Last Days Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Took a walk, I think.” Marcus handed Seth the book. “Here, look at that.”

  Speaking sternly, Michael moved further into the kitchen. “It is imperative that I speak to her now. Right now. We must make amends to this situation between us.”

  Drying his hands, Kyle turned from the sink. “Michael, she’ll be back.”

  “But I need to find her now, Kyle.” Michael was insistent. “This petty rift cannot continue one moment longer.”

  “Let me tell you something about women.” Kyle tossed the towel. “They don’t let things go so easily. If she’s upset, let her cool down. I know what’s causing this rift, Marcus told me, and she’ll realize in time that it’s an error. Let her work it out.”

  “I cannot,” Michael said. “The first battle is at a prison not far from here. She and I must be as one. We must not have any tension between us when we embark upon this battle.”

  “Okay,” Kyle nodded. “I understand, but the first battle isn’t for a few days.”

  “No, Kyle.” Michael shook his head. “I have just found out. Our first battle is at sundown… tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” said Kyle.

  Marcus stood up. “Tomorrow? We’re nowhere near ready to battle…”

  “Guys!” Buzz stormed in. “We have a problem.” Waiting until all eyes were on him, he explained. “James Lincoln was working the gate. Reg blasted him about minding his own business or something, and then she stormed off. He couldn’t stop her.”

  Kyle exhaled, “And the problem?”

  “She stormed… off the property.”

  “I must find her.” Michael flew from the kitchen.

  <><><><>

  Tarantula Creek was half a mile east of Kyle’s property. It was a childhood hangout of Reggie’s and Marcus’; they gave it the name for no specific reason other than it sounded neat.

  It was a frequent place for Reggie to seek solace while growing up, and into her adulthood. She felt safe and secure there, and could bitch about anything under the sun as she skimmed pebbles across the water.

  “Always a troublemaker.” Reggie tossed a rock. “I remember you, James, when you were a second-string basketball player.” Another tossed stone. “And used to agitate the other players just so you could take their place.” She threw hard. “God! You’re still doing it.” She took a moment to breath, and placed her hands on her hips. “What am I doing?” She kicked out her foot. “Reggie, get it together. This is ridiculous. Marcus is right. It was a dream. But… what was the dream telling me? Maybe it wasn’t a dream.”

  “What was the dream?”

  Startled, Reggie spun around to find Michael walking her way.

  He held up his hand. “I know you wish to be alone. But I must speak to you.”

  “Yeah, we need to talk.” Reggie backed up, found a spot and sat. She patted the ground next to her.

  Michael smiled. “Thank you.” He joined her on the grass. “So what is this place?”

  “Marcus and I used to come here when we were kids. A place to think. To hide.”

  “Have you thought, Reggie? For you certainly have hidden.”

  Reggie snickered. “Yes, I have done some thinking.”

  “About this dream that disturbs you so.”

  “Michael, it’s more than that.” Reggie turned to face him. “It’s a bunch of things.”

  “Maybe if you share with me.”

  “It’s embarrassing.” She lowered her head.

  “Reggie, there is nothing that you should be ashamed to tell me.”

  Reggie nodded and exhaled. She raised her eyes. “I was dreaming that you and I were being very… very affectionate. We were at a point, I was, that it felt so good...”

  “Ah, I was giving you pleasure.”

  Reggie mumbled, “To say the least.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Anyhow... suddenly, you weren’t you. You were this demon. Then Devante was there. He said if I got too close to you, you would fall, and I would be damned.”

  “That is an untruth.”

  Reggie tilted her head. “I kinda figured that. But the dream disturbed me, and the fact that Devante… he got to me.”

  The corners of Michael’s mouth lifted. “Reggie, Devante only wants us apart because together we are invincible. By allowing him to frighten you, you are allowing him to win. And allowing him to win has removed a certain amount of trust from me. You are frightened of me.”

  “No.” Reggie shook her head.

  “Yes, Reggie you are.” Michael inched to her. “I feel it.”

