The Light: Who do you become when the world falls away? (New Dawn Book 1)

by Jacqueline Brown

  “Take care of Jonah,” Nonie said through tears.

  Quint blinked back the tears and turned his attention to his son.

  “Move your hands. I have to see what we’re dealing with,” he said to me.

  I lifted my hands from Jonah’s chest. They were drenched in blood. I turned my head as Quint inspected the wound.

  The thin man lay on his right side with his feet pulled behind him and tied tightly to his hands. Josh stood guard.

  Eli was saying prayers over his grandfather, while his grandmother cried and held her husband’s hand. JP stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

  Mick lay on the ground. Unmoving. East stood over him, confusion instead of anger dominating her face.

  Quinn petted my dad’s face. His eyes were open. Blaise helped him sit against the wall. Sara ran out of the room and returned with food and water. He took it from her and weakly took a small bite of meat. I exhaled. He would be okay.

  Charlotte and Quint had removed Jonah’s shirt. He had two tattoos on his chest. On his left a tattoo of a rosary encircled the bullet hole. On the right were the words, THE LIGHT SHINES IN THE DARKNESS, THE DARKNESS HAS NEVER PUT IT OUT. JOHN 1:5

  “The bullet missed his heart, but barely. There’s so much blood. It must have …” Quint pulled the flesh open with a small metal clamp. “It did. It hit the artery.”

  “Can you fix it?” Charlotte said, her voice shaking.

  “I’m not a surgeon and this is far from an operating room. I’ll do what I can. But even if I repair it, he has lost so much blood …” he said, shaking his head. “Pray.” He glanced at his wife and then back at the bullet lodged in his son’s chest.

  “Bria, get water boiling. I’ll need to sanitize instruments as I go.” He took a small scalpel from his bag, poured rubbing alcohol on it, and sliced Jonah’s skin.

  My head started to spin, as I ran to the kitchen. I had never been good with blood. My head began to clear as I worked to start a fire in the little oven that doubled as a stove.

  Pops liked hot water on cold days. He said it was the next best thing to coffee. The small tea kettle he used sat on the stove, filled with water, waiting for him.

  Tears came. It was hard to breathe. So many deaths. I shook my head. I looked out the kitchen door. I could see the man my father had killed. The other man lay close to the barn. I assumed Jonah had killed him. I knew Jonah hadn’t wanted to kill him. My father, too, had not wanted to kill, but he was protecting me. He nearly gave his life for me.

  I looked back toward the library. But Pops. If he died, that would be the result not of self-sacrifice but of evil. Mick. The thought of his name made the hatred grow strong. He had raped East. That much was clear. It made sense why Jonah would not tell me what Mick had done to their family. He was right; it was not his to tell.

  The tea kettle whistled. I grabbed a pot holder and bowl and ran back to the library.

  Blaise, Eli, and East were huddled over Mick. He had not moved. A line of blood trailed from his mouth to the floor.

  Josh continued to guard the fourth man.

  Nonie sat on the ground next to Pops, holding his hand. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. She cried silent tears. JP sat next to her. Quinn sat in her lap. They lay on her, offering and receiving comfort. Sara started a fire and continued to care for my father. He looked pale, but he sat a little straighter.

  Quint focused on his son, making small movements. Charlotte came up behind me with clean towels.

  “The artery was just nicked. Thank God,” Quint said, pulling the bullet out and laying it on a towel. “I’ll try and repair it, but there’s no way. I’m not skilled enough. None of the conditions are right. Nothing is sanitary enough,” he said, shaking his head in frustration.

  Touching his hand, Charlotte said, “Do the best you can. Ultimately it is up to God. None of us can change that.”

  He inhaled, nodded, and refocused.

  As Quint worked, I found myself begging and pleading with someone I’d never spoken to before. I was asking God to please save Jonah. I begged repeatedly. I promised I would be good. I promised I would not be selfish and confess my love for Jonah to him or anyone. I would let Jonah be, let him be a priest or find someone worthy of his goodness. I held his hand while his father sewed. Charlotte assisted Quint when he asked. She prayed when she was not needed.

