The old man looked up, “Why, the holy books, of course.”
“The large book—it’s a Bible, right? But the other one—it looks like a diary.” “It is the last book, written by our progenitors and it is locked and shall remain so for all time.”
“You revere a book as holy and yet you have no way of knowing what it contains?” The old man smiled indulgently again. With great effort, he stood, one of the others assisting him. He reached to his vest pocket, extracting from it on the end of what appeared to be a gold chain a small key. “As head of the counsel of the Ministers, I carry the key. It is my badge of office. The key will unlock the second holy book, but the key is given to us to test our faith and will never be used as it has never been used.”
“If it’s a diary, it probably tells something you should know—it’s not wrong to pry into the”
writings of someone who’s gone if it will help you to stay alive in a situation like this.”
“You are a most peculiar young man.” The old man smiled again as he sat. “The second holy book is five centuries old. And to stay alive as you put it is not a problem to us. And what situation? A situation requiring desperate measures? I think you misunderstand me. We thrive here. We have happiness here. There is no desire to alter this at all. So, then, why should sacrilege be committed and the second holy book be opened? But perhaps you will better understand after I recount our story.”
“Go ahead.” Michael nodded.
“Be seated—there, in the far chair from me.”
Michael looked at the second largest of the two large chairs. He moved the chair as he approached it—no wires, nothing out of the ordinary. He sat down, placing his hands on the polished table before him. “So, tell me your story, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes—it is what we want, young man.”
“My name is Michael—Michael Rourke.”
“The Place,” the old man began, seemingly oblivious to Michael having given his name, “was built more than five centuries ago, and at great expense and labor. It was the fashion, as the story has been passed down to us, for persons to plan to survive warfare among the nations of men, or disease, or economic trials. And so, the Place was built. And it was staffed. Because of the guns and because of the expense of the fixtures here in the Place, security persons were used to protect the Place from outsiders. The war between the great nation of the United Statesof and the evil nation of Commie took place—“ “It’s the United States of America, not United Statesof, and the nation of Commie—it was the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union was run by a Communist government, and sometimes Com-munists were called Commies. You’re telling me an oral tradition, aren’t you?”
The old man resumed, as though, Michael realized, nothing had been said. “The war between the United Statesof and the Commie began, but our very wise progenitors foresaw this time of grief and took shelter in the Place and the Place sustained their every need. Time passed, and the great fires came from the heavens and consumed the earth as it was prophesied in the Holy Bible. But our progenitors in their wisdom had become the Chosen of God and it was His decree that the Place and our progenitors remain unscathed. And when the fires consumed all that was evil and had purged the land and the waters and the air, only the progenitors and their servants remained. Yet the servants were evil, consumed by jealousy of the wisdom of the progenitors and sought to hurl out the progenitors from the Place, but they were not successful, and as punishment for this blasphemy, the servants were put out. It was decreed that the number of one hundred persons should not be exceeded over seven days. And so, it is the descendants of the servants who are set out into the evil of hell which surrounds us, and consumed by Them, the ones who eat the flesh.” The old one looked up, smiling—he seemed somehow pleased. Perhaps that he had remem-bered it all, Michael conjectured. “What you’re saying is that you practice institutionalized geno-cide on persons you consider racial inferiors. And that the ones you threw out eventually became able to survive, by cannibalism, and now you continue the practice to feed them.” “You eat flesh—this can be seen from the things you wear on your feet.” “I eat meat, but the meat of cattle and other animals raised for human consumption. But since the holocaust, there has been no fresh meat so we eat very little meat at all.”
“By his own words, he admits his origin, sir,” one of the younger business-suited men said to the old one.
“From hell thou art and to hell thou shalt return—both you and the girl.” Michael stood up.
“Wonderful—you’re letting us leave. You think outside is hell—this is hell. Never going outside, killing people to keep the population in perfect balance. You’re all crazy.”
“They shall be bound and set aside to be consumed by Them.” Michael’s right hand flashed under his shirt, the button there already open, his fist closing around the butt of the Predator.
“Uh-uh, guys.” Michael stabbed the .44 forward, aiming it toward the opposite end of the table, his right thumb jacking back the hammer. “You’re plain out of luck. I’m finding Madison and my guns and I’m gettin’ the hell out of here.”
“See how he defiles the Conference Room!” It was the one who had proclaimed Michael as guilty.
“See how I defile your face when I blow your fuckin’ brains out,” Michael whispered, his voice low. “My advice—open that diary, read it. Maybe you were meant to read it, and if you weren’t, then maybe you should anyway.” Michael started toward the door, backing up, glancing once behind him—the doors were still closed. He assumed the three guys with the cattle prods would be outside—but the gun would even the odds substantially. “Where do you keep the girl?”
The old one smiled, but said nothing.
Michael nodded. “OK, I’ll find her—then we’ll be out of your hair, you’ll pardon the expression.” he added, the light reflecting from the top of the man’s head.
Behind him, he felt the doors. He reached for the handle…
“Not gold,” he rasped, the electricity surging through him, the Customized Ruger falling from his right fist, not discharging, his body shaking, trembling, pain. “No!” He sagged forward, the blackness coming, but his hand unable to release the door handle.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The door opened, and she shrank back into the corner, three of the ones from the Families, two of them with gloves on, dragging Michael. His body shook, his eyelids fluttered as they rested his body on the floor, walking from the room without looking at her, the third one closing the door. She Jeft her corner, on her knees, moving to be beside Michael, her right hand gently touching at him—she felt the mild shock his body still carried, her hand drawing back, cradled in the palm of her left hand on the faded gray skirt of her uniform.
“Michael—Michael, answer me. Michael— please—Michael!”
His eyelids fluttered again, but did not open.
His right hand—it twitched. The flesh on the inside of his fingers—it was black and burned.
She could not touch him until the electrical current left his body—she had seen what the electrical current could do before.
On her knees, still, she rocked her behind back against her heels, her body swaying, her hands still in her lap, her calves cold-feeling against the bare floor. It was a holding room. She knew where she would go. She had been placed in a holding room once before—when the Families ha4 selected her as one who goes. To Them.
She felt tears in her eyes, felt them dribble down her cheeks.
Her archangel.
Michael.
He was human after all.
And in her heart, the thing Michael had talked about as love—she felt it stronger for him now as she knelt at his side.