Cain (51 page)

A long effort that came from somewhere beyond pain enabled Soloman to rise to his knees and he saw Cain's scorched form drawing nearer. With dying strength he reached for a last grenade. "Get out of here, Maggie," he rasped. "I have to ... finish this."

Cain staggered closer, almost falling.

"No, Sol! No! We've got to—"

"Get out of here!" Soloman roared, ignited by the horror of Cain's malignant approach. Then in a merciless effort that caused scarlet pain to erupt behind his eyes, he rose. He used the shotgun as a bloody crutch, pushing Maggie roughly away as he watched Cain's oncoming strides.

"Damn it, Maggie!" he shouted. "Get out of here!"

Her face twisted in savage pain and then she cried out, lifting Amy as Cain finally descended. He struck Maggie viciously and sent her sprawling unconscious to the side. Amy, flung wide, collapsed painfully against stones with a scream.

Soloman
returned a violent backhand to turn Cain away. Then with his other hand he racked a round hard before leveling the shotgun, firing again to send Cain to his back, smashed over a cornerstone.

Soloman
stumbled forward across the giant's body, both of them more dead than alive. But Soloman had been delivered to another life now and moved with determined strength that shocked even him, knowing he was only moments from what he'd sought for so long: the chance to save his child.

He reached Amy, amazingly able to lift her from the ground with an exhausted arm. As she embraced his ravaged neck
Soloman felt a shocking rush of love – and strength.

But Cain, too, was rising. Always rising.

And ... Marcelle.

Separated from the rest of them, the priest was bent, concentrating on his arm before he leaned his head back, moaning in pain. Then he flung out a hand and contemptuously hurled aside a steel syringe.

Soloman knew, groaned.

Marcelle ...

He had injected himself with the Marburg virus, the only thing that could kill Cain: a living sacrifice.

Before
Soloman could object the priest staggered forward to push him back and Soloman crashed against stone, losing the shotgun as he clutched Amy tight in the raging apocalyptic air.

Holding Amy tight as he rolled painfully to a knee,
Soloman stared in shock. He knew what Marcelle would do because Cain needed blood to replenish his exhausted strength. And Marcelle would give blood to him – blood that would destroy him as surely as it created him.

Soloman
bowed his head in grief.

He saw it all in his heart before he saw it with his eyes and as he raised
his head Marcelle struck Cain hard. But the giant only grabbed the hand in contempt and in the next moment Cain lifted the priest cleanly from the floor.

Horrified,
Soloman watched as the hideous fangs unhinged and he couldn't even imagine what Marcelle knew in that moment. But the priest's face was hatefully grim, returning the hellish gaze with fatal defiance. Then the fangs fell, rending Marcelle's neck to drain blood infected with the Marburg virus, a life through death, a ransom for them all.

After taking the priest's blood Cain contemptuously hurled Marcelle hard to the side. Then, fangs wide with the heated taste, glared down for a moment, wasting a single breath to growl, "You freed me, priest. And you have failed to destroy me. Always your god fails you."

Dying, Marcelle gazed up.

"No," he whispered. "It ends for us both now."

Cain stared a moment, confused, before shaking his head. He turned toward Soloman, and Soloman returned the glare with all the strength that remained within him, knowing he couldn't run anymore, couldn't fight anymore. He had nothing left. He revealed no fear, scorning whatever strength Cain still possessed, as the giant advanced. And at Amy's cry, arms tightening on his neck, he hugged her face closer to his chest.

"It's almost over, darlin'," he whispered, staring defian
tly at the monstrous, frightfully demonic shape in ravaged black that staggered toward them, advancing with deadly force. "It's almost over."

Cain's fangs glistened blood-white in the flames, the eyes utterly
black, depthless – the heart of hell. His taloned hands clenched and unclenched in evil glee and a merciless, haunting laugh twisted the hideous face. He came slowly step by step, a charred, shambling horror, but Soloman only frowned, revealing nothing; no fear, no remorse, as their eyes locked. He stared at Cain as if the beast were already dead.

Step by step, hating eyes defied.

Then, abruptly, Cain stumbled. His fanged face twisted in a rictus of pain that made him reflexively raise taloned hands, clutching. And he seemed to convulse, staring blindly. He swayed a moment, groaning, and bowed his head, fighting something that ravaged him from within. And for a spellbinding moment he resisted, defying with fiendish strength, trying to catch a breath before he seemed ... to understand.

Mouth open in shock, he staggered in a tight circle to glare back at
Marcelle. But the demonic face was no longer threatening. It was questioning, searching.

More dead than alive, Marcelle nodded.

"Yes," he said. "It ends for us both now."

A wordless curse erupted from Cain's throat before he groaned in agonizing pain and staggered, falling against a stone. He grasped at the heated metal bars, flesh smoking though he seemed not to feel it as he tried to right himself, closing on Marcelle. His voice was choked with blood.

"I will kill you ... for this."

With fatal unconcern Marcelle watched the beast stagger closer until it finally fell to a knee, a hand; the death of a giant. And still Cain moved slowly, crawling through what remained of flame, his face rising to reveal fangs stretched high against the light.

