“Fang. They call me Fang. I usually have a hunting knife on me that makes Dundee’s look like a kid’s toy.”
“No, your name. Not your gang tag. We want to know your real name, son.”
The kid looked down at his bound feet for a moment and scowled. Then, in a low voice, he muttered, “Richard.”
“Richard. My cousin’s name is Richard. It means ‘powerful-brave.’ It’s a good name. Okay, Richard. To prove to you that I mean what I say, I’m going to ask Keith to remove the duct tape. I want you to be free to move around like the rest of us.”
Keith looked ready to protest, and Andrea let out a gasp. Carrie sat, rigid in her chair. Eleazar, on the other hand, smiled contentedly. “Ah, a wise idea, Joseph.”
Nobody moved, however. The priest lifted one bandaged hand and waved at Keith. “Get the tape off him, Keith. Please.”
Scowling, Keith fished in his pocket for his scout knife and stepped over to the punk. The knife open, he raised his hand and held it suggestively over the kid’s spiked head, but a cough from the old black minister had him lowering it again. With a grunt of disgust, he cut the strong, gray tape from around the kid’s hands and ankles. Then he stepped back and glared at Richard, primed to fight should the punk make an attack.
“Keith,” Eleazar murmured. “That is all. Thank you. Now, please help the lad up.”
Keith grimaced but held out his hand. Richard looked at it suspiciously for a second then grudgingly gripped it. Keith hauled him to his feet, stood for a moment, sizing him up, and then let go. He turned and returned to his spot next to Andrea, mouth set in a straight line.
“So. Welcome to our makeshift little family, Richard,” Father Joe said weakly.
“Yes, welcome, my son,” Eleazar smiled.
Keith glanced at Andrea and rolled his eyes. She closed hers and squeezed his hand. Carrie deflated into a passive lump in the folds of her blanket.
“So, son, tell us about yourself,” Father Joe said in a breathy voice.
The punk scowled. “Nothin’ to tell.”
“Yes, there is,” the priest insisted. “Are you from around here or just passing through?”
“I grew up in this shitty town.”
“Did you finish high school?”
“Hell, no. Teachers were full of it. Always orderin’ me around and tellin’ me how useless I was.”
“Sorry.” The priest coughed. “Did you have a job, son?”
The kid sneered. “Oh, yeah. Was CEO of a major accounting firm downtown. Had a pretty little secretary on each knee.”
“Richard,” Eleazar chided, “enough of that. We are interested, Father Joe and I. Now leave your insolence in that corner and come closer. Take that seat, there, son.” The old man pointed to a straight-back chair beside the desk. “Or curl up in front of the fire.”
Richard shrugged, but before he took a step, the priest started wheezing and coughing—struggling to breathe. Keith shot out of his chair and raised Father Joe’s head while Eleazar sat on the edge of the couch and felt the distraught man’s wrist. The old man glanced at Keith and frowned.
“What?” Andrea moaned. “What’s wrong?”
Father Joe gasped, “C-can’t get a breath.”
“Take it easy, Joseph,” the minister crooned, displaying no overt anxiety. “Andrea, dear, would you fetch a glass of water for Joseph, please.”
Father Joe shook his head, his face flushing with the exertion of gulping in air. “N-no water.”
“Sit up, lad. Let Keith’s arm support you. Try to relax. Take it easy. Breathe slowly. In and out. In and out.”
The priest looked up at the preacher and tried to smile. His lips didn’t cooperate and it came out a grimace. A shudder ran through his body and he sighed loudly.
Andrea grew panicky. “What’s the matter? Why can’t he breathe?”
“I don’t know,” Keith spat out. “Eleazar, we’ve got to do something.”
“He has internal injuries, I’m afraid. I noticed the odd coloring on his chest and abdomen earlier, but I had hoped it was just superficial. I know so very little about medicine,” the pastor replied softly.
“I thought it was just his hands,” Andrea wailed. “I knew he’d cut his forehead, was a little shaken up but—”
“None of us could know,” Eleazar said. “We’re not doctors, child. And conditions such as they are, well, there is nothing we can do except keep him warm and comfortable.”
