station ident was wrong and she must be watching an extreme weather show. Horrific images of a tidal wave in Chile sweeping down a main street carrying people, cars and houses with it segued into a story showing a tearful farmer in the grain belt of Kansas, staring out on a huge field of wheat that had been battered to mud by hailstones the size of oranges.
‘If you read your Bible,’ the farmer said in a voice that wobbled with emotion, ‘you might think Judgement Day was close at hand.’
A whispering static rose in Liv’s head at the mention of this, bringing a vague nausea with it. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth until it ebbed away. Whatever drugs they had her on were having some alarming side effects.
When she opened her eyes she received a fresh shock. The image on the screen had changed, this time to the one that had graced the cover of every newspaper in the world when Liv had first arrived in Ruin. It showed her brother, Samuel, standing on the summit of the Citadel, arms outstretched, his monk’s cassock stretched taut, making the sign of the T-shaped cross with his body.
‘It has been twelve days since the dramatic appearance of a monk on top of the Citadel in Ruin, and ten days since the explosion tore a hole in the base of it—’
Twelve days!
‘Many believe these events in Ruin are in some way connected to the worldwide weather phenomena we have witnessed since, with various religious groups citing them as evidence of God’s anger or signs of the oncoming apocalypse predicted in the Book of Revelation. They also suggest the deaths of the evacuated monks is God gathering his own, and just a few minutes ago, this death toll increased once again.’
The picture cut to a jostling image of a large bald man wearing a black moustache and a serious expression. A caption identified him as Dr Jemya, Chief Medical Registrar of Davlat Hastenesi Hospital, Ruin. He started to read the prepared statement and the sound dipped, translating the Turkish into English.
‘Regretfully I am to announce to you, that at one twenty-five p.m. local time, another of the persons removed from the Citadel lost their life. This brings the death toll to nine.’
The press pack boiled into rowdy life and started pelting him with questions.
What was the cause of death, was it the same haemorrhaging as the others?
‘Yes.’
Do you know what’s causing it?
‘We’re working on it.’
Is it a virus?
‘No.’
Is it contagious?
He didn’t answer, he just turned and ran up the steps to the sanctuary of the hospital.
‘Thirteen people came out of the mountain. Now only four remain.’
The picture changed and Liv stared at her own photograph sandwiched between one of a dark-haired woman she vaguely remembered and another of a green-robed monk lying on a stretcher, blood streaming from uniform cuts all over his body.
‘Of these, three are still in hospital, their condition said to range from comfortable to critical.’
Shaky news footage showed a dark-haired man being manhandled into the back of a police car.
‘The fourth remains in police custody, where he is being held for questioning.’
The picture froze and Liv’s heart rolled over as she recognized his face and a name surfaced in her mind.
Gabriel.
Seeing him brought a cascade of feelings and memories.
She remembered him smiling down to her in the darkness of the Citadel, and his arms holding her in the ER after he had brought her out, protecting her until the cops had come to take him away. He had cradled her face in his hands and held her eyes with his.
If you get the chance, then go
,
he had said,
as far from the Citadel as you can. Keep yourself safe – until I find you.
Then he had kissed her, full on the lips, until they’d pulled him away, leaving her alone in the screaming chaos of the hospital.
She touched her lips, remembering the kiss, wishing she could remember more. She had to get out of
‘If you read your Bible,’ the farmer said in a voice that wobbled with emotion, ‘you might think Judgement Day was close at hand.’
A whispering static rose in Liv’s head at the mention of this, bringing a vague nausea with it. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth until it ebbed away. Whatever drugs they had her on were having some alarming side effects.
When she opened her eyes she received a fresh shock. The image on the screen had changed, this time to the one that had graced the cover of every newspaper in the world when Liv had first arrived in Ruin. It showed her brother, Samuel, standing on the summit of the Citadel, arms outstretched, his monk’s cassock stretched taut, making the sign of the T-shaped cross with his body.
‘It has been twelve days since the dramatic appearance of a monk on top of the Citadel in Ruin, and ten days since the explosion tore a hole in the base of it—’
Twelve days!
‘Many believe these events in Ruin are in some way connected to the worldwide weather phenomena we have witnessed since, with various religious groups citing them as evidence of God’s anger or signs of the oncoming apocalypse predicted in the Book of Revelation. They also suggest the deaths of the evacuated monks is God gathering his own, and just a few minutes ago, this death toll increased once again.’
The picture cut to a jostling image of a large bald man wearing a black moustache and a serious expression. A caption identified him as Dr Jemya, Chief Medical Registrar of Davlat Hastenesi Hospital, Ruin. He started to read the prepared statement and the sound dipped, translating the Turkish into English.
‘Regretfully I am to announce to you, that at one twenty-five p.m. local time, another of the persons removed from the Citadel lost their life. This brings the death toll to nine.’
The press pack boiled into rowdy life and started pelting him with questions.
What was the cause of death, was it the same haemorrhaging as the others?
‘Yes.’
Do you know what’s causing it?
‘We’re working on it.’
Is it a virus?
‘No.’
Is it contagious?
He didn’t answer, he just turned and ran up the steps to the sanctuary of the hospital.
‘Thirteen people came out of the mountain. Now only four remain.’
The picture changed and Liv stared at her own photograph sandwiched between one of a dark-haired woman she vaguely remembered and another of a green-robed monk lying on a stretcher, blood streaming from uniform cuts all over his body.
‘Of these, three are still in hospital, their condition said to range from comfortable to critical.’
Shaky news footage showed a dark-haired man being manhandled into the back of a police car.
‘The fourth remains in police custody, where he is being held for questioning.’
The picture froze and Liv’s heart rolled over as she recognized his face and a name surfaced in her mind.
Gabriel.
Seeing him brought a cascade of feelings and memories.
She remembered him smiling down to her in the darkness of the Citadel, and his arms holding her in the ER after he had brought her out, protecting her until the cops had come to take him away. He had cradled her face in his hands and held her eyes with his.
If you get the chance, then go
,
he had said,
as far from the Citadel as you can. Keep yourself safe – until I find you.
Then he had kissed her, full on the lips, until they’d pulled him away, leaving her alone in the screaming chaos of the hospital.
She touched her lips, remembering the kiss, wishing she could remember more. She had to get out of
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