The Creation: Axis Mundi (The Creation Series Book 1)

by The Behrg

  “So what, we just wait here and hope the men with guns don’t find us? How long before those people out there give us up?” Kenny asked.

  Remmy looked about their rag-tag group. “Not long.”

  A large crate toppled nearby, wood splintering, books flying out.

  “Sorry,” Donavon said, stooping to pick up the books, now dripping with muddy water. As soon as he bent down, he started heaving. Vomit splattered onto the texts he had meant to save.

  Faye moved to him, resting one hand on his back as he slowly rose. His face was chalk white. “You okay?”

  Donavon covered his face from her. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “I need some help over here,” Sir William said. “We need to revive him. Do you have anything that will bring him to? Epinephrine? Naloxone?

  “This isn’t a hospital,” Remmy said.

  “And these supplies?” Faye asked.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “What about your stash?”

  “I said no!” Remmy’s eyes gleamed in the dull light. “Now stay quiet and pray to God for a miracle. He’s the only one that can help you now.”

  Faye wiped her hair from her face, leaving Donavon’s side to stand before the priest. “Just give me the key to your chest. You know it will bring him out.”

  “You’ve taken enough from me already.” Remmy ducked back through the hole in the concrete, replacing the tapestry and leaving them in the dark.

  Donavon put his back against a wall, sliding down into a sitting position. “We are so dead.”

  “Where’s Grey?” Kenny said. “I thought he was with you guys?”

  “Probably out there, getting help,” Faye said.

  “He’s better off than we are,” Donavon said.

  Faye opened the flaps of a box that had toppled over. It was full of dusty pamphlets and cobwebs. “Check the boxes, crates – find anything we can use!”

  “What, are we gonna throw bibles at them?” Kenny asked.

  Faye turned toward him, a quiet rage surging through her. “We’ll do whatever we have to. Search every box, every corner. As if your life depended on it.”

  “There’s not gonna be a documentary, is there?” Kenny said.

  “Focus on one thing at a time,” Faye said.

  Donavon didn’t even bother to raise his head as he spoke. “Like making sure there’s not another funeral.”

  Verse XXIII.

  “Kendall and Chupa?”

  “No sign yet,” Zephyr said.

  Cy waved off the smoke blowing from Dugan’s cigarette. “Depending on how this mountain was cut, their side could’ve been longer.”

  “Or we could have been faster,” Zephyr added.

  “But the cliffs are just like we thought. It goes all the way around,” Cy said.

  Dugan breathed in a heavy breath, letting the smoke and nicotine work its way into his lungs. The Humvee was parked adjacent to the town square which was quiet, except for the light fall of rain. The crowd had dispersed, wisely deciding not to follow Dugan and his men. No one wanted to be caught between him and his prey.

  Across from the town square, the church waited like a whore who had already been paid. Ripe for the taking.

  “Your daughter’s pretty hot, Dugan.” Rojo covered his smile with one hand. “That why you kept her a secret?”

  Dugan didn’t answer.

  “She really come all this way just to kill you?”

  Dugan turned to him sharply. “Don’t ever mention my daughter in my presence, Rojo. You’re better off not knowing she exists.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Dugan. Just good to know you’re at least part human.”

  “Does the copter need a key?” Dugan asked.

  “Maybe for the door,” Zephyr said. “But there are other ways of opening those.”

  “It’s a commercial helicopter. Probably not a combat start like ours,” Cy said. “There’ll be a key.”

  “Cy, you take Rojo and find the pilot. I want that copter ready by the time we’re back out.”

  “What about the others? Kendall and Chupa?” Cy asked.

  Dugan blew out another plume of smoke. “They can find their way.”

  Cy and Rojo split off in opposite directions. Dugan wanted Zephyr close, and Oso wouldn’t have left if he had asked.

  The native approached hesitantly, his face grim. In his hand, his notebook.

  “We’re going in no matter what,” Dugan said. “I don’t need to read it.”

