The Lost Gods (21 page)

The blue haze of early morning lit the coastline of Mission Beach. Jesse saw the top of the wooden roller coaster off in the distance, and
, finally, he had made it. It did not comfort him in the way he thought it would. He had no idea what was to come, and it frightened him more than the prospect of traveling without end. He only knew one thing for certain: that she was waiting for him.

Twelve

What Do You Say To A Goddess?

Lacking a dock, Jesse drove into the shallow waters of Mission Beach. He let the speedboat run into the shore and cut the engine. Not a second
later, the crew jumped overboard. The others were exhausted. No threats were in sight, so they stripped off their armor and lay down in the sand. There was no shelter from the morning sun, but they did not seem to care. The southern California sun beat hard on their skin. Blake was already red and peeling, and Danielle, Tim, and Nathan had begun to develop deep farmer's tans.

Jesse did not rest; he could not rest. She was waiting for him, and he longed to put an end to this mystery. He was at once excited and afraid to meet the woman from his visions. A persistent fear that he would find nothing at all soured his stomach. He worried that the whole long journey was a pointless fantasy; he feared his sanity had eroded.

After jumping over the short concrete barrier between the sand and the small road that ran parallel to the ocean, Jesse scanned the area. Running along the road as far as he could see, there were a series of two-story bungalows. Each was unique, unlike the drab suburban surroundings in most of Southern California. These beach front houses, homes he had always admired and wanted, were now nightmare scenes. Their large windows were smashed in, and the modern furniture had been punished by the coastal weather. The dead had cared little for the accomplishments of the owners of these prized pieces of real estate.

Jesse stood outside the last house on the block. A downed wooden pylon had crushed the bungalow on its left. Beyond that was more destruction and debris. He entered the house and listened for any sign of life or walking death. Broken glass littered the sun-bleached hardwood floor. Dark stains had transformed a throw rug into a morbid Jackson Pollock canvas. There was nothing useful on the first floor, just a wide-screen TV, a marble coffee table, and leather furniture beaten in by the elements. The entryway and kitchen were ransacked and full of evidence of a slaughter. He climbed the stairs. The worn soles of his shoes stuck to the filthy wood making a sound he hoped to forget. The top floor housed a large bedroom with a wide, tall window that looked out at the ocean, and a small bathroom. The wi
ndow was intact, but a thick layer of scum obscured the majestic view. The bed was made with military precision. No one had died in the bed, nor was anyone woken by the sounds of mayhem below. The owners had woken, started their morning ritual, and later met their cruel fate. Jesse checked the drawers and medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but he found nothing of use. He opened the drawer on the nightstand. A bible sat alone in the drawer with some reading glasses next to it. He closed the drawer and walked to the window. He ran his finger across the glass, but it made no difference — the crud was on the outside. Jesse stepped back and kicked the glass. It shuddered, but the window held firm. He delivered another kick and the glass shattered and sent glittering, sharp rain into the room and down to the asphalt below.

He watched the waves coming in and the clouds pas
sing through the blue sky. It was a pristine image. No boats, no people, save for him and his party, and not a sound to be heard other than the wind and the distant crash of waves on the rocks. The earth had paid no mind to the passing of the human race. He took a small comfort in that, but he decided long ago that he was not going to just lie down and die. There were still things to be done. Jesse stood silent for a while, but when his thoughts turned to those he had lost, he went downstairs.

Jesse searched the first floor for supplies. A few cans of food and an unopened bag of rice were all he found. He placed the cans and the bag of rice in his backpack and walked back to the beach. The others were still lying in the sand.

“I'm going to go look for her,” Jesse shouted.

“You're wasting your time,” Nathan said.

“Let him go,” Danielle said, and she punched Nathan's shoulder. “There's no point in nay saying”

“Whatever,” Nathan grumbled. Jesse could not see his face, but he heard the derision in his voice. Blake was lying flat on the sand, with his head resting on his pack. He was wearing sunglasses, so Jesse could not see his eyes. Jesse assumed he was sleeping, but Blake lifted his fingers in a gesture that said,
Go ahead, but I'll stay here.

“You want me to come with?” Tim asked. He had ta
ken off his bandages while Jesse was in the beach house. His face had healed, but the scars were deep and gruesome. He looked like an emaciated action figure that had lost too many games of backyard war. Blake had once joked that Tim could not have gotten any uglier, but the
galla
that climbed over their fort's stone wall had proved otherwise.

“No, I'll come back before dark.”

Tim nodded and sat back down in the sand with the others, basking in the morning sun.

Jesse turned around and walked to Belmont Park. The Giant Dipper, an aged wooden roller coaster, dominated the skyline. The white support beams still impressed him, and part of him wished he could ride on it one more time. Another pylon lay across the asphalt. Its wires were frayed and spread out like spilled pasta on a bed of ink. He looked at the park. It was filled with rides and games. Once he crossed the boardwalk, the asphalt gave way to concrete. Next to the roller coaster was a carousel. It looked as old and out of place as it had when he came down to San Diego a few years before. At least that much had not changed. The two relics of a bygone era, the coaster and the carousel were situated amongst countless stands and shops catering to modern sensibil
ities. The various amusement park rides were all paused. Maybe there were still survivors, he thought. Not likely, but maybe. The carnival game stalls were empty, and some were upturned or broken into bits. Chairs were on their side and scattered around. Tables littered the ground: split in half with holes in them. Something had happened here, but it was no last stand, that much he knew. A last stand looked far more desperate than this. This was a rout. It happened months ago, the stench and the stains had faded like the paint on the Giant Dipper.

