I searched from the east side of Ronald to the western edge of Cle Elum. I spoke with former Skaggs and followed leads into condemned buildings. In the end it was always the same; nobody knew where the Spathi laid their heads at night.
The sun was sitting low in the sky by the time I returned home. I found Micah camped out on the front porch, waiting for me. My heart was breaking. I didn’t have the energy to go another round with him.
“He’s at peace with it, if that helps.”
Tears tightened my throat. “It doesn’t.”
I walked past him into the house.
David shook me awake in the middle of the night.
Confused, I pushed the hair out of my face and sat up. “What? What’s going on?”
“No questions,” he whispered. “Just get dressed.”
He led me out the back door and into the cold night air. We walked up the back alley, through the old elementary school parking lot, and between the two fences that bordered Clark Woods. Eventually I found myself heading toward the rubble of the old Roslyn Bible Church.
I hadn’t been back since the quake and my hands shook as we crossed the street toward the ruin. It looked much the same as it had the day Grandpa led us away. The roof was gone, like most of the outside walls. Large timbers from the rafters lay everywhere, tossed around like toothpicks.
“Why am I here?”
“Shh,” David whispered. “Follow me.”
We crept inside, careful where we placed our feet. The building was still unstable and the last thing we needed was to get trapped there again. As we moved deeper into the church, I was surprised to see the glow of soft lantern light coming from a distant alcove.
David gestured for me to stay quiet, then directed me toward a large pile of stones and lumber. We moved behind it, keeping to the shadows, and peered around the side.
I stared into an office space that had been cleared and swept clean. At least thirty people sat on the floor in a semicircle. All of them faced one familiar, dark-haired person who sat on a large desk, commanding their full attention.
Micah.
“There’s no hope in the system as it is right now,” he was saying. “People are lost in chaos and the only thing that will solve it is to eradicate the existing order.”
A prickly wave of uneasiness washed over me.
The group nodded and murmured. I recognized a few faces.
Ken Sheridan sat near the front, along with former Skagg John Voss. “Yesterday’s bomb took out thirteen soldiers,” Ken said.
“Many more will die,” Micah responded. “What we do here, now, in this small town, is all part of a greater plan. We are holding up the standard that generations before us have bled and died for. This world will be purged, cleansed with a righteousness born in blood.”
Eliza Cole sat in the center of the group. “They’re offering extra rations for people who turn in dissenters,” she said. “My neighbor was dragged off to the compound this afternoon.”
“Don’t give into fear,” Micah answered. “Remember, death means promotion. Defend your families and each other. Fight in your homes, in the streets, and anywhere else the enemy confronts you. Never give up. Never surrender.”
A brown piece of canvas caught my eye, wadded up next to Micah on the desk, the edge of an embroidered yellow cross stitched into the fabric. It was a Spathi poncho.
I felt the dizzying sensation of my world spinning out of control. I looked at David. He was watching Micah closely. And he was smiling. His delight made my stomach turn. I pulled on his sleeve. I wanted to leave. He shook me off, wanting to see more.
“Brace yourselves,” Micah continued. “You’re about to witness a fire storm of destruction like nothing ever seen before. Be strong, so that a thousand years from now, people will remember and say that this was our finest hour.”
We slipped out of the church with Micah’s words still ringing in my ears. A firestorm of destruction. Death equals promotion. He was encouraging people to die for his cause. I couldn’t help seeing the similarities of Grandpa choosing death over escape.
Once outside, David grabbed my arm. “So?”
I had to force out the words. “Micah is a Spathi.”
“He’s not just a Spathi, Sera, he’s their leader—their spiritual guru!” He could barely contain his enthusiasm. “I kept telling everybody that he hadn’t changed, but nobody ever listens to David.” His exuberance sickened me.
I closed my eyes and tried to process everything I’d heard. When had Micah become a religious zealot? Was this just another thing that he’d claim I couldn’t understand?
“Come on, Sera,” David prodded. “This is perfect. This is exactly what we need.”
He was right. Micah was perfect. The perfect replacement for our grandfather.
Chapter Seventeen
I sat on the porch step, my fingers absently working a tangled braid. I was waiting for the sun to rise.
Micah was a Spathi; an enemy of not only Europa but of decent people everywhere. For a week, he’d watched us search desperately for a Spathi terrorist who would satisfy the praetor, and the entire time we’d been searching he’d been manipulating my grandfather into sacrificing himself.
He would let my grandfather take the fall for him. I still couldn’t believe it. I’d spent the past couple of weeks convincing myself that Micah didn’t matter anymore, but this new betrayal had shattered me.
After seeing him at the church, I’d gone home, hidden in the cellar, and cried in the dark until my chest hurt. I felt devastated and stupid. He’d conned me, and my grandfather had almost paid with his life.
Eventually, I’d moved past sadness to anger, and then into unwavering resolve. I wished I’d never met Micah—wished I’d never fallen into his arms that day in the ashy darkness behind the Sportland Minimart. He was the terrible person my brother had always accused him of being, and if I’d only listened I could have spared myself months of heartache.
