At the Outpost of Fate

CHAPTER 20 — THE CHILDREN OF GOD

The last remaining survivors of Flight 19 were the only remaining obstacle to freedom, not because they were still enslaved to Schadel's hypnotic command, but rather because the puppet strings had been cut. They had awakened from a nightmare to find themselves on a narrow stone bridge, over an evidently bottomless abyss, in the middle of what seemed to be an earthquake.

Something was happening on the other side of the arch; something that even Newcombe with all of his scientific expertise would probably never be able to fully explain. Perhaps it was the sheer weight of so many entities in one place or perhaps it was a result of the energy they drew from the earth's magnetic field. Whatever the cause, the basilica seemed to be wrenching itself free of the cave system.

Enormous cracks shot through the blank wall surrounding the arch and a few of the fissures spread to the bridge. There was no time to explain any of this to the confused passengers and barely even enough time to grab them by the hand and lead them to safety. But, despite the urgency of the situation, they responded sluggishly. For almost a week, their minds had been switched off and during that time they had eaten little if anything and had endured considerable physical punishment, much of it at the hands of the very people who were now trying to save them.

Molly pushed away from Dodge in order to marshal the escape. She ran through the group, telling everyone she passed to follow her. Winterbourne, although not as spry, managed to motivate a few more with his commanding voice. Dodge, stayed to the rear of the throng, shouting a seemingly paradoxical exhortation to "Stay calm! Run for it!" while Hurley swept up in his arms those few too paralyzed with fear or exhaustion to heed the message.

The shaking seemed to increase with each step and before Dodge was even halfway across, the lurch of stone underfoot made movement nearly impossible for the haggard group of survivors. Dodge saw one of them, a middle-aged woman, pitch sideways, toward the edge and dove to arrest her fall. He succeeded in catching her wrist, but her momentum yanked him to the brink as well. He flung out his free hand but his fingernails scraped across the stone unable to find a purchase.

Then, as he felt his torso scrape over the edge, someone caught his hand. He thought it might be Hurricane, but the giant literally had his hands full with four passengers — two under each arm — as he tried to navigate the pitching surface. Dodge's savior immediately began pulling him back and Dodge in turn reeled in the woman. As he got her back onto the relative safety of the span, Dodge saw that his savior had been one of the passengers or more accurately, their pilot — the man he knew as Burton.

Before he could offer his thanks, the span shuddered again and then the end where it met the arched opening broke free and dropped several feet. The walkway tilted sharply and everyone that had not yet reached the T-shaped passage at the other end was thrown forward. The strain on the broken bridge was palpable; an ominous vibration rattled the stone beneath them all and Dodge knew that in a matter of seconds the span would either drop again or simply disintegrate. Some of them might make it off, but some of them certainly wouldn't.

But then something silver streamed out of the arched opening and wrapped around the fractured bridge like a jungle vine, insinuating into the cracks and completely arresting the collapse.

Father Hobbs was still looking out for them. Although they even now fought to compel the priest to issue the command that would completely destroy the world, the entities trapped within the metal columns were nevertheless bound to obey him. Dodge knew that the Padre planned to resist the urge to employ their power, but he was grateful that the priest had made this one exception.

The quicksilver entity not only prevented the destruction of the span, but lifted it back to something approximating its original position. The cavern continued to groan and shake, but the bridge was steady beneath their feet. Only when Hurricane crossed through the T-shaped door, did the entity retreat, allowing the stone span to crumble into the depths.

The narrow passage back to the surface was further away from the source of the tremors, but Dodge was acutely aware of the fact that thousands of tons of earth were suspended overhead. The tunnel felt even more confining with a crowd of frightened people ahead of him, slowing his escape to what seemed like a snail's pace. But then he glimpsed daylight ahead and a few steps later, emerged from what he had feared might become his tomb.

Relief at having escaped being buried alive quickly gave way to pandemonium as the frightened survivors of Flight 19 began demanding answers. One of their number however quickly took charge, firmly telling the crowd to stay calm, then turned and introduced himself to Dodge.

"I'm Captain Elliot Berlitz of the Tradewinds Clipper and these people are my passengers… or at least some of them. Can you tell me what's happened?"

Dodge shook his head. "Captain, it's a long story and I'm not sure where to begin."

Molly stepped forward. "The story can wait. These people are in terrible shape; they need immediate medical attention."

Berlitz nodded. "Absolutely. But can you tell me what's become of the rest? And my crew?"

Dodge glanced at Molly, then at Hurricane, who shook his head sadly. Berlitz seemed to understand and bore the news with stoic calm. Dodge tried to shift the focus to something more positive. "Captain, you saved my life back there. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do." Berlitz seemed almost embarrassed by the expression of gratitude, but graciously accepted Dodge's handshake. "Say, you look very familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"

"I think I may have flown with you once or twice," Dodge answered with a grin.

"Dodge!" Newcombe was calling from the other side of the crowd and continued shouting as he pushed through their midst.

"What's wrong, Doc?"

The scientist was frantic. "I can't find Jocasta."

