Chapter 9: Step of Faith
I remember reading a 1960s dictionary definition for the word “compassion.” Back then there was no concern for “political correctness,” or the worry of offending those sensitive to the Christian religion. Its definition is one I will remember the rest of my life. It simply stated: “Compassion is the feeling of distress and pity originating from the action of Jesus Christ as he hung on the cross, often with the desire to alleviate his suffering.” I look out from the roof top over the town and feel this same type of desire. I know there are still Irreverent out there who need to be saved. I stand in the satisfaction that I have been able to help some so far. But, my spirit yearns to find every soul who would be saved. I shake my head side to side in disbelief to all that has happen recently. The revelation in my mind of what lay ahead weighs my head down with both worry and pity. I fear a higher calling that’s pushing my chin up towards Heaven.
It has been two weeks since my legs were injured. I’m now able to hobble around without the handmade crutches the guys made for me. They are still bruised badly, but I’ll live. I stiffly descend the access ladder back into what looks like “Noah’s Ark.” The brothers and sisters have organized this place into a large home filled with lots of love. The women have given it their special touch with witty ways of decorating it. It’s the first time in years since I’ve seen children safely playing and heard them happily laughing. I stop halfway down just to marvel at this phenomenal family, and readjust the swinging crutches strapped on my back-which I still carry just in case. In this moment I thank God for all He has done for all of us. I kind of feel this is what Heaven will be like.
I see Amanda waving to me while she converses with her two friends. I finish my descent and head over to say hello. During my previous mission Pastor Paul took Amanda and several brothers out to the edge of town and rescued Jerry and Ruth. These are the same two people that were traveling with Amanda and her brother Jimmy before they were captured. They seem fairly fit now, but the group had to drag them back her. They found them badly undernourished and unconscious. They had not eaten or drank water in a week. They seem to be in high spirits living here in their new home.
“Hey Joey, do you got a second?” Scotty yells. He’s waving me over to a group of adults on the far side of this large room. I hand signal Scotty with my index finger, meaning I’ll be over in a few seconds. I detour around Amanda, Jerry, and Ruth while telling them, “We’ll meet up later. I have something important to do now.” I head towards Scotty’s beckoning call alerting me that it is time for the daily briefing. I am forced to slam my brakes on along my venture and give the right away to a wild pack of racing children. I feel my legs being spread forcefully from behind. I am surprised by this kid’s sheer determination as he runs through my legs and after the others. I tell the tiny tike those eternal words of wisdom my momma passed down to me many years ago. “Patience is a virtue kid!”
I carefully cross the intersection and proceed on course towards Scotty’s continually coaxing hand. There is a small excited group of gossiping women that I try and run over, but they have the reflexes of birds on a highway. I limp through and excuse myself as they part for me. I notice my interruption never causes them to lose a single beat of their chatter. “Ladies,” I tell them, as I hurry to hear the real news from the men on the other side of them. I shuffle pass them to the meeting area. “Sit over here Joey,” Scotty instructs me. I follow his advice and find myself sitting in the front row of this creative bleacher of boxes. Dave tries to squeeze his rear in between Scotty and me. He pats my shoulder with a combination “hello” and a “scoot over.” I think how nice it is not to have to worry about the noise I make, or the LD crashing through my front door. Dave hands me a cup of coffee as I tell him, “Thanks buddy!”
Kenny has been given authority to oversee and delegate details devoted to our everyday living needs. He leads off the discussion by showing us his new creation. It is a “details list” drawn on a large section of cardboard. He finishes his class by explaining how to read the thing, and how to understand our assignments. Moses steps up next. He has been put in charge of all the supplies. Everyone voted him Quartermaster because of his enforcing size. I think it was a good choice. At the end of each week he tells us how much food we used and how much is still left. He also gives accounting of the total population. This has changed recently, as almost all the brothers of “T” have moved over here. Moses tells us the grand total is now 167. I expect that to change dramatically in the coming days as more find out about this supplied safe haven. A couple other brothers give accounts on their assigned, less relevant, positions. I sit through their lethargic conversations while anxiously waiting for Pastor Paul. His job is to monitor the shortwave radio, and-of course, to also give us inspirational advice. He is our link to the outside world. He knows all the real news. We remorsefully begin clapping for the final departing speaker, and then joyfully for our approaching Pastor Paul.
“Will everyone bow their heads,” Paul says. “We thank you Lord for all your blessings and your divine protection. Please lead us towards the kingdom and reveal what you would have each us do. Amen!” Solemnly, I lift my head to see a sea of grace filled faces repeating their appreciative “Amen.” Paul places his daily activity report on top his podium of supply boxes, while several brothers politely instruct everyone to be quiet. I sip my coffee while I tentatively await the news.
“First of all,” Paul states, “I have new information on the devastating meteor shower. I overheard many request for more military medical supplies. It appears most of the military armies across the continent had numerous casualties. I was able to determine there is a major outbreak of disease among their ranks. And, it seems to be spreading fast.” I turn towards the interruption caused by the clamoring stares. Each one is worrying these plagues are heading our way. Pastor sees the distress and reassures us God has led us here for a holy purpose. He opens his Bible to Palms 91:1 and reads, “For He will deliver you from...the deadly pestilence. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.” I remember this passage that I often repeat. I call it my “911” call for help. Paul comments, “The food of faith is the word of God!” This calms this crowd of believers.
