by Leo Romero
Am I in a jungle?
Before he had a chance to answer, hands gripped him under his arms, and they got moving.
Ramon kept a steady pace, placing his faith in the Brotherhood members accosting him. Each step he took on the uneven ground was another obstacle. Every now and then, he tripped on some small branches and stones, but he was held upright before he could fall. He was a blind man being taken to an unknown location. It was like being led to a remote jail.
With each passing step, the anticipation inside him grew stronger; his stomach churned, his heart raced. He was nearly there; so near, so close. Mama, your favorite son is coming...
Somewhere high above him, a bird squawked out loud, making his head twitch. A flurry of similar sounds echoed throughout the dense jungle. Things he'd never heard before. The jungle he knew was filled with the sound of gunfire and cop sirens. This was another world. Like a dream.
Mud squelched under his shoes as they delved deeper into the jungle. The air turned even more cloying. Ramon's throat dried out; he couldn't remember the last time he took on fluids. It must have been back in El Salvador. He just hoped he didn't collapse from thirst before they reached the temple. He was so close, he couldn't let something stupid like that stop him now.
They carried on moving through the jungle.
And then, after what seemed like an age, they stopped. Ramon's ears pricked. Now every jungle sound was amplified; the march of insects crawling along the ground, the croak of exotic frogs, the cry of birds, every flap of wing. In the near distance, the rush and crash of a waterfall. His breathing was shallow; his heart thudded hard and steady. Was this the moment?
Then, they began moving again. A hand was placed on top of his head, forcing it to lower. He bent down as he went, his feet scratching across stone, the sound echoing all around him. They stopped for a moment. The noise of the jungle was now replaced with a tomb-like silence. The air here was cooler; dank. Ramon instinctively knew his skin was enveloped by chilled darkness; it was welcoming, comforting. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang to attention. This had to be the temple of Magdalena.
He began striding further into the dank environment alongside his two chaperones, a shiver crawling up his spine. Like a switch, the sweat plastered all over his body turned cold. He spun his masked head left and right in trepidation. There was a strong foreboding all around him; he could sense it. Deprived of his vision, his inner eye was now amplified. He could smell and taste the evil around him; the stench of death and decay were strong in his nostrils. A pressure--a type of suffocating malevolence--was now omnipresent. This was a place of evil. A neighborhood of Hell.
There were eyes on him; unnatural eyes. Their cold stares burned on his skin. Ramon had stared into the eyes of a thousand gangbangers, witnessed the desperation, felt the hatred emanating from them, but this was on another level. These weren't the eyes of gangbangers watching him; these were the eyes of inhuman creatures, injecting him with undiluted bile and hatred. Fear spread across his body like electricity; it shrunk him, cut off his cojones, made him weak. He was in the midst of something he couldn't possibly understand. This wasn't the hood, this was something from another world, another place, worse than any jail cell.
You better run, homie, a voice in his head told him. It was a childish fear of the unknown rearing its ugly head in his mind. His trembling legs wanted to turn and run, but he knew in his heart that if he did, the guys accosting him would just put a bullet in his skull and declare him a coward. And that's what his legacy would be. Ramon the coward.
No, no, he had to soldier on. See this thing through to the end.
He steeled himself with a deep breath of that dead air and tried to stand tall as he walked, even though his legs were shaking. They led him deeper into the temple where he could sense those eyes on him with more intensity. In his mind, he envisaged a rotten tongue licking dry, ancient lips with glee. The Unholy Mother was waiting. And she was hungry.
They came to a stop once again, and now a low rumble took over as if they had descended into the very earth's cavernous depths. His ears pricked to the sound of scraping stone. When it stopped, silence took over. Then, without warning, his blindfold was torn from his head. He started, his heart missing a beat. His eyes squinted in the dim light. Before he had a chance to turn his head, he was shoved forward toward the open cavity ahead of him. Waiting beyond was a flight of stone steps. Ramon tumbled down them, smashing into the stone floor at the bottom with a grunt.
He rolled onto his back, staring up the steps with eager eyes. He watched as a stone door slid down over the opening, blocking out the only light in the chamber inch-by-inch. Ramon's eyes widened in horror. Before he could get to his feet and up the steps, the door closed with a stony crunch.
