"No lie," Shabazz said, moving so Berkfield could stand. "Hurry up though."
With Big Mike at his side for assistance, Berkfield rushed to the bathroom and soaped and rinsed his hands, quickly returning to the conference room with Big Mike holding him up. All eyes were on Berkfield as he took Father Patrick's hand within his, closed his eyes, and waited. Soon a peaceful heat entered his palms and covered the old priest's wound.
They all watched Berkfield's hand open in a small cut just under the knuckles. The gash dripped in a slow line of blood onto the table, and then sealed. When he removed his hands from the cleric's, Father Patrick's wound also sealed.
"Well I'll just be damned," Rider whispered, staring at Berkfield. "Marlene's healings work differently... I can't explain it, but yours is... I don't know."
"Marlene's is internal, spiritual, she seals breaks in the aura and soul. Berkfield has the touch to seal broken flesh," Shabazz said, his eyes riveted to the healed wounds. "All I know is, we need this gift on our team if we're going into the Armageddon, brother. Coulda used you when we got our asses kicked in Hell, too."
"Word," Jose murmured, his line of vision going to Father Patrick.
"Like I said," Carlos murmured, still staring at his hand, "I'm no threat. I can't even heal myself or regenerate from a simple cut. Killing me oughta be easy at this point."
Father Lopez peered at the table, motioning to the pool of shimmering crimson blood that Carlos's wound had left. He poked at it with the tip of the long Isis and then set the short blade down slowly. All of them watched silently as Carlos's blood beaded up and formed small clusters of a reddish, mercury-like substance on the table.
"Then tell us why you have silver running through your veins," Father Lopez said in a reverent tone. "We don't know what your gift is yet,hombre , but you've obviously got one."
The walk through the cabin toward the sick bay felt like a death march. Each time the plane shifted from the turbulence, Damali could feel her pulse quicken. She could also feel Marlene's worried gaze boring into her back, trying to reach her, make her stop walking, and silently begging her to give up her mission to be done with it all.
"I'm not going to have a buncha drama kick off on this plane," Damali said without turning to address Marlene. "We both know this tension is about to blow, and innocent people could get hurt. There's only one way to handle this-just do the damned thing."
Although Marlene didn't verbally answer her, she knew her words had been accepted with silent, begrudging resignation. The palpable energy seal between her and Marlene receded as the older woman dropped her resistance and it became easier to move forward.
"Thank you," Damali said quietly as her hand touched the sickbay door.
"I don't agree, but I respect your decision," Marlene said as they entered the state-of-the-art medical room. Marlene stared at the doctors. "Be very careful. She's also precious cargo, if to no one else, she is to me."
The two doctors nodded and handed Damali a white hospital gown, then pulled the drape.
"Please put this on," one doctor said. "Open in the back, put the tissue sheet across your lap and place your feet in the stirrups, and then we'll begin."
"Don't worry, Ms. Stone," the lead doctor assured Marlene. "We have state-of-the-art heart equipment on board. Our pontiff and many of his ambassadors are elderly and suffer from chronic health conditions. Therefore, our medical room is well equipped to handle any emergency that should arise."
Damali and Marlene shared a glance as both women nodded, unconvinced, but prepared to do what was necessary. She stared at the head doctor. He hadn't even told her his name. His eyes were cold blue. He seemed near sixty, if a day, and the fact that he couldn't look her in the eye didn't inspire her confidence. The younger one at his side looked like an older version of Dan, and seemed just as skittish. Heaven make this quick. She already didn't like who was going to do the medical job.
"I would feel better," Marlene said with a weary sigh, "if there wasn't so much turbulence."
"We'll strap her to the table," the assisting doctor assured Marlene. "Once we apply a local anesthesia, she shouldn't experience too much discomfort."
Damali handed her clothes to Marlene and continued to talk to the doctors who'd given her privacy on the other side of the drape. She didn't care who they were or what they thought, so long as they hurried up and did what needed to be done. "I took a couple of shots of Jack Daniels, though."
Both women stopped moving as the doctors never replied.
Damali pulled the drape open and slowly pushed herself to the edge of the table, noting the sharp instruments on the tray beyond her head. Her gaze went to what appeared to be a large plastic sump pump with a clear hose attached to it, and she studied the masked men who had scrubbed their hands and covered them with a sheath of latex.
"We're hesitant to give you anesthesia with liquor in your system," the head doctor said, glancing at Marlene as his assistant secured the table harness over Damali's arms, torso, and opened thighs. He took great care to wrap her calves and ankles in nylon fabric belts to keep her legs from jerking during the procedure.
"I don't need it," Damali said, her throat suddenly dry as she continued to stare at the pump container.
"Baby, when they start working just stare at the ceiling. Don't concentrate on the sound," Marlene murmured as she stroked Damali's hair.
Tears filled her eyes and she focused on the ceiling. "Just do it."
The doctors nodded and turned on the pump.
"Oh, great Isis have mercy," Marlene whispered, turning her face away as a doctor neared Damali. "Don't let them do this to you, baby." Marlene squeezed Damali's hand. "You can change your mind-"
Damali and Marlene froze as a gun barrel suddenly dug into Marlene's temple, the distinctive click of a hammer being cocked drowning out the sound of the pump.