  Oso shook his head, handing Dugan the notepad. It read:

  that is not Takushkansh’kan

  Dugan stared at the words, droplets of water splattering the page. “He’s just a second Shaman that conjures nature at will?”

  Oso snatched the small spiral pad from Dugan, quickly writing.

  was but no longer Is

  “Come on, Oso, stop speaking in riddles! What? What is it you want me to know?”

  that is no man

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Why do you listen to this creep?” Zephyr asked.

  Dugan ignored him. “What did he say? The Shaman, when he … was no longer a man?”

  Zephyr rolled his eyes. He held his Vektor assault rifle toward the ground, fingers thrumming against it with anticipation.

  Dugan read as Oso continued writing, flipping pages with each new thought.

  at the precipice

  between heaven and earth

  a new god answers

  with

  Oso tapped at the page with his marker.

  “What?” Dugan pressed. Oso continued:

  Lamielke

  is create and destroy

  to us they are the same

  “Yeah, I remember,” Dugan said.

  “That’s like saying up and down are the same,” Zephyr said, reading over Dugan’s shoulder.

  “What’s the context? A new god answers with create or destroy?” Dugan pressed.

  Lamielke is an event

  “An event. So he answers with destruction?” Dugan dropped his cigarette in the street, the water here not near as heavy as the bottlenecked road in front of the police station and school. “He thinks he’s a god.”

  “And what, this tepui is his temple?” Zephyr asked.

  “Wait, Oso – you said he’s not a man. He’s not the only one who believes he’s a god, is he?”

  Oso met Dugan’s stare, not needing to write to answer.

  “A god couldn’t be stopped. Not by tranquilizers, no matter how strong the dosage. He’s a man, Oso. He may be godlike, but he’s no god.”

  Oso wrote quickly on his pad again.

  there are as many gods as stars in the sky

  “If that’s the case then you know they’re not special,” Dugan said. “And events? Events can be stopped.”

  “You sure you want Oso coming in with us?” Zephyr asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “These superstitions are going to kill us all.”

  “Are you okay with what we’re about to do to your god?” Dugan asked.

  Oso quickly wrote:

  create or destroy

  On the next page, he drew a large question mark.

  Dugan turned to face the church, anticipation now racing through his own skin. “I thought they were one and the same.”

  The door of the church crashed open, one of the hinges snapping as the plank of wood was shoved inward. Screams abated as Dugan followed Zephyr and Oso inside. The chapel was full of unwavering eyes, all focused on them.

  “Where are they?” Dugan growled. “Donde estan?”

  One of the men closest to the door, holding a filthy child coughing in his arms, pointed toward a curtain in the rear of the room. Mothers pulled their children back to create an open path for him and his men. Even they knew who he was, what he was capable of.

  A shame his daughter had never learned.

  Verse XXIV.

  Faye felt her breath catch when the outer
door to the church burst open, followed by the sound of men pushing through. Conversation hit like muffled gunfire from the neighboring room; though she couldn’t make out the words, there was no doubt her father and his men were coming.

  Water dripped from the open corner of the storage room, a light mist sprinkling down. Faye had thought to squeeze through the open gap, but crumbling blocks and damaged crates collapsing beneath her weight had kept her from a second attempt. She might have gotten out, but there was no way her broken group would have made it with her. Especially not with a body in tow.

  With the exception of the rain, there was a complete stillness in the room, each of those present as motionless as the decaying furniture or jumbled piles of broken crates and their contents. Even swallowing felt too obscene an act to carry out.

  Donavon’s head was bowed between his legs as he sat against the wall. Faye prayed he wouldn’t throw up again. They couldn’t afford the noise.

  She tightened her grasp on the thin coiled rebar they had found, the coolness of its touch sinking into her skin. What good it would do against men with guns – not just men, but highly trained killers – she didn’t want to think about.

  “Get me Shumway.”

  Dugan’s voice, so close, he had to be just out in the hall. Faye tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath her father’s presence caused.

