Last Light Falling (36 page)

The night has passed, giving way to another morning and another day to survive. The dingy, darkly colored drapes covering the bar windows block the sun from peeking through and reminding everyone that it’s morning. I’m the only one awake, so I decide to sneak outside to have a look at what awaits us.

Smoke still rises in the cool air above the smoldering buildings below. Not a day goes by that I wish not to see or smell any more death,
but my heart tells me that today is no different. Gabe awakens and joins me outside, having the same reservations about surveying the damage in the city, hoping to find survivors. He no more wants to see death than I do.

He goes back inside to get the rest of the group up and ready while I get a few moments alone to pray. The morning sun rises above the horizon as we drive down into the city to assess the damage. We cautiously drive through the empty streets, avoiding the debris left from the damaged buildings. Cars are still parked along the street as if they have never been moved. The size of the tracks that run across one of the intersections is a good indication an armored tank was here last night.

We drive further in, but see no bodies or any signs of death, for that matter. The only noticeable sign of wreckage so far are the few charred structures that are still smoldering. Finnegan rolls down the window, and suddenly the wind blows in a slight smell of singed flesh from the burned buildings.

It’s not until we reach the outer realm of the city through a small residential area where I finally spot a sign of life. “Stop the car!” I say, as I see a small child running in-between two houses. “Gabe, come with me now. The rest of you stay here.”

I take off, running by the house where the child passed while Gabe follows closely behind me. I stop next to the corner of the house and peek to the side where the back gate is wide open. There are a few bloodstains on the concrete steps in front of the house next door, and a tattered, blood-soaked shirt hanging from the railing.

Cars are still parked in the driveway and porch lights are still on, but still no sign of anyone on the premises. There’s a thermos sitting on the battered railing that’s half full of cold coffee; it has been sitting there for quite some time.

An image suddenly flashes in the backyard, but I can’t tell if it’s a child or an adult. I tell Gabe to stay on the porch in case the person tries to escape through the front door. I sneak around back through the gate and come to an open entry. The screen door has been torn off its hinges, suggesting that someone was struggling to break in or possibly break out.

I draw my gun as I enter through the doorway, just in case I’m mistaken for a soldier and some madman decides to take a whack at me.

The house smells musty and stale, and the further I walk in, the more pungent the odor becomes. The place is a wreck, like it has been recently ransacked. Food is sitting out on the coffee table attracting flies, and the television is still on, but the channel is just blank. The kitchen is
in disarray, with broken dishes scattered about, and a bloody knife lies on the floor.

I slowly creep up toward the hallway, making small movements and observing every inch of the living room. I suddenly stop when I hear a faint sniffle come from the corner of the living room. I peer over the chair that’s blocking my view and notice a small child’s shoe sticking out from behind the couch.

I put my gun away and slowly walk over by the couch, crouching down so as not to seem as threatening. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you,” I say.

She couldn’t be more than six years old, with curly, bright red hair and a few freckles hiding behind some of the dirt on her face. I try my best to lure her out, but she is in too much shock to move. Whatever happened here last night has completely tainted her trust in adults, but more importantly, it has destroyed her emotionally.

“My name is Arena. Can you tell me your name?” I gingerly ask. She is holding a stuffed rabbit, so I try to engage in a more playful conversation. “I like your rabbit. He’s very cute. Reminds me of the rabbit I had growing up. I got him when I was five years old and I named him Honeysuckle. I so loved that rabbit. He went with me everywhere. I carried him around so much, I wore off his whiskers, and Mother had to sew new ones on him. Does your rabbit have a name?”

“Cecilia,” she says in a sweet, tender voice.

“That’s a beautiful name for a rabbit,” I say. She must be warming up to me because she snickers a little.

“No, I’m Cecilia, this is Mr. Buggles,” she says, correcting me. “Why don’t you come out so I can get a good look at Mr. Buggles?” I say.

Her face becomes frightened again and she starts to whimper. “No, no. The evil people are out there,” she cries.

“I tell you what; I’m going to make a deal with you. If you and Mr. Buggles come out from behind the couch, I promise with all my heart to protect you from the evil people,” I say. I extend my hand out to her, and she is reluctant to grab it, but she eventually takes my hand and slides out from behind the couch.

She clings to me for dear life as she shakes in fear. I gently rub my hand on her back, trying to calm and soothe her. “Do you have a mother or father?” I ask. She nods her head. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” She nods her head again. “Do you know where they are?” She points toward one of the bedrooms, and cold chills creep up my spine.
I quickly stop rocking her and rubbing her back. I’m hoping they are just hiding in there just like Cecilia was hiding out here.

I carefully carry her to the front door where Gabe is watching. I tell Gabe to go get Juliana, as I hold Cecilia, swaying back and forth to calm her spirit. When Juliana comes, I try to pry Cecilia from my body, but she clings to me like a monkey would to her mother.

I finally persuade her to go with Juliana back to the car where it will be safe. Juliana has a natural comforting motherly instinct that will be of much need right now. “Are you okay, Arena?” Juliana asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say, as my heart begins to feel hardened, not knowing what lies in that bedroom. While Juliana takes Cecilia back to the car, Gabe and I go back inside the house to see if we can find the rest of the family.

