John navigated them along the trail, and it eventually met up with an old highway that weaved northward through the mountains. Its asphalt was severely cracked and completely disintegrated in some places, the handiwork of plants that had fought their way through it over the years. He felt akin to those plants, fighting hard to break through the barriers so he could live the life he wanted.
They continued along the path, passing a lone, anxious sheep herdsman along the way. He didn’t make eye contact with the strange travelers. John wondered what he was anxious about, but didn’t think twice about it.
The next day’s journey had them approaching a narrow stretch with eroded cliffs abutting it for a few hundred yards. John looked up either side. It appeared safe. He didn’t normally like such tight spots, but it had been a quiet journey so far. They stopped for a rest on the road. Hog shook his head as he took off his moccasins and put his feet up.
“Wish I had the old walker cart… It would come in handy right about now,” he grumbled, massaging his calves.
Carlos nodded. He had been quiet almost the whole time. He was usually quiet, but exceptionally so on this trip. John wondered if he was worried about his mom, but was waiting for the right moment to ask.
“I don’t mind the walk, as long as we don’t find that herd,” John said.
“Amen!” Hog said.
As the two laughed, some small rocks tumbled down from the cliff side beside them. They fell silent and peered up. After a minute of looking and listening carefully, Hog whispered to John, “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” John whispered back. Neither were particularly jumpy men but something had dislodged those rocks.
“It’s probably nothing,” Carlos murmured. “You guys are just scared.”
Hog snorted. “Don’t listen to him, John, you should’ve seen Carlos in that last bind we were in!” He laughed out loud, cutting through the silence.
“Oh yeah? I’m all ears,” John said, smiling and relaxing a little.
“It’ll take awhile.” Hog stood up and dusted himself off. “Well, this walk won’t finish itself. You think we can get our hands on a cart somewhere?”
“You have anything to trade?” John asked.
“Carlos,” Hog replied.
“I’m not sure he’ll fetch much,” John chuckled.
“My value is going down every day!” Carlos smiled weakly.
Their banter was interrupted by a whistle on the cliff sides above them. They froze. That wasn’t a bird and they knew it.
John’s heart was thumping in his chest. For a moment, he considered this might be some practical joke by Tock. He would kill him if it was, but he really hoped that was all it was.
Out of nowhere, a melon-sized object dropped down from above, landing with a thud and rolling to a stop right in the middle of them.
“Get down!” Hog yelled. They dove to the ground, pressing themselves tightly against the cliff walls, their bodies tensed for an explosion. Nothing happened.
John cautiously rolled over to look at the thing. He scrambled up when he realized it was a severed biter head. Intact but somewhat battered from its descent, it was laying on its side, looking right at John and slowly moving its decrepit jaws.
“Let’s go!” John cried. He grabbed his hatchet. Hog was scrambling as well. Carlos stood up but did not move. All of a sudden they heard a loud voice behind them.
“Freeze!”
They turned and saw eight large white men blocking the road, pointing guns right at them. Academy soldiers. Before John and Hog had a chance to figure out what was going on, four more armed men moved in to block the road from the other direction.
“Which one of you is John?” one asked. John raised his hand. Two of the soldiers grabbed him and bound his arms firmly to his sides, tying his hands together at the wrists. They simply kept Hog at gunpoint.
“You the snitch?” the leader asked Carlos. Carlos’ face went crimson, and he looked away but nodded.
“What?” Hog stammered.
John just stared at Carlos, who looked at the ground. He tried to think of something to say. There was nothing to say.
The men attached a rope to John’s hands and started dragging him off. They shot a couple rounds near Hog and warned him not to follow.
“The deal with the snitch was you get to live,” one of the men said regretfully to Hog.
Hog looked to Carlos, but he wasn’t where he’d been standing last.
“Back to Tenochtitlan with you, Martyr,” another one of the men said. John didn’t argue or resist. He wanted to fight but knew it wasn’t the right time. There were too many.
They marched until sunset and then made camp. John was sat down and tied to a tree with his ankles bound. They gave him a few swigs of water and then ate dried meat in front of him without offering any. John kept looking to the hills, hoping to see some sort of help coming. He imagined Tock tearing through these guys. There was no stirring in the country around them, though, and John soon abandoned hope that anyone even knew what was happening to him.
John barely slept that night. He couldn’t get comfortable tied to the tree, and he was hungry. The following morning they continued in the same fashion, pulling John along. Still no food. He heard the men muttering amongst themselves about whether John knew Quintana or not. John didn’t want to reveal anything about Quintana, so he didn’t volunteer any information.
The path they were on didn’t seem to be much traveled. Certainly not compared to the road they’d been on. Overgrown vegetation frequently required hacking back, and occasionally they had to leave the path to get around large boulders blocking the way. John figured the soldiers were willing to expend the extra energy to avoid contact with any locals. He didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to look for opportunities to escape while his guards were slightly distracted. One time when the group was stopped, waiting while the soldiers in the forward position slashed through a particularly thick growth of vines, he tried dropping to the back of the pack. He hoped that if he moved slowly enough, his handler might not notice the rope slipping through his fingers and then…it didn’t work, his guard switched hands and tightened his grip, but he didn’t seem to consciously notice what had happened, so John found that slightly encouraging. It indicated that they didn’t consider him a flight risk, so weren’t watching too closely. At one point, John noticed some red rocks along the path, and his hopes were raised. A necromancer attack could come in handy. After a closer look, John realized they had been there some time and he was brought back to the harsh reality of finishing the journey to Tenochtitlan and being delivered to the queen.
