Last Light Falling (35 page)

She lifts up his arm, slides underneath, and wraps tightly around him, but Gabe holds his arm in the air, as if he’s trying not to touch any part of her body.

“I’m not made of glass,” I hear her say, as she pulls his arm down around her shoulder. “It’s okay, I won’t break.”

He must realize that there’s no need to ever bring up the prison into conversation unless she is ready to talk about it, so he just smiles. Why should she have to relive such an atrocious act of cowardly violence?

Whether it’s selfish or not, I really wish Jacob and I were sitting down together with my head leaning on his shoulder. I suddenly feel all alone and empty inside. While Gabe strokes her hair, she squeezes tighter, not letting him go. I let them be to enjoy each other’s company while I lay my head on the soft pillow. It doesn’t take long for my weary eyes to shut and wander off into a deep sleep and into a grisly nightmare.

I find myself walking up on a grassy hill under a gray sky, and not a soul is in sight. It’s not until I reach the top of the hill, wandering through the thick mist of morning dew, that I come upon a battalion of soldiers on the other side. They are dressed in solid black uniforms with draping overcoats and a red skull insignia on the back of their helmets.

About twenty men are lined up in a disciplined formation ready to take orders, while others scurry around, rounding up prisoners dressed in filthy rags. There are two sets of barbed fencing that surround the prisoners, keeping them caged in like wild animals. Guards poke and prod, deliberately inflicting pain to those who refuse to conform to the strict rules under such cruel and horrifying conditions. It becomes evident that what I’m looking at is one of the first of many concentration camps.

A guard opens up the gate entrance to one of the fenced cages and orders about fifty prisoners to come out, forming a single line. They are held at gunpoint and ordered to line up in front of a solid limestone wall.

Among the prisoners are men, women, and even children as young as ten years old waiting to be brutally executed with their backs turned. While many of them pray, the children shake violently and cry out for their parents in terror. Before the firing squad is ordered to shoot, the parents are removed from the line and are pushed to the side.

They are held at gunpoint and forced to watch their poor children become part of a grisly and barbaric act of violent cruelty. I try to run to help them, but my feet will not move; I’m frozen in time, paralyzed. I
look down and see that my ankles are bound to the earth as I’m left there helplessly crying out. I reach for my gun, hoping to shoot the squad from this distance, but when I pull back the trigger, the gun begins to bleed as well as the ground all around me.

The words play over and over in my head: ready, aim, fire. The prisoners are gunned down, convulsing in pain, while parents run screaming over to their children’s limp bodies, crying out, “Wake up, wake up!”

I’m suddenly awoken by shouts in my room, and when I look up, I see Gabe and Finnegan standing over me with their hands on my arms, yelling, “Wake up, wake up!” I swing out of bed and quickly glance out the window and notice that the day has passed and it’s now late evening.

“Arena, hurry, they’re here,” says Gabe.

Here, who, what? I’m slightly confused and oblivious to what’s going on.

“Come on, we’ve got to go now!” yells Finnegan. Have they forgotten that I have been sleeping for the last twelve hours, or do they just assume I know what’s going on?

I walk out of my room, a little disoriented, and see everyone racing around trying to pack things up, bumping into one another and running out the front door. I go back to my room to gather my things when all of a sudden I hear a thunderous explosion of heavy artillery in the distance. The lights flicker and shake as dust rains down from the ceiling.

I leave my weapons on the bed, grab a pair of binoculars, and hurry out the back to get a better view of what’s going on. Because the city is just slightly over the hilltop, I’m not able to get a good vantage point from where I’m standing. I quickly look around and spot a tree that’s tall enough for me to climb and see over the hill. I get to the top and perch myself between two branches that hang over a steep rocky decline below.

Fire blazes out of control from one of the buildings downtown, but I don’t see any signs of military vehicles anywhere. A light flashes and blinks in the dark skies far in the distance and I realize it’s most likely a helicopter.

I hear Finnegan calling my name from inside the inn, so I slowly descend the tall tree. I look over toward the bar and see a line of people hurrying to get inside. Families are standing around, holding their frightened children, waiting to find a place for safety.

