Passage Graves (27 page)

He
lifted the com-link to his mouth. “Javan… Give me Javan.”

He waited
for the Chancellor to connect.

“Thatcher’s gone…” he said.

There was a brief pause, an audible irritated sigh.

“It’s not like you to fail, Director.”

“She’s harmless…”

“She’ll have to be handled.”

“I will track her down before 2400. You have my word.”

Javan didn’t respond.

“I know how she thinks,” Hummer insisted.

“Stay where you are,” Javan answered. “I think we both know where she’s going. I suggest we let her get there.”

Chapter 64

SUNDAY 12:15 a.m.

Northern Scotland

David shivered as he passed a road marker for Boghole Farm. They were aiming for Stenness, driving east along the North Sea. He hoped to reunite at ground zero, even if Maeshowe was the most dangerous place on earth. Northern Scotland had been evacuated, and he was heading directly into the eye of the storm. Where else were they going to go? Thatcher would know what to do. She might even have answers—something he no longer had the energy to find.

Asor was asleep
in the backseat, his face blank and expressionless, even soulless. He was a shell of skin and bones. Curled in a ball, the old man twitched like a dog trapped in a tormented dream. Bullet holes lined his jumpsuit with scorch marks. It was irrefutable proof of what David witnessed earlier that day. The numbers printed across the back of the fabric were tattered with bloodless wounds.

A
swollen knot of anxiety lodged inside David’s throat. He couldn’t explain how or why, but everything was connected to the man in the backseat. The whole godforsaken mess was Asor’s fault. David’s brain had recorded their wild getaway. Images played back on the desolate roadway like a pavement movie screen. He couldn’t reason through it. For this kind of thing, there was no explanation.

They reached Boghole Farm.
Along the main thoroughfare, shop windows were broken and businesses vandalized. There were no working street lights. He downshifted into the parking lot of a chapel. The motor cut and died.

Asor stirred a
wake at the sound of the parking brake. The black of his pupils had faded to vaporous gray. The fancy footwork performed at the asylum seemed entirely lost on him now. It was as if he had suddenly remembered his age.

David helped
him out of the car and up the church steps. They stopped at the door.

Asor looked
back over the town.

“‘A fire devoureth before them and b
ehind them all is desolate,’” he whispered. “‘Nothing shall escape.’”

David
fumbled with the lock and opened the door. Their hotel for the night would be a spacious, single room chapel. Rows of wooden pews were dim under moonlight. They passed through the nave and stopped near the apse at the front of the building. The old man found a rug on the floor and wrapped himself in it. He sat cross-legged behind the altar and stared up at a stained-glass window spanning the eastern wall.

David remembered
Ehrman’s matchbook was still in his pocket. He lit some of the votives resting on the pews. The tiny flames grew in number and illuminated the chapel’s architecture. Wide stone pillars towered overhead. The gothic, hand-sculpted blocks looked older than time. Candlelight spread to the shallowest eaves, but the tops of the columns were lost in shadow.

The flames were mesmerizing. David watc
hed as fire consumed the wick. His eyes were heavy. For the moment, they were safe. Asor was alive. Thatcher was forty feet beneath the earth’s surface in the Orkney Islands.

Asor interrupted the silence.
“Look.”

David took a seat beside
him and followed the old man’s gaze to the stained-glass window.

Votive light reflected
off the art piece in a montage of color. The design was intricate, four monstrous horses with flared nostrils and bucking forelegs. They were arranged in the shape of a diamond. The horse on the bottom glowed with burnished amber. The steed to the right sparkled liquid red. To the left, the charcoal black horse was a smoky oblivion that swallowed the light. The horse on top was pale yellow. All four were ready to spring out of the glass and stampede across the world.

David
lay back on the floor, folding his arms behind his head.

“
Did you know stained glass windows weren’t built so parishioners could see outside?” Asor asked. “Nor were the windows designed to brighten the chapel. They are meant to control light, to manipulate the power of the sun, and change how people see it.”

David
shook his head.

Asor smiled.
“‘I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals, and then a voice like thunder said, ‘Come!’” He pointed at the white horse at the base of the stained glass. “‘I looked and beheld a white horse, its rider held a bow.’”

A
bow and arrow was imprinted in lead on the beast’s chest.

David
was unimpressed. “You know the Book of Revelations.”

“
Soon after, three others will join him.” His finger curled with arthritis. He tried to point at the red horse. “The second horseman will bring war.” He moved to the black horse. Scales for measuring and weighing were gilded on its chest. “The third will rule the world with famine.”

