Chapter Eighteen
“Something people tend to forget is that parahumans are not unique to the U.S. Japan had Rising Sun in World War II. Russia had Steel Wolf. Since then parahumans have surfaced all over the world. Who knows how many there are that we still haven’t encountered yet?”
-Dr. Grace Devereaux, 60 Minutes, October 17, 2000
February, 2004
Porto San José, Guatemala
Sally longed for the hot, dry deserts of home. Phoenix was as pleasant as a city could be this time of year. Guatemala was just as hot, a hundred times as humid, and stank like a cesspool.
Stepping off the plane in Guatemala City had been like getting hit in the face with a hot, wet towel. In climes like this, women were supposed to glow. Not Sally; she sweated and hated it. She couldn’t decide which was worse, the droplets which ran down her back to soak the top of her underwear or the ones that trickled between her breasts. As soon as they got through Customs, she ducked into a bathroom with her suitcase and changed to the lightest tank top she had.
The others waited while Jack retrieved a large trunk from the cargo terminal, full of his special gear. He’d shipped it down separately to avoid any complications from flying public transport. A few bribes ensured the release of his property without any awkward questions about weapons, intrusion gear, and explosives. Being reunited with his equipment seemed to energize Jack, and he smiled a lot as he negotiated with a man for his car. “No way do we use public transportation down here,” said Jack. “Not if we actually want to get where we’re going.”
The car in question turned out to be an antiquated Volkswagen bug with its roof and fenders cut off and no engine cover. It bore oversized tires that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a military truck. A bank of headlights had been bolted to the hood, with exposed wires that ran along the flanks held in place by duct tape.
“Very good car, very dependable,” said the owner. “Never had a problem with it.” He patted it carefully, as if he expected the car itself to contradict him.
Jack had talked the guy down to two hundred American dollars plus two extra gas cans full of whatever passed locally for fuel. Most of the bags fit in the small trunk between the front wheels. They lashed the extra bags to the doors like saddlebags.
“If it dies while we’re still in town, I’m coming back for my money,” Jack told the man. He slipped behind the wheel while the others climbed in and got as comfortable as possible on the patched and cracked vinyl seats.
“Never had a problem with it.” The man tucked the cash into a pocket.
Jack snorted and turned the key. The Volkswagen coughed and spat out a glob of thick smoke before it caught and exhibited a steady if uncertain purr. “Very reliable car.” The man nodded encouragement as Jack ground the gears to find first. The car jerked forward as Jack negotiated his way through the congested streets of Guatemala City. By the map, it was only about fifty miles to Porto San José, where the Antimatter Woman had originally lived.
“How long do you think it’ll take to get there?” Doublecharge called over the thrum of the motor.
“No idea.” Jack leaned on the horn to encourage a man with a troop of mules to move them aside. “It could be late afternoon before we even get out of the city at this rate.”
Glimmer leaned back in the cramped seat. His eyes were closed behind his sunglasses which reflected the swollen clouds that promised heavy rain later. Sally saw his lips twitch. “What is it?” she asked him.
“I can feel something here. Something hidden.”
“Something bad?”
“It feels bad,” he said. “I foresee we’ll have a big problem when we find it.”
“Precognition?” she asked, wide-eyed. Psionic powers had always fascinated her.
He took off his glasses and looked at her, his intense gaze unfaltering. “No, pessimism.”
Jack burst out in laughter and even Doublecharge cracked a smile. Sally realized she’d been had as Glimmer finally broke his composure and chuckled.
“Jay follows the philosophy of hope for the best but expect the worst,” said Jack. “That way he covers all bases and still gets to act all mysterious.”
They drove for a couple hours before Jack got them onto the road to San José. They stopped on the edge of town at a roadside market and bought some rolled sandwiches, fruit, and bottled water. “Don’t drink anything not in a bottle or can,” said Jack. “I’m immune, but I’d rather not truck around a carload of dysentery sufferers.”
“Hey, has Jack been here before?” Sally asked Doublecharge while Jack checked on road conditions from some of the other shoppers.
“I don’t know. He’s been a lot of places.” Stacey rolled the remains of her sandwich up in the wrapper and stuck it in a pocket. “I want to talk to you about Jason.”
Sally almost choked on a sip of water. “Uh, what about him?”
