Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

  Edward saw two more Onge through the foliage on his right, closing in on him through the woods. He kept running. One stopped to throw a spear. Edward ducked it and rolled, relentless forcing his body ahead. The second tried to tackle him. He spun around him, whacking him on the back of the head with the spear handle without giving up his pace. Edward sensed he was losing those Onge that were on the path. He didn’t see any more in the woods.

  After several minutes of all-out sprinting, Edward reached a clearing. Fifteen cars were parked in a semicircle, all facing a newly cut path which could fit a car one way. Probably leads to the road. Several muddy divets in the clearing marked where cars had once taken up the semicircle. It seemed a few vehicles had peeled out in a hurry.

  One thin Onge stood stunned and unarmed amidst the cars, gaping at the white man.

  Edward stopped and let his eyes rest on each vehicle for a moment. He chose the Jeep far to the right. It was bright orange, but he wasn’t picking it for its looks. The key was already in the ignition, as he suspected. He cranked it up. He glanced over at the Onge. He had backed even further from Edward.

  The rest of the tribe, however, was starting to reach the clearing. Edward threw the Jeep into gear and kicked it out to the path. He heard the Onge rev up cars behind him.

  The four-wheel drive let Edward really tear up the muddy path and hang the curves without sliding. The Jeep bounced over huge holes in the road and kept right on rolling. Finally, Edward reached a flat part of the jungle, and it seemed that about a kilometer down the path he could see the road, or at least a clearing. He stood and looked over his muddy windshield. Definitely the road.

  A red car pulled onto the path from the road. It was directly in his way, moving slowly toward him.

  Edward stood up again. He saw the car was low to the ground, some sort of sports car, and it definitely didn’t seem to be made for the rough jungle terrain.

  Edward glanced behind him. He could hear a few of the vehicles pursuing him, but none were in sight. He was definitely outpacing them. Of course, a road race in his Jeep would be a different story. The rain had stopped, and he knew it would only be the matter of an hour or so before the road dried up. His Jeep would be a disadvantage, then. They’d catch him in a race to Lisbaad.

  He focused on this vehicle ahead. First things first. Unless the path unexpectedly widened, there was no way around the red car. He’d either have to try to go over it or seize it. Edward started being able to see its occupants.

  The driver was definitely Onge. A white man with slick black hair sat in the passenger seat.

  The car was a Corvette.

  49

  Dr. James Seacrest’s head hurt. His wrists ached and itched. The sunlight burned his eyes, and he had to make quite an effort to open them. He felt ill, and the bull-like jostling helped little.

  When his eyes adjusted, he screamed. He also tried to throw his arms up, but he couldn’t manage it past the ropes which bound his wrists.

  A huge bright orange Jeep hurtled directly at him and his car. He wasn’t driving his car. Rather, it was being steered by a dark-skinned man in a loincloth. He looked dirty. He shouldn’t be sitting in the Corvette dirty like that.

  James did a double-take on the dark-skinned man before he remembered what had happened. His head started hurting worse. That Jeep didn’t look like it was stopping. The dark man threw himself out of the Corvette. James felt neglected as a hostage.

  The Jeep skidded to a stop on all four tires, fishtailing out. It stopped just before impact.

  A crazy white man in priest robes leaped out of the Jeep and jumped the native.

  James tried to rub his head. It was all so much to take in. He couldn’t rub his head because of the damn rope.

  The white man hit the driver in the face and the stomach, but the native recovered quickly by rolling with the punches. He counter-attacked with fists and elbows. The white man twisted to the side in response, bracing himself on James’s precious Corvette to land a kick. The native swept back to dodge it, and the white man, still spinning, planted a high kick onto the native’s chest.

  Amazingly, the native was pushed back, but did not fall. He didn’t even seem shaken.

  James heard the roaring of engines. Far down the path, he saw cars and trucks approaching single file.

  The native charged the priest. The priest sidestepped him again, but this time the native came at him with a fist he couldn’t dodge. The white man took it straight to the gut. James was shocked to see it didn’t even seem to wind the man.

  The native hesitated and muttered something in a foreign tongue. He must have been shocked, too. He lunged again at the white man.

  The priest’s back was to James. He was only a meter away from the Corvette. The priest dodged the native’s fist, then grappled him by the hair and arm and sent his head crashing into the side of the Corvette. James felt the sickening thud reverberate through the precious car. He hoped it didn’t mess up the paint job. A dent was easier than a paint chip.

  The native’s head didn’t jerk back like it was supposed to when he hit the car. Instead, he just dropped.

  The lead pursuit cars skidded to a stop behind the parked Jeep. More dark men poured out of their vehicles before they had even stopped moving. The priest jumped into James’s Corvette and shifted into reverse. He was using mirrors to keep to the path, launching back up the trail. James eyed the speedometer. It only read zero.

  The natives were tilting the Jeep. They were rolling it off the path so they could get through.

  “Hello,” said the strange white man.

  “Uhm, hello.” James debated which driver he liked better.

  “Dr. Seacrest, I presume?” asked the priest.

  James wanted to scratch his head. He made up for it by squinting. “Yes, I’m Dr. Seacrest. And you are?”

