William buried his face against her and started wailing.
—
Xibalba. That’s what the sign outside had said. And now she knew, without a translation, what the word meant.
It meant hell.
The room was part of a cave, or had been crudely carved out of one. It was roughly circular with another door (the door back to the house, she imagined) and still another tunnel leading into darkness. And all around the sides a ledge had been carved into the rock, and on that ledge were dozens, maybe tens of dozens, of human heads. In various stages of decomposition, from skulls to one that she immediately recognized as the man El Varón had captured and dragged into the basement the day before.
William whimpered. He was shaking so hard it felt like he was having a seizure.
In the center of the room stood a giant, upright stone slab. It looked ancient Mayan, and probably was. A stele—the word came back to her from a Mayan site Mantu had taken them to. Carved into it was an image that made her blood freeze—a half-bat, half-human creature, arms extended as if dancing, its hideous face leering, the nose a stunted snout, fangs curling from its mouth. From its arms stretched pointed wings. A nagual.
Whoever had hewn that into stone had to have been insane.
In front of the stele was a large concave rock, the inside bowl stained black. Ellen didn’t need to guess what it was used for—the empty-eyed heads around the room made that perfectly clear.
William moaned against her. She squeezed him tightly. “Shh. Don’t look. You don’t have to see this.”
His voice was barely a whisper. “I told you. I told you we shouldn’t be here.”
“We can get out through here. There’s a tunnel. That has to be the way.”
The smell was horrific. Ellen covered her nose, but even breathing through her mouth felt toxic, and she gagged again. Keep it together for him. It’s your turn to be strong because if you’re not he will never recover from this.
“Hold on to me. Don’t let go. Stay close.”
The bat thing seemed to shift and move in the shadows. She felt as if all of the severed heads were gazing at her as she crossed the room. All of those people—dragged down here and decapitated in front of that gruesome idol. The last thing they saw was the fanged grin above them before the blade came down. Maybe that was how El Varón could shift like he did—by offering blood sacrifices to his ancient god. Nothing seemed too crazy to believe anymore. Monsters were real, and hell was a literal place occupied by the silent open mouths and sightless eyes of the dead.
The rocky floor was covered in something that felt soft. And she again remembered the floor of the market in one of the smaller towns outside of Guatemala City, next to gutted pig carcasses stacked like cordwood. The entire floor had been like a giant scab, layers upon layers of blood hardened into a black carpet.
“Almost there.” She looked into the tunnel. It was a natural cave, with no lighting, and a dozen feet into it was nothing but blackness. They’d be walking along blind. There was a very slight, cool breeze coming from inside. That had to be good. Moving air meant there had to be a way out at the other end. But it wasn’t like they had any other choice.
“Okay,” she said. “You can open your eyes now. Just don’t look back.”
William opened his eyes. Blinked. He looked like he was in shock. For a moment the shadows under his eyes made her think of the leering sockets of the skulls along the wall, and her breath caught in her throat. “It’s dark in there,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“I know. But it’s the way out. We’ll just have to be careful. I’ll go in front, and you hold on to my shirt, okay? Don’t let go no matter what.”
“Okay,” he said. His hand gripped the fabric tightly.
The floor was rough and strewn with rocks, so Ellen inched her way along, step by step, waving her left arm out in front of her like a blindfolded kid playing pin the tail on the donkey, her right hand tightly clutching El Varón’s diamond-studded pistol. She’d gone to a cave once, near Skyline Drive, on a class trip with William. Halfway through the tour the pimply tour guide had turned off the lights and then shut off his flashlight. Just for a minute, at most. But in that brief time she had started to see things. And it was happening now. Little spots of light. Weird Mayan hieroglyphs. Lattices and spirals. And the leering face of that ancient bat thing, as if it were painted on her eyeballs.
It was hard to tell how far they’d gone, or whether they were even moving in the right direction. But they had to keep moving. There was no other option.
