White

by Ted Dekker

  Thomas stopped his horse ten feet from the man. Three others stood behind him, arms folded. Thomas studied William and chose silence.

  “The Horde left us a message,” William continued. He looked at Chelise and scowled. Thomas fought the impulse to ride his horse through the man.

  “Take your eyes off her! This is Chelise, daughter of Qurong, and she is to be my wife.” He wasn’t sure of the latter, but he felt compelled to say it. To shout if he must.

  “We know who she is!” William shouted. “She is the cause of this great tragedy.”

  “You blame a Scab who leaves the Horde to find the Circle? I thought it was our purpose to save those who needed it.”

  “She looks scaly enough to me. And it seems that Woref wants his scaly whore back. If she isn’t returned to the city within three days’ time, he will execute the twenty-four albinos he’s taken.”

  Chelise’s hand twitched in his and he held it tight.

  “Never! I won’t let him lay a hand on her head. Ever!”

  “Then you will send twenty-four of our family to their deaths.”

  “I will go,” Chelise said quietly, pulling her hand free. “If Suzan will ride with me to the edge of the city, I’ll go now.”

  Now Thomas panicked. He gripped his head. “No!” He suddenly felt compelled to get her off her horse. There would be no more riding today.

  He slid to the ground, took her hand, and reached to help her dis-mount. She hesitated, then swung down.

  Thomas put an arm around her. “Not another word about this!” he scolded William. “Have you no sense about you, man?”

  Chelise turned to him. “He’s right, Thomas. Woref will kill them. Or he’ll kill half of them and demand again. I won’t have the blood of these innocent people on my head.”

  She spoke like a princess, which made him even more desperate. There was a glint of fear in her eyes, but she stood tall.

  Thomas spun to William. The whole tribe was now looking at him. “You see? Does this sound like a Scab? She’s more honorable than you!”

  “She’s only agreeing to return to her vomit,” William said. “She’s not giving her life or anything as noble as you would imagine.”

  Thomas was furious. “Council! I call a council.”

  They just stared at him.

  “Now! Suzan . . .”

  “I’ll stay with Chelise,” Suzan said, stepping around William. “And I, for one, find this appalling.” She took Chelise’s arm. “I am with Thomas, whatever he says.”

  But Chelise wasn’t ready to go without her say. “Thomas, I insist—”

  “No!” He calmed his voice. “No, my love, no, no. I can’t let you go. Never. Not like this.”

  Then he turned and walked away without giving her the chance to argue.

  It was their second council in less than a week, and the circumstances were eerily similar. They dispensed with the seated discussion and settled for pacing and arm waving. Only their traditional call to Elyon even marked it as a true council meeting.

  “If you had listened to me, none of this would have happened,” William said. “Suzan may agree with you, but I’m sure not a single other member does.”

  “Then none of them has the true sense of Elyon’s love,” Thomas snapped.

  “Who can know his love?”

  “Surely you remember, William. All of you! Has it been so long since we watched Justin drown for us?”

  “Then let Chelise give herself as Justin did!” William shouted. “Woref may take some flesh from her hide, but he won’t kill her. Otherwise he will kill our friends.”

  “I’m not sure that Thomas is wrong,” Johan said.

  “Me neither,” Mikil agreed.

  “Then you’re as foolish as he.” He shoved a finger in the direction of the camp. “What would you suggest, that we all just lie down and die for this woman?”

  Thomas paced and ran both hands through his hair. “No. I suggest that I go in her place.”

  “He’s not asking for you.”

  “No, but we have three days.” The rough form of a plan gathered, and he spoke quickly. “If I ride hard, I can reach the city in a day and offer myself in exchange for the twenty-four.”

  William seemed taken back. “If Woref wanted you, he would have demanded you.”

  “Let him object. We have time! If Qurong refuses my offer, then we agree with his demands. But he’ll agree because he thinks like a Scab leader. He will find me far more valuable than twenty-four commoners.”

  “Then he’ll kill you,” Mikil said.

  “Not as long as you have Chelise. Think whatever you want about Qurong, but he cares as much for his daughter as he does my capture. Don’t you see?”

  William frowned. “Have you considered the possibility that this goes beyond simple negotiation with the Horde?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning this trouble started with your infatuation with a Shataiki whore. You’re acting like Tanis acted at the crossing. Maybe this is Elyon’s way of purging the Circle of this nonsense.”

  A tremble ran through Thomas’s hands. It was all he could do to keep them at his sides.

  “You speak once more against Chelise and I’ll trade you for the twenty-four,” Johan said. “Thomas is right. You’ve lost your sense of Elyon’s love. Perhaps you should try drowning again.”

  William scowled.

  “I’ll go with you,” Mikil said.

  “It will be—”

  “I don’t care how dangerous it is. You’ll need help with this.”

  “I will go as well,” Johan said. “There’s also the matter of the dreams.”

  “Forget the dreams! I’m not sure I trust William with Chelise. I need you to stay here to keep him away from her.”

  With a parting glance at William, Thomas walked away, ending the council. No need nor time for a formal decision. He’d made up his mind, with or without the council’s full agreement.

