Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (26 page)

Doc followed Bernie's eyes, looking up into the tree. “Nice bird,” she said.

“Yes.”

She looked around. “He's not the only one who lives here, is he?”

“No.” Bernie glanced around the forest margin whose sketchy circle was broken only by a gravel lane that crossed an arched bridge over the creek. “You can come out now.”

For a moment there was silence, then the branches of a large shrub parted soundlessly. Doc started at the unexpected newcomer. He was a big, genial-looking, moonfaced man in his middle years, muscular but now running to fat. He had long, straight black hair and dark eyes. He was carrying a long spear with a wooden haft and a sharp-looking metal tip.

“Forgive my eavesdropping, but—”

“He enjoys his dramatic entrances,” Bernie told Doc.

“Well, I was in show business when I was younger.”

“You wrestled alligators.”

“True enough.”

“Doc,” Bernie said, “this is my friend, Johnny Tiger. Johnny, this is my, uh, this is Doc.”

“Doc?” Johnny asked. “Nice to meet you, but what kind of name is that for such a pretty girl?”

“Well,” Bernie said, “to tell you the truth, we've been so, uh, involved in things . . .”

Tiger shook his head. “No wonder you never get anywhere with the
chiquitas
. When you meet a pretty girl, the first thing you do is ask her her name. Anyone will tell you that.”

Bagheera interrupted them with a low growl that raised hackles all around. Bernie and Johnny locked eyes.

“We'll have to discuss the deficiencies of your love life later,” Johnny said.

“What?” Doc said.

“Right.” Muscles rippled across Bernie's chest as he unconsciously flexed his hands. Tiger offered him his spear. Bernie took it, gripped it. “Thanks. Everything ready?”

Tiger nodded. “As you outlined in your message. You sure this is all you want?”

“Hey—” Doc said.

Bernie looked at her. “They're coming.”

“Oh. You mean—”

Bernie nodded. “Listen, we have no time. Whatever happens, I want you to stay.”

Doc's eyes widened.

“We need you here. Your knowledge—”

“My knowledge?”

“Yes.” Bernie paused.

He couldn't say it yet, that he needed her, too, more than anything. Her eyes were all he saw, all the world. “And, other things.”

“You silver-tongued devil, you,” Tiger said.

Bernie looked at him.

“Hold this,” he said, and handed back the spear.

He turned to Doc. He had always lived his life through action, not words. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders and felt her shiver at his touch. He leaned forward, put his lips on hers. He didn't know how it happened, who made the first move or if they made it together, but suddenly she was against his chest, against his body from his shoulders to his knees. She was stronger than he'd thought and as hungry as he.

After a moment a voice said, “Hurry up!” and both started. They broke away and took a step apart. For the first time Bernie became aware of certain limitations in wearing a loincloth. Everyone pretended not to see, but he did notice Doc taking a second glance.

“Whatever happens,” he said again, “stay.”

Doc opened her mouth but for a moment no words would come. She gulped, then was able to say, “We'll talk about it.”

Johnny Tiger got Bernie's attention by tapping him on the shoulder. He held out the spear and Bernie automatically took it.

“She means ‘yes,'” Tiger explained. He cocked his head as Doc opened her mouth, and wagged a finger. “We have to go now.”

Bernie nodded. “Please, Doc, go with Johnny.”

He looked down at Bagheera, who had been padding around staring alertly at the path leading from the county road over the bridge, his ears quivering.

“Bagheera. Tree.”

The cat slunk off among the surrounding oaks and vanished without a sound. Bernie turned to Cheetah, who was looking up at him with a humanlike expression of concern.

“Go with Johnny, Cheetah.”

The ape shook his head silently. Bernie went down to one knee before him.

“Cheetah, my friend. Go with Johnny. Protect Doc.”

The ape made a strange keening sound. Bernie pulled him in close and hugged him. Cheetah hugged him back and Bernie felt his ribs creak.

“For me, Cheetah. Protect Doc for me, because I must stay here.”

