Vestige (16 page)

“There you go again with the devil talk. When have you ever seen Satan?” asked Clarke.

“I’ve seen him around…” Maybe this was the time to tell her about his dad, the note, and Grimshaw. But she had taken in a lot—probably enough—for one day. That story would have to wait. He couldn’t lay too much crazy on her all at once.

“At least you’re an archangel. That’s gotta count for something,” said Clarke.

“Yeah…right…I wouldn’t know the first thing about killing Satan.”

“Can we stop talking about Satan? It’s creepin’ me out. You didn’t answer my question…do you know how to use all those weapons?”

“Pretty much. My mom has been training us this whole time,” said Micah.

“And your mom learned about all this on the compound?”

“I guess.”

“What a badass.”

Micah fell silent. Clarke was taking this all too lightly, everything always a joke. What exactly did she think was going on? He put the machete back in the trunk, kicked the lid closed, and slid it back into its hiding place under the bunk. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Clarke could see that she upset him. She didn’t mean to. She thought she was following his lead, joking around like they always did. She stood up from the floor and sat down on the bed next to him. An eternity of awkward silence followed.

“Hey, I think I saw a box of Sharpies on that shelf.” Trying to change the energy, Clarke retrieved a marker and returned to her place on the bed. “I have an idea. Give me your right hand.”

Without saying anything, Micah extended his hand as Clarke took the cap off the Sharpie.

“I’ve been thinking that we could make our own tags, but I didn’t have a black marker until now.” Clarke took her time as she drew a series of lines on the back of Micah’s hand. “I’ve been studying Amber’s tag…. There…I think it looks pretty real.” Clarke held Micah’s hand up high and inspected her work. “At least from far away it does.” She let go of his hand and stuck out hers. “Now you do me.”

Micah gripped the marker and did his best to reproduce the lines. He took more time to draw her barcode than Clarke took to draw his, but when he finished, his version looked better than hers looked.

“Good job.” Clarke held her own hand up.

“When did you think of that?” asked Micah.

“When I first saw a tag, I thought it looked like someone drew it.”

Clarke slipped the Sharpie into her pocket and grabbed Micah’s hand. She gently blew on the ink, and then brushed her fingers across the black lines. His hand looked so big and his skin felt so warm. Once she confirmed that the ink was dry, she sealed her artwork with a kiss and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek.

He slipped his fingers in between hers, locking their hands, palm to palm. She loved how her hand conformed to his like two puzzle pieces locking into place.

He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed each of her fingers one at a time. He slid his other hand up the back of her neck into her hair and pulled her closer. He kissed her neck. He kissed her chin. He kissed her nose. He kissed her forehead.

Every time his lips left her skin, she shuddered in anticipation of his next kiss. When his lips finally found hers, she devoured his touch. She placed her free had on his thigh. The contour of his bulging muscles made her tingle. She could feel his passion growing with each passing moment, but then he grabbed her hand and pushed her away.

“Sorry…Sorry…” Clarke felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Micah wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the floor.

“Micah?”

“I need to show you how to lock this place up.” Micah stood and walked towards the panel next to the door.

“Okay.” Clarke followed him.

“Just type in the word ‘GUARDIAN’, all caps, and the security door will close. It can’t be unlocked from the outside. This computer screen will automatically turn on. Several wireless security cameras are hidden around the house, so you’ll be able to watch what’s going on outside this room.”

“Micah, I’m sorry. Can we talk about this?”

“Clarke, you need to pay attention. This is important.”

“Micah…I thought that you…”

Micah still refused to let his eyes meet hers.

“Micah, look at me.” She grabbed his face and turned it towards hers. His gray eyes looked hungry. She didn’t understand. “I thought you liked me.”

Micah paused for a long moment. “I do like you. I like you a lot.”

“Why…I don’t understand.” Clarke caressed his cheek with her thumb.

Micah closed his eyes and turned his face towards her touch. “I don’t want to mess things up.”

“You won’t. It’s not like I know what I’m doing.”

