Thief Of Souls

“Hold on, son,” said the guard. “No one’s going to—'

Okoya reached them, and wasted no time. He took the guard out with a single punch to his Adam’s apple. The guard crumpled, and Drew took off again, climbing the waist-high stone guardrail on the canyon side of the dam. Drew balanced himself precariously, as Okoya grabbed for his feet. Then Drew leapt—disappearing over the edge.

It was almost eight hundred feet to the bottom of Black Canyon, and Okoya was sure that Drew had taken his own life, saving Okoya the trouble . . . until Okoya climbed the guardrail, and saw Drew heading down a narrow flight of metal stairs leading to a cat­walk that hugged the dam’s curved face. Okoya re­sumed his pursuit. Down below, Drew reached a rusted metal door in the middle of the massive face of the dam—it was where the catwalk ended. Okoya practi­cally glided down the steps toward him as Drew kicked the door again, and again, until its rusted lock gave way, and the door burst inward into darkness.

Okoya frowned. Luck had no business being with this boy tonight, and Okoya resolved to make Drew’s end doubly cruel because of it. Okoya followed him into the narrow concrete-lined access corridor. Its walls were wet with seepage and there were no lights in the tight, claustrophobic space. The distant vibrations of the power plant down below made it impossible for Okoya to hear Drew’s footsteps. He knew Drew would head toward the power plant, where there would be night workers to hide behind.

Fine, thought Okoya. See how he does in the dark.

Okoya strode forward, confident within the blind­ness . . . . For darkness was not a stumbling block to the Bringer, but a comfort, and a reminder of home.

***

Michael and Tory arrived at the dam five minutes behind them, and as they reached the road, they saw Drew and Okoya immediately. Their moving figures on the catwalk stood out across the halogen-lit face of the dam. Tory was about to race toward them, but Michael grabbed her hand.

“No,” he said. “This way.” And he thanked God for the fact that his father was a heavy gambler, for he had dragged Michael to Las Vegas countless times as a child, and had visited Hoover Dam more than once. He remembered enough to know that the best way into the dam wasn’t through the dam itself, but through an el­ evator shaft in the adjacent Visitors Center, that de­scended 520 feet into the bedrock of the canyon.

They broke out a window of the Visitors Center, climbed through, quickly found an elevator, and began a long drop into the bowels of the Earth.

***

Drew raced blindly though the black corridors, smashing into walls, his hands out in front of him. He tumbled down a staircase, slipped down some sort of spillway, then plummeted through a shaft that depos­ited him in an unseen, foul-smelling muck. With hands stretched before him, he groped forward until finding a hint of light, which led him to yet another stairway heading down.

Finally, Drew came flying out through an open gate and landed with a metallic clang against a platform that hung above the massive, moaning turbines of the great power plant. He could hear the rush of water, as Lake Mead once again became the Colorado River, surging through the powerful turbines, generating electricity. As he had hoped, there were workers down there—enough to protect him. Even if they didn’t believe a word of his story, at least he would be safe.

He made a move to head down the ladder, when he was grabbed from behind. He turned, and Okoya, not even winded from the chase, gripped Drew by his shirt, lifted him up, and held him out over the platform rail­ing. Drew screamed, trying to draw the attention of anyone down below, but the drone of the generators was just too loud for him to be heard. Now the only thing keeping Drew from falling to his death was Okoya’s angry grip.

“Please!” begged Drew. “I’ll do anything, anything! I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’ll spy on Michael and the others for you—would you like that? Just please, please don’t hurt me!”

“Your cowardice disgusts me.”

Drew was certain that Okoya would release his grip and let him die a painful, coward’s death. But instead, something else happened.

Red tendrils lashed out from Okoya’s eyes, gripping something deep within Drew . . . tearing it from him . . . and in that moment, Drew Camden ceased to exist.

***

Michael and Tory arrived just in time to see it hap­pen, and there was nothing they could do.

“Put him down!” screamed Michael. The soulless Drew still squirmed in panic in Okoya’s grip, his legs dangling out over the generator floor fifty feet below.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” said Okoya. “He’s a traitor! He tried to sabotage Dillon’s plan.” He lifted Drew back over the railing, and dropped him on the platform. Drew scrambled away to a safe corner behind Michael and Tory.

“Stop the lies,” Tory said. “We know what you are.”

Okoya then flashed them his superior grin. “Do you?”

“I’ve seen the soulless shells you leave behind,” Mi­chael said, taking a step closer. His legs shook, and his muscles felt as if they’d been flayed, but he forced him­self to stand firm against Okoya.

Okoya dropped all pretenses then. “Your kind dines on flesh,” he said; “mine dines on spirit. Are we all that different?”

“We’re nothing like you,” growled Michael.

“Are you so sure?” Okoya got a radar fix on Mi­chael’s eyes, as he had done so many times before. “You, Tory, and the others have now risen to the top of the food chain . . . just like me.” He looked at Tory. “Feeling hungry, Tory? Feeling dirty? You’ve grown beyond the need for normal food—you know that, don’t you?”

Tory took a shuddering step back.

“And what about you, Michael? There’s no strength left in you at all. I can give you what you hunger for—the food of the gods—if you’re willing to admit to yourself how much you desire it.”

Then Okoya cupped his hands before him, and Mi­chael watched as the pores in Okoya’s arm opened up, spilling forth a red, glowing perspiration that rolled in rivulets down his wrists, and into his cupped hands, becoming a thick, viscous pool of liquid light. Okoya’s high-energy diet.

“It can be anything you want it to be, Michael. A musical feast for your ears, a perfect texture you can feel against your flesh, an aromatic salve, or a banquet fit for a king. Whatever sense you choose to feed.” The pool of light in Okoya’s hand then changed, becoming silver and reflective. “Or perhaps you’d like to feast your eyes on a vision of your own’ future.”

And as Michael gazed into the silver pool, it became a window, and Michael could not look away. Cupped in Okoya’s hands, he saw a shimmering city. Glorious spires beneath crystal-clear skies. A place that did not yet exist . . . but would.

“They will build entire cities to you, Michael. Thousands of gleaming towers lovingly erected to your name.”

There was a magnificent dwelling, open to the sky, because the elements of nature had no hold over this place. In the center of all this, surrounded by an opu­lence that made Hearst Castle seem like costume jew­elry, Michael saw himself, clothed in light, surrounded by thousands—millions—who lived only to satisfy his pleasure, whose greatest joy was to be in his presence, deep within the inner core of his powerful sphere of influence.

“Why not satisfy all your senses at once?” Okoya brought his hands forward, and Michael found himself cupping his own hands to receive the liquid vision.

“Michael, don’t!”

But he could barely hear Tory’s voice anymore. The vision poured from Okoya’s hands into Michael’s, not a bit of it spilling. The image in the surface shimmered, but the vision stayed in focus. He could hear it now: the sounds of worship. Singing voices—Okoya’s music multiplied a thousandfold. He could smell the future—a luscious aroma of all his favorite foods swirled into one. He longed to take this vision inside him. To drink it in, to taste it. To feel it flow through him, infusing him with the strength of his own future. It was every­thing Michael had ever craved. All he had to do was take it in . . .

But as he gazed at it, as he listened, there was some­thing else he heard there,