“What if we can’t find our way out?” William whispered.
He had picked up on her thoughts again. “We have to. Costanza said people come and go this way. So if they can do it, we can do it.” Of course those people had flashlights. And knew where they were going. If this was a natural cave system, it could have all sorts of dead ends. Steve had gone caving a few times in high school, but she’d refused to join him. Blackwater was riddled with caverns, but the thought of crawling in the mud underground had been about as appealing as going deer hunting in the middle of December.
She stumbled. And would have fallen had William not held on to her. Her hand found something solid. A wall. “I think this is the side of the cave. That’s good. We can follow it.”
William started crying. Softly, but in tiny, choked sobs. He was trying to hide it from her.
“It’s okay, baby. We just need to keep moving.”
He sniffed. “Did he…do anything to you?”
How could she answer that? “No. He scratched me, but that’s all.” Did William even understand the concept of rape? He was a smart kid and knew a lot more than he let on. “He didn’t do anything bad to me, if that’s what you’re asking. I put those pills in his drink. It knocked him out cold.”
He was silent. “Good.”
“Don’t worry about what happened. It’s over. He’s sick or maybe even dead. And we’re going to keep going until we see light. And then we’re going straight to the police. And then back home. And I mean home. No more of this. No running, no hiding. All of this is going to be over.”
From far behind them came a man’s laughter.
Chapter Nine
Ray had woken up to bright sun in his face. He’d been dreaming of Ellen, his mind replaying the scene with her and Santa Muerte over and over. He was still groggy as hell, and the pain in his mangled hand was worse. He sat up and a wave of vertigo made his world spin and his eyes waggle in his head.
“Whoa, Chief,” Mantu said. “You should lie back down.”
Ray stared out the window. “I can’t sleep anymore. The pain’s too bad.”
“Take another pill,” Mantu said.
“No,” Ray said. “I need to stay sharp. How much longer, anyway?”
Mantu looked at his watch. “Three, maybe four hours, tops, until we get to the town. Depends on the roads. The rain didn’t help. But when we get close, we need to go on foot.”
“I’m not looking forward to that.”
“You lost a lot of blood. You need to take it easy until then.”
Ray watched the land roll by outside. The endless rows of farms had changed to deep green jungle. It was hotter now, too, and the air conditioner was barely cooling the van down. “You said you were going to explain what those lights were. The ones we saw on the way to Sabina’s.”
Mantu nodded. “The green lights we saw in the sky? Most likely Sabina and one of her witchy friends.”
Ray stared.
“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn’t be surprised by this shit anymore. Naguales can take that form. Sometimes literally—their bodies change form—and sometimes just their spirit goes out like that while their body lies unconscious.”
Ray sighed. “I so wish I could go back to not believing in crazy stuff anymore—flying witches and bloodsucking mechanical bugs.”
Mantu glanced at his bandaged hand. “Good luck with that.”
A bank of gray clouds had
formed in the west, cutting the sky in half. The roads were in terrible shape already, but another storm might make them impassable. “I guess the Brotherhood is after us by now.”
Mantu shrugged. “It’s likely. They’re not stupid. They probably guessed where we’re headed. I only hope they got sidetracked following the Jesus bus. I worry more about the remote viewers, though. Jeremy probably has them working around the clock.”
“What’s going to happen to you? If we make it out of this?”
“That’s a big if. But I can’t go back to them, if that’s what you’re asking. That bridge is burned, my friend.”
“So what will you do? You’re cut off from your livelihood. Your money, your identity. You know they’ll be looking for you.”
“I hear Brazil is nice, and the ladies…well, you know what they say about them. Maybe I could be a fisherman. I always thought that would be a good way to live. Bottle of rum, sitting on a boat watching the sun rise, smoking a nice spliff and waiting for a fish to bite. Just me and my girlfriend and the sea until I get old and die. Doesn’t sound bad at all.”
“I didn’t know you fished.”
