Raging Storm Read online

  “They could steal them,” Patrick said.

  “Doubtful. They have Uzis. We have deer rifles. Why would they want to steal them? And lastly, we’re not going to do anything about the flatbed right this minute because it’s out there and we’re in here. Also, I think the guards will take care of it.” When no one disagreed, he added, “Now let’s go see if there’s any food left.”

  There was, and it tasted even better than it smelled. Stew with big chunks of beef, cornbread with butter, all the water they could drink, and even oatmeal-raisin cookies for dessert.

  “Cookies!” Shelby broke a piece off hers and popped it into her mouth. “It’s like…something I dreamed about.”

  Bhatti pushed away his bowl, crossed his arms on the table, and leaned forward. “Are we going to stay the night here? Can we trust these people?”

  “Maybe.” Max’s tone was noncommittal, but Shelby knew from the look in his eyes that he had a plan.

  “And what is this place?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s Saint Mary Cathedral, begun in 1872.” When they stared at her, waiting, she added, “I researched it for a book. Even came and took a tour.”

  “But are these church people?” Patrick waved at a group of bikers who had entered the chow line. “Or is this a building that another group has taken over?”

  “I don’t know who’s in charge, but they’re well supplied.” Bianca finished her cookie and drained her glass of water.

  “I’m with Bhatti,” Patrick said. “I don’t trust this place.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Bill said we should follow our instincts.” Shelby sat back, studied her group of friends—and yeah, maybe Bhatti was slowly being included in that group. “But honestly, I don’t know what to think of this. One minute we’re being pursued by guys in a flatbed truck—what was that even about? The next we’re eating stew. Whatever is happening here, maybe it’s worth checking out. Maybe they know where we can get the insulin.”

  “They certainly have food and apparently plenty of it.” Bianca picked up her spoon, stared at it, and dropped it back in the bowl. “Which they just gave to us—no questions asked.”

  “There was that weird thing about seeking refuge.” Max filled Patrick and Bianca in on the initial conversation with the guards. “I have no idea what they were talking about.”

  “It fits an Old Testament reference,” Bhatti said. “The book of Numbers mentions six cities of refuge. They were to be scattered throughout Israel—three on the eastern side of the Jordan River and three on the western side.”

  Shelby glanced around. She wasn’t the only one staring at Bhatti, eyes wide in disbelief.

  “My grandparents considered themselves to be something of religious scholars…but then many people of their generation were.”

  “These cities of refuge, what made you think of them?” Max asked.

  “We’re in a church, and the guards insisted that you state you were seeking refuge…not asylum, not help, but refuge. It seemed an odd choice of words to me.”

  As Max, Bianca, Patrick, and Bhatti continued to toss the idea back and forth, Shelby looked around and spied what she needed on a table against the wall. She returned with the Bible, consulted the index, and then turned to the twentieth chapter of Joshua.

  “This section is titled Cities of Refuge.”

  “What does it say? Specifically?” Max pushed in closer, but she nudged him back with her shoulder.

  “Then the LORD said to Joshua: ‘Tell the Israelites to designate the cities of refuge, as I instructed you through Moses, so that anyone who kills a person accidentally and unintentionally may flee there and find protection from the avenger of blood.’”

  “It says that?” Max pulled the book from her hands.

  “We were definitely fleeing,” Bianca said.

  “Though we hadn’t killed anyone…yet.”

  A gong rang out, causing them all to stop and look around.

  “Bell tower,” Shelby said.

  The few other people in the room began moving toward the doors at the far end.

  “Where are they going?” Bianca asked.

  “And are we supposed to sit here and wait for the guy with the Uzi, or just…you know…follow the crowd?” When no one answered, Shelby again hopped up. This time she made her way to the kitchen, where the workers were removing aprons.

  “Excuse me. We’re new here.”

  “Welcome,” the older of the women said. She was probably in her sixties, with short hair that was quickly reverting back to its natural gray. “Usually there is someone around to see to guests and explain the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “But now it’s worship time, and everyone will be there.”

  “Worship?”

  “In the main cathedral. You’ll want to hurry your friends along. You don’t want to miss the message by Reverend Hernandez.”

  “Reverend Hernandez.” Shelby shook her head, realizing what a fool she must sound like standing there parroting the woman’s words back to her. But the woman didn’t seem to have noticed. In fact, she’d walked away, across the room and through the double doors, followed by her kitchen helpers.

  Shelby hurried back to their table. “We need to clean this up. Help me. We’re late.”

  “Late?” Bhatti asked. “Late for what?”

  “The message.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The cathedral was, quite simply, stunning.

  They entered from the courtyard. On their left were the two massive wooden doors that opened onto the street. It occurred to Shelby that armed guards no doubt waited on the other side of those doors, as they had in the parking area. The thought disoriented her. She felt as if she’d been dropped into a medieval setting rather than the middle of a historic cathedral in modern-day Austin, Texas.

