The Omission Index, Ch 9: Cold Gospel Pt. 3

Looking through a screen of rhododendron bushes, Hale got his first clear view. Powerful, modern floodlights on makeshift poles cast harsh, dramatic shadows across the clearing, dwarfing the warm glow of kerosene lamps. Two men in dark, unremarkable clothing stood near a large, unmarked van tucked among the trees. Their stillness was wrong - too watchful, too practiced. Everything about their posture spoke of training, of waiting. A.G.I. observers, almost certainly. The situation had escalated beyond a simple cult takedown.

Inside, the barn was even more packed than their last visit. The heat was suffocating - bodies pressed together, anticipation crackling like static electricity. Silas Blackwood commanded the makeshift stage, his voice soaring above the crowd, gestures grand and theatrical. Daniel stood beside him in a stark white robe that made him appear ghostly, fragile. The boy trembled visibly, his wide eyes fixed on some point beyond the eager faces below. Terror radiated from him in waves Hale could feel even through the mental noise of the crowd.

Molly had positioned herself near one of the side exits, ostensibly helping an elderly woman find a seat. But her eyes constantly swept the crowd, cataloging faces, noting the positions of Silas's so-called ushers. When she caught Hale's eye briefly, her small nod conveyed both fear and determination. She's thinking about her nephew, Hale realized. About what happened to kids like Daniel when no one stood up for them.

Lynn was further back, near stacked wooden crates and farming tools, head bowed as if absorbed in Silas's sermon. Her chosen spot for their planned "diversion" was dangerously close to a cluster of kerosene lamps, but she remained motionless, a coiled spring waiting for the signal. Twenty years of watching this community's children, Hale thought, remembering her quiet confession earlier. Twenty years of wondering if she could have done more.

"A.G.I. confirmed," Hale murmured to Kwan, nodding toward the panel van. "Two, maybe more inside. This isn't just about Silas anymore."

Kwan's jaw tightened. "That makes getting Daniel out cleanly even more important. And Lynn and Molly…"

"Are in the line of fire," Hale finished. He pressed his comm unit, a barely audible click. "Molly, status on exits, Silas's helpers?"

Her voice came back through his earbud, disguised as a cough. "Two… big guys… by the main door. Another… near the stage, left side. All watching Silas… or Daniel. Side doors… clear for now… but people are packed tight."

Silas's voice reached a crescendo. "And now, my brothers and sisters! The moment of true anointing! The Spirit descends! Witness the power of the Lord, shown in this chosen child! Little Spark, show them the fire of Heaven!"

He placed a hand on Daniel's head. A sickening jolt of mental force rolled through the barn - raw, controlling power that made Hale's teeth ache. Daniel cried out, a broken sound swallowed by the crowd's sudden, expectant silence. The metallic taste in the air intensified. A faint, sickly orange glow began emanating from the boy's outstretched hands, sputtering and unstable, filled with desperate, terrified energy.

"Lynn, prepare," Hale breathed into his comm. "On my mark." He looked at Kwan. "Ready to move on Daniel as soon as she creates an opening. I'll handle Silas and A.G.I."

The air felt brittle, about to shatter. Daniel's body shook uncontrollably, the orange glow around his hands flaring brighter, hungrier. Silas watched with blissful, insane pride, either unaware or uncaring of the disaster building before him.

The sickly orange glow pulsed, no longer a weak flicker but a rapidly growing brightness. The barn's temperature spiked. The metallic taste became overwhelming. Through his abilities, Hale felt Daniel's mind fracturing - fear transforming into blind, screaming panic. The boy wasn't controlling power anymore; he was a conduit for raw, destructive force tearing him apart from within.

"Yes, child! YES!" Silas roared, his face twisted in ecstatic triumph. "Let the Spirit FLOW! Let the fire of the Almighty CONSU-"

The world exploded in light.

A wave of white-hot energy erupted from Daniel's entire body, not just his hands. The blast rolled outward with crushing force, carrying unbearable heat in its wake.

The kerosene lamps nearest the stage didn't simply flare - they detonated. Burning oil and glass shards showered the crowd. The front rows screamed in unified terror as heat washed over them. Wooden benches ignited instantly, dry timber becoming kindling.

