Solomon's Grave (36 page)

He began his final and long-planned task. The sense of urgency became a whirlwind in his head. The church was filling with fumes too quickly. No turning back now.

“What is burning down my church going to accomplish!” Dinneck shouted.
Good,
Peter thought,
be afraid
. He reached into his pants pocket and produced a Zippo lighter. He had purchased this particular one a long time ago, using it only for lighting the candles in the small temple behind the storefront, or other altars at other locations. It would be used tonight for the last time. For the ultimate burning. He liked this lighter. It would be missed.

“Most powerful master,” he shouted, keeping his gaze steady on Nathan Dinneck, “I offer you your first sacrifice!” Stepping down the aisle past the first pew, he flicked the lighter. A small flame rose up. He was ready to toss it away if the flame grew any higher; if the gas fumes had indeed filled too far into the church. Nothing happened.

Not yet.

“It is time for the sacrifice. As is decreed by the most powerful lord, Molech the Demon of all Power and Majesty, who commands blood sacrifice of his followers, I commit you,” he looked toward the pews, “Arthur Dinneck, to come forth and offer your son to him now.”

Chapter Seventy

Nathan’s father stood from his quiet vigil on the bench. His brow was wrinkled, as if confused by Quinn’s words. Still, he stepped out of the pew and walked to stand beside him. Quinn looked at Nathan and smiled—the expression no longer calm, but one of madness. Perhaps panic, as well. He shifted the weight of the Covenant under his arms. In his other hand, the flame continued to issue forth from the Zippo.

“Come forward, Nathan Dinneck,” Quinn said, then added, “and do it quickly, please.”

Elizabeth moved beside him. She coughed again, and pulled the gag away from her mouth. She blinked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Eyes which seemed to be coming back into focus.

What do I do?
Nathan thought with a sudden terror.
What do I do?

“Now, Reverend!”

In her remaining confusion Elizabeth muttered something Nathan did not understand, but in this lowest hour of despair he found her inaudible comment comforting.

Nathan stepped forward until he stood in the aisle between the rows of pews.

With no further fanfare, Quinn tossed the lighter over the railing and into the sanctuary. Before it landed, the air exploded with a
whoosh
! The sanctuary glowed in a perfectly round ball of flame. Then it twisted into a vision from hell. The podium burned, a pillar of fire enveloping Tarretti’s body and already reaching toward the railing. A wall of heat moved before it. The first wave was weak; the second, stronger, more physical. The floor of the raised platform bubbled and blackened. Rivulets of gasoline were now rivers of fire heading toward them, reaching toward the carpet lining the aisle.

A third wall of heat poured over and through them. Now smoke was rising over everything. Tarretti’s gun jumped from the altar as a round exploded. The bullet embedded itself into the sanctuary wall. Before the gun landed another explosion spit into the air, then another. The rounds exploded from the gun’s clip, tearing it apart. A projectile whizzed past Elizabeth’s arm and slammed into the pew between her and Josh. Still gripping the gag at throat level, she tried to breathe, taking in only hot, acrid air. Josh received no orders to the contrary and so did not try to stop her. He took a reflexive step back from the heat, blinking away the pain growing on his face. He lowered the gun he was holding, leaned against the pew.

As Art Dinneck approached Nathan, his troubled expression was nonetheless still void of any other sign of understanding, still under Quinn’s control.

“Art Dinneck,” Quinn said, having to shout now above the roar of the fire spreading past the altar railing, tearing up the walls of the sanctuary and ripping into the ceiling above. Long-dry wood splintered and cracked, giving itself to the fire. “Take hold of your son, firmly, and do not let him go. He is small and could get lost.” Art smiled wider and grabbed Nathan by the shoulders, his grip too strong for Nathan to simply shrug himself free.

Elizabeth looked down in time to see the carpet in the center aisle burning, reaching to where Nate and his father stood with Quinn. She couldn’t hear what the latter was saying. The sprinklers sprung to life overhead, too late for any effect. She felt water drop to her face only to evaporate a second later. The inferno coming toward them was too big already, too hot to be stopped.

