Читать книгу The Breath of God - Jeffrey Small - Страница 16

CHAPTER 8

EMORY UNIVERSITY ATLANTA, GEORGIA

ENGLISH LIT PROFESSOR MARTHA SIMPSON pulled her pashmina tighter around her neck. A brisk wind had picked up since she’d left Harold Billingsly’s house. Fortunately, the parking deck was just around the corner. She glanced over her shoulder, checking that the maple-lined sidewalk behind her was still empty. She might have been more cautious about walking alone on the city street if it had been midnight, but at five AM the streets were deserted. The only vehicle to be seen was a white van parked across the street by the CDC buildings. Probably the cleaning crew, she thought.

Picking up her pace, she recalled the lecture she and Harold had attended the previous evening. She’d found Professor Browning’s comments on Leonardo’s use of chiaroscuro in The Virgin of the Rocks particularly interesting, but she guessed that Harold had gone just to be nice to her. Art history wasn’t his passion like it was hers. He’d attended the lectures and museum trips because they excited her. She was lucky to have found a man who was as caring as Harold was. Sure, he was ten years her senior, but at her age that no longer mattered.

Although they had only been on four formal dates, they had known each other for years through various faculty functions. She’d even sat in on some of his lectures. He was an engaging speaker and a first-rate theologian. Lately he’d been excited about a new project that had piqued her curiosity when he told her he couldn’t reveal any details about it yet. For some reason, it had to remain secret, but he’d promised she’d be the first to know. Martha wasn’t religious herself, but she respected Harold’s passion and his views. She was also looking forward to the following weekend, when they had plans to go to his cabin in the mountains of western North Carolina. The fall leaves would be at their peak then, and she was excited to spend some time lounging by the fireplace with him.

She opened her purse, a colorful Vera Bradley, and removed the round tin of Altoids. Trying to pry the lid open, her fingers slipped, and the container of mints tumbled to the sidewalk.

“Darn it!”

The can rolled across the pavement and stopped at the edge of the grass. At least it didn’t open. The last thing she wanted to do at this hour was to collect a hundred little candies from the sidewalk. She bent over and reached for the tin.

The wall of heat hit her as unexpectedly as if she’d stepped onto the street and was struck by a speeding truck. The invisible force picked Martha up off her feet, sucking the breath from her lungs. The thunder of the explosion rang through her head. Then the dark night around her erupted into an orange inferno, engulfing her world.

Strangely, she didn’t experience any pain.