Apocalypse Crucible (17 page)

The card belonged to an insurance agent. Flipping it over, Delroy found a phone number scrawled across the back in childlike writing.

“Can’t guarantee that phone number, boy,” George said, “what with all them lines an’ such bein’ down an’ tore up as they is. But if it works an’ you need me, give it a call. Girl who minds that phone for me, she’ll know where I’ll be.”

Delroy slid the card into his shirt pocket. “I appreciate that.”

George nodded. “An’ if you find yourself to town an’ you want some company for a spell, ‘cause maybe they ain’t none to be had that you was countin’ on, mosey on over to Mabel’s. Ever’body in town knows where her place is at, so you ain’t gotta worry none about directions. You find me there most days about noon. You catch me there, I’ll set you to dinner. Mabel’s done went an’ passed on to her reward, but she up an’ left most of her recipes to her granddaughter Essie, who runs the place now. Ribs, red beans, corn bread, an’ peach cobbler with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. Guarantee it to hold you over till suppertime.”

The offer of a meal and fellowship touched Delroy in ways he hadn’t expected. Living so much of his life on bases and on ships around the world had conditioned him to a hurry-up world of schedules and meetings. Such an invitation reminded him of all he’d left behind when he’d taken his first berth.

“I’ll do that,” Delroy promised.

The old man reached onto the seat beside him and hauled out a pair of gardener’s gloves. “Reckon your hands ain’t seen the workin’ end of a shovel in a spell. These here’ll help.”

Delroy caught the gloves when they were thrown to him. “Thanks.”

George waited for a moment more, but he sensed there was nothing left to say and no way to change Delroy’s mind. The old man offered his hand through the window.

Delroy took it.

“God keep you in His sight tonight, boy,” George said.

“And you,” Delroy said, but the reply felt forced.

Lightning strobed the sky again, illuminating the area briefly, seeming to dim even the pickup’s headlights with its passing.

“An’ He’s gonna have to look hard for both of us ‘cause it’s shore near as dark as I’ve ever seen.” George didn’t immediately release Delroy’s hand. The old man held on a moment longer and spoke in a lower, fiercer voice. “Whatever you got to do out here in this place, boy, you keep Jesus close to you, you hear? You keep Him in your heart, way you was taught in Sunday school.”

The admonishment shocked Delroy a little and made him feel even more uncomfortable. The warning touched the fear that he strove to keep locked up tight. For a moment, he considered tossing the shovel back into the pickup and riding on into Marbury with the old man.

But Delroy’s doubts assailed him.
No. I came out here to see. To find out if I misplaced my faith all these years. God, forgive me. I have to know.
Delroy pulled his hand back. “I will. I’ll see you in town the next day or so.”

“I can tell your missus that you’re here.”

“No.” There was no hesitation about that. Glenda deserved better than to hear about his presence from someone else. Besides that, if things went badly in the cemetery, he knew he probably wouldn’t even go into town. There also remained the possibility that she wasn’t there, that she had gone on with the others who had disappeared. “I’ll tell her myself. Got some fence-mending to do.”

“Take care of yourself, boy. Stay dry an’ warm.” George gave a small wave, then backed up. The truck’s tires sluiced through small puddles created by the rain. The transmission ground again; then the engine revved and George pulled onto the highway. The tires whickered with the rain as they gained speed on the asphalt.

Holding the shovel upright in the crook of his arm, Delroy turned up his slicker’s collar. He hated the cold and wet, but he knew the rain would make the ground easier to dig.

United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2149 Hours

“Oh, God,” Megan cried as she stared in horror at the girl lying in the pool of blood spreading across the light-colored berber carpet.

As that frozen moment released, the sound of the second shot invaded Leslie Hollister’s bedroom. The crack of the rifle came flat and horrible.

Megan turned toward the window and faced the sudden onslaught of bright light that blasted through the sea green, sheer curtains. “Don’t shoot!” She held her arms up. “Don’t shoot! She didn’t hurt me! You shouldn’t have shot her! You shouldn’t have shot her! There was no reason!”

Shapes raced in front of the harsh spotlight. A girl’s scream ripped through the night.

Ignoring everything taking place outside the window, horrified at what had happened to Leslie, Megan turned to the girl. As a counselor, she’d taken several first-aid classes, including what to do for gunshot victims. But she’d never seen a gunshot wound up close and personal until tonight.

Stop the blood. That’s the first thing.
Megan dropped to her knees beside Leslie.

The girl still breathed.

Thank You, God,
Megan prayed.
Please stay with us. Please help us.
The suddenness with which Leslie had decided to shoot herself still staggered Megan. She’d watched the girl turn the pistol on herself and hadn’t believed she would pull the trigger.

Frantic, trying desperately to stay calm, Megan knelt and pulled the girl’s shirt up to expose her midsection. Blood ran everywhere. The hole looked big enough for Megan to put her fist into. For a moment she thought she was going to get sick. She grabbed a pillow from the bed nearby and shoved it across Leslie’s middle to slow the bleeding. The pillow started to soak through immediately. She looked at the girl.

