Hold Fast (21 page)

Crouched low, the submachine gun pulled tightly against my shoulder, I glide silently through the night, searching for my love. Heather’s shanty, little more than a plywood garden shed, sits empty. The bed is made, with no sign that anyone has been inside tonight. Where the fuck are you, Heather? One more mystery. Next stop, women’s dorm.

“Heads up, Pearse,” Angie says in that buzzy voice inside my head. “Two assholes. Ten meters ahead, left around the corner, then three meters. Looks like they’re just standing around talking.”

“Roger that,” I answer. “Is one of them smoking?” I smell the cigarette, but that doesn’t mean he’s close.

“Affirmative.”

I close the distance to the corner, but remain crouched in the shadows without closing it. It’s too early to start the party – I still haven’t located Courtney – but perhaps I can gain useful intel by eavesdropping. Two low voices carry on the still air.

“It was your own fault, you know.” A man’s voice. It’s Lucas. I’ve only heard him say a few words, but I’d recognize that son of a bitch anywhere. “And you’re lucky Jeremiah’s whore needed some time to repent of her sins.”

The penance box.

Is she still there? Or did they marry her off to that greasy-haired prick already?

“I know.” A woman. Andrea, then?
“I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re my husband, and it’s your place to discipline Matthew. I should never have interfered.”

“It’s okay,” Lucas says, his voice gentle. “I know you only did it because you love him, and so do I. And I love
you
, too. That’s why I have to discipline you both. If you sin and do not come to repentance, you cannot be saved.”

“And you have to set an example for the flock,” she says, sniffling. “And I have to set an example for the other women, and Matthew for the children.” More sniffling, verging on crying. “We failed you, Lucas. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not
me
that you failed, Andrea. It’s The Lord.”

Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to stand here and tell me that a mother trying to protect her child was somehow going against God’s will? That ain’t my God, you sorry piece of shit.

“I know,” Andrea sobs quietly. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“I know you will. Pray for the strength to do right, and The Lord will give it to you. You’ll see.” I hear rustling, and Andrea’s soft crying stops after the sound of a kiss. “I love you, Andrea.”

“I love you too, Lucas,” she says, then sighs. “Tomorrow is going to be beautiful. The chapel is so pretty.”

Tomorrow?

The wedding hasn’t happened yet.

A wave of relief rushes through me. Tension I hadn’t even recognized evaporates into thin air.

“You women did a fine job on it,” Lucas agrees. “Better’n
she
deserves, for sure.”

“And Sister Courtney, she’s going to be so beautiful! I did some of the stitching on the dress!” Andrea’s pride in her work is clear in her voice. “I wish they’d wait a few days, though, and let that black eye heal up a bit more.”

“The Lord’s plan does not wait for man’s pleasure,” Lucas tells her. “And you’d best remember that.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, husband. I forgot myself.” Andrea pauses. “I’m going to cry tomorrow. I always cry at weddings,” she says, her voice brightening.

“You might cry
at
the wedding,” Lucas says. “But the whore’s going to be doing a lot of crying
after
the wedding, unless she learns to submit. Honestly, I don’t know what Jeremiah sees in her,” he finishes.

“Brother Jeremiah will be a prophet of The Lord, his father’s successor, if The Lord takes Father Emmanuel to Glory before the End arrives,” she says fervently. “And did not The Lord command His prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute? Perhaps this is part of Brother Jeremiah’s witness to us? Have we fallen, Lucas? Like the Israelites had, in Hosea’s time?”

My jaw drops in shock at her words. She’s not just a battered wife, she’s a willing and eager participant. Stockholm Syndrome? It’d take an army of shrinks a lifetime of work to fix this woman’s head.

“Maybe so, maybe so.” Lucas considers. “It’s not my place to question the prophets, nor yours. The Lord will reveal all to us in his own time.” He heaves a heavy sigh, then continues. “But speaking of Brother Jeremiah’s reluctant bride, I’d best go check in with Brother Jonathan. I’m sure he’d like to get some sleep, and after last night? We can’t leave the harlot unattended. I still haven’t figured out how she managed to unlatch the door.”

Oh, really? You’re still fighting, Courtney! Stay strong. I love you, and I’ll be there soon. Guess I don’t have to check the women’s quarters for you now.

“Go, husband.” Another kissing sound. “Do your duty to The Lord and his prophets. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Goodnight, love,” Lucas says, and then his heavy footsteps crunch gravel as he walks away.

