The Last Peak (Book 3): The Darwin Sacrifice

by William Oday

  “Theresa!” she screamed. “Theresa!”

  She darted back up the stairs as a door opened and Iridia shuffled out with Noor at her side. She scrubbed at her eyes in confusion. “What’s going on?”

  Beth grabbed her arm and squeezed harder than she meant to. “Is Theresa here?”

  The haze of sleep glossing Iridia’s face vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “Where is she?”

  Iridia shook her head in confusion. “In her room, I think. Everyone went to bed.”

  “She’s not there now.”

  Noor tugged on Beth’s wrist. “Is she gone? Like Baba?” Her face twisted up in fear.

  Beth’s brain split in half. The thought rose like a fault line and tore the landscape of her mind apart.

  “Theresa!” Mason yelled from downstairs.

  Beth kissed Noor’s forehead. “Everything’s going to be fine, honey. “ She squeezed Iridia’s shoulder. “Keep her in your room for now.”

  “Okay,” Iridia said as she pulled Noor close to her side. Her mouth opened as if to ask another question, but it closed again.

  Beth nodded and raced back downstairs.

  She heard the bedroom door shut as Mason met her on the main floor. He held the phone like an archaeologist might hold a mysterious artifact that had the potential to end the world.

  It showed a still picture of a somber-looking President Cruz with the American flag covering the background.

  Beth grabbed Mason’s arm and dragged him into the kitchen so the broadcast couldn’t be heard upstairs.

  The audio stream began.

  Citizens of the United States of America. This is your President speaking. I apologize that we are unable to accommodate a video stream at this time. We have a team working on the necessary infrastructure to make it happen in the near future. More about that in a moment.

  I’m speaking to you this morning to inform you of a horrendous crime that occurred just hours ago. And to reassure you that your government is taking the appropriate action to ensure that this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.

  Under cover of darkness, an illegal gathering of northern subversives gathered in our beloved capital. This group of traitors assembled to plot our destruction.

  But I tell you now that we will not accept such treason.

  As your Commander-in-Chief, it is my solemn duty to do whatever is necessary to safeguard the future of this country. As you know, this was why all my advisors, and many citizens besides, urged me to institute martial law. After careful consideration and deliberation, I accepted their counsel.

  It is a heavy responsibility. It is one I do not relish. But I promise you that I will not wilt under the weight. I will not stutter or shy away from making the tough decisions when our way of life is under attack.

  America, you can count on me. I will stand strong through every storm and struggle.

  And so, this morning I have had to make one of those tough decisions.

  These subversives gathered in the early hours of the morning to discuss the overthrow and complete destruction of the United States of America.

  But they were not prepared for the strength of our resolve.

  One patriot reported the illegal assembly and I had the police move to arrest the participants. Were it not for this loyal citizen of the republic, the treasonous gathering might have escaped our notice.

  I beseech each and every one of you to likewise heed the call of duty. If you witness any such treasonous behavior, it is your patriotic obligation to report it to the authorities.

  Help us help keep you safe.

  And so I sent the police to root out these rebels. I did not expect for them to surrender quietly, but the level of their dedication to violence was still shocking.

  A picture of a man replaced the image of the president.

  This man was an officer on the force. Hector Guyardo. He gave his life in the line of duty. We honor his courage. His life and death are a reminder to us all of how much we owe this great nation.

  The image of Theresa and Elio behind bars from earlier returned.

  Hector cornered these two traitors on the roof of a four-story building. In their bid to escape, they threw him over the edge to the street below. The blood of his sacrifice still stains the street.

  We will not accept such violence in our city!

  We will not turn the other cheek to those who would do us harm!

  These criminals were subsequently apprehended by our own Police Chief Fowler. They were then brought to me so that justice could be served.

  In consultation with a panel of legal scholars and constitutional rights experts, I have made the tough call that had to be made. During this time of extraordinary duress, we do not have the luxury of endless trials and hung juries. Our need is a simple one.

  Justice.

  And justice will be served.

  For the murder of Hector Guyardo, Elio Lopez and Theresa West are hereby sentenced to death by hanging.

  Mason’s hand trembled so violently the phone clattered to the kitchen counter.

  The execution will take place on Alcatraz Island at eight am tomorrow. It will be broadcast live as our technicians will have the necessary equipment in place.

  It is with a heavy heart that I must require all citizens over the age of fourteen to view the broadcast. In addition, one hundred citizens will be chosen at random to take the ferry tomorrow morning and view the event personally. They will be texted with further details.

  We do not bear witness for macabre entertainment. The reasons are far more grave.

  We must acknowledge what happens to those who oppose us. We must send a message to our enemies foreign and domestic.

  Treason against this country will be met with swift and unyielding justice.

  The image returned to President Cruz and the flag.

  This is your president speaking. I thank you for your time. And may God bless the United States of America.

