The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (55 page)

“With respect, Your Grace, the infidel is playing on your mind! He’s twisting you—”

“Has the infidel said a single word in my presence, Brother Grey?”

Osiah looked to the scariest man he’d ever met for confirmation that the archbishop had been tricked, but his face fell when the man only shook his head.

“He has not. Not a single word, Your Grace.”

“But how, then?” Osiah asked. “How has he turned you from the light? Brought our beacon of hope into darkness?”

Wright stood up from the desk and came around to perch on the front edge again, with a glance at Grey, who had tensed up. Osiah could see some message pass between them, but he had no idea what it might have been.

Wright’s bodyguard had always been cagey, but as long as he stayed over there, Osiah was fine with it. Someone needed to guard the infidel.

“Have a seat, Brother,” Wright said and waited to continue until Osiah had complied. “I understand you have some questions, and as one of my most faithful brothers, I wanted you to be the first to know my mind.”

“I… I’m honored,” Osiah said. His heart beat fast. To be brought into the archbishop’s confidence was something he’d never expected. Even if the man seemed a bit off today. He resolved to at least give him an opportunity to explain. “Please, Your Grace, enlighten me.”

“As I ministered to this man, attempting yet again to cleanse the soul of an infidel, I thought back on all the times I had been in such a situation, on all the times that we had faced such dire trials among the infidels. I thought back to our Lord’s teachings in the Good Book, and I wondered how many more must die.” Wright sighed and sat in the other visitor’s chair, wincing as he leaned forward. “How long have you followed me, Brother Osiah?”

“More than half my life, Your Grace. Twenty-some years.”

“And in that time, how many infidels have you sent to Hell?”

Osiah beamed. “Hundreds, Your Grace.”

Wright didn’t return the smile. “And how many for the church as a whole, do you think? I know you can’t give me specific numbers. Just a general guess will do.”

Osiah paused and thought about the operations he’d been a part of and the others he knew about, then thought about those being done all over the country. “Tens of thousands? A hundred thousand?”

Wright nodded. “More than that, Brother. Many, many more. And knowing that, let me ask you this: What has changed in those twenty-some years? How is life different now than it was?”

“You mean aside from those infidels now residing in Hell where they belong?”

“Yes, aside from that.”

Osiah thought, puzzled, but realized he had no answer. “I can’t say, Your Grace. It seems much as it was, at least once the cities fell.”

Wright nodded again. “Good. Twenty-some years of clearing infidels, spreading the message, tending the Cleansed. And where has it gotten us?” Wright gestured to the infidel against the wall. “Nowhere. The infidels hide in their holes in the ground or in sheltered camps above or among us, secret and loathsome. But they still exist. And there are fewer and fewer Cleansed every day.”

“Yes, but… huh,” Osiah said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, Your Grace.”

“I thought not. Are you familiar with the writings of the learned man Einstein?”

Osiah frowned. “No, Your Grace, I’m not much of a reader.”

“No matter. Einstein once said, ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.’ Or, at least, words to that effect. Do you agree with that assertion, Brother? Take a moment to reflect.”

Osiah did as asked and thought about what Einstein had said. It made sense to him: do the same thing over and over, and you’re going to come up with the same result. He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, I agree with that.”

“Then you can see where I’m going with this discussion, I think.”

Osiah thought hard once more as he looked over at the infidel, then back up at Wright. “You… You’re saying that what we’ve been doing isn’t working.”

Wright clasped his hands together and shook them in what some would call joy. “Exactly! And why not?”

Osiah got excited after figuring out the puzzle. “Because we still have infidels and less of the Cleansed, and no matter how many of the one we seem to kill, there aren’t any more of the other.”

“Well done!” Wright said with a smile. “So what does that tell you?”

“That we need to change what we’re doing? Because if we keep going the way we are, nothing will change. If anything, it’ll get worse.”

Wright nodded. “And again, well done, Brother. Now you see the epiphany that I had while ministering to this infidel.”

