An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (3 page)

He carefully leaned his rifle against the stone wall and reached for her. She stiffened as his grimy hands roamed her body, his smile widening.

“All right. Turn back around.”

She made it halfway before he slammed a fist into her temple, knocking her to the mat. Rachel stifled a moan. He unclipped his belt and pulled his pants to his knees before jerking up her robe and forcibly prying her legs wide. The sound of ripping fabric rang like thunder in her ears. She lay still as he dropped on top of her. Turning her head away, she concentrated on the feel of the cool mat against her cheek.
Hurry … Hurry …

He fondled her breasts, then dropped his hands lower, thrusting his fingers brutally inside her. She shuddered, gritting her teeth.

“Okay, baby, the moment you been waiting all your life for,” he whispered, laughing. Spreading her labia with his hands, he drove himself inside, grunting. “Oh, yes, that’s sweet. You follow my rhythms now, match me.”

She lay still, unable to will herself to comply.

“Do !” He slapped her hard across the face.

A sob welled to catch in her throat. She forced her body to move beneath him.

“Good, that’s good.” In only a few moments, he panted, moving faster.

From near the street, the sergeant hissed suddenly, “God damn! Get up, Joe. There’s somebody coming.”

“Not yet. I’m almost
there,
man. Almost—”

“You bastard! It looks like the Mashiah’s personal guards, for God’s sake! They’re dressed in gray. If they find us with you—”

“Ten seconds! That’s all I need to …”

The sergeant stepped out of the alley and into the street, voice unusually loud as he talked blithely with another man only thirty feet away.

“Have you captured any of the rebels, sergeant?” an unknown man asked.

“No, sir. We haven’t seen any of them. We’ve been patrolling since the raid this morning. Those that lived must have run off to the mountains.”

Hope welled hotly in Rachel. One against one now. She glared at the blond. Sweat streaked his face, running down his neck.
Wait!
she commanded herself. Wait until he’s the most vulnerable. Finally, he worked himself into a frenzy and started to gasp. When she felt his semen pulse into her vagina, Rachel lifted her right hand and drove her fingers into his closed eyes, crushing his lachrymals, blinding him. The soldier jerked back powerfully and started to scream. Rachel slammed a fist into his throat, rolled from beneath him, and with all the strength she could muster, kicked him in the head. He toppled backward, gasping, barely audible,
“Cha
…”

She lunged for the rifle and, gripping it in her fist, ran for her daughter.

The blinded marine finally managed to rasp, “God …
God!”

“Joe?” The sergeant burst back into the alley. His eyes widened in horror at the blood streaming in rivulets down his friend’s face.

Rachel aimed the pulse-rifle and fired, cutting him in half, then swept right, slicing off the blond’s head. It rolled as though animate to rock against the bakery wall.

Where was the other man? The one the sergeant had been talking to? Had he gone to muster his forces? She felt the urge to run and check the street, but instead, shouted, “Sybil? Hurry, come to me!”

A thudding of knees and elbows against boxes sounded as the girl shoved through the rubbish to race to her mother. “Mommy! Mommy! I thought—”

“Take my hand, baby. Hurry!” Rachel slung her rifle and swiftly dragged the little girl up the alley. Turning down a worn horse path littered with dung, she ducked through a smashed doorway to pick her path swiftly across a floor covered with broken chairs and shattered colored vases. Glass squealed beneath her boots.

Sybil had begun to cry, a sharp suffocating series of sounds.

“Stop it!” Rachel ordered sternly.

“I want to go home.”

“I—I know you do. So do I, but we have to go away for a few days.”

“Where?”

“To the mountains, if we can. They won’t look for us in that maze of twisted rock.”

“Will Daddy come, too?”

“Yes, he’ll … he’ll come.”

Reaching the far side of the house, Rachel cautiously peered through a cracked window, examining the street outside. It led through the industrial part of town where empty factories loomed large. In the distance, she glimpsed the sandstone cliffs and a tendril of relief wound through her. Their jagged peaks pierced the pale blue skies like ruby lances. The Mashiah would never find them there. He hadn’t the manpower to mount such a search.