Mantu shook his head. “I don’t. Never have.”
Ray smiled. It was good to have dreams, even if you were heading into what could very well be the final hours of your life.
“I’ll miss it, though,” Mantu said. “I had purpose. And I learned so much. But it isn’t the same without Micah. Jeremy is different. Something changed after he went to that dig. I just don’t trust him anymore. It’s subtle, and I’m not really psychic at all compared to most of those cats, but it was like a dark cloud moved over Eleusis and didn’t go away.” He grew quiet. “But fuck it. Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“So maybe you’ll let me in on what’s going on in that head of yours.” Ray had moved into the passenger seat after waking up, but Mantu had rebuffed his attempts at conversation for an hour. “Your brain cells have been burning since I woke up. I can smell the smoke. What are you thinking?”
“I’m still figuring out our game plan.”
Ray sighed. “Well, figure it out fast, okay?”
Mantu dismissed him with a wave. “There’s a little town where we can get out and start walking. Money talks with these poor-ass campesinos, so I’m pretty sure we can get a local to show us a back way to the man’s place.”
“And then what?”
“Well, we’re eventually going to have to sweet-talk our way inside or end up bleeding out in a ditch or hanging from a telephone pole.”
“And you’re still working that out, too.”
Mantu reached behind his seat and grabbed his backpack. “I have one part of it figured out.” He reached in and pulled out a stack of bills. Hundred-dollar bills this time. A bag full of them. “One thing these bastards understand is money.”
Ray stared. “Jesus Christ, man, how much money did you steal from the Brotherhood?”
“I didn’t count it, and they’ll never miss it. It’s pretty standard protocol to carry a lot for bribes—it’s worth any amount to avoid blowing cover and getting heat on the organization. I figured we might need a lot. Especially if it turns out I’m not good at catching fish.”
“So you think that will get us inside?”
“It’s worth a shot. I can pass for a guy who might run a big coke and heroin operation in Philly, don’t you think?”
Ray nodded. “I guess so. Sure. You’re pretty scary looking.”
Mantu glared. “You racist motherfucker.”
Ray laughed. It felt good, despite the pain shooting up his arm. “And I’ll be your cracker sidekick. Robin to your ghetto Batman. You can do all the talking.”
“You think I’d let you do the talking? You wouldn’t know cocaine from baby powder.”
“Just put the pedal to the metal, Crackie.”
Mantu gave him the finger.
—
Steve cleaned his pistol as the convoy rolled through the jungle night. It felt good to go through the process again, and to hold the cold metal in his hands, working through the steps. Little routines like that had kept him sane.
Most of the soldiers around him were dozing. He’d learned long ago how important it was to catch every opportunity for shut-eye, but he couldn’t sleep knowing how close they were getting. This mounting tension—rising levels of adrenaline and cortisol, his shrink had explained—was something the meds were supposed to fix. But now it felt oddly soothing. Maybe he was cut out to be a warrior, as many of the guys used to say, more themselves in combat gear sweating in the middle of the desert than sitting in an air-conditioned office being yelled at by some punk fresh out of business school. Of course a lot of them wound up far worse off than he had been, and more than a few had put bullets through their heads.
He pushed the bore brush in and out of the barrel.
Even in Afghanistan he’d rarely been part of such a large mission, and the firepower this crew was packing was enough to level an entire city block. Lily’s organization was in many ways better equipped and trained than Uncle Sam’s, and that shook his understanding of how the world worked.
Who was he fighting for now? He had no idea.
But it didn’t matter. There would be time to ask those questions when Ellen and William were safe. Ellen might not want to go back with him—and he couldn’t really blame her, after his behavior—but she’d have to forgive a lot of that craziness, wouldn’t she? And he’d have another chance with William. To raise the boy up right. To show him that when you’re brave, and committed, nothing can stop you from getting what you want.
The boy had been scared of him at times, but now he’d understand what trauma could do to a person. Once they were back home, their lives would be different.
