Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

Screams and gouts of bluish-tinged blood rend the air as warrior after warrior topples to the ground.

A steel ball hurtles toward Jacob’s face. He ducks, allowing the chained object to spike the demonic mask of another warrior, the six-inch spur burying itself in one of the man’s occipital bones.

Jacob spins around and leaps, launching a forward snap kick into the throat of an incoming attacker, barely avoiding the swipe of steel claws lashing through the smoldering, carbondioxide-laden air. He lands, parries a would-be stab in the heart with his sword, then sidethrust kicks the transhuman in his exposed Adam’s apple, crushing the being’s windpipe.

Six down, six to go…

The skull-ball whizzes past his head.

Jacob spins around and launches a backthrust kick, the heel of his boot snapping his approaching enemy’s head backward, dislocating the man’s cervical spine.

The ball… don’t forget the game!

Jacob races after the skull-ball, overtaking two more warriors, who are batting it between them as they dribble it toward the eastern goal.

One of the warriors wheels around to fend off Jacob’s attack as his teammate prepares to shoot.

Jacob leaps, using his momentum to launch a double-snap kick, the toes of his boots striking the startled warrior in the solar plexus. He lands, then glances up in time to see the skull-ball bank off the eastern wall – nearly slipping through the donut-shaped goal.

In one motion, the shooter turns, throwing a needle-sharp dagger at Jacob. The white-haired twin, caught off guard, staggers backward as the poison blade strikes his environmental suit just above the heart.

No blood. You got lucky, the blade didn’t penetrate. Don’t be so careless!

Angry with himself, Jacob yanks out the blade and hurls it at his would-be killer like a fastball. The knife strikes deep, puncturing his enemy’s abdomen clear up to the handle.

The transhuman grunts, then drops to his knees, his stomach drenched in blue blood.

‘Ja-cob!’

Jacob looks up. Fubitch…

Dominique is being forced to retreat over the edge of the eastern wall as the remaining three warriors, now in the temple, stab at her from above with their spears. She lets go, dropping twelve feet before grabbing on to the donut-shaped goal.

Jacob runs to the base of the eastern wall and drops his sword. ‘Mother, jump.’

She looks down and jumps, her son catching her in both arms.

‘You okay?’

She nods, struggling to catch her breath.

Jacob senses the three warriors hurrying down the stairwell. ‘Go get the skull.’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘It’s not Mick’s head, mother. Now get it-quickly.’

She hurries off, ignoring the moans of her son’s dying victims, as she steps over severed body parts.

Jacob turns to face his remaining enemies, finishing them off with a dozen quick slashes of his sizzling sword.

Dominique returns with the skull. It is elongated, the face bruised and bleeding, but it is not Michael Gabriel.

It is the face of a child.

Disgusted, Jacob dropkicks it at the western goal. The skull sails through the vertical hoop, the successful shot triggering a hidden mechanism within the goal.

A wave of nausea returns as the open jowls of the serpent’s second mouth inhales Jacob and his mother into its vortex, transporting them into another realm.

Opening their eyes, they find themselves standing at the base of a narrow chasm, which cuts a winding passage through an imposing jagged mountainside.

Grabbing his mother by her arm, Jacob leads her down the Dark Road to Xibalba.

‘Jake, where are we?’

‘The Mayans called this Xibalba Be -the Black Road to the Underworld. I suspect we’re still on Earth, somewhere underground.’

Slipping the blade of his sword between his belt and exoskeleton, he takes Dominique by the hand and leads her into the ravine. The eight-foot-wide passage snakes between the towering vertical cliff walls, the mountain faces so straight and high they nearly obliterate the lavalike scarlet ceiling percolating above their heads.

Whiffs of dense smoke cause the shadows to dance. The gray limestone rock face drips with heavy humidity. The lead-colored soil is as moist as wet sand, causing their feet to sink deeper with each step. A high-pitched wind whistles through the ravine, depositing a fine gray mist on their exposed faces and environmental suits.

Jacob pauses. Looks up.

The sound of fluttering wings echoes through the chasm.

Dominique tightens her grip on his hand. Points ahead.

Seated on the ground, its back against the canyon wall, is a humanoid.

It is a transhuman-a female. Her shaved, elongated skull sports a jaguar-hide tattoo that serves as hair. She is naked, save for a thin, tattered cloth that barely covers her exquisite torso. Her right side, exposed to the wind, is slick with an oily gray residue.

The woman is rocking back and forth, her dark, frightened eyes purplish red from crying.

They approach, Jacob’s hand on the hilt of his sword.

Dominique kneels by the woman, her motherly instincts taking over.

‘Mother, don’t!’ He grabs her arm, dragging her back.

‘Jake, have some compassion. Can’t you see she’s terrified?’

‘We don’t know who she is or what she is.’

The sound of flapping wings grows louder, echoing like old-time machine-gun fire in the narrow ravine.

The female hears it too. Panicking, she jumps to her feet and races through the chasm.

Dominique glances at her son, then chases after the woman.

‘Mother, wait-’

Jacob starts after her, but is forced to stop, unable to run with the bulky sword dangling at his hip. He withdraws it from his belt, then sprints with it through the twisting canyon.

The ravine ends, Dominique’s footprints continuing on ahead. He hears the sound of a heavy surf. Remaining at the edge of the mountain, he wipes beads of gray moisture from his eyes, then searches for his mother.

The mountainous passage has opened to a swampy beach. Silver waves crash upon an unearthly shoreline, which is littered with seaweed-type residue and tall, dead, dust-infested palm trees.

His mother is up ahead, hiding in the crevice of a large rock formation. She points.

Lining the beachhead are tall wooden posts, as thick as telephone poles. Fastened to each pole by heavy steel chains shackled about their necks are dozens of transhuman females. Bloody purple claw marks scar their naked, bruised bodies.

The flapping sounds grow louder, approaching from somewhere above. The female prisoners cower behind their posts like frightened children.

And then Jacob sees him.

The dark figure of the Seraph-reincarnate circles like a hawk, soaring hundreds of feet above the beach. The being’s torso is heavily muscled, his bizarre, twenty-foot wings protruding from his genetically altered spine and latissimus dorsi.

Devlin…

Jacob and Dominique remain motionless and out of sight.

The winged Seraph detects movement coming from beneath a mound of seaweed. It is the escaped female.

Pulling his wings back, he dive-bombs after her like a pelican tracking a fish.

The female tosses aside her camouflage and races back toward the refuge of the cliffs.

Jacob signals to his mother to stay put, then grips the sword in both hands.

Leveling out over the swampy beach, the Seraph swoops in from behind the terrified woman and lands on her back, pinning her forcefully against the silicon sand.

Trapped beneath the heavier predator, the female tries desperately to crawl away on hands and knees.

Devlin is simply too big and strong. Like an enraged lion subduing a zebra, he claws at the girl’s back, tearing her clothing and skin with his razor-sharp talonlike fingernails until she stops struggling. Pinning her facedown with his left arm, he caresses her breasts with his free hand, then bites into her exposed buttocks with his fang-shaped incisors.