Last Light Falling (27 page)

“We are family, you know,” I respond.

“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you and Gabe since we left the den. What we faced today was nothing compared to what lies ahead.”

“Geez, this doesn’t sound too comforting.”

“I’m not here to discourage you, but you’re entitled to the truth nonetheless,” he says.

I look at him, confused, as if he’d left out some pretty important information when we started this journey. “Whatever it is, I’m not afraid,” I say.

“That’s what frightens me. I’m not questioning your bravery, but I certainly don’t want your overconfidence to hinder you either,” he says.

“Look, I have nothing left on this earth to go to, no one to grow old with, I’m not afraid to die … not now. Sometimes I almost beg for it,” I say, throwing my dagger into the dirt.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Finnegan says. “I don’t doubt your valor, Arena, and I will proudly stand and fight with you till the very end, but you must learn to squelch the hatred and bitterness. You will soon know what kind of evil lurks in the darkness,” he says.

I look at him strangely, wondering what he means. Mystified by his gaze as he speaks, I ask him to continue.

“His name is Gennadi Olezka Gorshkov, the new Russian leader, who has been closely monitoring this country with the help of our own government. This international relationship our administration has shaped has destroyed this nation. And when this mutual bond ceases to exist, it will be the day this country dies forever,” he says disconcertingly, gazing off into space.

“During my time as the special ops leader in Iraq, before I was sent to prison for treason, I had full security access to all governmental projects—short term and long term—but I was never authorized to go any deeper than the second level without security code clearance.

“Two days before my team was terminated in a reconnaissance mission, Captain Aldine, my superior, revealed information to me that was highly classified. I was the only person he trusted, and he knew he
needed someone who shared the same values to expose this administration. He gave me his security clearance to the third-level classified files, and I couldn’t believe what I saw,” he says, now becoming a little more irritated.

“Our government has been secretly planning an invasion on its own soil. They have had long-term plans for the Russian government to mingle with our own to create a new political party that would garner absolute control over the people without being demonized for their efforts.

“You see, if the people witness an invasion coming from another country, they will cling to the new administration as their savior, and yet they will never know that they are ultimately being dictated through inter politics. Sympathy for the government is what they implore now.”

“So this is what it has come to?” I say.

“This is their solution to become a world power again,” he says in disgust.

I pick up my scorpion dagger and look at myself in its shiny surface. “Then we alter their solution,” I say, as I throw the dagger toward a tree stump, splitting a beetle in half. “So what happened to the captain?”

“Under extreme scrutiny from the beginning, the captain was never in a position to progress without conformity. I always admired Aldine for what he believed; unfortunately, with what he knew, he just wanted a way out, and his conscience got him killed. A few days later we were questioned and kept under strict supervision, until I was sent to prison while my fellow soldiers were executed.”

“Do you ever regret working for the government?” I ask.

“It wasn’t always like this, but just like the people here, I guess most of us had the wool pulled over our eyes too,” Finnegan says.

He sits down and puts his arm around me like a father would. I can’t help but notice the Celtic cross that is tattooed on his left forearm. “Finnegan, I’ve known you for fifteen years, and I have yet to ask you what that cross tattoo on your arm means.”

“It’s a family tattoo. My father wore the same cross on his arm, just as his brother did. Your grandfather was much like you when he was young. I see so much of him in you today,” he says.

“Yeah, and what’s that?” I ask.

“The will to stand and fight for truth regardless of the outcome,” he says. “You better get some rest, we leave first thing in the morning.”

I always loved dawn in the fall, just right before the sun begins to break the edge of the horizon, with a thin line of orange peeking through. It reminds me of those days I would get up early to go fishing with Finnegan, anxiously waiting for that first bite.

While everyone else is still asleep, I take all my blades down to the river and wash all the dried blood and flesh still stuck on the steel. As the red water washes out into river, I gaze through the ripples until they slow down enough for me to see my reflection. I see images of Jacob standing next to my reflection in the glassy water, and I can’t help but cry; I’m still in pain and in total shock that he is dead.

The clear water begins to vibrate, and the image of Jacob quickly disappears. I look up and see a brown bear splashing in the water across from me on the other side. I stand with my sword drawn, ready to defend myself. The bear just stares at me, confused for a moment, so I lower my sword and stare into his eyes as if we were playing mind tricks with each other. With my attention still on him, I notice a few fish swimming just below me. I haven’t had fish for quite some time, but by the looks of that old bear, he probably hasn’t either.

I slowly position myself in the water to get a good view of the fish as well as a view on the hungry-looking bear. I try to use my dagger to gig one of the fish below. I spear straight down into the water, and surprisingly gig one on the first try. My mouth salivates just looking at the trout on the end of the knife.

As I slide the fish off, the bear watches my every move, salivating, and I can only hope he is staring at the sight of the fish and not me, but for some strange reason, that old bear never took a step toward me the whole time I was in the water. Before I throw the fish on the bank, I stop to look at him one more time, wondering if he will charge at me, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me with those same cold, black eyes, licking his chops.

I’m so hungry for fish right now, but because the bear does nothing, I feel compelled to befriend the beast, so I throw him the trout. It’s amazing how two completely different species can have mutual respect
for each other. As he devours the fish, I smile, intrigued, and gig another one for him. We don’t see each other as enemies as much as we respect each other’s company as hunters. We are so different, but God has managed to show me how much we are the same. If I had a choice right now, I think I would choose to have that bear’s life rather than my own.

