He considered whether it was coincidence that he had been a part of both the discovery on Isla de la Palma and in the gunpowder room in the Castillo de San Marcos: two places a continent apart, yet so intimately linked. It was a strange twist of fate that had caused him to arrive here, plodding into the Atlantic Ocean while holding a creature that vibrated in his hands with some irrepressible power in the midst of a hurricane. He also prayed Lila had been right about the image in the cave.
He looked out over the chaotic water. Destiny could be a real bitch.
Curt pushed on, sloshing through the water. The waves stung as the salt found the scratches on his chest.
There was a bang, and a spray of water chipped up on his right. Curt felt a crushing impact to his right elbow before he heard the second shot. Immense pain shot up his arm, and he knew the bullet had lodged in his elbow. So much for Shottier not risking the Fish. God it hurt. Still, he labored onward and outward, holding the Fish high in the air with his left hand, his right elbow a mass of agony each time the waves pounded into it. A rivulet of blood appeared in the surf where his right forearm was slapping the water, trying to keep him steady in the roiling surf.
The creature quivered violently.
The wind and waves were so strong, it was difficult to stand, let alone walk. Cold water slapped into his bare chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. Curt felt his world darken, and he fought to focus. No more gunfire came from shore.
It would soon be over.
“Lohan, let’s make a trade!” It was Shottier’s voice. It sounded hollow and far away in the unforgiving wind.
Curt ignored him. His sole focus was to get this Fish in the water.
“You’ll be sorrrrry,” Shottier yelled.
It was the kind of threat a child would make on a school playground. There was something in the tone of Shottier’s voice that triggered Curt to turn.
On shore, Curt was horrified to see Sherri in Shottier’s grasp. The man held the pistol to Sherri’s temple. One of the other men restrained Tina. The little girl kicked and cried.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Thursday, August 18, 6:46 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida
Scott flicked open his eyes. He could hear a soft rumbling, but had no idea where he was. The last thing he recalled, he was trying to stall the group of Blue Council members from reaching Curt on the beach.
He looked around. He was still in the minivan. The engine was running, but the headlights were mashed into the thicket. His foot was off the accelerator. He realized that he had blacked out, and his foot had slipped off the gas pedal. Thankfully, the vehicle had come to rest in a thicket, which had acted as a buffer.
His shoulder and leg throbbed. He leaned forward in pain and glanced in the rearview mirror. In the dim light he saw members of the Blue Council rushing the motionless vehicle.
“Oh shit!”
Scott jammed the gear in reverse. The engine whined, but the wheels spun in place. Four members of the Blue Council encircled the minivan. In a panic, Scott went to roll up his window before remembering it was gone. He lifted the shotgun, prepared to shoot anyone who tried to come through it. Instead, the angry mob struck the front and passenger side windows. Each window spider-webbed with a violent crack. In a matter of seconds, they would break through.
He had two cartridges left. His mouth went dry.
Defeat, for Scott, seemed a foregone conclusion.
****
Damn you, Shottier!
The wind and waves continued to pelt Curt, making it nearly impossible to stand. The salt air was coarse. He swallowed a lump that stuck in his throat. He prayed he was right about the link between the Fish and those who had gained its power.
Curt looked at Sherri. Their eyes locked. He could see the desperation in her face. He gave her a slow nod and forced a smile. Curt had never thought of himself as the hero type. He still did not. All he knew was that he was going to do what he thought was right.
“Bring me my Goddamn Fish, Lohan!”
Curt relaxed. He looked up at the vibrating Fish in his hand silhouetted against the angry clouds. In the midst of the hurricane battering the coast, and with his life about to end, Curt experienced a moment of clarity. There was no pain. A satisfying solitude swept through his body. He felt refreshed.
Then he fell straight back.
He struck the turbulent water and went under, the Fish still in his left hand. The last thing Curt sensed was the moving water gliding over his body, and that he was no longer holding the creature.