And he was dumped in pitch blackness.
He jumped to his feet. "Hey!" he shouted up toward that closed door. His voice bounced back at him; it was loaded with fear.
Everything turned deathly silent. He stood for a few moments in the darkness, his whole body trembling. The air was dank, musky. The strong stench of death enveloped it all; an aroma Ramon was well acquainted with.
What now? he asked himself.
He turned in a confused semi-circle. He licked his lips. "Mama?" he asked the darkness. He was answered by silence.
"Mama," he repeated, this time trying to inject authority into his voice. His words rebounded off the surrounding walls. "Your son is here. Come to greet me. I command you!" He held his hands out to the sides as if awaiting an embrace. But nothing came. Only the sound of his hot breath in his ears.
"Mama!" he repeated with more force, his hands balled into fists, his fear suddenly displaced with anger. Anger at her lack of co-operation. She should come to greet her loyal disciple, not leave him alone in the dark like a chump. "Mama, come to me. I command you!"
A loud hiss split the silence. He spun in its direction, his ears pricking. More gas-like hissing then erupted, this time from all angles. Ramon whirled in a breathless circle, the dark hindering his view, that hissing resonating all around him now.
Something slithered over his feet; fat and meaty. His eyes shot downward and he hopped back in disgust. What the hell--
The hissing grew louder; it reverberated in his mind. As the seconds passed, it intensified. His bulging eyes rolled in the pitch-black.
His fight or flight sense triggered; he knew danger. And he knew what to do. He turned on his heels, but, before he could escape, something cold and slick wrapped around his ankle, almost tripping him. He tried to run, but the thing coiled around his lower leg, pulling him back. He groaned and yanked in the opposite direction, but the thing held firm. It wrapped around his thigh, then made it up to his waist, where it squeezed.
A horrified gasp escaped him. But, it was cut short as something thick and scaly like heavy rope slipped around his chest and tightened his rib cage. He fought against it, trying to push it off him, but it was too heavy, too meaty, too slippery. It had him snared like an animal.
Fight! Fight! he screamed to himself. He began thumping the thing, but it was like hitting thick rubber. His fists bounced off it without making any impact.
He went to rain in some more blows, when another one coiled around his free leg; it slid up his body, making that hissing sound.
The horror of a forked tongue slid across his cheek.
Then, from nowhere, lots of them wrapped around his body; one, two, three, four. They bound themselves to any free limbs and splayed him like a scarecrow, his arms held out to the sides in the crucifix position.
Ramon's mind exploded with terror. He'd been lied to. Deceived. Mama Magdalena was not here to greet him, only these creatures were. It was a trap. How could he have been such a bitch? Believing in those putas up there? All along they wanted to kill him. An assassination, pure and simple. A trick by a rival gang. Los Lagartos? N-9? San Miguel Cartel? Whoever it was, they got him. Got him good.
Pain tore through him as fangs p
enetrated first his clothes then skin. There was an intense pulling sensation as they sucked on his veins. It stopped for a moment; then, a squirt as something was injected back in. It shot up into his brain, clouding his mind in majestic elation, the pain numbed and malformed into intense pleasure. It rolled across his mind like a thick blanket, enveloping it in a soothing euphoria. His whole body became light like he was floating in space; it was better than any hit of any coca he'd ever had.
He was forced to ride the wave, still conscious of the fangs repeatedly biting and sucking from all angles; pleasure belied by brutal agony. Lightheadedness overcame him like standing from a hot bathtub. He was losing too much blood, too fast in the feeding frenzy; any longer and he knew he'd be dead. He wanted to shout out, to scream, the pleasure of the venom flowing through him a contradiction, shutting down his vocal chords; it was like they'd been severed.
Mama, save me. Save me, he begged in his mind. Where are you, Mama? Why have you betrayed me?
The promise had been a deceit; an act of treachery played upon his soul. He was nothing but a bitch. A realization worse than death itself.
"Help me, Mama..." he managed to squeeze out of his constricted chest.
But it was too late. He was alone, and trapped.
A hot pair of fangs dug deep into his throat.
And only then did he begin to scream.
The Chaos Order: Fanghunters Book Three will be out soon!
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