I walk back to camp and throw a couple of logs into the dying fire. The glowing embers beneath the charred wood hiding in the ash are hot enough to keep the fire from dying and just warm enough to dry out the cold water clinging to the tiny hairs on my legs.

While the fire gradually grows, I prepare a nice breakfast for the others, skewering fresh-caught trout on some twigs. I lay them carefully over the fire, high enough for them to cook evenly, but not too close where they might burn. The smoky aroma of the trout fills the air, waking everyone up one by one.

“Where did you get the fish?” Gabe asks, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he walks over by the fire.

“The supermarket in the seafood section,” I sarcastically respond. Gabe rolls his eyes as he sits down, while Henry and Finnegan wake up to join us.

“There’s food all around us, you know—you just have to go out and get it,” I say to Gabe. Finnegan pulls out a couple of dented cans of peaches still left in the car that we brought with us from the den.

“Fruit and fish, now that’s the kind of breakfast I’ve been craving. Thanks, Arena, you couldn’t ask for anything more,” says Finnegan.

“Sure you could. How about some nice, crispy bacon? Everything is better with bacon,” says Gabe, licking his lips.

“Well, I don’t see a pig scurrying around anywhere, so this will have to do,” says Finnegan.

“How far are we from the prison?” I ask as I sharpen my sword.

“We’re about fifty miles, but let’s not get too anxious now. This won’t be like the other cities. This facility can hold up to ten thousand prisoners, which means there may be a thousand armed guards,” says Finnegan.

“I’ll be ready,” I say with confidence.

“Yes, and so will they,” Henry chimes in.

“You say that car is equipped with heavy weapons?” I ask.

“Theoretically, yes. Haven’t ever used them, though,” says Finnegan.

“You might want to start testing them. I’ve got a plan,” I say, as I swing my sharpened sword across the top of one of the peach cans, slicing the top of the lid off.

“I’m not sure I like where you are going with this,” says Finnegan.

“Trust me.”

“Isn’t that what the French always say?”

“It’s a damn good thing I’m Irish then.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t bring enough whiskey on this trip to drink those bastards to death.”

Finnegan walks back from the car with the laptop and sets it next to Gabe. “For what we went through, this better work,” he says.

“We’ll need to set up an uplink on that hill over there. It’s much too dense here to get a clear signal,” Gabe says while stuffing his mouth with trout.

While Finnegan sets up the portable satellite on the hill, the grainy picture on the screen clears up, and within an instant, a live feed of the city is displayed. Gabe can control any number of camera feeds we want to see. It’s as if we are behind the console of the security building. Technology is amazing, but it’s only as good as the person who can manipulate it.

“Great work, Gabe,” Finnegan says.

“Thanks.”

Gabe pans over to where smoke rises from the rubble of the hotel that collapsed. He focuses closer so we can see heat from the wreckage still burning bright, with embers intermittingly flaring up underneath the melted steel. Most of the cameras have audio, but this one seems to be inaudible. Some kind of obnoxious humming distorts the sound, and then all of a sudden, dust and debris chaotically flies past the camera. Gabe chooses another camera and pans back to reveal two heavily armed choppers landing.

Six men jump out of the choppers and survey the surroundings. They notice the large, gaping opening in the middle of town, where the earth enveloped the dead soldiers.

The men walk over to observe the remaining dead soldiers scattered around the south side of the hotel where the two tanks were destroyed. Burned bodies filled with shrapnel lie on top of one of the tanks, with their flesh melted to the heated steel. Gabe follows their every move, tracking them from camera to camera. The men enter the security building and quickly notice two dead officers on the ground, the ones Finnegan shot.

“Can you turn up the sound? I want to know what they are saying,” I say to Gabe.

A man dressed in a black uniform throws his hands in the air and is outraged. He picks up a radio on the console and violently throws it
across the room. By the posture of the other men standing far behind, it’s apparent who the leader is now. A small, beady-eyed man with glasses enters the building nervously.

“General Iakov, we have been waiting patiently for your arrival. Let me catch you up to speed of what we know so far,” says the man.

“Yesterday, we deployed two hundred soldiers in response to a violent act of rebellion in the—”

“ Lieutenant John, all of my men are dead, or have you forgotten to notice?” asks the general in a thick Russian accent.

“Sir, our soldiers are missing.”

“Missing? What do you mean missing?”

“We lost contact thirty minutes after they arrived. They haven’t been heard from since. It’s like they just vanished.”

“And why am I just now hearing of this?”

“Sir?”

“I assume you’ve contacted them many times, but at which you were given no response, you decided to wait several hours to inform me.”

“Yes sir, it’s just—”

“Just what? And let me remind you, lieutenant, it’s much easier to say nothing at all than to say something stupid you can’t afford to take back.”

“There have been rumors floating across the cities about who is killing our men.”

“Please enlighten me, Lieutenant, who are these rumored mongrels?”

The lieutenant nervously swallows. “A young boy and a very menacing girl, sir.”

“Silence!” says Iakov, slamming his fists down on the table. “Lieutenant, I’m not sure what motivates you to climb the ranks in this régime, but if it’s your will to survive, then your motives are becoming more and more expendable. So, now we have kids killing my men, how sweet. Why don’t you go buy them some lollipops and have a tea party? That should distract them,” he says sarcastically.

“Sir, this no joke.”

“And I’m not laughing! It’s your lack of control I find displeasing. Lieutenant, we control product, information, and people. One girl does not make an army.”

“With all due respect, sir—”

“Respect! It’s becoming abundantly clear what you fail to earn.”