for hours,” Rico said.
“But we don’t have hours Rico,” Jim replied. “Felix, what are we waiting—”
Lenders Page 37
