The Mayan Resurrection (12 page)

Wild applause.

‘Real change requires real commitment, not just double-talk. The Clinton and Bush administrations budgeted funds to produce hydrogen fuel cars, only they gave the money to the automakers. President Bush’s promise of a new energy future required hydrogen to be extracted from fossil fuels and nuclear power, effectively maintaining Big Oil’s agenda, a policy my predecessor also adhered to. This year, our new energy plan will commit $50 billion to developing hydrogen automobiles using renewable sources like wind and sun and biomass. Furthermore, within the next thirty days, the White House will introduce legislation aimed at outlawing gasoline-powered vehicles by 2023.’

The president pauses, allowing his last statement to sink in amid the applause.

‘Fuel cells will, by law, replace gasoline. New jobs will be created as we retool our automobile plants and fueling stations. The economy will prosper, our air quality will improve, and the United States will rejoin the global effort to reduce greenhouse gases!’

The room erupts in applause.

‘Change is never easy, but it is necessary. The war on terrorism led to great changes, changes that affected our civil rights
and the freedoms this country was founded upon. Within the next ninety days, I will ask Congress to dismantle the monolithic Department of Homeland Security and restore the pre 9-11 restrictions on domestic surveillance.’

Chaney pauses again as members of both parties rise to cheer.

Three-and-a-half year old Lilith Eve Robinson is in the backseat of Quenton Morehead’s 2003 Buick, strapped in a child protection device. The reverend has cracked the windows and left the radio on for her while he visits the recently widowed Sherry Ann Williams.

Lilith squirms, her bladder full, her stomach rumbling as the State of the Union speech plays on the radio. The toddler has not eaten since lunch seven hours earlier, and knows she will not eat again until her grandfather emerges from the widow’s home sometime around eleven-thirty.

And then the child stops squirming as her mind suddenly focuses on the president’s words, her subconscious absorbing them like a sponge.

‘My fellow Americans, humanity has a future, and it is a bright one, as bright as the stars in the night sky. And this is where our future lies, for it is space exploration that shall advance and unite our species. This year, we shall end NASA’s moratorium on new projects and set new apolitical goals for the colonization of Mars. We shall encourage the private sector to join us, and we will open the frontier of space for all
people, so that we may rejoice in our humanity, unite in harmony, and better ourselves as a species. Thank you all. God bless you, God bless America, and good night.’

Lilith unbuckles her safety device and climbs out of the infant seat. Prying open the back door, she jumps out of the car and looks around.

The lights are off in the widow’s home. From an open bedroom window she can hear her grandfather and Mrs. Williams giggling.

Lilith rolls down her pants, squats, and urinates on the driveway. Looking up, her dazzling blue eyes widen as she gazes at the full moon and a billion twinkling stars.

‘Grandpa, when I get old, I’m going to go on a rocket into space.’

Quenton glides through a four-way stop sign, nearly hitting a teenager on a motorized skateboard. ‘Space? Don’t talk stupid.’

‘Why can’t I go into space?’

‘Space is for astronauts. You ain’t gonna be no astronaut.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause bein’ an astronaut means ya’ll got to go to college, and I ain’t sending you to no college.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause it costs money, lots of money. You want to go to college, move out and marry some rich boy.’

‘I will.’

‘Good. Sooner the better. Now stop yer yappin’, I’m tryin’ to drive.’

Ocean waves sizzle as they die out on the Gulf beach. Sand crabs race from their outposts, searching for food.

Jacob Gabriel peers through the telescope, then backs away, allowing his aunt Evelyn to take a peek.

Evelyn Strongin presses her right eye to the rubber housing. ‘Wow. You can really make out details on the lunar surface.’

‘When me and my brother get older, we’re going into space.’

Evelyn pulls back, struck by the absoluteness of the statement. ‘Why do you say that, Jacob?’

‘
Xibalba
’s out there. My daddy’s on
Xibalba
. Mommy says we’re going to see him when we get older.’

‘How do you know
Xibalba
’s out there?’

He shrugs. ‘I just know.’ He peers into the telescope. ‘Mommy says you talk to dead people.’

‘I can communicate with the souls of those who’ve passed.’

‘Teach me how to do it.’

‘Maybe when you get older. What else can you show me on this telescope?’

‘Can you teach me to talk to my daddy?’

‘I don’t know if that’s possible.’

‘’Cause he’s not dead?’

‘Yes, because he’s not dead.’

‘But he has Hunahpu blood, like us, right?’

‘Well, I suppose—’

‘Then I can communicate with him. Teach me.’

‘When you get older.’

‘But I want to talk with him now.’

‘You’re not ready. Sometimes when we communicate over inter-dimensional frequencies, other spirits can answer us. If you’re not strong enough, they can fool you into believing what they tell us is real. Try to be patient, Jacob, your time will come.’

‘He’s beyond inquisitive,’ Evelyn says, pouring herself another cup of coffee. ‘He possesses an almost innate sense of the universe. It’s like talking to an adolescent trapped inside a toddler’s body.’

Dominique looks up from her computer. ‘I worry about Jacob. His mind’s developing way too fast.’

‘Maybe you’re telling him too much.’

‘That’s just it, I haven’t told him anything. He’s been sneaking on the Internet, reading about himself. He’s totally engrossed in the Mayan legend.’

‘What about his brother?’

‘Manny’s more like a normal toddler. He could care less about Mayan legends, which really bothers Jake. Unfortunately, it seems like the gap between their genetic gifts grows wider with each passing day. God only knows how I’ll be able to handle Jake as he gets older.’

Evelyn looks over Dominique’s shoulder. ‘Child, what is that you’re working on?’