****
The windshield shattered inward. Terrified, Scott covered his eyes with his arm. Glass shards went everywhere. He fired the first set of buck at a man attempting to reach him through the open driver’s side window. The thunderous blast sent the man sprawling.
One shot left.
Another Blue Council member came through the passenger window. The man wielded a pocket knife with a long, extended blade. Scott raised the shotgun and gave the man a face full of pellets. As he did, the gun was snatched from his hands by the faceless man.
He had nothing left to defend himself.
A shudder ran through Scott. In anguish, he sensed his own mortality. It was over. He thought of Kay, of Cody.
Others cautiously approached either side of the vehicle. They all wore the same sardonic smile, as if they sensed Scott’s despair and thrived on it.
The fear and pain was overwhelming. The man with the knife reached him.
****
Tears sprouted from Sherri’s eyes as she watched Curt fall back into the surf. Then he was lost from sight.
“No!” Shottier yelled.
Sherri felt a jab of pain as Shottier jammed the barrel of the gun against her head. She closed her eyes and held her breath waiting for the inevitable. When the blast came, it sounded distant. She slumped to the hard sand, but she felt no pain. She reached for the side of her head. There was no blood. Confusion reigned as she opened her eyes.
For Sherri Falco, time stood still.
All five members of the Blue Council screamed at the top of their lungs and ran inland toward the road. Tina, who had been released, came to Sherri, hugging her mother with force. Sherri turned back to look for Curt. The water bubbled where he had entered the ocean with the creature. In an instant, the area turned into a spectacular froth. A downward funnel formed.
Sherri felt a pull from the churning water. She stood and grabbed Tina’s hand. Just then, she spotted him. Curt was floating in the surf, head down. Holding onto Tina, Sherri raced out into the waves. When they reached him, she flipped him over. He choked out saltwater, and opened his eyes. Groggily, he rose to his feet, and all three tromped to shore, fighting the turbulence trying to draw them outward. When they reached the beach and were well clear of the waterline, they dropped to the hard sand.
Sherri looked out to the ocean. The funnel spun faster now, capturing the nearby water in its downward spiral like a watery black hole. It gained velocity. The swirl enlarged to the circumference of a backyard swimming pool. The wind gusted fiercely. Lightning scorched the sky, and thunder bellowed from all directions. The elements seemed to grow intensely violent at once.
Sherri wheeled her head around. “Look!”
Curt and Tina turned.
The Blue Council members had stopped at the top of the beach. Their eyes were empty, as if they were mesmerized by the phenomenon offshore. Suddenly, Harvey Shottier was yanked off his feet by the wind. He spun and tumbled through the air toward the ocean like a cannonball shot from a cannon. He shouted a flurry of obscenities, screaming for the others to help him. No one moved. Shottier zoomed past them, skipped across the wave, reached the funnel, and disappeared down into it.
Curt, Sherri, and Tina clung to each other, holding their ground on the beach. One by one, the rest of the Blue Council members to
ok flight against their will, screaming and yelling. Bodies somersaulted past. Sherri could not help but watch the mayhem. The flailing figures skimmed over the water, drawn to the vortex. Each crested the outer waves and bounded over, sinking into the vertical pit of saltwater. Sherri felt vindication as she watched Lincoln Mosset flip uncontrollably. His high-pitched shrieks incongruent with his large body. He skirted through the waves, reached the ever-increasing funnel and was snatched down into its depths.
The ocean was alive. Massive swells surrounded the funnel and walled off the outside. More bodies came fluttering from shore. They streamed outward from the torrential pull of wind and rapidly churning water. The sky above whipped the clouds into a frenzy of utter chaos. White whiffs and red fluid vaulted from the epicenter as each new victim was claimed.
Sherri was disheartened to see the limp body of Sabine LeFlore twist past them, her disheveled hair fluttering in the stringent wind, her eyes closed in death. Sherri would be forever grateful for what the woman had done to save their lives.