  After about fifteen minutes, East and Eli carried Mick out the door. When Eli returned he and Josh carried the other man outside, still tied. Blaise held a gun and watched him closely. She would not miss. I wondered for a moment what he’d think when he saw all of his friends dead. Then I did not care.

  Sara helped my father up. I noticed for the first time how dirty and torn his clothes were. Mud was caked on the left side of his body as if he had, at some point, fallen and been halfway swallowed by the earth. I could see bloodied scabs beneath holes in the knees of his pants. He had fallen more than once. He leaned on Sara. Her shoulder beneath his armpit. The bullet in his right thigh encircled by blood that had turned his tan pants a dark red. I watched as he hobbled out of the room, Sara supporting most of his weight. I thanked God that he was okay. That he had somehow known to come to this place and had survived. I looked down at Jonah. It was a miracle that my father was alive. Perhaps God would grant another one.

  East and Eli returned. Eli kept his head raised, his eyes focused on his grandmother, but East kept her head lowered. I watched as she walked toward her grandparents. She looked at Jonah as she passed by and then at me. Her expression was blank. Eli knelt by Nonie and Pops.

  “Nonie, may we take Pops?” he said with all the kindness of a priest … a person who I imagined saw death in a way the rest of us did not.

  She nodded, tears streaming down her worn face.

  East helped her grandmother to her feet. Quinn held on to East. East held her on one side, while helping to support Nonie on the other side. JP, too, helped his grandmother. The children were crying. Eli looked sad, yet peaceful, as he slowly wheeled his grandfather from the room.

  Quint lifted his head and watched them go. Tears filled his eyes.

  “Not now. Don’t feel that now,” Charlotte said turning his face to hers. “You’re the only chance our son has.” Her fingers leaving stains of blood on his chin. She used a torn sheet to wipe Quint’s eyes.

  He looked in his wife’s eyes. They were strong. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, exhaled and opened his eyes.

  He lowered his head and began working again.

  * * *

  An hour later, he closed the incision.

  “He needs a blood transfusion,” Quint said, leaning back and sitting on the wood floor.

  “What?” I whispered.

  He wiped his blood drenched hands on a towel. “A blood transfusion,” he repeated.

  “How do we do that?” Charlotte said.

  “It’ll have to be direct. Eli or I could do it. We both have O negative.” Quint looked at Jonah. “Actually, we’ll both have to do it. He’s lost so much. I don’t think one of us can donate near enough. No one else in the family can donate. We’ll each donate as much as we can,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I have O negative. I’ll donate too.” I said.

  “You’re sure you have that blood type?” Quint said.

  “It’s the universal donor, right?” I asked.

  Quint nodded.

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “Thank you, Bria,” Charlotte said emotion in her voice for the first time since death surrounded us.

  I helped Charlotte and Quint move the couch next to Jonah. Charlotte ran to find Eli, while Quint threaded a needle into Jonah’s arm and connected it to a long tube, like the kind used for an IV in the hospital. He got on the couch above Jonah and stuck a second needle into his own left arm, wincing as he fumbled to find his vein. He released a clamp at his end. Thick dark blood flowed down the tube, coming to a stop a few inches from Jonah’s arm.

 
“Release that clamp,” Quint said to me, nodding toward Jonah.

  I carefully removed the clamp, fearful that it might somehow hurt him, though I knew it wouldn’t. He had been shot twice, beaten, and had surgery without anesthesia all in a few hours. Removing a clamp from a tube would not hurt him. The red liquid flowed down and into his body. I exhaled … watching, hoping, praying that the blood of his father would allow him to live.

  Charlotte returned a few minutes later with Eli at her side. They both sat by Jonah. She kissed his forehead. He said some prayers over Jonah. The same I had heard him say over Pops. Charlotte cried as he said the words. Quint pinched the bridge of his nose and teared up. When Eli finished his prayers, the three of them sat in silence. I sat staring at the thick liquid flowing from Quint to Jonah.

