“Now I need to play the fool, let Jones think I’m still the same stupid kid that showed up at his compound.” He noticed for the first time an aching pressure in his bladder. “Sorry, but I’ve really got to piss. Hold on.” Amadeus stepped off the path and started looking for a nice tree to stand behind. He couldn’t pee within sight of Laroux. He selected a downed tree that would provide him some privacy. He put his butt on the tree and swung his legs over. Just before he planted his feet on the other side a monkey screeched.
Amadeus froze. A chill ran up his spine like a whisper. He looked down at the ground. Inches below his right foot was a rusty metal canister, partially covered in leaves. A little spur stuck up from it. Amadeus gasped. He had almost stepped on a landmine. He felt a little stream piss drip down his leg.
He flung his legs back over the tree, scrutinizing every place his feet would land. On the other, hopefully safer side of the tree, he unzipped. As the remaining urine flowed out, relief and gratitude flowed in. He had been lucky. He thanked the monkey for its warning as he returned to the road. There he told Laroux what he saw.
“I should have warned you. Most are gone, rusty, but the damn things are still around,” Laroux said, his voice nonchalant, as if he were talking about a squirrel infestation.
41
They trekked through a green tunnel of jungle. To Amadeus, everything looked the same, but Laroux seemed to know where he was going, and Amadeus followed without question. The image of his foot, hovering inches over the landmine, replayed over and over in his mind. He had seen people in Siem Reap, mostly older men, on crutches and in wheelchairs. Some were scarred by burns, others missing arms, legs, or hands. He hadn’t understood why. Now, though, he knew. He had almost joined their mutilated ranks. That thought, for some reason, seemed more terrifying than being gunned down by his pursuers. At least there the victim-assailant relationship was clear. But with landmines, the assailant had intended only to destroy some anonymous, future, and likely innocent victim. And for what reason?
The destroyers had staked their claim, here the Khmer Rouge, out there Maximilian Ross. They were the same: they wanted to create their own idea of a utopia, the costs be damned. The difference was that the ambitions of the Khmer Rouge were limited to a small but still tragically large area. Ross wanted to recreate the whole of the world. Most terrifying, he had the tools and resources to do it. All because of some twisted ideology.
“We’re almost there,” Laroux said.
“Why landmines?” Amadeus asked.
“Fear.Control. Terror,” Laroux said. “Heartless and bloody, those people were. Unfit to be called human beings. Monsters. They’re mostly dead now. But are they all to blame? I don’t think so. They were mostly poor, uneducated country people. They did what they were told. But you know the worst part?”
Amadeus shook his head.
“They never saw any answers, anything like a truth and reconciliation committee. A few people were put on trial, but you could never try everyone involved. The people you see in town, the ones with the scars, they are the visual reminders of the insanity of bad things that happened even before they were born. I came here hoping to help heal this country. I believe you cannot heal without forgiveness, but here people only want to forget. Who am I to say what is right, what is wrong? I am just a foreigner here, an outsider. I do my little works, and I see that it helps, and that is enough.”
Laroux sat down on a log and lit a cigarette.
“One day, Amadeus, this will be a wonderful country. In so many ways, it already is.” He flicked some ash behind him. “Have you ever been to a Buddhist temple?”
“On a school trip, once,” Amadeus said, “but it was in upstate New York. It probably doesn’t count.”
“Of course it counts, but this one will be unlike anything you have ever seen. We are almost there, maybe another hour or so. When we get there, just remember to take your shoes off.”
“Got it,” Amadeus said. “Shoes off.”
*
The day grew late, the jungle around them a little darker. The air smelled faintly like jasmine. Finally, in the distance, Amadeus saw the faded gold spire of the hermitage rose out of the trees like a jousting lance. The hermitage had a gold frame and white plaster walls and was no bigger than a taco stand. On the porch sat a bronze cauldron that held several sticks of burning incense, the source of the jasmine smell. In the center of the temple, on a wooden platform, a seated gold Bodhisattva held a lotus flower in the left hand. His right hand was raised, palm out. Vines climbed up the outside walls of the temple like clutching fingers.