“No…not that. I mean between us. Clarke, what we have is so…ordinary.”

“Jeez, thanks a lot.”

“No, you don’t understand. Ordinary as in normal. This is perfect. You have no idea how messed up my family always seemed to me with all the prepper crap and angel stuff. All I ever wanted was to feel ordinary. And right now, despite everything, that’s how I feel when I’m with you. If we do this, things might change. What if we move this to the next level, and you decide that I’m too crazy for you? I don’t think I could deal with that.”

“Micah, don’t you get it? I love you. That night I saw my mother, I was the crazy one, but you stayed. When I needed someone the most, you were there for me.”

Micah’s worries trickled away. She loved him.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He knew that she meant what she said because he could feel it. Micah could feel Clarke’s affection as if it were a tangible thing. It radiated out from her and surrounded him, blanketing him in utter bliss.

“Can you feel that?” Micah asked her.

“Feel what? Gross…Micah, way to turn a romantic moment into something raunchy.”

“No…I mean…. I love you too.” Micah couldn’t put his feelings into words. He could only show her with the eagerness of his lips and the tenderness of his touch.

Chapter Seventeen

Two weeks had passed, and Thomas hadn’t received his tag. He didn’t want to believe that the barcode was the mark of the beast, but what if it was? At this point, he probably had more to lose by being tagged than by not being tagged. To make matters worse, Thomas had so far failed in confronting the Guardian, and as the minutes ticked by, it became easier for him to make excuses to let it go altogether.

He did some research and found out Micah’s name. He went to the keyhole house many times, and even worked up the nerve to ring the doorbell twice. The first time, no one answered. The second time, a tall boy with a snake tattoo opened the door. His aura was as black as coal.

“What do you want?” The boy sneered at Thomas.

“Can I please talk to Micah?”

“And what makes you think he wants to talk to you?” The boy crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. The snake tattoo seemed to come to life. As the boy’s muscles twitched, the snake looked as if it were moving up and down his arm.

“Um…I…I…” Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes off the tattoo.

“Micah has us. He doesn’t need you.” The boy stood up straight. “If I were you, I’d stay away from him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas took a step back.

“Think about it. You’ll figure it out.” With that, the boy slammed the door.

Thomas stood on the porch for a second before he turned to leave. What else could he do?

Having walked by that house so many times, Thomas guessed that five or six other teenagers lived there with Micah. And as far as he could tell, they all had dark auras. Jon said that as long as a person with a dark aura wasn’t tagged they could be saved. But how was Thomas supposed to know if the other kids had a tag or not? And now that the probation period had ended, he couldn’t walk around town whenever or wherever he wanted. He had to be more careful.

Furthermore, Thomas was the only priest at St. Francis. He had little free time. Even though the church pews weren’t quite as full as they were two weeks ago and people seemed to have dropped the end of the world rhetoric (funny…some even seemed to have forgotten about the missing people), he was doing more than his share.

So, once the sun had set, Thomas would walk past the keyhole house one last time. How long could he be expected to keep trying? Anyone else would have given up after the encounter with that tattooed thug.

Before he went out that night, he had to make his rounds through the church. As he reached the vestibule, Thomas heard someone call his name. He turned to see Martin, the organist, and a woman he didn’t recognize, rushing down the aisle towards him.

“Father, can we talk to you?” asked Martin.

“I’m on my way out. Can we talk another time?” replied Thomas.

“It’s important.” Martin’s face was as red as a cherry tomato, and his chest heaved in and out.

“Okay, I guess I can spare a few minutes.” Thomas looked at the woman next to Martin. Although she was a few shades lighter than Martin, her cheeks were flushed too.

“Oh…this is my…friend, Irene.” Martin started for the restrooms. “Let’s talk in there. I don’t want anyone to hear us.” He looked back over his shoulder before he opened the men’s room door.

Once the three were safely inside, Martin locked the door. “Father, we need your help. Have you heard…they’re giving people extra rations for reporting those without tags?”

“Oh…” Thomas covered his right hand with his left.