I quicken my pace back down the tree, but I become suddenly distracted by the rustling of the leaves behind me, among the thicket of
trees. At first I think it’s just Gabe looking for me, so I try calling out to him, but before I get out the first syllable of his name, I notice it’s not Gabe at all. It’s a lost soldier, holding an automatic rifle, and scouring the area.

I stay still on the limb, looking around for any more soldiers in the area, but I see none. This is either a rouge scout surveying the area for possible threats, or he is a very lost man with a gun. By the look of his uniform, I’m betting on the former. I reach for my gun and find nothing but the clothes on my back. I begin to panic and realize how stupid I was for leaving my weapons on the bed.

I try to get in a position where I can’t be seen as he walks toward my area, but there aren’t enough leaves in the tree to hide me. Fall must have come early in this region of the country, because the foliage has already started to turn, leaving some trees half bare.

My foot barely slips across the bark, creating a small scratching noise, and the man suddenly stops right below me. I’m totally exposed, and if he’s a well-trained scout leader, all he has to do is look up.

Thankfully, the back door of the inn creaks open, forcing him to briefly focus his attention there. Gabe stands outside the door, calling out my name, not knowing the man is hiding by the tree and raising his gun toward Gabe’s head.

I quickly drop down out of the tree and onto the soldier’s back. His gun fires off a couple of rounds before he falls to the ground. The bullets just miss Gabe’s head, striking above the back doorframe. The soldier fights for his gun while I’m on his back, but the struggle to keep him from grabbing it is too much for me to bear. I scream out for help as I begin to lose my grip. “Gabe!”

Gabe is disoriented from the gunshots and tries to get up, but the scout is too close to his gun now. My boot is caught in-between two gnarled roots by the tree and I can’t reach the soldier’s arms. He reaches the trigger and tries to pull the gun up enough to target Gabe. I have nothing to grab onto but the man’s shirt. I pull back on his collar with all my strength, but it’s not enough. The gun goes off and the back door springs open. Standing there ready to charge is Finnegan. The bullet just misses Gabe again, but now the man has both hands comfortably on the gun. I twist and free my boot from the roots as I lunge forward. I grab his head, twisting with extreme force, and snap his neck. Gabe grabs his gun, and Finnegan comes rushing to my side. I’m completely exhausted from the struggle and just lie there for a moment, beating myself up for not having my gun on me.

“I heard gunfire, is everyone okay?” Henry asks, racing out the back door. He sees the dead soldier on the ground and quickly scans the area for more.

“It’s okay, I’ve checked the surroundings. He’s just a rogue,” I say to Henry.

“Look, we need to leave here right now. The city was attacked about two hours ago,” says Finnegan.

While I hurry back inside to gather my weapons, I keep seeing images of those children being shot in my dream. Before I rush out the door to the car, I can’t help but think what those families waiting to get into the bar must be feeling right now.

I’m hesitant to get into the car when I turn back to see the last person in line pack into the crowded bar. “Arena, get in,” says Finnegan.

“No.” I just stand there, staring back at the bar.

“What?” he asks.

“There’s been a change of plans. We’re staying the night.”

“Are you insane?” asks Finnegan.

“Call it what you will. I’m not going to leave these poor people here alone without any hope. If these people are to be my sheep, then I need to be here to shepherd them.”

Everyone begrudgingly gets out of the car and follows me inside the packed bar. The chattering among everyone in the bar almost immediately stops when we enter.

People huddle around each other, bracing for the worst in what they believe is a hopeless situation, yet their eyes stay drawn toward me. Every face shows a look of despair on it, and the only glimmer of hope these people seem to cling to is our presence. I haven’t the heart to let them know that I’m not the hope they wish to put their faith in. I’m just as mortal and sinful as they are, but my hope stems from the faith I have in what I cannot see. That is what sustains me through these wicked times, that is what holds me together through tragedy; without that, I’m truly dead. How am I to shepherd a flock with no purpose?

I have Gabe check the back door to make sure it’s locked while the others sit down near an empty table. I look around at all the families with children as I lower my hood and address the frightened crowd.

