The Blood Gospel

Erin collapsed into Sanderson’s chair. Heinrich, gone. He had died in a hospital thousands of miles from home because of her. She’d left him alone in the trench to fetch brushes she didn’t need just to spare herself an argument. What would she tell his parents? The smell of blood drifted over from the garbage can full of used gloves. She fought down an urge to retch.

“Doc?” Jordan stuck his blond head around the corner. “We’re ready for you if—”

He stepped into the tent. “Erin, are you okay?”

She raised her head to look at him. His voice sounded like it came from far away.

“Erin? Did something happen?” He crossed the tent in two quick steps.

She shook her head. If she told him about Heinrich’s death, she would break down right here in a tiny canvas tent in the middle of a field of bodies.

He gave her a concerned look.

Not able to match his gaze, she turned to her phone and texted back a response to Nate. She doubted Jordan would care.

“

Understood. I will call when I can.

”

Once done, she pocketed the phone. “It’s just my dig,” she said, preparing to believe her lie. “It’s been years of planning, and there was earthquake damage.”

“We’ll get you back soon.”

“I know.” He’d probably think she was crazy for being upset about some old bones buried in dirt. Still, she felt calmer being able to release even a tiny bit of the anguish about Heinrich. Either that or Jordan had a calming effect on her. How else would she have been able to walk through the death she had seen outside the tent? She took one last deep breath.

“I’m ready,” she said, standing up.

“Then step this way. We’ll get that harness on you.”

She followed him to the edge of the fissure, where he handed her a complicated mess of knots and straps. Military issue, it was nothing like what she was used to. She stared at it blankly.

He turned it around. “Step one leg in here. The other there.”

He stood behind her and helped her into the harness. His sure hands moved around her body, straightening straps and fastening clips. The harness was on, and her body temperature had risen by what felt like ten degrees. She quickly fastened the clips across her chest.

A helicopter lifted off. She glanced around the plateau. The teenager had gone, along with most of the crew and the body bags. It looked like only a dozen people worked in the lengthening shadows.

Jordan came around to her front. He reached down and tightened straps around her upper thighs in a way both by-the-book formal and incredibly personal. The webbing cinched against her, pulling her toward him. She looked up into his blue eyes, which were darkening as the sun set.

“If there’s anything I need to know before we go down there,” he said, “now is the time to tell me.”

“Nothing.” She wanted to stay up here alone among all the bodies even less than she wanted to go down into the hole. “Bad day.”

“Sanderson’s got a chair warmed up for you.” He studied her face. “With the ROV in place, you could monitor our progress from up here.”

Summoning up courage she thought she’d lost, she forced a smile. “And let you have all the fun?”

He gave her one more worried look before returning to his men.

On either side, men tossed ropes over the edge. Blue blankets laid along the fissure’s lip cushioned the ropes and lessened friction between the rope lines and sharp, broken stone. They seemed to know what they were doing. She double-checked the ropes anyway.

Sanderson stepped up behind her. He wasn’t going down, only helping the others gear up. He passed her something the length and width of a pen.

“Sarge told me to give you an atropine dart,” he said. “Best to stick it in your sock.”

“What does it do?”

“If you’re exposed to the mystery gas, pop the cap and jab yourself in the thigh.”

Fear fluttered in her chest at the idea of that. “I thought there was no active gas down there.”

“It’s just a precaution, but be careful. Stuff’s strong. Don’t use it unless you know you’re exposed. Atropine jacks your heart rate through the roof. Strong enough to blow up your ticker if you’re not poisoned. Quick, too.”

“Shouldn’t we be wearing biocontainment suits?”

“Too bulky to rappel in. And the straps would tear the fabric. Don’t worry, at the first sign of symptoms—nausea, bleeding—just use the needle. You should live long enough for us to pull you out.”

She scrutinized his freckled face to see if he was joking, trying to scare her.

He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

She didn’t feel fine. Breathing a bit faster, she lifted her pant leg and wedged the dart deep into her sock.

Lieutenant Perlman, along with two other soldiers—a young Israeli and an older American—walked up to the fissure. The American had bushy brown hair and carried a satchel over one shoulder. She read the name stenciled on his fatigues: McKay.

On his bag were three prominent letters: EOD.

He caught her looking. “Explosive Ordnance Disposal. I blow stuff up.”