  A black hole opened in Beth’s heart and swallowed all the light in the universe. The crushing pressure of the void beat at her reason.

  “Mason. Mason. Mason.”

  Beth wasn’t sure if she said it out loud.

  His arms wrapped around her as she collapsed into his chest. The comfort she normally found there was missing.

  Or maybe it was that she could never be comforted again because of the hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her voice trembled and teetered toward madness. “My baby. My baby.”

  His strong hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her head up so that their eyes met. A storm of concern and confusion swirled in the blue-gray depths.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to talk to the president. This has to be a mistake.”

  “Don’t let them hurt her.”

  The muscles in his jaw rippled. His eyes turned cold and hard.

  “I won’t.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The Divine Mercy Monastery

  Marin County, California

  FATHER ROBERTS scrubbed at the excrement caked on the concrete floor. He dipped the rag into a bucket of soapy water and went back to scrubbing. How long had he been at it? Long enough for his knees to feel twice as old as they were. Long enough for his shoulders to feel like nails were grinding into the muscles.

  It was good.

  Suffering was a path to salvation.

  It burned away the artifice of all the things that people mistakenly thought mattered. It had been the same with him. Before the excruciating torture by the Taliban, he thought classic Corvettes and cheating on his wife were the pinnacle of life’s ambitions.

  The pain gave him a new perspective. It started the long transformation to what he was today.

  A man of God.

  A prophet.

  The Burned One, as many of the Brothers called him.

  If only they knew how much more apt that name would
soon become.

  The invitation from the South had been unexpected. But then God’s will was often as unexpected as it was inevitable.

  He scrubbed at an especially stubborn stain until it finally came away clean.

  And that was the point.

  It took effort, great effort, to cleanse the soul of the stain of sin.

  He dropped the rag into the bucket and rose to stretch his back. Sweat stung the spongy scars covering the right half of his face. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the abraded skin. Splotches of blood tinted the white cloth. It was a constant pain, though one of varying intensity.

  It was a gift from God.

  He scanned the concrete floor and smiled with satisfaction. It was clean again. It would have been simple to have one of the Brothers take on the work, but that was not his way. And besides, none of the Brothers knew about this.

  Not yet.

  By necessity, that would change today.

  Father Roberts slowly rose to his feet and turned to the figure cowering in the corner.

  His beloved ex-wife, Cynthia.

  They had never officially gotten a divorce, but he had married himself to God some time ago and that commitment abrogated all lesser obligations.

  Still, he loved her and was determined to save her soul.

  She crouched in the corner with her wrists bound and anchored to the floor. Her wild eyes regarded him with suspicion. Her black hair had grown in enough to carpet her scalp. It would need to be shaved again. Her naked body was streaked with dirt and worse filth.

  As much as he tried, it was difficult to keep her properly cleaned and fed. He didn’t blame her for it.

  It was simply a condition of her damnation. Like the other deltas, she lacked any interest in personal hygiene. Her wants were much more basic.

  He provided them, but he also aspired to much more. He would not let her die in this state of damnation. The deltas had been cast out of God’s grace to exist in a living hell. And an eternity of hellfire awaited them upon passing from the mortal world.

  Lee’s heart ached for her, despite all the hurt she’d caused him.

  She needed to be bathed next.

  He bent over to pick up the bucket and she flinched, covering her head with her arms.

  She was always so afraid because she didn’t understand the purpose behind the pain.

  The door bell rang upstairs.

  Lee looked at the clock on the wall.

  Right on schedule.

  He cleaned his hands with a fresh rag and made his way upstairs.

  Brother Ryan waited outside the small house. Lee opened the door and welcomed him inside.

  “Thank you, Father Roberts,” he winced and cupped his bandaged cheek. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all, Brother Ryan. Please, come in.”

  It would be the first time he allowed anyone to go into the basement, to see what he kept there. He opened the door to the basement and gestured for Brother Ryan to go ahead. He closed the door behind them and followed.

  Brother Ryan made it to the bottom and then froze as he saw what awaited. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  Finding a naked woman in his basement would’ve been a shock to any of the Brothers, but it undoubtably affected Brother Ryan even more considering what had happened.

  Brother Ryan’s face blanched sheet white. Whiter even than the bandages covering his jaw. “Is… is that…”

  Lee wrapped an arm around him. “Yes, Brother Ryan. It is my wife, Cynthia. Your former lover.”

  “I thought…” his words trailed off.

  “That she died from the virus? No, she did not. Her sins damned her into becoming the creature you see before you.”

  “Has she been down here the whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I won’t let her die in this condemned state. She requires redemption, as we all do. Which is why you are here.”

  Brother Ryan pitched to the side before catching himself.

  “Why did you go to the solitary shed in the middle of the night?”

  Brother Ryan’s hands shook like leaves in the wind. “I, um, he—”

  “You sinned, Brother Ryan. And you will do penance to wash away the stain.”

