by SL Hulen
Chapter Forty-seven Victoria
He wants the bracelet and nothing else she told herself, though she no longer believed it.
Victoria had placed herself between Mieley and Khara, knowing that her height made her the easier target. To keep him distracted, she continually shifted direction. Her plan had worked, and Khara had been able to slip away. Now she looked for a way to lose him so she could rush to the hotel.
The instant before Mieley’s hand closed around her upper arm, she felt his hot breath on her ear. “Where is she?” he panted. Something she assumed to be a pistol was jammed into her back.
She was on the verge of a smartass remark when he drove the air out of her lungs with an elbow to her ribs. She stumbled forward; he grabbed her by the collar, slapped her hard across the bridge of her nose, and covered her mouth. His hand was smooth and damp. The taste of his flesh made her gag.
“Where are the police when you need them?” he questioned sarcastically, as if reading her mind. “Go ahead, scream for help. Every law enforcement agency from here to Cairo has your photo. A worthy adversary turns each setback into a victory, Miss Barrón. Now that you’ve separated, you haven’t a chance. Game over.”
Victoria’s head swam. She had to get to the hotel. What would Khara do if she didn’t show?
Mieley pushed the barrel of the gun against her spine, dragged her under the shadow of a large tree, and shoved her violently against the trunk. The fireworks that had been in the sky now exploded behind her eyes. She struggled to keep her footing as Mieley pointed the gun at her chest with a punitive look.
“I hope, for your sake, that she still has it. Not that it’s going to change anything. Really, you could have made this so much easier.”
Victoria pushed away the pain and took a moment to study him. His eyes were not nervous anymore; they were hungry. He moved close to her and brought his hand close, opening it as though he might fondle her breast. Instead he placed the muzzle at the center of her chest and pulled it slowly down to her waist.
At least he hadn’t put his filthy hands on her; in fact, Mieley had resisted touching her. In court, she called it flinching, and cut attorneys who did it to pieces. It was an opportunity Victoria knew would not be repeated.
“No, not here,” he whispered, licking her earlobe. “I’m going to take my time with you.” He yanked her away from the tree and moved behind her. Victoria knew it would be her only chance. She threw her weight backward against his torso, tripping him on a root. Scrambling to break his fall, he dropped the pistol to the ground with a dull thud. In less than an instant she had snatched it up. It fit easily into her palm, and Victoria was surprised by how little it weighed. Hardly a gun for a man, she thought. She realized that Mieley would not have used it to kill her, but to maim her instead.
“Take off your shoes,” she said.
Mieley looked mortified.
“Now toss them over.” She pointed the pistol at him, half expecting an argument. None came. A pair of oxfords hit the ground with an angry thud.
“You’re going to pay for this.”
“Socks, too.”
He threw them at her head, but she ducked. “Now your trousers.”
Arlan Mieley gulped. Victoria imagined he would have preferred to have been shot. “Screw you,” he spat through clenched teeth.
“Aren’t you the one who told me that smuggling runs in my blood? You should be worrying about whether murder does as well. Now give me your pants.” She pulled back the hammer and aimed at his forehead. She was suddenly glad that she’d spent time at the shooting range—not enough to make her really good, but enough to be convincing. Recalling that it had been Elias who had insisted on it, an icy needle pierced her heart. “You need to able to protect yourself, hija,” he’d warned. When her uncle used that tone—a combination of authority and adoration—she could never argue.
Adjusting her aim, she pushed the pain out of her head and pulled the trigger. Two inches above his head, the tree splintered.
“You crazy bitch!” It was clear as he flopped around on the ground, trying to remove his trousers, cursing and sputtering under his breath, that he had not thought she would fire.
Victoria lowered the pistol slightly. “The answer to the question you’re asking yourself is ‘Yes, I missed you on purpose.’ Now hand over your pants.”
Now wearing only dark boxers and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt, Mieley followed her every move as she picked up his clothing and shoes, his eyes narrow slits of hatred.