Her sneakers were on fire. She tried to kick away the flames, realized in time she should simply kick them off her feet. As she did so, she fell backwards into the first pew. Her socks were not burning, but they felt wet with gasoline. She pulled them off and threw them onto the bench beside her. Snippets of her short time at the podium came back to her. Had she lit the fire? No, she didn’t think so.

Josh was standing in front of her, facing the approaching flame with one hand raised to his face. Elizabeth reached forward and grabbed the back of his jacket. He might turn around and shoot her, but at the moment she didn’t care. He fell on top of her, a heavy, unresisting weight.

Nathan’s father smiled and squeezed his shoulders. “Nate!”

Quinn cradled the wrapped tablets like a child in one arm and held Nathan with the other. “Look at the flames, Art Dinneck. These are the flames of our god. He demands a sacrifice, and thus you shall give your first born unto him. Do it now! There is no more time. Do it!!”

The fire roared behind them. The heat was constant. Nathan’s head felt as if it were already on fire.

 “Josh!” Elizabeth screamed. “Wake up!” In the light of the fire his face looked red, sunburned. It probably
was
burned. He raised both his hands to his face.

He wasn’t holding the gun any longer.

A large section of burning ceiling cracked and fell onto the lost podium. The sprinklers cut out, their feeder line severed.

The heat was too much. Elizabeth crawled into the next pew and half-dragged Josh with her. He followed, reluctantly obedient but obviously still too confused to understand the danger. From somewhere a million miles away, Quinn’s crony, Paulson, was screaming. Josh looked around the church frantically, arms flailing as if coming out of a nightmare. Elizabeth figured that wasn’t too far from the truth. Once he joined her in the second pew, she turned to scream at Nathan that he could run. Her gaze moved past the threesome in the aisle to the flames and roiling white and black smoke filling the church and the fire ripping the dry wood apart with flaming hands.

There was a face in the midst of the fire. Elizabeth blinked, knowing it was an illusion.

It did not go away. It twisted, became more defined. A massive bull’s head with eyes of flame darker than those around it.

No no no no no no no!
“Nathan!!!!!!!”

Chapter Seventy-One

Arthur Dinneck shouted, “Nate! Come on. We can get them if we hurry.” He pushed forward, toward the creeping fire, its furthermost edges only three feet away. Nathan tried to maintain his balance, but his hands were tied behind him. All he could do was dig his left foot into the carpet, push himself against his father’s chest. His ankle seared with pain from the fire crawling toward it.

Quinn laughed and shouted, “Now, Art! Now or never!”

“Dad!” Nathan screamed into his father’s face. “Dad, wake up!”

It was hot today, but as long as Nate was with him, Art would bear it. He held his son’s hand and pointed toward the two seats that were open behind the right field wall.

“Nate! Come on! We can get them if we hurry.” He was smiling, and so was Nate, but something still felt wrong.

Open your eyes, Arthur Dinneck
.

It was his own voice, shouted from behind him, from
everywhere
.

The elusive nagging feeling of earlier was now an inferno in his mind. Flames roared up in front of him.

Hillcrest Baptist was on fire. He was holding Nate in his arms. Was he rescuing him? Nate, only twelve years old and already looking like a grown man. It was good to be here with him. The seats were empty. He had to hurry.

The church was burning. Something vile hovered in the air over the sanctuary.

Peter Quinn’s voice commanded, “Now, Art! Now or never!”

God, help me. What’s going on?
He needed to throw Nate into the fire. Into the burning mouth which loomed right behind his son. He needed to do it now.

No!

Now! He had to do it now!

Nate shouted, “Dad! Wake up!” He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was grown.

Art needed to do what he was told.

Flames poured over the ceiling, ripping apart his church and his life. Beverly was in the kitchen now, waiting for him, crying. He’d left her again. Quinn worshipped a demon. He hadn’t cheated on anyone; it was just a movie on a television.

I’ve done nothing wrong
.

I’ve done everything wrong
.

*     *     *

“Now, Dinneck! Now!”

Peter Quinn knew that he had to get out of this building. But the first sacrifice had to be made. To have the treasure and not offer a gift of thanksgiving was sacrilege. He sensed the demon’s arrival, looming behind him. It waited impatiently for its sacrifice. Peter’s soul would be wiped dead if he failed. He was so, so, so close!