He continues his report stating other related effects caused by the meteor shower. “Several New California transmissions suggest the military is having problems protecting their own bases of operation. It seems Irreverent forces are assaulting some of the smaller instillation. I was able to decipher that the weaken Guard is having troubling defending them. What I think is really interesting is even starving LD are attempting to loot these supplies.” I figure this is good news to some degree. Although we all have suffered much devastation, it has caused Irreverent to unite against the evil in this world. I deduct it won’t be long before the news reports the Irreverent militias are here.
The “lunch call” has been sounded by my brother Randy. “Lunch is served!” he yells. Pastor Paul reminds the hungry multitude he will have a Bible study in one hour, and a sermon this evening. I hear his itinerary and make a mental note, but it’s my growling stomach I am listening to. “Come youngsters,” Randy barks, “It’s good and hot.” Dave taps the side of his pot warning us to hurry, because, “It won’t stay warm forever.” Katie and the kids hustle behind me in line. I tell her I can’t see who’s ahead of me. I lazily turn, in my daily ritual, acting like I am hypnotized by other events. It is my way of letting her and the hungry kids cut in front of me. They sneakily snicker as they duck and scoot under my raised right arm dedicated to rubbing my chin. Katie smiles and asks me if I know what’s in the pot. I lean up to see and report, “It looksss like we’re having whole grain rice, anddd gravy, anddd that’s it.” I think it’s not much, but it’s a feast when you’re with friends. I hear Dave amusingly ask, “How’s Captain Ahab doing?” It’s his way of making fun of my current limp. He chuckles while I ask ,“Rrrr, have y
ou seen my real leg? This peg leg is killing me. I know where it is. Dave cooked it and put it in the pot!” Katie smacks my arm as the kids yell, “Ewww!” She salutes me with, “Darn you Joey!” Randy holds his laughter trying not to acknowledge my bad behavior. But, he smiles as he slides his hung head side to side in disapproval. I tell everyone, “At least its real meat for a change.” Once again I’m clobbered for my ruddiness.
I watch Katie as she retrieves four helpings. I grab the extra serving knowing it’s for Moses. “I’ll bring it to him,” I tell her, “You go sit with the kids.” She smiles her “thank you” at me while herding the youngsters off. Randy, in the meantime, finishes plopping a portion on my plate. I hobble off heading to join Moses who’s trapped in the confines of the supply chamber.
“I brought you some lunch Moses.” I lean over with his plate onto the board running across the entrance way of the supply room. I watch as Moses appears out of the freezer room heading towards the aroma coming from his lunch. I swing the board up and step into the restricted area to meet him. We find a spot to sit next to his desk of MRE boxes. I notice the list of supplies on it flutters as we sit. “Thanks Joey,” precedes Moses extending hands. I remark, “I never got a chance to find out exactly what happen that night. So, what did happen after you left ‘T’?” I watch as he hurries to gobble down his first bite. He grabs another portion with his spoon and chews out ,“We made it just past the ‘old mill’ store just as the meteor shower started.” He takes another bite and rushes to swallow. “I saw little explosions begin hitting the ground all around the area, so we turned back into the ‘old mill’.” He takes another spoonful and prepares to devourer it.
“This was right before we made it in the building being bombarded. I could see through the open door that the floor inside was glowing, while I heard them hitting the tin roof.” Moses forces another spoonful in his mouth just beating his teeth dedicated to continuing the conversation. “I looked up and saw several big ones headed straight towards us. I didn’t have time to even move, but I thought, ‘Dear God,’ and they immediately change their directions.” He swallows and says “They somehow reflected away from us and shot into the ground. It was like some invisible hand was swatting them from hitting the building. We ran inside to the big room. I made a little chamber out of stuff I could find in a hurry. We all slid under it, but all the meteors stopped hitting the building the moment we got inside.” The big guy stops eating and hangs his jaw in a moment of reflection, and then he slowly sincerely states, “It was a miracle Joey.”
One more week has passed, and my legs feel almost “good as new.” I know my time to continue my mission is about ready. These last three weeks I’ve discussed and reasoned my plans with a select few of the brothers. New news during this time has helped me to decide what action I need to take. Come to find out, the meteor shower poisoned much of the world’s exposed water supply. The radio reports the oceans and seas are a soup of floating dead fish. It’s about the same in the fresh water rivers and lakes. “Trinity” announced it will be using the term “Wormwood” to identify all contaminated sources. They have charged their affiliates to mark those bitter sources with that term. Our water here seems to be fine though. It comes from a well deep below. We have stored a fairly large supply though by filling all the available containers.
I anticipate things are going to get a whole lot worse. Thirst and starvation are just two of the contributing factors. Toss in chaos, madness, and evil, and you’ll see why. I know there is only one thing that will keep a sane soul going through the times ahead. It will take more than logic or reason to survive. Its believing there’s something eternally better; where all is good and right. It’s a place where we’ll find perfect unconditional love. It’s hope in something not yet seen. You just have to ask one person, and speak one name. He is faithful to forgive us for anything. That’s His promise, and that is my mission in the days ahead. It’s to spread this simple message of the cross. Pray for my success dear eternal brothers and sisters. And, pray for all those lost souls that they can be found in the name of Jesus. This is my faith, and this is my hope! This is surely my destiny!