  “Edward Styles.” Styles extended his hand to shake and then put it back onto the seat when he saw James wouldn’t be able to reciprocate.

  “Father Edward Styles?” asked James.

  Styles scowled. “Just Edward Styles will do fine.”

  “All right, Edward Styles. Mind untying me?” asked James.

  “In a minute. Got my hands full right now.” The cars in pursuit loomed larger in their vision. Styles revved the engine.

  “If you push it too much it’ll…” James started to say. The car suddenly shook and jerked sideways. “…bottom out,” he finished.

  Styles kept the car zooming. Five cars chased after them, at least twenty men, all less than a hundred meters away.

  “Oh, God,” said James. One of the natives leaned out of the lead SUV with a shotgun and trained it on the Corvette.

  “About fifty meters away,” shouted Edward over the high whine of the engine in reverse. “We’re okay,” said Styles. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  James braced through another jolt from the road. “Under the seat,” answered James.

  “What seat?”

  “My seat,” said James. Edward sighed.

  “Can’t reach it.”

  “Me either.”

  “Duck,” said Edward matter-of-factly.

  “Beg pardon?” asked James. He wished he’d heard more clearly, because the next moment his head was between his legs, forcefully shoved there by Edward’s hand.

  The shotgun sounded like a thunderclap. The tinkling of shattered glass rode the echo of the shot.

  James felt hot glass on his neck and cried out. Edward did not react. James jerked his head up and saw that his windshield was shattered.

  “Stay down!” shouted Edward. He shoved James down again. This time the shot flew high.

  James looked up again careful. James had been in some tough scrapes before, but never had this much harmful intent leveled at him in one sitting. They’re literally trying to kill my arse with a shotgun!

  The SUV was only twenty meters away. James glanced back and saw they were only a hundred meters from the road.

&n
bsp; “DUCK! DUCK!” screamed Edward. This time James reacted quickly enough. He saw a puff of upholstery and interior where Edward’s head had been situated only a moment before. “Stay down!” shouted Edward. “Just stay down.”

  Edward was staying down, too. “How are you driving the car?” asked James. Edward ignored him. “Styles? What’s going on? Don’t you need to see the road?”

  Edward had closed his eyes.

  The car revved faster.

  “Oh God!” shouted James. He envisioned his Corvette wrapped around a tree. A huge bump jostled him down to the floorboard. He could only watch Edward, now, with his closed eyes.

  Edward jerked the steering wheel. They bumped over a small tree. They were on the road. Edward rocketed up into his seat and jammed the accelerator all the way down to the floor. They rocketed down the paved highway.

  James thanked God for a miracle and cursed the priest.

  50

  Tomy finally reached the temple. He collapsed at the feet of his master. He had run in the lightness faster and longer than any Onge had ever run in their oral history. His body was shaking. He had thought that if he had run fast enough, he could warn his master about the white man

  It was obvious as he ran through the village that he had arrived too late. The whole place was in uproar. No warrior was to be found. The women and children were running here and there, collecting their possession. Everyone was talking, jabbering to one another, not making sense. “It is time…we are traveling…the white man…I hope they get him…Manassa…the temple…Manassa.” He’d only heard them in passing. He had but one goal - to relay his information to his lord.

  “The white man,” wheezed Tomy, unable to even look up at his god.

  “He has come and gone,” said Manassa. Tomy could hear the anger riding under Manassa’s tone. The god yanked Tomy up to his feet. “He came without you warning me, messenger! He came and surprised me and now knows of our plans. He is a traitor of the worst degree, that white man, and you let him beat you!” Manassa’s face was beat red. He slapped Tomy, who collapsed on the ground.

  Tomy groaned.

  “You were weak, messenger! I know you had a moment of weakness, where you acted as a child, and he got the best of you.” He was down in Tomy’s ear.

  Tomy’s terrible sin flashed in his mind. “I got too close…” groaned Tomy.

  “What?!” yelled Manassa.

  “I…I got too close on the porch,” he mumbled. “I was watching the house, and watching them, and they started kissing. I was thinking about a girl…I got too close…he saw me. I didn’t think he’d see me.” Tomy sobbed his confession to the ground.

  Manassa kicked him. “Get up! Get up, fool!” He kicked him again. Tomy just rolled over.

  The living god knelt down over him, menacing just inches from his face.

  “Listen to me, Tomy. Tomy, you are dead. When you stand up, Tomy is dead. Tomy will never be any more. Tomy is just a child, an embarrassment to our race. You will kill him, now. And when you arise, only Tome will rise. As Mahanta died, and Manassa rose, so it will be with you, Tome. Tome, ‘word,’ the word of your living god. Now rise up, and leave Tomy dead in the dirt.”

  Tomy forced himself up on shaky legs. He dried his tears. He had failed his master utterly. He did what was asked. He let Tomy die inside of himself. It was a quick and easy thing in the half consciousness of exhaustion. He would be only what his living god would need of him now. Tome.

  Manassa pulled out a vial from beneath his throne and emptied its contents into Tome’s mouth. He was giving him the lightness again. He knew the boy had just used the lightness to get here. He did not care. There were penalties for failure.