I need to follow him, but I can’t move until Andrea goes inside. The squealing of ungreased hinges is almost deafening in the otherwise silent night, and I wait for a count of ten heartbeats after the latch clicks before I move.

“Gimme some direction here, Angie,” I mutter into the throat mic. I know where the penance box is, but I still don’t know for sure that’s where Courtney is.

“Twenty meters, west-northwest. Moving slow,” he replies. “Target’s fat, dumb and happy. It’ll be just like that one asshat in Drosh.” I can hear the grin in his voice, and there’s a matching one on my own face. Drosh had been a good op.

“Not entirely,” I say, remembering stalking the oblivious local politician through the marketplace, and the look of utter shock when a black hood went over his face before he was tossed into the back of a van. He’d been funneling money to Taliban leaders across the virtually meaningless border in the remote areas where Pakistan and Afghanistan are neighbors. “That guy was a body
snatch
. Lucas? He’s just going to be a
body
.”

“You really don’t like this guy, do you?”

“I’ll like him just fine once he and his baseball bat are both in the ground,” I say, moving out in the direction where Lucas had vanished. Where Lucas’s footsteps had been noisy on the rocky path, my own steps are virtually silent. Stealth is a survival skill, and I’m good enough at it to have survived this long. My feet instinctively find the soft places, grass with no dried leaves or sticks to break, no gravel to grind, and I make up the distance easily.

“Ah. That explains a lot,” Angie says. “Don’t lose your head, though. Stay frosty.”

My target is almost certainly heading for the penance box. Even with Lucas being completely unaware of me, it’s not going to be the easiest thing in the world to approach the only brightly-lit area of the compound undetected, particularly not with two men there.

Patience. Lucas said he was going to relieve this Jonathan guy on watch. That means in a minute, there’ll be one guy there, and he can’t watch the other side of the box, even if he’s alert and expecting danger.

Lucas chats with Jonathan for a moment, laughing at the other man when Jonathan yawns hugely, covering his mouth with a forearm. What the fuck am I supposed to do with Jonathan? I don’t want even a slightly-awake threat possibly behind me. Does he fit the ROE? My own personal rules of engagement for this mission are flexible, and I don’t lose a single second of sleep over a righteous kill, but killing is not always the best option.

The question is answered a moment later, as Jonathan walks away from the box and approaches close enough to make out his features in the green light of the NVGs. He’s the motherfucker who grabbed Andrea by her braid, held her still for Lucas’s correction. Yeah, you meet the ROE, asshole. Killing isn’t always the best option, but sometimes it’s the right one.

Jonathan passes right by me without noticing I’m there, tucked away in the shadows behind the propane tank.

“Brother Jonathan!” I stage-whisper, urgently. “Brother Jonathan!”

He pulls up short, looking around in confusion. “Who’s there? Where are you?” He’s whispering too.

I almost have to laugh. Answering a whisper
with
a whisper is a strong survival instinct in humans, but it’s backfired this time. If he’d spoken loudly enough for Lucas to hear, the outcome might have changed, but Jonathan has run out of luck. He dies almost silently, with my stiletto in the side of his neck, and I lower the body behind the cylinder. It’s a messy, bloody way to kill, but it’s quiet, and if you’re good, you can stay clean while doing it. And I’m
very
good.

Now it’s your turn, Lucas.

The big man is leaning against the box, his back to the door, and I hear a thumping sound as he taps the baseball bat against the door. Poor Courtney. It must be like the inside of a drum inside there. Is he doing it on purpose to keep her exhausted and awake?

Stupid question. Of course, he is.

Standing in the middle the floodlights, there’s no way Lucas can see anything outside the ring of illumination around him, and I’m getting impatient. A few careful moments of near-silent sprinting and I’m on the opposite side of the box from him.

Stay stupid, motherfucker. Stay stupid.

Around the first corner, my own back against the wall.

The goggles have adjusted to the available light, and the world is visible in color instead of shades of green. They’re usable in all light conditions, and I can leave them down, but I flip them up out of the way of my face.

I want you to see me, Lucas. I want you to know at the end.

In an instant, I’m around the final corner, and the long blade is buried to the hilt in the side of Lucas’s neck, and that’s when everything goes to shit. I’m pleased to see recognition in his eyes while the light begins to fade from them, but he’s tougher than I expected. His life is draining away swiftly, but he still has enough energy to try and scream, flailing his arms.