“I don’t have a problem with the two of you having a relationship, but it had better not affect your performance as part of this team.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t,” said Sally with a frosty tone.
“Good. Then that’s all I’ll say on the matter. You’re a valuable addition to this team, and based on what I’ve seen so far, I’ll recommend you for full membership at the end of your internship.” Doublecharge stood up. “See to it that doesn’t change.” She walked away and headed for the car.
Sally didn’t move, not sure whether to be insulted, angry, pleased, or worried. She settled for worried, since that was the expression on Jack’s face as he came back to the table.
“What is it?” Sally asked as he sat down.
“Road’s washed out about halfway between here and there.”
“And?” She sensed there was more to come.
“There’s a group of bandits, preying on travelers.”
“Is that all? Um, they should be the ones worried about us, shouldn’t they?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes. But right now we’re trying to keep an extremely low profile, and it’s hard enough just being foreigners. If Destroyer’s really here, he’s going to have one ear to the ground and he’ll find out if any of us use our powers publicly.”
“Oh.” Sally suddenly felt very small.
“And we’re just the sort of stupid tourists bandits will love.”
“So what do we do?”
“Plan B.” Jack collected the remains of his lunch and stood up.
“What’s Plan B?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet.”
They got back on the road. Within an hour, the clouds broke open. Sally knew rain, but this was more like steady sheets of warm water, reminiscent of a waterfall in an amusement park ride. She was soaked through in moments. They had to open the doors of the Bug to keep the seats from flooding.
As quickly as the rain started, it stopped. Sally felt miserable, hot and wet, and the heady smells wafting from the soaked jungle made her nose itch. After only a few minutes, it started to rain again.
“Lovely country.” Jack blew raindrops away from his eyes. “I’m thinking we ought to open a satellite headquarters for the team here.”
The Volkswagen bounced across muddy ruts. Jack had to fight the wheel the whole time. This became the pattern over the next two hours: drenching rain showers punctuated by brief bursts of calm. In several places, the road was so bad they had to act as spotters, guiding Jack so the Bug’s wheels didn’t slip into deep ruts or catch the frame on jutting rocks. By the time they ran into the washout, they were all soaked and covered with mud, and only Jack had any marginal sense of humor remaining.
Sally had never really considered what the term washout really meant until she stared at one before her. A wall of mud had poured down the side of the mountain earlier, and several trees below the road level were mutilated. No longer anchored by roots, the road had collapsed into a trench almost four feet deep. A heavily tricked-out four-wheel drive might have made the crossing okay, but their Bug
wasn’t going to get across without some serious labor.
Glimmer suggested they use logs to make a temporary bridge over the trench and ropes to anchor the Bug so it wouldn’t slide. “Great idea if we had any ropes,” said Jack. “Maybe you could lift it across telekinetically?”
“I wouldn’t want to risk it. I’ve never moved anything that heavy, and if I dropped it we might lose it completely. Besides . . .” His face darkened in consternation. “There’s still something out there. I think it would be best if we all avoided using our powers as much as possible. It could be like striking a match in a dark room.”
Jack sighed. “I guess we do it the old-fashioned way.” He opened his bag and withdrew an axe and a saw.
“What, no chainsaw?” Glimmer grinned.
Jack shook his head. “Too noisy. Let’s see if we can find some deadfall long enough to make a good bridge. I’d rather not have to cut something down.”
They spread out and ranged up and down the hillside to look for fallen trees. Several were available, but they were all wet and extremely heavy. It took all four of the heroes to drag the logs over to the road and to place them over the trench.
“I wish Jason was here.” Jack wiped sweat from his brow. “He digs on heavy work like this.”
“That’d keep Sally happy,” said Glimmer.
Sally glared at him as she tried to dig out a splinter embedded deep in her palm. “Does everybody know about us?”
“I don’t think anybody’s called the Lucky Seven yet,” said Jack, chuckling.
“All right, you two.” Doublecharge wrapped an entire roll of duct tape around the logs to keep them from slipping once the Bug’s weight was upon them.
The sun had already dropped behind the mountains when they finished building their makeshift bridge. Don’t travel after nightfall, advised the State Department’s Consular Information Sheet for Guatemala. Extremely dangerous. Sally looked with apprehension into the darkening jungle as they moved all their gear to the other side of the washout. If the Bug slipped and got stuck or fell altogether, at least they’d still have their supplies.
