108

The blood in her veins had become like lava. She felt dead inside and yet more alive than ever. She was a heatseeking missile. She was on fire and full of adrenaline, and yet, she was also somehow detached, as if standing outside herself. Nothing felt real. Everything was accelerated and yet so crystal clear. She wondered if any of the recent events had even taken place. Had she imagined Marcus and Ackerman as well? Perhaps she was still down in the pit suffering the effects of carbon dioxide poisoning or dehydration.

Either way, whether this was real or imagined, Maggie was sure of two things.

The first was that Jamie Ramirez was truly her baby brother. The more she thought of his facial features, the more she now saw a grown-up version of the brother for whom she had spent her life searching. He was alive but wounded, still waiting for her to find him.

The second thing was that Xavier Yazzie needed to die.

In her right hand, Maggie held the Beretta pistol. In her left, the sharpened splinter of bone, which she intended to drive into Yazzie’s neck. The only thoughts that could fill her mind, the only treatment for the wounds on her soul, was to find her brother and take the life of the Taker.

She followed the ancient corridors until the point where she saw a dim light and heard voices ahead.

The Anasazi ruins reminded Maggie of an amphitheater or coliseum with the tiny dwellings shaped in a semi-circle around a central area. As she reached the third tier of the ruins, she saw that the performers for the day were Ackerman and the object of her hate, Yazzie.

Ackerman appeared to be passed out behind a pile of stones, and Yazzie was bent over him, removing his gun belt. Maggie sighted in with the Beretta, but it wasn’t a great weapon for distance, and her hands were shaking so badly that she wasn’t sure if she could make the shot from only a few yards away. She needed to get closer.

Finding the stone stairs, she descended, hoping that Ackerman was merely unconscious and not dead. She had nearly lost one brother to Yazzie. She didn’t intend to lose her adopted brother as well.

But either way, Yazzie had to die.

She was reminded suddenly of a line from Moby Dick, which she hadn’t read since high school. She had taken it on as a project, in order to prove to everyone how smart she was, but had ended up regretting that she hadn’t chosen something short and fun like all the other girls had for their reports. Now, she recalled the way Melville had described Ahab’s hatred for the legendary whale. “…as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.”

She felt like Ahab now and could definitely relate to his bloodlust. Just like the white whale, Yazzie had taken too much. He had to be stopped, at any cost.

As she bounded down the stone stairs to reach the first tier of the dwellings, Maggie slid the sharpened bone shiv into the back pocket of her jeans, for easy access. She merely needed to get close enough. Truth be told, she didn’t want to use the gun. She wanted to drive the sharpened splinter of bone into Yazzie’s neck and watch as he bled out. She wondered if she would actually get to witness the moment when Yazzie’s own personal demons showed up to drag him down to hell to meet his god.