  “Really, Michael, after doing my walk, talk, rock and bitch.” She shrugged. “I don’t fear you.”

  “Then show me.” He moved even closer.

  “What?” She snickered. “What do you mean?”

  “Allow me to give you affection, Reggie.” Michael brought his face to hers. He lifted his hand to her cheek.

  “Michael…”

  He silenced her with a soft kiss.

  Reggie jerked her head back. She brought her fingers to her lips and studied them.

  “See, the blood of evil is not there.” Again, he inched closer. “I liked very much when we kissed the other night. I know you did, too.” Michael lowered his lips and kissed her again.

  She hadn’t any time to pull back or whisper. Michael moved his mouth to her neck, from the base to her ear. “Reggie, is this… what you want?” His words hardened, and he shoved his hand between her legs. Reggie tried to squirm away, but he gripped her throat, and yanked her forward, as his fingers tried to dig through the fabric of her jeans.

  Gasping for air, Reggie’s arm swung out as she choked his name, “Michael.”

  He laughed. Reggie fought with all that she had, but it wasn’t enough. With the weight of his body, he forced her back to the ground.

  Reggie cried out a painful “No!”

  Years of knowing Reggie told Marcus more than anything. He knew exactly where to find her. Kyle advised him to stay within the perimeter, but Marcus refused.

  He was glad he did. At a mere short distance from Tarantula Creek, Marcus heard Reggie scream, and he raced in her direction. Just as he made it through the clearing, he found her in a struggle. Was that Michael trying to pin her down?

  “Reg!” Marcus screamed and ran across the creek.

  At that instant, Reggie flipped Michael. He rolled into a stand, looked at Marcus and took off.

  Marcus intended to chase him, but Michael’s wings emerged and he soared quickly away.

  “Fuck!” Marcus shouted. He hurried back to Reggie. “Reg. Reg.”

  Reggie tried to stand, but lost her balance. “I’m okay.”

  Laying his hand on her chin, Marcus studied Reggie’s face. She had an abrasion on her cheek, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure…?”

  “I’m fine.” She closed her eyes, ran the back of her hand across her mouth, stepped back and stomped. “Fuck! I can’t fuckin’ believe this! I’m better than this, Marcus!”

  “Reg…”

  “I can’t believe he tried to do this to me.”

  Marcus pulled Reggie into his arms. As he held her close, he looked into the empty woods and mouthed the name “Michael.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Seville, Ohio

  Kyle smoked a cigarette. And enjoyed it, too. There weren’t many left, so he savored each one. With a look of “I don’t know what to tell you,” he peered to the men who sat patiently in the backyard. Until Michael returned, and then a mumble of voices erupted in question.

  Kyle stood up. “Any luck?”

  Buzz rushed over. “What’s going on?”

  Michael dropped his voice to a whisper. “The message that I received was that Reggie was in trouble. She’s fine now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kyle asked. “Who gave you this message?”

  Michael only looked at him.

  “Should we get a search party?” Buzz asked.


  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Kyle.

  “No,” Michael responded. “I was merely told she was fine, and would return.”

  “If she was in trouble, Michael, why couldn’t you find her?” Kyle asked.

  “I tried. I flew north, south. As I headed west, I received the message.”

  “But she’s fine?” Kyle continued.

  “As I am told.”

  Kyle nodded. “Okay. Well, you had better talk to these guys. They’ve been waiting.”

  “I will have to explain again when Reggie returns.”

  “Then you’ll have to do that. But these guys are anxious to know about this first battle. They can’t prepare for something they don’t know anything about.”

  Buzz added, “And they’re worried that it’s too soon.”

  “I understand.” Taking in a deep breath, Michael walked further into the yard. “Reggie will return shortly. For now, though, even in her absence, I will explain our first engagement. Please be seated. All of you.” He waited until Buzz had joined the seated men, and then began. “The prison that we go to tomorrow is forty miles from here. Behind the prison walls remain only seventeen. They survive because of their strength, faith, and prayers. Though a small number, we need them in our battle. But keep in mind, they remain because Devante chooses not to kill them. They... are bait.” Michael lowered his voice. “They cannot enter these walls, therefore they must lure us out.”