  The room itself was massive, with ceilings probably twenty feet high, stained glass windows, and dark wood. It reminded her of something from a movie—some European church from the last millennium built at the bequest of the king.

  Details from the tour she’d taken several years before came back to her in bits and pieces. Nicholas Clayton had designed the cathedral to remind parishioners of the natural places where men encounter God. To that end, treelike columns had been placed at intervals down the room. The tops of the columns had been carved to resemble foliage. Everywhere she looked, there were traces of vines and leaves—man encountering God.

  In between each of the columns were two tall stained-glass windows. The sanctuary was shaped like a nave, with dark wooden pews stretching down the length of the room and a center aisle that drew all attention to the front altar, where a blue dome replete with stars crowned more stained-glass windows. At the very center of it all was a sculpture of Christ upon the cross.

  As astounding as the architecture was the sheer number of people crowded into the cathedral. They filled the pews, scooting in to allow room for just one more. They stood in the doorways, along the walls, near the massive columns, and at the back of the room.

  There were people of all ages, all races, and both genders.

  Patrick and Bianca and Bhatti pushed in through the crowd until they were squeezed into a corner in the back of the room. Max shrugged, made an after-you gesture, and they joined their friends. Shelby expected a hymn. She expected the long, drawn-out notes of an organ or the solid chords of a piano, but there was no music.

  The crowd hushed, and a man stepped to the front of the stage. They were far enough back that it was hard to make out his features. If she guessed, he was in his forties, with dark hair that flopped over his eyes and sinewy arms. He looked nothing like a priest, though he wore the vestments of the clergy—a black robe with a white clerical collar. It made her itch just looking at it. How did he stand such clothes in this heat?

  And it was hot in the room. With so many people and no way to open the windows, the air hung dank and heavy and stale.

  But she forgot all about
that when Reverend Hernandez began to speak.

  Shelby had been to Catholic services, even Mass, a few times in her life. Sometimes for weddings or funerals. Sometimes for research. And once or twice because she was visiting with a friend who asked her to go.

  This service was nothing like those.

  Reverend Hernandez stood in the center of the room, his arms raised high, his head lowered. He stood there, silently, for a full minute. When he lowered his arms, he began to speak.

  “Surely we are living in the last days. We are warned, in the second epistle to Timothy. We are warned.”

  A woman to Shelby’s right began to weep.

  Bianca moved closer.

  Max crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering as he studied the priest.

  “ ‘In the last days there will come times of difficulty.’ That we have seen and experienced.” He raised his gaze to the crowd, as if he were noticing them for the first time. “People will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents…” His voice rose steadily with each word, reminding Shelby of the heavy sound of an organ building to a crescendo.

  “People will be ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control.”

  “Yes, Jesus. Yes.” Affirmation came from the right, from the left, even in front of and behind them.

  “People will be brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit.” And now his arms were up again, reaching out, encompassing the entire crowd. “Lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.”

  His voice rose and broke over the crowd. Each person waited, mesmerized by the words of the New Testament and the presence of the priest before them, mesmerized by his intensity and the overwhelming sense of mourning and judgment.

  Reverend Hernandez began pacing, his voice suddenly lower so that each person in the crowd unconsciously leaned forward. Shelby glanced at Max. His expression was solemn, unhappy even. Max didn’t approve of hell-and-brimstone preaching. They’d always had more of a teacher than a preacher at their church.

  Max had said once that he would rather win converts to Christ through reasoned discussion that emotional manipulation. When she’d confessed that she had first walked the aisle after a fiery gospel sermon, terrified she wouldn’t live to see salvation, he’d shrugged and said, “Any way to Christ is good, but I believe faith is more likely to stick if the gospel is approached with an open heart and a sharp mind.”

  The people around them definitely had open hearts. They were listening with their entire beings. As far as sharp minds? She wasn’t so sure. They seemed…entranced.

  “We have been warned, and now we see. We see, and we repent of our ways. We see, and we believe. But it is not yet over, my friends. This time of tribulation—it has only just begun.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. When Shelby glanced at him, he shook his head—one short, definitive shake.

  “Matthew tells us that ‘after the tribulation…the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken.’ ” He continued to pace left and right, finally stopping in the middle again. “Are you ready for the coming darkness? Have you prepared your soul? Have you confessed your sinful ways?”

  Across the cathedral men, women, and children knelt—some weeping, others with their faces buried in their hands.

  “This place is your city of refuge. Have you not all requested refuge?”

  “We have.” The cries rose from every direction of the room, voices proclaiming their need and their failures in those two simple words.

  “And you shall be given refuge, just as the Israelites designated cities in Joshua’s day, so this place has been designated by God to be your place of refuge. You will not be surrendered to those who accuse you. The avenger of blood will find no foothold here.” He raised his hands, shook a fist at the large wooden doors at the back of the room. “This is your refuge. Christ is your refuge. As long as this cathedral stands, you will be protected.”