  “I’m feeling a little lightheaded,” Quint said, leaning his head against the couch.

  “Then stop, Dad. I’m ready. Let me give, and you can give more later if you need to,” Eli said.

  “Just a few more minutes. I’ll be okay,” Quint said, his eyes closing.

  Charlotte reached up and put the clamp on Quint’s end of the tube. I watched the blood continue to drain into Jonah, until the tube held only thin red lines.

  Quint’s eyes opened. He looked at his wife, neither saying anything.

  Quint pulled the needle from his arm, bending his elbow, and held a rag in place to stop the bleeding. Eli sat on the couch. His father placed a new needle into the tube and inserted it into his right arm. He undid both clamps and blood again flowed into Jonah. Eli sat silently, holding rosary beads in his left hand. Quint lay on the floor; he had donated too much blood. He’d probably had nothing to eat or drink since yesterday.

  Charlotte used a rag and leftover boiled water to clean Jonah’s broken face. She caressed his blood-soaked hair. She kissed his bruised forehead. She loved her son as no one but she could.

  Charlotte kept her eyes on Eli, making sure he wasn’t overdoing it. After about forty-five minutes his head leaned back against the sofa.

  “Quint, disconnect Eli. He’s donated enough,” Charlotte said.

  Quint sat up and Eli lifted his head.

  “I’m okay. I was just resting,” Eli said.

  “No, you’ve done enough,” she said tenderly to Eli.

  Quint did as she asked and disconnected Eli.

  I was reluctant to let go of Jonah’s hand, but knew I had to. Eli got off the couch and took his father’s place lying on the floor. I moved to his place on the couch.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Quint asked as he prepared a needle for me.

  I looked at him. “Will it help Jonah?” I asked.

  Quint paused and looked at Jonah’s motionless body. “Yes, I believe it will,” he said.

  “Then I want to do it.”

  I winced when Quint pushed the needle through my skin, into the small vein in my left arm.

  “You’re a lot smaller than Eli and me and you’ve already lost blood from being shot, so please let me know if you are feeling lightheaded. We don’t need you passing out,” he said.

  “Okay,” I responded, watching as my blood drained into Jonah’s body.

  Charlotte said, “Seriously, Bria, you have to tell us if you start to feel off. You can go from talking, to unconscious very quickly.”

  “All right,” I said, not caring about their cautions. I would give Jonah all of my blood if it would give him a chance at life.

  We sat in silence, Eli snoring softly. He hadn’t exactly passed out, but the blood loss had taken its toll.

  I watched the blood flow into Jonah as he lay there. It was probably my imagination, but the waxy whiteness of his skin seemed to be fading … his more normal tan complexion starting to return.

  My head started to feel heavy. I closed my eyes to steady the room.

  Charlotte said, “Bria? Are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes. “Yes, just fine,” I lied.

  I felt Charlotte’s eyes on me even more than before. The room continued to spin, but I did not dare close my eyes. I wanted to give until they made me stop. I wanted to stay conscious as long as I could. My head bobbed. I jerked it up and it fell back down.

  “Bria, we told you to tell us when you started to feel the effects.” Quint was yelling as if through a tunnel.

  Twenty-One

  I awoke, no longer on the couch in the library. My shoulder burned. I reached to stop the pain and winced as my hand made contact with the slit the bullet had cut into my shoulder. I forgot I’d been shot. I looked around. This was once the dining room. The room was cold without a fire. Jonah’s oversized coat lay on top of me. I forced myself to sit up, though I wanted to sleep. I had to find out how Jonah and my dad were.

  I practically willed myself to the library. The fire burned bright. Jonah lay on a pallet near the fire … tightly wrapped in a blanket … his face beaten, his body limp. He didn’t look alive. I stared at his chest. It rose and fell. He was breathing. I allowed my own breath to come and go once again. Charlotte sat next to him, a silver rosary in her hand. My father sat on the small couch. JP sat beside him, looking at a book. Sara and Blaise were busy trying to return the room to some sort of order. Blaise was using rags, water, and a bucket to try and remove the blood from the wood floor.