The high-pitched squeal of agony and alarm is easy to silence. A quick twist-and-tug and sound is changed to a rattling gurgle as the blade slices forward through cartilage and flesh, opening him the rest of the way forward. But I would have been happy to let him scream for hours if it would have prevented the
big
sound the asshole had caused while he died. Lucas’s dying hands had reached for a shotgun leaning against the side of the building. He no longer had the fine motor control to aim it and fire it at me, but as he died, Lucas did something almost worse. He knocked it over, and the ancient weapon fired both barrels when it clattered to the ground.

I didn’t want a half-awake enemy behind me, but now I’m going to have all the enemies behind me, and they’ll all be awake.

“Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?” Angie’s voice is somewhere between amusement and anger.

“That was
not
part of the plan,” I shoot back.

“Didn’t figure it was. Get a move on. We need to di-di the fuck right outta here, good buddy, and make it number-one-most-rikki-tik.”

The compound around me quickly comes alive with lights. I pull a burner phone from a utility pocket on my chest, ready to send the text message that will trigger my distractions.

Time is running out. I feel the itch of watching eyes behind me as I reach for the latch securing the door.

* * *

T
ap
. Tap. Tap.

It’s Lucas out there now. It has to be him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Brother Jonathan isn’t this cruel. He’d let me sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

This is driving me mad.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

What’m I resting up for? Today was my last chance. All I’m doing is making sure I’ll be healthy and alert for tomorrow. For my wedding. To a monster.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I swore to Jeremiah that I’d die before I let him touch me, and I’m rapidly running out of time to make good on my vow. As soon as the sun is up tomorrow, the women will begin getting me ready to be delivered to the waiting demon, and I won’t have a moment by myself. Even if I was alone for a moment, nobody would be stupid enough to leave a sharp object within my reach, and I wouldn’t have time for anything slower than opening a vein.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Do I even have the courage to do it?

Can I kill myself?

I know what Jeremiah wants, what he plans to do with me. Is a quick death now truly better than a – very short - lifetime of torture at the hands of that sadist? Better than most likely dying in childbirth before age thirty, screaming away the last moments of my life as I give these twisted, evil assholes another generation of ‘prophets’?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

If I make it, what then? Is Hell a real place? When I was a little girl, the priests always said that suicide was a mortal sin, and that you’d go straight to Hell. The God I knew was kind and loving. Merciful. Surely, he will forgive me. Surely, he will understand. Won’t he?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The wooden walls of the penance box are smooth, with no splinters or jagged edges I could use. There’s no lights in here, no electricity that could stop my heart.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There it is! A hook, at the peak of the low roof. It’s meant to hang a lamp, but it should be able to hang something else. It only needs to support me for a few minutes. It won’t take long, will it? I don’t want it to hurt.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The rags that Heather left for me are not long enough to make a rope, but the long skirt of my dress provides extra fabric. Torn into strips, braided together, there should be plenty. If Lucas even hears me ripping my clothes, he won’t care anyway, and I’ve braided my own hair for years now, so it goes quickly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I’m so scared. But I’ll be with you again, Sean, and you, too, Daniel. I hope you’re at peace, with Joshua. I’ll see you all soon.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” I begin. I haven’t said the old prayers in years, but I was raised Catholic, just like Sean. The words are comforting, so different from what they preach here. “Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and…” I laugh softly, bitterly, before finishing. “Now and at the hour of our death, which will be in just a few minutes.
Amen.
”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My bucket, upside down, gets me to the right height. When I kick it away, my toes won’t touch the ground. I loop the end of the makeshift rope over the hook, and settle the noose around my neck, carefully getting the knot clear of my hair. I don’t want it to pull, after all. I’m going to die, but I don’t need to be uncomfortable while I’m doing it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A deep peace settles over me, a serene calm. One more Hail Mary, and it’s time. I panic a little at the first bite of the rope, but Sean’s face in my mind calms me again. He’s smiling at me, holding his hands out to me. I’m coming, my love. I’ll be with you again in just a moment.

Tap. Tap. Shriek!

What’s that? It doesn’t matter now. I don’t care what it was. It doesn’t affect me. I’m going to be at peace in a moment, with my love.

My vision is starting to narrow, now, a ring of blackness surrounding the faint light that leaks in through cracks in the roof. The screaming stops as abruptly as it started, ending in a wheezing, choking sound. My hearing is going wrong, too. A lamb makes that sound when they cut its throat. It’s not time to slaughter the lambs yet, is it? Doesn’t matter. Why do I care? I’m never going to have lamb again. That shouldn’t be important but somehow it is.

