The Assault: The Revealing, Infestation, Infiltration, The Fog Read online

  She ran to the second. This one was real and she threw it open.

  We gasped. And for good reason. There was another me lying there on a bed, passed out with a needle jammed in my arm.

  “What?” I cried. “That’s not possible.”

  “It’s your nightmare,” Andi said. “Up in Washington. It’s the universe where you had the overdose.”

  I tried to step in for a closer look but she pulled me back. “No,” she said. “It’s a paradox!”

  “A what?”

  “A time paradox.” She pushed us out and slammed the door shut behind her. “It’s too dangerous!”

  “Not as dangerous as these boys.” Cowboy pointed to the players who’d reached the top of the stairs.

  We ran to the next door and tried it. It was locked. I slammed into it with my shoulder.

  “Let me!” Cowboy stepped in and hit it once, twice. It took three hits before the lock broke and it opened. But instead of the door flying open and into the room, it flew out at us . . . pushed by a thousand gallons of water that roared over us, slamming us to the ground and rolling us down the hall.

  It drained in seconds and we made it to our feet, gagging and coughing up seawater.

  I shouted to Andi. “That was your nightmare, where you were drowning.”

  “Yes!”

  The flood slowed the bruisers behind us, but not by much. They were already clamoring to their feet and stumbling toward us.

  The main stairway with the fancy banister was just ahead. The perfect escape—down the steps, through the entry hall, and out to the beach or whatever would be there. There was only one problem.

  Players were also coming up them.

  “Now what?” Cowboy shouted. “We’re surrounded.”

  Daniel raised his arm and pointed to a closed door at the very end of the hall. Not a door to a room at the end of the hall, but simply a door at the end of the hall—as in, open it, step out, and fall out of the house. It hadn’t been there until now. I was sure of it. I was also sure I recognized it from Washington. But there, the door was on the first floor and it led into a basement with some pretty ugly stuff.

  One other thing: Sister Smiles was standing beside it. But instead of motioning us toward it, she was motioning us to get down on the floor.

  It made no sense. But it didn’t matter to Daniel. He dropped to the ground, digging his hands into the carpet a fraction of a second before she opened the door and all hell broke loose. I’m not swearing. It was hell, complete with the red glow and leaping flames.

  There was also wind. Lots of it. But, unlike the last door, nothing was racing out at us. Instead, we were being sucked toward it. It pulled on my clothes, my hair. My whole body was being dragged toward it. I dropped to my knees, grabbed the only thing I could find—some door molding—and hung on with just my fingertips.

  “Look out!” Cowboy yelled.

  I turned and ducked just as the first of the big boys tumbled past. I flattened myself against the wall as another rolled by. And then another. And another. Until there was a steady stream of bodies being sucked into the doorway.

  My fingertips ached. Any minute they’d give out. I turned to Daniel. He was slipping, losing his grip on the carpet.

  “Hang on!” I shouted.

  He dug in, but the wind was too strong.

  “Grab my leg!”

  He looked at me.

  “Grab my leg!”

  Finally, his grip failed. He slid past and just barely caught my ankle in time.

  My fingers cramped, on fire, but I yelled, “We’ll be okay! Hang on!”

  He knew I was lying. He knew my fingers were giving way. I saw it in his eyes. And I saw something else, too.

  “No!” I shouted. “Don’t!”

  He started to smile.

  “Daniel! No!”

  It was that sad, crooked smile.

  “No! Don’t you dare let go! Don’t you—”

  But he did let go. He fell away without a sound.

  “DANIEL!”

  He was gone. Bodies kept flying past, but he was gone. I cried out. A scream. It came from deep down in my gut. I couldn’t breathe. It was over. There was nothing left. My fingers gave way or I let go, it didn’t matter. The wind dragged me across the carpet. I started to tumble, to roll. It didn’t matter.

  Until something grabbed my arm.

  I looked up to see Cowboy grimacing down at me. “Just hang on, Miss Brenda!”

  He began to pull.

  “Daniel . . .” I shouted. “Daniel’s—”

  “Just hang on.” Somehow he’d wedged his body into the last bedroom doorway where he braced himself as he kept pulling. I saw the strain on his face, the pain. And the impossibility.

  “Let go!” I shouted. “Let me go!”

  But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He kept pulling . . . until he finally dragged me out of the hall and we tumbled into the room . . . with Andi and—

  “Daniel!” I cried.

  He grinned and giggled as I crawled to him, as Andi and Cowboy fought to close the door.

  I pulled him into me. Holding him, kissing the top of his head. I couldn’t get enough. And when we finally parted, I did it all over again.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Cowboy leaned his head against the closed door, catching his breath, as the last of the wind died. He got to his feet and looked around the room, breaking into that big grin of his. “Don’t you just love this place?”

  Love wasn’t exactly my word of first choice . . . or my last. But if the pattern of the Washington House was true, this is where he had his God encounter. Either way, I was glad we were safe. Daniel looked just fine. So did Andi. But the girl . . .

