Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

Dominique rubs at her temple. ‘Jake, if this is Earth, then who were the transhumans and posthumans?’

‘They’re us. They’re what happens to Homo sapiens in a million years. They’re the ones who built the floating city and this genetics lab and sea.’ He spreads his arms out. ‘Take a good look around you, Mother, this is the future of the late, great planet Earth.’

‘One future,’ she reminds him. ‘If the caldera triggered this, then maybe the Guardian can stop it.’

He nods. ‘Father said only a Hunahpu could prevent the second cataclysm.’

Dominique stares at the beast, seeing it as if for the first time. ‘The creature seems to know you.’

‘It accessed my mind… my memories back on Earth. It knows I mean it no harm. It’s here to take us to Mick.’ Jacob helps her to her feet. ‘Don’t be scared.’

‘I am scared; just do what you have to do.’

He nods, then closes his eyes, pushing his mind to enter the nexus, allowing him to communicate with the beast.

Dominique’s heart skips a beat as the viper’s head stirs, its gaping jaws hyperextending open before them, exposing hideous ebony fangs, surrounded by hundreds of needle-sharp teeth.

And then a second viperous head appears, identical but smaller, jutting outward telescopically to protrude from the mouth of the first.

Jacob and his mother step back as a third and final head pushes out from the mouth of the second, all three jaws locking in place.

Rotating inside the orifice is a cylinder of energy, a cosmic conduit of space-time, running from the serpent’s outstretched jaws and through its torso, down into the silvery waters of the artificial lagoon.

Hand in hand, Jacob and Dominique step over the bottom rows of teeth, entering the serpent’s mouth.

The creature’s jaws close behind them, the third head retracting into the mouth of the second, leaving them in absolute darkness.

And then a white fog appears and Jacob hears the unified thoughts of the Guardian collective.

JACOB, FULFILL YOUR DESTINY.

The fog seems to come alive, shimmering, as it draws in upon itself – materializing into a sword.

Jacob grasps the double-edged three-foot-long blade by its hilt. ‘Just like in my dreams.’

Dominique registers a nauseating sensation of something tugging at her internal organs, as if her intestines are being unraveled. She squeezes her eyes shut, as the funnel of energy seems to suddenly suck them forward, though they are not actually moving.

Sensing the light, she reopens her eyes.

The squeamish feeling is gone. They are no longer in the serpent’s mouth.

Jacob and Dominique find themselves standing in an arena, a replica of an ancient Mayan Ball Court. The I-shaped field is covered in a sandy lead gray silicon soil, the long, parallel east and western walls composed of metal plates, giving the complex a gloomy, futuristic industrial effect.

The alien sky is a molten vermilion, obscured by choking charcoal gray clouds, like smoke from a petroleum inferno. As their watering eyes adjust to the tremendous 120-degree Fahrenheit heat, they notice it is not a sky, but a simmering subterranean ceiling, located a good mile overhead.

To their right, situated atop the forty-foot-high eastern wall, twelve feet above the giant steel vertically oriented goal ring, is a small temple. Seated upon a throne that overlooks the playing field is a tall human with elongated head, the leader of Lilith’s band of sadistic killers.

The transhuman’s flesh is covered in gray silicon dust, his face concealed behind the mask of a gaping serpent’s head. A trail of green feathers runs down his broad bare back.

The leader begins chanting in an ancient tongue, his words echoing throughout the steel, silicon-dusty arena.

Jacob turns, detecting movement at the far end of the enclosed ball court. The second mouth of the serpent beckons at the base of the Mayan structure known as the Temple of the Bearded Man.

Moving out from the open mouth and into the arena-a tribe of gray-skinned transhuman warriors.

Unlike the holographic combatants, Jacob knows these beings are quite real, very unpredictable, and far more dangerous. They are tall, each over seven feet, with elongated skulls and well-muscled bodies that exceed 260 pounds.

Jaundiced yellow eyes glow from behind their ceremonial death masks. Six-inch spikes cover their elbows and knees. The warriors carry a variety of weapons: steel spears and daggers, spiked balls on chains, and body armament featuring sharp claws fastened across the knuckles.

Snorting behind their ceremonial masks, they line up facing Jacob beneath the eastern goal, their leering eyes focusing on him.

Dominique inhales deeply through her nostril tubes and regulator, desperate to clear her head, hoping she will awaken from the nightmare.

Jacob scans the arena, all too aware that his mother is the chink in his armor. I need to find a place to isolate her…

From his perch, the masked leader raises a round object above his head.

The warriors howl, bellowing an animal-like scream.

The leader tosses the object into the arena.

Game ball…

The severed head strikes the hardened soil like a coconut, bounces twice, then rolls awkwardly before stopping at Dominique’s feet.

She looks down and screams.

Jacob catches her as she faints.

The head is Mick’s.

The warriors hoot and holler, their bellowing laughs echoing throughout the metallic ball court.

Jacob stares at his father’s head. ‘Jesus… no-’

Mick’s eyes open, their rolling gaze maniacal. The mouth parts to speak. ‘Who is it? Who’s out there?’

Jacob hears his voice say. ‘It’s your son. Jacob.’

‘Jacob?’ A deep wail rises from Mick’s mouth.

Before the twin can react, two of the silicon-skinned warriors step forward. From behind their masks they expel a bloodcurdling bellow.

‘No… no… no…’ Jacob detaches the regulator from his shoulder harness and pops it in his mouth, breathing deeply. Refocus! Remember the story of the Hero Twins. The Death God and his minions will try to fool you. This is not your father, it’s an aberration… a ruse!

Using the top of his boot, Jacob flips the skull-ball several feet off the ground, then steps forward like a soccer goalie and kicks the head as far downfield as he can.

One of the warriors gives chase. Another runs toward the twin and his mother.

Tossing Dominique over his shoulder, Jacob sprints to the far end of the eastern wall and the hidden stairwell he knows will lead him to the leader’s temple. He ascends the narrow steps three at a time, the sword in his right hand.

Waiting for him at the summit is the serpent-masked leader, armed with a spiked ball and chain.

Jacob releases his mother, then bounds up the remaining steps.

The spiked ball hurtles downward.

Jacob avoids the blow, then lashes upward with the sword, severing the transhuman’s arm just below the elbow.

The warrior cries out, staring at his amputated, simmering-hot limb in shock, never seeing the looping shimmer of blade that lops off his head.

Jacob kneels beside his mother. He shakes her awake, then spits out the breather so he can speak. ‘Mother, stay here!’ Grabbing the sword, he bounds back down the narrow stairwell, returning the regulator to his mouth.

Six of the masked goons bull-rush him as he returns to the playing field.

Swinging the sword with both hands, Jacob feints a blow to the nearest man’s head, then drops to one knee and takes a powerful baseball-style swing at an entanglement of gray silicon-covered knees. The razor-sharp edge of steel heats up as it tears through flesh and ligament like a flaming sickle, amputating several men’s legs with the continuous blow.