Light. Bright white light, in the distance. A pinpoint of it, and I’m falling.

Falling? No! I can’t be falling. I need to go up, toward the light. Toward Sean!

My feet hit first, slipping, and I land hard. Something’s shaking me. I hear a voice.

“Courtney! Courtney! No,
no
, honey!” It’s Sean’s voice. “
Fuck!
Gimme a minute here!
Yes,
I fucking
realize
we need to egress! Shit just went
seriously fucking FUBAR on my end, okay?
Yeah, yeah. Distraction in five… four… three…”

“I couldn’t stand to be without you, Sean. I came to be with you.” I smile up at him. He’s covered in blood. “They must have been awful to you before they killed you. I didn’t realize I’d have to fall to get to Heaven, but here I am?”

Why is that even a question? Of course this is Heaven. It must be. Sean’s here.

“Close your eyes, honey. Keep your mouth open!” His hands cover my ears, and he lays on top of me.

“This is a strange way to--” The ground rumbles and shakes, and a blast of heat washes over us as the light changes from pure white to an angry reddish-orange.

We’re not in Heaven. We’re in the other place, and the gates just opened to let us in. The priests were right about suicide.

“Courtney, can you get up? Are you okay?”

“I’m with you, Sean. I love you, and I couldn’t stand to be without you, so here I am.” I reach up to his face, run a hand over his beard, still wet with blood. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault we’re here.”

“No, that’s fine. Don’t worry about that,” he says, looking over his shoulder at the flames. “None of the blood’s mine. Can you walk? We need to get the
fuck
out of here, like ten minutes ago.”

“I think so,” I tell him, and he helps me to my feet. “But, Sean? This is
Hell
. We can’t get out of here.”

“Hell? Hell on
Earth
, sure, but…” Sean looks at me quizzically, then laughs. “Oh, Christ! Courtney, honey. You’re not dead. I cut the rope in time. You’re
alive
.”

Alive. The concept is a difficult one to wrap my head around.

“But
you’re
dead. Sean, you’re
dead!
”

“Death cannot stop true love,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. “It can only delay it a little while.” He laughs uproariously, and beats the heel of his hand against the wooden wall. “God
damn
but I have always wanted to use that line! But yeah, I wasn’t dead. I was only
mostly
dead, because that shithead Lucas swings a mean bat.”

Not dead. You’re not dead. We’re both alive? Mary, you were with me then by delaying the hour of my death. You gave me back my life, and you gave me back my love.

“If that’s not hell outside, then what’s going on?” Nothing makes sense right now, and I don’t care. Sean’s alive!

“Oh. My, uh,
distractions
were very successful.” He looks sheepish. “A little too successful, maybe. I blew up the propane tank, and the fuel tank for the generator. And all the electrical panels. I think this place is going to be attracting a lot of attention, and
really
soon. A big propane tank like that? It’s a good bet they heard that blast all the way to Greenville.” Sean pauses, cocking his head to the side, listening to something I can’t hear.

“Yeah. Roger that. On the way.” Sean puts a hand on my cheek, and I squeeze the rough, callused fingers tightly against my face. “Courtney, we need to get out of here,
right
now. Can you walk?”

“Walk? Sean, you’re
alive!
If you want me to, I can
fly!
”

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, kissing my forehead and running a black-gloved hand through my tangled, dirty hair. “Keep behind me, and stay low.”

Sean takes shelter by the doorframe, peeking around it through the sights of a compact black gun, and I gasp at the sight of the body just outside the door.

“Sean?” I tap him on the shoulder. “Who is that?”

“Mm? Oh. Lucas,” he says absently.

“Did it hurt?” My voice is raspy, hoarse from the rope. “Please tell me he was scared and in pain.”

“Yeah. It hurt. It hurt a
lot
. Okay, so the plan. Our ride is going to meet us on the other side of the chapel. It’s not the closest spot to us here, but it’s the easiest place for him to get to and still be able to get us out of here without running into complications.”

“Complications?”

“That boom,” Sean chuckles. “There’s going to be game wardens coming down on this place
any
minute, from the air too, and we do
not
want to get stopped on our way out of here. Fire trucks too, but the Warden Service will get here first.”