The horizon glowed with orange and purple light. Dawn was coming and, with it, reckoning. Micah planned to go with us to city hall when we informed the praetor that we’d failed to find a Spathi terrorist. I wasn’t sure what I would say to him when he arrived. I only knew what I wouldn’t say. I was not going to tell him I was sorry or ask for his forgiveness. He was the one who’d done horrible things. My childish delusions about Micah Abrams were over. We would tie him up, gag him, and then march him to city hall where he would be arrested in place of my grandfather.
The sky grew lighter. I saw Micah coming down the street and my stomach seized. The others were waiting inside the house. David had told them what we’d seen last night, and I’d finally told them all that I’d caught Micah marching with the Skaggs at Widowmaker Hill. David had been outraged that I’d kept that information to myself, but he’d gotten over it quickly, since he was about to be rid of Micah once and for all. Now, with everything that had come to light, even Milly agreed with trading Micah for Grandpa.
Micah strode up the walk and stopped in front of me. “Hey,” he said. He looked sad, but I now knew it was only an act.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“I was up all night,” I responded.
“Yeah, me, too.”
I know exactly what you were doing last night, I thought.
He crouched down in front of me and took hold of my hands. The gesture surprised me and I found myself gazing into his warm, dark eyes. Suddenly, I remembered what it felt like to be held in his arms—comforted, safe. After today, I’d never feel that again. A surge of emotion washed over me and my confidence wavered. But I knew the emotion for what it was: the dying breaths of a childish infatuation.
“Seraphina,” he said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
I leaned back from him, afraid he was about to say something that would make me change my mind. He never got the chance. The others came out of the house, walked past me and off the porch.
Ben twirled a pair o
f Grandpa’s handcuffs around his index finger, his expression tight with anger. “Hey, Micah.”
Micah straightened. “Ben.” He eyed the handcuffs. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we wanna know,” Tim replied.
They surrounded him.
“Is there a problem?” Micah asked.
Milly stared at him with red-rimmed eyes while Jude clenched his fists and glared.
“A problem?” David came out of the house wielding a baseball bat. “You could say that.” He stopped beside me on the step. “Sera and I followed you last night.”
Micah shifted, swallowing hard. “Seraphina, listen, I—”
“You’re wasting your breath,” David stated. “She knows who you are now.”
Micah persisted. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to—”
“We thought you were one of us,” Milly cried.
Micah shook his head. “No. That’s just it. I want all of you to be one of us.”
Milly gasped.
“You aren’t even going to try to deny it?” Jude snarled.
Micah sobered and straightened. “We’re doing God’s work.”
He was proud of himself, proud of all the hate and violence. How could I have been so wrong about him?
David lifted his bat. “We’ll take that as a no.”
I shoved open the double doors to city hall with one mission in mind. I would retrieve my grandfather and leave this godforsaken town behind. Let the praetor have Roslyn. I didn’t care anymore.
Micah’s hands were cuffed behind his back. Tim had stuffed a sock in his mouth and pulled a pillowcase over his head to keep him quiet, but none of that was necessary; he’d come along willingly. In silence, we’d walked him all the way to city hall, ignoring the stares. Considering David had hit him several times with the baseball bat before I’d intervened, I was amazed Micah could walk at all.
We arrived just in time.
The praetor was coming down the long hallway toward the rotunda with his standard guard—the white wolf and George. My grandfather, blindfolded, his hands tied behind his back, was led by two guards. As he got closer I realized he was staggering. He had new bruises on his face.
“Ah, the Donner bunch has arrived.” The praetor smiled broadly, then gave Micah a surprised look. “And who is this?”
David spoke up. “Good morning, sir. As you requested, we’ve brought you the leader of the Spathi.”
The praetor’s smile wavered, then his eyes lit with a dark gleam. “Have you now?”
“No!” Grandpa rasped. “Don’t…don’t do this!”
George rammed his weapon into my grandfather’s stomach. It doubled him over and his two guards struggled to keep him on his feet.
I lunged at George, but Ben grabbed me by the arm and held me back. “We don’t need you getting arrested next,” he hissed.
George leered at me. One day, I was going to kill him and his praetor.
“Sera,” the praetor chastised. “Have your manners deteriorated so quickly since our last visit?”
“We’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain,” I replied. “Now let my grandfather go.”
Grandpa shook his head, adamantly, but, thankfully, he hadn’t yet caught his breath enough to speak again.
The praetor held up a finger. “First, let us have a look at who we have here, shall we?” He pulled the pillowcase off Micah’s head.
Micah blinked, squinting in the sudden light. When his eyes darted to me, I quickly looked away. In spite of all the horrible things he’d done, my heart wasn’t strong enough to look him in the eye.
Grandpa Donner gasped and struggled against his bonds. “No!” he cried. “No!”
The praetor’s smile broadened. “Now, this is interesting.” He gave me a careful look. “I have been led to believe that this particular Zionist is a very special friend of your family. What a difficult choice this must have been for you.”
“Not difficult at all,” David assured. “My sister detests traitors.”
The praetor looked, wide-eyed, at Micah. “Hell hath no fury, eh, young man?” He pulled the sock out of Micah’s mouth. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Any words in your own defense?”
