They laughed and swam for shore. When they arrived, Eric was alone. He dove underwater, searching, but his swimming only made the water muddy. The more he searched, the cloudier the water became, the less he could see.
Annie dead. A fact. Simple as a sunrise.
He had to fight the depression tugging at his body, draining his strength. There was still Timmy to save.
And Fallows to kill.
'Your son's safe, Lieutenant, Down there.' He pointed at Timmy, tied to an auditorium chair. For the first time, Eric's head was clear enough to take in the full situation.
He was standing on a board laid across two six-foot ladders. A noose was tight around his neck and his hands were tied behind his back. About five feet to his left, Cruz also stood, a noose around his neck, his hands tied. Eric studied the room.
'It's a church,' Fallows explained. 'Actually multi-denominational. Used as a synagogue on Saturdays and a Methodist church on Sundays. The rest of the week they split it up between them. At least used to.'
The room was huge, built as a modified A-frame with a ceiling that slanted upwards from two sides before joining fifty feet above. The steel girders were exposed at the top as was popular with these designs, painted a sedate blue for the industrial design effect. The rope around Eric's neck had been thrown over the two parallel girders, then dropped on the other side to be looped around Cruz's neck. They were to be hung by the same rope, the weight of the other keeping them suspended, choking.
The scaffold was on the altar overlooking the auditorium's rows of built-in seats. Behind them was a wooden cabinet where the Torahs were kept. One cabinet door had been torn off, the other hung by a stubborn hinge. The Torahs were gone, rescued by some of the faithful or destroyed by someone angry at the gods.
On either side of the altar, were long narrow windows that rose the full height of the wall to the ceiling. Fifty feet high, yet only three feet wide, the design of an architect who'd been told to cut a few thousand dollars out of the plans and had therefore made the windows three feet narrower, requiring less of the outrageously expensive stained glass. Both the rabbi and reverend had been pleased by this compromise. One of the windows was completely shattered, the stained glass in broken heaps on the floor inside and ground outside. The other was only half destroyed; for some strange physical reason the bottom half of the window had broken along the leaded design while the top half remained, filtering out the orange sunrise beyond. The designs on the remaining glass were modernistic to the point of abstract, meant to offend neither group sharing the building. Something like two blue boxes that might have been the Ten Commandments. Three intersecting triangles that resembled either Mt. Sinai or a dove in flight.
'Like the good old days, eh, Eric?' Fallows said, tapping his bayonet against his open palm. He stood to the side, the board not being wide enough to stand in front. He reached out with the point of the blade and ran it Lightly along Eric's scar, the blade making scraping noises as it brushed whiskers around the scar. 'Nasty accident. Wish I could say this was the same bayonet, just for irony's sake, but I'm afraid I left that baby buried in the belly of a Cong. Same day you had your little accident.' He moved deftly to the end of the scaffold, the board quivering with each step, threatening to tip over. Fallows climbed down the ladder and stood in front of them looking up at his handiwork. He nodded with satisfaction. 'Ingenious. And what's more, good theatre.' He laughed. 'Too bad you sent your friends chasing my troops, Eric. I was hoping to capture them too. They would have made a fine audience. I don't think Tim and I will be able to stay for the complete performance. I think it wise to put some distance between everything that's happened here and us.'
'I'll find you,' Cruz said, his voice calm. Not a threat, a fact.
'Not much on dialogue, is he, Eric. But somehow effective. At least he didn't say, 'You can run but you can't hide.' '
'I'll find you,' Cruz said again. His repeating it made it even more ominous, and for a moment. Fallows looked shaken.
But it passed quickly. 'Maybe, Cruz. But you'll have to kill Eric first. You see, whether he wants to or not, he's going to protect me from you; and you're going to protect me from him.'
'With our hands tied?'
'Back up to each other and pull the free cord. They'll come undone.'