  “Where’s Littlefoot?” I asked.

  Cowboy’s grin faded. He looked down and took a deep breath. And then another.

  Andi answered for him. “She never made it.”

  I nodded and got to my feet. I wasn’t sure what to say or do. Daniel saved me the trouble. He reached for the door.

  “No, don’t!” Andi cried. “We’re not sure—”

  Too late. He’d opened it. And three feet away, standing on the beach, in all his stuffy-butt glory, was . . .

  “Professor!” Andi threw herself at him, all hugs and tears. “You’re alive!”

  He endured the emotion and did his best to return it. “Do you have the slightest idea how long I have been waiting? Andrea, please!”

  She wiped her eyes as the rest of us stepped outside to join them.

  He motioned to the front door of the house that, just a moment ago, had been the door to the bedroom. “I have been outside, knocking upon this blasted door for half an hour. Would you mind telling me why you took so long to answer?”

  I shrugged. “Long story.”

  “Well, I expect to hear every detail. And the spear?”

  We traded looks.

  “Don’t tell me you failed to retrieve it? After all we’ve been through?”

  More looks.

  “We could go back,” Cowboy said. He turned to the door. “I bet that nice nun would—”

  “No,” the professor said. “I believe we’ve endured quite enough, thank you very much. We shall return to the Vatican and tell Hartmann that his wild goose chase has come to—”

  He stopped as Daniel pulled both halves of the spearhead from his back pocket.

  I blinked. I’m betting we all did.

  “That’s fantastic!” Andi cried. “Great job, Daniel.” She reached for the spear, but the professor quickly stepped between them.

  “No.”

  She turned to him.

  “From your past behavior, that is an unwise decision.” He eyed Daniel suspiciously. “How are you feeling, son? Any unusual emotions? Thoughts of grandeur? A desire for control?”

  Daniel shook his head.

  “Very well. Then I suggest it remain in your possession until it is delivered.”

  We agreed, and Daniel slipped it bac
k into his pocket.

  Without a word, the professor turned and started up the beach.

  “Professor?” Andi called. “Where are you going?”

  “Why to the taxi, of course.”

  “He’s back?”

  “The man claims his ‘voice’ told him to return; though I suspect the voice was more concerned with the profit of a running meter than any humanitarian effort.”

  “Wait,” Cowboy said. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to the house. “Shouldn’t we tell that nice old lady how much we . . .”

  He slowed to a stop. And for good reason.

  There was no noise, no sound. But the house was rising. Not the cliff. Just the house. At least the front of it. The door, the windows. They weren’t solid anymore. They were clear, transparent. Like a cellophane wrapper slipping up and off the cliff, higher and higher.

  “Everybody’s seeing this, right?” Andi asked.

  No one bothered to answer.

  It cleared the top of the cliff, paused, then shot up into the sky. So fast it was a blur. One minute there. The next gone. Now there was only the rocky cliff.

  I stepped up to where the door had been. Felt for it. There was nothing but smooth, cold stone. I stood back for a better look. There were hollows and ridges here and there that could have passed for windows. But that’s all they were—hollows and ridges. It was just a rocky cliff.

  Epilogue

  The sun was setting by the time the taxi got us back to the Vatican. And it was just like old times . . .

  The professor browbeating another receptionist who said we couldn’t see Cardinal Hartmann

  The receptionist running off to his superiors (with or without tears, I couldn’t tell from where I sat)

  Us sneaking through the little door and up to Hartmann’s apartment

  Me knocking on the door

  And the frail old assistant with the dirty Coke-bottle glasses answering

  But Hartmann wasn’t in. His blue velvet chair with the peeling gold paint sat in the middle of the room just like before, but that was it. Nothing else. ’Cept the memory of the sketch I made before we ever met. The one of the empty chair without him in it.

  “When do you expect his return?” the professor asked.

  The assistant thought a second, then raised a bony finger like he suddenly remembered something. He turned and shuffled to the old desk. We waited as he opened the drawer and pulled out an envelope. We waited even longer as he shuffled back to us.

  He handed the envelope to the professor, who turned it over. It had a red wax seal on the back. He opened it, pulled out a card, and silently read.

  We stood.

  He reread.

  We shifted.

  More rereading.

  The assistant took off his glasses and cleaned away a few layers of dust.

  “Well?” I said.

  The professor looked up . . . a lot paler than when he’d looked down. “He won’t be able to see us.”

  “You tellin’ me we go to all this trouble and he doesn’t care enough to—”

  “He wants us to leave the spear with his assistant.”

  We turned to the old timer who stopped polishing his glasses and gave a silent, humble nod.

  “Are you certain?” Andi said. “Do we really want to entrust something of this value and with this much power to—”

  The professor ignored her and turned to Daniel. “Give it to him.”

  “Professor?”

  “Now. Give it to him now.”

  Daniel nodded and pulled the two pieces of spear out of his back pocket. He handed them to the old timer, who took them in both hands and gave another one of those humble nods.