The heat was too much. He had to leave.
Let them all burn, then!

One last chance. Dinneck had his son. The heat bathing them would kill before the fire ever did.

“Now, Dinneck!” he shouted, preparing to run down the aisle. Any power in his voice was lost under his own frenzy. “Now! Now! Now! Now!”

Art looked at him, and his eyes were suddenly clear. “My dear God,” he said. “What have I done?” Art grabbed his son, turned and threw him down the aisle, away from the fire. Before Peter could react, Dinneck turned back and took hold of him instead.

“Release me now!” Peter screamed, unable to focus his voice. He clutched the tablets tighter against his chest. Even with the heat surrounding him, he could feel their power. Ripping him apart. “Kill me and these go, too!”

The look of hatred and despair in Dinneck’s eyes told him it didn’t matter anymore. Art Dinneck wrapped his arms around him, the tablets between them. He lifted Peter off the floor. Gasping when the tablets pressed against him, he ran with Peter Quinn forward into the fire and the demon’s waiting mouth.

Chapter Seventy-Two

“Dad!” Nathan was on his back, unable to stop his father. He rolled over his bound hands until he managed to get to his knees. The flames tore down the aisle, devouring the first two rows of seats with the sound of a jet engine. The heat was a monstrous hand pushing him backward, toward the front doors. The upper section of wall separating the church from the second floor residence collapsed, fell burning along the side aisle. Two outlines danced amid the too-bright scene in front of him, bathed in a green and yellow haze more brilliant than the flames. After a few seconds, the world went white and he had to look away. The church was a vision of hell. He looked up and saw them again.

Nathan screamed and raised himself up to run into the flames, somehow
needing
to do so. His father, and the Covenant of God, the cause of all this death and horror, were lost there. When he glanced up a third time, the figures had fallen from view, the green glow was gone. Nathan heard a terrible screaming over the inferno’s laughter. One of the figures rose back up like a phoenix, spun crazily, then melted away.

Something sailed out of the fire. The sackcloth and its contents slammed against the pew one row away from him. Five feet away, the fire continued its forward crawl toward it. Though it had been in the center of the inferno, the sack had not burned, was hardly singed.

Nathan fell to his knees again. The world around him was spots and flashes, his vision burned away. He was empty. His father was gone. Nathan would simply wait now for the fire to reach him.

“Nate!” Elizabeth’s hands grabbed his jacket and fell beside him in a fit of coughing. “Oh, God, Nathan! Let’s go!”

His throat was too dry to respond. She pulled him back a step. He didn’t resist. She gave up trying to drag him and worked desperately at the knots around his wrists, as if he could not run without his hands. Josh crouched beside them. His expression was blank, but not without awareness. He looked like Nathan felt. Lost. Above them, smoke roiled like storm clouds, escaping through the open church windows. Not fast enough to keep it from filling the hall, closing down on them. Walls and pews blackened and popped, then were completely lost in the smoke.

The fire reached the bag containing the tablets. The carpet around it curled and blackened. How could his father have lived long enough in that inferno to throw them free? How could he even have known what it was? Maybe, in some part of his soul, he’d been told.

“Ok, that’s it! Let’s go.” His shoulders screamed in pain as his freed arms swung forward and down to the floor.

If that was the case, if his father’s fall from God was not his own doing, maybe he was going to be all right. Maybe he was safe now. If he gave up now, Art Dinneck would have died for
nothing
.

Flames licked around and over the tablets but nothing of them or their shroud burned. Nor did Nathan’s arm when he leaped forward and reached through the fire. He pulled the bag clear, surprised at the sheer weight of it. After making sure his jacket sleeve wasn’t burning—it was melted in places—he staggered to his feet holding the bundle, turned and ran toward Elizabeth’s horrified face.

She screamed, “Leave them here!”

Chapter Seventy-Three

“I can’t,” he shouted. “You know that.”

Josh’s paralysis ended and he gave Elizabeth a kick. “Talk about it outside!” He ran toward the front door. Nathan and Elizabeth followed. Without slowing, and without fully understanding why, Nathan reached into his coat pocket and removed his cell phone. He threw it into the last pew.