A month has now passed and I’m “fit as a fiddle.” I’ve grown stronger in my upper body through the mishap. I dedicated this injury “down time” to doing a lot of pull ups and other various upper body exercises. I know this new found strength will be necessary searching for and retrieving Irreverent. I’ve also made some useful tools to bring on my missions. I’m going to spend the rest of this day packing, planning, and praying. A good night sleep, then I’ll be heading out at first light. This is something I’ve got to do alone. I am going to need to move fast and react fast. I won’t have time to worry about someone else. It’s possible I may even have to go into Hell’s very mouth. This is my calling and my cross to bear.
Morning has come as I marvel at the beauty of this sunrise. I’ve always felt there was something mysterious hidden in the crack of dawn. I lean my elbows on the dark cold ledge of the roof as I bring my homemade binoculars to my eyes. I stop just short of them so I can ponder the last few stars gracefully submit themselves to the gobbling blue velvet light.
A childhood memory overtakes me in the moment as I hear momma tell me, “This stuff between the darkness and light is where wishes are answered, and where dreams come from.” I guess this is why I always love breaking dawn and twilight so much. I finish placing my new found tool to my eyes, and search over this sea of destruction. I am checking over the route I’ll be taking along my mental map. I’m looking for any type of activity while recording any obstacles in my path. I notice several distant pockets of possible disturbance in the far off distance. I just wish these glasses could tell me who the movements belong to. This is the area where I’ll be heading.
This first mission is devoted to finding those pockets of Irreverent still holding out and holding on. My goal is to identify these pockets for a future rescue mission. I’ve packed some basic essentials that will aid them in surviving until this can happen. First, is some little plastic bottles of bleach that contain instruction on how to decontaminate and purify stagnate water. Just a few drops per gallon will do the trick. Second, is giving them multivitamin pills; courtesy of the former pastor of “Project T.” He made sure he left a large supply of these. This will help restore the essential strength they’ll need for the arduous trip traveling back here. Third, is some high protein bars. I’m bringing these because they’re easy to carry and they’re loaded with what the body needs most. All this stuff was found or made by my brothers the last few weeks. Pastor Paul prayed blessings over all this stuff; that it may all be divinely directed and delivered. These supplies have been secured inside discarded wrappers of MRE. There are two more things tucked inside. One is a general hand drawn map of town pointing out the best possible routes to the store-which has been renamed by the brethren as “Project Hope.” The other is the most important thing I’ll be giving. It is a mini handwritten scroll with key Bible passages that the women put together. It details healing, inspiration, protection, guidance, and salvation scriptures. Most important is the “Good News” on how much God really loves them. It’s the food of faith that will keep them alive. Every little package is tied together with a string. The women decorated each package with the words “Project Hope,” and painted a sparkling cross on the intersecting twine with fingernail polish. The final touch was the kiss and prayer each woman gave each special package.
I fling my rucksack over my back and make my way towards the side of the building. Slowly I lower my rope and proceed to repel down the wall. I’m not worried anymore of being suddenly attacked, but I am worried about alerting the LD to my existence. They have suffered several great blows recently, and are probably more concerned with recouping than finding me. This gives me a slight advantage for at least a little while more. I’m just trying to stay out of the way of these Sharks path. I can see my bent shadow rushing to keep up as I make it to the edge of the fo
rmer forest. The morning light is changing towards a blend of pastel pink with a harsh yellow. I have about five to ten minutes to make it to the alleyway heading east before real light reveals who I am. I hurry along using the morning silhouettes to temporarily hide in.
The air is fresh and tingly crisp today. The cool morning moisture kind of tickles the hair on my arms by the breeze of my brisk pace. The approaching alley hides dark figures in it leaving me unsure to what they really are. Are these residual from the departing dark, or actual moving living specimens? I cautiously enter the alley while donning my heighten sense of awareness. I use this departing gift of darkness to obscure my movement. Quietly and quickly, I dance from perplexing shadow to shadow, politely interrupting each new partner with my invisible presence. I suddenly realize a secret hidden in a sunrise. I never notice all the noise of the waking sun. I persist in this dance of the masquerade two more alleys before the light rudely rips my mask off. My vision improves as this dream dissolves, revealing what things are really made of.
The warming sun causes the dew to slowly lift a wafting mixture across my path. The smell is indescribable. It is a fresh cut bouquet of chard wood and a fragrant of rotting remains, hidden somewhere amongst the abundant piles of debris. I maneuver back and forth towards the next section of town, as my stomach moves up and down. Slowly, the arid heat renders aid allowing the consuming dust to swallow up the stench. I am gradually relieved of the pain produced by the persisting pestilence.
I have seen no movement of any kind so far. It’s like I’m walking on the lifeless surface of a dead planet. I constantly kick and slide on meteorite fragments ground into the chewed pavement surface. It’s making it hard to detect distant fainter sounds that could alert me to the living. I do hear something, but the direction is distorted under each crunching step. I decide to take a rest and dedicate my body to just listening. I see an old abandon 1950s beat up “pickup” three quarters of a block ahead, and figure this will make a good observation station.
I approach it finding all the windows have been broke, and its dusty dented body filled with holes. I open the driver side door and dust off the concoction of glass, dirt, and fragments before sitting. I peer over the steering wheel and begin meditating in my serious listening state. My eyes temporarily interrupt my concentration by a zephyr of wind forming this unusual pattern on the dusty hood. In a weird way it looks like a deformed shape of the former United States of America. This old “pickup,” along with this mysterious occurrence, touches a patriotic nerve still residing somewhere in me. My thought is interrupted by a dry cough expelling the inside dust I’ve inadvertently swallowed. I remember why I am here, and command myself to be silent and listen up.