  When he looked up, he was smiling. Something else, too. It was probably just the light in the room, but I swear the color of his eyes had changed. Just like the girl’s. They’d been a cloudy cataract gray. Now they were a brilliant sapphire blue.

  The professor turned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “What?” I said. “Just like that?”

  “We’ve completed our task. Now it’s time to leave. And do so quickly.”

  The assistant gave another smile and nodded like it was a good idea. He opened the door and we left. We wound through the halls and down the stairs pretty fast. But not fast enough.

  We just got to the first floor and were heading for some giant brass doors when we heard, “You there. Stop.”

  The professor picked up his pace. We all did.

  “Stop, I say.”

  Other priests and what-nots turned to stare at us. A guard appeared at the door. We slowed to a stop. Busted.

  Some overfed priest waddled toward us with the receptionist.

  “You wished to see Cardinal Hartmann?”

  The professor turned and waited. He knew what was coming.

  “Do you wish to see Cardinal Hartmann?”

  “No,” he sighed. “Not anymore.”

  “And yet you came here—”

  “It was a mistake,” the professor said. “We didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” I said.

  The priest frowned like I had no business talking, much less breathing. I flipped my dreads to the side. “Know what?”

  “Hartmann’s dead,” the professor said.

  “He’s what?”

  “You are family?” the priest asked.

  The professor shook his head. “Just friends.”

  “Please accept our sympathies. With the Lord he has been nearly six months now. Yet a day does not pass where he is not missed.”

  “No way,” I said. “We were just with—”

  The professor cut me off. “Yes. We did not know.” Looking at me with meaning, he repeated. “We did not know.” Before I could argue, he turned and headed through the doors and out into the courtyard.

  I traded looks with the others and we followed.

  The priest called after us. “We do miss him. All of us. His departure for us was a great loss.”

  I caught up to the professor. “What was that about?” He said nothing but kept walking. “Hey,” I grabbed his arm. “What was that?”

  He didn’t slow. But he did answer. “That, Miss Barnick, was a profound tragedy.”

  I scowled. “What?”

  He swallowed hard. I watched as he covered his face with his hands, then lowered them to his mouth.

  I softened. “You two were close.”

  “It’s a far greater loss than losing a close friend.” He slowed to a stop and we gathered around him. He looked at each of us. There was more than sadness in his eyes. There was fear. Anger. “I’m afraid the tragedy is ongoing. Our lives, each one of them, is set to unravel.”

  “What do you mean?” Andi asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Professor?”

  He took a deep breath and resumed walking. “What’s done is done,” he said. “What’s done is done, and there is no turning it back.”

  Soli Deo gloria.

  Contents

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  14

  CHAPTER

  1

  The Dolphin

  The teeming waters and the chatter-filled trees of the Indian River Lagoon put his mind at ease. He belonged here, wading waist-deep through the shallows, peering through the tangled roots of the mangroves, feeling the sandy give of the sea bottom through his waders. His skiff followed close behind him, tethered by a rope around his waist. The short little box of a boat carried his camera, binoculars, notebook, and lunch. It also served as a quick resort should an alligator come too close—which so far had not been a problem. Alligators preferred the freshwater streams and culvert outlets, and those he’d seen in the lagoon were largely indifferent and safely distant.

  All in
keeping with the goodness of the day: the Florida sun, the aliveness of the leaves and blooms, the constant flitter and flash of every color of bird, lizard, and fish in every direction.

  Life. He was here to record and observe it, count and preserve it, and how he loved it.

  He’d already spotted two manatee females with their calves, newborn this year, and four new pelican nests, three with eggs, one with hatchlings. Very good signs. At last, after so many mysterious deaths in this place—dolphins, manatees, pelicans—life was returning.

  A ripple offshore alerted him. He reached for the skiff, drew it close. Alligators were stealthy, and the lagoon was no place for inattention.

  But . . . no. A silvery gray dorsal fin broke the surface, a sight that made him grab his binoculars. He peered through the lenses, focused, anticipated the next breach—

  The fin broke the surface again, dipped below, then broke again, this time with a puff of air and a gray arched back that glimmered in the sun.

  A dolphin!

  He laughed in joy. How long had it been since he’d seen a dolphin in this part of the lagoon? And where there was one, there were sure to be more. He scanned the placid waters, then set the binoculars in the skiff and watched.

  The dolphin seemed to be alone, and now it was circling back, coming closer, a nice bit of luck. He might get a chance to judge the size, age, and health. Viral outbreaks among the dolphins in the past had made him and his fellow biologists careful to observe and record any anomalies—such as this particular dolphin’s behavior: not playful or vigorous, but sluggish, and oddly single-minded. It was still coming his way on a straight course.

  Cautious, he yanked the skiff in close and watched as the dolphin approached, then slowed and circled no more than ten feet away. It was an adult, average size. That it would come in so close suggested it might be habituated to humans and was either curious or expecting a handout.

  But the sheen and color of the skin and the listless behavior looked all too familiar. This dolphin was ill, probably dying. His heart sank.

  He chanced a very slow movement toward it.