Last Light Falling (40 page)

I clasp my chest as my stomach sinks. Finnegan kneels down and carefully puts his ear above Henry’s mouth and nose. “He’s still breathing,” says Finnegan.

I quickly kneel down beside Finnegan looking for exit wounds on Henry’s body, and while tearing his shirt back, we discover a bullet wound in his right shoulder. It’s nothing too serious, but enough to have knocked him off his feet and slam the back of his head against the stone wall of the fountain.

Blood dribbles out the backside of his head, rendering him unconscious, but the cut isn’t deep enough to have cracked his skull.

Suddenly, Harold’s car comes screeching toward the front of the lawn. We carefully, but quickly pick Henry up, and carry him over the small fence and into Harold’s car.

I race over to the Camaro parked on the other side of the street, and swing open the door. Crouched down in the back seat is Juliana.

“We need your help, Henry’s been shot,” I say panting.

I quickly reach in the back of the trunk and grab the first aid kit.

“You and Gabe stay with Henry while I go with Finnegan,” I say to Juliana.

“What do you want me to do?” asks Harold.

“Follow us. We need to get as far away as we can from the city. This place will soon be swarming with soldiers.”

Finnegan pulls out a syringe from the first aid kit and sucks in one mg of Epinephrine into it. He stabs the needle into Henry’s upper thigh and pumps the adrenal medication into his bloodstream. Soon after, Henry wakes up in shock, mumbling Julian’s name over and over as he looks around, disoriented.

Finnegan snaps his fingers repeatedly in front of Henry’s face until he resurfaces to reality. “We need to get some fluids in him as quickly as possible; this adrenaline won’t last long,” says Finnegan.

Henry’s eyes begin to refocus, and a grin grows from the corners of his mouth. “Arena,” he says as he tries to sit up, but quickly wobbles back.

“I’m here, you’re going to be okay, just sit back. You’ve lost some blood, but you’re alive.”

“And Juliana?” he asks.

“I’m right here, Henry,” Juliana says, holding his hand.

“We need to get the hell out of here.” I say.

“I need to dress these wounds now. Blood is still trickling from the bullet hole and infection is likely,” she says.

“Just make it quick.” Watching Juliana nurse Henry’s wounds is just another reason why Gabe is so blessed to have her around.

We leave the Capitol broken and abandoned, yet another scar hanging from the government’s ego. Though the administration lives on, its weakened armor is now stained with blood. Night begins to fall as we drive into the twilight, and I sit back, wondering if I have changed my fate, because the only ambition I have left in me is to kill or be killed.

The skies draw back, and blackness covers over us like a blanket. The only glimmer of light are the few various pinholes in space shining brightly upon the world below, reminding us how small we really are and how great our God is. It’s not until we reach a small remote town in the middle of nowhere that I begin to wonder how Niki and Father Joseph are holding up. I don’t think I’ve missed two people more in my life than them right now, but I fear having to go back and share the unfortunate news about Myra to Niki.

Before I fall back into a deep slumber, we find an old, uninviting motel just off the road to take refuge in for the night. There’s nothing appealing about this place except the warm water it brings and the semi-soft mattresses for our tired bodies to lie on. It’s a measurable step up from the den’s less-than-desirable sleeping quarters, but I’d rather camp out on the dusty floor and risk being bitten by a spider then lay in one of these lice-infested beds. Of course, the televisions in both rooms do not work, but I wouldn’t have expected anything different.

Henry’s wounds are redressed and a dose of antibiotics from Finnegan’s survival kit is given to him. With every drop of liquid and morsel of food Henry takes in, his body strengthens and recoups. While everyone takes rest for the night, I keep myself awake, afraid I may drift back into some dark realm that haunts my soul.

Whatever malevolence lurks among us, it knows my fears, and it will waste no opportunity to tempt my spirit. I can bear no more pain from my past, and if it is hope that this evil seeks to devour, then I will seek refuge in my Lord, for only He has the power to protect my heart from turning against me now. With the death of President Kriel, my burdens have lightened, but my anxieties have not lifted. Iakov still haunts
me, and until he is dead, I will not be satisfied. As much as I want to believe the end is nearing, the president is only but a small taste of evil that has left us. Though Kriel is dead, it’s Iakov that stands in my way from caring.

I leave the others at peace while I wander outside into the deep thicket of green to gather my own serenity. Even with all the creatures of the night surrounding me in the dark woods, I still feel tranquility and the calm I can rest in as I pray out to my Lord. I find a small clearing just beyond a wall of mighty oaks that stand with old age, courage, and a history of stories untold.

Their gnarled cracks, and knotting, twisted roots run deep beneath the earth, keeping them steady and wise. They seem like giants hovering over and shading the young saplings that surround them below. It reminds me of young children sitting around in the night air, listening to stories of the past from the wise elders who brought them into the world. These woods are aged, mysterious, and have an obscurity about them that I cannot unfold. I can feel the rising dark breathe within my space of stillness as the shadows beyond the oaks dance with hellish delight, attempting to disengage me from my Father.

