Retribution Road by Jon Coon (e reader comics .TXT) 📕

it had been built hundreds of years before. The stone floors were rough and the walls uneven. Angelica knelt and motioned him down beside her. “When we go out, there is TV, television. Don’t talk and stay in the shadows behind me. Comprende?”

“Yes. I mean, si. I’ve got it.”

She eased out of the archway gate and stayed close to the wall as they entered a large courtyard. She moved slowly, taking advantage of every hiding place in darkness until they came to an archway beneath a high balcony. They rested for a moment in the shadows and they were close enough that she could feel him tremble. She took his hand and kissed it. She let him rest until he had his breathing under control and the trembling stopped.

She squeezed his hand and pulled him forward.

Once under the cover of the arch, she pulled open a rotting, wooden door and motioned him inside. The smell of decay was pervasive. Once inside, she eased the door closed and turned on a small flashlight.

Fragments of rotting wood covered the floor and the remains of what had been wood paneling was losing its grip on the walls. There were a few rows of benches and a table and pulpit at the back. “It was a chapel,” she said quietly. “Built by the monks three hundred years ago. They didn’t last. At least not here. Help me get our bikes, and I need to change.”

They stepped over debris to a small room in the back and found two bicycles with fat, knobby tires, along with two backpacks. “Take these to the door while I change.”

He took the first and rolled it to the door. When he returned, she had her back to him and was changing shirts. On her back was a large tattoo of a white python climbing from her buttock to her shoulder. “For good luck,” she said. “The ancients believed they were very powerful spirits. I guess we’ll see.”

“Nice,” Paul said. He stepped close and gently touched her bare shoulder. She turned and slapped him with enough force to nearly knock him down.

“Don’t ever touch me like that. The men here, they take anything they want. Never again. I’ll die first. I will never be treated like that again.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now you know. Don’t do it again.” She pulled on jeans and a black, long-sleeved tee shirt and put a black hoodie on over that. “There’s another one in your bag. I think you’re going to want it.”

“Okay.” He opened the pack and found the shirt on top. “Where are we going?”

“Tulum is thirty miles. If we can get there by morning, we should be able to blend in with the tourists. But the cartel has people everywhere. We won’t be safe until we’re out of Mexico.”

“Just get me to a phone. My grandfather will know what to do.”

“We can buy one in Tulum. I have a little money. Not much, but enough for a phone.”

“Could we sell the bikes?”

“Probably not a good idea. I sort of borrowed them.”

“Will the roads be safe?”

“Not once they realize we’re gone. You are very valuable to them. They’re going to be really pissed. So there are trails in the jungle. We’ll stay on the trails.”

“Do you have a map?”

“No maps. I grew up here. I know the trails.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

“Bueno, let’s get going. We’ll take it easy at first, let you get in the rhythm.”

She put on her backpack and eased the bike out the door. He followed, and as they worked their way around the courtyard, they heard shouting from the clinic and floodlights came on in the courtyard. “So much for easy,” she said and bolted across the yard to a locked iron gate at the far end. “Let’s go. They have motorbikes.”

As she said the words, they could hear several bikes fire to life. They reached the gate and she produced a key. She opened the gate and they eased through before she relocked it. “You don’t want to know what I had to do to get that key.” She laughed under her breath. Then they were on the road, riding hard past more old stone buildings, and then to an open square with an ancient pyramid.

Nearby was a Maya basketball court. No time for lectures from a tour guide; she led them down narrow stone back roads until they came to a larger one that seemed to glow in the dark. They crossed over and quickly hid as two jeeps full of soldiers roared past. Breathing heavily and in pain, Paul asked, “Are they looking for us?”

“Yes. No more questions, we have to get into the jungle.”

She led and kept a fast pace. Out of shape and out of breath, he had a hard time keeping up. The buildings, most of which were long abandoned and many with collapsed roofs and walls, became fewer and the trees taller, and finally there were only trees and they were on a narrow trail. He’d been sweating, but now the air was cooler, heavier. He could taste it, like a pungent blanket of a nursery hothouse, but cold. When they’d ridden about two miles, he heard a whirring sound.

She stopped, jumped off her bike, and lay with it off the trail. Without asking why, he did the same. A drone flew overhead, carefully searching. When it passed, she said, “The trails are not safe, we may need to make our own way. But we’ll make as much progress as we can before we make that decision. Try to keep up, the more ground we cover the better.”

“Could the drone have seen us?”

“I don’t know, but we need to keep moving. You okay?”

“Guess so. It hurts, but I’m still moving.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They rode and walked for another hour until they came to a highway. She stopped still in the cover of the jungle and watched quietly. The cries of night birds and howler monkeys filled the night. When suddenly they stopped,