The Spirit Survives
Read The Spirit Survives Online
Authors: Gary Williams Ramsey
THE SPIRIT SURVIVES
Thriller by Gary William Ramsey
Kindle: 978-1-58124-318-5
ePub: 978-1-58124-319-2
©2012 by Gary William Ramsey
Published 2012 by The Fiction Works
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedicated to
Joyce and Joe Andrews
And to the memory of
Johnsie and B.J. Jary.
You accepted me in your
family, and gave me a
place in your hearts.
“The Silence of the Night”
“I need you for my spirit to survive”
The silence of the night fills my mind with fright
When hopes not with me and you’re not with me.
The silence of the day is so loud that I can’t pray
For God to find you so I can have you.
Without you the stars are blinding
Without you the day has no light
Without you life has no meaning
I can hear you in the silence of the night.
In the silence of the night I hear your breathing
If the silence of the night I feel your life.
In the darkness of the night, you are the brilliant light
Your soul haunts the silence of the night.
As I wander and fly with the black dove
The king of the sky and the night
You wander and fly with the angels
They keep love and me from your sight.
Prologue
The spirit and the soul are the two primary immaterial characteristics that are ascribed to humankind. It’s hard to understand the differences between the two. Human beings have a spirit, although we are not spirits. We live in a body, and we posses a soul. However, the real person inside all of us is our spirit.
Our bodies are what we live in while we are here on earth. The soul and the spirit are connected but separable within that body. Furthermore, the soul is the essence of a human being, it is who we are. The spirit is the aspect of humanity that connects with something higher than we can truly comprehend. The soul is the breath of life. The spirit is the driving force of that life.
A person’s spirit can be marked by a large range of characteristics, evil and good, including unfaithfulness, sincerity, strength of character and humility. A strong spirit can fortify a person’s mental and emotional condition. The spirit of a human can be broken and crushed, but it can also be revived and refreshed. A strong and passionate spirit can take us through almost impossible times when strengthened by love for other human beings. When the spirit is given a compelling reason to survive, it can reinforce the resolve and desire to live.
It’s hard to know for sure if the strength of the spirit is inherited or built by the feelings and experiences in life. I do believe that the soul and the spirit are united at death and face together whatever comes after life.
Some humans possess a strong and passionate spirit. When this spirit is combined with unconditional love for another it is refreshed and given the strength to survive the almost impossible events in life.
The spirit is truly the driving force of our lives here on earth.
Chapter 1
August 18, 2005 actually started out as a nice sunny day. Low hanging clouds failed to obscure the sun and the lingering pleasant breeze softly ruffled the sage green leaves on the trees. Having recently moved to Green Bay with my fiancée, Leah, I’d come to Lookout Mountain for a few days of rest and relaxation. Not pleased to have left my comfortable life in Chicago, my nerves were frayed from the move, so we decided to give each other some space. Loving the mountains, I rented a cottage on Lake Nokomis in Tomahawk, Wisconsin, packed a backpack, and drove my Lexus to Lookout Mountain for a day of hiking.
I started up the first trail I found, looking for trees that I love to observe. The mountain maples, which have beautiful green leaves and flowers with narrow erect panicles, had been heavily browsed by deer because the flowers had formed dense clumps of small stems. Higher up the mountain, the ashleaf maples had taken over.
A flying squirrel prompted me to raise my binoculars for a better look. I removed my backpack to get the digital camera that Leah had given me for my birthday. I particularly wanted pictures of the ashleaf maples and maybe could get lucky and snap a picture of the flying squirrel, which Leah would enjoy seeing. I searched through my entire backpack but the camera was missing. I must have left it on the seat in my car. Since there was plenty of time for pictures, I decided to go back later to pick it up. I was beginning to relax and admire the beauty and the mystery of nature.
I began searching with my high-powered binoculars for a path to the mountain’s summit and then I scanned the mountain to see if there were any more classic trees.
As I studied the mountain’s face, I noticed movement through the trees. I refocused my binoculars to get a better look. About a hundred feet below in the valley, in a clearing, a man was straddling a woman. Her skirt was hiked up over her hips and her blouse had been torn off. She struggled and kicked wildly, while another man restrained her arms. The man on top slapped her twice as he fumbled with his zipper.
I yelled to try to stop them but was too far away to get their attention. Frantically I looked for a trail down the mountain to the valley. I spotted a rough trail leading down. It would be dangerous getting down there without falling, especially with my heavy backpack, but I had to try.
After another look, the man who was straddling the woman turned, revealing his face clearly. He was thirtyish with coal black hair, worn long and in a ponytail. He wore sunglasses, but the struggling girl knocked them from his face. An ironic blasphemy, he wore a tattoo of an angel on his neck. His face reddening, he struck the girl again. Her nose and mouth were bleeding. She looked no older than eighteen and her long blonde curly hair was tangled and matted with blood, her frail body shook. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.
The other man who had been holding her hands had moved and was now holding her feet apart as the other man raped her. The man holding her feet was fiftyish, very tall, six-feet-eight inches or more. He had short gray hair and a muscular build. I’ll never forget his maniacal grin. He seemed to enjoy watching the young girl’s agony.
Moving as fast as I could down the rough trail, it wasn’t long before I slipped and fell. After struggling back to my feet, I noticed that my leg was bleeding.
A martial artist, my plan was to do a number on these bastards. I didn’t yell again, even though I was close enough for them to hear me. I was counting on surprise to even the odds. When I got to the bottom of the path the two men still didn’t know that I was behind them.
The black-haired man got off the girl. He was buckling his belt and zipping his jeans when the girl kicked wildly and hit him in the groin. He yelled, grimaced and bent over holding his nuts. The big guy ran around and kicked her in the head twice, and she didn’t move. He was concentrating on the girl, or he would have seen me.
I yelled, charged and both the men turned toward me. I was ready to attack when the big guy reached behind his back and pulled a gun from his belt.
Then, to my surprise, he turned and shot the girl in the head. The impact of the bullet hit her head with a crimson spray of blood and her brains splattered on the ground. I recognized the Colt .45. He quickly turned and pointed the powerful weapon toward me.
Martial arts or no martial arts, I am no match for a gun, especially a Colt .45. I veered rapidly to the left as he fired and the bullet missed me.
As he prepared to fire again, the most dreadful noise I had ever heard in my life almost ruptured my ear drums. It sounded like an out-of-control freight train and was thunderous, causing the ground to quiver. Caught off-guard, the two killers turned to see what was causing the ruckus. When they turned, I dashed back to the trail. Another shot rang out, but I didn’t feel any pain. The shooter must have missed again.