The ape chittered, finally nodding, and Bernie stood up. He and Tiger looked at each other and nodded. He looked at Doc. She raised her hand and touched his chest in a gesture Bernie couldn't quite grasp, but he knew that she wasn't pushing him away. Cheetah went to her and took her other hand and they walked away, Tiger with them.

Bernie hefted his spear and turned to stand before the end of the bridge, the weight of the world—his world—on his shoulders.

*   *   *

“All right,” Doc said to Tiger as they went into the forest and settled behind cover so that they could see out into the clearing but were unlikely to be seen themselves. She was confused and definitely unhappy. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on? I mean, I get that it's some masculine bullshit for sure, but why is Bernie waiting there all by himself?”

“He's not alone.” Tiger gestured around the forest. “There's more than a hundred people out there, but you can't see them. Fighters from all factions of the Coalition.”

Doc nodded, a light dawning. “I get it,” she said. “You're testing him.”

“Partly,” Johnny admitted. “Everyone wants to see how he'll react. He's just a boy to them. Sure, he fought well in the Parking Lot War but, Bernie has to show everyone that he can face the demons from Outside who encroach on our land—”

“You sound like a professor,” Doc said suspiciously.

“Why shouldn't I?” Tiger asked. “I have a Ph.D. in anthropology.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “I get it. Native American culture from the inside.”

Tiger drew himself up. “I should say not. I did my dissertation on the social and economic mores of Young Urban Professionals.”

“Yuppies?”

“A most fascinating culture with an extremely interesting social system. Now stop interrupting. Bernie must replace a legend in these parts, whose family has been here since the beginning of the European encroachment.”

He paused. “Who in fact has a Spanish land grant over a swath of central Florida larger than many of the smaller states that once made up our sadly devastated nation.”

Doc was about to say something, but restrained herself.

“Yes, of course. It's complicated. Don Carlos was a wise and great man. He understood. He never pressed the claim. He knew that you don't own the land. The land owns you. You are its steward. You guard and protect it, use it wisely to nourish the people and animals upon it, then pass it down the line.”

He paused, looked, Doc thought, searchingly at her. “For a while Don Carlos was in despair, for he had no suitable heir. And then Bernie came to Jungleland, eleven years old, seeking sanctuary from his terrible life.”

“Bernie told me Chito Diaz was his father, but I couldn't believe him.”

Tiger nodded. “Bernie felt the call of the land so greatly that it brought him here from Miami.”

From where they watched they could see bikers come over the crest of the bridge, Manuelito's chariot in the lead.

“And now,” Tiger said thoughtfully, “he must not only face the demons of the outer lands, but the personal demon who abused him physically and emotionally when he was a helpless child—”

“Manuelito?” Doc said.
Of course,
she thought.

Tiger nodded. “His father Chito was merely indifferent to him. His mother had died of a drug overdose before he could know her. But Manuelito, ah, he was the one who really tortured Bernie. That's why Bernie stole his car when he left Miami to seek sanctuary in Jungleland. He took the man's ride, a most grave insult.”

Tiger gazed at Bernie who stood his ground as the chariot came to an uncertain stop before him. “Truly demons and giants again walk the Earth. This is the time of legend and Bernie must begin to build his today.”

Doc felt a fierceness grip her heart. She didn't know if it was mostly fear or pride. Both, certainly. It was all she could do not to fly to his side.

*   *   *

Bernie watched them approach. He held the spear horizontally, hands gripping the shaft three feet apart, a barrier to those who would despoil his land and harm his people. It was weird, but he felt calm and collected, as if he'd totally expected this sudden turn of his life for years and had not had it suddenly thrust upon him in the course of a very pleasant spring day when he'd finally met the woman he loved.

In the long run,
he thought,
it is better this way
. He'd had a lot less time to worry about it.

The chariot coasted down from the bridge's crest and skidded to a halt twenty feet from where Bernie stood on level land. Behind Manuelito's bizarre vehicle the bridge was crowded by at least two-score Guerreros on their bikes pushing forward to see what was going down. Bernie looked at them looking at him and wondering, and he smiled.

“Hello, Manuelito,” he said.

The gross man in the sidecar leading the clown parade stood ponderously. Placing one hand on the shoulder of one of his drivers, he heaved himself out of it onto the ground. He took a step forward peering at Bernie uncertainly.

