God's Lions - House of Acerbi (27 page)

“It’s for your own good,” he had said. “For now, this is your home. You don’t want to end up being a guinea pig for their experiments, do you?”

If there was one thing Sarah Adams knew for sure, it was the fact that she never wanted to go back to being isolated in a tiny hospital room, probed by government doctors. God only knew what they had in store for her. At least here at the chateau, she was free to roam the grounds, although the man with the dog was always close behind, following at a distance for her
protection
.

Sarah bounced down the stairs and exited through the chateau’s grand entrance. A grizzled old gardener glanced up from pruning the nearby shrubs and smiled at her as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Good morning, Miss Adams. Beautiful day for a walk.”

“Yes, it is. I think I’ll go around back and check out the woods today. I’m getting bored with the scenery in front of the chateau.”

The gardener looked nervously at the man with the dog standing next to the entrance. “I wouldn’t do that, Miss. Those woods are full of wild bees. They’re very aggressive, especially if you stumble onto one of their nests.”

“I’ll be fine. My grandparents used to raise bees.”

“These bees are different, Miss.” The gardener saw the man with the dog glaring in his direction. “Please, Miss, we’re not allowed to let anyone go back there. Mr. Acerbi would be very angry with me if anything happened to you.”

“Oh, Alright. I wouldn’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me.”

“Thank you, Miss. Why don’t you go for a swim in the pool? We just filled it for the summer and the water is nice and warm now.”

Sarah paused. “That actually sounds like a good idea, except I don’t have a bathing suit with me.”

“The chateau keeps a large stock of clothing for visitors, including swim suits of all sizes. Try the laundry. It’s down a long hallway that runs from the kitchen to the east wing. Ask for Martha ... she’ll find something in your size.”

“Thank you ... I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Fredrick, Miss. You can call me Fredrick. Enjoy your swim.”

The man turned and resumed his pruning of the sculptured topiary that lined the circular driveway in front of the chateau.

Sarah bounded back up the steps and through the front doors before making her way around the immense staircase to the kitchen. Peering inside, she saw large copper pans hanging over a row of black and silver ovens, and an entire team of chefs were bustling around, prepping the noon-time meal.

They must be cooking for all the guests that have arrived here over the past few days
, Sarah told herself. She had tried to make small talk with a few of the new arrivals that seemed approachable, but they had usually excused themselves and hurried off into another part of the chateau. Even her one attempt to explore the chateau had met with resistance when she approached the stairway to the third floor and was stopped by the man with the dog and told it was closed for renovations.

Walking through the kitchen, Sarah came to an open doorway that led to the long, white-tiled hallway the gardener had told her about. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her as she walked past a flurry of servants in their crisp uniforms, coming and going through the back service entrance.

She tried a door to her right. It was locked. She crossed the hall and tried another door. Also locked. Since there were no signs, there was nothing to indicate where all these doors led to, and now it seemed that all the servants she had seen running around earlier had suddenly disappeared.
Where was the laundry?

Sarah was almost to the end of the hallway when a door opened. A woman holding a tray of metal instruments stopped and looked at her for a moment before walking by without speaking. As the woman passed, Sarah reached out and caught the door before it closed. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her and flicked on the light switch. She was standing in a green-tiled room with a huge metal light fixture suspended above a narrow stainless-steel table in the center of the space. Behind a glass wall, she could see three, waist-high metal sinks lined in a row, and off to her left was a wall filled with glass cabinets containing the same kind of metal instruments she had seen the woman carrying. Sarah inched closer to the wall and peered inside the cabinets. On closer inspection, she saw that the instruments seemed very specialized, and some were obviously designed for cutting.
Surgical instruments? This was definitely not the laundry.

