“Venceramos!”
By
Simon Morgan
When jaded and disillusioned military policeman Simon Farrell is sent by his boss, the ruthless General Dalgarno, to the jungles of Central America to track down an internet porn site and a missing Army Officer he suspects that it is yet another suicide mission. However he soon has much more serious matters to contend with: not least a deadly assassin, a voodoo priestess and the key to an ancient Mayan prophecy.
“The beautiful Moon
shines over the land,
it sinks and vanishes.
The Moon dies,
we await the rising
of my beautiful Lord
from the East.
Evil, much evil passes here
on Earth. Put an end
to this suffering,
and give me death ,
then give my soul transcendence.”
“Song of Dzitbalché:” Ancient Mayan poem
One Ahau
The Jaguar’s eyes gleamed in the reflected moonlight as it crouched at the edge of the forest and surveyed the open ground before it. He saw their emerald glitter only for an instant before, sensing his approach, the great cat turned and bolted back into the dark sanctuary of the jungle. He cursed. Six months he had been in this God forsaken country hoping for even a fleeting glimpse of one of these elusive creatures, and now, on this night of all nights, one had finally appeared. It was obviously an omen, and not a good one.
Blowing like a hunted stag he hurled himself into the sanctuary of the inky shadows under the tree canopy where the Jaguar had just been lurking before turning to scan the landscape behind him. He clutched at the nearest tree trunk as he fought for breath, gulping in the fetid air, his lungs bursting. He smeared away the sweat from his forehead and squinted across the grassy carpet of the plaza. The full moon bathed everything in a silvery grey light. He looked back towards the lowering bulk of the great pyramid silhouetted against the starry sky.
The rhythmic tattoo of the drummers on the pyramid summit and the primeval braying of the Conch shells still echoed towards him across the silver grass. He peered into the gloom for signs of pursuit. They would be on to him, surely? Suddenly he stiffened. About a hundred metres away he saw two figures covering the ground towards him very fast. He cursed. There was no way he could out run them.
His fear became anger. They would surely get him but he still had one card left to play: that flimsy bit of ancient bark hidden in his trailer back at the site. Despite their desperate searching they had failed to find it. If he could only get word of it to somebody who knew its significance, then there was a chance that this insanity could be stifled before it was too late.
He grimaced in pain as the adrenalin in his system started to subside. Feeling his wounds, he tugged at the leather thongs that tied the protective pads to his body and hurled them away. He needed to be able to move as freely as possible if he was to have any chance of beating them back to the site.
Staggering to his feet he hobbled on rapidly stiffening legs down the narrow jungle track. Time and again he was sent sprawling, tripping over tree roots and blundering into thorn bushes in the darkness. Behind, he began to hear the excited shouts of his pursuers as they picked up his trail. He redoubled his efforts. He had to get to the trailer in time.
His legs were almost out when he finally arrived at the dig site. He stumbled towards the caravan door and fell upon it. Mercifully it was unlocked. He crawled across the interior and collapsed onto the desk at the far wall.
Recovering his breath he yanked open the bottom drawer. There it was, the wretched thing that had brought them all this pain and misery, nestling in a simple wooden box. The faded Mayan glyphs on the lid instantly took him back to the awful scenes on the pyramid summit.
He could still hardly believe it. It was a living nightmare. Last week he and Connie had hit the jackpot. Deep within the pyramid they had discovered the chamber decorated with the most astonishing murals of painted Mayan warriors, resplendent in Jaguar skin cloaks, breech cloths and feathered head-dresses, their bodies daubed in the ochre and brown pigment of the Order of the Jaguar. These images must have lain unseen by human eye for centuries. Then, as if that was not amazing enough, they had found this. It was the archaeological achievement of the century, a triumph that should have put their names up there with likes of Schliemann and Carter. Yet tonight, the dream had become a terrible reality. Those very figures had seemingly come alive and stepped down from the chamber walls to exact a gruesome price for their discovery.
He shuddered as he recalled how they had all been silent witnesses on the pyramid summit as Connie was spread-eagled over the sacrificial altar by the four Chacs, her naked body smothered in blue dye. He remembered the obsidian knife that glittered in the flickering yellow light of the smoking incense braziers as the monstrous Ah Kin, the High Priest, had plunged it deep into her body.
He relived her terrible cries; her life blood spewing forth, spraying her tormentors. The Ah Kin had flicked the drops from his eyes and then reached a bony arm deep into the body cavity to draw forth a dripping lump, Connie’s still beating heart.
With an effort, he banished the images from his mind and lifted the box from the drawer and opened the lid. He delicately unwrapped the ancient bark skin and carried it over to the scanner and placed it under the flap. He returned to the lap top on the side of the desk and then froze, he had heard voices outside.
It was them; the guttural Ketchi Mayan tongue was unmistakeable. They could be on him in seconds; there was no time to lose. With trembling fingers he hit the start button and, his nerves taut, waited for it to boot up. He almost picked it up and shook it. He must get his message away. At last the screen burst into life and he cursed the start up jingle. Surely they would hear it?
With an ecstasy of fumbling he tapped at the keyboard, navigating his way through the scanning process. Almost weeping with frustration, he watched as the execution bar at the bottom of the screen seemed to crawl along as the scanner uploaded the image. He could hear them getting nearer, smashing their way through the camp. When they found him they would be merciless, he knew that, but it almost seemed irrelevant compared with sending this email. Eventually the machine told him that upload was complete.
