Now, as she rested from her inexorable walk so that her followers could eat, Coatlicue had a question.
"Why do you consume your fellow meat machines?"
"It is the way of old Mexico," Rodrigo Lujan explained, picking a shred of calf meat from his teeth. "In the old days war parties raided rival cities, taking hostages. Often of royal blood. These were sacrificed to keep the universe in motion, after which the flesh and tasty organs were eaten."
"The universe is a dynamic construct of electromagnetic forces, cosmic dust and the nuclear furnaces called suns if they are near and stars if they are not. Killing insignificant meat machines can have no direct effect upon its workings."
"But this is our most sacred belief. The flesh of enemies gives us power."
"Consuming animal flesh does fuel the body and impart the stored nutrients of the consumed," Coatlicue admitted. "Although given the long gestation and childhood periods of human meat machines, this is an inefficient allocation of resources.
The proteins absorbed by this practice are more easily obtained from four footed meat machines and plants. If humans cannibalized other humans on a steady basis, in time the population would be depleted until humans were forced to eat other things or die off as a species."
"Perhaps this is what did in the Toltecs," Lujan said thoughtfully.
They were in Oaxaca State now. The drab helicopters buzzed the horizon, but no longer approached to do harm. All they did was record the earth-shattering migration with their cameras. This was good. It would communicate fear and dread to the doomed civilized cities now reeling under their own unsupportable weight.
"Coatlicue, I tell you as a man who has never eaten human flesh before this day, I am reborn. My Zapotec spirit soars. My muscles quiver with delight. I feel a strength greater than any since human meat has passed into me."
"This is not explainable by the mere consumption of human flesh whose proteins are inferior to those of lower animals."
"I say it is true. I feel invincible!"
"Your heart rate and respiration show a 7.2 percent increase in efficiency therefore I must accept your claim. "
"Good. Good."
"And because I believe you, I will do the same. For I will need all resources obtainable to survive the present situation."
Rodrigo Lujan took an involuntary step backward. He bumped into a prostrate man. The man was on hands and knees, bowing in the direction of the stone golem that spoke a language he did not understand, but had the shape of a Mexican goddess.
Lujan reached down and, taking the man by the hair, exposed his reverent face.
"You look Chichimec," he said.
"I am Chichimec. My name is Pol. "
"Chichimec, your Mother desires to know you better."
"I thrill to serve her."
"Let me instruct you that you may best serve her. Place your fine skull at those formidable feet that she may test your faith."
The man scuttled forward on all fours.
"Coatlicue, I worship you," he said in his native tongue.
"He is saying you must eat him," Rodrigo told Coatlicue in English, a tongue not understood by the Chichimecs.
The ophidian heads angled down to fix upon the willing victim like the twin bores of a double-barreled shotgun.
"Crush his skull like a coconut, for the brains are especially delectable," Lujan said.
And lifting one foot, Coatlicue brought it down like a massive nutcracker.
The face was jammed into the dirt. The head actually turned into an oblong under the incredible pressure and when it split, blood and curdlike brain matter gushed from nose, mouth and ears.
When Coatlicue took the dead one, it was all the further proof Rodrigo Lujan required to accept her divinity.
Her mouths did not approach. A blunt elephantine foot pressed down, and as a thousand incredulous eyes watched, the body was taken into the stone like liquid being drawn up a straw.
The foot, an admixture of basalt and precious metals, suddenly marbled with human fat.
"More, " said Coatlicue. "I will have more meat. "
Chapter 21
"There's one bright spot to being in Mexico," Remo was saying as he piloted the Humvee down the winding road north of San Cristobal de las Casas. Night was falling. The smells of the Lacandon jungle night were coming to the fore, among them the sharp tang of allspice and pine straw, and another odor that made him think of burnt corncobs. It made Remo remember he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"And what is that?" asked Chiun.
"We're not in Mexico City."
"Mexico City is a terrible place," agreed Chiun. "The air is foul."
"That's on a good day," said Remo.
"I do not like to think about that place," said Chiun. "It holds terrible memories."
"Yeah. Last time we inhaled so much polluted air we were thrown completely off our game. And we had to fight Gordons."
"Another hateful name," said Chiun. "But that is not why the memories are so terrible."
"No. Then what?"
"It was there that I learned of the wonderful Aztec empire."
"Yeah, it was a great. If you like human sacrifice and kings who drank blood."
"I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of all the gold that was denied the House, for we knew nothing of the Aztecs."
"And they were only what, a four- or five-year sail from Korea?"
"It matters not how long one journeys from one's village, only the weights of gold that one bears upon him on his return," Chiun said aridly, flicking a gnat off one silken knee.
"That's easy for you to say. You weren't Wang or Yang or any of those early Masters who had to walk a few thousand dusty miles in their sandals just to reach India."
"India was a magnificent empire. We carried away much Indian gold. As well as Egyptian and Persian gold. These empires were most worthy in that wise. But of Aztec gold, we had none."
"Alas and alack," Remo clucked.
Chiun sniffed the air. "Perhaps there may yet be Aztec gold lying about, awaiting rescue."
"The only thing yellow I smell is burnt corncobs."
"Close your nostrils to its siren call," said Chiun. "Once you start on the path of corn eating, next you will be drinking its intoxicating juices. The path to slothfulness and ruin is paved with corn and pared fingernails."
"I'd settle for cold rice," Remo said dryly.
A road sign appeared, saying Chi Zotz. There was no milage or direction indicated.
Remo pulled out a map. "Boca Zotz is supposed to be around here, but it's not on this map."
"Perhaps it is near Chi Zotz," Chiun said. "We will stop at the next village and inquire."
"Suits me. Let's hope we can get a line on Verapaz while we're at it. It's a big jungle."
"Bristling with all manner of high dangers and low corn," added the Master of Sinanju sagely.
Chapter 22
When the harsh rattle of autofire came, it sounded amazingly far away.
Maybe it was the terrible sound itself that contributed to the momentary amazement that seized the wild-haired warrior's helpless body.
Always in the past, the Extinguisher had been in situations that would break a lesser man. Many were the traps, ambushes and deaths engineered for him. Yes, he fell into a good many of these. No warrior is perfect. But always and invariably the Extinguisher mustered his jungle-honed combat skills and saved the day-not to mention his battle-hardened butt.
The percussive sound of autofire meant that this was one time that wasn't going to happen.
In the brief moments before the bullets ripped into his steely muscled form with their hot, fatal kisses, the Extinguisher said a silent combat prayer to the red god of battle. This was not the way he had ever imagined it ending. Not here. Not now. Not so soon, with so many battles to be fought and the enemy in this campaign as yet unvanquished.