Murmurs of fear rippled through the crowd.
"It's Her!" A voice yelled. "The woman in the wolf is coming!"
It was a miracle.
Chapter Thirty-three
Robert
The traffic in Surama was bad. As Robert Maxim maneuvered through the clogged streets, he kept a close watch on all the vehicles around him.
There was a certain amount of safety here, in the Daesh stronghold, but Joyful Justice could never be underestimated, which is why he wore the bulky bullet-proof vest under his shirt.
His hands itched for a fight. He wanted to kill someone.
Robert did not think of himself as bloodthirsty; all the murders he'd committed had been for good reason, always something practical. This need to harm, to end someone, was new.
It was Sydney's fault.
She should have come to him when he found her in the wilds. Her rejection had turned him into a monster.
Buying Daesh oil
Selling Daesh guns
As Robert approached the market, he saw the reason for the traffic; an execution was under way. His stomach curdled. Robert had seen his fair share of executions in Daesh territory. These assholes were into public killings, which Robert found revolting.
But he wasn't above working with them. Whatever made him the most money and brought him the most power.
The traffic slowed to a stop, and the crowds moving between the vehicles shifted their attention onto something behind him. Robert turned in his seat but only saw the thick traffic. A man pointed up at the mountains. Robert couldn't see anything from inside the Jeep.
The other drivers started climbing out of their cars, pointing to the hillside. Robert unlocked his door and stepped out into the narrow space between vehicles. Turning to stare up at the hill, it took him a moment to spy the small figure that everyone watched.
His heart hammered. A woman, an automatic rifle in her hands, was bounding down the hillside. Behind her a pack of ten dogs followed. It was her; Sydney Rye was back.
Robert clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging slack in surprise. He turned back to his Jeep and climbed in. The traffic was still stopped as everyone watched her descent. He couldn't watch. Couldn't stand it.
His gaze found the mountains on the opposite side of town, and he resisted the urge to climb back out and watch her, enthralled like all these idiots. Robert Maxim was done with Sydney Rye. He leaned on his horn. It did nothing to move the cars forward.
They'd all heard about the miracle. The woman who'd been brought back from the dead. Who'd released the wolf in all women.
Now here she was coming down the fucking mountainside right into this Daesh stronghold. She was going to die, and Robert refused to try to save her.
He stared straight ahead, his gaze focusing on the distant hills. Suddenly a formation of fighter jets appeared over the mountains. The whine of their engines broke through the stupefied crowd, and they turned away from Sydney.
A beat of pure silence was followed by screaming. A second later the bomb sirens began. Shit.
Robert jumped out of his Jeep, maneuvering between the cars onto the sidewalk. He broke into a run, pushing through the crowd, headed east, toward Sydney Rye. His eyes scanned the rocks for her, but she must have gotten low enough that he couldn't see.
Chaos reigned, everyone fighting to find cover. Movement to the north caught his eye, and he slowed to a stop, staring at an army flowing down the mountain. Soldiers and tanks, clear in the crisp light of late afternoon, swarmed toward the Daesh stronghold.
The Peshmerga had been making headway, reclaiming villages and oil fields, but he hadn't known that they'd planned on taking Surama so soon. Damn, Martha was good at keeping secrets.
An explosion tore through the building to Robert's left, the blast knocking him into a car. Sharp pain in his hip urged him forward.
He pushed off the car and thrust through the crowds. He had to get to Sydney Rye.
Chapter Thirty-four
April
Chaos reigned around April as she stood to the side of the stage, her hands shackled. Nadia lay on the platform, blood pumping out of her wound—red as cherry juice.
Joy loved cherries. James and April used to laugh that she looked like a vampire, with the juice running down her chin. The figure running down the hill, the woman with the dogs, was that her daughter?
April stared at Nadia, the crowd pulsing around her.
An explosion shook the ground, and the air filled with dust and smoke. April's gaze remained riveted on Nadia—she wasn't moving, just lying there at the feet of her killer.
The soldiers guarding her and the other prisoners yelled. Everything moved in slow motion. April glanced down at her shackled hands. Would she die now? Or had God rained down terror from above to save her?
She took a step toward the stage, and no one stopped her. The executioner leapt down into the crowd, pushing his way through, headed toward the woman with the dogs. The Miracle Woman.
April reached the edge of the stage, standing next to the camera. Sick bastards. The devil was so strong here she could smell him in the air…but he no longer had the power to speak to her.
Another bomb dropped, the blast knocking April into the stage and filling the air with screaming. Chunks of concrete fell into the square. A large piece, smoke clinging to it, crashed next to Nadia, splintering the stage. April crawled across the wooden platform to help her friend, her daughter, her fellow disciple.
April crouched over Nadia. The young woman's eyes shone glassy.
"Save yourself," Nadia whispered through pale lips.
"I won't leave you!" April yelled over the cacophony of sound; screaming, sirens, the crackle of flames and the rat-tat-tat of gunfire assaulted her ears.
"I am safe." Nadia smiled up at April. "I am at peace, my friend."
Tears stung April's eyes, and she coughed on the smoke. She'd already mourned Nadia's loss. But to see her again, to witness her face death so bravely, was a powerful message from God.
