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and automatically side with Yeshua. However, if they claimed he baptized on God s
authority, then he would most likely ask them why they did not support Yahya s
teachings and why they allowed him to be killed.
There was no easy way for them to answer this question. Michael was proved right
when, after a long pause, back-dropped by the other priests whispers, the elder simply
answered,  I do not know.
Yeshua nodded slowly.  Then I shall not tell you by whose authority I do these
things.
 You have made a mockery of this place of God! the elder then screamed, taking a
step forward.  Do not listen to this man! He is nothing but a trouble-maker! The elder
turned to the crowd and then, in a move that chilled Michael to the core, he lifted one of
the full boxes of money from a nearby table and held it above his head.  Who ever of you
will shed this man s blood right now shall be rewarded!
Michael again grabbed Yeshua s arm and, this time, pulled harder. Yeshua stumbled
forward, and as Michael pulled him toward the entrance, the other disciples gathered
around him protectively. Simeon pulled his sword, and a few others followed suit.
 Put away your weapons, Yeshua told them.
None of them moved.
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Heather Killough-Walden
 Put them away. Yeshua pushed through the disciples. Uncertainly, they let him
pass, slowly sliding their swords back through their belts. Yeshua again moved to stand at
the center of the open ring formed by the temple s worshippers. He slowly turned in a
circle, his arms out, his palms up. He was clearly inviting someone  anyone  to do as
the elder requested.
But no one moved.
 Are you Yeshua Bar-abba, the man who raised Eleazar from the dead? a man
asked timidly, from the steps, where he stood with a woman and two children.
Yeshua turned to him.  I am, brother.
The man immediately fell to his knees, and the people around him followed his
example, all of them prostrating on the temple steps and dais. Michael could only watch
in wonder. He had been right. The news of Lazarus s resurrection had spread throughout
the land. And it had divided the people in exactly the manner he d predicted. Those with
little or nothing would worship Yeshua in awe. Those with much to lose would now find
him a very real threat.
Hence, the elder s demand for his life.
Yeshua then turned back to the elder, who still held the box of money above his
head, his eyes wide in indignation and surprise.
 You wish blood to be spilled on these steps? Yeshua asked.
The man said nothing; only stared.
 You will have it. For, truly, I say to you, not a stone of this monument will be left
standing upon another. He then turned away from the elder and moved back through the
disciples, toward the steps.
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Redeemer
A buzz of murmurs and whispering immediately arose behind him. Michael stepped
to his side. He leaned in close as they walked, quickly, down the steps and away from the
temple, followed closely by the other disciples.  What have you done, Yeshua?
Yeshua did not answer.
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Heather Killough-Walden
Chapter Nineteen
(Present day)
Wasim stumbled forward, his legs suddenly giving out. The scream of their descent
became a strange buzz and momentarily faded from his ears. It was replaced by a
deafening silence and the swoosh of a weakened heart trying desperately to pump a tiny
amount of blood through his veins.
He closed his eyes, trying to push death away by sheer will power alone. His gun
hand shook violently and he lowered the gun to the floor, knowing it was useless now. He
couldn t fly a plane. He wasn t going to shoot the pilot. And they were all going to die
when it hit bottom anyway.
Then he pushed himself back up and, using the back rests of the remaining seats
between them, he half walked, half fell into the cockpit.
The pilot looked over at him. In a second, the man determined what had happened,
and also managed to notice that Wasim s hands were empty. The bloody claw marks
across the backs gave away his fight with Marla.
As if deciding that it didn t matter anyway, the pilot nodded.  We re going down,
but we re over water! He stood, unbuckling his seat belt.  There are parachutes in the
back!
Wasim allowed the man to brush past him and then, with much effort, he followed
behind. The pilot had to literally pull himself up the aisle, his hands gripping the backs of
the chairs. Each step forward was a miniature chin-up.
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Redeemer
Wasim was too weak for this. He took two steps and collapsed in the aisle. The pilot
reached the cupboard with the parachutes, popped open the latch, and pulled out two
black bundles. He turned and glanced at Wasim.
Wasim pushed himself to his hands and knees and proceeded to crawl up the aisle,
grasping hold of the backs of the bases of each seat, and then the legs of the work station,
in order to slide up the steep slope a few horrible inches at a time.
The pilot held Wasim s parachute in his left hand. He watched him for another few
seconds and then dropped the  chute and proceeded to buckle on his own. He then moved
to the hatchway, twisted a red lever several times, and yanked back on the door with all
of his might.
With a popping sound and another mad rush of air through the cabin, the door came
away from the side of the plane. The pilot threw it to the side, where it landed next to
Wasim s parachute.
He glanced one last time at Wasim, and at Marla, who lay unconscious beside him.
Then he rushed through the opening and jumped.
Wasim s head swam. He couldn t help it when he laid his head down on the
carpeting in the aisle and closed his eyes. He needed salt. He knew this with every fiber
of his being. It was a strange need, an unexpected and positively essential requirement. It
was like it had been hardwired into his system, pushing all other thought from his brain.
Salt.
It would give him strength. With strength, he could withstand being in the water for a
while. Otherwise, even conscious, he could only wade for so long before what little was
left inside his body was leached away and he would die a second time. For good.
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Heather Killough-Walden
Salt.
He wondered, absently, how long he had. He opened his eyes. And stared into
Marla s unconscious face.
In that instant, an idea occurred to him that was utterly repulsive.
Wasim s body moved, then, as if of its own accord. He watched, seemingly from far
away, as his right arm snaked out and pulled her body closer to his. His fingers quickly
pushed the hair from her neck, and his face descended.
He bit down hard.
He did not possess the fangs of the vampires of lore that would have made such an
attack so much easier. He ripped into her flesh clumsily, ruthlessly, and began to
swallow.
At once, he was disgusted with the taste. He had tasted a small amount when he d
bitten her hand, but this was a flooding wash of choking, thick, salty, red, iron-filled
liquid. His mind recoiled at what he was doing. Yet, even as he despised himself for
actually following through with such an insane design, the nausea in his belly receded.
His vision became clearer and his heartbeat became less erratic, less painful. The buzzing
in his head faded. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether situations such as this
might have, at one time, spurned the belief that vampires drank peoples blood.
He drank quickly, trying not to think of what it was he was doing. Then, after only a
few long pulls and swallows, strength, blessed and renewed, washed through his limbs,
chasing away the weakness that had been there seconds earlier.
Good enough.
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Redeemer
Wasim opened his eyes and reeled away from Marla s body. Without thinking, he
pushed himself to his feet, shoved himself forward, and rushed to the open hatchway.
He spared a glance down, his hands braced at either side of the opening. Blue water [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]