“Hurry, Sybil. We have to go fast now.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Sybil lifted her arms to be taken.

Rachel picked her daughter up and braced her on her left hip. The girl buried her face in her mother’s hair and sobbed silently. Rachel unslung the rifle, lowering it to firing position before she slipped out the doorway and ran onto the street, heading for the farm country that led to the mountains.

The sudden hissing of charged rifles exploded around her. She whirled to see six soldiers kneeling in gashed doorways, guns aimed. Beside the closest one stood Ornias, High Councilman of Horeb and intimate of the Mashiah. He served as Adom’s brains, feeling the pulse of their religious movement and orchestrating events to encourage or discourage opinion. He’d come to Horeb only five years ago, claiming Gamant ancestry, but she doubted it. He had no knowledge of many of the most important ceremonies and cared even less to see them preserved. But he knew one facet of Gamant belief: Prophecies of the Deliverer. He knew it and had used it like a sword to slice out his own wealth and power. He’d taken a gangly man in rags who preached of a new god from the garbage dumps on the streets, and made him the glorious Mashiah promised in scripture. Adom Kemar Tartarus stood as Ornias’ finest creation.

Her heart nearly stopped as she met his cold, lime green eyes. A tall, handsome man with light brown hair, his neatly braided beard vibrated as he laughed. “Put down the weapon, Rachel. You know it’s hopeless.”

She aimed the barrel at his stomach, knees so weak she could barely stand. “I’d rather die than—”

“Be realistic. Look at your beautiful little girl. Hmm? Do you want her dead, too?”

Rachel clutched Sybil closer, feeling her daughter’s breath warm against her shoulder. Slowly, she backed away, steps grating on the loose gravel.

Ornias smiled maliciously. Wind whipped his white silk robe around his legs. “Sergeant? Please set your rifle on narrow beam and aim at the child.”

“Mommy?”
Sybil murmured tightly in her ear and Rachel felt her daughter’s muscles go rigid, anticipating the shot.

“Come, come, Rachel. Will you kill everyone who loves you? First your father, then your mother—”

“My mother died in the plague!”

“Well, then, just your father, husband, and daughter. Isn’t that too many for even your precious conscience?”

Tears of hatred blurred her eyes. Husband? So, it was true. Shadrach … Desperation and futility swept her.
Where are you, God!
Violently, she threw her rifle on the dusty red ground.

Ornias motioned for one of the soldiers to retrieve the weapon. Once it was out of the way, he chastised, “I told you a month ago you’d never get away with your treasonous rituals. Now, you’ve left me no choice.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to take care of you and your rebel followers once and for all.” He stroked his beard, smiling. “For the good of Horeb, you understand.”

“You—you’d better make damn sure I’m dead, Ornias. Because if not, I’ll find you and when I do—”

“A threat, dear?” The arrogance drained from his tanned face, replaced by anger. “Lieutenant Simon, march her to the square with the others. You know your duties?”

The dark-haired officer nodded. “I do, sir.”

“Good.” The councilman turned in a whirl of white and strode away.

Simon pointed with his rifle. “You heard the man. Move.”

Rachel lowered Sybil to the ground and they walked, hand in hand down the windswept street. The stench struck her first. The air reeked of fear-sweat and death. Rachel clutched Sybil’s hand tighter as they crested the ridge above the square. A public gathering place, it stretched six hundred by four hundred feet. Red and gray sandstone slabs had been arranged in geometric patterns to form the twelve-foot-high walls that completely encircled the area.

Rachel swallowed hard at the number of armed guards patrolling the walls. Each dressed in battle armor, their silver helmets gleaming in the sun.

The lieutenant stepped ahead of her, trotting to the gate and swinging it open. “Go on. Hurry up.”

