The 13 th tribe

4

Back on his perch in the tree, Jordan watched through binoculars as the rear door opened and closed. A few moments later Elias appeared, slouched against the brick wall beside the door; someone had turned off his suit, probably to check on his condition.

Lord, make him all right, he prayed. Elias was a bit scruffy, and sometimes his penchant for one-word answers came across as grouchy, but like Jordan he was partial to Western movies and comic books-Wolverine and G.I. Joe were their favorites. And over the years, Jordan had learned about God more from Elias than from any of the others, even Ben with his books and scrolls and big brain. Creed-who had remained home with Hannah, Toby, and Sebastian-once said that Elias’s instruction was like God’s “still small voice” coming to Elijah on the mountain, and Ben’s was God’s voice “like the roar of rushing waters and a loud peal of thunder” that the apostle John had heard in his dream.

Through the binocs he saw Elias rise, and Jordan’s heart thumped with joy. Then he realized two of the others had lifted him, carrying him between them with Elias’s arms draped over their invisible shoulders. He appeared to be skimming over the pavement, his toes dragging behind, arms outstretched and head drooped like a crucified zombie. And that was just creepy.

Jordan spoke into his mic, “Could you guys turn off your ghost suits now? You’re freaking me out.”

Nevaeh popped into view on Elias’s left side, then Ben on his right. As they started up the berm, Jordan dropped down and looked around. “Where’s Phin?” Then he jumped and yipped in surprise.

Phin’s suit beeped and he appeared behind Jordan, his gloved hand on his shoulder.

Jordan swatted at it and stepped away. “Don’t do that!”

Phin just laughed.

Jerk.

Nevaeh wanted only to get back to their rented van, then to their private jet and out of this city. Elias’s weight wasn’t a bother-she’d lugged much heavier things-but that guard would be waking soon. Everything had gone too smoothly to get caught now.

She and Ben carried Elias past Jordan and Phin and pushed through the hole in the chain link they had let Jordan cut, which he had thought was “totally sick”: after spraying it with liquid nitrogen, the metal had broken under his fingers like ice. They traversed a park on the other side and piled into the van, laying Elias on the floor in the back. Ben and Jordan crouched next to him, Ben peeling the mask off Elias’s gray-bearded face.

Nevaeh got into the passenger seat and yanked off her mask, releasing long black hair that flowed over her shoulders. She shook it out of her face and looked at Phin behind the wheel. He’d already removed his mask and was rubbing at the metamaterial paint with which they’d coated their eyelids.

“This stuff is terrible,” he said. “Every time I blink, I have to force my eyes open again.”

“But you’re so pretty,” she said. “You’d have made a beautiful glam-rocker.”

He scowled at her, and she could see the crazy in his eyes. She tried to remember if Phin had always been a bit bats. No, just hyper. The loony part had crept in slowly-like what, over a couple centuries? Seemed like it.

“So,” she said, “what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

He started the van, but before he could put it into gear, Ben stopped him. “A second, please.” In the glow of the dome light he nodded at the others, bowed his head, and they began to pray. Correction: the three conscious males prayed; Nevaeh couldn’t get into it, not this time. Ben intoned the same request for God to accept their work she had heard how many times? She’d lost count long ago. His voice was deep and measured, every word perfectly formed.

“… guide our labor, for we are your obedient children…”

Oh please, she thought, then squeezed her eyes shut. I mean, please… do guide us back into your arms at long last. At long, long last. After so many years, it was hard to maintain confidence in their missions. But if she stopped believing, their torment would never end, and just the thought of that sent spiders skittering through her stomach. She felt as though she’d been hanging from a ledge by her fingers forever. The abyss of nothingness below her kept her fighting for leverage, spurring her to struggle and strain. But how long before her muscles simply could not take anymore?

Every mission, every killing was her cry for help, for forgiveness — so many cries that her soul was bleeding and raw. Still, every cry had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

She realized Ben had stopped talking, and opened her eyes. He was staring at her, his intense gaze piercing holes into her. Phin and Jordan were watching as well.

“Amen,” she said.

Elias pulled in a loud, sharp breath and sat straight up. He pushed himself back to rest against the van’s rear doors, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and lighter. A shaking hand put the cigarette to his lips, and he lit up. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and blew out a stream of smoke. He shook his head, then rubbed his chest, finally ripping the suit open from neck to navel. Blood caked his chest hair into red paisleys. Over his heart, a dime-sized dimple showed mostly scar tissue. At its center was a pinprick hole from which a thin rivulet of blood snaked down his chest.

Nevaeh remembered the hole that been there thirty minutes before, large enough to stick her finger in and touch his heart. Couldn’t do that now, and by morning it would look like nothing more than a vaccination scar.

Elias looked at each of his compatriots in turn, took a deep drag on his cigarette, and said, “Wow. That was a trip.”