I explain to Gabe the situation as we walk toward the bedroom, but I’m too frightened to open the door because I have already feared the worst. I slowly open the bedroom door, but we find it empty and untouched. The other bedroom is left the same way with no trace of anyone being in here. The only bedroom left is the master bedroom, and I can only imagine what pain lies behind the door.

My heart races faster and faster as I anticipate what that little, innocent girl had to witness. I slowly open the door preparing myself, but to our surprise, this room is also empty. Gabe sighs with relief, and I can’t understand where they might have run off to. I walk in a little further and thankfully see no one lying on the floor.

I turn toward a large open closet and my body completely goes numb. I stand there frozen in horrific shock and dismay, as nothing like this could ever prepare a person to see.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe asks as he slowly walks toward me.

“Don’t come over here.” A cold sweat covers my face, my jaw clinches tight, and I grab the side of the bed, desperately holding back any emotional discomfort. I cup my hands over my mouth with unexpected fright as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

I look upon a family hanging by their necks from the ceiling of the closet. A sister and brother, no older than nine years old, dangle next to their mother, all of their eyes still open and staring into dead space.

I quickly turn away, still clenching the side of the bed as I surrender to gravity. I fall to my knees and just sit on the floor, crying in agony. There are no scars or signs of a struggle on the bodies, which makes me even more sick inside, knowing that this family possibly hung themselves to avoid whatever wretched, sadistic things those men were about to torture them with.

I can’t possibly imagine why a mother would do this to her own children, but because I’m determined to exclude the idea that one would do such a horrible thing, I curiously examine the bodies closer.

I look at the little girl’s hands and notice some dead skin stuck inside and hanging off her fingernails. Blood runs from her fingertips to the inside of her wrist, and the few strains of black hairs stuck to the dried-up blood is evidence enough that this little girl made an effort to fight back against her attacker.

I try to pull myself together while Gabe stands there speechless and stunned, when all of a sudden we hear a gunshot outside. We quickly rush outside and see Finnegan standing over a dead soldier, the barrel of his gun smoking.

The man’s leg is seriously wounded from a knife cut, and his bloody jacket reveals a puncture wound to the side of his ribs. “He came stumbling out from behind one of these houses with a gun in his hands, shouting expletives. The girl started screaming, ‘It’s him, it’s him,’ so I shot him,” says Finnegan.

I tilt his head over to the side with my boot, and I suddenly become filled with rage when I notice small claw marks on the side of his cheek, marks that could only have come from a child’s hands. While I feel lifeless on the outside, the thoughts swimming around inside my head darken with hatred. If I had any sense of calm before, it is quickly overshadowed by the wrath brewing in my heart as I stare down into his cold, heartless eyes.

“You all right?” Finnegan asks.

I can’t answer—I’m filled with too much fury, and all I can think about is General Iakov ordering such heinous acts of violence on these
innocent people. I look down at the man’s uniform and notice a red skull pin attached to his front lapel and strange markings on the back of his collar. The words are written across in black stitching.

“What is it?” Gabe asks.

“This is a Russian soldier, and those are Russian markings.”

“What does it say?” Finnegan asks.

“I will not utter those words here,” I say. I walk away from Finnegan and Gabe and stare out into the city, trying to somehow grasp a moment of clarity. I’ve read many books about World War II history, but I would have never thought mistakes over one hundred years ago would ever be repeated. Those words stitched into that bastard’s collar bring forth a new fear on this land. It’s an old phrase that comes from the German word
Schutzstaffel,
infamously known as the
SS.
It means
Protective Echelon.
Apparently, a new paramilitary organization is among us.

“Get in the car now,” I say, as I stand there motionless, staring into the soldier’s stony eyes.

“Arena?” Finnegan carefully asks with a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Take us back to the inn,” I say.

While heading back, no one says a word. I never knew that silence could be so painful. My mind is racing with anger, and the only thing distracting my thoughts is the constant ringing in my ears.

I explain to Maria the situation with Cecilia and understandably, she agrees to take her in as one of her own. I know what it’s like to be taken from your parents and thrust into another family, but I could never feel the pain this young girl must be experiencing right now. She’s going to need the love and emotional support that I know Maria will provide for her. I ask Juliana to take her inside because I’m too emotionally drained to say good-bye to this little girl.

I turn my back toward the road to avoid any eye contact with Cecilia while Juliana takes her to Maria. I can’t stop crying and thinking about her family hanging there in the closet; what a pointless waste of life.

Cecilia resists going inside and comes running toward me. “Arena! Please don’t leave me,” she cries out, hanging onto my legs.

I can’t bear to look in her eyes, so I just stand there hoping she will release me and go back, but she doesn’t, and my heart finally gives in. I gently touch her face with my hand as I crouch down to hug her. I can’t hold back any tears, and she squeezes me tighter and tighter. I try to wipe my face clean when I look to her eyes, but it’s no use.

“You’re going to be safe here, I promise. Maria is a great lady. She has a bed just for you,” I say.