Jason observed none of this. The shock wave from the detonation had blown him across the nave into one of the support columns along the northern aisle. He lay sprawled across the floor, motionless.
A hand shook Jason’s shoulder and then gently slapped his face, slowly bringing him back to consciousness. He heard a soft feminine voice asking, “Jason, are you okay? Please talk to me.”
“Mom?” he slurred.
“No. It’s Jeanette.”
His mind recalled flirting with Jeanette on the floor of the bunker as they played with Lucifer and Lilith. That had happened days ago. He sorted through the jumble of thoughts. The last thing he remembered—
Jason sat up abruptly, panic coursing through his body. “The Hell Spawn? Where are they?”
“They’re dead.” Jeanette placed her hand on his chin and stroked his skin. “They died when you closed the Hell Gate.”
A fleeting image of the explosion flashed through his mind. “I-it’s closed?”
“You did it, boss.” Slava patted Jason on the shoulder.
“Help me up,” said Jason.
Jeanette and Slava each took an arm and lifted Jason to his feet. The room spun when he tried to stand. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he had regained his balance. His body, however, still felt like he had taken a punch from one of the Golem.
Glancing around the cathedral, he saw that they had closed the Hell Gate. A pile of rubble from the collapsed roof filled the space where the portal once stood. With its source cut off, the last of the lava flowed out the front doors of the cathedral and into the square. Then he noticed the pile of dead Hell Spawn near the front of the nave.
“What happened?” asked Jason as he pointed to the carcasses.
“When the Hell Gate exploded,” said Neal, “every one of those things collapsed where they stood. I guess that without the link to the portal, the Hell Spawn couldn’t survive in this world. Doc was right after all.”
Jason stepped over to the spot where the physician had been slaughtered by the Golem. His shattered body lay in a heap. Jason wanted to do something to show respect, but there were no eyelids to close, no arms to cross, and too large of a bloody splatter to cover with a jacket. The man had sacrificed so much to save the world. It didn’t seem fair his final resting place would be out in the open amongst the Hell Spawn. The only memorial Jason could offer was to close his eyes and mentally tell his friend, “You did it, Doc.”
A large tongue lapped at Jason’s hand. Lilith stood beside him, her tail wagging furiously. Lucifer limped over and nudged him in the leg. First-degree burns etched across his back from where the soul vampire had vomited on him. Thankfully, his thick scales prevented him from getting hurt too badly. Jason reached down and patted his pets on the head.
Oh my God! Sasha! Jason didn’t see her or the rest of her team. “What about the others?”
Slava appeared embarrassed. “We haven’t checked on them yet.”
“Why not?”
Slava tried to find the right answer.
“Because everyone thought we were dead.” Antoine exited the stairs leading up to the tower and walked over to them. He held a gore-covered machete by his side. “Frankly, I’m surprised any of us are alive.”
Jason felt his spirits sink. “Is Sasha…?”
Antoine placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Those things pushed her off the roof. I’m the only one who made it.”
Jason experienced a crushing emptiness in his chest. It felt as though someone had grabbed his emotions, twisted them in a knot, and ripped them from his heart. He wanted to cry. No, he wanted to wail. Turning his back to the others, his face grimaced, and tears flowed down his cheeks. For a moment, he wanted to die, anything to stop the torment raging inside of him. As suddenly as the torrent of emotions had begun, they stopped. Jason bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He tamped down the grief, pushing deep inside him the physical pain and emotional anguish. He couldn’t afford to show weakness right now. There would be time later for mourning. Right now, he had a mission to complete. Sniffing back the tears, he wiped his face with his palm.
“I would have been dead myself if the Hell Spawn hadn’t suddenly dropped,” Antoine continued. “What happened?”
“Jason closed the Hell Gate,” said Jeanette. “When he did, all the Hell Spawn collapsed.”
“Thank God for that.” Antoine nodded. “Did it happen in here or all over Paris?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Jason made his way to the front of Notre Dame, carefully maneuvering through the mass of dead Hell Spawn, and stepped outside.
The sun had begun to set, disappearing behind the buildings of Isle de la Cite. Scores of immobile Nachzehrer lay scattered across the square and side streets. Jason listened. He heard the last of the lava as it made its way down the Seine, but nothing else. It suddenly dawned on him that they had done it. They had succeeded in closing the Hell Gate as well as eliminating the threat caused by the Hell Spawn. They had saved Europe from certain destruction and given the continent a chance to rebuild.
At what cost? Twenty of them had set out from Mont St. Michel eight days ago. Only seven survived. They had lost good people and good friends and even loved ones. Andre. Christophe. Renato. Philippe. Petra. Bill. David. Franco. Josh. Doc. Shane. Ray. His beloved Sasha. All of them had put their faith in him, and none of them were around to savior their victory.
At the base of the tower lay the crumpled body of Sasha. He could see a river of blood flowing across the pavement toward the gutter. He wanted to go over and say goodbye, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He wanted to remember Sasha as she was, the vibrant young woman he had loved and who loved him back. He wanted to remember the way she kissed him before running off to face the Hell Spawn and not the shattered body. Jason closed his eyes to fight back the tears. Everything had been so repressed into his psyche that they did not flow. He looked away.