Impassive and uncaring, Marcelle watched the fiendish approach, and when Cain could crawl no more he simply shook his head. His face was settled and peaceful.

Cain lay still for a moment, and seemed dead at last. But after a moment of haunting silence he rolled, struggling with monumental strength to slowly sit, leaning his back against a wall. He was so close to Marcelle and yet so far because he could come no closer.

The godlike gaze, once commanding such titanic power and triumph, was overcome by a redness that bled. And a dark flow of black had erupted from the fanged jaws, the hands limp and lifeless as if the virus were slowly working its way into the center of all that he was. He spoke to Marcelle in a voice thick in blood, a deliverance of death.

"Do you truly know," he whispered, "what I
once was?"

Holding a hand to his chest, Marcelle nodded.

"Yes," he rasped. "I know that you were once the greatest of all beings. Without equal, but for God. But you cast it aside to claim ... what you had no right to claim. Because you found corruption more glorious ... than glory itself."

Cain coughed, lowering his head.

"This," he gasped, "will kill us both."

"I am not afraid of death," Marcelle whispered finally.
"I only fear the death that would deliver me ... to you."

There was a wet laugh and Cain shook his head, surrendering something. "I do not own you
, Marcelle. I have never ... owned you." Struggling, he took a deep breath and his dark eyes became distant as stars. "I never thought ... that I would lose that war."

Marcelle blinked, silent.

"If you could only see what I have seen," Cain said, raising his head in what might once have been a proud gesture. "You speak of glory ... but you don't know glory." He laughed. "I have soared through the heart of the sun to know the secrets of life ... of this galaxy. I watched the birth of Alnilam ... of Orion and Aquila, and Hydra, and I know where lightning is stored ... I have walked through the valleys of the deep to know the awesome beasts that once ruled ... that cold darkness. I have hovered beneath the northern ice, knowing things man will never know in that realm of night." He coughed. "I have soared over Saturn, and Mars, and looked long into the eyes of God ... and I was the brightest light of that heavenly realm. And I knew this hardened world before it was so horribly cursed. So no, Marcelle, you know nothing of glory."

Redness deepened in his eyes.

"Mortals are such fools,” whispered with infinite sadness. “Even your dreams cannot honor that divine sight … or the light... or the awesome might... of what I once was. Of what ... I once ruled."

Silence passed as Cain seemed to lose life
as he bowed his head; "I spoke to him as I speak to you. And you think you are so different." He laughed. "But he feels. He loves ... And even he can be wounded. Is it any wonder that I thought ... I could might that war?"

Marcelle bent his head and sighed.

"No," he answered. "It is no wonder. But you cast your glory aside because you desired ... what you did not own. And that was your destruction."

With a harsh laugh Cain shook his head. His face was so sad, his eyes so mournful that
Soloman felt an amazing pang of remorse, gazing upon the once-imperial image so ravaged and defeated by the long battle, remembering unearthly glory lost.

Grimacing, Cain raised a hand to his chest as if it could help him
heave a heavy breath beneath the blood flooding his lungs.

"All I need
," he whispered, "is blood."

Blinking slowly, Marcelle spoke.

"Life ... is in the blood."

A harsh laugh, and Cain bowed his head. Slowly he fell still, and black blood dripped from the fangs.

Turning his gaze, Soloman saw that Marcelle was staring at the ravaged figure resting so closely beside him.

Soloman
held Amy tight, waiting, knowing there was nothing to be done. He was so exhausted and amazed and overwhelmed by the struggle that he could say nothing. Then without a word Marcelle also bowed his head, and his hands fell limply from his heart.

Death claiming death.

***

Holding Amy in an arm,
Soloman bent over Maggie and helped her rise from the stone floor. In shock and half-conscious, she cast a horrified gaze at Cain's monstrous form, beheld the great black head bowed in stillness. Then her eyes turned to Marcelle and her face twisted in grief. She lowered her head and moaned. Soloman held her gently.

"Come on, baby," he whispered. "It's over. He's dead."

"
But
Marcelle
. . ."

"Died as he chose to die,"
Soloman said. "It's over."

She leaned heavily on his arm and he held them both, finding all the strength he needed flowing into him. And together they walked out, silent in their mutual pain, the flame that binds.

Amy's hand bled from the warlock's blade, the redness flowing in red rivulets over Soloman, joining them. But as Soloman stepped over Cain's monstrous form he took a single moment to turn, gazing with contempt as he felt Amy's arms clutching him hard.

Soloman
knew that he'd fought for all of them: the dead, the living, for every life ever destroyed by the dark force lying silently at his feet. And although he could feel no victory, he knew he'd finally claimed the victory. Staring down, he was moved by the sensation. And with the thought Soloman nodded, feeling its truth.

"Thus sayeth the Lord," he said.

* * *

C
HAPTER 27

Soloman had never seen him, but he knew.