  From behind him, on the porch, Kyle called out. “So why are we going right into his trap?”

  “Because every person that we save is one more soldier. Every battle we fight is one step closer to the final battle. We go to free our people, and to begin the elimination of Lucifer’s army. We don’t need many men to end this. All it takes is one. One person to kill Devante, and the battle is over. But to do so, we must reach him.”

  Kyle understood. “And right now reaching him is pretty impossible. So we remove his wall of protection brick by brick, and we make him vulnerable.”

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “We are few. They are many. His victory is easier than ours. So make no mistake...” Michael looked out to the faces. “Some of you will not return. Some of you will succumb to the battle.”

  It happened so fast Kyle couldn’t react. The porch door opened with a bang. Marcus stormed out with a baseball bat, called Michael’s name, and then struck him hard in the face.

  “Holy shit!” Kyle tossed his cigarette and dove from the porch.

  Michael’s head turned, only to receive another strike.

  Eliza screamed when she walked out. “Marcus! Stop!”

  Michael snatched the bat from Marcus’ grip. Kyle thought he had a hold on him, but Marcus slipped away and charged shoulder-first into Michael’s midsection.

  Buzz and his men rose to their feet, but no one attempted to halt the confrontation. Michael defended more than fought. No sooner did he get up than Marcus dove into him again, slamming his fist into Michael’s ribs.

  Reggie flew from the house, crying out, “Marcus no! What are you doing?” She broke through, and grabbed him. “Stop. Stop it!” It took her entire weight to pull him back.

  A moment passed. Kyle stepped in. “What in the hell is going on!?”

  Michael brought his fingers to the corner of his mouth, then peered at his hand. “I bleed.”

  “Good!” Marcus yelled. “That means you’re no better than the rest of us!”

  Eliza, frantic, broke through. “Sweet Lord, Marcus. What has gotten into you?”

  Marcus caught his breath. “This afternoon… Reggie was attacked. Attacked by someone who looked like him.” He pointed at Michael.

  Reggie stepped forward. “And I told you, Marcus, it wasn’t Michael.”

  Michael shook his head. “I wouldn’t hurt Reggie. It was not I.”

  “Does it matter!?” Marcus blasted. “Does it!?”

  “Yes!” Reggie answered.

  “No! No!” Marcus took a step back. “It doesn’t matter whether it was him or not. It happened because of Michael. All three times, Reg. The blood on the lips, the dream, today… Devante was able to get to you because of Michael’s fixation with you.”

  “So you’re striking out against him?”

  “Damn right,” Marcus said. “I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you got hurt. And it could have been worse.”

  Reggie sighed and lowered her voice. “Marcus. It wasn’t Michael who hurt me. Do you really think attacking him is the answer?”

  Michael intervened. “Yes, Marcus, you must put your anger to good use and…”

  “Enough!” Marcus yelled. “I don’t need you to tell me where to put my anger. What I need you to do is…” he calmed down some. “Do your job. Do what you came to do, then just go back to where you came from. And do it soon.” Shaking his head, Marcus turned and walked into the house, leaving behind a shocked silence.

  Mt. Vernon, IL

  A small afternoon campfire blazed for no other purpose but Devante’s visual pleasure. He sat on the ground, alone, arms draped over his knees as he stared with a sick smile into the flames.

  A foot stomped down before him, scuffing a cloud of dust into Devante’s face.

  Devante waved his hand to clear the dust, and rose slowly to his feet. “Are you upset…” he peered down at James. “…Little man? And have resorted to stomping your feet?”

  “I believe I just kicked dirt in your face. Symbolic of your blindness.”

  “Do not come into my camp with your arrogance. You are distressed because your faithful divide.”

  “If they divide, it is because of your interference,” James said.