“What,” Bernie said, “you don't recognize your own brother?”

“Bernardo?” Manuelito said incredulously.

Bernie nodded. “It is I, in the flesh.”

Manuelito laughed. “You have grown,” he finally said.

Bernie shook his head sadly. “So have you, Manuelito. And not in a good way.”

His laughter ceased and he scowled. “You crazy motherfucker,” he said. “You always was loco. I thought you crawled into an alley somewhere and died. No one missed you,” he added maliciously.

“I know,” Bernie said. “That's why I stole your car and found a new home.”

“You stole my car, you crazy
puto
. For that alone you'll die. I was just going to squash you like a bug, crazy man, but now I will make you beg to die.”

“I stole more than a car from you,” Bernie said.

“What the fuck you talking about?”

“I also stole your woman.”

Bernie watched the thought tracking slowly through Manuelito's brain and when the train finally pulled into the station, he roared.

“Doc! Where is she, motherfucker? Where's that worthless bitch?”

Bernie shrugged. “Somewhere where you'll never touch her again.”

As Manuelito seethed, Bernie looked up past him at all the
Guerreros
who were watching with mixed expressions of bafflement, wonder, and uncaring boredom.

“I have no argument with any of your men. You may all turn and go back to Miami, or if you want and if you are willing to do your share you may stay with us in peace and plenty and find a happy life.”

His gaze narrowed as he looked back at Manuelito.

“But you, brother”—he spat the word—“I cannot permit you to leave. I know you too well. You would go back to Miami and nurse your hatred and no matter what it took you would come back with a thousand men and you would burn this land black.”

“A thousand men! I will bring five thousand and you will all die screaming, every man, woman, child, and dog. All because of you, Bernardo, because this is how you treat family.”

Bernie felt the flush run up his neck, over his face and to the beating vein in his forehead. He growled and it gave all pause. Even Manuelito was taken aback. Bernie gripped his spear to keep from shaking.

Through a red veil washing over his vision he spat back, “My father was a bull ape and I never knew my mother. I have no family, Manuelito, no family at all.”

He took a step forward, his spear pointed at Manuelito. The big man moved fast. He unslung the crossbow and his trembling hands managed to slap a bolt into the slot and he threw the weapon up to his shoulder. He couldn't miss at this distance. He fired. Bernie shifted, his spear flashing, and the bolt made a dull clang as it ricocheted harmlessly aside.

Manuelito screamed, “Kill him!” and his drivers reached for their crossbows and in the tree above them came an explosion of sound and color.

All eyes but Bernie's flew upward as a great squawking parrot, brilliantly red and blue, erupted from a branch, cackling like a madman, and a bolt of tawny brown and white fell from an adjacent tree, landing on one of Manuelito's drivers. Bagheera swiped once across the man's face with his great taloned paw and the biker screamed, his hands clutching his ruined eyes. Bagheera leaped, his claws digging in and pushing off the man's chest. The second driver held his crossbow dangling in nerveless hands and his scream was cut off as Bagheera closed his jaws around his throat. The man went down, Bagheera atop him. The panther shook his head once and then spat out man blood and flesh. He did not like the taste of it. He crouched and growled.

Bernie approached slowly and raised his head to the sky and called out in a weird, ululating cry that brought shivers to Manuelito and the other listeners. He paused and his smile made them shiver even more.

“Hear that?” Bernie asked conversationally. From afar, but not too far, came the sound of distant thunder, but it did not come from the sky. “That's the sound of your approaching doom. You'd better run.”

Some listened to him and turned their bikes on the crowded bridge. Wheels locked, men cursed, panicked, and began to fight. Some just jumped into the creek over the bridge's waist-high walls, but those in the middle were stuck by the press of flesh and machinery. The ones at the rear succumbed to the panic and tried to pedal away as if Hell had opened up behind them and Satan himself was reaching out his gigantic clawed hand to pull them screaming into the Pit, but their way was blocked. The few, the smart, the brave, paused a moment until they could see the herd of twenty stampeding elephants and the chimp sitting astride the big male leading them. They were moving fast.