Nearby, a little house, built in the style of the temple. Facing the house, Laroux called something in Khmer. The door opened, and a man in an orange robe stepped out. His head was shaved and his shoulders a little stooped. When he smiled at Laroux, he flashed a mouthful of yellow but intact teeth. Then he put his hands together as if in prayer and gave them each a little bow. Laroux returned the bow and nodded for Amadeus to do the same.
“This is Rithipol,” Laroux said. “He is caretaker of this temple. He doesn’t have much English, but he tells me my Khmer is passable, even if I sound like an injured duck.” Laroux then said something in Khmer to the monk. Rithipol smiled then put his hands under his armpits, making like he had wings, and said, “Quack, quack.”
Everyone laughed, and they went inside, where Rithipol served them vegetables, rice, and two big green coconuts he hacked open with a machete. Laroux and Rithipol chatted for few moments. Laroux told Amadeus he was explaining their situation. “He said you can stay here and be a monk, if you wish,” Laroux said. Rithipol made a buzzing sound, pointed at Amadeus, and ran an invisible electric shaver over his head. “He also says we can stay as long as we need. And that after we eat he wants to show us something.”
“I appreciate the offer, but enlightenment will have to wait. I don’t have much time,” Amadeus said.
“You’ll have even less if these people, whoever they are, catch up with you.”
“Suppose you’re right,” Amadeus said. “But if we can get to the Pachyderm, we can get out of here, no problem. All I have to do now is get my friends out of the Jones compound, figure out how the demon gates work, and stop Ross from ending the iron age. Easy stuff, right?”
Laroux smirked then spoke to Rithipol.
“He says he saw the New York monster on television and he is pleased to meat a demon-killer.”
“Tell him I haven’t killed any yet, but I’m working on it.”
Laroux did, nodding as he listened to Rithipol’s answer. “He says he thinks you’re a smart boy, even if you don’t speak Khmer, and that he thinks you can. But you must believe you can.” Rithipol spoke a little more. “He sees you’re very nervous and have a lot of worry. Your mind, your fear, and your doubts, he says, are the only things holding you back. Seems cliché coming from a Buddhist monk, doesn’t it? But he’s right, Amadeus. Only you can stop this.”
Something in Amadeus’ stomach twisted and turned, a slithering Chinese dragon beating against the lining, trying to gnaw its way out. Outside, monkeys shared their secret knowledge about the coming night. Rithipol said something else.
“He wants to know the last time you watched the news,” Laroux said.
“A couple days. There’s a television here?”
“He says normally only uses it to watch soccer, but there’s news we must see.” Laroux spoke a little more. “But he wanted us to eat before we saw it. He won’t tell me what.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Amadeus nodded at the monk. He had a feeling that whatever he was about to see would be bad. Terrible. The monk slid open a rice–paper door, revealing a water–buffalo–sized television.
“Hi-def,” Rithipol said. He turned the television on and flipped through several channels of Khmer karaoke before stopping on the first news channel he came to. On the screen, images of a burning city, military trucks, and overweight citizens hefting guns over their heads. Then it flas
hed over to footage of not one but several demons. They looked like the one from New York as they stalked through the city, far from the camera, turning over cars and knocking over lamp posts. The footage jumped to a convoy of three desert-brown humvees and a tank firing on a group of four demons. They ran towards the convoy. One dropped, another staggered then fell, but the two that reached the convoy pounced on the humvees. The soldiers retreated to surrounding alleys, firing as they ran. The tank turned and shot a round into one only meters away, splattering demon goo against a building.
The cameraman ran backwards. The image jumped and jerked, but he kept it focused on the one remaining demon as it tore the humvees apart like a kitten mangling a roll of toilet paper. All the time, voices had been talking over this, but they weren’t in English.
“Can we get an English channel?” Amadeus said. “Where is this?” Rithipol nodded and flipped to the BBC.
“America. Huntington, West Virginia,” Rithipol said. He nodded to the screen.
