Assault Force. Don Pendleton

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      2

      Father Jose Gadiz was disturbed. It seemed to take all his energy just to cross the vast expanse of gilded, marbled lobby and forge deeper into this so-called Heaven on Earth they had built for themselves. What waited was difficult. The anxious anticipation of seeing him after so many years, knowing the man’s sins—which he made no attempt to hide, much less repent—broke his heart, sickened his soul.

      The priest believed whatever he said would echo through eternity. That in mind, he clung to hope. Salvation or damnation, he knew beyond any shred of doubt, was the only guarantee. Not that he ever had reason to believe otherwise. But if others knew, he thought, then shuddered as the tentacles of the living visions reached out, reality suddenly obscured when the memory boiled up, shaping into what he so feared. And had so desperately been trying to forget.

      He looked at all the handsome faces. They seemed to glow from pleasure indulged, rapture in the eyes, radiant auras. How their hearts, he thought, cloaked in the illusory shadow of satisfaction, the flesh kept sated by money, kept wanting more. Behind the smiles he saw lust, greed, envy, pride and a wrath that would trample anyone who denied them what they wanted.

      All the lost souls.

      It struck the priest their laughter was aimed at the world, perhaps what he stood for. A few of the more curious glanced at his white collar, the severe black clothing. Some appeared to shy away, as if embarrassed or afraid their hidden selves might be found out. Everywhere he saw bold desire, preoccupation with self, what they wanted. Had he expected any different? Why did he continue to live on in hope that he could somehow reach them, save, if only a few, from perdition?

      Perhaps present circumstances had rendered him too harsh and judgmental right then, but he thought not. Perhaps the train ride had simply wearied him. Nerves shot, burdened as he was by Isadora’s plight and suffering, heart crushed to agonizing pity as she urged this contact. Clearly, the way she had pleaded her case, it struck him she believed he was the last resort, the final hope.

      He feared she was right.

      And, just like that, it was as if he’d stepped into another dimension of time and space. Life slammed into a montage of freeze-frames. Somehow, he kept moving into the strange haze, aware he passed through white rays made ever more brilliant as they lanced through the stained-glass skylight. The living, such as they were, began lurching all about, faceless automatons. Their laughter swirled, hideous in ears that had heard the wailing of the damned, only the din now wasn’t anywhere near as infinitely terrifying. Except for the rare few children, there was no light in any of them, even their flesh appearing like so much dark jelly. The more he searched their faces, the more he dreaded the world was in such deep trouble, so many so gripped in the power of evil, he wasn’t sure if he was blessed or cursed, or strong enough to carry the message of what he’d seen.

      Repent.

      No human mind, he knew, could even begin to comprehend the depth and severity of the horror he had witnessed the past week. Not even he, a man of God—protected by divine guidance and assured salvation if he clung to his vows of chastity, poverty and obedience with unfailing perseverance—could fathom what he’d experienced.

      The mere pale shadow of the memory nearly dropped him to his knees right then, shrieking blasphemies. He was mortified beyond terror just to think of them, as he tried but failed to focus on other words just to mute the faintest echo from his mind. There was an abominable stench of raw human waste, sulfur and flesh so putrified there was no smell—if he could even call it that—on Earth to compare it to, putrid fumes that still clung to his senses, stirring acid bile in his stomach. He’d felt the vicious clawing of utter despair that knew no depths or bounds.

      Gadiz shuddered, became aware of his deep breathing, the strange looks as he marched on. Still, he felt disembodied, a man slogging through, then sinking into the sucking mud of a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. As he wanted nothing more than to flee all of this seething impurity, СКАЧАТЬ