“But, Your Grace, what can we do? How can we change?”

“We stop killing them, for one thing. That helps no one.”

Osiah started to object, then realized the reverend was right. “If we kill them, that only increases the number of infidels. The only way to save them, and ourselves, is to
convert
them.” Osiah sat back in the chair. “I… I’m not sure how to deal with this, Your Grace.”

Wright sat back as well. “Now you are where I was ten minutes ago. But I know the first step.”

“Your Grace?”

Wright stood and motioned for Osiah to stand as well. Osiah watched as the reverend took a bottle of holy water from his desk and opened it, splashing some into a small bowl set for that purpose. The reverend muttered a prayer as he washed his hands in the bowl, then raised it in front of him as he turned to Osiah.

“Brother Osiah is no more. He has ceased to serve the Church. In his place, I hereby anoint thee Deacon Osiah.” Osiah felt awe and wonder as the archbishop drew the sign of the cross on his forehead with his dripping fingers. Osiah closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of his own.

“Your task as the Church’s first deacon is to spread the new gospel of our faith. The gospel of tolerance and forgiveness and redemption through conversion.” Wright looked him in the eyes, and Osiah felt that same stirring that he had all those years ago when he’d first joined the Church.

“This will be a hard road,” Wright continued, “fraught with danger and mistrust and deceit. Your task will be the hardest you have ever been given, but should you succeed, you will be assured a place in Heaven.”

Osiah swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand.”

“Go now and spread the word. I will arrange for you a staff and supplies, but first you must visit the Temple and tell them what I have told you. Give them this so they will believe you.” Wright picked up a rolled paper tube from the desk and handed it to Osiah.

The new deacon noticed the wax seal on the outside and felt relief. It was assured that they would believe him at Temple now.

“I will not fail you, Your Grace. I will begin spreading the word right now.”

Osiah bowed, kissed the ring of the archbishop, and left the office. As he passed the other guards, he nodded and ordered two to come with him. It wouldn’t do for the Church’s newest—and only—deacon to travel without guards, after all.

Osiah had never felt more excited, more connected to his faith in his life. He couldn’t wait to get started.

Coalition Command Center
Des Moines International Airport, Des Moines, Iowa

The medical tent was a flurry of activity, but Masters didn’t care. While he’d been off securing a ride for Mancuso and fighting zealots, his husband was fighting for his life. Masters would find out what was going on.

As he approached the tent, he saw a nurse come outside, bent over and taking deep breaths as though she were trying to keep from passing out. He scraped his boots along the ground to make noise and avoid his usual method of greeting—scaring the crap out of people. She looked up.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The young woman nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just haven’t seen anything like this for a long time. Since the training videos, really.”

“You’re from a bunker,” Masters said as he hazarded a guess, based on her demeanor.

She nodded as she stood straight, one hand on her stomach. “We’re trained to deal with battle casualties, but I was just getting started. I’m still not used to… well, this.”

“How many wounded did we have?”

“I’ve heard as many as a hundred and twenty, as few as forty. Given what I’ve seen, I think it’s closer to a hundred and twenty. Twice that dead. Easy.”

“Can I ask you about a patient?”

She looked at him and nodded. “I haven’t seen many yet, but I’ll tell you if I can.”

“His name’s Thomas Reynolds. They said he’s here. He’s…” Masters hesitated. “He’s my husband.”

To her credit, the woman didn’t blink, but her face crumpled as she looked at him. “I’m so sorry…”

Masters felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His voice went toneless, robotic. “So he’s dead, then.”

The woman wiped a tear from her eyes and shook her head. “No! No, not at all! I didn’t mean… He’s in bad shape, is all. They put him in a coma.”

Masters felt his guts unclench a trifle and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Can I see him?”

The nurse nodded. “Of course, family always. Follow me.”

Masters was on her heels as she weaved through the chaos inside the medical tent. They soon made it to a stretcher at the back, where Tom lay bandaged and trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. The nurse spoke as they reached his bedside.