A little cry of triumph and he darted over to the scanner and ripped the bark skin from under the cover. Seizing Connie’s lighter from a side table he set the flimsy skein alight and watched with satisfaction as the flame flared. He dropped it into the waste bin which being already half full of shredded paper instantly burst into a mini inferno.
Rushing back to the desk he navigated his way to the e-mail programme. He stopped, his fists to his forehead. Who was he going to send it to? He had no time for explanation, whoever it was had to be able to understand the contents of the file immediately and act upon it.
He opened the address book and frantically scrolled through the list of names. His mind was a blank, who could he trust? Who was nearest and could act quickly? Yes! That had to be the one; he clicked on the name. He could hear them ransacking the trailer next door. Then he remembered and swore violently under his breath. He had to give the recipient the key, the vital information. He could feel panic rising in his throat as his shaking hands fumbled with the keyboard. His fingers seemed to have become paralysed as he desperately tried to type the message.
Suddenly the door exploded off its hinges and two bodies hurtled into the room and slid, sprawling, across the floor. He lunged at the send button but, just as his finger neared the key, he was grabbed by his upper arms and shoulders and hurled across the trailer and against the far wall.
He felt his left arm snap and waves of pain and nausea engulfed him. He lay, limp and broken, his attackers standing over him breathing heavily, flint axes in their hands, ready to strike the final blow. He recognised them; they had been part of the ball game. They had also discarded their padding and were naked apart from their breech cloths.
His head fell back. He had failed; he might have destroyed the original but what about the image he had scanned? Could these weird interlopers from the stone age operate a laptop? Suddenly the two Mayans froze and stared at the doorway. He craned his neck and gave a groan of despair. The Ah Kin had arrived.
The apparition ducked through the doorway and slowly unfurled itself to its full height. Red-rimmed eyes glared fiercely at him through the hideous jade mask that gave the figure a sinister, bestial quality. The limbs were elongated and skeletal, the body entirely hairless and unclothed apart from the lurid ochre and brown body paint and a greasy yellow cape that hung about its shoulders and flapped wetly round its flanks. It was clearly and disgustingly male and of indeterminate age.
He looked at the cape in horror. It was a human pelt that had been turned inside out so that the knobbles and lumps of yellow fat glistened in the half light. He knew who the pelt had belonged to, he had watched as the Ah Kin and his attendant Chacs had ripped it off Connie’s body. Suddenly he became aware of two things. One was that his pursuers were no longer looking at him but at the ghastly new arrival and the other was that Connie’s tin of lighter fuel was on a shelf just above his head.
With a wrenching motion that made him scream with agony he turned on his left side, crushing the broken arm, and reached up to grab the tin. As he fell back he tore at the cheap tin screw cap with his teeth and was elated to feel it pare off like orange peel. With a last desperate swing of his arm he hurled the contents of the tin in a wide arc that took in the desk with the laptop and ended at the still burning waste bin. The cheap spirit took off with a whoosh so that within an instant the far side of the trailer was a major conflagration.
“You’re too late!” he screamed at the newcomer. “I’ve burned it. You’ll never know now.”
The Ah Kin spat out a command to the two pursuers; they immediately dragged him out of the door and into the centre of the clearing. He was thrown on his back and gazed up at the Milky Way. It stretched like a ground glass ribbon across the black of the night sky. As he lay there it seemed to him the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was his last conscious moment before a crunching blow from a flint axe sent him into oblivion.
Inside the trailer the old priest desperately tried to retrieve the burnt remains of the bark skein but it was hopeless. He ground his teeth in fury and frustration. Then he saw the laptop; mercifully the liquid had missed it but the desk behind was well alight. Shielding his eyes from the intensity of the heat he crossed over to the desk. He peered down at the screen through the now scorching mask and jabbed at the mouse button. The screen image formed and despite the flames now licking round him his fleshless lips parted in a smile. He reached forward again with a blood stained finger and pressed the send button.
Out in the clearing the two Mayan acolytes had finished the grisly task of skinning their victim’s body leaving it like some twisted anatomical display. They squatted silently and stared at the door of the trailer in a horror of anticipation. As the fire within took hold they looked at each other in consternation. Was the Ah Kin trapped? Should they try and save him? Despite the heat from the now blazing caravan and from their exertions they shivered in terrified anticipation. The Ah Kin had been incandescent over their victim’s escape and now this; the precious prize that he had been waiting so long for had been snatched from his grasp. His retribution would be terrible. Suddenly one shouted out in terror and alarm. The trailer door had burst open to reveal a maelstrom of flame and smoke but there, framed in the doorway, was the Ah Kin.
The old priest stood on the step just outside the door, the reflected flames now danced and sparkled on the obsidian knife held reverentially before him. He looked heavenwards. There in the deep black void against the backdrop of the stars were two of the great celestial beacons: Venus, low and bright in the eastern sky, and the Moon, shining like a brilliant pearl. Together with the rest of the celestial bodies, these heavenly messengers formed the movement of a great cosmic clock and tonight, on One Ahau, this clock had chimed at last.
He tilted back his head and cried out triumphantly to the heavens, a cry immediately taken up by his acolytes so that their voices echoed around the deserted camp site to ascend with the sparks and smoke of the burning trailer to the very heavens: Venceramos! Venceramos! Venceramos!”
Published by Turner Maxwell Books
First published 2008
Copyright © Simon Morgan 2008
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Warning: May contain explicit material, which is not intentionally offensive.
Not suitable for children
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental and may be more the work of your own imagination. Why not write a book yourself? Turner Maxwell Books are an alternative co-operative of new writers, working towards publishing inspirational literature.
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