Andrea’s eyes widened with incredulity. “Wh-what are you saying?”
Eleazar ignored her. “Here, Joseph. An extra pillow might help.” He’d taken one of the couch pillows and was trying to wedge it behind the priest’s back, but Father Joe groaned.
Andrea bit her lip as Keith and Eleazar tried to make the man more comfortable. Nothing seemed to ease his distress. Father Joe grew increasingly worse as the hours inched their way along the continuous thread of darkness they called night and day, day and night. They did everything they could think of to help him breathe easier, but it was very apparent that things were only growing worse. After three hours and seventeen minutes of labored breathing, stifled moans of intense pain, they all knew the end was near. They could do nothing but sit quietly and watch with sinking hearts as the priest fought and lost his excruciating battle.
Suddenly, the tortured man lifted a limp hand and waved it in the punk’s direction. “Richard,” he whispered hoarsely, “I want-I want to say one more thing to…Richard.”
Keith and Eleazar stepped back and watched as the youth—complete with his pierced ears, eyebrows, and nose, his tattoo of an open-mouthed cobra, his black leather pants and jacket, and his severely spiked hair—left his chair and approached the dying man. Richard looked worried. For maybe the first time in his adult life, Richard looked apprehensive about another human being. He squatted next to the couch and waited for the priest to speak.
Father Joe smiled weakly and made a feeble attempt to poke the young man’s chest in a brotherly punch. “Richard, will you promise me something?”
“Well,” the kid faltered.
“I want you to promise me that you’ll let—” He swallowed. “Let Eleazar talk to you. About your Father.”
“My father? My father ran out on me and my mom when I was born! There’s no way in hell, I wanna talk about him!”
“Not your earthly father. Your heavenly Father. Promise? This minute is the first minute. Of your new identity. Okay?”
“Uh, whatever.”
“God bless you, Richard. I’ll see you soon.” Father Joe closed his eyes. Andrea thought he’d merely fallen asleep. But when Eleazar started humming How Great Thou Art, she realized with a roiling in her stomach that the priest was gone. She looked at Keith in silent horror, and he nodded. Father Joe Dunn was dead. His long night was over.
“‘And then I saw that wisdom excels folly, as light excels darkness,’” the old preacher murmured. Eleazar was smiling. To Andrea’s mystification, the old pastor looked downright joyful. He lifted his arms and cried out, “‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he may die, she shall live.’ Praise the Lord!”
Feeling like her insides were going to tumble out, Andrea stumbled to the window facing the front yard. Working at keeping her emotions steady, she pulled back a drape and peered out into the darkness. Behind her, Keith and Richard wrapped the priest’s body in a blanket and carried it through the kitchen to the back yard. The thought of the gentle man lying out there in that awful cloying darkness, where the things could get him, sent a shudder through her.
EIGHTEEN
Andrea’s nerves were close to the breaking point. What next? Who next? Which one of them would be the next to die? And when? Tomorrow? Next week? Would a monster get them, or would they just run out of food and starve to death?
A tap on her shoulder had her turning around so fast she bumped her elbow. “Oh, Keith,” she whimpered.
“Come on, honey. Sit on the front porch with m
e.” Keith nuzzled her ear.
“Where did you put him?”
“In the garage for now. Tomorrow we’ll bury him.”
“How? How can you dig a big enough hole in this wretched darkness? And w-with the monsters lurking about everywhere?”
“We’ll think of something. But let’s not dwell on it now, honey. Come out on the front porch with me.” He cocked his head. “Unless you want to hit the sack. You look exhausted.”
At this point, she didn’t care what they did or where they went. She felt as lifeless as the priest, lying in his blanket on the cold, damp floor of the inhumanly cold garage in an infinite black hole that was once their yard. She shrugged. “I don’t want to sleep. Yes, I’m exhausted, have been exhausted for an eternity now, but when I sleep, I have nightmares, and they’re getting worse.”
“Then sit with me for a while.”
She nodded, and leaned against Keith for support as well as comfort.
“Guys, we’re going to sit on the front porch for a while. Okay?” Keith called over his shoulder.