I resume my concentration and patiently perform my listening. I fight through the symphony of sounds sorting out the natural and obvious from those identified as likely human made. I hear one or two off in the distant. One sounds like a stack of lumber falling over. The other is definitely a scream. Each noise is coming from contrary directions. The scream sounds further away. But, I make a choice to follow after it first; knowing it is really a cry for “help!” I change my original plan to travel due east. I’m now heading due north. I make a mental benchmark of the other sound’s approximate location.
I figure the noise to be near my old house and remind myself to check it out later. I target the scream and “move out.”
I take a shorter more direct route over a hill of broken wood where a house once stood. I squat down on this highpoint and observe the best path to take. Sadly, I hear the scream again, but luckily it helps me pinpoint where to look. It is about five blocks up and one block east of my present location. I cautiously crawl down the jagged remains and begin dashing across the street littered with pot holes. I have a small problem. I am forced to walk a half a block along the street in the open. I don’t detect any local noise, but I move along hesitantly cautious.
I make it to the corner and turn right attempting to link back up with the alleyway system. I have another problem in my way. I have a half block to go, but there is a large deep crater stopping me from getting to the alley. I can either double back risking another block of being in the wide open, or maneuver through this fifteen foot deep crater. I spend a few seconds and think about the time difference of taking both directions. My goal is to get to the scream as quickly as possible. I decide to chance the path through the crater.
I make a sliding lasso with my rope, and then hook it around a chunk of asphalt extending over the crater. This type of lasso will allow me to retrieve my rope when I’m finished. I lean over the crater and pull down on the rope to check the asphalt’s strength. It passes the test. I toss the remaining rope down and grab hold of the section of rope nearest the asphalt overhang. I swing my body around and descend down. Dust kicks out of the holes under the pressure my feet are making, as the glassy veneer side of the wall fights to expand back to its original position. I retrieve my rope and then slowly crunch across the charred remains at the bottom. As I cross I continually break through the layer of obsidian made by the intense heat of the impacting meteorite. I pray every step of the way this crater will choke these cracking echoes. Pristine silky soil wisp up under the force of my intruding steps. This irritates my eyes alerting me to pull my undershirt up over my nose. I make it across the bottom and look for a place to lasso my rope to get out of here. I can’t find any spot protruding far enough out to hook my rope onto. I go to “Plan B.”
I remove my rucksack and pull out a pair of leather rancher gloves. I slip both my rucksack and gloves on while thinking where I’ll start. I lay my rope over top my sack, and then proceed to jab two holes in the obsidian lined wall. I dig the first one as high as I can reach. This is for my left hand. The next one is waist high, and for my right foot. I find the sides of the crater are covered with a much thicker glassy surface than its floor. Hopefully this will help support my ascending weight. I place my right foot in its designated hole, and then pull up with my left hand in its hole. I jab two more holes for my other hand and other foot about the same distances above my right foot. I step with my left foot into the next slightly elevated position, and then grab hold of the right hole with my right hand. Firmly here, I reach up and punch out two higher holes. I maneuver up to the next set of holes and repeat this process one more time. I hear the obsidian start cracking under my feet. I think, “This is not good!” I reach methodically up and finish digging out one hole and placing my right hand in it. Quickly, I pull up to relieve the pressure under my feet. I reason that it seems to be working. I make one last hole by forcefully stabbing my extended left hand straight in and grabbing hold. I immediately remove my left foot while pulling up with my left hand. I see a large section give way just below where my feet are. I reach up and grab hold of the asphalt edge of the crater with my right hand that’s followed instantaneously by my swinging left arm. The second I grab hold tightly, the entire precipice under me gives way. I swing freely but I remain secure holding on to this piece of black “life saver.” I manage to hoist myself out and hurry to the alleyway entrance before collapsing from exhaustion. I just hope no LD heard all the noise I made.
After several minutes of controlled panting, I gain enough strength to carry on. I lean over and look up the alleyway. I see someone walking this way! My mind goes into a frantic state, but I calm it with the realization that I still have some time to hide. The person is still at the other end of the alley. I look around to find a hiding spot, but find only that I have another problem. I can’t locate any spot between me and the crater. I see a good spot across the alleyway entrance, but I’ll have to risk detection crossing over. I notice a perfect place, but it requires me to go into the alley about 15 feet or so. There is a gap in a fence just big enough for me to climb through; and the entrance can only be seen from my direction. I again lean slightly over to see if the approaching figure is looking this way. It is! I toss all these options “out the window,” and I decide again t
o go to “Plan B.”
I remove my rucksack and open it. My hand quickly feels through the supplies looking for the roll of baling wire. I locate it and silently thank Gary for this present he gave me before I left. Next, I rip open one of the supply bags and pull out a squeeze bottle containing the bleach. Quickly, I run to the mouth of the crater and stop. I look to my left and then my right to find two anchor spots for the wire. I move to my left and wrap this end of the wire around the base of fallen tree trunk. I run backwards across the street while unrolling the wire. My internal ticking clock warns me where the approaching being should be by now; and I have to hurry. The rational part of me says, “Be steady and calm.” I make it to the other side of the street and find the fence post. I swirl the wire several times around it making sure to keep it about a foot high off the ground. I twist the wire and dump the excess spool behind the post. The next step will require timing and courage. I need to bait my trap. I run back to the middle of the street and stand between the wire and the edge of the crater. I double check my internal clock and it says the being should be about ready to exit the alley. I take a deep breath then try to exhale out all the tension. I firmly grasp the tiny bottle of bleach in my right hand and conceal it. I freeze and stare at the being now staring at me!
