Earth Sentinels Collection

by Elizabeth M Herrera

  With that out of the way, Haruto became somewhat adversarial. She asked in a quivering voice, thinking of her deceased baby, “You knew. Since the first time you summoned us, you knew this would happen. Yet you never told me or the others. Why?”

  “This catastrophe was always a possibility, but it didn’t have to be. When I had asked for your help, it was to prevent this from occurring.”

  Haruto contemplated his words. Perhaps, we all should have tried harder. But harder at what? She asked him, “Why did those soldiers take me and the others? And why were they cooperating with those alien scientists? Were they forced? Paid?”

  “It’s a long story, which I will gladly explain in great detail, but at a later date. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting you somewhere safe—at least until your DNA mutation takes full effect. But you must hurry. Your presence here is putting you and your friends at risk because the soldiers will come looking for you.”

  Haruto mourned the thought of leaving. She had only just returned home—the only one she had ever known. Haruto didn’t want to flee, but she also didn’t want to jeopardize her extended family. She admitted, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “I know a place,” Bechard said, smiling devilishly.

  Leaving the Temple

  HARUTO STOOD IN the entrance of the temple. She wore a red-hooded cape that hung below her knees and clutched a travel bag sewn by her mother. Embroidered butterflies fluttered across the black silk. She ran her fingers over the well-placed threads admiring the handiwork, remembering as a young girl watching her mother expertly stitch the design while telling her, “Haruto, these butterflies represent the women here, who went through many difficult changes to become the beautiful creatures they are today. Don’t ever be afraid of change.” She missed her mother more than ever at this moment.

  Haruto turned the brass knob, opening the handcrafted wooden door, which groaned under its own weight. She went outside and stood on the landing, admiring the breathtaking view of the foothills and dormant city below, the hazy blue sea caressing its shores.

  It was time to leave. She took a deep breath to brace herself, then stepped down, her red cape fluttering in the gentle wind.

  It took the rest of the day for Haruto to reach the outskirts of Fukushima. Dirt covered her shoes as she walked past a suburb, which soon gave way to the empty downtown streets lined by tall office buildings and skyscrapers casting long shadows. The ground-level retail stores had all been looted. She hurried down the sidewalk, noting the address numbers on the facades. Although tired, she persevered through the desolate city, wanting to reach her destination before nightfall.

  The sound of a heavy-duty truck engine growled a few blocks away, alarming Haruto. She couldn’t risk being seized by the soldiers again, so she ducked into an alley.

  The engine noise grew louder. Haruto pressed her back against the concrete-block wall, sinking into the shadows.

  At the end of the street, a roofless Humvee, painted with splashes of tan, brown and olive-green, slowly approached. Japanese soldiers were perched on the raised seats in the back, resting their boots on the side panels and clutching automatic rifles while surveying the city. A UN leader sat in the passenger seat holding a tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen.

  A strange and sudden windstorm swept down the avenue, picking up dirt from the street and gutters, blasting over the soldiers who covered their faces to keep out the grit.

  The UN leader ignored his own discomfort. He was more concerned about protecting the tablet, which he tried to tuck back into its protective case, but it was too late. The light at the top flashed yellow—an indication the device had become inoperable. “Damn it!” he cursed.

  The Humvee drove past the alley and out of sight.

  As soon as the engine noise faded away, the windstorm abruptly subsided.

  Haruto crept to the front of the narrow passageway, peeking in both directions. All clear.

  Anxious over the lost time, especially since the sun was sinking behind the mountaintops, Haruto resumed her mission, briskly making her way down the sidewalk.

  A few blocks later, she arrived at an old church built in a Gothic-revival style, which seemed alien amid the modern buildings of the city. This place of worship had three sets of arched entrance doors. The middle set was the largest. Above it was a stained-glass medallion window. The gabled roof was adorned with a stone cross at its peak and guarded by bell towers, one on each side. A bronze plaque affixed near the main doors read “Dedicated in 1899 by Father Nakaui”.