‘It’s a program that charts births. Did you know there were 723,891 babies born on September 22, 2013?’

‘You’re searching for the Abomination?’

‘By segregating out all of the blue-eyed babies, I’ve reduced the list to just under three hundred thousand names. Of course, this program only accounts for about 68 percent of the world, but it’s a start.’

‘A start to what? Murder?’

‘Beware the child born on the day of the twins’ birth, you said. The Abomination imprisons Mick and disrupts the space-time continuum. If I can kill it in this time period—’

‘Stop it.’ Evelyn leans over and shuts down the computer. ‘You’ll never find the one you seek this way, Dominique, and even if you did, what would you do? Murder an innocent child?’

‘What am I supposed to do, Evelyn? Sit back and allow some freak of nature to stalk my sons?’

‘Unlike your sons, who will be prepared, the Hunahpu child born on the twins’ birthday has no idea what it is or what lies ahead. Like all newborns, it is an innocent being—God’s clay, ready to be molded. It is the influences throughout the child’s journey that will lead it to become the Abomination my sister warned us about. Your mission, First-Mother, is to prepare your sons for battle, not to play God.’

The Earth is the cradle of mankind,
but one cannot stay in the cradle forever.

—
KONSTANTIN TSIOLKOVSKY

And Jacob called to his sons, and said,
‘Gather yourselves together that I may tell you
that which shall befall you in the End of Days.’

—
GENESIS
49:1

SEPTEMBER 22, 2020: GABRIEL COMPOUND, LONGBOAT KEY, FLORIDA

Dawn backlights seven-year-old Immanuel Gabriel’s bedroom in bronze shades of gray. The dark-haired, ebony-eyed boy snores softly.

Jacob stands over him, grinning mischievously. ‘Get up, you lazy sonuva bitch!’

Manny sits up with a start, his heart pounding. ‘Huh!’

‘You shut your alarm off. Now get up, we have to train.’

‘Go away!’ Immanuel pulls the sheet over his head.

Jacob reaches beneath the blanket and shoulder presses his twin up and over his head.

‘Help! Ma—’

‘You’re falling behind, Manny. You’re supposed to be my equal, but you’re not—’

‘Get off me, freak!’

‘—you’re nothing but a lightweight.’

‘Ma! Ma, he’s doing it again!’

The bodyguards arrive first, still in their bathrobes. ‘Again?’ Salt shakes his head. Holsters his weapon.

‘C’mon, Jake,’ Pepper coaxes, ‘put your brother down.’

Dominique pushes her way past the two bodyguards. ‘Jacob Gabriel, you put your brother down this instant!’

Manny drops to the floor, his face meeting carpet with a thud. The dark-haired twin sits up, tears in his eyes, his nose bleeding.

Dominique’s face reddens. ‘Dammit, Jacob, look what you—’

‘His fault. Should have rolled with the fall.
Sensei
taught him that months ago.’

‘It’s 6:00
A.M
.!’

‘When the Death God comes for us, it won’t care what time it is. We have to be ready.’

‘I hate you,’ Immanuel yells. ‘You’re a sick freak!’

‘I’m Superman. You’re only Clark Kent, a big fat wussie.’

Dominique reaches for Jacob, but the fair-haired twin is too quick, leaping over the bed. ‘Foolish mortal. You can’t catch Superman!’

Salt cuts him off, and the game is on.

Jacob feints left, then bounds across the chest of drawers, slipping beneath the older bodyguard’s grasp.

Refusing to play, Pepper backs his considerable bulk in front of the open doorway. ‘Game over, Jake.’

Without pause, the boy takes a running leap, his legs churning air like a triple-jumper until his right foot connects with
the African-American’s massive bare chest. The blow knocks the bodyguard backward through the doorway.

Jacob completes a forward somersault dismount and lands running, sprinting down the hallway into the kitchen and out the back door. ‘Superman … da-da-tada—’

Pepper sits up, massaging his bruised sternum. ‘Damn. How’d he do that?’

Dominique is livid. ‘I swear to Christ, that child will be the death of me. Come on, Manny, let’s get some ice for your nose.’ She helps him to his feet, leading him out of the bedroom.

Mitchell Kurtz looks down at his larger comrade. ‘Now you know why Karla and I never had kids.’

Dawn’s rays reflect off the surface waters of Lake Okeechobee, planting a fiery orange kiss against the glistening white hulls of the gambling ferries and yachts, docked in rows of newly dredged slips. Hotels and casinos, restaurants and shops remain silent after another extended night of tourism, the pelicans and sandpipers picking at a bounty of refuse.

Follow the golden-lit streets south, past the renovated Town Hall and new Civic Center, to the west end of the resort town. A road sign at the canal bridge warns that you are leaving the tourist area, the ensuing sign across the bridge welcoming you to Belle Glade proper.

The bars on homes and storefront windows send another kind of warning.

Gambling dollars have not had much impact on this enclave of the poor, unless you consider the expanded police force and new wing of the local jail to be civic improvements. The elementary school is still grimy, the windows of its overloaded portables still supporting air-conditioning units that purge waves of lukewarm air reeking of mildew. Travel two more blocks, and you’ll reach the Reverend Morehead’s church, still in desperate need of a coat of paint. Cross the dirt parking lot where the rats feast at night, and you’ll find a four-room stucco home, its fading yellowed walls trimmed in peeling black paint.

Seven-year-old Lilith Eve Robinson awakens on her birthday with a start. Stares at the ceiling fan. Concentrates.

‘Six-seventeen.’

She rolls over and glances at the alarm clock—6:17.