by fox, angie
I knew that knife.
It was as long as my hand, with a compact handle and a triangular blade. This was no army-issue weapon. It was old and ornate. The grip was wide, wrapped in leather. The very top curved to form the head of a serpent.
I’d seen this knife before. It had been mine. I’d lost it in the desert while fighting for my life. And if I drew it out of the soil, I might never get rid of it again.
“What the hell is this place?” I muttered, gripping the cross tighter as I left the knife to the desert.
To my right, I heard a moan. Shit. I’d left a few soul-sucking Shrouds back here once upon a time.
But I could also smell gasoline and death. Heart in my throat, I shone my light on the source of the noise. Bodies littered the ground. There had to have been at least a dozen old army soldiers slaughtered. The carnage was sickening.
Jesus.
Among the dead lay the coiled, smoking bodies of imps.
Fitz whimpered, sniffing the ground.
A sweet breeze blew in the palm trees, not ten feet away. With it, I could feel the electric undercurrent of evil sliding over my skin.
“Help…,” a woman’s voice called from the mess, weakly.
I winced and for one guilty moment, I wished I hadn’t heard.
I was already in the middle of an emergency medical case, one that involved my friend and my mentor. I was here to save Father McArio, not get involved with whatever the old army was doing right on top of a hell vent.
Stopping could cost Father his life. Judging from the carnage I’d seen, the injured soldier was probably too critical to move, or to treat here. She wouldn’t survive.
Shit.
My light glanced over a smoking, wrecked Humvee. The bulletproof windows were shattered. The tires had been slashed, one completely torn off. There were gouges in the metal sides.
Then I saw something move. I trained my light down on the crumpled form of a woman. She clutched a bloody towel to her neck. Light brown hair fell from a messy bun into her eyes. They widened when she saw me.
At that moment, I felt a piece of me crumble. I steeled myself and went to help.
“Are you a priest?” she asked, her words thick as I knelt down beside her.
She wasn’t Catholic or she’d know.
“I’m a doctor,” I said, propping my light up on an ammo case.
Blood pooled under the injured woman and I felt my adrenaline surge. Her neck wasn’t our main problem, not if she could still talk. She was pale. Her pulse was thready. I inspected her legs. Her pants were torn and bloody. I probably wasn’t going to be able to move her without opening something up. I had to see more.
“Do you have a knife?” I said, taking a quick peek at her neck. I was right. It was bad, but it could wait. Her legs, on the other hand … “We need to cut these pants off.”
“No knife,” she said, every word an effort.
“None?” Unbelievable. I didn’t know who was equipping these old army soldiers or what they were doing here or how I was going to find a … My stomach plummeted as the truth slammed into me. “Jesus Christ on a biscuit.”
I stood, anger pulsing through me as I grabbed the flashlight. “Just a second,” I said to my patient, horrified, amazed, and resigned. “I don’t fucking believe this,” I muttered, stalking back to the ancient knife right where I’d left it last month, half buried in the sand.
A wise man I knew said once that the universe always had a plan.
Sometimes I really hated the universe.
I reached down, grasped the leather handle, and yanked the dagger from the soil. Yep. I knew this one. Intricate, time-worn carvings wound down the blade, and there was a sliver missing from the tip.
Goddamn motherfucker.
I hurried back to the soldier. “You still with me?”
She nodded and watched as I used the knife to slice away her pants. It was as if she’d been attacked by wild animals. “Let me see your canteen.” I shrugged out of my scrub top, leaving only my white tank as I dumped water on my shirt and began cleaning the blood away. All of the cuts were deep, jagged. These things had mauled her.
My patient was edgy, fearful. She could see how bad it was. “You just hold on. I’m going to help you.”
She gave a weak nod. “I wish you were a priest.”
“Yeah, well, don’t give up yet.” I found the source of the worst bleeding. The damn imps had nicked an artery. I reached down for my boot, tugging the laces off.
She lolled her head to the side. “Why do you have a cross on the side of your jeep?”