On the heels of Sabine’s disappearance into the wild vortex, Sherri was met with a gratifying sight: Loustein, cursing and yelling, his body rolling and turning impossibly. As he sailed past, his body jerked, and Sherri saw his ribs snap outward through the cavity in his chest. His wild, visceral shouts of delirium were soon lost as he slipped over the lip of the funnel and was consumed by the spiraling water.
When the last body had been consumed by the vortex, the sea became still. The skies calmed. The wind died. The dark clouds gave way to the morning sun cresting on the horizon. Gentle waves lapped upon the shore.
The hurricane was gone. There was no evidence it had ever been here.
****
Scott sealed his eyes with his forearm. All he wanted now was for it to end quickly.
Oddly, his surroundings suddenly went silent. Scott unveiled his eyes to find it daylight. He was alone. He looked around. There was no one around the vehicle, or anywhere in sight, for that matter. A mild wind caused a soothing rustle of the nearby brush. The playful breeze caressed his face through the open windshield.
He was dumbfounded but immensely relieved. What happened? Where were the others?
****
Sherri sat up, hugging Tina.
Curt gripped his bloody elbow. From the pain, he was sure the bullet had shattered the bone. He noticed Sherri looking at him.
“Curt, what happened?”
“Shottier shot me.”
“No, what happened when you went in the water? I mean…Marvin died when he tried to submerge the Fish? How did you…?”
“Survive? I don’t know,” he exhaled.
“I do,” Tina said, drawing back from Sherri. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. “We’re the good guys.”
“Yeah, we are pretty good,” Sherri smiled, looking at Curt. She leaned over and kissed him.
Her lips tasted like the ocean.
The threesome rose to their feet with dripping clothes. The change in the weather was nothing short of miraculous. Curt scanned the horizon as the sun continued to shine through an opening in the quickly dispersing clouds. The beach was deserted, as it would normally be early on any Thursday morning. The ocean was calm, with low swells slowly rolling onshore. Seagulls appeared out of nowhere, bickering upon the soft breeze and skirting the shoreline.
Minutes later, they walked off the beach. His elbow throbbed with every step he took. Sherri wanted to dress it with a makeshift wrap, but Curt was anxious to find out what had become of Scott. She gimped along beside him, her ankle twice its normal size, and she leaned heavily on Curt’s good side for support.
They made their way to the end of the road. Scott was dazed, resting on the back bumper of the minivan. His pants were bloodied on one side.
Curt was overjoyed to see his friend. “Scott, are you okay?”
“Other than the buckshot in my leg and my shoulder about to fall off, I’m fine.”
“Hey, I’ve got a bullet wound, too!” Curt exclaimed. He pointed to his elbow.
“Have you two always been this immature?” Sherri shook her head and laughed.
“Only since we were little,” Scott replied.
“They’re boys, Mommy.” Tina added matter-of-factly.
“Did we win?” Scott asked, grimacing as he stood.
“We did,” Curt smiled through his exhaustion. His muscles cramped in more ways than he knew were possible. “The Fish is gone.”
“Good,” Scott said weakly.
For a moment they were silent.
“You realize we’re the only ones who will ever know about the Fish: a creature created specifically by God; a creature that traveled with Noah on the Ark?” Curt asked.
Again there was silence.
“Good riddance,” Scott finally spoke up.
They all laughed, and Scott promptly blacked out. Curt and Sherri tried to catch him, but between Sherri’s bad ankle and Curt’s useless arm, the threesome tumbled to the pavement in a mass of injured humanity.
Tina was almost successful in suppressing a giggle. Almost.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Several days after thwarting the Blue Council and dispatching Hurricane Fernando, Scott and Curt returned to the Blue Council building to discover the lower level had been cleaned out. The wall pictures of the members were gone, along with the table and the bloody cloth where the fingers were severed. Obviously, the innocent members of the Blue Council wanted to keep their identity a secret and had purged everything. With the pond water gone, though, Curt was curious why they chose to continue with their anonymity. He realized that, quite possibly, they felt disgraced, as Marvin and Sydney had, by the actions of their brethren.
