Reichs, Kathy: Fatal Voyage

Sweat soaked my clothing. Blood pounded in my ears.

My pursuer stayed with me, neither closing in nor falling back. Was he working a home court advantage? Was he the cat, I his mouse? Was he biding his time, confident the prey would be his?

My lungs burned, unable to take in enough air. A stabbing pain ripped my left side. Still, the blind urge to run.

One minute. Three. An eternity.

Then the muscles of my right thigh cramped. I slowed to a limping lope.

The cat slowed, too.

I tried to push on. It was no good. My legs and arms were going dead.

My pace dropped to a trot. Sweat trickled from my forehead and burned my eyes.

I saw the outline of a dark shape in front of my face. My outstretched hand slammed something solid. My elbow folded, and my cheek hit hard. Pain shot through my wrist. Blood moistened my palm and cheek.

With my good hand, I reached out and explored. Solid rock.

I probed farther.

More rock.

My heart shriveled.

I'd run up against a cliff wall. Water to my left. Dense trees to my right.

The cat knew. I had nowhere to go.

Don't panic!

I pulled out the scalpel and held it behind me. Then I turned, back to the wall, and faced my attacker.

He spoke before I saw him.

“Bad routing.”

He was breathing hard, and I could smell the rancid odor of sweat and rage.

“Stay away from me!” I yelled with more bravado than I felt.

“Why should I do that?” Taunting.

I knew that voice. The caller at the morgue. But I'd also heard it in person. Where?

Crunching, then a black cutout appeared in the darkness.

“Don't take one step closer,” I hissed.

“You're in an odd position to give orders.”

“Come near me and I'll kill you.” I grasped the scalpel like a lifeline.

“The proverbial rock and hard place, I'd call it.”

More crunching. The cutout resolved itself into a man, arm extended in my direction. Broad shoulders, thick arms.

It was not Simon Midkiff.

“Who are you?”

“Surely you know that by now.”

I heard the click of a safety uncatching.

“You killed Primrose Hobbs. Why?”

“Because I could.”

“And you plan to kill me.”

“With the greatest of pleasure.”

“Why?”

“Your meddling destroyed a holy thing.”

“Who are you?”

“Kulkulcan.”

Kulkulcan. It was one I knew.

“The Mayan deity.”

“Why settle for a pharaoh or some faggot Greek?”

“Where is the rest of your society of sickos?”

“If it wasn't for that miserable crash you'd never have stumbled onto us. Your busybody intrusiveness uncovered things you had no right to know. It has fallen to Kulkulcan to exact vengeance.”

The melodious voice was now tinged with fury.

“It's over for your Hell Fire Club.”

“It will never be over. Since the dawn of time the mediocre masses have tried to suppress the intellectually superior. It never works. Conditions can make us dormant, but we reemerge when the climate changes.”

To what egomaniacal delusion was I listening?

“It was my time to enter the ranks of the holy,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that I hadn't replied. Or indifferent. “I found my offering. I made my sacrifice. I honored the ritual that you have profaned.”

“Jeremiah Mitchell or George Adair?”

“Irrelevant. Their names don't matter. I was chosen. I was ready. I followed the way.”

Keep him talking, my mind reasoned. Someone knows where you are. Someone is doing something

“Kulkulkan is a creator god. You destroy life.”

“Mortals are transient. Wisdom endures.”

“Whose?”

“The wisdom of the ages, shown to those worthy to receive it.”

“And you ensure its survival through ritual slaughter?”

“The body is a material envelope, of no lasting value. We discard it in the end. But wisdom, strength, the essence of the soul, these are the forces that prevail.”

I let him rant on.

“The brightest of the species must be nurtured. Those passing from this earth must yield their mana to those who remain, add to the strength and wisdom of the chosen.”

“How?”

“Through blood, heart, muscle, and bone.”

Dear God, it was true.

“You think you can increase your IQ by consuming the flesh of others?”

“As flesh wastes away, so does strength. But mind, spirit, intellect, those elements are transferable through the very cells of our bodies.”

I clutched the scalpel so tightly my knuckles ached.

“Herodotus told of the eating of kinsmen among the Issedones of Central Asia, who grew strong and ruled. Strabo found it among the Irish clans. Many conquering peoples gained strength through eating the flesh of their enemies. Eat the weak and grow stronger. It's as old as man himself.”

I thought of the Neanderthal bones, the victims in the kiva near Mesa Verde. The skeletons in my morgue.

“Why the elderly?”

“The aged hold the greatest reservoirs of wisdom.”

“Or do old people simply make easier targets?”

“My dear Miss Brennan. Would you rather that your flesh contribute to the advancement of chosen beings or be consumed by maggots?”

Anger welled, overrode fear.

“You egotistical, demented prick.”

“Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.”

At a distance, the skeleton moaned, cackled.

I was confronted by madness! Who was this man? How did I know him?

I began inching along the wall, holding the scalpel behind me with my right hand, feeling with my left. I'd taken a half dozen steps when a powerful beam shot out of the dark, blinding me like a possum on a backyard fence. I threw up an arm.

“Going somewhere, Miss Brennan?”

In the backglow I could see his lower face, lips drawn back in murderous rage.

Stay away from him!

I pivoted to run, tripped, and fell. As I scrabbled to right myself, the shadow sprang, closed the gap, and a hand reached out and grabbed my ankle. My feet went out from under me again, and my knees cracked against alluvium. The scalpel flew into darkness.

“You goddamn treacherous cow!”

The golden voice was now sizzling with fury.

I kicked out but couldn't break his grip. His fingers were like steel clamping through my jeans.

Never more afraid in my life, I gouged my elbows into the earth, trying to hitch myself forward, kicking out with my free leg. Suddenly, his full weight was on me. A knee pinned my back, and a hand pressed my face into the ground. Dirt and debris filled my nose, my mouth.

I thrashed wildly, kicking and clawing to get out from under him. He'd dropped his flash and it lay on the ground, lighting us like some writhing, two-headed beast. As long as I could move, he would not get that garrote wire around my throat.

My hand touched something jagged and hard, and my fingers closed around it. I twisted my torso and struck out blindly.

I heard the soft thunk of rock against bone, then the metallic clink of steel on granite.

“Bitch!”

He slammed his fist into my right ear. Lightning exploded in my head.

He released his grasp, fumbled to retrieve the gun. I jerked an elbow backward and caught him along the border of his jaw. His teeth cracked and his head flew back.

A shriek like that of a wounded animal.

I pushed with all my strength and his knee slipped off my back. In less than a second I scrambled to my knees and crawled toward the flashlight. He regained his balance and we dived at the same time. I got it.

I swung as hard as I could and connected with his temple. A thump, a grunt, and he fell backward. Clicking off the beam, I lunged toward the trees and crouched behind a pine.