  The last line must have been some sort of signal. Offering plates appeared and were passed back and forth. Shelby was amazed when she accepted it from the woman standing to her right and passed it to Max. Already the plate was overflowing—with money, with gold, jewels, a strand of pearls, someone’s wedding ring. Three plates passed them, each more full than the last.

  The offerings were taken to the altar and blessed by Reverend Hernandez, who then began the liturgy of the Eucharist. Max nodded toward the side door that they’d entered through, and they tried to leave as inconspicuously as possible.

  They stepped out into the courtyard, the sky darkening above them and the sounds of the city around them.

  “I don’t know what that was about, but I can’t say I like it.” Patrick scowled into the gathering darkness.

  “He has those people in the palm of his hand.” For a moment Bhatti almost looked angry, and then his expression softened into something like sorrow. “Not one word about the grace, provision, and omnipotence of God.” He patted the pocket of his shirt, caught Shelby watching, and smiled resignedly. “What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now.”

  “Made me a little nervous too.” Max turned to Bianca and asked, “Was that a typical service?”

  “I’m Hispanic, but I’m not Catholic.”

  “But you’ve…you know…been to a Catholic mass before.”

  “I have,” Shelby said, “though not one like that.”

  Shelby started to describe the services she had attended but fell silent as an older man stepped out of the cathedral and began walking toward them.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The short, balding man was wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and a bright blue bow tie. He insisted on taking Max, Patrick, and Bhatti to the men’s sleeping rooms, while an older lady whisked the girls in the opposite direction.

  It all happened so fast, all Max managed was a whispered, “We’ll find you,” before they parted ways.

  “Name’s Jack. Jack Clark.”

  “I’m Max. That’s Bhatti, and this is my friend, Micah. The five of us”—Max emphasized the words Micah and five, and watched Jack for a response, but the old guy continued to walk without comment—“were on our way to the capitol buildings when we got waylaid by a flatbed truck.”

  “Yup. Everybody has a story. I’m in charge of getting folks settled. Heard about your group from the guards. Tried to catch you in the dining area, but you’d already left.”

  “Yeah, we, uh…followed the kitchen crew to hear the message.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. They were walking behind Jack, who was hoofing it down a long corridor. He opened a door into a gym area, where pallets and sleeping bags had been laid out in lines up and down the court. There must have been room for a couple of hundred people to sleep.

  “It’s not much, but it’s better than being out on the streets.”

  “We appreciate it.”

  “The women have smaller rooms with twenty gals per room.”

  “And the children?” Patrick asked.

  “Accommodations with their mothers.” Jack looked entirely pleased with himself. “You folks have a good night.”

  “Whoa. Hang on a minute, Jack.”

  Jack’s white eyebrows shot up to the top of his head. Apparently, he was used to dropping people off, not lingering for conversation.

  “I’m assuming this place is going to fill up pretty quickly.”

  “Yes, as soon as the service ends. When I saw you all leave early, I thought I better catch you and show you where to go.”

  “That’s great, but we’d like to know what’s going on here.”

  “Going on?”

  Patrick moved in closer. He didn’t exactly tower over the man, but he might have encroached on his personal space. “You know. What was that the reverend was spouting about refuge and end times and all that?”

  Jack looked around the room, as if
to be certain that they were alone. Then he walked over to where chairs were lined up against the wall, near the basketball goal.

  “What would you like to know…specifically?” He sank into one of the plastic chairs and waited.

  “I’d like to know where your supplies come from,” Bhatti said.

  “Different places.”

  “All right.” Max cleared his throat. “Let’s start with the refuge thing. Why do you call it that?”

  Jack scratched at his right eyebrow. “Well, usually these things are discussed in orientation on the first morning that a convert—”

  “We’re not converts, Jack.” Patrick pulled a chair around in front of the man, straddled it, and crossed his arms over the back of the chair. “And we probably won’t be sticking around for orientation.”

  “Oh well, everyone goes. It’s just something that we do. Everyone attends orientation.”

  “Maybe you could enlighten us just in case we miss it.” Max pulled another chair around beside Patrick’s, sat down, and stretched his legs in front, crossed at the ankles. Felt good to sit for a minute. It had been a long day. It had been a long three weeks.

  Bhatti sat as well, arms propped on knees, gaze on Jack.

  Max looked at Patrick, and his friend gave him a be-my-guest gesture.

  “Why did this church become a refuge?” Max asked.

  “Because people needed it.”

  “Needed it?”

  “After the lights went out and everything stopped working, the police pulled back and miscreants took over the streets. This was a dangerous place, I can tell you, but then Reverend Hernandez, he received a word.”

  “A word?”

  “From the Lord.”

  “And what was that word?”

  “Refuge. He was to change Saint Mary Cathedral into a place of refuge.”

  “So he’s helping people?”

  “Didn’t you receive a hot meal? And now you have a place to sleep, a place where you don’t have to worry about anyone slitting your throat.”