She was talking too much. She shouldn’t be feeling up to talking. It was a bad sign. “I borrowed it from a friend,” I said, hoping she’d let it go. Patients sometimes got a surge of strength at the end. I didn’t want to think I hadn’t reached her in time.
I tied off the makeshift tourniquet and began treating her other wounds as best I could. She’d lost too much blood.
“I’m Dr. Robichaud, MASH 3063rd. Our camp is about an hour back. As soon as I get you stable, I’m going to put you in my jeep and take you there.”
I glanced back at the hell vent. Maybe I could get Father’s antidote first. No. Guilt swamped me. The delay could kill her.
Or him.
Fuck.
But I’d already made my choice, hadn’t I?
I’d chosen duty over my friend.
My patient began to shake. She’d lost too much blood. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to try and stand.”
It was a struggle, but we managed to get her into the passenger side of the jeep.
I’d left the dagger behind on the ground, but I wasn’t fool enough to think it would stay there. One problem at a time. I reached in the back for the foam lining of Father’s exorcism kit, letting the soldier use it as a pillow.
“Thank you,” she said, bracing herself against the pain, “you saved me.”
I appreciated her confidence, but we weren’t out of the woods yet. “You relax,” I said, starting up the jeep. Every vibration had to be like razor blades to her sliced-up legs. She was still bleeding.
We sped away from the hell vent and headed due north to camp. I hoped I was going straight. I’d forgotten to look at the stars.
Please, God, guide me. Let me find a way to save her and Father, too.
But even as I drove, I knew I’d chosen. This girl would bleed out if I didn’t get her back. Father would die if I didn’t get the fruit.
Tears stung my eyes. He was my mentor, my friend, one of the greatest men I’d ever known. He was also here to save people like this young soldier.
He was Saint Jogues, the martyr.
Arf! Fitz leapt from the back and into my lap. Damn, I’d forgotten all about the dog.
“Stop it,” I said, depositing him in the back.
Meanwhile my patient was trying to open the jeep door. Fuck, no. I ground to a halt. “You can’t do that,” I said, dashing around the front so I could open and close her door. Then lock it.
“Please.” She grabbed at my arm. “I’m dying. I want to see the stars. I want to go home.”
She was delirious. I helped her sit up straighter. “You have to stay put so I can get you back,” I said, checking her bandages.
She smiled and leaned against me. Damn it. I knew that kind of look.
“No,” I told her, ordered her. “This is not over.” I checked her pulse. It was weakening. It was inevitable. She’d lost too much blood. It tore at me.
I knew it. I’d known when I chose her. She was dying and there wasn’t one goddamn thing I could do about it.
Jaw clenched, I watched her rise up. Her spirit hovered over the body I held, beautiful and free from pain. She looked even younger, happy.
“You can see me,” she said, delighted in her discovery. Her voice was strong and melodious. She glanced behind us, then back, smiling. “It can’t touch me now.”
I wet my lips. “I don’t understand.” Had something out of
the hell vent followed us?
She touched a hand to her mouth as sadness crossed her features. “Souls who pass too close to a hell vent are sucked into Hades.”
Her revelation stunned me. I’d had no idea.
She stood taller, hands clasped. “You saved me.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. “I’m glad.” It was all I’d ever asked for in this war.
She nodded and turned her face to the heavens. And then I watched her rise up until she was just a whisper of a cloud in the night sky.
I stood for a moment, recovering, trying to make sense of it. I knew I’d done all I could. She’d been as good as dead when I’d picked her up. It was senseless. It was wrong.
Sighing, I raised my head, and just about choked when I saw the dagger resting on my dashboard.
chapter twenty-three
I took a seat. “Okay, Fitz,” I said, grabbing the dagger, wrapping it in my bloodied scrub top.
The soldier’s expression was oddly peaceful. I reached down and closed her eyes.
Then I eased the knife into my pocket and shifted into gear. We made a sharp 180, sending Fitz scrabbling against the vinyl backseat of the jeep. “Let’s go back.”