He steps rapidly out of the alley onto the street, and then stops and stares directly into my eyes. I can tell immediately the man twenty feet from me is definitely a LD. I don’t feel that revolting creepy presence a demonic infestation would cause me, but my spirit is overwhelmed with the pathetic loneliness it radiates. It’s hard to spot, but I think I see his brand on his hand. He seems to be confused. He begins tilting his head as his penetrating eyes slowly scan me. I remain standing perfectly still as I gaze in his black empty eyes. It’s as if I’m standing all alone in a large cold cave a mile underground with absolutely no light. He seems confused. Maybe he’s wondering why I don’t try and run. He asks me, “Who are you?” Now I am confused. I know he’s close enough to sense my spirit. And, I know he can see I don’t bear the brand. Why would he care who I am? Again, he asks me, “Who are you?” I simply say, “Joey.” All of a sudden I understand what’s happening.
I recognize the LD. “Top, is that you?” I see in his eyes something I’ve never seen in a LD before-remorse! I swear he’d cry if he was capable. Being an LD has changed his appearance. His face structure is much longer than I remember. I guess the lack of hope over time does that to a LD. Top was my “First Sergeant” in the U.S. Army years ago. Everyone called him Top because he was the highest ranking sergeant in my company. We were real close. He was the kind of guy I wanted defending my back in battle. He was tough, but always kind. “Ahhh Top, why did you do it?” All at once, my soul sinks and my heart breaks. I stand here looking at this loyal soldier and comrade, and I do what he can’t. I cry for him. Fear fills his face caused by being in my presence. My spirit reminds his where it will be forever in the future. For, both of us know his soul is eternally damned!
I have a thousand questions to ask him, but I realize this thing is not Top anymore. Anger and resentment now challenges the fear in his face. I shake my head in disbelief while my pitiful love dies for him. This LD is aware of my warrior skills and senses a possible trap. He becomes violent and begins pacing left then right, but he does not advance. This tells me the wire is invisible to him. I know I got to get him to attack me before he figures out my trap. I tell him, “I’m a Christian.” His restraining chain of reason breaks and releases the beast inside him. He charges me as I squeeze a fifteen foot stream of bleach directly into his eyes blinding him. His anger and pain fuels his progression, as his blind fury searches me out. I squat as far down as I can while watching this LD trip over the wire. I grab the shoulders of his approaching airborne body and roll backwards. I push my legs up-into his thighs, and then flip him towards the crater. He snatches my shirt at the last possible second, pulling me along. His body disappears in the hole, except for the arm still holding onto me. He profanely roars his threats as I listen to him claw at the wall to get out. His weight, strength, and determination strangle my body with my own shirt. I can feel the movement of his body swinging, as it saws my shirt into me. He terrifyingly tugs at me, trying to drag me down. I agonizingly think, “He just will not tire.” The only thing keeping me from following him in is the perfect balance between the dead weight of my lying position, which is counteracting the gravity of his swinging body. I am slowly being dragged in an inch at a time though. I want to try and pry his hand loose, but my finger tips are preoccupied to scratching the asphalt, slowing my progression towards the hole. If I move, I’ll probably slide right in. If he continues to hold on, I’ll slide right in. I lay trapped in his grasp on my back!
I hear the flame of hope in this beautiful song approaching. Flicker’s voice makes the LD super violent. The LD increases his aggression as my blue buddy lands on my chest. He stares at my horrified face while calmly tilting his little blue head. It’s like he’s saying, “Relax, have faith.” I start sliding faster, with my head now hanging over the crater’s edge. Flicker jumps onto the LDs hand and pecks it. His little head moves so fast that it turns invisible. It takes just several seconds for the LD to let go; before Flicker chops it off. I slide quickly away from the hole as the LDs body makes a sickening sound. I take a deep breath and smile at my lovely little friend. Flicker calmly struts right up to my chin while staring at me. It’s like he’s telling me, “You’re welcome.” Then, he pecks me right between the eyes! Before I have time to say, “Ouch,” he flies off. I think, “Thank you too, buddy!”
I am quickly reminded about my current objective. I hear the scream again of a lady off in the distance. I push myself up, and then run to grab my rucksack. I retrieve my wire and store it. After my chores, I walk to the edge of the crater carefully listening for any activity. I look down and find what made the gut wrenching sound. Top’s body lies on its back with his head tucked under it. I’m glad he died this way. I would hate to carry the picture of his horror-struck face as he saw the gates of Hell opening in his final few seconds of life. As I turn away, I ask God to have mercy on his soul. I start walking and reverently whisper, “You shouldn’t have Top.”
I reach the alleyway and lean my head past the corner fence to check inside alley. This time it’s clear. I try and hurry in my travel to make up for lost time. I begin marching at a “double time” pace. I notice the asphalt surface is in fairly good condition compared to everything around it. There are just a few areas with small pits. The houses and buildings to my right are ninety percent demolished, but everything from the alleyway towards my left looks like little has happened to them. As I proceed I think that the meteor shower must have poured down in an east to west direction. I think, “This is odd.” I was under the impression meteors came straight down. This fact gives me hope that there may be pockets of Irreverent unaffected by the devastation.
