Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (18 page)

“And I’ve seen your daughter heal those who were so close to death the distinction between being alive and gone barely existed.” He blocked the doctor’s view and leaned down, clamping one hand on the bench’s armrest, the other on its high back, cornering him. “You’re a far stronger healer than she’s ever been. One touch from you and the injured aren’t only healed, they’re better than they were before being hurt. You’re holding back. Do you actually want Liz to die at the hands of Zeke Neekoma?”

Munez’s mouth trembled with fear or grief, perhaps both. White stubble roughened his weathered cheeks and jaw, aging him further. He was as beaten as Carreon had ever seen him, no longer the defiant idealist who wanted nothing of the battle, only peace that could never be. Seizing the moment, Carreon taunted him further. “Want me to tell you what Neekoma is doing to her right now? How he’s using her, how he’s—”

“Stop.” Munez turned to Carreon, misery in his expression. “If I could heal these men to save Liz, don’t you think I would?”

“Try again now.”

“It’s no use.”

“Do it,” Carreon ordered, straightening so the doctor could go to Oscar and Anthony.

Munez didn’t move.

“I said do it,” Carreon repeated, “or you’ll be the one who dies without ever seeing your daughter again.” He gestured to his other men.

They drew their weapons, pointing the muzzles at Munez.

The doctor faced death with a mixture of relief and regret.

He wasn’t getting off that fucking easy. He was going to do exactly what Carreon wanted. Tempering his rage, he murmured, “What do you think your death will do to Liz if we finally do get her back? How do you think her face will look when we show her your grave?” He leaned down to the elderly man, whispering in his ear, “She’ll be alone, Munez. No parents. No siblings. No close relatives to comfort her, giving her a reason to live. Your death will finally break Liz. Is that what you want? Your daughter without hope? Your daughter looking to me and my men as her new family? What do you believe will become of her then?”

A faint cry of pain rose from the man. He grabbed Carreon’s arm. His thin fingers held such brutal strength, Carreon started.

His men rushed forward, their weapons trained on Munez.

He dug his broken nails more deeply into Carreon’s upper arm and growled, “You’re going to rot in hell.”

“Not before you do.” He clawed Munez’s hand, freeing himself.

The doctor smiled at Carreon staggering back, his previous expression of defeat replaced by renewed defiance.

A bead of perspiration ran down Carreon’s cheek and fell from his jaw, staining his shirt. With all the will he owned, he relaxed his hands, fighting the temptation to beat Munez to death with his fists. “Heal them now,” he ordered, “the way they should be, or you’ll die and Liz will be mine to do with as I please. I won’t make her captivity as pleasant as yours has been. I’ll torture her in every way possible until she does whatever I say without question or pause.”

Munez’s face darkened. He pulled back his lips, showing his teeth as an animal would when it plans to attack.

“Take one step toward me and you’ll be dead before your next,” Carreon advised.

The man continued to stare, loathing evident in his refined features. He gripped the edge of the bench, using it to push to his feet.

Carreon resisted the urge to move back and take shelter behind one of his men.

Munez advanced, deliberately reckless, not appearing to care what happened.

Carreon’s lieutenants turned to him, waiting for his order to fire, their expressions saying they were fearful of making the choice themselves.

“Heal them,” Carreon growled at Munez. “Make him,” he ordered his men.

The one nearest Munez grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him toward the other bench, then forced him to put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

“No, no, no,” Carreon complained, moving closer. “He has to touch his head to heal his brain.”

Holstering his gun, the lieutenant grabbed Munez’s hands and pushed them down to Anthony’s skull.

A crackling noise emanated from the doctor’s palms. The sound drowned out the birds’ cries and the hiss of the breeze. Anthony stirred, his eyes widening, his vacant gaze clearing as though his thought processes were picking up.

Yes.

“Anthony,” Carreon said, “look at me.”
Prove you’re back.

The young man blinked slowly, an obvious effort for him. His brows drew together as he continued to grow more alert.

“Anthony,” Carreon repeated. “Can you hear me?”

The man’s face froze in an expression of confusion that turned to quick terror.

“What’s happening?” Carreon shouted at Munez. “What the fuck are you doing?”

His hands remained on Anthony’s head, held there by Carreon’s lieutenant. “Healing him as you’ve forced me to do.”

“Liar. He’s afraid.”

“Of the pain,” the doctor muttered. “The process can be agonizing. You know that.”

Carreon did. With each jolt of Liz’s power, his blood had burned like acid as it flowed more surely through his veins and arteries. However, he didn’t remember reacting as Anthony was now. He’d been near death one moment and healthy the next, taking Liz in his arms, using her as he desired, as though he’d never been injured.

“Your power’s too strong for him,” Carreon said to Munez, then spoke to the man holding him. “Let the doctor go.”

He released Munez and stepped away.

The doctor continued to lay his palms on Anthony’s head.

“I said stop,” Carreon snapped, punching Munez’s hands, forcing him back. “Anthony.” He leaned down, regarding him. “Are you all right? What are you feeling?”

Anthony attempted to answer but no words came out. No sounds at all. His face flushed as he tried harder to speak, his lips pursing, then pulling back in a grimace when he failed. Tears dripped from his lashes. Unmistakable terror flickered in his eyes.

“What’s the matter with him?” Carreon asked Munez. “Can he hear me? Does he know what’s happening?”

“All too well.”

Carreon straightened and got in the old man’s face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Munez regarded Anthony with what seemed to be guilt or sorrow, the look a physician reserves for a terminally ill patient. “Portions of his brain died from the trauma. They’re beyond simple healing. He’s retained enough function to know what’s going on around him but not to be autonomous. It’s this state I wanted to spare him from.”

