The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (39 page)

Instead, he got flies and mosquitoes. The bastards wanted his blood. He dipped into his pocket, fished out his can of mosquito repellent, and proceeded to lather his arms with it. Some of it got in Trixie’s eyes and mouth; she coughed.

“That stuff’s strong,” she said, wafting her clammy face.

“It needs to be around here!”

They delved deeper into the jungle, passing beneath canopies of giant trees all jostling for light, brushing by exotic plant life that looked to Dom like something from another freaking planet altogether.

The thug was in the lead, Rafa poking him in the back with the tip of his crossbow. Dom knew he could be leading them into a trap, only time would tell. They followed those tracks deep into the jungle, the humidity stifling. Dom constantly wiped the sweat from his brow, the smell of the river still on him. He was watching everything, stepping nice and slow through the jungle like it was a bed of nails. They walked for around ten minutes before the tracks stopped; the Jeep sat just ahead of them, empty.

They carried on beyond it, the track thinning into a tiny footpath, the surrounding now thickening with exotic foliage. They moved deeper into the jungle for another five-ten minutes, Dom swatting mosquitoes and spraying DEET like it was a religion, the jungle buzzing with activity.

He didn’t know how much more he could take. It was the vacation from Hell. He just wanted to—

The thug came to a sharp stop.

Dom’s heart skipped a beat.

“
Que pasa?
” Rafa asked the thug.

The thug put a finger to his lips and ducked down behind a bush. He urged them to duck down with him. He then pointed out into the jungle beyond them. Dom squinted his eyes. In the distance was a small entrance to a stone cave. Hanging around outside were other thugs and guys in black robes; they looked like they were waiting for something. Or someone.

Troy,
Dom thought to himself. He just knew it.

“What’s going on?” Trixie asked.

Rafa asked the thug. He replied.

“He says they’re waiting for the unification of the Bloodthirsty One and the Unholy Mother,” Alicia told them.

“Is Magdalena in there?” Trixie asked.

The thug shook his head. He spoke and Rafa listened.

“He says the temple of Magdalena is attached to this one, but further that way,” said Alicia.

The thug then began speaking in a hurried voice, his eyes wide with innocence.

“What did he say?” asked Trixie.

“He wants us to let him go,” Rafa said. “He says he won’t tell them he saw us.”

“Yeah right!” Trixie snorted. “Listen, Jack. You’re taking us to the entrance of the temple or you’re going back to the river!”

The thug’s shoulders dropped; he stared at the ground with disappointed eyes, no doubt getting the gist of what Trixie was suggesting.

Rafa then shoved him in the opposite direction to the entourage ahead of them. “
Vamos!
”

The thug trudged along again, giving the monks a wide berth and leading them through a much thicker section of the jungle. They walked for another five minutes or so before the thug turned and pointed ahead of him. Dom and Trixie stepped ahead. What faced them was a squat stone monument set at an angle from where it had subsided over the centuries. A dark rectangular entrance gaped at them, vine hanging down over it like straggly hair.

“Is that it?” Dom asked in an anticlimactic tone.

The thug nodded.

“Looks small,” Dom said to him.

The thug began speaking, flattening his hand and pushing it down through the air at a forty-five degree angle.

“He says it goes underground,” Alicia said.

“And the Unholy Mother is in there?” Trixie asked.

The thug nodded. “
Si.
In there,” he echoed.

Trixie nodded. “Well, thanks for the tour, Jack.”

The thug began looking around them with those innocent eyes again.

“You two keep an eye on our friend here,” Trixie told Alicia and Rafa. “We’re going in.”

The thug balled his fists up and hit the air in frustration.

“Okay,” said Alicia. “Be careful.”

Trixie turned to Dom. “All set?”

Dom stared at that black rectangle in trepidation. A temple full of traps, old Lionel found out. At the end of which was an ancient vampire waiting. Hungry.

He gulped. “No, but let’s do this!”

Trixie stepped toward the temple entrance.

Dom followed up, Rafa giving him a pat on the back. Dom nodded in return, but it was a token gesture. His guts were trembling, his heart pounding. He knew he might walk into this place and never come back out.

But, that realization wasn’t new to him anymore. It was his world now.

As they neared, the gushing sound of a small tributary of the Madeira filled the air.

They reached the entrance, and came to a halt. “Well, here we are,” Dom said.

Trixie nodded, her eyes gleaming with uncertainty.

High above them the birds continued with that laugh-like cawing. Dom peered into that dark entrance; a mysterious gloom stared back at him. There could be anything in there waiting. Anything. A cold shiver danced up and down his spine, even though he was sweltering. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled some of the vine aside, clearing the way.

He took a deep breath, glanced at Trixie, and nodded.

“Here goes nothing,” he said and stepped into that darkness. Trixie followed up.

“
Buena suerte, amigos!
” Rafa shouted after them.

Dom shuddered as the darkness swallowed him whole, and with that, they’d finally entered the temple of Magdalena.

PART SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

D
om flicked on his Zippo.

The thin stone corridor illuminated burned orange. The wall to their right was lined with torches. Dom grabbed one and lit the end with his Zippo. The torch caught alight and burned strong, creating ample light for them both.

He passed the torch to Trixie and grabbed another for himself.

He pushed his lit torch on the air ahead of him; he illuminated more stone walls and a stone floor. The ceiling was barely a foot above his head.

Man, the people that built this place must have been tiny.

The stone around them appeared to be veined, but on closer inspection it was jungle vine finding cracks to thrive through and spread. Some of it hung down like a shaggy dog’s fringe, creating a bead curtain effect.