A moment ago, Mieley had possessed the upper hand and there had been no doubt of his intentions, of the pleasure he would have taken degrading and humiliating her. An involuntary shudder ran up Victoria’s spine, and though she acted as if nothing had happened, she could not bring herself to look at him. Underneath the tree, Mieley laughed softly, making Victoria wonder whether he understood, even agreed with her revulsion, or if he laughed from a sense of disbelief. She took several steps backwards.
The next thing she knew, she was racing towards the edge of the park. At the first open container she spotted, which was a cardboard recycling bin, she deposited a shoe. She shoved its mate into the storm sewer, listening with great satisfaction to the splash it made. The blinding fear she’d experienced moments ago gave way to exhilaration. Pistol in hand, she sprinted down empty streets. A dumpster, overflowing and reeking of rotting food, provided the perfect repository. Victoria wiped it down carefully with Mieley’s pants before throwing both the pistol and trousers in.
You see? Victoria declared mentally to her uncle. I am nothing like you. She continued toward the hotel, picking up speed. Mieley’s gun had weighed her down in more ways than one. Ahead, a police car rolled noiselessly through the intersection. Her excitement turned to fear when the headlights flashed, but the cruiser lurched forward and sped into the night. She edged forward, staying closer to the buildings. By now Mieley could have told the police any number of lies—or they could be responding to nothing more than the report of a gunshot at the park. That makes more sense, she thought. He won’t want to call attention to himself. In spite of her pain, she grinned. What wouldn’t I give to hear him explain how he lost his pants.
Outside the hotel entrance, a man in a denim baseball jacket smoked a cigarette. He was probably just a patron enjoying a smoke, but Victoria took cover behind the tangle of a leafless hedge cattycorner to the hotel to observe him. Her worries were confirmed when he turned to look down the street and she spotted a thin black wire snaking down the side of his neck. She moved further into the shadows.
In the distance, another siren wailed. She no longer tried to think about what it might mean. Her face throbbed, and she was getting dizzier by the minute. Peering through the hotel lobby’s picture window, she felt sick. There was no sign of Khara.
The undercover cop dropped his cigarette butt, crushed it into the pavement with his heel, rubbed his hands together, and spoke into the microphone. Afterward, he thoroughly surveyed the street. The alcove where she had taken refuge suddenly seemed like a cage. Her run had left her sweaty, and soon her perspiration turned to chill. Shivering, Victoria pondered her choices and found she had only one—continue to wait.
When at last she had the presence of mind to look around, she was struck by the mishmash of old and new buildings along the one—way street. They looked as if they’d been laced together with old gates and roofing tiles. There had to be some easement between them. If the cop was alert, he would likely see her leave. If her luck held, the moonless night would not give her away and she would find an opening to the street behind.
As Victoria took the first few steps, blood pounding in her ears, she held her breath. But just as she’d hoped, there was an alley, no more than six feet wide, drafty and strewn with garbage cans that took her south of the hotel.
The sirens were everywhere now. A curious blinking light up the street caught her attention. It flashed three times before the street went black. A few seconds later, i
t began again. She headed toward it cautiously. Soon she made out that it was headlights. Instinct willed her toward it, and a small person stepped in front of them, arms waving.
Brakes screeched as the Jeep came dangerously close to running her over on the sidewalk. In spite of that, Khara looked anything but apologetic. Without a word, Victoria jumped in. The driver executed a sloppy Uturn and thundered away into the night.
Chapter Forty-eight Khara
Khara shifted slightly in the driver’s seat, in the grip of a dream. Eyes closed, she urged her mind to vanquish it. Her nose and cheeks, and even her fingers, were numb with cold. Nearby, someone sighed softly. Victoria. She is always here…
Vaguely, she recalled pulling the Jeep off the road and to a secluded spot before her attention shifted to the vaporous beings reaching for her. Khara could not tell whether they meant her harm, or whether her fear came from being caught in an ever-shrinking circle. She did not think of them as human.