Everything was as it should be.
"I love you," April said, her voice choked. "Thank you."
Nadia blinked, her eyes rolling in her head, her face so pale now that it matched the gray dust floating all around them. "I will be with Her soon…" Nadia's eyes closed. April sat back onto her heels, staring down at the young woman. Reaching out her bound, bloodstained hands, she placed a finger at Nadia's throat. There was no pulse. She was gone. At peace. At rest.
April looked up, searching for the woman with the dogs on the mountainside but she was gone, too. Perhaps just a vision. Or perhaps she'd reached ground level.
April scanned her surroundings. Fires thrived in several buildings around the square, the fabric shade covers above the market stalls ripped and damaged from the debris let loose by the bombs.
She looked to the north and started at the vision there; an army was coming.
April stood and, stepping toward the edge of the stage, squinted at the mass of soldiers moving down the mountainside. Foot soldiers, tanks rolling with them, covered the rough ground and navigated the steep grade.
Who were they?
A yell from behind her, and April turned to see a soldier climbing onto the stage, his rifle aimed at her. Her reprieve might be over. The soldier looked down at Nadia's body and kicked it. The corpse did not respond.
Rage boiled in April. She tried to quell it, to find comfort that the Lord would take care of everything, but he'd just kicked the body of her friend, a woman she'd loved, who'd been so kind. So strong.
And now lay dead, the victim of a butcher. The victim too of this soldier and his beliefs. The tyranny of it closed off her throat and brought a film of red across April's vision. She ran forward, lashing out at the man with her bound fists, a guttural scream ripping from her throat.
The soldier stumbled back, taken by surprise at her attack. She grabbed his gun, tearing it from his grasp. He reached for it, his eyes wide at the sudden action fr
om this old woman.
April turned and ran, but he grabbed her hair, pulling her back against his body. She struck at him with the weapon, swinging it at his face.
He batted it away and threw her forward. She landed hard on her hands and knees, the gun skittering across the stage. A hard kick in her stomach knocked April onto her back. Her breath was gone. Her gaze went skyward. Bits of singed paper danced above her, gray dust clouding the blue sky, black, toxic smoke swirling away on the wind.
The soldier picked up his gun, and April rolled to her side, crawling toward the edge of the stage, incapable of drawing a breath.
He kicked her again, and she saw stars. Maybe she would join Nadia now.
A gunshot rang out, and a warm spatter of blood hit April's face. The soldier dropped the gun, his eyes widening as a stain bloomed on his chest. He fell to his knees. April pulled in a breath, her heart hammering as he tipped to the side, dead.
She grabbed up the rifle and scrambled to her knees, staring around, looking for her savior.
There were people running everywhere, but no obvious savior.
It was a miracle.
April searched the fallen soldier’s body, still warm, and found the keys to her shackles. She undid them and then turning saw that the other prisoners she'd been held with were gone, probably escaping into the crowd as the chaos erupted.
She jumped off the stage, her fingers tight on the Kalashnikov. The Lord had given her anger; He'd offered her a weapon. Now she needed to use them both to do her will.
Chapter Thirty-five
Sydney Rye
I was running down a hill of golden sand and coppery stones, my balance steady, a Kalashnikov in my hands, Blue's nose tapping against my leg. Pacing me.
I was coming out of a dream, a strange yet familiar haze. I'd been here before. Except last time I woke up in a hospital, in Miami. And now I was running down a mountainside strewn with boulders, headed for small city nestled in a valley.
The three- and four-story buildings had black flags fluttering on their roofs. Daesh.
Anger welled in me as Blue's nose continued to tap my thigh, encouraging me down the steep grade.
Blue and I had company. Dogs spread out behind me. Giant, mastiff-like beasts, with fur the same color as the mountain we ran down.
We were all one pack.
They were my protectors, and I was her miracle.
What? The thought flitted past so fast, its truth so deep, I hardly caught it. Last time my brain felt this fractured I'd been doused with Datura, a powerful hallucinogen that left my mind in a nightmare and my body completely pliant to anyone around me.
"I'm a surgeon; I can help you." A woman's voice close to my ear, her hands steady on my shoulders, a needle pressing into my arm, relieving the pain…
How long had I been gone this time? Last time it was weeks.
I continued to run, scanning my body for clues; an ache in my side, a tight band of scar tissue, a healed injury. Images slashed across my memory, fighting with Philip—thinking I was dead. Wishing for it.
Blue's nose continued to tap, guiding me toward the city. What was real? Was I here on this mountainside with a pack of dogs, running into a Daesh-controlled city, or was this a nightmare, and my body lay in a hospital bed somewhere, Robert Maxim holding my hand and whispering to me softly?
I'd seen video footage of myself, recordings of Robert Maxim taking care of me, being tender with me while I was locked in that Datura hallucination.
Now someone was controlling me.
I didn't decide to run down this mountain.
Almost at the city, I needed to decide what to do. Go on? Turn back? Blue's taps said keep on. A bullet smashed into a boulder near me from snipers in the buildings up ahead. I didn't raise my own weapon, still too far to hit anyone with it. But I did take note of the window that the bursts of ammunition came from.