  “I will tell you this once. We are leaving now. There is no time. The white man could ruin everything. Go now to Lisbaad and raid Liang’s mansion. Then come to the launch point. Bring everyone. Evacuate Lisbaad.”

  “There is a woman,” said Tome. “A doctor. The white man worked with her in Lisbaad before he saw…Tomy.” he said, hesitatingly.

  “You have her?” asked Manassa. Tome nodded. “Then bring her along with you.”

  “What about the white man?”

  “There’s no need to find him. He’ll find us. We must only be ready. Be sure everyone is on the highest alert. We must move NOW,” said Manassa.

  Tome felt the effects of the lightness surge over him. “Yes, master. Thank you for your forgiveness.”

  “There is no forgiveness, Tome. There is only living, and on the other side, death. Now, go.”

  51

  “Callista,” said the priest. “What happened to her?”

  “Callista?” asked James vaguely. “Callista…who…”

  “We’re on the same side, Seacrest, so just tell me what’s up.”

  “I’m not too sure of that. I’m still tied up.”

  Styles slammed the brakes. He did a rough job of untying James and then started driving again.

  James rubbed his wrists. “I don’t know what happened to Callista. How do you know Callista?”

  “An old friend,” said Styles cryptically.

  “Wait a moment. You must be him.” Seacrest laughed. “Am I right? You’re him!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Funny that you’re American. I would have taken her to be one who fancies the foreigners and not the down home cooking. Though that was why she had started falling for me.”

  “Falling for you?” asked Styles.

  “She must like the accent…Don’t worry about it, old boy. Now she’s got the real deal.” James patted Styles on the back humorlessly.

  “So when’s the last time you’ve seen Callista?”

  Old boy’s got a one-track mind. Kind of like his girl. “Last week. I brought her flowers.”

  “She didn’t make contact with you today?”

  “No, no contact. She didn’t even say hi.”

  Styles taxed the engine further. The Corvette started catching air over little bumps in the road. James didn’t like it but wasn’t going to say anything.

  “Mind filling me in on what the hell’s going on?” asked James.

  “You first. How’d you end up here?”

  James took a moment to collect his thoughts.

  “Listen,” said Styles, more softly. “I’m only interested in protecting Callista. I’m afraid she’s been abducted just like you were. So the more you can tell me the better. I promise I’ll fill you in, too. I just need to know what’s happening. When were you abducted?”

  “About three in the afternoon yesterday. I had just shut down my clinic and was on my way home when I was stopped in the middle of the road.”

  “What happened?”

  “They were natives, with no shirt, just loincloths, guns and clubs.”

  “Onge.”

  “Is that what you call them?”

  “Yes, Onge.”

  “Well, these Onge were parked in the middle of the road. When I stopped one of them clubbed me over the head a couple times. When I woke up they made me take them to my house. At first they didn’t speak any English. One was reading a book, though, and somehow learned pretty quick. Amazing, actually, sort of fightening. Wanted to know if I knew anything about pharmacology.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I just acted like I still didn’t understand them. It was freaking me out, really, watching some guy in a loincloth learn English in half an hour.”

  The priest nodded understandingly. He seemed to know what James was talking about.

  James continued. “Even though he was speaking some English, he kept saying this word.”

  “What was the word?”

  “Lay-yek-tah?”

  “Lleychta?” Styles asked, putting the emphasis on the first and last syllables.

  “Yes, that’s it. That’s it exactly.” James snapped his fingers. “That’s just how they said it! What does it mean?”

  “You’ve been in this sort of situation before, haven
’t you?” asked Styles.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this whole life and death thing. You’re a bit chipper for having just been kidnapped, rescued and now on the run from a band of vengeful Onge.”

  James shrugged. The priest was right but James really didn’t want to get into it. “What’s the word mean?”

  “It means nectar,” said Styles.

  “Nectar…nectar…hmm…” reflected James. “Ahm…What do you suppose that means?”

  Styles winced. The car skidded and Styles slowed it down.

  “You okay?” asked James.

  “Fine. We’re well enough ahead now,” said Styles. He didn’t look fine, though. He looked a bit green and was rubbing his head.

  The road took them into lower terrain. Mud covered portions of the road. The sun was rising, and James hoped it dried things out. James leaned over to check the gas dial. The car still had a quarter tank, more than enough to get them back to Lisbaad.

  “Thanks for bailing me out, there,” said James.

  “No problem,” said Styles. “Another question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How far is your house from Callista’s?”

  “Directly across the street,” said James.

  “And you haven’t seen her in a week?” asked Styles.

  “I think she’s been avoiding me. Like I said, starting to fall for me.”

  Styles didn’t comment. “When did you leave your house?”

  “I suppose around midnight,” said James.

  “Did you see any Onge at Callista’s house?”

  “No, I don’t believe.”

  “Anything suspicious? Are you sure? Any cars in the driveway, anything out of place, any Onge coming from her house?”

  James looked over that wild night through his mind’s eye. “No, no, I don’t think so. Ahm…no. Nothing like that. They were at my house. Only mine.”

  “All right,” said Edward.

  “Do you know why I was abducted?” asked James.