“That is fine, son. Carrie and I will see what we can make for supper.”
“Great.” Keith took Andrea firmly by the elbow and led her outside. They sat on the first step, side by side, and stared out into the impenetrable Nothingness. After an eternity of shared silence, Keith spoke. “Honey, it’s going to be all right.”
Andrea swallowed a rising sob. “Y-you don’t know that, Keith. One by one, we’re all going to die.”
Keith chuckled. “Well, that’s a given.”
Andrea glared at him. “I don’t think it’s funny, Keith. Father Joe was a nice, kind man. He didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. I don’t understand Eleazar at all. How can he be so serene and-and happy? How can he go on and on about God and faith when the end of the world is here? That old man is crazy, if you ask me. And th-that Richard. That punk killed Father Joe—or, at least, started the process. And what do we do? We set him free. And then he helps you care for the body of the man he tried to kill.” Her laugh came out a bark. “This whole thing is unbelievable. I think I’m losing my mind.”
Keith hugged her. “I know, I know.”
Andrea shivered. “Oh, Keith. I’m so scared. Sometimes I can forget how scared I am—you know, when we’re busy doing something—”
“Like battling monsters.”
Andrea almost smiled. “Yeah, like battling monsters. But then. Then there are the down-times when I remember my old life.” She turned to face him. “Keith, where are they? Where is my family? And Carrie’s husband—what was his name?”
“Rob.”
“Yeah, Rob. Where is he? Why would he just go off and leave his wife?”
“Honey, I don’t know. I don’t have a clue about any of this.” Keith leaned closer and brushed his lips against her cheek. Andrea turned so the next kiss could reach her lips. “I really think I’ve fallen in love with you, Andrea Gardner,” he murmured.
“You already know how I feel, Keith Reynolds.” Then the enormity of what had just been said overcame her. Andrea buried her face in her hands and moaned. “It’s not fair. Eleazar may love his God but I think I hate him. First I lose my mother, then my father, then my uncle, aunt and cousin, my wonderful neighbors, then that nice priest, and now—” she swallowed. “You.”
Keith pulled her hands away from her face and kissed her. “You haven’t lost me. I’m not going anywhere. You still got me.”
Andrea stared at him for a moment then shook her head. “You don’t know that. None of us knows what’s going to happen a minute from now, let alone an hour. I haven’t got you, Keith. The way things are going, you may be the next to go. Or me. They could come anytime and snatch you or me away. We’re living on borrowed time.”
“Then marry me, Andrea.”
That made her visibly start. “What?”
“I asked you to marry me.”
“Marry you? When?”
“Now. Today. Tonight. Whatever. We have a minister and we have a witness. Two, in fact. So. Will you marry me?”
Andrea could have sworn the porch shifted under them. It took several heartbeats before she could find her voice. Then she whispered, “Are you serious? Me? I’m barely eighteen, hardly what anyone would call pretty.”
“I think you’re beautiful. And as for being eighteen, well, that’s legal, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I think we can overlook formalities at a time like this. Right?”
Andrea smiled and nodded, “Right.” Then the smile wobbled. “Do you mean it, Keith? Truly? You’re not just saying it because of-because of the situation?”
“No. I love you, Andrea. I can’t explain it. I realize it seems utterly ridiculous— outrageous, even, but,” He sighed then shrugged. “I’ve known you a week. I think,” he chuckled. “And yet, it seems like a lifetime. Like I’ve known you forever.”
“This whole, bizarre, freakish situation has lasted a lifetime. I’m scared I won’t even remember my family after a while. You know. Their faces, what they look like? It’s like I haven’t seen them for twenty years. Maybe we’re in some kind of time-warp.”
Keith grinned. “I can buy that. I keep thinking I need to call my boss and let him know why I haven’t been to work for the past week. Month. Year. Eon.”
Andrea repositioned herself so she could face him. “You’ve just proposed to me, and I don’t know a single thing about you, except your name and age and where you live. And speaking about where you live, how did you manage a new house in a brand-new development at the tender age of twenty-four? You independently wealthy? Did you win the lottery? Or did Daddy buy you the house?”
