The Quest: A Novel

out.
    Gann suddenly let out a strange noise, and Purcell glanced at him. Gann had his hands over his face, and he was crying, and his body was shaking. He called out, “Miriam! Miriam!”
    She turned her head toward him and said softly, “Edmund… I am sorry…”
    Gann reached out his arms to her and took three long steps toward Miriam, and almost reached her, but two soldiers grabbed him and pushed him back. He struggled with them, and kept shouting, “Miriam!”
    Purcell understood instantly that Gann was up to something, and Purcell knew this was the moment. He pulled his revolver. Then something suddenly flew through the air and came to rest on the ground, and Purcell saw it was the safety handle of a hand grenade. And he realized what Gann had done.
    Getachu was screaming in Amharic at his two men, and he didn’t see the grenade in Gann’s hand that Gann had pulled from one of the soldier’s web belts, and he also didn’t see Gann dropping the live grenade on the ground.
    The seven-second fuse had been cooking for at least three or fourseconds, Purcell knew, and he should have thrown himself and Vivian on the ground and yelled for Mercado to do the same. But he wanted to kill Getachu himself. He pushed Vivian to the ground, facedown, raised the revolver, and pointed it directly at Getachu’s heart.
    Getachu saw two things in a quick succession—the grenade, and Purcell taking aim at him. His eyes widened.
    Purcell fired, and Getachu was knocked back into the stone wall of the hut.
    Purcell threw himself on top of Vivian, who was trying to stand, and he yelled at Mercado, “Down!”
    The grenade exploded.
    The sound was literally deafening, and Purcell’s eardrums felt as though they were going to burst. The ground shook under him.
    And then there was complete silence. He felt a burning in his right calf where a piece of hot shrapnel had sliced into him. He whispered in Vivian’s ear, “Do not move.” He told her, “Getachu is dead.” But he wasn’t sure of that.
    He rolled off her quickly and rose unsteadily to one knee, with his revolver pointed toward the hut.
    No one was standing.
    He stood and drew a deep breath, then took a few steps toward the hut. The air was filled with dust and the smell of burned explosives.
    The two soldiers who’d been grappling with Gann were gushing blood from multiple wounds where the burning shrapnel had torn into their bodies.
    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 hadentered 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