But home—where would that be? From the things he’d been hearing over the past few days, the world was not the same anymore. Everything was changing. Not only weren’t there any more rules, but the chessboard had been flipped upside down, scattering the pieces. And then set on fire.
He reassembled the pistol. First things first. After it was over, Lily would help them find some normalcy again. She’d promised.
He believed her. He owed her that much.
—
Ellen stopped. From behind her came a flashlight beam. Two beams, crisscrossing. William’s fingers tightened around her wrist and his fingernails dug into her skin. “Shh,” she whispered. “Keep moving.”
The pistol clanked against something metal.
Ellen felt with her free hand. Oh, God. Bars. Her fingers slipped over the cold metal. More bars. And worse—a heavy padlock.
“What is it, Mom?” William whispered, panic creeping into his voice.
She pulled El Varón’s keys out of her pocket. There were so many of them, and it was pitch black. Her hands were shaking as she chose one and fumbled for the padlock. “You need to let go of my arm, William,” she whispered. “Hold on to my shirt again.”
He let go. She tried to insert the key. Wrong one. The key ring slipped from her hands and clanged on the floor.
“Ellen.” El Varón’s voice. The flashlight beams played upon the cavern walls, then splashed across her eyes, blinding her. The light was searing and colors danced in jagged streaks around her. “There’s nowhere to go, Ellen.” She blinked. The flashlight beams pinned her and William to the locked gate. William was hyperventilating. She held out the gun, pointing it at the source of the light.
“Put the gun down, please.” The flashlight beams bobbed as he approached. There was at least one other person with him. She bent and found the key ring on the ground, picked it up, and felt for another. There must have been a dozen keys. Turning toward the bars and holding the padlock in the hand with the gun, she tried another. It went in, but not all the way. Dammit. To have gotten so close, only to be stopped by a stupid locked gate. The lights pinned them again. She looked down. William was cowering beside her, both fists wrapped in her shirt. The gate didn’t extend all the
way to the ground. There was an opening, maybe ten inches. She bent to William’s ear. “Go under. Go.”
His breathing turned into a whimper. “No.”
“You’ve got to. Go on.”
The flashlight beam blasted into her face. She held up her hand and aimed the pistol at its source. Might as well just aim and shoot. What did she have to lose?
She heard two distinct clicks. “I wouldn’t do that, Ellen.” El Varón’s tone had grown somber. “We have two guns, one pointed at you and one at the boy. If you shoot, you might hit one of us—but both of you will die.”
She cursed under her breath. Tears ran from her eyes. William was breathing so heavily it seemed like he was going to pass out.
“Put the gun down and we won’t hurt you.” Footsteps of the two men echoed. They were moving the flashlight beams erratically to confuse and blind her. What a horrible ending to all of this. Spotlighted like a couple of deer. She could still shoot. Take a chance. Maybe take one of them out, if she got lucky. And then what? Die gunned down with her son, bleeding to death in a literal underground hell? Would that be any worse than what El Varón would have in store for them now? Would a quick death now be worse than what might happen in that nightmare room of severed heads and an ancient carved demon?
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
“Put the gun down. Come back with me. I promise not to hurt you or the boy. All will be forgiven.”
“Liar,” she whispered.
The flashlight beams converged on William’s face. His eyes were closed and tears had tracked through dirt down his cheeks. His face was drawn in anguish, his chest heaving, snot running out of both nostrils.
“Put it down now, Ellen. For his sake.”
She put the gun down on the rocky floor. The clink of metal against stone echoed. It sounded like the end.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to William. She pulled him to her chest. “So, so sorry.”
—
“That’s the town,” Mantu said. “Let’s stop at that little restaurant.”
Ray had sweated through his clothes. His hand throbbed agonizingly with every heartbeat. It was the middle of the afternoon and Mantu had stopped only once in the past three hours to relieve himself in the bushes.
Witch Lights Page 16