  “If they divide, it is because they lack strength and conviction. They are protected, yet they leave their protection. You know as well as I do, if they leave their walls… they are fair game. If they let one of us in…” he chuckled. “They are fair game.”

  “Like you play fair.”

  “Only you would bring up fairness. You try to shake me. It will not work. I grow stronger the weaker your people become… and they are weak by nature. You place your trust in them. But they will fail you. Every day, more and more of your people fall to me. Every day you lose. So, do not speak to me about blindness… James.” Devante kicked out his foot, sending a cloud of dirt and smoke onto James. “When you are the one who is blind.”

  Kingston, AL

  Seventeen year-old Willis Atkinson ran. Skinny, tall, he moved like the wind down the main street of the town. The rubber soles of his tennis shoes flapped against the pavement.

  “Father Davis!” he screamed. “Father Davis!” Over and over he cried, holding out his hand as he made his way to the corner church.

  In the back room behind the altar, Fr. Davis listened to Kyle Stevens’ radio broadcast. He had just finished informing Kyle of the ten men on their way to Seville to aid in the battle. It was time for his country-music signoff. Fr. Davis lowered the headphones, and cocked his head at the sound of Willis’ voice.

  “Father Davis!”

  A double bang of doors brought Fr. Davis to his feet. He left the back room and walked the small hallway to the side altar entrance. Just as he began to genuflect, Willis reached the altar, out of breath.

  “Father Davis.” He held out his hand.

  A black tar was smeared across the young man’s hand. Fr. Davis winced when he brought it closer for a look. “Where…?”

  “It’s seeping up from the ground. The cracks in the street. Everywhere,” Willis said.

  Fr. Davis dropped the boy’s hand. “A deceiver has entered our camp. We have to weed out the deceiver.”

  “How?”

  “By getting everyone into the church. The deceiver will be unable to cross the threshold. Hurry, Willis, ring the bells! Ring them now!”

  Willis sped from the altar to the back of the church. Fr. Davis limped as fast as he could down the aisle. By the time he reached the front foyer doors, the church bells began to ring. Loud, continuo
us, like a warning. Fr. Davis pushed the front door and jammed it open using a block. “Come on!” he beckoned. “Come on!”

  Suddenly the ringing bells went sour, emitting a painful sound. And the moment people appeared in the streets, the ground began to shake.

  “Hurry!” Fr. Davis called. “Into the church. Hurry!”

  The earth shook violently. Fr. Davis tried to stand his ground, waving in the people as they passed them into the sanctuary. One by one, confused, they ran inside.

  As the last person ran past, Fr. Davis kicked the block on the door.

  “Wait!” A woman fled from the church.

  “Back inside!” he yelled.

  “I can’t. Josh…” The woman cried frantically. “My son. I thought my husband had him, but he doesn’t. My son is out there.”

  Fr. Davis moved her back. “Hold the door, I’ll find him.”

  Rapidly, she nodded, then her eyes widened and she smiled. “Josh.”

  Fr. Davis turned to see the blond three-year old running across the empty, shaking street. “Stay here, I’ll get him,” he said.

  A hundred feet away, Josh stopped. He placed his finger in his mouth and began to cry.

  “Josh!” Fr. Davis called and hurried as fast as his disabled body could move. “Come to me!” He opened his arms wide in invitation.

  Josh smiled brightly. But his little legs had charged only two steps when a huge arm shot out of the pavement. Vein-strewn, reddish, the bony fingers snatched the boy, trapping him in the pocket of its hand.

  The mother screamed as a fiery gully seared through the ground.

  His eyes focused on the child, who could be seen above the flames, Fr. Davis raced closer to the inferno. “Hold on, Josh!”

  “I’ll get him!” A man’s voice cried out in the distance.

  Fr. Davis spotted him and felt a wave of relief. He could see the younger man making his way. “I’ll get him.” Like a well-trained athlete, the man leapt toward the arm, and in a single motion ripped the boy from the grip of the hand. He raised Josh high above his head like a trophy.