Forget about them. Tomorrow you are going home.
Cold stung her eyes as she woke and focused on the clock. It was seven thirty. The day was dawning rough and dull, the color of slate, through a thin layer of frost on the windows. With her sleeve, she cleared the inside of the driver’s window and peered outside. A pair of probing blue eyes met hers and she screamed.
The authorities had found them. She looked away, choosing to stare at the speedometer as though ignoring the knocking at the window would make it go away. After that, she looked into her lap, at her whitening knuckles. Instantly awake, Victoria was swearing under her breath.
Others surrounded the Jeep, but Khara refused to acknowledge them. She watched Victoria, whose mouth was moving in slow motion. It was impossible to make out anything she said. Khara suddenly remembered her promise to Nandor the day when he had streaked her face with dirt and given her his best smile.
When she looked up, Victoria was outside. After a minute or two, she came to the driver’s side and opened the door. “It’s all right,” she said, smiling weakly. “Just act normal.”
Feeling for Nandor’s pouch underneath her sweater, Khara grudgingly stepped from the security of the vehicle. In the distance, a donkey brayed. It was a sound from home, and perhaps a good omen.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Of course,” she acknowledged tensely. “It’s only that you frightened me.”
“We must have missed an exit,” Victoria lied gracefully. “We’re supposed to be in Taos.”
A round of snickering came from the group of mostly prepubescent boys. Three were older, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but in the way they looked at her, Khara sensed their innocence.
“I’ll say you’re lost. That’s almost sixty miles from here,” the tallest boy told her, grinning. “Where’d you come up from?”
“Albuquerque,” Victoria lied again.
“You’re absolutely sure that you’re all right?” one of the smaller boys asked, pulling a hinged box emblazoned with a white cross from his pack. Proudly, he displayed the contents. “I’ve got aspirin, bandages, and this cool stretchy stuff.”
“So I see,” Khara responded gently, reaching down to ruffle his light brown hair.
The tallest one cleared his throat and addressed them with an air of authority. “Are you looking for someone?”
This was one of those times it was best for Victoria to do the talking, so Khara said nothing.
“Not exactly,” Victoria answered. “We heard this was a really good place to watch the eclipse.”
“It sure is.” The boy, who clearly held the others under his command, narrowed his eyes. “Did you check in with security at the main gate?”
“We don’t have time for that.”
He noticed that they were wearing nothing heavier than sweaters. “Why not? The eclipse isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Our plan was to camp here tonight.”
“You’ll need a permit for that. The security office is just down the road,” he reported, his tone now challenging and tinged with suspicion.
He nodded in the direction of the Jeep, and a stocky boy spat on the ground before looking inside, shaking his head, and saying, “They don’t have any gear.”
“Camping, huh?”
“I understand how this may look,” she said, looking at Khara, “but we must get to Urraca Mesa.”
“Forget it, no one’s allowed up there—civilian or otherwise.”
“Civilian?” Khara asked.
The little boy with the medical box looked up at Khara. “Doncha know? Urraca Mesa is the gateway to hell.”
“Is it?” Khara half-expected the others to laugh, but everyone, including Victoria, was quiet. In the distance, she spied a city of tents. The peculiar uniforms they wore—dirty green, with scarves tied around the heads and necks. Now it makes sense. The fifth dimension is guarded by children!
The small boy pulled gently on her hand and looked at her with brown eyes softer than a puppy’s. “There’s ghosts up there.”
Never one to give up, Victoria addressed them as a group. “But we were told it’s the absolute best place to watch the eclipse.”
“See that?” The tall boy pointed southeast, where veins of white lightning shot out from underneath black clouds. “That’s Urraca Mesa. The place is cursed. Compasses, cameras— nothing works. Even the local tribes don’t go anywhere near it.”
Victoria stared grimly at the horizon. Khara, who knew the bravado she was capable of, could not tell if she had been convinced. “It looks pretty menacing, but we still have to go.”