Cloaked in white, the priest stood in the center of the Vatican's majestic circular entrance, the dome of Michelangelo towering far above. Patien
tly, he watched an old woman pour water on cobblestones for the pigeons, affectionately feeding them grain, oblivious to scorn.

Soloman
walked up, stood in silence.

Aveling did not turn, and when he finally spoke, sensing the presence behind him, he seemed indifferent. "You know," he began, "I often wondered why she has spent so many years in this circle. Caring so selflessly ... for so many. Yes, it was a mystery to me. Until now."

Aveling turned slowly and Soloman beheld the keen gray eyes, the bald head that reflected the dying light of an angry sun. Around them the plaza bristled with tourists and photographers, those who didn't know.

"You are well?" Aveling asked.

"I'm all right," Soloman said. "Ben got in some trouble. But political maneuvering decided it, in the end. He's going to take early retirement with full benefits. I just wanted to thank you."

Aveling nodded, hands clasped behind his back. "I am happy to hear that General Hawken is well, Colonel," he replied, staring again at the old woman. "I suppose that she does what she does because she must. As all of us do. Don't you think?"

Soloman cast a glance.

"Like Marcelle," he said.

"Yes," Aveling said, pausing a long time. "Like ...
my son
."

"I want you to know,"
Soloman said softly, "that Marcelle stood his ground. And he was the one who finally brought Cain down, in the end. With his own life."

Aveling nodded. His voice was so quiet
Soloman could barely hear the words. "Yes," he said. "That would have been him."

Soloman
saw that the aged form was bent, and he wanted to say some- -thing. He had come so far to say this face-to-face, but beyond a few words there was simply nothing more to say

"I'm sorry,"
Soloman whispered.

The woman threw seed on the ground, poured water. The pigeons set
tled, surviving and continuing.

"Did you know," Aveling said in a stronger voice, "that she is probably not even aware of her sacrifice?" Then the old priest turned back to
Soloman. "Yes," he continued. "She lives as she must. And she will die as she must. She does not understand it. Nor do I, in truth. But it is the only life she knows, if she would truly live at all."

Soloman
studied the old woman. She was dressed in rags, but selflessly caring for the flock that fed and lighted on her with such a lack of fear, knowing her love. She didn't seem to care what others thought about her task. Aveling was right; she would do what she must do.

"One thing, Colonel," Aveling said.

Silent, Soloman looked up.

The old man's eyes were suddenly piercing, mesmerizing. Hands clasped behind his back, he stepped forward, head bowed until he was close. Until he held
Soloman's gaze.

"Marcelle, who was your true friend, once told me something," he said quiedy. "And I believe that he was truly concerned. He said that you could not forgive yourself for
the death of your wife and child."

Struck,
Soloman said nothing.

With a sad smile, Aveling glanced at the old woman. "Marcelle cared a great deal for you, Colonel. I have known similar friendships
, and they last longer than we anticipate. So I say this for him because I know he would have said it for you." The old priest paused. "Forgive yourself, Soloman. Yes, remember their love, and forgive yourself. It is what your wife and child would have wanted. For love always forgives."

He turned to stare a last time at the old woman.

"Yes," he said softly, and began walking slowly toward St. Peter's.

"Nothing is so strong."

***

S
oloman reverently removed dead leaves from the graves.

It had been two years.

Two years of forgetting the horror however they could, living with the fear that they never would. But, as one, they had built a new life and lived it together with devotion and purpose, comfortable in this small mid-western town where they had come to live.

His last daughter and wife were buried here, as together in death as they had been in life. And he came here often now to remember, and to speak, and to embrace what he had known once and come to know again.

Amy knelt beside the tombstone of his daughter, Lisa, arranging the flowers as she always did. Her movements were tender as she placed the roses, removing the old ones to lay them aside before she gently set the new bouquet in the polished urn.

It had become a ritual for them, something that had brought them closer and closer. And from the first Amy had insisted on accompanying him, always wanting to arrange the flowers in memory of Lisa herself, as if for her own sister.

Soloman stood, staring down a long moment as Amy finished her meticulous work, settling the flowers just so, as always, so they caught the last light of a descending sun. Then, reverently blessing herself with the crucifix of Mother Superior Mary Francis, which she constantly wore,

Amy stood and quie
tly brushed off her knees. Silently she reached out and gently grasped Soloman's hand.

"I think she's fine,
Soloman," she whispered. "I think she's just fine."

Soloman
felt his face twist, resisted it. He continued to hold her hand, and together they turned, walking slowly to where Maggie stood with a patient and compassionate gaze, golden in the fading light of day. She smiled sadly as they neared.

Amy spoke, looking up into his face. "You know," she began, "I don't think that I'm going to call you
Soloman, anymore. I think I'll call you something else."

Amused,
Soloman gazed down. "You are, huh? And what are you going to call me?"

Her face was serious. "I think I'll call you Daddy."

Soloman bowed his head as he took another step, seeing nothing and everything at once. He felt the small hand wrapped tightly around his, returned its warmth with all his heart. Then he released her grip and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Amy gazed up, smiling.

"Daddy," Soloman whispered. "Yeah ... I like the sound of that."

THE END