Dom took the lead. He grabbed a deep breath, then set off with slow pigeon steps, his mind wary of traps. He reached out and pushed aside hanging vine; it was thick and coarse.

All outside sound was now muted. Their footfalls scratched across the stone, echoing back at them from the surrounding walls. Tiny insects crawled across the walls, disappearing in the myriad of cracks and crannies. As he edged along the corridor, Dom’s breathing turned ragged, hot in his ears. Discomfort riddled its way through his mind and body. He didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what they were walking into.

“Be careful, don’t touch anything,” Trixie said behind him, swinging her head left and right. “This place will be wired with traps. The people who built it didn’t want anyone getting in.”

“Which is why they put Magdalena in here. To stop her from getting out.”

“Or to stop anyone letting her out.”

“True.”

As Dom led them through the corridor, a sense of intrigue mixed with a dash of fear rose inside him. This was the craziest vamp nest he’d stepped into yet. Ancient stone temples filled with traps was a million light years away from run down Chicago projects and abandoned houses. It was kind of like—

His foot fell on something soft; it pushed down like a pedal. He froze, his jaw going slack.

A rumble of stone just behind him made him spin. He caught a final glimpse of Trixie before a stone wall descended, separating them.

“No!” Trixie yelled before the volume of her voice became muted by the now closed door. Dom looked down at his sneakers. He lifted up his foot; a small pressure plate popped back up. He turned back to the stone door, expecting it to open up once more, but it remained shut. He pushed the pressure plate down again. Then again and again. It just clicked endlessly without anything happening.

He grabbed his head with his free hand. “Shit!” he spat in anger.

“Dom! Dom!” he heard Trixie’s muffled voice shout.

He approached the stone door. “Yeah, I’m here. I stepped on something that made this door come down.”

“Step on it again,” she suggested.

“I’ve tried. Nothing happening.”

“Have a look for a switch or something.”

Dom trained his torch on all the surrounding walls and floor; there was nothing noticeable, no buttons, protrusions or levers. He began pushing areas of the walls with his free hand, stepping on different parts of the floor, even the pressure plate again. It just clicked dumb and stupid.

“Anything?” Trixie asked.

“Nothing. How about you?”

“Nothing here either.”

Dom thumped the wall. “Christ! What do we do now?”

There was a pause, then, “You’ll have to go on alone, Dom,” Trixie said.

“What?” Dom exclaimed, his eyes focused on the dark, lonely corridor running off into the distance.

“What other choice do we have?”

Dom grabbed his forehead. “There must be a way of getting this thing open; a pressure plate or a switch or something!”

“Can you find any?”

“No!”

“Then you’ll have to go on alone.”

His head fell back. “
Oh Christ...
”

A small scratching along the ground caught his attention. Something was being pushed beneath the door. “Here, take this,” Trixie said. “Use the pictures I took at the pyramid to help you.”

With a sigh, Dom bent down and picked up Trixie’s smartphone. He blew the dust away from the screen and rubbed it on his pants. “Thanks,” he said in a peeved voice.

“Give me yours so I can keep a track on you.”

Dom slid his smartphone under the door for Trixie.

“All right, Dom. If you’re gonna get outta there, you’ll have to go forward.”

Dom reluctantly nodded his head. “Great.”

“I’ll try and find a way to get this open,” Trixie told him.

Dom groaned to himself. “I’ll catch up with you outside,” he said in a despondent voice.

“Be careful, Dom,” Trixie said.

“I will,” Dom replied.
I hope.

He turned and surveyed his surroundings. The corridor disappeared into a darkness his torchlight couldn’t yet reach. It was hot, tight, claustrophobic, not a sound to be heard bar the small crackle of fire on his torch. The lack of oxygen in the temple meant his flame was diminished; barely surviving. The small glow it offered gave him a few feet of light and nothing more. He growled to himself. The chips were stacked against him already.

Just my luck.

A thought then dropped in his mind. He saw Trixie, all alone, running around the I-Sore Tower, risking her life, literally working her fingers to the bone to save him and Vincent. Now, he kinda knew how she must’ve felt once it all hit home for her. Once she realized it was her against everything else.

Hope flowered in his heart. If she could do it, then so could he.

“Just part of the job, Dom,” he said to himself as he stared at the stone walls encasing him. “Part of the job. Just remember to ask Vincent for a pay rise once you get back to Chicago.”

Chicago?
Man, Chicago suddenly felt like a whole other planet.

He took a long, juddering breath. “All right, Dom. It’s down to you, buddy. Just take it one step at a time. One at a time.”

He took his first step forward, tiny fragments of ancient stone popping and cracking under his sneaker. He shone his torch down at the ground, not wanting to step on another one of those pressure plates. They’d caused more than enough trouble already. He ventured to take another step, the ancient aroma of old stone, vines and trapped humidity flirting with his nostrils. Dom recognized those combinations; they were the smell of a tomb, the exact same sensation he experienced whenever entering the crypt of a vamp. Whether it was a Chicago slum or a Mayan temple, it was always the same.

He took another tentative step and now he was deep into the corridor, all alone. Pangs of paranoia slapped him from all angles. All he could think of was traps. Traps, traps, traps. All over the place, everywhere, like he was imprisoned in a videogame. Any wrong step would trigger off a closing wall or a flying spear or blow dart in his ass and that would be the end.

His breathing turned shallow, sweat began to pour. It trickled down his back, plastering his tee to his skin. He wiped his brow; the back of his hand was soaked.