Daniel was hurled backward by his own release, a small, limp figure in a smoking white robe. He struck the stage's back wall with a sickening impact and crumpled, motionless.

Silas, caught in the blast's edge, was flung sideways into his makeshift pulpit, which splintered under his weight. For a moment he lay stunned, silver hair singed, face blackened. Then he scrambled upright, his carefully constructed divinity replaced by raw, sputtering rage.

"No! NO! This is not… this is not HIS will!" His voice cracked as he pointed at the spreading flames. "You… you have ruined it, boy! You have twisted His gift!" Reality crumbled around him, leaving only the fury of a false prophet whose chosen messenger had become his spectacular failure.

Panic ripped through the crowd - total, animalistic terror. The barn's rear, farther from the initial blast but now facing a wall of advancing flame, became a churning mass of screaming humanity. Bodies scrambled over benches, trampling each other in desperate flight. The air filled with fire's roar, crackling wood, burning oil, and the piercing cries of the injured.

"Lynn, NOW!" Hale yelled.

Even as the crowd surged around her, Lynn moved with sudden, decisive action. She grabbed a heavy iron pitchfork and drove it into the cluster of kerosene lamps near her position. The crash and resulting flare-up created a new focal point of terror, drawing part of the panicked crowd away from the main exits toward the smaller side doors Molly had identified.

God forgive me, Lynn thought as flames licked at her boots, but sometimes you have to break something to save it.

"Kwan, go! Get Daniel!" Hale pushed through the crowd's edge, his focus locked on the A.G.I. agents. They hadn't fled. Instead, they advanced toward the stage with chilling, professional calm, their expressions unreadable but their intent clear - secure their asset, fire or no fire.

Heat seared Hale's lungs and drew sweat instantly. The blaze roared like a hungry beast devouring the old tobacco barn. Through swirling smoke and hellish orange light, he saw Kwan moving with combat-medic precision, weaving through panicked bodies with practiced grace. Lynn's diversion was working - the crowd's stampede had split, creating brief space in the chaos.

The A.G.I. agents were closing on the stage. One pulled a metallic device from his bag - some kind of restraint or sedative meant for superhumans. They weren't here for rescue; they were here to reclaim damaged property.

"SHEPARD! Federal agents! Stop!" Hale's voice barely cut through the noise. Neither agent paused.

The first agent glanced at Hale with flat, dismissive eyes before refocusing on Daniel. Hale was already moving, cutting off their approach. He drew his weapon but couldn't risk firing into the smoke-filled chaos of fleeing civilians.

Kwan reached the burning stage, leaping onto the flame-licked platform without hesitation. He scooped Daniel's limp form into his arms, the boy's white robe still smoking. For a terrifying moment, Hale feared another energy release, but Daniel remained unconscious.

The second A.G.I. agent - bulky, shaven-headed - moved to intercept Kwan. Hale seized his chance, launching himself at the first agent. They crashed together, Hale driving the man away from the stage. The metallic device clattered onto burning floorboards as the agent swung a heavy fist. Hale ducked, the punch whistling past his ear, and drove his elbow into the man's ribs.

Through the chaos, he glimpsed Kwan leaping from the stage's far side with Daniel, disappearing into the smoke toward the back exits where Lynn's diversion continued. Good. The boy was moving.

Now for Silas.

The preacher stood near his shattered pulpit, a wild figure with soot-blackened face and eyes wide with fury and despair. He wasn't trying to escape - just staring at the flames he'd unleashed, muttering incoherently, swatting at imaginary sparks. In his madness, he remained a potential catalyst for another disaster.

Hale broke free from the first agent with a sharp knee to the groin, leaving the man gasping. The second agent, seeing his partner down and his target gone, made a tactical decision - he melted back into the smoke toward their van. Smart. Hale would deal with him later, if possible.

Moving toward Silas, the heat intensified with each step. Above them, the roof groaned ominously. "Silas!" Hale shouted. "You need to get out! The whole place is coming down!"

