Last Light Falling (34 page)

I elbow the boy in the nose and pinch the back of his neck until he is rendered unconscious. I pull off the cloak and draw my swords toward the others standing in front of our path and swing with precision across the waist of one of the boys standing there. The sword grazes the black fabric, cutting through the tightly woven belt, and leaving the poor, scared boy standing there with his pants wrapped around his ankles.

The two boys on each side of him scram before they are met with the tip of my blade, while the pantless one tries desperately to scurry, without a trace of dignity. One of the young girls who refrained from hissing at us earlier can’t take her eyes off Gabe and me, while the others trip over one another trying to escape.

“It’s her! It’s her!” she shouts.

“Her who?” asks one of the other girls, who grabs her shirt, trying to lead her away.

“The one everyone has been talking about in the city,” she says, as they run off and out of sight.

Before I withdraw my weapons and redress my cloak, I make sure everyone has left the scene. When the earth is wiped clean by the wrath of God, I swear I’m convinced that the only things left standing will be cockroaches, mesquite trees, and vampire fanatics. The world can’t end soon enough.

We decide to continue on into the city just to poke around, but we keep our distance and sustain our calm. There’s no need to stir up any more trouble than we already have. We may need to stay here for a few days, and I don’t want to detract from our agenda or cause any unfortunate mishaps that may alter our plan.

The streets seem almost empty except for a few vagrants rustling around some garbage cans by an old unoccupied warehouse. We must
be on the side of the city that has been gated off from the others during the first separation movement the government implemented a few years ago.

I can see the large fencing that was built surrounding the inner city a few blocks up ahead, but it doesn’t seem to damper the spirits of the few homeless people who are milling about with smiles on their faces. They have either accepted their place in society, which is completely tragic, or their mental disability has hindered their perception of reality and they don’t know the difference. In any case, it saddens me to the point I detest my government more than I despise my own demons.

As we come closer to the fence, we notice a homeless man sitting up against the wall, nothing out of the ordinary since there are many homeless in this area, but what has caught my eye is the sign he is holding that reads:
Please don’t ignore me, I need love too.

I tell Gabe to hold up so I can talk to the man, but before I can take a step, four delinquents come rushing down the street as if they are running from someone. They all are wearing the same type of jacket with torn sleeves. I look closer and can’t help but notice each one sporting the same tattoo of a swastika on their arm. I grab Gabe and pull him behind the corner of a building out of sight to avoid any further altercations for the night, but what happens next forces me to quickly reconsider my strategy.

The men stop running and begin to argue with one another about something I can’t quite make out. One pulls out a knife and threatens another, while the leader of the bunch breaks up the small skirmish. They immediately notice the homeless guy with the sign, and for whatever reason, they take out their anger on him, kicking and punching the man in the ribs and head. One even spits on him and urinates until I shout out behind the building, “Hey! You keep doing that to that old man, and I’ll make sure you’ll be pissing out of a tube for the rest of your life—if you’re lucky!”

“Who the hell are you? Little Red Riding Hood?” one of the men asks.

“If she were in a Tim Burton movie, then yes,” Gabe says quietly to himself.

“I’m your deliverer,” I say.

“Yeah, where you gonna send me?” the man says, pulling out a switchblade.

“To Hell if you choose.” I rip off my cloak and pull out my twelve-inch scorpion dagger.

The men’s eyes suddenly widen as I approach, and they quickly pull out smaller similar knives, except one who has a set of ridiculously cheap nunchucks. I stop and play defense, attempting to lure them into a more accessible position of defeat.

Gabe just stands back and watches with his arms crossed. “If you need me, just call,” he says.

One man comes running at me with absolutely no skill set other than trying to bull-rush me with a dull switchblade that has seen better days. I easily side step and trip the guy’s legs, sending him hard to the ground while another comes slicing awkwardly. I dodge his blow and turn into the back of his shoulder, slicing downward across the muscle and tearing any ligaments that is holding his arm up.

The man with the nunchucks spastically spins the wooden handles toward me in hopes of knocking the dagger from my hands. Unfortunately for him, I hold on tight to the dagger and catch the chain between the handles and rip it from his hands. I swing the nunchucks back at his face, breaking his nose.

The leader is the last man standing, but he doesn’t seem as dumb as the rest, so I take precaution and slide my hand up to one of my throwing knives in anticipation of something he may do unexpectedly.

Gabe shouts from behind, “He’s got a gun!”

My instincts have proven me right, and just before he lifts his gun, I fling the knife into his jugular, and he drops to the ground.

I grab the dagger, and when I turn it slightly into the direction of the moonlight, I just so happen to catch the reflection behind me. One of the other men aims a gun at my back. I quickly turn away and swing down behind me, slicing halfway through the man’s hand. He screams in pain, shouting curses, while one of the men runs off, threatening that he will be back in greater numbers to kill me.

I’m not about to stir up another war that could possibly put our plans in jeopardy, so I do what I think is best in this situation for all of us; I shoot him in the back of the head. The injured man with his half hand desperately hanging by a thread, angrily tries to pick up the gun to shoot Gabe, but I quickly impede his attempt with a bullet to his head.

The man with a broken nose concedes, so I give him an alternative as he sits on his knees holding his bloody snout. I hold the cold steel of my gun to his head and tell him that today is the day he can choose to change his life and still be forgiven for all he has done in the past.

“No one is immune to forgiveness if they simply ask with their heart. Your friends chose the alternative, please don’t make that same mistake,” I say before I let him go.

When the guy runs off, I race over to the old homeless man. His face is swollen, and his lip is bloody, but his eyes are as clear as the night sky. I gingerly pull his body up against the wall and search his broken face.

