Nelson Demille - The Quest

Gann, too, was a mass of blood, and his khakis were soaked red. He was still breathing, but frothy blood was running from his mouth.

Purcell moved toward the three soldiers who’d been standing near the hut, near Getachu. They hadn’t caught the full blast of the grenade, but they were down, bleeding and stunned by the concussion. One of them looked at him.

Purcell raised his revolver and put a bullet into each of their heads.

He moved over to where Miriam lay on the ground. He saw no blood, and thought she’d been low enough to escape the flying shrapnel. He knelt beside her and shook her. “Miriam.” Then he saw the wound in the side of her head where a single piece of shrapnel had entered her skull. He felt her throat for a pulse, but there was none. He reached out and pulled her shamma over her buttocks.

He stood and looked at Getachu, who was sitting against the wall where he’d been thrown by the impact of the bullet. His face had caught some shrapnel, and one of his eyes was a mass of blood.

Blood also ran out of his mouth from the bullet wound in his chest. His one eye was following Purcell.

Getachu seemed to be trying to speak, and Purcell knelt near him, though he still could not hear. Getachu spit a glob of frothy blood at him.

Purcell wiped the blood from his face, put the revolver to Getachu’s good eye, and pulled the trigger.

Purcell stood and turned, and looked at Vivian, whose body was still shaking, though he saw no blood, and she seemed all right.

He looked at where Mercado had been standing, and saw him lying facedown on the ground.

Purcell knelt beside Vivian and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Her face was buried in her arms, and she gave a small nod.

“Do not move.”

He stood and walked to Mercado and knelt beside him. Mercado’s backpack had caught a lot of shrapnel, and he had taken shrapnel in his legs and buttocks, and blood was seeping through his khakis. His shirt was also wet, Purcell saw, but not with blood. The champagne bottle had broken. “Henry. How are you, old man?”

No response.

“Henry.” He shook him.

Purcell heard and felt a rushing in his ears; his hearing was returning. “Are you all right?”

“I said I’ve been hit. I’ve been hit.”

Purcell couldn’t tell if the wounds were serious, but the blood was not gushing. It came to him that Henry, by turning his back on Getachu, may have saved his own life. He said to Mercado, “Just lie still. You’ll be all right. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to Vivian, knelt beside her, and again put his hand on her shoulder. “Can you stand?”

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet, keeping her back turned to the carnage around the hut. She put her arms around him. “Frank… oh my God…” She began crying, then took a deep breath and asked in a quiet voice, “What happened?”

He told her again, to reassure her, “Getachu is dead.”

She tried to turn to look toward the hut, but he held her against him.

He said, “The soldiers are dead. Listen to me-a hand grenade exploded. Colonel Gann is dead. Miriam is dead.”

She let out a long cry, then got herself under control and asked, “Henry…?”

“Henry is… he will be okay.” Maybe.

She turned her head to where she’d last seen Henry, and saw him facedown on the ground with blood on his pants. “Henry!” She pulled loose from Purcell and he let her go.

She ran over to Mercado and knelt beside him. “Henry!”

Mercado turned his head toward her and smiled. “Thank God you are all right.”

Purcell didn’t recall Henry asking him about Vivian, but he supposed Mercado was in shock.

Vivian was caressing his hair and face. “You will be fine. You are fine. Just lie still… are you in pain?”

“A bit. Yes.” He turned his head toward Purcell. “Am I going to live?”

Purcell knelt opposite Vivian and put his fingers on Henry’s throat to feel his pulse, which seemed strong. “How is your breathing?”

“All right…”

He felt Henry’s forehead, and it was not cool or clammy. He informed Mercado, “Gann is dead. Miriam is dead.”

“No… oh, God… what happened…?”

“Gann got hold of a grenade.”

Purcell stood and walked over to one of the soldiers he’d executed. There was a U.S. Army first aid kit on the man’s web belt, and he snapped the canvas kit off and carried it to Vivian. He put it in her hand. “There should be a pressure bandage in there, and iodine. Get his clothes off and we’ll patch him up.”

She nodded and asked Mercado, “Can you sit up?”

She helped him roll onto his back, which seemed to cause him pain, then she pulled him up into a sitting position, took his backpack off, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Purcell went back to the other two executed soldiers and retrieved their first aid kits, which each held a pressure bandage. He checked the two soldiers who’d taken the full brunt of the grenade blast, but their web gear was as shredded as their bodies, and he saw that one of them had a protruding intestine.

He went back to Gann, and he knelt beside him and felt for a pulse, but there was none. Purcell pushed his eyelids closed and said, “You did good, Colonel.”

Henry was naked now, on all fours, and Vivian was dabbing iodine on his legs and butt, which caused him to cry out in pain.

Purcell walked over to them and knelt on the other side of Henry. He counted three shrapnel wounds in his left leg and two in his buttocks. He could see the shrapnel sticking out of one wound and he pulled it out, which made Henry yell in pain. Purcell said, “I think you may be very lucky.” He took his penknife from his pocket and said, “This will hurt, but you will remain still and quiet.”

He managed to get all but one piece of metal out of Mercado’s flesh, and Henry kept relatively still, as Vivian kept talking to him.

He gave Vivian the other two first aid kits. “Bandage the ones that look the worst.”

He looked at her kneeling on the other side of Mercado and she looked at him. He said, “Be quick. We need to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“You know where we’re going.”

She nodded, then started opening the first aid kits.

He stood and again surveyed the scene, then lit a cigarette. “My God. Oh my God.”

He wanted to bury Colonel Gann and Miriam and not leave them for the jackals, but he didn’t see a shovel, and he didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to.

He walked over to Gann and hefted him onto his shoulder, then carried him to Miriam and laid Gann down beside her. He crossed their arms over their chests. Hopefully Getachu’s men, looking for their general, would know that someone had respected the bodies, and maybe they’d do the same. Maybe, too, they’d be happy to find their general with a bullet in his brain.

Purcell watched Vivian help Henry into his clothes. Henry seemed all right.

Purcell pulled up his pant leg and looked at his wound. A piece of metal protruded from his calf and he pulled it out.

Shrapnel from an exploding grenade or shell was a random thing, he recalled from his time in Southeast Asia-hot metal shards or pieces of spring-loaded wire, killing and maiming some, leaving others untouched. It really didn’t depend too much on where you were standing or lying when it went off-close, far, standing, or prone as Miriam was-it didn’t matter. When it was your time, it was your time. When it wasn’t, it wasn’t. It was Colonel Gann’s time, and Miriam’s time. It was not Henry Mercado’s time. Or Vivian’s, or his. Indeed, they had been chosen.

He walked over to them and said, “We are going to the black monastery. We are going to see the Holy Grail.”