The mountainside met the city, and I jumped off a high boulder, landing in a crouch onto the paved street.
Snipers fired from windows above me, and I ran, the dogs close behind. The rush of a fighter pilot’s engine preceded the wheezing sound of a bomb dropping through air and then the building where the sniper had been nested exploded in a fiery cloud of black smoke.
Chunks of concrete and spears of rebar fell around us. My eyes burned from the smoke and dust as my lungs fought to suck in clean air. The dogs crowded closer, their warmth a wall of support behind me.
My head rang, and sirens wailed, screams filled the air, and Blue tapped my thigh. Keep going.
Another sniper in the building to my right began to fire, his bullets vanishing in the debris. He'd never be able to see enough to hit me through this haze.
A fire raged to my left, a sniper fired to my right, and Blue urged me ever forward.
Four soldiers burst out of a building ahead. Through the swirling smoke, our eyes connected. I stopped to raise my rifle and aim; the men just stared at me, their eyes wide, like they were seeing a ghost. I fired, hitting one of them. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. The other three turned and ran, disappearing into the haze.
They were afraid of me.
I continued forward, my pace slower now, no longer running, smoke slowing me down, the tapping of Blue's nose adjusting to my physical capacity.
More soldiers came out and upon seeing me, turned and ran. An invisible hand guided me as my mind drifted away. I was a miracle.
I struggled to stay present, to hold onto reality. The smoke swirled and closed the world out, leaving me floating, drifting…gone again.
Chapter Thirty-six
Robert
Robert stayed close to the buildings, his pistol up and his eyes scanning the streets. Smoke and dust filled the air. He choked on it, but kept going, navigating toward where Sydney would enter the city.
Gruff yelling and heavy footsteps up ahead alerted him to incoming. He ducked into a doorway, flattening himself against it, hiding.
Four black-clad soldiers ran past him, their weapons gripped tightly in their hands. They must be heading to fight off the invading Peshmerga army.
Robert waited until they were out of sight and jogged forward, searching for Sydney.
Sniper fire sounded ahead of him, just loud enough to be heard over the sirens. He couldn't see the figures they were firing at; it was all rubble and smoke and dust. The wind shifted, swirling the smoke up, revealing the street, littered with chunks of buildings. He narrowed his eyes; they burned from the detritus in the air.
Black-clad Daesh soldiers materialized, racing toward him, panicked expression on their faces.
And then he saw her. Sydney Rye moved steadily through the smoke, Blue by her side, tapping her leg. Before her the three Daesh soldiers ran like prey flushed from the brush.
Robert stopped walking and just watched. Watched her come, like some sort of demon from hell.
No wonder the Daesh soldiers ran.
The dogs with her were gigantic—Kangals. He'd known a Turkish gangster who kept them. Some of the biggest dogs in the world, they were bred to guard herds of sheep alone, protecting them from bears and wolves.
To see so many of them, ten in total, five on either side of her, created a startling and terrifying vision. Sydney Rye looked like pure power—like the miracle woman they all said she was.
Sydney climbed over the debris, her movements steady, fluid, beautiful.
How did she recover from her injuries so completely?
He lowered his weapon so as not to upset the dogs with her. "Sydney!" he called out. Blue turned his head, but Sydney did not. The dog curled his upper lip, but in a greeting rather than a threat.
Robert moved forward, stepping into her path. The other dogs, their hackles raised and lips quivering, did not try to stop him.
"Sydney!" he yelled again. This time they were close enough that she had to be be able to hear him, but she didn't react. The smoke cleared, and he saw her, clearly saw her face. The shock jolted him to
a stop.
He'd seen that look before, when she was under the influence of Datura. Face completely smooth and relaxed—not a single line of tension, not even around those eyes of her. The eyes were glazed over, her pupils dilated, blank…She was under someone else's control.
He stood there, his gun by his side, and she glided right by him, the dogs with her. He'd left her in the mountains, and it had led to this.
Robert turned and watched her go, watched the smoke coalesce around her and begin to hide her from him. He shook himself and followed her. Robert Maxim couldn't let Sydney Rye get away.
A guttural, gasping scream focused his attention to the street up ahead.
Through the smoke he saw April Madden, wearing long black robes and carrying a Kalashnikov. Holy crap she was alive! "Joy!" April yelled and began to run at her daughter. Robert broke into a sprint to intercept her. The dogs might kill her if she came off as a threat.
"My baby!"
Robert gave the dogs a wide birth, staying close to the buildings again, using their sturdiness to anchor himself to reality. He passed Sydney and her steady pack, then ran at April, cutting her off. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of Sydney's path.
She sobbed against him, not trying to break free from his hold. "It's a miracle. It's a miracle." April scrunched his shirt. "You must be able to see her. She's a miracle. My baby is a miracle."
Robert pushed her up against a wall, letting his hand slide against the rough cement, trying to use it to steady himself. She looked up into his eyes, her gray gaze almost as glazed as Sydney's.
"She's not a miracle. She's been brainwashed. She's under someone else's control."
In Sheep's Clothing Page 17
