The Judas Strain - James Rollins [205]
Angels in the dark.
Slumbering. Waiting.
Susan marched onward. She reached a figure who wasn’t as consumed, who still showed the beat of a heart and the flow of blood, where bones still hinted at form and function.
Susan found an open spot at his side and lay down. She stretched her arms. Her fingertips brushed her neighbor.
The words reached her in an old Italian dialect, but she understood.
Is it done?
She sighed. Yes. I am the last. The source has been destroyed.
Then rest, child.
For how long? When will the world be ready?
He answered her. It would be a very long sleep.
What am I to do?
Go home, my child…for now, go home.
Susan closed her eyes and let that which needed to sleep drop away. All else, she slipped into the bubble that composed the entirety of her life and stepped through it to what lay beyond.
Light blinded as if she stared into the full face of the sun. She lowered her gaze, blinking away the glare. The world filled back in around her. The gentle rock of the boat under her bare feet. The cry of a lone gull, the hush of waves against the hull, and the sweep of wind over her skin.
Was this a dream, a memory…or something more?
She inhaled the salt air. A beautiful day.
She crossed to the ship’s rail and stared out at the blue expanse. Green islands dotted the distance. A few clouds drifted. She heard the tread of feet on the stairs leading up from the cabin.
As she turned, he climbed into view, pulling up with his arms, dressed in shorts and an Ocean Pacific T-shirt. He spotted her, with a startled expression.
Then he smiled. “Oh, there you are.”
Susan rushed to Gregg, wrapping her arms around her husband.
Downstairs, Oscar barked. A grumpy voice yelled back at the old dog.
Susan snugged against her husband, listening to the beat of his heart.
He hugged her back. “What is it, Susan?”
She stared up into Gregg’s face, raised a finger to the three-day stubble on his chin. Then tipped up on her toes to reach his lips.
He bent down to meet her.
And she knew she was home.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Truth or Fiction
ONCE AGAIN, THANKS for accompanying me on this journey! As usual, I thought I’d use these last pages to perform a postmortem on the novel, to separate fact from fiction. I’ve divided the postmortem by general topics:
MARCO POLO: The forward to this novel raised the central mystery concerning the fate of Polo’s fleet during his return trip to Venice. What happened to the ships and men still remains a mystery. As to Marco’s potential love affair with Princess Kokejin, rumors persist, especially as he died with the princess’s headpiece in his possession. As to Marco’s body after his death, it did indeed vanish out of the Church of San Lorenzo, its whereabouts still unknown.
ANGELIC SCRIPT AND OTHER LANGUAGE ISSUES: Angelic script was first developed by Johannes Trithemius and Heinrich Agrippa, who claimed that by studying these symbols, it was possible to communicate with angels. The script was derived from ancient Hebrew characters. Similarly, adepts of Jewish Kabbalah believe that pathways to inner wisdom can be opened by studying the shapes and curves of its characters. Finally, moving to modern times, we ask the question: Is there a hidden language buried in our genetic code? According to an article in Science magazine (1994), the answer is a resounding yes. Though what might be written there remains unknown.
PLAGUES: Eyam, a village in England, did indeed have an unusual survival rate during the Black Plague, a result of a genetic abnormality in half its populace. Strange but true. As to anthrax, the only difference between the deadly form of this bacterium and its peaceful garden-dwelling cousin are two rings of genetic code called plasmids. Which begs the question, where did those plasmids come from?
FAUNA: Christmas Island red land crabs do indeed have a spectacular migration each year, during which millions of the large crabs journey