Last Light Falling (45 page)

Gabe abruptly stops, turns, and stares hopelessly toward the entrance. The Knight rumbles loudly, and races out of the complex.
Gabe just stands there, stricken with sadness. I can only hope he will forgive me for my decision, but I know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on, Gabe!”

We sprint to the right side, where the walls are charred and the ground is covered with dead soldiers. There are so many men lying dead, I can’t tell if one of them is Finnegan. I call out his name while I desperately search through the tangled bodies, but there’s no answer. It’s not until we reach the corner of the complex that my hope has finally vanished.

Buried behind two large men against the wall protrudes Finnegan’s head, but he’s not moving.

I rush over and pull the men off while Gabe gingerly holds his head up. Finnegan moans, and the sinking feeling in my stomach excitedly releases. His eyes open wide and he smiles as I caress his face.

“Are you okay?” I ask. His leg is bleeding, but he’s alive.

“I’ll manage.”

He holds his wounded leg with a slight wince on his face. Gabe and I help pick him up to his feet, as Harold’s car races through the front gates.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Gabe asks.

“I’m fine, just hit in the leg,” Finnegan says as he walks gingerly.

“Let’s go!” Harold yells from the car.

“Wait, my gun,” Finnegan says, searching his side.

“I’ll get it, just go.” I reach back down to pick up his gun next to the wall, but as I turn back around, Finnegan yells out at me. “Arena, watch out!” Finnegan leaps toward me and holds me down as the sound of gunfire rings in the air. I fall to the ground and see blood pouring out of Finnegan’s left side. Another gunshot goes off. I turn my head and see Gabe with his gun drawn, hovering over a dead soldier on the ground.

“Finnegan!” I cry out, knowing his wound is bad. I press hard against the opening by his ribs, but the hole is too big for me to stop the rush of blood from pouring out. Gabe rushes over and picks him up while I keep my hand pressed on his wound. Finnegan grimaces and moans and it’s all I can do to keep him from stumbling to the ground.

Harold jumps out of the car shouting. “They’re coming!”

With all the strength I have left, Gabe and I quickly put him in the back seat of the car.

“Go!” I yell at Harold. The car violently spins around, shoveling sand with the back wheels, while several soldiers barrel around the left wing firing at us. We barely make it through the front gates with a shower of bullets grazing the sides of the car.

“Take us as far as you can and out of sight!” I yell at Harold.

Finnegan’s eyes begin to shudder, and his face turns milky white. I grab his cold hands as his head falls limp to the side. I scream out, cursing my own mistake in anguish. “Damn you, damn you! I yell, holding Finnegan’s shirt and pressing my cheek against his bloody chest. Though he leans lifeless against the seat, I’m still glued to Finnegan’s body, crying uncontrollably with the delusion that he may still be alive.

After we’re miles outside the complex, the dark paved road in front of us suddenly brightens and the brim of the horizon flashes with red lights. To evade any more unnecessary entanglements, we immediately detour. My tears finally dry up and we pull off the main road, down into a small, rocky canyon. We sit in the car silently for a moment, and wait until the flashing lights disappear. But all it does is further the agony inside of me while I hold onto my dead uncle.

Time has elapsed, but it feels like it has stopped, along with my will to move. I’m too broken inside to leave him, but I know I must let go. He’s dead and there is nothing I can do to change it.

We carry Finnegan down into a small ravine, and lay him beside a small cluster of bushes near some softer ground. There we bury his body in a shallow hole, covered in stones. Harold and Gabe walk back to the car while I stay by the grave, reflecting on my poor choices. I lean my head against the rocks, begging for a merciful end to all of this, but I’m left with a comforting peace in my heart instead. I rub my bloody hand across the white stones and think back to the first time Finnegan taught me about death.

I was eight years old when my dog, Jasper, was hit by a car. I watched him whimper and bleed out until he stopped breathing. I remember standing next to Finnegan while he buried him. The soil was too rocky to dig deep, so we piled up stones like the ones I’m leaning on now. I hovered over Jasper’s grave while Finnegan comforted me. He told me that life was temporary, and that it’s to be respected and enjoyed. He said to make the best of the gift that was given to me, because none of us really deserved life. It’s our thankfulness that sustains us. Never forget your Father. It’s by His grace you are here. Those words and that moment have stuck with me forever. I know now that the only thing guaranteed in life is our death. I struggle to lift my body up from the gravestone before I walk back up the rocky incline toward the car.

I grab all my gear from the trunk and walk toward the woods.

“Where are you going?” asks Harold.

“The roads will not be safe anymore. We’ll have to travel on foot for now until time permits us the alternative,” I say.

“She’s right, we’ll have to go into hiding for a while,” Gabe says.

“What about me? What am I supposed to do now?” Harold asks.

“Go live what life you have left in this world,” I say.

“That’s it? Just like that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! I’m coming with you,” he demands.

“Stop! Look, I have nothing against you; in fact, I thank you for what you have done for us, but if you come with us, we will just bring death upon you. I don’t have the strength to see another innocent friend die. Now go,” I say.

“I’m not trying to be a burden, but—”

“Then don’t be,” I say, interrupting him. “Maybe our paths will cross again someday, but for now, it’s just better this way.” Gabe runs back toward the car and says something to Harold that I wish not to know. All I can do is just stare into the stony grave where Finnegan lays to rest before I walk away from a moment of discontent.

Soon the cool fall breeze turns to an unforgiving winter frost as the months pass by. We have been well hidden from the world and know nothing of what the nation has gone through since the death of President Kriel and General Iakov. I’m oblivious to what is going on, and I feel strangely comfortable with it.

