The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (44 page)

Something then clicked in his mind. Yeah, the same grid but smaller was painted on the wall at the pyramid, and it had the solution!

Dom gave himself an enthusiastic nod. “Nice one, Trix,” he said, joy at her foresight flooding his veins. If she’d never taken those snaps, then he’d have been mincemeat ages ago. He fished her smartphone out of his pocket. All he had to do was check the snap, and step on the stones that were X’ed out. Simple.

With a positive grin
,
he went to bring up the image. This was gonna be a piece of—

His jaw dropped in horror. The smartphone screen was smashed. A spider web of cracks obscured the screen, making it impossible to check.

I-I-I
his mind stammered.
What?

He glared at the smartphone in his hand in numb disbelief. It just stared back at him, cracked and broken.

A bolt of anger split him in two. “Oh, crap!” he shouted at the ceiling. “This can’t be happening!” He wiped the screen on his thigh and checked it. It was still cracked. “Seriously? SERIOUSLY?”

I thought she said these frickin’ things were military grade!

He glanced back at the exit to the mineshaft. He must have smashed it against the wall in there. He turned back, a grim reality now setting into his mind. He stared down at the grid by his feet with unabridged terror.

There was no way of knowing which squares to take to make it through the room alive.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

T
rixie made it to the end of the dirt track and back out to the river. Their boat was exactly where they left it. She jumped in, just as Rafa and Alicia arrived at the bank.

“Come on!” said Trixie.

Alicia got in first, Rafa following up.

“Get this thing moving!” Trixie ordered.

Rafa leaped to the front of the boat and fired up the engine. It chugged into life. Raised voices by the bank made Trixie’s head spin. The remaining monks and thugs were at the riverbank, gesticulating at them as they pulled away.

“Duck,” Trixie screamed.

Alicia fell back, lying flat on the deck; Trixie fell on her front.

A gunshot split the air.

“Get us outta here, Rafa!” Trixie shouted.

Rafa began veering left and right to make them a more difficult target, all the while the engine pushed them forward through the water.

Trixie peeked out over the edge of the boat. The guys chasing them were clambering into their boat. Trixie groaned.
Not another boat chase.

“Step on it, Rafa,” she demanded.

Rafa pushed down on the throttle and the engine began to rumble. Trixie checked on their pursuers. They were gaining. Hard. Their boat was more powerful. A guy was aiming a gun again.

It went off. Wood splintered somewhere around her.

“Alicia!” Rafa shouted above the noise of the engine. Alicia turned his way.

“Take over here!” Rafa ordered. In a bent over position, Alicia scampered to the engine. She took control while Rafa got his crossbow ready. He slipped a skewer into the groove and pulled the string back. He peeked over the frame at the attacking boat. The guy with the gun was aiming again.

Rafa let him have it.

The skewer sliced through the thug’s gun hand and straight into his face. He stood upright, his hand virtually nailed to his face. He screamed and toppled, falling into the river.

“Good shot!” Trixie said to him.

“
Gracias
.
”

The other boat kept up the chase regardless. Another thug was now aiming their gun and taking potshots. Behind him, monks in robes cowered. Trixie knew if they could get rid of that remaining thug, the monks would be easy to handle. It was all down to Rafa.

He slipped another skewer into the groove of his crossbow and aimed. He fired. Trixie peeked over the edge of the boat in anticipation. The skewer missed the thug and hit a monk in the throat. He fell back on the deck, choking.

Rafa groaned in disappointment. “Missed,” he lamented as the gunshots continued. He loaded his crossbow again and fired. This time he hit the frame of the boat. “Ach!” bemoaned Rafa as he went to pull out another skewer from his quiver. “Uh?”

Trixie flicked her eyes his way. “What’s wrong?”

Rafa was looking down at his quiver, his eyes wide with concern. “No more ammo,” he said with a shake of his head. His quiver was dry. No more skewers, no more weapons.

A gunshot went off and Trixie ducked. “Great,” she said to herself, staring at the foliage overhead as they sped beneath it. They had to shake these guys off.

She took another peek over the frame of the boat. There were three of them; one thug, two monks. The thug was aiming his gun. They hit a small wave and he almost lost his balance. While the thug regained his composure, one of the monks picked something up from the deck and handed it to him.

Trixie’s eyes widened.

The thug gleefully took the submachine gun from the monk and jumped to the head of the boat.

“Oh, crap!” Trixie groaned.

“Get down!” Rafa shouted at Alicia.

She threw herself to the deck, the boat veering off of its own accord.

Trixie watched the sick grin spread across the thug’s face before he aimed his new toy and began shooting.

CHAPTER FIFTY

D
om’s head dropped. “Oh, man, what am I gonna do now?” He gazed from the cracked smartphone screen to the contorted faces leering back at him
.
Dread rose in his heart. The Mayan god depictions were ready to spit their poison into his veins. Man, he was so close, could literally feel Magdalena calling, but was one step away from death. One wrong step.

He stared down at the stones ahead of him like they were hungry alligators skulking in a river, waiting for lunch to come their way. He laid eyes on the image of Magdalena scrawled over the nearest one. When he looked close, he could see her image had been painted over original etchings in the stone. It was the same for all the other stones. The new images had been painted over etchings of Mayan gods like those on the walls sweating him down. The Brotherhood must’ve done it as some point. Whatever, he needed to get across this grid to the opposite wall.

He raised a shaky foot, and went to place it down upon Magdalena’s face. A jolt of fear rocked him and he reeled his foot back in.

His heart began pounding in terror. He was just as close to death as he was to Magdalena.