He walked to the roller coaster and touched the aged wood. It felt sturdy, despite its appearance. Questions raced through his head.

Would people ever be able to regain control of these machines?

Were there any electricians left, or anyone who still knew how to run a power plant?

Were there even enough people left on Earth to run a single power plant?

Had the governments of the world shut down their nuclear power plants before they melted down?

Would they encounter an area with toxic levels of radiation in their travels?

A dozen more questions tore through his mind, but they all molded into one overarching theme
:
is it ever going to be like it was before? He knew the answer to that question was an emphatic no. What he was not sure of was whether or not that was a bad thing.

During his storm of thoughts, he did not notice that she had crept up on him.

Her ringed hand rested on his shoulder, and a tingling sensation spread immediately through his body. He turned his head and he locked eyes with her. Neither said anything for a moment. She was as tall as Jesse. They looked each other over in silence. She looked like a creature out of time, as anachronistic as a stone tablet sitting next to a digital one. Resting on her jet-black hair was a bronze crown encrusted with bright stones that glimmered in the light. Her features were intense and sharp, so striking that they would have been ghastly if they were any more pronounced. He was mesmerized. Her black brows were angled and full. Her eyes were large and the irises were as dark as space, and an indigo ring of color wrapped around each dark circle. Her long lashes were accented by mascara and a purple interwoven pattern wrapped around each eye and across each temple. Her nose was prominent and dignified. Below sat full lips pursed and relaxed. Amber skin, devoid of blemishes, glowed in the sunlight. Her arms and shoulders were toned with lean muscle. A beaded necklace, of a material Jesse did not recognize, dangled in two strands around her neck. Attached to the necklace was a silver pendant that hung down to her chest: a silver snake clutching a purple stone in its mouth. She wore a fine dress of an earthy color, somewhere between gray and tan, and over it was a bronze breastplate. She had a pack on, and hanging on her hips was a bronze sword in a scabbard.

She touched his face and slid her other hand down from his shoulder. She stopped at his triceps and she squeezed his muscles in a gentle pulse. Jesse studied her. Her appearance surprised him. He was expecting an oracle, some old crone from a Greek myth. Instead, he was standing next to a spectacle of a woman. She did not look young, but she was far from an elderly matron. She had vitality to her, and she exuded a seductive aura. He was overcome with passion for this woman, this thing that he did not understand. She had been inside his mind, in his dreams, both waking and asleep, and yet he knew nothing of her. Jesse stood motionless as she c
aressed his body. He did not dare to touch her. He let her explore him.

She sensed his hesitation. She took her breastplate off and she let it fall to the ground. She grabbed his hand, as if it was hers to take. She placed it in the center of her chest. He felt her chest rise and fall, and he felt the warmth of her skin. She took a step closer to him. She leaned left and inspected his face from that side and again from right. She opened her mouth slightly. The tip of her tongue touched her top lip before retreating into her mouth. She inhaled slowly and drew him in close. Jesse kept his hands at his side. He was in awe of the confidence, elegance, and sensuality that informed every movement and expression she made. She placed both her hands on his chest and squinted for a moment. He could not look away from those indigo-ringed black holes in her eyes.

“Does the statue speak?” she asked. Her voice was thick exotic syrup that he wanted to bathe in for eternity. At that moment, he would have forfeited his life to be an insect in her amber fossil.

“He does,” Jesse responded, not knowing what else to say. He could not think of something to say to a woman, a thing, like this. Everything he had said to women in the past seemed false: a fiction contrived to impress and seduce. She took in another slow breath and pursed her lips. She exhaled and let her lips part again.

“Does the statue feel?” she asked as she slid the nail of her index finger down his chest. He felt blood rush to his face and elsewhere.

“He does,” he responded. In truth, he felt more em
otion than he had ever felt before, even when Adam died in front of him. She smiled with one side of her mouth, took in another breath, and raised her chin.

“Does the statue make love?” she asked as she traced her fingers down to his zipper and took hold of what is dearest to men. Blood rushed to his manhood. Jesse did not answer; he grabbed her and drew her in until she was pressed hard against him. She let her lower lip fall an inch and took in another deep breath. He leaned in to kiss her, but he stopped inches from her mouth. He took in her essence. She smelled like a mixture of sandalwood and exotic flowers. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. They kissed each other softly a few times, her full lips sucking gently on his upper lip. After a moment
, an avalanche of passion took over. He clutched her and she grabbed him. Her nails dug into his back and his fingers made grooves in her skin. She reached down and freed him, and in a flash they were on the concrete floor of the boardwalk. She guided him inside and he trembled. It was warm, moist, and pulsing. They writhed on the floor. She twisted and gyrated and he thrust himself deeper.

For a time, they made love like animals.

…

For a time, they made love like humans.

…

For a time, they made love like gods.

…

They stayed on the uncomfortable floor for hours: oblivious to the world around them. The sun had already swept through the sky by the time they were sated. He did not feel drained from the wild union. He was rejuv
enated. It was the first time he had ever made love to a woman without worry — without a thought to the future or past. He had lived in the present for the entire afternoon with her. She rose and put on her clothes, and as she did he watched her. To him, everything about her was perfect. From her dark, prominent nipples, to her strong thighs, to her sharp features. He knew at once that he would come to love this woman, whoever she was.