Silas looked at him with unfocused eyes. "It was… it was meant to be glorious…" His voice was hoarse, broken. "The fire… the Lord's fire…"

"This isn't divine fire, Silas. This is just fire, and it's going to kill you!" Hale grabbed the preacher's arm, but Silas resisted with surprising strength, his mind clearly fractured.

A section of roof collapsed with a deafening roar, sending burning debris and choking smoke rolling toward them. Hale felt a spike of fear - Molly's fear, sharp and immediate as the new danger threatened her escape route with the small group she was shepherding. He sensed Lynn too, somewhere in the rear chaos, still directing the flow of panicked people despite the thickening smoke.

She's thinking about the Martinez family, Hale realized, feeling Molly's determination beneath her terror. About getting them out because she knows Maria's pregnant and can't run fast. And Lynn - still teaching, still protecting, even with the world burning around her.

Time was running out. Hale focused on Silas, reaching out with his abilities - not to drain the man's pride this time, but to smother the immediate, unstable panic and rage that could trigger another psychic explosion. He pulled hard, taking the worst of Silas's uncontrolled emotions and leaving him dazed but manageable.

Silas sagged against him, resistance gone. Hale half-carried, half-dragged him toward the nearest usable exit as the barn's death-roar echoed behind them.

The immediate transition from inferno to night air was shocking - cool darkness after hellish heat, the sudden absence of the fire's roar leaving his ears ringing. Hale's lungs burned as he dragged Silas away from the collapsing structure, both of them stumbling on the uneven ground. Around them, other survivors staggered into the clearing, some supporting injured companions, others simply standing in stunned silence as they watched the barn's death throes.

Hale deposited Silas near a cluster of emergency vehicles that had finally arrived, their red and blue lights casting eerie shadows across the scene. The preacher collapsed onto the grass, muttering incoherently, his earlier commanding presence reduced to that of a broken, babbling shell. EMTs immediately moved to check him over, professional concern overriding any questions about who this soot-covered man might be.

The mental aftershock hit Hale then - a wave of psychic residue from the night's violence, the crowd's terror, Daniel's agony, and Silas's shattered delusions all mixing into a nauseating cocktail behind his eyes. He stumbled, catching himself against a fire truck's warm metal side, and forced himself to breathe slowly until the worst of it passed.

Through watering eyes, he saw Kwan emerge from the smoke carrying Daniel. The boy's condition was clearly critical, but he was alive. A specialized SHEPARD medical team was already waiting, their equipment more advanced than anything the local EMTs possessed. They took Daniel with the efficient care of people who dealt with superhuman injuries regularly, loading him into what looked like a standard ambulance but was almost certainly something more sophisticated.

***

A few hours later, the Calloway barn was a blackened skeleton against the bruised dawn sky. Steam rose from its charred beams as the volunteer fire department from Clay County finally brought the last flames under control. The air for miles around carried the acrid smell of wet ash, burnt wood, and extinguished dreams.

Hale stood beside the SHEPARD communications van, the mental echoes of the night's trauma still pulsing behind his eyes. His head ached with familiar weariness, the bone-deep exhaustion that came after using his abilities under extreme stress.

Kwan was at the makeshift first-aid station, his expression grim as he watched EMTs treat the injured. There were dozens of burns - some severe - along with stampede injuries: broken bones, bruises, smoke inhalation. Miraculously, no one had died in the immediate chaos, a testament to Lynn's effective diversion and Molly's quiet guidance of the most vulnerable.

Daniel had been whisked away by the SHEPARD medical team, his condition critical but stable. The massive energy release had nearly destroyed him from within - a cautionary tale about what happened when untrained abilities were pushed beyond their limits.

Silas Blackwood, now sedated and secured in an unmarked SHEPARD vehicle, was no longer the commanding figure who had held sway over hundreds of followers. His divinity had been stripped away, leaving only a hollow-eyed, traumatized man who would likely spend the rest of his life in a secure facility.

The A.G.I. agent Hale had subdued - identified as Jared Hill - was similarly secured, though far calmer and less cooperative than his former ally. The second agent had vanished into the Appalachian night, a loose thread that would undoubtedly concern SHEPARD's leadership.