We lurched over scattered stones. The hellhound rode directly behind me, his head out the side and his tongue lolling. I was glad one of us didn’t know what we were in for.
I just hoped we weren’t too late.
The shadow of the hell vent loomed across the desert ahead. It was both heartening and scary as hell. Every primitive instinct in me screamed to turn back. I braced myself. I could do this. I had to.
My stomach churned. Just a few more minutes and we’d be there. I just hoped the fruit wasn’t high up in a tree. I wasn’t sure I’d be that great at climbing, especially if it was built like a palm tree. Why didn’t Father have a rope in his exorcist kit? Or as long as I was wishing, a ladder?
I pulled the jeep close to the wrecked Humvee and returned the soldier’s body to where she had almost died. The old army would be searching, and I didn’t want her family to wonder.
Then I drove south a bit and killed the engine.
Fitz jumped out, wagging his tail. Merde. The dog was the least of my problems. It’s not like I could tie him up. Or lock him in a jeep with no top.
My nerves jangled. I double-checked my cross, and the holy water in my pocket. As for the dagger? I didn’t think it was going anywhere.
A sweet-smelling breeze blew from the vent. Palm trees swayed, inviting me to enter.
“Okay, doggy. We need the fruit from a finut tree. It’s round. It’s purple.” That’s all we knew.
I’d just have to gather anything and everything that looked close. The dog whined as we drew closer.
“Believe me, this isn’t how I’d plan it,” I said, focused on the tree line as Fitz trotted next to me. “Father is real sick. This is an emergency.”
Bracing the cross and the knife in my arm, I unscrewed the holy water and dipped my fingers. I touched them to my forehead, my chest, and both shoulders, ready to take all the divine intervention I could get.
“Here, buddy.” I reached down and touched some to Fitz’s collar. If we were overdoing it, well, I had a feeling the Lord would understand. I just hoped He was watching.
I returned the bottle to my pocket as we skirted the edge of the jungle. I could hear rustling in the trees, and then a child’s laugh. My hair stood on end. “Maybe I should get the exorcism book.”
Then again, I had to wonder if my soul was pure enough for that.
Damn. Padre had better pull through this.
An ugly knotted tree rose among the dripping foliage. It was maybe ten feet in.
Fitz barked and dashed straight into the hell vent. “God almighty,” I said, pushing my way into the dense foliage, refusing to look down, trying not to touch anything more than the branches blocking my way.
Please let me get out of this alive.
Wet leaves smacked against my arms and legs. I held up the cross, keeping them away from my face as my flashlight bounced off Fitz’s dark form. The air smelled fresh. Flowers bloomed all around us. I could hear the chatter of the birds and the rush of water nearby.
Then the darkness lifted and it was beautiful. It was like the sun had risen over the most perfect day I could imagine. I felt warm and alive and glorious.
I knew it was an illusion. It couldn’t be real. But I wanted to run and play. My hips wiggled despite myself. I felt free.
I clutched the cross tighter, the wood digging into my skin.
Heart pounding, I began my search, trying not to get distracted by the exotic flowers or the chattering monkeys swinging in the high trees. Father didn’t have much time. And I worried I’d get so turned around I’d never make it out of here.
Fitz stopped in front of an ugly tree.
“That’s disgusting.” It was twisted and knotted. The trunk was too thick and leaned to one side. It had dense, scraggly leaves on the top, along with wilted brownish purple fruit. “It’s rotted and—yuck.” Those weren’t leaves on the higher branches. They were locusts.
Fitz dug his paws against the thick trunk, spewing rotten bark. The trunk oozed thick pus.
That couldn’t be it.
There was beautiful fruit in the trees all around me. If I just wandered more, searched harder, I could find the pretty purple ones.
I blinked hard, remembering my Catholic school. The devil delighted in temptation. He specialized in making evil irresistible. So if I was supposed to keep my hands off something … I took another look at the tree Fitz was pawing and tried not to wrinkle my nose at the small purple fruit on the high branches.
