Downey straddled Patrick, pressing his boot to the amputee’s bleeding left deltoid. “Where’s the rest of the vaccine?”
“I sent it to your mother as a thank-you for last night.”
The Ranger wound up to kick Shep in the face when Virgil, lying on the ground beside him, grabbed his ankle. “He inoculated these survivors. Take them with you, they remain plague-free.”
“No one’s going anywhere, old man.” Downey activated his internal headset. “Serpent to base, we’ve acquired the Scythe vaccine.”
“Well done. We’ll meet you at the extraction point in five minutes.”
“Roger that. Okay, people, let’s move!” The Rangers double-timed it back to their vehicles—
— as a black Chevy Suburban skidded to a halt in front of the Hummers, causing the men to aim their assault weapons. A woman wearing a cloth mask climbed out of the driver’s seat, her hands raised. “Don’t shoot! I’m with the Secret Service. I have Secretary of Defense Bertrand DeBorn in back. We’re to be part of your extraction.”
Downey opened the back door of the Suburban, gazing at the white-haired man, who appeared to be unconscious. “It’s him all right. And he’s got full-blown Scythe. Load him on board, we’ll get him into a Racal suit back at the docks.”
“What about her?” One of the Rangers pointed to Sheridan Ernstmeyer.
“She goes, too.”
The female assassin breathed a sigh of relief.
Across the park, a slight figure in a white Racal suit stepped out from behind a statue. The Tibetan monk removed his hood, his opaque eyes glittering like diamonds at Bertrand DeBorn.
The secretary of defense gurgled on a larynx full of blood, tumbling from the open rear door of the Suburban.
One of the Rangers checked for a pulse. “He’s done.”
“Leave him, we’re running out of time.” Major Downey climbed into the front seat of the lead Hummer.
“Wait!” Sheridan Ernstmeyer grabbed at the closing door. “What about me?”
“Sorry, lady. Looks like your ticket out of here just croaked.”
Before she could react, the two military vehicles executed wild U-turns across the snow-covered park lawn, skidding their way back down Worth Street.
To the east, the slice of horizon beneath the false brown ceiling of clouds had turned gray, summoning the dawn. Retrieving their clothing, the accosted survivors dressed quickly, shivering in the cold.
Patrick dressed, his mangled left shoulder on fire. With his bare right hand, he gathered a clump of snow to press against the wound — revealing a small in-ground plaque:
“These are the times that try men's souls…"
Thomas Paine.
Paolo comforted his wife, covering her with his overcoat. “It’s all right. God will not abandon us in our hour of need.”
“Wake up, Paolo. Look around you. God has abandoned us.”
“You should restrict your tongue from negativity. Especially with a child to be born.”
Francesca turned to see the bizarre-looking Asian. “Who the hell are you?”
Gelut Panim offered a slight bow. “A humble servant of the Light.”
Pankaj looked up. Seeing the Elder, he rushed over. “How?”
“It’s not important.” The monk scanned the group. “I seek the righteous one. Where is he?”
Heads turned as a yellow school bus barreled around Centre Street, skidding to a halt.
The front door squeaked open, releasing an ominous figure dressed in black.
The women screamed.
David Kantor removed his face mask. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you. I saw the military vehicles drive off, and—”
“Dad?”
David turned, his heart pounding in his throat as his eyes sorted through a crowd of scantily clad women—
— finding his lost lamb. “Gavi? Oh, God, thank you.” He rushed to her, sweeping her up in his arms like a rag doll, crushing her in his embrace, his daughter weeping uncontrollably. “I was so scared. I’ve been looking for you! I went to your school—”
“They kidnapped me! They beat me. Daddy, I was so scared—”
“Who beat you?” He looked at her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. That man saved me. The man with one arm.” She pointed at Patrick, sitting slumped over on a park bench.
David stared at the gaunt figure. “Shep?”
“Daddy, you know him, don’t you? I saw a picture of you with him in Iraq.”
“Gavi, get on the bus. Get all these girls with you aboard, too.” David watched her go, then walked over to the bench, pushing past a small Asian and an old man.
“Shep, it’s D.K.”
Patrick looked up, his eyes swimming in pain. “Who?”
“David… Dr. Kantor. Don’t you recognize me? We spent three deployments together.”
“David?” Shep sat up, the pain snapping him awake. “What are you doing here?”
“The Guard sent me here looking for you. For the vaccine. That girl you rescued, she’s my daughter. Buddy, I owe you big-time.”
Patrick wiped back tears. “Wish I could have saved my own daughter. Bastards took the vaccine before I could get it to her.”
“Your daughter? Oh, geez.” David turned to the old man. “Are you a friend of his?”
“I’d like to think so. Patrick’s memory isn’t so good. Maybe you could help him?”
David sat on the bench next to his fellow vet. The others gathered around. “Shep, how could the vaccine help Donna?”
“Donna?”
“Your daughter.”
Shep’s eyes grew wide in recognition. “Donna. My little girl’s name… is Donna. I remembered Beatrice, but for the life of me—”
“Who’s Beatrice?”
“My wife. You know that.”
“Shep, did you get married while you were in the hospital?”
“David, come on… Beatrice! The only woman I ever loved. The mother of my child… my soul mate.”
David looked to the others, then placed his arm on Patrick’s good shoulder. “The surgeon said the explosion damaged your memory, but there was no telling how bad. Shep, I don’t know who this Beatrice is, but the woman you told me was your soul mate… her name was Patty. Patricia Segal.”
Patrick paled, the blood draining from his face.
“You used to call her Trish. I suppose it sort of sounds like Beatrice. Shep, the two of you never got married. You were engaged… there were wedding plans, but then her dad — your high-school baseball coach — he got sick. The cancer took him right before the Red Sox called you up. Right before the accident.”
An icy shiver ran down Patrick’s spine. “What accident?”
Across the park, the Grim Reaper stared at him… waiting.
David looked to Virgil, who nodded. “Go on, he needs to hear it.”
“Shep, Trish and Donna were aboard the flight from Boston… the one that struck the World Trade Center. Buddy, you lost your family on September 11.”
Francesca clutched her husband’s arm, doubling up with a contraction. Dawn swooned. Manisha grabbed her daughter before she fainted.
Patrick Shepherd’s chest constricted so tightly, he could not breathe.
And in that moment of revelation, a decade of pent-up psychological trauma suddenly released, freeing the synapses within his damaged cerebral cortex as if they were the clogged gears of a clock—
— and suddenly he remembered.
He remembers sprinting down Trinity Place after the second tower was hit.
He remembers thick brown smoke pouring into the heavens. People falling from the sky.
He remembers Trinity Cemetery and the funeral for his soul mate and his young daughter. He remembers filling their empty coffins with their belongings… everything put to rest beneath the sculpture of an angelic child… the very tombstone the Grim Reaper had been motioning at hours earlier.