More tears ran down Anthony’s face. He continued to struggle to speak and to move, lifting his hands a bit only to have them flop uselessly at his sides. Next, he tried to control his feet. They jerked to the right, then to the left in clonic, aimless motions seen in those who suffer from Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s.

Anthony was only twenty-three, an important part of Carreon’s service. Useless to him now. “What about Oscar?” he asked. “Heal him.”

The doctor argued, “It won’t do any good. The result will be exactly the same.”

“Prove it.”

“No. I have no desire to torture the man, even if he deserves it.”

Carreon signaled to his lieutenant to do what he had before. Compliant as always, the man held Munez’s palms on Oscar’s head. Minutes later, the conclusion was the same—a nearly alert mind trapped in a worthless body.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Carreon went to the edge of the porch and regarded his domain. Perfect white roses mingled with other flowers in varying shades of pink and red, adding a touch of beauty to this prison. That was what it was now that Zeke knew its location, robbing Carreon of his privacy and the element of surprise. Hour upon hour, his men would search the landscape to see if anyone neared, but the stronghold would never again bring complete security.

A cautious man might have abandoned this place, settling in another. Carreon wasn’t about to show such obvious cowardice or give up what was rightfully his. This belonged to him. As did Liz and his command. He’d never relinquish a bit of it. If anything he wanted more. He’d heard his people’s stories about the Unknowns and the Others returning here someday. If it came to pass, what might the Unknowns give him if Carreon had knowledge of what happened in the future? A power his alien ancestors didn’t possess.

“Take Oscar and Anthony into the desert,” he said to his men. “Leave them there.”

“No!” Munez shouted. “They can’t fend for themselves.”

Carreon regarded the older man, not bothering to hide his contempt. “That’s not my concern. They’re useless to me now. You’ve failed, Doctor, and now they’ll pay for what you couldn’t do. They’ll grow thirsty and hungry but won’t be able to do anything about it, will they? They’ll watch the birds circling, waiting for their deaths. They’ll feel the creatures’ bills pecking at their throats, faces, eyes, eating them alive while they—”

“Bastard.” Munez clenched his fists. “You’d do that to your own people?”

“Unless you can heal them, returning each to what he was before.”

“You’re going to rot in hell!”

“You’ve already said that. Go,” Carreon ordered his men. “Leave Anthony and Oscar close enough to the porch so the others can see what happens when they don’t beat back Neekoma’s men. When they allow that prick to win.”

Three of his lieutenants helped Oscar and Anthony from the bench, leading them to their prolonged deaths. Another lieutenant grabbed Munez’s arm, ignoring the doctor’s shouts as he pulled him back inside.

Carreon followed, returning to his safe room to contact his other people. To find out if they’d learned anything yet about the location of Zeke’s stronghold.

Thick vegetation shielded the play area from the worst of the midday sun and any aircraft that might pass by. The bosque, as locals called it, received nourishment from a network of aqueducts developed millennia before by the Others. Boys and girls of various ages ran between the cottonwood and salt cedar trees, working off the energy they’d built up during their lessons, dodging their playmates who tried to touch them in a game of tag. From the sidelines, toddlers watched, wiggling within their mothers’ arms. The women restrained their offspring to keep them from joining the fray and getting hurt.

Hester, an eight-year-old, eluded David who’d just turned seven. She laughed at his failure to touch her, then squealed as he really poured on the steam, determined to eliminate her from the play.

Zeke watched, smiling one moment, sighing the next, his anguish over losing Gabrielle coloring his joy at seeing these kids engaging in normal activities, having the chance to be safe, to grow up. He pictured his daughter doing the same, his thoughts speaking to her as they so often did.

Are you doing all right today, baby? Do you and your mama feel safe finally? Happy?

An infant shrieked, capturing Zeke’s attention but not alarming him. The little boy was safe within his mother’s embrace, his scowl on Liz. She was dressed in jeans and a tee provided by one of the clan’s younger women. Bent at the waist, she cooed at the baby, telling him he was a big boy, a good boy while tickling his pudgy belly. His next cry was more subdued, his expression confused as to what he should feel. Outrage at a stranger being so close and having the audacity to touch him? Curiosity as to who she might be? A bit of trust that she’d do him no harm?

Liz settled the matter by making funny faces and stroking the boy beneath his chin.

He gave her a tentative smile, a thin line of drool seeping from the side of his mouth. He gurgled next, his complexion going from bright red back to its normal shade. Didn’t last. A series of coughs shook his small body.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Liz assured, running her hand over his unruly black hair.

Exhausted from his coughing, he sagged into his mother, making no protest as Liz put her ear to his chest to listen to his breathing.

To Zeke, she looked like a healer from the fifteen hundreds rather than a modern-day pediatrician. Damn. He pushed his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his neck. He had to get Liz a stethoscope and other medical equipment so she could do her job properly, the way a regular physician would. Having her heal the clan’s children wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d first thought. Her gift was even more of a risk to them than it had been with him and Jacob.

“If I allow the energy within me to flow inside a child, much less an infant, it could be worse than what’s making them sick,” she’d explained. “Children are still growing. My gift might interfere with that process in ways we don’t know, something that might not manifest itself until much later. Maybe that’s what my father was talking about when he kept warning me to be careful. What if the accelerated healing does something to a child’s cells, causing them to divide even faster, out of control?”

She’d been speaking of cancer, giving leukemia or bone tumors to innocent children.

“When my father still practiced, he never once used his gift on his patients,” she said. “I’ll examine the kids, but if what they have is more serious than minor abrasions or the sniffles, they’ll have to have regular medical attention.”

The kind she could provide with the proper supplies. Unfortunately, all the clan had was over-the-counter medications.