The men constantly goaded John. He said nothing in return. These men were gruff fools that simply obeyed orders and didn’t consider anything beyond themselves. They didn’t think about the bigger picture. He could almost forgive their actions because of their ignorance.
A week later, the spires of Tenochtitlan’s skyscrapers were in view. The soldiers escorting him became visibly edgy. They constantly checked their backs as they neared the lake’s edge and were somewhat relieved when boats were waiting for them. They hurried to get across the lake as quickly as possible.
Once across, they gagged him and threw a hood over his head. They didn’t want the people of the city to see him. The mood in Tenochtitlan wasn’t favorable toward the soldiers, and seeing one of their beloved Martyrs in custody would surely start something dangerous. Once past the outer checkpoint, they practically dragged him through the city. John listened to the bustle around him. If he could have seen his surroundings, he would have observed people glancing at him and then looking away. The occasional person stared, wondering what northerner was beneath the hood.
Once they’d successfully hauled John into the protection of larger numbers of their comrades near the church barracks, they removed the hood and laughed and howled about their prize. John wanted to remind them of how scared they’d been an hour earlier, but held his tongue. “Miss Sara wi
ll be thrilled,” the men gloated. And she was.
The meeting between the queen and the Martyr took place at the Academy Cartel headquarters. He’d never seen such a structure. The skyscrapers on the edge of town were taller, but by any other measure there was no comparison. The cathedral was massive. Its stone bulk dwarfed everything nearby and cast a deep shadow far across the square in front of it. Two bell towers, crumbling but still impressive, jutted up into the sky. But what John found most amazing was the ornate façade. Statues, reliefs, pillars with capitals—the stone had been carved and shaped into spectacular works of art.
As they approached the entrance the air felt oppressive. Through the hood, John could hear the dull roar of a crowd, a couple hundred people, he guessed. His time in the rings had made him a pretty good judge.
Underneath that sound was another one—a buzzing sound. He couldn’t quite place it…and then, suddenly, he was choked by the overpowering reek of human feces. The buzzing sound was flies. He couldn’t see it, but the entrance to the church was covered in a crawling black mass of flies. Angry citizens had taken to throwing feces there in anonymous protest against the queen. No matter how many times the soldiers cleaned it up, more appeared.
The agitated protesters raised their voices, as the sentinels opened the main doors to admit John and his guards. One woman was begging for food for her children. Another man was angry about his boat. Many were shouting about sewage issues in their neighborhoods. All their voices mixed together and reached Sara’s quarters on the second floor of the church, where she tried to look over some numbers. It ruined her concentration.
“I just want to kill them all,” she said wearily to Dalbec. There was a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of her prize captive. She straightened up and smiled. This, at least, would be fun.
The guards shoved John into the room, forced him to kneel before Sara’s desk, and ripped the bag off his head. She was startled by his appearance. Even on his knees he was chin-height on her. She paused for a moment, studying him.
“You’re white,” she observed.
“You’re a woman,” John retorted.
“Yes. You are so right,” she said sarcastically. “You’re an unlikely hero for brown people, is all I meant. I suppose being a woman makes me an unlikely leader of men, though.” John wanted to reply with a more accurate word than leader. She sensed the sentiment. It made her chuckle. She leaned back in her chair, hands folded over her stomach. There was something familiar about this man. “Don’t worry, you aren’t going to be tortured,” she said dismissively. This was her favorite thing to say before she had people tortured. “I already know where your people are,” she added, just to see his response.
“That didn’t help you in the last battle.”
Her eyes narrowed at the insult, but then she laughed. “Defiance doesn’t suit you. You have to try to be disrespectful…which isn’t bad. You’re parents taught you well.” She was prodding. She wanted to know who this man was. So she could break him. And stamp out the fire he incited in the people of Tenochtitlan.
John said nothing.
She looked at him. “Where are you from?” she asked.
“The mountains up north. I lived free from rulers.”
“Rulers? That’s funny,” she mocked his word choice.
“Not really.
“No. It is funny.” She flared her nostrils. He reminded her of Sal. Shortsighted. “I know your type. I’ve killed many like you. As they cry out, begging I don’t kill their families, they always make deals. Their ideals only run so deep. In the end, they’re all cowards. Powerless men who’ll protect their families no matter what. People like you lead nothing, change nothing…they just become subservient to other men.”
“Or women,” he added.
“Yes, or women.” She smiled. She liked that.
There was a moment of silence. “I just wanted to be left alone. To protect my family,” he explained. He instantly regretted telling her anything.
“Ahh, so you are just selfish. Those who live in the mountains have the luxury of caring only for their families. When a whole city depends on you, it isn’t so simple.” Her volume rose slightly but didn’t betray any loss of control over the situation. Over him.