David
stared at the horse at the top of the window. Unlike the others, the horse’s breast was empty. An ominous black cloud stretched heavenward behind him.

“The fourth horseman—”
Asor began.

David
interrupted. “—will bring death upon the earth. You knew Brenton. These were my bedtime stories.”

“
So who is the White Horseman?”

David
shifted his weight.

“Some say he
is the Anti-Christ,” Asor whispered. “Perhaps, your disbelief isn’t irony.”

David shut his eyes
. “Go to sleep, old man.”

Chapter 65

SUNDAY, 1:09 a.m.

Helmsdale, Highland, Scotland

Thatcher drove through the streets of an abandoned town. The speed at which NATO and NCEC had cleared northern Scotland was
unbelievable. She’d barely made the last ferry out of Orkney, and was shocked when she wasn’t stopped. No one bothered with credentials.

The l
ast she knew, David had met with Brimley and then headed toward the mainland coast. If he had made it anywhere near the Orkney Islands, he would have been forced to evacuate. Edinburgh was overflowing with refugees. Hundreds of thousands were displaced. Everything was working according to plan. There would be no witnesses of the AVX explosions. If Operation Silence was successful, people would return home after four or five days. The ravaged landscapes surrounding passage grave ruins would be quarantined as “Virus Burn Areas.”

No one
would be the wiser.

The SUV’
s high beams reflected off a phone booth. Thatcher sighed in relief. She’d been searching for hours for a call box. She would try reaching David, even if it was a long shot. She parked beside the booth and hobbled out of the vehicle. Her back, arms, and legs were stiff. The adrenaline had quickly worn away, leaving excruciating pain, especially in her calf.

She dropped coins into the slot and dialed, hoping
to remember David's cell number. She had called him so many times, she should have it memorized it by now. She closed her eyes and listened to the ring tone.

“Come on, David, pick up...”

Six rings, seven rings, then eight.

She moved to hang up the receiver.

David’s voice came over the line. “Hello?”

Thatcher suppressed a sob. “David?”
It was all she could manage.

“Dr. Thatcher? Where are you?
We’re trying to get to you.”

It felt good to hear his voice again. She lowered her head against the
phone booth.

“We’re in a tiny town along the North Sea, just off A96,” he said. “
Boghole Farm. I thought my phone was dead.”

She suddenly felt every ache. The seriousness of her injuries
was magnified by his distance. There was still a long way to go. “I’m coming to you,” she said.

“Do you have GPS?”

She glanced at the SUV. There was a system in the car. “Yeah.”

“H
old on.”

She could hear the short digital beeps of his watch.

“Latitude is 57.573 and longitude -3.724,” he said. “We’re in an old abandoned church at the east end of town.”

She blinked away fatigue, trying
to commit the numbers to memory. “We?” She almost missed it. He was with someone?

“I’ll explain when you get here.” He paused. “Brynne, you okay?”

Thatcher took in a deep breath. “I’ll be there soon.”

She limped back to the SUV.

The GPS powered up. She entered David’s coordinates.

After a minute, the computer provided directions
.

DISTANCE: 87.6 miles

ESTIMATED TIME OF
ARRIVAL: 1 hour and 49 minutes

That was if she drove the speed limit.

To hell with the speed limit.

Chapter 66

SUNDAY, 2:14 a.m.

Boghole Farm, Scotland

Thatcher’s high beams lit the chapel through the doorway.

David
had left it open to hear her approach, but the sudden light still made his heart jump.

Asor was a
sleep. Out cold and oblivious.

Thatcher cut the engine
as David stepped out of the building. She slid off the seat and stumbled into his arms.

“What
happened?” He could see the gaping wound in her leg. He wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Her nearness was overwhelming.

“He killed Marek,” she managed between sobs. “Hummer killed Marek.”

Her body was shivering.

“Come inside, y
ou’re freezing.” He kept one arm around her and led her into the church.

****

“Asor knows what’s happening?” Thatcher asked.

“He claims to.”
David ripped off the bottom of her pant leg.

Sitting on a pew, half a dozen rows behind Asor, she munched on a granola bar
and tried to ignore the pain. They had found bandages and antiseptic in a first aid kit inside the SUV.

David
dabbed alcohol over her calf where the plastic was embedded.

She winced in pain.

“According to Asor,” he said, “the only way to stop the graves is to find the seal.”

