Last Light Falling (31 page)

On the table in front of me is a large binder labeled “log results” in Russian, with disturbing images of patients being exposed to experimental virus-inducing chemicals. Each picture represents a different stage of virus, but none of the experiments seem to go past five stages before the patient is deceased.

My curiosity is suddenly dissolved when I hear gunshots outside the door. I quickly open the door and see Gabe running around the corner. “Gabe!” I yell as I run down the hall after him. I stop briefly to hear where the footsteps are coming from and continue down the hall to the left. “Gabe!” I call out again.

“Up here, Arena.”

I look up and see him running across a catwalk from an angry guard carrying a gun. I try to take out the guard, but I can’t get a clear shot from where I’m standing. I look around for stairs to the catwalk, but there’s only a metal ladder attached to the steel wall.

I quickly climb up the ladder, but halfway up a hand grabs my ankle. I try to reach one of my guns, but I’m stuck on a hook on the side of the ladder. My jacket is caught between the hooks and the railing, and my sleeve is stuck in a grate behind the ladder.

The load of my body gets heavier as the guard pulls on my leg. One of his arms is badly wounded, rendering it useless, but the other arm hangs onto me for dear life. All of a sudden I hear a thud dropping to the ground, then a long moan. I turn to see Gabe on top of the guard who was chasing him. The guard appears to be dead, but I can’t tell if
Gabe is okay. Falling on the man must have cushioned the impact, because Gabe starts to slowly move about.

The guard, still hanging onto my leg, rests his injured arm on one of the metal rungs and reaches for his gun. I’m still stuck and can’t get to any of my weapons, so I scream out once more for Gabe.

He screams back at me, “Arena!”

The guard quickly turns and shoots Gabe in the chest.

Gabe falls to his knees and collapses on the floor. My body nearly falls limp, and my heart suddenly sinks into an abyss. All the guilt and pain has shifted into a place of numbness. I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself for putting him in this situation. I feel a sudden urge to just give in, but my spirit won’t allow it. The tears stop rolling down my face and anger replaces my despair. My baby brother is dead, and I can’t help to feel responsible for his tragedy.

“Gabe!” I scream out in rage, trying to free my sleeves. The guard turns back to me and raises his gun toward my head.

“I only need one good bullet to kill you, bitch,” he says, pulling the trigger back to an empty chamber.

I finally free my right arm from the hook and quickly draw my sword. “I don’t need bullets to kill,” I say, swinging my sword downward and slicing off his arm. He falls nearly fifteen feet down onto his head, snapping his neck. I tug hard enough to free my other arm from the grate and hurry back down the ladder to Gabe.

“Gabe! Gabe!” I shout, pulling him off the floor and slapping his face. He is unresponsive and lies there limp. I try to feel where he was shot to see if it is fatal, but shockingly, his chest is heavily padded.

I rip his jacket off to see that he is wearing a bulletproof vest, and the sudden shock of him being dead quickly lifts. I squeeze my arms around him, not wanting to let him go. If there were any tears left in my ducts, it would be from pure joy. I love my brother more than anything. I vowed to protect him. I’m mad at myself for not being there with him. I’m thankful he’s alive, but I’ve suddenly become a little irritated not knowing about his vest; I don’t like surprises.

I slap him on the face once more and shake his head a few times to awaken him. He comes to with a grimace on his face and immediately feels the bruise on his chest where the bullet struck. “Are you okay?” I ask sincerely.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he answers as he stands to his feet.

“Damn you, Gabe,” I say, pushing him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this vest? I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry I got shot, next time I’ll just dodge the bullet,” he sarcastically says. His face softens. “Juliana?”

“She’s a little weak, but she’s fine and safe with Finnegan and Henry,” I say as I lower my head.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Myra” is all I say as I walk off.

We hurry back down the stairs out into the courtyard and fortunately do not run into any more guards along the way. We can see the Camaro peering through a broken fence and hear its engine roaring, waiting for us. Before we get any closer to the car, Henry stops to talk with us a moment.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Look, I just want to warn you, these ladies have been through hell, and their psyche may be a little damaged,” says Henry.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Gabe asks as he tries to walk away to them. Henry holds him back. “What are you not telling me, Henry?” Gabe asks, trembling.

Henry chokes back a tear. “Many of the men who were taken captive have either been beaten or shot, but worse things have occurred among the women,” he says.

Gabe looks up with glassy, red eyes, and shakes his head. He grips Henry’s shoulder for support. “No …” Gabe says as his bottom lip trembles and his face quickly turns red.

“Most of the women here were …” Henry’s voice trails off.

“Were what?” I ask angrily.

“Brutally raped,” Henry finishes.

Gabe loses it and collapses to his knees, crying with his head in his lap.

“Look, I know you’re hurt, but right now she is all you got,” says Henry. Gabe rises to his feet and screams. “Don’t let this weaken your judgment,” Henry wisely says.

“I will not break until every last one of these bastards is dead,” Gabe says angrily.

“I understand your frustration, Gabe, I do, but if you let your pain ride out like this, you will just suffer in your own misery. All this hate will burn you up. Don’t let this anger drive you into passing,” says Henry.

“So how the hell am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to just forget this?” Gabe fires back.

“I don’t expect you to, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop the pain, but if you let the desire for revenge consume you, then we
all suffer,” Henry says. Gabe looks away. “Gabe! Look at me, look at me. You will have your time and die they will, but for now that young girl sitting in the car needs you to comfort her and nothing more,” says Henry. Gabe wipes his eyes as Henry and I put our arms around him and walk to the car.

I open the car’s trunk and pull back a blanket that’s securely covering four large charged explosives. “Is this sufficient?” I ask Gabe.

