Warren Murphy - Unite and Conquer

Each time they quailed, he called back encouragement.

"See!" Alirio Antonio Arcila cried, holding up the TV so all could see. "Behold the monster! She is attracting the lightning. It strikes only at Coatlicue."

"The gods are just," a man murmured. But there was no enthusiasm. The relentless elements had beaten their courage down.

Antonio swallowed his sharp corrective words. He believed in no gods. Was he not believed to be godlike by these simple ones? He, the son of a coffee grower?

Soon the television was no longer necessary.

The cypress of Tule came into view.

Antonio had only heard of it. It was said to be some two thousand years old. From a distance it resembled the greatest weeping willow imaginable, its drooping branches weighed down with the imposing freight of its years. Its leaves trembled nervously under the unceasing rain. It was older than the Cross, and even though Antonio did not believe in the Cross, still the obvious age of the oldest living thing on the face of the earth took his breath.

A bolt forked down and blotted out the impressive sight.

In the afterimage imprinted on his retina, Antonio saw the tree as a negative film image, stark and threatening.

And when his blinded eyes cleared once more, he saw for the first time the Coatlicue monster in the flesh.

She was making for the cypress. The great tree dwarfed her, made her seem less formidable. From this distance, she might have been a clay figure beside an ordinary oak.

But she was not. She stood wider than three men, taller than five tall men.

And miracle of miracles, the lightning strikes continually sought her. But still she strove onward, ever onward, seeking the cypress that should have drawn the terrible bolts from the sky but did not.

Glancing back, Antonio caught his remaining Maya making the sign of the Cross. There were far fewer of them now. In his heart he forgave them. Coatlicue was an unnatural sight, but the way the lightning spurned the mighty tree for the smaller giant was more unnatural still. It suggested greater forces at work.

"Perhaps our work will be done for us," he told them. All thought of glory and gain fled his reeling brain. This was incredible. Impossible. Unbelievable.

And still the monster trudged on, the bolts slamming, breaking off the last remaining plates of her gleaming armor, knocking them away, until rude stone and a flexible marbled matter lay exposed.

Then came a bolt that ripped downward, exploded and blotted out the universe. The thunder sound was great. The resulting shock wave was greater still.

Antonio and his guerrilleros were thrown off their feet.

When their sight cleared, Coatlicue stood still. She did not move again.

"Come," Antonio said, climbing to his feet. "It is time to face this Azteca usurper."

They advanced cautiously. Now Antonio led a meager handful of men. The others had retreated. No matter. When the cause was won, they would return to the fold. Willingly or not.

RODRIGO LUJAN STARED up at the ominous heavens that had assaulted his Mother again and again. He saw a greenish white light, but no clouds no sky. When he closed his eyes, the light was still there.

He heard nothing. His ears were still full of booming thunder. His brain shook with reverberating shock.

"Mother. Can you hear me?"

But his Mother Coatlicue responded not.

Lying helpless beneath her, Lujan wept bitterly, his salty tears mingling with the rain that fell and fell and fell upon him without understanding or mercy.

ANTONIO APPROACHED ahead of the others. His head pounded. He felt fear yes, but he pushed it back. It was not that he was so brave but that there was no turning back. His future depended upon what transpired here in this place far from the Lacandon jungle.

Coatlicue, he saw, had almost made the shelter of the great cypress, whose bole was over one hundred feet in circumference. It seemed less like the trunk of a tree than some ancient petrified eruption from deep within the earth. The trunk was horny and rugose with age.

"Coatlicue," he said. "Greetings, creature of imagination. You almost made it to safety. But you did not. And now you are dead."

Coatlicue said nothing and moved not. Her ophidian eyes were looking at the tree.

Antonio walked around her still feet. One was poised in the act of taking a step forward. It seemed gargantuan beside him, but the cypress dwarfed it to insignificance.

Between the legs lay a nearly nude man.

Antonio knelt. "Who are you?"

The man looked in all directions with uncomprehending eyes. "I am blind. The lightning has taken my sight."

"You are fortunate. For you lie in the path of the monster. Her foot is lifted to take a step. If completed, she would have crushed you like a locust."

"I would gladly be crushed under the feet of my mother if only I could behold her one last time," the man said dully.

"Then sadness will be your eternal destiny, because that will never come to pass. Coatlicue has succumbed."

Weeping, the man crawled under the shelter of the half-lifted foot. On his back, he struggled up to kiss her heel but lacked all strength to complete the absurd action.

Antonio let him be. He was not important. As he scanned the skies, he saw that helicopters circled above, braving the rain. Strangely the lightning had ceased its dramatic striking, as if considering its job accomplished. The choppers drew closer.

They were even now broadcasting this sight to all Mexico. Well, Antonio would give them a sight to remember the rest of their days. He faced his loyal cohorts.

"My Juarezistas, approach with me. The Azteca revolution is over. Their idol walks no more. We are in command now. Let us demonstrate this to a fearful Mexico."

The Maya approached, walking as if on eggshells.

"We must topple this usurper so that she breaks into many pieces," Antonio explained. "It will be a political statement that will prove for all time the righteousness of our cause."

"How?" asked Kix. "It is so big."

"See how the monster balances on one foot? Let us push her in one direction, all of us, so that she loses her imperfect balance."

The Maya shrank from the fearful task. "Show us, Lord Verapaz. Guide our hands that we may do this."

Laying down his AK, Antonio placed both hands on the lifted elephantine foot of the Coatlicue monster. Why not? Was it not dead?

The foot was not cold as he expected. Nor was it hard. In fact, it felt weirdly fleshy to the touch. Instantly his hands recoiled.

His Maya recoiled, too.

"What is wrong?" Kix hissed.

Antonio rubbed his fingers together. They felt wet and clammy, as if they had come in contact with the cold clay of a great dead corpse. "You do it. For as a true indio, it is your honor to topple the rival god."

"But you are Kukulcan. "

"And as Kukulcan, I offer the honor to you."

Kix looked doubtful but, urged on by the others, he approached the inert thing. He laid hands upon the upraised foot. To judge by the expression that came over his face, the sensation of moist, dead flesh was very distasteful. But nothing happened to him.

Emboldened, Kix said, "Help me, O brothers."

Others gathered around. They got behind the fat ankle and attempted to push this way or that way. But the bulk of the creature was too vast, too obdurate to move. Her eyes regarded the Maya as if they were but ants at her feet.

While they considered the situation, an army utility helicopter dropped out of the sky to land at the roadside. As it drew closer, a man dangling off one skid released his grip so as not to be crushed.

REMO CALCULATED THE DROP, let go of the skid and rolled out of the way of the landing chopper.

When it settled, he opened the door. Winston Smith, Assumpta and Chiun started to get out. Remo pushed Winston back in.