“It’s okay, Father. We’re not tagged either,” said Irene. Martin and Irene held up their right hand.

“Uh huh, and why aren’t you tagged yet?” asked Thomas.

“Something’s not right about it, Father,” said Irene.

“What do you mean?” asked Thomas.

“My sister has her tag, and when we came to church this morning, she couldn’t get in.” Irene’s eyes welled up.

“I don’t understand,” said Thomas.

“She physically couldn’t enter the building. She tried, but it was like an invisible barrier kept her out.” Irene’s eyelids couldn’t contain the liquid any longer and the tears began to trickle down the sides of her face.

“Father, a neighbor of ours has turned us in.” Martin placed his hand on Irene’s shoulder. “We can’t go back home.”

“Can we stay here?” Irene placed her hand on top of Martin’s.

“I don’t know about that.” Thomas rubbed his forehead. Was it in his best interest to harbor fugitives?

“Don’t you see? They can’t come in the church, Father. Military personnel, law enforcement…they’re all tagged,” said Martin.

“Are you sure about that?” asked Thomas. “Irene you had one experience. That’s hardly enough to make such a sweeping assumption.”

“Go. Check. Look at the right hand of every person in this church. You’ll see…not one tag,” said Martin.

Thomas unlocked the bathroom door and went back into the church. He walked up the center aisle and inconspicuously tried to look at the right hand of everyone present.

Martin was right—no tags. But was that enough to prove Martin and Irene’s theory? For Thomas to accept this, he needed to see the invisible barrier. He ran back towards the vestibule, past Martin and Irene, and out the door. He stood on the stairs of the church for several moments before a man walked by.

“Hi there, I was wondering if you could come inside for a moment. I need help moving something,” said Thomas.

“I guess.” The man walked up the steps.

Thomas held the door open for him, but the man stopped before he could enter. He frowned as he wrapped his arms around his stomach and hunched over.

“Are you okay?” asked Thomas.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” the man replied.

“Thanks anyway.” Thomas shook the man’s hand, and before he let go, he turned it slightly—a tag.

Thomas repeated this exercise six more times, each time getting the same result. Martin and Irene were right.

He hurried back inside. “All right, Irene, I believe you. But why can’t the tagged enter the church?” Thomas already had the answer to his question, but he needed to hear it from someone else.

“This is going to sound crazy, Father…” Martin hesitated and looked at Irene.

“Just tell him what we think,” said Irene.

“We think the tag is the…” Martin swallowed hard. “The mark…” Martin looked at Irene and shrugged.

“The mark of the beast,” Irene blurted.

Thomas’s temples began to throb. A marching sound beat rhythmically in his ears. He knew what Martin and Irene wanted to hear. He knew that they wanted him to laugh and tell them that they were crazy and that the beast was just some Christian myth because that’s what he would want to hear. But Thomas couldn’t say that. He knew better. The antichrist was alive and these were the End Times. He had to talk to Micah.

“Listen, you two can stay here for as long as you need to. I can’t talk about this now. I have something important to do.”

“So, do you believe us?” asked Martin.

“Unfortunately, yes, I do. I’ll be back before the sun comes up. We can talk more about this in the morning.”

“Please be careful, Father. We need you,” said Irene.

Chapter Eighteen

Thomas stood at the front door of the keyhole house. Voices echoed from the yard, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Friends or no friends, Thomas had to talk to Micah tonight. No one would be slamming the door in his face. He couldn’t allow it.

He rang the doorbell. No answer. Why wouldn’t these stupid kids answer the door? He rang it again. A shadow moved across the door’s frosted glass window. He took a deep breath as the door opened a crack.

“Can I help you?” a female voice squeaked through the opening.

“Hi, I’m Father Thomas from St. Francis. I’m checking on the folks in the neighborhood to see how they’re coping with their losses. I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you.”

The door opened wider, revealing a petite girl with long reddish-brown hair. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age. She had a dark aura but not as dark as the boy who had answered the door last time. Too bad Micah didn’t answer. That would have made things easy.