“…and the destruction is widespread. Military sources tell us they estimate the number of creatures still alive at ten, though these numbers are unconfirmed. So far the military reports they have killed nine of them, including the four shown on the dramatic footage released by the local channel WSAZ. One Huntington resident told reporters they had seen a group of four crawling out of the Ohio River.
“Though citizens were warned to stay in their house, a large number have formed vigilante groups and are working with the military. Our military source said, and I quote, ‘we need all the help we can get.’”
“Now we’re going to switch over to a live feed from cameras atop the county courthouse and another building.” The screen split into two images showing the small city from high above. Several demons ambled along the avenue, knocking over lamp posts and street lights. In the side streets and alleys, groups of civilians, soldiers, and military trucks waited for their chance to shoot.
Outside the little house with the big television, Amadeus heard a helicopter flying overhead. The whooping sound grew louder before fading out.
“We haven’t received any definitive casualty reports yet. Initial estimates are in the dozens, though as you can see this is far from over.” The anchor put her hand up to her ear and listened. “I have just received word that the U.S. Air Force has deployed drones.” She pressed her ear again. “Okay, I’ve just told that approximately five more demons have emerged from the river…uh, okay, right. The local news has a live feed. We’re switching now.”
A reporter stood on the bridge. He wore a flak jacket and spoke with a twang. “They’re coming out of the river, over there.” He pointed. “Larry, zoom in on that.” The camera refocused and showed a demon with its back legs in the water. It stepped out onto the boat ramp and shook itself, just like a wet dog. Then it screamed and took off running towards the city center. The howl made the speakers on the television distort. Amadeus put his head in his hands. He didn’t want to watch any more, but he knew he needed to watch, to see what he was facing, what only he could stop. The dragon in his stomach tried even harder to escape. He took several deep breaths to calm himself.
At first, all three of them had watched the images with looks of horror on their face, but Rithipol had got up from the wooden floor and busied himself by removing and washing their unfinished dishes.
“Tomorrow. You have to go back tomorrow,” Laroux said.
“I know.”
“But there’s a problem,” Laroux said. He spoke to Rithipol more. “He says the police are looking for two art thieves accused of killing three guards and two drivers. Rithipol tells me the police think it was us. They are using search helicopters.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Amadeus said.
*
Amadeus didn’t sleep that night, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. His body felt as if he had been thrown down the steep stone stairs of the big temple he had just visited. His mind raced through all the scenarios, possibilities and uncertainties. He cried some, too. Eventually he fell asleep. Rithipol woke them before dawn and gave them little plastic bags of cooked rice and vegetables for their journey.
“Good luck,” Rithipol said in English. He stood on the porch of his little jungle house and watched them as they set off down the path into the forest. The trail eventually turned into a dirt road. They followed this. After sunrise, they twice heard the helicopters flying overhead. Both times they ducked under the thick green canopy of trees. Amadeus scrutinized every inch of ground before taking steps. As they walked, Amadeus described where he had landed and the road he had ridden to town on. Laroux said he knew where they needed to go. After a while, Amadeus heard cars in the distance. The wind blew. A dust cloud rose up on the road. Again they stepped off the road and watched as the vehicles, two trucks drove by. Amadeus shuddered when he saw police logos on the side.
“They know we’re in this area,” Laroux said. “Maybe they are using satellites. Maybe Jones told them where we are. Who knows?”
After another hour of walking, they came to a paved road lined with houses. The houses were wood-sided shacks on stilts with little wooden ramps or stairs leading up to the front door. Looking up and down, Amadeus recognized this as the outer area of O Ta Yu. Now they were close. He could feel unseen eyes watching him. He wondered if these people had heard about the murdering, art-thieving foreigners. He wished for a hat to pull down over his face, to provide cover not only from their eyes but from the beating, draining sun. His shirt was drenched in sweat, his entire body felt slimy and sticky from sweat, humidity, and fear. They came to a fork in the road. The road in both directions looked the same as the one before. Laroux asked which way they should go. Amadeus shrugged.
“Are we on the west or east side?”