“Is that how you justify it?” John asked.
“Justify what? To whom? Who do I answer to?!”
John looked at her with pity.
“Ahhh, I see. You think there’s some kind of god, that someday I’ll get some kind of just desserts from a higher power. That’s amusing. You’re just as superstitious as the zombie-worshiping priests.”
“You’ll see.”
“Ha! Maybe I will. Probably I won’t. Your kind won’t be around to see it, though.” Sara yawned. “I thought you might be interesting, but I see you’re boring. Enjoy your horrible death, Mountain Man.” She motioned her guards to take John away. Who cares who he is or what power he had, she thought. It hardly matters. His fate will be the same as all the other obsolete, religious simpletons.
Chapter 32
“I would not risk the lives of my men for one gringo from the north, no matter the political significance. I fight to win on the battlefield, not in the political arena.” Quintana argued with the council of elders about what to do about John.
Some scouts had seen him being taken toward Tenochtitlan surrounded by Academy soldiers and quickly ran back to relay the information. The other Martyrs were ready to storm the city themselves to get John back, but some of the Brothers resisted. They felt the decision was theirs to make. The Martyrs were too important to throw away on a hopeless cause. This meeting was being held without them.
“They are called ‘martyrs’ for a reason, Quintana. We should let them go,” Cesar argued.
Quintana couldn’t see the logic. The fact that non-Mexicans were revered so highly by the people of Tenochtitlan and the Brothers was wrong. It should be from amongst their own people that they found heroes. Someone even like himself.
But no one looked at Quintana that way, and they never would. Fine. He could accept that. But at least let it be someone besides these foreigners.
“It is the right thing to let them go.” Cesar nodded solemnly. “If you need a more cynical reason, what will the people think of the Martyrs if they do nothing? They will be seen as cowards who don’t stand up for a friend.” He smiled. “And really, they’ll do whatever they want. We are only fooling ourselves that we have a say.”
Quintana put his hands up, surrendering in acceptance of the unwinnable argument. He was the only one arguing against trying to rescue John, but he decided if it only cost the five lives of the remaining Martyrs, that was acceptable to him.
The Martyrs gathered their gear together and left immediately for Tenochtitlan. The sun set as they headed out. Their guide, a boy of about fourteen, led them over paths they could never have found on their own in the dim starlight. He walked a hundred yards in front of them, as he was better at reading the signs of the forest. Tock was humming a song to himself.
“What are you singing?” Carla asked, scrunching up her eyebrows.
“It’s a song about how we’re gonna go into Tenochtitlan, bash some heads, rescue Beard, and smack that queen around some,” Tock replied while nodding.
“Sounds awesome,” Carla said, almost yawning.
All of them chuckled, except Lee. Carla was the only one who noticed, but she didn’t say anything. She understood why Lee wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
“Man, Beard is going to owe me so big after this,” Tock said.
“We haven’t done it yet,” Carla noted.
Tock stopped walking. “How are we going to win with that attitude? We haven’t done it yet. We might as well go back to our huts, eat some avocados and go to sleep.”
“I’m sick of avocados,” Cecil complained. Jamed chimed in to agree.
“It’s better than nothing,” Carla said.
“Quiet!” Lee hissed. She pointed a hundred yards ah
ead. Their guide had stopped dead in his tracks. Involved in their chatter, they hadn’t noticed the warning. Three zombies passed by, obviously riled by the voices in the dark woods but unable to locate them. They stayed still as the undead passed by. Once safe, the team moved again.
They didn’t get far. Another group of walkers interrupted their progress.
After it passed, the guide came back to them and said they needed to take a different route. The one he had in mind went through rougher terrain but wouldn’t have as much interference from the undead.
They backtracked three miles and turned up the mountain. It was a difficult, winding path that cut steeply up the hills. They were only a mile into the new trail when they encountered two scouts descending from a lookout above. They indicated large numbers of the undead in the lowlands. A portion of the giant herd had moved into the area. The guide’s face grew grave as the scouts described in detail what they had seen. He shook his head and said, “Bad, bad.”
“What’s bad?” Tock asked.
The guide answered in Spanish, and Lee blanched. Her voice trembled as she interpreted. “He says this will make it all but impossible to get to Tenochtitlan. All the paths are blocked by this herd.”
“Then we fight our way through,” Tock said.
Lee shook her head. “I don’t think you understand. There are thousands and thousands of walkers! We can’t just fight our way through. We won’t be able to make it to the capitol in time!” She buried her face in her hands. Her whole body was shaking. Carla grabbed her and held her close.
Tock folded his arms “Then what do we do?”
“Wait. That’s all we can do,” Carla replied.
Chapter 33—June 101 A.Z.
Sal finished copying the target imagery onto the old portable hard drive. He wrapped it in a blanket with the utmost care, and handed it to an armed escort of twenty men on horseback. A duplicate was prepared for travel on a different route with another twenty men in case the first failed to reach the destination. He gave all the men strict instructions to return with the information their Canadian contact was going to provide—word for word. The contact wouldn’t be Dav, he told them, but an underling of hers. Named...Dave.
100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan Page 22
