The Revelation of Gabriel Adam (28 page)

They got on the plane, and Gabe sat in the cramped space of his seat. At last, he was overcome by the lack of sleep, and before drifting off, one final question slipped through his mind.
What exactly is waiting for us in Axum?

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Gabe, wake up. You need to see this.” Micah shook his leg and brought him out of his slumber. He’d drifted off for a brief nap since renting the old Land Rover at the airport outside Axum.

The discomfort of the day’s travel in the rickety plane ached in his lower back and legs. He tried to sit up in the seat but felt a sharp pain in his side. Something stuck into his abdominal muscle. He checked his ribs with his hand. None of them seemed to be out of place, but he still wondered if one had been cracked by Yuri’s kick.

“What’s going on?” Gabe struggled through a yawn.

The vehicle had slowed to a crawl, its engine drowned out by the sound of panicked voices. Not yet accustomed to the bright setting, he strained to see outside the Land Rover.

“We’re in Axum city center,” Micah said from the front seat. “Look.”

An Ethiopian face bashed against Gabe’s window, leaving a splash of sweat on the glass. All the weariness in his body jolted out of his system. The man pounded his fists against the door. Tears rolled down his face.

Gabe recoiled. “What’s happening?”

“A good question,” his father said from the driver’s seat.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, of refugees lined the main road of Axum, standing next to shelters and tents in a mixed street of residential houses and roadside markets. Women, children, and men waved their hands and white cloths at the passing SUV. One small group knelt around a man who held a cross and his open palm to the sky.

The Land Rover passed a crying woman. She held her baby to the window.

“Something is going on here. I doubt Axum has a population that amounts to a tenth of this crowd.”

“Looks like there’s been some sort of . . . migration here,” Gabe said.

“Like in the book of Exodus, you know? When Moses escaped to Mount Sinai,” Micah added. “To the promised land.”

“You may be right,” his dad said. “My indications are that this road leads straight to the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion. If the Ark of the Covenant and the Tabernacle of God are both found here in these hills like the Ethiopic Christians believe, the church seems like our best chance for getting answers.” He peered through the refugees. “We’re nearing a gate. The road is ending. This must be the place.”

Gabe followed his father’s gaze. Ahead, above the crowd, an oasis of tall, thick trees could be seen behind a large fence that reached nearly as high as the trees. He found the leafy foliage odd amongst the dry dirt- and boulder-populated orange landscape surrounding the rest of the area.

Spotlighted towers separated sections of the chain-link barricade that reached around the compound and appeared new from the freshly turned soil at the base of the metal posts supporting the structure. It looked more like a prison than a church. Gabe noticed buildings partly obstructed by the foliage, including a small square structure to his left, its gated garden bordering the larger fence surrounding the compound. Farther into the compound, the white dome of its largest building, resembling a mosque without a minaret, peeked through the greenery.

The crowd prevented the SUV from advancing. Another frantic man threw himself on the hood of the Land Rover. He pounded on the windshield and motioned to his mouth.

“We have no food or water. We cannot help. I’m sorry. Please let us through!” His dad honked the horn.

More and more people surrounded the vehicle, and the crowd swelled the closer they got to the gate. They shoved each other, trying to get to the SUV. It rocked back and forth from the bodies that stacked against the sides. Some were getting hurt, crushed. They cried out in pain.

Ahead of the vehicle, automatic gunfire crackled over the SUV.

The crowd cowered from the sound as they scattered and fled, leaving the vehicle exposed and alone on the street.

Men dressed in military fatigues stood atop a set of concrete steps that led to a fortified compound behind a gate covered in barbed wire. They shot their Kalashnikov machine guns randomly into the air. Warnings spat from the guards toward the refugees, scaring them farther away from the vehicle, emphasized by more shots over their heads.

One soldier pointed his gun at the Land Rover.

Micah cursed and tried to get the sword out of sight.

His dad threw the gear into park and took his hands off the wheel, holding them up. “Nobody make any sudden moves. I’ll get us out of this.”

Inspired by hours of action movies, Gabe’s imagination let loose on what the weapons were capable of doing to a person. In his mind, bodies lay in pools of blood, torn to shreds by bullets.

The gunfire ceased, and then the soldiers leveled their sights on the Land Rover as its engine idled.

Gabe held his breath and waited for the worst.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

On the steps behind the line of soldiers, a monk in a white robe appeared, his head wrapped with a ceremonial prayer shawl, which covered his ears and draped to his shoulders. He motioned to one of his men who wore a blue beret, different from the seemingly standard issue of desert yellow that adorned the others. The officer approached the monk and bowed his head.

“Look,” Gabe whispered.

The monk pointed at them, and the officer shouldered his weapon. Then, with a snap and rhythm similar to that of the Kalashnikov’s gunfire, he barked a string of orders to his platoon.

“Just cooperate, you two. This is all merely a misunderstanding,” his dad said in an attempt to steady their fears.

Gabe watched three soldiers surround the vehicle, one for each occupant. Micah’s door opened first, then his father’s and finally his own. The soldiers yanked them from the SUV, wrenching them out by their clothes.

Micah tried to protect the sword but was thrown to the ground before she could get the case. She jumped up, defiant, but another soldier seized her and held her back.

The old monk saw this and shouted to the soldiers. His father’s hands were put on his head as another soldier searched his pockets.

On the officer’s command, the other soldiers followed suit, searching Micah, then Gabe. Their hands were uncaring—squeezing their arms and legs, yanking at pockets. One of the soldiers pressed against Gabe’s side, and he gasped in pain from the pressure on his bruised ribs. Soon the soldiers had their passports and wallets. With the Land Rover emptied of its occupants, the soldiers herded their prisoners toward the steps of the gate.