Curt spoke to Lila on Isla de la Palma. After the run-in with the assassin Harvey Shottier had hired, Lila feared the destruction of the cathedral cave had been complete, save for the underground room where she had found the prophetic images. There would be a subsequent trip to excavate it fully and see if there might be a way to dig back into the main cave. Regretfully, she admitted her doubts that any of the artwork had survived the explosion. The only wall picture they had hard evidence of was the image of the Fish that Lila had emailed to Curt.
****
Exactly five weeks after Scott and Curt traveled to Achacachi, Bolivia, to meet Father En, they returned. This time accompanied by Sherri and Lila. They landed at La Paz Airport at 8:40 a.m. Curt insisted on driving the rental car to Achacachi despite still wearing a cast on his right elbow. He argued that if Scott drove, it would take twice as long to get there.
Curt tracked down the hospital where Father En was treated. He was surprised to learn the man had left the hospital of his own accord within 24 hours after being admitted. Curt had a multitude of lingering questions about Guillaume LeFlore’s journal. This time he would not accept evasive answers from the wizened monk. He wanted details.
It had taken some time for them to convince Lila of everything that had happened. Curt still was not sure she believed the account of the battle with the corrupt members of the Blue Council and the extraordinary events with the Fish. None of the Blue Council members’ bodies had been found. Not surprising, since they were swallowed by the sea. The sea does not always give up its dead.
Even Lila could not deny that a Category 5 hurricane had simply vanished minutes before impacting Northeast Florida with full force, not to mention the fact numerous prominent citizens of St. Augustine had simply gone missing without a clue. Meteorologists and scientists worldwide were still looking for answers to how the storm had just vanished. When Lila heard Scott, Curt, and Sherri were making a return trip to Bolivia to look for Father En, she asked to tag along.
“It’s mind-blowing to think we were in the presence of a live, 16th-century French Huguenot,” Curt started. “Two, actually.”
“Poor S
abine,” Sherri lamented from the passenger seat to Curt.
Curt started to put his arm around her, forgetting the cast. He grimaced from the attempt and lowered it.
Sherri smiled at him.
“Love hurts,” Lila mocked from the back seat next to Scott.
Sydney Couperin had left Sherri his house in his will. She agreed to let Curt move into one of the spare bedrooms. When she and Tina relocated permanently to Northeast Florida at the end of the month, they would see where things went with their relationship. For now, Curt could not deny his newfound happiness.
“Wait until he admits to her he really is a distant relative of you-know-who,” Lila whispered loudly in Scott’s ear.
“Yeah, I’m tired of lying for him,” Scott said in an equally loud whisper.
Sherri turned around. Lila nodded with a grin and a wink. Then Sherri turned to Curt. “Are they telling the tru—?”
Curt cut her off, “I know the LeFlores had some character flaws. Namely, they were insane, or in Sabine’s case, emotionally unstable, but can you imagine if we’d been able to interview them? We could’ve found out details about the 1565 settlement of Fort Caroline in Jacksonville and the Spanish occupation in St. Augustine. It would have been a historian’s dream.”
Sherri jabbed Curt playfully in the side and gave him a suspicious look.
“Hey, we’re almost here,” Curt said, happily turning the focus away from himself. Ahead, the tree–lined dirt road opened to reveal the monk’s dwelling. Surrounding the tall, gray stone structure, all sorts of animals were loose, keeping near the barn. As before, Julio was whittling a block of wood on the steps leading to the door, wearing the same thick hoodie jacket. The boy looked up with a solemn expression as they parked in front of the building. They piled out of the car. Curt felt the bite of the winter air as the foursome approached the house.
Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1) Page 31