"I didn't see her," Hurricane offered, his expression troubled, in spite of his professed disdain for the jewel thief. "But she might have… when the bridge started to fall…"

Dodge turned back to the doorway, but any hopes that he might have entertained that she was simply lagging behind were dashed when he saw that the doorway was gone. The canyon wall at the end of the descending steps was blank stone, all evidence of the T-shaped opening and the tunnel beyond erased completely from existence.

"Do you think she made it?" Newcombe asked, his tone betraying the faintness of his hope.

"Doc, if there's one thing I've learned, it's to trust Jocasta to do what's best for Jocasta." He clapped a reassuring hand on the scientist's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll see her again someday."

When Jocasta saw Newcombe dashing back and forth through the crowd of her fellow passengers from the ill-fated plane ride, she knew that he was looking for her. She felt an odd fondness for the strange scientist. It pained her, just a bit, to think that she had caused him a measure of grief. But there was business to attend to and an opportunity like this might not present itself again.

She kept her telescope trained on Newcombe as he ran back to, she correctly presumed, tell Dodge of her absence.

Jocasta didn't know quite how she felt about Dodge. The young adventurer reminded her just a little too much of the only man she felt she had ever truly loved and that led to one inescapable question. Where was the redoubtable Captain Falcon?

She recalled the way Hobbs and Hurley had talked about Dodge during and following her brief captivity. To inspire such loyalty from those two men was an enduring testament to Dodge's character, but she could only think of one reason why they would be following someone other than Zane Falcon… and that was something she didn't want to contemplate.

She was sorry now that she had kissed Dodge in Antarctica. It had reminded her of the happiness she had felt, if only briefly, in Falcon's company. Her greatest regret in life was that she had exploited their shared affection—why don't you call it what it was, Jo? Love—to steal some silly bauble. She would have done anything for a chance to live that moment again and make a different choice. She probably wouldn't have given up her hobby, but at the very least, she wouldn't have left Falcon and his companions buried up to their necks in the best beluga caviar.

Was Dodge the kind of man who could make her feel that way? She thought he just might be and that scared the hell out of her because a second chance at happiness was really just a second chance at disappointment. Besides, he had his red-haired girl and there was no denying the fire that burned there. She had heard it in both their voices and against impossible odds, they had found each other yet again.

At least someone got a happy ending.

She swung the telescope away from Dodge's ruggedly handsome face and started searching the other faces; the faces of people she had left Bermuda with so long ago. There had been thirty of them then; now just a handful remained. She hadn't recognized the pilot, Berlitz, in his disguise as Burton, which was unusual since she was usually very good at recognizing faces. Now, of course, she saw through the unkempt hair and beard. His co-pilot — she didn't know the man's real name — had been Stevens, the pilot lost in the Antarctic storm. It didn't look like any other members of the flight crew remained, but she gradually matched the haggard faces below to her memories of the people whose holiday had gone so horribly wrong.

Then she saw the one she was looking for; the one she didn't recognize.

The hardest part had been donning his disguise with a broken arm.

The pain didn't bother him. He had long ago learned the secret of controlling his body's responses to stimuli and pain was just another sensation that he could suppress at will. But crafting a convincing disguise with theatrical make-up — one that not only concealed his hideous skull head, but also looked real enough to pass the closest scrutiny — required fine motor skills. Difficult, with only one functional hand, but not impossible.

With his disguise complete, he slipped into the group. He didn't understand how they had slipped the shackles of his hypnotic command, but he knew that the priest was somehow responsible. Ah, well. They were just pawns, easily enough replaced. Perhaps he would take control of Dalton and his friends directly this time, simply to make them suffer for thwarting his plans.

For now, he was content to bide his time and let his enemies unknowingly tend to his many hurts. Ambulances and other hired cars were summoned from the city and in the space of about an hour, he was removed to the tiny hospital in Bhilsa along with everyone else.

In hindsight, his one regret was in excluding the agents of the Third Reich from the execution phase of his plan. He had been worried that they would attempt to betray him and steal the prize away for themselves and thus had held them at a distance. Even the agents he had set to minding the slaves from Flight 19 had been kept away from the nexus of his plan. Perhaps if he had trusted the Nazis with the location of the Outpost or if they had been waiting to seize the priest and the others as soon as the door to the ancient city was opened, perhaps then the outcome would have swung in his favor.

Merely a setback, he decided. Not a defeat. The world will become of place of skulls and I shall grind them all under my heel.

He lay impatiently in his hospital bed for what seemed like hours, enduring the attention of doctors and nurses who set his fractured arm and administered antibiotics and even offered morphine to ease his discomfort. He refused; he needed full command of his mental faculties in order to make his final escape. When at last the lights in the shared hospital ward were turned down, he slipped from his bed, stole past the night duty nurse's desk and found his way to the hospital's rear exit. After the odor of antiseptic, even the humid tropical air was refreshing; it smelled like freedom.

"You're one of the people from that aeroplane, aren't you?"

