The Blood Gospel (Page 55)

He toyed with the leads attached to his IV port. The medical staff measured everything about him—his heart rate, his oxygen saturation levels, and other random stuff. The Hebrew labels were gibberish to him. His father could read Hebrew and had tried to teach him, but Tommy had only learned enough to get through his bar mitzvah.

Reminded of his father, he pictured the blackish-orange gas rolling over his parents.

If he hadn’t told them the gas was safe, they might still be alive. He knew now the gas was toxic, just not to him. Immune was the word he’d heard one doctor use. Maybe he could have dragged his parents to safety. That strange priest at Masada had said that there was nothing he could have done, but what else could he say?

You killed your parents, kid. You’re going to Hell, but it’ll be a long time till you get there.

Tommy looked out the window again. It was a long drop to the desert. Far below, the boulders’ shadows looked like spilled ink against the brighter sand. It was a bitter landscape, but from this height, it looked peaceful.

A rustle jerked his attention back into the room.

A kid was standing right next to him. He looked about Tommy’s age, but he wore a gray three-piece suit. He sniffed the air like a dog, his nose moving closer to Tommy with each sniff. His black eyes glittered.

“Can I help you?” Tommy asked, stepping away.

This earned him a smile—one so cold that he shivered.

Suddenly terrified, Tommy tapped his call button repeatedly, sending out an SOS of panic. He shrank back against the window as his heart rate spiked, triggering the monitors to beep wildly.

The boy winked.

Tommy was struck by the oddity of the action.

Who winked nowadays? Seriously, who—

The kid’s right hand moved so fast that Tommy didn’t even see a blur until it stopped by the angle of his jaw. A sharp pain cut across his neck.

Tommy brought both hands up to feel. Blood ran through his fingers. It pumped from his throat, soaked his hospital gown, dripped on the floor.

The boy lowered his arm and watched, cocking his head slightly.

Tommy pressed his hands against his throat, trying to cut off the flood, strangling himself in the attempt. But blood continued to pour through his fingers.

He screamed, earning only a warm gurgle as hot pain chased up his throat.

Knowing he needed help, Tommy yanked off his EKG leads. Behind him, the monitor flatlined, setting an alarm to wailing.

Immediately, two soldiers charged into the room, machine guns up and ready.

He saw their shocked expressions—then the boy winked again.

Not good.

The kid lifted a chair, moving blindingly fast, and smashed it through the thick window. Without stopping, he shoved Tommy out into the night.

Free at last.

Cold air brushed across his body as he fell. Warm blood pumped from his neck.

He closed his eyes, ready to see Mom and Dad.

He had barely pictured them—when the ground slammed against his body. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Surely it had to end soon. It had to.

It didn’t.

Bullets sparked the asphalt around him. The soldiers shot through the broken window. Bullets tore electric trails of pain into his chest, his thigh, his hand.

Sirens sounded. Searchlights went up.

The boy landed lightly next to him, gray suede boots barely making a sound against the ground. Had he jumped? From that height?

The boy grabbed his arm. Tommy’s bones ground against one another as the kid dragged him out of the spotlights and into the desert, running as quickly as a gazelle. He clearly did not care how the rocks cut Tommy’s back, how the jouncing grated his broken bones.

All the while uncaring stars shone down on them both.

Winking as coldly as the boy.

Tommy wanted it to end. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to die.

He counted down to his death.

One. Two. Three. Four …

Through the haze of pain, he had the worst thought of his life.

What if I can’t die at all?

27

October 26, 11:44 P.M., IST

Jerusalem, Israel

Erin kept several feet behind Rhun as he swept out of the chapel, up the stairs, and through a maze of tunnels. Even as swiftly as he moved, she knew he kept his pace slow so that she could keep up, but it scared her to be close to him. In the flickering red glow of the chapel, his rage had been unmistakable. It looked like he had barely restrained himself from attacking her.

If not for the dark maze of winding tunnels, she would have run away. But she had lost her own candle, and she needed the light of the chapel’s votive candle, held in Rhun’s hand, to return to safety.

Then at last, she heard voices arguing, echoing from ahead, from an open doorway glowing with light. She recognized them all: the timbre of Jordan’s anger, Father Ambrose’s prissy officiousness, and the sighing resignation of Cardinal Bernard.

“So where is she?” Jordan boomed, plainly wondering what Father Ambrose had done with her.

Steps away, Rhun’s dark form disappeared through the doorway.

She hurried behind to discover a modern room with whitewashed walls, a polished stone floor, and a long table covered with weapons and ammunition.

All eyes turned to her when she entered.

Jordan’s face relaxed. “Thank God,” he said—though God had nothing to do with it.

The others remained inscrutable, except Rhun.

He rushed forward, seized Father Ambrose by the neck, and slammed him against the wall. The short priest’s feet dangled in the air.

“Cardinal!” Father Ambrose gasped, choking.

Rhun tightened his hand on the priest’s throat. “There will come a reckoning between us, Ambrose. Remember that.”

Jordan took a step toward them, his hands raised as if to intervene.

The Cardinal’s face was impassive. “Let him go, Rhun. I will make sure he is properly admonished.”

Rhun leaned closer.

Only Erin, standing to the side, saw the sharper points on Rhun’s teeth as he snarled and threatened. “Leave my sight. Lest that reckoning come now.”

Rhun dropped the priest, who had gone dead-white. So he had seen those points, too. Father Ambrose collected himself, scuttled a few paces away, then fled.

Jordan stepped closer. “Erin, are you okay? Where were you? What happened?”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t want to talk about it, especially not until she’d adjusted to the change in the marital status of her new teammate. Still, she was more grateful than ever that he was accompanying them on the expedition. She pictured the dark rage in Rhun’s face when he looked at her in the chapel, how his teeth had sharpened when he threatened Father Ambrose.