SHEPARD personnel moved through the scene with practiced efficiency, their quiet competence standing out among the chaos. They offered blankets and water to survivors while conducting careful interviews, their questions designed to shape the narrative that would eventually emerge. The official story was already taking form: a tragic accident, faulty wiring in an old barn, perhaps a mishandled kerosene lamp during an emotional service. The "miracles," the "child of fire," Silas's abilities - all would be explained away as mass hysteria, poor lighting, and the understandable exaggerations of terrified witnesses.

His gaze found Molly and Lynn near the first-aid station's edge. They weren't victims but pillars of strength, helping wherever they could. Lynn, her face streaked with soot and her voice hoarse from shouting, was directing a steady stream of dazed locals toward the coffee and water stations. Molly sat on a pickup truck's tailgate, her arm around a sobbing young woman, murmuring words of comfort Hale couldn't hear but could feel as warm points of empathy in the cold aftermath.

They looked exhausted and shaken, but there was something unbreakable about them - a connection to this place and its people that set them apart from the federal agents moving through the scene. They were also, Hale knew, dangerous loose ends from SHEPARD's perspective. They had seen too much, understood too much, done too much.

Agent Laskell, a sharp-featured SHEPARD field supervisor, approached with her ever-present datapad. "Agent Hale. Your initial report?"

"Silas Blackwood, Level Three Pyrokinetic, contained. Daniel Pearsall, suspected uncontrolled emergent with pyrokinetic abilities, severe trauma from power overload, medically evacuated. One A.G.I. operative in custody - Jared Hill. Second operative escaped. Multiple civilian injuries, no immediate fatalities."

"The local assets you utilized?" Laskell's gaze shifted toward Molly and Lynn, her expression professionally neutral but telling. "Their debriefing will need to be… comprehensive."

The euphemism hung in the air like smoke. Hale had seen SHEPARD's "comprehensive debriefings" before - interviews that could stretch for days, psychological evaluations, detailed background checks, and ultimately, the kind of paperwork and legal bindings that could bury a person's life in bureaucratic concrete.

"They were essential in preventing casualties," Hale said carefully. "Their local knowledge and quick thinking saved lives. They acted purely out of community concern."

"Their motivations are noted," Laskell replied coolly. "Their exposure level, however, requires standard remediation protocols."

Standard remediation protocols. The clinical phrase carried weight - memory suppression therapy, relocation assistance, new identities if necessary. All very thorough, very final.

"I'll oversee their debriefing personally," Hale stated. It wasn't a request.

Laskell's eyebrow arched slightly. "Irregular. But given your direct operational history with them, perhaps prudent." She made a note. "Agent Kwan's status?"

"Smoke inhalation, exhaustion. He'll need evaluation. But his primary concern is Daniel's welfare."

"The Pearsall boy is receiving appropriate care," Laskell said, the official phrasing falling flat. "He's a SHEPARD priority now."

Later, as gray dawn light filtered through the smoke-filled trees, Hale found Kwan sitting alone on an overturned crate, staring at the barn's smoldering remains.

"You holding up?" Hale asked.

Kwan looked up, weariness etched in every line of his face. "Daniel was just a kid, Tom. What they did to him, what Silas did… and those A.G.I. bastards treating him like property…" He shook his head. "But Molly and Lynn - they didn't have to walk into that fire. They could have stayed safe, let someone else handle it. But they saw a kid in trouble and didn't hesitate."

The raw admiration in his voice was mixed with deep sadness. "Makes you wonder who the real heroes are in these operations."

Hale knew the answer, but it wasn't something SHEPARD's reports would reflect. "The official version will commend their civic duty, then bury them under enough paperwork and secrecy agreements that they'll never speak of tonight again," he said, the familiar cynicism bitter on his tongue. "My immediate concern is ensuring their 'comprehensive debriefing' doesn't become something uglier."

Kwan nodded, understanding the unspoken implications. "They're tough women. But they're not trained for this kind of pressure. They don't know how these games are played."

No, they didn't. And Hale felt a grim responsibility to shield them from the worst consequences of their heroism. It was born from shared terror, unexpected human connection, and the uncomfortable echo of his own carefully managed past.