“That’s more than enough,” Gabe solemnly says.

Finnegan and I take two detonators a piece and strategically set them inside of each prison wing. We are going to make damn sure this facility is to never be used again.

We quickly drive away on the other side of the hill and wait for the building to clear before departing this wretched place. Here, we can set up a temporary camp so everyone can rest.

Gabe sits next to Juliana, who leans her head against his shoulder, while I stay with Myra. Henry and Finnegan set up a radio communication dispatch and try to infiltrate a signal through military codes. After several minutes of dialing into a transmitted signal, Finnegan finds a clean frequency and a voice comes over the small speaker. Two men radio back and forth about the approximate time and coordinates of their destination. All of the sudden a third voice comes over the transmission in Russian.

“Arena, come here. I need you to translate this,” Finnegan says.

While listening to the radio conversation, a sick feeling settles in my stomach and then the radio goes silent.

“What did they say?” Henry asks anxiously.

I know Gabe understood every word of the conversation, because he has that worried look on his face. “Well?” Finnegan asks.

“They’re coming here with backup forces to contain what they think is a small revolt. They apparently have no idea the prison guards are all dead or that everyone has been freed.”

“That’s expected,” says Finnegan.

“That’s not what troubles me,” I say, as I look in Gabe’s direction.

“What is it?” Finnegan asks.

“They are searching for Gabe and me, and I’m pretty sure they will stop at nothing until they find us, but more interesting, they want me alive,” I say.

“We’ll have to be more discreet. From now on, if we can, we travel by night,” says Finnegan.

“Why would they want you alive?” Juliana asks.

“Same reason they want her dead; she’s a threat to the enemy. Question is, who is the enemy?” Henry asks.

“So what are you saying? They’re going to attempt to turn me against everyone else?” I say with a smirk.

“Don’t be so surprised; it’s been attempted before.”

The manipulation of the mind has been around for centuries, but none more than the Nazi Party. They started experimenting with the exotic sciences for warfare application early on before World War II. I’m not shocked to see a revival of the occult practices today, especially with how wicked this world has become.

These are evil times we live in, and I’m convinced that a revived Nazi army will spring up from the dead to mingle with Russian blood on American soil. An unholy alliance out there awaits us, and I will fear none that attempts to poison the blood of truth.

I go back to tend to Myra, but when I kneel down to hold her, I notice blood in her mouth when she begins to cough. Her eyes are barely open, and her hands feel cold. My body goes completely numb when I look upon her pale face. “Myra! Wake up, wake up.” My heart sinks, and every last ounce of pain etched into my spirit releases all at once. I can’t help but to cry out. “No, don’t do this … please God, no.” Her voice is barely audible, but she can still hear me.

I hold her head up and put my hand on her face, stroking her milky skin while the others stand around me in silence. I hold her close to my chest, rejecting the idea that her death is imminent, while my body suddenly grows weary.

She looks at me one last time with her eyes half open, and I immediately think about my mother dying in my arms, whispering her last words to me as I held her bloody face.

“I love you … my daughter,” Myra softly says with her last breath. Her body slumps down, and her head falls limp to the side.

I cry uncontrollably, followed by violent screams of pain as I hold her lifeless body. “Why … why?” I cry out. Even though I already know the answer, my emotions still reject the idea, and I surrender to my natural human response with grief and anger.

If there is ever a time in a person’s life when tragedy and suffering is rendered so frequently that emotional pain becomes numb, then that time has come for me. I’m not sure how Job felt, but I can assure you there isn’t much left in me to stir. My feelings are depleted, my emotions are empty, and I have no tears left to shed. I’ve lost too many people I love and not enough people I loathe. If I could be in any other place, I would, and death is suddenly not such an unbearable option. I’ve lived too little to lose so much, but I’m committed to move on for my Father’s sake.

I drop down to my knees with my face planted into the earth, begging for mercy and unconditional forgiveness. My heart stirs once again by His presence, and I’m quickly reminded about the toil and suffering my Savoir endured for me. I don’t deserve such grace, but I rise to my swollen feet nonetheless, staring out into the emptiness with everyone standing around me in silence.

I walk away on a small, winding trail upon a hilltop, where I’m left alone. From where I sit, I see nothing but rocky soil, dead trees, and no vegetation; it’s a barren wasteland. The only thing this desolate place has to offer is loneliness; I feel right at home.

After an hour of seclusion on the hilltop, I wander back to the camp and immediately notice that Myra’s body is gone. Henry and Gabe walk back from what looks like a hike by all the sweat that’s pouring down their faces. Juliana lays asleep on a flat rock padded with a sleeping bag while Finnegan is sprawled out on his stomach, scoping out our surroundings.

I glance in the direction where Gabe and Henry are coming from and realize why they are sweating so profusely—a pile of rocks in the distance marks the grave where Myra’s body is covered. It was wise to bury her now, as buzzards gawk about and sporadically circle above, ready to feast upon the dead.

The two give me a slight rub on the shoulder as they pass by, but say nothing. Instead of recoiling with bitterness, I welcome their sympathies, though I don’t feel any better. I just stand there, struggling to
leave this morose moment until every emotion I have ever experienced subsides. I feel the calm before the storm, as they say.

Moments later, Finnegan snaps his hand up to grab our attention. “Take a look,” he says as he hands me the high-powered binoculars. I lie next to him, peering through the field glasses and see an unsettling sight approaching—a ten-truck convoy about a quarter-mile down the road from the prison entrance. Two helicopters can be heard in the background about a mile away, flying very low. The dispatch radio intermittently crackles for a few seconds until a voice is clearly heard.