Last Light Falling (37 page)

“And Mr. Buggles?” she says.

“Yes, and Mr. Buggles too. You know who else has a bed next to yours?”

“Who?” I turn her around and point toward the door entry where Isabel is shyly peeking out.

She finally releases her fingers from my neck and watches intently as Isabel walks over to her and introduces herself. Cecilia gives me one last hug before carefully taking Isabel’s hand and walking back into the house. I feel like a part of me has been ripped apart, and I have no way of knowing if it will ever be mended. When the door closes, my tears quickly change to fire, and the blood in my veins boils with rage.

While the others stock up on food that Maria has so generously offered, I take some time to vent my fuming anger alone near the trees behind the inn. After an hour passes, Gabe comes to get me, but I’m so enraged I don’t even notice him there. I practice throwing knives into the gnarled trees, twisting them as if I were cutting into a soldier’s neck, and slicing through bags of sand, pretending I’m splitting open General Iakov’s gut. I stop and calm myself down for a few seconds. I eventually subdue my anger and walk back to the car, where everyone seems to be patiently waiting. I overhear Gabe and Finnegan conversing about me as I stand there waiting for them to finish.

“Where is she?” Finnegan asks.

“Trust me, she needs to be alone,” Gabe says.

“Everything okay?” asks Finnegan.

Gabe stands there for a moment before answering. “She’s pissed.”

“Okay, we are all entitled to get mad every once in a while. She has every right to be.”

“No, you don’t understand, she’s really pissed. She has a venomous look about her that I’ve never seen before. It’s a bit sadistic, and quite frankly, I’m a little freaked out.”

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to ignore their conversation.

“Good,” Gabe says. Before he gets in the car, I give him a half-smile to comfort his nerves.

“I’m okay, really,” I say, trying to convince him. His tightened muscles relax, and his clenching white knuckles release from the hood of the car. He smiles back, but not convincingly.

I open the passenger door where the front seat is empty and awaiting my arrival. I pull my swords out, strap in, and try to calm myself though my hatred for General Iakov deepens.

We drive as far as we can into the night until everyone is too exhausted to go any further. The only place on this long lonely road welcoming any accommodations is a run-down Motor Inn desperately in need of renovation. As long as the thin walls keep the roof from collapsing, I’ll be happy.

As evening approaches, I walk outside from the rickety structure to a few lively lights illuminating the lonely streets, and I can’t help but wonder how small towns like this function through such dark times. Brooding thoughts suddenly pique my curiosity and I’m desperate to know what has been happening outside of my personal hell.

We haven’t seen a national news broadcast since we had left the den, so Finnegan, Gabe, and I decide to take a stroll in town to gather any information we can. The only part of this dilapidated town that appears to be somewhat alive is the local tavern that feeds these poor people an escape from the depressing realities.

Regardless of the mild temperament of this humble-looking village, I conceal my weapons with the black cloak and pull the hood over my head. For my own security, I keep my dagger closely within reach before we walk into the tavern. Eyes gravitate toward me through the noise, but too many people are drunk to notice three strangers walking in uninvited. I lead Finnegan and Gabe toward a few empty seats at the bar, where I quickly notice a working television, but because of the commercials playing, I can’t tell if this is just a looped recording.

Gabe looks around the bar, observing any unwanted trouble that may arise, while I desperately try to listen to the broadcast through all the obnoxious drunkenness around me. The commercial finally ends and a sudden elation comes over me when I see a cast of national news anchors take to the screen with a small logo nested in the right bottom corner that reads:
live.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks Finnegan.

“Sir, can you please turn the television up just a bit?” I ask, interrupting. Gabe stops from his observing pivot and keeps his eyes glued
to a table of burly men gawking in my direction as I pull the hood back from my head.

“We don’t serve kids in here,” the bartender gruffly says.

“We mean no harm, sir. They’re with me. We just want to see what’s going on in the world,” says Finnegan.

“Order something and you can watch all you want, otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the bartender says.

“Okay, I’ll have a Guinness,” says Finnegan.

The bartender gives Finnegan a look of displeasure as he wipes dry a dirty, used glass. He pours the beer and turns the television up, slightly cutting through the bar noise just enough where I can make out the top stories:

“All nations comprising the New World Order Organization will be reaching out to the rest of the remaining nations still teetering on joining. An Egyptian spokesperson recently aired caution on the deliberation of the Organization’s future endeavors and said not to look for a final decision from them anytime soon. Pakistan has also issued a statement of concern on whether or not it would join the organization due to their recent turmoil with India.”

Nothing too intriguing is being reported that I didn’t already know, until a video shows President Kriel mingling with other dignitaries and international diplomats at a social function. I lean in to get a better listen of the coverage as the news anchor begins her story:

“President Kriel has vowed to partner with the Russian government to end the corruption in Syria. This political stalemate has grossly caused an international upheaval which has led to the recent oil embargos that have significantly affected European countries. Two years ago, similar embargos devastated our nation, deterring this country from sustaining any support for the Israeli government and its military. These private talks will be addressed at a future summit in the next few days with joint leaders of the Arab nations attending, as well as the Chinese government.