Jack started the Bug after they were all safely clear. “If it starts to slip, I’m jumping out,” he informed them. “I’d rather not spend the night hiking back up here. And the longer we wait it out, the more likely we are to run into the bandits.” He flipped on the Bug’s lights and began to nudge the car forward. It hung up on the raised edge of the bridge until Jack goosed the throttle and it climbed the bump.
Timbers creaked and duct tape stretched as the logs shifted a couple of inches. “Jay, are you helping?” Doublecharge asked.
“No.”
“Do it if the car’s going to fall. I don’t want to spend the night in this jungle under any circumstances. I’ll take the chance that we won’t be discovered.”
The Bug inched forward as Jack tried to look in every direction at once. One of the logs cracked and splintered, causing the left front wheel to slide to one side. Glimmer raised his arms in preparation to focus his telekinesis, but Jack managed to save it. The falling rain somehow increased in intensity to a roar as the front wheels dropped off the bridge onto the muddy road.
Water coursed down through the washout as Sally watched in concern. “I think this washout is going to get worse fast.”
Jack nodded, white-knuckled, as the Bug’s rear wheels spun against the edge of the bridge without climbing up onto it.
“Shit!” He turned around in his seat to see where he was stuck.
“You’re going to have to get a bit of a running start,” said Doublecharge. “It’s like jumping a curb.”
“Says the woman who can fly,” said Jack. “All things being equal, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”
“Die Hard,” said Sally. “We watched that last week. Jack, you’d better hurry up. I can see more mud washing away.”
Jack carefully backed up the Bug until the front wheels sat just over the bridge’s edge. He took his hands off the wheel for a moment and flexed all his fingers. Then he took a deep breath, hit the throttle, and popped the clutch. The Bug’s rear tires spun in the mud for a moment then bumped up onto the bridge. Wood cracked and duct tape split. Jack floored it in pure panic. The Bug skittered across the bridge and slid to a stop in the mud beyond. Their makeshift bridge collapsed into the trench and washed down the side of the mountain by the torrent of muddy water.
Jack pushed his soaked hair back from his forehead, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. “That’s the longest four feet I’ve ever driven. I’m done for the day. Can anyone else drive a stick?”
“We’re surprised you made it at all, norte americano,” said a voice from the trees. Several men stepped out onto the road, both in front of and behind the team. All wore threadbare fatigues and carried automatic rifles. Several also carried plastic coolers. The brightly-colored plastic was incongruous amid the greens and browns of the jungle. “Hands up.” The speaker was a heavyset man with a thick mustache and a white scar on his chin.
Sally glanced quickly at Doublecharge to see what she should do. Doublecharge raised her hands cautiously, as did Glimmer. Sally lifted her own as well, but shifted her perceptions into high gear in preparation for fight or flight.
Jack stuck his hands in the air. “Easy, pal. You’re getting no trouble from us. We’ll pay whatever toll you want if you’ll let us go on our way.”
“You’re a long way from the tourist spots,” the scar-faced man said. “No policía this far out. We’ll take what we want as we please. Paco, Eduardo . . . get their bags.”
Two other men slung their rifles and dragged the heroes’ bags over to the bandits’ leader, who waved the tip of his rifle at Jack. “Out of the car, señor. Let’s have a look at the four of you.” He handed his rifle to another man, drew a pistol, and advanced on him.
Sally quivered like a racehorse before the starting pistol. Running would be treacherous on the slick mud, but it would hamper the bandits’ movement just as much as it would hers. The leader examined each of them close enough that they could smell the stink of his breath. “Nice and healthy, yes? No alcohol, no tobacco. Good clean living. I love americanos. You take such good care of your bodies.”
Several of the men burst out in laughter at this. The others looked confused until one of them translated in rapid-fire Spanish.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the leader. “I’m in a great mood today. I’ll let three of you go, and I’ll even let you take the car. The fourth one . . . stays with us.”
“Take me,” said Jack.
“Shut up, Jack,” said Doublecharge. “No deal. We all leave together.”
“What? You let your woman speak for you, señor? I’m shocked!”
“Not as shocked as you’re going to be.” A tiny spark snapped in one of Doublecharge’s eyes.
The leader smiled at her with a mouthful of rotten teeth. “I’ll take this one. She looks like she’ll provide a bountiful harvest.”