  Haruto went to the double door in the center and tugged on a handle. It was locked. Exhausted, she wondered what to do next. It was then she noticed a parsonage on the adjacent grounds that perfectly matched the church architecture, but on a smaller scale. A flickering light in the front window beckoned her.

  She returned to the sidewalk, then pushed through the iron gate that guarded the courtyard hidden in the evening shadows. She followed the winding sidewalk to the priest’s house, stepping onto the covered stoop, rapping the brass knocker. Crickets chirped. Haruto waited nervously for the sound of approaching footsteps. After too much time had passed, and nothing was heard, she decided to knock again, but just as she raised her hand, the door opened.

  Father Chong stood there wearing a red smoking jacket, which, oddly enough, matched Haruto’s red cape. They both noticed the similarity. The priest broke the awkward silence. “You’re the Miko from the temple, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Father Chong, it is I, Haruto.”

  He glanced out the doorway, looking up and down the street, then said, “Please, come inside.”

  Haruto entered the living room illuminated only by the candles on the coffee table. Wax trickled down the silver candlesticks.

  The priest seemed perplexed as he shut the door. “Did you walk here?”

  “Yes. It was a very, very long walk.”

  “I can only imagine. You must be exhausted. Please, have a seat and rest your feet. Here, let me take your bag.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll hang onto it.” Haruto walked across the dimly lit room, sitting down on the leather sofa.

  The priest trailed behind her, coming to his favorite high-back chair where he sat facing his guest. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in weeks. But where are my manners? Let me make you some tea, and we can talk about why you’re here and how things are out there.”

  Before she could say anything, he grabbed one of the candles, heading into the kitchen.

  Alone, Haruto took this time to examine the room. The remaining candle burned next to a tin of tobacco and a wooden rack holding several smoking pipes. Built-in bookcases lined a wall. The hand-carved mahogany mantel on the stone fireplace proudly displayed decorative crosses and a statue of the Virgin Mary holding out her hands as if she was welcoming the stranger into her midst. A Persian rug covered the floor. Haruto assumed it was authentic.

  Dishes clinked. A teapot whistled in the kitchen.

  Haruto stared out the front window. It was strange to see the dark abandoned streets up close. From the Mikos’ temple, high in the foothills, she had often observed the city’s hustle and bustle at all hours of the day and night, but now, it sat perfectly still.

  The priest returned carrying a tray. His candle flickered beside the beautiful cloisonné teapot with a bamboo handle. Steam wafted out of the spout. Beside it were two porcelain cups and matching saucers. He had taken off his red smoking jacket and now wore only a white buttoned shirt and black dress pants.

  Father Chong carefully set the tray on the coffee table between them. He seemed a little nervous, as if he didn’t quite understand this social interaction. To compensate, he kept the conversation light. “Here we go. I hope you enjoy this blend of green tea. I save it for special occasions. It’s one of the finest I’ve ever tasted—given to me by a devoted member of my flock. It took a little longer to make than usual. I’ve been using an old camping stove to heat the wate
r. We haven’t had electricity here since the outbreak…” A look of sadness passed over his eyes. “This whole situation has been terrible. We lost Father Chin and Father Fugimura.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. We lost many as well.” Haruto didn’t mention her baby, but her flat stomach spoke of the loss on her behalf.

  He said, “I’m sorry. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. It’s been a very difficult time for everyone.” The priest poured tea into her cup, then picked it up by the saucer, handing it to her. “Here you go. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”

  “Thank you.” Haruto took a sip, appreciating the flavor, then said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you as well.” She set the cup down to open her travel bag, pulling out two jars of honey and a pint of honey wine, placing the items on the table.

  The jars sparkled in the candlelight, delighting Father Chong, who inquired, “Is that mead?”

  “It is. Fermented for over ten years from a long-standing recipe.”

  He picked up the pint, admiring the golden color. “Shall we partake of it now?”

