On the Fifth Day (52 page)

viously meddled and now my one strike aircraft will have to make a choice of target. It's unfortunate, but one is more than enough."

Kumi shifted, her eyes lowered.

"So if I die before the Wrath of God arrives," Hayes con

tinued, "so do the crew of the
Nara.
It's a moot point, of course, but I thought I'd mention it in case you had any more tricks up your sleeve. I have to say, you've been most tire

some, but it's nice to know that you'll die before me. Now, who first?"

And so saying, he holstered the pistol and swung the ma

chine gun around to fire.

CHAPTER 113

Thomas and Kumi huddled together beside Jim, as Hayes prowled around toward the shore, his eyes on them, a lion se

lecting a young or wounded gazelle from the pack. 393

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"God," Jim whispered.

Thomas took it for a prayer, but something in the tension of Kumi's grip opened his eyes. The water, the eerily red wa

ter that Thomas had first seen on the Paestum grave painting, was stirring, but not with waves. There were creatures in the surf behind Hayes, and they were coming ashore.
It's the red tide. They've come to feed.

Instinctively he took a step backward, and Kumi moved with him. Jim struggled to his feet and followed suit.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Hayes, and his coolness was now underscored by a certain pleasure that might have been righteousness. He cocked the machine gun and aimed.

"You say I believe in nothing," said Thomas suddenly, his eyes meeting Hayes's and holding them. "But that isn't true. I believe in complexity and intellect, in reason and tolerance. I believe in the spirit and in matter, and I believe that all these things are the gifts of a God who does not want faith over thought, or moralism over compassion. I believe, as my brother did, that God's creation is ongoing, evolving, according to the laws of a universe He devised."

Hayes stared at him, the weapon level, arrested by what he had heard, somehow unaware of the way they shrank away from him and from the shore at his back. Then he sneered, and his finger began to tighten on the trigger till something in their faces stopped him and he half turned.

The first creature out of the waves was eight feet long and a quarter of that was jaws. The second was bigger. It was the third that took him down.

Hayes sensed the movement and swung the gun behind him, opening fire, but they were all around him, and by the time one of them was whipping back and forth in its death agony, another had already lunged with its great crocodile maw, a surprisingly high and powerful strike driven by the tail, that brought it up as high as Hayes's chest. It seized him around the middle and slammed him into the sand. The second 394

A. J. Hartley

then grabbed his foot as he writhed and screamed and kicked, dragging him back into the bloody water. A fourth went for his throat, and with one last gurgling cry, he went quiet.

"The GPS marker!" shouted Kumi.

Thomas started forward, snatching for the gun as the fishapods lashed around his ankles.

One of the creatures had clamped hold of Hayes's left arm. With a lurching stride and swish of its muscular tail, the beast pushed back into the water and began to spin. The arm tore from its socket. Then another of the fish lurched into the fray, tugging at the severed limb. The first attacker adjusted its grip and pulled, and the hand came away with part of the forearm. Thomas reached into the scarlet foam, grabbed the freed GPS

unit, and hopped away as one of the creatures wheeled and snapped at him, getting enough height to seize him by the shoulder.

Thomas fell back, clutching the transmitter, scrambling crablike up the beach.

"Now what?" he said.

"The drone will hit the
Nara,
" said Kumi, "and we have no way of warning them."

"Give me that," said Jim, seizing the GPS unit with its pulse monitor. "How long do you think it has to be off before the plane recalculates its target?"

"I would have thought it was instantaneous," said Thomas, still watching the swirling mass of primitive creatures as they tore at Hayes's corpse.

"No," said Kumi. "Pulse is erratic. The system must accom

modate irregularity and momentary disconnection. Why?"

Jim looked up and grinned, waggling one hand. He had fastened the pulse monitor to his own wrist.

"Even if that works," said Thomas. "How does it help? It just means that we are the target again instead of the boat."

"Me," said Jim. "You can still go. Take the lifeboat and make for the
Nara.
Now."