Entering the next alley I hear a robin singing somewhere. This is a rare treat ordered right off the endanger spices menu. Its song sounds sad and lonely. The little fellow seems to be calling to its friends, hoping it will receive a return call. He stops momentarily, and then sings again in a new direction. The only response he’ll get is his echo coming from this lifeless cavity. I pity the poor fellow. I know he walks the rope connecting sheer determination to insanity. But, he’s just a bird. What the heck do they know anyway?
I make it three blocks without incident, but I run out of alleyway transportation. I see a manmade barricade half way up the next alley. Two rusted vehicles end to end sit at its foundation. It’s fortified with wooden planks, ruble, and tires. I can’t tell who created it, but I figure they don’t want anyone to come through this alley. It looks as if it was made post meteor storm, because the building material isn’t shot through with holes like Swiss cheese. I make a mental note as I turn right, and then proceed via the preferred mode of transportation of my enemy-the street.
I hustle to the co
rner and hide behind a utility pole. The three, or so, blocks east of here are totally flattened. I think to myself this is how Hiroshima must have looked. The only things taller than two feet are several reinforced concrete monuments marking this graveyard of destruction. The only good from it is the unobstructed view. Suddenly, I hear the reverberating scream of a lady again. I turn north along the street and rapidly head towards it.
I make it to the area it came from. All I find are mounds of charred debris. I cautiously and reluctantly climb the highest pile for a better view. I know I stand more exposed, but it’s a risk I feel I have to take. The last scream sounded like it may be her last scream. Ironically, I pray she will make one more cry for help so I can locate her. I slowly spin around on the summit trying to find any evidence of where she might be. I grow more fearful every second worrying I’ll be detected. I say to myself, “Come on, come on.” Out of the dead calm comes the sound I’ve been waiting for. I hear a loud moaning about three or four stacks northwest of here.
I arrive at the approximate location and search the debris in this area. I determine; if she is here, she is somewhere under it. I bounce my stare in a pattern of observation trying to identify anything unusual in that particular sector saying she might be here. But, I just don’t see anything that could help. I cry inwardly, “God, help me find her.” My apprehensive heart urgently reminds my mind of a story that might help me. It was about a boy who lost his dear departed grandfather’s watch somewhere in a barn. During his frantic search to find it he becomes very tired and falls asleep on a stack of hay. In his dream his dear departed grandpa tells him, “I want you to do something very special for me. Promise me when you wake up, you’ll lay still for five minutes.” The boy wakes up and remembers his promise. He lays still and stares at the barn ceiling. Soon, he hears a tick, tick, tick. He follows the sound till, behold, he finds grandpa’s watch. This is what I’ll do.
I remove my rucksack and lay uncomfortably on top this pile. I attempt to relax with several slow deep breaths, and then exhales. Silently, I lay here and listen. I begin hearing erratic breathing coming from what seems the bottom of this mound. I very lowly follow the sound and find an opening between the debris. I place my ear to the darkness below and identify the source of the breathing. I silently shout to myself, “Thank you Lord!” I grab my flashlight while whispering into the dark void, “Is anybody there?” I hear two deep breaths, and then, “Help me, please help me!” I think she has limited air causing her to react in such manner. I shine my light in the small crevasse and see her face five feet from mine. Her pretty big eyes react to my bright light by squinting. She looks like a teenager. I see that her head is free of the brand, as I alert her I too am Irreverent. I start lifting and sliding the wood and concrete debris as quickly and as quietly as I can. I feverishly work to remove her while hearing her repeat, “Thank you!” I whisper to back, “Please be quiet. I promise I’ll get you out soon.” She becomes quiet and still in her dark prison patiently waiting for her rescue.
I soon realize moving the debris will take much longer than I hoped. Much of it is compounded by the weight of overlapping debris. “My name is Joey. What’s your name honey?” She shyly states, “Tiffany.” I check the time and see it is after noon. I continue methodically moving piece by piece every piece I can. I am careful not to release any debris into her captive cavity. As I grow frustrated in my determination, I ask Tiffany if she might tell me how she got down there. I figure keeping her mouth busy will take her mind off her situation, while keeping her spirits high.
“The explosion destroyed our house and burnt our supplies.” I discern from the word “our” there is another Irreverent someplace out here. “Two days ago I slid down this hole, and the debris fell over it sealing me in here.” I ask Tiffany what possessed her to climb around on this stuff to begin with. She explains as I continue digging through the ruble, “Daddy and I were living in our basement when we heard the explosions. I was reading and studying like always. Daddy was listening to the shortwave radio, like he did every day.” I ask, “How long did you live in the basement?” She replies, “About three and a half years. Daddy knew the day would come we’d have to live there, so he fixed it up with everything we’d need years before. You see, my daddy was a doctor and a real smart man.” I hear Tiffany begin to cry. Talking about him must be the reason. I rationalize something bad has happened to him. I got to figure out a way to make her stop crying before a passing LD hears it. The hole is acting like a megaphone amplifying her sounds. Her hunger yells to me a possible solution to this current dilemma. I ask, “Hey, are you hungry?” Her sobbing slowly stops as I shine my light to the side of her cave, and then drop down a protein bar. I continue to shine the light and watch as she shoves the entire bar in her mouth. Not only does the food change her perspective, but it corks her loud uncontrollable crying.