Micah looked directly at the praetor. “Whether I live or die isn’t for you to decide.” He was sweating and there was a little catch in his voice.
The praetor blinked, then laughed. “Oh my.” His guards laughed with him. “You’ve really been stung by the martyr bee, haven’t you? But I have some hard news for you, my friend, it is my decision whether you live or die. And, just between you and me, I made it the moment you opened your filthy Jew mouth.” He turned to George. “Take him to the courtyard.”
My heart stopped.
George reached for Micah. It took everything I had not to stop him. Like my grandfather, Micah would not be getting a trial. Before the Devastation, the courtyard at city hall had been a beautiful outdoor garden, with a sculpted fountain and wrought iron benches, where people could read or eat their lunch. Now it was where Europa lined up agitators and shot them.
As the soldiers led Micah away I glanced at my friends. All of them, except for David, looked as stricken as I felt. Yes, Micah had done terrible things, but being responsible for his death was more horrifying than any of us had expected.
Micah or my grandfather. We’d made our choice. Now we had to find a way to live with it.
The praetor looked at George and then gestured to Grandpa. “Let him go.” The large guard pulled out a knife and cut the ropes binding my grandfather’s hands.
“Come, now, children,” the praetor urged. “Take your grandfather home. A deal is a deal.”
Tim and Ben rushed to Grandpa’s side. We had to get him out of there fast. I looked up to see Micah being led through the exit door at the far right of the rotunda. Before I could look away, he caught my eye.
“It’s okay, Seraphina!” he called back to me. “I—” His voice hitched. “I forgive you!”
Something inside me shattered.
Micah was pulled out the door and disappeared into the courtyard.
Dazed, I turned to see the praetor grinning at me. “Aw,” he said, “isn’t that sweet.”
If I’d had a gun, I would have shot him.
I heard Milly sob. I could feel myself coming unglued.
“Sera!” David’s shout pulled me back into focus. “Let’s go!” He was standing at the front doors, holding them open.
Jude took Milly’s hand and pulled her toward the exit.
Tim and Ben each had one of Grandpa’s arms but were making slow progress with him; he was too thin and weak to walk on his own and he was resisting them. “No,” he muttered. “No.” Tears were pouring down his battered face. He stumbled several times, but the boys kept him on his feet and moving forward.
“You have a very determined family there, Mr. Donner,” the praetor called after us. “Not to mention, the teensiest bit ruthless.”
I fixed my eyes on the exit, hoping that once I got outside I’d be able to breathe again.
Then I heard a loud voice call out from the courtyard. “READY!”
No, I thought. Please, no.
I moved faster, willing my ears to close.
“AIM!”
To shut out the sound of his death.
“FIRE!”
But the moment burned itself into my brain for eternity.
The discharge of three successive shots seemed to stop my own heart. The blood drained from my head into my stomach. A low, keening wail filled the rotunda. For a moment, I thought I was making the sound. Then I realized it was my grandfather. He’d fallen to his knees, wailing, “No! Please, God, no!”
Tim and Jude had to lift him off his feet and carry him outside.
I followed them out into the red daylight, hurrying past David who let the doors swing closed behind me. Tears blinded me; grief crippled me. I fought desperately to hold it all in. It had taken every bit of st
rength I possessed to walk Micah into that rotunda, knowing each step moved me closer to losing him forever. Why did he have to be so terrible? Why couldn’t he have just been the mysterious boy I remembered from the 6th grade? I loved him then. I think I loved him now. But his betrayal had been brutal. Mine, however, had been absolute.
Chapter Eighteen
May blurred into June, then June into July. The sky was still red and the air lacked the usual warmth of summer, but the freezing temperatures had finally fled, taking most of the snow with them. We were left with a tepid, dead world where nothing thrived, not even hope.
The county of Kittitas, Washington, was an occupied territory. The praetor ruled with an iron fist, raiding businesses, conducting random home inspections, and making frequent arrests—all to protect us from future terrorist attacks. But the Spathi hadn’t made an appearance since news of their leader’s execution had been spread all over town. Ken Sheridan, Eliza Cole, and all the others I’d seen at the church that night, were nowhere to be found.
The praetor’s fixation with my family had only intensified. He refused to let any of us leave town. We lived each day under intense scrutiny, our home subjected to weekly searches. None of us had any idea what he wanted.
That wasn’t quite true; I felt sure my grandfather knew, but he was rarely coherent enough to answer simple questions, let alone explain the devious mind of Praetor Christoph Stanislov. Grandpa hadn’t recovered from his time in the internment camp. Bent and gaunt, he spent most of his time muttering over an old German book with a cover so worn it was impossible to read the title.
It was Citizenship Day, the day when everyone in the county would become Europans. I headed home from the hospital where I’d worked all night looking after soldiers who’d been stricken with viridea. Those who worked, ate, as the praetor liked to say, and we had seven mouths to feed. I didn’t mind the work. I lived under the delusion that if I kept busy enough I wouldn’t think of Micah. Even though I knew I’d done the right thing trading him for my grandfather, not a day passed without thoughts of him haunting me.
The Goliath Code (The Alpha Omega Trilogy) Page 19
