Part 11 (1/2)

He hated that Mother had lied to him for so long about his father, but he was grateful that when she finally revealed the truth, she had spared no details. Mother had given him the precise location of this cave, though she never had seen it with her own eyes.

Indeed, Mother had told him everything-except for where he would find his father sleeping within the earthen tomb. She rightfully expected that Kyle would be able to discover his father's resting place on his own.

”When we are finished tonight, I would like for you to return here and dispose of the bodies.” Kyle swept his arm across the heap of fallen vampires. ”Burn them to ashes, and bury them. I don't wish to leave behind any evidence.”

”It will be done”

Deeper in the tunnel, Kyle saw symbols engraved on the wall. He moved closer.

The symbols were a language that Kyle could not interpret.

”Can you read this?” he said to Mamu. Mamu was fluent in nine languages.

Mamu brought the lamp closer. The words had been chiseled into the rock.

”I am sorry,” Mamu said. ”It is an African tongue, I believe, but I cannot decipher the meaning. I can research it-”

”He lies here” Kyle tapped his boot on the ground beneath the inscription. ”I sense it. My father lies here!”

Kyle dropped to his knees. He traced his fingertips across the smooth, cool cavern floor.

”I feel him, underneath us,” Kyle said in a trembling voice. ”Ah, the power”

He plunged his hands into the earth. Mamu set down the lamp and came forward to help him, but Kyle shoved him aside.

”I will do this alone. I have waited all my life for this moment!”

He tore great plugs of dirt out of the ground. He worked with machinelike speed. Dust plumed through the air, coated his face and his hands. But he did not slow.

After he had dug about three feet beneath the surface, he touched something: cloth. Cotton overalls.

He furiously ripped away chunks of earth.

Dusty, dark skin became visible. Cool to the touch.

Kyle heard someone shouting. He initially thought it was Mamu, but it was him. He cried, ”I am here, Father!” in a delirious chant.

He uncovered large hands, long arms, a wide torso, broad shoulders. Then a face.

Even though his father's face was slack and crusted with dirt, the resemblance to his own features was clear.

My father.

Tears tracked down Kyle's cheeks.

But his father's eyes did not open. He continued to float in the depths of Sleep.

Kyle dug away more dirt, freed his father's legs.

”Extraordinary,” Mamu whispered. ”He is so well preserved, as if he had slept only a day.”

”Help me, Mamu!” Kyle gently hooked his hands under his father's armpits. ”Lift his legs!”

Together, they removed Diallo from the grave. Kyle carefully cradled his father's head in his arms.

He felt as if he might explode from the impact of the emotion that rushed through him. He was crying, trembling.

He rested his fingers against Diallo's neck. The flesh was cool. But there came, slowly, the throb of a pulse.

”He is alive,” Kyle said.

Awe widened Mamu's eyes. ”I will help you transport him inside, monsieur”

”I will do it myself.” Kyle placed his arm under his father's back, then slid his other arm in the bend at the back of Diallo's knees.

His father was enormous. He had to be at least seven feet tall, and weighed well over two hundred pounds.

Nevertheless, Kyle carried him. Weeping, Kyle carried him all by himself, toward the house.

Toward a new life.

Chapter 6.

r1unday morning, David attended wors.h.i.+p service at New liLife Baptist Church, on Main Street. Nia had mentioned that his father had attended the church regularly and counted the pastor as a friend. David hoped to speak to Reverend Brown after the service, to learn more about his dad.

The church was a large, simple brick building with stained gla.s.s windows and a gleaming white cross atop the roof. Inside, dozens of polished oak pews filled the sanctuary. The pews were lined with plush, royal blue cus.h.i.+ons that matched the carpeting. White lamps that resembled small globes hung from the ceiling, showering the chapel in golden light.

David arrived early for the eight o'clock service. At a quarter to eight, the church was nearly full. He sat near the back. A chorus of six men and women arrived at the altar and launched into a familiar song of praise. He tapped his foot in rhythm with the beat. Although New Life was smaller than the church he attended in Atlanta, a comforting atmosphere filled the place.

When he was a child, David's mother had dragged him and his sister to church every Sunday, forcing him to attend Sunday school and partic.i.p.ate in activities such as the youth choir. David had learned a great deal and mostly enjoyed going, but he grew to resent his mother's pus.h.i.+ng him to attend, yanking him out of bed when he wanted to sleep in, demanding that he go to choir practice when he'd rather hang out with his friends. He vowed that as soon as he moved out of her house, he would go to church if he felt like it-and if he didn't feel like it, he wouldn't go. When he moved out to attend college, he went through a period of eight years during which he slipped into church no more than four times a year.

But two years ago, one of his high school friends died in a car accident. David suddenly decided to begin attending church again. There was nothing like a shattering realization of your own mortality to awaken a yearning for Divine guidance.

Wors.h.i.+p service began promptly at eight. Reverend Brown made his way to the altar. He was a bear of a man, middle-aged, with gla.s.ses and a somber demeanor. He was dressed in a conservative blue suit, and the only piece of jewelry he wore was a wedding ring.

A choir of about twenty-five people led the congregation through several stirring songs. People clapped, sang, shouted, and danced. David smiled. Baptist churches were the same across the South.

After the choir finished singing, a slim woman in a yellow dress read the announcements, and then asked the visitors to stand to be welcomed. David hesitated, then rose.

”What is your name, young man?” the woman said.

”David Hunter.”

A murmur rolled through the crowd. That's Richard Hunter's boy, many people whispered. Looks just like his daddy. Reverend Brown raised his head from his notes and made eye contact with David. David nodded at him, and the reverend nodded in return.

Now that he had made his presence known, he was certain that the pastor would make it a point to speak to him after the service. He sat, palms sweating in antic.i.p.ation.