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At length the helicopter gunships depleted themselves of missiles.
Perhaps it was also that the pilots had become sickened by the slaughter. For
whatever reason, they broke formation, each retreating in a different
direction.
"We have done it!" Rodrigo Lujan shouted to the cold stars above. "We have
succeeded! We are Zapotecs!"
"And Aztecs," a man reminded.
"Maya," another said.
"I am Mixtec."
"We are all brothers in blood," Rodrigo said generously.
"And sisters," a woman said, licking a smear of blood off her naked forearm.
Others, seeing this and remembering tales of ancestral blood sacrifice, began
eyeing the dead not as fallen human beings to be buried reverently in the
earth but as something else.
The hungry look in his fellow indios' eyes gave Rodrigo Lujan the courage to
say and do what in the past he could only imagine down in his deepest Zapotec
dreams.
"Coatlicue has reminded us. We are no longer men. We are not women. We are not
human. We are her servants. We are meat machines. And if we are but machines
made of meat, we may partake of other machines whose meat is no longer of use
to them."
And to show the truth of his words, Rodrigo Lujan picked up the severed arm
that had only minutes before belonged to a comely Maya maiden and took a
ferocious bite out of her warm bicep with his strong white Zapotec teeth.
Chapter 15
Remo made good time rolling down Highway 195 in Chiapas State until he ran
into a Mexican federal army patrol.
"Uh-oh," he muttered as the patrol rounded a bend in the road.
Beside him the Master of Sinanju said, "Pretend we are innocent of any
suspicion. They will not see us."
Eyeing Chiun's emerald-and-ocher kimono, Remo said, "I have a better idea."
He floored the Humvee. It surged ahead.
The oncoming armored column consisted of a toylike LAV followed by two light
tanks. It slithered up the winding, mountainous road.
"We can outrun these guys," Remo said confidently.
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As he accelerated, the Master of Sinanju reached out to hold on to the swaying
machine. His balance was perfect. He could have remained comfortably seated
through an ordinary turn. But the Master of Sinanju was familiar with his
pupil's driving. He knew what was coming and didn't care to be flung from the
vehicle.
Remo took the corner on two wheels. The narrowness of the road made that
mandatory. Jerking the wheel hard to the right, he brought the wide Humvee all
the way up on its right tires.
It was an impossible maneuver. Low-slung vehicles can't run up on two wheels
unless they are out of control.
In a sense, Remo had thrown the heavy machine out of control. It would have
crashed. No question of that. But Remo was master of his own body and balance,
and as long as he could control that, he could control the hurtling juggernaut
that was the Humvee.
At the apex of the turn, the Humvee was canted at an extreme perpendicular,
running on rims of rubber. Chiun turtled his head between his thin-boned
shoulders to protect it.
"Okay now," Remo said tightly.
In unison, they shifted left. The Humvee wobbled on its spinning tires, then
like a gyroscopically controlled toy began righting itself in a smooth descent
that looked like gravity taking hold but was really Sinanju.
When the left-side tires touched asphalt, Remo let the vehicle freewheel a
hundred yards, then floored it again.
Behind them the armored column was laboriously turning around.
"They will never catch up to us," Chiun said with satisfaction.
"Not in a million years," Remo agreed.
A whistling came from behind, arced over their heads and landed with a bang
that threw up dirt and clods of red soil.
They heard the cannon detonation somewhere in the middle of the whistle.
"They are shooting at us," Chiun remarked.
"Are they crazy? They don't know who we are. We could be on their side, or
anyone."
"Yes, anyone driving a pilfered army jeep."
"They call them Humvees now."
"They are trying to stop their Humvee with whistles," said Chiun as another
shell screamed over their heads. This one slammed into the road before them.
It erupted in a shower of dirt and asphalt chunks.
Remo eased to a halt. Looking back over his shoulder, he threw the Humvee into
reverse and stepped on the gas.
The machine responded, barreling back up the road and into the teeth of a tank
gun.
"Why are you driving the wrong way?" Chiun asked without evident concern in
his voice or face.
"Because I'm hungry, aggravated and most of all pissed off."
"And because of these temporary inconveniences, you have decided to commit
suicide and are taking me with you?"
"I left out one thing."
"And what is that?"
"I know something these guys don't."
"Yes?"
"The effective range of a tank gun."
Remo stopped the Humvee two hundred yards short of the booming tank gun. A
shell whistled overhead. Their eyes tracked it as if it were a silvery painted
balloon floating by on a brisk wind.
A second shell boomed past, to join the one before.
Both tore up the road well beyond the Humvee. The detonations came only
seconds apart, the second shell dispersing the dust cloud made by the first. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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