“Vat should we do about our komraden?” asked Reinhard.
“Nothing.” Jason’s tone had a harsh quality to it. “We need to get back to Nanterre before the Enclavers leave without us. There’ll be time to bury the dead and mourn their loss later.”
Jason descended the steps and headed across the square. The others fell in behind him.
Chapter Fifty-Five
It took the group all night to walk the eight miles from Ile de la Cite back to the warehouse in Nanterre, with a slight detour back to the Louvre to retrieve Haneef’s minigun. Only this time, they made the trip above ground. Even though the Hell Spawn were dead, Jason did not want to revisit the nightmare that had taken place in the Metro. He could not bear the idea of seeing the bodies of those lost battling the giant centipedes and tarantulas. Besides, most of the group had lost their flashlights in the earlier underground battle or inside Notre Dame, which would have made traversing the Metro impossible. Even topside, with the streets pitch black, the going was slow.
The survivors had spent the first several hours checking over their shoulder or searching every doorway and side street for danger, afraid that the Hell Spawn farthest from the portal may not have been affected by its closure. Jason knew they were dead, and not because his group passed the carcasses of thousands of fallen Nachzehrer and soul vampires littering the streets of Paris. For the first time in months, his mind was clear. No tortured souls hummed in his psyche. The only thing that swam around in his brain were his own thoughts and emotions, both of which he could tamp down. Not having that sixth sense constantly buzzing felt lonely and isolating, and Jason reveled in the sensation.
They reached the warehouse as dawn broke, the dawn of the first day without Hell Spawn. The Enclavers greeted them with hugs and a warm breakfast. If the Enclavers were appalled by how few had survived the ordeal, none of them showed it. When they heard about Jason’s success in closing the portal, they broke out bottles of wine to toast their victory. The survivors joined in, mostly out of politeness. None o
f them were in a mood to celebrate.
Later that morning, the group set out for the Enclave.
The two-day journey passed without incident. The group stuck to the main roads to save time. The carcasses of Nachzehrer and soul vampires littered every town they passed through. At one town bisected by the Seine River, which now flowed with water, the group came upon the remains of a magma monster. It lay on its back on the river bank, a pile of cracked stone and ash with its arms spread out and its legs immersed in the river.
Back at the Enclave, Reno welcomed them with open arms, thankful that they had succeeded and that his niece had survived. The group endured endless rounds of congratulations, praise, and a huge feast in their honor. Jason’s people forced a smile and accepting the honors good-naturedly, albeit with little enthusiasm. Slava was the most popular member, regaling the Enclavers with tales of what they had faced in Paris. To his credit, the Russian paid tribute to his fallen comrades, going into great detail about how each one had died heroically.
Reno had given up his private quarters so Jason could get a good night sleep. Taking advantage of the chance for privacy, Jason slipped away from the celebration early. Lucifer and Lilith stayed with the others, who constantly slipped the werehounds scraps from the table. Jason did not take offense. He brought a bottle of wine back to his room. If he slept, he would dream, and he wanted to be drunk enough so as not to remember those dreams.
Jason unzipped his flight suit and slid the top portion down around his waist. Only then did he realize how filthy and worn his uniform had become, and how much he stank. He developed a new found sense of respect for the Enclavers. Anyone who showed such hospitality to a smelly, unkempt group such as his team deserved admiration.
He had uncorked the wine and taken the first long drink when someone knocked on the door. “Is this important?” he growled.
The door opened and Jeanette slipped her head inside. “I don’t know. Am I important?”
Jason’s demeanor softened at the sight of the young woman. “Sorry. I’m exhausted and not in the best of moods.”
“Understandable.” Jeanette slipped into the room without an invitation and closed the door behind her.
Jason was too tired to be embarrassed at having Jeanette see him half naked. “Are you sure you want to be in the same room with me? I smell like a Hell Spawn.”
“We all do. That’s one of the things I came to tell you. My uncle is arranging hot showers and a change of clothes for us in the morning.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“It’s the least he can do. You’re a hero.”
Jason took a swig of wine to wash away the bad taste that word left in his mouth. “Heroes don’t wind up getting two-thirds of their people killed.”
“But you saved Europe in the process.”
“I had to do it.”
“No, you didn’t. You could have aborted the mission at any time, and no one would have thought any less of you.”
I would have, thought Jason.
“Like it or not, Jason, you are a hero,” admonished Jeanette, although her voice still possessed a tenderness to it. “You’re going to have to deal with it.”
Jason turned from Jeanette so she wouldn’t see his sneer. He knew the name McCreary would be talked about for the next hundred years, although he thought it would be in relation to the abomination his mother created rather than his own efforts. “What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
Jeanette beamed. “I talked to Uncle Reno, and he’s willing to let me go back to Mont St. Michel with you.”
Jason’s surprise must have been evident in his face. Jeanette instantly became crestfallen. “You don’t want me to go back with you?”
