The bolt detonated. That was the exact sound. A ripping explosion, not a crack of lightning. Awesome to hear.
Coatlicue stopped dead in her tracks, and her entire body rippled with blue-and-green sparks and splinters of light.
When his ears cleared enough that he could hear again, Rodrigo heard the creak of her metal carapace as she resumed her untiring gait.
"You live, Coatlicue! " he called out.
"I survive. I must survive."
"We will both survive," he cried, following.
Not two hundred yards farther along, the second bolt struck.
Again the hairs lifted along his arms. Again there was the bitter ozone in his nostrils, and again Lujan sought refuge under the skirts of his mighty Mother.
This time he knew enough to plug his precious eardrums with his fingers.
Still the boom threw him off his feet.
This time Coatlicue crackled and sizzled like hamburger frying, her armadillo armor alive with violent electrical activity.
When it abated, she did not move.
Lujan crawled out to take in the fearsome sight. "Coatlicue! Mother! Do you still live?"
The only answer was the driving rain pattering and spitting off Coatlicue's steel skin. It seemed to spit in the face of High Priest Rodrigo Lujan, telling him his dreams of empire had been dashed by a vengeful bolt from the angry heavens.
Then the soldiers came.
COMANDANTE Efrain Zaragoza saw the second bolt explode and heard silent aftermath of its elemental fury.
He counted a full circle of sixty seconds by his watch. Two. Three.
"Our prayers have been answered," he breathed.
In a corner of the APC, a soldier cursed under his breath and Zaragoza knew the man had prayed for the other side. No matter. The saints had preserved Mexico, if not their lives.
It left only the mopping up and the harvesting of glory.
"Faster! Faster! Victory is ours!"
THEY SURROUNDED the inert golem with their vehicles, leaving no route of escape. It would look very bold on the TV, Zaragoza knew. For the helicopters still patrolled the skies broadcasting all to a cowering nation in need of a savior. Himself, he hoped.
Zaragoza was the first out. He approached the monster with only his H ne gun.
A half-naked man cowered at the feet of the demon that was as tall as a house.
"You are who?" Zaragoza demanded.
"I am abandoned," the man sobbed.
"You are indio. "
"I am abandoned by my Mother," he repeated.
The man looked so pitiful that Zaragoza decided to ignore him. Glancing over his shoulder, he fixed the orbiting helicopter camera ships and positioned himself so they would pick up his good side. Then, elevating his H ed fire on the monstrosity of baroque segmented steel plates.
The bullets spanged and dented the armor. But they might as well have been but hard candy. Nothing happened. The monster did not fall over. Zaragoza had hoped the monster would fall over. The sight would appear spectacular on TV Azteca.
"Soldados! Come! We must fire in unison if we are to topple this behemoth," Zaragoza cried, giving up on the hope of going down in history as Zaragoza the Giant Killer.
His soldados were not eager to leave the safety of their armored vehicles, but they did so. They stood around in awe of the silent golem.
"We will spray her breast with bullets so that she topples on her back, forever defeated," Zaragoza told them.
They formed a firing squad and began firing. It was haphazard fire, but it had an effect.
A section of armor cracked and dropped away. It struck sparks when it hit the road.
" Viva Zaragoza!" Zaragoza yelled, hoping his men would pick up the cry and it would carry to the helicopter microphones.
Whether that happened or not, was not to be known by Efrain Zaragoza. Or anyone else.
As if they had fractured a weak spot, the armor began cracking and falling away in large, dangerous pieces.
The pieces fell thudding, and it was all they could do to retreat before being crushed by the clanging plates.
They backed up sufficiently that the truth of their situation at once became clear. The armor was not breaking under the stress of so many bullet strikes.
It was breaking because the monster Coatlicue was shedding her hide as a snake sheds its skin.
She was casting off the heavy confining shell as she resumed her lumbering walk toward her unknown destination.
"Disparen!" Zaragoza ordered.
And his men emptied their weapons into the newly exposed brown stone that chipped and gave off puffs of rock dust in some places and actually bled in soft spots, but otherwise showed no sign of flinching or surrender.
Men made the sign of the cross as they backed away in mute awe.
"She is Coatlicue," Zaragoza muttered.
That was when sanity reasserted itself. They piled into their APCs and sent them scurrying south to Yucatan.
Perhaps the cameras had picked up nothing through the drumming black rain after all. It no longer mattered. Efrain Zaragoza had learned an important lesson. Glory was nothing. Life was all. And he was not being paid to fight walking stones that bled like men.
Chapter 51
"I was just thinking," Winston Smith said over the combined noise of rotor wash and rain.
"Si?"
"We lead dangerous lives. Danger is our beans and rice. We could be snuffed out at any moment."
"Yes, this is very true," Assumpta admitted.
"Once we join up with Verapaz, nothing is guaranteed. Not tomorrow. Not even tonight. Surviving the next hour is strictly fifty-fifty."
"This is so, chilito mio. "
Winston blinked. "What's that mean?"
"My little chili pepper." Assumpta smiled shyly.
"Look, why don't we just land this eggbeater and do it now? That way, if we're killed or separated or anything bad happens, at least we can say we knew true love before the end came."
"The gas is low ...."
"Yeah, I was gonna mention it, but I didn't want it to sound like a line."
"We will refuel and make passionate love as guerrilleros do."
"Great," said Winston. "That clearing up ahead looks soft."
The chopper skimmed lower and angled toward a landing.
At the last possible moment the ship seemed to lighten, as if dropping a load of fuel. Maybe the engine needed an overhaul, Winston thought.
After he shut it down, Winston Smith turned to Assumpta. "Well, here we are."
Her face was a cameo against the backdrop of the rain-washed Plexiglas bubble beyond which the raindistorted green landscape seemed to waver and run.
He leaned in to kiss her. Their arms bumped the controls. Assumpta laughed. Then her lips were pressed against his, and Winston wondered if he should stick his tongue in her mouth or wait until later. First kisses were logistical nightmares ....
Somewhere the sound of knocking intruded on their silent interlude. He ignored it.
It came again. Very loud this time.
Assumpta drew away in fear. "What is that?"
"Search me."
He saw the shape behind her. A face. It swam behind the swimming Plexiglas.
"Get down!" he cried, reaching for his Hellfire.
Before he could reach his weapon, the cockpit door at his back opened, letting in driving rain and an irresistible hand.
Smith was yanked out and dropped on his back. A foot stamped his gun into the mud. He looked up, his face furious.
The face of his alleged father looked down. It was not a happy face.
"Where the hell did you come from!" Winston raged.
"A magician never tells," Remo told him.
"Nice move. Your timing is fucking excellent."
"Forget it, chilito. It's curfew time. We heard every word."
"How's that possible?"
Remo pulled him to his feet. Winston noticed the old Korean standing behind him, also unhappy.