The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (41 page)

Trixie pointed at the thug. “Maybe our friend here knows—”

The thug shoved his knee upward, catching Rafa in the crotch. Rafa groaned in agony; he immediately doubled over, his eyes crossing. He inadvertently lowered his crossbow, and the thug was now free of its threat. Before anyone had a chance to react, the thug turned and ran.

Alicia went straight to Rafa and grabbed his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“
Si!
” Rafa said through clenched teeth, his face reddening. “Stop him!” he blurted, thrusting a finger toward the thug.

Trixie rotated left and right, trying to fix her gaze on Rafa and the thug at the same time. The realization clicked in her mind that the thug would most likely try and warn his monk buddies what was going on.

She went after him, not giving it a second thought. She ran and jumped through the jungle, lamenting the fact she couldn’t summersault through it. If she could, she would’ve caught him in seconds. Instead, she found herself stumbling and veering left and right to avoid bushes and hanging vines, the unstable ground slowing her down. The thug was clearly more accustomed to moving through the terrain. He was building up a wide gap between them. Every now and then, he’d glance back over his shoulder to see who was following. Trixie kept up the chase; she wished she had her dart gun, then he’d be down in a heartbeat.

No such luxury. She had to do this one the old fashioned way. She leaped over a bush, something darting away from her to the left. Her shoulder scraped against a hanging vine, but she kept on going.

The thug made it a little further on and then he began waving his arms and shouting. Trixie’s eyes widened. She upped her pace, almost tripping on some exposed tree roots. She closed the gap. The thug seemed to run out of juice. He came to a stop, his shouting petering out. He grabbed his thighs while he tried to catch his breath. Trixie was virtually on him when she too came to a grinding halt.

Up ahead was the entrance to the adjoining temple. The monks and thugs were still gathered around the entrance. Trixie jumped up to the thug she was chasing. His back straightened and he let out an immense cry like a wild animal. Trixie threw a karate chop to the back of his neck. He stopped his wailing and stumbled forward, falling flat on his face.

Trixie scanned the area ahead with hot eyes.
Did they hear him? Did they hear him?

To her horror, one of the monks was pointing her way, shouting at his pals. In the next instant, they were heading toward her. Another thug lifted up a gun and aimed at her.

Trixie gasped. The thug pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

T
he old lever let out a rusty creak.

Dom winced, shutting his eyes tight. He was half-expecting poison darts to rain on him any second. His heart pounded like a kettle drum as the seconds ticked by while he waited. Waited for the pain.

But, everything remained still. He popped an eye open; everything remained as it was. Relief swept over him like a tidal wave; it almost caused his legs to buckle. He held on, his chest relaxing. A crazed laugh escaped him. “I did it! I did it!”

But, his joy was short-lived. It wasn’t over yet.

He glared around him at those crazy faces. They continued to leer at him, basking in the suffering they were inflicting. But, they were silent, and that’s how he wanted them to remain.

“Okay, okay,” he said to himself, grabbing Trixie’s smartphone. “The middle one is...” He checked the snap. “Straight. Left as is.” He showed the lever his palm and then checked the pic again. The one on the right was... down. “Down, down, deeper, down,” he said to himself in a soft voice as he put the smartphone back into his pocket and took hold of the lever.

He steadied himself, closed his eyes and muttered a small prayer. “Let this be right, please let this be right.” He opened his eyes again. He could feel their eyes on him, desperate for him to make a wrong move, desperate to add another dead adventurer to their collection of conquered souls.
Go on, give us a reason to kill you. Go on, do it!

He wiped the grime from his brow, his hand clutched on that lever. He was delaying, the acute awareness of his life on a thread playing havoc with his nerves. Somewhere in the haze of his mind he could hear the ancient Mayans chanting as they paid homage to their gods; gods who demanded blood and sacrifice. Mayan hands built these elaborate traps in order to preserve their culture, and now a man from the future was seeking to plunder their heritage.