“We’re seeking the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion—,” his dad said but was silenced with a slap to the back of his head.

The officer shouted again, this time enraged. Gabe couldn’t tell whether he was yelling at his father or the soldier who’d slapped him.

The remaining men picked apart the Land Rover like vultures on a kill. They cut open seats, ripped panels from the doors. What little baggage was in the trunk was thrown into the street. One of the men picked up the sword’s case and unscrewed the top. The blade spilled onto the ground along with the cloth-wrapped spear tip. Micah attempted to pull free from her soldier’s grip but could do nothing with her arms held behind her back. The soldier tossed the material aside and held his findings up before presenting them to the monk.

The old man received them and shook his head. He then turned toward the interior of the complex and motioned for his officer to follow.

The soldiers responded to the gesture by shoving their captives toward the steps.

Without any explanation, the Land Rover was driven away.

Gabe, Micah, and his dad walked at gunpoint through the gate. Once inside the compound, one of the soldiers shouted and pointed to the ground with the muzzle of his gun.

Gabe understood first and dropped to his knees with his hands still interlocked behind his head. He figured it was the best strategy to avoid getting a bullet. Prisoner executions looked as though they might be one of this army’s specialties.

Micah glared at them, her jaw and fists clenched. Her gaze dropped to one of the guns. She wanted it. Wanted to use it, Gabe suspected.

“Please—,” his dad started before having the barrel of the gun placed on his folded hands behind his head.

The message was clear:
No more talking
.

The more Micah simmered on the ground, the more Gabe realized she was about to make a move.
She’ll be shot dead
, he thought
.

Something had to be done to prevent her from getting herself killed, but the opportunity was slipping away.

Yuri had power. So does Micah. That means I have power somewhere inside me
, he thought.
If I could only get to it . . .

As if responding to his desperation, his skin began to crawl. Neck hairs stood on end. A feeling—alien and new—welled up inside. He felt like he might explode. His shirt became statically charged, tingling against his skin. Gabe felt a shock against his shoulder as a flash of electrical current arced from his shirt to the barrel of the gun.

The soldier behind him lifted his gun away and yelled to his comrades. He sounded terrified, his voice rising in octaves as he took a step back, shaking his weapon at Gabe.

His father and Micah watched, the look in their eyes a mix of fear and confusion as the energy spread from soldier to soldier. Gabe could feel it growing inside, and he knew he was losing control. Dog tags and buttons on the soldiers moved of their own accord, reaching out from their bodies, sticking to weapons and medals on their jackets.

The sensation was just like the one Gabe remembered from the vision. He’d felt it just before going supernova.

The officer gave an order to the soldier behind Gabe, his voice calm and deliberate, careful, motioning with his hand. Hesitant feet moved closer, and Gabe felt the cold steel of a gun barrel settle on his birthmark.

He looked to the ground. Grains of sand and tiny pebbles rolled away as if pushed by some unfelt wind.

Micah shook her head, pleading for him to stop, but he didn’t know how. She mouthed,
What are you doing?

Gabe shrugged. He had no idea, but he knew the soldiers would kill them unless he acted. The power inside him had built to a crescendo, and heat radiated from his palms. Gabe decided it was now or never. He seized the moment, fists clenched, and spun on his captor, only to see the butt of the machine gun thrusting toward his head.

Then there was a burst of pain followed by darkness.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Gabe opened his eyes, unable to focus on the ground moving beneath him. His legs dragged behind him through the dirt. Two men held him, each by an arm. A throbbing pain pulsed over his right eye. Something warm trickled into his eye and down his nose. He felt dizzy and nauseous, then, without warning, he vomited. The men who carried him stopped and let him finish. Once his stomach emptied, they adjusted their path to avoid the mess.

He gathered the strength to lift his head and fight the vertigo. Ahead was a small domed and primitive-looking square temple behind a protective gate. The structure looked not much bigger than some of the mausoleums in the old graveyards scattered around Durham.

They’re going to bury me
, Gabe thought as they unlocked the fence.

Around the entrance was a façade of handcrafted brick rising in the pattern of two columns next to the entrance, giving the surface a rough, textured look. Large windows flanked the brickwork. Their panes were shaped like Christian crosses and painted a bright yellow that contrasted the mosaic of green tiles bordering the glass. Above the entrance he could see a purple cross in a window peering out into the front garden within the fence.

Gabe’s eyes fluttered. He fought to stay conscious. Images of Micah’s face flashed before him, and he wondered if he’d ever see her again. A terrible feeling of regret filled him when he realized he’d never be able to redeem himself in her eyes. That she’d always only think of him as the reason she lost Carlyle.

The monk from the street walked by them, still holding the sword and spear tip, and moved ahead through the building’s entrance, which was nothing more than a simple red curtain that discouraged passage to the interior.

Gabe glanced at the sky one last time before the soldiers took him inside. Atop the dome, a spire reached into the sunlight.
A wind compass
. At the north, south, east, and west points, four arms stretched out, each affixed with a unique design. Each looked very familiar, despite the jumbled thoughts in his head. He focused on the symbol pointing south. It was circular, with elliptical objects arranged to form a symbol.

Before he succumbed to the concussion, he remembered that first day in Durham, the day his father and Carlyle showed him the document from the Vatican, and in his mind he could see the symbol as clearly as he had when he looked upon it reflecting in the handheld mirror—
the mark of the archangel Gabriel.