“FBI, don’t fucking move!” Zion aims his gun at my face, and I shove Emily behind me.
“Davis?” I peer at the man behind Zion. It’s the same FBI agent I beat the shit out of a few months ago, the one who’d tried to infiltrate the compound.
“Yeah, it’s me, motherfucker. Now, get on the ground, hands on your heads!”
I fight past the surprise and focus on Emily. “She’s hurt. The woman behind me. She’s lost a lot of blood. Please help her.” I drop to my knees, my hands on my head, and Noah does the same.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get on the ground.” Davis lowers his gun as another agent rushes forward and cuffs me.
“Yes, I—” Her voice cuts off as she falls forward.
Zion rushes forward and catches her. “Medic!” He scoops her up in his arms, her eyes closed, her face pale.
“Help her,” I choke out. Emotion closes my throat, and I know right then and there that I’d happily die to save her. “Please.”
Zion carries her toward the door, then pauses. “Where’s the dynamite?”
“What?” Davis cuffs Noah.
“I hid it here behind this fucking makeup stand. A satchel full of dynamite. Fuck!” He kicks the makeup table onto its side, the light bulbs shattering. “Search this entire goddamn place. Don’t stop till you’ve found it!”
When he carries Emily out of my sight, I sag, the events taking their toll on my still-healing body.
“Please save her,” I whisper and clench my eyes shut, sending my prayer to anyone who’s listening.
Chapter 31
Delilah
Zion lays me on a stretcher, the ambulance lights flashing red through the thin skin of my eyelids.
“What happened to this one?” A woman’s voice, husky and sweet.
“Not sure. Just fix her. She’s a witness. The others have run off, so we need her.” Zion’s voice is already distant. Good. I need him to be gone.
I peek for a split second. A line of men are on their knees nearby, their hands cuffed behind their backs. I close my eyes quickly, but I suspect Zion has rounded up all the Protectors.
The medic grabs my wrist and turns my hand over so she can inspect my palm. “Damn, honey. Going to need a lot of stitches here.” Her hands gently probe the rest of my body as more sirens—some distant, some ear-splittingly close—rip through the day. “Rest of this looks okay. Let’s see the back. Tommy, come over here and lift so I can check her.”
Rougher hands grip my sides, but ease me gingerly over.
“Shit, would you look at this?” Her warm fingers spread the fabric at my back. “Cut clean across.”
My impatience grows with each comment, each touch. I need them to scatter so I can go. From what I could tell when Zion carried me out, I’m at the back of the church in the wide parking lot. From here, if I can get to the gate—which I’m certain at this point is no longer manned—I can take one of the Prophet’s golf carts or cars and follow Rachel. I know where she’s going. Her depravity only leads to one place.
“We need to go ahead and take her in.” A man, his voice a little wheezy as if he’s been running. “There are some other injuries from the stampede, a few people trampled, but she’s the worst we’ve seen by far.”
“Come on. Let’s get her in and light it up.”
They lay me back down, slide on some shoulder straps, and lift me into the ambulance. Once the doors close, I open my eyes.
A woman with dark skin and her hair in tidy braids reaches for a blood pressure sleeve as the engine starts. “You know, I’ve always heard horror stories about this place, but I didn’t know they were true.”
“Yeah.” The man in the front’s voice is hard to hear over the blare of the horn. “My cousin went here for a while until it got too weird for him. That’s saying a lot, especially since he married my other cousin.”
She laughs, and wraps the cuff around my arm, then presses the stethoscope against me. I close my eyes before she busts me.
Squoosh, squoosh, squoosh. The cuff tightens, and I try to plot where we are now. The ambulance seems to have turned toward the front of the church, away from where I need to go. I sneak a glance at the back windows and see the church’s façade, which verifies my hunch. Shit.
“Look at this.” The ambulance halts as the horn blares again.
“What?” The medic lets the air out with a hiss.
“Fire trucks got this side blocked.”
“I think I saw another way back—”
“Yeah, I’ll head that way.” The ambulance turns.
“Elevated blood pressure, sweetheart. Not good.”
You have no idea. I lie still as she moves around some more, the crinkle and ripping sounds of unwrapping equipment up by my head. My mind follows the map of the church. We’re almost at the very back, the closest you can get to the gate without actually heading down that short stretch of pavement.