Keith snorted and tweaked her chin. “Wow. You’re a regular Sassy Sal. No, my ‘Daddy’ didn’t buy me the house. In fact my Daddy has been dead for two years.”
“I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t mean to sound so snippy.”
“It’s okay. I can see where you’re coming from. I am young to own my own place, especially a nice new construction. I didn’t win the lottery, but I did receive a nice sum from my dad’s estate.”
“Oh. Where’s your mom?”
“Believe it or not, my mom died when I was thirteen. Cancer.”
Andrea’s shoulders sagged with an exhalation. “I’m so sorry. Guess we’re in the same boat, in a way.”
“Yes, in a way. Except you have your aunt, uncle and cousin. I only have one living relative—an uncle, out in Wyoming, on a small ranch, if you can believe it.”
“That sounds pretty nice. Do you visit him often?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him since I was fifteen when my dad and I drove out there to visit. He and my dad didn’t agree on anything—especially politics—and would always end up having yelling matches. They had a whopper after we’d been there only one day so we packed up and left. Never saw him again. We’ve lost touch since my dad passed.” He made a face. “I wonder what’s happening out in Wyoming.”
“How about the next town?”
“Yeah. The whole world could be experiencing this eclipse, or whatever you want to call it.”
“I call it hell. Oh, God. I don’t want to think about it.”
“Then we won’t. Let me ask you some questions. Are, er, were you still in high school when all this began?”
“I was supposed to graduate in five weeks. Or maybe it’s down to three by now. I’ve lost track of time.”
“Yeah. So, what were your plans? College?”
Andrea grimaced. “No. I mean, I want to go to college, and I was accepted at UMSL, but…”
“But?”
“I told my aunt and uncle I wanted to work for a year first. Let’s just say we had a minor disagreement. My cousin, Berry, is at Wash U and doing great, and they feel I should do the same. But I’m not near the student Berry was—is.”
“For the record, I think you should go to college. I think you’d do great. But it’s your decision, of course.”
“Well, I su
re think it is. But my aunt and uncle think I’m a slacker. Or lazy. I don’t know. I love them and I know they love me, but, well, my four years here haven’t been a bed of roses. They took me in when my dad died and made me feel like I belonged, but I didn’t. You know what I mean? I didn’t belong. I grew up in Charleston, South Carolina. This place still seems foreign to me, cold, brown, and no saltwater. I miss the ocean. I miss the sultry summer evenings. I confess I gave them trouble the first year. Oh, nothing major, but I fought with them over the silliest things like homework, clothes, music—you name it. I was your stereotypical rebellious teen. Then when I told them I didn’t want to go to college right away, well, the ceiling fell.”
Andrea made a face. “Anyway! Enough of my sad story. Now back to you. Did you go to college? Where? Did you graduate? What was your major? Where do you work? In the city?”
“Whoa, woman. Slow down. Yes, I went to college. UMR. University of Missouri, Rolla. That’s Engineering, in case you didn’t know. And, yes, I graduated, got my degree, and now work for Boeing.”
Andrea rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, my! A college graduate, an engineer, a job at Boeing, and only twenty-four. And you want to marry me? Now that is incredible!”
Keith pulled her into his arms. “Yes, it is. It is incredible. But you underestimate yourself, honey. You’re beautiful. You’re smart as they come. You’re kind. You’re incredibly strong.”
“And the only eligible female on the face of the earth,” Andrea quipped.
“Yes. Maybe. But that’s not why I’m asking you to marry me, Andrea. I’m serious. Please believe me. I have fallen head-over-heels in love with you.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you why. Haven’t you been listening, woman? You’re incredible. I’ve been lucky enough to see you face unspeakable horrors and come out, fighting. You’re a trouper, Andrea. You have faced things no other woman has ever even dreamed facing. You’ve got to admit our courtship, for want of a better word, has covered more ground in a week than most couples cover in their entire marriage.”
Andrea sighed. “Put that way, I have to agree.” She leaned toward him. “So, you want to spend the rest of your life with me.”
The Fourth Trumpet Page 11