“No!” Jack leaped toward the leader. Several guns thundered and Jack spun about in midair as the bullets impacted all over him. He tumbled to the ground and lay still. Sally and Glimmer threw themselves to the ground, as did Doublecharge and the bandit leader.
“Goddammit, don’t shoot while I’m out here, you assholes!” The leader shook his fist at his men. “Somebody check that pendejo and see if we can salvage anything.”
Sally began to get an icky, cold feeling in the small of her back as she saw two men come forward with large coolers and knives. Salvage? What did that mean? Suddenly it came to her. In the Consular Sheets, she’d read a short little blurb about people being kidnapped for their organs. The State Department had discounted the tales as rumors.
Something colorful flashed past her, fast enough only to be a blur to everyone else. Her brain protested that such a thing had to be a figment of her panicked imagination. It was a feathered, winged snake with a razor-sharp blade for a tail that whipped past the two men who approache
d Jack. It caught each one across the throat with its tail and left a spray of bright arterial blood in its wake. Everyone froze for a moment as the two men swayed before they toppled, and then all hell broke loose.
Doublecharge hit the leader with such a hard jolt of electricity that he flew backward through the air, knocked right out of his boots, and bounced down the slope until he fetched up against a tree with his fatigues and skin blackened and smoldering. Glimmer grunted with the effort of concentration and three men dropped to the ground, either unconscious or dead from his psionic attack. Jack uncurled from his fetal position to reveal a short, ugly pistol in his hand. He fired the entire clip into the largest grouping of opponents, unconcerned about their return fire.
Sally wavered, uncertain what to do. A man who aimed his gun at Doublecharge galvanized her into action. In a flash, Sally moved next to him, dropped his clip from the weapon and popped out the unfired bullet. He pulled on the trigger, but got only an empty click. Before she could do anything else, the feathered serpent looped around his head and stuck its tail straight through the back of his neck. Blood spattered Sally and she recoiled in shock.
As suddenly as the fight had begun, it was over. Silence reigned across the mountainside except for patter of rain on leaves and a few muffled gurgles from men as they bled to death.
Jack got to his feet, his clothing shredded from the gunfire. “Everyone okay?”
Sally’s stomach clenched and she barely remembered to hold her braids back as she vomited up her lunch.
Doublecharge was by her side in a moment, her hands cool on Sally’s head. “You all right, Sally?”
Sally wiped her mouth with a hand that shook like a leaf in a gale. Glimmer handed her a water bottle. She spilled half of it.
“You’ve never been in lethal combat before, have you?” Stacey asked.
Sally shook her head, glad it was still raining so they couldn’t see her tears.
“Listen, Sally . . .” Jack slipped a new clip into his pistol, and tucked it back into his belt. “These guys were bad. Real bad. They would have killed us all without a second thought and stolen our body parts to sell on the black market. It was either us or them. Me, I’m glad it was them.”
She nodded and risked a tiny sip of water into her queasy stomach. The winged snake had curled around a low tree branch and regarded them with curious, bird-like eyes. “What is that thing?” Glimmer asked.
“I think it’s called a Quetzalcoatl,” said Jack. “It shouldn’t be here. They’re mythical.” The snake stuck a forked tongue out at Jack and flicked it back and forth, tasting the air.
Sally got the distinct idea that it was laughing at them. “Do you think it understands us? Hola, señor serpiente. ¿Usted me entiende?”
The snake bobbed its head up and down in an unmistakable yes.
“This is all very interesting.” Doublecharge looked around. “But it’s not getting us to Porto San José any faster. If the snake wants to talk things over, it can do it on the road. I’ve had about all the surprises I want for one day, and I want to get out of this goddamned rain.” She shook her bedraggled locks for emphasis.
The snake dropped from its branch to the ground. With a flash and a smell of ozone, rain flashed into steam and instead of a winged snake, they saw a slight boy, maybe sixteen years old, huddled naked in a fresh crater in the hillside.
Jack’s pistol appeared in his hands so fast that even Sally didn’t see him draw. “Hold it right there.”
The boy raised one hand to comply but left the other to cover himself and stayed hunched over. “Please, señor, no be afraid. I no speak when I am el Quetzalcoatl.” His accent was thick but decipherable.
“Who are you?” Doublecharge asked. Lightning crackled around her fist.