They walked backwards toward each other, shuffling carefully along the narrow board, fingers groping at their ropes. The noose around their necks stretched tautly, choking each while he worked. Eric's fingers were the more nimble, unfastening Cruz's rope first. But Cruz's rough yank untied the rope around Eric's hands, though not without a couple rope burns on his wrist.
'What's to stop me from killing him now?' Cruz said.
'The same thing that's stopping you from removing your nooses. This gun.' He patted the P-38 in its holster. 'Now, when I knock this scaffold down, you'll both be dangling by your necks. Of course, with your free hands, you can hoist yourself up and not strangle. But that brings you a couple problems. There's only a few feet between you. Arm's length. Not being the best of friends, that could be a complication. Also, being tied to the same rope, it will be difficult to get much leverage to climb too high.'
'What else?' Eric said.
'Pardon?'
'I know you, Fallows. What's the twist here? You know that once one of us kills the other, he'll come after you. You're not about to take that chance.'
Fallows laughed heartily, his pale blue eyes almost as white as his hair. 'You know me too well, Eric.' He reached behind the seats of the front row and lifted two five-gallon cans of gasoline. 'I know that Salvadore won't miss these too much. And it should be some indication to you both how dangerous I consider you to be willing to waste such a valuable commodity just to kill you. But what the hell, what price art? Right?'
He opened the cans, sloshed the gasoline over the carpeted altar, soaking the floor, the ladders, the seats. He felt the plastic upholstery of the seat. 'I wonder if this is the kind that gives off that poison gas when it burns?' He shrugged, slit the upholstery, poured gasoline over the stuffing. 'Don't worry about the kid, Eric. He goes with me. Unfortunately we won't be able to enjoy this to the end. But fires tend to be a bit stifling. And I don't want to be around in case the flames bring the usual scavengers. Remember how they used to come in Nam, Eric. Picking through the bones of a burnt-out village like surgeons probing for tumors.'
'Look for me, Fallows,' Cruz pointed. 'After Ravensmith, you.'
Fallows' face clenched as he threw the gas cans to the floor and snapped almost to attention. Standing there now, his mouth twisted to a scowl, his glacial eyes glaring, he looked perfect. The ultimate soldier, strong, tough, smart. Ruthless. He sneered at Cruz. 'You overgrown asshole. Did you really ever think I'd let you get away with insubordination? We may not be regular army, but we are still soldiers. And you are still my subordinate, Sergeant. Now it just so happens we're an army without a country, which makes me the only law. So when you're disrespectful to me, you commit treason. Understand?'
'Just keep looking over your shoulder, Fallows,' Cruz said.
Fallows shook his head impatiently. 'You can see what I was up against, Eric. He had potential. I mean the man kills the way rain falls. Indiscriminantly. Without interest. Like breathing. But he has no loyalty. Like you.
Eric said nothing.
'Well, there are so many appropriate phrases from Shakespeare, I don't know which to use.' He reached into his pocket, pulled out a box of wooden matches, and struck one on the side of the box. He held the flaming match in one hand, slipping the box back into his pocket. 'Let's see. How about one for your son, Eric? Because in a few minutes he's going to be an orphan. But don't worry, I've decided to adopt him and raise him as my own. Much in the same way you did when his father died.' He looked over his shoulder at Timmy. 'This one's from Romeo and Juliet, but it'll play here. 'Deny thy father, and refuse thy name.' ' He laughed and tossed the match into the air.
The flame brightened with the rush of oxygen, burning like a comet as it splashed into the gasoline-soaked floor. A whoosh of fire sprang up from the ground like a mutant plant. Fire sprouted everywhere, from chairs, carpeting, the wooden railing around the altar. Even the ladder and scaffolding crackled with flames. Smoke swirled around their feet. With a clatter of popping explosions, the ladders collapsed in flames, dropping the board out from under their feet. But each man had already gotten a hold of his own noose with both hands, pulling up on their arms to support their weight. Their legs dangled in the air.
Eric saw Fallows running up the aisle, grabbing Timmy out of his seat, and dragging him toward the door.