He licked his lips and went to pull it down.

He froze. “Oh, man. I can’t,” he said to the dead chamber. “I can’t!”

His head dropped in despondency.

You’ve got no choice!
a sudden voice in his mind then countered.
Just go for it!

A hot rush of bravery shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He whipped in a quick breath and grabbed that lever again. Without another thought, he yanked it down, releasing an agonized groan.

His eyes bulged in anticipation. It was reward or death!

A rumble to his left made him gasp. He ducked, throwing his hand over his head, even though he knew that would be a useless defense against the blow darts. The rumble continued, and he dared to peek out from under his arm. The wall next to the alcove housing the levers was moving upward.

Dom’s eyes flashed with hope. The smile now on his face was fast evolving into a massive grin. He whipped his head around. Joy erupted in his heart; those gnarly faces were retracting back into the gaps in the walls. He checked the ceiling; the faces were headed back into their boxes to wait for the next intruder.

This one was worthy. He should pass.

Dom straightened his back, a sense of pride and power thrumming through him alongside the rumble of the wall ahead of him. Ancient dust and tiny fragments of stone rained down from the bottom edge of the wall as it vanished into the ceiling, exposing the corridor beyond. The rumbling then ceased, and the way was clear.

Everything went silent.

Dom looked around him in wonder. An abrupt laugh bolted from his chest. “Ha ha!” He fist pumped the air. “Woohoo!” He grabbed Trixie’s smartphone and kissed it. “Yes!”

He looked down at Skelton Guy. “Not this time, buddy.”

Skeleton Guy just stayed as he was, a heap of bones.

Dom faced the open doorway, his chest releasing. He dared to lift a foot off the pressure plate, before stepping off it completely. It clicked back into place. Nothing else happened. Dom nodded his head at Skelton Guy. “Later, pal!”

Skeleton Guy watched him take slow steps through the opening. Dom now found himself in a new corridor like back at the entrance. Familiar territory. Heat, old musk, and dank air. “On we go,” he said to himself, taking a step forward, bringing his torch up and around as he went. A few steps and his sneaker fell on another pressure plate. He froze. “Oh crap, not again!”

The door he’d just opened began descending once more. He watched in helplessness as it came back down, locking him in. He huffed.
Great...

“All right, all right. It’s no biggie,” he told himself. He had to go forward anyway. The wall hit the ground with a crunch and then everything went silent again.

Dom faced the corridor ahead of him. “Onward, Dr. Livingstone,” he said to himself, wiping the sweat from his face. “Onward and upward.”

He crept through the stone corridor, arcing his torch up and around, scrutinizing everything. Making it past the first hurdle had raised his confidence, but he knew he couldn’t get complacent. There was no telling what else was waiting for him in this mad house.

When his torch lit up a solid wall straight ahead of him, he frowned. He brought his torch around, thinking the corridor veered off to the left or right; he was met with more wall, and no visible openings. He growled.
Please, no.

He felt around for a switch, lever, pressure plate, or protruding block. Something, anything. It was all smooth stone. There was nothing. Apart from a dead end.

“What now?” he asked himself in terror. “Go back? I’m trapped in here!” He rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m stuck,” he said to himself in sheer dejection. The thought of dying in that corridor alone, starving to death slow and painful, bombed into his mind. He grabbed his forehead. “Oh, man, oh, man...”

He dropped onto his ass, exhausted, crestfallen. “I tried my best,” he said to the stone corridor. “I tried. Dad, I tried. Eddie, I tried. Trixie, Vincent, I tried. Just know that I tried.”

His chest collapsed in misery. It was all over.

As his head dropped, he caught a glimpse of something. “Huh?”

He craned his neck forward. He was now eye level with a gap at the bottom of the wall ahead of him about two feet by two feet wide. He squinted.
Is that a... crawlspace?