Sarah backed away and stared at the room. Her breath began to come in short, shallow gasps.
She was standing in the middle of an operating room!
Why did the chateau have an operating room? Her mind began to run back over the events of the past several weeks.
Think
! Why would someone rescue her from an isolated hospital room, only to keep her isolated in a remote French chateau? This Acerbi guy had told her that one of his companies was a pharmaceutical company.
He wanted her here for a reason!

Sarah felt the room sway. She should have realized something was wrong the minute they refused to let her call home.
I’m still a guinea pig!
Tears of rage and fear welled up and streamed down her face. She had to get out. She had to get out
now
!

Moving along the wall, Sarah reached into one of the glass cabinets and pulled out a scalpel.
She wasn’t going without a fight
.
Had anyone seen her come in here? Were they already on their way? Were they standing outside the door?
Her hands began to tremble as she reached for the door handle and jerked it open.

No one was there. She poked her head into the hallway. It was empty.
So far so good.
Sarah palmed the scalpel and stepped out into the hall. Walking quickly, she began putting as much distance between herself and the operating room as possible before anyone else came along. When she reached the far end of the hall, she could feel the increasing humidity in the air as she entered the area she had originally been looking for—the laundry.

A stout Germanic-looking woman with her hair tied in a tight blonde bun looked up from a table stacked high with linen. Looking around, she quickly motioned for Sarah to move closer. “Are you Miss Adams?”

“Yes.” Sarah eyed the woman suspiciously as her grip on the scalpel tightened.

“I’m Martha. Fredrick called me ... he’s my husband. We keep all the bathing suits in that room over there.” Martha pointed to an open door that led to a tiny side room. Sarah saw that it had a window that overlooked the pool.

Martha fixed Sarah with a steady gaze and winked. “There’s usually no one in back of the chateau at this time of day.”

“Uh, Ok ... thank you, Martha.”

Just then they heard men’s voices in the hallway outside.

“Security men,” Martha said. “They’re probably down here looking for whoever triggered the alarm to one of their secret little rooms.”

“Secret rooms?”

“Yep. They have cameras too.” Martha winked again. “Let’s just say you don’t have time for a swim.”

Sarah froze.
Why was this woman helping her?
The time for questions had passed. She had to act. “If anyone tries to open the door to that room, will you please tell them I’m changing into a swim suit?”

“Lock the door. You need to hurry. As soon as you get through the window head for the woods ... and keep going. Head south.”

“Thanks, Martha.” It was obvious now that Sarah had no choice but to trust this woman and do what she said.

“Please, Miss ... go ... now!” Martha quickly crossed the room and closed the main door to the laundry. “I can only stall them so long.”

Without answering, Sarah fled into the tiny side room and locked the door behind her. Unlatching the window, she pushed, but nothing happened.
Was it locked from the outside?
Looking closer, it was obvious from the layers of white paint that had built up over time that the window had not been opened for years. Taking the scalpel, she began slicing through the layers of paint along the bottom edge before pushing up on it once again. The window still refused to budge. She heard men’s voices outside the door as she franticly sliced at the dried paint along the edges of the window frame and pushed again. Slowly, the window began to inch open, but just barely.

The doorknob began to turn.
So much for Martha stalling them.
She pushed again with all of her strength until finally she had the window open just enough for her to squeeze through.

A knock on the door. A man’s voice. “Miss Adams, could you please come out here for a moment? We’d like to have a word with you.”

“Just a moment, please. I’m changing clothes.” Without hesitating, Sarah lifted herself up and squeezed her body through the half-open window. Landing in a flower bed next to the pool, she crouched down behind some bushes and looked around. Surrounding the pool, she saw a short iron fence topped with pointed spikes, and in the distance, across a football-sized field, she could see the thick woods the gardener had warned her about.

She began to run. She ran as fast as she could until she reached the short fence. Looking around, she climbed on top of a lounge chair and threw herself over the fence, barely clearing the iron spikes. Landing on her feet, she kept running across the open field toward the thick woods
. To hell with the bees
, she thought.
I can handle bees
!

