Chương 103

They followed the trail for another quarter mile. The rain stayed light, but it did not stop. Water gathered on the leaves above them and dropped cold against Louis's neck and hands. Donya walked close behind him. She had stopped praying aloud. Without her voice, Louis heard only rain, his own breathing, and the scrape of his cane on stone. Louis checked the phone once. The satellite signal was full. The battery showed eighty percent. There was no new message. Moisture smeared the screen where he kept touching it.

He put it back into his jacket.

"Anything?" Donya asked.

"No." She looked behind them. Nothing moved between the trees. They started climbing more sharply. Louis's knee hurt with each step, but he could manage it if he kept the cane low and his weight forward. Once he stepped on a slick root and nearly lost his footing. Donya caught his sleeve hard enough to pull the seam tight at the shoulder.

"Thank you," he said. She nodded and did not let go. Her hair lay wet against her cheeks, and her hoodie had darkened in the rain. They came out of the trees. At first Louis saw only the cross. It stood crooked between two trees, made from rough boards nailed together and painted white years ago. The paint had peeled in long strips, exposing gray wood beneath. Then he saw the church. The church was a small clapboard building with a tin roof. There were four windows on one side and a short porch in front.

The step was bent out of shape. The white paint was old and worn. Some of the lower boards had turned gray, and moss grew at the corners. A wooden sign hung over the door. The black letters on it had faded. GRACE HOLINESS CHURCH Donya stopped beside him.

"No," she said softly. Louis looked at her.

"I don't like churches in this country."

"Neither do I." She kept looking at the cross. Louis walked toward the building. She followed, one hand still holding the edge of his jacket. They crossed the little clearing. Louis saw several pairs of boot prints in the mud around the church. Water had started to fill them, but the shapes were still clear. He stopped at the porch and listened. He heard nothing inside. He pushed the door. The bottom scraped the floor, and the hinges squealed. Louis smelled damp wood and candle smoke.

Inside, little daylight came through the dirty windows. Four rows of wooden pews faced a low platform. There was a plain pulpit at the front, under a cross made from two beams. The walls had hand-painted verses on them. Donya stayed near the door. Louis moved slowly down the aisle. The pews were old, but someone had wiped dust from the center seats. A stack of hymn books was on the front bench. The covers were swollen from damp.

On the platform, a Bible lay open under a small stone to keep the pages from curling shut. Beside it were three candles. The wax still looked fresh.

"Who would come all the way out here?" Donya whispered.

"Someone who doesn't want to be found." Louis looked around the room.

"Or someone hiding something."

"Like what?" Her voice shook.

"Contraband, weapons, people. Hard to say until we look around." He glanced at her.

"Stay close." He turned to the Bible on the platform and checked between the pages. The book was open to Mark 16. He read a few lines. Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. He that believeth not shall be damned. In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them. He stopped reading. Donya had gone quiet behind him. The pages were dry and worn. The margin notes had faded.

Nothing had been hidden between the pages. The candle bases were plain clay. He picked one up and turned it over. Nothing was written underneath.

"Check the pews," he said.

"Look for loose boards or gaps." She went to the first row and bent down, running her hands under the seat. Louis moved to the back of the platform and looked behind the pulpit.

"There is nothing here," Donya said.

"Keep looking." He checked farther behind the pulpit. Behind the folding chairs and an old floor fan, he saw a narrow low door in the rear wall. Unlike the chapel door, its handle was clean. The wood around the latch was scratched. Someone used this door often. Louis moved the fan aside.

"Found something," he said. Donya stood up from the pews. She came to his side and looked at the low door. It was not much wider than a man's shoulders.

"What's behind it?" she asked.

"Let's find out." Louis opened the door and saw steep wooden stairs going down. The air below was colder. He smelled wet wood. He took the phone out and turned on the flashlight. He pointed it down the stairs. At the bottom, he saw packed earth and shelves.

"Stay behind me," he said. He went down carefully, using the cane in his right hand and holding the phone in his left. When the stairs narrowed, he touched the wall with his shoulder to steady himself. The stairs creaked but held. Donya followed close enough that when he reached the bottom, she nearly stepped on his heel. The underground room was low but wider than he expected. It looked like a storage cellar. Maybe still was. He saw wooden shelves along two walls.

