But in death, sometimes there was new life. I glanced at Seeley, who was watching the flames with a lost expression. I wrapped my fingers inside of his, and he nearly yanked his hand away. He wasn’t used to kindness, but I knew that would change. I knew everything would change.
In fact, it already had.
FORTY
I SAT IN the quiet library, facing the computer that was chunky enough to be a relic. I was a bit afraid this wouldn’t work and turned to tell Seeley as much when he beat me to the punch.
“It’ll work,” he said as if he’d suddenly developed the ability to read my mind. He placed a hand on my shoulder. We had been through so much together the last few days, it wouldn’t be that surprising if he could. Or maybe he had decided he was going to be a mind reader going forward, so he’d gained the ability to do so. I wasn’t exactly sure that was the way it all worked, but I wasn’t writing it off either.
So much had been shown to me in the last twenty-four hours that I was ready to believe anything. Watching Xerox go up in flames as we held hands had united Seeley and me in a way I couldn’t explain.
We’d traveled several hours on foot until we came across a gas station with a rusty junker Seeley had been able to hot-wire. The drive back to Chattanooga had started in hours of silence as we both worked through the questions springing up.
Seeley had been the first to speak. He wanted to know everything I was thinking. The remainder of the drive had flown by as we were caught up in conversation about the ideas that had formed our identities and whether it was really possible to be different. Something was changing in him. I could see it as he pressed, unable to stop asking. Unable to stop wondering.
It wasn’t until we crossed into Chattanooga that I was plagued with fear of what we might find. We had no way of contacting Seeley’s buddy to check on Zoe. Would they still be there? Would she be alive? Had I killed her?
Seeley knew as well as I did that Zoe was likely dead. I could feel his anxiety building as we closed the gap between us and the motel. I realized then that he cared for her differently than I did. He loved her differently, and the guilt that strained his face would take him years to overcome.
But now, in the library, another warm hand laid itself on top of mine, filling me with joy as I turned to see her golden-brown eyes.
Zoe smiled at me from where she sat in the seat to the right. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
I glanced around the library at all the unsuspecting people passing by. Would this change their lives? Would it be for the better?
I turned back to Zoe and nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Because if you want to run,” Zoe said, “we’ll run with you. The three of us can handle anything.” She glanced up at Seeley leaning down from above.
He nodded to acknowledge what she said was true.
I didn’t doubt them, and it filled me with pride and security in a way I’d never known. They were my family. That was our story now. A part of our new foundation.
Standing outside that motel room door, I’d paused, hand on the knob, breathing deeply. I told myself that no matter what lay beyond, I wouldn’t let it change who I was becoming. But even then, I knew it was a lie. Would I ever be able to forgive myself if Zoe was dead?
She wasn’t, though according to Seeley’s comrade, she should have been. “It’s a miracle, as close as that bullet was to her heart,” he told us.
We waited for her to wake, and then, unable to contain my emotion, I rambled about the entire story. I cried by her side, expected her to hate me, had been prepared for it. But she only held my hand and told me she loved me.
She forgave Seeley, which broke him, and he left the motel room, tears streaming down his cheeks, to call his daughter. The doctor excused himself after that, and for the next couple of hours Zoe and I talked and laughed and cried.
I’d started to worry that Seeley wasn’t coming back when he finally did. Cami was safe. It was her birthday.
The next day passed in a blur of wonder. The three of us acknowledged all we’d been through and knew there would be more to come.
Seeley showed us the thumb drive he’d taken from Hammon’s office. It held all the documents pertaining to the Grantham Project. He knew Hammon so well it was easy to imagine that once he’d recovered Olivia’s files, he’d made a copy to use as leverage. It contained everything, from the initial trials to the training to the corruption and the orders to dismantle it all.
“Hammon may be dead and Xerox burned to the ground,” Seeley had said, “but this goes far beyond Hammon and Xerox. And as long as the powers that be believe you are alive, they will hunt you.”
Our options were simple: run for our lives for the rest of our lives, or expose them all.
I looked around the library again. Children sitting in corners trying not to laugh too loudly. Mothers watching over them carefully. Students, headphones donned, working away. People searching the stacks for the things they needed. Others occupying the computers around me.
Each one had a story. A story that defined who they were and how they should act, according to their personal programming. We were different but also the same. I felt myself wanting to tell each of them about the things I’d started to see over the last few weeks. But I knew it was a path they would each have to travel for themselves. All I could do was travel my own.
I glanced back at Zoe. “I don’t want to run.”
“This information will change everything,” she said.
I smiled. “Everything is already changed.” Then I turned back to the computer and pressed the button on the mouse under my hand.
The information from the drive began to upload, thousands of documents being blasted out for the world to view. Everyone would know about the Grantham Project, about the children who were created and destroyed there. About the powers behind the curtain. We were making it all public, putting it up online for anyone to access.