Thomas stared at him. "You're kidding," he said. "I'm not leaving you now."

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"I probably wouldn't make it anyway," said Jim, consider

ing his bandages. "This way at least I die with purpose."

Thomas just looked at him. Around them the wind pulsed and the trees beyond the beach swayed, sighing.

"No way," said Thomas. "Kumi. Say something . . . Kumi?"

But Kumi was crying, stooping to Jim, embracing him, clinging to him.

"See," said Jim to Thomas. "She gets it. Why are you al

ways the last to figure things out?"

"This is crazy," Thomas roared.

"No," said Jim. "It's self-sacrifice. Not the same thing. Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for his friends. Remember?"

"No," said Thomas, defiant still. "That's nuts. I won't let you."

"Are you my friends?" said Jim.

Kumi sobbed and hugged him tighter. Thomas stood quite still for a second and then nodded once.

"Well, then," said Jim, smiling, "you'd better go. And Thomas?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"Did you believe what you said to Hayes just now, about spirit and matter and compassion? Did you believe that or was it just a way of keeping his attention off the sea?"

For a moment Thomas just stood there, barely able to re

member what had just happened, what he had just said.

"Both," he said. "I think."

Jim smiled and nodded thoughtfully. "Good enough," he said.

Thomas was still rooted to the spot. "I . . . I'm sorry I doubted you," he said, his voice binding in his throat.

"Doubt is integral to faith," said Jim. "Without it . . ."

He shrugged and opened his hands.

Nothing.

But . . ." Thomas tried.

"Go," said Jim, more urgent this time. "Now. Or it's all a waste."

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Thomas reached a hand for Kumi's shoulder, but she shrugged him off, sobbing louder than ever.

"It's okay," said Jim, whispering into her ear. "Better this way. Clear, you know?"

And finally, she released him. Thomas led her away, halfblinded by his own tears as they ran across the beach to the lifeboat.

Jim watched them all the way to the boat and then looked back to the GPS unit on his wrist. There was a green blinking light that, he hoped, meant that the switch had not been detected. He was tired and in pain, but he couldn't quite shake the sad

ness of leaving the world. He recalled Christ in Gethsamane, waiting to be arrested, and praying,
"Father, if this cup might
pass from me . . . But Your will be done."

He considered the beach, the palms, the soft, refreshing morning breeze that had carried the voice of God to Elijah. There were worse places to die.

Amazingly, the
ikthus
fish that Hayes had drawn in the sand had survived the chaos of the final battle. Jim reached over and, watching the beasts at the shoreline, drew two sets of legs beneath it. He considered the image, thinking of Ed, and added a cross for an eye.

Jim watched Thomas and Kumi driving the rowboat away from the shore, unmolested by the strange creatures on the beach, and raised his eyes to the horizon. Almost beyond the range of sight a slender aircraft with a bulbous nose and long, fragile wings was descending. It closed fast, and he watched its course, bearing in mind the
Nara
with its crew and the row

boat with his friends, holding his breath, waiting for the switch in approach that never came. It flew with purpose, gracefully, less like a hawk than a dove, swooping. He gathered himself to his knees, wincing at the pain in his side and prayed in the words of the
De Profundis:
"Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord, Lord, hear my voice. O let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleading . . ."

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The plane seemed to accelerate as it closed, dropping still further. Then came a flare of light from the pylons beneath its wings, and smoke billowed from the rockets as they sped to

ward him.

". . . Because with the Lord there is mercy and fullness of redemption," said Jim, eyes closed, as the missiles rained down around him.

EPILOGUE:
DE PROFUNDIS

1. Two days later

Thomas gazed out over Manila Bay from his room on Roxas Boulevard and waited for a voice on the other end of the line. He was tired, despite fourteen hours of sleep, but he was clean and a good deal of what had been weighing on him since they reached the
Nara
had lifted.

"The Druid Hills Museum, can I help you?"

