Field of Blood

by Wilson, Eric

  His right incisor scraped over her arm, failing to break the skin. He was left to feed on emptiness, on a wash of hot wind that worked over his cracked lips, his tongue, and down his throat.

  Down, down . . .

  Into arid, unquenchable sand.

  Drenched with sweat, Gina was about to collapse. She reached to cut the rope from her other wrist, then switched the knife into her right hand. She curled unfeeling fingers around the ancient hilt and moved the edge to her scarred neck, where she cut away the bitter vine.

  Weak and wobbly, she stumbled forward even as the creature on his knees began to shrivel before her eyes. She tore away from his last attempted bite, left him snapping on air.

  Was that movement she detected from the mouth of the cave? Were others out there, waiting?

  She was free, for now. The first step . . .

  Journal Entry

  June 29

  The weather’s still decent, but soon enough it’s going to be another cold, soggy winter. I can’t stay here. I’ve been stuck on this island too long, trapped by fear and thoughts of what others will think of me. How’ll they react to the way I look? Will they think I’m disgusting?

  It’s time to face whatever’s out there. Hiding from the dark won’t make it go away, and Lummi Island will still hold its secrets—the ones I’ve tucked away for later.

  Just thinking about leaving makes me weak, but I’ve got to do it. The lessons I found in Gina’s last droplet will keep me going. Even though I’m starting to get an idea of my part in all this, it’s almost too hard to believe. There’s so much I don’t know, and I’m really hoping I’ll find Those Who Resist. Maybe they can explain more.

  So here it is. I’ve written everything down. Who knows? Maybe it’ll come in handy. Sometimes you do a bunch of work that never gets noticed, and other times when you think it’s all over and you might as well just bag it all up for good . . . that’s when the unexpected happens.

  Death isn’t really the question. I can see that now. I guess we all have our thorns, and they eat us alive—day by day, this slow digestion. I know as a fact I can’t do this on my own. Some might call me weak, but I think true strength comes through confession. And, in this struggle against the Collectors, it seems to be the only way.

  I’m going to take Cal’s word for it. I believe the answer dies within.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Dave Robie and BigScore Productions (literary agent)—for the belief and tenacity to represent my work.

  Allen Arnold, Amanda Bostic, and Ami McConnell (Thomas Nelson’s A-Team)—for bringing a dead dream back to life.

  Leslie Peterson (Write Away Editorial), Amanda Bostic, Becky Monds, Jocelyn Bailey (Nelson editors)—for sharpening this story so that it would have teeth when necessary and only a soft nibble when that worked better.

  Jennifer Deshler and Katie Schroder (marketing team)—for going the extra mile to spread the word.

  Mark Ross (packaging manager)—for coming up with a cover that rocks.

  Anne Horch (editor)—for early support of this novel and for bolstering my initial vision.

  Carolyn Rose Wilson (wife)—for sticking with me through the thick and thin, the lean and the mean, and for giving lots of good loving.

  Cassie and Jackie Wilson (daughters)—for sharing great music, scary movies, lots of laughs, and plenty of patience.

  Mark Wilson (dad)—for that first trip to Romania in the early seventies, and for helping this technical ignoramus put together a website.

  Linda Wilson (mom)—for recent travels together in Israel, and for a continual flow of ideas and prayer for this series.

  Shaun and Heidi Wilson (brother and sister)—for sharing gypsy memories, hand-crafted chess sets, and experiences in then-forbidden countries.

  Silvia Krapiwko (researcher) and Zvi Greenhut (archeologist) at the Israel Antiquities Authority—for allowing a surprise visit and for providing the details.

  Joe Keleher and Ceridwen Lewin (friends, writers, and fellow travelers)—for joining my alleyway escapes from the vampires of Busteni and Bucharest.

  Stephan and Angela Khuen (friends and fellow travelers)—for some funny moments together in Timisoara and Arad, and for more adventures to come.

  John Hulley and Polly Seligum (gracious hosts from different cities)—for hospitality and transportation in Israel, and for the vigorous exchange of ideas.

  Hillary Kanter, James Beardsley III, Vennessa Ng, Ellie Schroder, and Dana Baker (friends)—for facilitating my trip back to Romania after twenty years.

  Gabriel and Estera Fira (my Romanian family in America)—for delicious meals, help with the language, and dreams of hiking together in the Carpathians.

  Cristian Cazacu, Dennis Budnik, and Florea Romeo Tarcea (my hosts in Romania)—for hospitality, local insights and treats, and spiritual refreshment.

  Valerie Harrell, Davin Bartosch, and Roosevelt Burrell (friends, coworkers at FedEx Kinko’s)—for patience, lots of laughs, and research materials to sink my teeth into.

  Daniel Silva, Bodie and Brock Thoene, and Morris West (novelists)—for the suspenseful Israeli-centered stories that first sparked my interest.

  Sta Akra Writers, Storytellers Unplugged, The Council of Four, John B. Olson, Sue Dent, Tosca Lee, Ted Dekker, and others (novelists)—for encouragement, laughs, and prayers along this journey.

  Kevin Kaiser (video producer)—for good friendship, and for coming up with a topnotch video trailer that makes my efforts look like child’s play.

  Sean Savacool, Rick Moore, and Matthew Champion (friends)—for regular fellowship, coffee, and creative stimulation.

  Gary and Johni Morgan (pastors), and Mosaic Nashville—for spiritual covering and guidance, and for promoting art that’s outside the box.

  As I Lay Dying, Audioslave, The Awakening, Chevelle, Demon Hunter, Flyleaf, Killswitch Engage, Linkin Park, Plumb, Project 86, Radiohead, Red, Skillet, Smashing Pumpkins, White Stripes (modern rock groups)—for providing the loud music and piercing lyrics to keep this novelist up late into the night.

  Readers everywhere (young and old)—for finding a place to bury these words . . . May they bring back to life things you thought were long dead.

  I welcome your feedback online:

  www.jerusalemsundead.com * jerusalemsundead@hotmail.com

  www.myspace.com/jerusalemsundead

  Thoms will overrun its palaces...

  The ruins will become a haunt for jackals.

  ISAIASH 34:13

  THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF

  THE JERUSALEM’S UNDEAD TRILOGY