  Sir William looked up at her with concern, the frail Indian’s head resting in his lap. Faye still wasn’t sure what they had seen out there in the rain, or what this man was, but she knew she had to keep him away from her father.

  Dugan’s voice came again. “And Josue, don’t make me ask again.”

  A gurgle broiled from Donavon’s insides. He massaged his stomach with one hand. Kenny stared at the back of the tapestry covering the room’s entrance as if it were a ghost. He too held a second piece of rebar, bent at its tip. His knuckles were white from holding it so tight.

  “Yes, what’s this about?” Then Father Shumway yelped loudly just outside their room in the hall, his cry like that of a high school girl.

  “No games,” Dugan said.

  The heavy tapestry was almost immediately pulled back. The large black man, who had first shot at the old Indian, stepped through. One of his hands encompassed Remmy’s, which was twisted around behind the priest’s back. In his other hand, the man held some kind of machine gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie.

  Her father stepped through after them, followed by the thicker native with long black hair.

  “So can we just skip past the part where we make threats and you act brave until we carry out those threats and people get hurt?” Dugan asked.

  “We’re in a church,” Faye said.

  “Very observant.” Dugan moved his hands as if parting the Red Sea. He expected them to obey.

  Faye stepped between her father and the unconscious native on the ground. She felt a weight with each pair of eyes that fell on her. It was her show now. Hers and her father’s. But the outcome was not as predetermined as he believed it to be.

  She held her steel beam out like a sword, ready to use it. “Say whatever you want, do whatever you need to, but we’re not letting you take this man. And by my count, we have you outnumbered.”

  “A drunk, a man who’s too sick to stand, and my daughter. Oh, and that coward over there in the corner.” Dugan looked at Kenny who seemed to wilt beneath his stare. “Hardly an army.”

  “You can’t have him,” Faye said.

  Dugan sighed. “I thought we were skipping past this part. Zephyr?”

  Father Shumway’s face went red, his eyes shooting open wide as an audible snap broke through the room. Like a branch being stepped on. The black man – Zephyr? – let go of the priest who fell to his knees, his right arm trailing his movement but swinging unnaturally behind. Within his thick robe, Faye couldn’t make out where the bone had snapped, but by the man’s cries she knew it was severe.

  Zephyr raised his machine gun to Kenny who immediately threw his piece of rebar back over his shoulder, hands going up. The steel bar rattled against the cement floor behind him.

  “To the corner! One hand on either wall!” Zephyr shouted.

  Kenny ducked his head and moved back, tripping over a fallen box on his way. The dark skinned Indian with long hair suddenly had a knife in either hand, without Faye ever having seen him move. She had no doubt he’d be just as fast at throwing them.

  “Just let them have him,” Donavon said, glancing up at her from where he sat against the wall.

  “Listen to your fiancé,” Dugan said.

  “He’s not my fiancé. You know nothing about me, don’t pretend to now. And don’t think for an instant I will give this man up.”

  “Sweetheart … you don’t have a choice.”

  Beneath her father’s mask of control, she realized how tired he looked. Despite the years, he was so much thinner than she remembered him.

  “There’s always a choice,” Faye said.

  “No, there’s not. You’ll learn as you get older. All those little decisions you thought you were making? They were made for you. By circumstance. And need. We’re just like any other animal. Reacting to what’s in front of us.”

  “Is that how you live with what you’ve done?”

  Her father smiled back at her. The frightened sound of Remmy’s pained breaths sent a chill through her body.

  “Time’s up.”

  Both of the men beside Dugan acted as one, the thick native rushing in and catching her strike as if the coiled steel had been made of plastic. He ripped it from her grasp, the rebar bouncing off the ground, then struck her in the sternum with a swift thrust of his open palm.

  Her breath immediately escaped.

  Zephyr shoved her to the side, drawing his weapon on Sir William. Faye toppled into Donavon who did his best to catch her.

  “Breathe. Breathe!” Donavon shouted.

  But shouting couldn’t open her airway.