I ask her if she is thirsty while I pull my canteen out.
Her parched mouth seems to dry for her to form a word. I tell her to hold her mouth open when she is ready to drink. Quickly, she finishes chewing, and then struggles to swallow. She opens her trembling mouth, and then tilts her head slightly back. I slowly and accurately begin to dribble a small amount of water into her mouth. I listen to the pitch of this tiny void filling as her lips quiver for the life giving juice. She closes her mouth to let me know it is full, and then she abruptly gulps it down. I watch the little streams caressing her cheeks over flow their banks as she strains to swallow. “Honey, do you need some more?” I ask. She again opens her mouth as I once again aim my dribble. I notice during my pouring her pale complexion. I wonder how a doctor’s daughter could become so nutrition deficient. I don’t dare ask about her father and risk her crying again. Maybe it’s due to living in the basement for so long?
I check the time and see it is mid afternoon. Gauging the time I’ve spent on what I still have to remove, I determine I’ll never beat the approaching dark and coming cold. Something inside me tells me, “Keep at it.” I wrestle away several heavy concrete fragments while asking her what she was studying. “I was preparing to be a medical doctor. It was either that or becoming an astronomer. I use to love looking at the heavens.”
I remove one more piece of concrete to reveal there’s rebar joining two monoliths of this mausoleum. Momentarily I stop to lubricate the lump in my throat with my tears made of saliva. “Is there anything wrong?” Tiffany asks. I tell her I got a metal splinter in my hand, but it’s alright now. I am hopelessly frustrated while offering up a silent prayer for divine assistance.
I hide the impossibility of this obstacle by telling Tiffany, “I love the stars too.” As I try and figure out how to proceed, Tiffany replies, “Daddy and I had a fourteen inch telescope. We would spend time looking at the heavens and think of all the possibilities out there. How I miss my daddy.”
I sense another whimper coming on. I try and avert another crying outbreak by asking, “What is your favorite constellation Tiffany?” She goes in to detail on her devoted love for the constellation of “Orion.” I quickly learn the Greek mythological stories surrounding all the constellations, and the reason “Orion” is her favorite. Being the fine historian I am, I asks her if she knew the constellations origins actually came from the “Hebrews.” My statement seems to stifle her. I figure this is a good thing. It will keep her mind off the encroaching cold as the late afternoon temperature drops. A curious, “No, I didn’t,” comes out her darken cave. I proceed to give her a little history lesson, starting with the Bible passage at the beginning of “Geneses.”
I finally clear away enough debris to permit enough light into her chamber to allow me to see her wrapped arm blanket. It seems my history class is preoccupying her mind to overrule her will to shiver. “Yes, God created the heavens and the earth, moon, and sun for several reasons. One reason was ‘for signs and seasons’.” She recalls hearing this before, but she didn’t know this is where the Greek’s stole the zodiac from. I cover this exploit w
hile watching her become politely irritated with this flagrant plagiarism. “Yep, the only thing the Greek’s really did was give pagan stories to them.” She seems quite upset with the Greek pretentious idea. I comfort her with the thought that most people are ignorant to this fact. I finish my lesson with, “Yeah, it seems time has a way of replacing the real truth.”
I take my jacket off and hand it to her through the gap I just finished making. I look around through my exhaustion to calculate my next move. My rude shadow now covers her, blocking the penetrating warmth. The only thing preventing me from pulling her out is this darn stupid rebar connecting her prison roof. I wish I had brought my “bolt cutters,” but even that probably would not cut this thick piece of metal. All of a sudden I remember something. Randy packed me a present. He told me it might come in handy sometime. It is a diamond wire saw from his broken survival knife. I rummage through my sack to find it, as Tiffany finishes her fight to wrap my jacket around herself in her restricted confines.
My original desire was to be already enroute to “Project Hope” by now. I know the most dangerous time of the day is coming soon. I am also afraid of the realization that I am not real familiar with section of town. The darkness will only make things worse. I push this thought from my mind and focus on cutting this prison bar. While holding the abrasive strand, I feel its abrasive teeth. I reach back into my sack and don my leather rancher gloves. I return to work as I see her youthful innocent smile reassuring her trust in me. She bobbles slightly up and down in her anticipation of her rescue. The coolness kisses her reminding her “Not just yet.”
I’m so close I just want to yank her out. I wrap the saw around the bar as close as I can to one of the megaliths, and begin pulling the line back and forth. The saw seems to be doing a fairly quick job. I hope I can remove this bar with one cut by using leverage. This is why I decided to leave as much of the bar as possible. Little sparks sprinkle down over Tiffany in the growing darkness. “Honey, would you mind pulling your jacket over your face to protect it from the falling metal filings?” She reluctantly obeys my request acting like a child scared of being left alone in the dark. “I reestablish a lifeline of comfort by explaining everything I’m doing. I figure I am about halfway through the bar now. “Joey, do you think it will take much longer? I’m getting cold and scared.” I ask Tiffany if she would do me a big favor. She replies, “What’s that Joey?” I ask her if she wouldn’t mind holding my flashlight so I can see what I’m doing. “Sure,” she says. I grab my light and hand it down along with another protein bar. I tell her to shine the light horizontally, and warn her not to point it any higher. I think the last thing we want to do is to send any LD directions to this location. “Be careful honey with the light.” I watch her juggle between dinner and her attentiveness to the light. I believe the light will help give her some security too.