“You go up there, there’s a better than even chance you won’t come back.”
“I appreciate your concern. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Trevor.”
“Listen, Trevor. I appreciate you being a good scout and all, but we have to get there.”
“Rules are rules, ma’am.”
Victoria breathed a sigh full of unmistakable frustration and despair. “Look, you’re probably not going to believe this, but there’s no time for anything but the truth,” she began, and pointed to Khara. “This young woman is an Egyptian princess from the year 2181 BC. She was sent here by mistake and needs to get home. A Mescalero shaman told us Urraca Mesa is the portal to another dimension. The only chance she has to return to Egypt will be tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“Because the Apache believe the eclipse will open the portal.” The boy named Trevor stepped closer to Victoria. He was almost her height, with hair so short it stood straight up like the freshly tanned hide of a cow. The bridge of his nose and his cheeks were bronze except for small spots where his skin had peeled from too much sun. “If she’s a princess, who are you?”
“No one worth remembering.”
“You really expect us to believe that Urraca Mesa is the portal to another world?”
“To the same world,” Khara cut in, “but to a much different time.”
Victoria blurted, “You said it yourself—the place is cursed.” Looks passed from boy to boy. They lasted an eternity, and Khara had no idea of their meaning. She felt the circle in her dream growing smaller, her world collapsing. I am too close to fail. She racked her brain for the words to convince them, but none came. Menefra, with her quick tongue, would have known exactly what to say. In his constant blinking, she could see his mind working. He was taking it all into account—Victoria’s ridiculous, if not accurate, explanation; their lack of proper equipment. Holding her breath, Khara feared the worst.
“You mean like in Back to the Future?”
“Exactly! Remember how everything depended on Marty being where he was supposed to be at a certain time? Well, it’s like that, only this is much more serious.”
“Cool!”
Khara’s knees shook. “What does it mean, Victoria?”
“It means they’re going to help us.”
“But how?” the small boy asked.
The furrow in Victoria’s brow eased. �
�Point us in the right direction and don’t tell anyone we were here.”
“You can’t go up there without the right gear. It gets wicked cold, especially at night. Here, take my jacket.” He untied the sleeves from around his waist and handed it over.
Another boy did the same, handing it awkwardly to Khara. “Don’t worry, it’s warmer than it looks.”
“Here.” The littlest boy took a small contraption from his pocket, displaying it on his chubby palm. “It’s an official scout knife.” He proceeded to demonstrate its many uses. There was a small and large blade, an ingenious tool for opening bottles, one for cans, and a tiny pair of scissors. Rubbing the silver crest until it shone, he placed it in her palm.
“Are you certain you want to part with it? It looks quite valuable.”
He nodded solemnly, and Khara kissed his cheek which, like everything, was covered with a fine layer of dirt.
Trevor led them to a nearby patch of grass and slid off the harness he wore. Squatting, he dumped the contents into the grass. Each boy added to the pile that began with a single bedroll. Soon the pack was stuffed, sleeping bags tied neatly to the bottom of the frame.
Victoria heaved it onto her shoulders and adjusted the straps.
“Don’t build a fire,” Trevor warned. “It’s too windy; use the stove. There’s a lighter, crackers, a couple of candy bars, and some mystery meat. And you’ll need this LED,” he explained about the lighted baton he put into her hand. “Follow that trail until you can’t go any higher,” he instructed, pointing southeast, “and then start climbing.”
“I can’t tell you how important this is…” Victoria said, shaking his hand before she turned and started to walk.
They had gone only a short distance when someone shouted. “Hey!”
They turned around.
“How’ll we know? I mean, how will we know if you make it?” A boy who had said nothing before bellowed across the distance.
Victoria shrugged. “Hopefully you won’t notice anything at all.”
The boy who had looked inside the Jeep raced to them, arriving red-faced and out of breath. “One last thing. You can’t leave your car where it is; it’s sure to be reported.”