  The thicker native bent over the body on the ground when a shriek broke through the air, unexpected and shrill.

  “Wait!”

  All motion came to a fevered halt.

  Faye gasped, air returning in a flood. She panted, each breath reassuring her she was okay. She was okay.

  Am I okay?

  The thick native crouched in front of her, both hands raised as if Sir William had a gun. Even Zephyr went still. But it wasn’t a gun the Englishman had in his hand – it was the rebar Faye had dropped. Its jagged end hovered less than an inch above the old native’s bare neck.

  “I’ll kill him,” Sir William said. “If you don’t back away this instant.”

  The slow beat of the native’s heart was visible beneath his thin layer of skin, his medallions and necklaces hanging askew.

  “Easy, Frederick,” Dugan said.

  “I mean it!”

  The thick native rose to a standing position, backing a few feet away. Zephyr, Faye noticed, hadn’t budged.

  Neither had his gun.

  “Stay in the corner!”

  Kenny quaked as Dugan turned back around.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing or who this man even is. Just drop the piece of steel and we’ll leave with him, peacefully. No one needs to get hurt.”

  Sir William stared up at Dugan with wide, bloodshot eyes. His face was flushed, but there was a harshness to him Faye had never seen before. “I want your men to leave, and then the rest of you can go. You and I, Dugan, need to talk.”

  “Dugan, please,” Remmy said. “No more violence.”

  Her father glanced between Sir William and the native on the ground.

  “I know why you want him. Who you think he is.”

  Dugan’s face immediately changed. “What do you know?”

  “That he’s more dangerous than you could ever imagine.”

  “Who is he?” Faye said.

  “Who sent you?” Dugan asked, ignoring Faye.

  “It’s not the first t
ime, you know, something like this has come. Attempts have been made throughout history, but there have always been Watchers waiting for the signs. Preparing. To prevent the end.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I’m one of the last. Most have … fallen away. No longer believe.”

  “What is he?” Faye asked.

  “A destroyer of worlds,” Sir William said, looking at Faye.

  She felt she barely recognized him – the drunkard had fled, replaced with a man who looked almost regal. Even Zephyr now took a step back.

  Sir William returned his gaze to Dugan. “He’s not what you think he is. Please, send everyone out and let’s talk.”

  Dugan drew a black pistol from his side, raising it at the old man. Sir William sprung, snatching at Faye and pulling her away from Donavon. She landed partly on the old native who rustled beneath her weight.

  Sir William dragged her back, now holding the sharp edge of the rebar to her throat.

  “Your only daughter,” he said. “As a father, I know I would have given anything for my own.”

  Faye struggled beneath the man’s grip, his arm bent around her throat in a vicious headlock. She wanted to tell him, to make him understand … he was wrong.

  Dugan wouldn’t stop to save her.

  A voice suddenly shouted from behind the tapestry. “The police are on their way!”

  Grey!

  Faye’s heart leapt at his voice; she had forgotten they had left him behind. The more frightening consideration was whether involving the police would help, or make things worse.

  “I only want to talk, Dugan. You need to hear what I have to say. The world could depend on it.”

  “Frederick,” Faye said, her breath barely squeaking out.

  “You were better off when that was pointing at the Shaman,” Dugan said.

  Faye’s breath caught like a ratchet stuck between cogs.

  “No!”

  The deafening roar of the gunshot swallowed her words.

  Blood splattered against her face. The piece of steel held at her throat fell to the ground, clanking in response to the gun’s echo, and then the arm around her loosened as the man it was attached to slumped backward.

  He hit with a sickening thud.

  Everything seemed to happen at once – Dugan’s cronies rushing toward her, the beefy native lifting the man they called the Shaman; Grey slipping through the doorway behind the tapestry, eyes wide, calling her name; the Priest rushing her father in a heightened frenzy, Dugan pistol-whipping him across the face, Remmy crumpling to the floor; Donavon huddled against the wall, arms wrapped over his knees like a toddler in time-out.