“I’m Arena, and I’m here to make sure we get through this horrifying night unscathed,” I say as I walk past a young woman kneeling down and praying. “And whatever happens tonight, don’t stop doing what she’s doing,” I say, pointing toward the woman.

“What hope do we have against an army with guns?” asks a man in the crowd.

“The same hope you had before they were here with guns. If you wish to survive, then I suggest you kneel down and pray. Instead of clinging onto the desperation that causes you to fall, hold onto the faith that picks you up, because nothing else will save you.”

These people are so consumed by fear, their eyes seemingly become less responsive to me. If I can’t encourage them to seek refuge in our Lord, then they will ultimately find themselves dying in a world without purpose or value, and life becomes pointless.

“We’re all going to die, you know,” says an old, haggard-looking man sitting in a chair by the door, drinking from a metal flask. “There is no hope left in here, child.”

“What kind of heartless worm breeds such negative things in front of children?” I ask as I wander over to the old man, who smells of stale urine and cheap tobacco. I hover over him like a buzzard, giving him a stern look of displeasure.

“I have accepted my fate, why haven’t you accepted yours?” he asks.

I get a little closer to privately talk to him so no one can hear our conversation. “These people may be scared, but they still cling to even a thread of hope, huddling and praying together. They are starving, yet they have given their last bit of food to others in need, while you wallow in dejection all alone, taking what you can without a grain of gratitude. You’re a cancer and a curse to these desperate people who desire to hang on until the end.”

“Well, I meant no harm to the children,” he says.

“Then shut your trap.”

Throughout the night, helicopters fly overhead and heavy artillery shells fire, but people begin to warm up to us and small chatter starts up again, but it soon ends.

Glasses clink together and tiny pieces of plaster drop from the ceiling as the bar rattles from a nearby explosion. Everyone hunkers down, waiting for the next blast to come and go, like waiting for the thunder to clap after a bolt of lightning strikes during a violent thunderstorm.

I walk over to a young pregnant woman whose face is painted in misery and a fright that won’t surrender. “If you wish to fight off discouragement, then have a quiet talk with your Father. You’ll quickly find that peace will overcome tragedy if you let yourself go to Him. Don’t let your heart give way to a disquieted spirit. It will be through your faith and patience that you will inherit the promises,” I say softly to her.

And just like that, silence fills the air and hearts begin to stir as the others encouragingly watch the young woman pray. For the first time in
my life, I feel purposefully connected. Despite all the trials and suffering in my life, I finally understand the relationship Job had with God.

I check the window by the door and take a quick peek to see if there is any activity going on near us, but instead I’m mesmerized to see Isabel sitting on Juliana’s lap. I can’t take my eyes off that little, innocent girl, with those droopy, tired eyes leaning back against Juliana’s chest. I look at Isabel and wonder what it would have been like to be a big sister.

The old man’s rude and obnoxious behavior quickly shatters that moment. He’s beginning to irritate me beyond what my patience can handle with his mocking laughter and crude taunts. He tries to stand from his chair, but the excessive alcohol prevents him from succeeding. Drunk or not, he’s pissing me off.

“We’re not going to get through this alive. Your lives are hopeless now, and there’s nothing left to pray for,” says the crotchety man, laughing.

I can no longer take it from this grouchy old codger, so I reach for my knife and grab his tongue while he is laughing. “I’m growing very tired of your malcontent. Spew any more venom from that acid tongue of yours and I’ll fucking slice it off.” I release his tongue and he quickly shuts his mouth. He’s so shaken up he takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and ties it over his mouth just to assure he doesn’t accidently slip up again.

After five minutes of silence pass, I peek out the door toward the city and see smoke rising from the building tops just over the horizon. I almost feel a sense of failure that we are not ready for such an assault, but a voice in my head suddenly comforts and assures me that my presence in the bar has been more purposeful than if I were out in battle.

Our enemy can reside in our very own hearts, but it has come to pass that we were meant to be here in this bar. Those who have perished throughout the night have either been extended merciful grace or eternal damnation; either way, His wrath has been just.