“Let’s go, then,” I say, and follow Sean. Just outside the door, I freeze, transfixed by the sight of Lucas. With Sean’s cut, and the angle his head’s sitting at, he looks almost like a Pez dispenser! My train of thought is interrupted by a gunshot and a spray of gravel as something hits the ground a few feet away from me. Oh no, I’ve gotten too far behind!

“Move! Move! Move!” Sean’s yelling at me, and it looks like he’s shooting back at something. I see flashes in front of the black gun at his shoulder, but there’s only a clicking sound, and a metal-on-metal rasp. “Yeah, I see it.
Shit!
I should have brought the rifle.” Who is he talking to?

In a moment, I’m behind Sean again, following him into the shadows. In temporary safety, we can stop for a breath, and I have a moment for my first look around. I’ve lived here for years, yet the layout is completely different now. When the propane tank went up, it must have leveled half the-- my God! Look at the flames! A billowing column reaches skyward, swirling sheets of red and orange.

“I was right,” Sean says, with a laugh so full of wonder and delight, I can’t help but smile with him.

“About what?” I ask.

“It really
does
look better on fire.” Sean’s face grows serious again. “We can’t take the shortest path. Seems like they can’t decide whether they’re more interested in putting out the fires or making sure you and I don’t get out of here. We need to get around to the back of the chapel. You know the terrain here, what’s your suggestion?”

“Go right here, behind these houses,” I point at the plywood-and-tarpaper shacks, sheltered from the explosion by the now-burning main house. “There’s a fence on the other side of them, but there’s a space we can walk down, and we’ll turn right again at the corner of the fence. We can make almost all the way to the chapel there. At the end, we go through the barn, then through the chapel and out the back door.”

Sean glances around the corner of the shack. The shadows in the narrow space are deeper, blacker than normal, after staring up at the pillar of fire. I don’t care about shadows or fire! I’ll go anywhere with you, and I won’t be afraid ever again.

“Works for me. Let’s go.”

I follow Sean through the gap, then down the path between buildings. He’s pulled the night vision goggles down over his face again, and has no problem finding sure footing around the mess of broken children’s toys, garden tools and other stuff littering the small back yards. I can’t see nearly as well, but by staying close enough to touch Sean and walk where he does, I avoid the worst of it.

When we reach the corner of the fence, Sean flattens himself against the post, reaching back to touch me in the darkness, wordlessly telling me to hold up.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“Nothing,” he says. “Yet. Let me clear it first.”

Sean’s training takes over, and he sweeps the barrel of the gun around the corner, his body following with fluid grace and blinding speed, but then he freezes, silhouetted by the flames above. His lips move, but I can’t make out a thing that he’s saying over the roaring flames and the barking of panicked dogs.

He’s staring at something.

What does he see?

The muzzle of the gun at his shoulder dips, and I frantically go through my memory to try to understand. There’s just twenty, thirty feet there. The rectory at the end, the kitchen door. Back door to the barn on the left. What else?
I creep up to the corner.

“What is it, Sean? What do you see?”

“Do you
hear
them?” Sean’s voice is hoarse with- what? Fear? That makes no sense. He cut a path through this place to get to me, and he hasn’t shown the slightest sign of panic. What’s wrong now?

“Hear what?” I ask. With another shift in the flames, the area around us is almost as bright as the noon sun.

“The dog,” he says. “A dog, barking. The sun at midnight.” Sean reaches up to flip the four-eyed goggles back on his helmet, then steadies the gun again, pointing at something I can’t see. His eyes are wide, and he’s breathing hard. “
The black curtain.
”

A dog? The sun at midnight? The black…

“…curtain,” I finish aloud, understanding finally and risking a peek around the corner to see if my suspicion is right.

Sure enough: Sister Joanna left the window in the rectory kitchen open, and the curtain is fluttering in the breeze.

“Sean,” I say, stepping out from around the sheltering fence. “The curtain is
blue
. It’s made of homespun wool, some of the most beautiful cloth we’ve ever made here.”

Sean’s eyes flick toward me, away from the open window, and the barrel dips again.

“I spun some of the thread for it myself, Sean,” I say, stepping close enough to touch his arm. “Last winter. It’s okay. This…” What do I say? That there’s no danger? They were shooting at us back there! Of course there’s danger. How do I bring him back? “Sean, love, this isn’t your dream.”

“I know that,” he grates. “I’m completely fucking awake, and I’m
there
. Again. And she’s back there, behind the curtain
. Just. Fucking. Waiting
.”