  Chelise hurried toward him as soon as he strode into view. “Please, Thomas. You have to let me go.”

  He held up a hand to silence her, then took her arm and led her around tall boulders that offered some privacy.

  “We’ve come to a decision.”

  “And what about my decision?”

  He took her shoulders and gazed into her eyes, fearful that she’d abandoned her love for him. She was being noble in this insistence of hers, yes, but she was also agreeing to leave him for Woref. He couldn’t bear the thought.

  “Listen to me.” He took a deep breath. “You know what will happen to you if you go back. Woref will never believe that I forced you to leave. He doesn’t have a believing bone in his body. The man lives for deceit, and he expects the same from everyone else. If he doesn’t end up killing you, he’ll do worse. You know it!”

  She searched his eyes. But she wasn’t talking, and that was good.

  “I have a plan. Now listen carefully—it can work; I know it can. Your father will trade me for the twenty-four and—”

  “No! No, you can’t do that! This is my problem.”

  “This is my problem! I can’t lose you!”

  “He’ll kill you!”

  “Not if you stay.”

  “Then he’ll brutalize you!”

  “I’m too valuable to him. It will buy us time. If you go back, it will be over. Please, I beg you. It’s the only way.”

  A tear ran from her eye, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “Promise me you’ll stay, for my sake. I promise we’ll find a way.”

  Chelise remained quiet, fighting her tears. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I can’t live without you, my love. I can’t.”

  “I feel lost, Thomas.”

  He held her, and she cried on his shoulder. “I have found you.”

  “I’m not like you. I’m a stranger here.”

  She was right, but he couldn’t bring himself to point out the obvious, that unless she drowned she would always be lost. There would be
time for that later.

  “Then I will be a stranger with you,” he said.

  She rested her forehead against his chest. Then she kissed his neck and held him tight, crying.

  It was her shame again, he thought. She still couldn’t understand or accept his love. His heart ached, but he could only hold her and hope that she loved him as much as he loved her.

  “You’ll stay?”

  “Promise me you’ll come back for me.”

  “I promise. I swear it on my life.”

  33

  Mikil and Thomas made it within a few miles of the Horde city before collapsing for badly needed rest. The moment Thomas fell into sleep, he awakened.

  Washington, D.C.

  He’d slept the night in the White House, but he’d lived . . . Thomas counted them off in his mind, one, two, three, four . . . four days in the desert, rescuing Chelise. To what end? To return to the city alone.

  To end up here, in this mess of a world. He was tempted to knock himself out and return to the larger matter at hand. Chelise.

  He forced his mind to focus on this world. He’d learned some things about Carlos and the Frenchman, hadn’t he? Yes, from Johan.

  The reality of the virus swelled in his mind. They were down to a couple of days. Carlos was the key.

  He swung his legs to the floor, walked to the door, and stopped short with the sudden realization that he hadn’t pulled on his jeans. Wouldn’t do to run through the White House in blue-striped boxer shorts.

  He dressed, brushed his teeth with a disposable toothbrush he found in the bathroom, and exited the room.

  It took him seven minutes to gain a private audience with the president. Chief of Staff Ron Kreet ushered Thomas into a small sitting room adjacent to the Oval Office. “I don’t know what you think you can do, and I can’t say I’m a big believer in dreams,” Kreet said, “but at this point I would take anything.” He raised his eyebrow. “You’re aware of the riots?”

  “What riots?”

  “Mike Orear from CNN said some things last night that sparked the crowd. They stormed the grounds. By the time the army had the situation under control, ten people were killed. Another seventeen in cities across the country.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not exactly a time for jokes. The president has addressed the nation twice since the riots began, both times with Orear. Things are quiet for the moment, relatively speaking. But fires are burning out of control in Southern California.”

  “What did he tell them?”

  Kreet walked to the door and opened it. “He told them that the United States would cooperate fully with France’s demands.”

  The chief of staff hadn’t yet closed the door when Robert Blair showed. “Thank you, Ron. I have it from here.”

  He stepped in and closed the door behind his back. Blair wore a yellow tie with a blue paisley print, loose at an open collar. His hair was disheveled, and large dark rings hung from both eyes.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. “Ron told you about the riots?”

  “It’s just the beginning,” Thomas said. “Are we secure in here?”

  “I had the room scanned thirty minutes ago.”

  “And?”

  “Microphone in the lampshade.”

  Thomas nodded. At least the president was taking all of this seriously. “How’s the rest of the world holding up?”

  Robert Blair sighed and walked to a navy blue wing-backed chair. “I have to sit. Where to begin? Suffice it to say that if we do find a way out of this mess, the damage to the world’s economies, cities, infrastructures, militaries—you name it—will take a decade to recover from, best case. Loss of life from collateral damage could reach into the hundreds of thousands if full-scale riots break out after this goes down tomorrow. The virus has started to flex its muscles—you do realize that.”

  Thomas sat stunned by this last piece of information. “The symptoms, you mean? I thought we had another five days . . . a week.”