They held old blankets, jars, broken lanterns, hymn books tied with twine, and two rusted kerosene heaters. Buckets and plastic chairs were stacked nearby.

"Is this all it is?" Donya asked.

"I don't know." He pointed the phone around the room.

"There could be a safe or a hidden room." Then Louis saw the boxes. Along the back wall, there was a row of knee-high wooden crates. Some had wire mesh on one side. Some had narrow slits cut into the lids. Most looked empty. One had a blanket draped over it. He crossed to the nearest and pulled the blanket away. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Something struck from the shadow under the shelf. He saw the snake only after it hit his wrist.

Two points broke the skin below the heel of his hand. He jerked back and slammed into the shelf. Donya screamed. The snake dropped to the dirt floor, twisted once in the phone light, and slid beneath the crates. Louis stared at his wrist. Two punctures. Blood welled from both. The pain was sharp and already spreading into his hand. Donya grabbed his arm.

"What was it?" He breathed through clenched teeth.

"A snake."

"Was it venomous?"

"I don't know." Her face went white. He set the phone on a crate with the light facing up, then pressed his other hand around the bite. He felt dizzy and fixed on Donya's hand gripping his arm.

"Let's get out of here," he said. She nodded quickly and picked up the phone. They turned for the stairs. They climbed too fast. His knee nearly failed on the fourth step, and he caught himself with his injured hand against the wall. He swore at the pain, and Donya pulled at his jacket until he got his weight under him again. The chapel looked brighter after the cellar. Donya slammed the cellar door shut.

"Sit down." She gestured to the front row.

"Let me see it." He sat. Donya took his wrist in both hands. Her fingers shook as she looked at the wound. Blood had run down toward his palm. The skin around the bite was already red. He could feel his pulse in it. Donya looked at her wet hoodie, then at his wrist. She turned away from him and pulled the hoodie down her arms. The cloth stuck for a moment at her elbows before she worked it free and dropped it on the chair beside him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Pressure," she said.

"And clean." She crossed her arms, caught the hem of her T-shirt, and pulled it over her head. Then she reached behind herself with both hands and worked the clasp of her pink bra open. The straps loosened. She pulled the bra off, turned back toward him, and folded it quickly in her hands. Her face was red. Louis saw her bare breasts before he could stop himself from looking.

They were full and round, heavier than he had expected under the wet hoodie and T-shirt, the skin smooth and pale in the gray light from the windows. Her nipples had tightened. She was breathing fast, and the movement made her breasts shift slightly as she stepped toward him.

"Give me your arm," she said. He stretched out his left arm. His wrist burned. Blood ran toward his palm. Even so, his cock hardened as she bent over him. Her breasts hung close to his face.

"Please don't look." Her voice shook as she folded the inside of one cup over the bite, and wrapped the strap around his wrist to hold it in place.

"Sorry." He did not turn away. Blood spotted through the fabric almost at once.

"Too tight?" she asked.

"Yes," he said through his teeth. She loosened the strap at once, fingers shaking, then tied it again. This time the pressure held without cutting into him as badly. She looked down at the bandage, then at his face. Her face was still red, and she was breathing hard. Then she grabbed her T-shirt and pulled it back on. The wet fabric clung to her at once. She looked around the chapel for anything useful. There was nothing. She looked back at the bite.

"You cannot die from this," she said. She sounded like she was praying.

"You cannot die now."

"I don't plan to." He tried to keep his voice steady.

"Help me up." She did. He stood. He felt dizzy for a second, then steadied himself. He took the cane and walked toward the door. Donya put on her hoodie and followed, staying close. The rain was harder now. It was still light, but it was enough to soak his jacket.

"We need to find a way back," he said. He spoke through his teeth.

"Maybe we should call the others," Donya said. She gave the phone to him.

"Right." He checked the Athena phone. The signal was still strong. Moisture covered the screen, and he wiped it with his sleeve. He opened the secure chat linked to the laptop back at the cabin. No new messages. He typed with one hand. It was slow. Snake bit me. Need help. We are on our way back. He sent it anyway. The screen showed delivered. That only meant the message had reached the laptop. No one would see it until the others got back to the cabin and opened it.

He opened the map app and traced the ridge line back to the broken bridge. His wet fingers slipped on the screen. He wiped it on his shirt, smeared blood across the glass, and kept going. He found another route through the forest. It curved around the ravine. It would take hours, and the mud would slow them down. It was that or nothing.

