Expedition Westward

  ***

  The ground bucked and heaved under the force of a gigantic blast. The night turned into dazzling day. Ernestina and Arleny clung together, screaming along with the hellish noise.

  A second, smaller explosion rocked the night, then another. A piece of flaming debris flew into their refuge, nearly setting them on fire. The girls scrambled out of their cavern into a nightmare scene. What had once been the castle was now a blazing inferno.

  “Oh, my God!” Arleny shrieked.

  She was clearly on the edge of panic; Ernestina was not far behind as she fought to retain what was left of her sanity.

  A small group of people was struggling up the mountain nearby; people like themselves, trying desperately to escape. Arleny got to her feet.

  “Over here!” she cried. “Help!”

  “Get down!” Ernestina snarled.

  But Arleny was beyond all reasoning. She took off toward the group, crying and waving her arms.

  Damn it! Ernestina prepared to stand and run after Arleny, but a burst of gunfire froze her in place.

  “Infidels! Traitors!” a voice shouted over the screams.

  Then another burst of gunfire. The screaming stopped.

  “May you all rot in hell!” the voice cried.

  Ernestina recognized it as that of Brother George, one of the true fanatics. She poked up her head enough to see his small, rotund figure retreating down the slope.

  “Arleny!”

  She ran to her stricken friend. Nothing to be done. Ernestina cradled the bullet-riddled corpse in her arms and gave vent to bitter tears.

  Part Three: The West Coast Beckons