***

The chaos had settled into organized efficiency. SHEPARD personnel moved with practiced rhythm, cataloging evidence, coordinating with local authorities, and gently but firmly guiding traumatized survivors toward waiting buses. Hale didn't want to know where those buses were headed - some questions were better left unasked.

He found Molly near one of the SHEPARD vans, a blanket draped over her shoulders despite the warming morning air. Agent Davies, young and earnest, was conducting her preliminary interview, his datapad ready to capture her responses. Lynn was being questioned by Laskell herself, her arms crossed defensively but her face showing the exhaustion of someone who had given everything.

Approaching, Hale caught Davies's attention. "Agent Davies."

"Agent Hale." Davies paused his questioning. "I was just completing Ms. Hayes's initial statement."

"I need a moment with her. Part of my after-action assessment." It was a thin excuse, but Davies, likely aware of Hale's seniority and the unusual circumstances, simply nodded and stepped away.

Molly looked up at Hale, her eyes shadowed with fatigue. The soot streaking her cheek made her seem younger, more vulnerable than the capable woman who had guided terrified civilians to safety hours earlier.

"How's Daniel?" she asked, her voice hoarse from smoke and shouting.

Hale hesitated. The boy was alive, but his future was now in SHEPARD's hands - a future that might involve training, containment, or worse. "He's getting the care he needs. He's away from Silas."

It was the only honest answer he could give.

Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken truths and the lingering smell of ash. Molly's fingers worked at the blanket's edge, and Hale noticed her hands were trembling slightly - delayed shock, probably, though she'd shown no sign of it during the crisis.

"I keep thinking about Maria Martinez," she said quietly. "She was so scared, couldn't move fast because of the baby. I almost left her behind when that roof section came down." Her voice caught. "For a second, I thought about just running."

"But you didn't."

"No." She looked at him directly. "I couldn't. Maybe that makes me stupid, but…" She trailed off, then squared her shoulders. "My nephew Tommy was about Daniel's age when he went missing. Never found him, never knew what happened. I wasn't there for him, but I could be there for that boy tonight."

The pieces clicked into place - her fierce protectiveness, her willingness to risk everything for a child she barely knew. Hale felt a familiar weight in his chest, the recognition of someone carrying guilt they hadn't earned but couldn't set down.

"You saved lives tonight," he said simply.

A sad smile touched her lips. "So did you. And Lynn, and Kwan. Even poor broken Silas, in his twisted way, thought he was saving someone." She studied his face. "This is what you do, isn't it? Clean up the messes when people like me get in over their heads?"

"Something like that."

Molly nodded slowly, as if confirming something to herself. "So this is it, then? You disappear back into whatever shadow world you came from, and we pretend none of this happened?"

The question held no accusation, only a weary understanding of how these things worked. She was already accepting the inevitable - that their brief connection would be severed, that her heroism would be classified and forgotten, that the federal machine would smooth over the night's chaos until it became just another small-town tragedy.

"That's how it usually works," Hale admitted.

She reached out and brushed a smudge of soot from his cheek with her thumb. The gesture was brief but surprisingly intimate, carrying more weight than words could have managed. For a moment, the professional distance he maintained cracked, revealing the exhausted man beneath the federal agent's facade.

"Be careful out there, Tom Hale," she said softly, then turned and walked away, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

The touch lingered on his skin long after she'd gone, a reminder that even in the shadow world he inhabited, human connection could still surprise him. Agent Davies approached with his datapad ready, but Hale continued watching Molly's retreating figure, memorizing the quiet dignity with which she faced an uncertain future.

"Agent Hale?" Davies prompted gently.

Hale turned back to the business at hand, but part of him remained focused on the woman who had walked into fire for a stranger's child, asking nothing in return except the chance to do what was right.

The morning sun was burning away the smoke, and with it, the last traces of the night's extraordinary events. By afternoon, there would be only official reports, managed memories, and the quiet satisfaction of a job completed. But in the space between crisis and resolution, something human had flickered - brief, bright, and impossible to classify in any government file.

Agent Davies began his questions, and Hale provided the necessary answers. But his thoughts remained with Molly Hayes, walking away into an uncertain dawn, carrying the weight of heroism that the world would never officially acknowledge.

***