Francesca Minos clutched her swaddled newborn inside her coat, using her body heat to warm her son. “What are we supposed to do now?”
Paolo shielded his wife and child from the wind. “We’ll just have to find another boat.”
“There are no other boats,” yelled David. “There’s no way off the island short of swimming, and you wouldn’t last two minutes without a wet suit.”
Dawn Patel was seated on a park bench next to her mother, the girl examining Patrick Shepherd’s detached prosthetic arm. “Mother, this is so strange. Look at how these Hebrew letters are grouped together in threes.”
“May I?” The Tibetan monk offered a disarming smile. Pankaj joined him, looking over the Elder’s shoulder at the engraved letters. “This is most amazing. The letters are not written in Hebrew, this is Aramaic.”
“Who cares?” Manisha retorted. “Pankaj, come and be with your family.”
“In a moment. Elder?”
“Pankaj, Aramaic is a metaphysical tool used by the Creator. It is the only language that cannot be understood by Satan.”
“These letters… they were not there earlier.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I helped carry Patrick from Belvedere Castle after he saved my family. The engraving was not there, I am quite sure. Can you read the message?”
“It is not a message, Pankaj, nor are these translatable words. What has been inscribed upon the steel are the 72 names of God.”
“What did you say? Let me see!” Paolo left his wife and newborn son to join them. “How do you know they’re the 72 names?”
“I scan these words every day. Each of the letters comes from three encrypted verses in Exodus 14, lines 19 through 21. The Torah portion describes Moses’s parting of the Red Sea.”
Paolo took the steel limb from the Tibetan. Stared at the pattern of letters. “It wasn’t Moses. Virgil said it was actually a man of deep faith who parted the Red Sea.”
“You are correct. The true story of the Israelites escaping bondage had nothing to do with slavery, it was all about escaping chaos and pain and suffering. The parting of the Red Sea was not a miracle, it was a manifestation, an effect caused by the ability to use the 72 names engraved on Moses’s staff as a supernal tool to control mind over matter.”
“Elder, do you think Patrick was the righteous one chosen by God to offer mankind salvation?”
David approached with Gavi. “What are you two talking about?”
“Your friend’s involvement with the End of Days may serve a higher calling,” Pankaj explained.
“Look, fellas, I don’t know anything about this End of Days stuff, but I knew Patrick Shepherd, and trust me, he was far from a righteous man.”
Paolo stared at the steel limb. His body trembled. His mind raced… deliberating.
Francesca approached with the baby. “Paolo, what is it?”
“Wait here.” Gripping the prosthetic device, he headed for the water.
“Paolo, what are you doing? Paolo, are you crazy?”
The survivors gathered around Paolo, who held the prosthetic steel arm to the heavens. He hesitated. Then walked resolutely down the concrete boat ramp and into the harbor.
The near-freezing water hit him like a jolt of electricity, driving the air from his lungs, turning his blood and limbs to lead. He floundered in waist-deep water, then abruptly stepped off an unseen ledge and plunged underwater.
Francesca screamed.
Her husband’s head reappeared seconds later. Paralyzed by the cold, he gasped for air as he struggled to swim back to the ramp. David and Pankaj reached out for him, dragging the devout man to safety.
Gavi ran back to the bus to fetch blankets.
Sheridan Ernstmeyer laughed. “So much for divine intervention.”
The Tibetan monk approached Paolo, who was kneeling by the water’s edge, struggling to catch his breath. “Mr. Minos, why did you attempt to part the harbor’s waters? What made you believe yourself worthy of such a task?”
“The 72 names… I believed the story to be true.” The Italian was shaking uncontrollably, his face deathly pale, his lips purple. He looked up at Gelut Panim, completely lost. “I did as Virgil said. It didn’t work.”
“The crossing was a test of certainty, not faith.”
“I don’t understand?”
“You have faith, my friend, but your moment of hesitance revealed that you expected to fail. Certainty is more than prayer, it is knowing. There is a story of a man of faith who was climbing down from the face of a mountain at night when his strength gave out. Hanging by his two hands, freezing to death as you are now, he called out to God to save him. God answered by instructing him to let go. The man released one hand, but he was too afraid to obey. Instead, he called out into the night for help from another. The villagers found him the next morning, frozen to death, hanging five feet off the ground.”
Gavi handed a wool blanket to the shivering man. “Who are you to judge the depths of my faith? I walked straight into the water. I let go with both hands!”
“I meant no insult. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac… that was a test of certainty. You merely went for a foolhardy swim.”
“Dad, look!” Gavi pointed to the southwest over Liberty Island, where three military helicopters had appeared on the horizon. “Are they coming to rescue us?
David swallowed hard. “No honey. Not this time.”
Leigh Nelson was yanked from her sleep, the physician violently dragging her off the Army cot and onto her feet, where she was confronted by Captains Jay and Jesse Zwawa.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You lied to us, lady.”
Leigh felt her blood pressure drop. “Lied about what?”
“The Scythe vaccine. We analyzed it.” Jay Zwawa thrust a half-empty vial into her hand. “It’s nothing but water.”
“What? That’s impossible—”
Jesse Zwawa signaled to the guard. “Take this traitor outside and shoot her.”
Marquis Jackson-Horne had shed his gang colors but not his gun. The eighteen-year-old cornrowed Latino gang member and his seven-year-old sister joined the survivors of Scythe, everyone watching the western horizon as three dark gunships began a long circle, following the New Jersey coastline to the north.
Marquis nodded to Pankaj. “Ya’ll here to get rescued?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He glanced at the shivering Italian wrapped in a blanket. Saw the prosthetic arm lying in the snow by his side. “Yo, what happened? Where’s the one-armed man?”
“You knew Patrick?”
“He gave me the vaccine. Cured me and my little sis. Where he at?”
Pankaj looked the gang leader in the eyes. “He’s with his family.”
Paolo was with his family, but his thoughts were occupied by the sting of the Asian man’s words. All his life he had lived by the laws of the Catholic Church. Attended Mass. Taken communion and tithed when he could barely afford it. He had fed the homeless and confessed even his most minor transgressions. Now, in the last moments of his life, to be told he was not worthy… to be told he harbored doubts!
Leaving Francesca and his infant son, he stalked after the Tibetan monk. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you possess knowledge of the 72 names. Use them to save us!”
“Sadly, I cannot. Long ago, I made the decision to abuse the knowledge for my own selfish needs. As such, I am far from righteous.”
“Then teach me! Tell me what to do!”
“I already have.” The Elder’s opaque eyes glistened. He placed a reassuring hand on Paolo’s shoulder. “Think of it as a baptism.”