his machete quietly. Father Patrick began performing last rites, as Marjorie forced the teenager's face to her shoulder. Father Lopez guided the new members of the group to faraway pews.
Carlos was on his knees next to Jose. "Oh, shit, man. C'mon. You can shake this thing."
"Let Berkfield try," Jose said, his voice cracking.
"Berkfield's touch will scorch him. It's a weapon, now that the virus is all through him," Marlene said, glancing at Berkfield who was beside Rider on his hands and knees. "He's turning too fast."
Damali walked away and closed her eyes. "No, not Rider," Damali whispered.
Monk Lin touched her shoulder. "We will do it, Neteru. Your affiliation is too close," he said gently. "It will forever haunt you, so let us. That is also why we're here."
Damali shook her head no and went back to Rider when she saw Marlene stand.
"No, Mar! We've got to try-"
"Baby, we've done all we can do." Marlene wiped her face as tears continued to stream down it.
"Damn!" Shabazz said and walked away. He held Big Mike back as he rushed forward to stop Imam Asula.
"Let me do my own man!" Mike hollered, his voice fractured by emotion. "Me and him go back to the beginning. Me, Rider, and Jose-that's the minisquad."
Shabazz released his hold on Big Mike as Imam Asula nodded and passed the weapon to him.
"Get the kids out of here," Damali said with her back to the team. "All the newbies, Dan, too. Nobody will be right after this. Especially not me."
"Aw, shit, Rider!" Carlos said, slapping his hand on the slate floor. "You was supposed to pull through till the end,hombre ." Carlos stood and paced back and forth. "Not another brother like this."
Slowly the team drew back. Marlene stayed near with Jose.
"I won't let you die alone, old friend," she murmured, stroking Rider's hair as he opened his eyes. But when he presented glittering yellow orbs and hissed at her, new fangs ripping through his gums, Marlene sobbed without censure. "Do it, Mike. Look at him. He's suffering on this church floor. Dawn is going to fry him slow-so do it neat."
She stood up and Carlos and Damali came near, holding up Jose. Shabazz drew Marlene into his arms. Imam Asula put a firm hand on Big Mike's shoulder, nodding that it was time and it was best. Father Patrick's face was stone but marred by streaks of tears. Sunlight was beginning to peek through the clouds, causing the side of Rider's face to sizzle. When he rolled out of the light beam, Rabbi Zeitloff closed his eyes, kissed the Star of David Dan had given him, and whispered, "Shalom, friend."
Berkfield braced himself over Rider's body as Mike lifted the machete. "Please, let me try once! What have we got to lose?"
"You taking a virus into your system that your own blood will attack and torch before it can pass out of your system," Shabazz said flatly, his emotions too raw to cope with. "This is part of the gig. The ugly part that takes your mind one loss at a time."
"What if he just treated the wound site," Damali said, going to her knees beside Berkfield. "He doesn't have to lay on hands, his blood-"
"Baby, stop it. Get up.Now ," Marlene whispered as Rider writhed in agony on the hallowed floor. His body began to smolder as he searched blindly and tried to follow the scent of human blood all around him, fangs lowered. "Let him go. We don't know where she bit him, can't even see the puncture marks. She-"
"I can see," Carlos said, his hand hovering over Rider's throat.
Berkfield reached up and Mike lowered the edge of his blade to his wrist. He winced as he slit it. "Show me where," he said, grabbing his wrist as blood spilled and Rider nearly sat up to find it.
Carlos felt his hand go hot over the throat wounds. Shabazz and Jose held Rider steady as he slashed and bit at the bloodied wrist that Berkfield held away from him. He snapped at Carlos's hand and groaned as he pulled it away. All assembled stared at the deep puncture wounds that rose on Rider's throat.
Swollen flesh with bruised, black and reddish-blue rings circled the deep holes in Rider's throat. The unmasked punctures slowly oozed a yellowish blood that gave off the stench of puss. Berkfield held his fist over the foul, torn skin and pumped his fist. As each drop splattered against Rider's throat he cried out and turned