I take a few seconds to relieve the pressure off my hurting neck and back by momentarily stretching backwards. I see it’s completely dark out amidst these thousand twinkling stars. I hurry back to sawing faster. I make it to be about seven pm now. I feel the night air swipe at my cold sweat. My shivering body reminds me it is not fully spring-yet. I continue to harness the heat of my action in sawing Tiffany free. I have just a little bit more to cut away. “So how old are you young lady?” I see her focusing on the spot of light being steadily drilled into the side wall. “Fifteen, well I’ll be fifteen this May.” I notice far off voices drift across this wasteland and pray they stay away. Right now, I am more afraid that Tiffany might hear them. I pull at the saw even faster and harder. I notice her voice slurring, thinking she maybe fighting symptoms of hypothermia. I try and limit her conversation in an attempt to keep in as much of her body heat as possible. So, I take over the conversation while looking around.
“Do you want to hear a story Tiffany?” Her teeth chatter, “Yes,” while I saw as fast as I can. “Once upon a yesteryear, there was this kind and generous goblin. She would always be willing to help anyone in need. She even had magical powers. Some were to make it rain, or make it sunny, or make the moon shine.” The hot wire saw is pass the point of cutting off circulation in my hands and is beginning to shred my warm leather gloves to pieces. The tan color is being brushed over with pink pain. “In return for her good weather throughout each year the town folk would throw an Autumn harvest festival in her honor. It was their way of saying ‘thank you’ to the kind goblin.” Tiffany’s bobbling seems to have stopped. I hope she is captured by the current story, and rather not becoming catatonic due to the looming cold. “Well, one year the farmers complained that their harvest was not as bountiful as the year before. They attributed this insufficiency to the lack of sunshine and rain. It was really their selfishness and ignorance causing the problem. They tried to grow more crops than the land could sustain. Well, the farmers decided they could not spare any of their harvest to have the annual autumn festival. They believed they had only enough food from their crops to sustain them through the upcoming winter. This angered the kind goblin.” I finally cut through the thick bar and feel great relief. As I catch my breath I notice my bloody hands dripping down on top Tiffany. The release of the saw’s pressure, and constant heat cauterizing my wounds, causes a bloody trickle down affect. I grab the hot bar near the cut and prop my body in position to bend it up. I knock some loose debris on top her leather roof provoking Tiffany to ask me, “What’s going on?” I want her to concentrate on the story and not on my progress. So, I start where I left off. “That winter the goblin hid the Sun and made the daytime short. It got so very cold all that winter. She then sent the rain.” I ask Tiffany, “Do you know what happens to rain when it freezes.” I see the jacket bounce slightly as she responds to my question. “Yes, everyone knows it turns to snow.” I continue with, “Well, it snowed and snowed, and buried the village. Many children got real sick because of the cold. And, the townsfolk also got real sick; that is sick and tired of the evil goblin.” I finish taking position and then pull the bar with all my might. I pray, “Dear Lord help me!”
I feel the bar slowly bending, and not a second too soon. The far off voices conversing seem to be drawing closer. I faintly whisper, “Well, spring finally came. One day the angry goblin overheard children singing wicked songs about her from her hill top hideaway. They skipped and danced to songs of hatred as they played; all except one little girl. She refused to hate the goblin.” The stress of the bar bending or my supernatural willpower causes the bar to snap off, finally allowing me to free Tiffany. I kiss the saw and toss it back in my sack as I grab my rope. I see Tiffany’s leather roof shaking the dust and mixing with my drizzles of blood. I begin unrolling enough rope while searching for the best possible position around t hole for leverage purposes. “That Fall, the townsfolk had the harvest festival as the poor old goblin pouted and cried all alone in her hide away. She cried so loud, and so many tears, it caused it to rain on the party. And, the rain sounded like this.” I lower down the end of my rope and tap Tiffany’s leather roof several times. She immediately slides the jacket from off her head revealing her joyous smile filled with gratitude. I tell her to quickly tie this around her belly as she hands me the flashlight. I shine it down into the hole as she fumbles in her cold numbness to secure the rope. I figure I’ll continue the story in an attempt to warm Tiffany another way. “The kind little girl heard the goblin’s sadness and decided she’d go visit her. When she got to her hideaway she called out ‘oh kind wonderful goblin won’t you let me in’?” I see Tiffany finish tying the knot in front of her. I ask her if she’s ready to get out of the hole. “Please” she responds. I pull her slow and steadily up. The noise we’re making causes me to alert Tiffany to be as quiet as possible. I give a soft, “Shhh,” to her as she gets closer to me. She reaches her arms up and clutches around my neck clinging to me like she’ll never let go. I stand and swing her to the safety of my side while I embrace her with my warm hug.
She begins crying and refusing to let go. I g
ive her a few seconds to enjoy the heat of the moment, as I observe where the approaching voices might have gone. Tiffany whispers, “Will you please finish the story?” My concern is to get us to the confines of safety as soon as possible. I think the security of the alleyway might be a good start. “Sure honey, but it will have to wait till later.” I set her down, and then don my rucksack. I hold Tiffany’s hand and lead her swiftly away.