Rachel walked forward only to stop, stunned, when she saw inside. Hundreds of people packed the square, standing shoulder to shoulder. No one could sit. Children cried everywhere, mothers and fathers impotent to heal the wounds of thirst or hunger. And many of the people were plague victims. Oozing wounds gaped from their arms and faces, rotting flesh hanging in black strips from their torn clothing.

Lieutenant Simon prodded her with his rifle barrel. “I said, go!”

She turned on him, stuttering, “H-how long have these people been here?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“They can’t even breathe in there!”

“You brought it on yourselves.”

She stared in disbelief.
Is this some nightmare, God? What have we done to anger you so?
“Have you lost your humanity? These people are your relatives! Look over there—”

He turned his face away, deliberately shielding himself. “Anyone who turns against the promised Deliverer is no relative of mine. Get inside before I shoot you like a dog.”

“Deliverer?” she scoffed, on the verge of hysteria. “Who has he saved? You? Your family?” She stabbed a shaking finger at the crowd in the square.
“Who?”

“You haven’t much time, Eloel.” He shifted his aim to Sybil. “Inside!”

Rachel gazed hollowly at him, then gripped her daughter’s hand and walked through the gate. Simon locked it behind her.

For two days they stood, tortured by thirst, the brutal sun searing their flesh. People went mad, screaming and lashing out at anyone who unknowingly pressed against them, trying to maintain their slim boundary of space. The sick and elderly, too feeble to stand, took turns sitting, heads braced on drawn-up knees.

Sybil clutched Rachel’s leg like a life raft in a turbulent ocean. Her tiny lips had swollen so severely, she could barely speak. Rachel stroked her matted hair, wondering how much longer the Mashiah would force them to suffer. Many of the children and the old were already dead, their bodies hauled to a stinking pile against the east wall. Every time the burning wind changed direction to bring her the scent of rotting corpses, bile rose into her throat and she had to drape her sleeve over her nose.

Yet, for all her horror and despair, hate kept her standing, fired her soul with hope. Her mind worked in a flurry, planning the Mashiah’s murder. It would be slow, agonizing—ten times worse than the anguish they now experienced.

Adom rarely appeared in public, and then only when thoroughly protected by guards. And always,
always,
with Ornias. But she’d find him vulnerable someday.

“Oh, God. Misha? Misha!” A withered old man moaned. Tall and whip-thin, he stood only a few feet from Rachel, his eyes fixed intently on the ground. Sparse gray hair hung down over his ears. Rachel tried to pry her eyes away, but couldn’t.

A young woman with cropped brown hair stood beside him, patting his hand. “There, there, Daddy. Misha went away to fight in the war with the Underground. It’s all right.

“Did he?”

“Yes, Papa. Don’t worry. It’ll only make things worse. I’ll move over a little. Why don’t you try to sit down?”

But by late afternoon, the old man had gone out of his mind. He screamed, “Gamants, I see a sea of blood rolling down over us! A sea of burning blood! Don’t you see it?” He lanced out an arm toward the mountains, wide eyes burning with hysteria. “Oh, dear God, dear God, we can’t escape!”

A rumble of shouts and screams sounded as people staggered, pushing each other, straining to look where he pointed. When they discovered only mountains and sky, they turned sharply, staring.

“Can’t you see? What’s the matter with you?” He fell to the ground, covering his head and writhing as though in the throes of an epileptic fit.

At first people only stood quietly, riveted by terror, but as his wailing grew to hideous shrieks, someone shouted, “Stop him! I can’t stand it!”

“It’s rolling down! See it fill the sky, the wave rises so high!”

His daughter dropped to the ground beside him, stroking his hair tenderly, “Daddy, please. Hush, it’s all right. There’s no sea of blood. You’re just tired and—”

“Oh, my God! Pity! Have pity!”

“He’ll drive us all mad!” an old crone wailed. “Don’t let him talk!”

The young woman tried to calm her father, bringing his head to her lap and rocking him gently. “Papa, stop twisting, you’ll use up your strength. You have to save your strength or you’ll die like little Tommy. You—”