"Deborah?" said Thomas.

"This is Tonya, can I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to Miss Miller," said Thomas. "This is Thomas Knight. I'm phoning from the American embassy in the Philippines . . ."

"Hold on."

Deborah was on the line in less than thirty seconds.

"Thomas?" she said.

"Yes," he said.

"I saw it all on the news," she said. "I'm so sorry. I tried but . . ."

"You saved my life," said Thomas, "and a lot of other people as well."

"If we'd been faster," said Deborah "we might have stopped the planes."

"And if you had failed to stop any, I would be dead and so would everyone on the
Nara.
"

"But your friend . . ."

"Died with dignity and purpose," said Thomas with force. She was silent then, and for a moment he did not know what to say.

"There's a lot of interest in the fish," she said, grasping for something. "They said none survived the bombing, but 399

O n t h e F i f t h D a y

there are scientists already demanding the release of the remains."

"It would be ironic if they were the last of their kind," said Thomas. "But who knows? Maybe there are other populations in the area, or elsewhere."

"The papers say Devlin's wife will take his seat until his term expires."

"I should write to her," said Thomas. "Or try to visit her in Chicago. Her husband and I agreed on almost nothing, but I think he was a man of principle and integrity. I wish I had re

alized that before he died."

"Death is like that," she said. "It changes the way you see life."

He nodded and smiled, knowing she couldn't see, knowing she understood.

"They have Ed's remains here," he said. "Just bones, of course, but I'm glad they have them."

"When do you come back to the States?" she asked.

"Soon. A couple more things to do before I get back."

"I hear your school is offering to rehire you," said Debo

rah. "You're quite the hero."

"Well," said Thomas, "we'll see about that. I have a gift for falling off pedestals. But, I don't know . . ." His smile stalled. He caught a fleeting recollection of Jim on the beach. "Maybe this time will be different," he said. He drained his glass of Bushmills, savoring it, and did not pour a second.
2. One week later

Tetsuya Matsuhashi sealed the package and handed it to the customs clerk, who smiled and bobbed her head in that pleased and embarrassed way that said his celebrity status hadn't completely faded. He took the train into Tokyo, think

ing vaguely about visiting Watanabe before his trial, wonder

ing what he would say to his former mentor. He reread Thomas's letter of thanks for his sending the satellite data to 400

A. J. Hartley

Deborah and for his recent dealings with the American and Japanese officials who had been falling over themselves to fig

ure out what in the name of God had been going on. And, of course, for his standing up to his
sensei:
an act that could have cost him his career.

Thomas had wished him well for his upcoming doctoral defense, but in truth it seemed unlikely that his school would deny him even if they were skeptical of his work. Great things were being planned for him. All he had to do now was be wor

thy of them. It was a significant pressure, but he had learned a great deal about himself in the wake of the Watanabe busi

ness, and he felt quietly confident in ways he never would have done before. Matsuhashi felt that he should be thanking Thomas, not the other way around.

Perhaps that was what he would tell Watanabe. He might understand. He might even respect him for it. Matsuhashi stared out the window and into the rain, and he smiled a little, for the first time in what felt like a very long time.
3. Two weeks later

It was cool in the Fontanelle, and though still dim there were ventilation shafts--like the one Thomas had entered that night so long ago--that allowed a green and dusty light to filter softly through the corridors of stacked bones.

"Here?" said Father Giovanni.

Thomas nodded and laid the box on the stone floor. It had arrived from Japan that morning, covered in official tape. He opened it carefully, reverentially, sitting back to reveal the contents. Giovanni lit a candle and set it on the low shelf as Thomas took the skulls from the box and carefully set each of them on the stack.

"This is all of them?" said Giovanni.

"All we could find," said Thomas. "These are the oldest, the ones Watanabe buried in the site. These others," he added,

"are the more recent ones he couldn't use."

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There was one skull left in the box. By comparison it looked bright, clean: new.