  “How are you?” Dad asked, standing and limping toward me.

  “Dad, sit down,” I said, meeting him halfway and helping him back to the couch.

  I sat beside him and hugged him tightly. He laid his head on mine and wept.

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m okay,” I said, holding him.

  He was beyond exhausted.

  “Can I show you to a room? You need to sleep,” I said, pulling back and using my oversized sleeves to wipe his face.

  “No, no, I’ll be okay. I just love you. I was so afraid I would never see you again. I was afraid you were dead, but I knew I had to try to find you,” he said, choking back more tears.

  “It’s okay, Dad. You found me in time. You saved me. You saved all of us,” I said, looking at him with as much happiness as I could summon. I had so many questions for him, but all I could think about was Jonah and whether he would live or die.

  JP jumped to his feet and stared at my father with a look of seriousness I had never seen in his eyes before.

  “Why did you come here looking for her? Why did you think she would be somewhere she didn’t know?”

  The way he asked the question made me wonder if he somehow knew the answer.

  My father met his gaze and said, “Her mother told me.”

  Charlotte and I both stared and said in unison, “What?”

  JP smiled and sat back down. “I knew it,” he said.

  I stared at him. How had he known, and how had my father?

  My father held my hand and took a deep breath. “The night our country was attacked, your mom came to me in a dream. She told me to go home to our daughter. It was so real. To be honest, it scared me. I turned on the TV to distract myself. A minute or so later the show was interrupted and the announcer said we were under attack. A second later a bright light lit up my apartment. Then everything was black. I looked out the window. When I saw the White House was black, a chill ran through me,” he said, shaking his head.

  Sara ran out of the room and Blaise followed her. I knew hearing about DC was too much for Sara. My heart broke for her. I looked at my father’s emaciated frame. A month ago he had been a strong, healthy man. Sara’s mom and sister were two women alone in a city that was violent before, but now …. I shook my head to stop the thoughts.

  My dad continued. “I knew everything had changed and that your mother had told me what to do. I knew somehow you would be home. I got a pack together and my road bike and left DC. Thank God I made it out of the city before the sun came up. People were already gathering outside, but the violence hadn’t started yet.”

  He was staring at the wall as if remembering something awful. I tightened my grip and he
came back to the present moment.

  “What happened to your bike?” I whispered.

  He squeezed my hand. “It was a long journey. Things—people are not like they were before. The cities … the cities are very different.” His eyes were growing dark, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I wanted to ask him more, but the truth was I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know of the lawless violence that undoubtedly existed. I’d seen enough death, experienced enough violence. I didn’t want to know what my father had been through. Not yet, anyway. It was too much. Too much for the day.

  We sat in silence. Even JP seemed to recognize the severity of what my father had said, or rather, didn’t say.

  After several minutes, East came in and sat next to Jonah. She held his hand and stared at him for a long while.

  She exhaled and looked at me. “Where did you go this morning?”

  I blinked. The morning felt like a lifetime ago. “To my parents’ house. I wanted to get …” I reached into my jacket. I had forgotten about the crayons. I unzipped the inside pocket. The plastic cup had been shattered. “These for Quinn.” I stared at the pile of broken, smashed crayons in my hands.

  JP got up from the other side of my father and came to me. He held out his hands. I placed the pieces in them.

  “We can melt them back together. She will like them,” he said, his little voice so serious.

  I wondered how the day’s events would affect him. He and Quinn had seen such extreme violence at such young ages. They saw their grandfather shot to death, and their brother badly beaten, shot, and … possibly killed. Had JP known what Mick had done to East? No, I was sure not. Did he understand how Mick looked at her, what he said to her? I hoped not.

  “You shouldn’t have gone out by yourself,” Charlotte said.

  “If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead,” East said, her tone flat.

  “East, have more tact,” Quint said, entering the room and going to Jonah.