Leslie’s eyes flickered and went out of focus, quivering in their orbits. Her breathing rasped and caught in her throat.

“Leslie.” Megan pressed on the pillow in an effort to staunch the flow of blood.
God, it’s everywhere. You’ve got to help me. Please help me. This girl isn’t supposed to die. How can You let her die like this? She’s just a child.
For a moment she experienced déjà vu, remembering how she had felt on the rooftop three days ago when Gerry Fletcher started slipping from her grasp, started sliding into that four-story fall to his death or serious injury.

She’d lost Gerry, but the boy had never hit the ground. The Rapture had swept across the world in a twinkling and stolen Gerry from that fall.

There’s not another rapture, God,
Megan reminded. She kept the pressure steady, hoping it was enough. “Leslie.”

The girl shuddered and stopped breathing for just an instant.

“
Leslie,
” Megan called louder. “Stay with me. You stay with me now.”

Leslie’s head rolled toward her. Her eyes tried to focus. She gagged; then a worm of blood crept from her mouth and leaked down the side of her face.

Panic set in. Megan figured that the bullet had pierced one of the girl’s lungs. If that was true, Leslie’s lungs would fill up with blood in a matter of minutes and she would asphyxiate. Megan tried to remember what to do, tried to remember if she was supposed to turn Leslie over or try artificial respiration or—

Without warning, the MPs, with their rifles up and ready, suddenly filled the hallway.

In some distant corner of her mind, Megan heard them talking quickly over the walkie-talkies, reporting the situation to the provost marshal’s office, requesting backup and an ambulance.

Megan looked up and saw Corporal Kerby leading the MPs. The young soldier’s eyes reflected shock, but he conducted himself with confidence and purpose. Two other MPs stood on either side of Kerby, pointing their weapons at Megan.

“Back away from the girl, Mrs. Gander.” Kerby’s tone was polite but firm.

Megan couldn’t believe what was happening. “She’s bleeding.”

“I know that, ma’am.” Kerby came into the room, but he remained left foot forward so he presented a smaller profile. “Back away from the girl now.”

“She shot herself.”

“We need to take care of this situation, ma’am.” Kerby kicked the pistol away from Leslie’s outstretched hand. It slid across the carpet to another MP, who entered the room. “Secure that weapon, Private.”

Dumbfounded, Megan watched. She hadn’t even thought to knock the pistol away.

The new arrival put a foot on the pistol. “Weapon’s secured, Corporal.”

“Don’t touch it. Forensics will want to examine it. They don’t need to sort through your fingerprints, too.” Kerby looked at Megan. “Mrs. Gander, I need you to move. If you don’t, we will move you.”

The concept was so alien to Megan that she had trouble comprehending. She couldn’t leave Leslie; she had taken responsibility for the girl.

“If I have to move you, ma’am,” Kerby went on, “I’m going to have you handcuffed.”

“Do you think I did this?” Megan asked. “Do you think I shot her?”

“Ma’am, I need to contain this situation.” Kerby’s voice remained low and controlled, but Megan heard the fear in his words striving to get out.

“One of your men shot her.” Megan couldn’t stop talking.

“Ma’am,” Kerby said, “you’re hysterical.”

“She could be dying,” Megan said more forcefully.
God, make them listen to me. They’re not hearing me.

“Corporal,” the MP on Kerby’s left said.

Kerby gave a reluctant nod.

The MP slung his weapon and took a pair of disposable handcuffs from his belt. Megan recognized what they were because she’d seen them placed on kids she had counseled over the years.

“You can’t do this,” Megan said. “I’m just trying to help.”

The private lunged forward, caught Megan by one hand, and levered her over facedown on the carpet. Instinctively, Megan fought. The private put a knee in her back to hold her in place, pinned her hands behind her back, then fastened the cuffs around her wrists.

“You’re making a mistake,” Megan said, but she knew her voice was too high, too forceful to sound anywhere close to acquiescent.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kerby agreed hoarsely. “I reckon I made that mistake the minute I let you force me into allowing you into this house.”

Megan struggled against the cuffs, but they only bit deeply into her flesh and refused to give.

Outside, a siren screamed into the night.

Lost and panicked and hurt, Megan turned her head and stared at Leslie Hollister. Bloody froth bubbled at the girl’s lips as Kerby worked on her.

God? God, where are You?

Sunshine Hills Cemetery
Outside Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 2153 Hours

Delroy moved through the dark cemetery by memory and with the aid of the flashlight he’d packed for the occasion. The white halogen beam cut through the darkness, chasing the night back into two-dimensional cutouts between headstones and statuary, between plants and hedges. He struggled to keep his imagination from filling those impenetrable expanses with terrifying creatures. He felt like a child again, afraid of the dark and the sleeping dead.

Crickets chirped around him and bobcats screamed like dying women in the distance. The constant rain dripping from the tall oak, pecan, and cedar trees that cloistered the area created a rhythmic snare-drum effect as the drops splashed against stone and the muddy ground. The air came thick and damp, and he had to drag it into his lungs.