  “If you wish, but first, I would like to drink this tea. I’m thirsty, and it’s been a long day.”

  “Of course. Why don’t we sweeten it with some of the honey you brought?” Father Chong unscrewed one of the jars. “Would you like some?”

  Haruto nodded.

  Father Chong drizzled the sticky nectar into her tea, and then his own. After a quick stir, each took a sip, savoring the sweetened brew. For a moment, the priest was far away from all the death and pain caused by the virus. After another sip, he inquired, “So what brings you on such a long and dangerous journey?”

  “Dangerous?”

  He set his cup down. “Don’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Martial law is in effect. Anyone caught on the streets is arrested. A zealous overreaction—at least in my opinion. Although, the looting was a problem initially.”

  Haruto hid her anger as she seethed internally, Damn that Bechard! He had me walking through a minefield. She smiled tersely. “No, I did not know that.”

  “Yes, well, that leaves us in a quandary. Doesn’t it? You can’t go back out there, especially at night.”

  She was secretly pleased. She had hoped to spend the night here. Many nights, in fact.

  “You must be tired,” he stated.

  “I am. The walk was…um….much longer than I expected.”

  “You never told me why you came.”

  Haruto wondered if it was wise to be truthful. Father Chong won’t believe that soldiers abducted me, and then took me to an alien scientists’ laboratory. Who would? And what about my unexplainable escape? Or that I’m still fleeing. She decided a white lie was in order. “I assumed the same outbreak had occurred here in the city, so I came to see if I could be of service, but I had no idea that martial law was in effect or I wouldn’t have come.” The latter part was true. She took a sip of tea to hide her guilty conscience.

  “Understood. Well…you certainly can’t go back out there.”

  Haruto waited for his suggestion.

  As a man of God, Father Chong felt it was his duty to house her. “The church has always offered people sanctuary. I insist you stay here until it’s safe to travel again.” But that wasn’t the only reason for his offer. After being holed up in the house alone for weeks, he was grateful for her company.

  She responded, “Thank you for the kind invitation. I’d be happy to stay here.”

  “Yes, well, it’s getting late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted. Would you care to see your room?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Father Chong stood up, grabbing the candle from the tray. “Please take the other one.”

  Haruto picked up the candle from the coffee table, along with her travel bag, then followed him across the living room. They moved up the staircase, stepping on the narrow rug that ran down the center. The hand rail and balusters were elaborately detailed. She commented, “This is a beautiful home.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s as old as the church. They just don’t make them like this anymore.”

  They reached the top, and walked down the hallway. The candles’ quivering flames made the paintings of the former popes and bishops, which hung on the wood-paneled walls, come alive. Their pious eyes watched them pass by.

  Father Chong stopped at the third door, opening it. “This was Father Chin’s. God rest his soul.” He stepped back.

  Haruto hesitantly entered the bedroom. It was sparsely furnished with a bed, desk and dresser. She was grateful for a place to lay her head that was far away from her fellow Mikos, who would now be safe in her absence. She said, “Thank you, and good night.”

  “If you need anything, anything at all, I’m in the first bedroom closest to the stairs. Sleep well.” He shut the door for her.

  She set her bag and candle on the desk, draping her cape over the back of the chair, then took off her blouse and pants. Underneath, she wore a silk camisole and boxers. She blew out the candle. A trail of blue smoke curled from the wick. The moonlight glowed through the sheers.

  Haruto got into bed, pulling the covers over herself. Ahh. The mattress was such a comfort to her drained body. Sleep came quickly for her, pulling her down a dark spiraling tunnel where all the recent events spun past her. Billy. The laboratory. The endless subway. Soldiers. Fear and confusion. Bechard.

  The images faded.