He gazed down at the myriad of painted faces stretched out on the floor ahead of him.
Man, which stones were the right ones?

He closed his eyes, his mind working behind them, the tingle in his spine ongoing.
Okay, we’re heading to Magdalena,
he rationalized.
And I know what she looks like from all the shrines and dedications to her.

He opened his eyes.
So, it’s gotta be the pictures of the fine lady herself.

He began nodding. “That makes sense, right?” he asked the empty chamber. He was answered by silence.

He steadied himself, his eyes falling on Magdalena’s crazy face painted on that block ahead of him. He gave the faces in the surrounding walls one final look and raised his sneakerless foot ahead of him. He held it in the air, and licked his lips.

He had a final glance at a face in the wall; it had its fingers in its mouth, pulling it wide in a childish gesture.
Ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne!

Dom wiggled his toes. He took in a deep breath.
Here goes nothing!

He brought his foot down on Magdalena’s face. The stone depressed under his weight. There was a click.

Then a
phut!

He gasped in horror, rooted to the spot. A dull thud flicked his wrist back.

His back straightened, his eyes widening in fright.
I’ve been hit, I’ve been hit!

His mind raced in a million different directions. He messed up! He pushed the wrong stone and he’d been shot up with poison. This was it, he was done for. He hoped it was fast acting.

But, where did it hit?
My leg? My arm?

He looked down his body with frantic eyes.
Where are you? Where are you?

There was nothing visibly sticking out of him. And he’d felt no pain, no sharp prick, nothing.

He gazed around him in confusion, those faces still laughing at him, mocking him.

Then, he stared at his hand, the one holding the torch. He ran his eyes up, rotating the torch. His eyes widened.
No way...

A dart was sticking out of the torch handle, a couple of inches up from his grip. He shot his free hand up to his forehead and he staggered back, a mix of dread and relief flooding him. His foot came off the stone and it popped back up with a click. He bent over, the raw emotions swirling in his stomach—fear, anxiety, relief, shock, all creating a noxious brew that was like a blast from a shotgun.

He took a look back at the dart embedded in the torch handle, just to make sure it was real. Yep, it was there. If he’d been holding that torch an inch left, right, up, or down, he’d have caught it right in the chest.

I should be dead,
he realized, glaring at that dart in wonderment. He reached out his free hand to pull it out, then thought better of it.

“Just leave it,” he told himself. “Good luck charm.”

He grabbed a few seconds to steady himself, to let the storm of emotions fade away into calm.

He wiped the sweat from his heated face. He glanced back at that dart stuck in the torch handle. It was still there; a stark reminder of how much his life hung by a thread. The more he stared at it, the more surreal it was. He couldn’t believe it. He should be dead.

“You will be if you keep making stupid mistakes like that!” he scolded himself. “Think!”

So, the faces of Magdalena were a no-no, at least he could rule them out, but there were still plenty of other distinct patterns on the stones. There was no way he could risk testing them all out; he got lucky just now, but he was sure he’d used up all his luck in that one moment.

He edged up to the blocks and gazed down at them. There had to be a clue somewhere.
Yeah, on the phone you smashed!

He growled in frustration. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek. Then, something popped in his mind. Sitting down at the table with Alicia and her father’s notes. There was that one picture in particular with the Spanish beneath it. What did Alicia translate it as? Something about unholy people being able to pass?

No, no, that wasn’t it
.
Something about the blood.
About...
A spark went off in his mind. He clicked his fingers.
Unclean blood.
Then, he remembered.
Only those with unclean blood can face the Unholy Mother.

Yeah, that was it. He gazed down at the images sprawled out ahead of him. He laid eyes on Troy Guy.

Dom nodded. “Troy,” he said to the gloomy chamber. “They’re talking about Troy.” The man with the unclean blood. The one who they brought here to face Magdalena.

Troy’s the key to all of this,
he then realized.
Somehow, they believe in Troy. They think he’s... a god
.

Dom shook his head. “These guys are nuts.” A grim flashback of the last ten minutes trapped in this craphole was more than enough to verify that.

“It better be you, Troy,” Dom said down to that face with the swirly eyes. “You better not let me down, you bastard!”

He blew the air from his cheeks. “Okay. Okay, here goes nothing.” He planted one foot on the ground and raised the other one toward the Troy stone. He wriggled his toes beneath his sock as they descended toward the stone. He stopped an inch from it. He had a look up; those faces were waiting to spit at him. They missed the first time, but they wouldn’t miss again.

Dom took a big breath and glanced at the stone ceiling.
Please, please, let this be right, please let this be right.

Please...

He took a final glance at one of those faces. And then put his weight on the stone.

The stone moved down. Dom let out a small gibber as he put his other foot down on it, his heart leaping into his throat. He rammed his eyes shut.
Come on, come on, come on.

The stone pushed down further. Dom winced.

Please, please, please.

He was just waiting for the click, then the rain of darts, and that ancient poison to streamline through his veins and up to his brain, causing him to convulse on the ground in a whole world of pain.

But, it never came. Everything remained calm.

Dom’s eyes flew open. He spun his head left and right. He was alive, and everything was A-Okay. His eyes lit up with joy. “Ha ha!” he cackled. He fist pumped the air. “Oh yeah. Go Troy! Go Troy!” He caught himself heaping praise on Troy and suddenly felt nauseous. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Thanks, Troy,” he said in a deeper voice. He caught a glimpse of a Mayan god on the wall ahead of him. He stuck his tongue out at it.
My blood’s unclean too, buddy!