The Eye of Moloch

Chapter 65

His mind was struck numb with shock and sorrow, and Noah was still moving only for the sake of the others.

Had he been alone he would have waited to be found and then gladly died fighting them with his raw and bleeding hands, just so he could feel in some small way that he was beside her again. But he wasn’t alone, and so they ran.

The tunnel shrank to barely shoulder-width as the path continued to ascend. They were exhausted, arms and legs worn out from the long climb, dragging their wounded and barely able to keep their footing on the slick stone. The climb only got harder but still they pressed on.

Noah was in the lead when he smelled fresh air and soon after he saw the metal grate at the end of the line. He braced himself against the drag of the slope and kicked hard into this final barrier, and again, and again until it began to weaken at the rusty frame and finally gave way.

He pulled himself from the tunnel and emerged into a small clearing; there wasn’t any visible sign of civilization on this side of the mountain. Tyler Merrick was next. The two of them together helped the others out and onto the cold, wet ground and when that was done there was no strength left to stand.

No one arose from where they lay. Whether it was fatigue alone, or that plus all the sadness and defeat of what they’d just endured, they all stayed right where they were, motionless but finally breathing freedom.

“All of you, hold it right there.”

The firm, cold voice had come from a shadow near the trees.

Hollis was lying motionless beside him and Noah reached over for the gun in his belt, but before he could touch it a boot came down hard on his injured hand and pressed it to the turf. The blinding glare of a flashlight hit his face.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

If this was to be the end, Noah thought, then he should answer as Molly might have done.

He was worn out and winded, his chest still ached from the strain of the run and from the loss of her, but he brought himself up to an elbow and looked the man above him in the eyes. Noah formed his words carefully, giving a breath to each of them so at least one by one they’d be as strong as she would have wanted them to be.

“We . . . are . . . Americans.”

He fully expected to be shot in the next moment and he would have taken that bullet with no regrets.

But it didn’t happen.

Instead the man picked up the pistol Noah had dropped and then took a step back. He then made a motion toward the trees and another of them came near.

“There were only four places you could have come out, Mr. Gardner”—the man was helping Noah to his feet as he spoke—“and we covered them all. If we’d gotten here sooner maybe we could’ve—”

“I don’t understand. Who are you?”

“Virginia Ward sent us,” the man said. “We’re here to take you home.”