  She dreamed of a clear blue sky. A solitary cloud floated into view. It held a blue door, which slowly opened, releasing a blue mist that rolled across the vaporous floor. Haruto hesitated to walk toward the door because she knew where it led and didn’t want to go there, but it appeared to be her only option. A familiar snort distracted the Miko. The sound had come from her totem animal, the dragon, as it descended from above, flapping its webbed wings, landing on the cloud. His iridescent green body shimmered in the sunlight. The creature trudged toward Haruto, his heavy steps sinking into the hazy platform, yet never completely falling through. The dragon said to her, “You always have a choice. Trust yourself. You are more powerful than you realize.” A puff of smoke billowed out of his snout, encompassing her until everything became solid white.

  Haruto lay in bed studying the room in the morning light. Beside her was a tall dresser with stately brass handles and timeworn drawers. Against the far wall, next to the protruding closet, sat a desk. A crucifix hung on the wall above it. Jesus’ forlorn face stared down at the old-fashioned writing instruments and the short stack of blank paper on the desktop next to her travel bag. She wondered if the previous occupant had been a writer.

  Pans clanked in the kitchen below. Haruto suspected that Father Chong was making breakfast. The thought made her stomach grumble with hunger.

  She got out of bed, going over to her travel bag, rummaging through it, taking out a tan cotton blouse and black wide-leg pants. Both were wrinkled, but they would have to do. She got dressed, slipping on black flats.

  Haruto headed out of the bedroom, tiptoeing down the stairs. The old wooden steps creaked. At the bottom, she loitered at the edge of the living room, unsure of where to go or what to do. She called out, “Father Chong!”

  “In here!” The priest peeked out of the kitchen, pressing the swinging door open with his shoulder. In each hand, he held a bowl of cold rice. “Come join me,” he cheerfully requested, waiting for Haruto to pass through the doorway.

  She had expected to eat in the kitchen, but instead Father Chong led her to the back door. They stepped out into a large atrium, which spanned the width of the parsonage and possessed exquisite details, such as a stone foundation, beveled glass walls framed with patinated brass, and a glass domed ceiling crowned with a cupola. Flourishing inside the humid warm sanctuary were flowers, orchids and greenery, in addition to well-manicured bonsai trees. Some of the potted plants rested on the white crushed-stone floor while others sat on tables and shelves. The air smelled of fertilizer a
nd peat moss.

  In the midst of this botanical paradise was a white-painted, wrought-iron bistro table and chairs, which is where Father Chong set their breakfast.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said. “I’ll get the rest.” He headed back to the kitchen.

  Haruto sat admiring the panoramic view of the courtyard filled with perennials, shrubbery and majestic trees. Curved sidewalks encouraged the church members to wander around the grounds or sit on the stone benches where they could rest and reflect. The grass was overgrown, but that was understandable considering the circumstances. At the rear of the courtyard was an old cemetery overflowing with tombstones marking the graves of the deceased clergy and church members. Ornate ostentatious crypts held the wealthier patrons. A cast-stone statue of an angel, wielding a sword, guarded the entrance. Its fiery glare threatened anyone who dared to enter.

  A minute later, Father Chong returned with a bowl of Mandarin orange slices resting in their own juices, and a jar of Miko honey. He carefully placed the items on the table.

  Haruto appreciated his efforts. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. The army only gave us dried beans and rice. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but luckily, the cupboards were well stocked before all of this happened. And we’ve had running water all throughout this ordeal, although I’ve yet to get used to lukewarm baths.” He shivered at the thought. “Hopefully, things will return to normal soon. Please have some.”

  As Haruto spooned the orange slices onto her plate, she thought about the soldiers who had taken her to the alien scientists’ laboratory, and wondered if anything would ever return to normal.

  Father Chong continued, “This whole outbreak has been beyond what anyone could have imagined. It’s been very frustrating not to be able to help my parish during this difficult time. No confessions. No church services. I can’t even console them by phone. But what’s one to do?” He took a breath, refocusing. “To quote Reinhold Niebuhr, ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ I believe I got that right. Anyway, I’m tired of all this complaining. How about a new topic?”