“That’s not it,” said Jason.
“It’s Sasha.” Jeanette seemed on the verge of tears. “You love her, not me.”
“No,” he partially lied. How could he explain to Jeanette that he loved them both, each for different reasons, but that he had chosen her over Sasha? And how could he explain to Jeanette that he felt guilty about his choice, especially after Sasha loved him enough to sacrifice her own life to save his?
“Then why can’t I return with you to Mont St. Michel?”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. It’s just… well… why do you want to go back with me?” His emphasis on the last word expressed a degree of self-doubt he had not intended.
Jeanette smiled. “For all your heroics, you’re still a boy at heart.”
“Excuse me?” Although he knew she did not mean it as an insult, somehow he felt offended.
“I want to go back to Mont St. Michel because I like you. Now that the Hell Gate is closed, we’re going to have to rebuild this world.” Jeanette stepped forward, slid her hand behind his neck, and pulled him close. “And repopulate it.”
Her lips slid across his. The kiss was awkward, yet Jason didn’t care. For a moment, he forgot about the pain and anger bottled up inside of him. Before he could kiss back, she stepped away, letting her hand tenderly slide across his cheek.
“Get a good night’s sleep.” Jeanette glided toward the door and opened it. She had a gleam in her eye. “See you in the morning.”
Reno allowed Jason’s group to stay a full day to rest up. The Enclavers were less profuse in their praise of the Hell Gaters, as they had started calling Jason and his group. As time distanced Jason’s people from the events in Notre Dame, they grew more comfortable with what they had gone through, although no wanted to talk about their experiences yet. When they departed on the morning of their third day, they received a warm send off. Jason promised Reno he would take good care of his niece. Reno hugged them both, fighting back the tears.
The journey to Mont St. Michel proved as uneventful as the one to the Enclave. Jason had opted to follow the same route they had originally traveled to ensure that the Hell Spawn were gone. As anticipated, every demon they came across had dropped where it stood when the Hell Gate imploded. The group’s growing pride at their success was tempered by horrible memories as they passed the locations were members of their group had fallen. Notre Dame de la Garenne. The copse of trees where Petra had been mortally wounded. Falaise. The field outside of Ger where Christophe had become a Nachzehrer. For Jason, the latter location still engendered feelings of guilt he had difficulty repressing.
The group arrived at Mont St. Michel on the afternoon of their ninth day out of Paris. Word had somehow reached the walled city of their success. Refugees raced to the roadside as they passed, clapping and cheering the Hell Gaters. Several rushed forward, reaching up to shake their hands. One mother bent over and kissed Jason’s shoe as he rode by.
Slava saddled up beside Jason. “How do you Americans say it? We’re rock and roll stars.”
“We gave them hope, something they didn’t have before.”
Slava patted him on the back. “Enjoy this. This is for you.”
“It’s for all of us, Slava. Especially those who didn’t make it back.”
“No. We would have come back after Falaise if it wasn’t for you. They don’t know that, but we do. You deserve this more than us.” The Russian swung his horse around. “Andre would have been proud.”
As Slava rode to the rear, the six-year-old girl with curly blonde hair who had waved to them as they left ran into the street and came up to Jason. Her eyes glowed with adoration as she said, “Thank you.”
Jason sat up straight in his saddle and smiled. This was why they had gone on the suicide mission in the first place–to protect these people and give them hope for the future.
For the first time in months, he felt that such hope no longer seemed unfounded.
Once inside Mont St. Michel, the locals treated Jason’s people like conquering heroes. The gate guards swarmed them as they entered, shaking hands and patting legs. Even the head guard snapped to attention and gave Jason a crisp salute. The girls who tended to the horses hugged each of the Hell Gaters as they dismounted. All the men received
a barrage of kisses, which made Antoine and Reinhard uncomfortable. As the others drifted away, a young man Jason recognized by face, but whose name he did not know, rushed up to Jason.
“Excuse me, sir. Jacques requested that you come see him at once at the Abbey.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “Ah… Jacques was very insistent. He told me to tell you—”
“In a minute.” Jason dragged out each word, making it clear the discussion had ended. The young man backed off and milled around King’s Gate.
Jason faced the group. They stood in a semi-circle, waiting on him. Jason had no idea what to say.
“Thank you. I could never have done this without you. I wish we could have brought the others back, too.”
An awkward silence ensued. Then Antoine broke out into a hearty laugh. “Brief and to the point. My type of leader.” The Moroccan stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason’s shoulders, holding him for several seconds. Breaking the hug, he walked off into the Le Mere Poulard, chuckling all the way into the lobby.
Reinhard gave Jason a single nod of approval. “Good job.” He followed Antoine into the hotel.
Sook-kyoung bowed at the waist. When she straightened, she said, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“You had every reason to.”
The Korean shook her head. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. It was an honor to serve with you, and I’ll gladly do so again.”
“Thank you.”
Sook-kyoung gave Jason a brief hug and entered the hotel.
Haneef offered his hand, and Jason gave it a firm pump. “So, I guess it was Allah’s will after all that we succeed,” said Jason.
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