Zoe had called Tomac earlier, told him what we were doing, and asked him to spread it like wildfire. He’d been more than thrilled to be part of taking down “the man.” He’d get the truth into the hands of people who wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
It took a while to finish, and we watched silently until it was done. Then Seeley yanked the thumb drive from its place, stuck it into the preaddressed envelope, and sealed it shut.
I stood, and as the three of us left the small Chattanooga library, Seeley dropped the envelope in the blue public mailbox that stood outside. It was going to a friend of his who had an inside contact at the New York Times. Time to pass the torch.
The air outside was starting to warm. Spring was coming. A time of rebirth and growth. I smiled. Spring would be my favorite season, I thought.
“Now what?” Seeley asked.
“We need new identities,” Zoe said. “More now than ever.”
“Agreed. Can we trust Tomac?” he asked.
“No, but I’m willing to bet you know a guy,” she teased.
“I want to meet Beyoncé,” I blurted out.
Seeley gave Zoe a strange look as she started to laugh. She grabbed for her still-healing ribs, and he stepped forward to be her support. She smiled at him, and his face colored a slight pink. Zoe took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers through his. He smiled back, and I nearly giggled.
“I’ve spent all my life worrying about trouble,” I explained. “I want to do something fun. Something the new me would do.”
“And who is the new you?” Zoe asked.
“I’m still figuring that out, but I bet meeting Beyoncé would help. Google said she’d be a queen.”
Seeley and Zoe shared another playful smile.
“I guess we go west then?” Zoe posed.
“I could use a beach day,” Seeley said.
“I’ve never been to the beach.” I stepped up and wrapped my arm around Zoe, careful not to disturb her still-healing wounds, as the three of us turned and started down the street.
&
nbsp; “It’s not that great,” Zoe said.
“Speak for yourself,” Seeley returned. “The beach is great.”
“It’s hot and sticky,” Zoe started. “And no matter what you do, you always get sand in everything.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said.
We chatted on, making plans, Zoe disagreeing with everything Seeley said just to push his buttons, which he liked.
I knew they were right; more trouble would come for us. We had finished one part of the journey, but in endings there were always beginnings. And whatever they were, we’d have each other and the truth, which warmed my heart just like the sun broke through the clouds and warmed my skin.
This story was mine. Regardless of my name. A story that would revolve around love, chosen by me. And that would give me all the power I ever needed.
ONE
IT WAS HOT that day in the hills of Tennessee. I remember because the aged boards that made up the tiny church’s floor creaked with every step. As if to say, I’m tired of all you meat sacks treading on me. Be still.
But we couldn’t be still. Not on that day.
I was only a child, six years old, but my memories of what happened on that Sunday are clear. Or maybe hearing the retelling over and over has crystalized a distorted version of them in my mind. Either way, I remember.
It was late August in Clarksville, a small town along Route 254 in the hills west of Knoxville. I was seated on the third pew next to my mother, who cradled my newborn brother, Lukas, in her arms. From the first time I laid eyes on his tiny fingers and heard his soft cooing as he stared up at me, all I dreamed about was having a baby like Lukas of my own one day.
My older brother, Jamie, fidgeted to my left. The small, decaying building that housed Holy Family Church needed a new air-conditioning unit the congregation couldn’t afford, so the windows had been opened. But without a morning breeze, the sanctuary felt like a sauna, slowly cooking the faithful as if extracting punishment for hidden sins—a helpful reminder of the hell to come for all who did not adhere to the dictates of a holy God.
It was the tenth Sunday since the flock of Holy Family had received the prophecy of the destruction that would soon visit the earth. We all accepted the word given to Rose Pierce as truth. She was a devout woman who loved Jesus and his church, a dedicated servant of Christianity. We had repeated the prophecy until it was etched first in our brains, then on our hearts, which is why none of us could be still that Sunday.
In three years’ time, a great scourge would cleanse the earth.
We were a small community of the purest faith, the bride of Christ, the elect, ever diligent to obey the teachings of righteousness from the word and always on guard against the sinful ways of the world. Only seventy-two in that day, the Holy Family was seen as radical and fringe to many in our small town. Fringe, a word I only understood because my mother had explained it to me and my brother after we’d overheard her arguing again with our father.
Arguing because my dad didn’t buy into all the fear-mongering, as he liked to call it. Billy Carter, a redheaded boy my age, called him faithless to my face, and it was clear the whole church thought the same. Half of me thought so too. Either way, my dad had stopped attending the services, so he wasn’t there that hot August Sunday. If he had been, he would have become an instant believer in the prophecy Rose had delivered.
Because in the space of five terrifying minutes, everything about all of our lives was forever and irreversibly changed.
Our shepherd, Harrison Pierce, husband to Rose, had prefaced his sermon with a few remarks that I don’t recall before pausing and holding the congregation in silence, eyeing us each with care. Then, in a gentle but gripping voice, he repeated the prophecy.