Sarah heard the unmistakable bark of a large dog. It wasn’t close, but it wasn’t very far away either. Afraid of what she might see, she didn’t look back as she thrust herself into the woods and ran for her life. Pushing against low branches, she let them snap back into place behind her as she ran. The underbrush was growing thicker. It was as if the trees themselves were trying to grab her, wanting to hold her back as she tried to run.

Sarah heard the bark of the dog again.
Was it closer this time?
She heard voices, then shouts. “There she is!” she heard a voice call out.

Blood was now running from several small cuts on both arms as she continued to struggle through underbrush that was growing thicker.
There must be another way!

With a final lunge, Sarah pushed as hard as she could and fell forward into a pile of leaves. She blinked as she sat up and looked around. She was lying in the open next to a paved road that ran through the middle of the woods. A road! Lifting herself up, she began to run. She stayed next to the road and began to run faster in an effort to make it around a bend ahead. The men chasing her had to be close, and she didn’t want them to catch sight of her.

Then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a car approaching from behind. She didn’t look back as she kept running.
Oh God, it was right behind her—it was keeping pace.

Exhausted, confused, and bloody from the scrapes on her face and arms, Sarah slowed and finally stopped. She eyed the thick woods off to her left and sighed before she turned around and saw a dilapidated old truck idling on the road behind her. Sarah breathed in deeply and remained motionless. The rusty truck’s gears ground as the driver shifted into drive and drove up beside her. Peering inside, she saw the old gardener behind the wheel, and Martha was sitting beside him.

“Get in Sarah!” Martha shouted. “We don’t have much time!”

It was well after midnight when the Carmela dropped anchor in the deep blue water off the coast of France near the mouth of the fast-flowing Aude River. As Lev and the captain had predicted, their departure from the Spanish harbor after dark had been uneventful. Short on manpower and tasked mainly with stopping new arrivals, the Spanish Navy had decided not to concern themselves with boats trying to leave, thus allowing the Carmela to slip past the harbor entrance without interference.

Down in the yacht’s grand salon, almost everyone onboard was watching CNN via satellite. All across the globe, in every city, town, and village, people had gathered around their televisions to watch the latest news on the spread of the pathogen and the efforts to bring the epidemic to a halt. They sat in their homes and waited, because in truth, there was nothing else they could do. Their fate was out of their hands, and those who believed in God were praying for deliverance.

In the United States, where millions had already succumbed to the virus, the President was in the Oval Office preparing to address the nation. He was sitting behind the familiar Resolution Desk, the same desk used by President Roosevelt during the Great Depression and World War II—the same desk used by Kennedy during the Cuban Missile Crisis—and as the President looked down at its polished but nicked surface, he was struck by the fact that the word
resolution
had been an appropriate moniker for a desk used by the leader of the free world. So, it was with a sense of resolution that the President now faced a row of cameras, waiting for his cue to begin speaking.

In small towns across the country, people had come together to form little islands of safety across a land filled with terror. In these areas, the rule of law had prevailed, and people shared and sacrificed for the sake of their neighbors. In other areas, mostly urban, panic and lawlessness had begun to rule the streets as the people fought for food and supplies while trying to protect their families from marauding bands of thugs who crawled from their dens to take advantage of the grim situation. Waiting for the President to speak, people from coast to coast gathered behind locked doors, hoping against hope that he was about to announce the crisis was nearing an end and that life would soon return to normal.

When at last the gray-haired image of the President appeared, he looked tired and defeated. Peering into the camera with a blank expression, he began to speak in a halting monotone.

Good evening. Tonight ... as I speak to each and every one of you ... it is with great sorrow. As many of you undoubtedly already know, a deadly virus is now spreading across our nation. Because of the sheer number of victims, our ability to ensure that you receive the best medical care, along with other basic services such as food, power, and clean drinking water, has been greatly diminished by the enormity of a crisis that no one could have imagined.