  “Well, we were wrong. Evidently the first symptom is a rash. It’ll last a few days with any luck, but the team that went to Bangkok has already been hit.” He glanced at Thomas’s shirt. “You?”

  Thomas felt his side. “Last night . . .” He’d noticed a faint rash after waking in Bancroft’s laboratory, but not like Kara. “My sister has definite symptoms of the virus.”

  “And so does Monique. Gains . . . the whole team that went to Bangkok. There’ve been thousands of cases reported in Thailand and now in several other gateway ports. It’s a matter of hours before we get hit here.”

  The conclusion of this matter suddenly struck Thomas as inescapable. Until now, the Raison virus had been a blip on a computer screen. Now it was a red dot of rash. In a matter of days it would turn internal organs to liquid.

  He stood. “There’s no time—”

  “Please sit down,” Blair said in a tired but resolved voice.

  Thomas sat.

  “Did it work?”

  “In a matter of speaking, yes. Johan dreamed as Carlos. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember as much as I would have hoped.”

  “But he . . . got into his mind . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “And?” the president pushed.

  “And I’m almost certain that Fortier has no intention of giving you an antivirus that works.”

  “So we were right.”

  “Johan also seemed to think that the number of people who ended up surviving the virus would be much smaller than anyone imagines. My guess is that Fortier is planning on turning his back on both Russia and China as well as most of the nations who’ve capitulated at this point.”

  “Son of a . . .” The president closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Of course. What else did we expect?”

  Thomas stood again. “Which means that I’ve got to get back to France as soon as possible. Today. Now.”

  “You really think you have a chance at this?”

  “I have to reach Carlos. I know where he was last night; I’ve been there before. Fly me in at low level while it’s dark and I have a shot of getting in. Our best shot at the antivirus is to make Carlos dream with me. If Carlos wakes up in Johan’s mind, we’ll have a chance of winning him over.”

  The president slowly ran his hands over his face and then pushed himself up. “Okay. You’re right, but this could be the end. We’re out of time.”

  Thomas lowered his voice. “I’m assuming you won’t give them the nuclear weapons.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “The Israelis—”

  “They agreed.”

  Thomas walked toward the door. “Then get me to France.”

  The mood at Genetrix Laboratories had shifted visibly in the last twenty-four hours. The end was at hand, and they all knew it.

  The researchers couldn’t hide the sudden appearance of red spots. The Raison Strain.

  They wore long-sleeve shirts and blouses and slacks, but the rash on their necks was starting to show above their collars. Hope for an antivirus was evaporating as the rash spread. Monique herself still showed no rash, but she could feel her skin crawling, ready to break out at any moment.

  Thomas had called for Kara, who’d spent only a few minutes with him before he’d been whisked off somewhere. Kara was returning as soon as a chopper became available. She had nowhere else to turn other than New York, where her mother lived, but she didn’t want to leave the immediate area for two reasons, she’d said. One, in case Thomas needed her—for what, Monique could no longer imagine, but she was glad for Kara’s company, regardless.

  The second reason was more obvious.

  Monique rose from her desk and walked to the freezer. The small vial of Thomas’s blood rested on the top shelf by itself. She took it out and closed the door.

  With this blood she and Kara might find life. It seemed absurd, but she’d experienced this particular stripe of absurdity once before, and she would gladly do it again. They would wait
until the last moment, of course. After Thomas had finished whatever he was up to, Kara had said. Then they would apply this blood to their own, take some Valium, and dream a dream that lasted for as many years as they could manage.

  She sat down at her desk and turned the glass vial in her fingertips. What was so special about this particular blood? Dr. Bancroft had run it through the lab at Johns Hopkins, and it had come back with no unusual traits. No elevated white counts, no unusual levels of trace elements . . . nothing.

  Just red blood. Red blood that brought new life.

  She absently flicked the tube. A thought occurred to her.

  The door opened and Mark Longly stuck his head in. “The reports from the Bangkok lab just came in.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Your father wants you to call him after you’ve looked at them, but I don’t see anything.”

  “Antwerp?”

  “Just got off the phone with them. Nothing new. UCLA has isolated a seventh pair in the string they’re developing—it reacts in a fashion consistent with the others, but they’re at least a week away from knowing what they have.”

  Monique nodded. “Cross their data with the strand from Antwerp again, see what—”

  “Already have.” He stared at her blankly. They’d been through a hundred similar conversations in the last week. Always nothing. Or if it was something, it was a something that meant nothing within the time they had.

  “No use giving up now,” she said.

  Mark tried to smile, but it came off twisted. He closed the door.

  Monique returned her thoughts to the vial. You are my salvation. She stood and walked to the freezer. Before she put herself under whatever power this blood had to offer, she would have a look at it herself.

  But for now, she had a virus to defeat.

  Or not to defeat.

  34

  Mikil pressed her blade against the Scab’s neck. “Not a sound and you will live.”

  MShe’d taken the man from behind, and Thomas knew that she had no intention of cutting him, but she looked as though she might like to.

  “Nod your head!”