Child of Skulls and master of evil he might have been, but the woman's voice startled him so badly that he almost fell over backward. He reflexively flailed for balance and succeeded in slamming the cast on his arm into the door frame. The jolt tore through even his iron grip and his world blossomed into an inferno of pain.

"Oh, look what I've done," the woman cooed. "I've gone and scared the dickens out of you."

"It's fine," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Just help me back inside."

"Of course, love." She proffered her hand, but as he reached for it, she drew it back halfway. "The silliest thing just occurred to me. I was on that flight as well and I just don't remember seeing you at all. I'm usually very good with faces."

The pain melted away, replaced by icy dread and he looked up into a very familiar face. The blond flashed a dazzling, if insincere, smile.

Damn! His mind raced with possibilities of how to play this charade out, but it was obvious that she had found him out. There was nothing to be gained by trying to convince her otherwise. "I'm also very good with faces, Jocasta. And I most certainly was on the flight."

"Oh, yes. I remember you now. You're the bloke who hired me for a job and then tried to double-cross me. No, 'double-cross' is far too kind. You turned me into some kind of mindless drone and then left me to die at the bottom of the world. And need I mention, you refused to pay me what we agreed." She cocked her head sideways in mock thoughtfulness. "What's a good word to describe that?"

"You've got me dead to rights, my dear. But come, let's be professional about this. There's no reason that I can't honor our original agreement and perhaps compensate you for the additional troubles." He smiled, the cosmetic putty feeling strange against the withered skin of his face.

"Just like that? Name a price and all is forgiven?"

Her tone was coy, so he responded in kind. "I didn't ask for your forgiveness."

"Maybe you should have." Her smile melted into something less pleasant, but infinitely more sincere. "When we were at the Outpost, you asked me how I was able to slip your hypnotic leash. Nathan — Father Hobbs — did it, when he caught me in New York. And do you know what I did? I went looking for you. Not for my money and not for an apology."

She took a step closer and for the first time, it occurred to the Skull that maybe he should be afraid. "Jocasta, we can work something out. I can get you whatever you want."

Something metallic glinted in her hand. "Actually, there's only one thing I want from you."

Molly found sanctuary in the hotel garden, but peace continued to elude her.

She had seen terrible things in her short life, but her father had always been there to hold her hand and assure her that there were also good things in the world. If anyone knew about that, it was her father. He had witnessed firsthand the horrors of the Great War. How many times had he faced death? How many friends had died in his arms?

She had always known that he was haunted by the ghosts of his past, but he had found strength in his faith and had somehow been able to pass that strength along to her whenever the suffering she witnessed became too much to bear.

Now he was gone and she was alone.

"Molly?"

She raised her head and managed a wan smile. "Dodge. Is it the real you this time?"

"The one and only. May I?" He gestured to the empty space on the bench beside her and waited for her nod of assent. "In all the confusion, I never got a chance to…well, catch up."

"You should talk to Hurricane. He can tell you everything."

"Yeah, he told me a little bit." Dodge's voice was subdued. Hurricane had evidently told him a lot more than just a little bit.

"We didn't know if you were dead or alive." It wasn't what she wanted to tell him, but it was the first thing that she thought she could say without bursting into tears.

"He saved us all, Molly. He saved the whole world."

Her heart leaped into her throat and the tears came anyway. "Dodge, don't."

Cautiously, as if more afraid of being rejected than offending her, he put his arm around her. She did not push him away, but nevertheless remained aloof. If she accepted his embrace, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go through with her decision.

Still, she knew she owed him an explanation. "They're all still a little shell-shocked you know, but they're starting to ask questions. 'Where am I?' What do we tell them? A crazy man hypnotized you, enslaved you and turned into a killing robot?

"But that's the easy question. Today, a man asked me if I knew where his wife was. How do I answer that? How do I tell him…" She couldn't finish.

"You are not responsible for any of the bad things that happened, Molly. He did this to them; always remember that."

"I'm a doctor, Dodge. I'm supposed to heal people, not—"

"You know that you can't save everyone. Every doctor knows that. But you helped a lot of people today."

"I know." She took a deep breath. "Dodge, I'm not going back to New York."

He said nothing and for about a minute, she was grateful that he didn't try to talk her out of it. After that, the silence unnerved her.

"I want to help people that really need help. There's a whole class of people here — the outcasts, untouchables — people that are born and live and die with nothing. But there's a man who wants to change that. He calls them 'Children of God.' " She laughed, trying to cover a very different emotion. "Sounds like something Dad would say, doesn't it? I want to help them, Dodge."

"There are a lot of people like that in New York, Moll. People with nothing left. They could use a good doctor, too."

"I don't belong there. And here at least, I can be close to Dad."

There was another long silence, but Molly knew she had said what needed to be said and finally allowed her head to rest against his chest.

"I could stay here with you."

"Oh, sure. You'd stay for a while and then pretty soon you and Hurricane would run off to save the world." She tried to make it sound like a joke, but somehow it came out all wrong. "But hey, you've got the Catalina. You can come visit whenever you want."

"How long will you stay?"

"I don't know," she lied.

"I love you, Moll."

"I love you, too."