The Last Survivor (A Wilde/Chase Short Story) by Andy McDermott Page B

That was close.’
    Rosemont kept watching the retreating strobes. ‘Let’s give it a minute to make sure it’s gone – Cross, what the hell? Turn that light out!’
    Cross was shining his flashlight over the ruined structure. ‘I want to see this.’
    ‘Yeah, and the guys in that chopper might see you !’
    ‘They won’t. Look, there’s a way in.’ A dark opening was revealed in the dirty stone; an arched entrance, still intact. Cross waded into the lake, the water rising up his shins as he approached the passage. ‘There’s something written above it.’ Characters carved into the stonework stood out in the beam from his flashlight.
    ‘What does it say?’ asked Arnold, moving to the water’s edge.
    Rosemont reluctantly joined him. ‘I don’t know what language that is,’ he said, indicating a line of angular runes running across the top of the opening, ‘but the letters above it? I think they’re Hebrew. No idea what they say, though.’
    ‘We should find out.’ Cross aimed his light into the entrance, revealing a short tunnel beyond, then stepped deeper into the water.
    ‘Cross, get back – God damn it,’ Rosemont growled as the other man ducked through the entrance. He traded exasperated looks with Arnold. ‘Wait here and watch for the chopper. I’ll get him.’
    He splashed into the lake. Cross had by now disappeared inside the ruined structure, spill from his flashlight washing back up the tunnel. ‘Cross! Get out of there. We’ve got a job to do.’
    There was no reply. Annoyed, Rosemont sluiced through the opening and made his way into the building’s heart, turning on his own flashlight. The water rose to his knees. ‘Hey! When I tell you to—’
    He stopped in amazement.
    The room was not large, only a few metres along each wall. But it had clearly been a place of great importance to its builders. Stone columns coated in flaked gilding supported each corner of the ceiling, bands of pure gold and silver around them inset with numerous gemstones. Not even the grime left by the long submersion in the lake could diminish their splendour. The walls themselves were covered in the skeletal ancient text he had seen outside. There were more Hebrew passages too, but the other language occupied so much space that these were relegated to separate tablets laid out around the room’s waterlogged perimeter.
    It was obvious what the temple had been built to house. The wall opposite the entrance contained a niche a little over a foot high, more gold lining it. Above it was a faded painting, a stylised seven-branched menorah – a Hebrew lampstand – with several letters over it. Carvings resembling the sun’s rays directed Rosemont’s eyes to its contents.
    A strange stone figure filled the nook. Its body was human – but the head was that of a lion. Wrapped tightly around the statuette’s torso, shrouding it like wings, were several metal sheets embossed with a pattern resembling eyes.
    Cross stood at the alcove, examining the artefact. ‘Do you see it?’ he gasped. ‘Do you see it?’
    ‘Yeah, I see it,’ Rosemont replied. There was a new edge to the other man’s voice that he had never heard before, a breathless excitement – no, wonderment . ‘What is it?’
    Cross gave his superior a glance that was somewhere between pity and disdain. ‘You don’t see it, otherwise you’d know.’
    ‘Okay, then enlighten me.’
    ‘An apt choice of words.’ He leaned closer for a better look at the leonine head. ‘It’s an angel.’
    ‘Yeah, I can see that, I guess. It does kinda look like an angel.’
    ‘No, you don’t understand. It doesn’t just look like an angel. It is an angel! Exactly as described in the Book of Revelation! Chapter four, verse six – “Four beasts full of eyes before and behind. And the first beast was like a lion.” And there’s more: “And the four beasts had each of them six wings about him.”’ He crouched, the water sloshing up to his chest. ‘There’s