I cry out, asking Him to ease my burdens that I can no longer bear. My tired, worn body has emerged from the brokenness most can’t endure, but the pain has still been unforgiving—yet I cringe at even the thought of complaining about my own sufferings. Christ suffered more for me than I could ever imagine. Why my malcontent should be justified is purely nonsensical at best.

“Father, forgive me, I give you all I have to offer. I give you my heart, my mind, and my soul. Please, Father, I beg of you, to give me the strength to carry on this fight. I feel weary and broken, yet you have still given me the comfort to find rest in. I shall not give in nor turn from your favor. Protect me, dear Father. As long as my able body is willing to, I will stand firm by my convictions and praise your holy name, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I fear this fight will endure to the bloody end until I break and I take my last dying breath. I beg you, Father … take me from this. Please take me from this now …”

I bury my head into my hands, sobbing, and into the night I kneel for hours, seeking refuge until I’m oblivious to my surroundings. I soon fall asleep with the light of the moon shining down on me while the rest of the darkness that surrounds me anxiously waits for me to give in to temptation.

The morning light shines through the small, tangled branches and its golden leaves reflect onto my eyelids, but before the rays shine in my eyes, I remove my shivering body from the grassy earth, realizing I have fallen asleep in the woods.

The cool fall breeze brushes through my hair and against my skin, persuading me to find warmth indoors. By the time my eyes fully open, I’m paralyzed by what is set before me—encircling the small clearing is the smell of decaying carrion of all kinds. Beasts large and small lie dead before me outside where I have lain for the night. I hold my heart in shock while vultures tear into the rotting meat, and yet I find not one scratch from these creatures on my body. Even the wound on my arm has shockingly disappeared.

Before I nervously retreat back to the others, a crow proudly perched on a small branch of one of the oak trees stares into my eyes as if to intimidate me. The bird looks at me as if it knows my thoughts. While he caws an unpleasant tune from his perch, I pick up a small stone and throw it toward the feathered creature. He dodges the rock and flies onto another branch, still staring at me, as if to mock my actions.

I look deep into those black, emotionless eyes while maggots slither beneath its wings. As my body draws closer to his cackling taunts, my spine shivers with fright, and the trees begin to moan around me. The breeze rustling through the leaves suddenly comes to a dead calm, a stillness of which only death knows. My eyes are in a trance now, fixed upon this feathered demon, as it whispers my name through the dead silence, convincing me to taste its blood.

I draw my gun toward the wretched fowl, but then I remember what Finnegan always told me—never shoot a bird unless food was scarce enough that it was needed. And that God created these singing creatures for our delight, but that any one of the black, devilish birds without a song to sing was fair game. This one seems to have gotten my attention and intentionally rustled a nerve, but instead I withdraw my weapon and ignore the mischievous fowl. Before I walk away, I’m tempted to get one last look into those stale, black eyes, but the crow disappears and I leave, almost having foolishly fallen for his deceit.

While everyone else is still asleep back at the motel, I take advantage of the warm amenities and let my bruised body take healing under a hot shower. I nearly fall asleep standing up under the inviting water, reflecting back on the paths I’ve chosen and the decisions I’ve made. I realize the plans set before me will not change unless I choose to reject my own fate.

Without warning, I begin to weep, and my thoughts cry out to my mother, hoping she will hear my silent voice through all the cluttering noise that plagues my mind. Just the small touch of her hand always comforted my ailing heart.

Though I’m tempted to move on and end these haunted thoughts of Iakov, we decide to extend our stay at the motel at least another day, long enough for Henry to recoup from his small head injury and wounded shoulder before trekking any further.

I realize this journey has taken a toll on everyone, but I have no intentions of returning to the den until I know Iakov is dead. Even if I have to go in alone, I will not stop. My hatred for him I fear has consumed me, and I’m not sure I can live another moment knowing he’s alive. Tomorrow I must reveal my plan, and I can only hope they will understand.

What would seem like another sleepless night turns out to be the only night I can remember where I fell asleep before everyone else. I slowly fall into a deep rest beyond my normal dreams and into a world of sedated suspense.

I find myself lying in an empty field, my stomach bulging, and my hands stained red. Speared into the black soil next to me my dagger drips with blood. I’m slightly disoriented until the cry from an infant screams from my womb as my loins begin to burn.

I struggle to reach over my swollen belly to examine my nightmare, while the excruciating labor lingers. The pain feels so real, I’m almost reluctant to dismiss it as a dream.

When I hear the shrill cry from my loins once more, I force myself over and grab the bloody infant hanging from its cord. Suddenly the empty field is swallowed up by darkness and a faceless man stands before me dressed in black with an ax at hand. I grab the dagger next to me, and attempt to swing at him, but I find myself swinging at the air in my bed as I awaken from this hellish night terror.