Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

fight to protect others. We need your son. We need the Concealed Ones, who are like the solid foundation—humble and unseen, but without them the whole thing crumbles.”

“Why me, though? I thought it was all a male thing.”

“They have to come from somewhere, don’t they?” He gestured to her tummy. “See there? Prego, in your own words.”

“So the women do all the work, while the men get the glory? Typical.”

“Well, with that attitude of yours . . .”

“Who makes these rules?”

“Hey, man, at least you get the Letter.” He flashed a smile. “Not to mention that your son will have a portion of immortal blood—thanks to you, that is. In Jewish culture, heredity passes through the mother’s side. Aside from the original Thirty-Six, the previous Nistarim candidates have always been mortal.”

“If you ask me, it sounds like a flawed plan.”

“We’re all flawed.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“But it doesn’t disqualify us from being Those Who Resist.”

“Well, that’s a big relief.”

“It should be. Even though some people think this stuff I’m telling you is just legend, much of it comes down through revered rabbinical traditions. To a devout Jew, the Talmud’s just about level with the Torah and the Scriptures. And of course, the male is seen as a covering or a protector, going back through thousands of years of culture.”

“And you think my child is a part of all this?”

“You tell me.”

She reflected on the past months of cramps and knee-buckling grief, of sympathy pains that seemed to torment her son within. What sort of life lay ahead for him? She felt a flutter in her midsection.

“My poor baby,” she said.

“Yeah, there’s not much glory in the job.” A weary expression crossed Cal’s face. “It’s all about dying to yourself every day. Often a long, lonely road.”

“That about describes it,” she said. “From the moment I took the pregnancy test, he’s been putting me through the wringer. Sure, it’s painful. But it’s more of an emotional thing, a psychological drain. Does that sound totally whacked?”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

“Oh? You’ve been pregnant before?”

“Funny.” He rested his hand on her arm. “I know that you, Gina, in your heart of hearts, care deeply about the world around you. What we’ve been talking about, this is your chance to carry on that concern through your child. And that’s what’s got these Akeldama Collectors all fired up. Through their immortal—no, they don’t even deserve that word—through their undead eyes, they’re able to see the Lettered. They know you must be carrying a special child, and that’s what they’re waiting on, to know if the kid’s the real deal.”

“So I pop him out, and there they are? Ready to snatch him away?”

“Probably not that simple. The Letter appears at adulthood. For boys, that’s age thirteen. Until then they won’t know for sure that your son’s one of the Nistarim, but they’ll assume that’s the case based on your Letter. My guess is they’ll wait to be sure you have a male, then make a move.”

“Basically, we’re doomed. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“How would you put it? Thanks, Cal. Way to drop a bomb on my picture of domestic bliss. What am I supposed to do? Hire armed guards? Move to Timbuktu?”

“Want my advice? Stay put.”

“What if I run away? Try to sneak off somewhere?”

“They’ll follow. Predator and prey.”

“No, thank you. I had enough running early on in life.”

“More than you even remember, Gina.”

“What?”

“Just ride this thing out,” he said, “to the due date. I’ll be hidden, but I’ll be watching. You have to trust me on that part, no matter what.”

“Like I trusted you to come find me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Gina imagined laying her head against his chest, but that would open doors inside that were best left closed. She thought of Jed. She gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Thing is,” he said, “I’ve faced these creatures before, even put down a Collector or two in my day. That’s my job now.” A somber tone in his voice, one of grim determination. “My vow to you is that I’ll be here, keeping an eye on you, guarding your going in and going out—at home, the hospital, wherever. I’ll make sure your baby’s safe and sound.”

“Right. Like you did on High Street?”

“Don’t forget I gave you that drink.”

“What drink?”

He fished a necklace of braided twine from around his neck, tapped the vial that hung from it. “Moisture on your tongue, remember? Reviving drops.”

“But I . . .” Gina shook her head. “If I’m immortal, I wouldn’t have died anyway, according to your wonderful theories. And for that matter, why worry about my baby? I mean, they can’t kill him. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Uh, news flash. Yeah, it is. In English, immortal means you cannot die.”

“There are limitations. It’s not a free pass, some Get out of jail free card. If the Nistarim are put to death, they must be revived within three days or their pilgrimage on Earth is over. It’s a window the Nazarene opened by His own defeat of death.”

“Well, the whole thing seems overrated, if you ask me. I mean, I take a bullet, I keel over, and then I get three days for some miracle to happen or I’m still toast.”

“That’s three days more than the average person.”

“Whoop-dee-doo.”

“And you come back good as new.”

“Well, there’s the real sales hook. Sign me up.”

Cal’s eyes met hers. “Gina, most people are appointed to live once, but your role is slightly different. You’re a direct descendant of the original thirty-six.”

“What do you mean, ‘original’?”

“The first ones. Before any had collapsed beneath the burden. Before any others had risen to take their place. In Jewish numerology—this whole school of study called gemetria—eighteen is the number of life. So thirty-six is—”

“Let me guess: double life.”

“Exactly. So, if you’re tracking here, we have the doubly dead. More specifically, this new breed of parasites: Jerusalem’s Undead. The good news is that there’s the other set of Jerusalem’s Undead: the doubly alive. They