We haven’t slept. My lungs burn, my calves are trying to murder me, and my hands want to shake. But I tighten my grip on my M4.
I’m coming, Grace. Hold on just a little longer.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Grace
All day, I’ve kept up the ruse. Lie in the narrow bed, moan and convulse whenever Brother Malone checks on me, then wait until his footsteps fade away to crawl to the bathroom and drink another glass of water.
My left eye is bruised and swollen from the surgery, and the pain slicing through my skull is sharp enough, it takes all my energy not to cry. But whatever Abe gave me this morning has left me feeling stronger.
Close to sunset, he returned with a bowl of broth for me. I couldn’t even look at it. But then he produced a roll from his pocket, and that tasted like heaven. I finished the last of the bitter charcoal tincture not long after. But if Abe can’t dilute Prophet’s holy wine, I doubt it’ll be enough to save me.
I watch at the window until my neck burns from the sheer effort of holding my head up, praying I’ll see Parker. That Abe will be able to get her out of that damn box. But the one time I saw him shuffle in that direction. Brother Vincent stopped him. They argued for a full two minutes. Eventually, Abe walked away, his head bowed, shoulders hunched, and returned to the barn.
Not long after darkness blankets the compound, the clerics light the lanterns, then toss kindling into the pit all around the altar and set it ablaze.
It takes less than ten minutes for the flames to rise a good five feet. The air tastes of smoke, the sickly sweetness of oleander, and my own fear.
I wish I could hear AJ again. I whisper his name into the dark until my throat is raw, but my voice is clear.
They come for me like they did before. Brother Malone and Brother Vincent. They don’t care that I’m shaking in the bed. Each man takes an arm so they can drag me down the stairs, my bare toes catching splinters from the rough boards.
We stop in Prophet’s living room. One of his wives comes in, holding ropes braided with so many oleander flowers, I can barely see the white and gold threads.
My hands are tied in front of me, tight enough my fingers go numb almost immediately.
A crown of red, white, and pink oleander flowers is forced down on my head. It scratches against the fresh wound from my surgery, and I whimper a little.
Abe slips in, his gaze pinned to the floor. The cup of “wine” is so dark, it’s almost green. He passes it to Prophet. “Twice as strong. As you requested. The rest is at the altar.”
“How long will it take at this concentration?” Prophet asks.
“Minutes. But when she goes into convulsions, you will need to spill her blood quickly.” Abe’s dark eyes meet mine. Do I imagine his nod?
Brother Malone yanks my head back by my hair, and Prophet pours the drugged grape juice down my throat.
I don’t fight him. There’s no point. It wouldn’t buy me more than thirty extra seconds of life.
Terror seizes my muscles. If Abe failed, I’m going to die with AJ close enough to watch.
“Bring her,” Prophet says, and Brother Malone tosses me over his shoulder. The oleander starts to work its way through my system. The stomach cramps are first. So sudden and violent, I’d vomit if I had the strength. Then my legs and arms join in. I cry out in pain, but no one cares.
Two of the other clerics—including Prophet’s son—lay stone planks across the flames. Brother Malone carries me over the fire, then dumps me onto the altar with all the care one would show a sack of potatoes.
My arms are bound tightly over my head. My ankles tied down. The heat of the flames licks at my feet. The smoke stings my eyes.
Like a slow tide, the poison steals the world away. Cramps squeeze from my calves, up to my thighs, my back, my chest. My fingers clench against the ropes. The world starts to spin in soft, lazy arcs. Every one takes more from me.
White lights explode in my vision. Then the dark spots follow. Soon, I can see nothing but a dozen different shades of gray.
My heart flutters in odd patterns. Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow. Sometimes skipping beats entirely. Then slowing into a molten rhythm that weighs my entire body down.
My breath saws weakly in and out of my chest.
Where are you, AJ?
I try to call his name, to beg for help, but the words collapse on my tongue. It hurts everywhere at once. Like someone turned my body inside out.