We’ve traveled a weary journey into treacherous canyons, around rocky mountain ridges, and through intolerant fields of barrenness while eating on wild game and consuming nature’s vast expanse. We’ve seen no sign of life since we left Harold by the road, until we come upon a flicker of light glowing in the distance.

Down an unmarked road we see an old, weathered pub that stands awkwardly in the middle of nowhere, but it’s probably more warm and inviting than the bone-chilling cold air and creatures that wait for us out here. After a dithering conversation with Gabe about whether or not we should take the road, winter’s chill decides for us, persuading us to take comfort in the old tavern. We trust no one, but it takes less convincing when traveling in these frigid temperatures.

The building looks like it has seen better days, but the smoke from the chimney quickly dissolves any prejudgment I have and reminds me of the warmth waiting for us inside.

“The Drunken Duck,” says Gabe, reading the sign above the door. “Well, this should be a familiarity to a couple of Irish kids.”

I push open the door and a reaction of cold silence stretches out toward us—the stares from what looks like mostly working men and a handful of poverty-stricken families huddling next to a fire.

The heat of the flame warms the silence for a moment. “Would you mind if a couple of strangers take refuge in your fine establishment?” I say.

The bartender just smiles and says, “You are welcome to stay, but you are no strangers here.”

By some of the awkward stares we receive, I can only imagine the kind of viral rumors that may have been spreading across the nation about Gabe and me, but I’m not convinced they know. It’s not until I
hear an old woman shouting from the corner of the room that I realize now that some of these people recognize our less than encouraging presence.
“Es el ángel de la muerte!”
she shouts.

“Shhh, hush,” the bartender says to her. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. Come,” he says, gesturing us over by the bar. “Don’t listen to that old woman; she’s a bit crazy … one of our regulars. Come. I have beds upstairs you can take rest in,” he says.

“We thank you kindly, sir, and by the way, she’s not crazy,” I say as I remove the cloak, exposing my weapons and climbing upstairs behind Gabe. Just one glance at the swords attached to my back and the bartender backs up, nearly tripping on himself as he realizes who we are.

“Te lo dije,”
says the old lady, smiling.

After hours pass during the frigid night, I abruptly awake in a cold sweat, as does Gabe. We both look at each other and know the time has come. We gather our things and head down the stairs to a crowd of people gathered around the television.

People are dancing and cheering as if happy hour never ended. “What’s going on?” asks Gabe.

“Come, look. It’s over, it’s over,” the bartender says, smiling. Gabe and I look at the television and see a scrolling ticker at the bottom that says “Breaking News.” The news anchor begins another replay of the report:

“If you just tuned in, this morning congressional leaders issued a statement earlier that President Kriel has been hospitalized, and is in critical condition from an unfortunate stroke. The status of his mental health is uncertain, but it has been reported by some doctors that he may never be able to function normally again. As the President’s health deteriorates, administrators scramble to advise a new strategy for future plans regarding the countries new reorganization policy. As the government struggles to find new leadership to take over the new order, the nation’s current policies and federal legal battles with military controlled regions seems to be in limbo and at a standstill. There has been no further word on the country’s direction at this time.”

These people haven’t a clue that this artificial story has been conjured up by this administration in an attempt to gain sympathy for the government. But why would they play it now—or even at all? It’s been two months since his death, and this is the first we are to hear about it? What purpose does this serve to benefit the administration now?

“These people are all going to die!” Gabe shouts to me over the crowd’s exuberance. Everybody hushes over Gabe’s statement and immediately stops what they are doing.

“Why in the hell would you say that?” asks the bartender, dropping his stein on the floor.

“Because it’s true. This war isn’t over and it never will be. These lies they feed you on the screen only delay the inevitable. Evil will deceive those who let them.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” asks an angry man in the back. I search for his voice until the crowd suddenly parts for this irate man, who comes dangerously close to me. He hastily raises his hand toward me as if he’s about to swing, but I quickly point my gun to his face, halting his disconcerted overreaction.

“Don’t be fooled by the sting of his tongue lest he smite you with it,” I say.

“That snake of a president is dying; it’s the only joy we have left,” says the bartender.

“That snake is already dead,” I say, putting on my cloak.

“And what do you know of this to be true?” asks the gentleman in front of me.

“Because two months ago I took that serpent’s head with this very blade,” I say, pulling it from its sheath.

Gasps fill the stuffy air inside the tavern as the smiles and laughter quickly disappear. “You have not seen what evil can do. The world you live in now will change forever, and the only thing that will keep you from surrendering to its lies is your faith; nothing else will matter.”

“But it’s over now, this administration will soon die,” says the bartender.

“Over?” I ask. “Nothing will ever be over until history ceases to exist. What is it that you seek in life? Does it have purpose, or is it merely a mirage that ignores the truth? Most of us think we control our own destiny, when in fact our fate has already been chosen for us. The question remains—are you willing to accept a life of eternal salvation, or eternal damnation? It’s your choice, not theirs, because in the end, death becomes us all. Over? This is far from over.”

I pull the shaded black hood over my head, and I look at them in pity as I walk out the door. I may not fully comprehend the choices people make, but I must leave them to decide for themselves. Some days, I feel my own convictions being threatened, but today they have not strayed. I don’t know what will happen to these poor people, but I’m convinced the grimmest days will soon be upon them. My heart is broken for them, and it weighs on me to address these poor souls one last time before I leave. “May God have mercy on you all.”

We leave this place like many others across the nation that will fall into deceit and wither away, but Gabe and I know the truth—this is just the beginning.