Solomon's Grave

gasoline. She pulled them off and threw them onto the bench beside her. Snippets of her short time at the podium came back to her. Had she lit the fire? No, she didn’t think so.

Josh was standing in front of her, facing the approaching flame with one hand raised to his face. Elizabeth reached forward and grabbed the back of his jacket. He might turn around and shoot her, but at the moment she didn’t care. He fell on top of her, a heavy, unresisting weight.

Nathan’s father smiled and squeezed his shoulders. “Nate!”

Quinn cradled the wrapped tablets like a child in one arm and held Nathan with the other. “Look at the flames, Art Dinneck. These are the flames of our god. He demands a sacrifice, and thus you shall give your first born unto him. Do it now! There is no more time. Do it!!”

The fire roared behind them. The heat was constant. Nathan’s head felt as if it were already on fire.

 “Josh!” Elizabeth screamed. “Wake up!” In the light of the fire his face looked red, sunburned. It probably was burned. He raised both his hands to his face.

He wasn’t holding the gun any longer.

A large section of burning ceiling cracked and fell onto the lost podium. The sprinklers cut out, their feeder line severed.

The heat was too much. Elizabeth crawled into the next pew and half-dragged Josh with her. He followed, reluctantly obedient but obviously still too confused to understand the danger. From somewhere a million miles away, Quinn’s crony, Paulson, was screaming. Josh looked around the church frantically, arms flailing as if coming out of a nightmare. Elizabeth figured that wasn’t too far from the truth. Once he joined her in the second pew, she turned to scream at Nathan that he could run. Her gaze moved past the threesome in the aisle to the flames and roiling white and black smoke filling the church and the fire ripping the dry wood apart with flaming hands.

There was a face in the midst of the fire. Elizabeth blinked, knowing it was an illusion.

It did not go away. It twisted, became more defined. A massive bull’s head with eyes of flame darker than those around it.

No no no no no no no! “Nathan!!!!!!!”

Chapter Seventy-One

Arthur Dinneck shouted, “Nate! Come on. We can get them if we hurry.” He pushed forward, toward the creeping fire, its furthermost edges only three feet away. Nathan tried to maintain his balance, but his hands were tied behind him. All he could do was dig his left foot into the carpet, push himself against his father’s chest. His ankle seared with pain from the fire crawling toward it.

Quinn laughed and shouted, “Now, Art! Now or never!”

“Dad!” Nathan screamed into his father’s face. “Dad, wake up!”

It was hot today, but as long as Nate was with him, Art would bear it. He held his son’s hand and pointed toward the two seats that were open behind the right field wall.

“Nate! Come on! We can get them if we hurry.” He was smiling, and so was Nate, but something still felt wrong.

Open your eyes, Arthur Dinneck.

It was his own voice, shouted from behind him, from everywhere.

The elusive nagging feeling of earlier was now an inferno in his mind. Flames roared up in front of him.

Hillcrest Baptist was on fire. He was holding Nate in his arms. Was he rescuing him? Nate, only twelve years old and already looking like a grown man. It was good to be here with him. The seats were empty. He had to hurry.

The church was burning. Something vile hovered in the air over the sanctuary.

Peter Quinn’s voice commanded, “Now, Art! Now or never!”

God, help me. What’s going on? He needed to throw Nate into the fire. Into the burning mouth which loomed right behind his son. He needed to do it now.

No!

Now! He had to do it now!

Nate shouted, “Dad! Wake up!” He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was grown.

Art needed to do what he was told.

Flames poured over the ceiling, ripping apart his church and his life. Beverly was in the kitchen now, waiting for him, crying. He’d left her again. Quinn worshipped a demon. He hadn’t cheated on anyone; it was just a movie on a television.

I’ve done nothing wrong.

I’ve done everything wrong.

*     *     *

“Now, Dinneck! Now!”

Peter Quinn knew that he had to get out of this building. But the first sacrifice had to be made. To have the treasure and not offer a gift of thanksgiving was sacrilege. He sensed the demon’s arrival, looming behind him. It waited impatiently for its sacrifice. Peter’s soul would be wiped dead if he failed. He was so, so, so close!

The heat was too much. He had to leave. Let them all burn, then!

One last chance. Dinneck had his son. The heat bathing them would kill before the fire ever did.

“Now, Dinneck!” he shouted, preparing to run down the aisle. Any power in his voice was lost under his own frenzy. “Now! Now! Now! Now!”

Art looked at him, and his eyes were suddenly clear. “My dear God,” he said. “What have I done?” Art grabbed his son, turned and threw him down the aisle, away from the fire. Before Peter could react, Dinneck turned back and took hold of him instead.

“Release me now!” Peter screamed, unable to focus his voice. He clutched the tablets tighter against his chest. Even with the heat surrounding him, he could feel their power. Ripping him apart. “Kill me and these go, too!”

The look of hatred and despair in Dinneck’s eyes told him it didn’t matter anymore. Art Dinneck wrapped his arms around him, the tablets between them. He lifted Peter off the floor. Gasping when the tablets pressed against him, he ran with Peter Quinn forward into the fire and the demon’s waiting mouth.

Chapter Seventy-Two

“Dad!” Nathan was on his back, unable to stop his father. He rolled over his bound hands until he managed to get to his knees. The flames tore down the aisle, devouring the first two rows of seats with the sound of a jet engine. The heat was a monstrous hand pushing him backward, toward the front doors. The upper section of wall separating the church from the second floor residence collapsed, fell burning along the side aisle. Two outlines danced amid the too-bright scene in front of him, bathed in a green and yellow haze more brilliant than the flames. After a few seconds, the world went white and he had to look away. The church was a vision of hell. He looked up and saw them again.

Nathan screamed and raised himself up to run into the flames, somehow needing to do so. His father, and the Covenant of God, the cause of all this death and horror, were lost there. When he glanced up a third time, the figures had fallen from view, the green glow was gone. Nathan heard a terrible screaming over the inferno’s laughter. One of the figures rose back up like a phoenix, spun crazily, then melted away.

Something sailed out of the fire. The sackcloth and its contents slammed against the pew one row away from him. Five feet away, the fire continued its forward crawl toward it. Though it had been in the center of the inferno, the sack had not burned, was hardly singed.

Nathan fell to his knees again. The world around him was spots and flashes, his vision burned away. He was empty. His father was gone. Nathan would simply wait now for the fire to reach him.

“Nate!” Elizabeth’s hands grabbed his jacket and fell beside him in a fit of coughing. “Oh, God, Nathan! Let’s go!”

His throat was too dry to respond. She pulled him back a step. He didn’t resist. She gave up trying to drag him and worked desperately at the knots around his wrists, as if he could not run without his hands. Josh crouched beside them. His expression was blank, but not without awareness. He looked like Nathan felt. Lost. Above them, smoke roiled like storm clouds, escaping through the open church windows. Not fast enough to keep it from filling