“I don’t know the full details, but I’m told he was hit by a sniper as he coordinated the defense of some civilians. The shot took him in the lower abdomen and nearly severed his spinal cord. He… He may never walk again, and it’s touch and go until we can be sure we caught all the other damage. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Masters was only half listening, holding his husband’s hand as the nurse continued. His Tom, his world. He should’ve been there to protect him. Should’ve been there to keep him safe. He’d failed, and Tom had paid the price. Instead of being by Tom’s side, Adrian had been escorting some spy.

“Sir, there’s a call for you,” a voice at his side said, and Masters looked over. It was the private who’d been guarding the door to the brig, and Masters couldn’t help but see the coincidence in that. “You’ll need to take it in the command tent, sir,” the private continued.

He turned to the nurse who’d been so kind to him. “What’s your name, Miss?”

“Janet,” she said. “Janet Henderson.”

“Well, Janet, as the ranking commander on this base, I order you not to leave his side. You’ll see that he gets whatever he needs, no exceptions. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

“Good. Seems as though I’ve got somewhere to be.” He moved to follow the private, then turned back. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sir?”

“Schedule us both for the first airlift out to Bunker Seven. He and I will be on that plane. Anyone has a problem with that, you tell them to talk to me. To talk to Captain Masters.”

Janet nodded again. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

A short Humvee ride later, Masters was standing in front of a monitor with lots of faces on it that he couldn’t care less about. One of them was the president of the United States, or so they said. It made no difference to Adrian.

“Reporting as ordered, sir. With respect, if we could make this fast…”

The president nodded. “I’ll be brief, Captain. Summarize the situation for us.”

“We were attacked shortly after dawn by members of the Church of the Divine Judgment. I don’t have exact figures at the moment, but casualties are a hundred or more, not including civilians. We lost well over a hundred of them too, sir. Kidnapped or killed, no way to know. We routed the enemy, and they fled. Our Hunters tracked them to their camp and found it destroyed. Early evidence suggests an attack from above, most likely helicopters, sir.”

“Did we deploy helos in this op, Captain?”

“No, sir, we did not. We’re not sure who did it, but I’m not going to fuss about it. We’ve got other concerns at the moment.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about Captain Reynolds. I’m sorry to hear about his condition, son. He’ll have the best care, I promise.”

“Again, with respect, sir, I’ve already seen to it.”

The president grinned and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Masters.”

“I’ve heard that, sir.”

“As well it should. Is there anything you need from me?”

“No, sir, but I do have a confidential report.”

“I understand.”

Masters turned to the personnel in the tent. “Clear the room. Eyes only, black level.” Everyone stood and left the room. The last man out sealed the flaps of the tent, and Masters was alone.

“We’ve cleared the room here as well, Captain. Let’s have it.”

“Yes, sir.” Masters took a deep breath. “Our secondary mission was successful. Our secondary asset was picked up, and we believe he was removed to another location. Forensic evaluation of the scene at the Church camp found no remains or evidence of his death.”

“So he’s in,” one of the men said. Masters had never bothered to find out the names of the governors other than his own, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “We did our best here, sirs. The rest is up to him and the primary asset.”

“You’ve done very well, Captain,” the president said. “I assume from your earlier comment you’ve already secured transport to Bunker Seven?”

“Yes, Mr. President, I have.”

“Then I’d suggest you get going.”

“Sir, if I may,” his own governor, David Blake, said.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Blake.”

“Captain…”

“She’s fine, sir,” Adrian said as he anticipated his governor’s question. He’d known the man long enough, after all. “Eden is organizing the flights for the rest of the refugees. Word is, she saved about a hundred of them herself with a small team, sir.”

“Really?” David said, the pride evident in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the president said.

“You’re welcome, sirs, ma’am,” he said, looking at Kimberly, who nodded back at him in thanks.

“Son, that plane is being fueled as we speak. It’s time you and Captain Reynolds were on it. And Mr. Masters…”