“In three years’ time, because the world has turned away from holiness, the world’s sin will rise up against them in monstrous form and destroy the wicked. But those with true sight will be shown what is to come and delivered from the great fury. The chosen remnant shall seek refuge away from the world and wait until the ground has been cleansed of sin. For then those with eyes to see and vigilant of faith will be spared from destruction and inherit the earth as the pure bride under the law of a holy God. So be it.”
“So be it,” we all repeated.
Each one of us believed that we were those called to receive true sight, but none of us knew what that sight would show us. We only knew that an angel named Sylous had appeared to Rose and delivered truth, so we could remain true to the end and be presented as a pure bride to Christ.
Having spoken the prophecy, Harrison glanced at his wife, dipped his head once, and took a deep breath. He nervously scanned the flock. “Today, dearly beloved, is the day we have been waiting for. Today . . . Today we will all be given eyes to see what is to come.”
I sensed Sylous before I heard the door at the back of the small sanctuary softly closing. I knew it was him before I saw him. Every hair on my body stood on end. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, much less turn to see.
It was as if my soul knew who he was before my mind could catch up.
I had expected an angel with wings and a choir, maybe because I was only six and naïve, but when I finally turned with the rest, Sylous was nothing like anything I had imagined.
There, standing at the back of the room, stood a man dressed head to toe in white. Pants, suit jacket, shoes, all pristine white. His skin was tanned, tight across a chiseled jaw. Red lips and warm smile, but it was the bright blue of his eyes that has always wandered into my dreams. Beautiful and terrifying at once. Intriguing and dangerous.
For a moment, I forgot he was an angel. Maybe he wasn’t—no one really knew, not even Rose, because according to the Bible, even angels could show up as men and you wouldn’t know the difference.
No one moved. No one dared speak. All eyes were fixed on the man standing at the end of the center aisle.
Rose was the first to kneel. I saw her from the corner of my eye, there on the end of the pew, sinking to the floor with head bowed in reverence. Her husband followed suit beside the podium, eyes wide, face white.
Without further hesitation the rest of us knelt, sliding off the pews to our knees. My heart was pounding. My eyes were fixed on the angel sent to save us. Then, without warning, my excitement shifted into something else. Fear. My brother Jamie must have felt the same, because he grabbed my hand, trembling. I glanced at little Lukas, who slept soundly in my mother’s tight embrace.
Sylous started forward, his slick shoes clicking across the creaking wood. All the way to the stage, where Harrison knelt. He stepped up to the podium and turned to face us, eyes moving slowly across the pews.
When they met mine, I was sure he’d peeled back my skin and was seeing what hid inside me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. None of us could.
“The purity of your hearts has been acknowledged,” he began. “You are ready to see what few have ever seen.” His voice was gentle and kind, with unmistakable authority. “Will the bride say yes to Jesus?”
“Yes,” Rose whispered from where she knelt.
Then others and all: “Yes.”
“Then you are ready,” Sylous replied.
A long beat of silence held us on edge.
“In three years’ time, because the world has turned away from holiness, the world’s sin will rise up against them in monstrous form and destroy the wicked.”
The floor under our knees began to vibrate. The old wooden pews shook, knocking against the floorboards. I was aghast, terrified, but Sylous continued without a concern in the world.
“Today you will be shown a foretaste of the destruction to come so you might be delivered. Seeing what you see today, you will seek refuge away from the world and wait for that day of reckoning. When it comes, you will be spared in a safe haven as you wait for the world to be cleansed of sin.”
Dust fell from the ceiling onto my shoulder, and a back pew rattled loose enough to slap against the floor. A shutter to my left fell fr
om its hinges. Hands were extended everywhere, searching for something sturdy as the building felt like it was going to collapse.
“For then those with eyes to see and vigilant of faith will be spared from destruction and inherit the earth as the pure bride under the law of a holy God.”
With the last utterance of the prophecy, the shaking stopped and, but for dust in the air, all was still again. My mother was breathing heavily beside me; Jamie’s hand was clenching mine with enough force to leave a mark. Only little Lukas remained oblivious in his deep sleep—how, I have no idea.
“Now I give you eyes to see,” Sylous said.
The sound of rushing wind filled the church. It surrounded us, behind and in front, to the right and to the left. What the rest of the world couldn’t see, we saw.
And what we saw struck terror in our hearts.
Screams ripped through the chapel. Cries for protection, weeping from some. All in the blink of an eye, as what couldn’t possibly be real closed in around us.
My bones rattled and my skin went numb. No one could experience what visited us that day and remain the same.
Through all the chaos, Sylous’s words whispered through my mind.
Now I give you eyes to see.
And so we saw.
Rachelle Dekker is the Christy Award–winning author of The Choosing, The Calling, and The Returning in the Seer series. The oldest daughter of New York Times bestselling author Ted Dekker, Rachelle was inspired early on to discover truth through the avenue of storytelling. She writes full-time from her home in Nashville, where she lives with her husband, Daniel, and their son, Jack. Connect with Rachelle at www.rachelledekker.com.
RachelleDekker.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Nine Page 29
