Age of Aztec

THIRTY-THREE

Same Day

They alighted atop a high, undamaged tower. They removed their helmets, smoothed out their hair, raised their sweat-drenched faces to the breeze.

You could feel it. Hear it. The earth groaning. The world turning on itself, harming itself. Hot, unnatural gusts of wind blew, constantly shifting direction. Whitecaps criss-crossed on the lake in overlapping layers. The sun seemed to dance in the sky.

“So,” said Mal to Stuart.

“Be fair to him, it was a generous offer.”

“Motivated by pure guilt. The bastard never really meant it.”

“I think he did. But we’d never have lasted there. Tamoanchan. We’d have been curiosities at best. Zoo creatures.”

“We’ve done the right thing.”

“We’ve done the right thing. We should feel proud.”

“The only thing I feel is scared.”

He slipped an arm round her and hugged her close, even though it was exquisite agony for him.

“Gods are lies,” he said. “And liars. They leave nothing but pain and disaster in their wake. We’re better off without them.”

“Yeah, better off.” Mal gave an acerbic laugh. “Volcanoes are blowing their lids all across the globe. Seas are going to boil. Earthquakes are going to crack continents in two. But hoo-fucking-ray for us, we don’t have gods any more.”

“It’ll be quick.”

“You think?”

“I hope.”

“And no chance of…?”

“Civilisation pulling through somehow? Doubt it. The skies will be clouded with ash for years to come. Maybe some people won’t be killed instantly, a few, but there’ll be no sunlight, no crops, nothing for them to eat.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely.”

They were silent for a while, listening to the far-off, elemental rumbling that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

“I don’t love you, Stuart Reston,” Mal said, “but I could have.”

“I’m very loveable, once you get to know me.”

“You stuck-up arsehole.”

“True. True.”

And so they sat side by side on the high tower, at the heart of a decapitated Empire, and waited for the world to end.