by Bowie V. Ibarra
Coming summer 2013 is the new superhero adventure 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul'.
Below is an excerpt from the book. Check it out, then keep an eye out for its release in early summer 2013.
ROOM 26
And the
ARMY OF XULHUTDUL
BY
BOWIE V. IBARRA
COPYRIGHT 2010 BOWIE V. IBARRA
PROLOGUE
GUATEMALA, 1933
Bill
Frasier could hear the ancient spirits moving swiftly behind him.
The noise the ghosts made as they
pursued Bill was like the wind dancing across a treeline, or the collective
exhale of a group of people. Their
shadows danced across the moist trees, green vines, and leafy foliage like the
hands of a child making shadows of monsters on a nursery school wall. The disembodied voices taunted him in a
language long forgotten, audible over his heavy breaths, his hands slapping
away flora, and the squishing of his boots against the muddy jungle ground.
Fear laced
the blood that was pumping through his heart as he turned to look at his
ghostly pursuers. Their gray, snaking
mists swirled and dashed after him around ancient trees. Sinister expressions shifted around the
malevolent fogs like faces in the clouds.
Long, misty arms stretched out like the branches of a tree long dead,
bereft of leaves for decades. The
fingers stretched and threatened as if they were spikes, or blades. They snaked through the foliage, playing hide
and seek in the jungles of Central America.
But this chase would not end with the joyful laughter of friends.
A large
root jutting out of the jungle floor tripped Bill, sending him flying into a
tree. His pith helmet absorbed most of
the collision against his head. But it
still hurt. His safari khakis were so
soaked in sweat that there was an audible splat. He groaned, dazed.
It took him
a moment to realize he had dropped the source of his impending doom. At his feet lay a scroll. Tied to the scroll was a piece of heavy
paper, a map to the temple he had discovered, a shrine with a curse.
Turning to
look at the ancient spirits in hot pursuit, he picked the scroll off the ground
before he returned to his feet. His eyes
bulged as fear pierced his heart. The
ghosts manifested themselves, and though they whispered in the language long
dead, the sound of their mocking laughter was completely understood.
Knowing his
fate was sealed, he started running again, delaying the inevitable. No one ever ventured this deep into this
particular portion of the Guatemalan jungle.
No one, neither native nor animal, was going to help him.
Or so he
thought.
In a
clearing just ahead, Bill could make out a tent and a campfire. Someone was clearly present at the site. It was a chance to at least get the scroll
away from him. Perhaps the spirits would
spare him if he released the scroll.
He ran to
the camp.
In the
clearing, a teenage girl was preparing a simple meal of beans, vegetables, and
bread. She wore her long brown hair in
pigtails. Her pale face held a gentle
sea of freckles.
Bill ran
faster, feeling the spirits close behind.
The clearing was just moments away.
He knew the ghosts were getting closer as the air around him was
beginning to hold a subtle chill in the balmy heat of the jungle.
Bill broke
through the treeline into the clearing. The girl shrieked as Bill fell by the
campfire, panting like an exhausted dog.
“Little
girl,” he gasped, hyperventilating.
“Take this. Hide it. Never open it up. Do you understand me? Never.”
The little
girl trembled in fear. Her eyes became
glassy. Her heart beat against her chest
with fearful cruelty.
When the
ancient ghosts broke the treeline and appeared in the clearing, they grabbed
the unsuspecting explorer. Bill Frasier
was prepared.
Lifting him
up into the air, the mysterious fog wrapped him up tight, covering his
mouth. It was an effective gag, as all
the little girl could hear were his stifled cries of terror. Though she could barely hear him, she felt
his terror in his eyes.
The little
girl watched as he floated up into the air before being pulled straight into
the darkness of the jungle, never to be seen again.
Trembling,
the little girl looked at the object she had been handed. It was a carved tube of wood. Along the tube were elaborately carved stone
faces. Tied by a thin piece of hemp cord
was a piece of cloth. The little girl
dare not touch or adjust any of it. As
far as she was concerned, the tube was probably responsible for the ghosts. The man said never to open it, after all.
It was very
fortunate that her mother and father returned to camp. They had traveled just yards away to catch
fish in the river.
“Sara,”
asked her father. “We brought
lunch. Is the fire ready?”
Sara’s
mother knew immediately something was amiss.
“Sara, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Sara tossed
the scroll into the nearby brush. It
easily became hidden. “I’m fine,
mommy. Just a little scared.”