He got on his hands and knees and moved up to it, his torch held out in front of him. He shone his torch inside the space; it was a long corridor that led into darkness. But, more importantly, it was a way forward.

Hope streamed through him, lifting his spirits. He wasn’t stuck after all. “You know what? Forget what I just said, everyone. I’m still alive and kicking!”

He licked his lips and stared into that corridor. It was a tight squeeze, but he could make it. He pushed his torch as far into it as he could. He lit up about twenty feet of crawlspace before darkness took over.

“Oh man, I really,
really
don’t wanna go in there.” He rubbed his grimy face. “Can’t I just go home?”

He huffed. He stared down that shaft again. Who knew how far it went?

He knew he had no other choice, it was onward and upward or stay still and die. “I know I’m gonna regret this,” he said as he reluctantly crawled like a baby toward that mouth. “All right. Here goes nothing.”

That tunnel swallowed him and the world turned even more claustrophobic. Stone walls encased him, threatening to squeeze the life out of him; it was like being trapped in a test tube. He crawled along, his torch held out ahead of him, his free hand slapping on stone, his knees scraping across it. He inched along, the heat from his torch amplifying his discomfort. Sweat poured all over his body, it dripped into his eyes, meaning he had to stop and wipe it away with his free hand. Every now and then he straightened his back, his instincts wanting him to be upright. His back banged on the stone ceiling, sending him down once more.

“Goddamn you, Vincent!” he growled. “Sitting there in your Chicago mansion, while I’m in a frickin’ mineshaft!”

He pushed his torch forward, hoping to illuminate the end of the corridor. A small, dark square about thirty feet up came into view. Pangs of optimism went off in his mind. He had a way out. And that was what he aimed for.

He crawled along a few more feet, a small rush of adrenaline driving him on. He wanted to get out of that shaft ASAP. Then, his knee fell on something soft and it pushed down with a click.

“Oh for Chrissakes!” he groaned out loud, exasperated. “Not ag—”

There was a sharp, metallic clang behind him. He poked his head down and stared through his legs back at the entrance; it was now blocked by metal bars. “Okay. No going back. I get it. Onward and up—”

He was cut short by a set of sharpened spikes—four across—that bolted down from the crawlspace ceiling around two feet behind him; the sharp points of the spikes slammed into the floor with another unnerving clang.

Dom yelped in shock. The spikes retracted back into the ceiling as fast as they came, just as an identical sound went off ahead of him. He snapped his head back up. A similar set of spikes thrust down from the ceiling barely inches from the end of his torch. He froze, staring at the spikes in dumb horror. If he’d been just a foot further in, his head would be a shish kebab.

He kept his stare on the spikes with a morbid fixation. His cheeks trembled with terror, his heart ready to burst out of his chest. The spikes ahead of him shot back up into the tiny cavity they’d dropped from. Dom didn’t dare to move an inch; he was frozen with fear, his veins turning to ice.

He watched more sets of spikes slam down at regular intervals further down the crawlspace before flying back up. Behind him the slam and clang of spikes went off once more. The set ahead of him then shot down and up again. Somewhere above and around him the whir of ancient mechanics droned; the tiny knock of wooden cogs revolving, old toughened vine stretching. It was a trap; depressing the pressure plate had triggered it, now the spikes were slamming down and up at regular intervals.

He was stuck in that booby trapped tunnel with only one way out.

His mind fizzed with terror, the situation beginning to send him into a panic. He needed to calm down, to try and cool it and work out how to negotiate this. He remained frozen while he watched the spikes descend and retract all along the tunnel, his bladder getting hot. He counted four sets of spikes ahead of him. He had to get through them all unscathed and to that square exit at the end of the tunnel.

While the clanging went on around him like a deadly chorus, he gathered himself. He was in a safe spot, so there was no impaling about to happen any time soon. He just had to get the rhythm of the spikes down so he could pass under them. And that’s what terrified him.