"We have to go this way." He showed Donya the screen. She looked at it, then at the forest, then back to him.

"Can you walk that far?"

"Yes," he said.

"We have to. Let's move." They moved. Donya took his injured arm above the bandage and set it across her shoulders. He kept the cane in his other hand and let her take some of his weight. Rain soaked through his jacket. His wrist throbbed under the bra. Each step made it hurt again, sometimes dull, sometimes sharp. He kept the cane low and tapped the ground before he stepped. Donya watched the ground and the trees. She was breathing fast but steadily. Within fifteen minutes, they lost the trail.

They found what might have been an animal path and followed it down toward a gully full of laurel and wet stone. Louis slipped crossing it and went down on one knee. Donya pulled him up. Her face was tight.

"I'm fine," he lied. She did not argue. They kept moving. His boots slipped on roots. Mud stuck to the cane each time he planted it. His wet jeans clung to his legs. His hand burned under the damp fabric while the rest of him went cold. He looked toward his injured hand once. The skin around the bite had swollen and tightened under the bra. He tried to flex his fingers and stopped because the movement pulled at the torn skin. At first it was only heat under his collar, strange because the rain was cold.

Then sweat gathered at his collar from the effort of staying upright. Then he shivered hard enough that his teeth clicked once. After that, he could not tell whether he was hot or cold. He did not mention it. Donya looked at him.

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold," he said.

"You need to rest." He shook his head and kept walking.

"Not yet." They went on. They started down the ridge. Louis could see farther between the trees, but the rain did not stop. His vision blurred at the edges. His hand throbbed all the time now. If he did not look at it, he could keep walking. Donya kept him upright and kept him moving. Her hoodie was soaked through. Her hair hung in wet strings across her forehead. She never let go of him. After nearly an hour, they came out onto a muddy logging road.

Louis could not tell whether it led back to the service lane or nowhere. He almost smiled, then forgot why. His vision blurred again. He could still recognize the trees, the rain, Donya's shoulder under his arm, and his bandaged wrist. But it took him longer to understand what he was seeing. He had to think harder to know which foot went next. Once he tried to put the cane down and discovered he was not holding it. Donya had it tucked under her other arm.

"Where is my cane?" he asked.

"I have it." She glanced at him.

"You dropped it." He did not remember dropping it. For a moment, that scared him. Then he forgot why. His boots sank into soft ruts filled with water.

"How far, Angi?" he asked. Donya looked at him. She did not correct him.

"Not much longer," she said, and pulled him onward. The next time he blinked, it was darker. It was almost evening. The rain was still falling. It was lighter now, but the ground was soaked.

"My father," Louis said. He tried to ask about the rescue, the route, the extraction. Instead he said, "He will come." Donya nodded.

"Yes."

"He won't leave us here."

"No. He will not." Rain ran down his face. He was not sure if his eyes were open enough. Donya half dragged him over a slick rise and stopped under a pine. The branches kept off little of the rain. She turned him to face her and put both hands on his shoulders. She looked at his face, then his eyes.

"Louis," she said.

"Stay with me. We are almost back."

"Where's everyone?" he asked. His mouth felt thick.

"Almost there." She tightened her grip on him.

"Can you walk a little more?" He tried to nod. The motion made him dizzy. He put his injured hand on the tree trunk to steady himself. Donya took it before he could stop her, pulling his injured arm away from the bark. He hissed, and she let go at once.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"I'm so cold," he said, not knowing why.

"I know." She took his good arm and put it back around her shoulders.

"Just a little farther." They followed the road around a bend. Louis saw lights through the rain. He could not tell if they were real. Cold and pain made his thoughts slow. He had to think before each step. Even then, his foot moved late. Donya made a sound that was almost a sob.

"Allah, please," she whispered.

"Please."

"Who is Allah?" he asked. His own voice sounded far away to him. She did not answer. They stumbled forward. Louis saw the lights more clearly now.

"Santa Monica," he said, and laughed once because he did not know why he had said it. Donya gripped him tighter.

"Louis—" His legs gave out. He went down before he could catch himself. His hand hurt hard once, then he barely felt it. Donya called his name again. He could hear her, but he could not focus on her face. Rain ran into his eyes. He tried to blink it away and failed. Then everything went black.