Pillar's Fire

Chapter 47

With the dart projector pistol squashed between his palms and resting just in front of the metal cuff, Nash approached the pulpit from the far right, close to the back door. "Back away from there, or I'll kill you both," he ordered.

Rand and the Elite froze in their crouched positions behind the pulpit.

"Now."

The men got to their feet. "We got it open and we have the Enchiridion. Think about what that means," Rand said.

"It means nothing until I find out the truth."

"I'll tell you the truth – and it won't be some made up nonsense about a stupid book that teaches you about a Savior that will fill you with hope, joy, peace, and love."

"You've read it then?" Nash asked, surprised.

"Parts of it...and it's for gullible people, people who are easily misled." He took a step closer. "Now hand over the gun."

"No. You hand over the Enchiridion."

"Okay. Okay." He glanced at the Elite. "Get the book."

As the man knelt back down to get it, Rand hurtled across the platform. Nash squeezed the trigger. Thwack! The dart sank into his uncle's bare shoulder. Rand cried out as he fell to the ground. "You're making a mistake," he yelled. "And you'll regret it!"

The Elite stood up, the Enchiridion in his hands, his eyes on Nash. "Don't shoot me."

A glance at the rotating rear barrel of the pistol assured Nash that he had a few darts left. He lifted it so that it was aimed at the man's shoulder. "Lay the key for the handcuffs on the floor, along with the Enchiridion."

Squatting down, the young man laid the key on top of the Enchiridion and he slid them both toward Nash.

"Now take the cuffs you have on your belt and put them on yourself."

He reached for them, but grabbed his gun instead. As he shifted the barrel toward Nash, the back door swung open with a loud bang. The Elite, that had been tasked to retrieve Mira, stormed in. His hands were covered with blisters, and bright red singe marks oozed on his exposed chest.

"Larry?" The other Elite dropped his gun to waist height, a slight frown on his face.

Larry's hands flexed as he aimed his own gun at his partner. "Take the book and run," he said to Nash. "I'll cover you."

"What are you doing?" the Elite spat. "Your LifeChip must have shorted out."

"Doesn't matter." Larry had swept in closer, cornering the guy. "I owe her."

Nash didn't understand, but hope flickered in his chest. He grabbed the key off the Enchiridion and worked it into the keyhole on his left cuff. "What does that mean – you owe her?"

"Just get out of here. Now," he said.

Free from his cuffs, Nash grabbed the Enchiridion. The cornered Elite lunged, trying to get past Larry. Nash scrambled for the back door, the book clutched against his chest. As he slipped outside, he glanced back at the skirmishing pair. Larry now sat atop the downed Elite, frothing at the mouth as his hands shook him with forceful relentlessness.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity he'd been given, Nash ran. The humid air was stifling as he raced toward the bridge, his eyes and heart desperate for signs of Mira. There were none. His small spark of hope withered, his pain resurging tenfold. Crying out, he let all the anguish from the depths of his soul echo around the grounds of The Compound. He wanted her back! "I'll get this where it belongs, Mira," he promised, wishing she could see that he wasn't the traitorous guy she'd thought him to be. Nash crossed the bridge, carefully shutting out the memories and bolted down the road toward the dorms where his uncle had claimed he'd found her paintings.