A Abba's Apocalypse (24 page)

              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 while 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 give 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.

Chapter 10: Return to Hope

              I hear the voices following behind us. It sounds like there maybe three or four LD out there. I’m getting that eerie feeling again, sensing is a Demon close by. We walk rapidly through, and over the darken debris, eventually making it to the street. We have about a half block to go before we reach the protection of the alleyway system. I let go of Tiffany’s hand in my attempt to gain speed. I tell Tiffany to stay real close and follow every move I make. What’s behind me does not worry me as much as what may be ahead. I believe the evil group has discovered the spot I rescued Tiffany from. I can’t make out their words, but they sound angry. I hear lumber slapping from the direction we just exited, as if it’s being tossed in a fit of rage. I think they might be upset. We probably left some evidence at the site telling them who we are, maybe its footprints or a wrapper. It might even be my blood. There is something we left that they found to make them react so aggressively. Tiffany must hear the commotion they’re making by now. I look over my shoulder watching her concentrate on me though. “She’s a smart soldier,” I think. She’s turning her fear into something useful-determination. We hustle into the alley and “double time” it. I want to expand our lead and put as much distance between them and us as promptly as possible.

              We make it to the end of the alley and turn right. I want to move over one entire block and reenter the adjacent alley. This “zigzagging” should confuse any LD following us to our exact whereabouts. Tiffany and I are breathing pretty hard now. We make it to the intersection and dash across it. I don’t stop to look, but I give a passing stare in both directions. I do not notice anybody. We continue running till we’re well in the confines of the next alley. We slow to a fast pace walk as I listen for possible footsteps following us. All seems quiet. “Stay with me just a little longer,” I tell Tiffany. I determine this quick pace should keep us “on track” of putting optimal