“East, I think,” Laroux said.
“Then we go left,” Amadeus said. They started down the road. Here was more traffic, mostly motorcycles and the occasional tuktuk. Whenever they heard a car or truck or helicopter, they would step off the road and stand under a house. The shade felt good, though some smelled like rancid eggs. Twice, women came out of their house and looked at them, but they never told them to leave. They only looked at them with unknowable expressions.
Soon the houses gave way to jungle. Amadeus knew they were getting close, he remembered this stretch of road from his ride with Sal. The helicopters came more frequently. They spent more and more time hunkering and hiding. Finally, just before he thought he would collapse from the heat, Amadeus found the notch he had made in the tree. A well-worn footpath ran straight into the jungle, inviting, regal like a red carpet.
“This is it,” Amadeus said, hearing vehicles and helicopters coming from all sides. In the distance, he could see vehicles came fast, taking up both lanes of the road. Amadeus’ body was frozen fast in place. His heart raced faster than a moto. Laroux ducked into the woods. Amadeus followed.
“How far?” Laroux said.
“Maybe two kilometers,” Amadeus said. Laroux nodded and began to run. Amadeus took the lead, afraid Laroux would take a wrong turn.
From the road, the whine of the engines grew louder. Overhead, two helicopters were hovering, watching, searching. Even with the distance between them and the road, Amadeus heard shouting, orders being barked, men getting ready for the hunt, soldiers deployed. Amadeus’ feet flopped and plodded as he ran. He knew the path was safe, but he watched his steps anyway, as if another landmine would appear from nowhere. Amadeus looked over his shoulder. Laroux trailed close behind him. Even farther back along the straight path, the thick green forest walls shivered. The police or army or whoever were close behind.
The roar of revving motorcycles ripped through the jungle. Ahead, he found another of his marks. He had made four. Laroux stumbled. The motorcycles drew closer. They came to the shallow creek, water splashing up as they ran through the water. A tree on the opposite side bore another mark. After the creek, the path was narrower. Tree roots as big as oil drums covered the ground.
Amadeus hopped from one tree root to another. The motorcycles were in the creek. Amadeus hoped the roots would slow them down.
They raced through the green tunnel of the path. Some shots sounded, but they seemed far away. The motorcycles became louder and louder, but they no longer sounded like motorcycles. The sound was a deep whoop whoop whoop. Amadeus looked up through the leafy canopy. A helicopter passed overhead
“Those,” Laroux yelled, “are Apaches, old American military equipment. They have guns. Big guns.”
“Is that what we heard?” Amadeus said.
“Probably,” Laroux said. “How far?”
“Less than one kilometer?” Amadeus said. Ahead the trail ended and opened up into a rice paddy, knee deep with water. He hadn’t noticed the water before, as he had arrived during a monsoon. A water buffalo stood in the field, watching them with uncurious eyes.
“Across that field and to the right.”
“I will stay behind you,” Laroux said, scanning the sky.
They sloshed through, running as fast as they could. The silt floor of the paddy was slippery, squishy underfoot. Just as they passed the water buffalo, three motorcycles onto the narrow strip of high ground that separated one paddy from another. Amadeus looked over his shoulder.
The one in front crashed. Trying to avoid this one, the other two swerved and became bogged down in the muck. The two stuck drivers pulled their guns and fired. Bullets splashed into water around them. Laroux stumbled and cried out. Amadeus helped him to his feet. More gunshots. They ran. The drivers chased. The helicopters made a fast, wide arc around the field, faced them, and opened fire. A line of water flew up like a fountain.
They were almost across when something tore through the back of Amadeus shirt. He didn’t feel anything, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have stopped. He had only one thought in his mind: forward motion. Nothing else mattered. Only running. Escaping. Getting to the Pachyderm and flying away from this nightmare.
The other side.The last marker. Back into the jungle. Burning lungs. Leaf-covered path. Landmines here. Gunshots. A screaming monkey. Sweat-covered body. Hands slick. Laroux wheezing, coughing, but keeping up, a trooper’s trooper.
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