Do it.
Before I could think about it too much, I scrambled up the curved trunk and grabbed hold of a piece. It wouldn’t come off the tree. Blast it. I tucked the cross under my arm again, unwrapped the knife, and sliced it free.
The tree shook, and a scream shattered the night. I dropped the cross. Hell and damnation.
I leapt to the ground. Run.
A red, potbellied demon landed on the path directly in front of me. It spewed black venom as it cackled.
I waved the dagger at it. Fat lot of good that would do me. The thing would have to be on me before I could use it.
Panic seized me. I was going to die in a hell vent, eaten by a demon.
A thunderous growl split the night. I was afraid to look, unable to move. The demon’s eyes grew wide as a giant black beast stalked out from behind me.
It was half dog, half wolf, and growing larger by the second. Fire licked at its fur. Red eyes tore through the darkness. It snarled and snapped up the demon, devouring it whole.
Clutching the knife and the fruit, I ran. I ran like I’d never run before. I zigzagged past trees, I leapt over a stream. Holy hell. I was turned around. But I couldn’t stop.
Run.
Monkeys chattered in the branches on both sides, making chase, playing as I made a mad dash for my life and my soul.
The jungle grew darker, denser.
I pushed forward, through the blackness. Through the biting cold. Branches smacked me in the face, tree limbs ripped at the fruit in my hand and the dagger in the other. The chattering monkeys morphed into fanged monsters. They leapt on my back, tearing at my skin and my hair.
The beast snarled behind me, snapping up monsters and biting them in half, their bones crunching.
I burst out of the hell vent. I stumbled over the rocks of the desert, afraid to look back.
The raging beast rocketed past me, leaping onto the jeep. It tore off the back gate as it climbed into the rear. It was Fitz! He was shrinking, but not fast enough.
I shoved the fruit in my pant pocket, threw the knife out the window, and fired up the jeep. I gripped the steering wheel and gunned it due north.
Pain seared my neck. I touched it and my hand came back covered in blood.
I clutched for the purple fruit. It was still in my pocket. H
allelujah.
Please don’t let me be too late.
We bounced over the desert in a blur of fear and panic.
Fitz jumped into the passenger seat, looking normal—for a possessed hellhound. He jammed his head out the window as we sped for home.
We made it across the desert, through the minefield, past the mangled helicopter. I cornered around the Hickey Horns van and towers of scrap metal.
The air was sour, the dirt was up my nose. I was back home.
I had the antidote. I didn’t succumb to the hell vent. Or to Father’s pet.
Now I just had to pray it wasn’t too late.
I brought the jeep to a screeching halt outside the lab and rushed inside.
“He’s in the back,” Marc said, wide-eyed. “What happened to you? You’re bleeding!”
I pushed my way through the curtain. Father lay pale and unmoving.
“He’s bottoming out. His pulse is at fifty,” Marc said, coming up on the side of me. “Let me see your neck. Something bit you.”
“I’ll live,” I said. Father might not. He was weak, but alive. Thank heaven. I braced the fruit against my chest, tearing into it like a ripe tomato.
He wasn’t conscious. He couldn’t eat, so I dripped the juices into his mouth. They ran over his cheeks. I touched the soft flesh to his tongue. “Father? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
His eyes flew open and he coughed.
Hallelujah.
“Drink down the juice.” I said, ripping off a fresh piece.
“Goddamn it, Petra,” Marc said, checking Father’s vitals, then going back for surgical gauze and antiseptic for my neck. He treated me while I treated Father. “I had no idea whether you were alive or dead. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“Yes.” I did. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”
I returned to Father. Some of the color was coming back to his cheeks.
He’d passed out again, which was actually good. His body would heal better that way.
Father coughed. Marc checked his pulse, glaring at me the entire time. “He’s at seventy.”
“He’s stable.” Thank God.
“Then come on,” Marc said, not taking his eyes off me. “We need to talk.”
This should be fun.