“And put it in the lock,” she
finished the thought out loud. “The eternal stone inside Maeshowe.”

“Exactly.”
David studied her face. “Remember, though, I found this guy in a loony bin.”

“
It’s your father’s theory,” she said. “The lock and key.”

Somewhere within the basecamp at
Stenness was her backpack with Brenton’s paper. “Do you think Asor is telling the truth?”

“
I think
he
thinks it’s the truth.” He held up some pliers. “You might want to bite down on something.” 

She
ate the last of the granola bar and squared her shoulders, embarrassed by her earlier tears. “I’ve got it.”

David took hold of the
shrapnel, cringing as he watched her face. He pulled in the direction she had instructed. The opaque shrapnel slid out of her calf. This minor surgery was going better than she’d imagined, but she could tell it made him sick to his stomach. He held the shrapnel into the light so she could see it. The piece of elevator was larger than a table knife and thick with coagulated blood. The jagged dagger had almost passed completely through her leg.

He grabbed
a square of gauze from the kit and pressed it against the wound.

“Let it bleed for a minute,” she said through gritted teeth.

No resistance during the removal meant bones were not involved—finally, a stroke of luck—but the bleeding had slowed to nothing more than a trickle. The puncture was deep, and deep meant infectious. Bleeding out the wound would help purge it of contaminants.

The b
lood crept down her leg and soaked into her shoes.

David set the bandage against her ankle
instead. “Asor and Brenton found the first seal buried in Wadi Musa near Petra, Jordan.”

She nodded at the bandage box. “Alcohol, then antiseptic.”

He unscrewed the bottle and poured alcohol over her leg.

“Use the whole
thing.” She bit down on her forearm. “God.”

Slowly, t
he sting subsided to a dull ache. She wiped sweat from her forehead and leaned back against the bench. The church was quiet. All she could hear was Asor’s strained breathing. The old man looked dead. He was curled in the fetal position and wrapped with a shabby rug.

“
Asor said Brenton tried to retrieve the seal but it ‘went off.’” He put the last two words in finger quotes and then set the empty alcohol bottle on the floor.

“
It ‘went off’?” She frowned.

“Like the graves.”

“With sound?” She remembered the acoustic damage to Brenton's body.

David shrugged. “I guess t
hat’s what started the whole passage-graves-destroying-the-world thing.”

It all sounded
ridiculous.

“This
key—or this seal—it’s just waiting for us in Wadi Musa?” she asked.

“Sort of.”
David cleared his throat.

“
What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

He opened t
he antiseptic cream. “Some firstborn son from a chosen lineage has to remove the seal from its grave, then anyone can have it and, you know, put it in the eternal stone.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

She scoffed. “Bloody hell, David.”

His
brow furrowed. His eyes were tired but intent.

He smoothed the antiseptic ov
er her calf. “Vanderkam said the same thing when I was with him. That someone from this chosen lineage has to remove the seal, but once the seal is out of its grave, anyone can possess it. That means
anybody
can place it in the eternal stone,
anybody
can become Horseman, and
anybody
can—”

“End the world,
” she said. Blood rushed to the pit of her stomach. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“We’re damned if
we do and damned if we don’t.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It matched Brenton’s theory, but it was so far off the deep end—especially coming from David.
“We should at least try to postpone the end… Save as many as we can.” She took in a deep breath. “David, what does it even mean to become horseman?”

He
dried his hands on his pants and shrugged.

“How
are we supposed to get the seal without someone from the Chosen lineage?” she asked. “And what does Asor want with you? Brenton wasn’t of the Chosen lineage.”

David
tore the protective packaging off a roll of gauze. He wrapped the bandage around her leg. He hesitated and then pulled a letter from his pocket. He handed it to her. “I don’t know what it means,” he said.

Thatcher unfolded it. She ran
a finger across the spiral-covered words.

COME THOU ART CHOSEN

He met her eyes.

“Asor sought me out. He wanted me to find him.”

She turned the letter around in her hands. There were thousands of tiny spirals. God, if this Apocalypse thing was true… Faith was harmless when it was merely supposition. She winced as he wrapped the bandage too tight.

“Airports are grounded,”
he said. “There’s no way out of the country.”

“We have to try,
” she insisted. “We need to find a private plane.”

“I have a friend in Clochtow.”
David smirked. Leave it to him to have back road connections.

She lowered her voice and
looked at Asor. “Can we trust him?”

David tied off her bandage. “I don’t think w
e have a choice.”