  Brother Ryan swallowed hard.

  “Remove your vestments.”

  Brother Ryan’s brow furrowed together, whether from confusion or fear, Lee didn’t know. Not that it mattered.

  “Do it.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Brother Ryan pulled off his brown robe and then the loose shirt and pants underneath. He did the same with his undergarments and finally stood with his hands covering between his legs.

  “Are you ashamed, Brother?”

  He shook his head, but his eyes laid bare the lie.

  “Shame comes from pride. And pride is misplaced before God. Move your hands away. Now.”

  Brother Ryan forced his hands to the side to reveal the evidence of his fornication with Lee’s wife. Where there had once been a rather sizable penis and testicles, there was now a relatively smooth expanse of skin with a small perturbation where the urethra exited to allow him to urinate.

  Lee admired his handiwork, but only because it was divinely inspired.

  “The body is beautiful in God’s eyes.”

  “Yes, Father Roberts.”

  When Lee had first discovered Brother Ryan having sex with his wife, he’d wanted to kill them both. To hurt them for the betrayal. He had prayed on it for endless hours until God’s will revealed itself.

  Brother Ryan’s flesh had led him into temptation. To remove the flesh was to free the soul. And so Lee had cut away the sinful aspect. And before he had understood what to do with his wife, she’d fallen sick with the virus. God had punished her himself.

  But they could both yet be saved.

  “Take the whip from the table,” Lee said.

  Brother Ryan hesitated.

  “Do not make me repeat myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Be faithful.”

  Brother Ryan retrieved the whip.

  “Now, strike Cynthia with it.”

  Brother Ryan staggered over to her and raised the whip.

  Lee waited. If Brother Ryan wouldn’t do it, he would have to take it upon himself to beat them both. But, he waited because it was important for Brother Ryan to understand. To accept responsibility and see it through.

  After all, Lee would not be around to shepherd them if his planned martyrdom came to pass.

  Brother Ryan brought the whip down, tentatively and without conviction.

  The delta that was his wife whimpered and tried to hide herself, but one cannot hide from God’s judgement.

  “You must mean it, Brother Ryan. Faith is the key to salvation.”

  Brother Ryan swung again and then again. And soon, the lash of the whip cracked and snapped biting through bare flesh with fierce intention.

  “Yes,” Lee said with satisfaction. “Yes.”

  Brother Ryan would do. He would continue the ministry to Cynthia after Lee’s work on earth was complete.

  After Lee’s body exploded into particulate mist and his soul ascended up to heaven.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  ELIO couldn’t bear to look across the boat at Theresa. Waves slapped against the sides and he prayed one would take them under. If it were possible to die from guilt, his heart would’ve stopped hours ago.

  The only reason it didn’t was because that would leave her alone to face what was to come.

  And that was the only thing worse than getting her into this in the first place.

  It was all his fault.

  His fault for letting her come with him. His mistake for realizing too late that no cause was worth her life.

  His life? Yes.

  Hers? Never.

  But now it was too late.

  The accident with the of
ficer was just that. An accident.

  He’d attacked the guy on purpose, but only because the bastard was killing Theresa. And even then, Elio had only meant to stop him.

  Not push him over the edge.

  Not send him plunging four stories to an abrupt and bloody end on the sidewalk below.

  They hadn’t had a chance to speak to anyone. No attorney. No judge. Nobody to tell or hear their side of the story.

  What happened to innocent until proven guilty?

  None of it seemed real until they were brought back together and he saw Theresa dressed just like him.

  Wearing an orange jumpsuit with shackles around her wrists and ankles. He’d tried to approach her but the guard at his side had jerked the shackles so hard his arms practically pulled out of their sockets.

  The guards had led them into a room to face President Cruz. Elio’s heart had soared thinking that Mason must’ve gotten them a chance to explain it all.

  They were finally going to get to tell their side of the story. About how they didn’t mean for it to happen. That they were defending themselves.

  Only it didn’t turn out that way.

  He should’ve known better when the president didn’t instruct them to take a seat or for the officers present to remove their restraints.

  Elio had tried to ask a question but was rewarded with a slap to the head in response.

  The president had used such fancy words that it took a minute for the truth to sink in.

  Sentenced to death for treason against the United States of America.

  What did that even mean?

  Theresa hadn’t said a word the entire time. Not one word. The shock had silenced her completely.

  He glanced across the boat.

  She sat with her knees tucked up under her arms, staring ahead, watching the approaching island grow ever larger. Soon, they would arrive, and worse, never leave.

  And it was his fault.

  He dropped his head into his hands.

  This was out of his league. This wasn’t some gang banger in Venice out for revenge and happy to take anyone down who got in the way.

  This was the president of the United States personally delivering a death sentence.

  There was no escape.

  He’d briefly held out hope that Mason could save them. But that hollow wish had been snuffed out the minute they were marched onto the boat.