“In the meantime, President Kriel will be discussing his future tax plans for the nation’s newly reorganized regions at a special White House dinner party tomorrow evening. Among those attending the banquet will be some of the largest contributors and wealthy donors who have encouragingly proposed the recent changes and exercised their approval for the President’s future office commitment.”

Gabe looks at me with concern as I turn my eyebrow up. “What are you thinking, Arena?” he asks.

“I’m thinking we’re going to crash a dinner party tomorrow night,” I answer.

“We might be a little underdressed for the occasion,” Finnegan sarcastically adds.

I follow Gabe’s eyes, which are planted on a portly, brawny man approaching me from one of the tables. He slowly staggers up to me before retreating his eyes back at his buddies for what I can only imagine is some kind of egotistical boasting. It’s plainly obvious this man’s inhibitions have greatly been reduced by the alcohol.

“I like ′em young,” he leers, grinning back at his friends. If it’s his lack of cunning wit that leaves him grounded from a successful pickup, his repellent halitosis gives him no room for improvement. He smiles at me with more teeth missing than he has to chew with, a failed attempt to charm me with his otherwise repulsive nature.

“How about I buy you a drink, pretty girl,” he says as I try to keep myself from throwing up in my mouth.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” I say, rejecting his offer.

He slides his hand onto mine as he persistently tries to garner my attention. Finnegan rises from his seat, but Gabe quickly settles him right back down. “Don’t worry, she can take care of herself.”

“What do you say about you and me going back to my place? I’ll go real easy on you,” the man says as he gropes my backside. While his crass remarks aren’t a surprise, I will not tolerate being fondled—especially from this douchebag. Drunk or not, it’s time to end his pathetic and crude advance. I slowly pull out one of the throwing knives and slam it down in the middle of his hand through the bar top. The man’s wretched scream immediately fills the bar while his bloody hand is painfully stuck to the varnished wooden top. He desperately tries to swing his other hand toward me but badly misses, most likely from the excessive amount of alcohol.

I push his throat up with my right hand, then grab my scorpion dagger behind my back and thrust it in between his legs and into the wooden bar below. I leave him hanging over the sharp blade with a barb pointing directly underneath his scrotum. I stand back to watch him scream in pain while he dances on his toes like a ballerina trying not to puncture his testicle on the barb.

“Come on, twinkle toes, you’re beginning to lose your balance,” I say as I watch him squirm. His buddies rise from the table and lunge toward me, but I quickly pull my guns and halt their advance.

“Sit down,” I say. They sit back down, while the rest of the bar is a dead calm except for the creep who attempted to pick up a fifteen-year-old girl.

“All you have to do is apologize and the pain will all go away,” I say to him.

“You sick, twisted bitch,” he responds.

“Now, that’s not an apology where I come from.” I begin to pull one of my swords.

“Dude, just apologize!” one of the men at table shouts.

“Perhaps Mr. Yoshihara here can teach you some good manners,” I say as I draw forth the katana against one of his kneecaps. Of course, I have absolutely no intentions of hurting this depraved man any further, but he rightly deserves to be scared shitless nonetheless.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begs.

“You see, now that wasn’t so bad.” I pull the dagger out from between his legs. I grab the knife still stuck in his hand with one hand, and hold onto his wrist with the other.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” I say. I yank the knife from his skin. He holds his hand, then collapses to the floor, crying. “Now go put some alcohol on it, you big baby,” I say.

Finnegan just stares at me in shock while Gabe pats Finnegan’s back. “I told you,” he says.

“I think we should probably leave now,” says Finnegan with a disturbed expression. While we leave the premises with all eyes cautiously watching our every step, all I can think about now is President Kriel, which may get me that much closer to Iakov. While debauchery continues to linger inside the bar, the rest of this simple town rests through the night.

Though morning has come and gone, I found a rare and peaceful moment of sleep without a dream to haunt me. I feel rested, but anxious. Every day a little piece of me withers, and with every thought of Jacob, my heart hardens. I don’t know how this journey is going to end, but I fear my hatred for Iakov will be the death of us all.

The afternoon grows closer and so does our uninvited dinner plans with the president. Though we’ve devised a compendious plan to reach the Capitol, there’s hardly been any talk of what will become of President Kriel. His justice has yet to be clear. At this point, I don’t care anymore. Kriel is an afterthought—Iakov is my enemy, but as long as the president is in charge, none of us have any hope to survive our broken nation.

We’re fifty miles outside of Washington, and I haven’t seen a single car drive by. There aren’t many cities left standing since the great earthquakes, but the few that have remained intact are slowly deteriorating, and Washington DC is one of them. Most of the larger populated cities in the east and north have all been abandoned. The flu epidemic hit those the hardest. Too many people populating small areas caused the infection to spread like wildfire. There were too many bodies to bury, so they had to be burned. It was the only way to be safe, and keep the virus contained. People used to say that for two years they could still smell burning flesh in the air as the smoldering plume of smoke lingered into the atmosphere.

While the gloomy sky covers the capitol city, the unpleasant misery that awaits outside its fenced border is just as grim. We veer away from the main checkpoints as we cross the river to enter the city and concentrate on finding a less-trafficked area.