“Diego. You American superheroes, sí?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“You shot lots, not hurt. She shot lightning. She very fast.” He pointed to each of them in turn.
“You were watching us?” Glimmer asked
“Sí. I follow los bandidos de riñónes y de ojos.”
“The what?” Sally didn’t recognize the words he’d used, but her Spanish classes had been lacking in criminal vernacular.
“Stealers of kidneys and eyes,” said Jack.
“Very bad men. Deserve to die.”
“No argument from me there,” said Doublecharge.
“You here for compound?”
“A compound, Diego?” Jack asked.
“You destroy it? Bad place.” The boy’s voice was hopeful, but his face fell as he looked at the four of them. “Only four of you. Not enough”
Doublecharge and Jack exchanged glances. “Diego, where do you live?” asked Stacey.
“Porto San José, with mi madre.”
“Want a lift back to town? You can ride on the running board.”
“I fly back, but then I no speak to you.” He looked down at himself. “Lo siento. My clothes lost when I become Quetzalcoatl.”
“We’ll see what we can round up for you,” said Doublecharge. “Sally, you’re the only one small enough to have anything that might fit him. Think you could find him a pair of pants?”
Sally nodded. Diego was an attractive boy, with smooth brown skin, shoulder-length black hair, and straight teeth. Although he wasn’t bulked-up like Jason, she could see the play of every muscle under his skin. He smiled up at her from his crouched position. “Gracias, señorita.”
“De nada.” She blushed.
They left the bodies where they had fallen. Jack said the jungle would take care of them with its own quick and unique efficiency.
In a few minutes, they had stowed the luggage back onto the Bug and were on their way. Diego stood on the passenger-side running board and held onto the door for balance. He wore only a pair of Sally’s cutoff jeans around his narrow hips. Although he mostly spoke to Doublecharge, he often glanced back at Sally in a way that made her feel embarrassed. This Guatemalan boy had a raw sexuality about him that had her hormones all in a twist. Maybe it was because he was foreign. Maybe it was just her body’s reaction to the high stress of the combat.
“Tell me about this compound you mentioned, Diego,” Doublecharge said.
“It there long time. Tribes afraid. Many people gone. Whole villages in mountains gone. Maybe people there.”
“Who’s in charge of it?” Glimmer asked.
“I no know English word. Un extranjero.”
“A foreigner,” said Sally.
“American? A black man? Un hombre negro?” Jack asked over his shoulder.
“No. White man, yellow hair.” Diego reached out and stroked Sally’s hair for a second. She was so surprised she didn’t recoil from the sudden familiarity from this boy she barely knew. Sally figured the man had to be Heinrich Kaiser.
“Diego, how did you learn what you do know about it?” Doublecharge asked.
“Compound soldiers buy supplies in Porto José. Sometimes they get drunk. I listen. Mi madre has a bar.”
“How long have you been able to turn into a, uh, quest . . . quelt . . .” Sally floundered over the unfamiliar word.
“Quetzalcoatl is new to me. I get very sick, almost die.”
“Have you seen a black American man in town? He’d be about my age and very smart, maybe buying electronic and mechanical parts?” Jack asked.
“Sí, I see him. He here very long time. Many crates come to him at port. He no drink. Mi madre says never trust man who won’t take drink.”
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.” Jack chuckled. “Do you know of a place we can stay while we’re in the port?”
“Sí. Rooms above the bar. Very clean. Very nice.”
“We’ll pay cash for them.”
“Muy bueno.” Diego grinned as his hair flapped in the breeze.
“One last question, Diego,” said Jack as the Bug cleared the edge of the trees. The lights of Porto San José twinkled in the near dis
tance. “Do you by any chance know a man named Luís de la Barros?”
Diego’s smile vanished. “El traficante. He stays at port hotel. Many guns. You buying?”
“Sí,” said Jack.
“Who’s that?” Sally whispered to Glimmer.
Our CIA contact, said a voice inside her head which made her jump. He turned his head to look at her. Don’t ask too many questions. Diego is telling the truth as far as he knows it, but I sense something deceitful about him, something hidden deep in his mind.
“There it is,” called Diego as he pointed toward the ramshackle town crouched on the seaside. “Hay Porto San José!”
“I’m sure we’ll find what we’re looking for there,” said Doublecharge.
“I’m sure we’ll hate what we find,” countered Jack under his breath.