Her mother
kneeled down beside her daughter. She
wiped a tear that had fallen across her cheek, saying, “You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.”
Sara didn’t
want to look foolish in front of her mother.
So she meekly responded, “I just got a little scared, that’s all.”
Sara’s
mother gave her a big hug. “Oh, you
don’t have anything to be afraid of, sweetheart. We’re here.”
Sara’s
father had already started cooking the fish, stating, “I think the village of
El Rincón is just a few more miles from here.
We should probably take off in the morning.”
“No,”
shouted Sara. “We should just go tonight!”
“Sara,”
said her mother. “Listen to your
father. He’s right. It’s getting late, and we’d get lost in this
jungle at night.
“But we
could be in danger here,” said Sara desperately.
“Sara, calm
down,” stated her father. “What’s got
into you? Jesus has brought us this far
to find those that need to be saved. He
will protect us tonight.”
Sara’s
perception of the saving grace of Jesus was suddenly skewed. She had just witnessed the fog of demonic
forces take a man into the jungle. The
man disappeared. No Jesus to save
him. It was just the ungodly force that
consumed him. What made her think it
couldn’t happen to her, or her parents?
“Sara,
everything is going to be alright. Say a
prayer with me.”
Sara shared
a prayer with her loving mother. And
though later that night she ate in peace as the Father of Jesus spread stars
across the night sky, she still couldn’t rest until her Lord brought the sun up
in the morning sky the next morning.
Jesus
favored her.
ONE
SAN ANTONIO, 2010
“The San
Antonio arts community has lost a true hero.”
“I agree.”
“It’s a sad
day for the arts here in San Antonio.”
“It is.”
“Seventy
years. Can you believe that?”
“She was a
real dynamo.”
It was the
theme of the afternoon at Ms. Sara McNulty’s funeral. All Lorraine Blacksmith and Jackalyn White
could do was agree as they stood together watching the funeral party pay their
respects.
“You know,
when Ms. McNulty founded this museum years ago, I never thought it would get as
big as it became,” said a mourner. “But
I’ve always been a supporter. I wanted
to see it work, to see it grow, and it did.”
“It got
bigger than any of us could ever imagine,” said Lorraine.
“She spent
decades building the museum up,” chimed in Jackalyn. “Its reputation grew and grew every year.”
“Every
day,” countered Lorraine.
“And the
arts community was elevated with it,” continued Jackalyn with a subtle look at
Lorraine.
Though the two representatives
of the museum had worked together for a time, it was Jackalyn that did not
appreciate the upstart Lorraine, who had worked at the museum several years
earlier.
“Have a
good rest of the day,” said the mourner, excusing herself from the awkward
tension.
Lorraine
and Jackalyn glanced at each other. Both
took a deep breath simultaneously and looked away.
“I’m so
proud of the work Ms. McNulty provided for our fine city,” said a tall and
well-groomed man, who approached the ladies.
“Well, we
owe a lot of that to you, Mr. Sosa,” said Jackalyn. “Your donations to the museum have led to the
new wings that have housed some of our most treasured artistic and historical
artifacts.”
“It is
labor of love, Ms. White,” he said, smiling magnanimously. “I’ve always allowed for my resources to
provide for the artistic and intellectual growth of San Antonio. And as a city Councilman, it’s important to
nurture growth like this museum in our city.”
“And it
most certainly has,” said Lorraine. “The
exhibits we have been able to bring in due to your donations have provided us a
venue for local, national, and even international artists.”
“The museum
has always had a broad spectrum of modern and ancient art,” chimed in Jackalyn.
“That is
true, and a wonderful attribute to the museum.”
He then turned to Lorraine. “And,
may I say, it is good to see you again, Lorraine,” he said, reaching in for a
side hug that Lorraine accepted cordially.
“How is your schooling?”
“Done with
school. Just working now.”
“Ah,” he
said, changing the subject by the subtext of her response, which didn’t seem to
intimate she enjoyed the work. “Well, I
hope to see you two again under more jovial circumstances,” he said, excusing
himself.
The two
ladies watched the funeral party take their leave of the cemetery. Mourners had spent the past twenty minutes
paying their final respects at Ms. McNulty’s grave.
“She will
be missed,” said Jackalyn.
Lorraine
chuckled. She knew Jackalyn was as
sincere as the fox of fables past. She
really did not appreciate the false attitude.
Lorraine remembered how rude Jackalyn had been to her mother, Helen
Blacksmith, who used to work for Ms. McNulty for many years.
