Looking up once at the doorway, Abbe lifted the wood panel out of the platform and set it aside. He reached into the space below the platform where he kept a few items that others need not know about. A loaded pistol. A knife. A small cache of emergency canned food and water. Abbe was a man of God but also a man who believed that God helped those who helped themselves. When he reached even further into the concealed space, past these contingency items, his fingers passed over a weathered, wooden cigar box.
He removed the box and opened its lid, rejoicing in the familiar, sweet smells, odors that lingered even though the box had not held cigars for many years. He carefully lifted a sheaf of brittle, yellowed papers from the container and eyed them with a mix of promise and trepidation. Words written in longhand filled the pages, some in Spanish, others in French.
Abbe read over some of them, not for the first time, his heart racing. He looked up at the empty doorway and a thought overtook his senses, slowly at first but gathering momentum by the second. The priest smiled as he tucked the box beneath his cassock and replaced the section of wood back into the platform. He needed to get these somewhere safe, and he knew just what to do with them.
Abbe stepped out of the church and into the warm, humid night air. Though still unnerved by the strange visitor early in the day, he took comfort in the fact that his research was on the way to somewhere safe, and the rest of the day had passed without incident. He locked the door, descended the short flight of wooden steps and began to walk the familiar quarter-mile or so to his residence. He had gone no more than a few steps when a ragged man with unkempt hair, threadbare clothes, and a gap-toothed leer, staggered toward him out of the bushes.
Abbe gave him a glance and frowned. Under a different set of circumstances he would offer assistance, but tonight was not that night. “I am sorry, church is closed for the night. Come back in the morning there will be a simple breakfast and prayer.” He was accustomed to helping those in need, but in Haiti, the poor were, as the scriptures said, always among him, and even the most faithful servant had to rest.
The man kept coming.
“Please, come back tomorrow and the church will see to your needs.”
But still he approached. Abbe took a closer look at him now. Was the man in need of medical attention? There were no street lights in this part of the village, and so Abbe could make out little detail of the man. But something was definitely off about him — the way he said nothing, his odd movements. Abbe decided he could be in danger — the individual could be on drugs — so he speed-walked down the road. At the first intersection he reached he turned left…
… only to be confronted with a similar, ambling figure.
At first Abbe questioned whether this could be the same man he had seen a block back — that he had somehow beaten him to this spot, even with his ragged gait. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? It had been a long day, after all. But then, as his eyesight adjusted to the low light, he realized that the clothes this person wore were different. Not the same man.
Yet he acted like the other man, stumbling, not speaking even though he had clearly seen Abbe. What kind of man said absolutely nothing to another when passing by on the street at night? Not a simple hello, hey, good evening… .nothing to assure the other that he harbored no ill intentions. Very strange for the village.
And then another individual stepped onto the road out of the trees, and still another after him.
Abbe stopped in his tracks. This must be some kind of gang, doped up on God knows what. He would report it tomorrow to the police and offer his church’s assistance. For right now, though, he needed to get out of here and back home safely. This way wasn’t going to work, so he turned around to go back the way he came. He’d rather deal with a single one of these freaks than a whole gang of them.
But as soon as he faced the opposite direction he was stunned to see no fewer than four more of the figures coming his way.
“What is it you want?” he called to them, repeating himself as he spun in a circle. None of them answered, but all of them continued to close in on him. The figures now blocked the road in both directions, leaving the thick jungle on either side as his only option for escape.
He ran for it, more than willing to take his chances with the spiders and snakes and whichever of God’s creatures lurked inside, but as he stepped off the road onto the wet, high grass that bordered the trees, two more of the men emerged from the forest, arms outstretched toward him.
Flabbergasted, Abbe spun around to bolt for the woods on the opposite side, but three more of them were upon him, hands tearing at his clothes, scratching and clawing at his exposed skin with long, dirty fingernails. He could hear and feel their ragged breathing, but even in the throes of their physicality they remained wordless, violence their only language.
“Please, I serve the Lord. Have mercy…”
But apparently these were not men of God, nor were they men of words, for just as they didn’t use them, they didn’t respond to them, either. The weight of his attackers pushed Abbe to the ground. Hands clutched him, nails dug into his skin. Hot breath assaulted his nostrils. His scream drowned in a gurgle of blood as teeth tore through his throat.
Chapter 2
Dane Maddock crinkled his nose as he passed through the cloud of blue smoke that greeted him as he entered Crazy Charlie’s Cherokee Casino. He navigated the throng of gamblers bathed in the dull neon light of slot machines, sidestepping the scantily clad serving girls, bypassed the blackjack tables, and managed to reach the bar without anyone spilling a drink on him. That was a rarity in this place, where few customers stayed sober for long.
“It’s about time.” A beautiful young woman greeted him. She smiled at him and gave a wink.
As Maddock tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at her perfect cheekbones, big brown eyes, glossy hair, and trim, athletic figure, he marveled that Angel Bonebrake shared DNA with his best friend, Bones.
“Sorry. Flight was delayed out of Atlanta. You know how it is.”
Angel rolled her eyes at the mention of the Atlanta airport. She waved to the bartender, who hurried over to her. The gleam in his eyes said he was at her beck and call. Angel had that effect on men. That is, when she wasn’t punching them in the throat or kneeing them in the groin as a professional mixed martial arts fighter.
“Dos Equis, right?”
Maddock had let his eyes drift to Angel’s tight jeans and it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. “That’s right. I’m surprised you remembered.”
Angel flashed a knowing smile. “I pay as much attention to you as you do to me. You know I’m a sucker for a blue-eyed blond.”
Maddock wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but a warm, uncomfortable feeling washed over him as she passed him a bottle of beer.
“To getting my brother straightened out.” She raised her bottle.
“Cheers,” Maddock said. The clink of glass on glass seemed to sharpen his focus, and he managed to dismiss thoughts of Angel. Those were thoughts that could get him into serious trouble. She was his friend’s sister. Besides, Maddock had a girlfriend, albeit a long-distance one.
Angel took a long drink, sighed, and let out a loud belch. Beneath that flawless exterior, she was a Bonebrake through and through. “I need to warn you, it’s bad.”