“How long have you been exiled here?” I ask.

“Long enough to know I’m not wanted inside the city,” he says. I gently grab his hand and examine the bruise on the side of his face.

“Why would someone like yourself come to my aid? I’m just an old, withering man who has nothing to offer,” he says.

“And I’m a broken girl who wants nothing to take. Look into my eyes,” I say, holding his torn, shredded glove. “What do you see?”

He seems a bit off guard, but plays along and glowers into the glassy reflection of my eyes. He pauses, then stutters, “Myself.”

“Then what should make us any different? You and I share the same demons, we struggle with same understanding, we were both born into the same sinful world to be redeemed by the same God, yet we can’t even acknowledge the same space because many have influenced us to think we have no value. Thank God He does.”

“People ignore me when they have higher priorities, but they seek me when they feel lowly, and beat me when they don’t even know me, yet I still forgive them, because I love them,” the man says as tears run down his cheek, clearing a clean path through the grime and filth that covers his disheveled face.

“I’m not here to ignore you; I’m here to acknowledge your existence,” I say as I help him up to his feet, but I’m suddenly distracted by gunfire behind us in the distance. Gabe and I quickly turn to see what is going on, but when I turn back around, I’m holding an empty tattered glove, and to my shock, I look down to see that the man has disappeared beneath his torn shrouds.

While I stare aghast at his vanishing, I try to dissect what just happened. Goosebumps spread across my body as I gaze silently down into a pile of cloth. I’m overcome with so much emotion, I feel like I’m drowning. I suddenly begin to detest my own selfish behaviors. I feel the burden of a million voices screaming out for my help, and I have nothing to offer them. I despise what many people are afraid they will become, guilt eating into their hearts with delusions of self-worth. I have so much stirring in my heart right now, I decide it’s just best if we return back to the inn.

Sunrises are a beautiful moment if you ever have the chance to get up early enough to witness them. Since I haven’t slept a wink all night, I engulf myself in the splendor that God has so graciously extended. The cool morning breeze brushes against my skin, forcing me to put my jacket back on as I stand outside waiting for the warmth of the sun’s rays to peek back out from behind the clouds. While the others are still asleep, I bask in the little bit of nature that surrounds me outside the city, hoping to find a little peace before the next storm.

I stare down at the blood on my dagger while I slide the tip of the blade across the dirt in a circular pattern, and think back to my simple childhood before Gabe and I were thrust into all of this. I remember playing in the dirt behind our house drawing figures with a stick, just to see it all disappear by Gabe’s big feet sliding over them and laughing.

I gaze upon the circular figure in the black soil below through my dreary eyes, wondering how many men I must kill before my fate is fulfilled. I feel a smile on my face as I continue reminiscing about playing with my brother in the backyard when we were kids. The memories seem so vivid, as if they just happened yesterday. I can even see my father carrying me on his back and running through the rain, but those memories quickly fade away when Gabe’s big feet brush across the dirt, erasing my drawing just like he did when we were kids.

“Got a present for you,” he says as he sits down next to me.

“Isn’t it a little early for presents?”

He turns his fist over, and lying in the palm of his hand is a metal cylinder. “Happy belated birthday,” he says, smiling. I open up the metal container and inside is a pair of unusual glasses.

“They’re thermal-viewing glasses. They will allow you to see the infrared portion of the spectrum through darkness, fog, and smoke. Believe me, these are some of the best thermal-imaging glasses I’ve seen,” he says.

“Did you steal these from Finnegan?”

“No, of course not, I stole them from the den.”

“Thanks, I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” I say as I tuck them into my pant leg pocket.

“You’ve done enough for me the past few years, you owe me nothing. I’m just grateful to have you as a sister,” he says as my lip quivers in a moment of sibling bonding.

We hear the engine from a loud truck struggling to start up before it roars with anger in the distance. It’s the sound of a working man starting his early and long day. The sound reminds me of our father working long hours and sacrificing his time away from us just so we could have food on the table.

“Do you miss him?” Gabe asks, seemingly reading my thoughts.

“Yes, as much as he wasn’t around, I still cherish those few and rare moments we had.”

My father was a man of honor and loyalty. If he had the choice to spend time with us more, I know he would have, and I never faulted him for that. He was a good father, who never abused us, always loved us, and made sure we showed compassion toward those in need, regardless of their situation.

I didn’t know my father well enough to know if he had the same relationship with his dad. I do know this: he absolutely loved my mother and would have kindly given up his life for her in a heartbeat. He had a servant’s heart.

The clouds finally move past, exposing the sunrise over the horizon, exploding with brushstrokes of orange and red across the sky. The scent of fall foliage in the trees floats through the air, as the crisp leaves shine glimmering red and gold. Captivated by the wonderful palette of colors, Gabe gazes with delight, taking advantage of the little enjoyments in life that seem to pass us by when we are not looking. I’m too exhausted to continue any semblance of a conversation, so I decide to retreat back inside and into my nice, soft bed.

Before I walk back to my room, I pass by Juliana. “He’s outside,” I say. She smiles, knowing she didn’t even have to ask. I never try to pry in my brother’s business, but I suddenly feel a sense of loneliness inside. I go into the kitchen to get some water, but somehow I find myself stalling to fill the cup as I stare through the open window at Gabe sitting alone.

Juliana cautiously approaches Gabe sitting on a rock by the trees, making sure not to disturb his moment of alone time. She quietly sits down next to him and leans her head on his shoulder, but he is hesitant to react. I don’t know if it’s because of the nature of her appalling and tragic encounter at the prison, but he just keeps his hands in his lap.