Lorraine
responded. “Well, Jackalyn, the peace
and happiness she brought to the museum and the community will be missed as
well.”
Jackalyn
felt the subtle jab. As per her
personality, she chose to make sure she remained in control. “Well, considering I’ll be running the
museum now, I will try and keep the peace like she did.”
“God help
the McNulty,” murmured Lorraine.
Jackalyn
heard the remark. “Care to say that
again?” she asked, turning to Lorraine.
“God
blessed the McNulty with such capable people to run it.” Lorraine didn’t want to fight. Participating in open conflict was not
something she was good at.
With the
pride of a lion, Jackalyn beamed. “Yes,
he did.”
“Ladies,”
said an approaching mourner. “My condolences. Two deaths so close together is so hard to
deal with.”
“Thank you,
Ms. Baumgarten,” said Lorraine. The
reminder of her mother’s death only a few years earlier gave her a twinge of
sadness.
“Your
mother will be remembered along with Ms. McNulty fondly by all.”
“Yes,”
Jackalyn replied solemnly. “Yes, she
will.”
Sally
Baumgarten was a Gold Member of the museum, and a bit of a gossip. Today was no exception.
“So, I
guess you ladies are excited to hear who Ms. McNulty has chosen to run the museum?”
“Well,”
said Jackalyn, lacing her tone with arrogance.
“I will be taking the reins very soon.”
“That’s not
what I heard,” said Ms. Baumgarten, smiling.
She didn’t like Jackalyn, either, and enjoyed yanking her chain. As a Gold Member of the museum, Jacklyn could
not afford to insult her.
In truth,
Baumgarten had a real piece of news that she knew would bug Jackalyn. As a confidante of the late Ms. McNulty, she
had been privy to the thought process in picking her heir, though she didn’t
know the final decision.
“Tomorrow
at twelve, as per request by Ms. McNulty, her legal advisor, Mr. Gonzalez, is
going to read her will. In it, she will
name her successor.”
“That’s
impossible,” said Jackalyn, smiling, thinking she was being teased. “It’s clear it will be me.”
“Well,
looks like we’ll all find out tomorrow at twelve,” she said, shaking their
hands once again. “I’ll see you ladies
then.” Ms. Baumgarten walked off,
smirking.
“I swear, I
would choke that lady to death if I could,” grumbled Jackalyn.
“Classy,
Jackalyn,” chuckled Lorraine.
“Just as
classy as the place you work,” said Jackalyn.
“What do you do again? Hustle old
people for books?”
Lorraine
groaned. “They’re alumni directories,
and they are a valuable networking tool and…”
“… heirloom
quality book,” they both said together.
“I know all
that,” said Jackalyn. “Well, if you ever
want out of that dream job, I could get you work here on our cleaning team,”
said Jackalyn with a cruel smile. “I
know you worked here previously, so you would know where all the trash cans are
and high-traffic areas to mop.”
Lorraine
sighed. Her job wasn’t the best. But it made some money to maintain the house
bills for the place she lived in alone.
Her family house.
“Thanks,
Jackalyn,” said Lorraine as one of the final mourners approached.
“Condolences,
ladies,” said the man, clad in a black suit.
“We’ll miss her.”
“You were
always one of her closest friends, Mr. Strickland,” said Jackalyn.
Reece Strickland
chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Your
donations have been appreciated, Mr. Strickland,” said Lorraine. “In fact, Mr. Sosa was here moments ago. You two are our most generous providers.”
“Mr. Sosa,
eh,” he said, smiling. “Well, I’m glad I
missed my rival’s tribute to our beloved Ms. McNulty.”
The comment
went over Lorraine’s head as she remembered something.
“Oh,”
gasped Lorraine. “I need to get to
work. It was good to see you, Mr.
Strickland,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Have fun,”
said a smug Jackalyn.
“I will,”
said Lorraine, smiling back sarcastically.
“Meanie,” she muttered as she walked away.
Jackalyn
thought she heard what Lorraine said, and eyeballed her as her former colleague
at the museum walked away.
========================
What will happen at the meeting and how will it affect the future of San Antonio? Pick up the action-packed superhero book, 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul' today at Amazon.com in
paperback or Kindle.
BOWIE VALERIANO IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press and Simon and Schuester. His latest zombie story,
The Fall of Austin, tells the story of military, police, convicts, and citizens of the Texas capitol as they deal with the zpoc.
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